#she must have been just an absolute force of nature

[corsairspade]

Shout out Haleth. The It Girl of the Edain. Centuries later and all these shield maidens have posters of you on their walls. Showed up, served no nonsense badass, refused to elaborate, left.

[phantomrose96]

When people join self-improvement or even hobbyist communities, there are some absolutely critical skills of fundamental skepticism they need when going in. I think most people who get into these communities aren't aware of these.

And just, as a fundamental few:

Does this person stand to gain financially from the thing they're trying to sell you on?

Is the business model of this whole community one of artificial competitiveness? Is there a pressure around never lapsing, or never straying from the model being sold to you?

Are the claims made in this community becoming bolder and bolder deviations from standard information?

These are absolutely rife in fitness, nutrition, and financial-advice communities and they often receive very little scrutiny except among those who already "got out." Because from the outside, seeing someone get into fitness is a good thing, good for them, glad to see it, look at that dedication, happy for them. Same on the other categories, and probably numerous others I haven't seen.

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Does this person stand to gain financially from the thing they're trying to sell you on?

If the answer is yes, that does NOT mean "immediately abort", it means keep that in mind when you're interacting with their content.

This nutrition influencer has given you some great recipes for free, and now they're promoting a "really fantastic" brand that they have an affiliate link with? Their motivation isn't to be your friend and helpfully clue you in on a great product. It's to make money off you.

You really like this fitness influencer's work outs, but she gets MORE interaction and MORE viewers the skinnier she gets? She CLAIMS she's been losing weight naturally with healthy eating and exercise, and she's still full of energy, and You Can Too. This is not your friend. This is not someone who knows you. This is someone under large financial and social pressure to do everything she can to put out her best appearance and her happiest appearance, and your attention and belief in the appearance is where the money and clout come from. You really need to remember this in the same way you remember to look both ways before crossing the street. You can cross a street and you can follow a fitness account, but protect yourself when doing it.

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Is the business model of this whole community one of artificial competitiveness? Is there a pressure around never lapsing, or never straying from the model being sold to you?

Communities stay strong if they retain people. There are a lot of fine and positive ways to retain people, but it's often easier to retain people by instilling them with a sense that they must be here. They should feel bad if they lapse or if their attention drifts. What they were before was inadequate. Everyone outside this community is inadequate. Do you want to go back to inadequate?

Is that financial subreddit that taught you valuable lessons about 401k's, index funds, and budgeting also quietly pressuring you to always do more? Are the top posts from extremist examples of people living in destitution so they can show the most extreme screenshot, and curate the envy of everyone else who ought to be ashamed of not doing as well as them?

Is that fitness community that got you into jogging also putting you in the mind that the truest and best people exercise 7 days a week? Never miss a metric? Never compromise on their dedication?

Is that person who "cut out all sugar and feels amazing" informing you that you should never have another cupcake in your life? And if you DO it's because you're BAD and DON'T WORRY, you'll get RIGHT back on the horse after. Shame will motivate you to come right back, and stay with the community, and never leave.

As long as you stay, the community grows. As long as you stay, the ad sponsors and the endorsed products and the influencers can benefit more and more. And sometimes, there's perhaps not even a malicious force behind it. It can happen from evolutionary pressures. The communities that survive are the ones that retain people. A community that trips accidentally into a model of pressuring people to stay is one which retains people and thrives.

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Are the claims made in this community becoming bolder and bolder deviations from standard information?

You joined because you wanted to learn to cook for yourself. And this community has been helpful! You know how to make some delicious things. You've tried vegetables you've never tried before. And maybe you needed some convincing that brussel sprouts can be yummy, but what do you know, turns out you like them roasted.

But what else is being said? What things are being said with more and more frequency? Is it that "humans don't actually need any sugar, and it's a poison being sold to us?" Is it that "seed oils are toxic for you"? Is it that "pasteurization is bad"? Is the raw fruitarian convincing you that cavemen lived exclusively off fruit and you can too?

They'll have sources sometimes. Check them. Are they cherry-picked? Are they from an insular echo-chamber? Why isn't the mainstream literature aware of this? And if the answer has anything to do with "because mainstream wants to TRICK YOU and you're actually BAD for ASKING" then don't engage. Disregard. Take the recipes if you must but apply your skeptical filter to all the parts that are snake oil.

Sometimes it's that another community is only a stone's throw away. That person with a great financial portfolio has only good things to say about crypto, and what they're saying is making sense (average person [not smart] [poor] [bad money skills] laughs at crypto, but you're smarter. you're on the in-track). That amazing bodybuilder is pulling the hottest dates, and he says it's about male-confidence, and he says there are good support guides on becoming a respectable masculine man, and all you need to do is reclaim your masculinity in a society that wants to steal it from you.

In any place like this, come up for air. Come up for air FREQUENTLY. Talk to regular people and engage in academic literature outside this circle. Conspiracy thinking wins if you draw all your information from the entity trying to sell you on the conspiracy.

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And I hope this is clear but my message is not "never join a community." My message is know danger when you see it. Recognize when you're being used or pressured. Don't fall for conspiracy thinking. Protect yourself. You can use a gas stove to cook meals but don't touch the flame and don't burn your house down. You can cross the street but recognize the signs of a car coming down the street.

And I'm making this point because so many people just don't know. ...Because getting into fitness is "good" and "self-improvement"! So is nutrition. So if financial responsibility. People walk into it and the extremism can make them feel accomplished, and admired, and like they're a part of something, and maybe even like a proper self-punishment for their own inadequacies. And people on the outside won't save you because "Wow! He spends 3 hours at the gym every day! I wish I was that dedicated." is a common attitude, and will push you deeper into what has its claws in you.

Everything I'm saying is not because I'm so much smarter and so much holier-than-thou for knowing this when others don't--I'm saying this because I was in it. I fell for it. Not all the examples above, of course. But I recognize the machine in them. It is highly appealing to run farther and fast longer and overload your class schedule when you don't feel good enough and want to prove something, and so many communities will sell you on the idea this IS an accomplishment. Then once you do, you have to do it forever. Or else you'll go back to not being good enough. And since fitness is "good", and weight-loss and good grades, no one can save you but you.

The answer was not to give up on the hobbies I was doing. I cook for myself most nights. I run and bike as regular parts of my routine. I like new recipes and I like half-marathons. But these are just positive additions to my life and they do not define my worth. If I miss a work-out it's whatever. If I order take-out it's whatever. I fundamentally do not care about the influencer with the washboard abs, and if I try a work-out from her, I have no loyalty to it. If the new recipe I try mentions "clean eating" I'll roll my eyes and just figure out if the recipe seems good. If the recipe is botching itself to avoid certain scare-words I will simply find something else.

There is absolutely a reasonable place for challenging yourself and trying things outside your comfort zone. The internet is full of resources to do so much more than you currently know how to do. And if that community is an oven, recognize it's an oven. Wear oven mitts. If it's actively on fire, leave. You're the only one protecting you. Stay safe.

[frazzledfawn]

flight risk

john wick x fem reader, minors mdni

synopsis: life was perfect, despite what your parents wished for you, you had all you could possibly want. surely your husband wont wake you up at 2am and drag you across the world, uprooting everything you've ever known.

authours note: this is the first thing i've ever written AHHH AHHH AHH, thank you for reading though!! oh my goshhh, i'm so nervous.

cw: drugging, guns, suspected kidnapping, morally grey but also not john, john just wants his wife guys </3

it had been exactly 3 years since you had uprooted your life after meeting john. which sounds like a major sacrifice, because well sure, thats how your parents viewed it. the confused pinching of your mother's eyebrows as she fiddled with her wedding ring told you that. 

you didn't need to be a genius to recognise that perhaps your father didnt trust john, slipping pepper spray into your purse and a pocket knife onto your keychain as you said goodbye in the airport. maybe it was an act of rebellion moving away, far away. sure you were naive, but in a specific way. you had seen shit, a lot of shit, but you made an active choice every day: see the good. is it indescribably cliche? absolutely! but hope kept you going. 

so when you stumbled upon a particular six-foot man with a limp, you tilted your head both in awe and intrigue. your first dates were awkward, almost forced. he was incredibly vague about every little detail in his life and so naturally, you chalked that up to ‘he must not like me.’ when you asked about his family, he responded that he didn't speak to them. when you asked about his job, you got the typical ‘im a contractor’ response. what the fuck is a contractor? what are you like a spy? psh. 

but he was sweet, a gentleman too. paranoid and perhaps vigilant to a fault, but you didn't ask questions. he was just being overprotective, which was nice in your eyes. you fell deeply in love with him, getting married 2 years after meeting him. you pieced together his career. he would call you a pacifist when you commented on the number of guns he seemed to own casually. which sure, wasn’t exactly a lie. but he didn't view the world as black and white, and therefore neither should you, you decided very quickly. 

it was your anniversary so you decided to set up a beautiful, intimate dinner at home. he arrived and you pushed him away to put on some slacks, even though it was just the two of you. he would chuff, kiss your temple, and oblige. so there you sat, serving dinner, walking over to his side of the table to pour him merlot when you accidentally bumped the bottle with your hip, knocking it off the table. you let out a yelp, frozen as you watched him catch it effortlessly without breaking eye contact with you. there were 2 things to note about his actions. 

1. you were unquestionably sure that this must be the most attractive thing anyone has ever done, fuck.

2. the speed of his reflexes did not match the job description or the skillset that belongs to a ‘contractor’

the dinner continued, albeit awkward because you had questions. and to your surprise, he wasn't so vague. now he was being blunt to a fault. which you suppose married couples are. 

“im a hitman” he stabbed a shrimp sitting on top of the pile of pasta, bringing it to his mouth with a sense of casualness that was unnerving. haha. funny.

so naturally, you giggled as he chewed. 

“a hitman? john that’s- ridiculous. can you be serious for a moment? i love your jokes, but this is our anniversary dinner.” you laughed softly into your wine glass, tilting your head and propping your elbow on the table to rest your cheek on (an action that would have caused your mother to hit the back of your hand with her fork due to the improper manners you were displaying).

“not a joke baby” he hummed almost with a solemn look in his eye. the reality of the situation hit you like a freight train when he reached out to hold your hand over the table, drawing soft, soothing circles on the back of it. not a joke. it wasn’t a joke. 

he slept on the couch that night. maybe it was harsh, but no- no, he deserved that. you married a man, a hitman. who lied about his entire career and kept guns under floorboards, you didn't even know could be kicked up. alas, trust was built back up. he reassured you he only killed dangerous people who did bad things. life wasn't so black and white, you realised once again. it took a while, but you fell back to the stage where you trusted him again. 

he came home late some nights, and left to go overseas every now and then for a week or so. but he would come back with little souvenirs for you: wine from rome, chocolate from switzerland, and jewellery from india. he made money that you could only dream about, but who can put a price on taking someone's life? 

you adored him though. maybe it was fucked up, maybe you were sick and twisted. but your husband would kill for you without hesitation, and you couldnt lie to yourself and say that fact didnt turn you on at least a little bit. 

you both moved to tokyo, right in the middle of the city about a month after this dinner. relocation seemed to be a common theme, but new cities and new languages were always exciting for you. and he assured you all was well, but you had your suspicions. maybe he feared someone he pissed off would come find you, even the score and put a bounty over your pretty head. 

you enforced the fact that if you were going to sleep with guns in the house, they all needed to be locked away in gun safes. there needed to be rules, and trustworthiness for this to work. john lied, he kept a hidden one in his bedside table, and another under your bed alongside the others in the safe. 

the rain pelted, it was a sunday night, well morning technically you realised. pretty much all of japan had been hit with a tropical storm, which meant that sleepless nights in your shared highrise apartment came with built in ‘white noise�� sounds from the thunder outside. though this night, you slept soundly. it was about 1am when you faintly heard footsteps, belonging to john you assumed. 

talking in incoherent sleep babble, you didnt open your eyes, you just mumbled ‘john..?’ muffled by your pillow. whoever it was stopped what they were doing and walked over. 

“mm, hi baby. it’s me. go back to sleep mkay? it’s late.” a silky smooth voice surrounded you in a blanket of warmth and you mumbled an i love you and drifted back off.

unaware. he waited until you were out cold before he started haphazardly shoving belongings of yours into a suitcase. he proceeded to zip it up and prop the suitcase against the wall next to his own. on top of his suitcase laid two drivers liscences, marked with photos of the two of you, but with different names, addresses, birthdays. identities. you stirred in your sleep as a calloused palm gently cupped your cheek, whispering your name. your eyes blinked open sleepily. 

“hi my sleepy girl” he looked down at you, perched on the side of your bed with a soft smile, still dressed. which was odd, why wasnt he in his usual sleeping sweatpants? you sleepily blinked up at him, looking over to your digital clock. 1:47am. 

“mhmhphmh?…” you mumbled out, an unspoken question as if to say come to bed, what are you doing? your eyes fluttered closed again, snuggling back down.

“honey, need you to wake up for me, kay? im sorry, i know, i know..” he gently rubbed your back, biting down on his cheek until he drew blood, loathing himself for what he was about to put you through. his sweet, sweet girl.

“eyes open, open them up for me.” he gently tapped your cheek and begrudgingly open them, sitting up looking unimpressed. 

“it’s 2am i wanna-” you yawned softly, covering your mouth. “wanna sleep john, just come to bed.” your eyes shifted around the room landing on the packed suitcases. suddenly sleep no longer felt like a priority. 

your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, tucking your hair behind your ears as you looked to him for answers wordlessly. he sighed softly, a deep one that he had clearly been holding in for a moment or two. he gently stood up, holding out a hand for you to take and pulling you up, walking you to the walk-in robe. 

“i know you’re confused, and probably scared. you trust me, don't you baby?” he looked down at you as he rummaged through clothes that belonged to you. he settled on a sweater and jeans. 

“trust you..? of course i do.. i just don't, john.. what's happening?” you asked, almost with hurt in your voice, a conviction of what was about to occur. 

he gently walked back over, mumbling a quiet ‘arms up’ as he slipped your nightgown off, putting a sweater on you, and passing you jeans to put on. 

“it’s just a precaution baby. don't want to scare you, okay? we’re just going on a trip for a little bit, okay?” he said calmly as you zipped up your jeans and slipped on converse. you swallowed thickly as he put a baseball cap on your head.

“an incognito sort of trip?” you said with disappointment, realising all too well what this trip meant. “where? you know i panic when i fly, i can't get on a plane, john.” he kissed your forehead softly, washing away any doubt. 

“there are eyes and ears everywhere, baby, we have to be quiet about this, just have some faith in me, i wouldn't purposefully put you in a dangerous situation, yeah?” he walked out, sliding her fraudulent id into her pocket. it was like a whole double life he lived. she had no idea he had these made, did he have fake passports too? emergency cash stashed somewhere? you followed him like a lost dog as he picked up your suitcases. 

“we aren't coming back here, are we? to this apartment?” you asked in a flat tone, one of hurt and despair. he gently shook his head, giving you a solemn smile. you disappeared into the kitchen, dumping everything in the fridge into the bin. 

“honey? what are you doing? baby- i.. we have to go, now.” you looked up at him, rushing to shove perishable items into the bin. 

“i dont want to leave the apartment in disarray, someone will realise and come and look, and i dont want the owners of the building stumbling across rotten food. its the polite thing to do.” you said, mindlessly stepping into action. 

“very polite. clever girl. we dont have time for that though, baby. come on. need you to listen to me and focus.” he held out a hand which you begrudgingly took. 

you suddenly yanked away, running back into your closet, to which he sighed pinching his nose. 

“baby. i won't tell you again,” he said, short. pointedly. you reassured you would only be a minute, running back out with your wedding garter in hand, shoving it into your suitcase. wedding albums, dresses, suits would all sit here and haunt your empty apartment. 

you needed to take something with you. he noticed what you did and looked down at you like you had punched him in the gut, pained, hurt. he gently cupped the back of your head, bringing you forward to press a pained kiss to your forehead as he cursed under his breath.

“im so sorry sweet girl. i just need to keep you safe, you understand that, don't you?” you gave him a brief nod, a faraway look in your eyes. 

he led you out into the hallway, and then ushered you into the elevator as he took a phone call. he spoke in tongues, well, that was what it sounded like to you. codewords and a whole different language. something eastern european you guessed. you perched a seat on top of your suitcase, as he spoke. he looked over to you and continued speaking, reaching down to pick up his suitcase, phone held to his ear by his shoulder as he pulled your suitcase along with you sitting on top of it. he hung up the phone. down another hallway. suddenly you were in the apartment building's garage. he led you to a black suv. you looked at him confused. 

“you drive an aston martin, and this isnt my kia sport.” 

“no, it isn't your kia sport. get in, honey, come on.” you sighed, still so many unanswered questions as he ushered you in, doing up your seatbelt. 

“i didn't know you were bilingual,” you said, looking down at your converse, chewing your lip. you didn't know what to say, too many things to ask. 

“what language was that?” 

“ukranian.” he spoke softly, driving you through the city, he passed you a bottle of water that was in the car. “drink, you need to stay hydrated.” 

“john im scared, i don't understand any of this and i need to call my dad, tell him what's happe-” he gave you a knowing look. sighing softly, holding out his hand for your phone. 

your furrowed your eyebrows, but trusted him. passing him the phone. he dropped it onto the floor of his car and stomped the foot that wasnt on the accelerator onto your phone, smashing it. you let out a loud gasp of shock, confusion. he had a stone cold face as he rolled down the window and threw it out of the car. 

“john!” you choked out, in disbelief. 

“don't fight me on this sweetheart. i need you to listen to me and do what i say, okay? im trying to keep you safe, and that isn't going to work if you have your phone on you. you cant be traceable.” you sat there, realising the weight of his words. 

“i asked you to drink, baby. please.” you scoffed, a little attitude now. you wanted to throw the water in his face or tell him to shove it up his ass. he was being vague again. not answering your questions, ordering you around. but you conceded and drank, he watched you out of the corner of his eye. 

you sipped, thinking about how much your family would worry when you didnt answer their calls, would they file a missing persons report? i mean, they didnt know what john.. truly did. oh god this was going to be messy. you gulped down the water, curled away from him. was it petty? sure. but you wanted to know you weren't happy with him. 

you sighed sipping the water and suddenly the bottle slipped from your hand, sloshing onto your shoes and dribbling down your lips as you tilted your head almost in slow motion, realising what had happened. john didn't react. why wouldn't he react? oh… oh.

“john, i feel dizzy n’ fuzzy or something.. i dont-” you slurred out, not recognising your voice, you sat confused as your head lolled back into your seat and you slipped into unconsciousness. 

fuck,  john swore under his breath. the guilt was going to eat at him alive. he needed to get you on a plane, a private unlisted one of course, far away and off the grid. but he knew he would have to drag you on kicking and screaming, your phobia of flying would ensure that. that would be loud, and messy. next best solution? 

mildly drug the love of your life to make the transition smoother. god you would never forgive him for this, but it’s something he was doing for you, he tried to convince himself.

the unmarked suv pulled up to an open field, somewhere in japan. an undisclosed location. there was a plane under a huge tarp waiting, he pulled the tarp of the smaller plane, it was only built for two. he never mentioned he could fly a plane, or that he had fake passports made up, or that he spoke multiple languages and had various safehouses built.. nothing of the sort. but why would he want to worry your precious mind? there was nothing he hated more than seeing the look of fear on your face. 

he shoved the luggage in and sighed, cursing again as he slung you over his shoulder, walking up the two steps to the plane, sitting you down and strapping you in. tears welled in his eyes at the sight of you sitting there, looking so vulnerable. he gently pulled your head up to slip on the headphones and closed the plane door. as he strapped in, the plane roared to life and suddenly the two of you were in the air. 

he landed the plane somewhere in sweden. a field. where he of course, had another unmarked suv waiting. he killed the engiene, swallowing his guilt as he slid your headset off and scooped you back up, wiping a small line of drool from the corner of your mouth, your jaw had gone slack. 

you stirred slowly, words slow to come out of your mouth, still a little slurred as he drove around sweden. something garbled and entangled, adjacent to ‘john?’. he clenched his jaw, inhaling softly before deciding to pull over, if you slapped him, it would probably be best if the car was stationary. 

he turned to look at your sweet face. waiting for you to speak. you winced softly, your head aching, limbs like jelly. groggy. 

“you..- did you?” you mumbled out with bite. you had pieced it together as you passed out. he didnt react, because he was expecting you to fall unconscious, because he have you water he had previously drugged. 

“i had to get you on a plane. without you pulling my hair or screaming.” he said calmly, staring straight forward. 

“i might just fucking kill you, actually, ive decided.. im your wife!” you yelled, and he flinched. “you deserve this, john” - he spoke to himself in his mind. 

“my darling girl, i know. i know..” he winced as you continued your rant. 

“you fucking drugged me! with what? what was it? some fucked up sedative im sure you have lying around in our apartment. oh! im sorry, our old apartment. i cant do this. where the fuck are we? im going back home.”

“cant tell you the drug. it’s something from somewhere, we can call it that. we’re in sweden, i have a safe house being set up but we need to stay in a hotel tonight.”

“oh! fantastic, we’re in fucking sweden and my husband practically used a date rape drug to knock me out.”

“honey please dont ever use the word ‘rape’ and ‘my husband’ in a sentence together, ever again. clear?” he said sternly looking at you.

you sighed softly. “im sorry- i didnt it mean it like that. but im still fucking seething with you.” he turned the car back on, turning back onto the road. 

“which is entirely fair. you can slap me when we get to the hotel, alright baby? i just need to get you somewhere while we wait for the safehouse.” he said softly. 

you grumbled something out but relented. “im not going to slap you, you’d somehow get off on that.” you blurted out and he chuffed under his breath, knowing that would be true. 

you arrived in a hotel, a fancy one at that, he spoke to the front desk. luggage at his side. oh great, he speaks swedish too. you glared at him as he spoke. he walked you to the elevator. 

“honey?” you said with a deceiving smile and anger in your voice. 

“yes dearest?” he responded with equal sarcasm.

“next time i comment on the fact you’re bilingual, maybe correct me and say trilingual.” 

“polygot actually, 8 languages.” 

you turned your head to look up at him, and yell. but the elevator doors dinged and opened, revealing a sweet looking couple. you bit your tongue and he stepped aside letting the couple out. he had the nerve to strike up a conversation with them as you looked at the ground, no idea what was being said. 

“åh vilket underbart par!” the woman cooed softly, nudging her husband who agreed smiling gently. 

“ah tack så mycket, det här är min underbara fru. kul att träffa er båda, men vi måste komma till vårt rum. önskar dig lycka till!” john spoke and your eyes widened softly at the accuracy of the accent, he dragged you into the elevator. 

“i love you. i love you so much. please realise im doing this for you. to protect you.” he said, holding your cheeks softly in his palms as the elevator rode up to your floor. 

“i love you too. im just confused, and scared.. i wouldnt have gotten on a plane otherwise, im still peeved you did that though.” he nodded, kissing your forehead.

“i know baby, how about i run you a bath and we can order some champagne and talk? would that be alright?” you nodded softly as he walked you to your hotel room. it was lovely, luxurious even. he ran the bath and you stripped, slipping in and sighing in bliss, closing your eyes. 

you heard him speak on the hotel phone, probably ordering champagne, and he checked the hotel room, paranoid. the champagne never came, and so he sighed, poking his head into the bathroom, looking at you in absolute awe. you turned your head looking towards him.

“im just going to run down to see what’s taking so long, okay baby? i will be right back, two minutes at most.” you nodded softly. 

“that’s okay. ill be here… and john?”

“hm?”

“i love you.” he smiled walking over to kiss you delicately, looking into your eyes.

“i love you too. two minutes, time me.” he murmured before disappearing. 

two minutes later, almost exactly - if you had bothered to time it, you heard the door click. you smiled to yourself, closing your eyes softly as you relaxed in the bath, bubbles covering you. you heard the footsteps approach the door. 

“john? dont bother with the glasses, just come here.” you called out, assuming he was going into the hotel room to collect the glasses. he never responded. he always responded to you. 

“john?” you called out, voice wavering. it’s not like you could call him. but surely it was him. you sighed, stepping out, wrapping a towel around your body. soap suds rolling down your chest as you padded out into the bedroom part of the hotel room. he was nowhere to be seen. 

“john? baby?” you mumbled softly. it all happened so fast.

you had no time to react as a hand clamped over your mouth from behind. another grabbing your waist, hand around your towel. your short towel. you kicked, screaming, muffled behind the hand. trying to kick out the feet from behind you. you halted, inhaling shakily when you felt something cold press to the side of your head. this wasn't john. 

likes, reblogs and comments are so so so incredibly appreciated.

i love you!

[szkunas]

FLAGS EVERYWHERE. ୨ৎ are jjk women green, beige or red flags?ㅤheadcanons

featuring ♰ㅤmultiple. (mai, maki, nobara, shoko, yuki, yorozu) + honorable non-binary, uraume.

warning(s)! ♰ㅤNO PRONOUNS AND ANATOMY FOR READER. SFW (?) — toxic behavior ! cheating ! breaking-up mentions ! very much made based on personal opinions + i tried to write the characters off as canon as possible, but my favoritism will probably show ! violence + blood + death (mentions) ! cannibalism (mentions) ! angst (some) ! some are implied yandere ! not really all dark content but i will tag as so just to be sure, some of them are dc vibes ! yorozu is a massive warning ! sukuna mentions ! mentions of marriage + forced arrange marriage !

୨୧ MAI ZENIN — green / beige flag.

surprisingly good, once you get past the barriers.

despite what it initially seems like Mai is a heartless bully, she is not as cruel as people think.

BIGGEST RED FLAG? emotional barriers and selfishness.

initially, it is very difficult to get past mai's irritable temperament. she is provocative, and has a certain mischievous aspect to most things. at first glance, she's a bad girl like some character from a 2000s movie. still, once you get past that rough layer and get to what's underneath, you'll see that her heart is soft and very pure. she wasn't open to love, but your arrival could definitely change the course of her thoughts on the matter.

the selfishness part is not as prominent. mai alternates between being very selfish and being very selfless. it's a strange combination, but the way she grew up and was raised in the zenin house made her very defensive and not very open. it's a problem, but not incorrigible.

DO YOU NEED TO BE A SORCERER?

the answer is: no, but it is preferable that you are. most life has always been and will be about sorcery. this is the world she was born into, and she will die in it, whether she wants to or not. with so little energy that she could only create one bullet a day, she became more accustomed to the prospect that the people around her would, by nature, be better and stronger. it's a rotten feeling, and it fills her with envy in an almost insurmountable way. the sensation is worse when it comes to her sister. that would extend to you, and regardless of your strength, she thinks it would be more acceptable for you to be a sorcerer.

still, if you're not a sorcerer, there is a certain beauty to it. for her, it was unacceptable, but a lot of you made her see the actions and prohibitions of her clan with different eyes. not that she likes the place very much, but we are a product of the environment in which we were raised, and let's face it. no one finds the zenin house pleasant. if you are not a sorcerer, she relaxes even more in the face of the normality that surrounds your relationship. simply, no more worrying about debates and curses, about big clans and politics. just cute dates where she buys you a coffee and says it was because she had money left over (she likes to buy you things.)

WOULD SHE CHEAT ON YOU?

absolutely not. mai grew up watching the men in her family commit adultery in the rooms of the house and the women filling themselves with drink and medicine to endure it all. she doesn't intend to become that woman or allow that to be the kind of person you become, either. your relationship faces many problems, but after the initial stages, she becomes motivated to become a better person, for you. to give you what you deserve, the best version of herself.

OTHER OBSERVATIONS.

something very difficult to ignore in your relationship is the zenin clan itself. like every young woman, mai faces a dangerous fate ahead of her. after maki left the clan behind, this ended up reinforcing expectations of her, which include marrying and having many children with a sorcerer that the zenin will choose. it is the fate that every young woman in a clan must be content with, because demanding humanity in jujutsu and clan zenin as a woman is unthinkable. still, she didn't think much about it. it's the kind of thing you avoid thinking about because it gets on your nerves.

however, after you started dating and when she realized that she really loved you, it started giving her nightmares. her fear of what the clan would do to you if they found out is surreal. she knows you could never be together under normal circumstances, they wouldn't allow it. her collar seems tighter every day, and in desperation, sometimes she hides money under her mattress, thinking that maybe one day, she can run away with you. maybe one day, when fate is knocking at her door, mai will be forced to run away with you.

she didn't fight for her freedom on her own, not after maki left. the spiteful thought of her sister leaving her behind rather than staying at rock bottom with her still haunts her. sometimes she holds your hand a little tight while she watches you sleep. she wonders, if she asked, would you be at rock bottom with her, instead of wanting something better? it is selfish of her to think that.

maki is also a delicate situation. all of mai's family has some issues with her, but her twin sister is a special case. even though she loves maki, she feels constant envy and has a huge problem comparing herself to her. it gets worse if you know maki personally. sometimes mai gets so paranoid that she thinks you would choose maki over her. just the idea hurts.

୨୧ MAKI ZENIN — green flag.

isolating, barely communicating, but she tries her best and we love her for it.

everyone's favorite restricted (sorry, toji) is actually a better girlfriend than people think.

BIGGEST RED FLAG? emotional barriers and distancing.

very similar to her sister, maki is very used to not letting people into her heart. she is seen as harsh, strong and very scary, even by those closest to her (panda, toge, yuta, etc). but just like the folks in jujutsu high, she might warm up to you and allow a glance through her defenses.

the hardest thing to deal with in maki is not her temper — but her habits. she's used to doing things for herself, whether it's wielding a weapon or finishing dinner because someone burned it down. her habits are very strong and as difficult to break as her emotional walls, which are there so she can avoid getting attached to you and getting hurt because of it. but, again, nothing incorrigible. be patient, and she'll open up.

DO YOU NEED TO BE A SORCERER?

in my opinion, not really. it would be okay if you were one — being more able to defend yourself and all —, but it honestly does not matter to maki. not one bit.

out of all people, she couldn't care less about someone's cursed energy or technique, because she understands strength comes from various sources. she is a varied source. she would find it okay if you were or weren't, too.

WOULD SHE CHEAT ON YOU?

never, ever. sincerely, maki is the type of guardian friend that keeps this behavior as a girlfriend. if someone is flirting with her, she normally gets upset enough — but while in a relationship with you? oh, it makes her nearly able to commit a murder or two. like, c'mon. can't they see the ring? her arm wrapped around your waist? the way she keeps trying to pull you closer, to have you hanging over her as near as possible?

are they blind?

OTHER OBSERVATIONS.

honestly, almost everything with maki is extremely indirect or just hinted towards. if you notice the little signs, you can easily tell how much she cares, even before your relationship officially begins. how much she insists you take coats when it's cold, or the way she's started to conveniently take sweets and small snacks that you like with her. little things like that.

she is more vulnerable than she would like to admit. especially after shibuya where she was burned alive and had to wonder if you were still out there, alive. the scars not only marked her body, but her mind as well. it has changed in many ways since the beginning of the year. you understanding that and understanding her, supporting her, is just one of the reasons why she loves you.

she's extremely perceptive, so don't even think she won't notice something. even when she's not watching you like a hawk, maki can notice small things easily. did you change your hair? she'll be the first to notice. are you not eating much and seem a little sick? she will ask what is wrong. have you bought any new clothes, even if they look like ones you already have? she says it will look great with one of her coats.

maki is a little overprotective, but only at first. she also understands if you need space or time to yourself. she is possessive, but not in the crazy way.

her most striking trait in the relationship is how unafraid she is to say that you are together. she's very proud — of you, and of being with you. and maki isn't shy about telling anyone that, or kicking the ass of anyone who doubts or makes you doubt yourself. yeah, she's your girlfriend. everyone unhappy with it can go to hell.

୨୧ NOBARA KUGISAKI — green flag.

a girlfriend who is certainly very passionate and happy, nobara is a chaotic one to deal with. but once you're settled with that? oh, you're on.

BIGGEST RED FLAG? she is extremely passionate. about everything.

not that much of a red flag, honestly, but it can be a handful. if you are a more calm and centered person, you may have problems with this nature initially. nobara is very instinctive, sincere and not afraid to say what she thinks. she loves fashion, she loves fighting, she loves feeling beautiful — sometimes the amount of things she does, and the most dangerous ones, become overwhelming.

of course, her passion also extends to you. her loved one, her amazing (she makes a point of mentioning) significant other. it is not a bad thing on it’s own, but sometimes nobara can be very adamant about you staying away from dangerous matters (most part of her life), or trying to scare someone away.

despite that, she truly loves you, and nobara is proud of saying it out loud. and poor is the soul of megumi fushiguro, paying for his lost best (that itadori would get a girlfriend before her) when she introduces you.

DO YOU NEED TO BE A SORCERER?

honestly, no, but it's preferable that you are. nobara grew up in a small town that she came to hate, taught by her grandmother how to use jujutsu before entering jujutsu high. it's a super inspiring, motivating background, depending on the angle you look at it, but difficult to explain to the person you're flirting with if they know nothing about jujutsu.

nothing that matters that much, but she feels she would be more understood if you were a sorcerer — bonus points if you're not from a clan or anything. just raised from difficulties and mundane in everything else, like her.

WOULD SHE CHEAT ON YOU?

no. that's, simply it. nope. nuh uh. no way in hell. not in a million years.

if any idiot is flirting with her insistently, she'll be tempted to hit them with a hammer. cheaters and idiots get a bonk!

you and her only get love, though.

OTHER OBSERVATIONS.

nobara is a girl of steel, but she loves to be feminine and sometimes even fragile (not that those two things are related). she valuates anything that seems truthful and supportive to her — being it carrying her bags for her or hold her while she watches a movie, or killing bugs for her. simple things build even more trust and affection for you.

she's clingy, even though she won't admit it. total little spoon, who loves being carried and treated as a princess. in exchange, she'll give you the royal treatment as well. the type that yells yes! im their girlfriend! suck on that! proudly after you achieve something.

are you permanently invited to movie nights, shopping trips and her small walks around the town. and she is more patient with you, in case you are taking her things and end up dropping them.

she gives advice, speaking openly and honestly what she thinks, and doesn't hide opinions, but she's a great listener, as well. nobara is always ready to be at your side in whichever you might need — offering her shoulder for you to cry on or asking if she should get her hammer.

୨୧ SHOKO IERI — green flag.

probably really biased, but i think shoko is the best option on the list. you’ll see why.

the exhausted, smoking doctor we all love. why not find true happiness while listening to I don’t smoke and holding a pretty woman’s hand, right?

BIGGEST RED FLAG? she is hot and cold. distant and clingy.

being the third person in a trio can be quite distressing. not that shoko doesn’t value the friendship she has with satoru, far from it, but sometimes she feels very left out. as if the world was only about satoru gojo and suguru geto and their damn moral problems. it’s irritating, to think that gojo isolates himself from her when she’s right there, always has been.

for this reason, and because she doesn’t have many other friends, and none in the non-jujutsu sphere, shoko alternates between two defense mechanisms against abandonment. it’s one of the things she most despises and scares, and she can either acquire a calm and distant nature or one that’s clingier and even more affectionate than normal, afraid of you leaving her. surprisingly, you can handle this easily — just be honest about what you feel, how you do not like this behavior. she will listen the wake-up call.

once that is handled, and you express your feelings about it, she starts therapy to aid her keep the relationship. you’re something she refuses to lose.

DO YOU NEED TO BE A SORCERER?

no, not really. a small part of hers might prefer you aren’t. shoko lived as a doctor and a valuable healer in the jujutsu world. devoid of technique, but skilled with reverse energy, she is essential to the jujutsu school. her friends and technically, family, are all sorcerers, or those who aren’t, come into contact with jujutsu in some way (usually unpleasant, like yuta okkotsu and itadori yuji).

the idea of having a non-sorcerer partner, but one who is unaffected by these horrors and the knowledge that there is something more than normality, is an attractive idea. normality and simplicity would be good for her, but frankly it doesn’t matter. if you were not a sorcerer, she wouldn’t introduce any of the jujutsu to you initially, afraid of you getting hurt. however, opinions from friends (thanks, nanami) can change her mind — and while it’s complicated to resolve a fight over your girlfriend lying for so long, it would be even worse if she lived a lie forever.

WOULD SHE CHEAT ON YOU?

not. a. single. chance. simple and easy.

OTHER OBSERVATIONS.

shoko is a very skilled healer, and there are a lot of people depending on her every day. it weighs on her shoulders like an anchor sometimes. this weight can lead her to isolate and withdraw, and experience anxiety or depression. many sorcerers or anyone involved in jujutsu go through difficult periods constantly. you need to know when your girlfriend’s distance means “i want space” or if she’s desperate to be saved. it can be quite exhausting.

shoko has many self-destructive tendencies. smoking itself is a great example. even though she heals her lungs with reverse cursed energy she will hurt them even more later. she is more delicate than she looks.

during much of her life, shoko adopted the role of caregiver. a doctor, nurse, coroner and multiple other things, she is everyone’s supportive friend, even if no one comes to her rescue when she needs help. being with you makes her show this nature often, initially hiding it when she’s feeling bad so as not to worry you. however, by understanding how serious she is about being with you, she allows herself to lean on you and encourages you to lean on her. together, united, so that one does not overload the other.

she has problems, like everyone else, but most of them disappear after an honest conversation or when she herself realizes her own flaws and encourages herself to become better.

୨୧ URAUME — beige / red flag.

much like a man being invited to ladies night, uraume is not a woman. but i will write them here for convenience.

one of the greatest traits of uraume that everyone knows is that they are very loyal. unfortunately, this only applies if your name is sukuna ryomen. otherwise? ehhhh...

BIGGEST RED FLAG? devoted to sukuna.

let’s face it, no one who is so loyal to a cannibal can be considered trustworthy. sukuna is a cruel and unscrupulous man, and uraume is undeniably his right-hand. they are the cause of pain and suffering that spread through decades. they accept the kind of behavior sukuna exposes, and they might even encourage it, at some rate. this is not something to wish for in a relationship.

besides, you will always be the number two in uraume’s life. they swore loyalty to sukuna, they will follow through it until death.

DO YOU NEED TO BE A SORCERER?

not really. it is difficult portraying uraume with anyone in general — much less a non-sorcerer. but i honestly think that uraume is their own person, and even though they are someone who is reserved, they have their own taste in personality above power or strength. it's one of the reasons they admire sukuna, of course, but surprisingly, i can see them not dating a sorcerer.

although, if you are not a sorcerer, prepare for one hell of a ride. sukuna will torture you for fun, and uraume will allow it.

WOULD THEY CHEAT ON YOU?

no, i think. but because a very specific thought hits me. for example, i can’t see sukuna and uraume having anything sexual or romantic in any shape or way. with him so uninterested in all of that, there’s not really any options for them to cheat you on with. but, i suppose it can be said they would, if uraume could get with sukuna.

you can make your own judgment about this one, though.

OTHER OBSERVATIONS.

being with uraume means making sacrifices and accepting that, yes, you are important, but you will never come first. as already mentioned, you are permanently stuck in the “second priority of uraume” position, because sukuna exists. and even if he hadn’t been resurrected yet. from the moment uraume woke up in a new body, their goal has always been clear: to bring their master back and serve him in the best way possible.

it’s possible that sukuna will use you to mess with uraume. this could mean several things. clearly the king of curses has a respect for his most devoted servant, but that doesn’t stop him from getting bored. uraume’s loyalty was never put to the test before you showed up, and it will be one day. in case uraume deserves some punishment, when sukuna tortures you and uses reverse energy. heal to hurt, only to start all over again. uraume watches, impassive and cold as the ice they produce, and will confess privately that it was one of the worst experiences of his life. but they will never lift a hand against their master. uraume will fight anyone to protect you, except if the attacker is sukuna.

be prepared to stand alongside the greatest accomplice to ever walk the earth. uraume knows the consequences and the harm that sukuna brings, but they don’t care, they won’t stop him. beyond morality, uraume’s loyalty cannot be broken, not even by you. in a way, you will also become an accomplice.

୨୧ YUKI TSUKUMO — green / beige flag.

BIGGEST RED FLAG? distant (physicially).

yuki has a reputation that precedes her in the jujutsu world: the special-grade sorceress who refuses all missions, takes payment anyway, and uses the money to travel. you constantly receive souvenirs, souvenirs, and gifts from the other side of the world, but nothing will compensate for your girlfriend’s affection in the form of a warm hug.

she constantly tries to bring you with her, but it can all be very overwhelming to you. new cultures, languages you do not speak, people side eyeing you. besides, you can’t, because of work and other matters. the idea of being financially dependent on yuki is very scary. since without her, you would easily be on the other side of the world, without money. obviously, she would never leave you in that situation, but it’s an idea that runs through anyone’s head.

DO YOU NEED TO BE A SORCERER?

honestly, i am tempted to say yes, because having a non-sorcerer partner goes against much of what she shows herself to be interested in, but yuki is a very kind and determined person who is not afraid to speak her mind and go after what she wants. she will tell you what type of guy he is as easily as she would flirt with you if she were interested.

despite that, i think it does not matter to her, honestly.

WOULD SHE CHEAT ON YOU?

that's a very easy assumption to make, seeing as you haven't seen yuki for endless months and both you and she need relief (emotional and sexual) eventually. however, contrary to what many believe, no. she wouldn't cheat.

OTHER OBSERVATIONS.

no matter how passionate and well-intentioned yuki is, she will rarely be able to truly be present. video calls and daily calls don’t really satisfy any of you ── that’s when they’re possible, thanks to the time difference. it’s easy to understand how a relationship like this can become unbearable and even unsustainable after a while.

yuki is very busy, so even when she is back from her long and time-consuming trips, she won’t have one hundred percent of her time to dedicate to you. meetings, research, more scolding from society’s superiors. little time for motorcycle rides and cuddles, if you ask her.

looking at the big picture, yuki would be a great girlfriend if she just made a little more time to spend with you and try new things together ── instead of trying things out and then telling you everything in a video call at four o’clock in the morning.

୨୧ YOROZU — red flag.

BIGGEST RED FLAG? she is yorozu. just kidding. devoted to sukuna.

yorozu is a complicated case. she has few redeeming qualities, but you can understand that she is an attractive, intelligent and, in a way, powerful woman. knowing chemistry and physics before those concepts were properly delved into, she discovered new things to her power. but she is simply unbearable in one aspect: her determination in relation to sukuna ryomen.

this determination makes yorozu’s life goal become to kill and marry sukuna. it’s even impressive that she found a partner, and she makes that very clear. does the opportunity arise? well, you’re not important anymore.

DO YOU NEED TO BE A SORCERER?

i think so, but that's a more personal view. yorozu seems more attracted to power than to the sukuna's personality aspect itself, which demonstrates that what attracts her to a person is raw and pure power. considering the time she came from and her traditional ways, this would be, for her, related to cursed energy. so yes.

WOULD SHE CHEAT ON YOU?

if you consider the whole thing with sukuna. and that she would cheat on you with sukuna. even if there is no one else for her besides the two of you, between you and him, she wouldn't choose you.

OTHER OBSERVATIONS.

frankly, yorozu’s part is very short because she appears in about six chapters, causes chaos, fights and dies. also, i think her character has a lot of potential and little use, but trying anyway. yorozu is extremely determined to have what she wants, a woman who wouldn’t give up for anything in the world. if on the one hand, this is positive ── she doesn’t give up on her relationship ── it is also negative. she won’t give up her search for the king of curses’ heart, even if she has to rip it from his chest.

it’s exhausting knowing that, in some ways, you’re a replacement for what yorozu can’t truly have. it’s hard to say whether pure and true love really matters to her, as yorozu has her own specific and disturbed views on love. it is likely that she will not be loving in the relationship at all, and will manipulate you in order to keep you with her.

yorozu has a goal and the means to achieve it. once she gets close enough, she knows her presence will be more of a hindrance than a help. she entered the relationship with you with the mindset that one day, she would have to get rid of you. but a part of her heart warms. yorozu wants to do it herself. no henchmen, no tricks. just her and you at her end ── which must be worthy and brought only by her. with her, you’re likely to end up stabbed in the heart, while she looks into your eyes and presses her lips against hers one last time, tasting the blood. this is her goodbye to you, before she leaves for her true love.

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. I APOLOGIZE FOR ANY MISTAKES. thank you for reading! <3

[peppertoastuniverse]

pep reads: gojo satoru – long fics (pt.1)

Part 2

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ

☆ the way you love me by @peachsayshi [AO3/tumblr] [status: ongoing ◦ 29/? chapters] [smut!] [fwb!gojo] #pep's first fic she was OBSESSED with #real good good smut WITH FEELINGS

“We can stop anytime. If either one of us feels like... this ...might be too much. We stop, no questions .” “We can stop anytime,” Gojo repeated “... and nothing changes between us .” You swallowed hard at his last statement. You may not be able to read his eyes but you could hear it in his voice that he needed reassurance. “No matter what happens, we’ll still be friends...” you replied softly, “now kiss me before I change my mind.”

☆ you and me by tomodachi [AO3: ] [status: completed ◦ 5/5 chapters] [tear jerker] [eventual smut!] #pep cried #gojo just kinda loves you real hard

“Prisoners say the most comical things when their judgment comes,” you tilt your head, lifting a finger before him, “Who are you?"

--- History is written by the winners, Satoru knew this well. It was only when he lost and got sealed inside the Prison Realm he learned how to be weak and find out a long buried truth.

☆ ito by @peekamatcha [AO3] [status: ongoing ◦ 48/? chapters] [super slow burn] [shinto elements] #pep DIES with every update #the TWIST in that one chapter omg

You, a former sorcerer now working as a university lecturer, were hoping to maintain your distance with the sorcerer world for an eternity to come. However, with the reappearance of an upperclassmen from a decade ago, you are forced to go on a journey which you would rather sit out of. But somebody must save humanity from the impending apocalypse and apparently the job falls on the shoulders of you two.

It would have been alright had he not been everything you didn’t want to be reminded of. And the sacrifices to be made may be more than what had been bargained for. ☆moonlight by @septembersummer [AO3/tumblr:] [status: completed ◦ 10/10 chapters] [smut!] #pep loves this AU #pep SCREAMED

Gojo Satoru is dying. And no, it's not his fault this time.

The curse which is withering Satoru into an early grave is actually the product of his great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather, who had a couple of sons that refused to procreate. And what does a proud, powerful man do when his sons refuse to fuck, and there won't be another heir to the clan?

He curses his own bloodline, of course.

It's only natural that he forces them through some twisted form of sorcery to become uncontrollably, violently attracted to the person they're most genetically compatible with.

It's even better that the curse creates a permanent, unbreakable bond between the two unwilling lovers. That's right, it usually takes more than one fuck to make a baby-- so, why not force them to have twelve?

Satoru wished his ancestor would be resurrected from the grave, just so that he could kill him again. That is, before Satoru inevitably dies.

He's had a good run, he thinks. Now, all he has to do is make sure you don't find out that you can fuck him back to life and try to very stupidly save him from himself.

(here's a spoiler: you do).

☆ a typical family by @literalia [AO3/tumblr] [status: completed? ◦ 32/32 chapters] [non liner narrative] [dad!gojo] #pep absolutely MELTED #slice of life #pep's gojo comfort fic

"satoru. where did you get these kids?"

or

after a six month absence, satoru shows up at your door two little kids following behind. chaos ensues.

☆ and if i cant see by hollowdonut [AO3: ] [status: unknown ◦ 26/? chapters] [slowburn] [eventual smut!] [tw: ptsd] #pep loves the reader's dynamics with gojo!

They say eyes are the window to the soul, but Gojo’s eyes are almost always hidden behind a blindfold. Even when they aren’t, you can never tell what he’s thinking.

You wonder if you should’ve taken that teaching job in Kyoto instead.

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bonus!

☆ all hail the empress! by @chuluoyi [tumblr/AO3: ] [status: unknown ◦ 1/? chapters] [smut!] #pep loves this AU #but THE END THO? OMGGG you are an empress perfect in every way... until your husband suddenly casts you aside for his expecting mistress. but you won't be dethroned just like that, because the newly coronated western emperor, gojo satoru, sets his sights on you, and thus your revenge against your ex-husband begins...

[ne-videl]

𝓾𝓷𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓪𝓵 𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓰𝓮

♡

yandere Poseidon x fem reader

hide your tears and smile, little goddess.

yandere, unhealthy relationships, objectification, angst, power imbalance, depressed reader, forced marriage, poor english, sfw. first half – Poseidon's pov, then yours.

word count: ~1.5k

a/n: hii everyone!! how have you been? I have no ideas. like, absolutely. art block I guess?? anyway, have some of my old stuff. this is my least favorite yandere trope, but I love angst, so sometimes I go for it. by the way, when I first started it, I wanted to write a super idolized fluff but... well, we have what we have, or "why you don't want to marry Poseidon". hehe big booba man hehehe

the endless ocean is noisy outside the huge windows.

today, the sea sings a memorial service for you.

two people at the altar – the god and his bride.

Poseidon wants to smile rapaciously at her shaking figure.

she's afraid, poor thing. who wouldn't be afraid? he is, after all, the god of all gods, known for his cruel and merciless temper, the lord of the seas.

and she will become his lady very soon.

[name].

her name spreads like ambrosia across his lips.

even her name is so ordinary, so human, as, indeed, everything else about his charming wife.

she was a priestess in Poseidon's temple: in his own, so there's nothing wrong in taking what was already his. he noticed her by accident.

[name] was sitting hunched over, touching some bright flowers with her bruised palms. he liked to visit this temple sometimes: it was quiet and peaceful in the atrium, noisy humans did not flicker before his eyes.

little human girl did not even flinch when he silently stood next to her, only continued to look with big and very sad eyes at the colorful flower bed.

at their second meeting, she greeted him.

at the third time, she dared to start an idle conversation.

the fourth, and she talked about life in the temple.

at the fifth time she asked why he was coming here.

Poseidon always stood silently next to her, looming over her like a suffocating shadow. he was amused by her chattering, and, unexpectedly for himself, found her presence soothing, pleasant, unlike other humans, the mere sight of whom made the eye of the deity twitch.

life was bad for her in the temple.

[name] told him, she was sent to this place when she was still a girl, and she spent her whole life by the cold blue sea.

new head of the temple did not like her, saying that there was nothing for women to do here. that she should get married, but who needs her?

Poseidon saw the marks of beatings on her girlish body.

so he took her with him. she served in temple made in his name, spent her short life at his domain – it is quite natural that she will become his wife.

of course, it is unheard of that god marries a human – but does he really need someone's approval?

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

Hades advised to propose to her. it's the way humans do it.

Poseidon did not ask for her consent, for him it was just a formality: of course she would say yes, he was sure.

he will dress her in the finest silks, she will own the most beautiful jewels on all Olympus, the sea itself would be at her feet – how could a human girl want more?

smile spreads across his face as he sees her eyes widen, as she begins to shake – no doubt, from embarrassment – and his palm rests protectively on top of her head.

of course she agreed, how could it be any other way?

his fiancee is incredibly sweet. but weak and naive at the same time, like the rest of the human race. but he will protect her, give her a better life.

she must be very grateful to him.

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

Poseidon remembers their wedding well, how [name] looked in amazement at the beauty of Atlantis, at the greatness of his seas.

in white robes, with downcast eyes, she swore an oath binding her life forever to a cruel deity, accompanied by singing of nymphs and the sound of the ocean.

she was now a goddess herself, whether she wanted to or not. of course, she wanted to, it couldn't be any other way. she loves him.

and, as the new lady of the seas, she will spend her now eternal life by his side. Poseidon will make sure of this no matter what.

she fearfully puts her small palm into his, while he, her husband, leads her through the corridors of the palace. [name] is silent. probably still embarrassed.

from now on, she will be the most beautiful ornament of his possessions, the shining pearl of Atlantis – his precious property, belonging only to him. and the sparkling ring on her tiny finger was proof.

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

"wife." – [name] immediately turns around, smiles, comes closer.

his hand rests on her waist, his grip firm, possessively strong. she doesn't notice.

or pretends not to notice.

over time, [name] got used to him, cheered up, blossomed. it couldn't have been any other way, right?

songs, dances appeared, bright flowers and ringing laughter in the cold and empty corridors.

she became friends with his brothers, was able to conquer the proud Aphrodite, whom she now called her friend with visible joy.

Poseidon is pleased to consider himself a good husband.

he loves to see his wife smiling, laughing.

even if it's not just with him. it's better to be patient for a while, he thinks, than to lose her cheerful chatting for the whole evening.

though, she's cute even when she's angry.

Poseidon was gentle with her. allowed her much, much more than others, even spoiled her. [name] was his wife, after all, so he had to make sure she looked good enough.

he's a good husband.

[name] never contradicted him, never raised her adorable voice at him, never was not too selfish.

although deep down, he would like her to become more spoiled. so that, like him, she would not tolerate anyone's presence, except, of course, her husband.

to think of it, why would she need anyone besides him? she can be quite happy within the walls of the palace.

Poseidon dismissed these thoughts from himself – for some reason, his wife liked to be in society, even if without him.

well, he's willing to put up with her quirks as long as she knows who should come first for her.

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

the outfit given by Aphrodite was very becoming to his spouse. Poseidon loved to see her beautiful.

in luxurious clothes, undoubtedly worthy of the wife of a sea god, or in the warm candlelight in the night darkness of their shared bedroom, happy or shedding tears, [name] was equally beautiful.

the precious treasure of Atlantis.

he was never moved by her tears – even if she was crying, of course she loved him anyway. [name] is happy. so why make a big deal about it?

none of the pathetic mortals could take care of her like he did. none of them would love her the way he does.

"you are my wife. you're not going anywhere."

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

you didn't tell anyone about your sorrow: didn't share it with anyone – neither with Aphrodite, nor with the nymphs and mermaids, your husband's brothers remained in the dark too.

a little human girl shedding tears by the huge waves.

an unhappy goddess, forever imprisoned in an cold palace, surrounded by hypocritical deities, in the iron grip of an unloved husband, eaten alive by sadness and suffocating hopelessness of her position.

none of them saw you as an equal: you were only a curious little thing, a way to dispel eternal divine boredom, and the Olympians, of course, did not bother to hide this fact.

you didn't know what your husband found in you, and you didn't want to. sometimes you wished that back then, many, many years ago, he would have left you in that temple, or that you would run from the garden in terror, or anything. anything.

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

you knew your place well.

by his side, always, no matter what. from the very day when you stood at the altar and did not dare to raise your eyes to your fiance, you were no longer anything human.

from that moment, you became an ornament, a property, a beautiful doll. nothing more.

Poseidon wanted to see you happy – and you smiled, laughed, you did everything that you thought he would like.

are you satisfied? please tell me you're happy. I'm scared.

scared.

your husband allowed you the freedom he thought his property could have, and you greedily soaked up every drop of it.

you're lucky, you told yourself, you're very, very lucky. It could have been worse. any other girl would give her soul to be in your place, – repeated, looking at your own reflection in the cold glitter of jewelry.

you must be like it yourself. a thing. a thing, of course, must have an owner, and a thing cannot be sad.

Poseidon's cold hand rests on your waist, pulls you into his arms, and you do not allow yourself to resist: you exhale into his neck, placing your small palms on his broad back.

your spouse is purring contentedly.

he's happy. you can relax a little.

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

sea nymphs comb your hair, weave pearls into thin braids, fold strands into an intricate hairstyle.

"what's bothering you, madam?" – the lady of the seas does not bother to answer, your dead calm gaze wanders over the high ceilings, walls and huge windows of your chambers.

a common topic of idle conversation among the Olympians was Poseidon's boundless adoration for his charming wife. cruel god who fell in love with a mere mortal – what a beautiful story.

even the ocean itself seemed to dote on you. whenever the warm waves caressed your feet on the coast, your dried-up insides were filled with melancholy. your body was here, in Atlantis, which became a prison for you, and your soul, which remained to pain in your chest human, floated far away. your tired mind wandered, and you are a little girl again, and once again the bright sun warms your childishly plump cheeks, and in your hands are colorful flowers, and the kind grandpa from the temple strokes your head.

Poseidon will be coming for you soon – as always.

as always, you will talk about something, laugh, sitting on his lap in the throne room. or in one of the living rooms, or in the bedroom – you were not allowed to leave him without permission.

you flinched when you felt his strong hand on your shoulder.

Poseidon smirked.

his wife is not going anywhere. she will stay with him.

forever.

not the best one of my works but uh well I felt like posting something

maaybe will be deleted since it doesn't look as good as I thought it would be in english

btw thinking about writing tartaglia fic soo the next one is probably gonna be genshin man again

thanks for reading!!

[snailpebbles]

a day to live

Natalie Scatorccio x fem! reader

summary: Natalie just lost you, her girlfriend, and has to cope somehow! Looney toons type escape from you.

tags: angst then angst then hurt/comfort, some fluff, angst, ow I'm sorry, fucked up sisters, nat loves you sm, conversion camp mentions, religious issues

a/n: read pt.1 first - a night to remember

wc: 2.5k

꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧

Nat is pissed. Well, at first she was left in that gravel crying her heart out before getting up to chase the car down, but hey...details. Now it's been a month at this fuckass school with these fuckass people in this fuckass town and her girlfriend, the love of her life, is still gone. Shipped off to some damnable, frankly unchristian, camp that believes love in any capacity is false.

Total bullshit.

What's even more bullshit is that your parents act like you never existed! Smiles all around, parties and cookouts, and attending church like they didn't just damn their own kin. So yes, she is pissed and yes, she is crying in the locker room.

"Nat..?" Jackie's apprehensive voice reaches her muted ears and a light touch on her shoulder draws her out. She means well, Nat knows this, but the only touch she wants is yours. That's why she jerks back like she's been shot. Jackie nods acceptingly and creates some space, silently shooing the other worried girls out.

"Practice is starting, okay? You know you can just stay in here if you can't-" Nat cuts her off, inhaling sharply with a forced grin.

"I'm fine Jackie." She mutters shoving past her and regretting it after seeing the frown on her captains face. There's no time for apologies though, not when her anger is mounting and the only out she sees is to play rough. That's probably why Coach Ben sits her out after one play. Now she's pissed and antsy.

A car rolls up, one that sends bolts down her back and blood rushing to her head. The same car that you were shoved into; that took you away from her. Laura Lee steps out, already stammering an apology for being late as her parents drive off without so much as a glance at Nat.

Time becomes a blur and her ears ring, her sight and memory dipping out until suddenly she's looming over a crying Laura Lee. Her fist throbs where it's tightly balled and Laura Lee's bloody nose stains the turf a satisfying red - the thrumming in her ears quiet. Taissa and Shauna grab her elbows but all she can do is grin, feeling like some righteous figure - you'd be proud, she knows it. Even if its your sister she left on the floor to be comforted by Misty and Jackie.

She blinks and now she's in the counselors office, one sympathetic look going to Laura Lee and disdain to her. It's funny in her eyes.

"Natalie," Oh here we go "why did you punch Laura Lee?" Ms. Drews voice is like nails on a chalkboard. Nat's fist clenches and she glances at your sister. At least the girl has the decency to look oh so apologetic and like absolute shit. Your sisters eyes are sunken in and look red, the eyebags a deep purple and her skin pale. The pitiful sight doesn't change Nat's heart though, not when she's sure you're being put through so much worse.

"I guess I'm just jealous that she's a natural blonde." Nat drawls, slouching in the plush chair like it's her office. Her heart gives a twist when she remembers that you would've loved seeing her sit like this, claiming it's "hot shit". Ms. Drews sighs tiredly, well acquainted with Nat's bullshit.

"It's my fault Ms. Drews." Laura Lee whispers, her voice wavering and scratchy from old tears. "I was uhm, I was being mean." Nat snorts - she can't help it. Laura Lee? Mean? The world must have ended then. When she starts to laugh, she stops. No, Laura Lee was mean; you're gone because of her big fucking mouth.

The chair screeches back before Nat can think and she's storming out, ignoring the calls from Ms. Drew to return. It's all bullshit, every last bit. Tears sting her eyes are she pushes into the empty locker room to change, your picture staring back at her from within her locker. You look so pretty; the Sun highlighting every aspect of you that she loves so dearly. The tears fall and her eyeliner goes with them, leaving black streaks down her face that she decidedly ignores as she walks home.

It's an hour later when she collapses into her bed, pressing her nose into a blanket you'd left there a long time ago. It had lost it's smell a few days back but Natalie went to the store and spent all of her allowance to buy your perfume. It's like a new vice for her; smelling your perfume whenever she can until her nose burns alongside her throat. The alcohol tastes like utter shit but she drowns in it anyways, just as she believes she will for the rest of her life.

꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧

You're in deep shit. It was maybe two weeks into that fuckass camp that you decided to make a break for it, pulling some looney toons type shit to get out. Maybe those sleepless nights of praying for anyone to love you, for Him to love you, paid off. Your throat hurts from being forced to vomit and your memory blurs with honestly disgusting videos - yeah, you need to forget.

The back of some random pick up truck isn't the most comfortable but the driver is kind. She let you hitch a ride after walking for who knows how long so really you can't complain. Does it smell like farm animals? Yes. Is the smell of sheep butt kinda growing on you? No comment. The only comfort you can find is thinking of Nat. How her lips felt on yours and the way her voice carried to your ears. Tears fall - at the same time as hers, unknowingly to you - at the sickness stirring in your stomach. It was in your belief that one week wouldn't be enough to fuck you up, but alas.

None of that matters anyways because you're here; minus the two hour walk into town that awaits you. The Sun has yet to rise but the kind driver gives you a jacket to wear over whatever the fuck the dress you have on is. White cotton down to your ankles and wrists - all that conservative bullshit. It isn't fully white anymore. Some sprinting through the woods and hiding in a fucking lake will do that to someone.

꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧

Natalie is disoriented, the loud knocking at her trailer door leaving her hungover brain reeling. She stumbles her way to the front and rips the door open, prepared to curse out whoever it is.

"Nat?" It's a soft voice, an oh so tired and wounded voice. The same voice she played in her dreams and sobbed over every night. The same she'd hear "I love you" from. She sobers up so fucking fast it's almost ridiculous. One minute you're outside and the next you're inside, her shaking hands gripping your biceps so tight it might bruise.

"What the fuck- how the fuck-" The tears spill again and her voice is rough, catching and tripping over itself until her heart teeters away from stopping. "Angel." She breathes it out like a prayer and you're gone, sobbing into her neck like she does to your hair. The smell, the dirt, the ugly crying - none of it matters. Not when you're in her arms and blubbering sweet everything's. Nat cups your cheeks and wipes your tears, worried eyes checking you over for any blood or bruise. Your knuckles are busted just like hers. She kisses them and you do the same.

"I missed you." You whisper, using the sleeves of your dress to wipe her tears and eyeliner away. She laughs wetly and nods, leaning her head into your hand.

"I missed you too. Fuck, are you okay?" She asks and you nod, any cut or scrape from your mad escape fleeing your mind. All that matters is her. The smell of cigarettes, alcohol, cheap perfume, and her shampoo. You could wrap yourself up in it and die happily right now.

"Do you want a shower?" Nat then leads you into the cramped bathroom after your whispered yes, the overhead light buzzing when she flicks the switch. It's the first time you've seen yourself in awhile, having been in and out of rest stops with nothing on your mind but home. She turns the water on and undoes the buttons down the back of your dress, rough fingers so gentle on your blessed skin. It's reverent, the way she eyes you. No sign of lust but only love.

The water is hot, washing away false sins as she climbs in with you. There's bile building in your throat and she holds you hair back when you vomit into the toilet, crying apologies as she pets your now wet hair.

"Thought it wouldn't work." You sniffle and her heart breaks, fear and anger tracing up her spine. Nat knows you love her, she can feel it in your hands and the way your lips map her skin all over again. It still doesn't change the fact that you're sick and it will take time to reverse what they did. All in the name of someone who never would have allowed those places to exist.

"It's okay Angel, it's okay. You're okay, we're okay." Nat whispers, pulling you into her arms before washing you off until you're reborn. The light buzzes and the water grows cold but you don't drift away, not like she fears. Vomit is flushed again but Nat only rubs your back and comforts you, no sign of impatience.

Her bed and clothes are warm as you cuddle into one another, hair and tears wetting her pillow. She doesn't ask and you're so grateful, throat still stinging.

"I love you." You both say it at the same time and giggle, noses bumping one another with how close you are. Her arm is tight around your waist and you cradle her cheek, face feeling warm under her intense watch. She's memorizing you, drinking you in as if you're holy water in a hellish place.

You make the first move to kiss her, having to breathe through the sick feeling you get; twisting in your stomach and aching in your heart. Something whispers no but He whispers yes, and then the gap is gone.

Natalie is sure you're her salvation. Your lips are warm against hers, it's all so warm. The door is locked and outside is silent. No crunch of gravel or the squealing of tires. It's just you and her in a self-made heaven, basking in love.

Laura Lee and the rest can wait for tomorrow. Nat's mom is out on some bender and she'll keep you safe - the grip on your waist confirms it. Kisses trail across your cheek and jaw, bleached hair tickling your clean skin until you're giggling with her. Hearts sync up once more and it stays peaceful, the future not looming but glowing instead.

꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧

It's two weeks later and finally that fucking tomorrow. A lot of legal bullshit is going down but for now, you're living with your aunt who you were taught was a piece of shit - she's actually just a he. Your uncle, as you've now learned, stayed in Wisayok on the other side of town purely to loom over your parents with the threat of exposing them to the church. He knew they'd sent you off and had been fighting tooth and nail to get you into his care for a month now.

All is fine and dandy; Nat and you laze about your new, nicer, home and relearn each other. You throw up a lot less now and your uncle, Tim, pays for therapy to help really get past it all. You don't plan on ever saying what really happened in those small buildings so Nat doesn't pry, instead she kisses away the late night tears and holds your hair out of your face when it's all too much.

What isn't cool is having to go back to school. The same school your sister attends. You're a nervous wreck as you step off the bus, Nat keeping ahold of you.

"Breathe, Angel." She whispers and you listen, staying by her side throughout the morning and totally not flinching whenever a flash of blonde hair goes off in your peripherals. Luck cannot hold out forever though, and even has terrible timing.

It is entirely impossible to prove what exactly the two of you were doing behind the bleachers, but the mussed hair and marks on both of your necks may give some evidence. The giggles and little stolen kisses come to an abrupt halt at the sight of your sister. She's tearing up and your heart aches in two different directions.

"Oh fuck off Laura Lee." Natalie groans, arm going across your shoulders in what may look possessive but is actually meant to ground you. Laura Lee sniffles and gives you an extremely apologetic stare, but you aren't having it.

"I told you what would happen." You mutter, staring her down without an ounce of sympathy. She shakes her head but seems unable to even mumble an apology, the tears clogging her throat. That damn bear is in her hand and she holds it out to you, shaking hands matching your own. You can see the faint scar on her pointer finger from where you'd accidentally slammed the door on it. Her necklace was a gift from you and her cardigan was knitted to match your own, growing dusty in a closet that isn't yours anymore. The bear is knocked to the ground by your hand, newly scarred across the knuckles from a ruler Laura Lee will never meet.

"Please-" Her voice breaks and Nat laces her hand in yours, thumb rubbing across the scarred knuckles and head tilting to knock against yours. She's all around you and Laura Lee is drifting away, button eyes watching the two sisters from the gym floor.

"We're not sisters. Not anymore." Your voice breaks just like hers did, and you step away again - just like that night. Nat is there, anchoring you all the way until you're in some bathroom.

"Angel, hey-" She cradles your jaw and kisses your forehead, wiping away the faint lipstick mark. "You're good." She murmurs and you nod, blinking away tears with a slow exhale.

"I'm good. We're good." You repeat, dropping your forehead to her shoulder. "It's all good." Fingers guide your head up and your lips meet hers - warm, safe, familiar. No bile rises and your heart doesn't ache; it sings.

꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧

tag list: @theprismyyy @moonyxstars @kabekusa @ilovemuhl10

[seoulmatez]

𝒻𝓇𝓊𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓁𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓇

a trip into town with the not-so-new farmhand forces you to face some feelings you've been trying to bury.

• boothill x f!reader ﾉ 2.3k wc ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ non-canon compliant ﾉ farmhand!boothill ﾉ teasing ﾉ petnames (darlin')

previous part ♡ masterlist ♡ next part

“One more stop and we should be good to go,” Boothill informs you, closing the door behind him after joining you in the front of the truck. His presence makes the vehicle feel twice as hot and you find yourself scooting closer to the window to widen the gap between the two of you. The task proves to be a bit difficult in the two-seat cab.

Maybe you can chalk it up to the fact that you’ve gotten used to the convenience of grocery delivery services, but you’re really starting to feel like Boothill is going out of his way to make this the longest, most convoluted shopping trip simply because you’re here with him. If you knew you’d be spending such a large chunk of your day with the farmhand, you wouldn’t have so easily agreed to accompany him on the errands.

It was another request, or suggestion, rather, from your grandpa. You’ve been cooped up in the house since you arrived for your getaway and the man thought it might be a good idea for you to go into town, reacquaint yourself with the locals. You couldn’t argue—your trip is currently indefinite and you’re sure you’ll end up driving yourself crazy if you refuse to go out and are only left with the company of Boothill.

He may still be in your presence now, but having others around to buffer your interactions has made all the difference. The farmhand is a lot more tolerable when it’s not just the two of you—less teasing, easier to talk to. You’d even go as far as calling him… charming. Though, you’ll take that with you to the grave.

And, being trapped in a car with him is a different story. You silently hope that your next destination is in the same direction as home because you aren’t sure how much longer you can take being confined in such a cramped space with him. Other than his unrelenting pestering, you’re angry at yourself for stealing glances at him—the way he steers with one hand and lets the other hang out the window and how the toothpick he’s chewing looks all too natural between his lips.

You focus your eyes ahead, scolding yourself for so shamelessly enjoying the sight of him. You should be glad he doesn’t catch you looking; you’d never hear the end of it. Without turning to face him, you ask, “What’s the last stop?”

“Produce stand,” he speaks around the wooden stick in his mouth, slowing to a stop at the red.

You frown, confused. “We were just at the market, why didn’t we just pick some up there?”

“And betray Miss Alma?” The name rings a bell, you recognize it from when you would spend summers with your grandpa. He must still do business with her if Boothill is familiar, and loyal, at that. “Absolutely not. Better quality here, anyway.”

You don’t argue because you have a feeling that he’s right. And you wouldn’t mind catching up with Alma. She was always so nice when you were a kid, excitedly asking you about your time here and offering you free carrots to feed the horses back home. You’re surprised to hear she’s still running the stall after all these years.

It only takes a few more minutes to make it to the roadside stand. There are a couple of cars already parked when Boothill pulls off and you can see the owners of them picking out their desired fruits and vegetables. You don’t waste any time getting out of the truck when Boothill turns it off, the gravel of the makeshift parking lot crunching beneath your boots as you make your way over to the little table that houses the register.

Alma is seated behind it, head lifting up from the book in her hand at the sound of car doors closing. She readies to greet another customer but her eyes light up in pleasant delight when they land on you. “Look who it is!”

Her voice, though slightly changed by age, is familiar and brings an immediate smile to your face. You all but run to meet her at the table she comes to stand behind. The woman holds her arms out for a hug and you reach over the table to wrap your arms around her. It’s comforting in the same way hugging your grandpa is, like nothing can go wrong while you’re safe in their hold.

“Your grandpa told me you were in town,” she tells you, pulling away and slowly taking a seat in her chair. “I was wondering if you’d stop by.”

You don’t want to tell her that you’re mostly here because of Boothill. “How have you been, Miss Alma?”

“Good, good.” She beams and gestures toward the multiple cartons and crates of colorful produce. “We’re still going strong.”

You smile at that. You don’t find many places like this in the city and the small businesses that you do come upon back home don’t foster this type of community. It’s nice to see that her livelihood is still thriving. Alma gazes at her work proudly before her eyes zone in on something—or someone—else. “You here with Boothill?”

“Oh, yeah. He works at the farm,” you tell her, though, you’re sure she already knew as much. She’s seen much more of him in the past few years than she has of you. Not that you didn’t believe him, but he really is a regular.

“Nice young man, isn’t he?” Alma asks, looking back at you. You’re not sure if you’d go that far but you nod in agreement regardless. He’s likely the perfect gentleman to the older ladies within town. She continues, “Hardworking and handsome, too.”

“Yeah,” you mindlessly admit. The hardworking part is undeniable, you’ve seen that much yourself. He’s always up on time and takes his responsibilities seriously, never half-asses his tasks and is consistently willing to take on more work if it’s necessary. You only concede on the handsome bit because Boothill isn’t around to hear you say so. You hope Alma isn’t a gossip.

“Are you seeing him, dear?” she inquires.

“Seeing him? Like dating?” you ask for clarification. Alma only raises her eyebrows. She does mean it like that. The question makes the tips of your ears grow hot, makes your heart feel like it’s beating against your ribcage infinitely faster. You quickly wave your hands in dismissal, smiling nervously at the woman’s assumption. “Oh, no. No, no.”

Alma laughs at your denial but something hidden in the sound makes it seem as though she can see right through you. She doesn’t push the matter and while you’re grateful to leave the discussion at that, you can’t help but wonder what gave her that impression—if it’s simply an old lady’s wishful thinking or if you aren’t as good at suppressing those confusing feelings as you thought you were.

“Boothill!” The call of his name gives you a start. You almost think Alma is calling him over but when you reassess the voice—how little and high-pitched it is—you calm down. Your eyes search the small crowd for the man and you find him quickly, though he isn’t alone. There’s a little girl at his feet, one who’s hugging his legs tightly and looking up at him with stars in her eyes. 

You don’t have time to wonder about who she is before Alma explains. “That’s my granddaughter. Sweet little thing. You should go meet her, she’ll love you.”

“Sure.” You offer the woman a short wave before making your way over to Boothill and the girl. You can pick up on tidbits of their conversation as you approach—Boothill asking how much she’s missed him and the girl telling him “this much!” while opening her arms as wide as she can. He laughs and takes the opportunity to bend down and pick her up, situating her on his hip. He even takes the hat off his head to place it on hers. It’s big on her, covers her eyes and requires her to push it back so she can see.

The whole exchange is cute, not something you’d expect from Boothill. There’s a lot that you don’t know about him, you think as you watch.

The girl must feel you looking because her head turns in your direction which causes Boothill’s to follow. You smile at her and wave and when you’re finally close enough, you greet her. “Hi there.”

“Hello.” She isn’t as excited as she was when she realized Boothill was here but she’s still kind, returning your wave with one of her own. Your conversation ends before it truly begins as she turns back to Boothill. There’s curiosity swimming in her eyes and she doesn’t attempt to lower her voice when she asks him, “Is she your girlfriend?”

Your mouth falls open in surprise at the girl’s bold question. Boothill laughs heartily, whether at your reaction or the question itself, you’re not sure. You don’t know if you trust him enough to answer honestly but before you can tell her no, the man is already speaking. “Nah.”

Relief washes over you, but it’s short-lived. He meets your eye with his next words. “She’s real pretty though, ain’t she?”

He’s doing it again, putting you in a tough spot, one that urges you to run away rather than face the situation head-on. But this time, he knows that you know running away here would only cause a scene. You aren’t jumping at the chance to embarrass yourself in public so, even though you’re tempted to put as much space between you and Boothill as possible, you plant your feet to the ground and stay put.

The girl in his arms looks at you again before eagerly nodding. “Very pretty!”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” you tell her with a soft smile. You try to keep it in place when you turn to address boothill. “Are we ready to go?”

“Almost,” he answers, crouching down to return the girl to the ground. She doesn’t look thrilled at their time being cut short but Boothill, still at her level, playfully pinches her nose in hopes of cheering her up. “Look, I gotta finish shopping but we can talk some more another day. Maybe ask your mom if you can come ride the horses soon.”

“Okay!” She places the hat back on his head, gives him a goodbye hug, and waves once more at you before skipping over to her grandma—presumably to share her enthusiasm at the prospect of visiting the farm.

She reminds you of yourself around that age.

“So,” Boothill starts, rising to his full height with a half-full wicker basket in hand, “you only capable of accepting compliments when they’re not from me?”

There’s a grin stretched across his lips like he’s waiting for a thank you of his own. Perhaps it’s a little rude, a bit pretentious even, but you can’t find it in you to utter the two simple words. Maybe it’s strange and maybe it only makes sense to you, but not acknowledging the words is almost as if they never traveled through the air in the first place. Pretending like the words don’t exist is easier on you—your turbulent mind and your unsteady heart.

You change the subject. “What else do we need?”

“You are ice cold, darlin’.” Despite the statement, boothill doesn’t seem to be bothered by your indifference. He wouldn’t take it to heart if you were truly uninterested but the man is more perceptive than you give him credit for. He doesn’t miss how you can never seem to meet his eye following his heartfelt words, how you chew on your lip while you formulate an unrelated reply, and he certainly hasn’t forgotten about that stunt you pulled in the barn.

There’s something going on in that pretty head of yours and he’s determined to find out just what it is.

You pick out a few peaches and plums for yourself and a bunch of carrots for the horses while Boothill grabs the rest of the household necessities. The basket is full by the time the two of you are finished. You plan on paying for your share but Boothill insists that you wait in the truck, so, after bidding goodbye to Alma and her granddaughter, you make the short walk back to the vehicle. 

A couple of minutes pass before you hear the man putting the produce away with the rest of the items in the bed of the truck. A second later his door opens and he joins you, though, he isn’t empty-handed. There’s a bouquet of flowers in his hand that he holds out to you. “For you.”

You eye them cautiously, not daring to reach out and accept them.

“Don’t worry, they’re from Miss Alma,” he tells you, lightly shaking the colored cosmos in front of you in a gesture for you to take them. “Put ‘em in your room or something, They’ll look nice.”

With his urging, you take the bouquet. Pinks and purples with pops of white make up the arrangement and, much to your chagrin, Boothill is right—you can think of the perfect spot in your window for the blossoms.

As he starts the car and begins to back out into the road, Boothill steals a quick look at you. There’s a smile pulling at your lips, soft and natural. It’s a rare sight, but one he could get used to.

He supposes that if he wants to see it for a while longer, he shouldn’t tell you that they aren’t actually from Miss Alma, rather, a mere suggestion from the nice lady to get him in your good graces.

manon here ( ≧ᗜ≦) thanks for reading! if u enjoyed, reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[sirfrogsworth]

I do not fucking care what kind of home life Elon Musk went through. Are you aware of the millions of lives that he is actively ruining? He could be going to therapy about it but instead he is choosing to actively continue the things that he’s doing and the life he is currently living. I have a brother who went through zero trauma with absolutely adoring doting parents and he still turned out to be a child molesting incel white supremacist because that’s what he chose over and over again to dedicate his life to. Are you going to tell me to be all sad for him now that he fucked up his own life diddling kids? You want to feel bad for him? Go fuck yourself. Stop downplaying the harm that people are choosing to participate in.

I am disabled and housebound.

I will die without Social Security and Medicare.

I am aware of the stakes.

My brother had the same parents as me. Best parents anyone could hope for. Loving and supportive. They made great sacrifices to help us.

His wife was abused as a child. It caused her to be paranoid, untrusting, and she was extremely manipulative as a defense mechanism. She slowly brainwashed and corrupted my brother. She abused him. Then he abused and neglected myself and our loving parents.

It seems you were traumatized as well. And now your trauma is fueling your anger toward me. You used it to say hurtful things and you used your trauma to justify hurting me.

It's trauma all the way down.

I understand some of the anger you have toward your brother. Watching someone who won the parental lottery turn into an abuser was heartbreaking. I can't imagine how hard that must be for you. But shitty parents are not the only path to being an awful person. Indoctrination and radicalization are very prevalent forces. Especially with the Jordan Petersons and Andrew Tates of the world. Your brother most likely did not just turn into what he is. There could be trauma you are unaware of. Or he could have just been sucked in by nefarious influences that offered him something he desperately wanted and then they used that to instill bigotry.

"Clean your room and hate women."

"Do sit ups and eat healthy then man up and assert your dominance."

I don't think I can fix my brother. He's too far gone. And it sounds like yours should be in prison if he isn't already. But it was important to me that I understood how my brother got to the place where he could abuse me and my parents. It helped me process my own trauma. I am not saying you need to do the same. I'm just telling you it helped me.

I am still very angry and I still struggle with my trauma. I will probably never forgive him. I hold him fully responsible for the choices he made despite his abusive situation. I am not excusing any behavior just because I feel empathy.

Understanding how bad people become bad people helps me. I also think it helps our society identify what we need to fix in order to help prevent more Elons from manifesting. It's clear that trauma is a huge factor. Poverty, poor education, indoctrination seem like huge variables too. Access to mental healthcare seems vital.

The nature vs. nurture debate has been going on for a long time. Science seems to think they are both factors. Good parents raise bad kids. Bad parents raise good kids. That's true. But there are more factors beyond that and genetic predisposition is rare.

Elon was abused. But he also grew up in apartheid South Africa. His entire environment was based on dehumanizing Black folks. Then he went straight from there to hanging with shitty white tech bros. His bad behavior was probably praised and encouraged and his peers saw it as a good thing.

Could he have overcome his trauma and influences? I don't know. The people who have managed it usually struggle with it their entire lives. They need therapy. They need a good support system. They need to be vigilant in their decision-making. Making good choices is not always easy. And expecting everyone to have that willpower is unrealistic.

If you think I am downplaying harm, I'm going to strongly disagree. What I am hoping to do is figure out a way to prevent future harm. I want traumatized people to have the resources to safely process what happened to them so it is easier for them to make good choices. And I'd really like to prevent trauma from happening in the first place.

But I still very much want the rich and powerful who make awful choices to face consequences.

The empathy I have felt toward Elon and Trump equates to a few flashes here and there. It is minuscule compared to what I feel for my trans friends, migrants, and the people facing war and genocide.

This is a fucked up situation. Most of us have never faced this intensity of fascism so close to home. It's confusing and angering and it is hard to process.

I get why you are angry with me.

And I get why that other person felt dehumanizing was necessary.

This is all novel and expecting people to automatically know the best way to deal with it is also unrealistic. People were pretty hard on that person. But I empathize with them as well. This is fucking scary. And fighting the instinct to just view people as evil entities is hard. I struggle with it too. I have to remind myself that Elon is a very human dipshit. And perhaps those flashes of empathy help me do that.

Just know I want all of us to get through this.

[deathbxnny]

Oh yeah, raising literal childish soldiers canNOT be good for one's conscious 🥲

But, I'm glad you're eager for more of that succulent emotional hurt, though this one will be... different the previous ones. And without further adieu, let's get into it 😈

So, I've noticed how, in this series, any harm sent mother's way has always been somewhat second-handed, and psychological in nature. Physical arm has always gone to the Children of The House. So, what if for this scenario, "Mother" is the unexpected one coming to harm?

Now, I could definitely write up a scenario of "Mother" getting hurt in some drastic way, and Arle and the House Kids retaliate in grand fashion, but that would be... kinda generic, no? Rather, I'm thinking of a scenario where "Mother" is hurt by the one thing that not even The Knave herself can protect her from.

Herself.

Or more specifically, her own body. Lemme explain.

So, "Mother" is in a position that can be IMMENSELY stressful and emotionally draining, so imagine one day, it's about as normal as life in the Hearth can be, "Mother" is at work, performing or assigning chores, or maybe prepping a meal for the kids, with some their help. When suddenly, she's hit with immense chest pains, as though her rib cage is squeezing around her heart, it becomes hard to breath, hard to focus because of how dizzy she's become. That's right, Mama suffer (or very nearly suffer, that detail is up to you) a literal heart attack, give everyone in the House a good scare, if you would 🤭.

And so, after this incident "Mother" is pretty forced to "take it easy" so that she can recover (which according to some brief searches I've done, can take anywhere from a couple weeks to a few months). And, considering how "Mother" is definitely seems like she'd be something of a workaholic, someone who feels she needs to be present and contributing to be a "worthy" mother, suddenly being forced to take a break from all her usual daily tasks must make for an absolutely miserable experience for her.

So, in the meanwhile, Arle and the kids try to figure out some things to cheer her up and keep her mind occupied while she recovers.

X Anon

Heartfelt devotion. | Arlecchino x Fem!Wife!Reader

(Part one) (Part two) (Part three) (Part four) (Read more parts under Arlecchino's name in my Genshin Masterlist!)

A/N: Hello X Anon! Thank you so much for your request. I really enjoyed writing this. In fact, this turned out to be a bit of a personal piece due to me having had the experience of an immideate family member suffering a heart attack, so I put some of that into this fic, which is why I took a bit of a different approach to your idea. Either way, I hope it's to your liking X Anon!!<33

Content: Heart attacks, comas, angst, hurt/comfort, wife reader, mentions of Curcabena, reader becomes a bit delirious, trauma, sfw

Reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns!!

((Not proofread))

The will of the Tsaritsa never rested for anything.

The expectation for everyone to continue until nothing was left of them always weighed on your shoulders, but it did little to ever make itself noticeable in the ranks of the Fatui. Exhaustion? Sickness? Death? None of that was an excuse enough to stop. You were all motivated by the goal ahead, even if uncertainty of what exactly it was often lingered in your mind. It was inspiring to work hard even in the face of pure agony and hell. It's just how things were. That's just how you kept going for so long as an organization.

The Tsaritsa's gentle kindness was ultimately not enough of a reason when the cold, icy snow and wind of your home ripped at your skin hungrily for more of your soul to take.

And you especially, as the wife of a Harbinger and "Mother" of the House of Hearth, felt that deeply.

Day in, day out.

It was all the same in the house of Hearth that forever kept busy no matter the occasion. You were unofficially the head of it all. Your wife often had better things to do as a diplomat and therefore entrusted you with your family from day one. The title and duties of the "Mother" weighed on you painfully, just as expected from you. And whilst you've spent endless years attempting to repair the relationship between that title and the family, you still didn't feel like it was enough. The woman that raised you and the 4th Harbinger haunted you with every step, always looking over your shoulder with that sinister smile of hers. You could feel the scrutiny in her gaze, see the rage in her grin, hear her venomous words in that sweet, gentle voice of hers.

Arlecchino had moved on from her by taking on the title of "Father," but you remained cursed. You remained in the past where you belonged, fixing connections that died for a reason, yet you were stuck with due to your own doing. There were no regrets in your actions initially, but now, after seeing the carnage and death you had caused to your own children by sending them off to the grim reaper yourself, you realise that over time, your mind and body has become worn down dangerously. You were beginning to fall apart, yet tried to keep yourself together just enough to continue every day. Like everyone else here.

It was getting hard to move and sleep lately, however, something that should've unnerved you when it was first starting to become noticeable. But you waved it off like everything else, your mind focused on your daily tasks and responsibilities instead. With your wife abroad back in the motherland for a Harbinger meeting, you were stuck shouldering absolutely everything again, not that you ever protested or cared much. You saw it as a necessity, perhaps even an honor to work at her side and take care of such an important part of the Fatui. If only the glamor and patriotism didn't melt away every time you got a new death report regarding more of your children. Crucabena used to read them as though they were the latest fashion magazine, a content smile on her lips every time. You, on the other hand, shed endless tears, finding no enjoyment in what you've become.

How did she do it? How was she able to be so indifferent and cruel to you all without feeling a thing? What was the secret to absolut absolvation from the guilt and shame? Years later, you still find yourself asking these questions in the shadows of the night, your blurry reflection in the water of the cold bathtub mirroring her image. You wonder if you even were any different than her ultimately. You felt like you did the same things as her, just less cruel, less callous. Was your care and love for the children enough to make a difference?

"Of course not. You and I are one in the same, my dear child." You often hear her voice whisper to you in those painfully sleepless nights, and you wished Peruere was there to keep her quiet again.

Taking a deep breath, you let out a weak hum when you felt someone grab onto your shoulder with a gentle shake. "Mother?" Lyney asked carefully, brows furrowed in worry at your near catatonic state lately. You barely seemed alive at times, your blank stare staring through everyone, some of your tasks even neglected seemingly unbeknownst to you. Your movement was sluggish, slow, and clumsy. Everyone noticed this, and the worry was beginning to seep into all the children belonging to the house. This was nothing like you. And yet, you didn't seem to be aware of it. Or maybe you were ignoring it.

Either way, Lyney had enough of just watching you suffer, his gaze becoming stern when you gave him a tired look. "Have you... slept or eaten properly lately? You look ill." The answer was 'no' to both, of course. You haven't been able to eat much due to the sudden huge workload you were confronted with ever since their Father left for much longer than usual. Sleep was out of the question due to the odd pain and pressure in your chest whenever you laid down. This led to you often sitting in a chair instead in front of the fireplace in hopes of getting some sleep that way... but unfortunately, that didn't work either.

Gently shaking your head, you mustered the strength to give him a shaky smile in hopes of calming him. "I'm alright, dear, don't worry about me. It's just a little stress, nothing more." Ever so perceptive, you sighed when you saw his eyes narrow. He didn't believe you, and you certainly wouldn't believe yourself either. Something was terribly wrong, but you had no time to deal with it. You didn't want Lyney to take on any duties he didn't have to yet, even if he'll most likely be your wife's successor one day. The pressure was too much. You didn't want him to feel the way you did.

Behind him, you saw two agents enter the kitchen through the backdoor. Masks obscured their faces, but the aura they let in was grim and cold. One you were so awfully familiar with, including the documents in their hands. A red envelope peeked out, a silent sign of more carnage and death raised by your own hands. The pressure in your chest suddenly increased once more when the guilt crept back up your body and whispered those evil words of self-doubt into your ears again. "How... How many this time?" You breathed out, a hand pressed to your chest in pain. Lyney grabbed onto your arm in surprise as your body nearly keeled over. Your mind was ringing, and you couldn't even hear the response to your question anymore.

It was all too much. You couldn't take it anymore. In the forefront of your mind, the woman that raised you gave you a "proud" smile, like she always did. It sickened you, for it meant that you've done something that once again proved that your title was cursed.

"Mother!" Lyney yelled out in panic, quick to alert everyone around them to your collapsing form. This has never happened before. The Lady of the House never fell, never faltered. And yet, as you now laid there on the floor, hands pressed against your chest as you heaved painfully, unable to breathe, you realised that everything you've done in your life has led you to this point. This was karma. This was the pain you deserved. Your children's terrified faces faded away and swirled into your mother's dark, sinister gaze. She reached out to you, her gloved hand pressing against your sweating forehead and tearstruck eyes, but you didn't feel any comfort. You felt like another death report, her favorite and one she has been waiting for forever.

If this is how you died, then so be it. One thing about Curcabena was that she'll always find a place for you to sit next to her no matter what. This time, you supposed, it would be in hell for the hurt you've caused.

How fitting.

"... Is she going to ever wake up?" "Not for a while. The doctors said the coma is necessary for her recovery. The reanimation took too long and... it's on her now to awaken." Lynette took a deep breath, her voice coming out in hushed whispers in fear of being overheard by their stressed Father. When Arlecchino came back come after an emergency letter practically crashed into the meeting room through a panicked Fatui agent, she found herself in the middle of a near warzone. You kept the house together at all times. But with you being in a medically induced coma now, everything fell right onto Lyney's shoulders. The one thing you never wanted.

The Knave had yet to say a thing, her lips pressed into a thin line at all times, as she silently moved to reorganize everyone and ease the pressure off of the young man's shoulders. Not even three days of taking on everything, and he was done emotionally and physically. How did his mother do it every day? How was she able to function? How was she able to keep everything in mind, do every task with perfect precision? He had so much to still learn, and that's what your absence proved him so painfully.

But hope still remained. If you woke up soon, then things would get better. Then, no one needed to be so terrified anymore.

Freminet nervously leaned against the doorway to your room, red eyes casted downwards to his shoes in silent shame. Guilt was eating everyone in the house up, their hearts aching with the question, "Could we have done more?". Yet their father wasn't keen on answering anything, her reassurance coming in the form of stern orders and a call for strength from them all.

"I see... in that case, I'll stay and watch over her for the night. You should go rest, Lynette." The young man spoke, watching as his sister exhaled a deep breath and nodded reluctantly. No one was getting any sleep lately, but it's the thought that counted. Passing by him with a short hug they both needed, Freminet watched her disappear into the darkness of the corridor, the moonlight filtering in through the windows leading her way. Stepping into the room with a soft sigh, he closed the door behind him and approached your sleeping form. His father hadn't stepped into this room much due to how busy she was with the chaos that broke out with your absence... but when she was in here, he saw the way she'd just stare at you, the pain in those stern eyes melting the ice and leaving behind a worried, foreign gaze that was rare to see on her.

Pulling a chair to the edge of the bed, he leaned his head against your slowly rising and falling chest, his eyes fluttering close in hopes of catching the tears that threatened to fall again. He wanted you to wake up so badly. It hurt to see you in this broken, weakened state. You were so pale and looked hollow, like all the life had been taken out of you. It was a terrifying sight that he could only barely comprehend. You have never looked like this before. You were always so strong and domineering.

He just couldn't believe it.

Fingers running through his blonde hair calmly is what made him flinch back to reality, his body reeling backward in surprise, yet the hand kept him there firmly. "Calm down, child... don't be afraid. It's just me." It was your voice, yet it sounded raspy and defeated, a slight slur to it from the lack of using it. Freminet froze and stared into the white covers of your bed, his tears dampening the soft fabric. But you didn't seem to notice his plight at first. He wanted to stay still, in case this was a dream. He was afraid that a single sudden move would make you fall back into your coma, the irrational thought plaguing him painfully.

"Mother..." "... Is this... heaven, after all?" You whispered, mind returning to the woman that haunted you. Surely, this must be the bliss before the storm. You imagined that soon flames and the hands of the children you've sent to their death would reach out and drag you down with them. And yet, all you got was the blonde boy pulling himself back again and grabbing onto your hand. "N-No! You're... you're alive." He stuttered out in panic and confusion, wishing someone else would help him, someone else could be here with you and take care of you much better than he could.

But once you processed those words of his, your heart skipped a beat in panic. The emotions finally caught up to you, and the surge of emotions made you attempt to sit up. Letting out a small yelp, Freminet attempted to hold you down and comfort you, knowing how you were about the house and your duties. The doctors had warned about this happening, too. Yet nothing could have prepared him for the sheer strength you demonstrated despite everything that happened. Something which could prove deadly soon, if you didn't relax immideatly.

And as though the heavens had heard his prayers, the door to the room creaked open, and in came his Father, an unreadable expression on her face at the sight of your struggling form. You were alive and somehow filled with energy, which unnerved her a little deep down. This certainly was going against your bedrest orders. "Peruere, I... I'm sorry for disappointing you- I'll get back to my duties as soon as I-" Her hand rose, and your deafening silence came with it. Taking slow steps towards you, her hand came down to rest on top of her trembling son's head. A silent absolvation from his duties for tonight.

"It's okay. You have not disappointed me in the slightest. Now rest." Her voice was stern and cold like it always was, but beneath the icy surface, you could feel the warmth and worry spread through her like a wild fire. She didn't want you to feel this way, and you could tell that the state you were in hurt her deep down. You and your family were her only weaknesses. Wanting to ease her pain, you leaned back into the soft pillows, eyes not daring to look up at her anymore. Why did you feel so ashamed? Perhaps because you should have taken care of yourself better. If you had, then maybe you wouldn't feel like a burden now. As though she was reading your mind, Arlecchino gave her son a curt nod, which he immideatly took as his sign to reluctantly leave.

Silence now overtook you both until she sighed and took a seat in the chair Freminet was in earlier. The moonlight filtering in through the open window illuminated the side of her tense face, her unique eyes near glowing. It was a peaceful moment, despite the pain that now raked through your entire body and especially chest. You closed your eyes weakly in relief when you felt her clawed hand carefully caress your sweat drenched face, your throat feeling so awfully dry as you gulped.

"I... I need to get up... I need to go back to work." "Not for a while." "... For how long then." A week maybe, you hoped. It was more than enough. It was all you allowed yourself, and even that was pushing it. Your restless mind was spinning in circles at all the tasks it still had to complete, and you felt yourself at a loss for words when she shook her head with the faintest frown. She knew you too well. You were an open book she had read many times over and couldn't get enough of. "Six weeks. Perhaps even longer after, depending on your state-..." She stopped herself when she saw your body trembling, and in the dimmest moonlight, she saw tears glinting in your eyes.

"Please don't cry. This is for your own good. I was... afraid when I heard of what happened. In fact, I'm grateful that you are alive, my songbird." Oh, how delicate her words were. Her honesty was forever going to be proof of her undying love for you. The ache is your heart lessened at the gentle warmth that spread through you from her touch, her tone lulling you into the safety you've craved ever since you fluttered your eyes open again. If only the guilt left with it. "What of our children? I must've scared them terribly. Especially my poor Fremi'..." You whispered after a moment of contemplation. Arlecchino watched your sick, tired form with kind eyes that were only reserved for you.

She figured that you'd feel this way. You were always so desperate to prove yourself to absolutely everyone. Whether it was to her, your children, or even the entire organization, you wanted to show everyone that you were better than Crucabena. Yet no matter how many years past, and no matter how much you achieved, you were never able to realise the truth. You had always been better than her from day one. The moment you rebelled and refused to take her side on the day, Arlecchino defeated her was proof of it.

"Do not fret over them. The children are strong. It is you that we need to worry about now. Just take it easy and sleep." Her words were comforting, even if short and to the point. You trusted them with your life. And yet, the feeling of being a burden just creeped up your body until you fell into a restless slumber once more.

The next few weeks were filled with nothing short of attention and borderline spoiling from all children in the house and beyond. Whether young or old, they all took care of you in the same way you cared for them. Something you could only barely handle. You felt like you should be doing that for them only, never the other way around. Yet under your wife's iron gaze, you were left with no choice but to accept your fate and stay put in bed or, on the rare occasion, in the living room near the fireplace. Lyney and his siblings especially took charge of your care, and you couldn't help but feel guilty at what you've put them through. You had attempted to apologize to the young man plenty of times for simply collapsing the way you did in front of him, but he'd always wave you off with a gentle smile. One they all attempted for you to mirror again.

The magician and Lynette would perform small shows just for you, knowing how much you enjoyed their tricks. Freminet, who was practically glued to your side, would read books with you about sea animals, whilst the other children brought you tasty pastries and food. The house was kept spotless by everyone, and you didn't have to lift a singular finger. And your wife was more affectionate with you in her own special way. Gentle kisses and careful, early morning cuddles were the norm, despite her reluctance for physical touch beforehand. You could tell through her actions that the state you were in had hit you deeper than she was most likely aware, and it didn't help the small guilt that was still left in your heart. All she had left from her old life was you. The woman she considered her wife and the mother of the house.

And by the time you've mostly recovered fully, you realised that the past wasn't haunting you anymore. Crucabena's strict hold on you had faded away, even if you knew that she was simply waiting for your arrival in hell one day. But your small revenge would leave her seething, absolutely enraged for years to come first.

In fact, it felt so good to be alive now.

[hyperlexichypatia]

Even if I weren't philosophically a psychiatric abolitionist, I think I would still hate the way fiction uses psychiatry and pop psychology and "mental illness," because it's just lazy characterization.

Fiction has the potential for rich and illustrative exploration of character motivations, desires, influences, inner lives, values, decision-making, and you went with... "a brain disease made them do it"? Really?

"Why did this character try to kill his own sister?" "Because he knew that she would recognize their grandmother's coin collection and would figure out that her brother was the one who stole their uncle's inheritance." ^This is interesting! What a conniving, manipulative character! I feel rewarded for investing in this book!

"Because he's a Malignant Narcissist Sociopath." ^This is boring as fuck. I read this whole book and the explanation ends up being "ontologically bad person disorder"?

Occasionally it circles around to So Godawful It's Hilarious, like Batwoman, which centered an entire season arc around "The Bad Guy is Bad because of a magic brain science button that switched his brain to 'evil' and he needs another magic brain science button to switch his brain back to 'good.'" Literally borrowed the plot of Bart Simpson's evil Krusty doll. And I don't care about creator intent -- according to me, this is an absolutely hilarious parody of psychiatric culture. Yeah, that is the logical conclusion of "brain disease made them do it" bullshit, good job!

I started to compare it to the "devil made them do it" trope, but that's unfair -- there are a lot of interesting, nuanced demonic possession stories, and the idea of a "devil" can be used to explore the nature of morality, free will, forces beyond our control. I don't believe in literal "real" (inasmuch as "real" is a meaningful concept) demonic possession, but at least it's an interesting fictional lens. Neurobullshit isn't even interesting.

I've seen criticism lately of stories where "the characters talk as if they've been to therapy", and sure, that annoys me too. But I've also seen this criticism applied when characters just have a modicum of emotional awareness or expression, and... do you think therapy is a prerequisite for having feelings? Even in a real-life context, I've seen people say things like "She must have been through a lot of therapy to get to that point" when a person, like, stands up for themself or expresses their wishes. Do you think no one did these things before therapy was invented? Once I saw a story written in the 1940s praised for its depiction of the main character's grief at his best friend's death, because it was "remarkable for a time before post-traumatic disorders were widely understood." Do you really think no one was writing about grief and loss before modern pathologizing terminology? Do you think people were all emotionless robots until someone invented feelings in 1995?

Psychiatry is an inaccurate way of conceptualizing human emotional experience; it's an oppressive way of conceptualizing human emotional experience; and it's also an incredibly boring way of conceptualizing human emotional experience.

[itsmaferart]

Keep your hands off my woman!!

Leaving aside the most important part of the chapter, Yor must kiss her husband for world peace and the Twiyor nation to be happy.

I think it's a good message if we look deeper into how the stereotypical duality of women is portrayed to us, which I think is a message that can encompass anyone in general.

The most conventional romantic movies are usually about the man being - stereotypically - the strongest and the one who must protect the woman, who wins his sensitive heart and makes the hero bring out his sweetest feelings.

Becky being a little girl has in her heart the fantasy of a sweet romantic love just like the one in her novels and movies. But sometimes, people are not so conventional.

Both Anya and Yor, don't feel comfortable being pigeonholed into “girls waiting to be passively rescued”, because within themselves the love for the people around them is a drive to be strong, take action and save others.

I feel that one of Endo's best points, is her way of undertaking a concept of what femininity, or rather, “feminine energy”, represents. Feminine energy is a force that comes from feelings, it is fluctuating and unpredictable, sometimes like a gentle breeze and sometimes like a terrible hurricane.

Most of Endo's female characters are strong, independent women who do not need to be rescued. And they are very willing to put themselves in the face of danger to protect those they love. This is something we have seen, with characters like Yor, Sylvia, Martha, Fiona, and they have been able to save other men or take on subjects much larger and more muscular than them.

Even with girls like Anya who we know very well is a very brave girl and has been in the face of danger despite her age (maybe too much, our poor baby is only 4 to 5 years old, God), and has the strength to send a bully flying (and fall in love in the process) on the first day of school.

So …. if women are strong …. men are weak?

Absolutely not!

Everyone, regardless of gender, is strong. We know perfectly well that Twilight is someone capable of taking care of himself, is someone who is physically trained and has enormous intelligence. Even Yuri has survived so many dangers that we wonder how the hell he didn't die. Damian is a brave guy (when he doesn't see an insect lol).

The point is, even though women and men (or any gender in general) are strong. We all have our weaknesses, our sensitive sides.

You can do things on your own, but you don't have to do everything at once....

Clearly, although Yor is physically strong, she has problems with metal and verbal confrontations. Because her insecurities are so great that when they make her doubt herself and her own value, she tends to lose it and that is when Loid is there for her, not to take care of her because she is weak, but to remind her of her own value (because she doesn't seem to realize it herself) and to make her see that she is worthy of the understanding and love of others. In the same way that Yor reminds him that he too can be a little weak and take refuge in her.

Even if we feel weak and awkward, we can take initiative....

I think it is very important, the idea that Yor or anyone in general can have the “initiative” to seek on their own that “love” that you so desire.

Many times we feel that if we don't fit into the expected canon, or social archetype we are not worthy of love. (Feminine women who feel vulnerable and who depend on the guy to live are the ones who get love in the end). When nothing could be further from the truth….

Being weak and vulnerable is something totally natural and not exclusive to one gender or social role. We are all weak and strong at the core, and we need each other to complement each other and to be able to enjoy much more of our own love and the love we can give and receive from others.

Yor's desire to actively seek love (kissing her husband a lot) is not only a way to develop her bond with Loid, but a way to grow her self-esteem and challenge her insecurities. To stop seeing herself as a child in front of the world, but a woman who can get things because she wants them (and has her husband's consent, of course) (But, come on, we all know Loid needs kisses from Yor).

[a-force-dyad-in-space]

So I've been rewatching the Twilight movies and certain scenes from them recently, and there's something that caught my eye while going through the post-battle scene in Eclipse.

We have Jane and the others show up, being like "blah blah blah, you guys did pretty well against all these newborns, how curious, blah blah" before Jane notices that one of the newborns is still alive, pointing out Bree.

Now, here's where it gets interesting for me. Because Jasper immediately moves and stands next to her protectively.

And yeah, sure, he's the newborn expert, he's in charge of all-things newborn vampires, so in that sense alone it makes sense for him to associate himself with her in that way, but I think it's a lot more than that; namely something that is always mentioned in passing in the movies, but never really pointed out as something significant (unlike Edward's telepathy and Alice's precognition, which are always mentioned first in terms of desirable acquisitions of power). I of course speak of his pathokinesis.

Bree is scared. At this point she has realized that she's a vampire and what that means for her life, but she has no idea if she will come out of this stand-off alive, so naturally, she is nervous.

And thanks to his pathokinesis, of course Jasper can feel that. So I think he's standing with her, almost protectively, not just because he's in charge of her, but because he can feel her fear and tries to comfort her with his presence (she with her vampire sight can of course see that his skin is decked out in scars, so that intimidating display alone probably tells her him being on her side is a good thing).

And then we come to Jane starting to torture Bree, and me having another observation.

When she falls to the ground and is screaming in agony, we can assume that Jasper can feel that, too (not the pain itself, but the mental anguish connected to it). And look how startled he seems when he sees her fall and looks from Bree to Jane.

This moment here makes me think that this is probably the first time he's ever seen Jane's power in person. Of course he knew about her, knew what her powers are. Alice probably filled him in in detail about the events in Volterra from New Moon, and I assume Carlisle has shared many stories over the years, too.

But hearing about something and actually seeing it first-hand are two very different things.

For someone like him, who can feel what other people are feeling, from their happiest moments to their most devastating mental pain, watching Jane not only use her powers, but relish in their effect without a second thought since she can't feel the pain she's causing, must be absolutely nauseating, for lack of a better word.

Jasper's experienced several lifetimes of anguish by proximity and is trying his best to make others feel better, while Jane deals blow after blow with her powers without any consequence. It must feel wrong and unfair to him.

Anyway, back to the point.

This is the face of a man who has fully realized what the antagonistic force is capable of, and he'll be sure to be prepared, next time they cross paths.

And lastly, something sad.

He turns his back on Bree, probably because he can't deal with watching her die on top of feeling her fear and pain. Neither he nor the other Cullens can stop Bree's death from happening without declaring war on the Volturi in the process (because I'm certain that's how Jane and the others would see their push-back).

So all he can do is turn away, and maybe make an effort to lessen her pain (it doesn't look like he did, but I think it would make sense if he used his powers to make death less frightening for Bree).

Anyway, rest in peace, Bree, you would have made a wonderful addition to the Cullen family. ♥

[tempests-bards-and-birds]

While I was first playing through Paralogism this interaction struck me as being a little odd at first but I ultimately didn't pay that much attention to it, but now thinking back on it it seems to fall into a pattern that Venti uses quite often - alluding to something that he knows will make other people uncomfortable (or at the very least doubtful of his own beliefs) in order to make them come to a more concrete understanding of their own personal convictions by themselves.

He does this with Vennessa in the prologue of the manga - he tells her that if she leaves Mondstadt with him, he'll be able to guarantee freedom for her and her people, and she immediately refuses, stating that they must "fight and claim [their] own freedom" and that there is no use in begging for it; just by making that suggestion to her, Venti essentially forced her to declare her own convictions outwardly and clearly (and we can see that her doing this pleases him - he pretends to sigh in defeat when he turns away from her but then smiles when she can no longer see him), and he seems to have been able to achieve the same effect here with the Traveller, if the fact that they phrase their surprise at Venti's allusion to his own loss of faith in Albedo as a question (which implies to me, at least, that they were not expecting their own conviction in him to be questioned by Venti in the slightest) has anything to say about it - he is able to reinforce the Traveller's own beliefs by providing them with both a stark contrast that they both seem to recognise as being unusual for Venti's character and deeply contrary to their own views, regardless of whether or not they were aware of the strength of their own convictions prior to this.

We know by the end of the quest that Venti absolutely hadn't actually lost faith in Albedo due to his likely also being in on the plan from the start, with that then highlighting just how intentional this really was - and, all things considered, this behaviour does seem to be fairly consistent with his general stance of providing people with the encouragement that they need to naturally reach their own conclusions without his direct influence (he implies that he believes such a process to be necessary to the Traveller almost explicitly at the end of the first archon quest, where he tells them that "the journey itself has meaning" and that they should "keep their eyes open" throughout the journey itself, with this seeming especially deliberate when there's almost no chance that he wasn't hiding anything from them during this interaction.) The fact that it requires the even just momentary undermining of his own beliefs in order to be achieved effectively, however, could then suggest that he sees himself as being personally removed from this process of understanding to an even greater extent (that, or he genuinely doesn't care about how his own opinions are perceived on the surface level as long as he's able to get to the point that he wants to get to); either way, it proves to some extent that this element of personal discovery is something that he really does value, and I guess we'll have to wait and see exactly how that plays out in the future.

[ireadwithmyears]

Absent mindedly making me want you

Pairing: Ellie Williams / female reader

Word count : 12 K 💀 I swear it’s worth it I just really wanted a well rounded story even if this is just a one shot

Summary : 

Due to her first-hand experience when it comes to drowning, Ellie takes it upon herself to teach you how to swim. Something that neither of you had anticipated, however, was how intimate this endeavour would be, resulting in a day filled with unresolved sexual tension, that, unsurprisingly and inevitably comes to ahead

Tags/warnings : established relationship, soo much sexual tension, smut (18+, MDNI), porn with minor plot, dom/sub undertones, soft dom Ellie, submissive reader, inexperienced reader (first time), light hair pulling, unsafe lesbian sex, fingering, oral (F receiving), face sitting, lots of dirty talk(bc you cannot convince me that Ellie doesn’t have an absolutely filthy mouth), praise kink, overstimulation, forced orgasm, multiple orgasms, pussy slapping (just once), aftercare, fluff, no use of Y/N

“I’m sorry, wait, hold on. You’re telling me you’ve never learned how to swim?”

The settlement of Jackson has been dealing with, hopefully, the last of its winter storms for the year. Spring had crept its way around the corner, shining its promisingly hopeful rays of warm sunlight for a few, blissfully beautiful, but in the end, all two short days

But then, in what must be mother nature’s idea of a harmless joke, it was crudely snatched away and replaced with icy winds that seemed to settle within your very core, leaving you shivering long after you went inside to get warm. Wyoming had been hit with a blizzard that had caught everyone so off guard, that Jackson was ill-equipped and unprepared to handle it, leaving most of the community snowed in; workloads being much reduced and limited to essential services for the time being, until the snow abated.

This is how you and a group of friends found yourselves in Jesse’s living room, cradling mugs of hot chocolate, enjoying the warmth that seeped into your fingertips, and making a blanket fort as if you were still school children at a sleepover. The snowy days and lack of work seemed to bring out a childish side to everyone, which is how you found yourself engaged in a game of never have I ever, sitting in a tight circle with your friends and girlfriend who, up until a few seconds ago, had been absent mindedly playing with your hair, your head resting against her shoulder, where you had been quite content to stay.

But, she had now pulled back, looking at you with her eyebrows raised, lips quirked down quizzically, as if in thought. You look around at your friends, taking note of everyone else who’s never learned. You’re relieved to find that you’re not alone in this. As expected, the Jackson old-timers, the few of you who have been settled here almost your whole lives, or at least, as long as you could remember, had never encountered an environment that required the ability to swim.

“Nope, it’s never been necessary.” You shrug. 

She tilts her head, thinking, a few wisps of auburn hair escaping her ponytail as she regards you, teeth lightly grazing the bottom of her lip as she appears to be calculating an idea in her mind.

“As soon as it gets warm enough, I’m taking you out, and I'm gonna teach you. Joel taught me because he said that I would never know when it was a skill that would become necessary for me to have until it’s too late,” she says, nodding to herself decisively.

“Ah, I see your dad‘s passed off his overprotectiveness onto you,” you smirk, rolling your eyes fondly.

She hits you with a pillow for that. 

“Quiet, you,” she says in mock offense.

She pokes your belly lightly and you instinctively jump back with a surprised squeal. You hear the quiet amusement of your friends, Jesse barely containing a snort as he watches. You’re about to utter a retort when she reaches out, pulling you against her, settling you on her lap, where you happily go. 

When she presses a chaste kiss to your lips, hand settling at the back of your neck, fingers brushing against your skin, leaving goosebumps to form beneath their eager caresses, any kind of argument dies on your lips. Resistance melts as if it hadn’t been there in the first place, and all thoughts scatter like butterflies, only landing on the one thing that you care to focus on. 

It’s her, with her teasing lips and wandering hands, that explore and touch you as if she wants to know you, to memorize you, like you’re her well-kept and cherished secret. She is the only thing that surrounds your mind, the only one who holds your attention so easily, and it takes you a moment to shake yourself free of this haze. It’s strange, and euphoric, a kind of feeling that you’ve never felt before, and you find that you like it – instantly craving more the second that her lips leave yours.

She's kissed you plenty of times before, and though it’s always been an enjoyable experience for you, it’s never felt like that. You decide to file that information away for now; you’ll sort out whatever the fuck these new feelings are later. 

When you do come back to yourself, your head nestled against her shoulder, her arms wrapped around you as she looks down at you with warm, soft eyes, you think, yeah, you’ll let her teach you how to swim. You’ll let her do whatever she goddamn pleases, as long as it means that she’ll keep kissing you like that, and bringing out those good kind of butterflies that flutter in your stomach whenever she’s close to you.

*

To your surprise, Ellie makes good on her promise at the earliest opportunity.

In your experience, life is full of making plans and dreams that, more often than not, fall through. Even here, even in Jackson, where the walls are fortified and everyone is protected, the act of planning future endeavours is a luxury.

Spring finally comes , for real this time, with its customary blend of warmer weather that makes everyone instinctively turn their faces towards the sun, tentatively brushing its heat against their skin. And then, in complete juxtaposition, rain that starts in a slight drizzle that quickly descends into a downpour that sends those who’d ventured outside to appreciate the sunlight running back inside, scrambling to find cover, while quietly grumbling that they wish it was summer already, if only so that they could be freed from this topsy-turvy weather. 

Humans are funny like that, you suppose. Never fully able to live in the moment, always wishing for the next season the second spring reveals its more wild side. They forget that the scorching heat of summer will have them complaining and wishing for autumn to come faster in a few months.

Nonetheless, it’s early summer, and you find yourself riding astride Ellie’s mare, Hazel, whose step is light and carefree, tale gently swishing in the warm breeze as you make your way to a clearing with a lake, a few miles out from Jackson’s gates. You’ve taken up the rear position, head resting against your girlfriend's back, arms wrapped around her waist.

From her position, she can’t see the expression on your face, the way you worry. Your bottom lip is between your teeth until it starts to bleed, because quite honestly, you’re nervous. Your instinct is to hide your feelings from her, because it feels silly.  “A tough girl like you all freaked out over a little water?” You can almost hear her snark in your head. Logically, you know she wouldn’t say that, not to you, at least. But you can’t help but wonder if she’d think it. 

You also know, however, that the minute you’re off this horse and she turns to look at you, she’ll read right through any bullshit or lies you come up with in an instant. Ellie’s just that kind of person; able to read right through people without them even having to say a word. So, as the bird chatter accompanies the beat of Hazel’s hooves against the ground, you speak, softly, tentatively, half-wishing that she won’t hear, almost hoping that your words will be carried off in the slight breeze that ruffles the braid against your back, delicately freeing strands of your hair.

“You know, I’m actually kinda fucking scared to do this,” you figure if you’re going to admit this, it’s just best to rip the Band-Aid off. 

She holds the reins one-handed as her other comes to squeeze your wrist gently. 

“Can you tell me why?”

You sigh, feeling your cheeks heat with embarrassment as you rest your chin against her shoulder. She’s so warm and steady, confident and self-assured in a way that you couldn’t even attempt to replicate. 

She senses your unease, moving her thumb beneath the thin material of your sweater, stroking against the skin of your inner wrist. She lets it rest at the point where she feels your pulse lightly fluttering beneath her. 

“Hey.” Her voice is soft, encouraging, “Talk to me, Sweetheart, you’ve got absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about.” 

Her thumb resumes its movement, stroking back-and-forth along the inside of your wrist, soothing away the knot that’s begun to tie itself in your stomach.

“It’s stupid, I know. It’s just, I’m scared that I’m gonna drown, or something dumb like that,” you roll your eyes, feeling a little bit pathetic. 

“It’s not stupid,” you’re not surprised that she’s come to your defence so quickly, but the conviction in her voice gives you pause.

She continues, “I almost drowned, once. Well, I guess it wasn’t almost, I did drown, though I don’t remember the details. It was before Joel had taught me how to swim, probably what made him decide that he had to. But, when he did, it took me the longest time to get over my fear. Every time I so much as touched the water, my mind would bring me back to that moment where I thought I was about to die.”

Her voice is sheepish, nonchalant, but you scoot closer to her on the saddle nonetheless, wrapping your arms just a little tighter around her waist.

“My point is, if you would have seen me when I was fourteen, the way Joel would have to coax me into the water bit by bit, you wouldn’t believe I’m the same person now. Now, I can be assured that whenever I go into the water, nothing’s going to happen to me that I can’t handle.” 

She takes your hand in hers, and her voice is completely serious when she speaks now.

“Baby, you know I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, right?” 

In spite of your nerves, you know the answer to this question immediately. It’s not even a question, really, you know without even having to think about it that she’ll keep you safe, protect you with her life if necessary, and you nod aggressively, even before she finishes speaking.

“I know, Elles.”

She gives your hand a squeeze. 

“Good, because if my 14-year-old freshly traumatized from actually drowning ass can learn how to swim, I am fully confident in your abilities.”

Hazel trots on, and for the first time since you headed out today, you feel a genuine smile pulling the corners of your lips upward, your laughter accompanying the birdsong as you ride on.

*

“That’s it, just lean back into me, I gotcha.”

She’s teaching you how to float on your back, first, and as you lean against her and lower yourself into the water, you swear you feel the peak of one of her nipples, hardened from the cold, poking through the flimsy material of her tank top, brushing against your back as you submerge yourself. You have to fight to keep your expression neutral, trying not to betray anything on your face. If she asks why you’re blushing, you’ll just say it’s because of the heat.

Her hand holds you up, pressing into the small of your back as she instructs you, and it’s nice, the heat that radiates from the warmth of her skin. You feel it through your tank top, and maybe it’s because the water is cold and it’s heightening all of your senses, or maybe it’s because you’re in a pair of underwear and a tank top, feeling very exposed to your girlfriend in a way that you’ve never been with anyone, but you’re getting goosebumps, and you know for a fact that it has nothing to do with you being cold.

You hope to yourself that the feeling of having her hands on you will get easier throughout the day, because for some inexplicable reason, the feeling of her hand pressing against you like this is making it hard to focus on what she’s actually saying.

*

You quickly discover that it does not get easier as the day goes on. 

It actually gets so much fucking harder to bear as the sun begins to sail higher in the sky.

When she’s about to teach you how to kick, her hands ghost over your hips, making you jump. 

“Sorry, hun, I should’ve asked,” she apologizes softly.

You can’t bring yourself to look at her, and have to temper your voice to not sound eager as you respond. “No, you’re good, go ahead, I'm just cold, that’s all.”

When her hands caress your sides before settling against your hips, your teeth sink into the inside of your cheek, trying to contain the gasp that wants to escape. 

Is she truly that fucking unaware of what she’s doing to you? 

The skin where her fingers had trailed over tingles, and you have to give your head a slight shake to clear it, because that touch, regardless of how innocently meant it might’ve been to her, suddenly makes you want to get on your knees and beg her to touch you like that again.

You want more.

*

You learn the mechanics of how to propel yourself through the water, arms and legs separately. When it comes time to put the two together, Ellie eases you onto your stomach. The water is still shallow, your toes can still touch the ground. This was as deep as you’d be going today, she had told you, making you feel relieved.

“I’m just gonna put a hand on your stomach to hold you up. You’re still gonna have my help, I’m right here,” you’re stomach muscles tense when her hand lightly presses against it. She must think you’re nervous, because she gently strokes her thumb up and down between your rib cage, in a way that should be reassuring, but in reality, makes heat radiate from between your legs. You’re grateful that she can’t see your face, because the small pool of wetness that blossoms against your panties is undeniable now, and it makes your cheeks heat.

Okay, so you have to admit it now. You’re horny. In spite of the fact that you’ve never had sex and you haven’t been ready to take that step before today, as you slowly move through the water, feeling her hand pressing against your stomach, so close but so, so far from where you want her to be, you know that you want her, in a way that you’ve never wanted anyone before. 

“At a girl, just like that,” she says encouragingly, and you swear you can feel your thigh muscles clenching involuntarily, thoughts drifting to a very different scenario in which she’d utter those words.

*

It’s late afternoon, the sun is high in the sky, warming your shoulders as you stand in the water. You’ve long ago adjusted to its cool, murky depths, and you’re not on edge anymore. 

At least you weren’t, until Ellie suggests that to finish off the day, you try moving a little bit on your own. Your eyebrows raise, in obvious alarm, and her hands settle on your shoulders, quick to reassure you.

“You won’t have to go far, I’ll be right in front of you, I promise, all you need to do is just keep coming towards me.” 

You tilt your head, considering. Yes, you’ve grown accustomed to the water, but whenever you’ve been moving, she’s always had a hold on you, and you felt safe, knowing that there wasn’t even a chance that you would go under. 

Seeing your still evident hesitation, Ellie steps closer, a hand grazing against your waist as she presses her lips to your forehead briefly, before she speaks, her voice low and teasing against your ear.

“Can you do it for me?” She says softly. Her fingers are tracing slow, enticing circles over your waist, soothing you, but making you feel all worked up at the same time. 

She’s so close that you can feel her lips brush against your ear when she speaks, and you can’t hide the shiver that runs down your spine. You’ve lost the ability to form coherent thought, for the moment, and you have to mentally kick yourself to push your mind back into any semblance of reality. God, if she asks you like that, you’ll do anything.

You don’t say that, though. You only nod meekly, not trusting your voice to be controlled when you speak. 

When her hand gives your hip an appreciative squeeze, you feel her breath ghost against the curve of your neck as she speaks. “Good girl,” she practically purrs, a quiet, low hum against your ear that makes your knees buckle so hard that you have to dig your feet into the sand beneath you so that you don’t faceplant into the water.

When she pulls back, taking slow, tentative steps away from you, she knows that you’re watching her every move. She can feel your eyes burning into her, the further she moves away, nerves making you fidget with the hem of your top. When she’s several metres away, she reaches out a hand, beckoning.

“Okay, c’mere, Baby Girl.” 

Her voice is low, persuasive, encouraging you forward. But it still takes you a solid 30 seconds of anxiously staring at her before you actually begin to move. She stands, arms folded, patiently waiting for you to give in, because she knows that sooner or later, you will.

She’s not that far away, not really. She still would easily be able to reach her arms out, steadying you if somehow, even in this shallow water, you managed to bring yourself under. Still, when you kick back, and you no longer feel the assurance of the soft sand against your feet, or Ellie‘s arm wrapped securely around your stomach to hold you up, you freeze. She notices instantly, and her voice is quick to call you back, bringing your racing heart back down with a few, gentle words.

“Hey, eyes on me.” 

You swim forward, it’s unsure and hesitant, but at least you’re moving. You can’t always keep your eyes on her, but when your head is lowered to the water, you can always hear her voice, which she uses to get you to keep going. 

“That’s it, almost there.” 

She eggs you on, making your limbs instinctively move faster, cutting through the water with an almost desperate urge to get to her. You’re reaching for her, arms ready to wrap around her waist when she meets you halfway, scooping you up into her arms.

“That’s my girl,” she whispers against your lips, cradling the back of your head as she pulls you in. Your eyes flutter shut, and you can’t help the small sigh that she elicits from you as she lowers her head to kiss you. Her lips meet yours in a slow, soft caress, searing as her touch sets your skin alight with heat. Instinctively, only half aware of what you’re doing, your legs wrap around her waist, desperately pulling yourself against her with a sudden need that is too strong to be contained.

When her hand, tangled in your hair, gently pulls, forcing your head back as she deepens the kiss, your mouth falling open as her tongue teases past your lips, you are unable to hold back the little moan that escapes you, scalp tingling at the sensation of her fingers, curled against strands of your wet hair, holding tight, keeping you exactly where she wants you. 

She’s so close, you realize. Your legs wrapped around her like this, your heat pressed so near to hers. It’s enough to send your thoughts reeling. Every nerve ending in your body is alive with want and need. 

Her hand makes a slow path, warm, delicate fingers journeying from your waist all the way up to the peak of your breast, leaving a trail of goosebumps to form in their wake. Her hand rests against you, leaving you warm and wanting, and just when you think that you can’t handle any more, she moves her thumb in a slow, deliberate caress over your perked, hardened nipple, which, at this point, your tank top, with its thin, soaked through material that clings to your every curve, leaves little up to her imagination. She can see you, she can see all of you. Your breath shutters, the smallest sound of want, of need, of desperation escaping your throat in a choked, pleading moan that has your back arching.

And that’s when Hazel makes her displeasure and boredom known, letting out a loud, displeased nay of indignation as she stamps her hooves against the ground.

The noise is so sudden, so out of the blue, disrupting the sounds of the water gently lapping around you, and the ambiance of nature that you’ve grown quite accustomed to hearing over the past few hours, that it makes you both jump. You startle so hard that you nearly fall into the waters below, jolting back as your head whips around to discover the source of the noise. Ellie’s arms are secure, though, you feel her adjusting her hold on you, wrapping them around you tighter. She too frantically searches the area around you for signs of trouble.

When you realize that you’re in no imminent danger, and that it’s just Hazel being her typical, dramatic self, you both look at each other, and simultaneously, slow smiles creep across your faces. She can feel you begin to shake with laughter. All the adrenaline leaves your body in a relieved, sudden rush that escapes with the quiet, barely contained snort that you desperately try to hold back. After that, it’s over. Ellie’s face buries against your hair as you both begin to laugh uncontrollably.

You feel her breathy, relieved sigh ruffle your hair. “We should probably go see what her problem is – knowing Hazel, a mosquito probably landed on her and she freaked the fuck out. God, that horse is such a drama queen.” 

She rolls her eyes, but there’s an underlying affection that she can’t keep out of her voice, even if she tries.

“Probably saw us kissing and was offended. Maybe she’s homophobic,” you quip, chuckling. 

Ellie gasps in mock horror. “I practically raised that horse, there’s no fucking way,” you both laugh as she begins to move towards the shore, you cradled against her with your head on her shoulder.

*

Riding back to Jackson when you’re extremely sexually worked up, it turns out, is no fun. 

Your girlfriend, as much as you love her, is doing nothing to help the situation. 

In general, Ellie prefers to ride horses that are the most chaotic, and that carry attitudes that make them almost borderline untrainable. She says it’s because she can empathize with them, she listens to them in a way that no one else does. 

You think, privately, that it’s because it scares the shit out of Joel. He lives in constant fear that Hazel is going to throw Ellie off, sending his already accident prone daughter home with a broken leg and a concussion. You swear, Ellie enjoys getting a rise out of him, making his heart race with all of the reckless shit that she does.

Hazel has been sitting still for too long, and is now thoroughly enjoying the freedom of being able to trot about; she tries to take advantage of it regardless of the cargo on her back, making for a bumpy ride. 

You’re riding in front, this time, and every time you hit an unavoidable bump, Ellie rests her hands on your hips. She claims that she’s doing it to keep you steady, make sure that you don’t fall off the horse. but, you know better. You know an ulterior motive when you see one. The way that her hands linger, fingers slowly teasing At the edge of your still damp top, drawing slow, light circles against the exposed skin she finds beneath, suggesting that she has other plans in mind. It makes you shiver.

“You cold, baby?” Her voice is low against your ear, the unexpected proximity making you jump. She cannot be serious. Even though it’s late afternoon, evening fast approaching, the day is still scorching, hence why you’ve opted out of wearing your sweater on the way back. You didn’t even want to put on shorts over your damp underwear, but alas, you still had some shred of modesty left, not wanting to make whoever was stationed to guard Jackson’s gates uncomfortable.

When her arms wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against her, you swear that you can feel her hips slowly moving as she grinds against you suggestively. Her lips brush against the bare skin of your shoulder, lingering as her warm breath ghosts against your skin, caressing against your neck with its heat. You can’t hold back your gasp at the feeling.

One of her hands travels down, settling against your knee with a gentle squeeze. 

“How’s that, Baby Girl, is that better?”

God! 

If she doesn’t fuck you soon, you swear you’re gonna kill her. Or, at this rate, she’s gonna kill you first with the way she’s sending your heart racing like that.

*

If you had thought that getting home, changing into a fresh pair of clothes, and giving yourself the chance to calm your racing heart would magically put an end to whatever was stirring up inside of you, you were sadly incorrect in your assumptions.

You’re sitting on the couch in your living room, wearing a sundress that falls to your knees because it’s light and you enjoy the slight breeze that it creates when you move. It flutters around your legs gently in the humid air. It might provide next to no relief at all, but it’s still better than nothing. 

Ellie sits across from you in an armchair. Without even looking, you can feel her staring at you, eyes burning into you with a restrained and tempered want. You suspect that she’s holding it back, now wondering if she’s crossed a boundary today and made you uncomfortable. 

That couldn’t be further from the truth, but Ellie is the type of person who acts on impulse, then completely over analyzes and over thinks her actions later, until she’s convinced herself that she’s fucked something up. She’s so bold, so confident in the things she does in the moment. But, in the end, she’s still someone who sometimes needs you to explicitly communicate and validate what she does after the fact. Regardless of how her confidence is so vast, and can sometimes be mistaken for being cocky, on the inside, she’s deeply insecure and needs reassurance.

Glancing up at her through your lashes, seeing the way that she twists and fidgets with the hair elastic on her wrist, the slight frown on her face, the almost guilty way her eyes flit away from you when she sees you looking, you know that she needs that right now, and you fully intend to not just give that to her, but encourage her forward. 

Setting down the book that you weren’t actually reading, just trying to distract yourself with and completely failing, you rise to your feet, and as you move to her, she looks up at you with a smile, slipping back into its place effortlessly.

“Hey, baby, what’s up?” 

Her voice is low and soft, and the way her eyes skim over you, pausing at where your dress falls, the hem barely skimming your knees, makes heat flush at the back of your neck.

“Want somethin’.” 

You admit, crawling into her lap, bracing your hands on her shoulders.

“Yeah? What’s that?” 

She quirks a brow, and the way her eyes smoulder as she looks at you makes you nervous, stomach fluttering with anxious butterflies as she looks intently at you. 

You’ve got her full attention, and now that you do, you don’t know what to do with it. You were fully ready to take the lead on this, but at the end of the day, you’re still shy and inexperienced, and she’s everything that you’re not. To be honest, it’s intimidating, knowing her wealth of experience that you couldn’t even attempt to match. 

The insistent butterflies take flight in your stomach; you decide that the only way forward is by pure instinct, and the blind hope that you won’t embarrass yourself too much.

You lean forward slowly, hesitating slightly until, with understanding, Ellie’s hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, encouraging you the rest of the way forward until your lips meet hers, and suddenly, you forget exactly what your plan originally was, if you even really had one in the first place. It easily slips out of your mind as you melt against her, effortlessly letting her take the lead. 

Her fingers brush against your lower back, holding you securely against her. This isn’t like your usual, every day kiss, one that starts off slow and gentle. Her lips are insistent, pressing against yours with a desperate, persistent need. Her fingers absently brush against your scalp, running through your hair before cupping the back of your neck, the pressure just firm enough.

All you know is her. Her lips, claiming your mouth with a possessiveness that makes you ache for her inside. Her tongue, swiping over your lips, making you gasp slightly. As your lips part for her, you hear the low, satisfied sound she breathes against you as her tongue pushes past your lips, exploring your mouth with a hunger that you’ve never sensed in her before.

Her thigh pushes between your legs, parting them with ease and settling between them, grazing against your clothed heat. When her hand schemes down your lower back, caressing over your ass, before pressing against it with a firm squeeze, you can’t resist the way your hips buck against her, desperately chasing the friction, unable to hold back the small whimper when you’re clit presses against the rough denim of her cut-offs. 

The sound seems to startle you so much that you still your movements, eyes going wide as Ellie pulls back to look at you. She doesn’t even bother holding back the smirk that overtakes her features.

“Oh, so that’s what you want.” 

Her green eyes darken with want, voice low and gravelly with desire as she studies you, perched on her lap with a needy expression behind your innocent eyes.  Her fingers brush against your hips, teasing over your skin.

Heat flushes against your collarbone, spreading to warm your cheeks as you try to look down, wanting to escape the scrutiny of her piercing gaze. She anticipates your movement, and stops you with a hand coming to curl beneath your chin, making a soft noise of disapproval.

“Look at me, pretty girl, and tell me what you want,” 

Her voice is still soft, still gentle, but there’s a warning edge that’s crept into it, an effortless authority, that sends a jolt straight through you, making your already throbbing clit pulse with anticipation. Her fingers nudge your chin upwards, holding firmly as she directs your eyes to meet hers, smouldering with uncontained lust as she watches you. 

“You.” 

Your answer comes out in barely a breath, barely a whisper. 

“I want you.” 

You feel like your response sounds ridiculous.

It sounds small.

It sounds completely inadequate.

And yet, when Ellie’s hand snakes beneath your dress, fingers toying with the waistband of your panties, her lips brushing against your ear as she says low, “that, sweet girl, I would be happy to oblige.” 

She flexes her thigh up against your heat, rubbing over your swollen clit, making you cry out in surprise.

*

Her shirt hits the floor with a dull thump, pulled off by your eager and curious hands. You want to see her. You want to touch her. You want...

But now that it’s off and she’s looking down at you like that, your brain catches up to your body. What are you doing? What are you supposed to do? You don’t know how to do this. You don’t know where to put your hands, and the idea of fumbling around and embarrassing yourself is enough to make you nervous.

She sees the moment you begin to question yourself and overthink it, in the way that you catch your bottom lip between your teeth, the way your hand flexes, curling into itself with anxiety.  

“Hey,” she says softly, waiting for your eyes to meet hers. Her hands caress up and down the sides of your arms, pulling you from the spiral that your mind was going in, bringing you back to earth with a soothing touch. 

“I know that this is your first time, and I just want you to know that I don’t expect anything of you tonight. The only thing I want is to make you feel good. So just, let me do that, okay?” 

When she leans in, arms wrapping around you, and her lips press against your neck in a slow, seductive kiss, she can feel the shiver that runs down your spine, and she makes a note to remember that you’re sensitive there.

You feel her lips close to your ear as she speaks. 

“Just let me take care of my girl tonight.” 

Her hand schemes down your side, fingers drawing teasing circles over your hip. Your eyes close and your breath comes in a sharp, unsteady inhale and all you can do is look at her, eyes hooded, and say in a shaky voice, “please.”

You feel her low chuckle against your neck. 

“Such pretty manners,” she hums against your skin, before you feel the gentle graze of teeth join her lips, delivering a small, sharp sting that you imagine will leave a mark. 

This thought doesn’t scare you in the way that you thought it would. Your first thought isn’t of how on earth you’re going to cover this up tomorrow. The idea that there will be physical evidence of her, of what she’s doing to you, that there will be a reminder of it in the morning turns you on, sending a thrill through you. 

Her tongue replaces where her teeth had just been, gently soothing over the sting. “Good girl,” she breathes, hand coming up to fiddle with the spaghetti strap of your dress. “I want this off,”

She waits for you to nod your consent, and then she’s sliding the straps off your shoulders, letting it fall. It pools around your waist in a soft brush of its material.

Fingers brush over your stomach, and you shiver with anticipation, already knowing the path they intend to travel over your skin. Her hands graze over your ribs, before she curls them around the curves of your breasts. She looks down at them, cradled in her hands, and her lips curl upward. 

Warm, experienced hands massage and knead your breasts, gentle caresses and squeezes encouraging, coaxing your nipples to harden beneath her touch. Her thumb brushes over one of the hardening buds, and you gasp at even the slightest attention. She seems to relish in drawing sounds from you, her index finger joining her thumb, as she rolls your perked nipple between her fingers, adding the slightest pinch. 

“You’re so fuckin pretty, you know that? The site of these,” she tweaks your other nipple, making your breath stutter, “peeking through your shirt at the lake was teasing me all day.” 

Her face buries against your neck, she becomes rougher, more insistent. Still slow and attentive, but there’s a possessive edge to it as she leaves a trail of marks down your throat, your collarbone. 

You love every second of getting to see this new side of Ellie, one that you haven’t seen before. The way that she’s intently listening to your body, finding out exactly how to touch you in a way  that brings out those little gasps and mules that are like music to her ears, you want to see this side of her more often.

She’s enjoying the sight of her marks on you just as much as you are; a thrill runs through her, knowing that everyone will see that you belong to her.

She pauses toying with your nipple as her hand falls to your thigh, letting her breath graze against your skin, before she leans in, lips encircling the pebbled bud with a gentle suck. You whimper as her teeth barely graze your skin, tongue swirling over the small bud teasingly. She makes an appreciative sound against you while her fingers brush the bare skin of your inner thigh. 

Her thumb teases over the seam of your panties, and you swear that you can feel her lips pull into a smirk as she feels the evident wetness pooling there. When she grazes a knuckle over your clothed clit, using a featherlight touch, your hips instinctively buck, you’re so worked up. 

“Ellie,” your cheeks flush at the way that she’s got you whining for her with just one touch to wear you’ve been craving her to be. “Please, I, I need you to touch me there.” 

“Aww, you’re so pretty when you beg for me,” she coos, two fingers caressing over your heat. 

Your head falls back, eyes closing as you try to suppress the whimper that fights to escape at her teasing.

“Ellie, please,” and if you weren’t trying to beg before, you definitely are now.

She tilts her head, a slightly pleased expression crossing her kiss swollen lips as she looks at you, thoroughly unravelled before she’s even fully gotten you undressed.

“That’s all you had to say, Princess.”

Her voice is low and smooth, calm and effortless, in complete juxtaposition to her next actions, because suddenly, your dress is being yanked the rest of the way down, Ellie tossing it to the floor in a careless heap. She lifts you with ease, flipping you around so that your back is pressed against her bare chest. Her arms curl around you, holding you close to her, fingers trailing down your stomach, scheming over the waistband of your panties. One finger hooks under, and she pauses, voice suddenly soft.

“Can I take these off, baby girl?” Her finger strokes along the bare skin that she’s found beneath your panties, just above your mound, inviting, but not moving lower. 

“Ellie,” you say with growing desperation. She’s teased you all day, and you can’t take much more of it. You’ve reached the end of your rope, and you can tell, without even having to look at her, that she’s fully aware of it, she’s just enjoying teasing you a little longer, dragging out the moment for even just a few seconds more. She’s so close to where you need her, but not close enough, and you need her to bridge the distance. “You can do whatever you want,” your head falls back against her shoulder, auburn hair tickling against your face as she leans down to whisper.

“Don’t give me any ideas, princess. You might regret it.” 

Her words make you shutter, but, nonetheless, she pulls, and in a matter of seconds, she’s sending your panties to join your dress on the floor, with a practiced flick of her wrist.

She doesn’t waste much time now; her hands gently part your thighs. 

“Spread your legs for me, Pretty Girl, I want to see all of you.” 

She coaxes, not that you need much urging. You feel her legs cage over yours, wrapping around them, holding them open for her. Fingers ghost over your curls, dipping between your lips. She collects your wetness, fingers gliding effortlessly up to your clit, coating it in your own arousal. 

“Barely touched you, and you’re already soaked for me,” two fingers press against your swollen clit, drawing slow, easy circles over your heat, already making your walls clench around nothing.

Her other hand moves, pausing to give an affectionate pinch to one of your perked breasts, making you gasp in surprise, your hips instinctively jolting forward, pushing against the hand that continues to massage, tease, and press against your clit. It continues its path downward, caressing over your hip, your inner thigh. 

Long, tapered fingers dip between your folds, tentatively swirling around your entrance, gathering the wetness that’s collected there. You don’t realize you’re begging until, achingly slowly, one of her fingers brushes over your tight, glistening hole. She doesn’t push it forward, only curling it slightly to pet at your entrance. 

“F-fuck, please,” your head falls back against her shoulder, and your hips push forward, trying to take her inside, but to no avail.

“Such a needy girl,” she murmurs, smirking at the way that you nod. 

She’s got you so desperate that you’ll agree to anything she says; you won’t even try to deny it. It would be pointless, anyways. All she has to do is look down and see the way that your hips are bucking against her to know that you would be lying through your teeth. Nonetheless, she gently eases a finger inside you and you let out a long, tremulous breath as she pushes her finger, easing it all the way inside until she’s down to her knuckle.

She’s watching carefully for your reactions and she can feel how tight you are around her; she doesn’t want to cause you any pain. But when she tentatively, curiously, crooks her finger slightly upward, searching, a jolt runs through you, your body trembling and hips jerking forward, chasing the contact. It’s too much, and it’s not enough, and you need more. 

“Fuck, I, Ellie, I I want,” your hands grip onto her thighs tightly. 

She presses a soft kiss to the side of your neck before whispering,“That’s it, baby, use your words. Tell me what you need,” her finger pumps in and out at an unhurried, languid pace, barely grazing over that spot that you so desperately need her to touch. 

“Need more of you inside me,” you whimper, unable to keep the desperate edge from creeping into your voice. A second finger joins the first, slowly pushing through your entrance. You immediately feel the stretch, unfamiliar to having someone else’s fingers there, but you’re quickly distracted, because as soon as both fingers are pushing into you, she increases the pressure against your throbbing clit, fingers drawing rough, tight circles over your swollen bud. 

The sound you make is high and uncontained.

Calloused fingers brush against your inner walls, clenching around them as Ellie stretches you out. Her fingers curl, a slight beckoning motion as she easily finds that spot inside of you. The pads of her fingers press firmly against it, fingers insistently petting at your center with small, precise strokes against your sweet spot. She's hitting that spot in a way that you’ve never been able to accomplish on your own. 

You’re seeing stars, because she’s everywhere you want and need her to be, and now, the only thing you can do is grind your hips down against her fingers that are so effortlessly toying with you. 

It comes out of nowhere, the coil that eagerly begins to tighten in your stomach. Your toes curl with anticipation, and your hands are gripping onto her so tightly. You’re pretty sure that you’re the one who’s going to be leaving bruises now. Her fingers continue to thrust in and out of your weeping cunt, and maintain the relentless pressure against your clit.

Ellie’s chin rests against your shoulder, watching attentively, and if you could see her, you’d see how utterly enthralled she is at how much of a mess she��s made you, eyes heavy as she watches her fingers plunge in and out of your cunt. Her voice is low against your ear, rough, commanding when she speaks.

“That’s it, Baby Girl, I want you to fuck yourself on my fingers and cum for me.” 

You’ve always experienced orgasms as a gradual build, a wave, gently cresting against the shore. So, the way the coil in your stomach abruptly snaps, almost an instant after Ellie finishes speaking, has you taken completely by surprise. She’s attached her lips back onto your neck, sucking a mark just against your pulse point, which she feels fluttering rapidly beneath her tongue. 

There’s the stuttering of hips accompanied by a sharp cry and Ellie feels your walls tighten around her fingers, unceasing in her ministrations even as your orgasm barrels through you. 

“Good girl, fucking give it to me,” she nearly growls, as her fingers continue to fuck you through your orgasm. All you can do is whimper uselessly, rocking your hips against her hand, as thrills ignite every inch of your body, making you tremble all over. 

When you come down from your high, you’re collapsed against her chest, and she’s slowly easing off the pressure. 

The first thing you notice is that you don’t feel the same as you usually would if you had just done this by yourself. For some reason, you thought that you were a one and done kind of girl. Usually you orgasm once, and then you take a nap, feeling for the most part satisfied. But as her fingers slide out of you, leaving you feeling empty, all you can think is that you want more.

Then, Ellie’s holding up her glistening fingers, slick with your arousal, in front of her face. You turn to watch her, curious, as she slides them into her mouth, licking them clean. She hums, and you raise a brow questioningly as she looks down at you, her eyes bearing an expression that is almost predatory in its intensity.

“What?” you ask, already feeling goosebumps rising along your skin.

“Nothing,” she shrugs, shaking her head slightly. “It’s just, now that I’ve had a taste of you, I want more.” You turn fully to face her, lips curving into a smirk. Your hand trails over her breasts, and she looks at you with interest.

“Please,” you’re still breathless, and your voice is still unsteady.

“I want you too.”

*

“Atta girl, just like that.” 

Admittedly, as much as you’ve had countless fantasies involving sitting on Ellie’s face, the prospect of actually doing it, as much as you want to, gives you pause. She’s carried you up to the bed, at some point along the way, the rest of her clothes came off, you’ll probably find them scattered along the hallway later. But that doesn’t matter right now.

What matters is that you’re hovering over her face, looking down at her while trying not to look nervous and out of your comfort zone, which you totally are, and she obviously isn’t buying it. Gentle hands reach for you, holding your hips and pulling you against her easily. 

“All the way down, Honey, that’s it,” she coaxes, easing you down onto her. “You’re good, you’re not gonna kill me,” her hand caresses up and down your side, soothing, even as you feel her warm breath ghosting over your heat, making your cheeks flush, as you look down at how close she is to you.

“I gotcha’, Pretty Girl, just relax,” her voice is smooth, assured, confident, in a way that makes your muscles relax in spite of yourself.

That’s when you feel her tongue, warm and wet, brushing through your folds. The sensation is so new, so unfamiliar to you, that for a second, you freeze, your breath catching in your throat. 

Then, her tongue flattens, pressing over your clit and applying a slight pressure that has you arching against her. Her tongue curls over your swollen nub, gently drawing it towards her lips, an almost imperceptible pulling motion that has your hands scrambling for something to hold onto, finding a grip against the headboard of the bed.

She makes a contented hum as her lips wrap around your center, the sound vibrating against you making your hips jolt. Her hands curl around the undersides of your thighs, holding you in place. Your hands hold onto the headboard of the bed for dear life, feeling like it’s the only solid thing that you have to hold onto, keeping you from toppling over the edge and out of control. 

You’ve never felt like this before. Each swipe of her tongue over your heat, the gentle pulse of her lips as she sucks, enveloping you in her warm, wet mouth, brings a new sensation thrumming through your veins, almost akin to fire as it shoots through you, pleasure licking over every inch of your skin like flames. It’s overwhelming, in such a way that you don’t know what to do with it, how to express it. 

All you can do, at this point, is roll your hips against her mouth, hold onto the headboard, and let small, desperate whimpers escape your lips. You’re trying to hold onto some semblance of containing yourself, because you don’t know what would happen if you let yourself unravel completely. You’re terrified of what Ellie might see if you fell apart like that.

She seems to be doing everything she can to break away at your composure though. Her tongue is alternating between dragging slow, tender circles over your clit, and firm, quick strokes, that has your head falling against your hands, braced against the headboard. She flicks her tongue against you, her lips surrounding your clit in a particularly firm suck, and before you know it, you’re spilling over the edge, eyes shut tightly, and breath releasing in a long, shuttering moan that seems to run from the top of your head to the tips of your tightly curled toes, her tongue continuing to caress you over your peak.

She moans into you, and it all becomes too much. Your head is thrown back and your hands are reaching down, tangling in her hair, to push her away or pull her closer; it’s unclear in your fuzzy mind. All the while, her insistent tongue continues to swirl over your increasingly oversensitive bundle of nerves, the relentless and inescapable pleasure making you shiver all over, while a light sweat breaks out on your bare skin.

You only drift back into yourself when you become aware of a shift. It’s so fast, you barely have time to even blink, before Ellie manoeuvres you, flipping you onto your back and roughly parting your thighs with her hands. Her fingers run through your glistening folds, calloused thumb pressing against your aching, overstimulated clit. The sensation has you gasping, crying out, and trying to close your legs, buck your hips, move away.

Frantically, you try to jam your legs shut, trying to escape her mercilessly teasing fingers. Rough hands force your thighs apart, putting you on display for her as she holds you open. 

“Uh uh, not this time, Baby,” she tuts disapprovingly. “No more holding back on me, Sweet Girl,” listening to the low, dominant tone of her voice is like a drug to you, and your eyes roll back into your head as she speaks. 

“I want everyone to know how good I fuck this pretty little pussy.” Two fingers circle your clit and you jolt, trying to move away. But a strong arm pushes your hips down, pinning you against the bed easily.

Faster than you can process, her fingers retreat, and you don’t even have time to feel relieved, because a split second later, her hand comes down against your cunt with a smack, delivering a stinging, rough spank that has you crying out, clit throbbing and pulsing with the agonizingly delicious mix of pain and pleasure. 

“Now, you’re gonna be a good girl, and you’re gonna take everything I give you.” 

Two fingers notch at your entrance, but she waits, looking at you, a silent question, an invitation for you to tell her that this is too much and that you need to stop. You know she would in a heartbeat if you told her that this was too much or too rough for you right now, and that’s what makes you feel safe enough to continue.

So, when you respond by attempting to push your hips forward against her, a soft whimper falling from your lips, she smirks, and with the slightest movement of her wrist, her fingers thrust into you. Seconds later, her face is buried in between your legs, tongue gently lapping at your sensitive clit. After two orgasms, you’re hyper aware of every movement; every swirl of her tongue is sweet, hot agony that undoes you in seconds.

At the same moment her lips take your clit into her mouth, holding it as her tongue swipes a tight, rough circle over your heat, her fingers curl, and she finds that spot inside you that makes your legs begin to shake, pressing against it with each punishing thrust of her fingers. 

Your moans are loud, unrestrained, sounds that you would be embarrassed to make if you were in any way capable of controlling them. But you’re not, because your mind is only filled with her, her and her tongue on your clit, and her strong fingers pumping in and out of your wet cunt, playing with you as easily and as effortlessly as she plays the guitar. 

She’s clearly enjoying the sounds that fall from your lips, every beg and plea and moan of her name making her feel quite smug that she’s undone you so easily…she encourages you to continue, making a contented hum against your clit. She only looks up long enough to say:

“That’s it, I want to hear you being such a dirty little girl for me.”

A third finger slowly, carefully, pushes in; the stretch makes you feel so full, so good, it nearly takes your breath away. Her fingers thrust in and out slowly, testing the waters, wanting to make sure that you’ve adjusted – but you are having absolutely none of it.

Your head is thrown back and your hips are thrusting forward, or trying to, but her arm is so fucking strong that she doesn’t even have to try that hard to keep you pinned against the mattress, exactly where she wants you to be.  You don’t even realize you’re begging until you see her smirking up at you.

“Please, Ellie, please, fuck, I-I want,” it’s a challenge to even string coherent words together, but you’re distracted by her face, now looking up at you as her thumb takes over, stroking against your clit. 

“Come on, Baby girl, tell me what you want,” she presses her thumb a little harder into you, making you gasp brokenly. 

You take a breath to steady yourself, and your words still come out stuttered, but you say them, blushing in a way that she finds absolutely endearing considering you’re already spread out on her bed with three of her fingers buried inside of you.

“I-I want it harder,” you admit, your cheeks burning. “Want you to fuck me.”

“You’re so fuckin pretty when you use your words like that, Baby,” she praises. “Such a good fuckin girl,” then, her fingers are thrusting in and out, setting a rough pace, hitting that spot in a way that feels so much stronger than it already was. 

When she lowers her head, tongue dipping between your folds, returning to feast at your clit rough, persistent swirls and flicks over your swollen center, any slight ability to contain yourself is lost. You’re not aware of the sounds that you’re making, or the way that your hands scramble to find a hold on something, anything solid, eventually coming to clutch the soft bed sheets, holding them tightly in between your fingers.

You’re only aware that your orgasm is approaching, and that Ellie, little by little, is nudging you towards a peak that once you make it over, you think might absolutely wreck you, in the best possible way. All you know is that you want this, you want her. You need her.

God.

You really fucking need her. 

She feels your walls beginning to flutter around her, her free hand shifts down, coming to grip your thigh, opening you even wider for her.

 “Come on, baby, wanna hear all those pretty sounds you make for me when you cum.” 

She says against you, adjusting her wrist to fuck you with her fingers deeper. The new angle has you keening, hips desperately thrusting to chase the friction of whatever new spot she’s hitting. 

Her tongue flattening against you as she draws firm, tight circles over your bundle of nerves, The way that your back is arching, hips uselessly trying to grind down against her and her relentless fingers, fucking into your weeping cunt mercilessly.  She’s guiding you exactly to where she wants you to go, straight up towards that peak. Your vision blurs. 

“Fucking give it to me, Pretty Girl, want you to cum for me, all over my fingers and my mouth.” 

Your back arches off the bed, and suddenly, all you know is wave after wave of ecstasy that crashes through your body, electric shocks that pulse through you, making you jolt and flail uselessly combined with the rhythmic pumping of her fingers, and the dipping and swirling of her tongue against you. 

She works you through your orgasm, never slowing the movements of her tongue or her fingers that continue to drag in and out of you, sustaining your pleasure for as long as she can possibly hold it. Her lips wrap around your clit, as her tongue swipes through your folds, collecting all the wetness that she can find. She hums against you, encouraging your loud moans, and by the time it’s over, you’re a shaking, completely fucked out mess on her bed, 

If you happened to see the expression on her face as she watches you writhing beneath her, your hands twisting the sheets into knots and broken, unrestrained whimpers fall from your lips, she’s taking in the sight with immense appreciation, as if you’re the work of art she’s just created.

*

Turns out, the only thing that you have the ability to do post-three orgasms is roll over onto your stomach, shaking and trembling, and try, desperately, to regain your breath. 

Ellie, for her part, crawls up the bed beside you, hand coming up to tenderly stroke back the hair that sticks to your forehead, before gently rubbing your back.

“Easy, baby, that’s it, just breathe for me.” 

You’re eventually able to regain your breath, but your body feels floppy and light, and you can’t even begin to comprehend the slightest of movements. Ellie tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, saying softly, “I’ll be right back, I’m just gonna get something to clean you up, okay?”  

You nod in slight acknowledgement of her words, but your mind is still fuzzy, and the only thing that you’re really aware of right now is the sudden sleepiness that comes over you in a soft, comforting wave. You feel her stroke your hair once more before she rises from the bed, briefly pausing to look at how fucked out you are, stretched out across her bed, bare skin glistening with sweat that makes your hair stick to your forehead, eyes heavy and cheeks flushed.

“So pretty,” she breathes, before exiting.

She isn’t gone long, and when she returns your eyes are closed, head buried against a pillow. She kneels between your legs, hand reaching out to gently rub your back as you turn your head to look at her. 

“Just need to clean you up, pretty,” she whispers, and you realize how sticky you are in between your legs. 

“Okay,” you mumble, your voice sounding slightly hoarse, similar to the way it does when you first wake up in the morning. Were you really moaning that much?

You feel a warm, damp washcloth brushing against your inner thigh. It’s nice, soothing, but as Ellie moves towards the place in between your legs, you instinctively flinch, overstimulated and slightly sore. 

A large hand splays out over your back gently. “I know, Honey, it’s okay, I've got you,” Ellie soothes. 

She runs the cloth over your folds. “There we go, sweet girl, almost done.” Its brush against your clit makes you cry out, leg kicking out instinctively. Ellie shushes you gently, pressing chased, featherlight kisses against your spine, the curve of your hip, effectively distracting you while she finishes cleaning you up. 

When she’s done, she throws the cloth to the side, coming to sit beside you. “Okay, Baby, I just need you to get up and go for a quick pee.” You turn your head to look at her in bewilderment, staring up at her with your eyebrows raised.

“Why?” You ask, confused. She chuckles softly at your expression. 

“Because, nowadays there isn’t much to protect ourselves from any infections that we could pick up while doing this,” she gestures vaguely. “And this is the one thing that we can do to at least try to help prevent something from coming up,”

“Buuut Elliee, I don’t wanna get up,” you grumble, burying your face back into the pillow.

She sighs softly, “come on, it’ll be fast, and then we can get back into bed and cuddle for as long as you want.” 

That idea is tempting, but she could just get into bed with you right now and cuddle. Plus, you want to know who gave her this information, because it sounds pretty fucking stupid to you. 

“I don’t want to,” you grumble.

Ellie playfully hits you with a pillow. “Come on, Lazy Ass,” she’s guiding you to sit up now, in spite of how much you’re resisting, because the bed is so warm and soft. 

“Besides,” she reasons, “we both go out on patrol in three days, and I am not dealing with you having to dismount your horse every five minutes because you got a urinary tract infection and now you need to pee every time we hit a bump on the path.” 

You dramatically sigh in defeat. “Okay, okay, I get it, Jesus Christ,” you roll your eyes in mock exasperation, but the smile pulling at your lips betrays your true feelings. “On one condition,” you say, folding your arms across your chest.

“What?” Ellie is fighting to restrain a smile, because you’re just too goddamn cute when you’re like this.

“You have to carry me there and back,” you say, reaching your arms up like a child who wants to be picked up. 

She sighs, feigning annoyance, but she’s already positioning an arm beneath your knees. “You’re such a fucking brat,” she mutters against your hair as she cradles you against her chest. 

You snuggle into her, smile growing wide as she moves towards the door, holding you in her arms. “Don’t lie, you love it.”

“Shut up ,” she says, hand sneaking around to give your ass an affectionate squeeze, making you gasp and giggle in surprise, instinctively kicking, nearly falling out of her arms in the process. But her hold is secure, arms tightening around you as your cheek presses against her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, babe, I got you.”

*

After gently setting you back in bed, once you’ve finally gone to the bathroom, grumbling the whole way there and back, Ellie went to get you a glass of water. She’s been gone for less than 30 seconds, and you already miss the feeling of her body, Strong and warm and steady, pressed against you. While she’s gone though, you entertain yourself by letting your eyes roam over your body, finding the evidence of her, left behind on your skin. You discover each new mark, each trace of her presence imprinted on you with the anticipation and joy of a child finding Easter eggs. 

Your hand runs over your inner thigh, Lips pulling into a smile as you take in the sight of the finger shaped bruises that she left from where she gripped onto you so tightly. The site makes a warm, tingling feeling settle in your stomach.

You don’t hear her approach from behind you, and she must not see the expression on your face.

“Did I hurt you? Was it, was it too much?”

You turn, eyebrows raised and already shaking your head with vehemence, to find her watching you, biting her lip, concerned frown on her face. 

“What, no, no, Ells, it’s just,” you avert your eyes, the blush creeping onto your face is mortifying, and in spite of everything you too just did, and how you had expected talking about things like this would be easier now, it’s still hard to admit it out loud. 

She catches your chin in her hand, gently redirecting your eyes back up to meet hers. Seeing her so close to you, you don’t have to look hard to see the anxieties, trying to be contained and hidden, but dancing behind her eyes nonetheless. 

You feel your heart clench. She’s opened up to you about her past on a few occasions, but when she has, it was easy to sense how fearful she was of her own inclinations towards violence, regardless of how necessary and imperative it might have been for her survival. She’s like a fire, impulsive and easy to set off, her flames all-consuming without a second thought. But after, even now, even when all this is small bruises marking your skin in the heated passion of lust, that will fade and be gone within a few days, she’ll still twist herself into knots, thinking and overthinking until she’s convinced herself that she’s ruined you.

“Please, Babe, tell me the truth,” her voice is soft, barely a whisper, but you hate the way that there’s a slight tremble in it, so uncharacteristic of Ellie. It breaks what’s left of your embarrassment, and the words fall from your lips without hesitation now.

“It wasn’t too much. It’s just, I-I liked it...the marks... I think it’s kind of hot.” 

You wonder, in the back of your mind, if she can feel the way your cheek heats beneath her hand, resting against it ever so lightly. Her breath comes out in a soft, surprised laugh, and you’re relieved to see the concerned edges fade from her expression, a smirk instead overtaking her lips. “

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she whispers, fingers coming to trace over the scattered marks, littered across your neck and collarbone. 

“You’re cold,” she observes, hands running up and down your arms, goosebumps beginning to form there. You hadn’t even noticed that you had begun to shiver.

When she crawls into bed behind you, wrapping her arms around you, Holding you against her, her warmth settles into your bones, running through you like melted chocolate. She brings the glass of water to your lips, insisting that you drink, and refusing to back down, in spite of your protests that you’ll need to get up to go pee in the middle of the night and does she realize how annoying that is? 

She does, but she still coaxes you to drink half the glass.

You hold the glass up to her, pouting slightly. “Now you drink some, I feel like you should, too, because you were doing a lot of work, you know, with your mouth,” you say suggestively. 

“Oh my God, shut up,” she groans. She gives you a playful shove that nearly makes the glass tumble from your hand. But she has quick reflexes, and her hand is steady against yours as she gently grabs your wrist, preventing the spill.

“Careful, Hun,” she cautions, plucking the glass out of your hand easily. “If only to appease you,” she sighs dramatically, before tipping it back and draining the glass.

The inevitable crash that you hadn’t, but probably should’ve, anticipated hits you all at once. It starts with a sigh that quickly turns into a yawn that seems to take all of your energy with it. You move to shrug your shoulders, brush it off like it’s nothing, because honestly, it’s only just starting to get dark outside, you can’t go to sleep right now, it’s just too early.

Your bones feel oddly heavy, sore in a way that shouldn’t surprise you, but it does. Adrenaline, and passion have temporarily blinded you to trivial things, like being a human and having a body that can get physically exhausted, especially after trying so many new things at once. You wince because fuck, you hadn’t realized how tense you had been holding yourself today until now, and the consequences are quickly setting in. 

She’s watching you, observing you closely as she always does. She doesn’t say a word, but she intuitively understands.

She brushes your hair off to one side, and you shiver as your bare neck and shoulders are exposed to her. Warm hands settle over your shoulders, there’s a gentle squeeze, an unspoken question, an offering. The way your head falls forward, the low, contented noise that falls from your lips is all the ascent that she needs.

Her thumbs gingerly press into the tense muscles beneath them. She hums sympathetically, feeling how tender you are beneath her. She keeps her movements slow and precise as she presses her thumbs against you, applying a slight pressure, running them over the backs of your shoulders, gently encouraging the tension to release. She’s ceaselessly patient, only continuing her path upward when she can feel your muscles relax, giving into her ministrations.  

She continues to massage across your shoulders and your upper back, seeming to find and undo tension in places that you didn’t even realize you were carrying. It makes you sleepy, the gentle caress of her hands gliding over your skin, paired with the firm press of her knuckles, exactly where you need it.

One of her hands slowly runs up the back of your neck, gently cupping you at the base of your skull.  Her fingers smooth over your temples, stress easing away as your eyes flutter shut.  Her other hand continues to press and massage in between your shoulder blades, firm and insistent as she smooths her thumbs over the tight knot that’s gathered there, with patient persistence, making it unravel at her touch, and forcing the tension to leave your body. 

“Relax, Pretty Girl, I’m not going anywhere,” her voice is a low rumble against your ear. 

Her lips brush over one of the bruises she’s left on the side of your neck, and suddenly, it’s like all the tension bleeds out of you, draining so quickly that you don’t have time to catch yourself.

She laughs softly as you try to contain the yawn that tears through you as she eases you back towards the pillows. She wraps a soft blanket around both of you, covering your bodies and making sure you’re tucked in securely. 

She settles in behind you, warm, bare skin pressing against yours as she curls herself around you. A strong arm wraps around your waist, gently tugging you close to her as her leg hooks over yours. 

You’re barely awake, only aware enough to snuggle into her, saying sleepily, “if this is the treatment I’m going to get after one swimming lesson, what are you gonna do when I’ve mastered it?”

There’s a soft chuckle, low against your ear as she whispers, “don’t worry about that, pretty girl, I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.” 

She kisses the top of your head, lingering for a moment as she adoringly watches your eyes flutter. You sigh with contentment, letting a sleepy smile graze over your lips. Maybe she doesn’t realize what she’s doing, maybe she isn’t even aware…but, in this moment, you’re surrounded by her. 

Her safety.

Her warmth .

Her unconditional and unwavering love is curled around your heart as closely as she’s curled herself around you. She’s here, she’s safety, she’s love,and right now, she is all that you could ever want.

-

this was actually my first attempt at writing smut, and in spite of how nervous I am to share it, I’m actually really happy with how it turned out. So if you enjoyed it, please let me know, notes, comments, and re-blogs are so appreciated. Thank you so much for reading

[bronx-bomber87]

Good Evening amazing fandom :) This was very light Chenford wise. And I'm ok with that when the main SL is really solid like last week was. Now Nyla's stuff was good. That new serial killer made my skin crawl. Could go without FBI guys being involved but get why they are. Mainly a Bailey/Balian heavy ep. Which I knew we'd have at some point given the finale.

I mean that with zero offense to anyone who loves her character or this ship. You should have eps around your favs. It's an ensemble cast after all. How it should be. They are just not my cup of tea is all. So this impressions will be shorter than usual due to that. Looks like next week will more than make up for that. Let us dive into what we did get shall we?

7x05 Till Death

This was a really smart move on Lucy's part. Going to his high school counselor. No better place to get the truth on this kid than her. She’ll have good insight. Like Tim said last week, Lucy isn't satisfied with the answer she got. This is proof of that heh I love her for it. We all know our girl isn't one to quit. Tim's answer last week did little to assuage her worry. So here we are at Ridley's H.S.

This scene explains that outfit now too. I remember people thought her being a detective was the reason. When her tik-tok came out with it the buzz about that was unreal haha But sadly tis not the case. Not disappointed with her being a T.O. at all though. Just remember the excited theorizing about it. We had nothing to go off of. So we dined on the crumbs we got for months LOL

Lucy making Seth cough up all his BS is fantastic. That’s my girl. I absolutely loved that she didn’t let him get away with it, not even for a second. She not only forced him to admit he lied, but also made him reveal the real truth behind it. I wanted to sucker punch him as he spoke. So many lies. Holy shit. They just compound when you do that my man. His reasoning is crap like I expected it to be.

That he uses half truths to get out of trouble. That's not great reasoning to explain what you've done.... It's pretty awful reasoning tbh. Also the thing is he’s lied so much now I can’t even trust that's even true. Idk how Lucy can. It's written all over her face how over his bullshit she is. Said this before she's a ten but real bad at hiding her feelings.

She is wearing them all over her sleeve this entire scene. No way he didn't sense her annoyance. Or how very done she is with him and his excuses. I mean I don't blame her. How can she train this kid without ever trusting what comes out of his mouth? Literally could lie at any given moment. Really dug himself a hole. Lucy looks so frustrated and upset. I hate this. Doesn’t even know what she wants to do with him....

Oh my Timothy, that’s quite the description of what a relationship is my love. It's almost like he has first hand experience what a healthy relationship looks like... We all know that's what he had with Lucy till he destroyed it. *sigh* He’s just a grumpasaurus cause he’s post-Lucy. He lost his constant sunshine person that made him softer.

It was self inflicted as we all know. That doesn't meant it isn't still having lasting ramifications for him due to it. Also he had a bad experience with that whole thing. So the rant makes sense and is warranted. Luna even explains why Tim is that way. I do adore her. Always sunshine and light with her kindness towards Miles. Twas nice to see.

Lucy coming to find her person always makes me happy. Suspicions confirmed. So naturally she must go find hubby. I love his ‘Uh oh.’ When she closes the door. Lucy spewing all she has on Seth to him. Expecting him to to be just as outraged as she is. Disappointed when he isn’t more upset along with her. His logic is sound though. Even if they wanted to boot him it wouldn't be a easy sell with Grey.

A man who is SO stressed about the budget and their perception to the public atm. So I get what Tim is aiming at. Doesn't make it less crappy to deal with though. I have been there in my last job. Where morally I didn’t want to keep someone. But we were so understaffed they let them stay for just that reason. Even when I objected. I hated it sfm. Every fiber of my being loathed mentoring someone who didn't deserve to be there. So I empathize with Lucy so very much with this.

Tim ‘I bounce boots for breakfast.’ Bradford Lmao I’m dying. I mean no one calls out Tim like our girl. Hot damn. I do love her for it. But of course he’s turning this into a learning moment for her. Because it's Tim. Saying it’s on her to correct it. I mean he’s not wrong… But it’s agitating nonetheless. Since he hasn't lied officially it's a moral issue and not a legal one since its not work related.

Which beyond sucks. No two ways about it. Especially since Lucy has been a good teacher to him. He's taking advantage of that wholeheartedly. He wouldn't have made it past day one with Tim. But he sees Lucy's empathy and is exploiting it. *grumble* Her smile at the end with Tim isn't without a little flirty energy I will say. I will take my crumbs in a lighter episode for them.

Then immediately after Tim leaves the problem walks himself right in. I said this last ep, every time he opens his mouth I dislike him just a little bit more. He opens his mouth and I lose patience for him. I can't imagine being in Lucy's position with Seth. If the writers intention was to have me dislike this kid they're doing a masterful job. All I see is a little weasel not worthy of Lucy's time now.

I’m 100% with Lucy not trusting him. He’s gonna have to earn back her trust ten fold. If that's even possible. I would say he gets ten percent of it back and he has to earn the other ninety. That he's lucky he even gets ten. She crushes him when he uses the excuse it's stressful. Straight up OWNS his ass. We can see him panicking to get her back on his side. But that ship has sailed good sir. Not only has it but he is very aware of it.

Man when you have Lucy Chen giving up on you. It's bad my friend. Really all Lucy can do at this point is be a good leader to him. Only way to save herself when he flames out. It’s on Seth to ‘fly right’ as he put. Been there it sucks. Nothing worse than having your trust broken by someone you’re training. Because now everything is colored by that distrust. That empathy you once had has wained quite a bit if you have any left at all. Lucy did not get an easy first rookie. phew lord.

We come to the end of the episode and it's clear Lucy has sat on this the entire day. It is our girl after all. I do love that she keeps gravitating back to Tim. Makes my heart happy. Even though she is one to make the call she still needs him by her side. Friggin adore he doesn’t hesitate to go with her to Grey. I love it sfm. Goes from grumpy to supportive in a second when he realizes she needs him.

That she has a plan in action. That really she's come to him for support not advice this time. He doesn't blink before he's at her side. Not only that but not taking any shots at her decision. Wanting to give her all the confidence by backing it. (How very far we've come with that) Lucy is looking elated he’s coming with and supporting her.

I was thinking time to boot that little schmuck. I said couple eps ago I was kind of hoping he'd wash out. Then this happened. His "cancer" is back……He literally tipped his hand twice with her in this episode. Saying when he thinks he is in trouble he does half truths. That when he is panicked and stressed that's his go to. Then all of a sudden his cancer is back that same day. How very convenient of those lab results to show up right now.

Tim's face is everything LOL He is now over this dude himself. The look they share is top notch though. Silent communication at it's finest. How can she say no when he says his “cancer “ is back? And in front of Grey who has zero idea about her suspicions. This feels like a ploy to keep himself safe. He could feel Lucy turning on him.

Could sense the tide was turning against him in the worst way so he did this. I could be wrong but this feels pretty right. Lucy holds his fate in her hand. So what better way to stay afloat than to use cancer. She can't possibly fire him now can she? Ugh. This little shit being far more of a problem than ever expected. Holy cow. I honestly expected Miles to be more of the problem but here we are....Shall be interesting to see how the pans out.

Now let's talk about the most exciting thing that happened which was the promo after this ep LOL Other than the little Chenford we got this ep didn't do much for me. Other than anger me against Seth lol This was a just a fillery place holder to get to this one IMO. The description alone has me amped. "The Gala" It’s Valentine’s Day, and Lieutenant Grey gives Tim and Lucy an unromantic assignment, while John and Celina track down a missing girl. Later, the team sharpens up for a charity gala where multiple relationships come to a head." Hard to believe been a year since she got her necklace. I'm not crying you are.....

Now this promo had me wishing it was next week. The promo had me all jazzed this morning. Oh my lord. Genny is back! Also Tim looks soft as butter for her in that promo. Man is transparent af. Saying how good she looks in front of people? I did say continue being this way and he is following those instructions ha To say I am excited for next week is an understatement.

Thank you to all you glorious readers. You make all the effort I put into these worth it on the days where I'm tired af and assembling these. The likes, lovely comments and reblogs make my heart happy. So never can thank you all enough for the love. Shall see you next week in 7x06 :)

~~~

Side notes-Non Chenford

Bailey sending notes to the hitman in secret. Yeah that’s not good for your marriage.....

Nice Texas has an a lovely lady at his side. Not so great she just showed up ha

PTSD for Nyla poor woman. Possible bad needle? Yikes…The stress that would give me my god.

Bailey got Jason killed holy hell....She pretty much just committed murder. She is an accessory to murder now. So that's fun for her. lol Also little anti climatic he just got offed after hunting her for months. I was more shocked he killed the girl than Jason tbh. But oh well. Least it's over early in the season.