#there are so many shows I will never be able to see

[mameillieureennemie]

this was the idea i had. i had to write it, or else i'd lose my mind. so have some smut, freshly baked, and homemade. 👍🏾

mechanic!vi x afab!reader

cw: mechanic!vi, afab!reader, 18+, nsfw; minors don't you DARE interact with this

summary: vi's work takes her away sometimes. she misses you a lot.

work takes vi away sometimes, to different cities and, at times, countries that require her attention. she's good at what she does; there isn't anyone who can fix and restore cars like she can. it's a skill she's developed and built since she was old enough to hold a screwdriver, her interest in mechanics starting long before that, too.

she enjoys her career, adores that she gets to work with cars every day, and get paid quite handsomely for it. there are times, though, where she wishes she wasn't so damn good at her job because, like now, it whisks her away.

away from you.

she's currently attending to a client's urgent call; their car had been having engine trouble, and none of the surrounding mechanics could fix it. It's a luxury car, too, with a price tag that has too many zeros on it, so it requires delicate hands and patient.

both of which vi has.

when she's working, at least.

she's been away from you for the past week now, and it's driving her a bit insane. these jobs only take a few days, at most, but parts are a struggle to find sometimes. so she has to stay until they arrive so she can get the job done.

her cilents treat her nicely, have paid for her accommodation and feeding. she's being well-looked after, having her every whim be catered to.

but still.

she wishes you were here.

"it's only a few more days," you tell her one evening via video call. you're so gorgeous it hurts, your smile shining with your smile. you're lounging on your shared bed, curled up around the pillow against your chest. "didn't you say the order's coming in tomorrow?"

vi sighs, leaning back against the headboard of her hotel room's bed. which sucks because you're not in it with her. "yeah, but i'm kind of scared it's gonna get delayed because of the weather and shit," she grumbles. "if that happens, can you come? because if i go another two days without you, i'll lose my goddamn mind."

"aw," you coo teasingly, hiding behind your (her) pillow enough so only your beautiful eyes show. a coy move that has vi's blood roaring. "only two days?"

"i'd say one, but i don't want you to think i'm obsessed with you or something," vi replies, partly playfully because god knows how obsessed she is with you. "wouldn't want to chase you off, especially when i'm not there to catch you."

"ooh scary," you say, still a tease as you lift your head a little from behind the pillow. enough so she can see your lovely mouth, so sweet and waiting to be kissed. "and if i ran and you caught me, what would you do to me?"

heat starts to simmer beneath vi's skin, warming her up nicely from within. she roves her eyes over your pretty face, licks her lips when she thinks about all the things she could do to you.

all the things she's planning to do to you once she gets home.

"can't give away all my secrets," vi replies, her voice having gone a bit hoarse from her budding arousal. "you'll find it soon enough."

your breath hitches a little, at the implication, and your gaze darkens ever so slightly. it's enough to have both of you suddenly on edge, desperation raging violently in the both of you.

the order does come in the next day, thank god, and vi jumps into work. if she's able to finish this today, she can flight back home to you tomorrow. all her focus is thrown into doing an immaculate job, as always, so she can get paid and use that money to spoil you rotten.

she's on a short break when her phone chimes, notifying her of a message. she instantly knows it's you, judging by the jingle and how you personalised it on a drunken night. vi's never bothered to change it because it's yours, and anything of yours is perfect.

vi chugs her bottle of water while simultaneously unlocking her phone and tapping the notification. the chat opens, greeting her with a video that appears rather inconspicuous at first. vi doesn't think anything of it; in fact, she's smiling already, thinking it's one of those cute video messages you send her when she's away.

but when she taps play, and the first breathy note of your moan floats through the speaker, vi's world flips upside down. she quickly pauses the video, cheeks aflame, as she clutches her phone to her chest. her heartbeat is thundering loudly in her ears, sending through a message of panic and instant arousal.

vi blinks into the emptiness of the huge garage, swallows, draws in a shaky breath, and manages to look back down at her phone.

with a shaky thumb, she presses play again and...

there you are.

straddling her motorcycle, clad in a tiny skirt that rides high with every grind of your hips. your hands grip at the handlebars, quivering a little as you use them for balance, use them to pull yourself up and push down.

you're a vision, eyes tightly closed as you find your pleasure on the leather seat. soft whimpers fall from your parted lips, gradually increasing in volume as you grind your dripping cunt down harder.

vi watches, entranced and halfway soaked, as your head falls back with a whine of her name.

"violet,"

fuck.

she can't see the mess that you're leaving on her seat, but she knows it's drenched. knows that your slick is soaking into the fabric, making it easier and smoother for you to ride. making it better, so much better, and vi's vision grows hazy at the thought.

"please, ah, please, vi," you moan, needy, as your grinds turn into harsh bounces. "i...i need you, hah, w-wanna cum—"

vi's eyes flutter, her free hand shooting down to slip past the pants of her coveralls. she hisses when she feels how wet she is, releasing a keen as she starts to rub at her throbbing clit.

"vi, vi—" you gasp, one of your hands leaving the handlebars to slip under your skirt. you moan loudly, lips parting further as you nearly cry. "i'm gonna—"

"you're gonna cum, sweetheart?" vi pants, her own orgasm cresting already. "gonna, ah fuck, cum for me?"

as if you could hear her, you suddenly nod frantically and give a startled cry, eyes going wide and unseeing as you convulse with the strength of your orgasm. there's a faint splash that catches vi's attention and that, that has her biting back a scream as she makes a mess of herself. all wet and messy and so fucking good, it has her seeing stars.

it leaves her loose-limbed, has her leaning against a wall as she struggles to catch her breath. but she's barely given a chance when her phone rings and she answers it without checking the caller ID.

she already knows who it is.

"you're so evil, baby," vi says, still breathless, and you laugh for a full thirty seconds before saying,

"so i guess you don't want to see the other video then?"

"oh my god."

vi can't fucking wait to get home.

[snoopyiz]

‘ drown to impress ’ feat. LARA RAJ

─── ﹙🪼﹚ Lara has never even thought about swimming, until she found out you were on the swimming team. Going from just barely waking up to be present in her first period to being up at 6am everyday was a struggle, especially since her body wasn’t used to it. The worst part? She didn’t even know how to swim.

PAIRING(s): lara raj x swimmer!reader, highschool au

WARNING(s): fluff, nearly drowning, mentions of gurgling/spitting, reader does cpr as some point, skin tone mention (nothing derogatory)

A/N: never join a swimming team TRUST me. it’s horrid. also this is lowkey really bad im sorry 💔

None of Lara’s friends understood. I mean why would she suddenly show interest in swimming of all things? Lara Raj was a woman of many talents, but swimming was not one.

None of them even recall ever seeing her actually swim— staying on the shore at the beach does not count. How did the infamous Lara Raj find herself nearly drowning?

Well it’s simple really. One day as she was walking to class she saw this girl— not just any though. Her beauty was enough to turn heads, or at least in Lara’s mind, because according to her friend, the girl was a ‘two out of ten’. Although Lara’s sure she’s higher, that's beside the point.

Lara had her friend— Daniela do a little digging, it turned out that said girl was on a swim team! Which is how Lara found herself in this position, her ears ringing as she found her vision darkening.

The one familiar thing she sees is you. Was she dying? Or worse, dead already? Maybe diving head first on the first day was something not everyone could achieve, the one thing she did achieve was learning she couldn’t swim though!

You on the other hand were panicking, hastily you pulled her out of the water, shaking her— even if you knew it wouldn’t really help much if she had inhaled too much water. You kneeled next to her, placing your hands on her chest and pressed down a few times, until she gurgled up water. As she spit it out, you helped her turn her body upwards so that she wouldn’t choke on it more.

“Are you okay?” You frantically asked, even if Lara wanted to answer— she quite literally couldn’t. Lara wanted to shrivel up and die there as you continued to ask her questions. She just knew her friends would never let her live this up, especially the fact she could’ve died yet all she could think of was your hand rubbing her back.

Ever since that day you’ve personally made it your mission to teach her how to swim, because come on, who joins a swimming team without even knowing how to tread!

“Lara.. you’re doing it wrong, again.” you sighed, moving beside her and placing your hand on her back.

“you have to relax, or else you’ll never be able to float.” you said for the third time, holding her up on her back within the water. Undoubtedly Lara was gorgeous, but you could tell she wasn’t listening. It was little things she would forget, her towel, to be on time, it made you truly wonder why she was even on the team.

Lara on the other hand felt like she was on cloud nine, five days a week spending time alone with this gorgeous girl? Not only that, but was her coach. The problem arose when finals came. Lara genuinely thought swimming was for fun, not tournaments and all.

“you do know they wanna cut you right?” You told Lara, walking into the locker rooms.

“oh, uhm why?” She questioned, even if she knew the answer.

“Well, for one you can barely tread properly. Second, you're late a lot, not to mention the clothes instead of the swimsuit. Third, you're always distracted.” Oh. Was she that bad? Lara hadn’t noticed how much you’d taken note of her.

“I only joined because—” of you. The words sat on the tip of her tongue, yet she couldn’t bring herself to say them?

“I already know why, I saw your friend come up in my Facebook recommendations and assumed it was because of this.” You admitted, laughing a little at the last part— while you laughed, Lara's face burned, she was sure if she was a different tone you would’ve known.

The only words she could get out were an ‘I’m sorry’, she was beyond embarrassed, I mean hey, at least she could take something away from this she thought— don’t join a club you have absolutely no interest in!

“We should hang out sometime.” You said, looking back at her before grabbing your swimming bag,

“oh also, I left my number on a piece of paper in your bag.” You stated before leaving. Lara was beyond glad nobody was in the locker room with the way she nearly leaped to her bag, searching for the paper— her jaw dropping when she found it, you weren’t lying.

xxx-xxx-xxxx: hi yn it’s lara

yn (aka loml): hi lara !! lmk when ur free and we can link 😁

[bunnybeaches]

First drabble i’m publishing!! it’s all fluff! i can take constructive criticism just please don’t be mean with it

You missed your boy so much. Six whole months without a warm body to hold, loud boot stomping when he gets home (he promises he’ll be more quiet), or his voice calling out to you softly whenever he can’t find you.

Another day crossed off the calendar till you’re flipping the months instead. You convinced him to buy this adorable calendar with cute kittens on it. Even though he said “it ruined his vibe.” One kitten matches the stupid, little furball that calls your home his own. Your boy bought it for you after he felt you were lonely when he was on deployment. What a sweet boy you have.

Carefully collecting the furball into your arms you walk to the bedroom. Fluffy sock clad feet carefully padding against the cold wood floors. You gently nudge the door open with your foot before plopping the cat on the bed. Finally you can peel off those restricting clothes you’re required to wear for work. Slip on one of your boyfriend’s shirts with the last name “Riley” across the back.

The cologne mostly faded from being worn and washed about a million times Yet you’ll never stop wearing it.

Trotting off to the bathroom since you know you have to wash your face, after all who wants pimples? Scrubbing off the dirt, grime, and sweat after a long day feels nice.

Finally it’s the best time of the night, bedtime. Crawling into bed with the furball and a stuffed bunny your boyfriend got you, he said it reminded him of you. You’re able to fall asleep dreaming of dreams that are..well nobody really remembers their dreams. It’s pretty early when your shoulder gets nudged over and over. Thinking it’s the cat you shrug it off.

“Go away” you murmur. The cat doesn’t move or well the nudging doesn’t stop.

“Hey I said..” finally turning over to get the damn cat to stop when you pause. You’re half asleep but it looks like there’s a man in your bed. oh shit there’s a man in your bed!

the figure moves “love it’s just me.” the figure says looming over with a deep voice.

You know that voice. You know that face! That face with messy blonde hair he didn’t get to cut on deployment, the slightly crooked nose from it being broken to many times, big brown eyes, and chapped lips which you will definitely fix.

“Simon” a heavy sigh and a sleepy smile grace your lips. “I missed you baby”

As he lays down next to you, you see that he’s in his boxers and his hair is slightly damp. You almost immediately snuggle into his open arms.

“Did you shower already? You look..clean?” you ask with a small grin but a puzzled look

Simon chuckles while gently playing with your hair, “I didn’t want to wake you lovie, so i took a shower downstairs. I know you don’t appreciate me dirty in bed.” he plants a small kiss to your forehead

How did you get so lucky? “I appreciate that you came home to me. Safe and sound.” You both get comfortable, your head on his chest and his arms tightly around you.

“Glad to be home angel..so glad to be home” Simon’s voice trails off. Poor baby was way too sleepy for a conversation.

But it’s ok, in the morning he will show you how much he missed you. For now all your worries disappeared since your boy is back in your arms.

ok wow first drabble! there definitely are mistakes just please be nice!! i tried my best and i can’t wait to improve! i hope you all enjoy it!

[olivialivvy17]

Blind leading the blind - Matt Murdock blurb

pairing: matt murdock x glasses gn!reader

tags: fluff, blurb

warnings: none

wc: 698

a/n: I speak from experience here, cuz I'm very blind myself. also I've never come across a pairing like this so yeah. okay I love you and enjoy <3

Blind leading the blind. That's what your mutual friends call you two. It’s funny to both of you because it’s partially true. You are nearsighted, not completely blind, but without your glasses you’re almost just as blind. Matt, on the other hand is completely blind, even with his heightened senses, he can’t see the way a normal person sees.

You two go together like a charm, a perfect pair. You two met randomly in a caffe while Matt was getting harassed by an impatient prick who couldn’t wait five seconds more for Matt to find his wallet and pay. That’s when you stepped in.

"Hey can you not wait a moment longer? Your morning coffee is not going to run away. Harassing a blind person is a very low blow man” you scolded the guy, eyebrows furrowed in frustration as you stood by the counter waiting for the barista to brew your coffee. Matt responded with a polite smile and a soft ‘thank you’ as he paid and left.

After that, you two crossed paths in that same caffe a couple of more times, which led to him asking to pay for your coffee and asking you out on a real date, that's how you two started dating.

Matt found it endearing how you partially understood him, what's it like not being able to see the world without some kind of assistance. He also loved taking off your glasses before you fall asleep, or when you’re already asleep from reading a book. He’d very gently grasp the frame and slide it off your ears, extending his arm over and putting them on the nightstand. Taking your tired face and placing a kiss to each eye, whispering praises and sweet nothings while gently feeling your face with his large hands.

“Babe, can you clean my glasses? My shirt is not the right material” you ask him, handing your glasses to your blind boyfriend. “Of course love” as he gladly takes them in hand and starts meticulously wiping the lenses with his shirt.

He knows you hate when other people touch your glasses. No one can clean them the way you do, but for some miraculous reason, Matt is an expert at that. Just the fact that you trust him that much with a thing you need in order to live properly, warms his heart and shows him that he means so much to you.

He would also just sit and listen to you grumble about the outlandish prices of getting prescription glasses. “Like I understand that my prescription is high and that my lenses need thinning, but why am I selling my kidney to be able to see!” you huff in annoyance “It’s not even my fault, i was born like this”, only for him to chuckle and shake his head at how cute you sounded to him all pouty and frustrated.

One thing no one prepared you for was the fact that Matt never really needed to turn on the light when entering the room. He was very light and eerily quiet on his feet. So one night he unintentionally, but creepily stood in the doorframe of your shared bedroom, watching (or I guess listening to) you mindlessly scroll on your phone in the dark (without glasses on) for a good moment until you felt someone watching you.

Averting your gaze from the little screen, you noticed a figure standing there in the dark. Matt immediately picked up your frightened heartbeat and softly broke the silence “Hey, hey honey, it's me. It's Matt” as he made his way to your frozen figure, half sat up on the bed. “I'm so sorry for scaring you, I forgot it's dark in here”. You would scold him for doing that, but there's never really any bite in your tone. Afterwards, he would apologize by giving you so many kisses and letting you sleep in his arms.

At the end of the day, and many shared struggles, you both found comfort in each other. Being one another's guiding light.

[amoristt]

This is so self indulgent but Kang dae-ho headcanons about him having a girlfriend that's muscular please! Like, stronger than him type muscular（＾ω＾）

dont ever be scared to be self-indulgent!!!!!!!!!! i LOVE this request bc i am currently in my Muscle(TM) era so this had me like 👉🏽👈🏽 im kinda relating it to real life bc my partner and his friends cant keep up with my leg day LOL

kang dae-ho with a muscular girlfriend

oh my god. this man would be crazy for a woman able to bench him. don't get him wrong- Dae-hoe loves to be the tough guy. the pride he feels from being a marine at his young age, and his passion to keep those around him safe ring true at all angles. he loves to be the protector, and he's got all these self-indulgent daydreams about being That Guy.

but. something about seeing you, with your pretty smile and even prettier laugh, start lifting weights he tops out at for a warm up? it does something to him. it really, really does. he kind of wants you to toss him over your shoulder and squat him.

some guys would be put off knowing their woman could give them as ass whooping, but not Dae-ho, because man does he love when you show it off. arm wrestles, pushup contests, anything. especially if it humbles some jackass. it makes him beam with joy watching his girlfriend kick ass. he's the cheerleader and you're the star quarterback.

he thinks that you're soooo freaking hot. like sometimes he looks at you and can't believe you give him the time of day, let alone let him hang around.

loves your gym outfits. specifically the baggy hoodie, shorts combo. when you send him pics and outfits of the day he eats it UP. thats his mf woman

knowing you're stronger than him doesn't ever stop him from playing tough guy, though. it's in his very DNA. he'd defend john cena if he could. some guy wont leave you alone? he's there ready to throw hands. someone's talking shit about his girl? hell no. meet him outside.

"don't fuck with me, my girlfriend will kick your ass"

you two meet at the gym, naturally. Dae-ho goes pretty regularly on his own but he's the 'head down, heaphones up' kind of gym rat so he never really gave mind to anyone else nearby him. honestly didn't even know you went to his gym until one fateful, fateful day. he's one part of a trio of buddies that day, spending more time chatting and goofing off than actually doing his sets. he's showboating, overloading his plates and damn near throwing his back out more than once. he loads a barbell up with 345lbs onto his shoulders and cranks out a single squat. then two. once he drops down for the third, he locks up. it's then he realizes how many leg days he's skipped. he can't bring himself up right. his friends aren't paying attention and he was an idiot who didn't have a spotter. his options are fall forward, and risk the bar hitting him in the head, or fall backwards and feel the embarrassment of a hundred eyes all on him at once. he's struggling to balance it, every muscle in his body tensing, when suddenly the bar is lifting. he lifts to his feet and there's a set of hands off to his left helping him set the barbell back onto the rack. expecting his friend, he turns and goes to chastise them for not paying attention and helping sooner, but then he see's... you. before he can apologize for talking to you like that, you're already smiling at him and teasing right back. maybe you shouldn't have loaded too much, huh? he's flushing bright red, stammering out a laugh and rubbing the back of his head. you're cute- and your voice is like honey to his ears. his friends are snickering from other machine, watching the entire ordeal, and he feels that flaming blush race down to his neck and chest. he doesn't know it quite yet, but he's smitten. he goes to start peeling the plates off the racked barbell but you stop him. and then, slack jawed and wide eyed, he watches you crank out an entire set. you heave the bar back onto the rack and then, he gets to watch you add MORE weight. he's not even trying to act like he isn't staring, completely gobsmacked. his friends are still horsing around elsewhere and he's stunned into place. you take a sip of water in-between sets and before you can put your headphones back on he can't stop himself from talking to you. he literally isn't even thinking when he catches your attention, feeling shy, but he can't help it. he has to talk to you- that was the coolest shit he's ever seen. its humbled him. changed him. he just watched you squat two of him over your shoulders like it was nothing. he can't even feel his pride take a hit either, he's entranced by you. you both have a great conversation and man, he knew you were cool before, but every time you open you're mouth it just gets better and better. he can't believe he's never noticed you until now. from that point on, he starts to notice whether you're there or not. and he goes crazy out of his way to talk to you- finding little reasons to chat. eventually you start seeking him out too. you ask him to be your spotter one day and he's pretty much head over heels after that. eventually you get each others numbers, then, he pulls the ultimate move. he invites you out to drinking with his friends and you show up but hey, check that out, looks like no one showed up but us! that totally wasn't planned at all, or anything. oh well! you two have a lovely evening together <3

[bestruction]

The quiet ways he says I love you

Sasuke was never one to express his feelings openly. Words, especially ones like “I love you,” weren’t something he used casually, but his actions spoke volumes. Every quiet moment, every gesture was filled with meaning that only you truly understood. His love for you wasn’t in grand declarations but in the subtle ways he cared for you.

His past left many scars on him, physically and emotionally. So it's understandable that being vulnerable wasn't something he learned, especially when it came to expressing his feelings since he had to suppress them for so long. The post-ninja war, being with you, it's the first time in years that he doesn't have to be in survival mode and drowned in pain and hate.

That didn't mean he was incapable of showing you his love, just that you would have to be patient and learn how to see it in the details because he has his quiet ways of saying I love you.

Walking on the Safe Side

No matter where you two went, Sasuke instinctively positioned himself between you and any potential danger, whether it was a busy road, a crowded market, or a narrow mountain path. He knew you were able to take care of yourself, but still, a silent voice in his brain always made him step to your side and silently assume his post.

After finishing missions together, you two returned to the village. It had been a long day, and Konoha was already bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. You were walking side by side, a comfortable silence hanging between you two. Without a word, Sasuke reached out and took your hand, his fingers gently curling around yours. His grip was firm, and protective, as though he was silently reassuring you that he was there. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this, but every time it happened, your heart fluttered in your chest. He didn’t look at you, didn’t acknowledge the gesture, but the warmth of his hand in yours was a quiet confession in itself by the way his thumb caressed your knuckles.

Your comfort

He is highly observant. It's in his nature thanks to his personality and work as a ninja, watching you was something he did without even realizing it. You two went out shopping and he saw you eyeing a particular treat? It'll magically appear in his kitchen in the next couple of days. Sasuke always made sure his home had your favorite snacks, drinks, and foods. It was his way of saying "You can stay for longer".

If you were out and it was cold, Sasuke would wordlessly drape his cloak or jacket over your shoulders or if you were sitting together, he’d pull you closer to share his warmth. Your comfort was always a priority because he wanted to be someone you could count on since he knows how difficult it is not to have this.

Physical Touch

Whether it was brushing his fingers over yours under the table at Ichiraku when you sat close, rubbing his foot gently against yours under the table, or resting his hand on your lower back as you walked, his touch was a silent way of grounding them both.

He has this habit of hugging you from behind and kissing the back of your neck right on the spine whenever he enters the room which makes you shiver and complain.

Also...Sex. The moment he learned what made you whimper and moan his name it was over to you. He became quickly addicted to making you cum just to watch you feel good but be careful, he can be mean as well for many reasons.  

The Forehead Poke

He had adopted the gesture from Itachi and used it sparingly, and only in moments when words failed him. A gentle poke to your forehead, when you were being stubborn, overthinking, or teasing him too much.

Hating Your Tears

Sasuke couldn’t stand seeing you cry. It's something even Naturo teases him about. If tears welled up in your eyes, he would do everything in his power to comfort you, even if it meant stepping out of his comfort zone. He wasn’t great with words, but he’d awkwardly pat your head, wrap an arm around you, or simply sit with you until the storm passed.

Listening Without Interrupting

The Uchiha wasn’t the most talkative person, but he was an excellent listener. No matter how trivial your stories or worries might seem, he gave you his full attention. His quiet nods and occasional hums were his way of saying, I’m here. Keep talking. Plus, he loves the sound of your voice. It breaks the silence in his head.

Soft Smiles Meant Only for You

Sasuke’s smiles were rare, but when they came, they were like glimpses of sunlight through the clouds. For you, he would offer it more often. It'd happen mostly when you are telling or showing him something because he loves your excitement. It was a quiet affection that took your breath away.

Okay, but when does he say "I love you" then?

It was raining outside, the soft pattern of droplets on the roof filling the silence of the Uchiha district. The house, much like its owner, was quiet and reserved, but it had started to feel like home to you since you spent more time there than on your own.

You were sitting on the floor with your back against the couch, a book in your hands while Sasuke sat nearby, sharpening his sword. The faint sound of the whetstone sliding along the blade was rhythmic, almost soothing. It had become a ritual for the two of you, these silent evenings spent together, where words weren’t needed to feel connected.

But tonight, the atmosphere felt different. You could sense it in the way Sasuke’s movements were slower, less precise. He was distracted, and for a man like him, that was unusual.

“What’s on your mind?” you asked softly, closing your book and setting it aside.

He paused, his hand stilling on the hilt of his sword. For a moment, you thought he might not answer, but then he set the weapon down and leaned back slightly, his gaze fixed on the floor.

“Nothing,” he said at first, his voice as low and guarded as always. But you’d been with him long enough to know better.

“Sasuke.” You shifted closer, your knees brushing his. “I know when something’s bothering you. You don’t have to tell me, but... I’m here.”

His dark eyes lifted to meet yours, and you were struck, as always, by the depth of emotion he carried but rarely allowed to surface. There was pain there, but also something softer, something he didn’t know how to name or express.

He looked away, his jaw tightening. “It’s… hard,” he admitted after a long pause.

You tilted your head, waiting patiently. He needed time, and you were willing to give it to him.

“I’m not… good at this,” he continued his voice barely above a whisper. “At saying things.”

Your heart ached for him, but you didn’t interrupt. This was his moment, and you didn’t want to take it away from him.

“I’ve spent so many years… not feeling anything. Or trying not to. It was easier that way.” His hand clenched into a fist on his thigh. “But now… with you… it’s different. And I don’t know what to do with it.”

“You don’t have to do anything, Sasuke. Just be here. That’s enough.”

He shook his head slightly, a faint scoff escaping his lips. “It’s not enough. You deserve more than that.” His gaze finally met yours again, and this time, there was no barrier, no wall between you.

"I never thought It'd be possible for us to be here, together, enjoying some random day in silence," You say reaching for his hand "And I couldn't want something-" You squeeze his hand and correct yourself "I wouldn't want someone else"

Sasuke wants to believe your words and he knows you aren't lying about your feelings but he didn't know how to deal with honesty when faced with it so openly.

In his eyes, he didn't deserve this or you.  

"You should be with someone who can give you a normal life-"

"You don't get to decide that" You cut his phrase "I want to be with you. Unless you don't want me here...I'm not leaving"

Your hands cupped his face, keeping his eyes on you. He had a habit of running away from this type of conversation but this time you wouldn't let him.

He hesitated, his shoulders tense as if he were bracing for an attack. You lean your forehead against his "Do you want me here, you idiot ?" You ask looking deeply into his onix eyes.

You were glaring at him in the cutest way possible. At that moment, the words left his lips without a second thought. “I love you.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with all the emotion he had been holding back for so long. It wasn’t just a confession, it was a release. Your breath hitched, and you blinked a few silly tears away but he noticed.

He looked away, his face slightly flushed, though he tried to hide it. “Don’t cry.”

You laughed softly, reaching out to cup his cheek and guiding his gaze back to you. “I’m happy, you idiot.”

He closed his eyes briefly, leaning into your touch, his hand coming up to rest over yours. He wondered how he managed to get someone like you in this lifetime after all the pain he caused.

“And I love you, too,” you said firmly, your voice full of conviction

For a moment, neither of you said anything else. The rain continued to fall outside, a soft, soothing backdrop to the moment. Sasuke’s hand tightened slightly around yours, his touch grounding you as much as yours grounded him.

[in1-nutshell]

Can I request tfp Megatron having a bot buddy for a son who unlike Ophelia is ruthless and is loyal to the deception cause? And leads the deceptions when Megatron is absent, he is also friends with dreading and breakdown, also at times says says puns when the opportunity arrives, and he would do anything to see cybertron be born a new.

Adding another child on Megatron's list of kids I see.

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy who is Megatron's son

SFW, Platonic, Angst, Mention of injuries, Cybertronian reader

TFP

Megatronus met Buddy under less than likely circumstances.

The gladiator was waiting for his usual medics to come and fix him up.

Noticing the medic being much later than usual, he asked a drone where the medic was.

The drone said nothing and continued doing his work.

The door soon swung open with a youngling struggling to carry his med kit.

Megatronus blinked a bit, not sure if the loss of energon was making him see things. The youngling happily walked up the monstrous size of a mech. Buddy: “Hi! I’m Buddy! Big fan of your work Megatronus!” The gladiator winced a bit at the loudness in the younglings voice. The youngling noticed and gave him a sheepish smile. Buddy: “Sorry! Its just an honor to be even here, much more helping you get back on your pedes.” He quickly started work on the battered frame, and quite efficiently too. Megatronus: “Aren’t you a bit too young to be here in the Pits?” Buddy: “With the prices of energon going up, this was the only job I could get without much background check. Yeah, they pay a bit cheaper and there’s plenty of mechs that love to push a small bot like me around, but at least its better than working in the waste pits!” Megatronus: “Waste pits?” Buddy: “Yeah, hot, steamy, and smells horrific. Its much better up here! Oh! What do you call a computer that showed up late to work? A hard drive!” Megatronus: “…What—” Buddy: “Don’t worry I got a whole bunch more!”

Megatronus didn’t think he would see the youngling again.

But low and behold the next time he was sent to the med bay, the youngling was sitting there with a big grin.

Buddy always seemed to go on and on about the most random things during his repairs.

Megatronus didn’t mind it too much.

It was annoying at first, but he soon saw an extremely passionate youngling.

The gladiator asked where he knew how to repair a bot.

Buddy bashfully mentioned having watched and spied on a medic in one of the run down clinic for a while.

Soon enough his servos were moving just as fast as the medics and he was able to study some old medical data pads.

The rest came from patching up many of his friends in the alleys.

At the mention of alley’s Megatronus offered to share his living quarters with Buddy.

A proposal that surprised him and Buddy.

The youngling accepted after a couple of days, claiming it would be better to stay so he could get to work early.

Both mechs know it was a lie but said nothing about it.

Soon enough the small medic, the youngling who barely came up to Megatronus’s knee, began following him around the gladiators’ quarters.

There was a bit of a ruckus amongst some of the other fighters, mainly with the ones who thought it was a good idea to mess with the youngling.

Megatronus made sure to take care of that problem.

The other fighters soon found themselves caring for the young medic as well.

Of course, it was just because he could patch them up after hours and nothing more.

Yeah, nothing more…

Megatronus: “Soundwave, have you seen Buddy?” He pauses seeing Buddy sitting on the gladiator’s shoulder. Buddy: “Hey Megatronus! I got a new joke! What did the sparkling call his father? Data!” Megatronus: “…” Soundwave: “…” Soundwave starts running with Buddy. Megatronus: “Soundwave you already have the minicons, bring back Buddy!” Soundwave: “Never!” Buddy: “WWWEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!”

Yes, Uncle Soundwave was one of Buddy’s favorite uncles amongst the new gladiator family forming.

He was the one who finally persuaded Megatronus to finally give Buddy some tips on self-defense.

Both gladiators were surprised with how quickly the youngling took to fighting and steely determination to finish a fight.

But Buddy’s favorite Uncles had to be Orion Pax.

He just loved being in the archives with him whenever he was able to go out.

Orion loved seeing the light shine in Buddy’s optics when he would read out loud.

Orion: “Buddy, this is a dear friend of mine.” Ratchet walks through the door making Buddy’s optics go wide. Buddy: “You’re that medic in deadend!” Ratchet: “Um, how do you know—” Buddy: “I used to watch you all the time!” Optimus and Ratchet: “…” Buddy: “… I should have phrased that better…”

Ratchet was a bit touched and creeped out that this youngling saw him at practice and decided to heal bots as well.

Gave Buddy a new med kit on one visit, neither he or Orion were aware that a youngling could practically pour out joy.

Megatronus wasn’t jealous.

Not at all…

It was an unspoken thing between Buddy and Megatronus.

The gladiator did his best to protect the youngling and provide, while Buddy looked up to him as a role model.

… then came that fateful day at the Senate.

Buddy tried sneaking into the building, but there was just too much security to rick it.

He remembered Megatronus storming out of the building with a fire in his optics that he had never seen before.

The youngling followed closely behind.

Soon enough the war had started.

Conisidentially, it was around this time Buddy had a growth spurt.

Almost overnight, Buddy went from about Megatron’s knee, to skyrocketing to being a helm shorter than him.

A bit of an insult if you asked Buddy.

He was the same height as his Uncl—as Optimus Prime.

Something that Megatron noticed as well.

His training only increased since the start of the war.

No more were the days of the purpose being for self-defense, now being taught to mercilessly offline a bot.

The youngling medic was no more.

Now replaced with a Decepticon who haunted the nightmares of many Autobot who ever came across his path.

He hated the look of fear in their optics.

He hated it, just as much as he hated training days.

Megatron did not hold back during ‘training’, if he could call it that anymore.

At this point Buddy was just another punching bag for his father to use.

Something he gladly took on.

If Buddy, the next heir for the Decepticon’s, couldn’t handle a few punches, what message would that send out to everyone else?

Besides, someone had to take the hits, and he refused to have a teammate take the brunt.

They have their burdens to carry, this was simply his too bare.

Buddy barely manages to stand up right. Today’s training was rougher than usual. Dreadwing and Skyquake turn around the corner. Buddy tries standing up straighter. Buddy: “Greetings Dreadwing. You just got back?” Dreadwing: “Buddy you’re hurt.” The blue and green mech go to the younger cons side and help him stand. Buddy: “Just got back from fighting, nothing to worry about.” Skyquake: “This doesn’t look like nothing.” The twins begin to walk Buddy to the med bay. Buddy: “I can walk there by myself.” Dreadwing: “Tell me that the next time you have a hole near your tanks.” Buddy: “… Hey Dreadwing… why did the computer go to the doctor?” Dreadwing: “Buddy not now—” Buddy: “It had a bad case of ‘data’ entry.” Dreadwing and Skyquake try smothering a chuckle and opt to bringing their friend to the med bay.

Of course, at that time, not many cons knew about the extensive training.

Not until Buddy was permanently stationed to be a part of the Nemesis crew.

While Buddy rarely screamed or yelled anymore, the harsh sounds of metal on metal still rung through the ship.

Training that often-left Buddy barely crawling on the floor.

Soundwave and Breakdown soon became accustomed to helping the younger con back to the med bay.

Soundwave hated this.

Starscream was just waiting for Megatron to offline Buddy to eliminate the competition.

Once Buddy became temporary Leader of the Decepticon’s, the first thing he did was call back all offensive troops.

Something controversial, but there was not much those mechs could do but complain.

Buddy had the final word.

Soon enough, he tried to contact Optimus Prime to do peace negotiations.

Buddy had enough of this year’s long war and was sure that the bots were tired as well.

He never received anything back before Megatron came back.

Buddy: “Welcome back father.” Megatron: “Buddy.” Megatron turns to Starscream. Megatron: “Starscream, show me what has become of my army.” Buddy: “father I am more than qualified to—” Megatron: “Did I ask for your thoughts?” Buddy quiets a bit. Buddy: “… No sir.” Megatron: “You may speak when I tell you to.” Megatron walks away with Starscream. The Second in Command sneaking in a satisfactory grin before paying full attention to his Lord. Breakdown and Knockout come to Buddy’s side. Breakdown: “You okay kid?” The Ex-Wrecker gently pries Buddy’s clenched servo open. Buddy vents deeply. Buddy: “I’m fine Breakdown… everything will be fine…” He forces a smile. Buddy: “Breakdown, why did the computer start squeaking?” Knockout: “Buddy no—” Breakdown: “Why?” Buddy: “Because someone was stepping on its mouse.” Breakdown: “What’s a mouse?”

[shysuccubusstuff]

Yandere! Caleb pt. 2

Content: Stalking + Spying + Photo taking + Controlling + Masturbation + Breeding kink + Matting press + Aftercare - Stablished relationship

Note: I just love a good obbsessed man... Have you liked him so far? I've read that some ppl think that he's scary/too much, but I believe that this type of LI is quite common in otome games (and I enjoy them quite a lot). Sorry if it's similar to the previous one, I have trouble remembering everything I write...

Yandere! Caleb, who is able to mask all his obsession upon layers and layers, always acting as if he was that sweet older brother like figure. He keeps forcing himself to restrain, even when he sees you with some other people from your age. He even has to face the fact that you had found some other guys to be with, all nice guys, of course, sadly, that wasn't enough for him. I mean, he had been with you your whole entire life, who was better than him to be your husband boyfriend?

Yandere! Caleb, who loves stalking you while taking candid pictures of you. He just loves following you around the days he's free, his brown hair being concealed by a black cap, his ears now decorated with a bunch of piercings that dangled as he moved. He knows just how much he's betting every single time he decides to do it, but he just can't stop himself from pursuing you. He makes sure to buy clothes that he would never wear with you, a bunch of extremely baggy sweaters together with loose trousers that make him look larger than he actually is. He carefully takes out a phone he bought just for this task, and he hits the small white button, the shutter of his camera going off as you were sharing a small treat with a man he soon recognised. It was Zayne, the boy that lived next door, he clenched his fists in frustration, his hands trembling from the force he did. Still, he simply kept drinking that slightly bitter coffee, looking at the photo he had taken as he smiled charmed. In that photo, Zayne was nowhere to be seen, making him smile even wider.

Yandere! Caleb who loves collecting little trinkets (from you). You don't know it, but Caleb has a few keep boxes, all filled to the brim with different elements. This hobby of his began while the two of you were children, saving them with the purpose of showing them to you when you grew up. This quickly took a turn as he began to feel his mental state decay, the small collection growing more and more each day until he had to buy several boxes, all piled up on his private room within the Fleet.

Yandere! Caleb who used the intel within the Fleet to track you down. Always following your every move through the small screen, even watching what you saw through the small virus he had planted within your phone. He loved watching the world from your perspective, even hearing how happy you were just from winning those soft plushes in the claw machine. He made sure to even take screenshots, printing them and adding them to his vast collection of candid photos.

Yandere! Caleb who keeps your photo everywhere he goes. You don't know it, but he made a small modification in the necklace you gave him, creating a small cabinet just so he could keep a picture of you within it. This picture is sometimes rotated between the many options he has, but the only thing that remains despite all the changes is a few strands of your hair. Luckily (for you) he was the one that gave you the idea, telling you one day that people used to gift a lock of their hair before the impeding parting of a loved one. So of course you gave him one, how could you not, when you could easily tell just how much Caleb wanted it?

Yandere! Caleb who uses your photos to masturbate. It's late at night and he just can't bear it anymore, he has been restraining himself from such a long time, always having to conceal his hardened member by pulling down his sweaters or jackets, always wearing black clothing that is just a bit oversized for him. But as soon as he reaches his private house, he rushes to the small wardrobe, rushing to get his hands on some of the clothes you had left a few days ago. He knows this is awful on him, masturbating with some barely worn clothes that still had your scent, but, how could he not? That day, you had spent the whole day with him, your body constantly brushing against him as he kept biting his tongue as a way to control himself. He quickly rushed to his bed, sitting down and quickly undoing his trousers together with his underwear. He quickly wrapped his hand around his erection, starting to move it up and down his shaft as he inhaled the sweet scent that was emanating from the t-shirt.

"Fuck... I love you... I love you so much... I need you... Just---... Fuck I love you, you're so fucking cute, always looking at me with those sweet eyes... I could just eat you up..." As he started to lose himself on the pleasure, he kept mumbling, his hand starting to speed up as he kept rubbing his face against the cloth, sometimes bitting it as a way to muffle some of his sounds. "I just want you to... Fuck... Just want to get you all hot and bothered because of me... I need to fuck you so bad--- I love you..." As he kept moving his hand faster, he kept whimpering, his hips bucking against his hand as he dreamt about fucking your sweet pussy, seeing you drool all over him as his tip kept hitting against that soft spot within your cunt. Soon, he came all over his hand, his warm essence staining his hand as he kept his face buried on your clothing, wishing it had been you the one he came all over.

Yandere! Caleb who makes sure to get you pregnant as soon as you allow him. Of course he wanted to become the father of your children, but he had to stop himself, biting his own tongue as a way to stop himself from fucking you against the mattress as he kept whispering into your ear, praising you as he burried his face in the crook of your neck. His attitude changed as soon as you allowed him, his cock growing while still being inside you, making your tummy bulge a bit as he started to increase the rhythm of his trusts.

"Just like that, you're doing so good for me, love... Just hold on a bit more... I'll be such a good daddy-- Provide for you, whatever you need, just take me as your husband, yeah? Just let me treat you all nice, you're so good, such a hard-working woman..." Caleb's voice resonated within your head, nails digging on his muscled back as your lower half kept receiving his powerful thrusts, making you mewl each time his dick entered, filling you to the brim and staying there for a few seconds, pressing even further as he kept kissing your forehead to keep you grounded. "Love... Just a few more minutes, promise I'll let you rest as soon as we finish, I just need to make sure to fill you up..." Caleb's rhythm became even more punishing, the tip of his cock hitting your cervix, using his own body weight to keep you pressed against the bed, ramming against you as if he had lost every single strand of restraint. Just as you were about to loose yourself, Caleb's hips finally started to quiver, his thrusts becoming more swallow as his cock started to twitch, his cum filling your womb as he pressed himself against your entrance, making sure to not move an inch until he finally ended. "You did so good, my love, let me take care of you." Caleb got away from you, leaving the room for a few minutes. This moment allowed you to breath deeply, your chest moving up and down rapidly as you tried to stabilise your own breath. Just as you kept trying to recover, Caleb's arms wrapped around you, lifting you up from the bed so he could take you to the tub that had been filled. Caleb let you lay within it, cleaning your body with the soft sponge, then moving on to massage your scalp, carefully shampooing your whole head and letting it for a few minutes. "I love you, you did so good for me... Now let me get you all warm and cozy before going to bed."

[beware-of-pity]

You believe me like a god (I destroy you like I am) VI

Masterlist

Previous Chapter - Next

Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

TW: Self-hatred/Implied Self Harm. Complicated family relations. The reader is a Targtower.

Cross-posted on Ao3

Chapter VI: What fear a man like you brings upon a woman like me (please, don't look at me)

. 𓆰♕𓆪

Court could be a ludicrous affair. If there was one thing you had become good at during those times Rhaenyra called for the throne room to be filled with her courtiers and petitioners alike, it was to stay hidden away unless you required anything, which was too often than you’d liked.

You had become good at stalling around, under the canopy of the floor beside the hall, blending in with other overlookers, and watching over the ordeal silently.

The walls of the throne room were abundantly draped in exotic tapestries and ornaments, a reminder of the ancient strength of your house. The looming statues of Kings of old, whose eyes were ever watchful, silently judged those who came after them. The latest addition? Your father, whose head gleamed high with the crown of the Conciliator - which now rested upon your sister’s brows.

A possession she never parted from, not when in public nor in private as far as you were aware of. One time when she called you to her room, once the Kings’ apartment, you had caught her studying the golden band of steel and colourful rubies like she held the entire world in her hands. The reflections of the memories of the deeds done, the blood shed, swords unsheathed, and dragons killed glistened in the stones forged for a monarch to wear on their heads.

At the steps of the throne, the most loyal of her Queensguard stood vigil, two sets of eyes scanning the room for any signs of danger, as Rhaenyra sat high upon the throne. Lord Corlys, her hand, and Jacaerys, her heir, ever ready to advise her, stood beside her as good counsellors would. Today, you would watch. There was no use in begging or making a public spectacle of yourself about your more-than-known wishes. You were done with begging; you would get no use of it whatsoever. What you needed to do now was find a discreet way to get what you wanted most, freedom, no matter how the idea sent wrecks of panic through your body.

Under the gallery, a cluster of lords, great and small, old and young, milled restlessly on one side of the room, while in the other, eager and awaiting smallfolk and commoners stood high on attention for the right opportunity to speak and make their case to present to them.

A hundred or so, you could count. Your father’s court had been one that showed the height of the power that House Targaryen had come under his reign. Of course, not because of him, but everyone would rather have him believe so than object to the King. Your father did not like conflicts, but he neither liked to be slighted nor offended by those he felt had no right to do so. Those who had lost their tongues for daring to speak of his grandsons’ less than-faring looks were more than alive to prove such an assertion…since they could not speak of it.

Many travelled far just to be able to attend them, and while he liked his feasts and wine, his small council made sure the city never ran without them to not insight less than…feelings of unjust to take root in the heart of its people. The side of the room in which the nobility stood was a sea of jewels, furs, and bright fabrics. Lords and ladies filled the back of the hall and stood beneath the high windows, jostling like fishwives on a dock. A great contrast to the rather shaggy and less than impressive common clothes of the smallfolks. You could see that many of them had made great many efforts to put a good hand in their presentation. Hair slicked and combed, many wearing their best clothes, which most of the nobles might regard as kitchen scrabs were they to be presented to them, and jewels, if they possessed any.

But there was one thing the two factions held in common — they all were trying to out best the other, the nobles most of all. It was a matter of pride, and perhaps greed, to show their riches to the extremes, as if their names, titles and family relations could not do so. Strip that away and all that remains is but a man and the greatness of a man cannot compare to what is given to illustre himself with.

Just that, you thought, should satisfy them enough, it was something that, after all, the common folks could not boast about. When they were asked in the streets how they would recognise themselves, they would profess their profession or whose son or daughter they were. But that was a trick they could only use in the streets of King’s Landing, where everyone knew the other, not in front of the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

What could Rhaenyra know of the mastery of blacksmithing, that passed from father to son in an effort to make a family name for themselves? Whose hands shaped the blades her sworn men wilded? Or the bread makers whose stalls had stood by time, opening and selling bread to the famished mouths of families and people alike? that fed the city more than the food those ships that entered the city's port did? Food that was reserved only for the people of the Keep.

Everything these poor people did was to live, unlike those who thought they did so for recognition. The smallfolk had no time to think about becoming high lords, even though they dreamt of such a thing, when the matter of survival was an everyday occurrence for them.

And who could dare to think they could outshine Rhaenyra, for the vain thing she was.

She shimmered in a cloth of burgundy red, slashed in gold brocade and adorned by trims of black,  while beside her, Lord Corly fussed and simpered in a brocade of sea green, the same colour of his house’s banner. Jacaerys wore a new motley suit that was as clean as a spring morning. In crimson samite, his black mantle studded with rubies, on his head, a slim, golden band sat upon his brow, framing his dark mane of curly hair. No one had ever looked as princely as he did now, in his elaborate clothing, hand on the pommel of his sword, a show of dominance you were not familiar with, but no less unpleased by.

He looked handsome, you thought, the most comely man at court. He held a woman’s beauty within a man’s face, a kind not seen since the days of your grandsire and his brother, The Brave and The Pale Prince.

Everyone seemed to have dressed for the occasion, even Baela and Rhaena, who stood not far from the three. They matched in style with each other and Rhaenyra, their mother-by-law, but both dressed in different colours — Baela in a bold red and black, a true show of lineage, and Rhaena in pastry cream and shimmering pink silk.

How pretty they looked, with their jewelled hair and flaring gowns. Oh, how you wished to one day be allowed the same….

By comparison, your gown must have made you look like you belonged with the common folks. No embroidery or intricately woven design ornated the fabric of your simple black gown, one that belonged to your mother in her youth. You had been told by an old maid, that had once been in your mother’s services, that your mother had worn the gown during the mourning period that had ensued over the court when Queen Aemma had first passed. You wondered, was it also the one she used to wear when she would visit your father to comfort him in his grief? The one her own father, your grandsire, asked her to wear to make her look more comfortable and easy to open up to? For your father to find a companion in his grief?

There was no use in inquiring over such matters, they were passed beyond you and your comprehension to understand. These were matters, schemes and plots you couldn’t wrap your mind around. Your grandsire, was he so desperate in his wants that he would use your mother in such ways? To further improve his standing and that of his line by…extorting your mother?

In the depths of the nights when you could not find sleep, you wondered, 'Would you end up like her?'

 When the courtiers hungry for scandal whispered behind your back as you walked down the halls of the Keep, you asked yourself ' Would you meet the same fate?'

Were you bound to suffer under the hands of the same men that sealed your mother, your sisters, and your niece’s bounded futures? In the pains, in the torments that prickle their soft skins, scarring them with the signs of the sufferings of senseless acts of violence committed in the name of glory? Promised and bound to them by men who could only feel hatred and contempt towards them unless they were of use to them?

Your thoughts drove you to a madness you were sure every woman thought they possessed, in the anguish that wrecked your body as you sobbed and pulled at your hair in the hope that as you pulled at your tresses you would rip at the skin of your skull you would free your mind from the confines that tortured it. From the walls of the prison, it had been born into.

Men will call you a whore for doing the deeds of others but praise you for being their whore if it meant you were doing theirs.

Your scalp throbbed still from how raw your scarred fingers had tugged at them the previous night. You neither flinched nor hissed this morning when your maid had braided your hair, but your teeth had clenched together enough to leave the shape of your canine on the inside of your cheek. She asked no question, for there was none to ask, the cause of your pain in plain sight for her to see, professing in the angry, pulsing, redness that adorned the paleness of your skin. There was no need to pretend - everyone was to a degree aware of your plight, what use would you make of hiding what you wanted everyone to know or rather what everyone wanted to know? You’ll let them have it all, were it up for you. Give them everything they sought in you;  the entertainment, the gossip, the pain. They seemed so desperate for it. Like rabid dogs betting money and throwing rotten food at some unfortunate soul in a ring built to secure them in place.

The pins used to secure your twisted and braided hair pushed and propelled into stray strands of hair they had not caught and chafed at your irritated skin, tugging your temple into a deep and tight ache around your head.

You pulled your shawls closer around you as you felt a loose chill pass by you when the door of the throne room was opened for another set of petitioners to enter, while the one from before walked out, some pleased by the arrangements given to them by the crown, while others grumbled under their breath about the unfairness of their end of the deal.

You watched as petitioners came and went like flies, one by one being replaced by the next, more awaiting hands and demands presented to Jacaerys. How he handled matters which might be difficult for others to sort, in fairness and equality.

With cool efficiency and a mind as sharp as the firm decisions, he had to make. He listened intently to each petitioner, asking the appropriate questions and weighing all sides of the issue before coming to a fair and just conclusion. He’d council his mother through whispered words, which she would listen to, and consider, before making her mind up through what he had counsoled.

He could feel your gaze on him as he handled the matters before him, making it all the harder for him to concentrate. He was acutely aware of your presence and would often sneak glances at the balustrade you stood before, sharing hidden and fleeting smiles before he returned to more pressing matters.

"Quite the sight" an older, deeper voice commented from beside you, pulling your attention away from the spectacle before you "So young and yet so well-meaning, not many men boast about such quality”

You settled back, returning to watch as the next petitioner stepped forward, his voice shaky as he explained his dire situation. “Lord Reynford” you greeted lowly.

Reynford nodded in response, returning the greeting, his expression courteous and respectful, even as he inched too close for your comfort. He turned his gaze back to the scene unfolding before the two of you. You noticed, that he too had seemed to join the nobles in their childish contest of playing dress up — somehow more flaring than the last you’d seen of him, his greying hair pulled back into a short ponytail at the base of his neck.

“Young Prince Jacaerys seems to be handling things quite well” he observed, his voice low, almost in your ear, which made you wonder just how long he had simmered around before deciding to approach you “Not every man his age would have the maturity and patience to hear out so many cases without getting exhausted or annoyed.”

“It’s what’s demanded of him,” you remarked, the obvious truth you both knew “Any man with a just sense of duty would understand that”

Reynford chuckled slightly at your response, his expression amused. “Spoken like a true Princess,” he said, his tone monotonous, bordering on mocking as you had come to know it. “You were raised in high society, taught the ways of court since birth. It makes sense you would understand duty and responsibility better than most.” He added “Sometimes, your gowns begets me to forget”

"I make no use of such knowledge now" you retorted "Not much to do when I spend my days like a prisoner, wouldn’t you agree?”

He tightened his lips, his eyes following a man being manhandled out of the room for thinking he could step forth in line, his protests ringing among the chattering of the crowd, and the faint sound of music coming from somewhere, surely to entertain those most in need of it. “You still retain your noble composure and wit, despite being kept prisoner here.” He said “That’s more than I could bargain for, were I you”

“We scraps of war must always find other ways to keep our wits sharp”

“Indeed, it is those who can adapt and improvise that survive the harshest of environments,” he said, his tone almost philosophical. “And you, Princess, have proven yourself quite resourceful despite being a traitor’s sister, no?”

Your face did not turn, but your eyes did, as they clashed and pierced with his. In turn, he held himself high, a smile that bordered on a smirk that threatened itself on his face as he remained unflinching in the face of your penetrating glare.

“I did not mean to offend”

“No offence taken” you assured, bitterly.

Reynford chuckled again, a hollow sound, the corners of his lips now fully curled into a smirk, but no amusement whatsoever danced along it. “You still have that sharp tongue of yours, I see,” he teased. “I’ve always appreciated your… spirited nature.”

"I don't see you appreciate others in such a way" you mused "Any nobles, not even my sister, the Queen, which you’ve no attempted of warming to”

“That’s different” he argued, voice gruff. “The Queen is… not someone I have any fondness for. And I do not appreciate the way she is treating you, being a prisoner in your own home.”

"One can only wonder why that is," inching closer to him, you hoped that perhaps the air closing in on him would make him feel the same way he did with you. Claustrophobic.

"You've shown genuine concern before, but I don't suppose this is a matter of emotions”

“Concern is for those who matter to me,” he said, his tone bordering on sharp, but not for you. “Your sister does not fall into that category, I assure you.”

"You avoid her" you sighed after the revelation had unfolded "I suppose I cannot blame you, I'd rather not think of it but," you said "I try to steer away from Rhaenyra's gaze before I fall victim to it”

Reynford’s eyes narrowed at your comment, both pleased with your cautiousness and on the choice you had made, which he thought smart of you.

“Wise of you,” he praised, his tone approving, which you almost found yourself melting for, having forgotten the feeling of being seen as good by someone else that wasn’t….Jacaerys.

“The new queen has a temper that can rival our fair waters in its tempestuousness. It’s best to keep your distance if you value your health.”

Despite the truth of his words, you found yourself defending Rhaenyra the only way you could "She's no less cruel than the kings that came before her" you rebuked "She knows what she must do and what requires that, it is not temper, rather...indulgences in the role she now fits”

He shook his head as if in disagreement but rather exasperated with all this talk of Rhaenyra. Despite this, his eyes remained thoughtful as he considered your view of Rhaenyra, one very different from his own, out of respect for you and your voice, so little heard and opinionated. He knew you spoke the truth, that Rhaenyra ruled with a firm hand and was willing to do whatever needed to be done to secure her position because it came from the need for it, whose circumstances required it be so.

“She is indeed her father’s daughter” he commented, his voice laced with a hint of bitterness. “A Targaryen through and through.”

"Our father? No, no, no," you said. "He was weak." The admissions startled both of you, you of all, speaking in such ways of your own father.

He didn’t look surprised by the admission as much as you did. Sure, it was quite sudden, but he appreciated your honesty and the fact that you were not shy of admitting just how much of a mediocre ruler your father was, given how rare it was for people to acknowledge it openly. Viserys ‘The Peaceful”, what a joke.

He gave a slight cough, that bordered on a scoff, to regain the composure he had never lost, but rather to allow you to gather yours, his voice gruff as he spoke. “That he was” he agreed. “The late king was not suited for the throne, that is true.”

You gather your breath "He was a good man, a kind man, that, no one can disagree with" you rasped lowly, just between you and him, almost annoyed that whenever there was talk of your father, he had to be predisposed as a good man before being critiqued. His being a good man would not change the fact that he had been little use to no one "but he was a wavering ruler riddled with indecision. His legacy inspires no one”

He lets a satisfied hum escape his lips “On that much, we agree”

“I know her well, Rhaenyra….despite everything. I know her better than most, perhaps more than I like to think. We, sisters, bound by blood, our paths converged by the shadows of our shared pain”

Your eyes racked over Rhaenyra’s form, seated where your father had sat before her, and the Old King before him, and Maegor and Aenys and Aegon the Dragon in days of old. She sat on high upon every man and woman in the Red Keep, like the day the city had fallen to her, stern-faced and with a grip of iron on the mental armrests of the throne. You knew she still bore the scars of the night she had first sat upon it, having gripped it so hard she had bled her way out of the room come dawn.

“War changes people”

Reynford nodded, his expression thoughtful. The bitterness and pain in your voice were as clear for him to see as the moon on a clear sky, as well as the toll that the war had taken on you and your family. Despite it all, you still spoke of Rhaenyra with a hint of affection, perhaps out of the memories of the sister she had been before everything that had happened, a reminder of the bond that still existed between you two despite the conflict.

“Aye, war has a way of changing people,” he agreed. “I, myself, have been a witness to that. It has a way of shattering the most steadfast of souls. It chips away at their innocence and their humanity, turning them into people they might never have envisioned themselves as before. The horrors and losses endured, the betrayals and alliances... they all take their toll on the soul.”

"Rhaenyra always knew she would be challenged, I just don't think she thought she would have been usurped, and not in such a way” you observed as your sister raised her hand to dismiss a man who had clearly overstepped his bounds "that must have stung and made her realize that if she wants to change hundreds of years of tradition, she must first change to closely fit it"

"You speak with a wisdom that belies your years, Princess," he said, his voice laced with a hint of respect. "Change is never easy, and often comes with sacrifice and pain. Rhaenyra is discovering that the hard way.”

You studied him for a moment, unsure of how your next assessment would go with him  “I seem to recall, you were amongst my brother's most ardent supporters" you murmured "and yet you seem to understand Rhaenyra's cause quite well"

His expression remained cool and neutral as he held your gaze, his eyes never leaving your face. Despite the confrontational nature of your statement, he did not falter with intimidation.

"I am a pragmatist, my Princess," his words were blunt. "I support the side that I believe holds the most promise and has the greatest chance of securing the future of my lands and family.” He turned to face you “Nothing in this is personal, you should learn to know that”

He could see the scepticism in your eyes, the doubt that lingered in your mind. But he didn't blame you.

"Believe me when I say there is no loyalty to be found in politics, only self-survival." he spoke carefully "No one here is bound by honour or allegiance, only by their own interests.”

“I share this secret with you because I have my reasons to, but” There was a pause as to let his words sink in, his eyes never leaving your face. “Sometimes, it is wiser to bend the knee to those in power, rather than remain staunchly standing on the losing side.”

He gave you a knowing look, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “And sometimes, it pays to keep close to one's enemies. Everyone here is out for themselves, Princess. Everyone. Even your dear Jacaerys. He is no different."

“You misunderstand” you rushed to deny, the lines on your face hardening “There’s nothing but a fair friendship between me and my nephew”

“Do I now?” He asked, a hint of mock disbelief in his tone “One only need to look, and I have been looking” he warned you and your breath shuddered “I know he spends his evenings with you, supping with you, and one can only wonder what else. Were anyone to catch word of this, the scandal might ensue. People would wonder….”

Please no, you thought, Mother have mercy on me. He wants something, he’s asking for something, he thinks he deserves something, and the seven-pointed star dangling your neck will not ward off this kind of evil, after all, as you’d been thought, even the seven cannot reach where their light does not shine upon. Your hand gripped the stone balustrade, cold and searing under your son, marred, skin. You now wished you had not dismissed Ser Rickard.

“But fret not, I will keep your secret” he reassured, his hand coming to rest on top of yours with the same prudence one might with a wounded animal “because this….this is very personal to me, my princess” something in the way he had looked at you then filled you with dread. “As if reassured you, I only wish the best of you”

He leaned in to murmur the next words in your ear, his hot breath on your skin making you shiver. “But I believe I am at liberty to demand something in return for looking out for your interests……”

“Be brave,” he whispered, squeezing your hand “Ask me what I want”

“What do you want?” You rasped. As if on cue, he glanced at where Jacaerys still stood, the Prince completely unaware of the situation you were put in. He had his back towards you, completely absorbed in the matters presented before him, brought by his page who had entered the room when you were most distracted. “You said you had my best interests at heart, this-“

"Of course, they are in your best interests, my sweet," his tone patronized you. "Why, I only want you to thrive and survive this...political maze that you find yourself in, with as little harm done to yourself as possible.” He said “And for that, you’ll need me”

Reynford leaned back slightly, his expression calculating. His eyes shone with a dangerous mixture of desire and greed. "I want your favour, Princess," he said simply. "Your trust and loyalty, in exchange for my silence. I cannot have you running to our prince the first chance you get to share what I know. No, I want you to owe me. To come to me when you are in need.”

“You want me to depend on you" you spoke the true intent of his demand "so that my every trouble becomes your shining, bloody, coin to flip on me whenever you want”

“Seems like we understand each other better than I thought”

"I assure you I will do everything in my power to give you what you want" he leaned in again, his voice dropping lower "and I'm certain, in time, you will reward me for it. You're a sharp girl, and fair, I know you will do the right thing, and when the time comes, I will call upon that debt, for a favour, a secret....or something more.”

He studied you closely, his eyes searching your face for any hint of doubt or resistance. He knows he must have frightened you, coming off so forward, when he had been nothing but destitute in your last meeting, so good and willing, and so false. He could see the uncertainty in your eyes, the way your body tensed ever so slightly. But he also noticed the resignation, such a familiar sight on your face, as if it came normal for you to feel. His eyes crinkled with the fact that you were beginning to understand, the game he was playing, and the power he now held over you.

"You are a smart girl," his voice was as smooth as silk, praising you once more. "I'm sure you will make the right decision." you watched as he retracted his hand, reaching for the pouch dangling by his belt "And as a sign of my goodwill towards you" he said, showing you what he had taken out of it.

A flower, one grown from your own garden, a snapdragon. Deception.

Your eyes widened in alert, and your senses filled with the danger in the air. "From your own gardens" he said, voice reverent as he twirled the flower in his hand "I had a member of my household gather it, to give to you. A token of my…goodwill" He stretched his hand to you, offering the flower, but instead of giving it to you, he held it to pin it in your soft ringlets. Before you could protest, he had already pinned the flower in the curls of your hair. The look of satisfaction he gave you sent shivers down your spine, as he took a small step back to admire his handiwork, his eyes swept over your face.

Then, he moved before you, as if to shield you from the crowd, hiding you behind his form. He took your chin in his large hand, turning your face to face his, which you had turned defiantly to face off the shame reeling inside you. He tilted his head as if to admire the flower in your hair more closely. His touch was gentle, but there was something almost predatory in the way he held you, his grip firm and possessive. "much better, no?" he mused "Better than those jewels your cousins abound themselves with, which I know you lust for”

You grumbled, trying to wrestle yourself out of his hold. He shushed you gently, his thumb caressing your face, and his eyes roamed over your features with an intensity that made you uneasy.

"Such a beautiful face should be adorned with flowers, not fake jewels. You are a dragon, they say, a blood of Old Valyria, and you should be celebrated as such" he sighed, as if displeased by your want of such trivial things. You should yearn for far grander things than jewels "but if it's those that you want, I will make sure to give them to you. In time”

He removed his hand from your face, returning it to his side, and you wretched yourself away. "But we shall speak of them another time, for it is getting late" his eyes turned as if he wanted to look behind him as if his eyes could turn around his head to look at whoever was glaring daggers in the back of his head “I've taken up enough of your time with my blathering, and it seems as if my own presence is not welcomed any longer”

He turned first, casting a meaningful look behind him, you followed his gaze up to the throne, where Jacaerys stood facing you once more, his eyes fixed on the both of you, while Rhaenyra conversed with Corlys. The look he gave was cold and stoney, and you could swear his face darkened once your eyes met with his. He was watching you two closely, his hands clenching around the pommel of his sword.

He regarded Jacaerys’ displeasure with chill distaste, sending him an amusing smile with a nod of his head "Ah, there he is" he mocked "your beloved nephew. Ever the guardian of your honour" he paused for effect "and your soul"

He took your hand, bringing it to his lips to lay a chaste kiss on your skin, and you held yourself back from snatching it away.  “I hope to hear from you soon, Princess”

You watch as Reynford leaves you, his smile still on his old and lined face. The kiss he planted upon your hand lingers as if it left a mark on your skin, and your hand reaches to scrub away any memories of it with your thumb.

You let out a shuddering breath, his words still ringing in your head. As if drawn by an invisible force you looked down at the throne, where you find Jacaerys staring unblinking. He stands there, his gaze fixed on you, his expression unreadable. His body emanates tension, his muscles taut yet coiled tight, as if he were ready to pounce forward at any moment. He watches you silently, his eyes flickering away for a second only to check on the direction of Reynford’s movements.

You lean forward, letting your hand rest on the cold stone. You want to reach out to smooth the deep frown off his face, to soothe the anger and tension that gripped him. You mouth his name silently, concern writhing through you—for him, for you, for his anger, and for who it was directed.

Please don’t be angry, don’t be mad at me, please.

Jacaerys’ expression flickers for a moment, his eyes slightly softening a fraction at your mouthed plea. The tension in his body eased if only slightly, replaced by a sense of uncertainty that seemed to fill him.

His eyes don’t linger on the soft flesh of your face for long, his eyes dropping for a moment to the sight of your fingers clinging onto the stone, still raw and bloody from the last time you had your indulgence of them. He swallowed, his throat bobbing, and when he looked up at you again there was guilt written all over his face.

His eyes watch you, and yours follow suit, and for a moment it seems that nothing else exists behind the world you two created when around one another. His foot itches to move, to walk towards you, to make sure you are safe and fine. His shoulders sag as if carrying a heavy weight, his mind troubled. You stumble as you fidget in place, the helms of the many layers of your skirt move along you, ruffling against the floor, and your breath gets caught in your lugs.

He smiles strainly, wanting to give you the comfort of the assurance that he wasn’t mad at you. How could he?….he could never. But the smile doesn’t last long, before he turns to face the crowd before him once more, making the brief interaction seem casual, friendly… and not what it was. A tense interaction.

A tense moment.

AN: Heyyyy, so it's been a while. A month, huh? I do feel the need to apologize for the prolonged absence I had not planned nor had in store for you all. Between the holidays, going back to uni, preparing myself for my upcoming exams, and a writing block I got stuck with, I just didn't have any sort of motivation to write. Anyways, on more jolly thoughts, happy late holidays and happy new year, everyone. To more chapters and fanfics to come from me, hopefully. Also, Reynford is now part of our main cast, I know he can be unsettling and downright seem like a Larys 2.0, which he kind of is, but he means well guysss.... for now. I've always been an avid enjoyer of period dramas and historical recounting, books, movies and series, so I've been watching Wolf Hall over the holidays, and I do feel the need to say that Reynford is heavily inspired by Mark Rylance's performance of Thomas Cromwell in the series. Do with that what you'd like.

Taglist: @esposadomd @aleemendoza2425-blog @nen-nyy

[slaaverin]

Stumbled upon this and it made my heart ache for Jungkook.

This man is the most honest, pure, and kind-hearted person I've ever encountered.

He wears his heart on his sleeve since debut. Everything can be seen on his face and words, he's an open book.

So how on earth people pretending to love him cannot see him?

How can people have so much distortions in their perceptions to call him a manipulative liar? It is truly beyond my comprehension.

Since the start Jungkook has been trying to tell us; through songs he shared, through gcfs with carefully selected clips and lyrics, through the tender way he touches and treats Jimin, through his eyes, so expressive and full of emotions, through his words, protective, devoted. He told us for years that he simply and irrevocably loves Jimin. He loves him. And I don't care how people want to label this love. The label doesn't matter, but the depth of it does.

So by negating this bond, and calling it lies, and treating Jungkook as a fake person, can these people even truly say they love him? They know him? They've devoted their full attention to him?

Or is it just for selfish reasons? Because of his looks, because of what they would want him to be instead of who he truly is?

This makes me sad because Jungkook has done nothing but show his heart, time and time again. He has been vulnerable with us, showed the ups and downs, and yet it's only to get hurt by people who claim they even love him. How twisted is this?

You know what kind of trust he has for us? What kind of sacrifices is required to be this open? In a country like theirs, in a situation as complicated as to be a member of the biggest band in the world?

What Jungkook has done in so many years is an gigantic gift to us. It is a blessing. And it is brave.

I only wish people would treat it as such, instead of shitting on it.

The value Jungkook has provided is tremedous, and not acknowledging this really makes them look ungrateful and entitled and selfish.

Apparently they love him so much that they label themselves "solos". Their primary focus is Jungkook. The person they think and observe and cheer for is Jungkook.

They devote so much time onto him, yet you tell me that they entirely missed the most obvious part, the biggest elephant in the room?

What a fucking joke this is. How can someone be so wrong?

They are the liars. They are the ones manipulating reality for their agenda, not Jungkook.

If they go as far as denying and belittle a big part of Jungkook's heart, they insult him and who he is. They disrespect him. And they sure as hell do not love him (I'm not even sure they know what love is).

Sorry, but this is hitting me hard. I want Jungkook to have the fans he truly deserves, as the beautiful human he is, and that is not it.

Jungkook has been my bias since day one. And to watch him come into himself and become the man he is today has been a true privilege.

He has revealed everything of himself. Everything we need to know at least.

So can people open their minds a little bit, and let Jungkook's heart and feelings touch theirs? Just for an instant?

Real life is not always a drama. It's not conspiracy theories, it's not toxicity and negativity only. Sometimes there are real people with real feelings. There is some good in this world and I know it's hard to believe. I know people are disillusioned and traumatized and mistrustful. But if they could let their guard down, and just open their hearts, they would understand how good and true Jungkook is.

That there is a reason they love him, and this reason is valid. It is. And it is not in crazy narratives. It is in simple acts of love.

If seeing him happy isn't enough, I don't know what will be, because anything beyond that is demanding unrealistic expectations he will never be able to fulfill. He will never be this person. He is not this person.

He is happy with Jimin and that is reality.

He loves Jimin and it is the truth.

Can it not be enough?

What else do they want?

He's human. He lives a complicated life with impossibles things many of us could not endure because we are simply not made for it, and we would crumble. Who he is and what he does is extraordinary.

So what if a show with Jimin brings him comfort, makes him smile in the midst of his stressful life? What if it is the best moments for him?

Why would it be wrong? Why won't they let them have this unique pocket of happiness?

😭 does he not deserve it? Has he not done enough for ALL OF US?

When I tell you that makes me cry.

Showing love is not taking only the parts we want and reject the things we don't like, it's accepting it all, it's saying yes to everything he is. It's unconditionnal. It's trust and understanding and being empathetic. It's not in the fucking mind with theories. It's in the guts, in the heart, it doesn't have to be logical and make sense.

His love for Jimin doesn't make sense (I mean of course it does because it's The Park Jimin), yet this love exists and people need to accept it once and for all, because this won't go away, probably never.

So yes, my heart aches for Jungkook. Because I don't want all his efforts to show us and make us understand to be a waste. I want him to be heard and cared for in the way he deserves.

It's a fan's job.

So can people start showing real support, please? Of everything he is, and everyone he loves?

Sorry for the long post but I needed to get this out of my chest

[theegemini92]

I’m repeating myself again… don’t say you fuvk with Tamlin and don’t fully see or understand him. I have never seen a post where someone would call Rhys a narcissist when he is the perfect example of it.

Narcissism involves self-centered, arrogant thinking and behavior, and a lack of empathy.

This is the definition of Rhysand lint butroller

People’s view of Tamlin is Formed from feyre POV especially when he has people to look after, an army at his border, less equipped people to fight. I have seen a mother of triplets before now imagine 100s and thousands of people relying on you right after a deadly curse.

I’d like to know where Tamlin criticized anyone. He never expresses disapproval of another aka feyre. blamed her, correct her, nitpick, or fix her. As we all recall he didn’t pay close attention to her enough to even do that. Is that not the whole point?

Exploitation? You mean the tithing? Or the part that he gave enough to the archerons to be able to afford three war ships? How do you exploit someone socially when she closes herself off or when the king of hybern wants her? Emotionally yes I can admit that but it went both ways when the other didn’t open up?

What friends did Feyre have to isolate her from? She didn’t express her willingness to visit her family either.

Support networks by the abuser? Boundary violation? Did Feyre set any? Remember when she came back from NC tried to get Lucien by flirting and never once did Tamlin even initiate anything with her…

Blame shifting? Are you fuvking kidding me? So this male had no right to blame Rhysand for his illirate gf leaving? Knowing he has mind controlling powers and hates him?

I’d be in an emotional roller coaster if I have children to look after with no support and a country to run.

I can admit Tamlin has his faults. I will never say he’s innocent. But when you haven’t gotten his side of the story this conclusion will never ever be accurate. Until tam which I know sjm will make him look bad, admit his faults he will never be a narcissist or lack empathy. Because where is the empathy for Tamlin? Why does no one care for his feelings? Why is he suppose to bend and break for others? If he lacked empathy he won’t have gotten blood on his hands for Lucien, taken refugees in. Give alis and her nephews a place in his home.

I can admit that Tamlin is the person that has followed the rules and yet came up short and doesn’t understand why. He is the typical look of the hero, fair upright, just, RULE FOLLOWER and Rhys is the dark bad one. So it goes to show that because Rhys is “bad” everyone is expects his mediocrity while Tamlin is STILL being punished for not holding up the mantle when he after all is still flesh and bone. So as readers, even those who claim to see him are still condemning him.

I can partially agree to this where life isn’t always order and can be chaotic However the world is still full of order and laws. Especially as a leader. There are structures in prythian just because we see the NC look easy going doesn’t mean all the other courts don’t abide by rules. Then the lady of autumn has wasted her life since it was so easy for Feyre. Again Tamlin is the “hero” trope but giving what Spring was going through at that time was not picture perfect.. like what are you saying? 🤣 velaris was untouched had no army knocking at the door how was that perfect?

What about him?

Again how would he when his people needed him when Hubert was there, you don’t even know what he was doing when the twins were over. WE DONT KNOW EVERYTHING…

So why is this even a point if she was also doing it to him?

I will end by saying to me Tamlin did his best. He is no innocent but that is only for his perspective until then he is innocent and I stand by that. If Rapesand girlies can stand 10 toes for a narc like him I will for Tamlin. To me he did what many of us would’ve done in his situation or worse. He and feyre are a typical example of double standards in a relationship. Where she ain’t even held accountable for her actions towards him.

If my country is burning I don’t expect my president to be cuddling his depressed traumatic wife. I know that will sound harsh to people but he is in power for my needs not his and that’s a fact.

After all Rhysand can cause the genocide of the winter court and feyre can commit war crimes to the sc but godforbid Tamlin locks her indoors. He’s labeled a freaking narcissist 🤦🏾‍♀️

He needs no redemption just a family a home warm and filled with love. He deserves that.

[grammarpedant]

Crashes in here, hi this is my main blog and I just saw the tags you left on my art of Miki and the CombatBot and I'm going just a little insane over them. I've been thinking of a fic from Miki's POV for Rogue Protocol for a while and while I don't think I have the skill to pull that off I am SO EXCITED to see that someone else has had the same thought!!! Urg... I just love Miki so so much and seeing how the events unfold from its POV would be so interesting.

I think I gotta go draw Miki some more now hehe. Good luck with writing!!

(the Miki art in question)

Hehe, right? Miki is SUCH a character full of so many hidden depths and surprises, greatest of all is that it's also exactly what it looks like on the surface, in full sincerity: a sweet, kind person of a bot that cared very deeply about its friends and wanted to be able to count Murderbot among them. It also deliberately obfuscates the truth from Murderbot and from Don Abene alike on multiple occasions, it seems to sense what MB means and feels through the feed almost better than MB itself, it's a science bot with visual magnification abilities beyond MB's, when it's stressed and pressed for time it stops trying to talk like a human and goes back to its native code language; Miki has in-jokes with its human friends, but I never had a friend like me. And that's just random stuff I pulled from skimming the book looking for something else! Miki is just such a fascinating character!!

And in this fandom we just LOVE our outsider POVs, haha. I'm sure others have done or tried to do Miki POV of the book before, but I'm gonna use this moment as an opportunity to gush about the thing I want to write- I left the tags that I did because what came to me first was the bit leading up to the same scene you've depicted, the tragic beauty of Miki choosing the trajectory that it did. I have a heartwrenching final scene of Miki's POV in those moments that I absolutely cannot show anyone, not least because the scene simply will not hit as hard as it could unless I actually lay the groundwork that would give it a real punch.

Miki would be about (is about) self-determination, right, obviously. But the Miki POV I want to write would also be about a character caught between connection and alienation, a bot among humans and all that entails. —People love and protect Miki, yes, but do they understand it? Don Abene loved it, and Miki loved her too, and what about all the times they struggled to understand each other? The work that it takes to overcome miscommunication? How does Miki feel, knowing that there are some experiences it just cannot share with its human friends, nor they with it? Do they understand each other regardless? Does anybody ever really understand another person? —Miki has a way of talking that's a little clipped and which may seem "childish" to a reader at first glance; given that in times of stress it defaults back to a nonverbal-to-humans mode of bot communication, might we draw parallels between it and the semiverbal disabled experience? —For perhaps the first time in its life Miki met someone who could understand it reflexively, instinctively, empathize with its machinic experiences almost effortlessly. How does it understand this person's refusal to accept the vulnerability of connection? Does Miki understand Murderbot, and if so how much? In what ways?

Those are the themes I'd want to pull at, and to do so I'd use the motifs of Miki's scientific research function. Its literal ability to perceive the world differently from both humans and from MB, its framing of the world through numbers and measurement and factoids and analysis that is nevertheless beautiful to it, even when it struggles to put that beauty to human words. Names. Identity. Choice and free will. Emotion and connection. What Miki was thinking when it looked at MB's camera at the nebula storm and said, Pretty! The jokes and media and little moments it shares with Don Abene. The love and happiness that made it so secure in itself. If I could just get through the groundwork of it all... it would be beautiful. At least as beautiful as the art you drew.

Anyway, I hope you keep drawing Miki, friend! The art you did has already inspired me a bit more 🥰

[mothman-can-write]

heya! i also saw your tag about aro maria and ace natasha. i'm very fascinated about that. what's some of your takes on that dynamic? i've personally leaned towards ace/aspec, but it's always interesting to me when someone who identifies along there but more into sex or adverse to romance. just shows how diverse that spectrum is!

This is such a fun question and I'm going to preface it by saying these HCs are purely based on vibes and my own projection as someone on the aroace spec. I like to play around with their sexualities a lot bc it makes for interesting dynamics, but I'll stick to my thoughts about them being aspec for now haha. I can't promise this will be coherent and make sense but I'll try my best!

This got pretty long, so I'll put the rest of this essay under the cut:

A lot of my opinions of marvel characters are influenced by the comics, especially for Maria since we were given so little of her in the MCU. She has an interesting vibe to her that just... sort of screams being entirely uninterested in anything romantic. She's a very private person anyway, but never expresses interest in wanting romance, but she still wants so desperately to keep those she cares about safe. It's not that she doesn't care, because she does, a WHOLE lot. She just cares about everyone in a very platonic, dutiful way. And yet, somehow, she gives off the biggest lesbian vibes in the world. Therefore, aromantic lesbian. It also somehow just makes sense to me that casual physical relationships would be easier for her to keep as a crucial member of an international secret organisation. Outside of her own team who is she going to date? She goes to a nice bar and she drinks a scotch and she waits for the nearest femme to take her home only to disappear in the middle of the night. Satisfy some urges, and prove to herself that she isn't an evil monster to the naked eye, two birds one stone. There's no real evidence to her having any sexual relationships (that i can think of anyway) but the vibes just sort of work to me, or at least that she would have them. Sometimes i think she's too much of a loser to ever actually go home with anyone. So, in that respect, I can also see her as being aroace too. She just generally has more important things to worry about and isn't necessarily interested in things she deems so personal and unimportant.

I wish I could beam the vibes in my head directly to you because I'm doing a terrible job of explaining them with words, but generally Maria comes off as a very cold character who actually cares very deeply about those around her and that can hit home for a lot of aspec misconceptions and stereotypes. As far as I know, she's never been in a relationship either, which for marvel comics is practically an olympic feat. In one comic she says Natasha is the person she trusts most in the world because shes lonely too, and that shes the only person that scares her. what is that if not lesbianism aspec solidarity

As for Natasha, well we all know what her past is like, and I don't think it's a stretch to say that she might have some trauma around it. But honestly I just like to think she would always be asexual bc it's fun. She's really the character I have less evidence for, but I'm a sucker for the trope of a character who is sexualised by everyone around her actually being a big softy who would rather cuddle. That woman could count on her hands how many times she's been hugged in her life, I think she'd truly get the most out of a relationship where she is shown innocent affection. She's been treated as a physical asset her entire life and I think she deserves to be wined and dined outside of that. Maybe its just me trying to break her free and projecting at the same time but let that woman be the little spoon.

IDK man, she just gives me vibes. She's a cutie. She's a hopeless romantic thrown into a world of people that think she's hot. She's been forced to live up to a role that feels like an act, and is only able to play it so well because none of it has felt real from the start. Sexuality has always been a game, and she's so good at playing because she's always been outside of it. The second someone shows her genuine romance she doesn't know what to do with herself. She likes to give people flowers.

In terms of dynamics together, I don't actually tend to mix them together in this way, I usually pick one or the other because the fic is focussed on them having a functional relationship. I do, however, think Maria would be very accomodating of Natasha if they were in a relationship with this specific dynamic, because as characters they have a very similar need of wanting to be loved for who they are as a person. And to Maria any sexual drive is always going to be second to a real human connection for the first time in her life.

Honestly, the dynamic should be great for angst but I can't find a way to make it work because theyre very similar characters to me. Even if Natasha needs someone to love her whole heartedly for herself, someone to love her innocently outside of her body, Maria is still going to give that to her. It might not be romantically, but she is desperate for human connection anyway. The worst I can think of is that Maria becomes frustrated with the fact that Natasha wants more from her, whilst not being able to tell her the full extent of her own attraction, so theyre both stuck at a bit of a stalemate. Suffering in silence through their friendship because they both want something the other isnt able to give and both of them are too soft hearted to ever force it

I think that's about all that I've got in the tank right now, so I hope that answered some of the curiosities you had! Let me know if you have any more specific questions, because i'm always happy to talk about them :)

[waynes-multiverse]

I see you've successfully saved the glorious Ross gif 🤣

Ahaha I love this mention! 😂

At least he's feeling well enough to eat again and stopped destroying the office lol

Ha! I love her, she's such a badass.~

Hahaha I was considering if it was too much, but I could totally see her going at it again. She's definitely a "goes down swinging" kinda type lol

Btw, everytime I work in a Friends reference I think of you like "Aww, Alex will get this" 😂🫶

Ugh, she's so much stronger than me. I'd be a blubbering mess on the floor, poor thing. 😭😭

Oooh, I don't know about that. I think we can surprise ourselves in those situations ☺️ (She also had the advantage of sorta being prepared for it due to all the videos she's seen)

But yeah, she'd kill any escape room after this 😂

I love those moments where you as the audience know there's an answer here somewhere, but you just have to watch on edge as the person works it out in desperation. 🥲

Aah, same! I love these little moments where you just sit there, biting your nails, and hope they make it 🙈

And on the flip side, this is torture for Beau, a man of action, to not be able to do anything. To just wait and see if anything changes.

Lmao yes! He was going a bit nutty again when she was just saving her energy till she figured it out 😅

This is so truly intense -- it's cinematic in so many ways, and I'm loving this suspense...

I truly worked ages on this scene 😅 I usually hate writing action and prefer dialogue, but I tried challenging myself with this one lol

GAH! This is the delicious White Knight-saving angst that I live for. 🥹

I loved writing this so much! 😍 We all know reader is clearly a strong badass, but even she needs a little saving sometimes (or big one in this case lol)

Lmaoo this kind of pudding??

Hahaha yes 😂 Exactly what I had been thinking of

Aww in a way I do still feel bad for Randy, but "dissolved;" I think that's the right word for it as well. I love that last line in the scene. 💙

They at least parted on good terms. And yeah, definitely hard for Randy. He lost his wife and his best friend in one day 🥲

But he can move on now and find his own happiness again ❤️‍🩹

Awww haha, they're so cute!! I would've loved to see that reunion kiss. 🥹 But I have a feeling these two are finally off to their happy ending...

Haha honestly I completely forgot about the reunion kiss in a way. That whole rescue scene took me tf out. The happy ending kinda became a blurry, blissful bubble afterward 😂

I kinda liked the open ending in the hospital and then showing them in a "sitting on the porch together" kinda way 🥰🥹💕

Lol that is peak Beau behavior there! I love the rambling and the adorable fussing. Makes my heart so full. ❤️ Especially how she's just like, "sit down and be with me, you fool." 😂

Reader was definitely in a super chill, zen state (must be the near death experience) and Beau's fussing was disturbing her peace lol

I also found it very interesting how they both decided to retire. They've clearly been through the absolute wringer, plus the whole matter of Beau probably never feeling safe in that office again, and the reader needing time upon time to recover from all that trauma. It's a lovely new chapter for these two to have a quieter life together, whether or not they have kids down the line (though I love that conversation they had. Beau's line of “Look, I’m already retiring from the job – I don’t wanna retire from life,” had me dead lol). 🥹

There was a lot of "we've done the work, but we know what matters most" weaved into their conversation and decisions. They're just ready at this point to enjoy life and each other and avoid all the other crap 😅 (So happy you liked that line, tho! I thought it was so fitting for him to say 💚)

Thank you so much for all your sweet, insightful, and funny comments and reblogs, Alex!! 🥹🫶 Part of the fun of sharing stories here on tumblr for me is always the theories, the clues, the jokes, the ramblings, and the thirsting (lol) we get to exchange with our peers, so thank you for indulging me yet again 🤍

Polaris – Chapter 13

Series Summary: When Beau Arlen moved to Montana, he left behind a past he wasn’t proud of. But when a series of murders requires the FBI’s help, Sheriff Arlen‘s ghosts come back to haunt him one by one. With a wrong turn waiting at every crossroads, it’s hard to make the right choices and find his way back home – back to you.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, major angst, kidnapping, confined spaces, violence, injuries, drowning, CPR, life-and-death situations, the fluffiest ending (If any of these warnings trigger you, stay away ⚠️🫶)

Word Count: 7.4k

A/N: We're here! Last part, babes 😘 Thank you guys so much for sticking with me on this one. I know it was another wild ride, but I appreciated your sweet, insightful, and funny comments throughout 🥹🤍

Ready? Don't forget to breathe 😉

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 13: Sure And Certain

“What’s she doing?”

With a mouthful of Donno’s Special of the Day sandwich, Beau came to stand behind a whole group of people who had gathered around a laptop screen propped up on his desk.

He threw another sandwich wrapped in paper on the desk in front of Randy, who sat comfortably in his chair and nodded a ‘thank you.’ Behind him, Jenny leaned casually against the window sill with an intensely knitted brow. Cassie and Denise, on the other hand, had grabbed themselves a set of uncomfortable, worn chairs from the break room and sat on each side of Randy, staring musingly at the screen.

“I think she’s meditating,” Denise put forth.

“No, I think she’s sleeping,” Jenny said dryly.

“I don’t know…” Cassie’s brow furrowed.

Beau frowned as he stepped forward, stealing a glance at the livestream himself. You were still lying perfectly motionless on the long metal table in the middle of the room. They knew you were alive, though. They had watched you crawl up there and lie down. Sometimes, your eyes were open. Sometimes, they were closed for long periods of time.

“She’s still doing what she’s been doing for eight hours now,” Beau huffed. Honestly, he’d be more worried if it wasn’t so damn frustrating.

“Maybe the poor thing’s in shock after everything she’s been through,” Denise suggested sympathetically.

Beau hoped she wasn’t right. Seeing you give up didn’t sit well with him. He couldn’t watch you lie there alone in the cold until there was no air left anymore.

In all honesty, he had a confession to make: He’d never watched a single of Diane’s videos to the end. He knew you’d probably watched them a thousand times, but he couldn’t do it. He had watched parts of it, sure, but never the bitter end. He didn’t know how you'd done it. He always figured you were a lot stronger than him.

But maybe you’d seen something on those videos he didn’t know but had to.

“Y/N?” Randy scoffed at Denise’s proposal with conviction and shook his head. “No, she wouldn’t give up, and I doubt Turner scared her that much. She put a screwdriver in the guy, for crying out loud,” he argued his objection. “No, she’s thinking.”

Beau hated to agree with Randy but hoped to hell he was right.

“Maybe,” Cassie mused and squinted her eyes at the screen. “I think she’s staring at the light above her.”

With narrowed eyes, everyone drew in closer to the screen and observed you.

“I think Cass is right,” Jenny said and retreated to her old position, smirking.

Beau frowned anew and flailed his arms. “Why?”

Fucking Hal Turner.

He got you with a shovel, tied your hands, hauled you back to the cabin and sedated you.

You woke with a few meager slaps across your face before groggily being dragged through the woods at night on unsteady legs. You slipped in and out of consciousness a few times, but you knew Turner wasn’t strong enough to carry you, so he had to keep you awake enough to walk, but sedated enough to not fight back.

You, however, tried to memorize and plan as much as your dazed mind possibly let you. You remembered how long you’d walked from the cabin to the bunker – about thirty minutes. You knew which direction you’d walked as you’d glanced up at the stars – north. And you knew you had hiked slightly up, but not more than twelve degrees. You remembered the faint sounds of a river splashing close by.

Most importantly, you could still feel the screwdriver tucked into your sock in your left boot.

Turner hadn’t frisked you again – big mistake.

As soon as you’d reached the spot of the supposed bunker, you frowned when Turner removed a pile of leaves, moss and dirt from the forest floor and opened the metal hatch that hid underneath.

Oh, hell no…

You weren’t getting in there. If you hadn’t known it before, you surely knew it now.

You would’ve been fine with the cabin because you knew Beau and the department would eventually find it. He’d get a list of their properties and find it. Denise had been in charge of those, and she’d been meticulous.

You would’ve been fine with an above-ground bunker, or even halfway above, too. Once the team would find the cabin, they’d know Turner and you couldn’t have gone far. They’d find the blood and test it, realizing with relief that most of it wasn’t yours. They’d know you’d be in the general area, and Beau would move heaven and earth to find you.

But this thing? They’d never fucking find you here.

Roughly, Turner shoved you down the tight metal stairway, leading to a room you knew only too well from videos. Now, you were here and saw it all for real, like glimpsing behind the scenes of a movie set.

Why couldn’t it have been the Friends set in Hollywood? Instead, you had to visit Diane Newton’s arts and crafts project.

Hal Turner cut your ties – again. And you saw it as your perfect way to escape. Again.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

With your elbows and shoulders, you shoved Turner backwards and bent down, quickly retrieving the screwdriver from your boot. You spun around and thrust it straight into his left carotid artery.

He gasped a breathless sound, his eyes growing wide and white. You let go and stepped back.

You’d never killed someone before – not like this at least.

But then Turner inhaled a deep breath of air – strained, angry, fighting. And you finally understood where the phrase white-hot rage stemmed from.

The roaring Grizzly kicked you right into your bear trap injury. With a painful scream and a searing pain, you fell to your knees and clasped your wound.

He then fled up the stairs like a rat through a sewer cover, tossing the hatch shut behind him. There was the sound of a thick lock before some shuffling followed. At least he couldn’t have done a good job on covering up the entrance. Maybe they’d find you easier this way.

Better yet, you hoped Turner would succumb to his fatal injury not too far from the hatch. If they found his body close by, they could find you too, right?

At least you’d gotten the bastard…

You wanted to scream till your lungs were depleted of all oxygen, but you didn’t have enough air for a breakdown in this bunker. You took one last deep breath to ground yourself and closed your eyes.

Then, you opened them.

The bright neon light flickered above as your eyes darted around the room. The space was sparse, concrete walls peeling in places, as though even the structure was trying to escape. You didn’t want to think too much about how long you would be trapped here.

You already knew this place by heart and what would happen if you didn’t get out.

At the edge of the corner, sat a row of rusty metal lockers. Shuffling over on your good leg, you opened the shrieking door and found that the lockers held various odds and ends – tools, cans, an assortment of chemical bottles with faded labels, and a single, cracked lightbulb resting on its side.

The other victims had received these items as well but never pieced enough of it together to escape. A few drank the chemical bottles for a quicker death out of sheer desperation. While you unfortunately couldn’t solve Diane’s little riddle either, you swore to yourself poison would never be a last resort.

You’d seen those deaths – they had neither been quick nor painless.

You found a first-aid kit as well and lowered yourself to the cold ground, bandaging your ankle. As you tightened the bandage to stop the blood flow, your eyes glanced up the shelves.

Your breath hitched. In the back of your mind, a vague memory from your 7th grade science teacher stirred – something about pressure, something about triggering a chain reaction. You tried to push it away but the thought wouldn’t leave. Maybe an escape was possible after all. There were things you could use – you just needed to figure out how.

The jar of white powder caught your eye. It was too fine to be salt. The label was half-scratched off, but you could make out the word "sulfate." Next to it, a small container of copper wiring lay scattered across the shelf – tiny, thin strands coiled tightly like little snakes, their sharp ends glinting in the harsh neon light.

You pulled at your sleeves nervously, staring at the broken lightbulb once more. If you twisted it carefully, the filament inside would snap. Maybe. Then there was the sharp wire… You let the idea float in your mind for just a moment longer before shaking it off.

And there was that other thing. Something buried deeper in the corner, an oily rag, half-soaked in a pungent smell you couldn’t quite place. You made a mental note. They weren’t much, but they were something.

If you could just piece it all together…

Tiredly, you heaved yourself onto the large metal table in the middle of the room. It was harsh, cold, and uncomfortable, but it was all you had. You lied down on your back and stared at the ceiling, at the flickering neon light above you. Then, you closed your eyes again.

Think, think, think…

For hours, Beau had now stared at the grainy footage, watching your unmoving form. The neon light flickered overhead, casting long shadows against the cold, cement walls of the bunker. His hands were trembling as he gripped the armrests of his chair, his body taut with the weight of helplessness.

The others had left his office a while ago, scrambling to find a way to get you out. There was a search going on, a team of skilled rescuers turning over every stone in the general vicinity of the cabin. Beau knew you couldn’t be far from there. And still, he feared he wouldn’t find you in time.

Truthfully, he knew the only one that could get you out was you. If you just stopped lying there…

Nothing. Not even a twitch. What the hell were you thinking about?

You were alive. He knew you were, reminding himself of that fact on an hourly basis. But for all the good it did, it didn’t matter. The silence on the feed was more suffocating than any sound.

But then…

A subtle movement. A shift in the shadows, so slight that at first, he thought it was just his eyes playing tricks on him.

His heart skipped.

Your fingers twitched, just enough to catch his attention. And then, slowly, agonizingly, you dragged yourself up, struggling to sit. He watched the quiet shuffle of your body across the concrete floor. You were alive. You were still fighting.

“Guys!” his gruff voice called loudly for the cavalry, but he didn’t wait for them to flood into his office.

Beau leaned forward in his chair, holding his breath. His heart hammered in his chest as you lifted your head, your eyes flicking briefly to the camera – aware. You knew he was watching.

Your movements were shaky, too weak for anything swift, but they were purposeful. You scanned the room with desperation. The broken lightbulb in the rusty locker, jagged glass fragments scattered on the shelf, caught your attention.

You reached for it.

Beau’s stomach twisted. No, don’t…

But it was too late. You pressed the sharp edge against the skin of your palm, wincing with the effort as blood began to bead at the surface. His breath hitched, fingers curling into fists at his sides. The blood flowed in slow, steady streams, painting your hand.

You didn’t flinch.

You moved with a practiced precision, grimly intent. With shaky fingers, you scooped some blood on your pointer finger and pressed the pad to the wall, your arm trembling as you began to write.

Seismograph.

Beau’s eyes locked onto the word, his brow furrowing.

Seismograph?

You were so weak. You could barely hold yourself up, and yet, you were still thinking. Still trying. Then you turned to the wall once more, collecting more blood on your finger as you struggled to form the second word.

3 hours.

You stopped then, your body slumping against the wall, too drained to write any more. You didn’t need to. The message was clear.

The feed cut to static for a brief moment, the camera buzzing with distortion, before it returned to the silent, unchanging image of your still form against the wall. But Beau wasn’t looking at you anymore.

His mind raced, blood thundering in his ears. Seismograph. 3 hours.

A tremor ran through him – an earthquake in his chest.

Seismograph. You were giving him a clue. Something seismic. A signal of some kind. His gut twisted. He was supposed to know what it meant.

3 hours. What did that mean? Three hours before something? Three hours after something?

He didn’t have time to analyze it. You were sending him a lifeline. And whatever it meant, he was going to find you.

“What’s going on?” Jenny was the first to thunder into his office, her heart beating fast in her ribcage. She came to stand behind Beau and glanced at the screen, her brow knitting at the crimson words on the concrete wall in the same way his had. “Seismograph. 3 hours,” the blonde read aloud. “What does it mean?”

Cassie stood quietly in the doorframe, listening and thinking. “What is in those lockers?”

“I don’t know. We never found a bunker before, and Diane sure as hell ain’t telling us,” Beau huffed frustratedly.

“But there are chemicals of some kind,” Jenny pointed out, squinting her eyes at the laptop.

“Maybe she’s building a bomb,” Cassie proposed.

Beau pondered the theory for a beat. Then, he nodded. “We already know the area of the bunker. We could probably find her exact location through the tremors.”

“With a seismograph,” Jenny finished the thought. “Well, let’s hope she doesn’t blow herself up first.”

Beau hoped that, too. He didn’t even know you possessed bomb-making skills, but he figured you hadn’t known that fact about yourself either. This was by far not a thoroughly planned undertaking.

“Alright, get a damn seismograph here. I don’t care where you get it or what it costs. We’ve got three hours,” Beau barked his orders with a racing heart.

Your message had just bought him time, and he wasn’t going to waste it. You were still alive. He could still save you. And he wasn’t going to stop until he did.

Your breath came in short, labored gasps as you hunched over the crude metal table in the dark, sterile bunker. The faint hum of the camera feeding into the livestream echoed through the silence, the red light blinking softly as its lens captured your every movement, broadcasting your quiet panic.

You knew Beau was watching. They all probably were. You could almost feel their eyes on you, their silent judgment, their hope that this would work. They’d see the sweat glistening on your brow, the faint tremor in your hands as you worked on your little science fair project.

But it wasn’t fear that made you shake now. It was the cold certainty that time was running out.

You carefully twisted the wire around the small, makeshift device you’d cobbled together from the limited supplies at your disposal. Every movement was deliberate, every breath controlled, even as your mind raced a marathon. You lifted the device to your ear, listening for the faint click as you tightened the final screw. Done.

The one thing they had to get right was the seismic readings.

The bomb was crude – imperfect – but it was all you had. The plan was simple: blow the door open if you could, cause a seismic tremor, and hope the team could triangulate your location. They would track the explosion on the seismograph, find your coordinates, and come for you.

If you were lucky.

Maybe you should leave another message behind for him. In those hours you had lain on the table and pondered, you had thought about your escape. You had also thought about various torturous ways to kill Diane. You had celebrated your little win against Turner. But most of all, you had thought about Beau.

Simple things. The color of his pine green eyes. The smell of his leathery cologne. The sound of his hearty laugh. The warmth of his large hands. Would you ever see, hear, or feel those things again?

A tear streaked your cheek that you swiftly wiped away. Sobbing would cost you too much goddamn air. You couldn’t afford it.

You stole one last glance at the camera, your face a grim mask of resolve. Then you moved quickly, setting the device in place. You looked at the door on top of the steps – solid metal, bolted shut, impossible to open without the right tools.

Tools you didn’t have.

You hurried down the stairs and pushed the metal table onto its side, using it as a shield from the blast as you hunched down low behind it. It had been a little over three hours. It was time. With a sharp breath, you pushed the button of the remote detonator.

The explosion hit like a fist. The sound was deafening, but muffled in the confined space. Your ears rang as the shockwave slammed into you, throwing you back against the cold, unforgiving concrete wall. Your head spun, and for a moment, everything went black.

Then came the tremor.

It rippled through the ground like a violent pulse. The bunker groaned – metal creaking, concrete cracking. The lights flickered and went out, plunging you into near-total darkness, save for the dim emergency glow above the door.

And then, with a deep, bone-rattling crack, something shifted above you.

You scrambled to your feet, disoriented. What the hell was that?

A series of sharp, cracking sounds echoed from the ceiling, followed by a wet, muffled splintering. Your breath caught in your throat as a large root – gnarled and thick as a limb – suddenly pierced through the bunker’s ceiling, splintering the metal and concrete. The roots of a large tree slithered down – a slow, creeping thing – and it didn’t stop. It tore through the ceiling like it had been waiting for this moment, its jagged edges scraping against the walls.

And then – water. Cold, relentless water began pouring in, cascading through the new hole in the roof, spilling across the floor in an uncontrolled flood.

Fuck.

Your heart pounded wildly as you stumbled backward, the water already rising around your ankles, creeping steadily toward your knees. You could hear the steady drip of water splashing against the cold, metal floor, each drop sending a ripple through your chest.

The livestream camera remained on, the blinking red light still steady, but your mind was running a mile a minute – panic rising like a tidal wave. You had no time. You had to move, had to act. But the water was already rising faster than you could think. The air was thick, the walls seemed to be closing in on you, and the roots above groaned ominously as if the earth itself was about to swallow you whole.

You ran toward the door, your boots splashing through the growing puddle. But aside from causing a giant hole in the ceiling, the bomb hadn’t done enough damage to escape. The root’s tendrils were still creeping down from above, twisting around the ceiling. You could hear the scrape of it, its thick fingers reaching into the dark corners of the room.

The sound of the water filled your ears as it surged up around your waist. You stumbled, falling to one knee as the icy liquid engulfed you. Your chest tightened, panic clawing at your throat.

It was too much. The explosion, the quake, the roots, and now the rising water – everything was converging at once. A part of you knew this was it. You wouldn’t get out. They wouldn’t get here in time to save you. But a small flicker of hope was still alive in your heart.

You clutched the camera’s wire, the blinking red light still visible in the murk, as if it was the last lifeline you had left.

“Please,” you breathed, although you knew they couldn’t hear you, but your voice was barely audible over the rush of water anyways. “Please, find me.”

The woods were dense, the trees thick with fog and shadows. Beau ran through the underbrush, his boots pounding against the damp earth, the scent of pine and wet leaves filling his lungs. Sweat stung his green eyes, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he pushed his body beyond its limits. His heart thundered in his chest, not from the exertion, but from the terror building inside him, growing with each passing second.

He’d found it.

The seismograph had done its job. The tremor from the explosion had sent ripples through the earth, and in those ripples, he’d pinpointed the location. There was no time to think, no time to second-guess. He didn’t know how much time you had left, but the second the signal went off and the icy water of a nearby river had wound its way into the confined space, rising like a tide as it flooded the bunker, he’d known it could only be minutes till you took your last breath.

Beau’s mind reeled at the thought.

He stumbled over a fallen log, his eyes never leaving the ground ahead of him. He was so close. It had to be here. He had seconds to make it. He knew it had to be deep. The bunker was buried beneath the forest floor, hidden like a trap, and there was only one way in: a hatch maybe, barely visible among the trees, the earth heavy with moss and years of neglect. He had to get there – now.

He could hear the team searching all around him, crying with calls of your name that echoed through the trees. As he stared up through the tops of the towering pines, he could see the North Star twinkling brightly above him. His heart twinged. His gaze dropped and then landed on the far beam of his flashlight. Something flickered in the distance, just a few yards away from him, buried in the moss.

He stumbled back onto his feet, his trembling hands picking up a small, golden band. His chest seized.

The ring.

His ears picked up the babbling sounds of water. The river was close, only a few feet away. That had to be it. You’d left him another sign.

Grabbing his flashlight, his hands hastily searched the ground. His fingers brushed a thick patch of bramble, and then – there. His breath halted. Metal.

The hatch.

He skidded to a stop, his hands shaking as he dropped to his knees and cleared the leaves and brush away. The metal was a bit busted and bent out of shape, probably from the bomb, but the bolt that kept it tightly shut was still in tact. His fingers fumbled for the lock, every second stretching longer than the last.

“It’s here!” Beau yelled loudly, calling the others for help. “She’s here!”

His mind kept circling back to you. You were trapped down there. Trapped and drowning.

I’m coming, darlin’. Hold on.

Finally, his fingers found the latch, and with a metallic groan, the hatch creaked open.

The stench of damp earth hit him first – the cold, stagnant air of a place that had been shut off from the world for too long. His flashlight flickered as he shined it down into the narrow opening. The steps below were steep, the darkness absolute. He could hear the distant drip of water, and with it, a rising sense of urgency.

He didn’t waste time. Without a second thought, he grabbed the flashlight and began to descend, the metal of the hatch scraping against the edges of the door as he pulled it wide open. His breath caught as he stepped into the narrow stairwell.

The moment he hit the bottom, the sound of rushing water was unmistakable.

The tunnel was flooded. The water was rising fast, covering the floor in murky, black waves. The small concrete room at the base of the stairs had become a watery tomb, the level inching toward the ceiling.

He shouted your name, his voice crackling in the damp air.

But there was no answer.

Beau pushed forward, his heart in his throat, eyes scanning every inch of the flooded room. Your presence was all he could feel – your spirit, your strength, your last message. He had to find you.

A sudden thud echoed through the chamber, the faint sound of something – or someone – shifting beneath the water.

Beau’s eyes locked on the back wall of the room, where the water was thickest, swirling around a pile of debris. His mind screamed. The seconds were melting away, and he couldn’t afford to waste a single one.

The wall was crumbling under the pressure, but the thing that struck him wasn’t just the damage. It was the stillness. There was no movement. No air.

His pulse spiked as he waded through the rising water, kicking through the murk with his boots, moving faster now, hands trembling as he shoved aside debris.

Please, please, please…

And then, beneath the surface, a hand – limp, floating like a ghost. Beau lunged, his fingers brushing against your wrist, cold and unyielding.

He cried your name again, his voice hoarse with panic as he pulled you to him, cradling your body against his chest.

Your skin was ice-cold. Your hair matted against your face, your body limp in his arms. You were unconscious – or worse.

Don’t you dare be dead. Don’t you dare.

Beau’s breath came in harsh bursts, his hands fumbling against you, trying to find any sign of life. The water was rising too fast.

He wasn’t going to lose you. Not like this.

With a single, desperate motion, he hoisted you into his arms. He didn’t stop. His feet pounded the water-soaked concrete as he bolted back toward the stairs, his lungs burning, the world blurring around him.

Get out. Get out.

He could feel the water rising behind him, flooding the room with the force of a tide. He didn’t know if the two of you would make it. He didn’t know if he could make it.

But he was going to try. He was going to fight like hell to keep you alive.

The hatch was there, just ahead, the only way out. He pushed harder, faster, as the water reached his knees, then his waist. Every breath was a battle. Every second felt like an eternity.

With one final push, he reached the top of the stairs, stumbling out into the fresh air, gasping for breath, his legs weak beneath him. He laid you on the ground, your limp body draped across the earth.

Beau’s hands were shaking as he knelt beside you. “Darlin’,” he whispered, shaking you gently.

Nothing.

Tears blurred his vision as he pressed his ear to your chest, listening for any sign of life.

A faint, fragile beat.

You were still with him.

He could barely breathe, panic threatening to swallow him whole, but he knew he had to keep it together.

He leaned over your body, his hands moving quickly. “Come on, darlin’. Come on…” His voice cracked as he positioned his hands, interlocking his fingers over your sternum. He gave two hard compressions, the sound of his palms meeting your chest too loud in the thick silence.

Still nothing. Your skin was frozen, your lips tinged blue.

His breath hitched, and he started again – one, two, three…

His heart hammered in his chest as he leaned down, pinching your nose and sealing his mouth over yours. He breathed into you, feeling the faint rise of your chest beneath him.

Please, please, don’t leave me.

He gave you another breath, then returned to the chest compressions – one, two, three…

Time seemed to stretch on endlessly, each moment more desperate than the last. His hands moved faster, his fingers slick with water and sweat as he pressed into you again and again. He wasn’t thinking. He couldn’t.

He hadn’t even taken note of the crowd that had gathered around him, watching the dire spectacle.

Finally – after what felt like a lifetime – your body jerked beneath his hands. You gasped, a harsh, ragged breath, and Beau nearly collapsed in relief. He cradled your head gently, his green eyes searching your face as you coughed weakly, water spilling from your mouth.

“You’re okay. You’re okay,” he breathed into your hair, his voice thick with emotion and eyes filled with tears as he kissed your crown repeatedly, his hold tight around your body.

You opened your eyes, just a sliver at first, and then you blinked, your hand weakly reaching for his cheek before it dropped to his chest.

“Beau…” you whispered, your voice barely a breath before you let out the first few sobs and coiled against him.

“It’s alright. I’m here.”

And for the first time in days, Beau let himself breathe as he steadied your trembling frame in his embrace.

Hospitals weren’t your favorite thing in the world. In fact, you had pretty much avoided them your whole life. You’d screamed your way through your tonsils surgery when you were five. You refused to get your broken arm cast when you were fourteen. But there was one thing you had always cherished during your involuntary stays:

Pudding.

Randy was the first person that stopped by early in the morning. You didn’t know if that decision had been a collusive one, agreed upon by the whole team, but you were grateful for the visit – more grateful when he brought you your sweet treat.

Something had been going on, though, while you were locked up – you could tell. As you’d clung to Beau’s chest last night in the forest, you caught Randy in the crowd around you before he ducked his head and retreated into the shadows. Your heart broke at the sight.

Beau didn’t leave your side, though, even riding in the ambulance with you while reassuring you throughout. He held your hand tightly, but his shoulders were stiff. And when they wheeled you out of the emergency room, the doors closed in front of him. You hadn’t seen or heard from him since.

You’d only slept for about five hours, but it had been a deep slumber. You had been out like a light. But as soon as you woke, you felt the aches of your body. There wasn’t a single limb or organ that didn’t groan in pain. Your ankle was the worst, though – the doctors told you you were lucky you got to keep it by the degree of infection it had suffered. The murky water of the river surely hadn’t helped cleaning it.

Sepsis, hypothermia, drowning, and lifelong trauma were just a few of the things you had to recover from.

There was also the dissolution of your marriage – you’d finally found the right term. Not widowed, not divorced – dissolved.

Randy stayed for three hours, and you had an honest and long talk. Oddly enough, being in his presence didn’t feel strange anymore. It felt familiar.

While your brain had adjusted, your heart remained steadfast. Randy had recognized it too and conceded. When he left your bedside, you sent him a smile with tears brimming in your eyes.

A chapter closed. A song ended. But your heart was at peace.

Beau’s heart pounded furiously in his chest as he stood glued outside your hospital room. Every laugh that echoed through the door felt like a gut punch.

Randy had asked to speak to you first. Beau had granted him the request – not that it had been really up to him. But Randy had been gracious last night, and the sheriff knew it couldn’t have been easy.

Beau had arrived at the hospital around noon, only to find you and Randy were still talking. Not only talking but laughing. While his heart murmured a tiny bit, he supposed it was a good sign. Who said you had to throw plates or the occasional vase at each other?

Twenty minutes later, Randy finally exited and ran straight into Beau around the corner, who had leaned against the wall and tried to answer the many nosy questions of the group chat. He didn’t know why the hell Cassie had invited him into this one…

“Oh, hey.” Randy chuckled lightly as he bumped into Beau, eyeing him with a suspicious brow. There was the flash of a smirk on his face.

Eager, are we? Beau could read Randy thoughts, even though his former friend refrained from saying them out loud.

“Hey.” Beau’s voice was low. He swallowed thickly as he tried his hardest not to avert his gaze to the linoleum flooring. “How is she?”

“In good spirits,” Randy replied but then paused. “For now. I think the morphine’s kicking in.”

“So, uhm–”

Beau didn’t know where that sentence would end. Flat-out asking Randy how your conversation went would’ve just been pathetically nosy – and rude. His mama had raised him better than that.

“I’m going back to Houston,” Randy still answered the unasked question.

“With, uhm–” Your name hung on the tip of Beau’s tongue before he bit down, noting Randy’s shaking head.

“Don’t push it.”

“Right…” Beau smacked his lips and cleared his throat, his hand scratching the nape of his neck. “So, what about you and me, huh? I know right now’s a stretch, but maybe down the road we could grab a beer?”

Randy’s lips pursed at first – unsure. But after a beat passed, he nodded slightly. “Maybe, yeah.” He hesitated. “Hit me up if you’re ever in Houston, alright?”

“Yeah, alright.” Beau’s lips twitched to a smile of surprise, but he still wished there was more he could do, more he could offer. It didn’t feel enough. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

Randy gave him a tight-lipped nod and patted him on the shoulder as he passed him. “You too.”

Beau watched Randy angle towards the elevators before exhaling a deep breath. Green eyes then drifted to your door. His heart was both elated and heavy. Questions circled in his mind.

What now?

The case was as good as over. Would you leave now? Where would you go? Beau knew your home was in Houston. Should he move back there, too? Would you even want him to? He’d broken up with you. Again. Were you still mad at him for it? He had tried to restrain himself last night, not knowing where the two of you stood. He held your hand in his, even though it was your whole body he wanted to keep holding in his arms.

You’d chosen no one. Maybe this was a day of break-ups for you.

Beau’s knuckles softly knocked on your door before he entered. Unsurely, he stood until your eyes glanced up and found his. A smile rose on your lips.

“Hey, there you are. You just missed Randy,” you said.

At a loss for words, Beau stared at you for a moment, his heart hammering in his chest. You still looked pretty rough – hooked up to IVs, your face and arms covered in bruises and cuts. But at least you were here – alive. There was some color back in your cheeks. Until a few hours ago, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get to see you again.

“Oh, uh, passed him in the hall,” Beau finally said and obnoxiously cleared his throat. “Said he was going back to Houston.”

“Yeah, he told me. I gave him my apartment,” you said, your voice a casual melody as you ignored the tension that was building between you two.

Beau’s brows shot up. “You gave him your place?”

“Least I could do. I sold his home.”

“Where are you gonna stay?”

“Oh, I don’t know yet. Guess I’m kinda homeless now. Again,” you said and hid the hint of a smile. You could see his wires were crossed.

“Hmm,” he hummed and shifted on his heels.

“Thank you,” you then said softly, trying to fight the tears that pricked your eyes. You swallowed heavily. “For saving me, you know? Bringing me back to life…”

“Don’t mention it,” he replied with a tight-lipped smile and a shake of his head, although a lump formed in the back of his throat at the haunting image of you, limb in his arms. He never wanted to see something like this again. He never wanted to feel that crippling, numbing fear ever again.

You snorted slightly at his understatement, fumbling with your fingers in your lap. “Feel like I have to. They told me you gave me CPR for three minutes straight. They said I was pretty much gone.”

“They’re exaggerating. It wasn’t that long,” he brushed off. “‘Sides, I wasn’t gonna let you die on my watch.”

“Like I said, thanks,” you reiterated and sent him a smile. “So, why are you standing so far away like I’m radioactive?”

Beau pursed his lips. “Well, you are kinda my kryptonite, darlin’.” He scratched the back of his neck, his boots still not moving closer. “Don’t really know where we stand, y’know? I mean, last time… that morning… I guess I’m tryna say I’m sorry for puttin’ you through that. So, on a scale from one to ten, how mad are you at me right now?”

“Well, if you put it like that… zero.” You grinned teasingly. “Hard to stay mad at you, considering you’ve saved my life, you know? I’m willing to forget your momentary stupidity. Well, if it really was momentary…”

“Oh, it was,” Beau confirmed, your heart expanding with a breath of relief. “Going with an insanity defense here. So… what does that mean?”

Musingly, you bit down on your lip. “I don’t know. Guess you’ll have to come closer and find out.”

Beau’s lips hiked to a wide, genuine smile for the first time in days. His feet began moving toward you.

Enjoying the warm rays of sunlight on your face, you exhaled blissfully as you sat outside the trailer, leaning comfortably back in your chair.

“There ya go – one extra black, extra strong cup of joe.” Beau handed you your favorite mug, his pine green eyes drifting to your injured leg, propped up on a wooden stool in front of you.

“Thank you,” you replied with a smile and practically inhaled the black liquid, its warmth filling you.

“How’s the ankle? That stool looks uncomfortable,” he noted, brushing his beard. His head tilted. “You need a pillow? Imma grab you one. Anything you need, darlin’. Officially retired since yesterday, you know? I’m here all day. Just say the word, and I’ll make it happen.”

Amused, you laughed a little. “I don’t need a pillow. The ankle’s fine. Just sit down next to me and enjoy the sun, will you?”

“It’s freezing.”

“I like how the snow twinkles in the sun,” you said and patted the chair next to you. With a groan, Beau sat down, wrapping his suede jacket a little tighter around himself while you sat cozily draped in the Sherpa jacket you had stolen from his closet. It was big and wide and warm and smelled heavenly like him. “‘Sides, I have a pretty nice jacket to keep me warm.” He frowned a little at you, but an amused smile twitched on his lips. “You said I should make myself comfortable – anything I wanted.”

“Didn’t think you’d raid my closet,” he huffed playfully.

“Hey, I only came here with a tiny carry-on.”

You’d been released from the hospital last night after spending a full week there. In the meantime, Beau had decided to hang up the sheriff’s hat, handing the badge off to Jenny – you’d fully agreed with the decision. You knew his heart hadn’t been in it for a while now.

He’d also asked you to move in.

And moreover, you’d finished your last reports and then handed in your resignation at the FBI. One serial killer kidnapping was enough for you. Diane had showed you where your limit was, and that was okay. You looked forward to a quiet life with the man beside you. It was its own adventure. God knows Diane’s life wouldn’t be as happy and peaceful behind bars.

Neither of you had spoken to her since your rescue. Sheriff Hoyt had handled all things on that end. By the amount of evidence they had to go through, Ted even surmised her trial wouldn’t start until three years from now. Until then, Beau and you had promised each other you wouldn’t waste another thought on her.

Well, you supposed you had to waste some thoughts on her. A big publisher from New York had already approached you about a book deal – and the money was more than good.

“Guess we’ll have to go down to Houston to get your stuff once you’re back on your feet,” Beau said.

Musingly, you scrunched your nose and hummed. “Not sure that’s necessary. It’s not gonna fit in the trailer anyways – not with your extensive closet.”

Amused, Beau pursed his lips and chuckled. He rubbed a hand through his beard. “Yeah, I was thinking about that… Maybe we should move. Get a bigger place, you know?”

“Do they make bigger Airstreams?” you murmured teasingly into your mug, cocking an eyebrow.

His tongue poked the inside of his cheek. “I was thinking more along the lines of a house. A ranch, maybe.”

“What about a houseboat?”

“Nah, that wouldn’t work with the kids. Try keeping a toddler in a life jacket all day,” Beau quipped, shaking his head. He didn’t even seem to notice what had slipped out of his mouth.

Your brow creased. “Kids?”

His wide eyes found yours, mouth opening and closing. He let out nervous breath. “Yeah, uh, something else I wanted to talk to you about…”

“Are you pregnant?” you joked and snorted into your coffee. Then, your brow furrowed. “Wait, am I? Did the doctor say something to you? Why would you smuggle tequila into my room if you knew?”

“No one’s pregnant, darlin’…” Beau laughed softly, his hand reaching out to cover your thigh. “I was just thinking maybe more a down-the-line kinda thing. In the, uh, near future, you know?”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “Well, uhm, I didn’t think that was on table. We’ve never talked about it. I mean, I honestly didn’t think you’d want to…”

“Kinda gettin’ tired of people always assuming things about me,” Beau retorted with a little smirk. He squeezed your thigh. “Kids are on the table, darlin’.”

“Huh.”

Clearing his throat, Beau leaned forward in his seat. “You know, I had a little chat with Randy…”

You scoffed in surprise. “He actually told you?”

“Bigger question is, why didn’t you tell me?” Beau’s brow raised almost scoldingly. He was a pretty great dad.

“Honestly? Because it’s none of your business. That was between me and my then-late husband,” you replied with a sharpness that matched his look – there was a playfulness lying underneath, though. You both knew the other had a point. You exhaled a long sigh. “Look, that was four years ago. A lot has changed since then. I haven’t really thought about it since Randy’s funeral. Then Mexico happened. God knows we were nowhere near ready for a conversation like this…”

You gave him a shrug of your shoulders and sipped on your coffee.

“So, you don’t want kids?”

“Do you?”

Beau chuckled lightly, his fingers tapping the chair’s armrest. “Look, I’m already retiring from the job – I don’t wanna retire from life,” he said. “Sure, for a long time, I wasn’t thinking about another kid, but Emily’s almost off to college. Would be nice to feel needed again, do it all over… I don’t wanna fish every day till I drop.”

You snorted a laugh.

“So? What d’you say?”

Biting down on your lip, you glanced behind you at the Airstream. Then you found his green eyes and grinned. “Yeah, I think we’ll definitely need a bigger place. Maybe something between a houseboat and a ranch?”

Beau could barely contain his smile but played along. “And what would that be?”

It ended up being a lake house. Beau fished every morning. You watched him and the sunrise from the window as you wrote your novel.

The baby arrived by next Christmas.

THE END

I think reader would be unstoppable in an Escape Room 😂

I so hope you enjoyed this last part, loves! What a wonderful journey it's been. Thank you to every single one of you from the bottom of my heart 🤍

And PS: I do have a little future one-shot in mind for them 😉

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[halfratsalready]

I want to give a massive heartfelt thank you to Dropput and Dimension 20 for the Dimensioneer ticket lottery system 💕✨

The fact that I was able to enter to win two Gauntlet at the Garden tickets for only $35 each was so exciting after the insanity that was the day tickets went on sale. $70 for two tickets was an absolutely incredible deal, and the tickets I won were for some pretty incredible seats.

I really hope they implement this system for all their future live shows, or at least for the really big ones like Gauntlet was, so that more people like me are able to live out their dreams and see a Dimension 20 show that they wouldn’t have been able to see otherwise.

The fact that Dropout is so encouraging of password sharing means to me that they know that their audience includes people who can’t necessarily afford things like streaming services or live shows, so a means of providing fans with affordable tickets like this is an incredible way to share their work with as many people as possible.

I will never stop talking about how incredible Gauntlet was and I can’t wait for everyone lucky enough to see the upcoming live shows elsewhere across the US, especially for those who may think it’s not all that likely that they’ll be able to go in the first place! 💕✨

[thefluffyrailway-official]

Hi,

Got any Head cannons that we don't already know about?

K Fluffy answers this lol.

I don't really remember which headcannon i already showed and which one i didn't. Specially little individual facts.

So here's a little list of some i think i didn't show and i'd like to explore soon :D (Warning most are sad-)

-Harriet, Sandy and the newbuilt engines: I could make a whole story about this on my tumblr made for the infection part but here's a resume.

Harriet wasn't the only fankid engine. Actually, some others like Edward, Sir Handel, Flora and even Hiro had their own kids. They were built to be similar to them. But most of them, due to being very young, passed away during the infection. Sir Handel's daughter was the first one, she was very new yet but very enthusiastic and wante to help in the railway in everything she could. She was one of the first victims on the Skarloey railway. (Followed by Rheneas)

Harriet and Sandy were the only children engines that could survive to the infection, but of course, due to be very young when they got infected, their bodies will have a price to pay... (Sandy living a short life, around 40 years or less, which is nothing for an engine (That's why she looks like a hamster), and Harriet... It's still unknown her fate, but her parents refuse to believe she will have troubles.

-Salty is trying to warn Mavis about Diesel 10: And you know what this means... Specially if she doesn't trust him...

-Alfred and the loaves: Since they can move by theirselves now, they always wait for him in the morning, and when he appears, they both pounce into him and start nuzzling and licking him like if they hadn't seen him in years! He doesn't really like this because they're a bit heavy, but he can't say no to those fluffy loaf sheep :3

-Diesel 10 sings to Diesel: This may sound cute, he's his father and something like this would be very cute to see! But no... It isn't... Just read one of the parts of the song:

«Close your eyes, drift away,

Hear my voice, let it stay.

Trust in me, let go of fear,

Open your mind, you'll find it clear.»

He sings this everynight, and repeated it a lot after his little fight with Thomas to convince Diesel that everything he did was for the diesels' safety (LIE)

Of course this is slowly making Diesel more and more submissive and easily influenciable. Sir Topham Hatt is starting to worry and keep an eye of him more often.

-Cranky is desperate for Sandy's attention: We all know Sandy is much closer to Carly, whom she already calls "mama", and she always goes to her when she needs help or something. As Cranky already developed a paternal love towards the child too, he wants to be there to help her too, but it looks like Sandy only goes to him when Carly isn't there. And there you have Cranky excited because the little cube called him and then she asked " Where's mama? I wanna ask her something". He then answers with a soft growl "Ask your mother".

Then why does Sandy never ask you anything ol' snake? -^-

-Aiden's first word: Yep! You heard it right! He said his first word already and i will make a post about it surely. (It was "Escwape!" by the way. Great job Oliver! I bet you told him that story too many times!) Though, Aiden barely says it anyway, he just wehs all the time, too smol yet.

-Dallas and her obsession with Aiden and Claire:

She've been obsessed with visiting the other western pups all this time! And she has reasons for that. They're the only other smol engines like her. She likes Aiden specially, mostly because he's able to roll and play a bit, while Claire is still next to mama loaf all the time.

Donnie is a bit tired of her insistence but likes the idea of her bonding with other pups.

-The Nursery: The Steamworks have now a little place specially for pup-care, apart of the main entrance to make it a bit more quiet and calm. Ashley is still there. She likes to help Kevin with some of his works, actually, Kevin wants to be in charge of the "Nursery" and is still begging Victor to let him. But Vic doesn't really trust him such a sensitive job like that.

Dieselworks have it too :)

That would be all! Which ones were your faves? :D

(AU inspo creds: @steam-beasts <3)