#there was something else i had to say but it's gone now

[readwritealldayallnight]

I would love a take on boyfriend Ghost coming home to surprise you, but he finds your bed empty and doesn't realize that you are in his room in his bed. Thanks.

The placebo effect, was what he kept trying to convince you it had to be, no matter how many times you rolled your eyes and told him he was wrong

How else could one explain your insistence that Simon’s bed smelled so much like him, becoming your safe space when he was away on long deployments, when he only ever slept with you in your bed most nights to begin with

Hard to believe it was nearly three years ago now that you’d told your friend since childhood, Johnny, about how your search for a new flat was going miserably. You remember how he’d perked up and recounted with a mischievous glint in his eye about how his Lieutenant was apparently searching for a flat mate at the moment, someone who’d be looking after the place while he was away for work

Unsure about living with a strange man you’d never met before, but trusting Johnny’s judgement (though the way he seemed just a bit too eager about this meeting did kind of throw you off-) you had reluctantly agreed to meet with him and at least give the flat a glance before you simply turned him down

It wasn’t until you were knocking at the door of the address Johnny had written down for you, that you’d realized he’d never even given you the man’s goddamn name, only ever referring to him at Lieutenant or LT

Johnny apparently also failed to mention the absolute SIZE of the guy, his huge frame blocking nearly all of the light from behind him as he had swung the door open and stood in the doorway before you

In a slight panic, thrown off by the massive man before you and the way the butterflies in your stomach suddenly began to flutter at the sight of him, you had greeted him for the first time with a squeaky, unsure voice saying ‘Um, hi, are you the Mr Lieutenant?’ (something he has never let you live down since)

He knew then and there that you would be the one

Not just his flatmate (though what a generous flatmate he was when he offered insisted on moving all your boxes out of your old place and into his that very same day), but the one, something he reluctantly had to give Soap credit for, seeing as he was the one who wouldn’t stop talking his ear off about you

You would be his other half, his better half

And all these years later, the two bedroom flat truly only acted as a one bedroom, considering that from the start Simon was always falling into your bed with you at the end of each night, limbs tangled together under the warmth of a lovers embrace a thousand times more comforting than an actual comforter

Still though, that first time Simon had to be gone for work longer than a few weeks, you found the lingering odor of him clinging to his bedsheets to be one of the few things keeping you sane in his absence, taking to sleeping in his room for the time being, imagining that the pillow you cling to your front was a strong muscular arm instead, littered in scars and tattoos you feel confident you could recognize from touch alone

And when his long awaited flight back home to you landed a few hours earlier than expected, tires touching down in the dark, stillness of late night hour, he decided he’d surprise you and come straight home, rather than calling you to meet him at the base like you’d insisted, not wanting to wake you

Barely able to contain himself, he decided the elevator ride up to the seventh floor would take too long, take away precious seconds that brought him closer to you, and so up the flight of stairs he went, taking them two or three at a time, rushing to see the face etched behind his eyelids every time he closed his eyes, to hear the voice that haunted his dreams each night

Quietly as a man his size could, he crept into the flat, snuck his way into your room, expecting to see your sweet, sleeping form cuddled up amongst the blankets and pillows. But his heart dropped when he noticed the bed was still perfectly made, not a thread out of place.

Trying to remain calm, though his mind was instantly swarming with every possible scenario that could have taken place, he knew he saw your shoes and jacket by the door, you couldn’t have gone far… but where were you?

He glanced into the living room, wondering if he missed you sleeping on the couch after a long day, he poked his head into the bathroom, even went so far as to check the small balcony, but finally there was only one door left to open.

And there you were, safe and sound, a tiny ball curled up into the center of his huge bed, clinging to one of his old masks and holding it close to your chest as though it were a security blanket (you’d been sleeping in his bed so much you needed something that still smelled strongly of him, you were getting desperate)

Stripping himself down to only his boxers, he tiptoed towards the side of the bed, his mind finally feeling more at peace than he ever had, gently pulling the sheets back just enough for him to slip in behind you, his strong arms wrapping around your middle and pulling you into his muscular chest

Though it should be alarming to suddenly feel a pair of hands roaming over your skin, a body holding you firmly against their own, it’s as though your body knows who it is before your mind does

Any tension you were still holding onto during his absence instantly melts away, your own hands coming to land over top of his, giving a slight squeeze of acknowledgment, not yet willing to fully leave your half asleep state, but needing to touch him, to confirm he really is here

“Hmm,” You hum, voice groggy with sleep and a smile slowly stretching across your lips, snuggling further into his embrace. “You’re home.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, breathing you in, wishing he could bottle up the scent of your shampoo and lotions and perfumes, if only to have something to hold onto while he’s away, understanding now why he found you in this bed rather than your own

“I am.” He whispers into your hair, sensing that you’re already drifting back into dream land, safe in his arms and his bed, knowing he’ll be there when you wake. He feels his chest tighten when he knows that you weren’t talking about the fact that he’s physically home, in the flat, but something more, something much more, because he means the same thing when he tells you, “You’re my home too, love.”

[simpjaes]

ELABORATE ON OBSESSED!WORSHIP THE GROUND YOU WALK ON!HOUSEHUSBAND JAKE PLEASE!!!!!! MY MIND IS GONNA EXPLODE – byeol

i'll be the husband jake plug no worries. warnings: jake is suppppppppperrrrrrrr needy omg.

It's normal, natural to him to do these things.

You're so tired after a long day, he gets it. the days feel longer to him sometimes though, despite your tired feet and aching back. You're his wife, he needs you.

So what if he's unemployed? He's employed to you. Will do anything for you. everything for you. happily and willingly, with so much love in his eyes every single fucking time he hears that lock on the door click open.

Time to reiterate. He needs you.

It's been weeks. He gets it. Stress, big promotion you're going for or something. He can't say he cares too much lately due to the neglect he's been dealing with.

After all the cleaning, he massages you, bathes you, tucks you in, kisses you gently, and doesn't dare ask for more from you. After all, you're expected to do so much, from so many people. Not him. Not ever. Until now. He's a man. For three days now he's been trying to remind you. Trying all sorts of subtle tricks. Some blatant ones too. Generous groping that goes rejected. A few heavy makeouts dwindling to a pop kiss and a tired "goodnight." More subtle ones, where he simply tries to dress well for you, clean far better than usual, make your favorite foods. He knows it's not because you don't want him but...you're so stressed. He could kill two birds with one stone if you'd just... "Baby." He had said last night, sinking under the blankets and prying your legs apart. "Just rest, this is all i need." He continued, implying that he would be perfectly happy helping you relax with some bedtime head. You had closed your legs on him, pinching your brows together with the same stressed out face. All day today, his brows have been equally knitted together. Stressed. Fucking horny. Is it cringe for him to do this? Yes. Does he care? No. Fuck no. And so, you come home just like any other day to the smell of dinner. It's sweet smelling, which is an indication that your husband wants something. Never does he serve dessert for dinner, but tonight feels like a welcome change because everything else just started not only feeling, but tasting too mundane. You were more surprised when you werent greeted by Jake at the door. He didn't take your things, or slide your jacket off of you. Which, that's fine. You don't need him to wait on you hand and foot. He just tends to like doing that for you anyway... You search in curiosity for him, following the sound of clanking pots and pans. The sound would give you a headache if it weren't for the image of him as you enter the kitchen. There he is. Hair pinned back with one of your headbands, apron on... only an apron. Cock lending quite a large tent as he turns to you. You know he's trying to smile genuinely, but you see a hint of pain behind his eyes. Desperate pain. Almost like he's begging you for something. Anything. And he is begging. Only when he drops to his knees and looks up at you with those eyes do you recognize how terribly you've been neglecting him. So much so that you didn't even let him eat you out, which wouldn't have expected anything on your part aside from an orgasm. This moment feels almost emasculating for him, you can imagine. Like you've deprived him of everything he needs from you in order to maintain order in this household. Arguably, you have deprived him. You can tell by how big his cock looks peeking from the hem of the apron, and those sad glassy eyes looking at you as if this is a last resort. "Baby, ple-" Jake starts to plead on the floor, the dessert he was cooking long forgotten. You're speechless at the image, finally feeling a tingle between your legs for the first time in months. You feel so apologetic alongside the tingle, realizing how much suffering he must have gone through to be doing this. After all, there's no way in hell you could have satiated this need within you without him. How he's managed to do it all this time is beyond you. ''Jake," You interrupt him, dropping your hands to his cheeks and tilting his face further up to you. "What do you need?" You see those glassy eyes become more tearful, probably from happiness by now. No words and no apologies need to be said at this moment. He sees your realization, and understands the lack of seeing to his needs to an extent. But this... this can't happen again. Nothing is to be said after that when Jake immediately goes for your pants, missing the taste of you so badly. He was right in knowing that even just the smell of you could satiate him. And it does, his cock heavy and leaking just from the sensation of the apron rubbing against him paired with the scent of your pussy that has been long neglected.

And he devours you, getting off at least twice there on the kitchen floor with his palm desperately working himself to each high. You could tell he didn't want you to feel like you needed to do anything for him but...let him. God, fuck, you feel so guilty.

So you make up for it. Right here, sliding down on him raw, letting the mess he's made of himself make a mess of you too.

"Baby, wait-" Jake chokes, working against his words by helping you slide down on him entirely. "Fuck, you're-"

"Shh." You sigh deeply, realizing how much you needed this too. "Just keep going," He does. Fucking you so desperately that you believe he cums in you at least twice from you adjusting alone, messing your thighs with sticky fluids, the kitchen floor, and himself. So much of it, you're so full of it already. Plan B isn't such a difficult thing to buy anyway. Especially after he chooses to keep fucking you, as if he worries he'll never get to do it again.

[strangersteddierthings]

Made With Love

It takes one bite for Eddie to suspect he's done something wrong. A second bite confirms it. He's fucked up somehow and cannot for the life of him remember what it was.

Did he miss an important date of some sort? It couldn't have been their anniversary because that's August 13th (Eddie's new favorite day of the year, for obvious reasons). He absolutely didn't miss Steve's birthday. Not with how long he and Robin had spent planning the damn thing. (Eddie is never throwing another surprise party in his life; the stress of secret keeping was too much to bear.)

... Did he miss Robin's birthday?

No. That can't be. Steve would never let him miss that.

It could be one of the Party's birthdays, but Eddie doesn't think that's a transgression that would warrant this.

This, of course, being his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

"What, your peanut butter's gone bad?"

Eddie lifts his eyes from the proof of Steve's anger at him to his coworker, Charlie, sitting across the table from him in the closet that Thatcher claims is the break room. "No. It's much worse than that, I'm afraid."

"Well, don't keep me in suspense," Charlie deadpans.

"This sandwich wasn't made with love," Eddie whines, looking back at the sandwich with as much sorrow as he can muster. He sets the sandwich down on the baggy he had pulled it out of so that he can frown down at it without having to touch the offending creation.

"Ah shit," Charlie says, voice filled with empathy. This is why he's Eddie's favorite coworker. He gets it. Possibly because he's the only person who's tasted the difference for himself, back when Eddie'd just started at Thatcher Tires. "What'd'ya do?"

"I don't know!" Eddie wails. "Everything was fine when I left this morning, or I thought it was anyway."

"Ain't your misses pretty good at lettin' you know you done fucked up?" Charlie, like the best coworker that he is, looks surprised that Eddie doesn't know what he's done. He's right, too. Steve is the goddamn king of petty, and Eddie has never struggled to know when Steve's mad at him. The struggle usually comes from Eddie refusing to be in the wrong.

(That's not to say that Eddie is always in the wrong. He's not. Sure, a good percent of their arguments Eddie is the one at fault and he's mature enough to admit so once the argument is over, but it's not always his fault.)

Anyway, the point is, regardless of who's at fault, Steve is angry at him about something and for the first time in months Eddie doesn't know what for. They'd promised each other, after their first very big fight that almost ended in a breakup and was over a misunderstanding, that they would tell each other why they're mad or upset or feeling some type of way. So for Eddie to not know...

He thinks he might have fucked up big time.

"I know!" Eddie cries, shoving the sandwich away from him to make room to drop his forehead onto the table, then turns to smoosh his cheek against the table so he can look at Charlie. "Charlie. Charlie what do I do?"

Charlie blows out a long breath, thinking, before he gives a decisive nod and says, "you gotta beg forgiveness."

Eddie knows Charlie's right. He doesn't know what he did but he's going to beg forgiveness anyway.

Which is how he now finds himself in the small floral section of the grocery store looking over the sad, wilted bouquets after work. His arms are already full with Steve's favorite ice cream, candies, an over-priced little blue teddy bear that's holding an 'It's A Boy!' card that Eddie plans to rip off, and a blank card with a painting of sunflowers on it that he plans to wax poetry about Steve inside.

The final part of his groveling is, of course, the flowers. It's the wrong season for sunflowers, so Eddie was going to settle for roses. It's just that these roses are all sad looking. They don't really scream 'I Love You More Than Anything Else In The World, Please Forgive Me For What I've Done' though.

Let it never be said that Eddie doesn't know how to beg forgiveness.

He ends up picking the least wilted looking bouquet, one with white and yellow flowers he can't name.

The cashier is an older lady who takes quick catalogue of his items and asks, "is it your anniversary, darling? Or, oh!" She picks up the blue bear and Eddie feels his ear heating with embarrassment as she coos, "are you expecting? How exciting!"

"Err, no, not, uh, no. It's just blue is hi-her favorite color, so I was planning to just cut off the little card," Eddie stutters out the lie. Blue isn't Steve's favorite color but Eddie's used to making up many little lies when talking to strangers. Being hate-crimed is not a passion of Eddie's. "I, uh, messed up. And I don't know what I did, but I'm going to make it right."

The lady smiles at him and gives him a firm nod as she scans the items. "Smart boy. I'm sure she'll forgive you."

Eddie gives her a smile he hopes isn't as tight-lipped as it feels on his face.

Back in the safety of his van, Eddie roots around until he finds a pen and gets to writing all the things he loves about Steve in the card and all the things he hopes they'll get to have in the future. Nothing they haven't spoken about before, but it still makes Eddie a little emotional writing it all down.

Once he's done writing, he pulls his pocket knife out and cuts off the 'It's A Boy' card from the bear, crumpling it up and tossing it in the back of the van to be forgotten. He shoves the sunflower card in it's place. His card is a bit wider than the previous one here so it stays in place, albeit precariously. He'll be careful handing it over to Steve.

He knows that Steve is at home already. Steve's always home first because he's off work at four compared to Eddie getting off work around five.

Well. Closer to five-thirty today with his stop at the grocery store. He really hopes that whatever has Steve mad at him isn't time related. Being late home without calling might earn him no favors if it's a time-based blunder.

Steve is in the kitchen, back to the door since he's facing the stove, as Eddie expected he might be. Which means that Eddie doesn't get to lay out all his Items of Forgiveness across the counter like he had hoped but that's okay. If the love of his life has chosen to forgive him, he knows Steve will be just as overjoyed to rifling through a bag of goodies as he would to pick them off the counter.

"Hi sweetheart," Eddie says, words oozing with adoration and sweetness.

"Hi baby," Steve's tone matches Eddie's, like an instinct to match Eddie's energy has written itself into Steve's DNA. And it might have. Eddie knows the reverse is true.

Steve turns from the stove, then, and his face lights up with delight and surprise. "What's all this?"

"Your favorite things, because I love you," Eddie says, raising his arms a bit. The grocery bag is looped over his wrist with flowers in one hand and the bear in the other.

Steve looks positively smitten.

Eddie is nailing this apology that isn't an apology. And let it be known; he cannot say he's sorry. It'll ruin everything. Because Steve, his wonderful, beautiful, kind and loving Stevie, will cock one perfect little caterpillar eyebrow and ask if Eddie knows what he's apologizing for, and Eddie will have to say he doesn't know and that isn't something he's willing to do. Especially not when it's looking like whatever Steve was mad about has completely slipped Steve's mind, too.

"I got your favorite ice cream, too, so we might want to get that into the freezer," Eddie says, passing the bear and card to Steve and shimmying around him to get to the freezer.

He lays the flowers on the counter and sets to emptying the bag. Ice cream in the freezer and goodies on the counter, while Steve reads the card silently behind him.

He knows he's successfully made up for whatever it was he had done, because Steve crowds him against the fridge shortly after setting the card down and turning the stove burner off, kissing him breathless.

Eddie even gets desert before dinner, with Steve all but dragging him to their bedroom.

-

The reddit post that inspired this -

[keferon]

So I had ideas for Mecha Pilot AU while reading some of the things that other people have sent and those ideas turned into this!

Enjoy some Hot Rod shenanigans!

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It starts when Hot Rod catches First Aid trying to smuggle a metal sheet out of the base. 

Well, no, it really started when the higher ups said that Jazz, allegedly, stole a half put together experimental mech unit. Which, Hot Rod would like to point out, makes absolutely no sense. Jazz is smart. If he was going to steal a mech, he’d wait until it was completely built and fully functional. No, there was something else going on and it had something to do with those strange upgrades that a few of the mechs got. Jazz had taken one look at them and booked it. 

Then immediately stole a half made mech that was completely covered in the stuff. 

All of this happening after he had been gone for months before mysteriously returning. 

Point is there’s something going on and it started with Jazz.

Presently, it has something to do with First Aid and the hunk of metal he’s carting around. 

The hunk of metal that looks like that strange upgraded plating. 

“Sooo…” Hot Rod says as he looks the other pilot over, “We stealing now?”

“No, I- this is- Vortex is up next for the-.”

“Nah man, you’re fine.” Hot Rod walks over to the back of the cart and places a hand on the metal. “I’m game for whatever we’re doing, I just want to know if we need to be sneaky.”

“It- what? We?”

“Yeah.” Hot Rod smiles and tilts his head to the side, like this was a given. “So, we stealing?”

First Aid gives him a look that’s a cross between befuddlement and scrutiny. It’s one he gets often, but the newer pilot seems well practiced with it. A solid eight out of ten honestly.

“This isn’t for profit.” First Aid says slowly. “And this isn’t for me.”

Hot Rod’s smile takes a slightly more feral edge. “Even better.”

_._._

Apparently Jazz has an alien robot boyfriend and the higher ups were using parts of his body for upgrades. 

Very morbid, but sadly not surprising.

They need to get as much of the original frame as possible back to Ratchet as that would make repairs easier. 

They’ve apparently been getting a lot of the pieces that had already been on other mechs through “collateral damage”.

First Aid had shrugged, “It’s not my fault if an upgraded mech gets between Vortex and a monster.”

The real tricky bits to get were the ones still on base and being tested. Which, for some reason, included an entire oversized thumb.

An oversized thumb he and First Aid are trying to sneak out from under Shockwave’s nose. 

“The rest of the hand was in random parts of the base.” Hot Rod mutters. “Why did the thumb need to be in such a secure area?”

“Complain louder. I don’t think the bugs heard you.” First Aid sasses in a hissed whisper. 

Hot Rod shivers at the reminder of Shockwave’s “helpers”. Knee high robots with four legs and a hexagonal face. They would’ve been cute had their singular yellow eye not reminded him of the eerie visage that is now the scientist's face. Shockwave used them to help in his work but to also keep an eye on his lab and the surrounding hallways. 

“Don’t even go there, Aid. You’ll end up jinxing-.”

His warning is interrupted by a faint skittering from around the next corner. 

“Crap crap crap crap crap crap crap.” Hot Rod looks around frantically before shoving himself, First Aid, and the thumb into the nearest door.

It turns out to be a closet. What kind of closet? Hot Rod doesn’t know and he refuses to find out. While it could be a normal supply closet, he’s not taking the chance that it could also be storage for strange and dubiously ethical experiments. 

So Hot Rod crams himself into the small space while keeping his eyes entirely focused on the door as he closes it. He and First Aid hold their breaths as the skittering of the bug gets louder, comes right in front of their hiding spot, then continues on without pause. 

They both let out sighs of relief and Hot Rod sets his forehead on the door. 

First Aid makes an inquiring hum. “There’s a vent in here. Think the thumb would fit?”

“Oh no.” Hot Rod says, face still against the door. “Do you have any idea how loud that would be? We aren’t dragging a large metal thumb through the metal vents and destroying our hearing with the echoing screeches.”

“Well, what do you propose we do then? Take it out the front door?”

_._._

“That never should have worked.” 

“You should never underestimate the power of looking like you know what you’re doing while carrying a box.”

“That never should have worked.”

Said large and long box holding the alien robot thumb sat innocently in the back seat of Hot Rod’s truck. 

_._._

“We need a movie for Rachet and Drift.”

Ratchet, who is helping Jazz repair Prowl, gives Hot Rod that “befuddled and scrutinizing” look that everyone seems to give him (A definite ten out of ten for Ratchet; truly a professional in giving out looks to others). “What?”

“Well, yeah! We’ve got Ratatouille for Jazz and Prowl. Aid and Vortex got a reverse Ratatouille-.”

“How’d you hear about that?” First Aid demands.

“Tailgate.” Hot Rod answers easily, then turns back to Ratchet to continue his previous thought. “So now we need to think of a movie for you and Drift!”

Ratchet’s eyes narrow in the unspoken promise of bad things to come. “No.”

Hot Rod, being the one who got a mech that catches on fire and made it work, takes Ratchet’s look as a challenge. He snaps his finger and points at the older man “I got it! ‘The Iron Giant’.”

Ratchet scoffs, rolls his eyes, and gets back to working in the alien robot’s arm. 

“What?” Jazz protests, while keeping his main focus on the internals of Prowl’s arm, “Iron Giant? Really? That’s a loose connection at best and you know it.”

“Oh? And do you have something better?” Hot Rod playfully challenges. 

“Dude, ‘Lilo and Stitch’ is right there.”

“How is that any better than mine?”

“Because War Crimes McGee here,” Jazz gestures to an amused looking Drift before getting back to his work, “is a better fit for Stitch than the Iron Giant any day of the week.”

Jazz may have a point, but while Hot Rod’s mom may have raised a fool, she definitely didn’t raise a quitter. 

“So Ratchet here tells Drift all about ohana and kicks off his character arc?”

“Not everything's one to one, Roddy. I’m not using Prowl to become the best chef is Paris. You just don’t want to admit I’m right.”

“I agree with Jazz.” First Aid cuts in. 

Hot Rod gives him a mock glare. “You’re just saying that so you won’t have to agree with me.”

First Aid shrugs. “True, but that doesn’t mean he’s wrong.”

“Children. The lot of you.” Ratchet grumbles. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

And yeah! Ideas was mostly ‘Hey, they could probably have Vortex get pieces of Prowl back since fights like that are bound to be very chaotic and Vortex would have no hang ups about attacking allies every now and then’

It went further as the idea of Hot Rod and First Aid trying to do spy things and be sneaky but somehow succeeding due to Shenanigans was too funny to pass up XD

Loving this AU so far and all the cool stuff people are making for it!

OMG THE CHILDREN ARE STEALING FROM THE BIG CORPORATION IM SO PROUD OF THEM~~

Also the way all these different plot lines are crossing each other and occasionally coming together is just so cool I love it

Like, yeah we have fucked up horror, we have space drama, we have Lilo and Stitch aaaaand we have option to combine them together. Also now there is Shockwave so all the guys have the "free angst" option I gues ahahah

[thesiltverses]

The horror of Eric Carle

Becoming a dad has really been a reminder of all the half-forgotten books that got me interested in horror: the ones that I will definitely share with my kid (The Minpins) and the ones that I probably won't (Not Now, Bernard)

And then there's Eric Carle, and now it's all coming flooding back - the very first time in my life that I experienced terror. Seriously, what the fuck is this?

Carle's most famous book, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, is in its own way uneasy and strange (the caterpillar's voracious and growing hunger is presented ambiguously both as an unavoidable and natural process of change and something greedy and grotesque; the caterpillar appears to devour its own place-of-birth and then feels good about it) but it flies under the radar by being very unCarle-like. The caterpillar is largely tiny and cute, we get plenty of colourful close-ups of tasty-looking food, and there are only two pages and a cover which feature Carle's favourite preoccupation: giant animals with irregular, scissor-cut eyes staring unhappily at the reader as they threaten to grow larger than the page itself.

I genuinely remember feeling deeply unnerved by Carle's first major piece of illustration work, Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?, written with Bill Martin Jr., but only now do I understand why. Holy shit, I have so many questions.

Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What do you see? I see a red bird looking at me.

Why is the rhyme-scheme so frantic and breathless, like it's being chanted out during an escalating ritual somewhere deep in the forests? Why are the animals - textured via collage as if half-carved from wood themselves - staring directly at us, the audience, before then revealing that they're actually looking behind us at something else which is staring back at them in turn? Why do so many of the animals look so fearful and haunted as they acknowledge the vast web of visibility which exists between them?

Why does the 'white dog' page - perhaps the only-genuinely-friendly-looking animal - briefly plunge us into night-time, creating the impression that these creatures are somehow watching each other across spans of time and space, when Carle is fully capable of just drawing an outline around the dog?

Why is the teacher's neck extending like a xenomorph's tongue as she glares with narrowed eyes down at the children (what horrible act have they caught her doing?) Why is the cover of follow-up Polar Bear, Polar Bear, What Do You Hear clearly depicting a Tuunbaq stalking the reader?

What seems remarkable and bizarre is that Carle, a talented artist, deliberately chooses to draw animals for infant readers which are neither cute nor charming but which consistently embody the internet joke about hares - feral wilderness prophets who've glimpsed the truth of the universe and gone mad - and has made a stunningly successful career out of doing so.

Carle's beasts know something terrible that they do not fully understand, and which they are incapable of sharing with us.

I'll avoid the crass temptation to draw serious biographical inferences here (Carle believed he had PTSD from an adolescence spent in Nazi Germany, and his works were inspired by his childhood walks with his father, who returned home psychologically shattered by his own experiences as a Soviet prisoner-of-war) and just say that there is something wonderful, awful and innocent in the fact that perhaps the most popular baby-book artist of all time, when asked to draw a goldfish, would respond with what is clearly a monstrous open-mouthed leviathan rising up from black depths to devour us all.

Look at this horrible fucking thing. It rocks.

[babydollisdead]

AGAPE - JINX X READER

contains: fluff, g/n reader, really short, no proofread

warnings: none

summary: you help jinx fall asleep.

A/N: This is my first time ever writing one of these!! I hope you enjoy. Sorry if she seems a little out of character, I’ll write a better one soon lolz.

“Jinx..?” You called softly from the couch in her.. “room.” She had been sitting at her desk for hours now, and all you could hear was mumbled curses and what sounded like power tools every so often. And the occasional spray paint can, of course.

When you didn’t get an answer, you huffed and rolled your eyes. She had said she’d be done a while ago. You trot closer to her, rubbing your sleepy eyes. But as soon as you see her hunched over form, you know something’s wrong.

Her shoulders are tense, and the way her hair is frizzy around her braids shows she’s been tugging at it. She fiddles around with some odd thing she’s creating, her nimble fingers making it look effortless.

“God dammit..” She mumbled, a small groan leaving her lips. You step closer slowly, tapping her shoulder. She slowly glanced up, a tired look on her face.

“You know, you said you’d be done a while ago.” You say, crossing your arms over your chest. She rolls her eyes and smirks a little. “Got carried away. Sorry, toots.”

She goes to look back down at her.. well, whatever the hell she was making, and you quickly stop her.

“C’mon, Jinx. It’s late.” You give her a bit of a look, which earns a small groan from her. “You always are bothering me..” She huffs out as she stands up from her chair. You know it came from a place of love.

You were really one of the only people she trusted these days. Where everyone else failed, you seemed to not. It was almost fascinating to her. Jinx had gone so long keeping everyone at a distance, safe for the few she was close with.

But something about you.. just made her love you. She did kinda hate it. She’d say it was because you turned her into a lame sap, but deep down it’s because she’s scared.

Loving something meant you now have something to lose. And that was never a good thing.

She stretched, a few bones cracking. You smiled a little at how sleepy she seemed. “Those energy drinks ain’t working anymore, huh?” You teased, tugging lightly on her arm towards the couch. “I need to inject it into my veins.” She whined and you chuckled lightly.

You plopped down against the couch and she followed, flopping down right on top of you. A small sigh left her lips, and you could feel the tension leave her body. As if on cue, you rested a hand in her hair, running it over the blue braids.

“You ever gonna cut all this hair?” You spoke softly, watching as she cuddled into you. She shrugged. “I dunno. I think it’s part of my whole.. persona now.” She grinned and you rolled your eyes playfully.

“If you ever want to, i’ll help. Make it look all nice and not choppy.” You suggested. Her chin was resting on your chest. She gazed into your eyes for a moment, and it was a bit intimidating.

The way her eyes gleamed pink, almost blowing. You’d seen those eyes hold all different kinds of emotions, and still the intensity of them never failed to make you shiver.

Jinx then suddenly pressed a bunch of kisses to your face, and you squeaked before giggling. “W-what are you doing?” You spoke through giggles. She pulled away, a smug look on her face before she settled back down onto you. You could only imagine how dazed you look, all goofy and smitten with a bunch of dark kiss marks on your face.

“Just wanted to kiss you.” She hummed out, closing her eyes as she buried her face in her arms. Something she always did when she slept. You’d know. You spent so many nights just watching her as she slept peacefully.

You snorted. “God, you’re such a sap.” You spoke, continuing to play with her blue locks. “Your fault.” She retorted. A small smile remained on your lips as you sighed and cuddled close to her.

“Goodnight, Jinx.” You whispered softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She didn’t say anything, but you did hear her huff softly, and she cuddled closer into you.

Actions always speak louder than words.

[covenofagatha]

Mistakes have been made this afternoon. I have had sake and no food, so fuck it, I'm going to be brave. Agatha/reader, semi-public sex, vaginal sex, oral sex, degradation, praise, and breeding kink if you are still taking requests.

Of course! And to everyone else who requested a fic, they should hopefully be up soon!

A gala to remember

You're feeling a little neglected by your girlfriend so you take advantage of her unfounded jealousy while at a work event for her

Word count: 2400

Warnings: literally pure filth, semi-public sex, girl penis Agatha, cum, creampie, blowjob, vaginal sex, degradation, praise, breeding kink, I think that's it

There’s not enough appetizers at the fancy annual gala for the company your girlfriend works at to make you stop being mad at said girlfriend. 

That doesn’t mean you’re not going to try though. 

You’re on your second shrimp cocktail when Agatha comes over to where you’re standing and tightly grabs your arm. 

“Come over here. And put that down,” she hisses in your ear and drags you across the room. You yank your elbow out of her grasp and deliberately pretend that you don’t see her scowl at you. 

It has been a week since the two of you have had sex. You can’t blame Agatha, work for her is really busy this time of the year, but she has come home late every single night since Monday and you’ve barely seen her. 

She had been promising all week that on Friday night – tonight – she would be home early and the two of you would make up for lost time. You had even gone out and bought some new lingerie. You missed the feeling of Agatha’s cock inside you and you couldn’t wait for the end of the week. 

Until Thursday morning, before she had rushed out of the house, she had told you that she was expected at the company’s gala the next night and she wanted you to come with her. 

Normally, you wouldn’t mind attending a work event with your girlfriend, but a lot of feelings had become pent up over the week and there was also the fact that she had given you a day’s notice on cancelling the plans she had made. 

So yeah, you were being a bit of a brat. 

And Agatha was fully aware of that, and wasn’t having any of it. 

“You need to behave,” she whispers before the two of you approach a group of co-workers. 

“Or what?” You scoff sardonically. “Not going to fuck me for another week?” 

“Watch me,” she shoots back. And then she plasters on a fake smile. “Hey, guys, this is my girlfriend, y/n.” She introduces you to everyone, three men and two women. You politely shake their hands, barely even looking at them, until you get to the last woman, Rio. 

She’s a little younger than Agatha, her pale skin contrasts beautifully with her golden-brown eyes. She’s wearing a perfectly tailored suit, like Agatha, and there’s something about her intense energy that seems to draw you in. 

Speaking of Agatha, she must notice how you’re staring at Rio because she clears her throat and wraps an arm around your waist. 

“Oh, that reminds us, Agatha,” one of the men booms. They’ve been talking about something for the past few minutes but you’ve been zoning out, bored almost to tears. “We need to borrow you for a few seconds upstairs. There’s a contract we need you to look over.” 

Agatha squeezes your waist and you shoot her a pleading look but she’s already leaving with two of the guys. The group disbands and you awkwardly go find an empty table to stand at and eat more shrimp.

Great. Now you’re mad, miserable, and alone. 

Except, maybe not all alone. 

Rio saunters up to the table, holding two glasses of champagne. She hands one to you and silently toasts. You take a sip. 

“Big fan of these parties?” You ask, trying to break the uncomfortable silence that has settled over your table. She shrugs noncommittally.

 “They’re good for the company,” she says. “I don’t particularly enjoy parties.” 

You raise your glass to that. “Join the club. I’m only here because Agatha made me.” Maybe you shouldn’t be speaking ill of your girlfriend to her co-worker but you kind of want to vent to someone. 

Rio rests her head on her elbows and her eyes widen. “Agatha Harkness’s girlfriend. What is that like? Is she as much of a boss in the bedroom as she is in the office? Or is she one of those powerful people who submits completely?”

Images and memories of Agatha in the bedroom flit through your mind (she is definitely not the latter) and you choke on your drink, sending you into a coughing fit. Rio chuckles knowingly.

“That’s an interesting question to ask someone you just meant,” you say once you’re finally able to breathe again, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, well, I’m an interesting person,” she retorts with a smirk. You nod in agreement and laugh. 

And that’s when you feel a hand on your lower back and a presence right behind you. You whirl around, afraid it’s some old man, but it’s your girlfriend. 

“Agatha!” Rio exclaims with delight. “What a coincidence. We were just talking about you.”

“Excuse us,” Agatha says rudely and grabs your hand to drag you up the stairs of the event center. 

You roll your eyes exasperatedly. “What, Agatha?”  

She doesn’t say anything until you’re past the top of the stairs and she spins you around and shoves you against one of the pillars. You wince at the cold marble on your cheek but you’re quickly distracted by the feeling of Agatha’s body against your back. 

Particularly, her semi-hardened cock. 

“Were you seriously flirting with Rio Vidal?” She taunts right into your ear. “Was that some pathetic play to get me to notice you?”

You want to tell her that no, of course not, you weren’t even flirting and the only reason Rio had come over was because Agatha had left you all alone, but you don’t do any of that. Instead you wiggle your ass against her, enjoying her sharp intake of breath, and ask, “Did it work?” 

She growls and flips you around, forearm coming up to your throat. “Listen to me, little girl,” she says threateningly. “You are mine.” 

“Oh, am I?” You simper innocently. “I must’ve forgotten in the past week while you’ve been too tired to show me.” 

Her eyes flash with something dangerous. “Get on your knees.” 

It makes you falter. “What?” You look around the two of you. There’s no one up on the second floor right now, but Agatha and her co-workers had just been up here a second ago so who’s to say that won’t happen again? You aren’t exactly hidden from view from the people on the ground floor either. 

“Did I stutter?” 

Despite your reservations, you can feel how wet you’re getting and how much you’ve missed having Agatha like this. So you hike up your floor-length gown and slowly drop down to the floor. The tile hurts but you don’t care. 

You reach up to unzip Agatha’s pants and pull her cock out. The tip is already red and leaking with precum and you gasp at the sight, feeling an ache start to grow inside you. 

“Better go fast before someone catches you,” she says, weaving her hand through your blonde hair. You’d like to remind her that if you get caught, she’ll be the one who gets in the most trouble, but she’s right. There isn’t time for that. 

You drag your tongue up the bottom of her cock and swirl it around the tip, getting immense pleasure when she lets out a small groan. You’ve almost forgotten how good she tastes. 

“God, you’re such a good slut for me,” she says. She collects your hair in a pony-tail as you start to bob your head up and down her dick. You can feel it twitch in your mouth and you tease the vein along the side which makes her hips jump. 

You swallow around her and try to push yourself further down. When you get close to gagging, you come back to lick at her tip while your hand strokes your saliva up and down the rest of her cock. 

“You look so fucking pretty with your mouth stretched around me,” Agatha groans. “Fuck, baby, can I use your mouth?”

You nod eagerly, peering up at her through your eyelids. Something about her using you like a toy really gets to you. 

And then you open your mouth wide and let her fuck her cock into you. You really hope the wet sounds you’re hearing are not as loud for everyone else. 

The need to breathe is burning in your lungs and your eyes are tearing up, but you can tell Agatha is close to cumming based on the tightening grip in your hair, the blissed expression on her face, and the way her cock is stuttering on your tongue. You want her to cum all over your face when she suddenly stops and pulls out of you. Air rushes into you and you cough weakly. 

“What?” You ask, a little disappointed. Without answering, she pulls you off your knees and pushes you back against another wall. She parts your dress at the slit and slides a hand through it to cup you over your underwear, smirking triumphantly when she finds you soaked. 

“God, sucking me off where anyone could see like a whore really does it for you, doesn’t it?” She taunts. “So pathetic, baby. So needy. You want me to fuck you so badly, don’t you? That’s why you’ve been such a brat this whole night, right? You want my attention, my cock in you so bad that this is how you’re acting?” 

Embarrassment colors your cheeks but you hold your head high. Nothing she said was false. “What are you going to do about it?” 

She scoffs and smirks. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m going to remind you who you belong to, because apparently a little slut like you needs a constant reminder.” She directs you to hike your dress up and she slides your underwear to the side. She positions one of your legs over her hip and without preamble, she thrusts her cock all the way into you. Your head falls back against the wall with a loud moan. 

Agatha clamps her hand over your mouth and stays still. She is filling you up so perfectly, even if it’s been a week since you’ve taken her. The delicious stretch is exactly what you’ve been missing. 

“Please, Aggie,” you whimper and she starts to move, hitting your special spot every time. “Feels so good.” 

“God, you’re taking my cock so well,” she grunts, picking up her pace. Your mouth falls open but no noise comes out. “It’s like you were made for me. So perfect, angel. Such a good girl.” You nod your head and roll your hips with every one of her thrusts. 

“Agatha, oh my god,” you moan, feeling her nails dig into your hips through her dress. You know that she’s close, can feel her throbbing inside you, and you’re not too far behind. 

“Such a desperate slut,” she croons. If there’s one thing about Agatha you love, it’s how quickly and effortlessly she can go from praise to degradation and back. “Needing me so bad, making me fuck you at my work event because a whore like you wants to be filled. Where anyone could walk up here and see how desperate you are for me. I want them to see what a whore I make you into. Especially Rio. Want her to know who you belong to. Fuck, sweetheart. Want me to fill you up, baby?” 

The thought of her spilling her cum inside you makes you clench even more around her cock. You absolutely love the feeling: the warmth, the way it feels leaking out of you, the times Agatha would eat you out after and taste the mix of your wetness with her cum and then kiss you so you could taste it too. 

“Yes, please, Aggie, fill me up, breed me,” you whine, whispering the two words that the both of you only use on special occasions. 

It has the intended effect because a feral look settles in Agatha’s eyes and she fucks into you with renewed vigor, hands gripping you so hard you think you’ll have bruises tomorrow. 

Or at least you hope. 

“Gonna breed you, baby, gonna fill you up with my cum,” she pants, the effort getting to her a little. “Cum all over my cock like the perfect slut that you are.” 

You take a hand off her shoulder to reach down and rub your clit and that little extra spark of pleasure sends you orgasming all over Agatha’s cock. Her hips splutter and she lets out a long sigh before you feel her twitch inside you and then a spurt of warmth fills you. You moan at the feeling, almost cumming again.

She stays in you until she softens and the second she pulls out, she wipes her cock all over your pussy to clean herself off, smearing the mess all over you, and tugs your lacy underwear back into place. You bite your lip at the feeling of her cum dripping out of you and when you take a shaky step towards her, you can feel how drenched your panties are, coated with a mixture of the two of you. 

And now you have to spend the rest of the night like that. 

“I promise I’ll clean you off when we get home,” Agatha says, teasing smirk telling you that her tongue will definitely be involved. You clench around nothing at her words and the images they bring, and you can feel more of her cum ooze out. You’re able to tell that some of it is on your inner thighs and you really hope it’s not visible through the dress. Or on the dress. 

But you don’t have time to worry about that. Agatha kisses you softly and pulls you in for a hug. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t made time for you this week,” she murmurs. “I’m all yours this weekend, I swear on my life. I told the guys earlier that if they had a problem, they’d have to figure it out themselves or wait until Monday.” 

You tighten your arms around her, feeling suddenly giddy. “Thank you, baby.”

Agatha reluctantly steps away after a few more moments of holding you close and you miss her body against yours. “Shall we rejoin society?” 

You pretend to think about it for a second until she smiles and then you take her hand. She leads you back down the stairs, her cum still seeping out of you. 

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Nothing But Your T-Shirt | Bucky Barnes x Reader | One Shot 1.7k

Natasha dares you to steal one of Bucky's shirts during a drunken sleepover. Natasha is definitely up to something, but maybe revealing your secrets isn't such a bad idea...

Warnings: 18+ for language, sleepover antics, fluff, kissing and suggestive situations. Rated F for fluff and T for tower fic.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and @saradika-graphics

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

Wanda opened the door of the penthouse with a squeal of excitement.

"Oh my god, you came! Yay! Come in, come in!" She ushered you inside enthusiastically, a large pina colada in one hand, your fingers in the other.

"Hey," Natasha waved from the comfort of the conversation pit, pillows and blankets draped about.

Pepper emerged from behind the bar with a tray of glasses, snacks and a huge smile. "Hi, how are you? Come and get comfortable."

You'd been an Agent level member of the Avengers for a month now. Accompanying them on a few missions and attending briefings. So when Tony declared it was 'boys night' and he was taking the male contingent to a new restaurant, Pepper had rolled her eyes and insisted that you, Wanda and Natasha join her for cocktails in the penthouse.

You were shocked at being included, but Wanda and Natasha had been so welcoming when you'd joined them for a mission the week before that you managed to tamp down your nerves enough to say yes.

Pepper handed out the drinks and insisted of getting your specific order for both pizza and desert before sitting down and finally looking you over. She was a constant presence when you were in the New York Avengers Tower, powerful and confident, always smartly turned out in heels that rivaled the tower itself in height. And you'd always been too nervous to talk to her.

Suddenly you felt hot under the over sized floor lamps.

"So," Pepper grinned, an uncharacteristic move that had you even further on edge. "Natasha tells me you have a crush on Barnes."

You choked on your drink.

"What?"

"Don't play coy," Natasha purred, I've seen the way you look at him, she winked and you couldn't help but laugh.

Wanda giggled around her straw, nodding in agreement. "You do, you're always fluttering your eyelashes at him.

"I do not!"

"Fine, fine," Pepper held her hands up, "if you're not ready to spill, lets do something else. I got my aesthetician to send me some new facial samples, want to try?"

Natasha looked pointedly over the rim of her glass, "this isn't like the egg thing is it because I don't want to put anything up my-"

"Natasha! No!" Pepper cut her off as she crossed the vast room, "behave, I'll be back soon."

Four more pina coladas and a face mask later, you were a lot more relaxed. Lying on one side of the sofa with your arms behind your head, eyes drifting closed until a foot poked you in the side.

"You sleeping?" Wanda whispered with a giggle.

"I think so," your own giggle bubbled up, inhibitions lowered by the drinks.

"Did you bring pyjamas? I have three guest rooms or we can sleep out here." Pepper's voice was excited, higher pitched than you'd ever heard it, the professional edge gone.

The others had already changed before you arrived, but you'd had to travel across town from your apartment and hadn't exactly wanted to get a cab in your nightwear. Looking at them now they were all so similar, matching even in their differences. All in over sized t-shirts. Pepper's had a joke on about electrons. Wanda's was deep red with 'Avengers Tech Institute' printed on the left side. And you were fairly sure Natasha's belonged to Steve, it fell on her shoulders in such a graceful way, showing off her collarbone. They all looked so effortlessly beautiful and, despite the fact you were over dressed, you wilted again.

It'd been so nice to be included and now you felt different again, outside. They all had their partner's shirts on, and you had…red plaid with a tea stain on.

The silence was loud until Natasha sat up, a cheeky grin appearing as she said, "I dare you to get one of James' t-shirts."

"Nat, no, come on." You could feel embarrassment heating you again. Hadn't they decided to ignore this line of questioning?

"Yes! Do it, do it!" Wanda agreed, jumping up and clapping her hands together.

"Officially I feel like I need to put a stop to this, I can't have you breaking in to someone's private rooms."

Natasha raised an eyebrow and glared at Pepper who rolled her eyes in return.

"But unofficially I'm going to go to the bar and whatever you three do while I'm not looking, isn't my fault." She held her hands up and pointedly turned away while Natasha and Wanda fixed you in their sights.

"I couldn't!"

"You know you want to, you likeeee himmm." Wanda sang obnoxiously, poking you again.

"You can, I'll help you." Natasha said, very seriously, grabbing your hand and dragging you to the elevator and leaving you with no choice.

You should probably have been concerned over just how quickly Natasha managed to break into Barnes' rooms. You couldn't think of him as Bucky, or even James as Natasha called him. Not when you were stood looking at his unmade bed, the clothes on the back of the chair and the wobbling stack of books on his bedside table.

He'd left a cookie and a half drunk cup of coffee on the other side where the pillows were propped up against the headboard and a well worn copy of Lord of the Rings was face down in the sheets.

You'd only been close to Barnes a few times, but he always smelt so wonderful, a heady mix of clean vanilla and spice. Soft and welcoming with some deeper thread that made you want to press your nose into the soft crook of his neck and just inhale.

"Quick, pick something he won't notice is gone." Wanda whispered, pulling drawers open in the dark.

"No, no, this!" Natasha held up Barnes' signature henley, ox blood red and so soft. It had frayed around the neck from wear and the cotton was slightly stretched. He wore it almost constantly, despite Steve buying his a petrol blue one for Christmas.

Natasha closed the lid of his laundry basket again and chucked it over to you.

It had that same vanilla scent and, though it also had a hint of sweat, you couldn't help the urge to press it to your face.

"Come on, put it on." Natasha urged, pulling on your tank top to lift it over your head.

The henley was as soft as it looked and, in the brief moment it covered your face, you allowed yourself the inhale that you craved. Bucky, all Bucky.

Getting it over your boobs proved a slight struggle. But once it was settled it hugged them snuggly, allowing your cleavage to peep through the unbuttoned front. It stretched at the hips too and was oddly flattering when you looked into the mirror by the door.

"That actually really suits you."

Natasha nodded in agreement and then paused, completely still.

"Fuck, quick." She ran for the balcony, dragging Wanda with her and you turned in confusion only to be met with light in the hallway and one Sergeant James Barnes, stood stock still in the doorway of his own bedroom, staring at you.

"Sergeant Barnes I -" you struggled to find an excuse, was there really ever an excuse to break into someones bedroom and try on their clothes? Instead you looked away, wondering whether to rip the henley off and try to find your top instead, or whether to try and escape past him.

He licked his lips and paused, carefully choosing his next words, but your name slipped out, unbidden.

Your eyes snapped up to his.

"That shirt looks good on you," his voice was rough when he spoke, like he was holding something back and your body flushed with heat.

"I'm so sorry, I don't know what I was thinking, Natasha -"

He gave a low, dark, laugh.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm sure it's entirely her fault. But you - " He took a step forward and your breath caught in your throat.

"I'll give it back -"

"Please, keep it on." He approached slowly, as if trying to befriend a wild animal that could run at any time.

"I'm sorry -"

He was right in front of you now, still in the suit Tony had insisted he wear, although his bow tie was undone, hanging around his neck, and the first two buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, showing a flash of his skin underneath.

"Is Natasha right?" He asked, slowly backing you towards the wall. Each step was calculated. When you staggered back, his left hand curled around your waist to steady you.

"Uhm-" your eyes flicked down to his parted lips and back to his eyes.

"She said she knew a secret, she shared it with me," he watched your every move, carefully leaning you back against his bedroom wall. The hand on your waist tightened, the other toyed with his shirt, still wrapped so closely around your body.

You heaved in a breath and his eyes dropped to your cleavage before lifting to your face. "I'm glad I came back, been dying to see you. Imagine my surprise when I find you all wrapped up in my bedroom like a present."

"Sergeant Barnes," you whimpered and his leg slid between yours, pushing up against you. "What did Natasha tell you?"

"Always so formal, it's okay, I know, you can relax." He bent forwards, nose brushing against your cheek, lips at the shell of your ear.

You let out a shaky breath.

"She told me you have a little crush on me."

It's exactly what you'd imagined she'd said, and yet, the embarrassment was so acute already you thought you might pass out.

"Don't worry," his breath tickled the soft skin behind your ear making goosebumps rise along your arms. "I have a little crush on you too."

You could feel his smile on your cheek when he pressed a kiss there and then his lips were on yours, rough in their excitement, and you couldn't hold back any longer. You threw your arms around his neck and pulled him down towards you, fingers in his hair.

"You can keep the t-shirt," he mumbled against your lips, "but can we lose the pjs?"

You giggled, nodding and broke away only when Wanda and Natasha started banging on the glass, cheering and whooping while you and Bucky smiled, with only eyes for each other.

[razorblade180]

Ekko Location

Ekko:*thousand yard stare*….

Caitlyn:(Should I tell him? No, false hope doesn’t do any good. Especially in this case.) *looks left*

Giant mural of Jinx

Caitlyn:….Ekko?

Ekko:What could you possibly want after everything?

Caitlyn:Hopefully, an olive branch. I have to tell you something but you have to promise to not get your hopes up, or tell Vi. This is something I’m trusting with you specifically.

Ekko:And how in the world did I get such an honor?

Caitlyn:Because if it wasn’t for one act of kindness, I’d be in your shoes right now.

Ekko:…What do you have to tell me?

xxxxxx

One month later. Somewhere across the water, in a nice quaint land known for its view of the ocean and mountains, a cloaked girl bobs her head to music as she roams the back alleys streets without a care in her mind.

Jinx: 🎶Do you ever wanna catch me?Right now I'm feeling ignored. *turns corner*

Jinx:So can you try a little harder? I'm really getting bor-

Ekko:*cloaked* !?….

Jinx:…..(Just when I thought I’ve wrangled all the voices. This is a low blow, me.) *closes eyes* (Just gonna breathe in and-)

Ekko:*grabs her wrist*

Jinx’s eyes immediately shoot open to see him right in front of her. She starts looking back, forth, everywhere; her thoughts trying to rationalize this moment because what do you mean he’s real!?

Jinx:Y- wha- how? How!? Fuck everything else. How?

Ekko:Let’s just say someone offered me a little hope. Honestly it was more like wishful thinking.

Jinx:Ekko, that’s not a “how” at all! You left Zaun to chase wishful thinking? That’s alone is crazy, but not as crazy as you actually finding me! I could’ve gone in any direction and stopped anywhere yet somehow you’re right here searching in the correct city? Gasps Did you put something in me?!

Ekko:What? No! Jinx, we used to spend literal hours talking about all the places we wanted go; the sight ls you wanted to see. Sometimes you rambled so much I never got a word in to say mine!

Jinx:So you’re telling you just remembered all that ramble and started flying to the places I yapped about!? Who the heck remembers stuff like that!?

Ekko:Me!! Since when have I ever forgotten anything!? Especially stuff about you!?

The girl was too stunned to speak. Ekko told no lies and he had a point, however, what the hell? How was she supposed to respond to that? She told absolutely nobody that she was leaving and left no trace, yet somehow wishful thinking from probably the world’s most annoying enforcer and childhood memories was enough for Ekko to find her in a little over a month. Jinx could only squint at him in disbelief. Sure, she could definitely break free of grip and make a break for it, yet this moment only gave her the strength to exhale tiredly before him.

Jinx:Anyone else know?

Ekko:Nope. You think people have time to chase hypotheticals?

Jinx:So you just left??

Ekko:Told them I needed some air. Had to move quickly. You don’t exactly stay in one place for long.

Jinx:…..Alright. Out with it. I know you have some rehearsed lecture and rant you’ve prepared in case you actually somehow weren’t crazy and found m-

Ekko:*hugs her* I can tell at you later.

Jinx:You really just might be crazier than me.

Her entire body relaxed as she finally put her arms around him. Despite all odds, he really was right here. Leave it the Boy Savior to yet again foil her schemes.

Jinx:At this point I should call you Ekko Location or something.

Ekko:I this point, I should put a fucking bell on you.

Jinx:I’d still get away.

Ekko:And I’d find you again.

Jinx:Heh, yeah. *hugs tightly* You would, wouldn’t you?

[sweetshuga]

can u do one where mean!Matt and popular! Y/N get hi-gh and end up being freaky just for the other 2 to walk in saying “the bread’s ready” or something else chaotic like that? Js some humorous smut

𝑴𝒆𝒂𝒏.ᐟ𝑴𝒂𝒕𝒕 ───~𓆩♡𓆪~─── 𝑷𝒐𝒑𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒓.ᐟ𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

Matt’s hands roamed over your body as you two shared a heated kiss, all rational thoughts were out the window after the blunt kicked in. The first few hits weren’t that bad, made you feel a bit fuzzy. You and Matt made small talks while waiting for the effects of the blunt, and after the 5th drag everything went south. You don’t even remember how you ended up on Mat’s lap, grinding your hips against the growing bulge in his pants. Your mind was a haze, fogged by the drug in your system. Soft moans exited your parted lips, your head thrown back now that Matt’s lips trailed down your neck.

His hands travelled down and grasped your ass, pulling you down on him all while rolling his own hips, making you grind harder against him. The delicious friction made your eyes shut and you bit your lips, trying not to make too much noise since Chris and Nick were just a few dozen feet away in the living room. Your fogged head tried to remember if you had locked the door when you first entered his room, but your mind proved to have gone dumb. "Matt, ’s the door locke—" your own yelp cut you off, he had slapped your ass. Matt had an annoyed look on his face, his eyes bloodshot and looking unfocused. He smacked your clothed ass again, harder this time—making you jump.

"Focus," he groaned out in a deeper tone of voice than usual. That sent shudders through your whole body. You didn’t say anything more as you squirmed on his lap, your neck getting attacked by Matt again. Just as you rolled your hips in an awfully nice way that sent pleasure coursing through both of you, moans were on the tip of your tongues when the door burst open and Chris’ cheerful voice echoed in the otherwise quiet room. "Look! Nick actually didn’t burn the cookies this time..." His voice trailed off and grew quiet when he took in the sight of you straddling Matt with his hands all over you.

Nick mumbled something incoherently and walked in after him, only to stop in his tracks just beside Chris. "What the fuck?" Nick and Chris exchanged a look before looking back at you two. "Hey, Matt!" Chris yelled, catching the attention of the brunette under you as he looked up with annoyance at the source of the sound, his movements more sluggish due to the blunt. Then it clicked, the compromising situation, his high state and a light blush creeped up his face as his eyes widened and mouth hung open.

He quickly pushed you off his lap and looked at his brothers in horror. You burst out laughing as your back hit the mattress, the sound was so infectious that it broke any lingering tension, causing the other two to chuckle along at the absurdity of the situation while Matt looked thoroughly embarrassed. You patted the side of his leg, "c’mon don’t look too embarrassed," he glared at you before burying his face in his hands. Groaning as he mumbled a few profanities along with a quiet, "Why did they have to interrupt us?" He was still painfully hard, and you seemed to be having too much fun to think about his situation.

𓆩♡𓆪

𝒘𝒄. 551

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. English is not my first language! I wrote this while I was half asleep so I apologise if there're any typos or anything like that.

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @strnilolover @mattsfavoritestar @sophand4n4 @tpwktahlz @lilyyliloo @slut4angstt @pvssychicken @poolover123 @loud-sturniolos @inlovewchrissturniolo @sagesturns @chrisstopherfilmed @billiesbabya @h3arts4nat @moosegirl96 @sofiaaguilaxx @sturniolo-fann @goingtojohnkramershouseee @sturniolosluttt @chrislilcumslvt @mattsninja @bilssturns @sturnioloszn @slvtf0rchr1s @knowingnothingnoel @shadowthesim @brookheartsmatt @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @m00nl1ghts1vt @strnlslut @ribread03 @hearts4werka @larallott @ivysturnss @chrisfavoritewhore @peiivnao

[mywhisperingwords]

everyone wants him | fred g. weasley

summary: everyone wants fred weasley, why would he want you? word count: 3.2k masterlist

The Leaky Cauldron was alive with its usual chaos—laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional misplaced spell fizzling out before causing any real harm.

You sat tucked into the corner of the pub, nursing a Butterbeer that had long since gone lukewarm. Alicia had dragged you out tonight, claiming you needed to “live a little.” You weren’t entirely convinced, but there was something about her enthusiasm that made saying no impossible.

And then there was Fred Weasley.

You’d noticed him the second he walked in, though you’d never admit it. His presence was magnetic in a way you couldn’t quite explain, drawing attention without even trying. He laughed too loud, flashed that mischievous grin too easily, and had the audacity to look good doing it.

He was surrounded, of course. Angelina was at his side, rolling her eyes at something he’d said, but not enough to hide her smile. A couple of other faces hovered nearby—girls who leaned in a little too close, their laughter a little too eager.

You forced yourself to look away, focusing instead on Alicia, who was recounting some outrageous story involving a Niffler and a stolen bracelet.

“And then—are you even listening?”

You blinked, startled, and Alicia followed your gaze across the room. She smirked. “Ah. Fred Weasley.”

You frowned. “What about him?”

“You were practically drooling.”

“I was not.”

She laughed, leaning back in her chair. “Don’t bother denying it. Everyone looks at him like that at least once. It’s infuriating, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“How bloody charming he is.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Infuriating was a good word for it.

It wasn’t until later in the night, after the crowd had thinned and Alicia had gone off to dance with some guy you didn’t recognize, that Fred approached you.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, already sliding into the chair across from you.

You glanced up, startled. “Uh, sure?”

His grin widened, and you felt an unwelcome flutter in your chest. “You’re Alicia’s friend, right? I’ve seen you around. I’m Fred.”

“I know who you are.”

“Do you?” He leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”

You narrowed your eyes, refusing to rise to the bait. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Whether or not you’re about to use that ridiculous charm of yours to try and get in my pants.”

He laughed—a genuine, full-bodied sound that caught you off guard. “Merlin, you’re sharp, aren’t you? I like that.”

“I wasn’t trying to be likable.”

“Even better.”

You shook your head, unsure whether to be annoyed or amused. He was persistent, you’d give him that.

“So,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Why are you here, all tucked away in the corner like some kind of mysterious enigma?”

“Mysterious enigma?”

“It’s the best I could come up with on short notice. Don’t judge me.”

This time, you couldn’t stop the small smile that crept onto your face. “I didn’t want to come tonight. Alicia dragged me here.”

“Well, remind me to thank her later,” he said, his tone light but his eyes unexpectedly serious.

You hesitated, caught off guard by the shift. For a moment, you wondered if there might be more to Fred Weasley than the charming facade.

But then someone called his name—a girl, predictably—and the moment passed.

Fred glanced over his shoulder, his grin returning as he waved her off. When he turned back to you, he seemed almost reluctant.

“Duty calls,” he said, rising from his chair. “But don’t be a stranger, yeah?”

“Why would I be anything else?”

His laughter followed him as he walked away, and you were left alone, staring at your now-empty glass and wondering what, exactly, had just happened.

&

Diagon Alley was unusually quiet for a Saturday afternoon. The crisp autumn air carried the faint scent of roasted chestnuts from a nearby cart, mingling with the earthy smell of parchment and ink that clung to the shopfront of Flourish and Blotts. You had come to pick up a new quill, your old one having finally succumbed to overuse during a particularly tedious set of reports.

As you stepped out of the shop, quill and a small stack of books tucked under your arm, you nearly collided with someone coming in the opposite direction.

“Careful there,” came the familiar voice, low and teasing.

Fred Weasley.

You took a step back, startled, and looked up to find him grinning down at you. His hair was windswept, cheeks slightly flushed from the cold, and he had the same effortless energy that seemed to follow him everywhere.

“Do you make a habit of running into people, or am I just lucky?” he asked.

“Only the particularly unfortunate,” you replied, stepping aside to let him pass.

“Unfortunate?” He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Here I thought you’d be thrilled to see me.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t quite suppress the small smile tugging at your lips. “What are you doing here, anyway? Don’t tell me you’re in need of a good book.”

“I’ll have you know I’m an avid reader,” he said, placing a hand over his chest in mock offense. “In fact, I was just about to pick up a—” He paused, glancing over your stack of books. “What’s this? ‘The Art of Brewing Potent Potions’? Didn’t take you for the potion-making type.”

You shifted the books slightly, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m not. It’s for a friend.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding solemnly. “A likely story.”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

“Not if I can help it.”

Despite yourself, you laughed—a small, involuntary sound that you quickly tried to stifle. Fred noticed, of course, and his grin softened into something warmer, more genuine.

“Well, I’d hate to keep you from your important potion-related business,” he said after a moment, stepping aside to let you pass.

“Important quill-related business, actually,” you corrected, holding up the bag in your hand.

“Ah, of course. How could I forget?”

You shook your head, already turning to leave, but his voice stopped you.

“Wait,” he said, his tone shifting slightly.

You turned back, surprised to see something uncertain flicker across his face. It was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by his usual confidence, but it left you curious.

“Let me walk you back,” he said, gesturing down the street.

You hesitated, torn between instinctively brushing him off and the strange, unfamiliar pull you felt to say yes. In the end, the latter won out.

“Alright,” you said, falling into step beside him.

The walk back was filled with the kind of aimless chatter that felt oddly natural—Fred recounting some escapade involving a rogue charm and a very unhappy house-elf, you half-listening, half-watching the way his hands moved as he spoke.

When you finally reached your door, he paused, rocking back on his heels. “Well, this is me,” you said, nodding towards the entrance.

Fred nodded, his grin returning. “Good to know. I’ll keep this in mind for next time.”

“Next time?”

“Sure,” he said, already stepping away. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

And with that, he turned and walked off, leaving you standing in the doorway with a faint smile and a strange, fluttering feeling in your chest.

&

The weeks that followed your second encounter were marked by an unexpected rhythm.

Fred had a way of showing up—not at your door like expected, but in the spaces in between. He had a knack for making himself unavoidable, though never in an overbearing way. You’d catch him at the tea shop near your office, juggling two mugs precariously in his hands and grinning at you as if it were fate. Or in the park, where he’d be charming a group of kids with conjured fireworks, his laughter echoing over the treetops.

“I swear, you’re everywhere,” you said one afternoon when you bumped into him yet again outside Flourish and Blotts.

“Or maybe you’re just not very good at avoiding me,” he replied, his grin maddeningly confident.

Despite your best efforts, the barriers you’d carefully constructed began to shift, piece by piece. It started with the smallest of gestures—him carrying your books when your arms were full, sneaking you a bag of your favorite sweets when he somehow discovered your weakness for honey drops. The conversations, too, began to stretch beyond the surface, slipping into territory you weren’t entirely comfortable with but couldn’t resist exploring.

“Tell me something you’ve never told anyone,” Fred said one evening, his voice softer than usual.

You had both ended up in the same quiet corner of The Leaky Cauldron—pure coincidence, or so he claimed. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, and for once, his usual smirk was nowhere to be found.

“Why would I do that?” you asked, deflecting with a raised eyebrow.

“Because I’d like to know,” he said simply.

You hesitated, your fingers brushing the rim of your mug. The question had an intimacy to it that made you feel vulnerable, and yet, there was something about the way he looked at you—like he could see straight through the walls you kept up.

“I’m scared of not being good enough,” you blurted before you could stop yourself.

Fred blinked, surprised by your honesty, but his expression quickly softened. “Good enough for what?”

“For anything. Everything,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” he said firmly, his gaze steady. “And for the record, I think you’re more than good enough.”

The moment lingered, delicate and raw, before you cleared your throat and changed the subject. Fred let you, but the look in his eyes stayed with you long after you’d said goodnight.

As time passed, your world seemed to orbit closer to his. He found reasons to seek you out, and you found yourself looking forward to his presence, even when you tried to convince yourself otherwise.

One evening, he brought you to his joke shop after hours, proudly showing you prototypes of new products. His enthusiasm was infectious, his face lighting up as he explained the intricacies of a new line of trick wands.

“Why do I feel like you’re trying to recruit me?” you teased as he handed you one to test.

“Because I am,” he said without hesitation. “You’d be great at it. You’ve got a good eye for details, and you don’t take my nonsense too seriously.”

“Someone has to keep you grounded.”

Fred grinned. “Exactly. That’s why you’re perfect for the job.”

You laughed, shaking your head, but something warm and unspoken passed between you.

It wasn’t long before people began to notice.

The first comment came from a colleague at work, offhand and seemingly harmless. “You and Fred Weasley seem awfully friendly,” they said, their tone laced with just enough curiosity to make you feel self-conscious.

The whispers followed soon after—barely audible at first but growing louder with each passing day. Fred’s reputation preceded him, and people were quick to remind you of it.

“Everyone knows he’s a flirt. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“He’s not exactly the relationship type.”

The words wormed their way into your mind, sowing seeds of doubt. You began to notice the way people looked at you when you were with him, their gazes heavy with judgment or pity.

Fred, oblivious to the change, continued to treat you the same—warm, attentive, and maddeningly Fred. But the whispers weighed on you, and before long, you found yourself pulling back.

The first time you ignored his owl, it felt like a betrayal. The second time, it felt like self-preservation. By the third, it had become a habit.

Fred noticed, of course, though he didn’t understand.

“Have I done something wrong?” he asked one day, cornering you outside the tea shop where he’d so often ‘accidentally’ run into you.

“No,” you lied, refusing to meet his eyes.

“You’re avoiding me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

The hurt in his voice was almost too much to bear, but you held firm. The walls you’d rebuilt were sturdy now, bolstered by fear and the voices of those who’d warned you to stay away.

Fred watched you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before stepping back. “Alright,” he said quietly. “If that’s what you want.”

You told yourself it was. But as he walked away, the ache in your chest suggested otherwise.

The days after your confrontation with Fred dragged on, every hour stretching unbearably long. You told yourself you were doing the right thing, retreating before you got too close, before the inevitable heartbreak. But the certainty that had driven you to push him away began to waver in his absence.

You didn’t realize how much space Fred had occupied in your life until it was suddenly empty. The silence felt heavier now. Your tea breaks were lonely, lacking his easy laughter. Even the parks seemed duller without the sound of him enchanting children with his conjured fireworks.

Work became a refuge—a place where you could bury yourself in tasks and avoid thinking about him. But even there, his presence lingered. The bag of honey drops he’d given you sat unopened in your desk drawer. You’d thought about tossing it a dozen times, but your hand always hesitated, as though getting rid of it would make the loss of him too real.

It was during one of these long, quiet days that you overheard them.

“I heard she’s been seeing Fred Weasley,” someone said behind you in the tearoom.

Your stomach dropped, and you froze, pretending to stir sugar into your tea.

“She’s deluded if she thinks he’s serious about her,” another voice replied. “Fred Weasley doesn’t settle down. She’s just a bit of fun, like all the others.”

Their laughter echoed in your ears, sharp and grating. You forced yourself to walk out calmly, but their words stayed with you. By the time you got home, they’d grown into a roar in your mind, impossible to ignore.

He deserves better. Someone more exciting, more confident. Someone who isn’t scared of taking up space in his life.

The thoughts clawed at you as you sat at your desk, staring at the parchment in front of you.

You don’t belong in his world.

Your hand moved before you could stop it, the quill scratching out the words you thought would sever the tie cleanly. The letter was short, clinical, void of the emotions tearing through you.

“Fred, I think it’s best we go our separate ways. Thank you for everything. Take care.”

The owl flew off with it before you could change your mind, its silhouette disappearing into the night. The moment it was gone, the finality of it hit you like a curse.

You curled up in bed that night, the ache in your chest feeling like a physical weight. You told yourself it was for the best. But deep down, you started to think you’d made a mistake.

You waited for him to show up at your door, demanding answers in his usual larger-than-life way. But Fred didn’t come.

At first, you convinced yourself that his silence was proof that you were right—he wasn’t serious about you. But as the days turned into a week, the void he left behind became unbearable.

It was Alicia who finally forced you to confront it.

“You’ve been sulking for days,” she said, plopping down on your couch uninvited. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you mumbled, not looking up from the book you weren’t actually reading.

Alicia snatched the book out of your hands, her sharp gaze piercing. “You don’t look like this over ‘nothing.’ Spill.”

You hesitated, but the words came spilling out anyway—the whispers, the letter, the crushing fear that you’d never be enough for someone like Fred.

When you finished, Alicia looked at you as though you’d just told her you planned to live on the moon.

“You’re an idiot,” she said bluntly.

“Thanks,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands.

“I’m serious,” Alicia said, her voice softening. “Fred isn’t like that. Not with you. Do you have any idea how he lights up when he talks about you?”

Your chest tightened at her words, but you shook your head. “He’s Fred Weasley. He lights up for everyone.”

“No,” she said firmly. “Not like this. Trust me, I’ve seen him flirt a hundred times. This isn’t flirting, love. He’s serious about you. And if you can’t see that, you’re going to regret it.”

Her words haunted you that night as you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. By the time morning came, you knew you couldn’t leave things as they were.

The shop was quiet when you arrived, the familiar smell of wood polish and faint smoke lingering in the air. You knocked hesitantly, and Fred appeared in the doorway moments later, his expression unreadable.

“Hey,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Fred stepped aside without a word, letting you in. The silence between you was suffocating, the usually lively space feeling oddly hollow.

You fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve, searching for the right words. “I—”

Fred cut you off. “Why are you here?” His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it that made your chest tighten.

“I… I wanted to explain,” you said, your throat dry.

“Explain what?” he asked, his arms crossed. “Why you decided to shut me out without a real reason?”

The hurt in his voice cracked something inside you. “I was scared,” you admitted. “Of getting hurt. Of not being enough.”

Fred stared at you for a long moment, his expression softening as he stepped closer. “Why would you think that?”

“Because everyone says—”

“To hell with what everyone says,” Fred interrupted, his voice fierce. “I don’t care what they think. The only person whose opinion matters is yours.”

You swallowed hard, your voice trembling. “I didn’t know if you were serious. About me.”

Fred reached out, taking your hands in his. “I’m as serious as it gets,” he said quietly. “But I can’t make you believe that. You have to let yourself believe it.”

The tears you’d been holding back spilled over, and Fred gently pulled you into his arms. His embrace was warm, steady, and everything you hadn’t realized you’d needed.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered against his chest.

Fred pressed a kiss to your hair, his voice soft but certain. “You’re the only one I want.”

When you finally pulled back, his hands lingered on your face, his thumbs brushing away the last of your tears. The look in his eyes was so full of warmth and determination that you felt the last of your doubts dissolve.

When he kissed you, it wasn’t just a promise—it was a beginning.

[fanbasetwo]

✦ ZB1 MAKNAE LINE TAKING CARE OF THEIR GIRLFRIEND WHILE SHE'S ON HER PERIODS!

001. PAIRING , zb1 maknae line ! afab reader

002. GENRE , scenario, reaction work

003. WARNING(S) , mentions of blood and cramps obviously, kissing, cuddling, pet names, lmk if more

NOTE FROM SENA , literally on my periods as I write this. basically dedicated to me and my period twin @teaxeee! take care of yourself sweetie 🤍 MASTERLIST!!

SHEN RICKY . . . ✦

“Baby, are you okay?” Ricky's voice rang out once more, tinted with a sense of worry. He had completely lost track of how many times he had checked on you that day, but he just couldn't help it. Not knowing how long you had been in the bathroom was one more reason Ricky was getting even more anxious because you were on your period. When you finally got out, you walked slowly, looking totally pale and sickly. His sharp gaze picked it up at once. “You should have just told me,” he murmured and came up to you in seconds. Without letting you say another word, he swept you off your feet into his arms, once again swooping you with ease. Unable to protest, you buried your head into his chest while the unrelenting beat of his heart soothed your pain. “I've got you,” he whispered in that soft way of his, escorting you to the couch, where comfort and Ricky's caring heart awaited.

KIM GYUVIN . . . ✦

You lay awake in bed, glaring spitefully at your boyfriend, who was snoring softly beside you. Gyuvin was such a picture of peace, blissfully ignorant of your battle with the dreadful cramps. The green-eyed monster made its home in your rib cage. “Hey! Quit snoring,” you whispered, poking him hard. Maybe it was the mood swings, or perhaps it was pure injustice, but if you could not get any sleep, he would not either. Gyuvin stirred before opening his eyes slowly. He did not say anything but shamelessly nestled you closer while curling you in the protective embrace of his arms. For a moment, he let his hands fall on your belly. Circles his fingers with slow and soft movements on your belly “Still hurts?” he managed to say, a little sleepy but shown great care and gentleness. Your growing outrage melted halfway into oblivion as you gazed into his half-open eyes and tousled hair. “Not much now,” you murmured against his touch. He surely was your haven amid all this pain.

PARK GUNWOOK . . . ✦

Gunwook wasn't the type who liked much physical touch, but he had pretty much been nothing but kind to you. That didn't prevent him from being justifiably frightened of your moods during your periods. Today was no different. “What is wrong?” he asked, freaking out because you suddenly broke into tears. His dark sarcasm, one that regularly made you laugh, had surprisingly worked against him. “Did I say something wrong? Baby, please...” he was just racking his brain now to come to terms with what click had gone awry. In the moment, tears bubbling in your throat, you slurred something unintelligible, leaving him even more frazzled. But Gunwook would never give up on you. He scooped you into his arms and began to cover your tear-stained cheeks with desperate but awkward kisses. “Don't cry,” he murmured, sounding much more like his usual self. “I'll stop making jokes, I promise.” It was typecast to make him cringe, but he'd surely do anything else, probably endure your periods, just to get a smile back on your face.

HAN YUJIN . . . ✦

Yujin had always been the shy one in your relationship, and while you were still navigating its early stages, moments of awkwardness were inevitable—like today. Unaware of the red spot that had appeared on your pants, you walked beside him after your date, chatting casually. Yujin suddenly slowed, his cheeks tinged pink as he glanced at you. “Aren’t you cold?” he asked, his voice soft but steady. Before you could respond, he was already shrugging off his jacket and draping it gently over your shoulders. It was oversized, enveloping you completely and, unbeknownst to you, discreetly covering the red period spot on your pants. You blinked at him, confused by his sudden action but touched by the gesture. “Thanks…” you mumbled, still unsure what had prompted it. Yujin gave a small, reassuring smile, his hand brushing yours. He didn’t need to say anything; his quiet thoughtfulness spoke volumes.

© fanbasetwo | tumblr

[avatar-anna]

Three days had passed and Harry hadn't left your tiny apartment.

He kept saying he should probably leave, and you insisted there were things you had to do, but neither of you actually made it past the threshold of your door. No one said goodbye, or even bothered to shrug back into clothes. For three days, you ate, drank, and slept with Harry.

"You're making it hard to leave," he murmured, his voice low and content as you placed tiny kisses on his neck, his collarbone, his jaw, anywhere you could reach, really. It was how you used to wake Harry up when you were together, and when morning number four rolled around, you couldn't help yourself but lean across the bed and kiss his soft, sun kissed skin.

At first, you kept up the pretense of being unattached, of sleeping with Harry merely because you knew each other well enough physically. "This doesn't mean we're back together," you'd both whisper, or something to that effect, before blurring the lines of your non relationship once more.

"You're not making it any easier to kick you to the curb," you mumbled, one hand reaching up to caress his stubbly cheek. The fine, short hair that seemed to grow in the last few days.

Harry smelled good, like he usually did with a mix of the soap in your shower. It messed with your head in a way that was dangerous, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

So he didn't leave (again), and you didn't tell him to go(again). You and Harry stayed in bed for most of the day, only bothering to get up when hunger was too apparent to ignore. You managed to whip something up from the meager groceries you had, not having gone to the market recently, and sat with Harry at the little dining table by the kitchen. The balcony would've been a much nicer spot, as it looked out over the neighborhood square you stayed in, but it was too public, too many keen eyes would've spotted Harry immediately.

"Part of me wishes I hadn't seen you at all," Harry confessed later in the day. You were back in bed after a brief stint in the kitchen where you tried to make pancakes, which promptly turned into kissing and licking pancake batter off Harry as he did the same to you on the kitchen counter, pancakes no longer a priority.

You knew he hadn't meant it to hurt you, but the words sent a pang through your chest, so different from the heat and fireworks and butterflies you usually got from him. Everything was so different now. It was hard to face how much had changed, especially now that Harry was in bed beside you. "I know."

"It's easier to pretend when I can't see you," he said softly, his hand never once stopping as it tracked through your hair, nor did your hand stop tracing patterns in his chest.

"Pretend?"

Harry blew out a large sigh before sitting up in your bed, his arms stretching high above his head. There were hickeys littered all over his body, one on his hip revealing itself as the bedsheet fell and settled just below his waist. You found yourself transfixed by your ex's body, the one you still loved so much the idea of him leaving made your heart hurt.

"Do you still love me?" Harry asked out of the blue.

The question shocked you, but only because you thought the last three days would've made it obvious. You certainly didn't have to ask him how he felt. "Yes."

"That makes it easier too. In a selfish way, I guess," he said, not once meeting your eye. "Knowing you're in as much pain as I am."

Unexpected tears welled in your eyes. You never wanted to hurt Harry. He'd been right to say it was easier to imagine him happy and healthy post break up if you didn't see or hear from him. It was easier to move on if you convinced yourselves that you were better off without each other.

"Harry—"

"I miss you, Y/n," he said, his voice trembling slightly. Harry wouldn't meet your eye, which made all of this so much worse. "I know why we broke up, and I've done everything short of sleeping with someone else to try and move on, but I just—Tell me you're struggling as much as I am. Tell me you don't sleep as well as you used to because I'm not there. Or don't. Tell me this has all just been sex to you so I know there's an end to this—this—"

"Misery?" you finished for him. "I wish I could. I don't know if I'll ever be the same again, honestly."

"Then why—"

"Don't ask why. Please. Not when you know the answer."

It wasn't like you and Harry woke up one day and stopped loving each other. Everything about your relationship had been nothing short of perfect from the very beginning.

Until it wasn't.

"No one has to know this time," Harry said. His tone had taken on a desperate edge, almost making you turn away from him so you wouldn't have to face it, do this all over again. "We can—We can keep this a secret. It'll be just us."

It will never be just us, you thought miserably. "People already know, H."

At the look of confusion on his face, you reached for your phone. You showed him the slew of articles that had already been written. Pictures of you and Harry walking through Rome together three days ago, each one picking you apart or depicting you as the villain in Harry's life.

"I know that's why you're still here. You're waiting for the storm to blow over," you said, unable to meet his eye.

"That's not—After everything I just said, you really think that's why I stayed?" he asked. You'd turned away from him, but you felt his hand on your shoulder, the kiss to your temple as he leaned in close.

"I wish I was the kind of person who didn't care what anyone thought, that I could simply exist in this relationship and not let anyone else in, but—but I'm not. I can't."

"You. Are. Enough," Harry murmured, pressing each word into your skin with a kiss. You closed your eyes, tears leaking from the corners as he curled himself around your body. One leg slid between yours, and you selfishly pulled him closer as he continued to murmur in your ear.

You fell asleep in your ex's arms, the weight of his body on yours more comforting than any blanket. When you woke up, Harry was there, but he wasn't wrapped around you anymore. He sat at the edge of your bed, wearing clothes for the first time since he'd set foot in your apartment.

"You're leaving?" you asked, voice scratchy with sleep.

"I'm supposed to go to Florence tomorrow," Harry said, bent over as he tied his shoes. "I've got a dozen messages on my phone asking where I am."

Something in Harry's voice sounded different, distant, just the way he sounded when you initially ran into him. It pulled at something in your heart, something that you'd been keeping at bay since you invited Harry into your apartment—the knowledge that this would eventually end.

"So you're—You were just going to leave? Without saying anything?"

You heard Harry sigh as he rested his head in his hands. "I thought it would be easier. Our last conversation seemed...final."

"I know, but—"

But what? Harry was right. This wasn't going anywhere. You told him you couldn't be in a relationship with him, and he was responding to that. You knew it was coming, but it didn't hurt any less now that the moment had finally come.

"You're right," you said eventually, sitting up in your bed. "We came here separately, of course you have plans. I'm sorry if I kept you."

"You didn't," Harry reassured. "There's nowhere I wanted to be the last few days, but we... we're broken up, and as much as I want to stay, I don't want to keep giving myself false hope."

Your fingers twitched, itching to reach out, to touch him, hold him. But he was right. As much as you loved this relationship limbo, that was all it was. Stringing you and Harry along would only hurt you more.

"I'm sorry," was all you could say. For too many things, none of which you could bring up without crying.

"Me too," Harry said.

Harry's lean figure appeared a couple minutes later, his head bent and shoulders slightly hunched, avoiding the few photographers who had been waiting for him to leave the building. You wanted him to turn around. You wanted to see his face one last time, a final farewell. But perhaps for his sake, he didn't, and you watched as he retreated down the street and turned down the road out of sight.

Leaning across the bed, he kissed your forehead, then stood up. "One day you'll realize how extraordinary you are, and you wont care how people perceive you," he said, his thumb caressing your cheek. "And then you'll go and make someone the luckiest man in the world by giving yourself over to him completely. I'm just devastated it wasn't me."

You watched him go from the sanctuary of your bed, knowing the second he was out of sight you'd break down completely. The door closed with a soft clock, and even though you knew you shouldn't, you hurried over to your bedroom window, waiting anxiously to get one last glimpse of him.

On your last day in Rome, you found a note he'd written.

Harry had hidden it in one of the pockets of his favorite of your sweaters, though you weren't exactly sure when. It wasn't very long, and the note itself was no more than a scrap of paper, one you'd nearly thrown out by accident. But you would've recognized his handwriting anywhere, and fond memories of notes you used to find among your things kept you from throwing away the folded paper and opening it instead.

Perhaps in another life. Unless you change your mind in this one, H.

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (3 - The Neighbor)

Chapter Summary: Agnes sees the perfect opportunity to stir up some trouble while Wanda deals with her jealousy toward your work assistant, Geraldine. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 2.8k+ | Chapter Tags/Warnings: None

A/N: I really have nothing to say except that I enjoyed writing Agatha in this chapter // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The team has been at a standstill, figuring out who’s behind this, or how to communicate with anyone trapped inside the town. Every drone they've sent in morphs into something entirely different, thwarting their efforts to gather any useful intel. The people sent underground to scout a safe route through have gone dark, their communication cut off. No one else volunteered to attempt approaching the perimeter after that.

The broadcasts they've been tracking are erratic, cutting out for hours with no warning, making it hard to keep a consistent eye on the town's odd behaviors. But it's during one of these quiet periods when something clicks in Darcy's mind.

“I think I have something,” Darcy blurts out to Jimmy. They’ve been scraping the bottom of the barrel, running out of faces to identify from the snippets of life in Westview they caught on screen. 

“Yeah?” Jimmy gives her a tired look, only half-listening. He can't remember the last time he managed more than an hour of uninterrupted sleep. Even if he could find the time to rest, the bizarre situation they're in won't let his mind relax. 

Darcy sighs and leads him outside the tent.

“So, you’ve seen that radio on Wanda’s kitchen counter, right?”

Jimmy only nods.

Darcy continues, “The next time she’s washing dishes, or whatever—which by my count—happens about once an episode, barf, we’ll shoot a signal to that little guy.” She leads him to a set of computers set up behind a pickup truck. Jimmy doesn’t understand what’s going on with these systems, but he’s hoping Darcy really is onto something.

“This transmitter will mimic the frequency of the broadcast,” she pauses to catch her breath in the cold and to give him time to catch up with her science. “And if my theory is right, it will allow us to speak to her.”

She cuts off any chance for Jimmy to comment and assures him, “This is definitely going to work.”

–

The annual Westview Harvest Festival is in full swing. The town square is packed with booths overflowing with baked goods and fresh fall produce. A small stage is set up for the local band playing tunes from the 70s, while kids dart around in all directions, their faces painted with fanciful designs. Billy and Tommy are with their preschool teachers, who are keeping them and other children their age occupied with arts and crafts that involve tumbleweeds—a material no one seems to think is entirely safe for five-year-olds to play with.

In hindsight, it’s the ideal setting for introductions and mingling. However, everyone here already knows each other—everyone, that is, except for Wanda. She makes an effort to blend in, but apart from a few interactions with the planning committee, which weren’t particularly fruitful, she often remains secluded at home. This makes you, the only one in the household who heads out daily for work, the more socially connected of the two. It’s both amusing and slightly anxiety-inducing to watch you interact with the townsfolk who are essentially strangers to you and to Wanda, if only you knew. You and Wanda never had the opportunity to live a normal life, to settle in a typical city, surrounded by neighbors who could have become integral to the life you might have built together. 

Seeing you interact with these people, she’s realizing it’s harder than she thought to share you with others. Or maybe she’s just as selfish as she’s always been, never really outgrowing it. When you were both part of the Avengers, it was like living in a bubble, surrounded by only a few familiar faces every day. Now, outside that controlled environment, it’s challenging her expectations and stirring up feelings she thought she had under control.

It becomes particularly tough when she sees Geraldine heading towards you, sporting that perpetual, dazzling smile full of perfect white teeth. Wanda's fingers curl into a fist, tiny wisps of red energy leaking from them. You quickly cover her hand with yours, and the effect is immediate—she relaxes slightly, letting you intertwine your fingers with hers, anchoring herself by your side where she feels secure.

“It's so nice to see you outside of the office, just being one of us for a change,” Geraldine says, though she seems to be wearing the same uniform as at work. Not that you're judging, but it does make you wonder why she hasn't changed.

“Definitely beats being stuck behind a desk,” you reply, your attention briefly wandering. Only then do you notice that Wanda has subtly withdrawn her hand from yours, now exploring a booth with homemade apple cider. You hadn't even noticed the exact moment she let go.

“Hello, Wanda!” Geraldine greets her warmly. 

Wanda musters a tight-lipped smile that’s convincing enough, as Geraldine appears quite taken with it. Just then, Geraldine spots Agnes standing a little away from the crowd, lingering behind Wanda with a look that borders on suspicion or disdain. 

Geraldine steps up to her while Wanda continues to busy herself with whatever else is being showcased in the booth. “Hi, I'm Geraldine. Isn’t this a wonderful evening?” She extends her hand to Agnes.

Agnes eyes the offered hand but doesn’t accept it. Instead, she sizes up Geraldine with a quick once-over and nods, foregoing any introductions. Geraldine's smile falters briefly, but she quickly shakes off the slight, tossing a brisk, “See you around, Y/N!” over her shoulder as she heads back to her table.

You wave back and let out a sigh, relieved that you’ve just sidestepped what could have been the most awkward moment of your life. Wanda’s jealousy towards Geraldine seems more serious than you’d realized. You know Wanda can be possessive; it's just been a long time since it's manifested this way. But then, it's also been a while since you've both been in a crowd of strangers like this. Since…

Since when, exactly?

“Y/N, honey?” Wanda’s voice snaps you out of your fog.

You blink. “Hm?”

“I’m thirsty.”

Just like that, you’ve forgotten about your lapse of memory, replaced by a desire to tend to your wife's needs.

“I’ll get us some refreshments. What would you like?” you ask.

“Just some water, please.”

“Water here, too,” Agnes calls out, unsolicited. 

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. It's great that Wanda's making friends in the neighborhood, but did it really have to be Agnes O’Connor? Ever since you and Wanda moved into this quiet suburb, Agnes has made it her personal mission to be involved in every aspect of your lives. You can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to it than the apparent nosiness of your neighbor.

As you head over to get the drinks, Agnes sidles up to Wanda, her eyes gleaming with an opportunity to stir some pot. 

“Geraldine seems quite taken with your wife.”

It’s not like Wanda doesn’t know what Agnes’s doing, but she finds herself nodding in agreement anyway. Your new assistant does appear smitten with you, and while Wanda gets the appeal—you are, undeniably, crush-worthy—she can't say she's thrilled about it.

“Y/N is her boss,” Wanda murmurs, more to herself than to Agnes.

“Oh, honey,” Agnes laughs condescendingly. “Do you even go to the movies? That's how the steamiest affairs start, you know.”

Wanda bristles at the sound of that endearment from someone other than you. But she keeps herself together—barely. 

“I trust her,” Wanda forces out.

As you're getting drinks, Geraldine joins you, picking up a soda herself. She lets out a light laugh at a joke from the bartender, and you find yourself chuckling too, oblivious to the piercing look your wife is drilling into your back.

Meanwhile, Agnes sees her opening and swoops in, linking her arm through Wanda's with a bit more force than necessary. 

“Of course, you trust her, dear,” she murmurs right by Wanda's ear. “But do you trust her?” She points subtly with her chin towards Geraldine, her lips pursed. “You know what they say, keep your friends close, and your enemies closer…”

Wanda's shoulders tense, her entire frame stiffening. As you return with the drinks, Agnes steps away, leaving Wanda visibly shaken, like she’s teetering on the edge of a panic attack.

“Everything okay?” you ask, handing her a drink. You've noticed before how Wanda's demeanor changes around Agnes; she’s clearly a source of stress for her. It’s going to be a difficult conversation, but it might be time to tell Wanda what you really think about the neighbor.

Wanda takes the water you offer, her fingers trembling slightly as she does. For a moment, she appears distant, disengaged, as if her mind is elsewhere. Then, with a sudden shift, she flashes you one of those smiles that sends a shiver down your spine.

“I'm fine,” she declares, a little too brightly. Then, seemingly out of the blue, she asks, “Is Geraldine here with someone?”

You stop short, realizing you really don't know much about Geraldine beyond work. “I didn’t see her with anyone,” you say.

Wanda nods thoughtfully. Her next suggestion catches you by surprise. 

“Maybe you should invite her over to our table.”

Did you hear that correctly? Had Wanda just done a complete 180 regarding your assistant and was now interested in getting to know her? You shoot a suspicious glance at Agnes. Had she said something to Wanda to change her mind?

“Are you sure?” you ask, puzzled by her abrupt change of heart.

“I am,” Wanda affirms. “It might be nice to make a new friend.”

–

Back at the response camp, Darcy and Jimmy are huddled around the small, grainy television, waiting for the moment Wanda’s in her kitchen so they can send a message through her radio device. However, the usual domestic scenes are conspicuously absent, replaced by static and sporadic cuts to the ongoing Harvest Festival.

“Come on, come on,” Darcy mutters under her breath, shoving her glasses back up her nose. They've been slipping a lot lately, probably because she's been hunching over her work more than usual these past few days.

“It's this festival,” Jimmy says, squinting at the screen. “I think the whole town's out there tonight. I don’t think we’re going to get the chance.”

Their attempts to contact anyone inside the Hex are dwindling, and Hayward's interest leans more towards studying the energy barrier encasing the town rather than resolving the anomaly itself. His latest directive to launch another drone into the barrier feels like a brute force attempt to crack the problem. Jimmy thinks it’s a waste of time—and resources.

“Yeah, and you know what’s worse?” Darcy grumbles. “I have a bad feeling about Agnes. Every time she's around, things just seem to... escalate.”

As they watch, the screen cuts to a shot of Agnes at the festival, linking arms with Wanda, whispering something that makes Wanda’s expression tighten. “See, what did I tell you?” Darcy exclaims, pointing at the screen. “Who’s this Agnes again in real life?” she asks.

Jimmy swivels in his chair, his gaze sweeping across the expansive pinboard filled with photos of Westview residents. Agnes’s face is not among them. 

“No idea,” he says flatly. He had already run a search in the database, but it came back empty.

“So, we've identified Y/N, Monica, and Agnes as outsiders in Westview,” Darcy explains, tallying them off on her fingers. 

“That’s correct,” Jimmy confirms.

“And then there’s Wanda’s sons. But again… we haven’t seen any other children in the show besides the twins.”

Jimmy thinks about it for a while. It had never really occurred to him before. “Maybe they’re bound to show up at some point?”

“Smells fishy to me,” Darcy huffs. Her thoughts circle back to Agnes. “How do you think Agnes ended up here?” she asks, their list of unanswered questions growing daily.

Jimmy shrugs. “She could’ve just been visiting.”

Darcy considers it. It's a possibility, but somehow, it doesn't feel quite right—too simple, too convenient for someone as vibrant and prickly as the character Agnes portrays.

–

It's as if Wanda's animosity toward Geraldine just magically went away. 

They’ve been chatting for almost an hour. Initially, Wanda made sure to include you in the conversation, but as time passed, she and Geraldine started connecting over topics that didn’t involve you as much. Feeling somewhat left out but also at ease that the problem between your wife and your secretary has apparently resolved itself, you decide to check out the festival booths.

This is where Agnes finds the perfect opportunity to get you alone. She starts her approach—to your surprise and discomfort—by acknowledging the elephant in the room.

“I know you don’t like me very much,” she says with a knowing smile. “Maybe we can change that tonight?”

You eye her with suspicion, easily seeing through her blatant attempts to flirt her way into your good graces.

“How exactly are we going to do that?” you ask, crossing your arms in front of you.

Agnes simply laughs off the cool reception you’ve given her. If anything, she revels in it. 

“By getting to know each other, obviously,” she says.

“Right.”

She takes your elbow, and you swear she can feel you recoil at her closeness, yet she doesn’t seem to care. She urges you forward, dictating the pace. Her grip is unexpectedly firm, as if to say you have no choice but to listen—like leaving isn't an option.

With you literally in her grasp, Agnes sets her plans into motion. “So, how did you and Wanda meet?” she asks.

You deliver the narrative precisely as it plays out in your memory, exactly as Wanda implanted it in your mind. “We grew up next to each other. Best friends since we were kids.” 

“How cute,” she says, in that smooth, supercilious tone that usually makes your skin crawl. But this time, with the memories of Wanda filling your head, you hardly notice.

“Yeah, I remember when I first saw her,” you continue, gazing into the distance as if the scene you speak of is right there before your eyes. “It was almost Halloween, and my mom had baked a pumpkin pie to welcome them to the neighborhood. She sent me to deliver it. Wanda answered the door.”

“Love at first sight?”

“More like the opposite,” you say, throwing Agnes a good-natured smile, something you’ve never done before. “She couldn’t stand me, and I felt the same way.”

“Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” Agnes drawls before accompanying it with a short chuckle. “Who knows? Maybe there’s hope for us yet. You might end up not hating me so much after all.”

“Maybe…” you say, the smile reaching your eyes this time.

“Good, good,” Agnes says. “I can’t think of anything more romantic than growing up with the person you’ll be with for the rest of your life. Almost like it’s… sketched out, no?”

You nod at her, not sure where she’s going with this, but you appreciate the sentiment. You consider yourself lucky to have known Wanda most of your life. 

“So, you've lived in Westview your whole life?” Agnes asks.

“Yes,” you nod without hesitation.

“And you've only ever been to Westview?”

“No, of course not,” you laugh, ready to list off places you've been, but suddenly, you can't name any. The cities and trips that should come easily to your tongue just... don't materialize.

Not a single one.

Agnes watches you struggle with a blank expression. A second later, she begins throwing out suggestions, as if trying to help. 

“Canada?" 

You shake your head. 

“California?” 

Another shake.

“New York?”

No. This time, your eyes sting with the frustration of trying to pull something from the haze, realizing there’s nothing there. 

Have you really never been anywhere but Westview?

“Eastview, maybe?” she offers with a bit of sarcasm as she names the town next door.

“I—”

“How strange,” Agnes muses, driving home the final nail in the coffin of your crumbling peace.

You jerk your arm away from her grip and take a few instinctive steps back. “I need to pick up the twins,” you blurt out, seizing the first excuse that comes to mind. “We should be heading out soon.”

Without waiting for her reply, you start walking away, driven by a sudden, intense need to be with your boys, with Wanda. To hold them close, to find some stability. Because right now, you’re petrified by a fear you cannot name. 

“I heard Australia’s amazing this time of year!” Agnes calls after you.

The idea of not having been anywhere but Westview—it’s possible, right? Some people spend their entire lives in one place. But if this feeling—the one that's been gnawing at you lately—is real, if the world outside of Westview is truly non-existent, then what does that say about your life here?

What does it say about you?

[ir-abelas-vhenan]

Something Something Yeah It's Still Solavellan Hours (Mythal is kind of here, too)

I've seen a few very beautifully articulated posts talking about the conflicted responses players are finding themselves having in regards to the decision by writers* to have Solas' atonement route possible because of his conversation with one of the remaining fragments of Mythal.

(*honestly I hesitate to put the weight of bigger game events on their shoulders because of how much I know bigger players in the company were involved, so when you read 'writers' know I just mean whoever had final say on plot)

I love reading where people are at on this, and having now breathed, re-played the scene, cried, read some more theories, and then played the scene again enough times I think I'm now able to figure out where I'm at.

TLDR: in my humble opinion, the conversation Solas has with Mythal doesn't bring him any actual closure at all. It is only the version of the atonement ending that has Lavellan in which he is actually set upon a road to redemption.

This, like everything else where I lose my mind, will be long. I tried to restrain myself and here we are, unhinged as ever.

I was unhappy at first that Mythal's incredibly brief conversation with Solas where she releases him from her service seemed to be what finally allowed him to make a decision based on his wants and not hers. My concern stemmed mostly from the fact that a lot of us are trying to be active participants in a society that recognizes patterns of abuse and seeks to establish channels through which individuals can pursue healing without the approval, consent, or demise of their abuser.

But the more I look at the scene, the more I wonder what would have happened in a world where Veilguard got just a little more time in development. Could we have gotten a scene that more elegantly conveys the theme that we cannot heal every part of our loved ones, much as we might like to?

In an imperfect world it isn't always up to us how someone finds closure, which really sucks when you'd like to ensure a loved one finds it in a way that preserves their dignity and limits exposure to the individuals who have harmed them.

And while it could be left there, I'd like to actually push back on the idea that Mythal is in any way responsible for "healing" Solas in this moment.

I went on a different tirade a few days ago about how at the end of Inquisition, Mythal says words to Solas that on their surface seem well-intentioned or placating, but they actually just serve to further bind him in guilt and a position of servitude. In Veilguard's finale, she still does not take accountability for exactly how much of a role she played in the pain that Solas, a man others have revered and feared as a god, has gone through as he cowers, actually cowers before her.

Mythal's interaction with Solas conveys exactly two things to him as far as I am concerned (I'm going to botch these quotes but my laptop is dying so please accept some paraphrase as I rush to finish this before I go cry about this analysis to my uncaring dog):

"The terrible things we did, we did together." You are forever tied to me.

"I release you from my service." But what am I releasing you to?

Because up until Lavellan joins the fray here, all I take away from the physical and unwilling emotional cues Solas gives in this scene (he is a master in trickery, for goodness' sake, the thought of so many witnesses seeing him unable to hide behind a mask has to leave him feeling anguished on top of everything else) is that Mythal has once again reminded him of everything he did in her name and telling him that all that's left for him is to go back to the fade prison and, as he as always done, endure the crushing weight of his failures alone.

To me, in my interpretation, the Solas that hears this from Mythal with no Lavellan intervention may choose to willingly step down from his original plan (and yeah, that's gonna do some damage) but he is certainly not free of his past. He's going to be reminded of it every time he turns a corner and finds more blight to try and soothe, and even the moments that he rests will be filled with more manifestations of his regret. He says it himself: where he's going? It's terrible.

Enter Lavellan. Yeah, he couldn't bring himself to listen to her at her first plea (but like damn how many times are we going to have to watch her give a heartfelt speech only for him to be like 'something something beautiful elven rejection'). But I know that you know that our clever icon knows better than to take what Solas says at face value. She tells Rook plainly that he's absolute dogshit at lies of the heart, and she says it with her whole chest.

Lavellan sees the way his shoulders slump (in resignation yes, but you can't convince me there's not a little bit of relief there, too), she hears the agony in the "vhenan" that escapes his lips (which, don't even get me started on the fact that it's been like nine years and he has no hesitation at all calling her his heart, it just spills out of him). It is not the sound of a man delighting in the steps he's about to take. They're certainly not steps he does not dislike that lead to a destination he enjoys.

And then she watches Mythal (who I can't imagine she feels any sort of fondness or respect for) pull some weird nonsense on her love one final time, and she knows it's her moment to shine.

Mythal, I would argue, pushes Solas down one more time, shames him into seeking atonement, into once again being alone.

It is the romanced Lavellan that kneels so that he cannot fail to meet her eyes. It is she who invokes their connection, not to remind him of his failures but to reaffirm his greatest strength: their love and their love alone is inevitable. Not the consequences of his past, not the regret he thinks will consume him as he seeks to mend what has been broken. It has only ever been them.

"There is no fate but the love we share". We are forever tied together.

"There is no fate but the love we share." *I* am releasing you from everything else save for this love.

Put colloquially: get absolutely fucking wrecked, Mythal.

Body language comparison to chase up the dialogue one, anyone? The way Solas shrinks before Mythal as opposed to him walking off into the fade with Lavellan at his side and standing tall, and he does not flinch when she lifts a hand to his shoulder?

Ultimately, Mythal is a part of the atonement endings no matter what. But it is only Lavellan that refuses to let him walk alone. It is only Lavellan that guarantees that his dinan'shiral ends not in a prison of regret, but a place of promise.

Mythal bends Solas until he breaks one last time. Lavellan takes each piece, claims it as hers, and uses them to build the beginnings of a future.

[novankenn]

(Artwork created/owned by @pilot-boi, No rights Claimed/Implied by the author of this story)

The TA -- Joan(Jaune) Arc

Joan(Jaune) stood in Beacon's courtyard, totally not overwhelmed by the number of students. Her mother had decided Joan(Jaune) needed to get some real world experiences so after discussing (threatening) her sister Glynda Goodwitch, Joan(Jaune) found herself assigned to work as a TA for her aunt and some of the other professors.

Joan(Jaune) was thinking it was a mistake, and she should sneak off and go hang with Saphron and Terra in Argus. Like seriously! Everyone! Literally everyone was walking around with weapons! There were swords, spears, knives, guns of every type, even a scythe! That's a farming tool! Next she'll see someone with a shovel or a rake!

"Of course I would." Joan(Jaune) deadpanned as two students just walked past her with those exact lawn and garden tools balanced on against their shoulders.

An explosion behind her caused Joan(Jaune) to shriek and jump backwards. Causing her to bounce off someone.

"Watch it dude!" came the gruff voice, as the young man just kept walking. Joan(Jaune) sighed. Looking around again for her Auntie, she noticed the girl with a red cap, still laying in a small crater. Seeing no one offering a hand, Joan(Jaune) did the right thing and walked over.

"Welcome to Beacon." the capped girl muttered.

"Need a hand?" Joan(Jaune) asked, while offering her hand to assist.

"Thanks?" the girl replied. Once she was once again vertical, she looked at Joan(Jaune) with her silver eyes. "I'm Ruby Rose."

"Joan(Jaune) Arc." and instantly she growled, as Ruby was giggling at her name. Joan(Jaune) knew exactly why, and was waiting for the question to be asked for the millionth time.

"Joan? Isn't that girl's name?"

"Yes, it is, and before you say anything else... I am a girl." Joan(Jaune) was annoyed, while all her sisters hit the jackpot with in the family gene pool, Joan(Jaune) seemed to have drawn the short straw. What truly baffled her was how NO ONE could tell she was a girl just from the sound of her voice!

"Really?" Ruby tilted her head and squinted, before nodding. "Yep, sorry about that. I see it now."

Joan(Jaune) just deadpanned. She should have gone to Argus. Terra could have gotten her an internship at the CCT.

"Do you want to see my baby?" Ruby beamed as she pulled some weird boxy contraption from under her cap.

"Is that a weapon of some kind?" Joan(Jaune) asked taking a step back.

"Yep!"

"Maybe later?"

"Aw. Phooey."

"Sorry, but I'll take a rain check." Joan(Jaune) offered, "It's just I need to find my Aunt. I'm working here with her for a term."

"Working? You mean you're not a huntsm... huntress-in-training?"

"No."

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

"Huh." Ruby started to fidget. "Um..."

"Yes?"

"Do you know where the auditorium is? I was supposed to head there until I ran into that meanie... which wouldn't have happened if my stupid boob-zilla sister hadn't run off!"

"Sure." Joan(Jaune) smiled warmly. Ruby seemed like a nice person, so why not give her a helping hand. It's not like she's some weapon obsessed gothic loli. Paused and gave Ruby a once over and then shrugged. "Already said I will, can't back out now."

"Did you say something?"

"Just talking to myself."

"Oh. Do you do that often?" Ruby froze, and started to stammer, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! I'm not judging< I swear!"

"Ruby... it's okay. It's okay."

"You not just saying that are you? I mean I would totally understand if you were, considering..."

"RUBY!" Joan(Jaune) shouted to get the red caped gothic loli to focus. "You didn't do anything to be so worked up about. Okay?"

"Okay, I..."

"No."

"No?"

"Do not say I guess." Joan(Jaune) sighed. "There is no middle ground here. You are either okay or your not. So are you okay?"

"Yes!"

"Good, now let's get to the auditorium."

(A/N - I have no idea what it is... but I see these pictures/drawings... and just have a NEED to write something for them. I think I have issues. None of the above is cannon to what ever AU this image is associated with.)

Have you ever drawn rule 63 Jaune?

Not sure, but here she is

Honestly in my style she looks almost exactly the same as normal lol