#they are the best and this is not discussed

[mickyschumacher]

[BREAKFAST IN BED!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: the racing season is finally over and lando is more than excited to have you all to himself. or in which lando prefers his breakfast in bed with you as the main course.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minor dni), breastplay, grinding(?), teasing, oral sex/eating out/cunnilingus, fingering, pure moments of fluff because bf!lando is the sweetest, discussion of lando mentally struggling at the start

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: bf!lando norris x fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2k+

𝐀/𝐍: i promised a post before the end of the year and it happens to coincide with a holiday of giving ;) merry christmas and happy hanukkah to those who celebrate it! and happy new year! // as usual poorly proof-read ♡︎ (sorry if it's shitty, i haven't written a full-piece in a while)

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

The season was over. Finally.

Not to be offensive or anything but you had been waiting for this moment for what, this year, felt like forever.

Yes, it was action packed–largely due to the fact that a certain RedBull wasn't winning every race. Yes, McLaren had whipped up the fastest car on the grid to shake things up. And yes, the same team had clinched their ninth World Constructor's Championship.

And while that made you absolutely over the moon, all you had wanted was for some peace and quiet on a random Wednesday morning so you could (maybe creepily) ogle your handsome boyfriend.

Was that too much to ask for?

It had been a tough season for Lando and naturally, as you promised from the very start of your friendship alone–that you would stick by his side no matter what–you had also been through the thick of it.

Convincing Lando to not look at the comments after every session or race had been difficult. You tried your best to remove any negativity that clouded his mind. Some days it worked and some days it didn't.

But that was life. And that was then.

Now you were wide awake at some odd time in the morning, laying comfortably on your stomach with your head turned towards Lando. There was about one degree of separation between the both of you, allowing you to carefully observe him.

Lando was never an early bird. If he was, it would be by some miracle or your upper arm strength pulling him from the sheets. A small smile crept onto your face. You had been friends for years now and together for even shorter. Yet you still couldn't believe that the sleepy bird next to you was yours entirely.

His dark tousled and recently cut curls, the stress lines on his forehead you were always aching to smooth out and comfort with the pad of your thumb, his "perfectly normal sized ears" that you definitely never made fun of, his lovely lashes you were jealous of, and the soft pink lips you couldn't decide whether to touch or kiss.... all yours.

Behind all the stupidity, humour, and claimed 'indifference' Lando sported on camera and with others, you always knew his heart. It was open for everyone and had more than enough love to go around. You were in love with the biggest sap you had ever known.

And on top of all of that, he made it out of that car to you... alive... every goddamn time.

You were luckier than you could ever imagine.

"How long are you going to stare at me, love?" Lando's voice queried, thick with the rasp of the morning and the events of last night.

You slightly widened your eyes, watching him open those beautiful baby blues and land on you. An flustered flush of heat wavered up your skin. You bit your lip before slipping beneath the covers, feeling the warmth envelope your skin entirely. You started with a muttered curse.

"How long have you even been awake, Lan? That's so embarrassing," you chided with a muffled tone.

Unbeknownst to you, Lando couldn't help but grin at your sudden shy demeanour. It was hard for anyone to imagine you as shy but he had seen every side of you. How enjoyable it was that even after all these years, he could tease you and see how flustered you could get. If he had met you when you were kids, this is exactly how he imagined you'd be.

He stretched out his taut arm, grabbing you by the waist. His skin swarmed with heat as he felt your bare waist under your shirt as he pulled you over him. He moved your knees so you straddled him.

He pressed his lips to prevent a full blown smile at what he was seeing.

Your hair was fully covering your face, head down and hands hovering over to hide the tinges of pink and red on your skin.

"Baby... come on, love. Show me your face," Lando encouraged, nudging your hair lightly with the side of his finger. "Come on, baby."

You groaned, lifting your head, feeling all your tresses go back. You blankly stared at your boyfriend with burning cheeks. "I hate you," you mumbled, giving him a small glare.

Lando snorted, putting his hands firmly on your waist. His fingers edged up behind the hem of your shirt, rubbing small circles into your bare skin. "You love me. Someone who hates me wouldn't stare at me so lovingly."

"I–" You tried to open your mouth to retaliate but to no avail as you quickly came to the realisation that he was indeed correct. As Lando usually was with these things.

"Fine. You got me," you sighed admittedly, "I just missed waking up next to you in the morning. Is that such a horrible crime?" You dramatically asked, tease heavy in your voice.

In any other situation, Lando would've narrowed his eyes at your teasing but all he could do was gaze softly at you. You weren't able to travel with him all the time and he wasn't able to spend every day with you. You both knew that. And while it sucked, you had both gotten used to it, cherishing when you were together.

But this year... Lando had spent every living second wishing you were next to him. He wanted you to tell him your god awful jokes. To look at him from across the room and take his entire breath, mind, whatever, away. To drop the fake smiles and rest in your arms with all the time in the world.

"No," Lando whispered, warm eyes travelling over your face, trying to find anything new to memorise. Anything he had missed since seeing you. "That isn't a crime. If it was, I'd be guilty as charged."

Your breath hitched while a small shiver trickled down your body as Lando pushed back a lock of hair behind your ear. You chewed down on your lip before breaking into a smile gently. "I love you, Lando Norris. Forever," you murmured, placing a brief kiss onto his lips.

Lando stared at you hard, far more awake than he had ever been. He lifted his head slowly, holding you close to him. And without a second thought, he brought his lips to yours.

This kiss was different from the others you had shared. Perhaps it was the atmosphere or context that accounted for that different but the need, the love, the softness and the brutal passion was poured into every fibre of your being

Your hands curled around the back of his neck, pulling him tighter while your nose glided against his as Lando only just begun ravaging your mouth. He sucked on your lips with a small nibble here and there, relishing the muffled moans passing your lips.

His own hands continued to travel the path of your body he had committed to memory. He knew as he traversed your heated back exactly where the dark freckles he had come to love were.

Your soft moans became more audible and pleasing to Lando's ears as he curled his lips to your neck, leaving the sloppily yet controlled path of possessive kisses down base of your skin. He could feel your pulse against his skin and God, he wanted to burn it into his brain and save it.

"Lando," you gasped as you felt a sudden jerk underneath you, feeding into the pooling wetness between your thighs. Your teeth sunk into your pillowy bottom lip, your hips automatically responded by grinding down onto Lando's bulge.

"Ah, fuck," Lando cursed, feeling his cock throb in his underwear. His eyes fluttered shut, hands immediately returning to your hips to continue the stimulating pleasure.

You were driving him crazy.

Both of your skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat as you felt Lando's clothed cock rut into your poorly covered pussy. You rocked your hips harder into him, feeling a slight jolt against your clit. "Oh, fuck, Lando," you moaned his name in his ear, fingers curling into his skin.

Lando opened his eyes, drawing back to capture your face. Your dazed eyes, glowing skin, panting lips, the way your hips bowed towards him... he had missed you. So. Fucking. Much.

"I want breakfast," Lando blurted with a slight gasp as the pleasure rocked through his body.

You stopped moving your hips, body shuddering from the halt. You raised a brow at the sudden desire but shrugged it off considering you were way past breakfast hours and you were only human. "Okay," you responded, about to move off of Lando to head to the kitchen.

Lando reached over, hand pulling your body back towards him, rolling your body so he hovered over you between your legs. "Where are you going?" he tutted, "Breakfast is right here."

You seemed to lose the ability to speak with Lando's hand kneading the flesh of your thighs, implying exactly what he wanted. You breathlessly watched his head move over your body. His tongue lapped at your skin, travelling to any bare patch he could find as though he wanted to feast on you. His warmth made your core tingle as you arched into his touch.

You were positively going to lose your mind.

His hands slid under your shirt, burning your skin until he could fill his palms with your breasts. "Oh baby," Lando moaned, fingers teasing your soft mounds. "I love your tits so fucking much."

A choked cry broke through your lips upon hearing his confession, fingers brushing against your hardened nipple almost painfully slowly. No matter how many times he said it, it set you alight.

"Lando," you moaned loudly, hoping he could read and hear the sound that beckoned him towards your aching core.

He paused, allowing you to take in the heavenly sight of Lando's bare chest, decorated only by the necklace you had gotten him on his birthday last year. In turn, his gaze was only focused on your core.

You tested your lung capacity, taking in a sharp inhale as he pressed his knuckles against your panties, purposely pushing harder against on the ball of your clit. You faltered at the smile sprawling on his face, your hips jolting forward and mouth unable to contain a desperate yelp.

Lando was every inch as desperate as you were, taking no time to waste. His fingers hooked onto your panties and removed them in one swift motion, leaving you bare from the waist down.

Your stomach churned at the sight of Lando nestling his head into your inner thigh, his once light blue eyes now dark and heavy with desire as he inhaled the scent of you. The moan escaping his lips made you shiver.

You were sure you were dripping. You could feel the slick trail down your pussy, glistening in a patient wait to be touched just like you were.

Your eyes fell back to Lando who groaned your name. "I promise to God, I'm going to make you cum so hard that breakfast in bed will be the only option you have," he stated so surely against your skin as his fingers slid from the seam of your entrance to your clit, bundling all your wetness onto his hand.

Oh god.

"Lando, please," you begged shamelessly, legs aching to clench together to relieve the pain of being untouched.

Your legs trembled around Lando's head, his hot breath nearing your pussy while his mouth drew closer. You watched him take you in for the last time before his lips firmly sealed over your aching clit.

The burst of pleasure cut through your body so sharply. Your cry of joy echoed in the late morning, hips bucking against his mouth.

Lando's hands travelled to the outside of your thighs, grasp tightening to keep them spread open on his shoulders. "Keep them open, baby," he ground out.

It took everything in your power to keep your legs from collapsing, particularly as he made his point with another hard to suck to your clit, but you body seemed to follow his command. His mouth returned your wet folds, tongue swirling around every crevice before coming back to the most sensitive part of you, turning you into absolute mush.

Your hands had found their way to those mop of curls you cherished so much, legs trying to conform around Lando's shoulder to welcome any better angle of pleasure.

Your gasp at the sudden dismissal of his mouth was short lived, any chance to complain gone as his fingers pushed into your slick folds, stretching your clenching muscles out.

"Fuck yourself on those pretty little fingers for me, baby. I need you ready for me," Lando encouraged breathlessly as something feral inside of him emerged.

His fingers stroked your swollen walls from the inside, ensuring you felt every inch of them along the sensitive front wall of your pussy while his tongue glazed over every puffy slick fold like you were golden honey.

Lando watched in torture as he pushed his fingers in and out of your walls, your body jerking forward at the sheer pleasure. "That's it, baby," he continued to praise you.

"Doing so well for me, hmm?" He asked, a gleam of your wetness coating his lips. Moving his free hand down your thigh, he gathered your flesh in his fingers before reaching the small bundle of nerves, thumb going in small firm circles.

You were beginning to feel numb. A cold yet hot tightness coiling within your core, waiting to be unleashed. "Lando," you gasped, struggling to keep your head up, "fuck, I–I think I'm going to cum."

"Yes, baby," Lando coaxed, fingers speeding up with every action they had entailed, "Cum for me, please. Keep your eyes open. Look at me, love."

You fought the urge to squeeze your eyes shut, forcing your eyes to travel to those familiar baby blues. All the trillion nerves in your body felt like entangled knots tied by Lando's tongue while his fingers found the sweetest spot of your pussy and held to you that pinnacle.

Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip while Lando held your gaze, tongue sliding, curving up, and pushing in and out of every crevice. Your pussy finally succumbed to the hard pressure, clenching muscles squeezing hard at the sharp pinch of pain.

The pain was explosive, searing, and all-consuming.

You cried.

You cried so loudly you were sure your neighbours would be complaining any minute now.

It didn't matter. Not when the pleasure shooting through you was disproportionately and literally blowing you out of this world as though it had been seated and waiting to be released since the dawn of time itself. Your hips bucked and stuttered while you squirmed and writhed against the bed, the fabric of your shirt sticking to your sweaty skin.

Lando's mouth had never left you through your orgasm, tongue still deep in your folds, savouring all the convulses, shudders, and clenches of your body.

Even better yet, he had watched every second of you falling apart.

And it absolutely drove him crazy.

Lando's hand rushed to catch your falling body, holding you up as a small wave of exhaustion crashed into you. You stared at Lando shiftless, still seeing the faint image of floating stars across his face.

Oh my god.

Lando had broken you with his tongue.

You watched Lando lick his fingers clean as you slowly removed your legs from his shoulders. You lifted your head, pressing a long kiss onto his lips.

Lando grinned, cradling his arms around your body as he pushed you both into the bed yet again. He pushed back your slightly greased hair, caressing your cheek gently. "You okay?"

His query made you feel soft all over. You smiled into his hands and nodded. "Perfect," you chirped, hands hanging over his neck.

"So... breakfast in bed?" Lando offered knowingly as he massaged your thighs gently. You were not walking to that kitchen.

You furrowed your brows. "What about my breakfast?"

Lando wanted to question you but as his eyes followed your gaze, the answer became as clear as the aching bulge underneath his boxers.

"Oh."

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[zyafics]

HEARTBREAK: OFFLINE | 69

All | MASTERLIST (SMAU)

Pairing — Ex-BF!Rafe x Radio Host!Female Reader

Summary — You and Rafe were the perfect couple. But after a mysterious breakup, you went off the grid. When your best friends pulls you back into the spotlight to host a on-campus radio show, you find yourself opening up to the world about your experience. This time, with everyone listening—including Rafe. And him? He wants you back.

Content — college au, football player!rafe au, brief discussions about pregnancy and miscarriage

Navigation —Part 68 | Part 69 | Part 70

IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT TAGLIST AND UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications! however, if you want to be added to this specific taglist, let me know (but to remain tagged, you must interact with the posts).

TAGLIST FOR HB:L: @ghostofwriting @mimibaby01 @itneverendshere @inthelibrarybtw @psychocitylights @carrerascameron @theeternaloptimistt @frankoceanluvr11 @lilithblackkk @promiscuousg1rl @whytheylosttheirminds @harrys-housewife @maybankslover @cnnamongrl @a-lovers-card @rafesgiirl @psychicnatural @rrosiitas @enthusiastms @doll-face222 @ilovefiction4lmen @goldsainz @starkeygirls @maybankiara @yootvi @4ria790 @rafegf-real @rafeslovergirl @yuckblushin @xoxosblogsblog @logansblackgf @watchmerora @lou-la-lou @astroniii @vonhoe @congratsloserr @ilyrafe @rafesdrew @marooningmirrorball @drwstarkeys @xdaughterofpersephonex @ivysprophecy @murdockcastleslut @jeongintwt @evelynffics @sematarygirls @winniemoe @chenslucy @oceandriveab

[thoughtscout]

yes, here we go - another lovely example of a false binary. it's either "let everyone engage in whatever kind of sexual activity they want to, where they want to and when they want to, regardless of others' comfort or consent, the health of the overall culture surrounding these practices, any people harmed or exploited in the process, or any other consequences" - or, if you criticize or object to that, you're "denying" all positive human sexuality, "making everyone more repressed" and "sterilizing" people and making them miserable.

does it not naturally occur to people, that acknowledging that having sex or displaying an interest in/enjoyment of sex is not in any way morally negative, does not necessarily mean that... sex is a completely neutral subject? in fact, sex might be one of the most goddamn complex subjects on this godforsaken planet. people could discuss and debate it for millenia and not reach a sound conclusion.

and acknowledging that sex can be a positive thing for many does not automatically erase it as a profoundly, overwhelmingly, destructively negative force that currently plagues our humanity. there are dozens upon dozens of human issues in which sexuality is the central focus in which it explicitly causes harm. several of them were even implied within this very post (pornography, unlawfully distributed nude photographs, and the overall ethics of sex clubs are dubious at best).

the core detail that any conversation about this topic needs to be founded upon is that there is a very, very important distinction between stigmatizing sex and criticizing sex culture, or even just having complex or uncomfortable feelings about how other people practice display their sexualities. treating them as synonymous is utterly irrational and completely unhelpful to anything.

This sounds like a shitpost but people should be allowed to be horny. As in, sexuality is just part of life for most people and there’s no reason for consensual sexual behavior to be punished. A celebrity getting “caught” at a sex club shouldn’t be a scandal. No one should be fired for having a fetlife profile outside of work. Nudes getting leaked shouldn’t be career-ending. Denying and hiding (consensual) sexual interests doesn’t make anyone more professional, it just makes everyone more repressed. And sterilizing ourselves to be better work drones isn’t productive, it’s just creepy. I’d rather my surgeon get absolutely railed on camera and come to work in a good mood, frankly.

[embbarnes]

Подарок. | W.S

summary: You give the soldier a present for Christmas.

warnings: Fluff & Angst | Winter Soldier!Bucky | Post!CA:TWS | PTSD mentions | Mention of medical treatments | Recovery | Brief talk of nightmares

a/n: Sort of unofficial part two to Sugar Plums since I had a few people asking for a part two. Same universe I guess, with some time between. Uhh probably rushed idk. To be edited later. ;; wc: 3.3k

Recovery.

Fickle, fragile, exhausting.

He gradually accepted being called Bucky, though the name stirred something uncomfortable within him each time it reached his ears. Steve, ever persistent and hopeful, would use various versions of the name - Bucky, Buck, or sometimes James - in his unwavering attempts to resurrect the friend he once knew, unable to accept that the Bucky from his memories had faded away like footprints in snow.

Winter had completely erased the old Bucky.

While these names would trigger a subtle internal struggle, he maintained an almost perfect mask of indifference, with only the slightest furrowing of his brow betraying any sign of his inner turmoil.

You, however, carefully navigated between calling him Bucky and Soldat, aware that using his old code name might reinforce programming you wished to help him break free from. Yet there was a slight relaxation in his shoulders when you used the familiar designation, the way it seemed to ease the constant tension he carried made it impossible to completely abandon - his comfort, however small, had become your priority.

Even if that comfort stemmed from a dehumanizing name.

It required negotiation and persistent discussions to convince Tony to finally allow the soldier access to the medbay wing for his necessary medical treatments. Despite the soldier's extended stay in the tower passing without any concerning incidents, Tony maintained a strong hesitation about providing medical assistance. His deeply-rooted skepticism and apparent distrust were sources of frustration for you, though you consciously chose to avoid escalating the situation into a full-blown argument, knowing it would only make matters more complicated.

You had already gotten into intense scuffles with Tony over the soldier’s stay, how he needed to be looked over, physically and internally. The dislocated arm Steve caused never healed, and he had been carrying his arm awkwardly close to his body. Other physical injuries on top of the apparent dehydration and malnourishment, he was constantly under a veil of sickness.

The situation was particularly delicate because Soldat struggled with being in the presence of the other tower residents. He was acutely aware of how everyone seemed to cautiously moderate their behavior around him, treating each interaction as if they were navigating through a minefield of potential triggers. Like they were walking along eggshells every time they were near him.

It felt like he was walking on glass.

You were his only source of comfort, though traces of caution still lingered in his demeanor. He knew you posed no threat to his wellbeing. You had been patient and gentle the entire time, regardless of his panic or prone sense to lash out if he got stressed enough.

Long nights stretched endlessly in the sterile medbay rooms, where you faithfully maintained your vigil in the uncomfortable chair positioned beside the standard-issue medical bed. The soldier’s bed remained empty, as he consistently chose to rest on the cold floor instead. Sleep was an elusive companion for him, a nightly battle he rarely won. More often than not, his rest was violently interrupted by his own terrified screams or desperate shouts, his body jerking upright with defensive movements, arms swinging at invisible threats.

You would spend countless minutes trying everything in your power to bring him back to reality and calm his frantic state. Sometimes, despite your best efforts and gentle words, the situation would escalate beyond your ability to manage, forcing the medical staff on standby to intervene with sedatives to prevent him from unintentionally causing harm during these episodes.

Luckily his recovery progressed slowly but surely, transitioning from those intensive IV treatments in the clinical environment of the medbay to the more comfortable setting of your personal quarters. His sleeping arrangements evolved as gradually as his treatment; first from the hard floor, then to the modest couch tucked against the far wall, and finally to your bed.

These days, he found his rest beside you each night, his body instinctively seeking comfort by curling close to yours, desperately trying to make up for all those decades of disturbed sleep and haunted dreams.

Over time, his attachment to you had grown increasingly intense, and he began experiencing waves of jealousy whenever your attention was directed elsewhere. You helped around the tower a lot, so you tended to be distracted with tasks or aiding in another’s need. The soldier didn’t like it, so he began leaving his mark on you. It started subtly at first, he would rub your clothes on himself, in his mind it was good enough that you smelled like him. He saw it in a documentary once, of animals, but he had been in such a dehumanized state for so long, it made sense to him. His body’s scent on you, others would back off. That would work.

But, no, it wasn’t enough.

One day, crossing an unspoken boundary between you, he started placing love bites along your skin, positioning these tender marks from your neck down to your shoulders, eventually becoming bold enough to venture lower, marking your chest with these plum bruises.

The possessive displays sent warmth coursing through your body, and you willingly accepted his territorial behavior. After all, you had become his sole source of comfort and security in this world, making it perfectly natural for him to want to claim you in some way - whether through his distinctive scent (you knew about him rubbing your clothes on his body) or these carefully placed marks. His need to establish this connection, to make his claim visible, he was terrified you’d be taken from him.

Progress was being made in your relationship.

While he was still cautious with physical contact, he had begun to allow gentle touches and brief moments of closeness, though always within carefully maintained boundaries. He was like a cat, deciding when he wanted physical attention and when he wanted it to stop. The challenge of memory recovery remained a significant hurdle in his healing process. You had to help him remember specific things, he often mixed Russian and English, or plainly forgot the simplest of words.

He couldn’t for the life of him remember what a pillow was.

When Steve would speak to him, sharing stories and memories of their past, Bucky would often find himself lost in confusion, unable to connect with the vivid recollections that Steve so enthusiastically shared. The determination in Steve's eyes was evident as he tried desperately to help his lost friend remember the bond they once shared, but for Bucky, these memories remained frustratingly out of reach.

Steve's enthusiasm was well-intentioned, but sometimes, it manifested as an overwhelming flood of information and expectations. You could sense Bucky's growing distress during these interactions, the way his shoulders would tense, how his eyes would dart anxiously around the room. The stark reality was that Bucky's memories of Steve were minimal at best, yet Steve continued to share detailed accounts of their past experiences with increasing intensity.

Your became a careful mediator, providing emotional support to Bucky while gently helping Steve understand that his passionate approach was more hindering rather than helping the delicate process of memory recovery.

Bucky would get frustrated with himself during his journey of recovery. His collection of journals became a sanctuary for his fragmented memories, filled with carefully preserved photographs (provided by Steve), detailed notes written in an unsteady hand, and hastily scrawled thoughts or recollections that would suddenly surface from the depths of his consciousness throughout all hours of the day and night. These journals became both a source of comfort and torment, evidence of his struggle to piece himself back together like a puzzle without a photo.

Even with help from you or Steve, he maintained strict control over his recovery process. He deliberately chose not to document anything that Steve mentioned or tried to convince him of, instead focusing solely on recording memories that emerged organically from within his own mind.

Having experienced decades of mental manipulation, he didn’t want anyone influencing his thoughts or memories ever again. He couldn't bring himself to simply accept Steve's version of events without questioning them, needing to verify everything through his own recollections.

You knew it hurt Steve to see Bucky this way, how he refused to listen or believe him, but you couldn’t blame the man. Either of them, really. It was delicate, it took a lot of patience on everyone’s part.

Bucky’s dedication to recovering his past manifested in sleepless marathons that would stretch on for days at a time. The soldier within him approached the task with military precision, attempting to reconstruct his shattered memories in a specific manner. Yet despite his efforts, the majority of his recollections remained disjointed and fractured, with memories of his time with HYDRA dominating his consciousness more than anything else.

While Bucky was trying to recall his elusive past, you dedicated yourself to helping him build new neural pathways and retain more recent experiences, hoping to make his daily life more manageable and give him a sense of independence. The simplest tasks had become foreign territory for him - the muscle memory and basic understanding of everyday activities having slipped away like water through cupped hands. Modern appliances like microwaves, coffee makers, or the oven had become objects that he approached with confusion.

His relationship with food had become particularly concerning. Unable to prepare proper meals, you would find him furtively consuming makeshift sandwiches, but only when he believed he could finish them before being discovered. His posture during meals was hunched, protectively positioning himself over his plate or bowl, shoveling food into his mouth at an alarming pace, his entire body tense as though preparing to defend his meal from unseen threats.

Food aggression, apparently, wasn't restrictive to just animals.

Among the numerous concerns, his recurring nightmares stood out as the most troubling and pressing issue. The frequency and intensity of these night terrors had become increasingly worrisome, regardless of how well he had progressed otherwise.

Night after night, his anguished screams would pierce the darkness, and these episodes gradually evolved into extended periods where sleep became completely impossible for him to achieve. Bucky would remain awake for days and nights at a stretch, fighting against his own exhaustion, scribbling nonsense into his journals until his body would finally surrender and he would collapse into a brief, troubled slumber.

This cycle would repeat, each time more severe than the last.

Your began looking into different methods that might help ease his troubled sleep so that Bucky could experience the simple luxury of peaceful rest. Your research led you through a wide array of options; from various herbal teas and natural sleep remedies to more conventional medical interventions. However, given his strong aversion to pharmaceutical solutions, you deliberately steered clear of medication-based approaches, knowing they would likely be met with resistance.

Over time, you discovered that a soothing routine of warm herbal tea and gentle companionship proved to be an effective remedy for his nightmares. The nightly ritual of sharing your sleeping space had become second nature, and you observed how this consistent presence brought him the comfort and stability his life lacked for seven decades. His sleep patterns were delicately intertwined with his emotional state, thus during periods of anxiety or perceived threat, his rest would become noticeably disturbed and fitful.

However, your unwavering presence served as a constant source of reassurance, creating a safe haven where he could finally find peaceful rest. Plus, it helped him regain new memories to write down and you could see how proud he was every time he recounted something from his past.

Christmas morning.

Every corner and crevice of the tower sparkled with festive décor, tinsel draped from every available surface, and twinkling lights illuminated the halls in a dazzling display. It was an extravagant winter wonderland that bordered on excessive, but that was exactly Tony's style - he approached every holiday with unbridled enthusiasm, and Christmas was undoubtedly his crowning achievement.

With his seemingly limitless resources at his disposal, there was nothing holding him back from creating the most elaborate celebrations possible.

Aka…he was rich so he could.

In contrast to Tony's lavish approach, you took a more modest approach when it came to gift-giving. The act of receiving presents always made you somewhat uncomfortable, as you found far more joy in being the one doing the giving. You selected meaningful presents for each team member, carefully considering their individual interests and preferences. You couldn't match Tony's extravagant spending (something he never failed to remind everyone of that morning), but you firmly believed that the genuine thought and personal consideration behind a gift carried far more significance than its monetary value (Tony disagrees).

Bucky perched uncomfortably at the far end of the plush couch, his posture tense and rigid while the other team members enthusiastically tore through their wrapped presents with childlike excitement. Your general annoyance with Tony's characteristic swagger and showmanship failed you this morning, a warmth spread through your chest at the genuine joy radiating from Pepper's face when she discovered the exquisite diamond ring he had carefully selected for her and presented after she freed it from the tight wrapping paper.

You stayed by Bucky all morning, carefully observing his reactions to the bustling holiday atmosphere. It was clear he was struggling to process the overwhelming sensory experience and you didn’t blame him. The twinkling lights and shimmering tinsel to the constant chatter and laughter of the group, on top of holiday music and the smells of breakfast and baked goods from the kitchen, were surely a lot to process. His discomfort grew and you recognized the telltale signs of sensory overload in his slightly widened eyes and shallow breathing. The social expectations was clearly taking its toll.

He had wanted to try, he wanted to sit down with you that morning, but he had been struggling.

Your gift pile was modest, exactly as you had requested. You insisted that presents weren't necessary, you found yourself the recipient of a generously stuffed Christmas stocking and an assortment of small, meaningful items carefully chosen by your teammates in a way that made it impossible for you to object to their kindness.

When Steve presented Bucky with a collection of carefully preserved mementos from their past, but the soldier's response wasn’t what he wanted. His eyes fixed on the items that should have sparked recognition, should have ignited memories of happier times, but instead were met with blank confusion and growing distress. You sensed the uncomfortable scene and noticed the mounting anxiety in Bucky's expression, you decided to intervene with a present you got for him.

"Here, I got this for you." You handed him a carefully wrapped bag with delicate tissue paper peeking out from the top, rustling softly with each movement. "Nothing all that special but...I figured it might be nice to have something like this." You replied gently, your voice carrying a hint of nervousness as you watched him, waiting with anticipation for him to open the gift.

Bucky held the bag tentatively, his eyes fixed on the festive baby blue packaging adorned with an intricate pattern of darker blue ornaments. The glitter-coated decorations caught the light as they spiraled across the surface of the bag. He had to blink a few times to refocus his eyes, his hand slowly reached up and grasped the white tissue paper that had been carefully arranged at the top, concealing the gift. He pulled it free, soft crinkling sounded as he removed it.

He reached into the depths of the bag, his fingers brushing against something soft before grasping it. As he drew it out, his hand revealed a charming stuffed elephant, its plush grey body soft to the touch. The toy was perfectly proportioned, with endearing fat limbs that dangled naturally from its tear-shaped body. Its oversized ears flopped gently and its trunk curved in a friendly manner that seemed to welcome embrace. The stuffed animal sat comfortably in his hands, sized just right for holding close and cuddling.

"Elephants are known for their memories, you know." You gave him a gentle, encouraging nudge, your voice soft and hopeful. "Who knows? Maybe having this elephant around will help spark some of those lost memories of yours. They say elephants never forget, after all."

Bucky turned to face you, his expression one of confusion and curiosity. His eyes held that familiar, guarded look the soldier usually carried - a careful blend of wariness and interest that never quite revealed his inner thoughts. He examined the stuffed toy with an almost childlike fascination, as if encountering one for the first time.

His flesh hand explored every detail of the plush elephant with careful attention, fingers trailing along the soft fabric. He wrapped them around the trunk, testing its flexibility, then moved to rub the floppy ears between his thumb and forefinger, then squeezing the body gently as if checking its softness.

"There's something else too." You smiled warmly, gesturing toward the bag with enthusiasm. "Go ahead, take another look." He complied, reaching in until his hand emerged clutching a brand new journal. Following the theme, the journal was decorated in a soothing light blue shade, its cover stamped with a delicately printed elephant in the center. "I noticed your other journals were getting pretty full, so I thought you might need a fresh start. This one's got plenty of space, lots of room for all those thoughts and memories you want to keep safe."

His hands gently set the items down after examining each one carefully, his eyes lingering on every detail as if trying to memorize them. Then he turned to you, his expression unreadable. "You...got these...for me." Bucky spoke slowly, each word carefully chosen, as if he was having trouble processing the simple act of kindness. "To help me remember?"

"And, the elephant will be a nice cuddle buddy for those long nights you tend to have," you explained softly, watching his reaction. "It has special infusions of lavender and bergamot oils that I picked specifically to help you sleep better. The aromatherapy might even help soothe away those bad dreams you've been having. Well, at least according to the sales clerk." You reached out and lifted the soft plush elephant, bringing it to your nose and inhaling deeply. "See? It's really calming, isn't it?"

He took the toy back and smelled it deeply, letting out a contented sigh as the aroma filled his nose and sent waves of comfort through his body, making him feel warm and fuzzy inside. He carefully lowered the elephant into his lap, treating it as if it were made of delicate porcelain. His throat tightened with emotion as he swallowed hard and looked back at you, his eyes wide with disbelief and gratitude.

"All this for me?" he whispered, his voice barely audible as he struggled to process the reality that someone would think to get him anything at all (Steve didn’t count). The concept of receiving gifts was so foreign to him, so far removed from his perception of what he deserved, that he could barely wrap his mind around it.

You thought maybe it looked sill to some people, but it was more about why you got it, not what you got him.

You nodded, offering a warm smile, "Yes...I got this just for you."

The soldier's gaze slowly drifted back to his lap, his fingers lingering momentarily on the thoughtful gifts before carefully pushing the journal and elephant to rest beside him. He then leaned forward quickly, closing the distance between you and wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. The display caught you off guard, given his usual hesitance to initiate any form of contact beyond nightly cuddling or his possessive love-bites.

After you recovered from the sudden gesture, your arms encircled him in return. You drew him closer as he nestled himself against your body, seeking comfort in your warmth and smell. It was one of the only things he could consistently rely on.

A knowing smile played across your lips as you whispered against his ear, "I take it you like it?"

"...Да."

Thanks for reading. -em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest.

[cosmicalily]

10:45pm with bang chan - a @cosmicalily timestamp

author’s note: okay hello so where was mr christopher bahng when i was stressing and studying like crazy for my exams? also first channie fic (everyone claps) highkey embarassing that it took me so long apologies to my bahngers

warnings: discussions of anxiety and stress to do with university/school

“Do you want a pudding? Minho dropped them off for us.”

You didn’t reply, body sprawled across the couch. Chris shrugged, assuming you were asleep, picking the small plastic cup up and rifling around in the drawer for a spoon.

“I’m so overwhelmed,” you said suddenly, your voice cracking. He stopped in his tracks, letting the spoon and unopened pudding clatter to the counter. He approached you, gently, resting his hand on your cheek, moving his thumb to wipe under your eye when a tear spilled over.

“Come here,” he said, putting his arms around you as you crawled onto his lap, wrapping your legs tight around his waist. He rubbed circles into your lower back, letting you shove your face into the crook of his neck and dampen his sweatshirt with your tears. “I’m sorry, sweet girl. You always have too much on your mind.”

You sobbed at his kindness, holding him tighter. “It’s just all this shit with my assignments, and then work, too. I keep covering for people but when I’m the one who’s sick, nobody covers for me. And then there’s that girl who just pulls apart every fucking thing I do.”

“That friend of a friend?” Chris raised an eyebrow. “What a bitch.”

“I know, I hate her. I hope her lash tech absolutely botches her next set, eyes swollen, no space between,” you huffed, and Chris laughed.

“That’s my girl, let it out.” he smiled, giving you a kiss on the cheek. “Is there anything else you’re still stressing about?”

You sighed. “That assignment. It’s making me nervous, even though I know I can do it. I just don’t want to.”

“You’re the smartest person I know,” Chris said honestly. “I don’t think there’s anything you’ve done to your ‘worst ability’ that anyone else could do to their best. It’s not everything, baby, I promise you.”

“It’s a sixth of my outcome-”

“Out of the other five parts that you’ve already smashed out. I’m always proud of you, you know that, and it’d make me proud to see you let yourself go a little. I’m here, you know, you can always tell me this stuff. I have the space in my mind for it if it starts to overflow from yours.”

You gave Chris a kiss on his nose, then his cheek, then his lips. “Thanks, baby.”

“It’s what I’m here for.” He hoisted you up, carrying you into the kitchen and setting you down on the counter. He stood between your legs, taking time to properly wipe your tears and press gentle kisses onto your lips. Chris tore off the foil lid of his pudding and dug his spoon in, pressing the cool metal against your mouth. You opened, smiling, letting the cool custard melt onto your tongue. It was comforting, not just the food, but sharing it with him.

He slung one arm around your waist, the other holding his spoon, taking a mouthful for himself then offering one to you. It felt good to have something substantial in your stomach; whilst Chris always made sure you ate properly when studying, you never gave yourself the time to actually enjoy the food, or to have something as a treat. Your stomach would cramp after the third coffee and the second energy drink, but now, it felt calm. 

“You’re too good to me,” you looked up at him, eyes shining.

“Nobody’s good enough to you, sweet girl,” Chris replied. “I wish I could stop everything and give you a moment to breathe. It’ll be over though, someday. I’ll make sure of it.”

“And we can live in a pretty house by the beach with a dog and make out all day?” you asked, giggling.

He smiled. “That’s the dream, baby.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “That’s the dream,” he repeated, pulling you in close.

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @yaniluvs @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff - comment, dm or send an ask to be added

[worfsbarmitzvah]

what i meant by this post:

this rant i typed out isn’t actually relevant to whatever i responded to except by the convoluted chain of tangential associations constructed by my brain, so posting it would not be productive or add anything useful to the conversation

i am not able to word my point well enough to make a coherent argument and i’d rather step away from the conversation than continue to waste both my and my interlocutor’s time when i know i can’t engage with the topic on the level it deserves

this is not actually a person or a topic i want to engage with or that i can engage with while protecting my own sanity, so i will not give in to the terrible rage demon in my brain that wants me to pick Every Single Battle

i am not the correct person to be making this argument and/or i am not knowledgeable enough on this topic to delve into it like this

any number of other situations in which whatever i’m typing is not actually an appropriate or productive thing to add to the conversation

what i did not mean by this post:

i am so annoying and nobody wants to hear what i have to say and it’s always better for me to shut up

no internet argument or conversation is ever worth engaging in

i promise you have thoughts that are worth putting into the world and experience and knowledge that can add to a conversation where it’s relevant. this post is about discerning what you do and don’t have to bring to any given discussion and knowing when it’s best to walk away. learning that skill also means learning when you should engage.

do you ever start writing a comment on the internet and then think “oh what the fuck am i going on about” and delete it

[star2fishmeg]

can you please do prompt 12 with quinn hughes!

Thank you for requesting <3 - Merry Christmas!

FLUFF #12 "Just pretend to be my date."

📞 dialling…

She stared at him directly in the eye, blinking like a deer in headlights at Quinn’s pleading face. Quinn Hughes, the man she had known since childhood, stood the closest he ever had before, minty breaths fanning over cheeks, in front of her in his parent’s empty kitchen with his hands clasped over hers. 

“Please, just pretend to be my date. Even if it’s for the next few hours or so, you know they ask every year, and I don’t need her doing that speed dating shit again.” He begged so quiet his voice rumbled in her ears and flushed heat up her neck, heart hammering in his chest hearing his aunt and uncle’s voices announcing their arrival from the other room. “Y/n, I swear I’ll make it up to you-”

“-Okay.” She smiled as his eyes lit up brighter, a familiar pull in her chest that tugged every time she was in the room with him, like two magnets trying to meet. They’d been through this same annual Hughes-l/n Christmas event for years, since they were kids, and every year it was always his nosey aunt who asked him if he had a girlfriend, fiancée or wife yet to which he always awkwardly had to think of some excuse. 

“Quinn! There you are my superstar!” his nosey aunt’s voice rang out into the kitchen. Quinn stood up straight, arm automatically wrapping around y/n’s waist and his hand finding comfort on her hip. Something about the gesture felt alleviating, perfect, natural, y/n responding with her arm winding around his torso, palm soothing over his back for reassurance periodically. “Y/n! Oh my, you look as gorgeous as ever! Look at you both, so grown up.”

“Aha, yeah,” he forced a laugh, feeling her beady eyes flicker between himself and y/n. Y/n leant her head into him, his whole charade starting to feel less like a favour and more real with the longer they held each other. 

His aunt gasped, making them both flinch and his grip tighten. She soaked in the sight, the way that even after all the years, they still fit in each other’s figures and still looked at each other the same way. They were still the kids who would sneak off to Quinn’s room, and on one occasion, had their first kisses there. 

“You two!? How long? Tell me everything, I must know! Has he proposed yet? When’s the wedding? I have to write this down, am I getting a niece or nephew? Oh finally! Y/n, Quinn’s been talking about you for years and the way he looks at you, oh my-” 

“Caroline, relax,” y/n smiled, heart almost stopping when his thumb rubbed her hip gently, “It’s been a year, so we’re still at the start. We’ve only just discussed living together.” 

No other words were spoken, and his heart swelled, Caroline took her dramatic exit to find her husband. Quinn and y/n exhaled, bodies slumping into each other and melting into each other’s embrace, her ear pressed to his chest while her hands gave his back a reassuring rub. 

“So, you’re moving in huh? At least let me take you on a date first, show you what I can offer.” He chuckled softly, pulling away to cup one of her cheeks, her eyes glistening under the bright lights as she leant into his palm and one thousand little fireworks exploded inside her chest at once.

“Talking about me for years, huh? Damn, couldn’t even tell your best friend who you had a crush on,” she joked, catching his genuine smile creep into his face with rosy cheeks, “But a date sounds nice, I’d like that.” 

They basked in a pleasant silence between them, the world pausing in each other’s steady eyes until choruses of surprised voices echoed from the living room. Quickly, he slipped his phone from his pocket, using his free hand to text his brothers the situation before slotting it back, cupping both her cheeks with his hands and puffing his chest out. They had only a few minutes to figure out a story, but in hindsight, they’d been in love with each other for so long, it wouldn’t be that hard.

[moghedien]

I think that Popular works really well in the movie, because for one thing the comedic timing is great and it low key pulls off the unvocalized "why isn't Galinda unpacking her trunks" joke so well by having her open them all during Popular to reveal increasingly ridiculous and impossible things inside

but also I feel like it does Elphaba soooo much better when you sort of remove the audience being literally present in front of the performers.

because I wouldn't say that Popular is inherently always a mean spirited song on stage, but it is to some extend a joke a between the audience and Galinda at Elphaba's expense. like not entirely not even purposely from a character standpoint so don't start getting defensive, but on stage, with basically every song, they're performing to and looking at the audience when delivering these lines. if you remove that, then its exclusively between Galinda and Elphaba, and it just feels so different that way

For one thing, even before the song starts, the build up to it feels much more personal when they're sharing secrets and bonding and it is for the first time literally only them there during this scene. You see that Galinda hasn't really changed all that much in how she acts, she's just nicer now, but it feels like Elphaba might have.

Elphaba's guard is completely down for the first time and she's sooo much softer and letting herself smile, and you can see what she's smiling at a lot is specifically how Galinda is acting and reacting to her. like even when Galinda throws a tantrum at Elphaba not telling her a secret, you see that Elphaba's reaction is to smile and let her guard slip again and she just looks so fucking fond of Galinda even when she's being like that.

And Elphaba tells her something incredibly vulnerable and something that she has never told anyone, which is that she thinks she's responsible for Nessarose's disability and her mother's death and that her father hating her is deserved. This is the first time she's ever told anyone she feels like this, and Galinda's response is to tell her that she's wrong, that none of it is her fault and she doesn't deserve to be hated or have to live in guilt over it??? like hello?? can we actually talk about this more in general?

and like yes, all of this happens on stage, but without the audience literally being there, these little moments, these reassurances, these playful actions and kindnesses are literally only for the two of them and it isn't being played off for a literal punchline where they pause for a reaction before continuing. it just feels so much more intimate

Then you get into Popular itself, which I said always is a little bit of a joke at Elphaba's expense and I wouldn't say its entirely free of that in the movie. But if you have it so that literally the only person that Galinda is playing off of and getting reactions from IS Elphaba, it feels sooo different.

Like its built up because you have these moments where you can visibly see how much Elphaba is actually fond of Galinda and her silliness. And it makes so much sense that after that and after Galinda was the only person that basically said "you don't deserve to be hated" for something she genuinely blames herself for, that Elphaba would just sit there and let Galinda play dress up with her. And on Galinda's part, it is so much clearer that it IS something she's trying to do to help Elphaba (and we can discuss how fucked her worldview is for thinking this is the best way help Elphaba because Popular is basically Galinda also showing how deeply unwell she is) and not just a joke she's having with the audience.

Because like during the song, she's directing it all to Elphaba and all of the things they try on and do are only seen between the two of them because the audience isn't literally there. like its so much clearer that Elphaba wants to be there (even when she thinks its silly and ridiculous and is clearly questioning everything on the floor while Galinda swims around her like a gay little fish) and that she's enjoying it and letting herself enjoy it, and is specifically enjoying it because Galinda is the one there with her.

I think the movie just does it so well and it just feels much kinder than it sometimes does on stage

[grandmother-goblin]

No One Will Notice

Chapter 1

Ao3 - Masterlist

Summary: It had been nearly an entire day since Emmrich's wonderful date with Rook in the Memorial Gardens, but he couldn't help but worry that he had left a less-than-favorable impression. Especially given the disastrously awkward end to the evening.

Relationships: Emmrich x Female!Rook

Rating: Explicit (18+) for eventual smut.

Word Count: 3.7k

Tags: Kitchen make-outs, romance, fluff, age-gap, relationship discussion about aforementioned age-gap, gratuitous overthinking.

The small, antique clock atop the fireplace in Emmrich’s room ticked away another minute, and it felt like it was taunting him. Reminding him that he had made next to no progress in reviewing a colleague’s latest book based on studies of lesser known and rare spirits. A fascinating topic, and one that he had been looking forward to reading, but he couldn’t focus.

He hadn’t been able to focus on anything. Not on the book in his lap, or his lessons with Manfred. His mind even wandered off whilst in the middle of corpse-whispering. His date with Isera in the Memorial Gardens last night had consumed his every thought.

It played over and over again in his mind like a carousel of ephemeral memories. Most of which were quite pleasant — Isera’s red painted lips as she smiled at him from across the table, the huskiness of her voice and the lightness of her laughter, the way her fingers played with his as she wordlessly asked to hold his hand, her soft moan when he captured her mouth with his…

The phantom of her touch lingered on his lips like a schoolboy who had their very first kiss. He swore he could still smell her perfume when he closed his eyes — a delicate mix of sandalwood and jasmine that he had inhaled when he lavished her slender throat with his lips. His face warmed when he thought of how she had breathlessly whispered his name, and what she might have sounded like had they gone further.

But that moment just outside of her bedroom cut through his heated memories like a shard of ice.

In retrospect, he could have handled things much better, but he had simply panicked. Emmrich rubbed his eyes with his forefinger and thumb, exhaling deeply as he tried to ward off the chill of discomfiture, knowing he had let his nerves get the best of him. All because of a persistent, nagging thought — one that he had incorrectly presumed he had already come to terms with — decided to rear its head the moment Isera’s eyes invitingly flickered toward the bedroom door.

Self-consciousness, shame, and fear doused his lust and desire in an instant.

Twenty-seven years.

Isera was twenty-seven years younger than him. Her bright eyes, deep-green like winter conifers and framed with long lashes, had no signs of crow's feet, and there wasn’t a single strand of grey in her dark brown hair.

He was old enough to be her father, yet he had been treating her as he would someone around his own age the entire night. Like they were two grown adults on a lovely date, which they were, but…

What would other people think when they saw him and Isera together? Would they think he was some lecherous old man, manipulating a young woman who didn’t know any better into bed? Would they judge Isera for being attracted to him and accuse her of unsavory motivations?

People would talk, regardless of either his or Isera’s feelings or intentions toward one another. Moving too quickly would only feed the worst of the people who would see their relationship in bad faith.

More than his own reputation, he worried for hers. What if she hadn’t thought things through? What if she ended up regretting spending the night with him? Emmrich would never have been able to forgive himself.

So, instead of accepting the invitation that he had secretly been hoping for the entire night, he had taken a step back.

He needed to be cautious. He needed to take things slower than he would have liked. For both of their sakes.

A teasing specter of belated regret haunted him, replaying the moment he had pulled away from her. The moment the desire in Isera’s eyes was replaced with hurt and confusion. How her throat bobbed as she swallowed down his rejection. How she gave him a hollow smile when he blamed the late hour and the wine and the need to be responsible. Reasons that had nothing to do with her, or his feelings towards her.

He should have just been honest with her.

He should have at least tried to correct himself before he said goodnight. But the damage had already been done and he feared any immediate attempt to rectify the situation would seem disingenuous. So instead, he had pressed a kiss to her forehead, a feeble attempt at reassurance. Considering how small her voice sounded when she bid him goodnight, it didn’t do much good.

Emmrich closed the book in his lap and stared at the dwindling flames in the fireplace, resting his chin on his hand as he leaned against the arm of his chair. After hours of teasing touches and stolen kisses… oh, he couldn’t begin to imagine what Isera might think of him.

The best he could hope for was that Isera saw the whole interaction as nothing more than the faux pas that it was, and she was willing to forgive him for leading her on for the entire evening. Had he been in her shoes, he would probably be wracking his brain trying to figure out where things had gone wrong.

A log in the fireplace crackled, and Emmrich’s eyes followed a single bright orange ember as it blackened, burning out in the soot. If he didn’t talk to Isera soon, he feared his relationship with her might do the same.

They hadn’t spoken since they had parted ways last night. Emmrich hadn’t seen her at breakfast, or while he was assisting Bellara with one of her projects in the courtyard, or when he had spent an hour reading in the main library where he had secretly hoped he would catch her. Perhaps on her way into or out of her room, or the courtyard, or even the eluvian. Most days, he would have run into her at least once or twice, but not today.

Well, enough was enough. Emmrich stood from his chair and returned his colleague’s book to the bookshelf, knowing he was in no state to give it a proper review while Isera occupied his every thought. He needed to talk to her. The only reason he hadn’t done so sooner was that part of him had been hoping that Isera would have sought him out as she usually did, giving him some reassurance that everything was still okay between them.

But she hadn’t. And if she was upset with him, he needed to do whatever he could to try to ameliorate the situation.

That was, of course, if she still wanted him.

Emmrich turned to a small, ornate mirror he kept perched on a bookshelf and quickly checked over his reflection. “You’re being ridiculous,” he muttered to himself as he straightened his collar pin. “You just made a bit of a fool of yourself, that’s all. There is nothing to worry about. Isera will be perfectly understanding.”

Talking to himself helped soothe his anxiety, if only a little bit. Sometimes it was easier to put his problems into perspective by saying them aloud. What happened outside the bedroom was just a tiny hiccup in their relationship — a learning experience.

According to the clock above the fireplace, it was close to supper time. Provided that the cooking rotation hadn’t changed without him knowing, he knew he would find Isera in the kitchen making something delicious. Perhaps he could see if she required any assistance and, if they were alone, he could talk to her before the team all sat down to eat.

Ideally, he and Isera could have a productive conversation and everything would be good between them before their companions could suspect something was amiss.

He and Isera had yet to discuss how to broach the topic of their relationship with the rest of the team. It was so new, and it hadn’t seemed necessary. But he would hate for the others to find out in less than ideal circumstances. He would never hear the end of it.

Worry trickled into his stomach again at the thought of what their companions might think; an old man like himself in a relationship with a young woman like Isera…

Emmrich pushed those thoughts aside before they could catch a foothold in his mind. The others could think whatever they wanted to think. Isera was the only person he needed to be worried about. Everyone else’s opinion was secondary.

Isera was a grown woman, perfectly capable of making her own decisions about whose company she wished to keep. And she had shown that time and time again that she wanted him with her soft smiles, silken kisses and sweet words.

And it was high time he assured her that he still wanted her too.

—

Isera laid another thin sheet of pasta over her carefully measured dollops of a mushroom and ricotta mixture. She had made this recipe dozens of times, yet she had still made a few more mistakes while constructing the ravioli than she cared to admit. Nothing unsalvageable, but it did end up taking more time than she had expected.

Normally she would have picked something easier to make for the team than homemade pasta, but after her date with Emmrich ended somewhat awkwardly, she found herself craving some comfort food.

Her face heated as she remembered the mild panic on Emmrich’s face when he pulled away from her. It was as if he had suddenly realized he had forgotten something important — something that needed to be addressed immediately. But instead of telling her what that something was, he gave her a flimsy excuse about the late hour and walked away like he had other places to be.

It didn’t feel right. Not because he had turned her down, but it was more about the manner in which he did so. If he wasn’t comfortable with going further, she was perfectly fine with that. It simply seemed odd to her that they had been tiptoeing toward the bedroom the entire night only for him to turn tail once they got to the door.

Had she completely misread the situation? Her stomach fluttered at the memory of his hands on her hips, and the subtle roughness of his facial hair against her skin as his lips dragged down her neck to her collarbone.

Isera shook her head. Something happened. Something must have happened. She just didn’t know what. What was worse, she wasn’t even sure how to ask him about it. What could she say? Hey, I know you said you wanted to stop last night because it was late but I think that’s bullshit and you should tell me what was really going on?

There was a reason why none of her previous relationships had lasted very long, and it was mostly her own fault. Being direct and honest worked great for her professionally, but in interpersonal relationships or matters that required a more delicate touch, not so much. It was something she was working on.

Waiting for a pot of water to come to a boil, Isera leaned against the kitchen counter and took a sip from her glass of white wine. If Emmrich simply wasn’t ready to spend the night together, she wished he would have said as much. At least then she could stop fretting over whether or not she had done something wrong.

Whatever happened last night, more than anything, she hoped Emmrich was okay. She hoped she hadn’t made him uncomfortable, or made him feel pressured — that was the last thing she wanted. She hoped that the awkwardness was just new relationship jitters and nothing more.

She took another slow sip of wine—

“Isera, darling?”

The wine caught in the back of her throat. Turning away from the counter, she managed to swallow it down before breaking into a pathetic, barely stifled, coughing fit.

Yep, that was exactly the first thing she wanted him to see after last night. If he hadn’t been attracted to her before, he certainly would be now.

“Hi, Emmrich,” she croaked, her cheeks burning from nearly choking on her wine and her dignity.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, my dear,” he said with a warm chuckle as he approached. “Can I get you anything? Perhaps some water?”

Isera shook her head. Given her luck, she’d probably choke on the water too. “I’m good,” she said, catching her breath. “Let’s just pretend you didn’t see that.”

“You’ve nothing to be embarrassed about,” he said, smiling at her in a way that oddly made her feel a little better. At least, it made her feel like he wasn’t completely disgusted by her. “These sorts of things happen. I’ve certainly had my fair share of such moments.”

“You should tell me one of them. Just to make us even.”

“Oh, give it time,” he replied. “I’m certain things will even out in that department soon enough.”

A smile tugged on the corner of her lip at the implication; if he thought he would be around long enough to embarrass himself, perhaps she hadn’t turned him off from her after all.

“Dinner should be ready in the next half hour.” Isera turned her attention back to the pot of now boiling water. “I just have to finish up the sauce and cook the pasta.”

Emmrich’s hand brushed over the small of her back as he looked over her shoulder. “Is there anything I can do to provide some assistance,” he asked, his tone light and friendly, like there wasn’t a hint of anything wrong between them. “Though it seems like you’ve done most of the hard work. The pasta looks absolutely perfect, by the way.”

The compliment combined with his causal touch made her stomach do a funny little flip. “Thank you,” she said, sounding more composed than she felt. “If you want to cook the ravioli for me, that would be very helpful. We’ll have to cook them in a few batches.”

Emmrich pressed a brief kiss to the top of her head. “Consider it done, my dear,” he said and went to the sink. He pushed up his sleeves and his bracelets far enough that he could wash his hands without getting anything else wet, and Isera couldn’t help the smile tugging on her lips as she watched him from the corner of her eye. It wasn’t uncommon for Mourn Watchers, especially senior ones, to wear their grave goods as part of their daily attire, but Isera couldn’t remember the last time she had been so entranced by someone’s jewelry.

Or, perhaps, her fascination only had to do with the man wearing it.

Last night, she had asked him about his rings as she played with his hands. One had once belonged to his father, another had a protective enchantment, yet another was one that he wore simply because he enjoyed it. She remembered the feel of them against her skin when laced his fingers with her own, when he cupped her face and brought his mouth to hers, when he slipped his hands beneath her shirt….

Focus. If she messed up dinner because she was too busy thinking about Emmrich, she was never going to let herself live that down.

Isera turned her attention to the cutting board and kitchen knife she had set out earlier and began to work on preparing garlic for the sauce. Behind her, she could hear Emmrich starting on his own task.

Although everything seemed like it had gone back to normal between them, Isera’s found herself unable to relax as the silence stretched between them. Normally, bouts of silence between her and Emmrich were perfectly comfortable, but not now.

“I had a lot of fun last night,” Isera said, knowing she would drive herself mad if she didn’t at least try to talk to him about what had been plaguing her mind all day. She just had to be careful about it. Nothing too direct. She didn’t want to accidentally accuse him of something that only existed in her head.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he replied, sounding genuine. “Although, speaking of last night, there is something I want to talk to you about. Regarding when we parted for the evening.”

Anticipatory dread dropped down in her stomach, and she set her chopping aside before her nerves caused her to make a mistake. “I’ve been wanting to talk about that too. I feel like I might have misread the situation, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Isera, you didn’t misread anything.” His voice was so soft and warm that it immediately eased some of her anxiety. “You were perfect, my dear. I’m the one who ought to apologize for making you doubt yourself for even a moment.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him with a slight frown. “It was hard not to think so,” she said. “You left so suddenly. I felt like I had done something wrong and you were just making an excuse to leave.”

Emmrich sighed. “I suppose I was, but it was just…” His lips drew into a thin line as he stared at the pot as if he hoped it would finish his sentence for him. “Until that moment— If we were closer in age, I wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But with the years between us, I worried that taking that step too soon might negatively impact your perception of me.”

“But you knew that going into this.”

“I know,” he agreed, his voice soft and twinged with unmistakable shame. “I suppose it didn’t truly sink in until then.”

Isera leaned back against the counter and picked up her glass of wine, needing something to do with her hands as her stomach tied itself in knots.

There wasn’t anything she could do if he truly found himself uncomfortable with the years between them. While she would be incredibly frustrated that he hadn’t spoken up sooner, maybe even a little angry, she would accept it. She’d have to. At least he would have nipped their romantic relationship in the bud rather than waiting for it to bloom.

Isera took a sip of her wine and turned her gaze downward, mentally counting the tiles on the floor as the seconds stretched on. “So what does that mean? Do you… want to stop?”

A wooden spoon clattered against the counter. “No!” he said and crossed the kitchen in a few long strides. “No, no, no. Not at all.”

Carefully, he took the glass of wine from her and set it on the counter behind her. Then he gathered her hands in his, giving them reassuring squeeze as he looked at her imploringly. “It means I spent the entire day wishing I had simply asked you if you thought we were moving too quickly instead of making the decision for both of us.” His thumb brushed over hers soothingly and he sighed. “I let my nerves get the better of me. And for that, I’m sorry. It had nothing to do with you. I need you to know that.”

Slowly, the tension in her muscles eased as she absorbed his words. A relieved breath of laughter passed her lips. “I was worried that I had scared you off.”

“Impossible, dearest.” The warm metal of his jewelry against her skin was like a balm to her frayed nerves as he adjusted his hold on her hand. As if she were some sort of lady rather than a warrior, he brought her fingers to his lips. Without breaking his gaze, he pressed a lingering kiss to her knuckles. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Warmth pooled in the pit of her stomach as her heartbeat quickened, her worries evaporating into the ether. “Are you sure?” she asked, the question genuine despite the playfulness of her tone. “You might have to convince me.”

“Absolutely,” he said and took a step closer, forcing her to tilt her head back to see him. He dragged his thumb across her lower lip as he cradled her face in his palms. “But I could certainly try to convince you anyway.”

“I think you should.”

“As do I,” Emmrich whispered, his mouth brushing against hers as he spoke.

His long, elegant, fingers slid to the nape of her neck, threading through her dark hair, before he covered her mouth with his. Isera inhaled deeply as she looped her arms around his neck, breathing in the scent of him — the faint smell of his aftershave, like citrus and tea leaves, and the clean scent of his soap. His presence, his touch, enveloped her completely. It was all too easy to forget where they were.

Soft but commanding, he nudged her mouth open with a confident stroke of his tongue. She let him walk her back until he nearly had her bent over the countertop, her body pressed between the hard surface and the firm contours of his body. Despite friendly jokes claiming otherwise from Davrin and Taash, Emmrich was remarkably fit. As if to prove it, he slid his arms around her and lifted her easily onto the edge of the counter.

Her hands cupped his face as he continued to kiss her like there was nothing in the world he would rather be doing. Heat pooled deep within her as he tilted her head, exploring her mouth with satiny strokes of his tongue. She couldn’t help but smile at the delicate tickle of his mustache against her skin as his mouth caught hers again and again and again.

“Emmrich,” she breathed, lifting her mouth from his. “As much as I hate to ruin the mood… the pasta…”

His eyes widened with a brief, minor, flash of alarm. “Oh, dear.” He pressed another brief, heated kiss to her lips before scurrying across the kitchen to rescue the first batch of ravioli. “It appears they survived our momentary inattentiveness.”

Isera laughed and slid off of the counter. “I should have picked something that doesn’t cook so quickly.”

“Not sure if that would have helped,” he replied as he started on the next batch. “You could keep me occupied for hours, my dear.”

Crimson colored her cheeks, ignited by the heat in his words the spark of desire in his gaze. She swallowed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Emmrich stirred the pot. “So will I.”

---

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

[heavenorhella2001]

This had never occurred to me way back when when I first watched playthroughs of the game/played it myself, but;

Seeing this post made me remember Max's meltdown, when she was trapped in her own mind/a broken version of reality.

And seeing this now?

Max definitely has PTSD.

Everyone always primarily discusses/ focuses on Chloe's trauma (which is understandable. I'll always be a Chloe defender and don't want to downplay her trauma by any means.)

But, unfortunately, Max's is overlooked.

Now, a lot of people might view this skeptically, question the idea of Max having PTSD. To many, it might seem like Max doesn't really have any lasting form of major trauma after the events of the game. Maybe she really was content and at peace and happy-go-lucky. (I've always scoffed at that scene at Chloe's funeral, when Max smiles at the butterfly.) And I'll admit, within the context of the story maybe we aren't supposed to think so. But if that's the case I just have to assume that's due to the developing team's lack of knowledge, experience with mental health and how it works, the impact things like this have on someone. Not that they are coming from a malicious place, of course. But very rarely does a person 'get it' unless they've been through it themselves. The average person simply won't understand.

But if you see everything I've described here as it's laid out, it makes total sense;

Let's talk about Jefferson. He is just one of many elements in the game contributing to Max's trauma. He was her teacher, someone she looked up to, respected, and was supposed to be able to trust. She truly felt safe around him. It's implied she had a crush on him. But her image of him completely shattered. After the truth about him was revealed, she was no longer able to trust her own judgement of people, her perception of reality.

He drugged her when she was vulnerable, and she was helpless to watch as he shot and killed the love of her life right in front of her. He kidnapped her, and she was thrown from the frying pan right into the fire. When she woke up she was tied up in a basement, helpless, and he had burned all her photos. Not only precious memories, but also one of her only means of going back and fixing things. He then took photos of her, over and over, this went on for who knows how long, while she was drugged, tied up and helpless, in order to satisfy his own perversions. Throughout, he mocked and tormented her.

Then, let's go into what happened with Chloe. Having to watch her best friend, the girl she loved, die over and over and over again. Max felt responsible for fixing it, preventing it, because she was the only one who possibly could. She would blame herself, think of it as a failure on her part each time Chloe died.

After watching her die in various ways, so many times, I'm sure Max questioned if she really even could save Chloe- or if Chloe was supposed to die from the start, and the universe was determined to restore the balance, no matter what Max did or how hard she tried.

And then there's Kate. This could go one of two ways depending on your choices, one of which is infinitely worse and more traumatizing, but either way it would definitely have haunted Max and left an impact on her.

Imagine how you would feel, knowing one of your closest friends was being bullied. Knowing they have been drunk/drugged and taken advantage of at a party. Yet instead of anyone coming forward, doing the right thing and helping Kate out of that situation, everyone at the party instead weaponized it, used it against her, slut-shamed her even though she wasn't in her right mind, was barely even conscious and was in no way able to consent to anything that was happening. Not that slut-shaming her would have in any way been okay or excusable even if Kate was acting of her own volition. Knowing that, even though you don't agree/don't identify with that, that your friend is deeply religious and clings to faith as a means of comfort. Knowing that she feels like a failure, that she feels like she's betrayed her faith, everything she stands for, and her family, even though she was in fact a victim in her situation. Being able to read letters, watching her family victim-blame her, hide behind their beliefs as a means to tear down someone they should feel obligated to protect, to support. Watching your friend be alienated by everyone around her, including her own family. Watching the school bullies write obscenities about your friend on the walls, and in the bathroom, make jabs at her and taunt her at every possible opportunity. Your friend's light has begun to dim, she starts pulling away from you, begins hiding away in her room more, which now feels like a dark, oppresive void. You know your friend is depressed, and you're trying to be supportive in any way you can, but there's a distance building between you you feel you can't bridge.

Then it happens. She kills herself/tries to kill herself. In front of you, and everyone who tormented her. Even then, the people who hurt her have no shame, laughing and recording her when she's in crisis. You begin to question and blame yourself, blaming youself for not noticing something was severely wrong earlier, not recognizing the impending signs for what they were. You want to help your friend, to save her, but your powers at failing you at the worst possible time. You only get one chance to do this, like everyone else, and you have to do it the right way.

If Max managed to talk Kate down, that's still an instense emotional weight, still a serious event to work through and process.

If Kate jumps…well…

Max feels like a failure. Like she contributed to Kate's death just as much as everyone else. Like she may as well have pushed Kate off that ledge herself. Not only watching your friend die in front of you, but knowing that it was self-inflicted in a moment of desperation, that they chose to do so and your words had no effect…

Now, the end of the game. Depending on what you choose, Max either has to to feel an immeasurable weight on her conscience, the responsibility for the destruction of the town where she was born. Where she grew up. Where she has countless memories, despite its' faults. The deaths of almost everyone there she's ever known.

Including (especially) Joyce.

The guilt of feeling like she took Chloe's mom away from her too, after Chloe had already lost her dad.

Oh. And that reminds me.

It was an incredible miracle, Max discovering her ability to go back through time via photos. Being able to go back 5 years, to when she and Chloe were only 13, before all the horror had happened, and save William. The sense of sheer relief, happiness and accomplishment she felt. She felt like a hero.

Only for it to all blow up in her face in the worst possible way.

Seeing Chloe, now a total shell of her former self. Completely disabled, and paralyzed. Helpless. Unable to live on her own. Seeing firsthand the emotional and financial stress William and Joyce are going through as a result of the accident. Chloe having so little quality of life that she pleads with Max to kill her, because she can't even do it herself.

(This is not my narrative or opinion on Chloe's situation, by the way. This is how it's portrayed. Quality of life, determining whether your life is worth living to due a life-changing accident or consequent disability is the choice of the invidual whom it effects. I'm not saying that anyone in Chloe's situation, who is paralyzed would inherently have no quality of life or no reason to live. That really depends on the invidiual, what that person needs in order to truly live and thrive, whether that person has family and friends and an emotional/practical support system in their life, etc. For Chloe, for me, and for many other people, though not all, living that kind of life would not be worth it.)

Max, depending on your choices, having to kill Chloe, to choose the merciful path, allow Chloe to exercise her autonomy in a world in which she can no longer do so and put her out of her misery. Knowing that she's doing for Chloe what she'd want someone to do for her if she were in that situation, yet still full of pain and regrets.

Max then having to go back and undo it all. Allow William to die again. Watch Chloe experience that horror and trauma again, knowing now she could've prevented it. But at what cost?

Lastly, if you chose to let Chloe go. To let her die.

That makes it immeasurably worse in my opinion.

The week she and Chloe spent together, reconnecting and rebulding their friendship, everything they went through together, would essentially never have happened.

Chloe, in this timeline, died alone in a bathroom. She never recieved any sort of closure, never got to know what happened to Rachel, questioning if Rachel perhaps just abandoned her, similarly to how Max did.

She never got to resolve things with Max, never heard from her again. She never got to know that Max still loved her, still cared about her and thought of her, but was too scared and guilty to reach out.

She never got to patch up things with her mom, or with David.

Everything Max went through. Everything she experienced.

To recap:

Having to watch her best friend, the woman she loves, die over and over again, feeling helpless, trapped in this endless, hellish cycle of death.

Being lulled into a false sense of security, betrayed and abducted by someone she thought she could trust, someone she looked up to.

Witnessing firsthand Kate's suicide/attempt, feeling like she failed her.

Being forced to let William die again, and force Joyce and Chloe to suffer that loss again.

Having to watch Joyce mourn her only daughter, after already losing her husband. Knowing she could've prevented it.

Everything that happened would still exist, but only in Max's mind.

She has no one she could ever confide in, talk to, or open up about it.

Chloe, for her, was that person.

No one would believe her, albeit understandably.

It's implied her powers vanish after she goes back that final time to let Chloe die.

She'd have no way to prove her story was true.

Carrying the weight of that burden, that knowledge and trauma, alone, would drive anyone insane.

Feeling like everything she went through, all the efforts she made to keep Chloe alive, were pointless.

I don't believe there is any way Max could be okay after that.

She'd be a hollow shell, just going through the motions. Totally disconnected from the world and the people around her. (Understandably. Who the hell could she connect to? Who would understand her?) Everyone at Blackwell, and their student lives and petty drama would feel so insignificant. So incredibly stupid and shallow to Max after what she's been through.

In fact, I've always felt - years after the events of the game, were you to choose to let Chloe die - that Max likely killed herself.

Over time, she probably began to question herself, to feel crazy, and begin wondering whether any of what happened, actually did, or if it was just something her mind created.

Max's trauma, her thoughts and emotions in regards to all of this are reflected in this part of the game, her mental breakdown. You can see her self-loathing, the way she blames and criticizes herself, in her interactions with herself and in her distorted journal entries.

Anyway. I never really liked Max all that much as a protagonist.

I thought she was a pushover, a little shallow, cared too much about what people like Victoria thought of her. I thought it was pretty unforgivable the way she ghosted Chloe, at the most traumatic, formative time of Chloe's life, when she had just lost the most important person in her life, besides Max. I understand anxiety, feeling awkward, helpless and flailing in that situation and not knowing what to say or do to make it better, but it just doesn't matter to me. Nothing excuses that.

However…

Max, did ultimately (well, depending on your choice at the ending,) make it right.

This has given me some perspective, and I have a lot more empathy for her now.

     you thought you could control everybody and everything, huh?      —   twist time around your fingers?

[sbcdh]

You know where the word cocaine comes from? Its Quechua. Just the name of the damn plant. I think it was 1971, maybe 72. I dunno- 

Could you start at the beginning?

Huh? Yeah, sure. Course. Uhh. Lets see…

Take your time. 

Woof. Lets see…I started in uhhh, 72. Some tiny little bottle-rocket firm sweatin for talent, head broker was this big red fatass named Ron Spade, hell of a guy, but the place got bought out by Bear Stearns in 73 when the shit really hit the fan. It was a rough time to be on a trade floor. IRS just put out the whole hypnoeconomics thing. Half the big firms were runnin’ around with their hair on fire, the other half felt invincible. Every day was a party. Party party party. 

Was that your first interaction with hypnostimulants? 

I guess. Its funny. First guy to give me quori was a cop. 

You mean an agent of the FDA? 

No no, like an old fashioned NYPD beat cop. Met him in the bathroom at Pink during a bender. Moron was so faded he thought I was his informant. Just gave me a phial. 

And you tried it?

Not right away no. To be honest I thought it was kinda faggy. Sorry. Its just what I thought at the time. The shit was sparkly, you know? What kinda drug comes in phials? Shoulda known something was up. 

Would you say hypnostimulants were popular at the time? 

At the time? Depends what you mean by popular. People didn’t know about that shit yet. You heard stories, dudes shooting up in the woods upstate, gettin found with their eyeballs exploded. It was early days, ya know? But like, that didn’t happen. That was urban legends. You know who was actually fucking around with the early stuff? Accountants. 

Accountants?

Yeah, you know, the bookkeepers. See,  I’m really just a plumber. I move money from one pipe to another pipe. But instead of wrenches and sprockets or whatever, I use charm. Its pretty easy if you ask me. Imagine if you could just tell water where it already wanted to go. You’re water’s best pal. Nah. It was those nerds in the basement, the spreadsheet guys that figured out how to expense shit so the IRS couldn’t get ya. Those were the fuckers who really dove in. 

What got you using regularly? 

Same shit as everyone else. Makes the job easier. 

How so?

You can feel the money in their pocket. Its like, I dunno how to describe it. Its like…Its like, a turd sitting in a hammock. You can feel how the money bends everything around it. You can see it, smell it. You can hear it over the phone. You can’t ignore it. Shit is nuts. You take enough, and its like you can’t see anything else. Or. No. Its like…You see that you don’t need to see anything else. Money is everything. You’re money. I’m money. Its all just rivers of money flowing through everything. 

By 1973 you were a regular user yes?

Regular makes it sound normal. But yeah I know what you mean. “Regular user.”  76 was the sweet spot. The drugs were good, but the regulators hadn’t stepped up yet. You and some buddies could set up in a club bathroom with nothing but a blindfold and a pile. You ever seen a stock floor with a headfull of that fancy government shit? 

Would you like to discuss the raid? 

No. Not really. 

I understand you were the only one in a sub-emmanation state when Hypnoregulators arrived on the scene. 

I don't want to talk about it. 

Very well then, my associate will be happy to take you to prison as per the agreement you signed. 

Alright alright, Christ. 

Please. In your own words. 

From what I understand, you pulled spade outta bed. Got a confession and everything that morning. 9 fuckin AM, and 200 IRS agents come busting in the doors. I was in the bathroom seeing shit. It's marble lined, lots gold filigree. All that jazz. Special made. Listen. I'm serious about the stock floor shit. Whatever you guys have, it's different than what we had back then. I mean, the shit was still cut with cocaine. A stock floor wasn't a stock floor, it was like…

The raid, please. 

I'm getting to it! You gotta know this shit okay? I need you to understand what you goons fuckin wrecked. It was perfect okay? A garden of Eden . Ripe fruit. Everything just works. You don't have to worry about shit. You're a hunter, a killer, the great fuckin god pan, and the floor is your field of delights. It's like being a beating heart, like being struck by lightning. You can feel the sun in your pocket, and how it's all flowing through everything. And then you fucks showed up. 

It was cold. I felt it first. Like I just threw the biggest party, and mom and dad were coming home early. But you know what I saw? You know those Chinese dragon dancers? Or, lions, or whatever they are? You know how there's two guys in the costume? I saw a dragon, a beast with eyes like the sun, teeth dripping gold, a bunch of IRS suits holding its pelt on their shoulders like you carry your baby home. 

Your statement alluded to some additional information. 

Yeah…there was something else… I dunno how to describe it. The fuckin…eyes, like the sun. Thats how you feel when you're on this shit. You're seein’ gold. I looked into the dragons eyes, and it's like, it's like I saw me. Like I was the dragon, and I was looking at me. Or…no. I was the sun. I was looking at myself. It was like, in that moment I knew something. I learned something. 

What exactly is that?

I dunno. It doesn't fit into words. But like. You aren't regulating shit. 

I'm sorry? 

Yeah. All this shit. The dragon. The field. The dancers. It's all just the sun.

[lostatsea-blog]

Aftermath Part 1

Alexia Putellas x Bronze Reader

Warnings: None

The immediate aftermath of the ACL injury. This is a 3 part fic and will go between different POVs

Alexia’s POV

Numb, that is the only way to describe how you feel right now. There is noise, chatter and movement all around you but you cannot process anything. Mapi is besides you, answering questions asked by the doctor while you remain silent. You did not need a doctor to know what had happened, you knew the second you felt the pop and your knee gave out under you. Everything you had worked so hard for was being taken away and you did not even have it in you to cry. Mapi had tried to get you to talk but you had remained silent and so after a while, she stopped trying. Your first European championship group match was due to take place tomorrow but you knew that your tournament was over and now your career hung in the air. You were Alexia Putellas, Ballon d’Or winner, the best in the world but now you were nothing more than a failure, who had let her nation down. Mapi had told you that they were trying to get hold of y/n, but you knew it was no use. y/n had joined the England camp two weeks ago and they were having very little contact with anyone outside their bubble, which included you. It did not matter anyway. y/n was also one of the greats in the women’s game and would not want a failure like you holding her back.

After a series of scans and X-rays, the diagnosis was confirmed. You had torn your ACL and would not be competing in this tournament. It would also be a significant period of rehabilitation so you likely would not be involved in Barcelona’s upcoming season either. After discussions with the doctor, you were released to return to the team hotel, where you would have to make preparations to return to Spain for surgery and rehabilitation at Barcelona. In all honesty you did not know if you wanted that rehabilitation, you did not know if you ever wanted to kick a ball again. You knew that your silence was unsettling Maria but you could not bring yourself to care. You did not want comfort or reassurances that everything would be okay. The van that had brought you to the hospital also returned you to the team hotel with your knee propped up along the back seat. As you sat and stared at the compression bandage covering it, you could not help but feel a sense of betrayal. Your body had betrayed you and you could not bare to look at it.

Once back at the hotel, you were taken into the dining room where the rest of the team were eating dinner. Food was placed in front of you but the rolling in the pit of your stomach made it impossible to eat. You could hear whispers all around you but did not have the energy to engage with any of your team. They told you that they had not been able to contact y/n but would keep trying. Again, you told them not to bother. She still had a chance at becoming European champion and you did not want her wasting her time on you. Once dinner was over you hobbled to your room and collapsed on your bed allowing yourself to fall into what felt like oblivion. You don’t know how long you had been there wallowing in your misery when you were interrupted by an insistent knock on your door..

[araneapeixes]

ough ngl that is a perfect shadowheart penis! You think shadowheart and you go yeah that IS her cock! It's perfect, no notes, 10/10, i wish i could be lae'zel i mean good for her!

LMAO thank u thank u 😌 I am bit of a shadowheart understander so im glad that extends to her peanis

[stellarsecrets86]

Sun In Signs Of Groom Persona Chart

Other posts you might like:

Masterlist

[PS: These are my own observations. For entertainment purposes only. Have fun.💚]

🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩

(Sun in a groom persona chart represents his core identity, ego, and how he presents himself as a husband. It is symbolic of his willpower, leadership qualities, self-expression, and the life force that he brings into the marital relationship. The position of the Sun in the signs shows what kind of energy he carries, how he would handle responsibilities, and what role he would play in the union.)

Sun in Aries

In the groom pc, having Sun in Aries attracts bold, energetic, and passionate spouse. Most likely, he would be the head or the dominant in the relation. It makes him very adventurous, enthusiastic to try everything new in this marriage, but his individuality could overpower him and cause impatience or dominance. He is the protector of his woman, even taking on the role of "hero" when it comes to his girlfriend or wife. He is independent and may require a partner who can appreciate their energetic vibes while maintaining emotional equilibrium. His leadership can be inspiring, yet it should also be modulated to include his partner's needs.

{Spouse likely has a sharp, angular face with prominent features and a high forehead, exuding confidence and energy.}

Sun in Taurus

The Sun in Taurus makes the groom a practical and reliable person as he values stability. He feels good if his environment is comfortable and secure, and he works hard to make his partner feel valued. Taurus Suns are sensual and base a lot of their marital satisfaction on physical connection and comfort. They can be resistant to change and love routine and tradition. They are loyal partners but at times can be possessive. The beauty, luxury, and finer things in life are truly appreciated by this groom, and he often strives to create a beautiful home.

{Spouse may have a round or oval face with soft, symmetrical features and a pleasant, earthy charm.}

Sun in Gemini

He is curious, communicative, and versatile. He brings intellectual excitement and humor into the relationship, never a dull moment. Versatile and sociable, he likes to share ideas and enjoy lively discussions with his mate. His restless nature may at times make him appear inconsistent, absent-minded, and so on. He needs a partner who can appreciate his lively mind and understand his varied interests. This groom does well in relationships with good lines of communication and shared curiosity.

{The spouse could have a narrow, oval face with expressive eyes and lively, youthful features.}

Sun in Cancer

He is deeply nurturing, empathetic, and protective. He values emotional connection and creates a sense of home and family in the marriage. His intuitive nature makes him highly attuned to his partner's needs, often going out of his way to provide comfort. At times, he may struggle with moodiness or clinginess. A Cancer Sun groom needs a partner who understands his sensitivity and shares his desire for a close-knit family life.

{A moon-like, round or soft face with gentle, nurturing expressions is typical for the spouse.}

Sun in Leo

He is charismatic, warm-hearted, and proud. He looks at marriage as a stage on which to shine and generally assumes a leadership role in the relationship. Generous and loyal, he loves showering his partner with affection and admiration and expects admiration in return. While his confidence can be inspiring, he may at times come off as self-centered. This groom does best when his partner supports his ambitions and shares his enthusiasm for life.

{The spouse often has a regal, well-defined face with strong bone structure and a radiant, magnetic presence.}

Sun in Virgo

Husband is practical, detail-oriented, and committed to his self-improvement project. He brings stability and dependability into the relationship, many times going out of his way in order to solve problems and make good order. He loves his partner who shares an appreciation for organization and hard work. Sometimes, he could make his partner's life hard through being too critical or perfectionist, which might be a tense source in their relationship. When a Virgo Sun husband is appreciated for his work, he thrives.

{Spouse may possess a delicate, heart-shaped face with fine, symmetrical features and a refined appearance.}

Sun in Libra

Husband is charming, tactful, and loves to establish a marriage that is just harmonious. He prefers justice and desires a balanced partnership wherein both parties are equal. His love for aesthetics and romance alone can create a beautiful and loving environment for his spouse. Nevertheless, his need to evade conflicts may at times elicit indecision or repression of his own needs. A Libra Sun husband thrives well in a relationship where mutual respect and collaboration are established.

{The spouse likely has an oval or symmetrical face with balanced, harmonious features and an attractive, graceful demeanor.}

Sun in Scorpio

Husband of a Scorpio Sun in the groom pc will be an experience of depth, passion, and an almost irreversible commitment. Pressing into intense intimacy, or a probe into the depths of life, are the ways he might pursue his partner. He desires transformation for himself and from his partner. This could mean he sometimes can become possessive or controlling. A Scorpio Sun needs trust, honesty, and emotional toughness from his wife to have a successful marriage.

{Spouse may have a square or intense face with piercing eyes, strong jawlines, and an enigmatic aura.}

Sun in Sagittarius

The Sagittarius Sun in groom pc husband is free-spirited, optimistic, and adventurous. He has fun in the relationship and gives his partner an urge for new experiences. Freedom is important to him, and he needs a partner who will respect his need for freedom. While his enthusiasm is contagious, his lack of focus or commitment to some routines may frustrate the spouse at times. A Sagittarius Sun husband really thrives when his mate loves adventure and personal growth as he does.

{A long, oval face with high cheekbones and a bright, adventurous expression often describes the spouse.}

Sun in Capricorn

Ambitious, responsible, and intent upon building a stable future, the Capricorn Sun groom regards marriage as both an obligation and an opportunity to extend his role of provider and protector. Practical by nature, he works hard to assure a successful long-term partnership, though at times his work or responsibilities may make him appear a little distant or serious. An Capricorn Sun boyfriend thrives in an appreciation of his efforts within a relationship and feels supported on his journey to success.

{The spouse may have a chiseled, rectangular face with defined bone structure and a mature, poised look.}

Sun in Aquarius

The groom with the Sun in Aquarius is a nonconformist who values independence and individuality in his marriage. He brings a unique twist into the relationship and mostly confronts conventional standards. While intellectually and socially attached, he values a partner who sees his vision for progress and change. His detached nature may sometimes make him emotionally unavailable. This groom thrives in relationships where freedom and mutual respect are emphasized.

{Spouse could have a unique or unconventional face shape, often oval, with sharp features and a futuristic vibe.}

Sun in Pisces

The Pisces Sun is the groom pc is compassionate, dreamy, and emotionally intuitive. He marries with the utmost romanticism and idealizes his spouse. His creative and emotional nature makes him a tender and caring partner. Since he can sometimes be very imaginary and flee from strife, he can create misunderstandings. A Pisces Sun feels most happy with a spouse who can share his emotions and creativity.

{A soft, rounded face with dreamy, delicate features and expressive, soulful eyes is common for the spouse.}

[Each Sun sign brings with it the peculiarities of the groom and his peculiar influence on him within the marriage. Understanding such dynamics will help nurture compatibility and a deeper connection.]

[blueberrymocha]

lying to them *ೃ༄

┌──────────────────────────────────────┐

ׂ╰┈➤ fluff

➣ characters: gon, killua, kurapika, leorio, hisoka, illumi, chrollo

➣ word count: x

└──────────────────────┘

scenario:

“you’re home late, where’ve you been?”

———————————————————————————————————————

gon

- he doesn’t realize at all because even if he does, he’ll tell himself he’s got it wrong

- sees you as too good to lie to him

“you meant to say x right?“

- his absolute trust in you would compel you to come clean then and there

- part of him is upset that you’d lie, but he tries his best to remain calm

- if you’re willing to have a reasonable discussion about it, so is he

- but if you argue, play dumb, or act dismissive, it’d quickly turn into a full blown fight

- honesty is important to him, so while he appreciates your confession

- the fact that you lied in the first place would make him reconsider his boundaries and your relationship

killua

- he wouldn’t notice if it were a small detail

- besides he doesn’t feel like he needs to be on guard around you, analyzing every word

- he’d probably catch you in a lie after absentmindedly asking you a question later and noticing your answer changed

“did you see the limited edition chocolate robot while you were there?”

…

“i thought you said you were at the candy store?”

- he becomes a lot more assertive and firm as he questions you, a glare on his face if you brush it off

- whatever the reason was, he’ll distance himself from you for a day or so

- the idea of you hiding god knows what from him would totally piss him off

- he won’t be mad forever, but for now, it’s probably better you give him space

kurapika

- is inclined to believe you, but pays enough attention that if the story didn’t add up, he’d notice

- and he’d point out any inconsistencies, being upfront about it

“isn’t that friend out of town?

…

“you weren’t with them, were you?”

- his mind would probably fill with doubts and insecurities

- thoughts of infidelity springing to the front of his mind

- he would never be brash or demand answers, though

- if something did happen, his priority is fixing it

- he knows he can be unavailable, so would give you the opportunity to have a real talk with him

- are you unhappy with how things are? was it just a white lie?

- eventually, the problem would be resolved,

- but he makes it very clear he won’t tolerate lying in the future

leorio

- he wouldn’t notice, too tired from school to pay your words much mind

- it’d just be normal routine for you, and honestly, he might not ever find out

- even when he’s fully awake, he simply isn’t all that attentive

- if you decide to tell him, i think he’d be a lot calmer than you might expect

- of course, he’d still be mad, but the most he’d do is raise his voice and argue

- he’s also not the type to storm out, at least until he has clarity about the situation

- if the lie was innocent enough, he’ll be a bit ticked off for the rest of the night, but nothing more

- if it was something bigger, he’d ask for space, not wanting to let his rashness make him do something he’ll regret later

- he’d definitely try to mitigate his response because he does appreciate you coming clean to him

- even if it doesn’t absolve you of the consequences

hisoka

- he notices quickly, he’s an expert at lying after all

- if it’s a good attempt, he’d humor you; playing along, even asking follow up questions and pretending to be fooled

- he sees this all as a game after all

- but eventually, once he’s given the prospect of you lying a little more thought

- he’s a lot less playful, calling you out directly and demanding the truth

- it’s fun when he’s merely amused by your inability to lie

- but at heart, he’s possessive, and the idea that you’re trying to hide an affair irritates him more than he himself understands

- and if it truly was another person you were with, he’d 100% retaliate by killing them

- as for you? he’s content to let you off that hook at that point, warning you not to deceive him again

illumi

- as much of a mastermind he seems to be, social cues elude him completely

- in his eyes, you’re his partner, someone he’d never have reason to doubt

- if you never tell him, you’re free to go on with your day

- but make no mistake, he’s far from dumb

- if there’s a gaping inaccuracy in your words, he’ll immediately accuse you of lying

(e.g. saying you were with someone he himself was with)

- at that point, there’s nothing you can say to get out of this even if you correct yourself

- it’d start an argument, and in the end, he’d be more controlling

- your location? he’d track it at all times

- hanging out your friends? you’d have to ask him first

- and if they’re male, it’ll always be a ‘no’

chrollo

- so there’s no way to lie to him, he’ll catch on immediately

- he’s mastered every aspect of the social scene

- his typical patience is replaced by an eerie calmness as he questions whatever statement you made

- if you come clean at that point and explain yourself

- and he finds it valid enough, he’ll get over it; firmly telling you he won’t be so forgiving next time

- keep lying to him though, and he won’t hesitate to use manipulation tactics on you

- eg. ignoring you, threatening you or whoever he suspects you were with, guilt tripping..

- if you’d grown to see him as an understanding, misunderstood lover, his behavior would extinguish your perception quickly

- once you do confess, he’ll be more distant for the next day or so

- though if you asked him?

“i’m not mad, just disappointed.”

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

Heart on a Chain (Scrooge!Aemond x Reader)

Christmas day and a recently rediscovered ring bring unpleasant and unwanted memories.

Pairing: Ebenezer Scrooge-coded Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: Angst :(

Author's note: The guy that played young Scrooge at the Christmas Carol I went to today was hot and the way he carried himself reminded me of Aemond so... here we are. Wrote this in less than two hours lmao.

-

Heart on a Chain

Christmas Day.

For the past two years, Aemond had not given more than a passing thought to the holiday. That thought being annoyance at having to pay his employees a full day’s wages for no work.

It was just another day. He woke, read the papers while he ate, then went to the office. He balanced the books, double-checked the work of his clerks, and inspected the warehouse’s stock. He sat with his business partner and discussed new prospects.

Even now, Cole was telling him about a potential new partnership he’d identified. A newly founded firm, desperate for reputable clients, would be almost too easy to maneuver into a contract that would heavily favor Targaryen & Cole. Ordinarily, Aemond would be eager to sink his teeth into the prospect, but now…

Now, he could not focus on Cole’s words. He could not bear to look at the pages of figures strewn on the table before them. He couldn’t even remember the name of the new firm, or what it was they did.

His entire world had faded to the ring that sat in his pocket.

Dull, cheap gold set with a pathetically small cabochon – he didn’t remember what the stone was, just that it was vaguely red. It looked ridiculous against the fine gold chain he’d purchased. That was the reason it remained in his pocket, rather than around his neck, he told himself.

It certainly wasn’t because he was afraid to see it out in the open, to be reminded of the slender hand it had once graced and the woman it had belonged to.

He hadn’t thought of her in years. Had not let himself, from the moment the door closed behind her. The same door that now loomed behind Cole, where the dented brass bell swayed slightly from the draft, just as it had three Christmases past…

“Aemond?”

He held back a sigh. Why did she have to come now? He was busy, as he told her he would be. He did not want to be disturbed, as he also told her. He had even agreed to go to Christmas dinner at her parent’s house that evening to ensure she would not bother him during the day.

Yet, here she was.

“Yes, dearest?” he called as he climbed off the ladder. Best to be sweet now, to soothe whatever mood had taken her this time. If she came all the way down to Cornhill and made it past Cole in the office, she must be in quite the state.

Indeed, as she found him amongst the massive rows of shelves, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes shone with tears that sparkled with the reflection of his lamp. Still, she was beautiful. If only she would content herself with what he had to do to ensure the security of their life together.

She stopped, straightening her shoulders. Her furious blinking betrayed the fact that she was battling her tears to keep them from falling. “Aemond, we need to speak.”

“I assume there is something particular you wish to speak about?” He was distracted as he walked toward her, the label on one of the crates he passed catching his eye.

That order was supposed to be shipped out days ago. He’d dock Cargyll’s wages by half this week for allowing such a major error. The recipient of this shipment was very particular and would undoubtedly complain that his goods were late.

“We must discuss our agreement,” her voice, now bordering on shrill, reclaimed his attention.

What was there to discuss? He’d agreed to go to her house after he finished work at six, and… damn. When he pulled his watch from his waistcoat, he found it was already half-past seven. Still, dinner wouldn’t be served until eight. He had time. “I admit I’m running late, but with all the workers out for the holiday – ”

“Not about that agreement, Aemond. About our engagement.” A heavy stone settled in Aemond’s stomach, chill as ice. She continued, “I cannot help but feel that an idol has displaced me in your affections.”

The stone turned hot and rancid with anger. “And what is this idol, may I ask?”

“A golden one.” Her tears vanished, replaced with cold righteousness. “Wealth and power, and everything else your father denied you.”

“Is it a sin to seek security? To endeavor to escape the cruel grasp of poverty and helplessness?”

She came closer to him, setting a gloved hand on his arm. He had to resist the urge to pull away. “Your fear and resentment have overpowered your nobler aspirations,” she said softly. “Now, your only passion is gaining more and more, beyond what is necessary.”

Aemond took her hand, suppressing the urge to seize her shoulders and shake sense back into her. “Even if that were true, I am not changed toward you.”

To his horror, she pulled away, shaking her head.

“Dearest?”

She flinched as if the word struck her. “Our agreement was made long ago. When we were poor and in love and content to remain so.”

“I was a boy, then,” he scoffed.

“And I loved that boy!” She fell quiet for a moment, turning away from him when he reached for her. “But that boy is gone, and my heart aches for him. It is in his memory that I release you from our agreement.”

Until that moment, Aemond had nearly forgotten he had a heart. But her words shattered it, and pain wracked through his chest. Juvenile fear and distress took hold of him. He approached her, oblivious to her feeble attempts to move away, and took her in his arms. “Dearest, I do not understand. Have I ever sought release?”

“Not with words.”

“In what, then?”                     

She finally faced him again, and he knew he would never forget the horrible sight of her heartbreak and disdain – disdain for him. “In a changed nature and spirit. You do not look at me as you used to, Aemond. I used to feel beautiful when you looked at me, but now, I feel like a burden saddled upon you.”

“That is not true,” he begged.

“Tell me, honestly,” her gaze and voice steadied, even as tears spilled down her soft cheeks. “If you were to make the choice today, would you choose a dowerless girl?”

Aemond wanted to say no. But the world would not form. All he could say was, “You think not.”

The tension in her body vanished, her shoulders sagging and her head drooping. She looked up at him with despairing conviction. “With a full heart, for the love of who you once were, I release you.” She backed away from him, and his heart went with her. “May you be happy in the life you have chosen.”

She had only taken three steps away when he called her name, extending a hand to her.

But when she set her hand in his, he harshly pulled away.

He extended his hand once more. “My ring.”

It was her ring, he knew. It always was and always had been, even when he had forgotten about it. It was likely why, that night, he had thrown it carelessly into a dresser drawer to get it out of his sight. To forget the pain that had been contained within that strange, reddish stone.

But his maid had found it three days prior and given it to him, unleashing all that pain back into the heart-shaped hole in his chest. It was ruining him, that pain, clouding his mind and stealing away his better judgment.

“Aemond?” Cole’s voice was filled with annoyance. “Have your senses fled with the workers? What is wrong with you?”

Wrong? Nothing was wrong with him. Something was missing. She was missing. “Forgive me, Cole,” he said. “I must have eaten something odd. I’m afraid I am out of sorts.”

“Well, you’re no use like this. Go home. Come back all the earlier tomorrow, though!”

Aemond was already out the door, his coat only half-buttoned.

Home. He needed to go home, eat a hot meal, and go to bed early. Yes, a good rest would fix whatever had gone wrong inside him. He just needed to get home.

His feet didn’t take him home. They carried him to a place that he may once have called home but no longer. Equally traitorous, his hand raised in a fist to knock on the door he once would have entered without a second thought.

A cheering from beyond the door halted his movements, and Aemond moved to glance through the nearest window.

There she was. Just as radiant as he remembered. Even more so, for she smiled.

She smiled at the babe she held in her arms.

A babe who bore the same smile as its mother. But its eyes and hair were different. Those had been inherited not from its mother but from the father who stood behind the child and mother, looking on them both with unabashed adoration and pride.

Aemond had looked at her in much the same way, when he had been capable of feeling such things.

All the air left his chest. Had he ever been able to breathe? Perhaps he would die before he remembered how to. Part of him wanted to.

But somehow, he pulled enough air into his lungs to fuel his body as he walked across town to his own home. He ate his dinner, read the evening papers, and retreated to his bedroom. There, he readied himself for bed. Yes, a good night’s rest would cure him of this ailment.

He did not realize until he laid upon his bed that the cool metal of a chain rested against his skin.

If he could not bear his heart in his chest, he would wear it around his neck.