#this could have flowed WAY better but it is what it is

[livebeforeyoulearn]

All of Me Is for All of You

Warnings: angst?? smut, 18+

Word count: 3.7k

Request (tweaked it slightly hope you don’t mind!)

-

Alexia and you are the perfect pair. Sure, there are arguments now and then, what couple doesn’t have those? But deep down, it feels like fate brought you together, like you were always meant to be. You met through mutual friends and clicked instantly, the kind of connection people dream about. Now, years later, your lives are so intertwined that it feels like you’ve become part of each other’s world in every possible way. You wouldn’t call it codependency, but sometimes it feels that way. When she’s away for games, the days stretch unbearably long. But when she’s home, when she’s in your arms, just there, everything feels right with the world. A glance, a touch, a shared silence is enough. You are hers as much as she is yours, and that kind of belonging is rare.

But there’s one shadow on your happiness; her ex, Jenni. It’s not the fact that they dated, that’s ancient history, water under the bridge. What gnaws at you is what Jenni did to Alexia. When Alexia finally told you the whole story of why they broke up, you couldn’t hold back your anger. You don’t just dislike Jenni – you want absolutely nothing to do with her, to keep her at arm’s length for eternity. Alexia, always the diplomat, tries to downplay it, brushing it off with a casual shrug. But you know better. You can see the flicker of pain in her eyes when she talks about it.

Even now, Alexia and Jenni are close. Too close, maybe. You remind yourself it’s not about jealousy. You trust Alexia, and you know they’ve been through so much together, things most people wouldn’t understand. Still, when you watched them during the World Cup, practically joined at the hip, something in your chest tightened. But Alexia explained it all to you. The federation’s mess fucked with them all, and they needed to come together, to be there for each other to survive it. You wanted to believe her, and for the most part, you did. After all, Alexia is your person, and you’re hers.

–

Your pinky links with Alexia’s as you walk through the restaurant doors. The noise of clinking glasses and overlapping conversations fills the air as she guides you through the crowded tables, weaving effortlessly until she spots her friends gathered at a large table near the back. Smiles and greetings are exchanged, hugs shared, and soon you’re settling into seats near the end of the table, side by side.

The evening starts off perfectly. The food is delicious, and the conversation flows effortlessly. You’ve always enjoyed being with Alexia’s friends, they feel like family, a circle you’re grateful to be part of. Laughter bounces around the table, stories are shared, and everything feels light and easy.

Then Patri, seated directly across from Alexia, changes the tone with a single question. “Alexia, did you hear from Jenni? Is she coming?”

“Yeah, she said she could make it,” Alexia replies with a small smile, taking a sip from her glass.

The words catch you off guard. Your mouth parts slightly as your eyes dart between the two women. “Coming to what?” you ask.

Alexia doesn’t look at you. Her expression remains carefully neutral, her eyes fixed on the table as she avoids your gaze. You glance at Patri, silently hoping for clarification. Unaware of the feelings building inside you, she answers, “The vacation! Jenni’s joining us for the trip.”

The revelation hits hard. You sit up straighter, pulling away from the relaxed posture you’d had moments ago. Alexia already knows she’s in trouble – you can see it in the expression on her face. And then it clicks; she’s known this for a while.

It isn’t Jenni’s presence that angers you most – you could have tolerated her, ignored her, and still managed to enjoy yourself. What hurts is that Alexia knew and chose not to tell you. She didn’t give you a chance to talk about it, to process it together. You could have reasoned with her, but she robbed you of that chance.

Alexia leans back in her chair, her fingers nervously toying with the rim of her glass as she waits for your reaction. When it doesn’t come right away, she slumps further, clearly anxious. She thought she could let this slide, brush it off as “not a big deal” and deal with it later. She was wrong.

Patri senses the mood changing. Though she doesn’t directly address the tension, she changes the subject and starts talking more in-depth with Alexia about Jenni’s travel plans. At first, you try to tune out the conversation, not wanting to let your irritation show in front of everyone. But Patri presses on, unknowingly unravelling the truth.

“When did Jenni confirm? I thought she wasn’t sure about her schedule,” Patri asks, leaning forwards.

Alexia hesitates, her response slower than usual. “She told me a while ago. She just wasn’t certain at first.”

A while ago. She’s known for weeks, maybe even months. Your mind starts to spiral. If she didn’t tell you about this, what else has she been keeping from you? Was she afraid of your reaction? Or worse, does she not trust you enough to have an honest conversation?

By the end of dinner, you’re barely holding it together. You mumble quick goodbyes, eager to escape the suffocating weight of your thoughts. Alexia follows you out of the restaurant, her steps hesitant, her silence heavy.

The walk to the car feels longer than it is. When you climb inside, you buckle your seatbelt, cross your arms, and stare out the window, avoiding her entirely. Alexia slides into the driver’s seat, closing the door softly. She buckles herself in but doesn’t start the car right away.

“Please, don’t be like that,” she says finally, her voice almost pleading as she rubs her temples.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter, shaking your head as she starts the car and backs out of the parking space.

“I wasn’t hiding it. I was going to tell you,” she says firmly, though her tone is careful, her eyes flicking towards you nervously.

“Oh, sure. When? When we’re boarding the plane? Or maybe when she’s already sitting next to you on the beach?”

“You’re being so dramatic. It’s not a big deal. We’re just friends,” she says, her voice rising slightly.

“Dramatic?” you snap, turning to face her. “You deliberately didn’t tell me something you knew would upset me!”

“Why are you making this such a big deal?” she counters, her frustration evident as she glances at you.

“Because it is a big deal! But, of course, my feelings don’t matter, right? As long as you and Jenni are happy,” you reply bitterly. You clench your jaw, your gaze returning to the window.

“That’s not fair,” she says sharply, her tone demanding as though her words alone should convince you to drop it.

“What’s not fair is you keeping things from me!” you fire back. “You knew how I’d feel, and you still didn’t say a thing. Not one word!”

“Because I knew you’d overreact like this!” she snaps, her grip tightening on the steering wheel.

You scoff, choosing to ignore whatever else she has to say. The fact that she chose to hide this from you is a betrayal you can’t quite shake. You’re partners, communication should be the cornerstone of your relationship, the one thing you could always count on. You thought she trusted you enough to talk about things like this, to be open and honest no matter the circumstances. The anger that first surged through you has ebbed now, leaving behind a more painful ache. It’s not just the omission that hurts; it’s the way it feels like she didn’t think you could handle the truth. 

When you arrive home, you unbuckle yourself quickly and, in a petty flourish, slam the car door shut. You know how much it annoys Alexia, that’s precisely why you do it. After the night you’ve had, she deserves to feel a sliver of the irritation that’s inside you.

“Don’t slam my door,” she calls after you, her voice clipped. You ignore her, heading straight for the elevator. The doors nearly close on her, but she slides her hand between them just in time, glaring as she steps in beside you. “This is ridiculous,” she mutters under her breath.

“What’s ridiculous is me finding out about your secret vacation plans. At dinner. With your friends!” Incredulity laces your voice.

“It wasn’t a secret. I told you–”

“Nothing! You told me nothing, Alexia,” you cut her off. 

“Because I didn’t want to deal with this exact situation!” she counters, her tone rising, her words bouncing off the elevator walls.

The elevator pings open, and you step out, “Well, congrats. Now you’re dealing with it. You have no one to blame but yourself.”

Alexia, helplessly trailing behind you, starts rambling, her voice rising with excuses you have no patience for. You ignore her completely, the words flowing out of her like nonsense that you can’t be bothered to absorb. As you dig through your pockets for the keys, you can feel your frustration heightening with each passing second. It's a perfect, almost satisfying moment when you finally find them and stand in front of your door.

Once it swings open, you make a beeline for the kitchen, the need for a glass of wine urgent. Alexia follows you, naturally. As much as you love her and her presence, right now, all you want is some space. But you know her too well. She won’t give you that, not until this is somehow resolved.

You grab the wine bottle and twist it open, holding the glass in your other hand, your fingers lightly cupping its base. As you tilt the bottle, the deep red liquid pours smoothly into the glass, filling it just enough to satisfy your need. The bottle returns to its place, and you bring the glass to your lips, taking a deep breath before you sip.

Behind you, Alexia exhales audibly. You turn, shooting her a glare, your patience already thin. She inches closer, the gears turning in her head as she processes your silence. Her eyes narrow before that damn smirk slowly spreads across her face.

Does she think this is funny?

You lower your glass slightly as she steps closer, but when her hand reaches for it, you pull it out of her grasp and take another sip, just to spite her. Her smirk widens at your defiance, her dark eyes sparkling with something teasing. 

“Are you… jealous?” she asks, her voice lilting with amusement.

“Jealous?” you repeat, incredulous. The idea offends you. How could she think this was jealousy? All you wanted was respect and trust from your girlfriend. “What the fuck? No. Why would I be jealous of Jenni?” 

Her voice raises again, her smirk disappearing, “If you’re not jealous, then why are you so mad about her coming? You blow everything out of proportion. Every single time.”

“Because when you’re around her, it’s like I don’t exist. All you care about is Jenni, Jenni, Jenni, and did you forget what she did to you?” The words come out before you can stop them.

Her hands find your hips, the heat of her touch seeping through your clothes and silencing your words. Your mind stumbles, the argument dimming as your cheeks burn under her gaze.

“You are jealous,” she murmurs, her voice steady as her thumbs brush over your sides, ignoring the question.

“No, I’m not,” you protest, but your voice falters, betraying your doubt. A nervous gulp follows, and she hums, the vibration visible in her throat as she leans closer.

Alexia knows you, maybe even better than you know yourself. What if she’s right? What if this ache in your chest isn’t just hurt or betrayal but jealousy you’ve been too stubborn to acknowledge?

“I’m yours. You’re mine. That’s all I want in life,” she says softly, her voice breaking through your spiralling thoughts. One hand reaches for the glass, and this time, you let her take it, watching as she places it on the counter behind you. Her gaze locks with yours again. “There’s no need to be jealous. She’s nothing compared to you.”

Your heart beats in your chest like a moth under a dome of glass. The way she looks at you is intoxicating and you can’t find the will to look away.

“So show me,” you whisper, your voice is barely audible. Her face hovers close enough for you to feel the warmth of her breath against your cheek.

She isn’t gentle when she leans in to kiss you; her lips latch onto yours with fervent intensity. She’s hot and she’s messy. Her urgency shows with the way her hands roam over your body with a sense of desperation, as if she’s discovering you for the first time and cherishing you like it’s the last.

Her fingers grope at your chest before sliding over your shoulders and down your back, settling on your ass, where she gives a firm squeeze. Then, without hesitation, she lifts you. You instinctively jump, wrapping your legs tightly around her waist and your arms around her shoulders, one hand cupping the back of her head to keep her impossibly close.

She carries you blindly towards the bedroom, her movements hurried as if every second counts. Your mouths remain fused, the connection deepening as her tongue slips past your lips, licking into your mouth with an eagerness that takes your breath away. You gasp softly in surprise, parting your lips further to make it easier for her.

When you reach the bedroom, she throws you onto the bed roughly, her chest heaving as she steps back to take you in. Her eyes, dark with lust, rake over you while her tongue slides along her bottom lip. She looks at you as if she’s cataloging every possibility, silently deciding how to make you feel everything – loved, wanted, needed, hers.

“Get undressed,” she commands, her tone brooking no argument.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you quickly comply, unsure of what might happen if you didn’t. As the last piece of clothing falls away, you recline on the bed, your eyes never leaving her as she moves to the drawer where you keep your things.

She strips off her remaining clothes, the sight leaving you breathless.  When she steps into the harness, pulling it up over her toned legs and adjusting it around her waist, your mouth goes dry. Each second of her not touching you feels torturous, your craving for her becoming unbearable.

She starts making her way back to you, your eyes drawn to her toned torso and the perfect curve of her breasts.

Instinctively, you press your thighs together, the ache between them becoming too much to ignore. As she crawls onto the bed, you lift your knees slightly, seeking some kind of relief. But she’s quick to act, placing her palms firmly on your knees and forcing them apart. The sudden motion has you gasping, though the sound is swallowed as her lips crash against yours.

The kiss is intense and demanding. It’s all teeth and tongues colliding, lips biting, and breaths mingling in a heated clash for dominance. Your head sinks deeper into the pillow as her hands trail up your thighs, her fingertips gathering the evidence of your desire and spreading it deliberately along the tops of your thighs. Her lips curl into a smirk against yours, her confidence radiating as she revels in how easily she can unravel you.

She pulls back slightly, her teeth catching your bottom lip and releasing it with a snap. Before you can catch your breath, she finds a heartbeat to put her lips to in the crook of your neck. Your head tilts back, granting her access, and a needy whimper escapes your throat. 

A finger slides through your core, teasing your entrance before gliding upwards to begin harsh, tight circles on your clit. You moan, her name escaping your lips like a whispered mantra, repeated again and again in the air.

Your hips start to buck in response, but the sensation isn’t enough, you need more, all of her. “Ale, please,” you gasp. She grunts against your neck, nipping at the bruised, sensitive skin before lifting herself slightly, leaving a sting in her wake. She runs the toy through your slickness, coating it before pressing the tip teasingly against you.

“What do you want?” she asks, a smirk tugging at her lips as her eyes meet yours. The control she wields over you is absolute.

“You,” you breathe.

She bites her lip, tilting her head slightly.

“I need you inside me,” you plead, knowing it’s exactly what she wants to hear. “Please, Alexia.”

Her smirk widens, dripping with pride, before she pushes the tip inside. The stretch is intense, your body adjusting quickly as she didn’t take the time to prep you with her fingers. Her thrusts begin slow but quickly build in rhythm, and before long, the entire length fills you with every movement, driving deeper each time.

Alexia’s hands move to your breasts, squeezing them firmly as her gaze stays locked on your face, watching you arch into her touch. Your head falls back, your eyes shut tight, your body radiating pure bliss.

She grunts with each thrust, her hips snapping against yours in a perfectly timed rhythm. You match her movements, rolling your hips to meet her, the sensation intensifying with each stroke. That familiar tightening in your stomach grows stronger, signalling your impending release.

Just as you’re about to tip over the edge, she stops. You let out a breathless whine, eyes flying open to meet her steady gaze. Slowly, she pulls out and settles beside you. 

“Get on top,” she orders.

“What?” you stammer, momentarily confused, until she takes your arm and helps you up. Your legs tremble as you straddle her hips. Her hands steady you as you position yourself, the toy poised at your entrance, before you lower yourself down.

“Ride me like I’m yours.” 

The words alone almost draw a moan from you. Her hands glide over your thighs, squeezing lightly, before moving up and around to your ass. She grabs hold, helping lift and guide you as you begin to bounce along her length. Your own hands find purchase on her thighs behind you, bracing yourself as your hips set a heady rhythm.

Her expression is intoxicating, a sight you want permanently etched into your memory. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, her lips swollen and kiss-bitten, her head tilting slightly as if she’s losing herself in the connection between your bodies. A moan builds in her throat, but she traps it behind her teeth, biting her lip as she tightens her hold on you and urges your movements faster.

“Fuck, Ale, oh my god,” you gasp, leaning forwards and pressing your palms against her abs for balance. Your nails dig into the defined ridges of her muscles as she begins to meet your pace, her hips rolling into you. 

At first, the pace remains controlled, giving you time to adjust to the sensation of being on top. But soon, her hands find your waist, her grip firm enough to promise marks tomorrow. Then she takes over completely, thrusting into you with an intensity that makes you cry out.

Her movements become relentless – harder, faster, deeper than you thought possible. It’s primal, raw, and consuming, her strength evident in every powerful thrust as her legs and core drive her into you.

“Don’t stop,” you manage to moan, your voice catching in your throat. “Please, don’t stop, Ale.” Your head tilts back, eyes squeezing shut as the familiar tension builds in your lower stomach, the knot tightening with every thrust. Your back arches prettily, drawing Alexia’s gaze to your chest. She aches to lean up and take your nipples into her mouth but instead drinks in the sight of you, undone and lost in her touch.

“You close, mi amor?” she rasps, lost in desire.

“Yes, Ale, so close,” you whimper, your moans growing louder, more desperate, a sound that defies words.

“You wanna come?” she asks, her tone teasingly questioning. You hum in reply, nodding weakly. “Go ahead, amor,” she murmurs, her voice softening unexpectedly, catching you off guard.

Your fingers curl, nails digging into her skin and leaving crescent-shaped imprints as you cry out her name, your voice breathless and broken as wave after wave crashes over you. She holds you down firmly, not letting you move as she keeps rolling her hips, guiding you through the peak.

It’s powerful, stealing every coherent thought, leaving you lost in ecstasy for what feels like an eternity before it begins to ebb and you regain awareness of your body.

Her knees provide support against your back, her thumbs tracing soothing patterns on your skin. She sits up, brushing strands of hair away from your face before burying her head in your neck. Her lips trail tender kisses along your skin, your collarbone, shoulder, jawline, and just beneath your ear, before finally returning to your lips.

Your breaths come heavy, but your arms instinctively wrap around her shoulders, pulling her closer.

“I love you, and only you, mi amor. All of me is for all of you,” she whispers against your lips.

You lean in to kiss her again, then she rolls you onto your back, positioning herself once more between your legs. 

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Last Christmas

21/12: Dressing Up and Dry Humping - Michael Gavey Word Count: 1.8k~ | Warnings: semi-public heavy petting, fingering, dry humping

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

A/N: can be read as a little add on for this series

Even though she's wearing many, many layers of thermal clothes, she's done a good job of making it look like at least half. Black tights, skirt and the worst Christmas jumper she could find in the charity shop. Though not tacky enough to rival the ones she had back home, this one was a close second. Garish. Bright. Unapologetic.

God, it really was Christmas.

A stuffy, hot room, filled with people and steaming roast dinners, one paid for bottle of prosecco by the unj, and then on the lash before they broke up for the holidays. Sounded like a good night to her.

It was nights like this that made her remember last christmas party. Whenever she thought about it too much, the heat began to pool in her belly. Back then, she'd been fearless. Sucking off Michael Gavey in the common room while a party took place next door? She'd never imagine herself doing something so brave now.

Although, she could be tempted. Depends what he was dressed like.

In all honestly it had been a while since she'd seen him last, he'd been so preoccupied with his studies and then when he was done, it was her and…their schedules just never seemed to align at all. Until tonight hopefully.

But as she was filing into the hall, weaving through the groups of friends who assigned their seats at individual tables adorned with candles and Christmas crackers, she realised with a burning embarrassment at the back of her neck she may have misplaced what ‘dressing up’ meant.

Everyone was in smart clothes. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

She was only offered a small relief when she spotted Michael, in a neat little button up and smart trousers. His blue eyes glimmered with recognition in a way that her stomach clench, until his brows furrowed in amusement at her…less than smart jumper.

“What the fuck is that?” he half laughed, trying to bite it back as soon as it left his mouth, judging the look on her embarrassed face.

She ran her fingers awkwardly through her hair, brushing it from her hot face. “I um…might have misinterpreted the theme…”

He let out a snort, holding a glass in one hand as his eyes did a full scan of her. Equal parts amused and appreciative. “Misinterpreted? I'd say you did a sharp left—”

She swatted his arm, semi-hard but not enough to hurt, “shut it. It's a Christmas dinner! I thought that meant…you know…festive.”

Michael bit back a grin, leaning over to grasp another glass to offer her, to at least calm her ever-rising nerves. She looked quite out of place amongst the smart shirts and sleek dresses.

She sat beside him at the table, her hands clasped under it to try and hide the design of her jumper somewhat. Michael in turn, patted her arm.

“Hey,” he whispers, quiet enough to not disturb the chatter at the table, “it looks cute. In a ‘holiday disaster’ kind of way.”

She scoffs, taking a tart sip of her prosecco, “thanks, makes me feel so much better.”

“You should,” he replied, leaning closer still. “You’re the only one who looks like they actually want to be here.”

She let out a breathy laugh, watching as the hum of conversation became laughter. Popping champagne corks, the air buzzing with sharp fizz. As dinner was served and alcohol flowed, combined with the holiday spirit, there was the slight edge of recklessness inching closer in.

After demolishing her sticky toffee pudding, watching as Michael beside her scooped the remnants of his crème brulé out the ramekin placed in front of him, she could feel her head swim, watching him. Even something so simple as the hair that curled at the nape of his neck, the slight bulge of his veins on the back of his hand…had that tightening tug in her stomach.

God what is wrong with me...

As the tables were pushed to the walls of the room and music blared, people began to crowd the middle, a sort of dance floor in lieu of a proper one. Those who were dressed posh, sleek, were now a mess of drunken excitement, sticky with alcohol on their skin.

Michael handed her another glass of prosecco, his eyes a little glassy behind his thin, black spectacles. “Come on,” he murmured, reaching for her hand without hesitation. His fingers were warm and firm around hers, and she didn’t even think to pull away.

“Where are we going?” she asked, stumbling slightly as he tugged her through the doorway and into the dimly lit hall.

“Somewhere less…” He gestured vaguely over his shoulder, where two students were drunkenly reenacting a scene from Love Actually. “...that.”

The walls were strung with fairy lights that blurred softly in her vision, the prosecco’s fizz buzzing in her veins. Michael turned another corner, pulling her into a quieter wing of the dorm, laughing softly as their hands remained clasped, glasses clinking.

They stopped in a small, half-forgotten lounge, the kind of place nobody bothered to sit in except during exams. A sagging sofa and a low coffee table sat under a window framed by frosted glass. They stood there for a moment, catching their breath, the air cooler and quieter now.

She smiled lopsided as he turned to her, giggling as her back met the wall with him crowding her.

“Better?” He asked.

“Hmm, I'm still wearing this monstrosity,” she snorted, gesturing down to her jumper again.

His gaze followed, but the flush on his face told her that he was likely looking at something else. In this enclosed space, pressed together in secret, she would be a fool to kid even herself that she didn't feel it too.

She laughs softly. A memory coming to her.

“What?” Michael asks, drawing his eyes back up to her again.

“No it's just…this feels familiar, doesn't it?” She smirks.

He raises his eyebrows, for a moment, unsure what she means. Until the realisation makes his lips turn up at the corners.

“Ah, last Christmas? i think I’m still traumatised by the sound of Jingle Bell Rock,” he quipped, his fingers tracing lazy circles along her hip. “Not to mention the fact that we were two seconds away from someone walking in.”

“Two seconds is generous,” she replied, laughing again, the memory as vivid now as it had been then.

She felt his breath against her neck as he leaned in, propping his glass alongside hers on a nearby window sill, the low rumble of his laugh stuttering against her skin.

“Different room this time, though.”

Her breath hitched but her smile remained, “It’s not exactly the same.”

He hummed, his hand tracing a ladder made up her tights, under her skirt. Her skin tingled anywhere he touched, and especially when he grazed against the gusset. So close.

“Michael, what—”

Rrrip!

She gasped and looked down, wide-eyed, to see his fingers hooked in the delicate fabric, a jagged tear exposing the sliver of black lace beneath.

“Oops,” Michael grinned.

Her mouth opened, then closed, words failing her as she glared up at him. “You didn’t just— those were my good tights, Michael Gavey!”

“Don't full-name me,” he smirked, pushing his chest against hers to further cage her in, his fingers maddeningly hooking into her underwear, relishing in the squeak of surprise she let out as he dragged his digits through her wetness. She would be ashamed to admit how the pads of his fingers combined with the cool air that hit her made her weak.

“Michael..” she warns softly, but he doesn't interpret it as one. 

He's come a long way since blushing terribly, stuttering and nervous with her between his legs.

Her hand found his shoulder, a silent moan escaping her lips, fighting to remain quiet as two fingers slid inside her, too slowly. Too agonisingly slowly. He crooked them forward, towards him, finding her sweet spot after a few moments of exploration.

She internally cursed him for giving him experience he could use against her. He's getting too good at that.

He mouthed at her neck, lowering to where it met her shoulder, pushing into her to the knuckles with a deliberately unhurried pace. She tried to rock her hips to encourage him, to save her sanity and go faster at least. But he didn't.

He was preoccupied.

The way his hips were rolling against hers, the solid press of him through his jeans grinding in time with his fingers. The stretch stole the breath from her lungs but she daren’t say anything. She could feel his breath hitch against her skin as he rutted against her.

She could feel his restraint unravelling slowly, the way his hands trembled slightly even as they worked her, the way his hips ground against her like he couldn’t help himself.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer as he groaned softly into her neck. “Fuck,” he murmured, though the words sounded half to himself. His voice was rough, like he was holding himself back, savouring every moment.

Too drunk, too overwhelmed to rush him, she let her head fall back, biting her lip to keep herself from crying out as his fingers curled just right inside her. He was getting off on this too, and something about that made her heart hammer in her chest.

Her fingers scraped against his scalp as she felt herself clench around him, her lips parting to utter his name but caught by the rolling waves of pleasure viewing through her body. Through the haze she felt the grind of his erection against her thigh speed up slightly, until he groaned, a low shudder, as he drunkenly spilled into his boxers.

For a moment, neither of them moved, the quiet punctuated only by their laboured breathing and the muffled thrum of music still filtering through the dorm walls. His weight pressed heavily against her, his arm wrapped around her waist as though anchoring himself.

“Jesus,” he muttered after a long silence, his voice muffled against her shoulder. He lifted his head to look at her, and she giggled slightly and righted his glasses. He pulled his fingers out from her, but stayed nestled inside her underwear. “We should…probably get cleaned up before someone comes looking.”

She ran her fingers down his face, a look of soft admiration and a gleam of excitement in her eyes.

“Or…” she offered, stealing his attention, “we could make them really regret looking.”

She would never get bored of making him laugh, or smile. And when he did, her chest fluttered with warmth, his own cheeks flushed. The grin that stretched across his face was so boyish, so disarming.

“Just like old times?”

She nodded in confirmation, “just like old times.”

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[stillfoodforguys]

Although I’ve been in an open relationship for a while, I still prefer to wait until my partner vacates our flat so I can have fun in privacy. I took advantage while he was out drinking with some colleagues one night, and invited this hung handsome, stud to sort out my needs.

We stripped off started making out as soon as he arrived, and although I enjoyed how our tongues entwined with each other, there was a moment where I accidentally swallowed something that slipped from his mouth. I just assumed it was a piece of gum and ignored it, but didn’t realise that I’d been tricked into ingesting something that started to transform my body.

I rapidly shrank down until I was a little shorter than his 9-inch rod swinging above me, which I was soon about to be much more closely acquainted with. The now comparatively giant man snatched me from the ground and held me against his erection, rubbing my body against his musky skin while he stroked it. After playing with me like this for a while, he eventually raised me above his cock and slipped my feet into his leaking slit, staring down at me imposingly as he made a cruel demand.

“Make sure you squirm for me, it makes this way more fun…” He stuffed my legs deeper inside him, sighing as he savoured the feeling of his shaft getting stretched. Regardless of him asking me to, I thrashed around in panic trying to escape the tight grip of his cock, but only aided my descent into his body. By the time my upper body was sliding past his slimy head, he didn’t need to hold onto me anymore, allowing the natural throbbing of his erection to essentially swallow the rest of me like a hungry python.

In that exact moment, my boyfriend burst into the room having returned early from his trip. His jaw dropped in shock as he watched the bulge I made in the other man’s shaft slide downwards, making his balls swell as I filled them up. I couldn’t hear whatever words he shouted at the stranger, but I could just about tell how my captor replied. “If you want to be reunited, you’d better suck him out of me.”

What followed was the much louder moaning and gagging noises from just outside my musky prison, my partner working hard to earn my release. I could feel the man’s balls squeeze me tighter as his body grew tense from the stimulation, ready to blow his load at any moment. Although I trusted that my boyfriend would try to catch me in his mouth, the man in the more dominant position had other plans.

As my tiny form came flowing alongside his thick load, he slammed his massive cock down my partner’s throat, forcing him to swallow everything that came out of him. Sliding through his gullet was a lot more comfortable than my last experience, but having simply exchanged my warm, sticky enclosure for a more spacious one, my situation was no better than before. He didn’t seem to care about the fact he’d left us both terrified, knowing that my boyfriend was about to unwillingly digest me.

“What? I said I’d reunite you, and now you’ll be closer than ever. You’re welcome.”

[aboutcustardcreams]

So it's true, a Door appears

Hiii, I’m back from the dead! As I mentioned before, life’s gotten much busier than it used to be, and I’m truly sorry it’s taken me so long to wrap up this chapter. But I haven’t forgotten about this story, so no worries—there’s still more to come! Let me know which trails you’d like to explore from here. As I’ve said, I’ll be stepping away from the series’ main trajectory, so if you have any preferences: Agatha’s trial, reader’s journey, or anything else, you name it, and I’ll be here to shape it <3

Summary: The path through the Witches' Road begins, defying all odds.

previous chapter

“Uhm a little more to the left, no, no right–”  you instructed, your head tilting as you followed the festoon Teen was trying to hang above the chimney in your lounge room.

“Does it look centered?” He asked, glancing back at you.

You studied it for a moment, then nodded, “I s’pose.” as if drawn by instinct, your gaze shifted to Agatha, standing quietly behind you. Perhaps too quietly. “What do you say?” 

The witch did her best to stifle an eye roll at your question. Why you were indulging the kid was beyond her, in all honesty. You even set out a few snacks on the table, as if this was supposed to be some kind of party. She sighed, her tongue peeking out as she walked up to the festoon. “Let me see…” Agatha’s nerves weren’t about snacks or decorations, though. Time was running out. In a few hours, the sun would set, meaning that if Rio was right, the Salem Seven would pay her a visit. And not a courtesy one. 

Before either you or the boy could stop her, she made a swift, deliberate movement, tearing the paper off the wall with precision. “There. Much better,” she grinned, stepping back satisfied.  

The boy snorted, opening his mouth as if to protest, but quickly thought better of it. Arguing with someone like Agatha was a losing battle. You dropped your hands, with a weary sigh, offering the boy a sympathetic glance.  

Turning back to Agatha, you gave her a playful but exasperated look. “Did it bother you so much you couldn’t hold yourself?” 

She nodded, “it was giving me hives.” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“You should’ve left it up.” You three turned at once and found Jennifer Kale roaming in the lounge room. “It made the environment look less… gloomy.” 

“Jennifer! You made it–” Teen’s face lit up. “Please, take a seat.” 

“He acts like he owns the house,” Agatha drew closer to you, her sweeping coat touching your legs as she did. 

You leaned into her, an amused twinkle flashed in your eyes. “Only a couple of hours ago, you were ready to give it away, so.” 

“Please–” She scoffed and pulled you closer by wrapping an arm around your middle. “You know, I didn’t mean it.” 

“Did you?” You asked sarcastically, fingers moving softly, tracing delicate, flowing patterns across her arm. 

She huffed, as she buried you deeper against her chest, “don’t push it, my love.”

“You’re bound, aren’t you?” It was Lilia to speak. 

Both you and Agatha looked between Jen and Lilia. 

It was clearly an awkward question to ask, and not much appreciated by the potion witch, who gave her a fake smile in return. “Woah, aren’t you clear-sighted?”

The older one nodded proudly, missing the sourness in Jen’s tone. “Lilia Calderu. Divination. Nice to meet you,” she bowed her head in a form of courtesy that wasn’t exactly reciprocated. 

“Jennifer Kale. Potions,” she began. The corners of her lips turned up, when she added, “by the way, you need a chemical peel.”

Agatha whistled, clearly enjoying it, “witches being witches, huh?” she mused, as fingers rubbing at your hips, absentmindedly. You couldn’t help the grin crossing your lips. “Well, at least one is easy to rile up,” you tumbled, referring to Jen. 

Agatha’s eyes drifted off to the open window to her left. The sun was setting. “It’s almost time…”

“Yeah,” you swallowed and tried to hide the slight worry manifesting in your eyes. 

“This is never going to work…” Alice commented, as she stepped in the living room at a careful pace, as if she was walking on eggshells. Or.. on a battlefield. 

You were surprised, and so was Agatha. Three witches joined the meeting! It was going better than you expected in all honesty. 

“Alice! You made it!” Teen exclaimed, his excitement pulling him forward. The younger witch tensed up when he opened his arms to hug her. It was brief and awkward. “Sorry, I-I got carried away. I’m just glad you all showed up.”

She stepped back, with a tight smile. “No worries,” she waved him off, then turned, looking at you and the others. “Hi everyone–”

You gave her a nod of your head and so did Agatha. Jen and Lilia introduced themselves, second. 

“How did you find the house?” Teen asked. “I didn’t give you any address.”

Alice shrugged with her hands tucked in the back pockets of her black jeans. “I’m an ex-cop, kid. I’ve got some experience up my sleeve.” 

It made sense, so he nodded. “Right. Cool.” 

You witches exchanged a glance, then. It struck you that, against all the odds, a Coven had been formed. For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to entertain the fantasy that those witches could really become yours and Agatha’s sisters. A family, perhaps? No hate, no deception, no manipulation. Just pure, unbroken sisterhood. But the reality of the situation soon hit you, because you and Agatha gathered them with a purpose, to suck away part of their magic and allow Agatha to get back on top. It was very unlikely that they would have stuck around after figuring out the truth. 

“Well, the gang's here,” Agatha announced in thrill anticipation. “Let’s hit the Road, shall we?” 

“Wait, wait,” Jen interjected, with a frown. If an eyeroll could make a sound, Agatha’s would scream. “Where’s our Green Witch?” She inquired. 

You winced. Of course, that know-it-all witch would notice. 

Agatha scoffed, playing naive. “Oh, do we really need one of those?” 

“Of course we do,” Lilia pointed out, supporting Jen on this. 

How nice, they were already picking sides, you thought.

Alice remained silent, likely deep in thought. She was the skeptical one, though her reasons were different from Lilia’s and Jen’s. Part of her doubted the Witches’ Road even existed, dismissing it as nothing more than a myth—a clever con. By extension, she saw you and Agatha as little more than liars. And yet, curiosity had won out in the end. That’s why she was here. She had nothing to lose, only something to gain. 

“I assure you, we don’t, Lilia,” you moved from Agatha’s grip, much to her displeasure, and walked up to the other witches. “We can manage just fine.”

“The Ballad clearly says wake thy power, earthly and divine,” Agatha’s eyes clenched for a moment at Jen’s lofty tone. 

If you were to make a ranking, you’d put Jennifer on top, as the most irritating of the three. Alice was your favorite for now. 

“I’m willing to take over,” you said confidently. 

Lilia, Jennifer and even Alice faced you with their eyes squinted. Teen was the only one showing a bit of trust, apart from Agatha obviously. 

You sighed. “You’ll agree with me when I say that I am a kind of Green Witch, after all.” 

Jen licked the inside of her cheek. You could sense her question before she had time to spill it out. “From which perspective are you saying that, exactly?” 

Yes, she was definitely the most annoying of the three. 

 You stepped closer, trying to keep your frustration at bay. “Are you for real? I can create life.”

“You can reverse death, yes,” Jen corrected you. “There’s a difference.” 

You rolled your eyes, an amused scoff slipped from your lips. “No, there isn’t. And, with all due respect, what would you know about my skill?”  

“Everyone knows what a necromancer witch can and cannot do,” she argued stubbornly. 

“Ugh!” You groaned. The nerve. “Well, everyone’s knowledge is a bit sketchy, I dare to say. Nobody knows what I’m capable of better than myself.”

Jen puffed her cheek skeptically. “You can’t make anything from scratch, can you?” 

Your nostrils flared, then. What did she know about you? About the life you had painstakingly pieced together from nothing? The life that truly mattered—now gone. Agatha, Rio, and you had created something beautiful together: your son. But they couldn’t see that. They were blind, clueless in their ignorance.

Agatha’s sharp eyes caught the tension in your jaw. She walked up to you and touched your shoulder, in a both comforting and firm way. “See, that’s where you’re wrong, you dolt. Because she can. She did that once–” she began, her voice trembling a bit. Your brows furrowed as you faced her, eyes dimming in concern at the memories she was conjuring up. Those being the same as yours. 

The potion witch sighed. “I’m just saying that Earth magic is the most important skill set for an attempt at the Road, that’s all.”

“And I’m telling you I possess that,” you insisted. 

Agatha ignored Jen’s mumbling after that. “If you’re sure.” 

You nodded, searching for her eyes, “I am. You can trust me,” your voice came out gentler. 

It wasn’t hard to understand their skepticism toward you. Agatha wasn’t the only one carrying the weight of a reputation. Yours was there too, etched into you, much harder to explain. You had been marked by the deities of vengeance, after all. But the truth as to why that happened was known only by Agatha and Rio. 

“Her power is unlike any other. It doesn’t fit neatly into your categories of ‘earthly’ or ‘divine.’ It transcends both. So please—” Agatha intruded, “unless you truly understand what you're talking about, I suggest you keep your opinions to yourself.”

No one dared to argue after that. 

You ran your tongue over your lips, a slow smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. The surge of emotion rising within you was impossible to ignore—a potent mix of gratitude and something deeper, something more primal. Desire, perhaps. There was no denying it: Agatha was undeniably sexy when she acted all protective towards you. 

“Thanks, Aggies,” you whispered. 

Her eyes softened as she took in your features. 

“But, wait-” Teen tumbled out, brows furrowed, “I’m not saying she can’t take over but there was one more name on the list, wasn’t it?” 

You didn’t say whereas Agatha preceded you with a lie. “There really wasn’t.”

He didn’t buy it. His eyes darted from her to you, his expression begging for a more honest answer, but you kept quiet, unable to say that name. 

He glanced at Lilia, then. “What was the last name?” 

She pursed her lips, in thought. “Uhm.. I think it was Spanish or maybe Catalan, I’m not sure–” she began, as she gathered her thoughts. It was really on the tip of her tongue. “Rio, perhaps?”

You clenched your eyes, letting out a deep sigh through your nose. Teen’s smirk grew as recognition flashed across his face. The name said it all. He remembered it. Remembered her. No wonder you and Agatha had been so reluctant to include her in the trip. She wasn’t just anyone—she was the ex. And not just any ex, but the kind who, on top of everything else, wished you dead. Who in their right mind would willingly sign up for a journey with someone like that? 

“Ah– Rio, yes. She’s out of town,” Agatha hurried to say. 

Liar, Teen thought, but he kept it to himself. 

“She’d be more trouble than anything, honestly,” you explained, looking at each of them alternately. 

“She is telling the truth,” Teen replied. 

“Okay so everything is settled,” Agatha rubbed her hands, and swept her tongue over her lips. She was dying to feel her power flowing back in her body. “Teen, be a dear and be sure Señor Scratchy has enough lettuce. Sammy tends to eat it all.” 

You scoffed at that. “Again with this story? Stop assuming my turtle is a thief, Agatha.” 

“I’m not assuming,” she quipped. “I’m certain of it.” 

Teen gave you and Agatha an uncertain smile. “With all due respect, I don’t think it’s relevant that I do that. Shouldn't we get going?” 

“Teen, the Road is conjured,” you explained calmly, placing a hand over his shoulder. How cute and naive could he be? “We don’t physically go there by car, broom or something.”

“Oh,” he nodded, a tad flustered to have assumed it the wrong way. “Haven't thought of that.” 

Agatha’s head lolled to the side, her bottom lip popped out kinda mockingly. “Isn’t he the cutest pet we have ever had, love?”

You giggled. “Agatha, he isn’t our pet. Quit calling him that.” 

“Such a spoilsport you are,” she fake pouted, flapping at your arm playfully. Her eyes darted to the boy after. “Let us just do our thing, okay? We will call you once we’re done.” 

“Fine,” he muttered with a nod, before walking up the stairs. 

“So, just to be clear,” Alice interjected. “We can still walk the Witches’ Road without a Green Witch.”

You nodded, “correct.”

“We will summon one on the Road, if it’s really really necessary,” Agatha added, eager to get started. 

“‘kay, but you never said–”, Alice began. “What’s the rush?” 

You kinda preferred her when she was quiet and indifferent. 

Agatha was doing her best to maintain her composure. There wasn’t much else she could do, so for now, feigning cordiality was her only option. “Uhm.. well, you see-” Her voice was laced with that falsely sweet tone that made it hard for you to keep from laughing. She gestured toward you, and when her palm met the small of your back, you glanced at her with suspicion. What was she cooking up now? “Her parents are visiting and I really can’t be bothered with that, if you catch my drift.” 

What a low blow. Undoubtedly a good excuse, but still. 

“Fair enough,” Lilia commented. The others seemed convinced, too. 

“I can’t believe you said that,” you pointed out.  

She leaned closer and whispered in your ear. “You know, in extremis…”

A soft laugh escaped your lips, and before you could say another word, you felt her lips—plump and soft—press gently against your cheek. The warmth of the touch silenced any objections that lingered on the tip of your tongue. Oh, she knew she had you wrapped around her little finger. 

“Come on now, let’s hit the Road!”  

*

“It cannot be–” you stuttered, voice barely above a whisper. Your eyes were locked on the carved outline of a door embedded in the basement floor. It hadn’t been there before. You were certain of it, absolutely certain. So… how?

The others didn’t notice, too caught up in their heated argument to see what had just appeared. But it couldn’t be, could it? The Road wasn’t real. The Ballad was just a song, you, Agatha and your son made up once upon a time. So what was that? 

Agatha let out an exasperated growl. “I really don’t have time for this–” 

She didn’t even glance in your direction, oblivious to your fingertips brushing over the strange, impossible surface of the door. 

“Just blast me, you bitches!”

“Enough!” You snapped, finally catching everyone’s attention. Your magic vibrated like a sudden summer breeze, it swayed your hair and turned your eyes silver for a moment. Choked gasps slipped from the others, their gazes dropped over the floor, where now there was a door. The same door you’d thought couldn’t exist, let alone be summoned. 

Agatha was speechless, as she drew in a breath with wide eyes. 

“Are you seeing this too?” If this was another cruel trick played by the Furies, you weren’t sure your mind could withstand the torment again. “Tell me you are,” your voice came out almost as a plea. 

“Yes–” Alice breathed out. “We did it.”

“So it would seem,” Lilia chuckled nervously. 

Jen’s brow furrowed, eyes drifting to Agatha’s. “Why does she look so shocked?” 

When Agatha didn’t respond, you did, “It’s been a while, can you really blame her?” 

When she lowered herself beside you, her lips pressed into a tight line, a clear sign of her inner turmoil. Knowing her, she was probably spiraling into a quiet panic. Without hesitation, you reached out, your hand gently rubbing soothing circles on her back. “Hey,” you murmured softly, your voice laced with concern. “Are you okay?”

Agatha gave you a faint nod of her head. “I’ll admit,” she began, her gaze drifting off to Jen. “I’m surprised you’re not the hopeless bunch of rejects I thought you were.”

“You’re the worst,” Jen groaned, in an accusatory tone. 

You sighed. “Will you cut it out? Help me–” You gritted your teeth as you gripped and tugged at the door’s handles, straining against its resistance. Jen shot Agatha one last glare, which Agatha met with a smirk, before they both finally stepped forward. Along with Lilia and Alice. 

With a sharp, resonating creak, the door burst open. Your eyes fixed on a flight of stairs leading further down the floor. Where precisely you didn’t know. A greenish blow came from it, illuminating the path to the… Witches’ Road. 

“Agatha!” Teen’s voice came in a panicked squeal, as he rushed down the basement exactly where you were standing, “is that it? Cause we should really get going. Like right now!” 

You heard an explosion, coming from upstairs and sensed magic. It was ancient, angry and just for a change, very powerful. 

“The Salem Seven…” you whispered, eyes widening a bit. 

The other witches didn’t need to be told twice and hurriedly took to the stairs, leaving you and Agatha behind. You stalled, before half yelling, “What the heck is this?” 

Agatha waved her hands and stuttered out. “It looks like a door to me.” 

You scoffed incredulously, “well, obviously it’s a door. But I meant–”

Before you could say another word, one of the Salem Seven began crawling down the stairs toward you and Agatha. Each movement sent an unsettling chorus of pops and creaks through her bones, as though her very body was possessed by a demoniac force. 

You used your magic to shove the woman away. The witch let out an ear-piercing shriek, her lips curling to reveal jagged teeth. Your stomach twisted as you stumbled back, unsure if you were facing a witch or some feral, inhuman creature.

 “Go, go, go, go!” Your eyes widened as you prompted Agatha to take the stairs. 

Agatha grasped your hand, pulling you with her, “you don’t have to tell me twice, my love.”

[sillymommy6969]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝕭AD HABITS

Manon Bannerman x fem!reader

summary: you knew dating was always going to be hard as an idol, whomever it would be with. you made it clear with manon when she accidentally fell for you—and now she seeks solace in a bad habit, it’s the only time you seem to care about her…

warnings: slight!nsfw, angst, drinking, suggestive/sexual themes (dom!manon), toxic!reader, down-bad!manon

Manon sat at the bar, nursing a glass of bourbon, the amber liquid swirling in her glass as if it could somehow calm the storm raging inside her. She was no stranger to the bar scene, being a big party animal prior to her dream academy days. The bar was dim, barely lit by a few low-hanging lamps, and the low hum of the crowd faded into the background. But all she could hear was the deafening silence in her mind, punctuated by memories she wished she could erase.

She reached for her drink, letting the scratch of alcohol burn its way down her throat and spread through her chest.

It was the only thing that helped—at least for a little while. The warmth that filled her didn’t erase the ache, but it dulled it, enough that she could pretend for a second that things could be different. Nor did the alcohol fill the growing void that seemed to deepen every-time she was ushered out of Y/N’s room late at night. But when she was drowning in alcohol, she wasn’t drowning in the overbearing waters of Y/N L/N.

Katseye was not complete without their centre.

Manon may have been known for her visuals, her undeniable beauty and her irresistible stage presence, but Y/N was the ultimate centre of the group.

Her voice paired Sophia’s well, hitting notes normal humans could only dream of. She made a very visually appealing pair with Daniela, and absolutely aced tiktok dances with Megan. Every fan who had discovered Kasteye fell in love with her, one way or another. Manon was no exception.

Y/N, the one who made her heart beat faster with just a glance, the one whose voice, when it blended with hers during their band's performances, could bring her to tears. Y/N, who had always been just a little bit out of reach.

It was silly, really, to hope that something might come of it.

She remembered the first time they had spent any real time together, alone. They had just moved in and the girls decided on a movie night to break the couch in. When everybody else had retired to their rooms at around one, Manon and Y/N were the only ones left. Y/N wanted to call her parents, to tell them she was well and excited for what’s to come of her career and she didn’t want to keep Lara up with her talking. Manon was just giving Daniela the room to do the same, but she couldn’t help but stare up and away from her phone when Y/N would laugh softly at something her dad had said.

When Y/N bid her parents goodnight, there was a bit of an awkward pause before the two fell into a comfortable flow of casual coversation.

It was supposed to be nothing more than casual. But there was something about the way Y/N looked at her, a softness in their eyes that made Manon’s stomach twist. For a moment, she had believed—no, convinced herself—that Y/N felt the same way she had since they met on dream academy. That the lingering touches, the way they’d laugh a little too loudly when their hands brushed, the crazy eye contact meant something.

And for a while, it had felt like it did.

But that was before she let herself fall too deep into it.

She took another sip of her drink, grimacing at the burn. She should’ve known better. She should’ve seen it for what it was from the start—one of those fleeting moments where people connect, but it doesn’t go anywhere. Where someone gives you just enough to make you believe in a future, only to pull it away when it’s too late to walk away without getting hurt.

One night, just about the same as the first night they found themselves alone, Manon finally caved into the desperate desire gnawing away at her self-control.

They were sitting on the couch, Manon’s arm over the top of the cushions behind Y/N’s shoulders.

They put on this movie Y/N had been nagging Manon to watch with her. It was some stupid feature film Manon can’t even remember the name of. It didn’t matter, the whole time the movie played, the Ghanaian woman could not keep her eyes off the younger singer sitting inches away from her. And after thirty minutes of mustering up what little courage she had—which was unusual for a normally cocky and confident Manon—and slid just a little closer to Y/N.

The younger hadn’t seemed to notice, too entrapped in the movie to feel Manon’s warmth close in on her body.

Manon bit her lip, her eyes darting between the way Y/N’s lashes fluttered with each blink, the way her lips were slightly pursed in anticipation for what the film had in store next.

Manon could hear it, her heart drumming against her chest, as blood pumped frantically to the tips of her ears. When Y/N had suddenly grabbed her thigh in shock at a certain jumpscare on the screen, Manon’s breath hitched. The younger laughed it off, apologizing for the sudden outburst.

But, Manon just grabbed the hand that had retreated.

Instead, the arm that was once resting behind Y/N on the couch swung down to circle around the younger’s waist, lifting her lightly off the cushions to be positioned under Manon.

When Manon was overcome by the urgency in her, she leant in to take Y/N’s lips with her own. She did not push her away, she did not stop her, instead, she moaned against the older woman’s mouth, silenced by another caress of her tongue. Manon pleaded for her to stay quiet, so none of the other girls would be awoken by their activity. Y/N only nodded, seeing stars as her teeth sunk into her hand, the other pushing the Ghanaian’s woman deeper in between her legs.

It was a night that changed her life forever.

Weeks after that night, Y/N found herself craving Manon’s lips pressing burning kisses on her body again. But she promised herself at the very beginning—the day Katseye was born—that she would always put her career first. She didn’t think she’d have to worry about relationships with the dating ban in place. She was too busy to go meet new people anyway, and it was all going good until that night.

Still, she would eventually give in to her desires.

It started off with a simple “Hey, you still up?” text, which would then turn into Manon sneaking into Y/N’s room when Lara would be off depending a late night at the studio.

It was so blissful, the feeling of Manon tasting every inch of skin Y/N had to offer. And Manon would make sure to savour the sweet, sweet tingle of Y/N struggling to keep herself from screaming her name for the entire dorm to hear. Because she knew once she’d come down from her high, the work-obsessed, heartless Y/N would come back.

Manon could still remember that night—all too vividly—the night it all fell apart.

They had been rehearsing in the studio, the girls working through a new song they hear going to record. Y/N had been unusually quiet that day, which, in itself, was strange. Y/N was always the one who would lead the girls in song, who would bridge the gap between a simple song and a work of art. when the tension started to rise. But that day, something was different. Manon felt an unease that settled in her chest.

She had caught Y/N’s eye across the room, offering a smile. But instead of the usual warmth in return, Y/N had looked away almost immediately.

It was no different to the way Y/N would usually respond to her, but the younger woman’s reserved attitude with the others raised all kinds of red flags. It wasn’t anything concrete. But that night, when she would come up to cuddle after cleaning her lips of any remnants of Y/N, the younger would almost inch away with a regretful aura. When Manon had tried to brush it off and pull the woman closer, to breathe in the faint lavender aroma from her hair, her beautiful voice uttered the nastiest words.

“Lara’s on her way home. Get out.”

That was the exact moment it really sank in for Manon—Y/N wasn’t in love with her. They were never going to be more than what they were. They were bandmates, colleagues, friends was pushing it, outside that room. Nothing more. And yet, here she was under this woman’s sheets again, clinging to the fantasy, as though it would be enough.

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor pulled Manon out of her thoughts. She looked up, blinking away the haze of alcohol. Y/N was standing there, those piercing eyes staring her down. She hesitated for a moment, her gaze softening with an unreadable expression.

“Manon,” Y/N said quietly, walking over to her. Her voice was like a taunt, a cruel reminder of everything she wanted but could never have.

Manon took another drink, not wanting to look up. She wasn’t sure if she could face her—she’d give in again.

“Manon, this is the third time this week,” she said, her voice thick, “The girls are getting worried about you.”

Y/N slid into the space between Manon’s bar stool and the one beside her, her warm breath brushing the Ghanaian woman’s cheek. She waved the bartender over, quickly asking for Manon’s tab before turning to focus on the latter. Her hands rose to brush Manon’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s go home.”

Manon’s chest hurt, she felt like throwing up.

“Just leave me alone,” she sniffed, “I can spend my night off however I like. I’m fine.”

Y/N didn’t want to push her, biting her lip. It was a nervous habit Manon pointed out multiple times, she had done a good job keeping her anxiety in check, but she was really beginning to worry about her. She was just there, existing in the same space, and Manon wanted to believe that was enough.

But it wasn’t. It never was.

Y/N tilted their head, her gaze softening as she studied her.

The bags under Manon’s eyes darkened, her eyes hooded and her lips glossy from a thick coat of liquor. Her shoulders were slumped and she laid across the bar surface.

She was completely wasted.

“You’re not fine, Manon. You need to stop drinking.”

Manon’s breath hitched, and—in a sort of protest—she took another long swig of her bourbon, her hand trembling slightly. “I’m just… I’m just tired, okay?”

Y/N sighed, swallowing thickly. She reached out slowly, careful not to move too quick before Manon flinched away. Her fingers grabbed the glass, fingertips gently brushing Manon’s hand as she slowly pulled it away from her grasp. She set it away on the bar, quickly motioning for the bartender to pick it up.

“Come on,” Y/N urged, a hand travelling down the small of Manon’s back, “Let’s go home, Meret. Please?”

Her first name. The only person she allowed to call her by name besides her parents. She absolutely loathed how smoothly it rolled off her tongue, like an enticing purr. It was much more rewarding, hearing it sung from her throat when she was writhing beneath her in bed, but now, it was just another crude reminder Manon wanted gone.

“Why do you keep doing this to me?” she whispered, not looking at Y/N. “Why do you keep… pulling me back.”

There was a long pause, the kind of silence that felt like an eternity. Then, Y/N’s hand found hers, gently, as though afraid she might pull away.

“Manon, please,” Y/N said softly. “Not tonight.”

Manon’s breath caught. She felt the rush of emotions she had tried to bury, rising to the surface. But she couldn’t let them take over—not here, not now. Not when it felt like everything was slipping through her fingers.

“Y/N,” she whispered, the words barely a breath. “I love you so much. I need you. Without you, it’s like I don’t know how to breathe… like I don’t know how to live.”

Y/N shook her head. “Stop, please,” she whispered. “I know you’re going through it, but you can’t drink yourself to death.”

“Why not? What’re you gonna do, start acting like you care about me?” Manon’s tears fell freely now, her body shaking with the weight of everything she had tried to keep inside. “Is that what it’ll take for you to love me? For me to die?”

“I do love you. I’m here right now because I love you. And if you truly loved me, you wouldn’t be sitting here while I stay up at night worrying about where you could possibly be.” Y/N shook her head, her own eyes welling with tears, “I had to promise Sophia tonight I’d bring you home. Y’know, the girls are really concerned about you. They’re trying to talk to you, they’re trying to understand you, but you’re pushing them all away.”

“I don’t care about them, I just… I just want you to want me.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, suffocating her. She stepped closer, but the space between them felt impossibly vast, like there was a whole world separating them, and Y/N was afraid she might never be able to overcome it.

"I—" she started, then stopped. She wanted to say the right thing, the thing that would make everything okay.

Manon stood abruptly, her chair scraping harshly against the floor, the sound of it echoing in the silence. "You don’t love me, Y/N. You never did and I don’t want to be such an idiot. I don’t want to keep coming back to you and your selfish ways.”

Y/N opened their mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Manon let out a bitter laugh, though it was shaky, almost hysterical. "Every time, I kept waiting, kept thinking maybe you’d see me, maybe you'd love me the way I love you. But you never do. And I’m so stupid, Y/N. So fucking stupid."

Y/N’s heart was hammering in their chest, their hands trembling as they took a step toward Manon, reaching out as though to bridge the distance between them.

“Meret, I’m begging you. Let me take you home.”

How could she say no to her? To the love of her life?

Y/N reached out again, her hands still. She tucked a rogue braid behind Manon’s ear, taking her leaning into her hand as a “yes” to guiding her out the bar and into Y/N’s BMW outside.

The drive home, Manon had dozed off, her body sluggish in the passenger seat as Y/N glanced back and forth between the road and the woman. It wasn’t long before she pulled into the driveway of Katseye’s dorm. She carefully assisted Manon’s limp body through the door and up the stairs, careful to stay quiet as to not wake the other girls. She could see Sophia standing in her doorway, giving her a nod before retiring to her room for the night.

When Manon was tucked into bed, her clothes stripped of and changed into her pjs, Y/N carefully tiptoed her way into Manon and Daniela’s bathroom, grabbing cotton pads and makeup remover to clean the smudged mascara from the Ghanaian woman’s features.

Y/N made sure the older woman was nestled under her blankets comfortably, brushing her hair from her face as she sat bedside and stared.

Placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, Y/N left the room.

Maybe just for another night, Manon’s receiving the affection she craved. Whether she was aware of it or not.

[alewritesfics]

Bridging Realities

ℑℑ. 𝔅𝔯𝔦𝔡𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔤....𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔰

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Word count: 2k

Warnings: unedited, slow burn, eventual smut/ spicy scenes, angst but happy ending, playful banter

⏮️ ⏸️ ⏭️

The Featherington household was a whirlwind of activity The hum of anticipation filled the air, mingling with the clinking of jewelry boxes being opened and the soft rustle of fabric.

You stood before the gilded mirror in the dressing room with all of the featherington women. The butter-yellow fabric shimmered faintly in the candlelight, a stark reminder of the gaudy tastes of your supposed family. You resisted the urge to tug at the neckline, which felt slightly too tight, and instead smoothed the fabric over your waist, trying to appear at ease.

Penelope, seated nearby, was unusually quiet as she read a book. Her dress, a softer shade of yellow, suited her far better than your overly bright attire. She caught your gaze in the mirror and offered a small, nervous smile.

“Would you like me to prepare some potatoes for the ladies downstairs, ma’am?” Varley asks

“Potatoes?” Prudence peeks out from behind the changing screen “Again?”

Philippa pushes you out of the mirror to look at herself instead “Why are we always eating potatoes?” She mutters

“Because these days, I am the housekeeper, lady’s maid, scullery maid, and cook” Varley responds grabbing a spare dress

You sighed, looking at your hideous bright colored dress before snatching the light green- almost blue- dress from her hands “give me that” You huffed, turning to look at Por- your mama. “I am not wearing this hideous dress, I’ll look as if I’m there to bring light into the room as a candle instead of actually participating” is all you say before you push Prudence out of the way to change into a new dress

You ignore all of the talk about the lord featherington, blah, blah, blah- instead, your mind wanders to what you know will happen in this ball. The start of Kate and Anthony’s rivalry.

Although all of the scandal is what made their love strong, you find it all unnecessary for them to relieve it again. In fact, perhaps you should help them get their love story without all of the scandals and hurting Edwina.

You frown as you remember that there was the obstacle called Anthony’s insecurities about love. It will certainly be difficult to get him to ignore his fears and give in to love when that was the whole reason he didn’t get with Kate sooner.

“Y/n!” Portia calls out “Are you done? Or do we need to wait another hour for you? Hurry, child!”

You sighed, stepping out. On to another dreary event, although you cannot deny you are giddy to see the viscount again

The carriage ride to the ball was a mixture of anticipation and tedium. Prudence and Philippa chattered away about the eligible gentlemen expected to attend, while Portia chimed in with pointed reminders about the importance of securing a good match. You stared out the window, the sights of Regency London rolling by, your thoughts firmly fixed on the Bridgertons.

You knew this ball was the catalyst for Kate and Anthony’s love story—a story that would have them at each other’s throats before realizing their undeniable connection. But could you really stand by and let Edwina get caught in the crossfire? She didn’t deserve to have her heart broken, even if it was essential to the plot as you’d watched it.

“We’re here!” Philippa announced as the carriage came to a halt in front of the grand ballroom. The sound of music and laughter spilled out onto the street, mingling with the clatter of carriages and the hum of conversations.

Stepping out of the carriage, you adjusted your skirts, the soft green fabric flowing elegantly. The night air was crisp, and lanterns illuminated the path to the grand entrance.

Inside, the room was a kaleidoscope of color and sound. Gowns in every shade imaginable twirled across the floor as couples danced to the lively strains of the orchestra. Chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting a warm, golden light over the bustling crowd.

You stayed close to Penelope, avoiding Portia’s sharp gaze as she guided Philippa and Prudence toward their “targets.”

And then, as if drawn by some invisible force, your eyes found him. Anthony Bridgerton, stood near the edge of the dance floor, his dark hair perfectly styled, and his sharp features illuminated by the flickering candlelight. His posture was commanding, his expression one of calculated indifference as he surveyed the room. And he was surrounded by a ton of ladies. You chuckled as you remember it was caused by Lady Bridgerton announcing he was marrying this season.

Your breath caught in your throat. Despite all your preparation for this moment, seeing him again was like a shock to your system. You froze, suddenly hyperaware of everything—the way your heart raced, the faint heat rising to your cheeks, and the almost surreal feeling of standing in the presence of someone you’d only ever seen on a screen.

“Y/n?” Penelope’s voice broke through your thoughts. “Are you all right?”

You blinked, tearing your gaze away from Anthony. “I’m fine,” you managed, though your voice betrayed your nerves.

“Good,” she said with a sly smile. “Because it looks like he’s noticed you.”

Your eyes darted back to Anthony, and sure enough, his piercing gaze was locked onto yours.

Holy fuck

You took in a deep breath before approaching him, pushing in between the multitude of ladies. He didn’t say it, but you know he needed saving “Lord Bridgerton,” you say with a smile “ I believe the dance you promised me is next”

Anthony's brow lifted in surprise, though he recovered quickly, offering a polite smile. “Miss Featherington,” he said, his tone smooth yet laced with curiosity. “I must admit, I don’t recall promising a dance. But far be it from me to deny a lady.” Your smile fell slightly

Seriously, doesn’t he get that you’re trying to save him?

Your cheeks burn slightly out of embarrassment but you compose yourself, a smile on your face.

The ladies surrounding him cast you scathing looks, muttering behind their fans as they reluctantly stepped back. You ignored them, meeting Anthony’s gaze with unwavering confidence.

“I distinctly remember, my lord,” you replied, extending your gloved hand. “Perhaps the memory escaped you, given how sought-after you are this evening.”

Anthony let out a low chuckle, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement. “A clever gambit, Miss Featherington. Very well, shall we?”

He took your hand, his touch warm and firm, and led you to the dance floor. The orchestra struck up a lively waltz as he positioned himself opposite you, his hand resting lightly at your waist while the other held yours.

“Bold of you,” he murmured as you began to move in time with the music. “Claiming a dance so publicly. I dare say you’ve left half the room scandalized.”

You tilted your head, offering a coy smile. “I thought it might save you from being devoured alive. Judging by the crowd, you’ve become quite the prize.”

His lips twitched as though suppressing a grin. “And here I thought I was adept at managing such situations.”

“Clearly, even a viscount needs rescuing on occasion,” you teased.

Anthony’s gaze softened, a flicker of intrigue crossing his face. “And what, pray tell, made you decide to be my savior tonight?”

You hesitated for a fraction of a second, masking the true depth of your intentions. “Let’s call it an act of charity. Though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the opportunity to dance with the season’s most eligible bachelor, certainly helps me get por- mama, off my back..”

“Charity, you say?” he echoed, his tone half-amused, half-challenging. “And here I thought you were merely bold and wanted to delight in my very sought after company.”

The corners of your lips lifted in a knowing smile. “Why can’t it be both?”

As you twirled across the floor, the room seemed to fade into the background. His steady gaze never wavered from yours, and for a fleeting moment, you felt a crack in the armor he so carefully wore.

“Miss Featherington,” he said quietly, his voice almost too soft to hear over the music, “you are full of surprises.”

“You’ll find I have many more,” you replied, your tone light, though your heart raced.

For the first time, you wondered if you weren’t just saving Anthony from the eager ladies of the ton—but perhaps saving him based on hidden intentions, ones you won’t reveal just yet.

“Say,” you start to speak as he twirls you around “Have you found the woman you have been looking for yet? With a pleasing face, acceptable wit and genteel manners to match a viscountess?” you throw in his future words you know he will say to his acquaintances in a few minutes

Anthony’s brows lifted slightly as he caught your words, his grip on your waist firm yet graceful as he guided you through the dance. A flicker of amusement played at the edges of his mouth. “You seem remarkably well-versed in my supposed preferences, Miss Featherington,” he said. “One might think you’ve spent some considerable time pondering them.”

You laughed softly, tilting your head in mock innocence. “Hardly, my lord. It’s merely what the ton whispers about your requirements. Though, I must say, the criteria sound rather… clinical. Do you plan to select a wife or hire a governess?”

His lips quirked upward at the jab. “I assure you, my intentions are far from clinical. But it is prudent for a man in my position to approach the matter with care. I am, after all, securing the future of my family.”

“How noble of you,” you said, though your tone was laced with playful skepticism. “And here I thought a love match was all the rage these days. Perhaps I’ve misjudged the viscount’s romantic sensibilities.”

Anthony’s eyes narrowed slightly, though not in displeasure. There was a glint of challenge in his gaze. “And what would you suggest, Miss Featherington? That I throw caution to the wind and risk everything for a fleeting emotion?”

“Not fleeting, my lord,” you countered, your voice dropping to a softer, more serious tone. “Love can be enduring. It can be powerful. The kind of love that consumes you entirely—it’s worth the risk.”

For a moment, he seemed caught off guard, his steps faltering ever so slightly before he recovered. His gaze lingered on you, searching, as though trying to discern if your words were meant as a jest or something deeper.

“And what of you, Miss Featherington?” he asked, his tone quieter now, almost curious. “Do you believe in such consuming love?”

You smiled, a hint of mischief returning to your expression. “Oh, I wouldn’t dare admit such a thing in public, my lord. It might give the impression that I’m romantic, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

Anthony chuckled, the sound low and rich. “You are an enigma, Miss Featherington. Most ladies are content to charm me with compliments, yet you seem intent on challenging me at every turn.”

“Well, are truly all the ladies of London charmed by a pleasing smile and nothing more to shower you with compliments all the time?” you said, meeting his gaze with a boldness you hadn’t quite expected of yourself, unconsciously speaking out Kate’s sentence “perhaps I prefer to stand out in a crowd. After all, my lord, isn’t that what catches your attention?”

His grip on your hand tightened slightly, his expression softening. “So you find my smile pleasing?” He smirked teasingly

“I won’t deny nor confirm it” You glance at him mischievously

“…You have my attention, Miss Featherington,” he admitted, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Though I suspect you knew that already.”

You couldn’t suppress a smile, your heart racing as the dance carried on. “Perhaps,” you said lightly. “Or perhaps I’m simply enjoying the rare occasion of rendering you speechless, Lord Bridgerton.”

Anthony chuckled again, the sound almost indulgent. “A dangerous game you’re playing, Miss Featherington.”

“Life’s more interesting that way, wouldn’t you agree?”

As the final notes of the waltz filled the air, Anthony’s gaze lingered on yours a moment longer than necessary. You had achieved what you’d set out to do—leave the viscount intrigued and just a little off balance. Now, you only hoped it would be enough to further your hidden intentions.

⏮️ ⏸️ ⏭️

Taglist:

@heyyitsreign

@imafangirlofeverything

@stopeatread

@smartiepants217

[double-u-qed]

for me personally, what strengthens my autistic prowl headcanon is that he's rather good on the principles of body language, taking stock of minute movements and understanding what it could mean. he overanalyzes and tries to predict the meaning behind it. but he doesn't have the full grasp on social matters, thus making people unpredictable because he doesn't truly understand or even just 'go with the flow' when it comes to people. he needs a script of sort to interact, and in a way, body language is that.

he can have all the data on someone he wants, preferring to think of people in numbers because numbers are safe and predictable (not as in, oh, Prowl is willing to let people die. when i say numbers here i mean it literally, as in his calculations that he can't help himself from running). the individuality of people, however.... he can't actually put his knowledge into practice when he's thinking too hard on how he should react to said body language.

im not necessarily applying this to idw1 specifically, btw (all prowls are autistic to me). because the thing about idw1 prowl, i do like seeing him in an autistic lens but he is also Just An Asshole. he can in fact be both (though there's something to be said on how certain characters are a touch unreliable in how they talk about him because they believe the worst of him (i.e., Fort Max feeling he was left for dead when Prowl was led to believe that he had died), as well as how the writers just wanted to make Prowl Always in the wrong, even though he very much had a point in saying the Autobots were hypocrites, even if Prowl is still a bad guy despite being a victim). that's a lot of words to say that i hate people looking at Prowl's worst traits and trying to justify them simply with 'he's autistic' lol. there can be a genuinely interesting conversation on how the way his processor works can be an allegory for being neurodivergent/autistic specifically, but alas.. prowl is extremely flawed, and that's okay! he can be flawed and still exist within the realm of your headcanon.

really i just mean it's a bit Interesting when that's all people go with. you can say it's a mix of both, and that's still better than painting a rather harmful picture of autism/autistic traits. they don't make you into an asshole, they make certain areas of life harder to navigate. in Prowl's case, i think you can definitely say that both his good and bad traits can be used for the headcanon, it's just that he also doesn't do himself any favors when it comes to people liking him, and he's well aware of that. he doesn't pretend to be a good person, but he still gets frustrated when people don't see things the way he does.

it's difficult even trying to articulate my thoughts here because i don't want to be misunderstood oughhh i just relate to him because i tend to answer rhetorical questions because i can't pick up on whether or not someone is being genuine in asking, but im really fucking good at reading body languages. it's like a game of life or death to me. i took classes for something that seems to come easier to people, building up the skill. all just to still not get people on a fundamental level. Oh well

[boundinparchment]

IN POWER WE ENTRUST THE LOVE ADVOCATED

Celestia fell and the future remains uncertain, preventing you from finalizing the gift intended to convey what mere words alone could not. Zandik, in turn, struggles with his own creations. A trip to Remuria, now uncovered by the sea, provides some clarity for you both. Official (or unofficial) sequel to 'Dream a Little Dream of Me'. Rated Mature to be safe, minors DNI. TW: pregnancy. 10,154 words. Available on AO3 here. Reblogs, kudos, and comments appreciated. Note: This was on my Fics For Gaza donation list and I ran with the idea. Donations were low but this was a story I wanted to tell regardless.

You rearranged the sheets across the stand, shuffling them until the first page was showing again and then staring at the notes so carefully written.  This was the third draft, as marked by the linear strikes in the top left, your way of keeping track of which version was the latest.  The first three pages in particular were disarming at a glance.  Their notes were meticulously inked and set in stone.  You were happy with each note’s placement, the rhythm and cadence and melody.

A strong beginning would carry through the rest.  That’s how it always worked.

After massaging your bow hand and testing your fingers, the joints less than agreeable today, you pulled the pendulum on the metronome and began again.

The first bars were practically woven in your very essence, a scattering of rests and triplets that attempted to capture exciting youth.  Closing your eyes, you allowed memory to carry you through the first dozen and a half bars.  The octave dropped, flowing notes giving way again to staccato frustration and shifting sands before they bled into crisp tundra and warm hearths.  

It led right into the second movement, legato curves that mimicked the way Fontaine’s water seemed to stretch on forever.  Hope, passion, dulled for a time by low notes and shuddering breaths, before a promise twinkled in the tide.  A journey, more notes stretching into eternity, disrupted again, only this time, an echo of earlier bars in a different octave, certain and slow.  

This would have made a better duet and could have been arranged as such; the thought crossed your mind more than you cared to admit.  The recording of it would have been easy to achieve but you didn’t want that.  This was your work and you wanted to play it in a single performance because otherwise…

Your fingers found the familiar patterns, an amalgamation that you hoped sounded like a push-and-pull.  They brought back such vivid memories for you but would that be the case for your audience?  A motif from a god’s request, a flurry of emotion as destructive as its cause, and then a closing bar that mimicked the first, long and full of hope in the flickering light of a burning tree.

Inhaling shakily, you pulled the next paper to the left and followed your latest addition, pencil marks harder to read between the erasures and the smudging.  You carried through the first five bars, certain of their arrangement and then felt out the rest, fingers slower than your mind as your thoughts raced forward, unease and trepidation taking hold.

A burning ache ran through your knuckles and up to your elbow and you pulled your bow away, a wolf tone coming with it.

You swallowed the scream clawing at your throat and instead let out a shuddering breath through your teeth.

It shouldn’t be this hard.

A sonata was something you could write in your sleep, backwards, and upside-down.  Especially given your source material.

The world might have changed but your love hadn’t.

Dreams were little more than solitary moments of brain activity with Celestia gone.  And while that meant having to more consciously work on your relationship, it didn’t make it any less organic.

Maybe this was all pointless.

He had to know by now.  His power of observation knew no bounds.  He would not have missed the fact that you had been gone longer than usual the other day to obtain proper evidence in black and white.  Especially the day after a visit from Tsaritsa where she asked to speak to you privately.  

This entire idea was a waste, absolutely insane.  It would have been easier to just…

You settled your cello back into its stand and rose, idly smoothing out your sleeves as you tried to pull yourself together.  The arrangement would come to you.  It always did, in the end.  There was time.  For now, walking away was best.  You didn’t want to restring either your instrument or your bow all because you’d tried to force what instead needed coaxing.

Gathering up the tray on which you’d brought in the small pot of coffee and a pitcher of water, you left your study and headed back into the kitchen.  There was already a fresh pot percolating on the counter, the smell enticing and yet stomach-churning all at once.  This was a new blend from Puspa Cafe, one you had picked out yourself weeks ago.

Well, at least he could enjoy it properly.  For now, you basked in the scent, the unease in your gut settling as you rinsed your dishes and settled them into the device on the counter.  You hooked up one hose to the faucet and put the other near the sink’s drain, as Zandik showed you, and turned it on.  The motor whirred and you watched water splash on the glass door until suds began to rise.

Your home was full of such little devices.  Dishes were a waste of time for both of you when your minds were better equipped for other things, he had said.  That, and you’d been unable to hold anything for more than a few seconds for months at a time as your hand healed.  He used extra parts for a clothes laundering machine and a special typewriter for your sheet music and even a special percolator to extract the most out of coffee grounds and tea leaves.  

And that didn’t begin to cover the little wind-up creatures you displayed on the windowsills or the hand-crafted ring with a new stone in place resting in your jewelry box.  The swimming otter was your favorite reminder of Fontaine.

The layout and design was different from what you had conceived in the dreamscape, save one decision.  A proper basement, reinforced and deeper than the standard to allow for most of Zandik’s larger projects.  Whatever was too unsafe for the house was kept in another workshop nearby.  So far, nothing ever caught on fire or caused an explosion.  The only things that both of you agreed to keep were the tall windows, this time attached to a small glass sunroom where you loved to lounge when the mood struck.

Today, however, was gray and heavy with the promise of rain.  While you didn’t put much stock into such things, the weather was not a help to your mood nor your creativity.

The steaming pot on the counter clicked and you poured some into a handmade clay cup, the glaze matte and rough against your calloused fingers.  You held it tight in your good hand, your other supporting the bottom, and savored the warmth as you brought it down into the basement workshop.

Distractions rarely ever helped but you were running out of steam; maybe seeing Zandik busy would reinvigorate you.

Zandik frowned as he heard the wolf tone; the sound itself was faint but it spoke volumes of your frustration.  They were more common lately.  Despite the stone foundation and the insulation, your studio was not entirely soundproof and therefore he could still make out faint melodies if he listened hard enough.  Your footsteps, too.  You paced sometimes, occasionally stepping in time with the signature you were working in.  Breakthroughs were a flurry of steps, sometimes the vibrations of the piano to compare, over and over, only one change applied at a time.

He did his best to tune out what he could, for your sake.  Questions were only met with a harried shuffle of papers and an attempt to be nonchalant.

You were a terrible liar, the skill worn down from a lack of practice, but he would not press.  After all, you’d made it clear that if something was wrong , you would tell him.  So he could only conclude that whatever you were working on was for him and it was intended to be a surprise.

But why did you always stumble over the same section?  Was the composition too difficult, did your tendons seize up?

Zandik tightened the bolt harder, wrench slipping when its target would move no further in the same way his thoughts ran from him.  He tested the joint, and, satisfied with the range of motion, stepped back to assess the whole picture.

Which was a whole jumbled mess of…

What was this meant to be, anyway?

Pierro had offered a stash of blueprints, barely legible and all of the missing crucial details.  Briefly, Zandik wondered if the old man was considering a trip to the depths of the Abyss for one final battle with the way the conversation went.  The entire encounter was as bizarre as their initial meeting in the desert, perhaps more so with the glimmer of pride that exuded from his former superior.

He’d been unable to stop the curling of a sneer for the better part of several hours afterwards.

Faintly, Zandik heard your footsteps in the kitchen, the rush of water, and then a beeline for the basement door.  Usually, weather-permitting, you were outside or at least closing your eyes in the lavish warmth of the sun.  You were tired as of late, even if you smiled through the daze of fatigue.

He counted each steady beat of your steps as you descended, the familiar bitter and smooth scent wafting down along with you.  It was the closest roast to what he had in the desert all those centuries ago and now that supply was finally beginning to even out, he did not mind indulging in occasional memories.  It was a shame, however, you were only carrying one mug.

Every time you were around the scent, you were tense and he could practically smell the acid on your breath.  You began abstaining, even from the decaffeinated blends, and avoided being around it for too long, otherwise you were liable to be sick.

Another adjustment you waved away.

And on top of it all, your mind was clearly burdened, otherwise you would not be struggling as you were.

“I thought you’d like it fresh,” you said, offering the mug as you drew closer.

White knuckles on one hand, your grip tight: overcompensating.  Your other hand cradled the bottom, fingertips grazing the unfinished ring, trembling with weakness.  The very last thing he wanted was you burdening yourself over something so trivial when your hands had much better purposes to serve.

“I was going to come upstairs, rooh’ albi ,” Zandik said.  “There was no need to trouble yourself.”

Something flickered across your face that he couldn’t name, gone before he could identify itself, lips pulled between your teeth in thought.  He took a sip, savoring the bright bitterness, pleased with how the adjustments in temperature and the efficient filters brought out the Ajilenakh nut subtleties.  

You stepped further into the workshop and dragged your eyes over the workbench and the metal arm, Pierro’s blueprint pinned on the wall above as a guide.  Between the burns and the flaking of the material itself, Zandik was surprised he’d made it this far, just assembling a series of moving arms.

“It’s not ‘trouble’, Zandik.  I needed the break, as I’m sure you heard,” you replied wryly.  “No use pretending you didn’t hear me banging on the piano yesterday; I’m almost certain Sumeru City heard me.”

Your voice wavered ever so slightly, a warble that anyone else would have passed off as simple frustration.  This block went deeper for you than a mere lack of inspiration and it was beginning to seep into your very bones.  No wonder you were always exhausted.  He was painfully familiar with the other end of the spectrum, one that often kept one of his younger Segments in cycles of ennui and despair because he happened to take the portion of his life during which he was bored by the Akademiya’s authority and illogical rules.  Not all ideas could be pushed through as if they were little more than a target for your claymore.  

But you knew this.  Of course you did.

You held up a finger and turned your gaze back to him.  The circles were fading but your eyes were still a little puffy.

“Before you suggest that I work on something else, I’ve tried .  I attempted working from the end but that requires having an ending in mind.  Other pieces feel as if they’re just standing in for the rest, hollow shells that are perfectly adequate compositions but empty arrangements.   It’s all up here,” you gestured to your head, “but it won’t work its way down into my hands and put my fingers in the right places.”

Zandik placed his cup down out of range of the workbench and took your hands in his after removing his gloves.  Nothing was more infuriating than when the connection between one’s heart and mind was lost, severed entirely.  There were several projects over the years too ambitious for him to endeavor as a student or even in the early years as a Harbinger.  He’d scribbled them down in vain and his Segments came across them decades later, finally equipped with the experiences necessary.  Usually they all fell to Omega.

The words forming themselves on his lips were not what most wanted to hear but he was never one for empty platitudes.  What good was comfort if all of it was a lie?

Your hands were warm still from holding the mug, 

“Perhaps this particular piece isn’t ready for you, yet,” he said at last.  “Continue to force it and you’ll hate your craft entirely.”

“I don’t have that luxury, Zandik,” you murmured.  “This is the only way I know how to…”

You squeezed his hands, the tightest he felt in years that no doubt hurt you in the process.  There it was again, that nameless apparition gliding across your brow and the color of your cheeks.  Ever since that visit from the Tsaritsa (he knew not what to call her now, old habits died hard) and a subsequent trip from Pierro, you were acting as if you were…

But if you were , he would know .  Because you would tell him and there would be signs and he would be able to research and mitigate and stop it from taking you from him.  The world changed with Celestia’s downfall but the event had not taken his intelligence and all that came with it.

“It’s important to me that I express what I need to through my composition.  I know it doesn’t make sense to you to do that—“

A spark flared in his chest and he inhaled through his nose.  He kept his tone even, for he wasn’t angry, but did you not see how hypocritical and illogical this was?  Wasn’t this a repeat of the very situation that gave you a physical traumatic response over playing?

“Do consider the consequences when I tried to keep something from you thinking it was a clever and romantic idea.  What can’t you express in words, rooh’ albi ?”

“It’s a gift , Zandik.  The whole thing is a gift for you, speaking defeats the purpose when I’m trying to invoke particular emotions and memories.”

“But you feel stuck .”

You shook your head.

“Less stuck and more foggy.  Uncertain.”

“About?”

You pulled your hands away and threw your arms up, gesturing all around as you paced.  “Everything before was always a given.  We could dream and build and the world we knew stayed as it was with little changes and the rules were static and the stars never shifted.  The average person knew the world was safe and steady and I can assume that here , too, but the rules changed .  The future is a foreign land for everyone and here we are, continuing on as if…”

Strange. You never expressed that before, not with such animation and intensity.  And you saw enough of Teyvat away from Celestia’s rule to know that although Visions and Archons and leylines were no longer present, the landscape didn’t change entirely.  Most nations stayed the same, except for where the Abyssal corrosion struck hard and had already eaten away at the land.

Change was different for everyone, he reminded himself.  To talk about it and know it occurred were merely conceptual in nature; to see it meant living through it, which in turn shook the equilibrium, and it took time for it to set in.  A scarce few years of this compared to one’s life in a couple of decades or so was still a shock to the system.  

What scared you so?  What needed to instead be translated first and foremost in such a manner rather than simply spoken aloud?

You were hardly this obtuse before and he was beginning to understand why his previous decisions were so infuriating for you and so many others.

Zandik let out a slow breath, the love he held for you winning out against the rising flare of annoyance.  He didn’t agree with it but on the other hand, if you were truly dying , you wouldn’t have the strength to continue essentially running head-first into a brick wall every day.

You met his eyes and a silent plea marred your features, begging him not to press.

Maybe that was precisely the problem.  You were pressing yourself too hard with no alternatives as of late.  The weather was too poor and he was only using Pierro’s pile of Khaenri’ahn blueprints as a distraction away from a solution to further slow the Abyssal corrosion that was slowly eating at him.  Ironic that Celestia was the very thing that kept the balance of the burden of immortality and slowed it down as punishment for daring to survive.  Both of you were too far in your own heads.

A curse of its own, really.

He stilled his brow and instead held his arms open, beckoning you back to him.  Your warmth was instant, curling around him like a well-tended hearth.  He nuzzled the crown of your head as you burrowed into him.  Amid the scent of your shampoo and soap, sweet and fresh, was a note that he couldn’t figure out and yet drew him closer to you all the same.

“A change of scenery might be beneficial,” Zandik murmured, idly rubbing his nose against your hair.  “There’s only so much to do when one’s environment is the same.”

You nodded, turning your head to brush your cheek against his.  Per your request, he’d attempted to keep the facial hair you found so enticing, but a recent trim left it shorter than usual and a little scratchy.  It didn’t prevent you from touching it, either with your own face or a traveling hand.  He would figure out a preferred style, given time.

“You’re more of a field researcher than a classroom scholar, I’m sure you’ve been feeling rather stifled too,” you replied.  “Hard to figure out possible options when you’re cooped up in here.”

“I haven’t been—”

“But you haven’t exactly left Sumeru since we settled here, either.  Not without me or at least not without a very specific purpose.”

He huffed against your ear.

“You can’t not explore this world, Zandik, that’s like asking a fish not to swim.”

“And you never asked me not to.  It’s my own doing.”

Deep down, he knew could you manage without him if he chose to disappear for weeks at a time to explore and study the changes in this world.  Hell, he could find a way to travel to the fractured moon in the sky and you would be perfectly fine in his absence.  That was part of the driving force behind so many of the devices around the house.  If your hands hurt, then you had a means to do dishes or cut up vegetables or restring your cello with ease.  

The frown that tugged at your mouth any time the weakness in your hands struck or the wound flared up was enough to revitalize a second life’s purpose in finding ways to make tasks accessible to you again.  

But what good was seeing any part of this world without you by his side?  At least dreaming provided a means to close the distance, as Natlan had proven.

This time it was your turn to shift and burrow your head under his chin, no doubt in an attempt to stop craning your neck to reach him.  There it was again, that faint scent that was so familiar and rooted to you , sticking out like a thorn, enticing nonetheless.  His chest constricted, stomach dropping as he felt the familiar fire beginning to creep up on him.  Had you laced yourself with an aphrodisiac?  

If you were down here any longer, he was liable to sweep off the workbench’s contents and replace them with you.  And while both of you enjoyed spontaneity, something in your body language told him you would not be up to it right now.  Perhaps after lunch, nestled on the chaise, listening to the rain, little more than closing distance.  Yearning settled itself into the pit of his stomach and every cell in his body just wanted to be near you.

“Consider it, rooh’ albi .  You don’t need to answer immediately,” Zandik murmured.  “We’ll discuss it further when I come upstairs for lunch.”

Zandik felt your nod against his chin and your hold on him eased as you stepped away.  You looked better, a little more lively, and your departure kiss was petal soft and full of conviction.  As it always was.

Nonetheless, when the door upstairs closed, he couldn’t help but wonder: what had you, his unwavering and steadfast soulmate, so terrified and uncertain?

You hadn’t expected the company after lunch but it was welcome nonetheless.  He settled behind you, finding the perfect spot on your neck.  Your body responded instantly and neither of you bothered to fully undress before he rocked into you, slow and languid.  Just when either of you drifted off, the other moved or twitched, starting up a series of thrusts all over again.

The goal wasn’t pleasure but you both came easily in tiny gasps and choked groans.  Neither of you moved after that, uncaring about the rest as sleep crept up on you.

It had taken everything in you not to ask why, of all things, Zandik had chosen that blueprint.  It was obvious what it was from the picture alone.  Pierro was to blame, really, for even passing it along.  No doubt the Tsaritsa confided in him about her finding, both of them under the impression that Zandik was already privy. 

No wonder he, too, was having a block of some kind.  He was creating something from an ancient blueprint that, to him, was utterly useless.  All to keep himself occupied while his brain idly attempted a remedy for something that…

You rubbed your face against the pillow for a second, willing yourself to relax.

Zandik was right.  A vacation was needed.  More than.

So much of Sumeru was an adjustment, both in the temperature and the culture.  You hadn’t even seen the desert yet, despite asking, but Zandik was adamant about never stepping foot out there again if he could help it.  You’d taken to everything just fine, except for the brief stop at the top of the Tree, where a little spout saw fit to mock.  

But when you pushed through the fog, you felt your heart tugging towards home.  Or rather, your old home.  Arguably, it could be said that you were home as long as the man next to you was there, but the sentiment didn’t quite fit at present.

Fontaine. It had been so long since you left, you’d lost track.  After burning Irminsul, you found yourself in Sumeru and never quite managed to go beyond the reaches of the land of Wisdom.  You heard numerous discoveries through letters and reports, from chatter in the city and from Zandik himself when he did, in fact, venture out for days at a time.  What was it the Tsaritsa mentioned on her last visit?  Something about Remuria, Petrichor’s successful growth now that old ruins surfaced again, visible from even Chenyun Vale?

Maybe a trip to the mainland could fit, too, if either of you wanted.  You would have to inquire about the Opera’s schedule of events.  Zandik had probably been to Fontaine, or a Segment had, but perhaps some remnants of the Research Institute would pique his interest.  This wasn’t just for you, after all.

And it might be the last excursion for a while, depending.

You pushed away the faint thought that came with a memory of a young sleeping boy in your lap years prior.

When Zandik finally stirred, you tangled your foot with his and pulled him back, earning yourself a hot gasp against your ear.

“There’s too much of a good thing, rooh’ albi ,” he teased.

You bit back a laugh, agreeing silently for a different reason.

“I was thinking,” you began, Zandik’s form enveloping you again.

“Always a good place to start.”

You shifted just so and the hand on your hip gripped tighter, squeezing you in silent warning.

“What if we went to Fontaine for a bit?  Perhaps to Petrichor, see the ruins of Rumeria?”

“You truly wish to see what the myth was like, whether it measures up to the tales?  It might be far less grand than what you grew up hearing,” Zandik countered.

“That’s not a proper reason not to see it,” you replied, turning your head to look at him out of the corner of your eye.  “In fact, I would argue that would be precisely the point.  It’s silly to not expand my knowledge of where I was born, even if that means it might not match the expectations set by millenia of epic tales.”

Zandik pulled you closer and settled back against you, burying his nose in your hair.  He’d been doing that every chance he had ever since that morning.  You’d done nothing to change your routine but the increased physical affection only managed to give way to doubt that perhaps you did a poor job hiding these last few weeks.

His lips found your earlobe, teeth grazing the soft flesh just enough to extract a sharp exhale from you.  Against your skin, he whispered, “Fontaine it is, then.”

Without the leylines, traveling from deep within Sumeru’s forests was half a day’s journey in and of itself.  You passed a grand palace on your way to Bayda Harbor, a hidden jewel that resembled something you might have once attempted in the dreamscape.

You heard the harbor before you saw it, a soft swelling of shouts and the hum of crane motors amid the usual bustle of port activity.  Over the hill, you caught a glimpse of colorful houses, their chimneys smoking, and the scent of cooked fish and fresh fruit wafted across the landscape.  Sparkling water came into view as the dirt path gave way to flagstone, iron railings sweeping down the curve of the path, guiding travelers down towards the main thoroughfare.

“Exponential growth since I was last here,” Zandik said, leaning close to be heard over the noise.  “Half of these buildings are new.  I remember when this had nothing more than the port authority and a three boat pier.”

He pointed to the sweeping curves of the building to your immediate left, one of the only buildings in pure Sumerian style.

The rest of the buildings were a jumbled array of styles, plaster and brick painted in soft colors with tiled roofs, a maze of stairs and outlooks carved into the very hills.  You got the impression that, no matter where one stood, they were privy to a unique and stunning view of the water and the land beyond.

Newly invigorated, you began to climb, mindful of your path as to remember the way down.  With all of your belongings packed neatly and only a hand’s wave away along with your weapons (Zandik determined that the void used was a pocket of the abyss and therefore unconnected to Irminsul), neither of you had to lug cases to the dock first and backtrack.  Some rules remained, regardless of Celestia, and you were thankful for their convenience.

Once you reached the top, where a white plaster building was perched and the scent of spiced meat trickled out through the open doorway, you finally dared let your eyes skim past the coastline.

Petrichor had been little more than a small remote island when you were a child.  Your last visit was short, a curated walk around the buildings and the festival square, with a history lesson about the power of music.  The cats were friendly and your entire class took turns trying to earn their favor when the tour guide’s back was turned.  Last you heard, the Traveler followed some keen treasure hunters and uncovered the entrance to the long-forgotten world trapped beneath the waves.

Nothing prepared you for the swelling aqueducts, rising spires, and the amphitheater that spanned most of the basin beneath the plateau. An entire civilization built on music, determined to defy the fate laid before them, exposed to the world once more.  Its very essence glittered under the late morning sun and all you could do was stare.

Fairytales held their grains of truth after all.

“I imagine this is what it felt like to lay eyes on that Ruin Golem for the first time and clamoring inside,” you said.  “All of the paintings about the myths were so very wrong .”

“It was said that no true civilizations were built in Fontaine for millenia; Gurabad grew and fell all before Remus’ arrival from Sumeru,” Zandik replied.  “Always a shocking perspective, how advanced some areas of the world became while others struggled with their environment.”

“Gurabad?”

“A story for another time.  I prefer not to discuss those expeditions when we are about to board a vessel upon which my inner ear will be displeased for most of the journey.”

You swallowed your own wave of nausea, a normality now, wishing you could commiserate properly.

Instead of returning the way you came, Zandik led you through the rest of the cliffside, through terraces and up and down small flights of stairs.  You came upon a better view of the amphitheater, which, from this angle, looked more akin to a large…transmitter.  There weren’t any seats, from what you could make out.

When you said as much to Zandik, he agreed and said, “It would not surprise me, given it was a land where music was central to its culture.”

Eventually, you made your way back down and boarded the small ferry to Petrichor, packed with people.  Zandik, of course, selected a secluded spot towards the back where there was relative privacy.  You weren’t certain if your nausea was aggravated by the smell of the fuel, or the boat’s movements, but you emptied your stomach in the first ten minutes of rocking waves.  Zandik was green in the face, quiet and leaning his forearms on the railing to focus on his breathing; you felt his eyes on you as you took a swig from your canteen to rinse your mouth, ridding yourself of the acrid taste.

“Small boats and I never agreed,” you said.  “Too little surface area.”

He stared at you a second longer than necessary, relenting only when you joked about getting sick so he didn’t have to.  You could see the gears turning in his mind out of the corner of your eye.  He knew.  There was no way he didn’t by now.  Even if the boat made for a good cover, he must have put all of the pieces together himself.

All of this was so silly.  He’d made the arrangements himself over the last week, determined to plan a trip that was bound to at least spark a chance for both inspiration and new memories.  Ambitious in its scope, you knew he put every forethought and afterthought into each choice from the length of time to the destination.  Your Zandik loved to plan, after all.  He’d muttered about needing to account for spontaneous variables but if he was nothing if not thorough.

For the rest of the short trip, the two of you discussed your itinerary in short fragments, distracting one another with the prospect of being on land again.  You would spend the rest of the day exploring Petrichor, getting a lay of the land, do Remuria’s ruins tomorrow (and the next, if it was needed), have one more day on the island, and then take the aquabus into Fontaine proper if you still needed time away. 

The ride concluded sooner than expected and the newly-constructed wooden pier gave way to a winding stone path up through Petrichor’s streets.  You couldn’t help but pause and stare.  The trees were the same, if a little weathered, the flowers and the grass seemingly frozen in time.  A once-grand Statue of the Seven laid not toppled but modified, Lady Focalors seated on the ground while Sir Neuvillette rose from a splash of waves behind her.  In comparison, Sumeru’s statues were toppled entirely at the behest of Kusanali herself, who no longer wanted to be separate from her people as an idolized leader.

Your eye tracked a few more buildings towards the coast, bigger and a little flashy.  It all paled in comparison to the ruins visible from the beach, their scale on par with Fontaine City itself.  Here, the very air seemed to hum with notes, like windchimes nudged by a breeze.  The longer you looked at the rising spires and sweeping aqueducts, the more prevalent the sounds became.  They were trying to form a song but when it was this disjointed, it was difficult to—

A hand on your waist and a whisper of your name snapped you out of your reverie.  Zandik’s garnet eyes searched your face before boring into your own for a second.

“Need I worry about you sleepwalking into the sea at the correct note wafting through the air?” he asked, sardonic.

“No.  It’s unusual, is all.  You hear it too?”

“Everyone can.  If you look, the spires are all different sizes, as if they’re—”

“Tuning forks,” you concluded.

Zandik nodded.  “We’ll adjust and our brains will likely sort out the sound in a few hours.  People would not be living here if it was that much of a nuisance.”

You could tell by the twitch of his lip that he had more he wanted to say but instead, he settled one hand on the small of your back, silently ushering you onwards.

It must have been the memories stirring up all of your energy; in the last few weeks, you never seemed as lively as you did now.  Every time your eyes laid on a building, you were full of tales of childhood fun and nostalgia.  You could seemingly trace a single brick with your eyes and have an entire moment come back to you with striking clarity.

Zandik wished he could say the same but perhaps it was for the best that his home village was no longer on any map.  As much as he wanted to reciprocate, he much more enjoyed the warm swelling in his chest at your smile and the way every cat you encountered bumped its head against your palm.  One went so far as to weave itself between his legs and yours, slowly blinking before it settled down for a nap near a flowerbed.

You were so often hidden behind a veil as of late.  Such moments were common for most, some temporary and others not, but his skin itched at the notion that something was amiss.  It had to be.  Even if it was a matter of neglecting your mental health as of late, at least it would be an answer.

But then there was the matter of the boat.

On the trip from Sumeru to Snezhnaya all those years ago, you had the smallest bout of nausea but quickly acclimated.  Like most, you adjusted perfectly fine; by comparison, the crystals in his inner ears never quite found the right angle and he suffered every time.

His second lamentation of burning Irminsul was the lack of leylines through which to travel freely.  An act he took for granted for centuries.

That you were compelled to be sick on such a small boat so quickly…

Unusual, to say the least.  Were you nauseous prior, he wondered.  If so, why?  You’d eaten nothing out of the ordinary and already long overcame the agony of caffeine withdrawal.

Zandik listened and watched your expression as you regalled him with a story about the bakery you were stopped in front of.  All the while, he felt the pressure around his ankles as another cat wove between them, purring so loudly he wondered if it was mechanical.  His trousers would be covered in fur by the time you reached the rented cottage and he made a mental note to acquire a lint roller as soon as convenient.

He watched you, bathed in the late afternoon sunlight, your eyes focused on the golden interior and drinking it all in again.

“We’ll have to stop by first thing in the morning, when everything is warm,” you said, turning back to him.  “I had the best brioche here.  There was a pâtisserie not too far, unless they moved…best desserts outside of Fontaine City…”

You continued to lead the way to the town square, small but full of garlands of flowers, where musical motifs were carved into stone pillars around the stage.  A gaggle of children ran past, one of them claiming to be God-King Remus in a theatre mask, another pretending to be Chief Justice Neuvillette, Melusine plushie in hand.  From what Zandik gathered, they were fighting over who was the rightful ruler of all of Fontaine.  They took to the miniscule stage, gesturing and making sound effects, captivating their entire audience.

A white cat with mismatching eyes presided over the performance, tail flicking occasionally.  It laid its eyes on you, blinking slowly once, before turning its attention back to the children.

He never had the time for such antics growing up.  Or rather, whenever he did try, he was too logical for the rest of his peers and supposedly ruined the fun.  That was before, of course, he grew smart enough to know how to build counter-arguments.  He had not yet returned to his parents with bruises and welts from stones at that point.

An experience he would never relate to.

But it was why Celestia’s downfall was so important.  No one would be subjected to a fate tied to a name, to a constellation, born to suffer.  All were equal.

Even the shy ones on the sidelines were included in the play-acting, less an audience and more stagehands and storytellers.

Zandik’s eyes fell to you, your gaze lost again for the briefest moment before you blinked.  The expression differed little from your time overseeing your students at the House of the Hearth, with a little fragment that escaped him.  Did you miss teaching?  Perhaps it was worthwhile to reach out to the Zubayr Theatre upon your return, to see if they needed an extra hand.

After all, you needed to have something else to call your own, not just your music.

“There were hardly any people here before,” you said as you left the square.  “Let alone children.  School visits were really the only time this place was filled with anything other than desolate silence, except for the cats.”

“They’re akin to their brethren from Sumeru, well-tended to and beloved by most,” Zandik observed.

The two of you finally reached the small house, nestled closer to the beach at the foot of the small rock formation.  At one end, a view of the glowing Harvisptokhm beyond the high mountains; the other bore a glittering view of bygone eras, gaps in the aqueducts glowing with strings of what the locals referred to as Ichor.

Late into the night, you watched the strings, waving a hand over them in mimicry of plucking them as you drifted off, humming a new motif to yourself.  

Some of his worries began to slip off of his shoulders as he held you tight, a sliver of your brightness finally within your grasp again.

The only thing keeping your fatigue at bay the next morning was the excitement to trek up the partial aqueduct to the Clivus Capitolinus, the entryway into the Domus Aurea and Sacellum Requietis.  It was there that the God King Remus gave his final orders and the Grand Symphony self-destructed, taking everyone with it.  Little survived the shattering of several sub-level-bubbles within Teyvat itself.  That Remuria rose from the sea was, perhaps, a final usurpation of the prophecy Remus fought so hard to defy.  

Or so the tour guide said.  You were still recovering from your trip to the viennoiserie for breakfast.  Your eyes were bigger than your stomach and you’d openly stared at Zandik’s coffee with intense longing.

The air here was fresh and cool, kissing your bare arms with a faint breeze.  You’d missed this.  In the deep jungles, the air was so moist and heavy, leaving you sticky on particularly humid days.  But here, you felt as if every breath was easy and clear.

You gave a side glance at Zandik.  He shrugged, letting go of your hand just enough to shake his own in a so-so gesture.  The guide wasn’t wrong, then, just inaccurate.

The bronze aqueduct was full, it turned out, of the Golden Ichor that made up its harp-like strings.  It was only when the role the Ichor played was brought into the narrative by the guide that you paused and properly looked at the shimmering liquid.  

Putting memories and souls into bodies of metal was part of the legend but the Ichor was thought to have been long since lost or merely a mechanism for the tale.  Seeing it now, before you, only managed to ground the dawning realization that others achieved a system not unlike the one Zandik had.  And Remus had done it long before Celestia’s rule.

He must have sensed your train of thought, for he chuckled softly upon seeing your fixated gaze.  

“It’s little more than Primordial Water mixed with what other legends call a Philosopher’s Stone.  Pierro would call it something else but it’s the very pinnacle of alchemic achievements,” Zandik murmured.  “Both materials are archaic and do not take erosion into account.”

The Segments were a part of the past, long gone.  He rarely, if ever, spoke about them beyond a longing for more hands.  

“Is that your way of saying you did it better?” you teased.

He shot you a warning smirk.  “How foolish, rooh’ albi.  My work speaks for itself.”

You continued on, ears perking up at the description of Capitolium as a paradise overflowing with beautiful melodies.  When you reached the summit, your eyes traced a soaring and sweeping structure reaching for the sky; Domus Aurea, King Remus’ palace.  You wondered briefly if pipe organs were based on what little Fontainians knew of their predecessors.  The towering copper pillars glinted in the sun, winking at those who stared up at them.

The interior made the Library of Daena back in the Akademiya seem like a playpen.  Copper everywhere, except the stone floors, Ichor flowing through every free inch and only adding to the majesty.  The acoustics were impeccable, providing a means by which a speaker could address an audience with ease and shapes for soundwaves to flow and encapsulate listeners.

You came across a small crossroads on the way down to the Sacellum Requietis and grabbed Zandik’s arm when the tour guide glossed over the perfect tiles on the ceiling.  Your soulmate paused and he, too, began to look around, wondering just what caught your eye.

“Go stand over there,” you whispered, pointing to a corner diagonally from you.

Zandik’s red eyes lingered on you, narrow in their curiosity.  You nudged him gently before he complied and stood in the corner, facing you.  

You gestured for him to turn around, and when he did, you shifted and whispered into the corner in front of you.  What you said was of little consequence but when you heard Zandik’s reply as clear as day, you felt a wild surge of satisfaction.

“The low arches and the curve here allow the sound to travel and follow the arches perfectly,” you whispered.  “This entire crossway could be packed but two people would be able to get messages to each other easily as if they were right next to each other.”

“Exceptional eyes.  The material must matter, though.  And the distance.  Too close and the individuals might as well just turn around.”

You grinned and whispered one last message that left Zandik’s cheeks burning as you returned to his side.  It earned you a graze of his teeth on the shell of your ear and a threat he intended to make good on later.  He would, you had no doubt.

Continuing along, you caught up with the rest of the group.  As you reached the Sacellum Requietis ,all sound immediately perished.  A beautiful amphitheater, silent as a grave, you imagined ancient performances in honor of the Grand Symphony, of Phobos.  The tragedy of the very harmony that glued Remuria together was not only in its attempt to subvert the fate written for its people but that in order to do so, it needed to absorb their souls in the process.  Its corruption came from those it was meant to save.

Acoustically, the structure was undoubtedly perfect for containing and enveloping audiences in waves upon waves of sweet notes.  You strained in the silence, trying to hear anything other than the hushed whispers of the fellow tour-goers and the guide.  Distantly, you could make out a faint ringing, its pitch changing as the breeze whispered by.

As you descended into the center, your eyes trailed up towards the spires surrounding the arena.  If you turned your head, the ringing seemed to have an origin point in one direction or another.  Somehow, though, you doubted they were only tuning forks.  They were too tall, too narrow to do more than provide a faint hint of a note.  Not quite a transistor in function, either.

You stepped up to the podium, where the God King would have given his final command, and closed your eyes.

Like every leader that came before, Remus only wanted to protect his people, you mused.  All it took was one dissonant note amid the harmony he intended for it to all go wrong…

You swallowed, hands gripping the stone stand where the sheetmusics made of souls would have once made its home.  In the depths of your heart, you heard an agonizing dirge, felt the pressure of the sea beginning to encroach, ready to swallow an entire era and its mistakes along with it.  

Change was a constant and perfection was the antithesis of it.  Did Remus realize that, in the end?  Was he terrified of failing his people?

What was it Zandik had said all those years ago?  And we must change, mustn’t we?  Otherwise we give in to what is laid before us.

Your hand pulsed.  Opening your eyes, you blinked slowly before you craned your neck back and shielded your gaze.  A flock of seagulls soared nearby and the clouds still floated, crisp against the bright blue sky.  You turned your attention back to the stage to find Zandik examining the remnants of golden bees, completely enamored with the prospect of a creature no longer in existence.

Regardless of whether Celestia still loomed overhead or not, you would feel the same, suffer the same block.  This wasn’t just about you, what your body would endure, but everything that laid between you and Zandik.  What was the point of building it all, if not to face a curve in the road together ?

Already, you felt the notes beginning to weave themselves together, a marriage of the first two acts culminating in the creation of a brand new tune.  Slow, tentative, and then picking up the tempo again…

You scribbled notations on napkins at lunch and tried to keep yourself from humming.  Inevitably, you let a few notes slip before the day was out, earning you a quizzical stare before bed.  It took everything in you not to blurt out your breakthrough but to do so would ruin everything.  He so often graced you with creations and you wanted to do the same.

“I missed hearing you captivated,” was all Zandik said.

It held more weight in your heart than he knew.

The gnawing frustration in the pit of his stomach was beginning to wear him down.  His patience would hold until you returned home but by then, he would have a comprehensive methodology in place to test for various illnesses.  Zandik was never one to settle and leave an issue be, not when it came to your wellbeing.

He could forgive your desire to curb caffeine, considering the rebound and withdrawal migraines were agony.  Your fatigue could be mental as much as physical.  Same could be said for some of the dietary changes you made recently.  

But when you leaned over to kiss him the morning after the visit to the ruins, Zandik could not get his mind off of the way you smelled .  Just…in general.  Beneath the scent of the new soap during the stay and the hint of salt water, there was a shift in your own chemical composition.  Similar to the fluctuations you normally endured yet stronger, more potent.  It stirred a strange visceral reaction in the recesses of himself he was still trying to unravel and he couldn’t get enough of it.

It was the only logical thing that stood between him and the conclusion you were not disastrously ill.  He knew the smell of death and disease.  Neither came close to you.

Today, you decided, was best spent in Petrichor itself and among the people.  Already, you seemed to have more color in your cheeks and life in your eyes, although your attention seemed almost wistful at times when you thought he wasn’t looking.  Previously, such an expression had an edge of sorrow in it, but whatever resonated with you in Remuria had done its job: you were hard at work, thinking of combinations and patterns that were invisible and silent to all but you.

The first stop of the morning after breakfast was the bookshop near the square, specializing specifically in sheet music, history of various instruments and musical theory, with the smallest section of general interest.  Zandik browsed the theory section after pressing a kiss to your forehead and wishing you a successful journey; your smile might as well have bundled the sun itself and tucked it into his gut, the way excitement exuded from you.

Zandik picked a few tomes and settled into the cafe nook towards the front of the store.  He knew the rush of a new idea and the fixation that came with it all too well.  But too much, too fast, and you might burn yourself out before it was finished.  After everything that happened, you did not deserve to flicker out like a dying star.

Although he tried to delve into a collection of various theaters and performance halls, and a comparison of their layouts for acoustics and which provided the richest sound, your joyous exclamation tore his attention away.

“A full collection of recreated compositions!” you held up your find like a hunter with a prized rabbit as you approached.  “All of these are based on the music box the Traveler found!”

Your eyes practically glittered with stardust, the way excitement illuminated your face.  How long had it been since you last looked at him, at anyone, like that, Zandik mused.  What plagued your soul in such a fashion that made these moments rare occurrences as of late?

He watched as you returned to the bookseller charged with opening shift, your enthusiasm met with understanding nods and additional questions.  From here, the sun hit your hair perfectly but it wasn’t the star in the sky that made your entire being exude such brilliance.  There was, of course, something to be said about the return of one’s demeanor and true capacity, but this…

It was as if you had a renewed lease on life itself, unfettered, your mind having worked through something in the Sacellum Requietis.  Zandik leaned back in his chair, thoughtful.

Possible.  It was always a possibility, although not necessarily probable .  Besides, everyone exhibited differently.  Would explain most of your symptoms.  And the enigmatic smile the Tsaritsa had given on her visit.  Surely you trusted a physician in addition to a mere Archon’s sentiments?

If that was the cause.  Speculation would do little good without further evidence and a proper blood test.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t entertain the thought, though.  From that perspective, he allowed the train of logic to continue, and envisioned the blueprint tacked to his workshop wall, faded and illegible.  What would a collection of thin metal arms be good for?  Not strong enough to function as a claw, too light for a set of windchimes to dangle.  But there was a motor, and a little soundbox attached…Pierro’s stilted slap on the shoulder made far more sense in this context…

By the time you were finished, and paid for the large armful of bound compositions, Zandik was already used to the notion of laughter and shouts in the background, wide eyes and an excitement for the world, all a layer to your music while he worked.

You would tell him when you were ready, he knew.  Just as you would anything else.  He couldn’t help but let his gaze rest on you periodically after he took your purchases and tucked them under one arm, your hand safely in his free one.  Mindlessly, he brushed his thumb over your knuckles, the size and pattern of them memorized long ago.

“What, do I have something on my face?” you asked, catching his gaze.

Zandik took the time to trace his eyes over your brows, your eyes and cheeks, the tip of your nose, and your welcoming lips.  Not a detail out of place.  He let go of your hand long enough to brush away stray hairs, which were immediately taken by the morning breeze.

“Let’s keep going, shall we?”

The rest of the trip was a complete blur wrapped up in sunny days and relaxing evenings, productive even if it meant lounging on the hotel balcony and watching the remains of the Research Institute from a distance.

In the end, you settled on visiting the mainland, too; you were already halfway there, after all.  It was Zandik’s turn to fill your luggage with more blueprints and parts and you watched as he disassembled a wind-up frog powered by a tiny Pneuma cell.  Both of you spent a whole evening craned over a table of gears and tiny arms as he put it back together as if by memory.

He was never far from reach.

And your resolve only settled further.

You were filled with what you could only describe as a new sense of self, cradling the fear that once gripped you the same way one might hold a baby boarshroom: tender and with care.  It found company amid excitement and happiness and hope.  Although movement was still a long while off, your stomach flipped itself into tangles as you returned home and began assembling all of the sections you created while away.  

Once or twice, you spotted Zandik out of his workshop, ears stuffed with cotton on the days you were playing; when you questioned him, he gave some answer about the air pressure difference getting to him and that he would hear your music when you intended to share it.  In turn, he was equally cagey about keeping his workbench covered and asked you to flick the lights at the top of the stairs first if you insisted on coming down.  He had been practically vibrating all the way back from Fontaine after a visit to a mechanical artisan and, much like yourself, could not wait to channel renewed energy.

You completed the final bar in the early hours of the afternoon within a week of your return, more than satisfied.  Zandik, in turn, proclaimed his finishing touches were done some hours later that very day.  If fate were still a presence in the world you knew now, you would have allowed it to lay claim to the coincidence once upon a time.  He forbid you from entering one of the few extra rooms, distracting you with teasing kisses until you all but forgot about the possibility of what laid beyond.

That evening after dinner, you handed an envelope to Zandik, its edges flattened to oblivion from running your nails along them.  You half-expected his nimble fingers to pull out the top flap but he merely examined it and then gave you his undivided attention as you settled in and took up your usual position.  The Cryo panels of your cello’s body were a familiar form against your knees, a solid comfort you could rely on to help convey the sentiments words could not.  

With your back to the large pane of windows and sunset providing you light, you dove through the first two movements.  The third began as it always had, the beginning of the end that circled around and offered a clean slate for all.  Slow and tenuous, plucks of curiosity and drags of uncertainty, winding themselves into a motif that pulled from the first movement, and then the second, forming a new pattern that made your rib cage rattle every time you played it.  The approach was literal, too on the nose perhaps, but it was accurate.  You had allowed yourself to delve into the slow and stilted structure from before the trip and proceeded to drag it out, mold it, and bring in some of the bars from a recovered Remurian symphony.  Upon first hearing it, you imagined the lapping of waves and desire for a future safe from destruction, where more than just life itself could prosper.  

You allowed the last note to hang, counting before you pressed your hand to the strings to still them.  

Your audience of one had tucked the envelope into his shirt pocket and closed his garnet eyes.  He wasn’t sleeping, although his breathing was steady; an idle hand played at the air above his knee, his mind seeking the patterns you presented and working to unravel them.  Quietly, you settled your cello into its stand and padded over to him.  You took his other hand, still and resting in his lap, and laid it flat against your abdomen, the heat of his palm searing through your clothing.

Slowly, Zandik opened his eyes, blinked, and then flexed his fingers.

“Quite a gift,” he whispered.

“One that warrants a lengthy discussion and decisions.”

His hand, once tracing your composition, found your bow hand and pressed it to his lips, his breath kissing every inch of your scars.

“I already have mine.  Come.”

Legs trembling, you followed him through the living room and upstairs to the door he previously barred your entry from.  Words failed and instead you swallowed, silently staring at him, your question heavy in the air.  Zandik merely leaned forward to unlatch the door and push it open, nodding his head to direct you inside.

This room was always sparse, little more than an obligatory guest room used occasionally for storage.  It never held more than a bed to begin with but your heart lurched at the device hanging from the ceiling.  Charms and trinkets spun idly, a star and a music note among them.  You stepped into the room and brushed your fingers over the arms, watching it spin.

You turned back to Zandik, lips quivering and eyes burning.  He closed the distance between you and reached up, finding a winding key with ease and twisting it thrice before he nudged you back.  You watched as the arms slowly spun, all the while, a familiar tune played softly.  As the rest of the music played out, you nestled yourself against Zandik, the final scratches of anxiety falling away.

“We did not come this far only to not see what laid outside of a fated existence,” he murmured.  “I have my own trepidations but I am intrigued by the possibilities presented.  However, if you feel—”

“I knew that day standing on the conductor’s podium that I wanted this.  Us,” you replied.  “And I can think of nothing more worthy of the future we’ve carved for ourselves.”

Zandik buried his face in the crook of your neck.  Once again, you pulled one of his hands and pressed it to your lower stomach, intertwining your fingers over his in a new, silent promise.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

ngl the way sebastian's hair looked at the american cinematheque event is what i would imagine it to look like after he gives head like it's all messy and disheveled & he's all glassy eyed & buzzing bc of the praise like oof i have some thoughts on thisss

related to this (also in gif form)

Liz 👏🏻 you're 👏🏻 so 👏🏻 fucking 👏🏻 right 👏🏻

It's the perfect kind of disheveled 😮‍💨😮‍💨 driving me absolutely insane because it's all I can think about since those photos first dropped

Like, just imagine--

The glittering, golden remnants of Chris' sinful praise still rings in Sebastian's ears even after Chris has long since stopped talking, filling the space instead with a whole lot of quiet, shallow panting. Nothing coherent. He's catching his breath after having it kicked--rather, more aptly sucked--from him.

All his praise is a honed dager slicing into Sebastian, cutting him into peices with arousal; lust flowing and flowing from the sharp-edged blade in until he's bleeding arousal out, too, not just rushing heat in his veins but outside his body, too, through the throbbing, perfect wound Chris leaves him with. Sebastian wishes he'd plunge deeper and twist. It feels so fucking good.

His words are always heavy, almost as titillating as touching itself--hands caressing, sliding, groping.

Chris had been saying lot of words, all of them cut through with groans and gasping swears about his "fuckin' mouth," and how "yes, yes, ohmygod, Seb, baby, that feels s'good," 'cause he's "too talented" at taking Chris' dick down his throat. Humming around it, swallowing, licking, and sucking when he can--when he's not just being used with it.

Pounded by it.

Deep.

Yeah, Jesus Christ, Sebastian's ears are ringing. And arousal and need still pollute his body along with the praise, opened by Chris' intrusion.

He's got more than that, too. It's an onslaught of sensation inside him. Nerves crackling, warmed enough to spit.

His knees ache, and so does his jaw. His eyes are glassy, leaving him to stumble through the blurry interior of their house, trying to fumble his way on watery knees to their bathroom, and, oh, somewhere, at some stretch of the hallway, it comes to his dulled attention that he's breathing harder than he thought he was.

Too, his body suddenly calls attention to his mouth. He was, abstractly, thinking of it and feeling it already, seeing as he's just been using it to tempt a rushing, tumbling orgasm from his boyfriend, but... It's less about his throat now. He was feeling it in his throat before. A little raw. A lot stretched. Now, he's oh-so aware of his lips. He doesn't need to see them to know that they're swollen, red, and wet. His crackling nerves can tell him that.

When he licks them, they're sensitive, all buzzing and tender, from the obscene abuse of being nothing but a hole for Chris to plunder. Ruin.

Sebastian shivers, sinking down an inch against the hallway wall before pulling himself together enough to stagger another step forward. His breathing is hard, jagged. If it were cold enough, he'd see big, heavy clouds of it hanging in front of his face. Jesus. Swallowing just makes every step harder. There's nothing he wants more than to give into the whimpering, neediest part of him that insists in his mind, throwing a fit, that he turn his ass right back around and crawl back to Chris. He wants him in his mouth again right now. He's too empty. He has so much cold, dull space in his mouth that could be hot and wet and full.

Fuck.

Chris should know better than to lay around their home in sweatspants with nothing on underneath, no matter if it's laundry day or not. Further, he should especially know not to do it on a day when Sebastian has a pre-determined, non-negotiable deadline for when he has to leave the house to go to an event he has to be there for. Sebastian isn't to blame! No way. It's not his fault. It's not a weak rebuttal. Nope. It's perfectly logical reaction--natural, even.

When Chris is manspreading, Sebastian loses all capability of looking ahead for possible consequences of sating his oral fixation. There is suddenly nothing but that need. His mouth: empty. Chris Evans: right there for the having. Filling. Who wouldn't lose it? Who, if they don't already have an oral fixation, wouldn't develop one from having regular, fantastic sex with none other than Christopher Robert Evans?

Another handful of not-straight steps journeying into the bathroom allows Sebastian the luxury of enough working braincells to try and straight his clothes, plucking and tugging them back into some kind of order, metaphorically dusting himself off after spending ten maybe fifteen minutes on their clean (other than the dog hair) living room floor. As he rearranges his clothes, Seb finds himself sure that the tell-all of his debauched, unable-to-be-helped behavior will be the line of his very erect cock pressing against his slacks and tenting them. That, or, it'll be the swollen, reddened pillows of his lips after being stretched around Chris' perfect, hard, fuckin' thick shaft, worshipping it the way it deserves. But--

Actually, wobbling into the bathroom on his fawn-like legs and pressing himself flat to the back of the door for some semblance of stability, and then turning his head to meet himself in the mirror, huh, he finds that the confession-giver is his hair.

The mop of his brown hair, previously styled to be slicked back, neat and out of his face, has been just as thoroughly defiled as the rest of him feels.

It's sticking up everywhere, obviously, thoroughly, gloriously fucked-up by none other than Chris Evans big... strong... thick hands. Hands that're good for petting... good for pulling... good for slapping... good for too many unspeakably filthy actions that cause Sebastian's tratorious fucking mouth to water embarrassingly. He can literally feel his salivary glands working. Tingling.

At the same time that he flushes with the sizzling hunger rising to the back of his throat, Seb realizes his reflection is gawking, mouth open.

He shuts his mouth with an audible click.

Fuck.

Fuck.

He sways forward, hands planting themselves palm-down on the counter top, leaning in harder, head hanging a little lower, just trying to fucking keep it together. Keep himself together. He can do this. He can gather himself enough to not look like an absolute slutty mess, discombobulated and spacey, when wandering outside. He needs a head on his shoulders to answer questions and to speak to fans. He, for once, won't look so lost. He'll, he's... he'll, yeah, he'll just splash some water on his face. Just. He immediately, desperately has to think of anything but Chris' fucking hands and how much he wants them pulling his hair and biting at his waist, bruising him with his fingertips, prying him open and writing his name inside him.

He, like, has to go. Now. Or he'll never leave. And he's already spent too long drifting--fantasizing with his eyes open about everything Chris can do to him, all the ways he cuts him open and lavishes him with pleasure--letting his thoughts carry him far, far away from the bathroom. So, Christ, now, he doesn't even have time to re-style his hair.

Chris is terrible, though, because he has no sympathy for Sebastian's absolute peril. He just chuckles, voice low, lips stretched in a lazy, handsome grin as he watches Seb stumble out the door, nearly forgetting his wallet and keys, from beneath heavy eyelids.

It's not his fault!

It's Chris'!

Love that I wasn't going to write anything for this, just a quick paragraph or two, and then it turned into that, haha. I just can't stop myself 😏

[lsunstreakerl]

Famiglia-Familie

Chapter One Analysis:

First off- most of chapter one is kind of over a few concurrent days, so this is a bit shorter than my analysis for the other chapters is going to be.

- I imply in later chapters that Max sees more of the accident than what I actually write in chapter one, and that's true! There's a couple of reasons for that, one being that I just didn't want to write that, and the other being a super convenient excuse for reason one! the human brain, especially a young one (like, maybe, 14?) is going to block out a traumatic event, especially the finer details. Max's brain is literally rewriting what he's seeing in front of him and during the actual crash, in order to try and minimize the psychological damage.

- This ties into the way that Max struggles to even refer to the accident later on- he cuts himself off before he says "Jos", he won't call it "the accident" or even really think of it at all. Max divides his life solidly into a "before" chunk and an "after" chunk.

- "But issi/sunny, why was Force India even there?" Honestly, the way GP and Max meet in this fic is complete chance. There are so many spots where it could have gone otherwise, but it doesn't. I mention at the beginning of the fic that it's leading up to the race weekend, but it's still a wednesday, so there's a lot of the support staff driving around. A group of the Force India guys, including GP, were carpooling back to the hotel when they see the accident site, and they're genuinely just being good samaritans when they stop their car and start trying to help people.

- Max's arm is bothering him a bit while he's still stuck in the seatbelt, but the way that it has him restrained, (which he can't see) is actually doing him a bit of a favor at that point in the fic. It's cutting off blood flow, so Max isn't feeling how majorly fucked up his own bones are. (For curious minds: in this fic, Max has a spiral fracture down the body of his right distal ulna, comminuted fractures across his fingers in a few spots, and an impact fracture on the distal end of his right radius. There's some impact damage on the proximal ends as well, where the elbow joint forms, but it's not as severe as the fingers and wrist.)

- Because of the way Max landed, Hayden isn't able to see the way his arm is caught in the seatbelt until he asks Max to start moving, at which point he asks for the knife. Hayden does have a moment here where he's looking at the injury and wondering if it might be better to let EMS cut Max out, but he's worried they won't get there fast enough, and this is a kid, trapped in a metal van, when there's lightning out, and he makes the decision to cut Max out, and whatever those consequences are he's willing to live with them. (Triage is traumatic and stressful and for those of you who care about original side characters, yes, Hayden goes to therapy.) ((also because he saw a dead man))

- When Hayden cuts Max out of the seatbelt to pull him out, Max gets that blood flow back, which allows his arm to tell his brain "we have a problem!" Which is why he starts screaming. Rough night for him.

- Max is having such a genuinely awful night the entire time that that as soon as he's out of the car and someone (GP) is being kind to him, he decides he's going to cling, and he's not going to let go, and there's nothing anyone can do about it. GP is such a genuinely nice guy, and Max is tugging at all of his heartstrings, that he's like "sure I'll go to the hospital" because GP and the Force India crew could see Jos, and they know that Max is alone now.

- Max gets morphine in the ambulance. yippiee!

- Max is terrified in the hospital, because of everything that's been happening, and his arm, and all he has now is this unfamiliar stranger he'd decided to cling to, so he's like "fuck it, all in, I'm attached to this guy now" and then he doesn't want to even let GP consider leaving, which is why he makes life harder for the hospital staff by refusing to let go of GP.

- The Force India guys called Colin as soon as they pulled over, letting him know about the accident and that they were going to help. Colin keeps in touch with all of them throughout the night, finds out from one of the other guys that GP is with a random kid in the hospital, and acts accordingly. (Has people collect emergency supplies for a teenager and put it in GP's room)

- GP has a reputation in the garage for being soft hearted, so no one is at all surprised about how the situation actually ends up, because of course the guy who always breaks for squirrels and gets out of his car to carry a turtle across the road takes in a child in an emergency, that's just how Gianpiero is.

- When GP first calls Colin is the hospital, he's mostly just getting reassured that it's all okay, and to do whatever he needs to do for the kid. Colin tells him that if Max needs to come to the garage with him for the next few days, Force India can accommodate that.

- Max isn't really thinking about the "not talking" thing until he's confronted when the social worker, where he makes the conscious decision not to speak, both because "that makes everything real" and also because he's in an unfamiliar country, and he doesn't have a legal adult taking care of him, and he doesn't want to say the wrong thing and accidentally back himself into a corner.

- "He didn't get letters for very long" is one of the subtler more heartbreaking lines, because Victoria continues sending him letters for months, Jos just doesn't let Max know about them, so Max thinks Victoria stopped sending them, and Victoria thinks her older brother doesn't like her.

- GP goes through the legal hoops in the background of this fic. Colin has to vouch for his employment status a million times, he has to call the British Embassy in Germany to get the ball rolling on emergency foster certification and then standard foster certification, he has to get the emergency foster certification from Germany, and he has to juggle so many emails. Your average person would be completely overwhelmed, but GP is a race engineer, and being overwhelmed is kind of his job, so he handles it pretty well.

- Max goes into emergency surgery to handle some of the worst parts of his arms and fingers, but the hospital is still super clear with GP that Max needs to have some follow ups. (Max ends up with some serious hardware in his hand. He still has struggles with fine motor skills, and he's got killer osteoarthritis in his fingers, wrist, and forearm, but the brace helps with it.

- "issi/sunny, any hospital that lets a pediatric patient leave that soon after a surgery of that magnitude without a thorough welfare check should be ashamed of themselves!" IM NOT HERE TO BE REALISTIC IF I WANTED THAT I WOULD GO TO WORK.

- Max not looking in the mirror goes hand in hand with him not speaking, or acknowledging the accident. He knows he's injured, he knows as soon as he sees himself in the mirror with his injuries that he can't fool himself anymore, so he's not looking at all.

- GP has no idea what to do with a teenager, which is why he's kind of awkward at first. It's important to note that GP, again, has zero clue who Max is. GP thinks he's taking care of a kid who had a normal home life before a traumatic accident. GP does not think he's taking care of a kid who was already traumatized even before the accident, and he's not able to pick up on some of those warning signs until he and Max are living together.

- "Why doesn't Max go straight to Michael?" Max is 14, and has been told his entire life that nothing is more important than racing, and so of course this would be true for a world champion as well, and Max is so petrified of being a burden that he doesn't want Michael to know at all, because he knows Michael will drop everything to take care of him. (He's been raised to think that kind of behavior is soft and he doesn't need it.) He especially doesn't want to tell Michael right before a race as well. Max is also still trying to pretend it's not real, so the less familiar faces he's around the better.

- Max gets really into the data partially as a coping mechanism, because if he's looking at the data and trying to learn then he's not thinking about the accident. This is also why listening to GP read it out loud is soothing to him. GP has a nice voice, and Max can listen to him rattling off numbers and variables for hours. This is also the beginning of a little routine for the two of them when one of them is having a hard time, where they sit and they go over data together. (nerds)

- The Force India engineers are so excited to have someone genuinely interested in what they're doing that they fall in love with Max immediately.

- The Force India garage also knows why GP has Max- they know that Max is from the accident, and they know he's very grim and quiet, so they actually do kind of make a game out of trying to make him laugh, or at least smile.

- Yes, that is the actual qualifying and race results for Force India in the 2011 German GP.

- I don't actually know if Paul di Resta is a good guy or not, and I didn't want to look it up. ignorance is bliss and all that.

- Max taught himself to be ambidextrous because he thought it would be a cool party trick, and instead it's totally saved his ass now that he literally can't move his right hand.

- "issi/sunny, did you actually look at places for rent in Buckingham for this fic?" guys, I ended up on one of the Buckingham city council's 117 page documents detailing next years public transportation plans from like 2013. do not underestimate the depths I will go.

- Max trying to figure out what he would even want in his room is a bit heartbreaking, and GP doesn't understand why Max struggles with it so bad. (Again, GP is assuming Max lived in a house somewhere, when Max's house was the van, and the van is gone.)

- GP gets attached to Max almost immediately. Here is this quiet kid, from a horrific accident, and he's so scared, and for some reason he's putting his trust in GP, so GP isn't going to betray that. And then GP finds out that his quiet kid is so smart, and that he likes looking at the data, so of course GP is like "give him all the data he wants" and the garage loves him because he's quiet and well mannered and genuinely interested.

- Word gets around the paddock pretty quick about the accident in general, because it made local news, and then it also spreads that one of the race engineers from Force India is actually taking care of a kid from the accident site, so Max has always got people looking out for him when he's around the paddock. (Max doesn't realize this in the fic) he's quite literally a grid kid, in the realest sense.

- GP spends the entire time he's driving from his old flat to the new house freaking out about the whole thing. He's very careful and responsible to not ever show that in front of Max, but trust that there are multiple points in this fic where he is internally flipping his shit.

Feel free to ask questions/request clarification on things! If you actually read to the end of this 🫶

[mehoymenoimehoy]

Vulnerable Moments With Gojo

cw: afab.

Other content: just some really nice fluff I wanted to share. 🥹

The night had stretched on for hours, the time slipping by as y/n and Nanami worked with the quiet hum of the office. The coffees she had previously picked up for them half finished as their work flowed effortlessly, the results shown in the stack of dwindling documents.

Their conversations were interspersed between the shared laughter and sounds of pen to paper. Due to her pleasant company she managed to get a few personal anecdotes out of Nanami. Like his child hood, his brief time in the corporate world, and even his affection for bread. In turn she shared little tid bits of herself. The camaraderie growing between them.

However, their night wasn’t entirely peaceful.

Nanami’s sharp perception caught the flickering shadow zipping by the office door that was slightly agar. The flashes on white hair combined with that unmistakable presence confirmed it was Gojo lurking. He glanced at a unfazed y/n, noticing the way corner of her lips twitched in amusement as she also caught those same glimpses of fleeting white hair.

Y/n, shaking her head finally let out a soft, breathy laugh.

“Does he not think we’ve noticed? He’s been at this for the past hour.”

Nanami sighed, the twitch of a small smirk forming. “Knowing him, he either doesn’t care of thinks he is being subtle.”

Feeling a little mischievous y/n conspiratorially whispered to him, “What if…we gave him a reason to come in?”

Skeptically nanami raised an eyebrow but with no protest. “What did you have in mind?”

She whispered the plan to him, a twinkle in her eyes. Surprisingly, nanami agreed albeit a little reluctantly.

A little later they both stood by the table with her holding a stack of paper work—acting as if they were deep in conversation. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but the proximity and laughter was enough to amplify the growing tension from “mysterious” man from the hall way.

Not even a few seconds later the door opens dramatically. Gojo, leaning against the door frame spotting his signature grin, though with a distinct edge to his gaze. “You two look like you’re having too much fun in here for an office setting.”

Nanami sighed, unbothered by the disruption. “We’re done here, actually,” he said straightening his tie and gathering his things. “You can stop sulking by the door now.”

“I wasn’t sulking. I was just keeping watching for any distractions for the sake of my precious colleagues.” He retorted, his grin widening as he gazed at y/n. “You never know what could come up.”

Y/n tried to suppress her laugh as Nanami shot her an amused look. “It was nice working with you,” she said warmly, “I hope I didn’t keep you too late.”

Nanami shook his head as his expression softened. “It’s been awhile since I had fun on the clock.” He admitted, offering her one of his rare genuine smiles. Turning to Gojo to tease him, “She’s all yours now.”

He paused once he got be door, glancing over his shoulder at y/n. “Goodnight y/n.”

“Goodnight Nanami.” She replied light and sincere.

The room fell silent once the click of the door was heard. Playfully, y/n placed a hand to her hip. “Sulking, huh?”

Gojo stepped closer to her. “I wasn’t sulking.” He paused. “But you did seem cozy with him.”

Tilting her head innocently. “What’s wrong with that? He is good company.”

While his grin faltered for a second, he leaned in closer. Playfully he retorted, “Well I’m better company”

“Well you certainly win points for persistence.” Her smile betraying the tone of her comment.

As Gojo watched her, his usual mask started slipping. The emotions be was feeling earlier quickly dissolving into relief.

Y/n stood by the table meticulously organizing the last few pieces of paperwork. This time the quiet hum of the room was soothing. Her focus was so absolute that she didn’t notice the shift in the air as Gojo moved towards her. The approach was tentative, soundless, but filled with intent.

Before she could register his presence, she felt the faint contact of his cheek brushing near the crook of her neck from behind. It was close enough to send an electric feeling through her spine but distant enough where she could feel the hesitation in the touch. His hands softly grasped the fabric around her elbows, fingers gently wrapping around them. It was a silent plea for her attention. This gesture was profoundly vulnerable of him, something that y/n knew she couldn’t ignore.

Her breath caught as she stilled at the sudden intimacy, but as quickly as the shock came, it was replaced with a tender warmth that spread throughout her chest. Tilting her head just a bit to make space for him, her voice softly called out to him.

“Satoru.”

His response was immediate—a content low hum reverberated near her ear, causing goosebumps to appear. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he subtly breathed her in. His heart beat finally at ease.

“Are you okay?” She asked gently, her tone filled with more concern than curiosity. While her hands remained on the table, her attention was all on him now. She noted his grip slightly tightened at her elbows over the question.

He didn’t answer, not immediately. Instead he leaned in more his face flushed against her now. The heat and everything else of his proximity was palpable. With a quiet but steady voice he replied, “I’m okay…now.”

Like whatever storm that was brewing in him all day had calmed by the simple act of being near her.

This moment, as tender as it was, reminded her of child seeking comfort—a touch of petulance but with an overwhelming need to be seen, to feel connected. The thought eliciting a light melodic chuckle from her.

“Would you like to go grab a snack with me? I haven’t eaten since dinner with Nanami.”

He let out a dramatic sigh at the mention of another man. “Do you have to bring him up?” He grumbled, though there was no hostility to it.

“It can be dessert~.” She teased.

Loosening his grasp and stepping back allowed y/n to turn around and face him. Although the air was still thick with unspoken emotion, she was met with his trademark grin and the playful glint in his eyes. It was like the fleeting moment of his vulnerability had never happened but she knew better. That the man behind this grin was one who wore him charming personality like armor.

“Lead the way, princess.”

A smile formed on her lips at the term of endearment. His gaze followed her as she passed him. There was warmth to it even though the usual facade was back up again, like a softness in his expression that lingered only for her.

[changingplumbob]

CW: Low level sim spice, language - Guide to content warnings

Glenn: I missed you, but I get why you didn't come last weekend

Silver: And be a chew toy for the twins in their own house? There was no way. Thanks for not asking me to

Glenn: I mean... I think they improve on closer acquaintance. Henri was right, a lot of their venom is just figuring out when I'll snap

Silver: You're far too generous

Glenn: You like me generous

Silver: Sometimes. I do enjoy...

Glenn: Go on

The pair laid on the lawn behind Howard's house but within the barrier spells. The night was clear and it gave them a perfect view of the stars.

Silver: Fine. I do like when you're insolent

Glenn: What does insolent mean

Silver: Audaciously rude and disrespectful

Glenn: What does disrespectful mean

Silver: It means- *sighs* You knew what insolent meant didn't you

Glenn: *chuckles* Pretty sure they just use the term brat now. You wouldn't know because you're ancient. A whole 743

Silver: Definitely not that old, but keep trying. I love you by the way

Glenn: You do?

Silver: Is it such a shock?

Glenn: Well no, I love you to. I just figured that was me being quick to feel stuff

Silver: Not that quick, we met five months ago

Glenn: What? It has not been that long

Silver: It has. Or are you being a- brat?

Glenn: No I genuinely just did not notice it had been that long. I mean it doesn't feel that long. But then it also feels like I've known you forever

Silver: That's not very flattering

Glenn: You misunderstand. I just- I feel so comfortable when you're here. It feels natural you know

Silver: Yeah. To me you feel safe

Glenn: Safe? I- really?

Silver: Yes. You're confused?

Glenn: I just... I don't think of myself as very good at protecting. Like me feeling safe makes sense because you could tear the arms off anything that tried to hurt me-

Silver: Obviously

Glenn: But what would I do? Throw flowers?

Silver: Some of those planter pots you have are really heavy

Glenn: True. I just think of my abs more as decorative instead of functional

Silver: I mean you make my soul feel safe

Glenn: Me to. I'm really glad it's dark so you can't see how I'm blushing

Silver: Ah, I'm a werewolf. I can feel the heat from here

Glenn: Cheater

Silver: I'm just using my natural born gifts

Glenn: You do have a lot of them. Oh there, do you see the bunny

Silver: In the stars?

Glenn: No on my chest, YES in the stars

Silver: *sighs* Something tells me werewolves and spellcasters use different constellations

Glenn: That... that is probably true. Why is it like this Silver

Silver: What do you mean

Glenn: Why is there all this separation and hate and division in the world

Silver: I wish I had a good answer, but I don't understand it either

Glenn: Why can't people just get along? Why can't the humans just accept occults? Why can't occults accept other occults?

Silver: Maybe one day they will

Glenn: Do you think that or are you just trying to make me feel better

Silver: I mean, one thing you notice when time passes is that things change. Not just the treelines or the flow of rivers but attitudes can change to

Glenn: I hope so. Except your attitude to me, I hope that doesn't change

Silver: It won't. Now show me where I'm meant to be seeing this bunny in the stars

Glenn smiled and began explaining using stars they both knew. He enjoyed the passionate moments he and Silver shared. The ones where he had trouble thinking and keeping quiet. But moments like these- where there was calm and companionship, they were just as special to him.

Previous ... Next

[fablesam]

picture you ;; sam winchester (part two)

cw;; smut!!!! bloodplay, biting, demon blood, violence, angst, dark!!! sam

a mere week after your first meeting, you and sam had learned each other in and out. you’d, more importantly, learned the solution to your overarching question. the two of you had worked tirelessly to find the truth about your abilities, if your theory was correct about demon blood increasing your power. 

you could see sam starting to slightly spiral, hardly sleeping, his desperation growing with each step you took in the right direction. he’d told dean he met someone, and that he wanted some space, a chance to ‘do his own thing’ for a while. this was, judging by dean’s reaction, incredibly out of character for him, but you didn’t argue. it was what you’d always wanted, the two of you alone in your apartment, totally invested in each other. 

you were sat on the edge of your bed, brushing your hair after a shower when sam entered your room, a borderline manic excitement in his eyes. “i figured it out,” he told you, pacing as he read from his journal. “we can summon a demon here, trap it in a devil’s circle. then we can extract some of its blood, store it to drink from, and send it back to hell. it’s the safest way, it’ll make sure you don’t get hurt,” 

you felt a pang of  sadness that he wasn’t even worried about himself getting hurt, but it was overshadowed by the happiness you felt that he’d considered you in his plan. “summoning a demon seems a bit extreme,” you said after a moments contemplation, “are you sure about this, sam? i don’t want to do anything we can’t take back,” 

he came to your side, dropping the journal beside you, taking both your hands in his and looking down at you. “this is what you wanted,” he said pleadingly, “don’t you want to see what we’re capable of? let me show you,” he pressed a brief, searing kiss to your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours, “we could be so much more, just like you said. you showed me the truth, so let me show you the way,” 

you nodded, lost in the trance of his soft brown eyes, swept up in the feeling of his hands on yours. he could’ve told you to do anything in that moment, and you were sure you would’ve. you were, not for the first time, grateful that sam was so good at his core. if he’d wanted to, you feared he could’ve had anyone submit to him, had anyone do his bidding. but if you knew sam, and you definitely did, he would never. 

he was all the goodness in the world, wrapped up in your own personal daydream. sometimes, it seemed impossible that such a shining example of purity had demon blood running through his veins, the same as you. he always had your best interest at heart, always worried what the consequences of this journey would come to, always thought about how this might affect dean. it only made you love him even more. 

“we’ll do it tomorrow,” he told you, sure as anything, “is that alright? are you ready?” you pulled him down to you, so you could rest your head on his chest from your seat on the bed, breathing in the scent of him. it never got old, the smell of chai and cedar and rain. “i’m ready,” you mumbled into his shirt, eyes closing as he stroked the back of your hair lightly, a contentedness you’d never known flowing through you, “are you scared?”

you didn’t have to look up to no he shook his head, “no, i’m not scared,” he murmured, “i guess i’m just curious. it feels wrong, still, but i know i’ve just been conditioned to feel that way. we shouldn’t be ashamed of anything,” “that’s right,” you hummed, “should we get some sleep?” 

he nodded, untangling from you, kissing the top of your head gently before going to the couch, where he’d insisted on sleeping the entire week. he’d been so adamant about not moving too fast, not taking advantage of you. it had only solidified your belief that sam was, inherently, better than you. you watched him go, tucking yourself under the blankets, ignoring the worry forming in your stomach. 

when you woke in the morning, sam was already well at work, clambering around your living room holding objects you’d never even seen before. “sam?” you yawned quietly, “what’re you doing? what is all this?” he turned to face you, as if he’d been caught, “just some things for the summoning. i have it all ready, i think, i just have to arrange everything,” 

you paused to actually look around, noting the taper candles lit on your floor, the encircled star scribbled onto your ceiling. “what is that?” you asked, unable to tear your eyes from it. “devils trap,” he said like it was the most natural thing in the world, “i’ll have to say an incantation to summon it, and we need to get it under that circle, okay? i just need you to stay back, i’ll take care of everything,” 

you forced yourself away from the setup, nodding, “and you’re sure about all this?” you asked hesitantly, “i mean, really sure?” he smiled slightly, nodding, “i’m positive. you know i wouldn’t do anything dangerous, right?” “of course, sam,” and you really did know that. you trusted him more than you trusted even yourself, for in some ways, he was more yourself than you were. 

he pulled you into a hug, his chin resting against your head, his arms circling you. “everything’s gonna be fine,” he said softly, “can you go in your bedroom for me? don’t want you to have to see this,” you pulled back just enough to look up at him, pupils dilated from his closeness, “wanna help you,” you said surely, “this isn’t your task, sam. it’s ours,” 

so you watched as sam paced the room, journal in hand as it had been the night prior, the candlelight making him look more angelic than usual. he’d cut a small incision on his wrist, letting the blood drip out into a copper bowl, placing it in the middle of the circle before he started reading. 

the energy in the room was palpable, an uneasiness spread through your apartment that you hoped would clear up soon, when all this was done. “daemon, esto subjecto voluntati meae!” he finished, and with that, the candles were out, an eerie stillness in the room. you looked to sam, eyes wide, when you saw it out of the corner of your eye. 

not so much an it as it was a fully fledged man, looking as human as you or sam, adding to your already heightening sickness. “sam winchester,” the thing said, “if you wanted me here, all you had to do was ask,” the voice was so painfully real, so clear, so human, your bones ached with the chill that came over you.

sam’s jaw tensed, and he took a step closer to it, so precise and calculated you didn’t even notice as he succeeded in his plan, backing it under the devil’s trap. “finally giving in?” it sneered, “gonna come home, sammy?” his eye twitched at this, and you thought for a moment his focus might break, but it only seemed to get more intense. 

“don’t call me that,” he snapped slightly, hands trembling, “i need you for one thing, and that’s it. then i’m sending you back where you belong,” “oh, i’m cowering in fear,” the demon said sarcastically, turning to take a step towards sam, but seemingly stopped by an invisible force. he looked up, irritation clear on his face as he discovered the trap, his jaw nearly as tense as sam’s. “so what’s your angle here, boy?” he asked, one eyebrow raised, “gonna kill me, hm?” 

“not gonna kill you,” sam took a step closer, the knife in his hand catching the light streaming through your window, “just hurt you,” you couldn’t tear your eyes away as he slashed the thing’s wrist, an animalistic howl leaving it’s mouth. sam looked to you, and without any words passed between you, you knew he needed the bowl. you hurried to his side, handing him the copper bowl he’d used to summon the demon, watching, entranced, as he let the thing’s wound trickle into it. your pulse increased with every drip-drop of the thick blood, your mouth watering in a way that almost horrified you. 

you had to resist the urge to surge forward, to take what your body so clearly craved, more concerned with obeying sam’s request than you were with drinking from the source. when the bowl was filled, you watched with a distant fascination as sam read more from his beat up journal, and the only evidence that the demon had ever been there was the ichor on sam’s hands. 

“are you alright?” were the first words that left his mouth, as if he hadn’t just summoned and dispelled a demon right in your living room, as if this was all completely normal. “i’m fine,” you nodded, eyes still focused on the bowl of blood in his right hand, “are you alright?” a small smile crossed his lips, and he nodded, “i’m fine, sweet girl,” he led you back a few steps, free hand on your lower back as he guided you to sit on your couch. 

you sat down, looking up at him with expectant eyes, “do we drink now?” he reached down, his left hand resting on your cheek lightly, cradling your face, “you’re so desperate, aren’t you? so brave,” he hummed, his thumb ghosting over your bottom lip, “open your mouth, alright? if you start to feel anything that scares you, you tell me. can you do that?” 

you nodded, feeling almost dizzy as he instructed you, anticipation making you giddy and electric, “i can do that,” you said softly. “that’s my girl,” he smiled softly, hand shifting to your jaw as he brought the bowl to your mouth, resting it between your lips. you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath before opening your mouth, letting the blood trickle onto your tongue. 

the very second it hit your bloodstream, you were on fire. a soft sound, almost a moan, left your throat as you opened your eyes, enjoying drinking in the sight of sam watching you almost as much as you were drinking the blood. “is it good?” he murmured, looking as blissful as you felt, “do you feel good, sweet girl?” you just nodded, too drunk on the venom to respond, and a whine of protest left you as he pulled the bowl away slowly, as if he was tapering you off of it. 

“sam,” you panted softly, “god, it feels-” you stopped, unable to even describe it, to even do it justice. it felt like you had been in a coffin for a decade, like you were finally free, like someone brought you back to life after years. it felt like heaven and hell had collided inside you, like you were a vessel to something far greater, like everything you’d ever gone through had led you do this very moment. you watched as sam drank from the bowl, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, a groan muffled by the liquid. he was messier than you had been, scarlet drops down his throat, and when he pulled the bowl away, you nearly whimpered at the way it shined on his lips, the pink skin tined a deep red.

 you thought he’d never been more beautiful than when he smiled down at you, his teeth tinted pink. “oh,” the sound was almost too much for you to bear, the breathless whine that left his throat, “this is everything,” “sam,” you whispered, afraid if you spoke fully, you might cry from the intensity, “it’s so much,” 

“oh, i know,” he murmured, his hand returning to your jaw, the other tracing through your hair gently. you were slightly startled by how much better he seemed to be handling it, but you were entirely too far gone to worry over the implications, “you’re gonna be just fine, baby. this is how we’re meant to feel,” 

before you had time to question it, or too even think twice about his statement, he was pulling you up, his lips on yours in an instant. you kissed him back with a fever, your hands coming to wrap around his shoulders, all six foot four of him being pulled even closer to you. he turned, never pulling his mouth from yours as he sank into the couch cushions, pulling you into his lap like you weighed nothing. 

your entire body was alert, your back arched into his touch, his hands trailing over every inch of your skin. “you’re so beautiful,” he mumbled as he pulled away, trailing kisses down your jawline, biting gently at the delicate skin of your throat, “so fucking perfect,”

you knew logically this couldn’t be heaven as you tilted your head to give him more access, blinking up at the devils trap still on your ceiling, but it didn’t make you believe it any less. nothing between you was holy, you knew that. this was something else entirely, each kiss and mumbled curse awakening some sort of ancient, dangerous power inside you. you could swear you felt the earth shift as he rolled you over, laying you back on the couch, kissing down your chest like a man possessed. 

your hands were in his hair, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you looked down at him with heavy lids and glossy eyes, “want you so badly, sam,” you murmured, “come kiss me again,” he smiled up at you, looking deceivingly soft for just a moment, reminding you of the first few visions, “i’ll come kiss you again, you impatient girl,” he scolded, a soft tease in his voice, “just busy right now,” 

he pulled your pants with him the lower his kisses trailed, the cool air of the room raising goosebumps along your hips and thighs, “you want me here?” he hummed, pressing his fingertips to the now soaked cotton of your underwear. you nodded almost frantically, too worked up to be embarrassed by your neediness. he smiled against the skin of your thighs as he pulled the material off of you, tossing them into the floor without a second glance. 

no, neither of you were holy, but you could’ve died and gone to heaven or hell with sam’s mouth on you, wasting no time before he was lapping you up just as he had the blood. he groaned against you, his hands digging into your thighs hard enough to leave bruises. 

“sam,” you moaned, back arching off the cushions, your hands pulling at his hair desperately. you weren’t even sure what you were begging for, too far gone from the feeling of him paired with the newfound power coursing through your veins. he pulled away just long enough to readjust his arms, continuing to lap at your clit as he sank two fingers inside of you, curling them just where you needed him. “oh, god, sam,” you whimpered, your nails scratching at his scalp. he pulled back, gazing up at you with your wetness coating his lips, “god’s not here, baby,” he tsked, “it’s just me and you,” 

your eyes rolled back when he took your clit into his mouth, sucking and licking a long stripe against you. the feeling of his fingers stretching you out and his devilishly skilled tongue was enough to have you coming undone, his name falling from your lips like some desolate prayer as you rocked your hips against his face, all but grinding on him as you rode out your high. 

he pulled his fingers out slowly, holding eye contact from between your thighs as he took them into his mouth, taking his time sucking them clean. you could’ve come again from the mere sight of it, from the idea of him savoring the taste. he crawled back up to you, kissing you hard enough to make you dizzy for a moment, the lingering taste of the blood combined with the taste of you making you moan into his mouth. 

he reached between you, pushing down his jeans and boxers with one hand, the other holding him up as he kissed you. “you want me to fuck you like this?” he murmured as he kissed your cheek, such a soft movement in the frenzy of need, “or you wanna ride me, hm?” 

the desire to see his face, to watch him underneath you as he came, had you pushing his chest gently, pushing him back to sit down. he grinned up at you, his eyes hazy, hands settling onto your hips as you moved to straddle him. you reached between you, taking him in your hand, barely able to wrap your fingers around the width of him as you pumped him slowly. 

his eyebrows knit in pleasure, his head tipping back onto the back of the sofa, his breaths growing heavier. seeing him like this, coming unraveled from your touch, made whatever sickness you both had so incredibly worth it. you rested one hand on his chest as you slid down onto his thick cock, kissing him to hold in your gasp at how much he stretched you. 

he bit your bottom lip as he kissed you, his nails digging into the flesh of your hips as he bucked his hips into you, moaning into your open mouth. he licked the blood from your lip, sucking it into his mouth, holding you there as he fucked up into you. you were a mess above him, your head thrown back as you rode him, grinding your hips down for some friction. 

“you feel so fucking good,” he moaned hoarsely, pulling your head down to his neck, wrapping an arm around you to hold you, “like you were fuckin’ made for me, baby,” “i was,” you pant against his skin, sucking little marks down his neck, “yours, sam,” 

“i know you’re mine,” he mumbled, thrusting into your harder, pulling your hair just hard enough to make you look at him as he fucked you stupid. his lips found their way to your neck, biting gently, and you whined softly as he broke skin just slightly, enough to send a tinge of pain to the surface.

“got that demon’s blood pumping through these veins,” he placed another soft bite just above your shoulder, “bet i’d get stronger drinkin’ from you, baby. you think so?” you just nodded, too far gone to process his words as your hips rolled against his, gasping as he reached an even deeper spot inside you, “you wanna make me stronger, don’t you?” he hummed. 

“yes!” you moaned, clenching around him, “yes, sam, fuck,” he smiled against you, thrusting into you harder, his movements slowing. he gave you no warning as he sank his teeth into your shoulder, a sharp gasp leaving your lips at the feeling. “fuck,” he groaned into the bite, his tongue laving at the blood trickling out, “you taste so good, sweet girl,” 

you could feel yourself getting dizzier as he pulled the blood from you, your entire body buzzing with alarm. “sam,” you whimpered, your hips slowing against his, “too much,” he pulled away, despite the frenzied look in his eye, pressing a gentle kiss to the area around his bite mark. “blood tastes almost as good as that pussy,” he mumbled as he pulled you into a kiss, his hand on the back of your neck as he quickened his movements. 

your thighs were trembling, vision swimming as you came undone a second time, nearly screaming as he fucked you through it. “good fuckin’ girl,” he panted, digging his hands into your thighs, “so close, baby,” you rested your head on his shoulder, bouncing your hips just enough to get him to the edge, looking up only to watch his expression as he filled you. “oh, fuck,” he groaned, his brows pinched, cheeks pink and mouth tipped open, his thrusts slowing. you kissed him as he stilled inside you, tracing your fingertips down his arm, anything to keep touching him as much as possible. 

he pet your hair gently, fingers running through the length of it, tenderness lacing his every moment. “is your shoulder alright?” he asked softly, trailing his free hand over the skin. “mhm,” you nodded, still catching your breath, “i’m fine, sam. was so good,” “yeah?” he smiled slightly, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, pulling you into his chest, “get some sleep, baby. you look like you’re about to crash,” 

you just hummed quietly in response, nuzzling your face into his neck. the events of the day replayed in your fizzled brain, skin still tingling with the effects of the blood, your body aching. sam continued to stroke your hair soothingly, his other hand tracing down your spine almost absentmindedly. “gonna keep you here with me forever,” he said softly, almost too quiet for you to hear, “we’re gonna be so fucking strong, baby. you have no idea,” 

you let sleep take you before you could question the tone in his voice, the darkness creeping into his tone. after all, you were the one who put it there.

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

Avatar (Love Interest) Fight: Kavik, Rangi, Katara, Asami (and why Rangi would win)

Based off Kyoshist's video. (and I know I went a tad ham in a comment thread of my own on the video, but I wanted to clearly and fully and long winded-ly explain my thoughts here)

Basically I wanna analyze who is most likely to win in this fight, and I'mma be honest. It's probably Rangi. Like other fights there's a lot of factors and it could go a few ways. But not here, I really think it's Rangi.

I'm not being biased, I love my girl but I don't think she's infallible. But in terms of what she's up against vs what we know of her skills, she has the best chance of winning. (mostly going to talk about key big feats of Katara/Kavik/Asami and then explain in detail how Rangi is a hard counter for either their best feats)

But let's define the setting from the video. (heavy spoilers for Kyoshi novels, light and nonspecific spoilers for the Yangchen Novels as best as I could, and spoilers for ATLA/LoK show and comics if applicable):

Fighters: Kavik, Rangi, Katara, and Asami.

Setting: Ba Sing Se (Lower Ring) (note, showing a different picture than what was in the video, note it's very cramped)

Things that are NOT specified: What time of day is it? Is it a full moon? Does Asami have her glove? What version of the characters are we looking at? Do they know they have to fight? What's the weather?

The picture shown of Ba Sing Se in the video was day time. So we'll assume that, which means no full moon. But I will consider the effects of the fight if there IS a full moon at the very end of this post.

We'll assume Asami has her glove, like she usually does. We'll assume "peak" for the characters that we know of. So S3+!Katara, LoY!Kavik, SoK!Rangi (pre-stab), S4+!Asami.

As for if all 4 know they have to fight each other? I'm assuming yes, it'd be weird if only 1-3 knew but the others didn't.

What's the weather? Picture showed a normal day (aka no rain).

(I'm in the middle of re-reading the comics so I might be spotty on using that info, I apologize in advance if I missed something TT0TT I'm mostly focusing on the base shows/novels)

_______

Trouble for the Waterbenders:

Ok, already starting off and it's not looking the best for our Waterbenders. Unlike the Avatar+their love interest duo fight (which was next to the ocean iirc), the WBs don't have unlimited access to water. Be it big body of water, or even plants to take from, it's the lower ring so it's probs pretty desolate.

(note that I'm making after writing all this: going back through ATLA, we know there's at least one fountain in the lower ring I believe? I think that's where Zuko is residing, and upon looking into an ep of LoK I did see a flowing river in the city somewhere. So they do have some vats of water but maybe not as much as the middle/upper rings)

I don't think it'd be an insta win for them even if they did (I have evidence hold on! it's in the bending prowess section), but this really puts them at a severe disadvantage. And they need all the help they can get.

If it's the day time, then they also have less of an advantage compared to Rangi. Not by much imo, but it's something to note. Not going to make it my center of my argument, but it should be stated.

Ok so the WBs are lacking water. We'll assume they can find it, but it's most likely not as abundant as they'd like. Plus Katara and Kavik now have to fight over the resource.

In terms of the better waterbender? It's Katara. In terms of the better physical fighter (hand to hand) (and also probably physically stronger maybe a dirtier fighter?)? It's Kavik. Who gets control of the water? I'm....thinking Katara, but I think she'll have to work for it considering his strength.

(Something about strength between waterbenders (because I find it hard to measure the strength of chars sometimes esp with how some of the franchise feels inconsistent). We see Katara wield a tidal wave against the Southern Raiders, not as big as what Kuruk does with his Avatar state (or what Roku does in base against his master), but still. Then Kavik is able to hold a giant blob of water in the air with an adult woman in it, for a long period of time. All while Yangchen heals them. And is able to wield a giant amount of water (enough to douse a giant warehouse fire and fight back against opponents). So maybe strength with bending vs strength with muscles isn't always connected, but I'm not sure. It should be noted tho. Anyway!)

Both have the ability to utilize their own body's sweat as a weapon. Kavik has also used his own spit in combat.

But there is a big disadvantage to all of this. If they have to resort to using their own bodily fluids in a fight, they probably aren't lasting long (you need your bodily fluids to survive!). It's a last resort sort of thing, and/or used more in espionage than hand to hand.

Combine this with Rangi and Asami, a bender that always has access to their bending, and a nonbender who doesn't need to worry about it. Rangi and Asami can just go on the attack while the there two have to worry about their element as well as sharing it.

Hand to Hand fighting:

That's fine! They can always fight hand to hand! Except....Kavik and Katara may be at a bit of a disadvantage still...

Kavik's noted to not be the best fighter, but he wins what he needs (that being said, he is still a fairly strong and capable wrestler). He's great at using his strength to scare off enemies (see warehouse and giant arm plank thingy). He does seem able to handle non-benders fairly well, esp if he has water, and lots of it, at his disposal (again see warehouse fight).

Katara's a great fighter, but it's her bending alone that carries her, not hand to hand. Her hand to hand isn't as up there like a Kyoshi Warrior, or a FN academy student, or Asami and her self defense.

If it came down to hand to hand between those two, I think Kavik is gonna win.

BUT, compare either of them to Asami and Rangi?

Asami has taken the best self-defense classes since she was young. And she's kind of insane. TT0TT She's able to disarm a grown ass man and use his own weapon against him. She's nimble, fast, and can dodge punches fairly easily and wait until she gets an opening to either disarm or use her glove. But the craziest thing is her flying scissor kicking (probs not the right name for it) a fucking guy on a motorcycle and flipping him off before landing easily (she flips over a speeding motorcycle that's coming at her... twice!). She has the damn strength to pull a metal bar (that's screwed on, I think it's "shoddy" but still) out of the wall, and can knock a grown man out with a single karate chop to the back of the head. Like I don't think she needs the glove, the glove just makes her that more dangerous.

Even if Kavik (it's just a wrap for Katar tbh) can overpower her with his strength. He'd probs have to grapple her. But that's assuming he can get his damn hands on her (she's very slippery). And if he can't, even without the glove she could probably knock him out.

(I wanna say Asami knows chi blocking, but I have to keep reminding myself Equalist!Asami sadly does not exist. I don't think she knows chi blocking, but that could've REALLY helped her in this fight...siiiigh girl go learn it please TT0TT Crossed out this section to indicate it's a side thought that has no bearing on the rest of this piece, but it should be noted)

The only one who can give each other a run for their money in hand to hand is Asami vs Rangi.

Rangi's a fucking psycho in her own right. Army brat, graduated school at the top of her class, and completed her military training early (plus most likely trained by Hei-Ran, one of the best firebenders the world had to offer at the time). I know I love to fling the nepo baby allegations around with her, but she has quite a pedigree in her own right that she earned. She is stated to be proficient in many weapons on top of hand to hand. (god help anyone here if she grabs a sword)

She trained Kyoshi, and the Kyoshi Warriors' combat is heavily based on her own fighting style (KW, iirc, only lost to one enemy and it was FN Academy students, aka their cousin school you could say). Tbh I wouldn't be surprised if the Dai Li also had some of her moves too because of the training they got from Kyoshi.

Her greatest feat was taking on a grown ass, mountain of a man, who was roughly twice her size. And she fucking just.......man-handled him. TT0TT She easily toyed with that motherfucker. He may not have been an uber elite trained guy, but he was a brawler (a killer too).

Like if the guy did land a clean punch, it'd knock someone out (we know because it did to Rangi). "Oh so she lost" no. She let herself get knocked out (she was making a point to Kyoshi). She woke up just in time to not die, and to snap his leg like a twig from the ground she was laying on.

"So she can't tank heavy hits." Haha. Yeah she can. We know she can tank heavy hits because of her fight in SoK with Koulin. Her, Koulin, and their superpowered not-fire punches. (we'll come back to that in the bending part)

Rangi is strong, she can dodge, and she can easily use her opponents weight against them. Kavik can probably outpower her (TOTALLY off topic, but not: would love to see these two in a giant table flipping contest....I think we would all enjoy it...esp YC and Kyo...Listen Rangi is STRONG but I dunno how strong compared to Kavik TT0TT so we need this for "science" I mean.... yes for science *cough*), but he won't be able to utilize that strength. Even if he does, she most likely can and will throw it back at him. If he grapples her...well..unlike Asami, she has bending. I can see her doing what he did to a man with his spit (she's burning his eyes or she's gonna superheat a limb I just know it, he's dropping her if he touches her).

Now her against Asami? I don't know. It feels like they have a similar fight style. Using the force of the opponent against them, or dodge until the right time to strike. Physical strength, Rangi probably hits harder (see Koulin fight), but both are scary strong because remember Asami just....pulls a metal bar out of a wall and flings a grown man around with her legs while he speeds towards her on a vehicle jadsfjal;f (note: judging by body type, Rangi is probably more buff and/or ripped than Asami, Rangi's body type is more similar to Korra, though she is probs around the same height or taller than Asami).

Now it could go either way imo. Rangi has a few tricks up her sleeve, she can use firebending, and not only in a way that will burn Asami (see Koulin fight), just that it'll make her hits that much harder and faster and more nimble. But, if Asami can tap her with the glove? 🤔Hmmmmm..... So about the glove....

Only Firebenders can do lightning redirection. Not that Rangi knows that, buuuuuut she has to have some resistance to it because she's a firebender. It's how they can survive lightning going through them like that, they are literally bending it through their bodies which is why other benders can't do that, ergo they are probably more naturally resistant. (this resistance is probs one reason Kyoshi was able to survive all those hits besides just the armor and where she got hit, and how Zuko took one to the chest while only partially/barely redirecting it.... Aang was stuck in the sky and got hit in a really bad place all without redirecting and/or him ignoring his firebending side may have been what killed him. So it may not do a LOT of heavy lifting, but it's still better than not having it like a non-firebender would).

Lightning is just super powered electricity. That glove pumps out electricity..... BUT it's probably not pushing out the same power as lightning tbh. Just enough to stun someone.

Basically, the glove won't kill but will knock you out. If Rangi naturally resists lightning, then it's possible it may not knock her out. BUT it's also possible that if she does get knocked out, she'll wake up fairly fast (she did that after getting clocked in the face with a fist the force of a truck).

(oh dunno where to put this cause I just realize: one thing that's interesting in how Rangi fights. Multiple times she'll feign leaving herself open. Only to for her to strike at her most deadliest or it just be part of her ploy: she lets the guy hit her on the Lei Tai and then she breaks his leg, she pretends to wobble with Koulin only to knock her tf out when Koulin charges, she takes her time inhaling when fighting Yun then unleashes hell itself on him...just.....hmmm... a tactic she could use against the others, hard to tell if your winning and should take the shot when it could just be a trap...just wanted to throw it out there for food for thought)

Terrain Advantage:

"I know you're going to say there's not a lot of water, but Katara spent a few days in Ba Sing Se so that says a lot more than the other characters! She's at least familiar with the city. The only other person maybe getting close is Asami but she spent most of her time in the upper ring!"

*laughs* Oh you sweet summer child. Rangi probably knows the most about the damn place:

Having a plan to take out Ba Sing Se probs means.....they know the layout fairly well. TT0TT

And this is BEFORE the FN went full imperialist (that stared over 200 years later with Sozin) ajlfklsdja So FN over here just Batman contingency planning the entire world for the love of the fucking game back then I guess jaksfdjal ("Maybe they were always planning" I don't think so tbh, but let's not get into that here, that's for a different post TT0TT)

And with what we know from ATLA to LoK (and even comments in the Kyoshi novels), is that Ba Sing Se and the Earth Kingdom in general are the slowest to change. So even if we're looking at this being ATLA!Ba Sing Se, or even the one from LoK! Ba Sing Se is probs similar to what Rangi learnt in school. (plus I'm pretty sure that "plan" they mentioned is a reference to when Iroh tried to take over so....yeah...still a viable plan even Aang era years later)

Now the area is probably cramped. Asami is probs used to the tight spaces because she grew up/fought in the city. Katara can probs make due cause she's used to being on the run and thinking on her feet with the change of terrain. Kavik is accustomed to cities and keeping his head low, as well as fighting in them. Rangi is Rangi (she can probs fight in an area with 1000 sq ft or 10 sq ft).

We're assuming this place is crowded, but regardless if there's people in it or not, it's still a cramped area.

Kavik is probably the best at evading and having people lose his trail. He most likely is the one who can and should be able to get the drop on people.

Right?

Well, one slight issue. Kavik (and probably anyone else who attempts to cover his trail like him), have a weakness. The sky. "But there's no airbenders in this fight and no gliders." Well....Rangi.

She knows, no, INVENTED Jet-stepping. It allows her to stay in the air and even hop from rooftop to rooftop with ease. Yes she can't do it non-stop. But the rooftops in the lower ring are REALLY close together. So she'll probs be ok. And regardless, she has the best advantage. She has the aerial perspective and can easily get a drop on anyone.

And god help the poor bastard she gets the drop on. She can fall out of damn bison, and land a punch on the ground that shatters stone and leaves a hole where her fist is (her surprise attack on Yun). TT0TT RIP anyone's skull after that (and yes she WAS aiming for a skull when she did that).

So not only would it be hard to evade her, she could get the drop on anyone. AND the fact she's literally "an elite warrior trained in escape and evasion." If anyone needs to pull back and succeed? She's the one doing that. If anyone tries to hide or run? She's probably tracking them down. She knows the place better than anyone there, and can use it to it's full advantage.

tldr; Rangi has the best advantage with this terrain.

Surprise attacks:

Everyone benefits from a surprise attack on someone. Kavik and Rangi are the most likely to be the one's to pull it off. Asami both needs a surprise attack to make her fight easier, but she also needs to do it without revealing what her glove can do.

That being said, Rangi is....a tad weak to surprise attacks. Ok, to be FAIR, I'm pretty sure everyone on this list has been ambushed, followed, and had some kind of surprise attack on them (so no one is infallible here). But it feels like a running gag for Rangi so I wanna address it. TT0TT (it's important to address when it comes down to "who's able to sneak attack whomst" and their ability to do so)

That being said, there's context to each. The first time Tagaka laid a trap and lulled them into a fall sense of security (dumb move team TT0TT) and surprised them.

Then she's drugged from a distance (No one expects the Yuyan Archers and their darts! *looks at text* damn it doesn't allude to them? I though it did oh well, no one expect shirshu venom then!) with shirshu venom and captured. She was not aware of their presence (and if it IS Yuyan, then yeah....they should be in the FN TT0TT)

There's Kyoshi sinking her in the ground in SoK (divorce arc 2!!! *w*), Rangi can't really dig herself out in a timely manner. *cough* good thing she's not fighting any earthbenders here. >w>

Yun burrows and stabs her while she's in the air (she was IN the AIR, he basically air/water spouted his way up but with Earth, the hell is she suppose to consider that?! plus she was trying to watch Kyo's back, the damn distraction! TT0TT)

But that's the thing, it's all things she wouldn't expect: surprise ambush by waterbenders from below, darted by shirshu venom, her gf betraying her tiny trust ;w;, and an earthbender bending like a waterbender into the fucking air and at an insanely fast speed.

They were all scenarios where she was caught completely off guard. Either because the situation was non-combative when she was ambushed (venom/Kyoshi), OR the opponent pulled out a crazy ass move so fast she didn't have time to react. (note: Rangi can handle a burrower, she saved herself and Kyoshi from a shirshu, it's just the combo of her looking out for Kyoshi and Yun pulling out a new move that countered her jetstepping and did it so fast that pulled her up short)

Now remember when I said "does everyone know if they have to fight each other?" (which is also assuming they know what the other looks like for them to do that). Because they should, it doesn't make sense for only some to know and not others. And the reason I bring that up is because.....Rangi knows. She knows 3 other individuals are going to try to knock her out or kill her. She's on high alert. It's going to be A LOT harder for them to get the drop on her. It's very unlikely they can (she's probably going to go airborne and the rest of them won't be expecting it!)

Not impossible, but I don't see Kavik or Katara pulling out a Yun level surprise move (water spouts are high level but I think more commonly known, but not earth spouts, so Rangi would probs keep an eye out for that unlike with the Yun fight). Regardless, she doesn't have Kyoshi to look after, so she is probs just 100% focused on this whole thing (cause part of the reason Yun got her was because she took her attention away to warn Kyoshi of what she saw rather than react).

Anyway, back to Asami (to finish up the surprise section before going to the bending part). If she isn't careful, and lets the others see what her glove can do, she's in trouble. Benders have an advantage of distance. The second she realizes she can't close in, she's cooked. They will (and should) be keeping their distance from her.

So to summarize. Rangi is the most stealthy, followed by Kavik. With everyone knowing they have to fight each other, she'll be on high alert to anyone trying to ambush her. This is assuming any of them realize they should try to look topside for her. Otherwise, she'll probs just use her vantage point to locate and pick them off.

Bending Prowess (aka the section where Asami can sit and rest, RIP my girl u_u):

Katara and Rangi take the cake in terms of bending prowess.

Kavik is decent, proficient, and even knows some advanced and specialized moves. But his are mostly for spying and espionage (from what I remember, sorry baby boi ;w;), but it is still important to note. He's still strong (able to use his tentacles to pick up giant, multiple stacks of plywood and swing it around like a GIANT bat iirc). He can carry heavy amounts of water too, and can bend it even down to a very small particle (small droplets and such). He is at least crafty in what he does as he is strong. But as he says, he admits he can and will lose fights if he needs to (but he's also able to win fights but...we don't know the circumstances to all of that)

....I don't think he's winning against a better waterbender or a insane firebender (a firebender who probably has an ability to probs make him experience PTSD, Koulin fight yeah yeah I'm getting to it).

Both Katara and Rangi are prodigies in their own right. Masters of their elements even at young ages (tho I don't think Rangi is called a "master"? but when Roku graduated school he was considered a master of Fire, and Rangi graduated early so she is probs a master too, it's probs a prerequisite to graduate tbh). Both are sifus to the Avatar. Both have access to or created specialized bending moves in their field.

So in terms of bending, who wins? Katara or Rangi?

Rangi. It's Rangi. I'm sorry but she.....she's winning. "But-" no it's Rangi. "But Azula-" That's not how you spell Rangi. "But Azula is probably better than Rangi!" A potato and a tomato are not the same, that's not Rangi, next! "Silly, Rangi is not better than Azula." I didn't say she was. "But Katara beat Azula, so she should beat Rangi!" No, that's not how this works.

(something to remember, Katara wanted to fight a 2v1 against Azula, so she probs wasn't very confident in their chances against her. If she didn't have that one plan she thought up on the spot, she may not have won)

Katara was a hard counter to Azula, but Rangi is a hard counter to Katara (Azula obvie didn't know how to deal with that ice wall). Rangi does well against waterbenders (to note: Rangi does poorly against earthbenders, but they be playing some dirty tricks! D:< always using her biggest weakness, Kyoshi >_> Kyoshi was right, damn, Rangi would be invincible if not for her love for Kyo....which is why she got stabbed TT0TT)

"Katara was able to freeze Azula during Sozin's Comet! And this is Azula! A blue fire firebender, the hottest fire! Blue is hotter than white! So she's hotter than Rangi! (lol, wordplay). And it's Blue fire with a Comet buff!" Yeah, Azula couldn't combat that. Rangi could.

Rangi did it on a normal damn day, and it wasn't a small ice block like Katara bent, her ass got pulled down into a giant fucking iceberg! Yeah, that first time she got ambushed? Those bastards laid in wait to pull her ass into an iceberg (oh I know Kavik is getting flashbacks when he did something similar, how did they not freeze?! he almost did! don't worry baby boi I'm still wondering too, maybe we can figure it out together later u_u)

You wanna know what Rangi did? She and her mother (who had one not working arm, fyi Rangi just had cuts on her face), not only fought the waterbenders that took them under. The fought back, won, and firebent their way out while saving a chunk of their men. Then went on and kept fighting.

(Tbh, Rangi is probably the one who beat Tagaka. We know she had the power to knock the woman clean on her ass from a distance because she did. And if not her then she tag teamed with her mother. And no it wasn't a 2V1. It was 2vmultiple. They were facing a mini army of waterbenders WHILE fighting Tagaka, and must've won because they managed to captured her TT0TT And Tagaka was a pretty powerful waterbender too!).

Again, this was ALL ON A NORMAL FUCKING DAY! (see my Hei-Ran vs Atuat post for more :'D because I like talking about that feat they did)

So, Rangi was able to do all of that. On a normal day (aka no Sozin's Comet buff). With "weaker" firebending (based form orange-ish and not blue). In a GIANT LAND-SIZED ICEBERG (aka not a lil water wall). Surrounded by the enemy and their native element (aka why I think Kavik and Katara being near a body of water or rain wouldn't make THAT much of a difference, Rangi has proven to be able to withstand being smothered by a waterbender. See? I told you I'd get to this part! yeah yeah still need to talk about the Koulin fight).

Azula either slept through the class that taught you to be a fucking monster (I doubt it), or Rangi is just that fast on her damn feet (she is, she literally invented Jet-stepping on the fly, pun intended!).

I dunno if Rangi could beat Azula. Lightning bending is OP and hax back in the day/pre-LoK (even then it can still knock someone out). I don't even know if she could beat Xu (who is A LOT faster than Azula or Iroh with their lightning, at least pre-comics Azula I think?). But I do know she has a skill set that counters what Azula couldn't beat! :D

"So that's it? That's all you have to go on?" Well yeah, I think that's enough tbh. But if you want me to keep going I can. Remember the screenshot above? Preparedness carries the day? She probably knows a lot of waterbending moves. Like what to expect, maybe how they act. That kind of thing. She operates Kyoshi's flame like a waterbender in a fight against Yun (not the first time Kyoshi thought of Rangi having waterbending type movements). She also tries to teach Kyoshi airbending....she technically failed but this is more her having a vague understanding of it. I wouldn't be surprised if she knows that stuff so she knows what to expect when hit with it.

Airbending would probably be harder for her cause you can't see it, and thus she'll have a harder time dodging....But she's not fighting an airbender. She's fighting two waterbenders (a bending type she seems comfortable against) and a non-bender (and Rangi's proven she can throw hands just fine without her element). In a terrain she is familiar with. With abilities that give her a lot of different upper hands.

Other (insane) abilities of Rangi (just to finish this off):

The fastest person there. No she really is. Powered by gay and fury. And that's without a fire boost! She literally Rocket Powered Naruto Runs in the FN palace at one point. (the only person that could keep up is Katara but she needs water, and even then Katara could just barely outpace Azula during the comet and that might've just been luck. Because in older fights Katara can barely/doesn't keep up with Mai/Ty Lee in fights)

Might have mentioned it above, but I'll repeat it. She is QUICK on her feet. She reacts to openings quickly. She thinks of things quickly! She notices things quickly!

Again, her flying. No one is catching her ass if she decides to run and regroup. TT0TT

Combustion punching. Oh yeah. This. This is the punching that she and Koulin do when they fight. This apparently normal in the after hours of the academy for midnight brawls (not horrifying at all :D). It's not combustion bending per se (doesn't go a distance), but it deals a combustive blow when it lands on impact. (probably the punch she aimed at Yun's head when she fell from the ground tbh, mixed with actual flame). It deals heavy damage, she can take it, and just seeing her whip this out is grounds to probs scare Kavik (IYKYK).

She as access to the uber white flame. No her base fire isn't white, but after 3 breathes she can unleash it. Remember how big the flames got for firebenders during Sozin's Comet? Specifically during the last Agni Kai w/Azula vs Zuko? Yeah that's Rangi's special move, but white flames instead of blue or orange (more powerful than orange, but not as strong as blue). It's literally hell incarnate. It disintegrates anything that it touches, and it is BIG and it goes FAR.

She can both take potshots at someone while being in the air (she can't stay in the air forever, but it still an option).

Not insane, but she probably has a lot of knowledge on waterbenders. Just from being around Kirima and Atuat (and maybe what her mother may have told her/learnt from Kuruk, since his team seemed to be keen on sharing between bending arts). She knows just how deadly and accurate Kirima is capable of (even being able to walk on mist!) And then she probably watched how Atuat was able to preform miracles on her mother and train the Avatar in a month.

Tldr; Rangi is a force of nature and a terrifying opponent, let alone her being pissed off when fighting too. She has her weaknesses, but none of the opponents are ones that can exploit it.

This is why I think Rangi would win. Katara is her biggest issue, but I think she could beat her. Kavik and Asami would still put up a good fight, but they'd probs get overpowered. u_u

"Ok but Silly, you didn't talk about Katara's healing! Or plant bending or-" It either won't be much help in a quick combat scenario (healing), or it's not applicable or useable (bloodbending/plantbending). I can see Katara stealing water from produce in the market square. But there's not a lot of plants in the lower ring from the looks of it to utilize plant bending. Rangi might not give her a chance to heal, and I don't think she can heal herself that fast....and healing won't work out much if you are knocked out TT0TT (I'll talk about bloodbending down below).

"Ok, so what would need to happen for her to lose?"

The person who can best surprise attack her and have her stay down is Asami, there's still a good chance that glove will knock her out. But that doesn't mean she can't get back up (same for the other's, but one combustive punch to the head will knock you out cold or kill you tbh).

I mean, Lao Ge is right, a rock to the head can work wonders for knocking one out or killing them. Same can probs go for ice too. Or loading up a waterwhip with a rock inside it.

But this assuming they can get the drop on her or hit her with a good windup.

They could gang up on her. The only issue is HOW and WHY? Did she prove she's the biggest threat? I feel like she would be a lot stealthier than that (she's proven to be able to stealthy while infiltrating a prison and that probs meant fighting too all while being fairly quick an efficient, from what we gather from when she broke into a prison). If anyone is going to take someone out silently and cleanly it'll be her. She's more likely to silently pick them apart, and she has the skill set.

The only way this works is if they get information ahead of time to team up against her, or she's unaware that she's in a battle royal (which makes no sense).

I think the key for a team up is if Katara and Kavik somehow overcome the urge to steal their resource and decide to share it. (cooperation is what Watertribe/waterbenders do best). But.....I can also easily see them not trusting the other and thus not fighting side by side. And even if they team up, again, Rangi fought off an mini army of daofei waterbenders and Tagaka on a damn iceberg surrounded by water/ice and apparently won. I think she can handle a 2v1 waterVfire TT0TT (girl ain't normal I swear)

The only way I see a realistic way of her losing is with Katara, specifically:

Bloodbending. Katara can win if she bloodbends. Now some issues: 1) No full moon here, 2) does she even want to do that (she's uncomfy with it from what I remember except for revenge/survival, but let's pretend she's down for it), 3) non-waterbenders can still resist bloodbending if they are determined enough (ex: Mako against Amon, probably the better bloodbender).

But, bloodbending is not an insta win. 1) there may be a range (aka they can stay out of her range), 2) Asami knows about bloodbending (maybe it's common knowledge about Katara or Korra told her, but she also knows about it because of Amon and Tarrlok). So if she can convince Kavik and Rangi to help take her out it might prove that it's more of a giant target she put on her back.

Kavik and Rangi can easily still hit her outside the range. And maybe they can distract her long enough for Asami to attempt a sneak attack (or at least the attempt will distract her before she gets blasted). But then with Katara taken out, they realize very quickly they have to fight Rangi and rip. u_u

Maybe Rangi backs off and lets them duke it out amongst themselves (let them have some spotlight, plus I'd like to see Kavik vs Asami. I can see him doing his evade maneuver and then surprise attacking her. Or she bodies him in a hand to hand fight).

But...uhh....yeah. Anyway, this is why I think Rangi would win considering the setting (and what we know of it), the people involved, and the abilities of everyone there (that can be utilized). (Katara is a close second after Rangi I think tho).

[atthebell]

one of the guys asked what he thinks players should learn from devs and vice versa; he said that when making the game, his perspective while working on it was how it would come across as a gameplay, how it would work for a player and how to shape it in order to be the best and most interesting player experience. he said that this sometimes came into conflict with how the devs thought of it in terms of making a video game and the typical ways that game design operates. as an example, he brought up the menu puzzle, just like he did on the flow podcast-- that the devs thought it was a bad idea because in typical game design you would never spring a puzzle on a player before they've even started the game. but to him it was exciting and interesting from a player perspective-- it was a way to frame the whole game as a puzzle and introduce players very quickly to how the game would operate and what they could expect from it (also, this is my personal opinion, but i think it also helps frame the meta stuff even better). he said that having the perspective of being a streamer and understanding the reactions of people to a game made him have a different perspective.

he also said that now that he's made a game, he understands how much work goes into every little thing, especially the stuff players don't pay that much attention to. he specifically brought up every little asset in a room that most players will walk through for a few minutes at most and how those can take months and months of development but receive little attention, and how now he'll take the time to appreciate those little details more than he ever did before.

around season 2 of ordem, dumativa got in contact with him because they saw the potential of the universe. originally he was thinking of making a game completely separate from the ordem IP, but he and dumativa both saw how well a puzzle game with a focus on solving enigmas could fit in with ordem and that people would be really excited about it.

originally the scope for the game was much, much smaller, and they actually set the crowdfunding campaign lower than they knew it needed to be because they knew people don't understand how expensive games are to make. they knew the goal should've been set around 1.5 million reais, but they set it at 500.000 reais because they were afraid of people's reactions to the former goal. they were planning to look for outside funding if they didn't hit the goal/get enough from crowdfunding. and then they broke crowdfunding records and saw a ton of positive reactions to the game, with many people really being excited about it.

[distant-velleity]

guess who made another ridiculously long comic about yuhua aw yeahhhhh. i never get tired of tormenting him. but this time it involves.... my yumeship ⁉⁉⁉

~

(11 pages, read each one from left -> right)

~

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