#yes she's in the backrooms

[lakesparkles]

DAILY RAMONA FLOWERS DAYS 39-43

Yeah, all art I have to show is the Ramona ones

Everyday I wish Ramona and Gideon interacted more in the anime (I created a whole plot about them and Julie in my mind)

[cringefail-clown]

I think you should make Gamzee the manager but no one knows thats his role until one day Calliope mentions it and they're like "wait what? We have a manager?" because he tends to just be in the back taking care of the pastries/food

that is terrible i love it im doing it

[spookai69-420]

I can’t hide it. Tma!Wyatt might be Gerard kaey since I find the idea of the stupid gen alpha slang TikTok user being SUPER goth when not surrounded by those he knows

Julien wandering the halls of his mall only to see this 16 year old goth boy (that WILL be his friend)

(They are of either of the stranger/spiral and buried and deeply marked by the vast. Sorry guys)

Also Madison as distortion. May change Kim to be Daisy or Melanie. I dislije Melanie 👎 but I also like unfathomable rage so

I have to think about this. Which Girlboss to be applied to,,,

Also thinking about how much of a swap Tma au this could be, async cast aside. Obviously caring and mildly skeptical archavist and his sarcastic super stubborn boyfriend. Archavist still doesn’t know social cues though so😒

Also thinking about how I could call Marvin Marchavist. I cannot hide this any longer. Marchavist can and will exist

[itsjusteds]

So I play DND and my DM, @ryvdraws , came up with a backrooms themed oneshot where the end goal was a TPK. I played a silly little guy named Teddie and long story short, he fell down a hole and was abandoned

I thought it was fun so I drew it

[thetooncrew]

studies of girl [sic]

[qqueenofhades]

oh god is biden dropping out? i don't know what happens then

Jesus effing Christ.

Few thoughts:

The billionaire Democratic donors got their way, apparently. All I saw was that the big-dollar donors were secretly putting pressure on the rank-and-file Democratic elected officials (i.e. House and Senate) to denounce Biden or not get any more money, and other shameful backroom maneuvering to knife Biden. I will refrain (lol, no I won't) from speculating that billionaires of any political stripe feel threatened by Biden's increasingly progressive tax/wealth redistribution policies, and saw their chance after the bad debate performance to knife him. Because until further notice, I'm going to think that was the biggest factor.

I don't know if there's an actual health condition that made Biden agree it was the best time (in fucking July) to step down, but if this was an issue, there needed to be planning last year, at the earliest, to prepare for a new successor. I don't know what's going on. This is a clusterfuck on many, many levels.

However: it is true that this does change things and not necessarily only for the worse, as long as Harris is immediately confirmed as the new nominee and this stupid Democrats In Disarray nonsense, which is giving the media exactly what they want, is put to a fucking end. If Harris is also swept aside and the billionaire donors try to install their preferred "Centrist!!!" candidate (lol Manchin or some shit) with an equally antidemocratic closed-door Star Chamber convention, then yes, we're fucked. Because the Congressional Black Caucus and African American voters saw exactly what the rich white man billionaires were trying to do by torching Biden and then Harris, and they are not going to play ball with some Magical White Man replacement.

If Harris is immediately confirmed as the new nominee (and to the best of my knowledge Biden has endorsed her), then she has a chance of reinvigorating the race. There were a lot of Americans who did not want either Biden or Trump. I suspect they were fucking braindead, but so be it. Harris has apparently polled pretty and increasingly well in recent days (in some cases actually better than Biden) and again, there is no remotely small-d democratic alternative to her. The billionaire donors already trashed the duly elected (by the primary process) Democratic nominee. If they do the same to Harris, then yes. We will have Trump and there won't be any more democracy in this country on either side, because the Republican big-bucks donors will gleefully pick up where the Democratic big-bucks donors left off.

Jesus fucking Christ.

The message needs to be "Harris is Joe's successor, she is younger and already has four years of experience and is the only candidate." Anything else is a fucking gift from god to the Republicans, once more getting trashed after Trump's terrible RNC speech. Maybe she can then pick Whitmer or Shapiro (both popular and effective Democratic governors of swing states, MI and PA respectively) as a running mate, but the nominee has to be Kamala. There is no other fucking choice. This is already enough of a mess.

If that can happen, and the fucking donors can refrain from fucking it up, then... okay. It's not great, but it does change things. It makes the ticket younger. It makes it historic (first Black female president beating Trump would be amazing). It could reach people disenchanted with the current two-old-white-guys setup.

This is an incredible sacrifice on Biden's part and I only wish that I could believe he did it voluntarily, rather than being forced out by a small class of rich people worrying about his policies getting too progressive.

I wish him only the best and I recognize this decision was taken under extreme pressure. If we then lose to Trump, I hope everyone who forced Biden out burns in hell.

I was a diehard Biden supporter not because I loved the guy personally, but because he was the only choice for preserving democracy in America. The essential stakes of the election have not changed, even if the billionaires just knifed us in the fucking back, possibly to nobody's surprise, because R or D, they are not our friends.

Kamala is the only choice. I will now have to defend her as hard as I did for Biden. She needs to beat Trump. There is nothing else to it. If you think she can't, then you need to work at helping her do that. There is already enough calamity and doom. We do not have a choice. We cannot lose sight of what is at stake here.

Kamala Harris/Whitmer and/or Shapiro and/or Buttigieg 2024.

The end.

[swagging-back-to]

had an apocalypse dream last night. a super long and detailed one too. havent had one in a long time.

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 3; ghoap x reader) masterlist

-

“What is this anyway—‘bring your girlfriend to work’ day?”

She’s snarky as ever, but with an agitated edge. Nerves prickling when Johnny holds her jacket out for her to slip her arms into. Even that makes her snap—something about not being a toddler that Johnny needs to help dress, but by then his head is in the clouds. In another place altogether. 

The prospect of getting to parade his new girl around leaves him giddy, fox-like grin hard to squash. He doesn’t suppress anything, finds it hard to push things down. When he does, it’s often unconscious. 

She doesn’t like the way he savours her anxiety like a fine wine, sniffs it from the top of her head and groans out his breath, cackling when she tries to stomp on his foot to make him go away. He dances away with her coat, light and nimble on his feet because he’s used to ducking and weaving for her affection. 

“The guys wanna meet ye,” he repeats for the umpteenth time. It’s surprising how many times he’s had to say it. 

“Why? Haven’t they ever met a girl before?” she gripes, swallowing now, her stomach probably cramping and poor bonnie lass, Johnny thinks. His poor, pretty girl is trying to put on a brave face when he knows she prefers being in the backroom of her little flower shop, snipping off stalks and tying pretty bows around pretty bouquets. He wishes he could keep her back there forever—put a lock on the door and come only to smother her in kisses and gorge himself on every inch of her—but there’s a whole wide world demanding his attention. 

“Aye, hen, never a lass as cute and sweet as ye,” he crows, ducking a hand that punches through the sleeve of her jacket in his direction. 

In the car, he drops the facade. Loses his teasing edge. It’s a violent removal, like jolting awake to the sound of someone sawing away at a catalytic converter. If his smile is saccharine, it’s really only a smokescreen concealing the apprehension bubbling away in his belly. 

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel on the drive back to base. Heart in his throat, choking his words and rendering him quiet for once in his life. He hears Ghost’s voice in his head, a low rumbling laugh, tectonic plates shifting beneath his feet. These days, his voice acts as a lodestar, the thing steering Johnny home. 

Months ago, it was the only thing between him and annihilation, the ice cold maelstrom dragging him deeper into its maw. Guiding him through the valley of death. The wound in his arm still aches in the first light of day. His sleep is still wracked by dreams of running down alleys and ducking into houses, the rain pattering against the window panes ominous, a ticking clock, each step having to be precise, calculated, each movement quieter than quiet, fading into the shadows, a cool heart and mind bested by agony from the bulletwound in his shoulder.

And then—Ghost’s voice, low and soothing in his ear, shattering the pain. Ghost’s voice in his ear telling him where to go, how to survive. 

It’s hard to explain. Johnny’s tried. It’s like talking in circles when he opens his mouth and tries to get it out. I trust him with everything in me. He could do anything to me, anything. 

He is no less capable, no less competent. His rank demands respect, and he takes what’s due to him. Since Las Almas, he’s worked across a medley of other teams, even solo a time or two. It changes nothing. He still wakes in a sweat, chasing that voice. It takes him back into the real world. The days burn into the fringes of a memory that he is always living.

“Should I know anyone’s name before we get there?”

Her voice breaks through the noise in his head this time. It’s every bit as precious. 

“What d’ye mean, hen?” he asks, clucking his tongue. Sweats a bit when he realizes how far down the motorway they are now, how long it’s been since he checked out, lost in his thoughts. One hand rests loose on her leg, fingers spread wide and thumb gliding up and down her outer thigh, the other still holding the wheel. 

The pinched look has mostly fallen off from her face, but there’s still a tremble in her lower lip when she says, “Well, I don’t know any of your friends. I wouldn’t introduce you to my friends without telling you their names first.”

“No’ my friends, hen—we’re coworkers.”

She looks over at him from the corner of her eye. “I’m friends with my coworkers.”

Johnny shrugs. “It’s no’ the same with guys. Couldnae tell you fuck all about any of them except their names, to be honest.”

“Oh, don’t give me that—you’re not friends with a single one of them? No one?”

No hunger without resistance. His mouth goes bone dry. He’d be wise to learn that. 

He swallows. “Maybe a few.”

No transaction without accountability. Ghost saves his life and now Johnny has to pay that debt back tenfold. Sinking into the crease of Simon’s voice late at night, clutching it to his chest. Breathing it out. Maybe they are friends. 

He’s a bit show-offy at the base gates, dangling his ID card out the window pinched between two fingers. The civilian guard on duty just waves him on, scanning it only for the sake of the logs. His tires spin in the dirt when he guns it down the stretch of road leading into the base, windows still all the way down. Her hair whips around in the wind until she gathers it all up in her fist and shrieks at him to roll the windows up. 

Johnny enjoys showing off. That’s a core aspect of who he is, his charm. Braggadocious, confident in the way he looks, his physical prowess, his lot in life—so why would that change with his girl? He holds her close with an arm around her waist when he drags her through the rec centre, the building closest to where they parked. 

He gets lost in conversation for longer than expected. Pure gloating about the girl he’s managed to bag. Cooing in her ear when he feels her get a bit uneasy, still timid around the other guys despite having him at her side. He supposes that’s fair. She’s more comfortable around the women on base, a bit freer with her greeting and questions, but there’s still a pinch in her brow that never smooths all the way over.

It takes a while to find anyone that he knows. There are plenty of sergeants and corporals that he’s worked with before, familiar faces and names, but Johnny still glances around the room while they make light conversation with his girl, searching. Looking for something familiar, something that’ll reel him in, make him perk up like a dog catching a scent. 

They cross Gaz in a random hallway on the way to the comm centre, hardly recognizable at first with the darker stubble of his beard grown out. He must’ve just come back from wherever he’d been shipped off to the month previous, no time to shave or clean up. He even smells of old sweat when Johnny leans in for a hug. 

“Is this—?” Gaz glances over at her just once while the question dangles in the air. He looks back over at Johnny. 

They lock eyes. A silent exchange of meaning. 

“Aye,” Johnny nods, steering her in front of him with both hands on her shoulders, showing his girl off like a kid with a new toy. Eyes glinting like, don’t say a word. “Brought her in to meet everyone.”

A molasses slow smile spreads across Gaz’s face. It’s clear why men like him always get the girl. Johnny’s hands tighten on her shoulders. “Nice to meet you—thought John would hide you away forever.”

She glances up at him through her lashes. “You talked about me?”

Gaz shakes his head. “Not as much as you’d think. Took Ghost ages to get it out of him.”

Johnny flushes. “Did no’. Jus’ ‘cause I don’ blab about everything under the fuckin’ sun doesnae mean—”

“John says you’re a florist,” Gaz interrupts, turning the conversation back to her. Her lips split up into a mischievous little grin, delighted at the turnabout, probably delighted at seeing Johnny stumble over his words.

Something about her teasing grin gets his dick hard. More points to the rapidly disintegrating belief that he doesn’t have a humiliation kink. He leans forward, pressing it into her ass, delighted himself when she shoots him a dirty look over her shoulder but doesn’t pull away. 

“So, where’s everybody?” Johnny asks casually, trying not to make it too obvious who he’s referring to. The look Gaz gives him is unimpressed. He keeps running into that brick wall, his thoughts written out on his forehead, obvious to everyone around him. 

“Everyone?” Gaz repeats sceptically. 

“Aye.” His voice is tight, warning. “Everyone.”

“Ghost’s actually on his way here now, I think. We got called over to HQ—s’where I was headed, actually.”

“I dinnae say anything about Ghost, now did I—,” Johnny grumbles, but the words dissolve in his mouth when the man in question comes into the room. 

Sometimes, Johnny has the pleasure of seeing Ghost round a corner. The split second pleasure of being the observer, of dragging his eyes up and over, his chest bursting with a light like dawn cresting behind mountains and splitting the sky. In the field, he’s often deprived of that; becomes used to experiencing the phenomenon of Ghost melting out of the shadows, sometimes scaring the daylights out of him. 

It’s what happens now though. Glancing up on a whim only to see a man round the corner of the hallway leading out of the rec centre, shirt stretched out maddeningly over his arms and chest, muscles bulging like he just came from the gym, still pumped. The shirt’s a little threadbare, something old and worn, and Johnny’s seen it a million and a half times he figures; it leaves so little to the imagination that he’s joked about Ghost busting it at the seams from time to time, only to be met with a steady, aloof stare. 

There’s something to be said about how he’s drawn to people who refuse to scratch him behind the ears until he’s more than proven himself. He works tirelessly for Ghost’s approval, for his girl’s approval. Dogs with their bones, tigers with their stripes. 

He has a balaclava pulled over his face, just a simple black one this time, the underside of his eyes darkened by eyeblack hastily scrubbed off the night before, probably. His eyes scan the crowd, locking on Johnny and Gaz almost instantly. It’s the mark of a good soldier—he doesn’t flounder in the dark. Always finds his target, like a sixth sense for knowing when he’s being watched. 

Ghost course-corrects upon noticing them, crossing the room in a handful of seconds. The curt, “Johnny,” he gets is a bounty, a treasure. He grins back when Ghost glances down at the girl at his side. “That your bird?” 

“Told ye I’d bring her in—s’long as everyone’s on their best behaviour, of course.”

Gaz snorts. “Good luck with that.”

Ghost must cock an eyebrow because he can see the fabric of his mask shift. “Pretty.”

He can’t help the way he preens at that. Tucked away by his side again, Johnny can feel his girl squirm, but he pays it no mind. She’s shy—he’s known that from day one, from the first time she stumbled out from the back of the flower shop and scrunched her nose up at his attempts at flirting. 

Admiration is a smooth, buttery feeling. It keeps him aloft while another couple of servicemen take interest in their conversation and come over, Johnny’s girl at the centre of everyone’s attention. He���d be pricklier about it if he didn’t have a firm hand on her waist, keeping her pressed to his side. 

He soaks up the attention. Drinks it up when someone asks his girl a question and Johnny answers for her or pinches her cheek when she manages to pipe up before him. He knows he’ll get read the riot act when he takes her back home later, but he might be able to convince her to ride him while berating him for talking over her. Might beg her to slap him and spit in his mouth—say it’s the only way he’ll learn his lesson.

Dirty dog.

It strikes him that maybe he’s picked up some bad habits in recent months. He’s never been one to overthink, to worry and fret. Yet, he toils in it now, shovels coals into the furnace of it and gives it life. 

His shoulders go slack, the tension finally ebbing out of him. No longer dogged by the incessant fear that his girl is going to run away, bolt at the first loud noise, or that someone’s going to pluck her up out of his arms. She seems comfortable if anything. 

He’s been overthinking all of this, wrapped up in his head. He can breathe out, unclench. 

When Ghost shifts to stand closer to them, he glances over because that’s where his gaze always goes these days. Seeking Ghost out, finding him in a crowd; looking for his North Star wherever he is, wherever he goes. 

Only to watch in mute horror as, in plain sight, not trying to be discreet or hide it from anyone, Ghost gropes his girlfriend’s ass in front of everyone on base. Just reaches out a big hand and fondles her ass, digging his fingers into the cheek. She freezes, back ramrod straight as she stares ahead, eyes going a bit blank. 

He fails whatever test this is, mouth too dry for any words to come out. Humiliation burns him from the inside out. Another sergeant that he’s worked with before frowns, glancing over at Johnny. Neither of them say a word. 

Ghost tilts his head, staring down at his hand on her ass like he’s contemplating its plushness. Admiring it. With how Johnny stands on one side and Ghost the other, the two of them bracket her, like the soft centre of their trio; nowhere for her to go, a handler on either side. That’s wrong though. Ghost is not her handler—Johnny hardly is, more of a self-appointed one. 

Still he—

He lets it happen.

Contention dies a bloody death in his mouth, massacred. Mangled. He lets Ghost sink his fingers into his girlfriend’s backside and hum a little under his breath before finally pulling his hand away. The others look at him, waiting for Johnny’s reaction with bated breath. A reaction that never comes because it gets strangled in Johnny’s throat. 

“Nice meeting the bird,” Ghost finally says, voice a decibel lower, rough enough to scrape. “Gaz and I’ve got shit to do now. Be ready on the tarmac by oh-seven-hundred tomorrow, Johnny.” 

He grips Johnny by the shoulder before heading off, like he didn’t just grope Johnny’s girlfriend. Like he didn’t just reach down and grab a handful of her ass like it was his to feel up. And Johnny just nods. A placid, docile thing under Ghost’s hand, bobbing his head like a doll. 

Then Ghost leaves, Gaz trailing after him, looking back about a half dozen times to see if Johnny will suddenly follow them until he’s forced to job to catch up to Ghost, the man already yards away, longer legs carrying him fast out of the building. 

They don’t talk on the drive back to her apartment, the inside of the car tense and uncertain. Johnny walks her to the door when he lets her off, but it’s a formality, a chaste kiss at the door instead of the rough fuck that he’d envisioned to send her off. Despite the hard set of her jaw, she doesn’t lambast him like Johnny expected. The silence is worse though, haunting when she shuts the door in his face. 

The drive back to base after the drop off is agonizing in a whole new way. Still pent up, cock heavy in his pants, and fingers drumming over the steering wheel twice as fast now. What do I do, what do I do, what do I do? What he wants to do is turn around at the closest gap between both sides of the motorway and speed all the way back, knock on her door until his knuckles blister and bleed, until she opens the door and lets him in, lets Johnny push her to the floor in the entryway and spread her legs, welcoming him in. 

Until she lets him fit his fingers into the marks left behind by Ghost’s hand. 

Cold fire rising up off his bones, and then something hot. And wet. 

The next day at breakfast in the mess, one of the guys says something like, “If Ghost was into my girl, that’s the last you’d see of me and her,” and his mind goes blank and he goes over the table.

[nadinescholtes]

Pop goes the chips! Laia is finally meeting Solar and Jack.

This happened like three days after meeting Lunar.

Laia becomes very afraid if she makes a mistake because she worries if people are going to complain to her boss too many times, she will be decommissioned.

She realized that Jack was just a kid and couldn't be mad.

And yes she baas like a real sheep.

I had some difficulties with the perspectives of the backgrounds, but with the help of Sketchup, I got it alright. I had to search in so many videos to see what even the theater's backroom looks like.

Solar's character design was made by @ayyy-imma-ninja

<- ->

All pages

[writersdrug]

Tea and Cigarettes

Chapter 1. Tea Party

Masterlist

Summary: Out for a late-night walk to clear his head, Simon stumbles across an open bakery. All he wants is a tea. Instead, he gets a tea party.

Warnings: mild cursing, reader doesn't do the smartest thing in this situation

It was a common thought in Simon’s head, if not the most common. He shouldn’t have survived that mission.

It’s what was engrained into his head from the very first mission he’d been a part of. It’s what he repeated to himself at the end of every mission thereafter. Lady Luck was too forgiving and magnanimous to him – he should have been killed long ago, well before he reached his thirties and climbed up the ranks to lieutenant. It’s one thing when you have something to fight for, to come home to – it’s another when you have nothing but an undecorated flat.

And, for tonight, a cup of tea.

It was another night between missions; another restless moment in time where Simon found himself walking the streets of the city, rather than trying to get some shut eye. It wouldn’t have worked anyways – it never did. His neurons were too busy firing off at every mistake, every memory, every single thing that haunts him, for him to get a restful sleep.

So that’s what brought him here: standing inside a bakery late at night, staring at the toddler behind the cashier’s counter. His overactive thoughts had certainly taken a backseat to the one, prominent question in his mind; who the hell is this kid, and where is her mother?!

“Hello.” She said, standing on her toes, already balancing herself on a small step-stool. Her head barely poked over the counter for her to look at Simon.

“… ‘ello…” he said cautiously, eyeing the girl like she was a ticking time bomb. “Where are your parents?”

“Mummy’s in the back with Sean.” She said, turning her head and pointing to the doorway to the left. Simon leaned his head over the counter to follow her line of sight – he heard the sound of some sort of machinery echoing from the kitchen-like backroom, but he didn’t see anyone.

“She’s making biscuits!” The girl said, looking back at Simon.

He was utterly baffled. Who would leave a kid at the front of a shop? After hours, with the bloody door unlocked?! “Where’s your dad?”

“He lives with Nancy!”

“Nancy?”

“Yes – she used to stay at home with us, when Mommy had to work – then she took daddy home with him!”

Oh… that’s unfortunate.

He sighed. “Sorry ‘bout-“

“Would you like tea?”

Simon stared blankly back at the girl. This is ridiculous. “D’you have black tea?”

The girl nodded. She hopped off the step stool – Simon followed her little ponytail as it barely bobbed above the surface of the countertops. She rounded the corner and headed to a small, pink play kitchen. She grabbed two cups, one pink and one a royal purple, before carrying them over to a sink back behind the counter. She placed them on the countertop, then trotted back to the cashier area to grab her stool.

“I’m sorry.” she said with a giggle.

“’S fine, take your time…” Simon mumbled, stupefied by the whole situation. He watched the girl as she dragged her stool to the sink and clamored up onto it, filling the two cups with water. This was a very… unnatural situation. He wouldn’t be entertaining it, if it wasn’t for the fact that this girl was clearly alone. He would have gone back to the kitchen to see where her mum was, but he didn’t want anyone to think he was robbing the place and pull a gun on him. If anything, the least he could do was watch over this little girl until someone came around to claim responsibility for her.

So, there he was. Five minutes later, sitting at one of the tables in the bakery with this toddler. “Eating” a fake croissant and drinking “tea” from the little plastic cup (he got pink; purple was her favorite color).

“Do you want butter?” she asked, holding him a plastic plate and knife, with a plastic slab of butter on it.

“Yea, why not.” He replied. He picked up the tiny knife and pretended to slather butter over the one half of his croissant (it intrigued him that the manufacturer of the toy had thought to make the damn thing dividable into two pieces). “Ya got a name, kid?”

“Mummy says I can’t tell strangers my name.” she replied, looking at him with the same stern expression her mother had most likely given when telling her the same thing.

Simon nodded. “Your mum’s smart.” He said, taking a sip of his tea.

“You can call me Pony Princess!” she offered instead, biting into her croissant rather realistically.

Simon held back a laugh. “Pony Princess it is, then.” He said, clinking his cup against hers when she held it up for a toast.

You sighed, shoving the third and final tray of biscuits into the commercial oven. It was hot and humid in the kitchen, and you were thankful that the most toiling part of the batch was over. Glancing at your watch made you grimace at how late it was – Christopher was for sure going to complain about how late you had him stay, especially past closing. You knew he was most likely out for a smoke, but you didn’t have the energy to reprimand him tonight. As long as the doors were locked behind him and the front lights were off, you didn’t care. No one would be trying to enter a bakery this late at night.

You looked to your left, fanning the heat from your flushed face. Sean was fast asleep in his carrier, his little mouth open and fingers twitching as he dreamed. You gently scooped him into your arms and wiped his nose clean with your apron, before maneuvering your way through the kitchen to the front. It had been a while since Christopher came to nag you about hurrying up, and you wondered how long he’d been out smoking – or if he’d come back at all. Ellie wasn’t in her usual spot, coloring in the office chair in front of the computer… you frowned a bit, speed walking into the café as an uneasy feeling settled in your stomach.

“Christpher, are you in here?” you called, adjusting Sean on your hip. “Ellie? Where are-“

You audibly gasped when you walked into the seating area. A man, a brutish man, was seated at one of your tables, after closing. He was dressed in all black, with a black surgical mask dangling from one ear, and his hood up. He stared back at you with a shocked expression on his face, holding an absurdly tiny, pink plastic cup in his hand, and a toy croissant on the table in front of him. Right across from him was your daughter, Ellie, with an aloof grin on her face.

“Hi Mummy!” she exclaimed. “We’re having a tea party!”

A million questions were running through your head. Where the fuck is Christopher? Who is this man? Is he robbing you? Is he trying to steal your child?!

“Ellie…” you said, a slight waiver in your voice. “Sweetheart, come here please.”

“But I’m having tea with him!”

You sent another fearful glance to the behemoth of a man at the table. He looked back at you, seemingly just as taken aback by the situation as you were. He looked back down at the table and cleared his throat, taking a tiny sip from the hot pink plastic cup.

Your daughter was having tea and crumpets with a fucking burglar.

“Ellie. Now, please.” You repeated sternly, holding your free arm out to her.

She reluctantly slid down from her chair and padded over to you. As soon as she was within arm’s length, you grabbed her tiny hand and dragged her into the back kitchen.

“Ellie, what are you doing?!” You whisper-yelled, kneeling down to her level and looking into her eyes. You tried to stress the importance of the situation. “Who is that man?!”

“He’s a customer, Mummy!” she said, with a beaming smile on her face.

“What did he want from you?!”

“He wanted tea.”

“What else? Did he ask for your name?”

“I didn’t tell him.” She said, resolve thick in her tone. “Just like you told me not to.”

You sighed frustratedly, adjusting Sean on your hip. “Where is Christopher?”

“He went outside.”

Un-fuckin-believable.

You pulled her close to you and planted a kiss to her forehead, then looked her in the eyes once more. “Listen to me, sweetie. Go to the desk and color for now, ok? I’m gonna talk to the man. I’ll be right back. And if you hear Mommy yelling or crying-“

“- use the phone and call 9-9-9.” She said.

“Good girl – now go on.” You ushered her further into the kitchen, then stood upright. With Sean still sound asleep, cradled tightly into your side, you grabbed the phone from the wall mount and slowly tiptoed back into the café.

Simon was still at the table, except now both of his palms were flat against the wooden surface. He watched as you emerged back into the lobby; maybe it was an inappropriate time to admire someone, but he couldn’t help himself.

You. Fierce you, you mustering the angriest face you could make (it was quite cute, by the way – you really need to work on it if you’re trying to intimidate anyone). You with your hair hastily pulled back into a messy updo, you with that baby boy on your hip, you with batter on your face that Simon was just dying to lick up. You stayed behind the counter

“Who are you?” you demanded.

“Simon.” He answered. He could tell you were a bit disappointed in that response, given you didn’t know who the hell Simon was. “Not a burglar.” He added after a few seconds.

You pouted even more. “Why are you in here? How did you get in here? We’re closed.”

Simon looked towards the blinking “open” sign by the front door. “Well… mam, the sign says otherwise. And the doors were unlocked.”

You looked at the sign and cursed internally, taking another peek into the back kitchen. Ellie was still back there. Good. Christopher was nowhere to be seen. Fuck.

“I’m sorry about the confusion…” you said, looking back at Simon and adjusting Sean on your hip, “but we’re closed. My clerk should’ve turned that sign off hours ago, and locked the door behind him. In fact, when he gets in here, I’m about to give him a piece of my-“

“Mam, please-“ Simon said, starting to stand up. Your eyes widened a bit and you took a step back; he held his hands up as a peace offering, before stretching up to his full height. You gulped – you’d never seen anyone so large before. How did he fit through the damn door?

“I didn’t mean t’ cause any fuss.” He spoke quietly, slowly approaching the counter you stood behind. “I really am sorry – I thought th’ place was open, n’ I was out lookin’ for a tea. ‘Lil squirt back there was very hospitable. I jus’ stuck around to see where ‘er mum was.”

He pulled his hood down to seem more approachable, and lord, was he. You couldn’t fight the way you were immediately attracted to the cropped, blonde hair, the strong jaw, the few scars that marked up his face… fuck, the way he could’ve been a building next to you, with how much he shaded you from the light…

Didn’t you think this man was a burglar not five minutes ago? You thought. You quickly forgave yourself, once you remembered how long it had been since you were with a man.

You sighed. “I’m sorry, I just- you know, with two kids, you freak out about everything-“

“Perfectly understandable.” He interjected. “But I’ve caused enough trouble for one night. ‘ll be out of your hair-“

“Could I at least get you a tea?” you asked. “Since you’re here.”

“You really don’t need-“

“No, I insist- just, give me a moment-“ frazzled, you disappeared into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind you.

Simon exhaled heavily, clearing his throat. He tried to recuperate himself – he couldn’t be falling for the woman he nearly frightened to death, let alone a woman he’d never met before. You were probably scared shitless of him. The way your wide, glossy eyes had stared at him, those pouting lips… and Christ, the way that baby boy fit perfectly on your hips. He imagined his hands tracing over them –

He huffed, glancing around the café to distract himself. Should’ve listened to Price and gotten a hobby-

You came back out, baby-free, and snagged a paper cup off of a stack near the drip machine. “Just had to put him back with Ellie. Don’t like them being near the- the urns, and such-“ you fumbled, looking for a cup sleeve, before sliding it on and reaching for the tea cabinet. “Black or green?”

“Black’s fine – please and thank you.” Simon grunted out. He shoved his fidgety hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt, watching as you grabbed a tea back and dropped it into his cup.

“Cream? Sugar?”

“None, thanks.”

“Do you always roam around this late at night?” you asked, pouring the water into the travel cup. Steam billowed up and in front of your face, and you scrunched your nose from the heat. “None of the shops are open this late – tea shops, I mean. Or, they shouldn’t be, but most of them have a clerk who knows how to turn off the “open” sign and lock the damn doors.”

Simon huffed. “Figured something was off. I jus’ couldn’t sleep.” He said, accepting the cup as you handed it to him. “Never can get much after comin’ home. Takes a while t’ get used to civilian life.”

“Military?” You asked, placing a hand on your hip as Simon nodded. “I get that. Nick used to have the same problem.”

“Nick?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, an embarrassed flush on your face. “Nothing. Ex-husband. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Simon mumbled, taking a sip of the tea. Don’t be sorry at all…

The two of you stood there a moment, a bit of awkward silence hanging in between you like a thick wall of glass. You cleared your throat – Simon saw the time on the clock hanging on the wall behind you, and decided he had taken up enough of your time.

“Well” – he said, fishing in to his pocket.

You smiled. “I appreciate it, but you really don’t have to. I’m paying you back for assuming you were a burglar – and for watching my daughter. Which, honestly, I really do appreciate.”

“Nonsense.” He said, pulling out a waded up bill. “’S what any good man should do. And I insist – if anything, give it t’ the little squirt for the excellent customer service.”

You chuckled, smiling as he handed the bill to you. “I can’t thank you eno-“ you stopped, glancing at the two £50’s he’d just given you. Words failed to come to you, your tongue tripping over itself as you tried to get past the initial shock.

“Th- I- wait, Simon!” you called, swinging around the edge of the counter – but he was already at the door. “I can’t accept this!”

He held up a hand. “’M not takin’ it back. And it’s not for you – give it to Ellie.”

You huffed. “What’s a five-year-old going to do with one hundred pounds?!”

He shrugged. “Start a college fund. Or get herself a handful of biscuits from the store.”

A chuckle escaped your lips – the sound warmed Simon’s soul. “Yeah, sure. When she’s got plenty of biscuits here. I don’t-“

You stopped, just as the bell above the door chimed. Simon followed your narrowed, angry gaze to the bloke who had just entered. He was tying an apron around his middle, reeked of cigarette smoke and body odor. He jumped when his eyes landed on Simon – he could see the gears turning in the man’s head as his face suddenly fell, right before he turned to you. Simon read the name on the tag pinned to the man’s apron.

Christopher.

A deep, throaty laugh escaped his throat as he clapped the man on the shoulder. “You’re in trouble, mate. ‘N lock the door behind ya.” He then exited the café, sipping his tea and shoving a hand into his pocket, chuckling as your angry voice echoed through the doors.

Thankfully, the nagging voices in his head didn’t return that night.

[abbyshands]

SPENCER’S!ELLIE

⋆𐙚₊˚ content warning: 18+, fem!reader implied, sub!reader, dom!ellie, vibrator usage, the back of spencer’s just says it all, abby feature, praise, use of baby, reader wears glasses

⋆𐙚₊˚ READ THIS FIRST. | LINKS FOR PALESTINE | DAILY CLICK

⋆𐙚₊˚ MASTERLIST

oh, nothing, just thinking about spencer’s!ellie who’s seen many girls in your place before, but could have sworn you shouldn’t have been in a store like this. like, really shouldn’t have been. your friends had dared you to give the store a browse because allegedly, you were too innocent. ellie’s quickly drawn to you in that cute skirt and glasses, clutching your messenger bag like a lost puppy. and quickly, she’s drawn to you, the first to say “welcome to spencer’s” when you walk in.

spencer’s!ellie whose best friend and coworker, abby anderson, bets you’ve never even seen a dildo before. spencer’s!ellie whose best friend and coworker, abby anderson, is right.

spencer’s!ellie who finally walks up to you browsing the back of the store, looking like you met the devil in the flesh. “you good back here?” she’d ask you, causing you to jump out of your head and back into the present. nervously, you nod. “what? yes. yes, i’m fine. just fine,” but it’s a lie. you’re here wondering if human anatomy even allows for most of these toys to in fit any holes of the body. spencer’s!ellie, who you ask to recommend you a product, that’s according to you, “small,” and “tame.” she chuckled at how shy you seemed to make the request. “like a vibrator, baby?” she asked, like it was common knowledge, like everyone knows vibrators were always the answer. she shows you one, a small blue bullet that seems easy enough to use, but dumbly, you ask, “so it just, does the work for me?”

spencer’s!ellie who can’t miss this chance. “oh, baby. maybe i should give you a little tutorial,” and of course, you agree, because who wouldn’t want those emerald eyes on their own while getting fucked with a vibrator? “come with me.”

spencer’s!ellie who ended up shoving you into a closet in the backroom of the store, sat on a chair, skirt pulled up as she rubbed the vibrator in slow, delicious motions over your aching clit. ellie’s hand was over your mouth, shushing you so you were inaudible. “shhh, be quiet, baby. you don’t want people to hear, do you?” she asks, her voice a whisper as she carries on with her work, causing you to shake your head. “good girl.”

spencer’s!ellie who pushes the vibrator inside you just for fun, nearly laughing at the way you nearly shriek. “fuck, you are such a slut, aren’t you, baby? yeah, you like the way it feels inside you, huh?”spencer’s!ellie who’s wet at the whines and whimpers leaving your lips as your hips rock forward, her hand having fallen at this point to let you speak, because it was too hard to resist. “that’t it, attagirl. being so quiet for me, even when it feels so good. dyin’ to scream my name, aren’t you?” spencer’s!ellie who single handedly (pun intended) has you coming in the backroom of a fucking spencer’s. “you gonna come for me, baby? yeah, fuck, baby, c’mon, make a mess on my fuckin’ hand.”

everybody thank @sugarevans and our unhinged ft call yesterday for this <3

[ashwhowrites]

Can you do one where Eddie and the reader are in a secret relationship and Eddie wants to make it public but the reader doesn’t and he feels insecure about it but in reality the reader doesn’t want him to get picked on.They get into a big fight but they make up please and thank you 💖💘

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

Ending isn't proofread whatsoever

To be ready

Y/N and Eddie agreed to keep their relationship a secret for the beginning. They wanted to date and get to know each other without everyone getting in their business.

Eddie struggled with it once they reached their five month anniversary. He felt like it was long enough and he was ready to express his feelings for her with no shame. Y/N was a little bit more nervous but she agreed, it felt like the right time.

"You ready?" Eddie asked, the smile on his face full of excitment. Her heart warmed knowing how badly he wanted to show her off, and their relationship. This was going to be their first public moment, and the first time he will introduce her to his band.

She gripped his hand, nerves filling her body. "Yes," she smiled, even though she was terrified. All she had to do was meet new people, it couldn't go that bad, right?

He walked them through the back of the bar, a small gig for the band. He walked into the small backroom and she slipped in behind. She saw a group of some boys and girls, all talking.

"Well, look who finally showed up. And not alone," one of the guys said, teasing Eddie. Eddie's face responded in a blush.

"Gareth, this is my girlfriend, Y/N. Baby, this is Gareth, one of my best friends."

Y/N released his hand to kindly shake Gareth's hand.

"It's nice to meet you," Gareth replied.

She met the rest of the band, and the band's girlfriends. Or groupies, if she was honest. A few gave her dirty looks and it made her nervous. She couldn't help but notice how opposite she was from them. Their clothes were different, the way they talked and carried themselves.

Once the show started, the boys went on stage and the girls joined the crowd. Y/N was in awe watching her boyfriend perform. She forgot about all the girls, just focused on him. As the show ended, she excused herself to the bathroom.

She headed back out to the crowd. Everyone was spacing out now that the entertainment was done. She spotted the girls from earlier waiting by the back doors, where the band would be. She headed over to join them as they waited.

"How long do you think they've been together?"

"Who knows, but I would've kept her hidden. She is so not his type," the three girls snickered. Y/N frowned as it was clear they were talking about her.

"I know! I'm not sure how she managed to pull that off"

"She must have a great personality"

"Isn't he worried she's going to ruin his whole sexy rockstar look? She'll only bring him down. He should be with someone as attractive as he is"

Y/N felt a lump in her throat. She began to second guess the whole thing. They let a few people know and everything she feared that would happen was happening. Eddie was getting looked down on because of her.

Insecurity and anxiety filled her. She felt much less ready to share their relationship with more people. She was back craving their nights alone in his bed, where no one had thoughts on them. As the girl's laughter began to get louder, she ran out.

She grounded herself against the wall, inhaling the smoke as a few people blew their cigarettes. The door opened and she saw her boyfriend looking around, with worry in his eyes. Once his eyes landed on her, his gaze softened.

"There you are, what's wrong?" he asked, as he got closer he noticed her tears. She sniffled and wiped her face, a fake smile sent his way.

"Nothing! I just needed some air," she said but Eddie gave her a look.

"Fine," she sighed, "I'm second-guessing telling people about us."

"It's been an hour. We have to try longer than that before giving up," he argued. She feared where the conversation would go knowing Eddie had been growing more annoyed as the months went by.

"I know, but those girls...I'm not like them, Eddie."

"No one said you had to be, all you have to do is be yourself. Let's go in, have a drink, and try," he said holding out his hand.

"I don't feel ready for that, Eddie. I'm sorry. I thought I could do this but I can't." She flinched as Eddie's face hardened. He puffed air out of his nose and rubbed a hand over his face.

It was clear he was agitated, and she felt horrible for causing it.

"When will you be?" Eddie snapped, his force harsher than he intended. "Six months? A year?"

"I don't know," she said as she rubbed her temples. She hated the way she felt and how hard everything felt.

"Do you even want to be with me?" he asked, his face falling. His words were much softer, a little more broken.

"Of course I do!" Y/N gasped, moving closer as he cupped his face in her hands.

"Then why can't you tell other people that?" he looked up at the sky as he tried to keep his emotions back. But the familiar feeling of not being good enough was creeping in.

"I can, Eddie. But dating me, telling people, I've been scared people will pick on you. And I was right! Those girls said everything I feared," she explained. She figured her honesty would help him understand but she gulped when he stepped back and removed her hands from his face.

"Y/N, I've been picked on all my life. I don't give a shit about what people have to say, and you shouldn't either," Eddie explained.

"I don't think I can just ignore it!" Y/N exclaimed, "their words have weight. I'm not like you, I can't shove away people's opinions and thoughts about me and us."

"I think we have different mindsets of being in this relationship," Eddie whispered, he feared he couldn't talk louder without a sob breaking through.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm in this relationship to be with you, to love you and be happy with you. The only person I care about is you, the only person's that thoughts matter to me is you. You can't say the same." Y/N panicked at his words. The look in his eyes and the goodbye tone in his voice.

"But I do!" she tried to argue

Eddie laughed bitterly and scoffed. She moved passed the way his reaction snapped her heart in half. "You don't care about me. If you did, you wouldn't be breaking us up."

"YOU ARE!" Y/N yelled, tears building in her eyes.

"I DON'T WANT TO BE A SECRET!" Eddie yelled back. He took a deep breath as he tried to calm himself. "You're worried about how others will treat me because of you? What about you? What about how you're treating me. You know all I want is for us to be together, no secrets and no shame. And you can't get over yourself to give me that."

"I understand I'm hurting you but can't you understand where I'm coming from? I tried Eddie and I realized I need more time, why can't you give me time?" she argued, her tears turning hot and angry.

"I've given you time, way damn more time than I would have ever needed," Eddie sighed. "Once you feel ready, maybe we'll figure it out."

She covered her mouth as she let out a small cry. Her heart pounded as she took in his heartbroken state. "Are we breaking up?" She whimpered.

Eddie nodded as he tucked his lip into his mouth. He put his hands in his pockets as a way of comfort. "Yeah, baby. We are."

Y/N bit her lip to silence her cries as Eddie walked back into the bar. She wanted to run after him and beg for him to stay. But he was right, he deserved someone better.

She blinked back as many tears as she could and walked to the nearest bus station. She sat on the bus, alone and crying, her heart wishing nothing more than to be in Eddie's van with his hand on her thigh.

~~~

With the summer heat, Y/N felt more miserable. She felt suffocated in her room, with too many memories of Eddie. And she couldn't escape outside without a sunburn.

It's been a long month of nothing from Eddie. Which made sense, he wasn't chasing her. She was chasing him. She was the one who had to make the move. She knew the longer she took to figure it out the faster he would run.

As she stared at her ceiling fan, she wondered if any of it was worth it. She's never felt this much pain in her life, and she was the cause of all of it. She had the power to fix it and she was wasting time.

She was getting sick of herself. Hating herself for what she did and continued to do. She missed him, and might even love him.

Eddie tried to seem like the world didn't crash on him. Tried to smile and act like he wasn't falling apart on the inside. But in reality, Eddie couldn't stand being alone. Her scent followed him everywhere and he missed the feeling of her. He missed her hands, her kiss, her body, everything. But he couldn't go back, she needed to come to him. He hoped that she realized her mistake, that this week of silence was her finding out how to come back.

The show ended and Eddie could hear his thoughts again. Not wanting to, he headed to the bar. He sat down on the stool with a heavy sigh and ordered a beer.

"Still pouting about her?"

Eddie turned as a girl's voice talked into his ear. He rolled his eyes as he looked back at his beer.

"Leave me alone,," Eddie sighed. He definitely wasn't in the mood. But she didn't listen. Instead, she dragged the barstool out and took a seat next to him.

"You're too good for her, anyway. She should have been delighted to have you on her arm," the random girl said.

Eddie eyed her weirdly, having no idea how the news of his ex-secret girlfriend began spreading. But he shook it off and went back to his beer. She talked his ear off for around an hour. Eddie was on his fifth beer as he tried to zone out the noise.

Y/N walked into the bar, feeling uneasy as the last time she was here went horribly. She scanned the crowd, her eyes easily finding him, but he wasn't alone.

A girl was seated beside him, way too close for Y/N's comfort. She was perched up, talking in his ear. Y/N's plan was to have a conversation but the jealousy overpowered everything. She was glad to see that Eddie wasn't entertaining the girl.

Eddie felt his body being spun around on his stool in a flash. Sudden arms wrapped around his neck and soft lips on his. He was surprised to see the lips belonged to Y/N. He instantly kissed back, enjoying the force of her lips against his.

She held on to him as if he was going to disappear. Her heart raced when his arms circled around her waist. He spread his legs, allowing her body to stand between them. She moaned as his tongue slipped inside her mouth, making her warm all over.

They pulled away, and Eddie couldn't wipe the smile off of his face.

"What was that?" He asked, he wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or her that made his head feel dizzy.

"I'm ready. And I'm sorry for not being ready when you needed me to be. But I can't imagine my life without you. I love you and I want us to be together, no shame or secrets." Y/N said, she turned her head and saw the girl had vanished. She looked back at him, their bodies tangled.

"I love you too, baby," his lips smashed on hers. Knocking the air out of her lungs, but she liked the way it burned.

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt @ineedmentalhelp123

[sharky857]

The Kinkster Circle™ seems now complete.

Yes, I'm talking about our brand new favourite disasters: the Hex.

Yes, I'll be dumping the handdandy lsit under the break, so people who haven't gotten any KIM convo or similar yet won't be spoilered.

That being said...

Arthur: Has a thing for wearing aprons for either cooking and/or cleaning and also says that he would look good "in a black bowtie". So maybe his kink could be something related to maids?

Aoi: Asks your Drifter if it's okay for her to bite you, if she'll ever turn like Eleanor (a question sparked by the fact that she first says that she's been feeling her teeth becoming a bit sharper).

Amir: Openly says that he wouldn't mind to be put on a leash, go for "walkies", and he will also woof at your own Drifter (the latter happens in one of the Backroom lines, where he says that he likes dogs, and when dogs are happy they woof, and he feels happy, so... woof!) Sooo, yeah. Definitely pet play.

Quincy + Lettie: Definitely into BDSM, as Quincy may accidentally send your Drifter a KIM message actually meant for Lettie asking to establish a safe word.

Eleanor: Probably anything involving tentacles? I mean... That tongue seems to count as one, and once befriended enough she won't hesitate to boldly allude what she could do with it.

[eatmyheartoutjpg]

WORK GOSSIP ;; Homelander and you don't have a label, but everyone in Vought knows about your relation and they gossip (yes, so do the supes).

12.30.24 Masterlist

Vought Tower never really slept. PR teams worked around the clock, power brokers made backroom deals, and somewhere, members of The Seven working and committing graphic acts. But amid all that noise, there was one undeniable fact—Homelander’s fixation on you.

It wasn’t love, though no one dared call it anything less. It wasn’t quite obsession, though everyone whispered it was. It was something heavier, something that hung in the air like the crackle before lightning struck.

When you first appeared at Vought Tower, no one really knew what to make of you. You weren’t a supe. No flashy powers. Just… you. But that didn’t seem to matter to Homelander.

He started showing up at your side almost immediately. If you walked the halls, he was there, just half a step behind or beside you. His hand ghosted over the small of your back as though he thought the slightest breeze might carry you away.

To the rest of the Seven, this new attachment was unsettling. Homelander had always been unpredictable—prone to violent outbursts, passive-aggressive taunts, and the kind of superiority complex that only America’s most powerful supe could justify.

But with you, he was different.

“Oh yeah,” A-Train once snickered in the break room, “He’s whipped. Like, full-on.”

Maeve shot him a glare over her whiskey glass. “Keep talking like that and he’ll take your legs this time. You know he hears everything.”

The rumor mill churned harder than ever. The janitors swapped stories of seeing Homelander in the early hours, lingering by your office door like a lost dog. PR teams giggled about how he hovered as you prepped for press releases.

It wasn’t subtle. Homelander didn’t do subtle.

Even Starlight noticed—no, especially Starlight.

She thought she was prepared for the Seven. She thought she knew exactly what kind of nightmare Homelander was. But nothing prepared her for the sheer oddity of watching the most terrifying man in the building turn to putty when you walked into the room.

The first time she saw it was during a team meeting.

Homelander had been impatient, his arms crossed, his lip curling as Ashley nervously flipped through slides. “Just get to the point,” he snapped. “We don’t need the—”

Then, the door opened.

You stepped inside with no announcement, quietly making your way to the back of the room with a clipboard in your arms.

And Homelander—Homelander smiled.

Not the fake, polished-for-cameras smile he usually wore, but something softer.

Starlight watched as his eyes tracked you, burning with an intensity that made her shift uncomfortably in her chair.

Ashley visibly exhaled with relief as Homelander’s attention drifted from her.

He ended the meeting early. No one questioned it.

Later, Starlight caught Maeve at the bar in one of Vought’s private lounges.

“Okay,” Annie started, leaning against the counter, “Who is that?”

Maeve didn’t need to ask who she meant. She swirled the amber liquid in her glass, her expression unreadable.

“Homelander's little handler?” Maeve smirked bitterly, her usual confidence exhausted, "He's smitten for them."

“Seriously?” Starlight furrowed her brow. “I thought he didn’t… you know… do relationships.”

Maeve laughed dryly, “He doesn’t. Not like a normal person, anyway.” She set the glass down with a soft clink. “But they’re not a normal person to him. To him, they’re… different.”

“How different are we talking?”

Maeve shot her a sideways glance. “Different enough that I’m alive because of them.”

The weight of those words settled heavily between them.

It was strange, the way Vought adjusted to your presence.

Even the executives walked softer when you were in the building. No one wanted to cross you—not because of you, but because of the shadow that trailed behind.

Homelander had killed for less. Everyone knew it.

But you—oh, you had him wrapped around your finger.

When you walked down the halls, people scurried to clear a path, though you never asked them to. When Homelander wasn’t with you, his absence felt more oppressive than his presence.

The rare moments he couldn’t find you? His mood soured the entire floor.

Ashley once made the mistake of telling him she wasn’t sure where you were. His icy stare lingered on her for a second too long, before he disappeared, leaving a rush of air in his wake.

When he finally found you—probably somewhere mundane like the cafeteria—his demeanor instantly brightened, as if the storm cloud had passed.

ᵉᵃᵗᵐʸʰᵉᵃʳᵗᵒᵘᵗ

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

He's My Man: That's My Girl Timestamp

Summary: Russell and reader’s casual morning plans turn into anything but when an unexpected visitor appears on their doorstep…

He’s My Man Masterlist

Pairing: Russell Shaw x reader

Word Count: 2,400ish

Warnings: language, gunshot wounds, life-threatening situation

A/N: Welcome back to more Russell Shaw! This story is considered a timestamp to He’s My Man and it’s highly recommended that story be read prior to this one. Please enjoy!…

____________

You stretched your arms overhead as you padded out in your bootie slippers from the bedroom. The smell of something yummy filled your nostrils and there was a faint melody in the air. Russell’s forest green tee clung to his broad shoulders, falling loose around his tapered waist, hitting the top of his charcoal gray sweats.

“Chappell Roan this early?” you teased. 

“It’s grown on me,” he said with his back to you, bopping his head back and forth. You hummed, walking around the kitchen island to spot him making two spanish omelets. 

“God, I love that you know how to cook,” you said, pecking a kiss on his cheek before going to the fridge to get out some orange juice.

“I’ve heard that once or…” he trailed off as he turned his head, jaw dropping slightly. You looked down, OJ in hand. You were wearing your favorite yellow pajama shorts but you had a feeling it was the peach bralette you wore he was stuck on. His lips curled up as you reached over, pushing the pan off the heat before he burned breakfast. “Where’s your shirt?”

“Huh. Must have lost it.” You looked up through your lashes, Russell smirking when you stepped back. “What a shame.”

“I might have to disagree with you there,” he said, pouting when you pointed at the skillet.

“Breakfast first, then dessert.” He grumbled to himself but smiled all the same. You scooted behind him and got out two glasses. “Do you want to eat on the porch?”

“Set us up at the island, qark. I don’t want you to get too cold outside,” he said, sliding an omelet onto a waiting plate. You worked around each other easily, Russell getting the food on the plates and dressing it with a creamy green avocado sauce he’d whipped up with the blender.

You took a seat, Russell taking a bow as he set it on the mat in front of you, kissing your forehead and taking his own seat beside you.

“So what’s on the agenda today?” he asked between bites. You shoveled a large bite in your mouth, a delicious explosion of flavors hitting your taste buds.

“After dessert,” you said, Russell brushing his leg against yours, making sure to touch as he cut off a piece of breakfast, “I was thinking I’d join you out at the brewery. They’re framing the building today, right?”

“Yeah. It’s starting to feel real,” he said, a quiet sigh under his breath. “I’m scared I fucked up. What if I threw all that money away on a pipe dream?”

You set your knife and fork down, frowning at him. “Russ. Your beer tastes amazing. You have investors, remember? They believe in you. If it doesn’t go well, then so what? At least you tried and I will always be proud of you for that. We’ll be okay. Now stop worrying about the money and let me handle the budgets, okay?”

“Alright,” he relented. “To be fair, I probably should let the woman that somehow had hospital grade medical equipment in the backroom of a warehouse run the books.”

“Exactly,” you said, Russell rubbing your leg with his left hand as he picked up his fork and ate again. “To be fair, it wasn’t that hard to get. The whole mob connection thing.”

“This is true. You’ve been running your own business for years.”

“Yes, which is why when I say to chill babe, chill. You have a great business plan,” you said. “Plus an amazing partner.”

“She’s so modest too,” he chuckled, wolfing back the last of his eggs. He clapped his hands together, turning to face you. “Dessert time.”

“Eh, I’m still eating,” you said, pointing at your plate. He faked a pout before he was up, cleaning up the kitchen and saving the leftover sauce in the fridge. You barely had your fork down when he was taking your plate and shoving it in the dishwasher. “Russell.”

He bounced around the island, far too adorable for a forty year old man, hands on your hips and a deep grin on his face. 

“Yes, wonderful?” he teased, pulling you to the edge of the stool. You wrapped your legs around his waist, Russell’s hands under your ass lifting you up as your gripped his shoulders. “New agenda. How about we make out a bit, let our tummies settle, then we can get our exercise in for the day-”

“Russell,” you groaned, pressing your forehead to his.

“Then we’ll pop over to the brewery for a bit, I can help you research your next job this afternoon, you can call Colter and harass him about making sure he’s still doing his stretches-”

“It is not harassment-”

“And then I’ll cook up that salmon in the fridge on the grill for dinner and we can watch X-Files on the back porch under a blankie.” 

“I love that you say blankie,” you teased, kissing the tip of his nose. “Sounds like a great day, Mulder.”

“Hey. I know things about the lizard people, Scully,” he chuckled, carrying you off towards the bedroom.

“Oh yes. I forget you’re such an expert,” you said as tires screeched outside. You shared a look for only a split second, Russell setting you down and grabbing the hidden gun safe from the end table. He had it in his hands in less than two seconds, nodding as you ran back into the bedroom and got yours out of the closet. 

Fists pounded on the front door, Russell’s weapon aimed at it when you returned, yours going towards the garage entrance.

“Russ! Open up!” Russell lowered his gun, scrunching up his face at the voice. “Shaw! Open the fucking door!”

“Stay back,” Russell said quietly. He jogged up to the front of the house, pulling back a curtain. “Jesus fuck.” He tore open the front door, two of Russell’s special ops friends standing there.

Well, standing was a stretch. 

“What the fuck happened, Hank?” said Russell, throwing his arm around Kelly who was very much actively bleeding from the abdomen. 

“I fucked up,” he said, Hank staring at you. “Can you fix her?”

You did a quick survey and spotting four, no five, bullet wounds littering the left side of her body.

“She needs a hospital-” Hank grunted, Kelly nearly passed out in his arms.

“They will find us there. Please. We knew the risk of not going. Please just try,” said Hank. You closed your eyes, setting the gun down on the island.

“She’d have better odds at a hospital,” you said, going to the pantry and grabbing the black bag tucked away at the top. You went to the dining room table, shoving chairs out of the way and ripping open the bag, pulling a blue tarp out and laying it out. “Don’t just stand there, get her down.”

You let the guys get her down, Russell shoving a throw pillow under her head while you washed at the kitchen sink. You snapped on a pair of gloves, digging through your bag and pulling out supplies left and right. Russell ran off into the garage, returning with one of his shop lights and attaching it to the light fixture overhead to give you more visibility.

“Russell,” you said, organizing your tools while tossing an orange box at Hank. “I need you to scrub your hands and put on gloves. Hank, cut off Kelly’s shirt and bra and open that box. Attach the leads to the right side of Kelly’s chest and then turn the box so I can see the numbers on the screen. What’s your blood type?”

“O positive,” he said, fumbling with his hands as she did as asked. “S-She’s A positive.”

“Good,” you said, pulling out tubing and handing it to him. “Tourniquet your arm and call Doug when you’re done. Tell him to break into the nearest blood bank.”

“Blood bank? Why not a clinic?” asked Hank as you got a good look at Kelly’s wounds. Her very, very bad wounds.

“Because I’m not fucking over some patient when a doctor in an emergency goes to their supply and finds it drained. Get it from the bank where odds are less likely it’ll impact someone,” you said, Russell appearing by your side, blood staining his shirt and pants already. He nodded, watching you grab the tubing and shove the needle into the exposed vein on Hank’s arm. “Let’s pray this fucking works.”

Twelve Hours Later

You checked Kelly’s pulse as she stirred awake, her eyes hazy from the strong pain killers you’d given her.

“Hey,” she whispered, glancing around. “Am I on your dining table?”

“Yeah. Sorry about that. Last second decision,” you said, adjusting the sheet over her body. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. “Do you feel cold?”

“Just my feet,” she said. You looked down, smiling to where they were uncovered.

“I’ll get you some of my fuzzy socks. Nothing in your stomach, no chills?” She shook her head barely an inch but it was good enough. “Alright. Sounds like no internal bleeding right now then. I’m going to keeping checking every hour so you’ll probably want to throttle me by morning for not letting you sleep.”

“S’okay,” she mumbled. “How’m alive?”

You rested a hand on her head, stroking it gently. “You have either extremely shitty luck or extremely good luck. You were hit five times. Once in the arm, through and through, non life threatening. Three hit your rib cage and got stuck. A sliver more and that would have been it. The last one was tricky. Gut shot. Thankfully, it missed your digestive tract or you would have been septic or dead by now. Bad news is you no longer have a spleen. But again, in terms of if you have to get shot in an organ, the spleen’s a pretty good one to pick.”

“Thank you.” You hummed, Kelly forcing her eyes open. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” you asked. 

“I told Hank to let us take our chances, that Russ was out of this life. We should never have brought this to your front door.” You smiled, leaning down so she could see you better.

“You guys helped me with Owen and you didn’t even know me. I will always help Russell’s friends,” you said. She smiled a smidge, relaxing when you wiped a washcloth over her face. “You don’t have to worry. The boys are dealing with those guys that shot you right now. You’re safe.”

“I’m so sorry to make Russ-”

“Russell’s a big boy. He doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to and trust me, he was more than happy to go fuck up the people that tried to kill you. So you focus on resting and I’ll be right here, okay?” She hummed, her eyes darting down to where dried blood clung to your chest.

“Did you operate on me only wearing a bra?”

“...It’s a long story.” You glanced at the monitor near her head, her heart rate and blood pressure looking good at the moment. “So. When did you and Hank become a thing?”

“Me and Hank?” she asked with a pout. “We’re not…I’d like to be, you know, more but…”

You smiled, Kelly’s brow unfurling. “He has been a nervous wreck all day. You two ought to have that talk. In the meantime, let me walk you through next steps.”

The sun was just starting to break the horizon when the door to the garage opened. You sipped from your cup of coffee, glancing over Kelly’s wounds, no sign of infection by some miracle. She had a long road ahead of her but her making it through the night gave you hope she’d be able to recover.

“Hey,” said Russell quietly, giving you a small smile you returned as Hank trailed in on his heels. Russell nodded as Hank rushed over, taking the chair on the other side of the table and taking Kelly’s hand in his.

“How’s she doing?” asked Hank as you rose to your feet.

“Hanging in there. It’d be better if we could get her in a more sterile environment, had more equipment to monitor her vitals,” you said.

“We have a medical evac on the way now that the…issue’s been dealt with,” he said. You relaxed a bit at that. Her odds were much better if you could get her in an ICU with a dedicated team.

“Good,” you said when faint sirens sounded in the distance. “Let’s help clear a path so they can get her out of her fast.”

Thirty minutes later the house was quiet. You put a hand on your head as you looked around the room. Blood was everywhere. You were thirsty, starving, needed to pee and caked in dried blood that made your skin itch. 

“Come on,” said Russell, taking your hand and leading you back towards your bedroom. 

“I should clean up-”

“Later. You have more than earned a shower and some rest.” Russell tugged you behind himself, lifting you up and carrying you straight into the bathroom. “You didn’t sleep at all.”

“Neither did you,” you said, gently set down on the shower seat. 

“Yeah, well I didn’t perform major surgery in a kitchen yesterday for eight hours,” he said. You rested your head against the tile wall, Russell peeling your clothes away and tossing them in a pile on the floor. “Thank you for saving Kelly.”

“She could still die,” you mumbled.

“You did extraordinary for what we had on hand,” he said, arms around you again. “Now let’s clean you up.”

You peeled open your eyes around lunchtime, the air smelling of disinfectant. Rain was hitting the roof, Russell popping his head in just as you sat up. 

“Hey,” you yawned, holding the covers to your body. 

“Hello my queen of darkness.” He stepped in the room with a sleepy smile, kissing you before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. His long fingers fixed your hair behind your ear, grazing your cheek. “Jammies are on the bench when you’re ready to get up and the house is all set.”

“Russ, I could have helped-” He pressed a finger to your lips, shushing you.

“You did help. My friend is alive because of you. Now are you going to let me take care of you today?” You grumbled but nodded, laying back down in bed. “That’s my girl.”

“...Give me another hour of sleep,” you whispered.

“Whatever you need, sweetie. Anything at all.”

___________

[threepandas]

Bad End: Poisoned Cups

I hadn't adjusted well, at first. I don't think anyone could have. Being an elf sound cool, on paper. The better eye sight, the incredible hearing, the stamina. All sorts of perks right? But what they don't tell you, is that when your soul is human? When you get isekai'd by some divine oversight or fucker with a truck?

It doesn't adapt that well, to a new body. Your soul INSISTS you should still be human, with all the trappings, and throws a FIT, when you just.... aren't. So you end up with migraines. Eyes that swim in and out of focus. Wheezing, struggling, breathe. A body at war with itself.

The world was so loud. Too loud. I could hear EVERYTHING and it HURT. Couldn't breathe and THAT hurt. Was nauseated all the time, from my eyes refusing to focus properly. That too, hurt. All of it, pain. Just? Pain. Day after day, pain pain pain.

My poor parents were helpless. The doctors struggled.

But the King? HE could save me.

And he did.

He was younger then. Just barely into his rule. His Father having just stepped down. My parents, desperate, brought me before him. Waited in line for days. They didn't even know if he COULD do anything, were grimly prepared for him to say that sadly, nothing COULD be done. But? Instead? He looked me over, called for several old texts, looked again, then called upon the strength of the Throne.

My parents apparently started weeping the second I stopped.

All I remember is the pain going away. Being exhausted. A REALLY pretty elf man in a crown. Things getting... better, after that.

I was told that story often, as a child. It utterly transformed our household. From merely loyal citizens, to devote Loyalists. Speaking ill of the King in THIS house? Would now get you HURT. My parents had been convinced they were going to LOSE me. The King as far as they were concerned, saved my LIFE.

Which is why I didn't put anything together. Seeing as we were an "all King all the time" Sort of house. We had one(1) team and we were sticking to it. Permanently. His son? Eeeeh, maybe. We'd figure that out later. We didn't care to know. And I was too busy with school work to CHECK.

Which? Meant I didn't NOTICE? He looked? More and more... Otome Capture Target as time went on. Specifically, he looked kinda crown prince from "Dance of the Secret Forest! A True Love For Me?!" sort of Shaped. Which... gee, what ARE the odds? Especially given that so many OTHER things are named suspiciously similar or exactly the same to that game?

.........yeeeeeah. I decided not to take chances.

I looked that shit UP.

And wouldn't you know it? Protagonist-chan? Not there yet. But she SURE COULD BE! All the legends were EXACTLY what they should be. Forests and locations the same! PEOPLE the same! Oh HELL no. Good to know where NOT to be, I guess.

Not my circus, NOT my Otome Drama Monkeys.

I? Would be working for the KING. My family owed him a debt.

And when I graduated? I applied. Top of my class. I studied my ASS off. Could have gone anywhere. But I was aiming for the TOP. A debt to be repayed and frankly? Excellent job security on top of it! So filling busy work in dusty ass backrooms it was. Gotta start from the bottom, after all.

I exhausted them. Was honestly barely trying too at that point. They should see me TRYING to put my nose to the grindstone. Burn the midnight oil! Ha! HA, I say! Long elven lifespans slow you all down! I? Used to live in a capitalist hellscape! This is NOTHING.

I'm not even multi-tasking. It's not even LUNCH YET.

Did I get promoted? Yes. Do I worry my coworkers? Deeply! But shit needs doing and we don't have all day! There is a nation to run! Have some tea. Eat a turnover. Now~! Where are my fuckin documents~☆?

I get promoted again.

Then again.

Aaaaand again.

I'm pretty sure it's cause I scare people. Am FAST. Efficient. Willing to hunt my coworkers for SPORT, like a god damned bloodhound, if it means we get that one extra tax document that makes or breaks us. I have (and will again if necessary) climbed through people's fucking WALLS. Cause, honestly? If they wanted to stop me?

They should have warded the gods damned vents.

Fuckin casuals. Get on my level.

So, now? I am the baby. King's inner circle. And EVERYONE? Is damn near twice my age! And, granted, yes. It IS hilarious I still scare like half the people working under me... but come ON! You are elite government officials! Do BETTER! (Geez. At least my PARENTS couldn't be prouder.)

But... (and God damn it, why is there ALWAYS a "but"?) here's the thing. It? Took me a WHILE to get where I am now. Long enough, in fact, for our... Problem, to arrive. A Problem which is GOING to cast his Majesty's kingdom into chaos and turmoil, in fighting and divides. Religious upheaval. A PROBLEM, which? In the name of luuuuuv~?

Is going to get NEIGHBORING COUNTRIES involved.

And WHO do you think is going to have to deal with that? WHO will have to prevent all out WAR? Religious schisms? Ward off assassins in the night? Certainly not Mr. "But Daddy, I love her!". Oh no, HE gets to sit back and enjoy the fruits of his father's suffering! Make more trouble! (Fucker.)

But, hey! Maybe I should throw in with his SECOND son, right? The supporting character? He seems vastly more reasonable and emotionally more balanced doesn't he? Well educated, cautious, why, thoughtful even! Ha ha... yeah... he DOES seem that way, doesn't he?

SEEMS.

He Is Not. Little fucker is a SPECIAL flavor of batshit. Completely "wake to find him standing over you, in your LOCKED BEDROOM, asking if you want to see his new favorite knife" nutty puffs. Not sure which side of the family it comes from, to be honest. Disturbingly good at getting past my warding.

Or at least he WAS, until I got the King involved. Ha! Royal wards! You can't touch me! I sleep like a BABY now! The only people who can enter my rooms now? Are literally JUST me and the KING HIMSELF! How safe is that~‽

But for real... poor his Majesty, you know? It's not like he didn't TRY to be a good father. Take time he couldn't afford out of each day, to spend time with his sons. Insist on eating meals together so he could ask them about their interests, how each day had gone. Involved them where he safely could.

He's a somber man. A dignified one. But let NO ONE say, he is not a LOVING one.

And HOW do his children fucking reward him? Middle school love dramatics and MURDER ATTEMPTS IN THE NIGHT! Because, YES, I have found the disturbing murder board that the second prince has in his "secret" room. Right along his equally disturbing stalker board of ME.

I, obviously, told the King.

He did not look pleased.

Don't know if my new reality has, like, intensive therapy programs or something? But I hope for ALL our sakes, that the second Prince is at the winter palace getting HELP, instead of just? You know... plotting.

His Highness has a nasty tendency to plot, after all. But hey, his Majesty says not to worry about it? I choose to believe him. Concern myself with more immediate threats. Enjoy, no longer turning around to find some baby faced little creep with a hunter's stare, just... watching me. As I try to work. As I try to eat. Around corners, still as a statue, yet somehow a THREAT, in lonely and too empty corridors.

God fucking DAMN, his little "crush" was creepy!

If it weren't for his Majesty? I would have run and run FAR. But... but I? And you CAN NOT repeat this, okay? It's WILDLY inappropriate! A-And I SWEAR I'm never going to.. to ACT on it! I would NEVER. So...so PROMISE, okay?

....cause.... I may... MAY! Possibly! Just a LITTLE bit! Sorta, kinda, just a BIT? Have a TEENY? Little crush... on... his Majesty? Maybe???

YOU CAN'T TELL!

It's SO fucking inappropriate. Oh my GOD. I hate this so much!? Cause he's my BOSS! And old enough to be my DAD! I SHOULDN'T be so attracted to him, right?! Plus he's the KING! There's definitely a power imbalance there! How would that even WORK?! We would have no future! I don't know the first THING about how to BE royalty. And no one would accept me!

Not that I think I even have a CHANCE! Fuck no! I'm not THAT arrogant.

But, like? A girl can day dream. Fantasize, you know?

Which is why? Having his SON? Be a creepo stalker at me? Kinda the WORST. I've literally JUST discovered I'm into older men! Thanks! BEGONE, zygote! Also, your vibes are RANCID! No thanks! I hated that and am SO glad it's gone. Now? All I have to worry about? Is Protagonist-chan and the political SHIT SHOW she drags after her like trail of destruction.

Why is she involving foreign royalty? PLEASE stop involving foreign royalty! Dukes! Religious leaders! MILITARY LEADERS. Stop "Helen of Troy"-ing your ass through our nice, PEACEFUL, kingdom!!! What the ACTUAL FUCK!? This is NOT A THEME PARK.

I watch, vaguely horrified, as his Majesty finishes reading three (yes, count um! Fucking THREE!) different royal missives demanding three different women of legend, from three DIFFERENT legends, who coincidentally enough? Happen to ALL BE THE SAME PERSON. Fucking Protagonist-chan.

They were from long standing ALLIES.

We could not AFFORD to lose those.

And the FOURTH message? Oh, THAT? That, was from his SON! Mr. "But Daddy! I Love her!" HIMSELF! He wants permission to marry the random woman of unknown province he found in the woods! Could be a foreign spy! Could be a mad woman. Who CARES right? They're SO in love~

Enough to START A WAR OVER IT.

I skip the tasting cups and instead? Bring his Majesty a bottle of the strongest star wine I can find. The sort that could damn near eat through rocks and vaporizes in air if you pour it out. Pain killers too, for what HAS to be a killer headache. Then I hesitate. You know what? Fuck it. I grab a cart. Make a care package.

Paper, ink, the STRONG tea, that special occasions tea (in case he needs a reason to remember his will to live), some snacks, a few shawls in case he decides to work late...

It's worth it, to see the way his stressed face relaxs when I return. Eyes softening, corner of his mouth curling up in that tiny, secret, little smile. We can get through this. We WILL get through this. I may not be able to stand by his side, but? I can support him. Help.

So long as HE sits in this office, burning himself down to keep this nation warm, so too, will I.

Tea or booze, your Majesty?

"A blend, I think. Unfortunately, I fear it is going to be a long night for us both." He replies. His voice smooth and low, effortlessly filling the room. A lifetime of public speaking, ingrained so very deep. "You should pour yourself a cup as well, my dear. Sleep will be a long time coming, we will need both the calm and the clarity."

I rolled my borrowed tea cart to the side and got to work. Strong tea and stronger star wine. Certainly a... flavor. Fairly certain such a thing should be illegal. Pretty sure our healers are going to be appalled. But, oh well. Needs, must. One for me, one for him.

He held out a hand. It was a sweeping gesture of his arm, a gentle turn of his wrist. I could never get used to his casual... elegance. The beauty of him. Like a living art work. A dancer. As though he were an actor, striking a pose, about to consider the soul of the simple tea cup. I handed it over, gently and with as much elegance as I could.

It still felt clumsy in comparison.

Yet he still smiled, just slightly. In that way I had learned to spot. Tension dripping away from his shoulders like thawing ice. Running in little rivers like melt waters, as he sat back in his chair, half turning it to face me. A brief moment to relax. Before work begins again.

"Ah... completely vile. Thank you, dear. It's disgusting." He said dryly, catching me off gaurd, and making me damn near snort into my cup. "If it did not work so well? I would never consume this swill again. What a perfect waste of tea and wine. We should invite Yevault."

I laugh. A snirking, snorting, choked little thing into my cup. God, but I've been TRYING to laugh more elegantly. Hell, I've even practiced. But when he catches me off gaurd? I swear to God, I cackle and pop. Like some sort of deranged witch pig. Ow, my sinuses.

"Oh but that's right, Yevault is a healer, on the occasions he takes time from being an unbearable snob. He might actually make us rest, dear. Then where would we be?" His Majesty muses, taking another sip before grimacing at the taste.

I go to respond. Probably some quip about "preferably in bed" or "asleep". Only... only to find my tounge sluggish. My exhaustion mounting, not slipping away. The world has begun to sway. Just a little at first, then notable. My mouth... fuzzy? Prickly. W...what?

His Majesty has begun to frown. Delicately setting down his cup... cup? Something about... a cup... I have taken too long to respond. He rises. Strides in a few, urgent, steps over to where I lean. Against the edge of my assistants desk. Swaying~ swaying~ w-why is the ground... my tounge feels to big. Think? I've begone to drool?

Warm, big hands cup my face. Was slipping forward, to the side. Gonna fall? Not anymore. Up. Hi! Is the king. Hi King. I... I don't feel so good...

His eyes have gone focused and cold. Pretty. Crown begins to glow. Leaves. Gold and gold, a halo of light. From within and beyond him. Power of the throne. Oh... oh I was here before, wasn't I? My bones remember. Like the roots to his great tree, power seeping deeper and deeper into my body, finding imperfections to consume. So... so much LIGHT.

I can not look away.

"Poison, was it? How terribly banal. Do they think me so simple to kill?" There is scorn in his voice. Utter distain. But deep beneath, like the hidden embers of a forest fire, there is rage. "How dare they drag you into this. Bad enough they throw a FIT over some trouble making tart, now they get the innocent involved? What if I had not been paying attention? Or you had taken that tea where I could not see it? Unacceptable."

Like spreading branches, like antlers, the light spread. The hands on my face gentle even as his Majesty's face might as well have been carved from stone. I tried to protest, swallowing thinking past the still rolling nausea. It was my fault! The tasting cups exsist for a REASON. They're supposed to test for things like this. I got too comfortable.

"No." The word slammed down as about an absolute as any sentence CAN. A declaration from on high. The commandment of a king. "It takes far more then simple poisons or common blades to kill me. The power that flows through the Throne insures it. You do not have that luxury. You could have DIED."

"....might still yet."

The last bit, almost a confession, pressed to my brow as he leaned down to press his lips to my forhead. His grip tighter, as though to stop his hands from shaking. My joints were starting to hurt, like I had a nasty cold, and I was already starting to feel feverish. I was starting to drip sweat. Shit.

I tried to stay calm. But... but I was scared. What do I do? Your Majesty! What do I DO?!

"We are going back to my quarters. Work can be brought to me. You need to lay down." He decided after a long moment of deliberation. Something had shifted in his eyes. I couldn't make heads or tails of it. Clung to the only trustworthy source of comfort I knew, in the chaos of this moment. "I'm going to take care of you. I have you, dear. Just trust me, darling. I will fix this. I swear it. You don't have to worry about a thing. Just put all of your trust in me, all right?

"Just come with me, dear. Everything will be all right."

"You can trust me."