#UM SORT OF ITS NOT REALLY INTERIOR BUT

[gothoffspring]

It's time for the baby shower!🍼🧷👼

#ts4 #the sims 4 #maxis match #ts4 legacy #ts4 gameplay #ts4 interior #UM SORT OF ITS NOT REALLY INTERIOR BUT #ts4 edit #ts4 screenshots #y'all i spent SO. LONG. ON. THIS #love how i spent hours building all this to only use it for like... four posts #WHATEVER im happy about it #lem 43 #lem 43 g1

[heartbeatan]

The Art of Revenge (Chapter 3)

Return to Chapter 2.

Return to Table of Contents.

Return to Jungkook Fanfictions.

Return to One Nights Series.

Return to Masterlist.

Chapter 3

For the brief, quiet moments after you stepped into Jungkook’s foyer, your nerves slipped away as you forgot why you were in his home at all. As mentioned, you hadn’t gotten a good look at the inside of the house the one and only time you had been there. You had a tent, and only entered through the mudroom to use the toilet and - if you were lucky - the shower.

But now, walking through the front door, and stepping into the main space bathed in the bright, warming light of the sun, you were awe-struck. The entire interior was made of poplar wood - from the live-edge wall planks, the trunk beams, to the paneled ceiling. The natural orange shade of the wood wasn’t over-bearing or too rustic - perhaps because Jungkook’s furniture and decor was so airy and light. Most rooms opened to each other, yet were divided by a slight change in elevation, with the main hall acting essentially as a catwalk between them all. To the right was the living room, which was about three stair steps below where you stood. Its West-facing wall was nothing but tall glass windows. The North wall, of course, had a large, stone fireplace that looked as if it should have several antlers displayed above it. The back of the living room was lined with some more stairs - two-steps up to the kitchen area, and five-steps up to what you assumed was some sort of dining room nook. There were so many windows. So much natural light.

You peered ahead through the hall, and noticed a few more doors and openings - all also trimmed with stair cases that either took you up or down. Although you couldn’t see much of it, the space at the end of the hall was pure white, and de-elevated a bit deeper than the rest of the rooms. You assumed it was his studio - there was no other reason to cover up such beautiful architecture if it weren't for functionality. Your eyes followed another set of stairs upwards, and you noticed there was a partial second level. Just a straight hallway, leading to what you assumed were two bedrooms and maybe a bathroom. It was lined with wrought iron banisters, which overlooked the many rooms below.

“Victoria’s Secret?” You were suddenly jolted out of your trance, jumping slightly as you were reminded that Jungkook was standing just behind you.

“Sorry?” you twisted around, looking at him confused.

“Your bag,” he nodded to the wide, stiff paper shopping bag you had clutched in your hands. “You did a little shopping?”

“Oh!” you looked down to see the company’s name scrolled across the paper, which at one point only housed your wedding lingerie. “I, um, didn’t really go home after… everything. This is my suitcase for now, I guess,” you shrugged.

“Makes sense. There’s not a lot of those types of fancy stores on the way up here.”

“Yeah,” you smiled, thinking of how difficult it was to find even a discount store. “Sorry to disappoint. If things were different, I would have come... better prepared.”

Jungkook’s mouth curved, and you liked what it implied. He was thinking about you… and lingerie… and you liked how the image it painted reflected in his eyes. He stepped towards you, slowly and casually - not in any way aggressive or threatening. But - it felt threatening as he closed the space between you. Threatening in a thrilling way. You once again became hyper aware of his size, of his tall legs and broad shoulders, feeling like you were being dwarfed by his physicality as well his mere existence. His eyes were on yours, glinting with a touch of mischief as he stepped just too suggestively close to you. Then he bent slightly at the waist, and you felt his fingers brush over yours as he grabbed a hold of the string handles of your bag.

“Lemme help you with your suitcase, then” he said, a wry grin teasing his lips as he curved his tongue around the words, and slipped the bag out of your hands - respectfully leaving your purse with you. He had brains.

You exhaled a smile, realizing he was teasing you - and also realizing that somewhere within the past few seconds, you had been holding your breath. “I didn’t know you were such a gentleman.”

“Hm,” he chuckled, then winked, “not all the time."

You werent entirely sure he meant it as an innuendo, but regardless, his words sent a delicious shiver up your spine.

He then stepped across the hall to a set of french doors next to the foyer and across from the living room. The glass panes were protected from the inside with soft, white door curtains, so you didn’t know what was behind them, until Jungkook opened one, and you caught a glimpse inside.

A king-sized bed. A bedroom. His bedroom.

“This your room?” you pointed into the space beyond him. You were a bit surprised. You had figured his room was on the top level overlooking the sunrise, not right next to the common areas and overlooking the driveway.

“Yup,” he nodded proudly, once again holding the door for you to follow him in. The gesture was simple, but it felt far from simple. This was his room, in his home - and you hadn't realized what a symbol it was until you were invited into it. This was where you were going to let another man touch you; where you were going to put the nail into the coffins of Chris and Stephanie; and, where you were going to be starting anew. Being invited into his bedroom somehow made everything feel so… real. Yet, somehow, you felt… okay.

You followed Jungkook, your body buzzing as you brushed passed his hulking form, as you stepped into yet another impressive space in his house. Much like the living room, the windows were floor to ceiling, and the room was soft and romantic against the orange wood. You looked out over the yard, indeed noticing the driveway, the front lawn, and the party barn near the tree line. Back at home, a front facing bedroom with floor to ceiling windows would be a nightmare. Hell, a back facing bedroom was nightmare enough. If you forgot for even a second that you hadn’t closed your curtains, you were sure to put on a show for at least five households. But out here, in the quiet, with no passers by, you supposed the rules were different. You could easily make love under the silver shine of the moon and stars, without the risk of being seen by a neighbour walking their dog. What an intriguingly pleasant idea.

Looking further beyond the tree line, you understood why this room was built as such. The scenery was remarkable, and promised views of red sunsets and pink skies. In the distance, you could make out a valley following a curvy stream of water, which was lined with what appeared to be orchards and possibly vineyards.

You turned back to Jungkook. He had taken a seat on the corner of his bed, stretching his arms behind him as he leaned back to balance himself over his palms. His long, lean torso and welcoming lap were now on display - and with the twitch of your awakening pelvic muscles, you remembered again why you were here.

The room then became silent, as you stood there, holding your purse like a cross – you avoiding his gaze – and both of you wondering how to move forward. This was the awkwardness that you feared. What was the formality here? Should you talk some more first, or just bite the bullet and get down and dirty? You were the one who propositioned him, did that mean you should be the one to make the first move? Or was it better if the “favour-giver” was the one to first offer themselves? Why was Jungkook doing this for you at all?

You considered crossing the floor, and seductively crawling onto his lap to mount his hips, but the more you thought about it, the more you talked yourself out of it. Instead, you decided to fill the space between you with mindless banter.

“I can’t believe you own this place,” you admired, once again looking out the window. “It must’ve cost you a fortune.” You immediately regretted speaking. You barely knew Jungkook, and even though you were about to have sex with him, it still felt inappropriate to be commenting on his finances. You spun around quickly, looking as apologetic as you could. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume anything.”

“Nah,” Jungkook shrugged and smiled, like you were being ridiculous for apologizing. “I am lucky. This was my grandparent’s getaway cabin. I inherited it. I wouldn’t be able to afford it otherwise.”

“Nice,” you awed in some pathetic version of a 90s surf dudebro. Once again, you regretted it, and - once again - looked at him with wide, embarrassed eyes. “I mean… not nice that they died. I'm sorry for your loss."

Get it together, you idiot, you chastised yourself.

But Jungkook wasn’t in the least bit phased. He didn’t look offended, in fact, he even laughed through the bemused smile he had already been giving you.

“It is sweet… I don’t have a mortgage, and I’m completely off-grid." Now he was just boasting. “So… yeah… I don’t have any major bills to manage. That’s why I can get by making pennies and doing whatever the fuck I want for a career.”

"I thought your businesses were doing really well?” you furrowed your brows, as you leaned against a heavy wooden dresser. You didn’t know how much a painter and photographer made these days, but as far as you knew, he was in demand on the graphic design front. “Stephanie is always talking like you're some sorta secret billionaire," you laughed.

It was then that his face dropped, and you realized your grace period of stupid, none-of-your-business banter was over. You felt instantly guilty, and perhaps terrified that you had destroyed your refuge.

“I’m sorry,” you immediately sputtered out. “I didn’t mean to pry. I’m just nervous and trying to make stupid small talk… Just tell me to shut up when I’m being too much.”

“No, no, no” he shook his head regretfully, as he pushed himself to sit upright. “Don't apologize. It’s not you. It’s…” he paused as he thought about his answer, then grimaced just before he continued, "Stephanie says a lot of things. I just worry about you having the wrong impression of me because of her."

You felt relieved. He wasn’t upset at you - at least he said as much. He just didn’t like the mention of Stephanie.

It was strange. She had always venerated him, and talked about him and her as if they were thicker than thieves. And yet, in under a five minute phone conversation, he had agreed to break her heart. And now you were here, and it was clear he had a visceral reaction to just the mention of her name. You put a pin in that thought to be inquired about later.

“Still… feel free to tell me to shut up when I need to… Nicely, of course.”

He chuckled softly, “Yeah, okay."

Silence befell you both once more, only this time, you decided to avoid useless conversation and your potential fourth strike – and instead, cut right to the chase.

“I don’t know how to do this. I’m sorry, I’ve only been with Chris for the last... ever… I don’t… I don’t know what to do next.”

He looked at you thoughtfully for a moment, but didn’t answer. Your gaze followed his face as he stood up from the bed, and as he began to stroll across the floor towards you. Your skin instantly felt on alert, buzzing more fervently with each inch closed. You didn’t consciously decide too, but at some point you were off the dresser and standing to attention. When he reached you, he wrapped a large hand gently around your hip, pulling himself close enough to tease you with the faint brush of his hips against yours. He took your purse from your hands, setting it aside. Your palms reached up to rest over his chest, and his other hand smoothed itself along the length of your arm in a touch that felt too intimate to have been had with a near stranger. But it felt so good…

You looked up at him, not able to meet his eyes for long since they wanted to fixate on his beautiful mouth, and the freckle that adorned his lower lip.

When he spoke, his voice was calm, soothing, but also low, with a hint of a gravel, " I was thinking maybe you and I should just dive right in and break this ice first?” His hand caressing your arm now dropped and slid around your waist.”

Fuck, yes, your mind screamed, as your lips curled and eyes narrowed into a gracious and seductive display of agreement.

“I think you’re right,” you said, with all the uninhibited confidence you possessed - until it diminished. “I mean… if you really want to.”

“I do,” he nodded, his hand once more brushing up your arm and towards your neck, while his grip on your hip tightened.

“Seriously,” you continued, as your desire began to collide with your apprehension. “Because I know you said you would, but you’re allowed to change your mind.”

“I haven’t,” he assured you, pulling your bodies tighter together as his fingers snaked their way into your hairline and his thumb cradled your jaw. “Have you changed your mind?”

“No, not at all!” you nearly shrieked. You definitely hadn’t changed your mind - especially now that you could feel the stiffness behind his pants pressing into your belly. “I just, want you to know that you don’t–”

“Y/N,” Jungkook interrupted you with a stern, yet flirty whisper of your name. “I'm going to kiss you. So, unless you have some sort of objection, I’m telling you nicely to shut up.”

You accepted his light scolding with a sheepish smile and nod. “Okay. I’m mean, no, I have no objections.”

“Good,” he returned a faint smile of his own, his lips widening and curving gently - until he dipped his face forward, and tilted your head high so those lips of his could gently curve against yours.

The kiss was soft… not in the way that it was unsure and timid - it was tender in a way that was meant to be reassuring and soothing.

You liked it, but you weren't quite sure what to make of your liking it. You had made a promise to never kiss another man other than Chris, and now you were kissing Jungkook - and you felt nothing but good about it.

Jungkook broke the kiss, angled his head to the other side, then brought your mouths together once again. The kiss was still gentle, but firmer than before. You felt yourself melting into him. Knowing he had begun to caress your caution away, he dropped his hand at your face and brought it down to the small of your back. You slid your arms over his shoulders, then braided them behind his neck – you now the one encouraging further contact.

You felt your ass press against the dresser behind you, as Jungkook had managed to walk you against it, and wave his bulge tight against your groin. Your lips parted in a small, silent gasp – and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth.

The flavour of him was foreign – shocking at first, since you were so use to the taste of Chris – but it was also delicious, hot, and exciting. His tongue moved against yours with languid precision, and for some reason, it ignited something delicious, hot, and exciting deep in your gut.

Your kiss soon became more, then more. His hands began to roam the expanse of your body – his fingers leaving a wake of goosebumps over the skin just above your jeans and just barely under the hem of your shirt.

It was happening…

He was getting ready to fuck you, and damn, were you ever ready to be fucked by him. His hands crept higher under your shirt, smoothing around the curves of your waist to the hollows of your back as he pulled you in closer. You wanted more, and you wanted it faster. You wanted more of your skin exposed, more of your flesh kneaded in his hands, more of his body pressed against yours… more of his hot, wet mouth kissing you.

In a quick decisive moment, you chose to initiate the “more.” You had propositioned Jungkook, and he had made first contact – now it was back to you to take you both to the next level.

You untangled your arms from behind his shoulders, and dragged your palms firmly over his chest – now elated at the idea of seeing everything you felt beneath his t-shirt. You raked your nails over his abdomen, until they caught the hem. You then pulled the cotton gently north, and Jungkook got the memo. He released his hold on you, reached behind his head to grab his collar, helping you strip him of the garment in one, smooth motion. His hands were immediately back on your waist, and he pressed his forehead to yours as he moved to start kissing you again – but your gaze was trained elsewhere.

You splayed your palm across the solid planes of his chest, sweeping appreciatively over them as you admire just how fucking beautiful his body was. You should have known… rock climbing and hiking among other outdoor activities were hobbies he was known for.

“My God,” you whispered outloud, unaware you had said anything at all.

He chuckled a soft smile, “You see something you like?”

“Ha!” you grinned, completely not embarrassed by how you were so obviously drooling over him. He was gorgeous, and it was a crime to not let him know that. You looked up at him, showing him every ounce of desire you felt that your eyes could convey. “I always liked what I saw.”

“Yeah?” he tilted his head, his ego lacing with a touch of disbelief.

“Of course,” you said more seductively than you intended to – but it worked as you leaned forward, pressing your lips over a muscular plank, your tongue taking a few liberties with his dark, peaked nipple.

“Good to know,” he took the compliment, and you were delighted to hear a bit more arousal in his tone. His hands dropped to the hem of your tank top. You raised your arms above your head as he peeled your shirt off your body, and discarded it to some unknown corner on the floor. He wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you cautiously as if you might try to escape, while the index finger of his free hand began to trace a line over the hills and valleys of your now expose torso. There was so much praise and worship and need in the way his eyes drank you in. You hated that it made you think about Chris , but you couldn’t help but wonder when was the last time you felt so damn desired.

Jungkook hummed some throaty growl of appreciation, as his fingers began to dance with the lace lining your bra. Your nipples tingled and puckered at the prospect of being worshipped as well.

His three fingers then dropped into the front of your cup, and he pulled downward and released your breast from its confines. In a short instant, Jungkook dropped his head, and you stretched your neck as you felt the heat of his mouth engulf the sensitive bud. He hummed as he sucked you into his mouth, and the vibration rippled through you, making you hum along with it.

He moved to your other breast, only instead of springing your wanton nipple free, he teased over its lace covering. He laved at the fabric with a long, firm swipe of his tongue, leaving your bra hot and dampened, and then cool and tantalizing as the drafty house air swept over it. He licked at it again, sucking the lace and your nipple gently between his teeth, and releasing them to snap back into place. You yelped a little - like you had been shocked by static.

Jungkook grinned triumphantly against the mound of your breast, then caressed the flesh with a kiss that more resembled a bite. His lips made their way up your chest, your neck, your jaw – each inch breached mimicking an inch his body pressed tighter against yours. You graciously reveled in the contact, scooping your arms under his shoulders, and digging your fingers into the solid, muscular columns that lined his back. You wanted to wrap your legs around him, and feel every twitch and stretch of his movements against you. You wanted his pants gone - and yours - to feel more of his erection rubbed over your core. You wanted his skin and his weight to smother you, and to feel your breasts flattened against that sculpted chest of his.

As Jungkook’s hands found their way into the back of your pants, and as he began to knead at the generous flesh of your backside, you reached behind yourself and unclasped your bra, feeling stimulated by their liberation. But they weren’t free for long – not if Jungkook had anything to do with it. His face, which had been focused on nibbling at your ear, pulled from your neck so he could peer down at your chest, and he deftly helped you pull the straps off your shoulders.

You found yourself in a familiar position, his one arm holding you near him, your hips swaying in tandem against each other, while his other hand now squeezed its way over your now completely naked torso. With his lower lip tucked tightly between his teeth, his dark, hooded eyes raked gluttonously over your various silhouettes – admiring every shadow and freckle.

You felt a blush stirring behind your cheeks as you watched him inspect you with such raw appreciation. “See something you like?” you volleyed Jungkook’s question back at him.

“I’ve always liked what I saw,” he retorted with a roughly spoken volley of his own.

God… you thought. If this was only the foreplay to the foreplay, you were in for a very erotic ride. Speaking of foreplay…

He released the tension he had on your body, and his hands dropped to the button of your pants. He didn’t rush to undo it, nor did he take his sweet-ass time. You felt the rumble of your zipper as it passed over your mound, and he caught your lips again just as his palming of your denim-clad junction made you gasp.

You took the opportunity to press your breasts against him, moaning into his mouth as you took pleasure in what you had been wanting for these past few minutes. His skin was warm and smooth against yours; his body felt strong and solid, like you were pulling yourself against a brick wall and not a man. You could feel the faint beat of his heart thumping behind his ribs, and you could sense how each of his muscles tensed and relaxed as he found pleasure and intrigue in your kiss.

He dug his fingers into the waistband of your jeans, and began pulling them south off over your hips. In that moment, you wished you hadn’t worn such skin tight pants. You wished they would just puddle to the floor so you wouldn’t have to let him go. He reluctantly broke your kiss, but made up for it as he trailed a path of licks and nips down the length of your body, peeling your pants off your limbs. He helped you step out of the legs, and your jeans too became lost somewhere in his room.

Kneeling before you, face-to-face with your panties guarding your dampened pussy, he began to gingerly rub the length of your thighs. That was when you noticed, and he noticed, that you were trembling.

“Are you okay?” he looked up at you without judgment.

“Yeah,” you replied. You were okay – you didn’t know why your body was reacting this way when your soul felt completely on board. “I want to. I think I’m just… overwhelmed… I don’t know. I never thought I’d be with anyone else. Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” his palms ran soothing circles over your skin. “We’re here on your terms. Just tell me what you want.”

“I want you to keep going,” you said assuredly, punctuating with a rapid nod. “It feels good. I feel good. I’m having a good time.”

He smiled, “Me too.”

Then, something shifted behind his gaze. With a blink, it had gone from empathetic and concerned, to heated and filthy. He kept his eyes locked on yours, and you felt like they had a mystic power to prevent you from looking anywhere else but at him. You felt his fingers squeeze tighter into your flesh as he pulled his face toward your pussy. You held your breath, like you were watching the scene below you in slow-motion. You shifted your weight as you braced yourself for contact. His lips parted, and you saw his tongue relax and drop, just before he latched his mouth wide, and firm over the cotton guarding your clit.

“Oh!” a noise trembled off your tongue, as heat engulfed your centre, and as you felt his wet muscle wave strongly into the bud. He detached himself, tilted his head, and repeated the action, wetting your panties with his saliva to compliment the way his prior ministrations had already dampened them. He detached again, tilted again, and licked you again from a new angle – several times over. It was a stunning sensation of moving between the heat of his mouth when he covered you, to feeling the wet coolness when he exposed you. Perhaps Chris had once been like this – back in your early days together, but you couldn’t recall. With Chris, sex was a clinical and familiar race to climax. Not that it wasn't good sex – it was great to have a partner who knew how to get you off. But you couldn’t remember ever being teased by him, or making time to make sex an erotic adventure. But with Jungkook, and the way he handled you – not worried about needing to get to work in an hour, or back to the household chores, or whatever your busy, domestic lives demanded of you – with Jungkook, it felt like you had all the time in the world.

Moments ago, you felt a rush to have more of him – but now, you felt beyond contented to just let him devote whatever he wanted to you.

You watched adoringly, your lip twisted between your teeth as you absorb the tiny but mounting bouts of pleasure. You braced yourself with one hand over the edge of the dresser, but then let the other drop and smooth over his hand clutching around your thigh. He appreciated your gesture, twisting his wrist so he too could tug gently on your forearm.

He then pulled his face tight and firm into your panties, and your breath hitched as you felt his teeth and lips nibbling around your labia. He pulled back, the fabric of your panties stretching as he pulled them roughly with his teeth. He released them with a snap, and your hips jolted, and you yelped as you felt the cotton-poly-blend slap back against you.

He grinned impishly again – and you began to realise that teasing and shocking his partners was apart of his sex repertoire. The notion thrilled you.

You expected him to resume eating you out – albeit you were hoping that he would strip you of your soiled panties first. But he didn’t. Instead, he began to rise from the floor, until he was once again looming over you, and caging you between himself and the dresser.

“How you feeling?” he asked, and your eyes nearly bugged out of your head.

How were you feeling? The space between your legs was practically a splash pad. He could have easily sunk his bare cock into you minutes ago without any remorse. So, how were you feeling: You were feeling nothing but respect and appreciation for his commitment to detail.

“I, uh,” you nearly laughed as you tried to answer him. “Yeah, I think I’m feeling pretty damn good.”

He laughed as he caught your meaning. You scraped your hands down his torso, then let your fingertips dance around the waistband of his pants. “Can I help make you feel good?” you asked suggestively.

“Mm,” he craned his neck as he thought about it. He definitely wanted you to, but something was holding him back.

“Maybe later. I promised you a good time - I intend to make good on it.”

"Well,” you drawled as you grazed and teased the underside of his waistband, and felt his abs jolt in excitement. “You're off to a good start. But, I like to pull my weight." You then slipped your palm over his pants, and gave his bulge a light squeeze. He rewarded your action by choking slightly on the air. "Lemme suck your dick, Jungkook."

He definitely liked that idea. It was written all over his face, and taut all over his body. He was perhaps a bit taken aback by your forwardness. But he didn't budge on his resolve.

"Trust me, I'd love nothing more than to come down your throat."

A thrilling tingle sparked through your groin as he said it. You liked that idea, so much so that you could practically taste him already. You also liked how the temperature between you was heating up and dirtying down. Perhaps your face didn't show your excitement, however, because Jungkook tilted his head in a slight grimace.

"Too much dirty talk?" he questioned.

“No,” you chuckled, respectfully abandoning his protected hard-on, and opting to slip your hands down the back of his pants to explore his impressive glutes. "Not dirty enough."

"Yeah?" He liked the sound of that too. His fingers then began to trace down your belly, lower, and lower, and lower - and your breathing became shorter and shorter. "What kinda words you like?"

His palm then dipped beneath your panties, and you felt a long set of fingers slip their way through your folds, and the heel of his hand press firm over your clit. Your jaw slackened, and your back arched to buck your hips into his hand. He looked pleased at how you reacted to his touch.

He drew his fingers north, slithering them through your folds, brushing the length of your labia, until they flattened and tugged hard on your clit. Your fingers instead curved, shaping into talons seeking purchase over any bit of his flesh they could find.

"What can I say to turn you on, Y/N?" he prompted you again. You weren't sure you were expected to answer - it was clear on his wolfish grin that he enjoyed how wordless he was making you.

"Um… I don't know... everything?" you panted an answered, although you weren’t sure if it was the right answer… you weren’t really sure of anything right now.

"Mm," he hummed as he thought, dipping his fingers low and pulling them north again. "Cock?"

"Of course," you laughed. But you supposed it was possible some people didn't care for the term.

His index finger slid south again, and teased itself around your entrance. Your kegels clenched as they prepared for him to invade you - but he didn’t. Not yet. He languidly split his way through your slick slip, and parted your folds to expose your clit to the elements. "Pussy?"

"Yes," you swallowed.

"Cunt?" he said as you bucked against him again. He began to swirl a finger in delicate circles around your clit, and you began to burn from the inside out.

"Sparingly," you conceded. He increased his pressure and speed, now assaulting the nub of nerves with a clear intent. This was no longer teasing, this was no longer a quest to make you wet and ready for him… this was the first click of the route to a proper orgasm. “Oh, shit!” you keened, biting your lip as you bowed your head against his chest. You panted a few audible whines as you got used to his ministrations. When you found balance, you lifted your chin to look up at him, only to find yourself off-balanced again. God, the way he looked at you was intoxicating. He was so focused on his task, and so concentrated on reading your every micro-reaction to his touch. He enjoyed it all - he was getting off on how you looked, how you sounded, and he was high on the idea that he was the one making you feel this way.

He licked his lips, and you immediately wanted to kiss them again. But you couldn’t. A microgasm caught hold of your system, and all you could do was ride it out until it relinquished its control. But then another dirty word slipped from his kissable lips…

"Slut?" he asked somewhat cautiously. Truth was, you hadn't ever had that term brought into your sex life vocabulary - but the way it rolled off his fucking tongue, you knew you'd love to hear him say it again.

"Yes," you near whined, as the word and his fingers heightened your pleasure. You clamped your one hand firm around the back of his neck, while the other gripped tightly around his flexing bicep. "Oh... my God," you breathed, letting him know how good he was making you feel.

You were discovering just how much of an artist Jungkook was. Those long, slender fingers of his weren't only adept at painting beautiful pictures, or strumming an electric guitar. They knew exactly how to mold a woman's centre into a motherboard of primal, unrestricted pleasure. He played with your clit, finding just the right places to push, and just the right angles to rub. Then he'd zero in - raise the tempo, deepen the pressure, until your body began to convulse with the onset of an orgasm. Then he'd release you from it all, and palm your pussy with long, calming strokes to bring you back down - until he was ready to attack your senses again, bringing you just a bit higher than the last time.

"Fuck, Jungkook..." you sobbed after the umpteenth rise and fall. "Fuck... I want more.”

You weren’t sure what more it was you wanted - but you just needed more. More of his lips, more of his fingers… more of him… “I want you to fuck me.”

“I am fucking you, Y/N,” he said with a menacing tease. That wasn’t what you meant, and he damn well knew it. So… he was the kind who liked a girl to beg.

“I want you inside me."

Once again, the corner of his mouth pulled in a look of delicious and devious satisfaction - there was something about it that you didn’t trust.

He dipped his hand deep into your panties and in a quick move, he returned his fingers to your entrance; and, in an even quicker moment, he stuffed two of his digits deep inside you - nearly lifting you off his floor with their swiftness and strength.

“Ugh!” you mewled, as the action made you feel heady with vertigo. His fingers flapped rapidly inside you, and every ounce of air you had in your lungs became caught in your throat, as your body began to vibrate in time with his flicks.

"Like this?" he asked arrogantly. "You want me inside you like this?"

It also wasn't what you exactly had in mind, but you certainly weren't complaining.

"Jungg–" your vocal chords restricted and your body heaved against him. He squeezed you closer to him with his free arm around your waist, and brought your faces so close together, you could kiss him deep and fervent if you had the ability to do so. He slipped his fingers down your chamber, then shoved them hard and fast back into you - tapping madly against the now discovered pleasure points inside you.

He let the tip of his nose trace softly over your nose, and his lips brush lightly over your lips as he teased you with a kiss. But a tease was all it was - you didn’t have the power to take it further - not when your body was seizing and sputtering without any control.

"Or you, want something bigger?" he asked, tilting his chin as he peered down his nose at you. “You want my dick?”

"Yes," you managed to sputter out.

“Yeah? You wanna take this cock like a good little slut?”

Holy fuck. Your mind and body reacted immediately, and he knew it all too well. Your pussy muscles immediately constricted around his fingers - clamping down on them so hard that he struggled to jostle them through your chamber.

“Oh, fuck, you like that, eh?” he derided, and you never felt so… corrupt.

“Yes,” you cried out your command. “I want your cock inside me, baby.”

“Hm, baby,” he tested the word out. “I like the sound of that.”

“Fuck me and I’ll call you whatever you want,” you said, surprising both yourself and him with how controlled and demanding your tone was.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jungkook smiled as he withdrew his fingers from you. You immediately jumped into action, stripping yourself of your panties and kicking them aside while Jungkook worked away at his own pants. You were done before he had managed to even undo his belt buckle. You swatted his hands away from the metal, and deftly worked to unfasten it, his button, and his zipper in under four seconds.

You half expected him to laugh and tease you about your urgency, but instead he too was overcome with the need to take you right there. He crushed his lips to yours, roughly pulled your bodies together, and violently kicked his pants off his ankles. Within milliseconds, he had you hoisted onto the dresser, his body nestled between your thighs. At the same time, you both reached down between your bodies, to take a hold of his throbbing, dripping cock.

“Oh, shit,” Jungkook suddenly exclaimed - although not in the sexy way, but in the we-have-a-problem kind of way.

“What?” you looked at him, your voice sounding more annoyed than alarmed. What the fuck could possibly be the problem?

“We didn’t talk about protection and shit.”

“Oh,” you shook your head, now feeling silly and a touch irresponsible. “Yeah, um, okay. What are you comfortable with? I’m on birth control and I got a rapid STD test after I found out about… them.”

“So…” he looked at you cautiously. “You… wanna… bare back it?”

Yes, was your reckless reaction. Frankly, you had a deep and twisted desire to let Jungkook inside you without any barriers. You hadn’t allowed Chris that privilege until you were at least six months into your relationship. It was a sign of intimacy, of trust, and of devotion - things he threw away with no regard. So, the idea of letting Jungkook shift your kidneys with his raw, unguarded cock felt like a stab to Chris… even if you were the only one who knew about it. Regardless, you still had a sensible side, and your sensible side had one more question. “Are you clean?”

“Mm hm,” he nodded. “Saw the Doc last month. Clean bill of health. But I got condoms in my drawer,” he pointed his thumb over his shoulder, and you followed where it led, noticing the bedside table which was maybe five strides across the room.

“It’s too far,” you grinned.

“You’re right,” his nose scrunched as he grinned back.

Although the interruption was minor, it was still enough to slow what had become a chaotic rush to bring yourselves together. Slowed… but not cooled.

Your lips met again, your tongues began to tangle once more - but this time, you were sure to savour it. To savour him… his taste, his tact, the small sounds that rumbled in the back of his throat, and echoing noises of your moving lips and hands.

You broke the kiss when you felt the tip of his cock pushing against your folds. You looked down, wanting to see his dick hard and erect before it disappeared inside you. Jungkook looked down too, and together you admired the scene. He held his member stiff in his hands as he guided the shaft along the length of your pussy, soaking it in your juices. He brought his tip to your clit, circling the bud several times, then tapping it a few times more - making you squirm and jolt with need and longing.

Then finally - fucking finally - he dragged the thick, pulsing head downward, and pressed it over the folds guarding your entrance. You shuffled over the dresser, spreading your legs a bit wider to allow him complete, unrestricted access. You reached downward, covering his cock holding hand with yours, and together you positioned him right where he needed to be - then he began his ascent.

You felt his tip breach past your folds, and watched as the first inch disappeared inside you. Your mouth fell open, as did his - and together you exhaled as he conquered another inch, and then another. The eroticism of it all caused your walls to quiver around him; quivering around him made your pussy tingle with pleasure; and pleasure forced your chamber to clamp down around his cock, unsure if it wanted to suck him into you or push him back out.

“Fuuuuck, Y/N,” Jungkook exhaled a groan. “Fuck, you feel good.”

Your pussy fluttered again, and his cock slipped further into you, meeting resistance, but persevering as he slid his way through you, until finally he was balls deep and bottomed out.

He pressed his forehead against your temple, kissing that sweet spot below your ear. You closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of his soft lips on your skin, and how it complimented the delicious burn of your insides adjusting to his size. He reveled in the feeling of your silky walls around him, and snaked his hands around your hips to shuffle you and him into perfect alignment.

You began to burn with the need for him to move. You slid your one hand up his neck, then into his hair, pulling his face to yours so you could kiss him once more. You tightened your limbs around his waist, encouraging him in that way as well - but it was your words that inspired him the most.

“Fuck me, Jungkook,” you said as you tugged his head backwards, ensuring he could see how serious you were. His eyes flared with salacious desire, both loving the control and demand you had over him, but also challenged by it.

He drew his hips backwards in one long, slick drag of his cock, then pressed them forward - again, long, slick and filling. He did it again, testing his angles and adjusting himself accordingly, then again, and again… until he found a steady rhythm.

He pumped himself into you, and - God damn - did he ever feel fantastic. The way he moved through you, making you moan as he stuffed you full, and whine as he left you feeling empty. He rocked his hips in smooth, consistent waves - and you keened each time his mound pressed against your sensitive clit.

You dropped both your hands behind you, pressing them into the surface of the dresser and leaning back to let him fuck you deeper and harder. He did, and soon enough the squelch of his cock slipping in and out of you, and the claps of your hips colliding could be heard throughout the house.

“Oh, Jungkook,” you threw your head back, as a microburst of pleasure pulled your limbs tight with electric shock. “Oh, fuck.”

When you were able to look at him again, your heart began to beat with dangerous aggression. You couldn’t get over the way this man saw you, admired you. He bit his lip as he studied your face, and as his eyes drank in and appreciated every about your pleasure flushed body. He thrusted in and out of you, fixated on how your tits bounced, how the flesh of your thighs rippled with each impact, and how your belly restricted and relaxed between pumps. He seemed so damn controlled, like he was hours away from coming, whereas you were mere moments. But then, a deep, long, guttural groan rumbled up from within him, and you keened a high pitched noise at the way it turned you on.

“Ugh,” he exhaled again. “Ugh… uh…” each sound a touch deeper, signaling his rising climax.

“I’m–” you tried to warn him of the orgasm barreling towards you, but the moment you spoke, he grabbed you roughly under your ass - and before you knew it, you found yourself facing the wall, palms pressed into wood, and body bent over the dresser.

“Baby,” you keened as Jungkook re-entered you from behind. He somehow felt thicker, hotter, and longer as his cock once more filled your channel. He fucked into you once in a hard and fast pulse of his hips, and your hands skidded down the surface of the dresser. You then felt his fingers card their way through the hair on the back of your head and, with a light pull, he bent you backwards - making you stare yourself and him down in the mirror before you.

You wanted to call out to fucking God. The image before you was so hot and nasty. You could see clearly his sweat-dampened skin and how it pulled tight over his muscles, which contracted and flexed with each and every buck of his hips.

He began to fuck you mercilessly, and your calls to the heavens became primal roars for release. He was so thick and hot inside you. So rough and ruthless. He was no longer breaking the ice – he was breaking you apart.

Your eyes threatened to roll back in your skull, but you wanted so badly to see the images presented before you. You wished Chris could see this image. You wished Stephanie could see it too.

You didn’t know why… but that thought made you hornier than hell. You felt a fresh wave of arousal drip between your thighs and soak Jungkook’s dick. The thought of them watching you get fucked by this man. The way their faces would twist in jealousy and regret. The way Jungkook would threaten Chris with a possessive stare, and taunt Stephanie with the knowledge that you possessed him.

You reached between your legs, and began circling your clit with your fingers - wanting to capitalize on the feeling of Jungkook’s cock and the mess of your debasing thoughts. But he was having none of it…

He scooped an arm around your waist, and in another quick moment, you were off the dresser and weighted against his hard body. He grabbed a hold of your one tit in his palm, kneading and twisting your nipple with his fingers, while his other hand dipped down to replace your fingers which were pleasuring yourself. He wanted to be the one to make you come, all on his own.

You bent your neck backwards and over his shoulder, reaching behind his neck to cling again to the hair at his nape - needing something to tether you to the earth. He nibbled on your ear, bit into your shoulder, pinched your nipple, rubbed your clit, all while continuing to fuck you into oblivion.

You didn’t have a chance to warn him you were about to come - then again, it seemed as if he didn’t have a warning of his own. The moment his deep voice shot high in his throat and started to come out in short, pitched moans, was the moment you began to tumble off the edge.

“Ohhh!,” your orgasm squealed into the room, and your muscles pulled tight, bending your spine and curving your body into his. Your vision went dark, then burst with millions of technicoloured stars. Your hearing muffled, and you lost the ability to breathe. A pure, radiant tingle sparkled through your every vein, like your blood had been replaced with warm, bubbling champagne.

You felt Jungkook’s body begin to convulse against you, as his hand motions and waving hips became sloppy and erratic. He was coming too, and his hot, whining breaths on your shoulder ended in a heavy roar as he crescendoed, and long spurts of cum were released inside you.

You both fell forward - your hands finding the wood surface of the dresser again, and Jungkook finding your shaking and fragile body a sufficient place to rest his head.

You panted yourself out of the stars and back into reality, and Jungkook did the same. His hands were around the hollows of your hips, like he was holding you there, unwilling to let you move. You felt his lips then press warm over your spine, as he took a few moments to appreciate the taste of your post-coital skin.

“What’s this,” you heard his disheveled voice behind you, then you felt a heavy finger trace the small of your back - and you realized what he was referring to.

“That’s my tramp stamp,” you announced, laughing at the 16 year old that shamed you with the decision. “I don’t really like it.”

It was a fucking dolphin. Not a dolphin fucking, just a stupid dolphin you had zero attachment to. There were other reasons you didn’t like it - Stephanie was with you when you got your tattoo. She got one herself. They weren’t friendship tattoos or anything, but the memory of getting them together made it feel like it tethered her to you. You had big fish to fry these past few days, but now that you thought about it, it might be a good time to have it removed.

“It’s sexy. I love a good tramp stamp.”

“Thanks,” you said, as you moved to press yourself off the dresser. Jungkook pulled himself out of you, then guided you to turn around so he could hold you sweetly in his arms. “She was with me when I got it,” you gave him a comical shrug.

“Ah,” he nodded, understanding now. “I can cover it for you.”

“Right,” you mused, remembering that “Tattooist” was one of his alleged work-for-pennies jobs.

“I mean… maybe not right now. It's not a lot of fun fucking right after a back tattoo. The rubbing and all,” he winked. You chuckled.

“Okay, well… thanks. I’ll keep it in mind.”

Jungkook stretched his arms a little further around you, pulling you tight against him. You wrapped your arms around him as well, and you pulled yourselves together for a sweet, but simple post-sex ceremonial kiss. When the kiss broke, he still held you there, smoothing his palm softly over the length of your back.

“So, what do you wanna do now?” he asked. “You hungry?”

“Um,” you looked around the room as you thought for a moment, unsure what you were supposed to do. With Chris, you’d either cuddle up in bed, or you’d run off to do something written in your day planner. But being up here, in Jungkook’s house, it was like you were trapped in a vacation. You didn’t have any commitments or responsibilities or expectations. You could just… be…

You looked up at him when you had an answer. “Do you think I could take a shower? I was in the car all night and all.”

“Sure,” he nodded. “You want company?”

You bit your lip to suppress your grin. You might like company… just not right now. “Honestly, I wouldn’t mind a few moments to myself… if that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay. I’ll get you a towel.”

With that, he took you by the hand, and he walked you across his bedroom and towards a partially opened door. You hadn’t really noticed it before, but it was fair to assume it led to an ensuite bathroom. A luxury cabin like this had to have an ensuite bathroom.

You were close… the door led to a bathroom, but it first took you through a stupidly large walk-in closet.

“Oh my God,” you shrieked like a fanboy seeing his celebrity crush for the first time, and Jungkook snorted at your reaction.

“I didn’t know you had such a hard on for closet space,” he teased. "I'll fuck you in here if you'd like."

“Shut up, you don’t understand,” you slapped him gently with the back of your hand. He really didn’t understand. The closet was basically barren. He only used one measly section, and it was essentially nothing but t-shirts, sweat-shirts and jeans. He also didn’t understand because your house back home didn’t actually have any closets at all. It was a stupid oversight from the 20th century designer who built it, and it’s subsequent owners who did bare minimum reparations to it.

Jungkook gave your hand a tug, and you let him guide your drooling self through the closet and into the ensuite, where once again you gasped.

A tub.

A bathtub.

A real bathtub.

It was everything you looked for in a tub. It was long, and wide, and deep (like a great dick,) had jets, and no shower head was above it. You could easily soak in it and submerge your tits and knees under the water at the same time… and wasn’t that the dream?

It was also just incredibly romantic: flanked by riverstone tile, and installed next to a breezy window with soft views of a garden outside. You could instantly imagine yourself in it, surrounded by candles and bubbles, sipping a glass of wine as you enjoyed the warm breeze wafting into the space with the sounds of the forest. You could imagine Jungkook in there too - sitting at the other end of the tub, or perhaps you would be resting against his chest.

You shook the thought away. It was a nice fantasy, and if you were lucky, one you could explore… later. For now, you two had only fucked once, and this was a fucking arrangement. You didn’t need to start adding intimacy to the mix.

“You can use it if you want,” Jungkook shook you from your imagination. “I never do.”

“You don’t deserve this house, Jungkook,” you ridiculed him. “Unused walk-in closet, unused bathtub. Tsk.”

“Well,” he scooped you against him again, and you wrapped your arms around him... again. This act was beginning to feel as natural as it did with Chris. “Maybe you can show me how to live in it right.”

“Maybe,” you winked.

“Go ahead. Take a bath. Enjoy it.”

“No,” you sighed. “I’m afraid I’ll fall asleep in there and drown. I think I’m starting to feel the effects of my all-nighter.”

It was true. After your climax, you thought your muscles were feeling tired and drained from sex. But as the minutes passed since, you recognized that you were indeed just tired.

“Well, why don’t after you shower you take a nap? I’ll go make myself busy.”

“No, I don’t want…” you trailed off. It felt strange to kick Jungkook out of his own room when you had asked so much of him. “I don’t wanna sleep all afternoon and then be up all night.”

Jungkook’s gaze darken into something sadistic, and you were sure you could hear his thoughts. “I thought the plan was to be up all night, Y/N,” he said. Your nether regions agreed with him. “Do it. You’ll feel better.”

“Okay,” you nodded reluctantly. “Don’t let me sleep too long.”

“I won’t,” he promised with a final kiss before he let you go, then rummaged the cupboard for a towel.

You weren’t sure how long you had showered, but the water had felt so good over your skin and muscles that you just couldn’t pull yourself out of there. You were afraid you had nearly drained his tank. When you returned to his room, you discovered Jungkook’s windows had electric blinds, and that Jungkook had darkened the room for you. You also found an oversized t-shirt sprawled across his bed. It was a shirt from his band’s tour three years ago, and it was obvious he had laid it out for you to wear as pajamas. You took it in your hands, and brought it to your face, taking in a deep sniff of its scent. It smelt like him, like the soap you had just used in his shower. You were a touched pleased it didn’t smell like some other girl - although you wouldn’t be surprised if this shirt hadn’t already been worn by a groupie or two.

You pulled it on, then crawled under the sheets, groaning and stretching as your body recognized it was time to power down. You curled your body around a pillow, and within moments, you were fast asleep.

Go to Chapter 4.

#bts smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #bts fanfic #jjk

[echo-goes-mmm]

Ambrose and Elliot #11

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: somewhat explicit implied future non-con

Ambrose led him to their next stop. It was a small, wedged in between a large general goods store and the town butcher. 

Another bell tinkled when Ambrose opened the door. A man looked up from his work: polishing a shoe. 

Elliot glanced around the room. The interior was far different from the tailor’s clutter. The shelves were neat and orderly, one side held boots and the other shoes. There were even two shelves dedicated to dress shoes, both brown and shiny black.

“Hello, Ambrose. I haven’t seen you in a while.” The man put down the shoe, straightening it to align with its twin. Elliot did not like this man.

“To be fair, I haven’t needed to visit. Your craftsmanship holds up too well,” pointed out Ambrose.

The man smiled, sharp and smug. He leaned against the desk.

“Who’s your friend?”

“This is Elliot. He needs a pair of shoes and a pair of winter boots. As soon as you can manage.”

The man looked him up and down. 

“Well, can he manage to pay for speed? Otherwise, he’ll have to wai-”

“David.” snapped Ambrose, scowling. 

David straightened, pursing his lips. “I see. Well, come over here and sit, then. I’m a very busy man.”

Elliot came over and sat. Ambrose followed close behind.

The man had him toe off his borrowed shoes, and Elliot was very happy he’d taken the time to scrub that morning.

David measured his size, noted down a few things, and that was that.

“I’ll bill you later,” he bit out as he escorted them to the door.

“Fine.” retorted Ambrose.

They stepped outside, and the door closed sharp behind them.

“Sorry about that,” said Ambrose. “He’s sort of an asshole, but David’s the only shoemaker in town. It gets to him.”

Elliot wasn’t sure why Ambrose was sorry, but he nodded anyway.

___________________

They went back to Hearthwood for lunch.

“Tonight we can just relax,” said Ambrose. “I don’t open on the third day of the week.”

Once again he held a cup of tea, but no meal. Elliot was pretty sure it was jasmine.

“Yes, sir.” Elliot wasn’t smart, but he knew his place in the world. Master Ambrose wanted sex tonight, and Elliot’s duty was to serve. He’d always done well with men. Maybe Master Ambrose would be gentle in bed like he was outside of it, but masters needed outlets and that was Elliot’s job. It could go either way, but it was inevitable.

“How are you feeling?” Another vague question.

“I’m alright, sir.”

“Would you like to rest a little, or go back out? I’d like to get some furniture for you, but there’s no rush.”

Lying was disobedient, but refusing to please was worse. Elliot considered how tired he was. He didn’t really want to go out more, but he wouldn’t get touched furniture shopping. And staying in meant he’d have to go later anyway.

“We could um, go back out.” 

___________________

To his relief, there was only one place left to go. They met a nice lady, Jennifer, who made all kinds of things from wood and stone. There were plenty of pieces to pick from and Elliot was nervous about having so many choices. In the end, Ambrose had him pick out a cedar chest and dresser, a nightstand, and a vanity. They were all medium reddish-brown.

Jennifer was set to deliver them tomorrow. Her siblings would carry it upstairs and all Elliot had to do was choose where to put them. 

He was admittedly distracted; tonight loomed over his mind. Elliot waited for Master Ambrose to correct him, but it didn’t come. Maybe the punishment for being distracted was forcing him to think about it.

What would Master want? His mouth? His ass?

Would he strangle him or tie him down?

Would he beat him?

The belt or just his hand?

Would he slap him across the face or would he take him from behind?

Ultimately, it didn’t matter. Elliot would be good and take it, no matter what.

He just hoped it would be quick.

taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair @paintedpigeon1 @whump-blog @whump-em @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight

#i love writing jackasses #listen theres too many nice people in this story i had to change it up #whump #my writing #ambrose and elliot #slavery whump

[variousqueerthings]

Vampires of Venice!

I mentioned in my last ranking that it's nice to see in s5 that deaths matter, and in this one it's very very clear. The Doctor is kind of pitying of the Saturnyne, until it turns out that the leader of them killed a girl. That's very Doctor... it makes me tempted to add another rating (Doctor Who Ethos) but I think it'll get a bit messy if I do, so we'll stick with what we've got

I also think I should have added the word "agency" to one of these -- agency perhaps to one of the sexism points, because I think there's a bit of that as an issue in this episode. so "agency" as part of sexism criteria, either in terms of how they're perceived or how they affect the plot)

sexism rank objectification (female character is ogled/harassed/turned into a sex joke by the doctor and/or a lead we’re supposed to root for and/or the camera): 6/10

sexism rank plot-point (lead female character is only there to serve plot, not to have her emotional interiority explored, or her emotional interiority isn't given agency): 5/10

interesting complex or pointlessly complex (does the complexity serve the narrative or does it just serve to be confusing as a stand-in for smart, this includes visually): 7/10

furthers character and/or lore and/or plot development (broader question that ties into the previous ones, at least two of these, ideally three should be fulfilled): 6/10

companion matters (the companion doesn’t always have to be there, but if the companion is there, can they function without the doctor– and overall per season how often is the companion the focus or POV of the story): 5/10

the doctor is more than just “godlike” (examines the doctor’s flaws and limitations, doesn’t solve a plot by having it revolve entirely around the doctor’s existence): 7/10

doesn’t look down on previous doctor who (by erasing or mocking its importance, by redoing and “bettering” previous beloved plotpoints or characters, etc.): 7/10

isn’t trying to insert hamfisted sexiness (m*ffat famously talked a lot about how dw should be sexier multiple times, he sucks at writing it): 7/10

internal world has consistency (characters have backgrounds, feel rooted in a place with other people, generally feel like they have Lives): 7/10

Politics (how conservative is the story): 7/10

FULL RATING: 64/100 (if I can count….)

considering these rating's you'd think this was the strongest episode of the season, and it really isn't lol. it's a very silly episode, which is actually quite welcome, I think there should be silly episodes that aren't masterpieces. I do think the scores reflect that there's nothing ground-breaking happening in this episode, but nothing terrible either

that being said, I do not like what it says about Amy's and Rory's relationship and I don't know how that reflects in these particular kinds of ratings. I know that later on in the show they sort of sort it out and become ride-or-die, but at this point to get to that point... well, the show has some serious heavy lifting to do, and I'm not convinced it actually does it, rather than just dramatically alters the way it writes them at some point. we'll see

SO ONWARDS

OBJECTIFICATION: Amy is in her um. fourth? miniskirt. that's what she does, she wears miniskirts. at this point, one might be tempted to say, well lots of classic companions wore miniskirts, but the important thing there is... well, that was based in sexism too

also I threw off a whole point for this line from the Doctor: “blimey fish from space have never been so… buxom”

however considering there's a bunch of sexy vampire women in this, they're not actually objectified by the camera

PLOT-POINT: Rory tells the Doctor off for making people dangerous, because Amy doesn't understand this: “you know what’s dangerous about you, it’s not that you make people take risks, it’s that you make them want to impress you”

and so the Doctor later on yells at Amy to make her go back to the Tardis, in order to appease Rory: “we don’t discuss this. I tell you to do something Amy, and you do it” (imagine this being yelled)

and Amy is never a part of this discussion, either during or after. she just bounces onwards. She also goes from literally pretending that Rory is her brother and not her fiance, to making out with him, because now he's being manly and stuff I guess... so like, is the reason she's not so into Rory to begin with because he's not heroic enough? It's hinted at, but not really explored as something that is kind of an emotionally immature thing to do... it's one of those particular Moffatisms, where a woman is callous and sexually impetuous, which makes her a. hot b. in control of her own sexuality which is another way of being hot. this bit at the end:

Amy: “hey look at this, got my spaceship, got my boys, my work here is done!” Rory: “we are not her boys!” The Doctor: “yeah we are” Rory: “yeah we are”

the Doctor and Amy don't know each other very long, and Rory has been strung along For Years, while waiting for the Doctor and then graciously offered that he could come with them, after Rory was convinced that was it for them

COMPLEXITY: It's not a complicated plot and it doesn't need to be. Fish vampires. Good Old Doctor Who

CHARACTERS/LORE/PLOT: So this whole plot is ostensibly to make Amy and Rory figure out their relationship, but it doesn't really manage it in my opinion. It does some things, but Rory doesn't really have much say over their relationship, he's just waiting for the yo-yo of her emotions to spring back

anyway, this could be figured out later on in the show through a long exploration of what their relationship means, but as an opening to that exploration, mainly Amy is kind of terrible to him

as for Plot, well... the cracks! and the Silence! and also there's some great back and forth between the Doctor and Helen McCrory, which reminds me of the Doctor and Anthony Head back in School Reunion

COMPANIONS MATTER: Amy does some good work infiltrating and letting in the Doctor and Rory, but then in the latter half not so much. mainly running after the Doctor who's solving the case

and of course there's Rory being mainly there to be laughed at... oh that "yours is bigger than mine" joke. nah nah nah, none of that

“GODLIKE” DOCTOR: The A-plot is mainly the Doctor doing Doctor things. It's not beyond what we've seen in other Doctor Who, it's just that neither Amy nor Rory do much on the whooole

PREVIOUS DOCTOR WHO: Not much one way or another, so I guess that makes it Fine

“SEXINESS”: there's not too much of this, but there is that final line, and the general vibe of that uncomfortable callousness, where Amy calls and Rory comes running

INTERNAL WORLD-BUILDING: I mean, it's fantasy Venice with Fish Vampires. One thing it does do is set itself as strangely believing in the plague at the time when the plague was no longer happening, which is a nice little flourish

POLITICS: Nothing mostly, but there is that aforementioned "Amy doesn't get a choice" thing

FULL RATING: 64/100 (if I can count….)

So this is an Episode. Nothing special on the whole, except Helen McCrory Kiiillls it and there's some lowkey incestuousness going on with those Fish Vampires

it's lowest points come in its averageness on the whole, but Mostly the mix of Amy not having emotional agency coupled with her being emotionally immature towards Rory in regards to their relationship

it's high points are that it's not super offensive on the whole

#im watching eleven who #im watching nu!who #the measurement #im watching dw #vampires of venice

[faerociousbeast]

hooray best friended! and umm suggestions yes yes

totk obviously ive been enjoying it quite a bit + if nintendo hasnt dropped a patch yet i know a good dupe glitch for 1.1.2 so you dont have to deal with the abysmal flow of rupees in this game 👍 but its pretty and im having a lot of fun just messing around

SPLATOON i love splatoon its like paintball squid fortnite its so silly um i dont play as often as i should because my wifi keeps disconnecting me mid match but its fun and cute

ANIMAL CROSSING I WILL ALWAYS RECOMMEND ANIMAL CROSSING FOREVER I LOVW ANIMAL CROSSING i will say however you should probably buy preowned if you can because acnh lacks a bunch of the features i really liked in acnl and i feel like its a little empty for the full price + the dlc is like 30$ and i think getting it preowned and getting the dlc is more worth it than buying brand new (duh) . the dlc is really only needed if you’re big on interior decor but its useful for me personally… i could go into detail but i wont

stardew valley ^^ its like 15-20$ (?) on the switch and its so cute and awesome and we could co op and you get to farm and mine ans fish and kiss men so its great. honestly awesome

mario kart is fun if you have friends to play with but otherwise i dont use it.. pokemon violet was good but not worth the price. sorry these are all nintendo games (besides sdv) i only use my switch for stuff i cant play on other platforms

i did however buy a game called “a short hike” for like 7$ on the switch???and it was cute but it didnt really have long term playability. fun little experience though

RHANKS FOR THE INFO... i am considering splatoon but maybe not animal crossing or stardew valley i get burnt out of those sorts of games way too fast 😔 BUT YWAg thank you again

[jengas-au-fics]

Casino Cups/ Lil Lucifer HTTYD Au (fallen Mike)

Casino Cups/Lil Lucifer belongs to @camodiel (can also be found on @camodielsart)

Ch. 4

The duke’s beady eyes glanced around the crowd, but began to look confused and disoriented.

‘Um- ok this is too many at once. Mind forming a line?’ She commanded in the form of a request

Everyone shuffled around into a single file line, confused as to where she was going with this.

One by one she examined each of them closely.

Pacing up and down the line they’d formed, getting up in their faces a little bit which Cuphead wasn’t liking. Once she had finished she returned to the case and began passing out the blades.

As she did so

Cuphead began to sense a pattern.

He couldn’t really explain it but, the size, length, and colors of each dagger seemed to correlate with their size, strength, and demeanor. Wheezy got the widest one with a rough stone hilt, while Pachinko got the small slim one that he had had his eyes on yesterday (though Cuphead hadn’t noticed that he was with them until now)

and Cuphead’s blade…

It had a hilt appearing to be made of bronze, with a reddish pink gem at the bottom. The blade was easily twice the size of his own hand, and curved into a sort of C shape.

He glanced over at Mugman next to him, who’s face was lighting up upon seeing his. It was long, straight, sword-like, and of course; silver and blue.

Everyone seemed fascinated with their new weapons. Chips was expertly twirling his between his fingers with a smirk on his face, the Tipsy Troop were hapily comparing theirs with one another, and Hokus Pokus seemed… ‘happy’ to have a brand new knife… Cuphead liked his too

The tone of this field trip was starting feel… more friendly… in a way that felt special… for a moment…

But… Cuphead looked up at the Duke standing in front of them, and the expression on her face, it did not match that friendly tone. She looked out at them, and then at the ground, clearly in some sort of deep contemplation.

She looked back up at them, seeming to steal her resolve… but from what?

The Duke commanded their attention once again

‘Now, we’ll take this day by day but, there are about… four… main adversaries you’ll be at risk of facing. We can’t bring in the real thing but we have gathered some demons with very similar forms and abilities’

She was walking towards four large barred gates on the other side of the arena. Which Cuphead hadn’t really noticed up until this point, appearing to be just as grey and abandoned as the rest of the arena.

She knocked on one of the bars of the left most gate

A low growl erupted from its dark interior.

A spark of terror shot up Cuphead’s spine.

She strolled over to the next cage, performing the same knock followed by another roar

Cuphead frantically glanced around at the others, their line formation was breaking apart as most of them were beginning to back away as their limbs seemed to turn to jelly.

The Duke continued down the cages arousing a new agitated noise with each knock, until they layered on top of each other like a chorus of snarls

Cuphead knew the shit most of his coworkers had seen, and now even Phear and Hokus were beginning to look skittish.

She stopped and stood still on the right side of the cages,

paused for a moment,

and placed her hand on a nearby lever.

She spoke

‘Alright! For this first one; just stay on your feet, don’t let the tail manage to wrap itself around you, and watch out for the fangs. On three!

One…’

‘WAIT- WHAT?!?!’ Mugman cried

‘Two…’ the Duke continued despite the outbreak of protest

‘WHA- THATS IT?!?’ Chips exclaimed

Cuphead could feel his gut drop like a stone

‘THREE!!!’

She threw the lever

Here’s a little art I made of Cuphead’s knife

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3

#casino cups #casino cups au #fanfic #cuphead fanfic #Cuphead #mr wheezy #Cuphead mr wheezy #httyd au #cuphead chips bettigan #chips bettigan #pachinko #Cuphead pachinko #mugman #cuphead mugman #abigor #lil Lucifer Abigor #damn these chapters are getting shorter and shorter

[jayfortheday]

Music Lessons (Chapter 3) (Eddie Munson)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Jock!M!Reader (romantic), Lucas Sinclair/Reader (platonic)

Word count: 1053

Description: Eddie gives Y/N his first guitar lesson from the back of his van

Tags: crushes, musician Eddie, music lessons, guitar playing, nsfw implications

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie chuckled to himself under his breath and held out his hand to help you into the van. You tried your best to fight the rising color in your cheeks as you reached out your hand and slotted it in Eddie’s. Once he had a hold on you, he pulled you up into the truck, a little bit faster than you were ready for. You trip a little bit on the rough, black carpet covering the interior of the van, but recover quickly enough to avoid an actual fall. Eddie pretended not to notice in order to help you preserve your already bruised dignity.

Eddie picked the black guitar up from its position against the wall and rest it in his lap. He looked towards you and nodded his head towards the white guitar. You glanced between it and him before you took the hint and brought the guitar over to you. You held it in your lap, mimicking how Eddie held his. You struggled at first to find a natural position for the instrument to sit. It had been years since you had last held any sort of instrument. Music classes weren’t a requirement at Hawkins High, and none of your family members played anything, so you just as much attribute it to a lack of opportunity as much as a lack of interest. 

Eddie watched you struggle intently before resting his guitar against the van wall and getting up. 

“Here, like this,” Eddie hummed as he placed his hands on yours to maneuver them into the correct positions. The pace of your breathing quickened slightly as his calloused fingers held onto your hands. He brought your right hand to the center of the guitar, hovering over the strings, and your left hand up to the top of the guitar’s neck. “There, lookin’ good already.”

“Um, thanks,” you mumbled, coughing to clear any immediate sounds of hidden arousal from your voice. 

“Alright,” Eddie sighed as he sat back down and picked up the guitar. “Do you have literally any guitar experience?” You thought for a quick second before shaking your head no. “Don’t worry, we can work with that,” Eddie assured you. “I’ll just have to start with the basics.”

The remainder of the lesson was overwhelming. Eddie was a much different teacher than you had expected. The way he talked carefully, yet not condescendingly, or the pleased look on his face, when you got it right, made your heart flutter and your cheeks redden. Moreover, Eddie’s constant gentle touches of your skin and the physical encouragements of patting your shoulder or ruffling your hair left an insistent heat in your body as the lesson wound down. Either he didn’t realize what effects his actions were having or he knew all too well, and you weren’t sure which was worse. 

“I think that’s about as much as we can cover right now,” Eddie said, as he relaxed his hands from the position of an A chord. You blinked a couple of times before setting your borrowed guitar down next to you. 

“Sounds good, man,” you replied, trying your best to keep a level voice as you allowed the excitement of the lesson to begin to die down. 

“So,” Eddie started. “You said you’ve never really played before. So why start now?” You quickly scrambled to think of an answer that didn’t involve you or a guy I like. 

“There’s just someone I met recently, and I thought, ya know, that it might be nice to-” Eddie cut you off. 

“So, it’s for a girl?” He smiled. His face didn’t look like one of mockery, more just playful curiosity. You paused before saying,

“Yeah, it’s for a girl.”

“Don’t worry, man, I’ll teach you some of those pop love songs girls like, and you can woo her all you want,” Eddie laughed, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Actually,” you smiled, crossing your arms as well. “I kinda think she’d be more into rock music. I’ve heard that’s kinda her thing.”

“Oh, well rock music, I can certainly teach,” Eddie responded. “That’s gotta be almost all my tapes by now.” Eddie reached into his pocket as he spoke, pulling out a small white stick that took you a moment to recognize. Eddie noticed you staring at it. “Oh shit, sorry man, you smoke?”

“Oh, yeah, of course, I do,” you lied. You were almost confident Eddie would have been chill if you said you didn’t smoke, but at some level, you wanted him to think you were cool in some way. Eddie smiled before picking up a lighter you hadn’t noticed off the floor and lighting the joint. The smell was almost immediately suffocating and you had to fight hard not to cough. Eddie was barely phased as he breathed in the smoke. He offered you the joint, a small smile on his face. You took it from his hand, not quite sure how to hold it but doing your best to mimic what you saw him do. You brought it up to your lips and did your best to take the smoke into your mouth without actually breathing it in. 

Alas, your attempt failed, and a large cloud of smoke entered your lungs and immediately burned your throat. Not even your best attempt could keep you from coughing. You extended your arm away from you and practically thrust the joint back to Eddie as you coughed harder than you could ever remember having done. Through your coughs, you could hear Eddie cackle behind you and feel his hand rest on your shoulder. 

“You don’t actually smoke, do you,” he asked. There was no more hiding it, you shook your head as your choking began to die down. “Don’t worry about it, man, it’s not for everyone.” He patted your back, like a mother helping a child clear their lungs, and opened the van door a crack to air out the space before sitting back down. 

“How ‘bout you head back home and get some fresh air?” Eddie suggested. “Find me during lunch tomorrow and we can talk about setting up another lesson, ok?” You nodded enthusiastically, the occasional cough still blocking your speech as you got up to leave the van. Eddie smiled as you stepped down. “See you later, L/N.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: yall im so sorry its been so long, school is finally out and I'm now getting back into the flow of writing so I'm sorry for the short chapter 😭

#eddie munson #eddie muson x reader #stranger things #stranger things season 4 #fanfiction #fanfic

[agentqv]

“We Will Speak Again After”

A Binx/Andhera Fanfic

Part III: Steel and Shadow

Binx woke abruptly in the night to find the fire diminished and Andhera missing. Despite his promise hours ago, that anxious terror of abandonment encroached upon her heart once more if for a moment. While their connection to the Unseelie Prince was still new, the Weaver felt something was very wrong. It was much the same feeling she felt when a warlock was in danger. She felt cold.

They were able to hold the fear and anxiety at bay, recognizing Grandpa Dog was staring at her. He was in the middle of eating a dead bird.

His face reminded Binx of Jonathan Banks, disappointment radiated from his jowls.

“Where’d he go?” Binx asked, sitting up. The yeth hound blew a raspberry in disinterest, and laid down in the odd direction of north. The weaver clocked that, making a few steps, and turned back. “If it’s bad, I don’t want you to get hurt. Stay here.” Grandpa Dog made no effort to acknowledge her. “Um… you’re a really good boy.”

“I know.” He said as Binx walked off into the cold darkness.

When Andhera had joined the Court of Craft, a connection wasforged between them, and Binx quietly recognized that connection, much like the connection to their warlock patrons.  He was a light that pulled her nearer, like a moth to a flame. They could follow that link to its source, to the object of their desire.

To her knight.

The air grew more tense and despite Binx’s uncertainty, her rogue instincts took over and she traversed the shadows efficiently. They dashed through the woods and watched between darken tree lines for signs of danger. They could feel themselves drawing closer to Andhera, and whatever danger had entangled him.

And the closer Binx got to them, the deeper that encroaching cold feeling came upon her.

Minutes went by and finally Binx reached a field draped in moonlight populated by two individuals. Binx felt a sharp shiver, a coldness that engulfed their limbs. She didn’t understand this feeling, why couldn’t they warm themselves? It was like she could feel her own hope draining, being siphoned away.

Andhera stood in that field with someone, a walking shadow of a woman who looked much like Suntar. Except it every fine and proper edge of Andhera’s horrible sister had been shaved away to reveal the feral interior within. Binx realized in terror that this could only be her.

The inventor of darkness.

The weaver came to realize who this was just in time to witness the woman effortlessly flinging her son from tree to tree. The vicious ferocity was terrifying to behold as ribs and bones in Andhera’s body cracked and broke. Watching him in pain, Binx felt fresh punctures in their own heart. It was difficult to tell if the pain she felt was literal or metaphorical in nature, Binx couldn’t perceive the difference and didn’t wish to.

There was a pause with Andhera at the base of a tree, being pulled up by shadowy frost-bitten magic. And Binx nearly shot forward to help, but found her shaking legs wouldn’t cooperate. She couldn’t breathe, her teeth chattered in the cold. A sort of primal fear was over-riding her courage.

Delloso de la Rue and K. P. Hob weren’t there to help them. The Lords of the Wing couldn’t help them. Gwyndolin and Scratch were still far off, so was Mika, and as for their third warlock…

Who even knew?

So what could Binx hope to do that’d change this outcome? If she intervened the Queen would kill them both. And then the Court of Craft is truly dead.

This was perhaps the literal embodiment of evil, and by some miracle of luck, Binx hadn’t yet been perceived. In that moment, every muscle of her small body was screaming at her to turn and walk away. To not be seen.

Andhera would understand…

No. Something about the way she was acting in this situation was wrong. Binx could feel it.

The fear Binx felt was like a poison, seeping into her, over-riding her senses.

Was the Queen doing this naturally? Making her afraid? Like a dragon inducing fear with a simple roar?

Was the sheer presence of this feral nightmare infecting Binx’s mind?

The good news was that yes, a fear based effect was indeed happening to Binx and the Queen was seemingly unaware of her. The bad news was that Binx’s terror was making far too much sense.

It was as if there was a dark part of Binx that sickly thought it’d be better for Andhera to die now then inevitably leave her later (just to serve this monster). She knows she had heard that voice before, but it was never this loud. Never this all-consuming. Never this right.

“Sooner or later, everyone leaves!” That feeling whispered like a cold wind, “And everyone gets left behind.”

To someone who spent so long with nothing, everything became temporary.

That feeling begged her to do nothing, to hide away and never be found. To let Andhera die and to never return to the Fey Realm where it could find her. And Binx despised that part of themself, the same part that had kept them alive all these years when her crafter friends couldn’t.

This part of Binx brought out by this monster was sick and sadistic. It relished in weaponizing her trauma to seek the most sensible outcome.

Binx obeyed that instinct, and hid beside one of the trees, yards away. She crouched with her hands covering her mouth, hyperventilating. The wind grew colder, and she shivered. Uncontrollable tears drifted down her cheeks in this complete and utter betrayal of self.

As Andhera was held there, his mother picked up his dropped weapon with a look of disgust.

“You’re far too old to be playing with toys anyways.” She jeered in an almost Suntar-like way. A cold frost began to envelop the scimitars, sharp noisy cracks were forming.

She blew a cold wind into the blades, the steel viciously shattered into a fine mist of ashes drifting up in the air. It eclipsed the moonlight, drawing dark shadows upon the ground and surrounding the prince. The Queen’s grip tightened and the shadows grew, and began to encircle them in a wildly throbbing storm of shade, obscuring any onlookers.

The air was cold as the Shadow Monarch approached her scion at the storm’s center. Her hair and dark robes whipped with the ashen wind, but she remained methodical and statuesque.

The remaining moonlight became a harsh unbearable spotlight on Andhera. How deeply he wished to slink into the darkness and hide from the storm. He could feel the edges of the storm razing his limbs, atomizing pieces of his robes. There was no escape as the Queen crossed the divide to stroke his face as if they were no more than a haughty child. Her frostbitten fingers burned their skin with her sheer touch.

“Do it. I’m not afraid.” Andhera spat out more blood, it added to the ashen storm encircling them. “I’d be almost proud-” The prince heaved, “That my sentimental revolution forced you to dirty your claws for the first time in eons.” A petty disappointment overtook his mother. Her hands tightened on his chin as she inspected the details of her child’s face… apart from the eyes it was very unlike her own.

“I wouldn’t just destroy you,” The Queen sadistically pondered. “Your precious Crafter, the last Weaver of Fate… they’re a chaotic anomaly that your greedy sister was right to target. A being that like you, subsists of sentimentality.” She spat, fear overtook Andhera’s face. Their mother’s storm was nothing like her words. “Of course a narcissist like you loves her, how could you not?”

Andhera recalled a story Suntar told them, of how their mother liked to play with her food. He was too agitated to dwell on that.

“Binx has nothing to do with what’s between me and you-” They panicked, and the Queen was ecstatic, fingers somehow growing colder. Her unkempt nails dug into his skin, strong as steel. Frost began to engulf their freezing face, but that pain wasn’t where Andhera’s mind dwelled.

Even if her aura of fear couldn’t affect him, he was afraid now.

“Your lover is a fragile flickering little flame… and the cold uncompromising darkness snuffs out all embers alike.” The storm raged faster in a tightly wound fury. Stray lightning cracked out of it, scarring the land. “And despite your swagger. You, are not yet master of my domain. You are nothing more… than a formless shade hiding in daylight.”

It was difficult to make out what was being said within the freezing ashen storm. But Binx heard Andhera utter their name, and another deep frustration blossomed within themself. It was a guilt that interlocked seamlessly with that shadowy voice in her head that wouldn’t go away.

“Not only should you not help him… he is dying and it’s all your fault.” It screamed in her head.

The feeling didn’t listen to reason, it only saw the truth. Andhera’s mother was killing him because of her, because Binx pulled them into her orbit. And so like most things that gravitated towards Binx, she wasn’t strong enough to protect them. They deserved to be abandoned.

She was no leader, no true warlock patron… she was barely even a survivor.

Leader of the Court of Craft by default.

A hoarder of lost things and liminal spaces, belonging nowhere.

Not fit for a knight

Or a prince.

That fearful guilt consumed them, it wanted to swallow her whole. And she couldn’t stop it. Binx’s vision blurred, they could feel themself sinking deep down, falling into a cold abyss.

In their descent, all they could do was look up and be reminded of how worthless they were.

Self-loathing at its apex.

At the bottom of that hole, Binx couldn’t help anyone, not the Court of Craft, not herself and especially not Andhera.

She was at the bottom, and all they could do was watch.

Wait for the inevitable.

.

..

…

And then Binx thought about the spike.

Everything that had ever happened to Andhera was because of this women and her horrid expectations. He didn’t have a normal family, he didn’t have normal friends, he didn’t get to have a normal life. His sister put a fucking spike in his back to humiliate them. To control them. Yet Andhera always strove to embrace kindness and be the best version of himself.

Sometimes failing, sometimes coming short… but he was always true. And he never stopped trying.

And that was why Binx loved him.

It meant the world to her that she could free Andhera from that spike, from his burden. To welcome him into her home. In that moment, even just for a moment, she finally felt worthy of him. And now it felt like she was watching the spike being put back in.

You are my home.

Binx once told Andhera that love was at the center of the Court of Craft’s magic.

It was a chain that connected its members. That unbreakable link of feeling bounded them all together, even the lost ones (especially the lost ones). And that magic did not belong to the Court of Craft alone, it belonged to everyone. All emotion, especially love, was the magic that weaved together the Fey and Mortal Realms alike.

The Queen of Air and Darkness’s magic was built on scarcity. It was built on fear, overwhelming indescribable fear. In their terror, Binx felt like they had been drowning at the bottom of the ocean. But magic built on love was a raft, it was a lifeline.

It was a tether that bounded Binx to Andhera. And Binx realized she could use that tether to pull themself to safety.

Because love conquered fear every time.

And against all odds, Binx Choppley finally found the strength to climb out of that hole.

She rolled a nat 20.

A wave of warmness washed over them, and the Queen’s hold on her was no more and she snapped back to reality. Their guilt and frozen tears melted away and they were back in that forest. The whirlpool of shadows continued to engulf Andhera and their mother, and Binx discovered a cold fury within themself, a need to confront this vicious cycle and end it.

She was still afraid, but fuck it.

Binx fought back against every survival instinct in their body and reached into their liminal space, finding a familiar weapon. It was already loaded from the last time Binx wanted to protect Andhera from a family member. Now it was becoming oddly personal.

So Binx devised a plan of attack that would require precise timing and a little bit of luck (and she had some to spare).

K.P. Hob once told Binx that “In love and war, you must not miss your moment to strike.” She just never imagined using that mantra for actual war.

                                                    Author’s Notes:

Okay, this is a real emotional doozy. The title of this chapter comes from something Aabria said as the Queen, how the unseelie throne requires someone made of equal measures steel and shadow. So this chapter became about the overwhelming power of the Unseelie Queen, and how Binx is forced to reckon with it, and maybe rediscover her own strength along the way.

Coincidentally this (and part IV) went through the most changes because I was still figuring out Binx’s place in the story. I didn’t think at the beginning of this process that she’d have a full goddamn character arc where they regain the will to fight by the power of love, but here we are.

I really liked finding a way to deal with some of Binx’s underlying issues, and the original plan was that she was genuinely afraid of the Queen and it just didn’t work. I wanted to get into alot of angst, but I don’t think that if Surena was playing, there was any world that Binx would do nothing when her boyfriend is being tortured... and I didn’t like the direction of Binx immediately confronting the Queen because I’ve played rogues, and that never works out well. 

So a lot of the conflict becomes about Binx finding the strength to confront this evil without anyone there to back them up. I kinda imagine this as Binx’s “Running up that hill” moment.

On this draft I invented that the Queen of Air and Darkness produces loads of weird magical effects as a precaution. I loved this idea that she has an unmotivated fear effect that basically taps into and weaponizes someone’s subconscious and terrorizes them with their fears and anxieties (so like Binx’s abandonment, survivor’s guilt and imposter syndrome). Having Binx recognize this is a magical effect, but be beholden to it and what’s happening to them was really interesting. It almost becomes this insane thing where her subconscious is essentially gaslighting herself.

There is a little suspending of disbelief that the Queen doesn’t notice Binx and her effect on them, but I think that sacrifice is worth it (perhaps corporeality limits what the Queen can perceive and that’s why she doesn’t like debasing herself with it, it makes her vulnerable).

Also, for my fellow dnd nerds, Binx officially has the lucky feat, so anytime luck is mentioned in this story, that’s what I mean (in that “Surena” re-rolled using the lucky feat). And speaking of metagaming, Andhera as a paladin is immune to the fear condition. It makes you think, eh? (also his aura wouldn’t work on Binx because she wasn’t close enough).

The “Power of Love” scene was obviously a little awkward to write, because it’s a little on the nose, but I felt it was a good payoff of Binx and Andhera’s talk about the court of Craft’s magic, that Binx is able to follow that link between them to overcome the Queen’s magic. There’s something poetic about that, and I also liked adding in the “She rolled a nat 20″ bit. The original plan that she would simply be inspired by Andhera’s personal story, but I felt that’d work better as a doorway into “Love as an abstract concept” solving the magical problem.

Finally, the Andhera material (while being on the backburner) is somewhat interesting to me. I really liked the Queen’s dialogue with him as the situation is getting worse (I LOVED BREAKING THE SWORD AND TURNING IT INTO A WHIRLWIND OF SHADOWS BLOCKING MOONLIGHT), but the Queen’s dialogue: “You are nothing more… than a formless shade hiding in daylight” feels like a really cool burn. I also like having her call Andhera a narcissist for loving Binx because she’s also sentimental (which is categorically untrue, but it’s fun and how she views them).

Anyways, while I probably went a little overboard with this, I think it turned out well. I can’t wait to show y’all how this ends in Part IV. 

#Binxhera #binx choppley #prince andhera #the queen of air and darkness #acofaf #a court of fey and flowers #grandpa dog #dimension 20 #unseelie #Andhera #Binx #Andhera x Binx #angst #There's a reason she's known for inventing darkness #holy shit

[peninkwrites]

A New Era - Ch 6 of 11

Ant visits Ponk in the hospital.

[CW: descriptions of injuries, threats of violence, discussions of abuse]

crossposted to ao3

Ch 1

Ch 5

Ch 7

Mafia AU masterpost

~ Ponk ~

Ponk sits beside Eret in the backseat of a sleek black car, interior of leather with velvet accents.  It’s too soft, too cozy after hours locked up in that room.  Their wrists still sting from where the cuffs had been, every bump in the road sends jarring pain through them.  All of this still feels wrong.  Ponk cannot think of an instance where they’ve had to travel with their boss.

“Um, Eret?”

“Yeah?”

“Could I… I feel like I should explain, a– a few things–“

“Only if you want to, Ponk.”

“I mean, I want to say thank you.  For defending me back there, but…” Ponk winces, grateful that Eret won’t notice.  “I don’t know if that’s completely true, what you all said.  And I understand if you don’t want me to work for you anymore but I think it’s only fair I come clean, I–”

“–have been smuggling illegal goods through the museum using your position as curator to move suspicious packages?”

Ponk stares at her, mouth hanging open slightly.  They haven’t said anything, but Eret smirks like she can read their silence for the shock that it is.  “Really, Ponk.  How blind do you think I am?” She pulls down her glasses and winks.  “And I couldn’t care less what other sorts of dealings you’re involved in.  You really are a fantastic curator and a delight to work with.  Nothing you do hurts anyone, no more than anything else in this city a least.”

Ponk isn’t really sure what to say now.  “I… I guess I’m sorry I never told you.”

“I might’ve found it a bit odd if you did, Ponk.  I mean, I am your boss.”

Ponk laughs, glancing to HBomb in the front seat.  “Maybe I shouldn’t talk about this here, I guess…”

“Oh, because of H?” She laughs.  “No, he’s chill.”

HBomb nods solemnly in the rearview mirror.  “Don’t worry, I’m with ya.  We’ve all degraded ourselves doing legally dubious things for money, right?”

“I… haven’t… degraded myself for money?” Ponk says, baffled.

“Oh, well.  Some of us then.”

Eret leans over.  “Don’t ask.  Whatever he gets up to off the clock– I don’t want to know.”

“Fair enough,” Ponk manages a weak laugh, wincing as that movement hurts likely bruised ribs.  “Eret, you’re too kind, offering to let me stay at yours, but…” Ponk’s feeble defense dies, because they realize other than Eret’s kindness, they have nowhere else to go.  The amount of money they had made from Schlatt, anyone else would’ve kept it tucked away, a nest egg for emergencies that come with being a fence with a cop boyfriend, but Ponk had been naive.  They had shared everything with Sam, lying away its source, allowing them to move closer to Sam’s job and their own at the museum, living somewhere nice.  Sam had wanted it.  To live in a neighborhood he could trust, across the river away from mobs.  Ponk should have saved money to run away.  Even if they never would’ve thought to run from Sam, but if Schlatt had done something.  Ponk had never planned on leaving Sam.  In any capacity.  They don’t know what to do now.

“Ponk?” Eret says gently.

“Never mind,” their voice shakes.  “Thank you.  I just–”

“It’s alright.  We can talk more at the hospital, if you like.”

“Y-Yeah,” Ponk is grateful for the excuse to stop talking.  There’s something easy about being able to let go a little, to let tears finally fall free knowing Eret won’t be able to notice them and HBomb is occupied watching the road.  Ponk has wrapped too much of their own life around Sam.  They don’t know what’s left.

The hospital is gleaming.  However practical the purpose of the building is, they clearly didn’t mind having elaborate white frieze wrapping the walls and stained glass panels in the front door.  Ponk had their fair share of hospitals, a good few years working at them, and this one was, in theory, the same institution, but the waiting room was quiet and calm and far from overcrowded.  One look at Ponk and they were taken back to a room immediately.

Eret and HBomb stop in the waiting room.

Ponk turns back, “could you..?”  They feel so childish, but they’re scared of being alone right now.

“Of course, I didn’t want to overstep,” Eret agrees immediately, following them with HBomb still at her side.  She’s looked spectacularly out of place all morning, still in an evening gown, still obviously fresh out of some party.  Ponk tries to not feel guilty for keeping her longer, knowing if they said Eret and H could just leave they’d insist on staying.

The nurse checking them in is clearly startled by Ponk’s injuries.  Ponk can imagine this hospital’s most dire emergencies swing more toward cardiac arrest and maybe the occasional car accident.  Ponk’s work experience pre-mob life had leaned more toward grotesque injuries from working with machinery and bullet wounds.  A lot of bullet wounds.  Which, evidently was how they got into the mob life.

And how they met Sam.

Fuck– could they think about literally anything without it hurting so much?

They’re not kept waiting long, Ponk remaining hunched forward, broken arm held close to their chest.  The doctor who helps them gives them painkillers immediately.  Ponk hadn’t realized just how much pain they were in until there was relief.

They weren’t enough to completely dull the pain of peeling away their jacket from burned skin, already swollen from the break, trying to separate the cloth from the flesh was like ripping their skin off.  The woman cut the fabric free.  It was already ruined by blood and coffee stains at this point.

“It’s a second degree burn.  You’ll probably have scarring, but your nerves should heal back and you shouldn’t experience any numbness,” the doctor told them.  She hesitates.  “I’ll admit I’m not used to treating burns on top of a broken bone.  I’m going to apply a treatment to the burns, and I’m sorry if that hurts your arm.”

Ponk just nods, refusing to look at the wound.  HBomb holds their hand until it comes time to set the bone, there Ponk let go because they didn’t want to hurt him squeezing too tight.

“You’re right, you do have a couple cracked ribs,” the woman winces.  “Remember to breathe deeply during healing even if it’s uncomfortable.  I’ll prescribe painkillers for the next few weeks to help with the discomfort.”

She continues to check them over, Ponk lets their surroundings fade into the background slightly.  Trying not to flinch as she checks to make sure their nose isn’t broken.

“Alright.  If you’ll just wait here for a moment, a nurse will be back soon to get you checked out,” the doctor pauses, “additionally, if you’d like to make a police report, we can have an officer sent–”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” Eret cuts her off quickly.

The woman ignores her for a moment, focused on Ponk.  “And if you would like to speak with me alone, that’s okay.”

“No, I’m fine, really.  I don’t–” Ponk stops.  “I’m good.”

The woman looks over HBomb and Eret warily, seeing Eret’s shades and white cane, inspecting HBomb with particular scrutiny, before deciding she can’t find either of them responsible, and decides to leave it at that.

“We should get her to write a statement confirming your injuries,” Eret says.

Ponk nods.  Right.  They need evidence.  To defend them from Sam.  It still doesn’t quite click right in their brain.

There’s the usual sharp knock on the door, but it’s not a nurse coming to check in.  Ponk is more than a little stunned when they’re dragged by the collar of their shirt and pressed into the wall, an arm across their chest pinning them there and a knife inches from their throat.

“W-What’re you– Ant, why–” They sputter out.

“Hi, Ponk,” Ant sounds perfectly calm.  “Just wanted to check in, see how you were feeling.  Ask how your chat with your pig boyfriend went.”

“I d-didn’t– I didn’t say anything, I swear–”

“Then do you want to explain to me why you aren’t still getting grilled in the station?” Ant presses the flat of the blade against their skin, the cold metal a weighted threat.

“What the fuck is happening?!” Eret asks.

“Uh– Uh, a knife on Ponk–” HBomb stammers.  “Y-You won’t hurt them in the middle of a hospital–”

“Ponk, ignore them.  Talk to me.  Tell me everything you told the cops, and I will let you live, okay?  Promise.  Clearly you didn’t tell them willingly, I’m not here to punish you, I have just got to do damage control,” Ant presses on.

“I swear, Ant, please, I didn’t–”

Ant sighs, “I don’t want to kill you or hurt you, Ponk, but do you really expect me to believe they just let you go?”

“Put the knife down, and back away from them,” Eret has a gun.  She has it leveled exactly with his head, close enough that the barrel touches Ant’s ear.

Ant freezes, but he doesn’t move.  “How’re you gonna know if I listen?” He says dryly.

“Because I have two fucking people in this room that will tell me you incorigable moron,” Eret snaps.  “If you don’t get your hands off my friend, some poor nurse is going to have to clean your brains off the wall, and that would be so rude of me, so if you don’t mind, back. the fuck. off.”  Eret presses the gun in closer.  Ant steps back.  HBomb steps up to Eret and moves her arm so it stays aimed at him.  Ponk stumbles forward, their arm wrapped or not throbs painfully, legs going weak so they lean back against the wall.

“He’s away from them now, knife down,” HBomb tells her.

“I-I’m not lying, Ant.  I swear.  I’m out because Quackity HQ got me out, okay?” Ponk’s unbroken arm holds their throat, the flood of adrenaline is doing its best to overcome the painkillers.

“Quackity HQ?”  Ant stares at them.  “Seriously?”

“Yeah.  Yeah, we know each other from… my previous employer,” Ponk smiles weakly.  “Fucking hell, Ant, you–”

“I’m sorry, Ponk, really.  I believe you.  I just…” Ant sighs.  “I cannot express to you how important it is that the cops don’t know who has been nosing around in the police department.”

“Fine, okay, fair,” Ponk waves him off even though it is most definitely not fine.  “How the fuck did you find me, Ant?!”

“Oh, Punz saw you get arrested.  And I’ve been… sort of… tailing you since the station,” Ant says sheepishly.  He glances to Eret.  “Could you… could you tell her I’m not gonna kill you now?”  Ant quickly stows away his knife.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re good, Eret, but thanks for… for coming up to bat for me, yeah?” Ponk is genuinely touched, if not startled by the fact that Eret has a fucking gun.

“Of course,” Eret nods sharply, lowering the pistol.  “H, let me know if I need to raise it again.”

“Can do.”

“Look, things have… things have changed.  Secrecy is more important than ever,” Ant says with a wary glance at Eret and HBomb.  “I can’t discuss it just yet, but…” Ant refocuses, giving Ponk a once over.  “Sam Warden arrested you?”

Ponk doesn’t know why they feel ashamed.  Not of getting arrested, not of the actions that caused the arrest, but because they had been naive enough to give their trust and love to a man who hadn’t hesitated to turn on them.  Ponk knows what Ant is thinking, maybe HBomb and Eret as well, that’s what happens when you date a fucking cop.

“Yeah.  He did,” is all they say instead.

“And he did all this?” Ant gestures to them in general.  Ponk hesitates for another moment, but they nod.  “Okay.  He’s out of the deal, then.  I’m not able to negotiate to give that protection to someone else, but–”

“No,” Ponk says quickly.  “No, Sam is still in the deal.  Our issues are our own, I don’t want him dead because of me leaving Schlatt, alright?”

Ant stares at them, like he’s trying to puzzle something out.  Whatever he’s thinking, he seems to reach his conclusion.  “Okay, Ponk.  Got it.  Schlatt won’t lay a finger on him without bloody retribution from us, as promised.”

“And you all too,” Ponk points an accusing finger at him.  “I don’t want the Badlands hunting him down either.”

“The Badlands won’t kill him, even if he deserves it,” Ant mutters.

“Thank you,” Ponk snaps.  “He’s–” Ponk doesn’t know what to call Sam to them anymore.  He’s my problem.  He’s my boyfriend.  “He’s mine, alright?”

Ant raises his hands passively.  “I am giving you my word that the Badlands will not kill the Police Captain, you know that’s worth something, especially considering how useful it would be to have him dead.”

“Okay, good,” Ponk relaxes a modicum.  “A-And you know I didn’t tell them anything, right?”

Ant looks grave, jaw tense.  “Yeah.  And you paid for it.  For that, I’m sorry, Ponk.  I know our arrangement is done, but the Badlands won’t forget this, if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Ant, I…” Ponk hesitates.  They were going to say they wanted to put the mob life behind them, something they had worked for so desperately, for Sam.  Now they don’t know what they want.  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Ant gives them one last nod, about to do the same toward HBomb and Eret before thinking better of it.  “Thanks for not shooting me.”

“You’re welcome.  Be more careful with who you threaten.  You’d be surprised, I’m a fantastic shot,” Eret smirks.

Ant takes that as definitely his time to leave.

Ponk sits down heavily on the hospital bed, somehow more exhausted than they already had been.  “Thank you, Eret.  Truly.  For… for everything,” Ponk doesn’t know what more they can say.  “...where did you have a gun?”

Eret looks delightfully innocent.  “The best dresses always have pockets, Ponk.”

“For a gun?”

“And cash.”

Ponk scoffs, “right, a gun and 15 hundred dollars… remind me to never go to one of your parties.”

“Aw, I would’ve thought all my mystery might’ve made it more tempting,” she teases.

“Maybe,” Ponk smiles.

“Hey, Ponk?  What did you… what did you mean by the whole our issues are our own thing?”  HBomb asks now that things have calmed.

Ponk hesitates.  They are on a lot of painkillers now and are a bit unsure of how honest they should be.  “I had… an arrangement with Ant’s people to get protection for me and Sam.  I really shouldn’t say more than that–“

“No, not that, Ponk.  You’re not…” HBomb nudges Eret as a replacement for giving her a pleading look.

“I think HBomb is trying to say he’s… concerned.  The way you said that–“ Eret pauses, lips a thin line of worry.  “I think we might just be… a bit curious about whether or not you are planning on…”  Eret doesn’t know how to do this.  “…going near Sam any time soon?”  Is how she tries to phrase it.

“What?  No, fuck no.  I don’t think he’d even let me.  I was hoping to get some of my shit from the apartment before he gets off work.  I know–“ It’s Ponk’s turn to freeze.  This shouldn’t feel so complicated.  “I know going back to Sam isn’t smart.”

“Okay, cool.  That’s good,” HBomb nods encouragingly.  “But like, this might sound weird, but if you did go back to him or something, we’d still be here to help you if you ever decided to leave again, you know?”

“Exactly, Ponk.  Any time,” Eret agrees.

“Right.  Thanks,” Ponk is almost baffled.  They’re talking to them in a way that’s almost textbook.  Ponk more than once had to treat injuries in the ER that definitely weren’t from ‘falling down the stairs’ and tell a quiet patient that help would be there whenever they were ready.  They know you can’t force someone to leave an abusive relationship, that the best thing is to give them a way out.

HBomb and Eret are giving them a way out. Meaning…

That’s what this is, Ponk.  Your boyfriend hurt you.  Actually properly hurt you.  What else would you call it?

“He… he’s never done anything like this before.  Fuck–“ Ponk’s unbroken arm wipes their eyes quickly. “He has never fucking hit me, alright?  This wasn’t–“ Ponk did not want to cry right now.  “I’m not defending him.  I’m not, it’s just– I wasn’t living with this shit, you know?  This is— This is how things have changed.  Sam isn’t– He wasn’t–“ Ponk doesn’t even know what they’re trying to say, Eret and HBomb both so willing to listen, just waiting.  “This is wrong.”

Ponk might mean it in the moral sense to some extent, but they also mean it’s wrong the way oil mixing with water would be wrong, the way a fruit which never rots would be wrong, the way a pig fucking flying would be wrong.  It’s wrong because Sam has done the impossible.  He’s hurt them in a way he can’t come back from.

#my writing #mafia au #ponk my beloved <3 #as always feedback is cherished ^-^

[goji-pilled]

MK-S: Homubey and Klarissa Halloween chat in the multiverse bar. Though it actually ends up being a more Homubey and a Bar Homura story. Enjoy.

No.

“Oh come on, please?” Klarissa pleaded towards Homubey.

I said no. Homubey repeated with telepathy.

“Why not? What’s the harm in it?” The witch girl questioned the alternative version of her mother-turned-Incubator.

I’m not going to a Halloween party as your black cat, surrounded by magical girls and witches, while I’m still one of the damn things that put everyone into this mess! Homubey shot back, scowling as best as she could with her Incubator face. (The resulting look would have disappointed Homubey and would have made several of the other Homuras in the Akemi-Ya multiverse bar burst into laughter. Klarissa did her best to keep a straight face.)

“Hey, language!” Bar Homura shouted from further down the counter where she was serving another customer/Homura.

We’re all adults mentally here!

“Um, I’m still in my teens.” Klarissa stated.

Homubey growled, both in the minds of everyone within a few meters, and physically through her small mouth. Several Homuras turned to look towards the audible sound. Real Incubators never had an emotional drive to growl, nor desire to make physical noise, so the sound that was produced was a rarity; something they were all grateful for, as it sounded akin to glass both shattering and grinding at once.

I need some air. Homubey growled as she hopped off the bar counter. She hated how much other versions of her had to tilt their heads down to see her leave. It should have been eye level, the same eye level as her. But no, one version of Sayaka Miki just had to see what would happen if she dropped a soul gem in an Incubator. She finally crawled out the front door and went around to the back of Akemi-Ya. She hopped up a few of the nearby pipes and window ledges until she was perched on a small pipe.

Homubey closed her purple eyes and breathed deeply. At least that was something she could still do that functioned just like her old body. She could feel some sort of interior sack filling with air when she breathed in, as well as said sack shrinking when she breathed out. She was still hesitant to call whatever it was “lungs” (or singular “lung”) though; some early experiments on Kyubey had taught her that Incubators had no biological need to breath oxygen, or any sort of gas in the air. They could survive indefinitely in a vacuum.

And I guess I can too… Homubey thought to herself. She didn’t know what to make of that fact: It could have its uses, but it was just one more thing to remind her of her new circumstances.

Her ears perked up (Ugh) as she heard footsteps approaching her. Bar Homura (the only Homura here who was actually starting to look her mental age,) was walking over to her.

What do you want? Homubey thought at her-what would have been her older self.

“I figured it’s about time we talked.” Bar Homura answered.

Talked about what? Homubey did her best to convey a feeling of annoyance with the message.

“You, obviously,” The older and still human woman stated. “But I have a feeling you already knew that.”

Yeah, what else is there to talk about? Homubey sarcastically responded, pointing an ear…feeler? Ringed tentacle appendage towards the non-sky. The freaking weather? Bar Homura chuckled.

“I think that’s the first time you’ve made a joke since you got here.”

Don’t get used to it.

“I don’t expect to.” Bar Homura leaned against a wall, head tilted upward to look at the black cat-like body resting on the pipework. “And that’s sort of the problem.”

Homubey raised an eyebrow…or she tried to, before she recalled she no longer had them anymore. She growled in frustration.

“You don’t really do much more than just sit around and sulk in my bar.” Bar Homura continued.

I’m stuck in the body of an Incubator. Homubey huffed inside the elder Homura’s head. There’s not much more I can do like this.

“You could go to that Halloween party.” Bar Homura countered and then waited for a response to her suggestion.

…No.

“…Made me wait quite a bit for a one word answer.” Bar Homura observed. “That makes me wonder…”

I wasn’t considering it. Bar Homura raised up her palms defensively.

“No, no, I wasn’t implying you were.” She stated, setting one hand down and raised the other to cup her chin. “But I can’t help but wonder if you were going over reasons why you don’t want to go.”

Aside from it being a pointless waste of time? Homubey asked sarcastically.

“Would it be any more wasteful than sitting around here?” Homubey was silent. Bar Homura sighed. “Take your time, I know it can be hard to put our emotions into words.”

They two stood together in silence for a few minutes before Homubey resumed the conversation.

I just…I don’t want them seeing me like this.

“Them?” Bar Homura inquired, raising an eyebrow.

Madoka naturally. Homubey answered. But also their version of me. I think we called her “The Victor” or something like that. And their version of Sayaka, I don’t know…The iteration who did this to me has come and gone. I can’t be mad at every version of her, but I…

“You know,” Bar Homura began after Homubey’s voice fell silent in her head. “Klarissa’s talked about that sort of thing before.”

I bet she would. Must be strange, seeing so many copies of her mother-

“That’s the thing though,” Bar Homura interrupted. “She doesn’t view us as copies of her Homura, her mother.”

Then are we what her Homura could-

“The closest comparison involving family would have us being her aunts,” Bar Homura explained. “Or many, many of her mother’s twin sisters. And that’s if she’s viewing as as family at all.”

…I could follow along with the notion of viewing us as aunts and siblings of her mother, but now you’ve lost me.

“Apparently…Phil,” Bar Homura said the name quickly, quietly, and with a shutter, as if she was violating some taboo by uttering the simple name. “enables her to explore other universes. A bit like alternative time flows, but with no limits of any kind.”

What limits? Homubey inquired.

“That there are Magical Girls at all.” Bar Homura explained. “Or that it’s Madoka that needs saving. Or even if there’s a Madoka to save. And sometimes a lack of a Homura as well.”

A world without Kyubey? It was a surprise to Bar Homura that could her the disbelief through telepathy. Must be paradise.

“She told me she doesn’t like to hang out at those worlds too much.”

That surprised Homubey. Why not?

“Because it’s the opposite of her very existence.” Bar Homura explained. “She told me she was born by means of familiars and magic.”

Well, that explains a lot.

“It’s also probably not the real reason she doesn’t like those places. She said that was her best guess as to why, but it could be that, while she finds those worlds quiet, she may also find them boring.”

…I feel that we’ve digressed from whatever point you were trying to make.

“True. But this is the most conversation you’ve had since you showed up in my bar. But with that said…what’s another reason you think you’re turning down the offer and just staying here?”

It may be… Homubey sighed, feeling like she giving a confession. Someone else seeing me…It would just make this too real. Here…I can at least pretend that I’m looking in a mirror.

“Klarissa’s seen you.” Homubey tilted her head to shoot Bar Homura an agitated glance, but instead looked down to the face of a woman in the middle of reconsidering her perspective. “Then again, you weren’t really expecting her to be here. I suppose that makes a difference.”

…It does. Homubey responds to what wasn’t actually a question. She heard Bar Homura let out a sigh.

“Look, I’m just going to start cutting to the chase. You’ve been here, on this plane, for months now. Without leaving it once.” At this, Homubey’s head jerked to look at Bar Homura directly. The older woman looked back up at her. “Don’t look so surprised. You don’t think I recognized that you’ve been headed off in the direction of my old restaurant? You haven’t claimed it, but you’ve been acting like you leave to try your loops again, when you’re still hanging around here. So, I feel I need to ask…why haven’t you gone back?”

Homubey was silent for a while. Given her expressionless Incubator face, Bar Homura assumed the younger, alternative version of herself was growing angry with her. The tone she heard in her head, however, was anything but mad.

I…I-I’m afraid. Bar Homura looked taken aback. That was not the response she expected. Homubey started to shiver slightly as the next batch of words left her mind. I-I’m still in this body in this…place. I don’t…I can’t…if I do go back, am I going to be waking up on my own corpse each time?

A-And how could I make Madoka believe me? It was different when she was there to see it happen, but to just take my word for it? Kyubey is a master at deception, he’d have every magical girl after my head the moment he finds out about me! Her feline-like body was now shaking so much the pipe she rested on began to rattle.

“Homu-“ Bar Homura tried to interject, but Homubey continued spilling her heart.

I’m not even remotely human anymore! Homubey all but cried out, frustration and fury seeping into the transmitted thought as she cursed her inability to cry. I crawl on the ground like an animal. I’m unable to hold or grab anything with these worthless paws. I can’t even hold a knife in my mouth, I got desperate enough to try, just so I could do something, anything! I just, just-

Homubey was interrupted as she felt a pair of hands wrap around her, removing her from her perch on the pipes. She felt herself be embraced in a warm hug.

“It’s okay to cry.” Bar Homura said, cradling the poor black body in her arms.

I can’t…th-this body c-can’t. Bar Homura felt her heart break.

“Then just let it all out any way you can.”

And so Homubey did, wailing wordless cries in Bar Homura’s head. Instead of saying anything, she simply held Homubey tighter, cradling her like one might a small child. After several minutes of the misplaced soul crying out in the only way she could, Bar Homura noticed that Homubey seemed to be calming down. After a moment, Homubey squirmed out of the adult’s arms, and landed gracefully on the ground.

Thank you…for just holding me. Not trying to pet me like a cat. Bar Homura nodded as she also sat down, legs outstretched, and back against the building wall.

“No problem. I have to ask though, are you feeling any better?”

…I think so. It felt good to put those thoughts into words, then get them off my chest. Thank you.

“Anytime, Homubey.”

Not sure how comfortable I am with the name Homubey.

“You’ll get used to it.”

What makes you so-

“We never exactly asked Tamura either. And remember, my name is Bar Homura.”

Homubey made some sort of high pitched vocalization, which Bar Homura could only confirm as a laugh by the chuckle that played in her head.

That is a fair point.

“So what are your thoughts now that we’ve had this heart to heart?”

You and I both know that Incubator bodies don’t have hearts. Homubey sent the lighthearted thought. I’m pretty sure we’ve all checked at one point or another.

“I thought you said not to get used to you making jokes.”

I also said I wasn’t considering the party. I seem to say a lot of things.

“So you plan on accepting Klarissa’s offer?”

I didn’t say that; just that I’m considering it. I still don’t think I’m ready to start another loop, let alone someone else’s loop. Bar Homura just gave her a confused stare. What? Homubey blinked.

“I think there’s been some sort of miscommunication regarding Klarissa’s means of transport.” Bar Homura explained. “Klarissa doesn’t enter here via time travel…I think. I’m shaky on the specifics. She uses…that thing as some sort of taxi, portal maker, I don’t know, I refuse to ask. The point is that you don’t need to find out what will happen to you, at least not yet.”

Well, I don’t know if I could take six weeks of-

“It’s more likely six hours at most.” Bar Homura could have sworn Homubey’s eyes widened. “What? When it comes to that girl, it’s not exactly starting a new loop.”

Then it’s basically tourism?

“Sort of. If I may offer a different perspective,” Bar Homura proposed. “Maybe think of it as a possible trial run of ‘The best case, in the worst case’. You don’t need to find out what a new loop will bring, but you can get an idea on what your best outcome would be if you don’t get your body back.”

The older Homura stood up and started walking towards the entrance.

“Besides,” Bar Homura said, with a sly smile growing on her face as she looked back over her shoulder. “You said you needed some fresh air? Well, I can’t think of anything fresher for a Homura than air from October.”

Homubey was alone now as Bar Homura turned the corner to head back into her restaurant. She looked up at the not-sky.

Yes, she thought, some fresh October air would do her some good.

——————————————————————

And a link back to that Homubey table of contents, because that’s how I roll…

I kinda rushed some parts of the ending a little, as I mainly want to finally publish this. Actually “post” this…technically “ask”; these have been: “the thoughts that went through my head.”

Fun fact, I was actually split on what to make for Homubey’s reason for staying in the bar. I had two possibilities: the one you’ve seen, in which Homubey’s loop failed, and she ended up in this time warp zone, still as an incubator. The other possibility I considered was that her loop was actually successful, but now she’s torn between living an inhuman life with Madoka (and maybe the others) and wondering if she could try a reset to restore her body, but risk that endless loop again. No idea since I don’t know what vicsep’s plan was, but if our two versions don’t match up, then it could be justified as “multiverse”.

While writing this story, I had an idea for a not 100% ideal outcome for Homubey, but one that I think could lead to interesting situations: Homubey wakes up and sees that she still has her Incubator body. She starts to panic, but then hears heavy breathing nearby, she looks and there’s her body staring back at her; then she’s in her human body, looking at her Incubator body. Her soul gem is now an Incubator, while also now being an extension of herself. One soul, manipulating two bodies. This leads to a constant image of Homura with a black incubator perched on her shoulder. Unable to transform or Dispel her magical uniform without direct contact with her incubator body. Homubey would likely think this is not the best, but at least she’s human; plus, now she gets to keep the telepathy as well.

Have a good day everyone! Hope this was enjoyable!

IM SORRY ABOUT HOW LATE IM SEEIG THIS BUT HECK YEAH!!!! SOMETHING THAT ISNT VIOLENCE!!!

#felix answers #io3 #WOOOOOO

[lightsburnbrite]

The Inevitable End: Part 7

"This is your family home?" Leon practically gawked as he looked out the window, their car making its way through the arched brick gate. 

"It's my father's house." Lilli paused as the car stopped and smiled at the man that opened the door for them. 

"Hello, Miss Lilli." He gave a little nod as he closed the car door. "It is good to see you back."

With a genuine smile, Lill nodded as well. "It's good to see you again, Finn. This is my boyfriend Leon. Leon, Finn has been with my family for as long as I can remember."

Both men acknowledged each other as Finn closed the car door behind Leon. Lilli held on to Leon's arm as they walked through the front entrance into the main hall. She guided them off to the side, away from where it seemed like most of the guests were gathering. 

"I hate all the hunting trophies around here." She seemed to be leading them to a particular place but she hadn't given Leon any clue as to where that may be. "Once my father sent me away, the longest, consecutive amount of time I've spent here was…maybe a month? Plus, it's not like it will ever be mine, I'm not the oldest and I've got three brothers."

Leon looked around as they walked and realized that they were moving more towards the wiring part of the house. "I mean, that makes sense."

"Lilli?" A voice called out from behind them. "Is that you?"

They both turned to see an older woman approaching them.

"Annika!" Lilli practically ran to the woman and embraced her warmly before stepping back and holding out her hand to Leon.

"Lilli, you look absolutely wonderful. I was hoping you'd make it home for this."

Lilli turned back to Leon to make their introductions. "Leon, this is Annika, she was my governess."

Leon smiled and held his hand out. "Nice to meet you."

"Same to you." Annika accepted his hand but looked back to Lilli.

With a smile, Lilli nodded. "Leon is my boyfriend."

"Well of course, darling." Annika practically beamed back at Lilli. "Your smile says it all."

"Take good care of my Lilli, please." Annika smiled warmly and placed her free hand on top of their clasped hands. "Now, go, join the party! Henrik has been waiting to see you."

Lilli nodded as they kissed each other on the cheeks and Annika made her exit.

Glancing back at Leon, Lilli seemed to steel herself as they walked to the opposite end of the main hall. They entered a brightly lit sitting room that was almost wall to wall people.There were servers walking around offering champagne and some type of goose liver hors d'oeuvres which they both passed on. Lilli scanned the crowd but ultimately frowned. "I don't recognize anyone here."

"It's certainly a lot of people." Leon leaned in a little closer. "God, I love your perfume."

She knew it was a genuine compliment but it also served as a distraction for he. Lilli kissed him on the cheek. "It's Tom Ford's Black Orchid."

Leon was about to suggest they go find a place to sit when Lilli clearly spotted someone. She quickly grabbed his hand and pulled him along behind her.

"Daddy!" She put her hand on an older man's shoulder, prompting him to turn around.

"Oh, Elisabet. It's good to see you again." He offered a friendly smile as he dipped his head in acknowledgement but Leon thought it odd that there wasn't more emotion there. "Have you said hello to Johanne?"

Lilli was clearly caught off guard by his lack of a reception. "Um, not yet, we just got here. Can I introduce you to my boyfriend? This is Leon."

Leon stepped forward and thought about offering his hand to shake but her father really didn't seem interested. 

"Yes, hello." He offered a half hearted raise of the hand in greeting before turning back to Lilli. "So, have you been keeping up with your studies?"

Lilli's smile started to fade. "Daddy, I finished school two years ago. I work in an interior design firm."

"Ah, right, well, good for you." It appeared to Leon that he was looking for some sort of out. "Don't forget to say hello to your stepmother. Excuse me."

Pressing her lips together tightly, Lilli watched him walk off. She took a breath and then put on a smile once she turned to face Leon. He knew instantly not to comment on their interaction, at least not in the moment. 

"Sisse! You made it!"

Leon turned to see a man, a few years older than Lilli approaching them. There was no doubt that this was her brother, Henrik. Even if Leon had not seen the picture of the two of them that Lilli had in her apartment, they were remarkable similar. Henrik's hair was darker and obviously his features were more masculine, but they had the same eyes, the same smile.

"Riki!" Lilli's face instantly lit up as she moved closer towards her brother.

They embraced for a moment before Henrik stepped back and placed his hands squarely on her shoulders. "God, it's good to see you. What sort of trouble have you been getting yourself in to?"

"The usual." She gave a cheeky smile. "Here, there's someone I really want you to meet."

"Ok," Henrik laughed as soon as he saw Leon. "I heard you were bringing someone with you. When were you going to tell me you were seeing a professional football player?"

Lilli shrugged. "Because he's Leon to me. Not his career."

"If it makes you feel better," Leon playfully draped an arm over her shoulder. "I only found out about being a Countess yesterday."

Henrik gave a knowing grin. "You should feel special. You're the first boyfriend I've actually met!"

Lilli started to respond but the sound of a fork tapping against a glass got everyone's attention. Henrik's fiancé, Camille, stood in the doorway. "I hope everyone brought their appetite, dinner is served!"

The group began to file in to the dining room to their seats around the large table. Leon figured that there needed to be some sort of order since it was a somewhat large gathering but he still got a kick out of all of the little place cards. He was behind Lilli but notice that she hesitated slightly once it became apparent that they were seated at the opposite end of the table than the rest of her family.

"Wait, this can't be right right." Almost everyone turned to see Henrik looking at the place cards around him. "Who arranged this? Why is Lilli all the way down there?"

Lilli tried and eventually caught his eye, giving her head a slight shake, a silent plea for him to let it go.

An older woman placed her hand on Henrik's forearm in an attempt to placate him. "With everyone you and Camille invited, it was a little tricky arranging everyone. We wanted to keep the family togeth-" She stopped herself as soon as she realized what she had implied. "Here, we can just do some quick rearranging."

"No," Lilli spoke up. "It's fine." 

Leon took a few steps forward and found their seats, pulling Lilli's chair out for her. Once they were settled, he took her hand in his. "Doing ok?"

"Yep." Lilli unfolded her napkin and placed it on her lap. "Fine."

"Alright, so, what do we have here?" Leon looked over the plate that was sat in front of him.

Lilli leaned in and moved a small aperitif glass closer to him. "That's Aquavit, start with that before your food. But it's a…it's a different flavor."

There was a delayed reaction as Leon pulled a face once he finished swallowing the shot. "Wow."

"Told you." She smiled wryly, giving his thigh a pat under the table.

Leon nodded, blinking a few times. "That's definitely different."

"Looks like they went traditional." Lilli picked up a fork and discreetly pointed to the various food on their plates. "Frikadeller, essentially a veal and pork meatball. Then that's a potato salad and pickled red cabbage."

Picking up his fork, Leon hesitated and then went for the potato salad.

"Yeah," Lilli leaned in. "Not my favorite either. We can get something else back at the hotel."

They both made polite conversation with those around them, Leon ended up speaking with an uncle of Lilli's. He had not seen her since she was a child and didn't even realize it was her at first. 

As the meal was winding down, there were various toasts from friends and then their father and stepmother but it wasn't until Henrik and Camille stood that Lilli seemed to pay attention.

"We'd like to thank everyone for joining us this evening. It's been so lovely to meet Henrik's family and to be welcomed with such open arms." Camille spoke with such well mannered elocution that Lilli figured she had to have come from an old money background. With the way her stepmother fawned all over her, it was almost certain that she wasn't a commoner either.

"Now, we'd like to invite the older generation to gather for drinks and reminiscing," Henrik looked over to their father and winked. "For the rest of us amateurs, a bit of fun and dancing in the ballroom."

While Leon stood, Lilli stayed seated and waited for most of the group to disperse. "I guess we'll stay for a bit longer."

"Whatever you want." Leon held out his hand and encouraged her to stand. 

"Elisabet!" Lilli turned to see her stepmother approaching. "Elisabet, I have someone I'd like you to meet. This is Count Friedrich Richard Oscar Jefferson von Pfeil und Klein-Ellguth. His grandfather is Prince Richard von Sayn-Wittgenstein-Berleburg. Richard, this is Niels's daughter."

With a patient smile, she nodded at the young man who looked as put on the spot as she felt. "Hello."

Johanne gave her a little nudge forward. "Perhaps the two of you could get together for dinner tomorrow."

"Oh, no, sorry." Lilli moved herself back closer to Leon. "We're leaving tomorrow morning. Leon  needs to get back to training and I've got work."

As soon as Richard had excused himself, Johanne frowned. "Elisabet, I've spent a lot of time finding a suitable man for you. I'd appreciate it if you would put some effort in to getting to know-"

"Johanne," Lilli cleared her throat. "I appreciate that you want what is best for me but I am very happy with Leon. I don't need you trying to set me up."

"C'mon, you two, we're waiting!" Henrik poked his head out from the doorway and Lilli thought to herself that she had never been happier to be interrupted.

Leon and Lilli followed him to find Camille standing in the middle of the ballroom surrounded by balloons at her feet.

"Well," She smiled. "Who wants to play the balloon game?"

There were a few murmurs as people speculated as to what the game entailed while Camille seemed to revel in her role as ring leader.

"Alright, we need teams of two each. Couples, naturally pair off. So every team gets ten balloons and the winner is the team that pops all their balloons first." Camille called Henrik over to demonstrate. "But there is only one way in which to pop the balloons."

Camille proceeded to stand behind Henrik and place the balloon in between them. Putting her hands on his hips, she simultaneously pulled him against her while she thrust her hips towards him. The balloon popped immediately and the rest of the group roared with laughter.

"You all need to take turns too," Henrik spoke through the laughter. "Not just one does the thrusting here."

The ballroom erupted with shrieks of laughter and the sound of popping balloons. Adding to the hilarity was the fact that some balloons simply refused to pop. By the end, Leon practically had to hold Lilli up as she was laughing so hard she could barely breathe.

Camille pulled Lilli away in search of another glass of champagne and Henrik took the opportunity to speak to Leon.

He gestured over to a terrace in a now quiet corner of the ballroom.

"So, I know that my sister is serious about you, otherwise you wouldn't be here." He took a sip from his glass and looked out over the horizon, hand in pocket. "How do you feel about her?"

Leon glanced over and shrugged. "I don't really know how to quantify how much she means to me but I don't really want to think about my life without her in it."

"And what if the best thing for her was not having you in her life?" Henrik took another drink and then turned towards Leon. "Would you be willing to let her go if it meant she could have a better life?"

#leon goretzka #the inevitable end #football fanfiction #football fanfic

[fandxmslxt69]

42 & 43 for invasive asks 😘

hi pretty girl <3

42. what do you think is the best room color?

HMMMM. i think greens are nice. yeah its my fsavourite colour but its also calming. like ok this is weird but im obsessed with green for bathrooms. like green and rustic browns and whites. its SO GORGEOUS and it would be so...oh my god yeah.

I also think like shades of browns and whites and golds are really cute. kind of like that lightish aesthetic vibe? hella cute too. i like home-y vibes so a lot of neutral tones but not those office building whites and greys. like earthy browns and leafy greens and woods. mmmmmm. yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

anyway i cant remember if i answered this properly. yeah yeah earthy tones and light colours. mmmmm. white is also nice to give it kind of a open space vibe. MY current bedroom is a very light sea green and my closet doors are all woody/bamboo designs and there's lots of white everywhere. it fits very nicely. but i would not die if i had a cute like...light brown room. cute beiges and golden hues.

like hello its cute. i dont LOVE the lack of colour (hence why i like the green bc you can add so much with it) but i think its very comfy, especially for a kitchen. most definitely for a kitchen.

ANYWAY MY MAIN ANSWER IS GREEN OMFG YOU DID NOT ASK FOR A WHOLE THESIS SORRY (my passion is interior design i cant be that sorry actually) yeah green. bc it offers that nice element of elegance (like darker shades of green) if paired with the right colours ( whites, blacks, gold) but can also give a homey rustic look for those earthy greens and some browns and whites and beiges, but ALSO an open air sort of look with lighter sea greens. mmm. yeah yeah yeah. UGHGBUJHBUGHUGHJGUJGH

43. what books did you grow up with?

oh man okay. Um. the FIRST book I read was. Harry Potter at the ripe little age of 3rd grade. dunno why but i saw it and i was like "what the hell." and then i got SO BORED bc Words. but then I read Charlotte's Web!!! and i loved it so so much. umm. But yeah primarily Harry Potter throughout a LOT LOT of years. My mother has a collection of her old books in arabic too so it was the perfect excuse. the first book gift i actually got was (from her) the third book. Very neat of her but it started an obsession and she regrets it.

Um oh I also read a LOT of those WISH romance stories? hang on omfg

this book. I bought that book from the book fair in primary school. i still have it- given the cover is completely ripped off and its so worn out from so many rereads (I owned a total of 5 books up until 2-3 years ago) but its my favourite. I read so so many others ones but this one stuck. Anyway that's where my romance addiction really started I think. I was obsessed. I still am. it's...yeah. t's special to me.

I also read Percy Jackson when I moved to a very rich school and had the pleasure of exploring the 2 floor huge ass library they had. It was a blessing. I had left some artwork behind when we moved and they have t hung in the library (I literally lived there oh my god ahaha).

OH OH THERE WAS OOOOH M GOF OKAY

god ciara you opened pandora's box with this one

i read these books. oh my fucking god i own the series- msot of it. i ALSO read them at the rich fancy school which my parents paid like 5000$ for anyway

HELLO. it started my love for fantasy i think. i loved harry potter i DID and while i do enjoy books that are similar to it (heavy fantasy, big magical systems) such as, for example, ACOTAR bu SJM (I have not read those books. But they are a big example and similar genres to Harry Potter)

I really really love the simple easy goings of retellings and silly little fantasies. Land of Stories literally shaped my life. It's why I gravitate much more towards fantasies like the Caravel series by Stephanie Garber or Once Upon a Broken Heart by Stephanie Garber (she 's my favourite author EVER.). they're light and they have that princess-y magical vibe- not the wands and wizards magic or the supernatural magic but more like....the fairy tale magic. im a simple girl at heart. give me fairy tales and i will giggle to myself for hours on end.

anyway yeah. those are the books that pretty much shaped my whole life. i got into historical retellings and sci fi and shit way after but those books got to me and influenced me so much I can pinpoint the exact points of how they changed me and how they led to me reading ehat i read today

anyway.

anyway. i will shut up before i get to more.

I LOVE YOU CIARA

#clem talks <3 #moots <3 #SORRY I GAVE A WHOLE ASS PRESENTATION #I JUST LOVE BOOKS AND HOUSES

[iwannawritelots]

🦫 Wooden Lodge ➳ What would your dream home look like?

🐺 Moon Worshipper ➳ What is your favorite time of day? Be specific.

💐 Bundle of Joy ➳ What's your favorite flower? Google what its symbolism is and share it with everyone.

Wooden Lodge:

Ough I know for another ask game I got this before so I hope it’s not like, super repetitive dhsk. I would really like a house that feels safe for me, so only one story or high banisters on stairs. I’d want to have a proper kitchen so I could make food and be able to properly store ingredients/utensils/cookware. Also a spot somewhere (maybe a closet?) for cleaning supplies and such. I’d really like to have gothic and/or creepy cute aesthetic for most of the house’s interior (can’t be done on the outside probably), and maybe bone art. Bookshelves no higher than my chest with manga and all sorts of books. Comfy couches and chairs, meaning soft ones and not leathery because that sticks and hurts when it gets hot. Also plenty of curtains for the windows (not blinds because those tangle so easily and break). Plenty of room for at least a kitty, if not more animals. Away from noises that will frighten me (racing cars being the concern under the assumption it’s a house, but if it were to be an apartment then also neighbors banging on things…) and enough room for pretty plants to grow. I don’t trust myself to try to grow food haha.

Moon worshipper:

Favorite time of day…? I guess nighttime, like right after the sun sets completely. It’s what came to mind haha.

Bundle of joy:

I don’t really have a favorite so I went with roses. I like red and black ones the most so um… Red roses symbolize love and beauty. Black roses symbolize death, mourning, and rebirth.

Thank you for asking, Lance!

#lance mail #forest hag’s ask game

[wolferine]

Heart Skips a Beat - Part 4

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Natasha faces her worst nightmare when a rescue mission goes wrong…

Warnings: Violence, blood, torture

Word count: 2843

Part 3

Tags: @blkmxrvel @blackxwidowsxwife @marvelwomen-simp @phoenixofash @marvels-bitch-boy @when-wolves-howl @bitterlime13 @hallecarey1 @orangewheein @unexpected-character

AN: I apologize if some tags don’t work! Tumblr can’t find some of your usernames.

After listening to Steve’s plan, all four of you—technically five, since Bucky had to tag along—take the Quinjet to Siberia. The goal was to break out the five soldiers in Bucky’s former task force and bring them back to the Avengers Tower, where there was the technology to free their minds from HYDRA. 

Each of you were armed with a mask which would spray a powerful sedative into the face it was applied to, keeping the victim unconscious until it was removed. It was the simplest solution to taking down the super soldiers—when Bucky had been skeptical, Natasha had slapped a mask on him and he was out before he hit the floor. You were pretty sure you pulled a muscle from laughing so hard.

Now, you and Natasha sat in the cockpit while the others sat behind you.

“Hey, Y/N,” Bucky says suddenly.

“Yeah?” You don’t even look over your shoulder.

“I’m…sorry for shooting you.”

“Twice,” you clarify. “I didn’t forget the count.”

“Sorry,” he repeats.

“Well, as long as you don’t mistake me for Steve again, I’ll be okay,” you say with a chuckle.

“So, just to reiterate our plan, Bucky will be with me and Clint, and Nat, you’ll be with Y/N,” Steve says.

“Even Captain America knows better than to break up the power couple.” You grin and reach over to put your hand on her thigh. Without taking her eyes off the controls, she takes your hand and interlocks your fingers.

“Yeah, so you two just do your thing—” Steve catches himself. “Wait, not that kind of thing.”

Clint explodes into wheezy laughter and Natasha shakes her head, her cheeks reddening. You’re not embarrassed like she is, but you’re still quick to defend yourselves.

“It was one time!” you protest. It had been a mission where everything that could’ve gone wrong did, and you and Natasha were convinced it would be your last. You two decided to end it wrapped around each other, but then the rest of the Avengers had barged in and said there had been a miscommunication and it wasn’t the end of the world after all. It was the one mission you would never live down.

“Just keep it professional, please,” Steve begs. “No matter what happens, we’re all going home alive, okay?”

Bucky looks completely lost.

Natasha lands the Quinjet in a flurry of snow and all of you exit the warmth of the plane.

“I should’ve brought one of your hoodies,” she mumbles, walking as close to you as she can without tripping you. 

“It would’ve clashed with your uniform,” you say, putting your arm around her waist. The super soldier serum in your veins causes you to run a higher-than-average body temperature. You feel as comfortable as if you stepped out of hot shower.

The facility is the only building for miles. It looks big enough to fit a space rocket and has a dull, concrete exterior. The only security is a chain-link fence with a frozen padlock that Steve breaks open with his shield. You file through the gate, and Bucky inputs a code into the door to grant everyone entry. The interior is just as disappointing as the outside. Nothing but a maze of concrete halls with metal doors. The ceiling has dripping water stains and an uncomfortably musty, moldy smell hangs in the air.

“I bet you’re really glad you escaped this rust bucket,” you say to Bucky. He only shakes his head.

“Stay alert,” Steve advises. “We’ll split here. Keep us updated on your position and if you find anyone.”

“Copy that.” You and Natasha turn right while the others turn left. She finds a flight of stairs and you follow behind her. You unholster your gun, holding it at the ready by your side. Natasha makes random turns and ignores every room you walk by. You listen intently for any sort of noise that would indicate a person lurking in the shadows, but so far, there’s nothing.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” you ask.

“Do you?” she snaps.

“Hey, I’m just following you.” You back off. Even though you know this is no time to be making jokes, you still can’t help yourself. High-stress situations make you nervous, especially when you’re with Natasha, because anything that could happen to you could happen to her.

When you pass by a room with its door open, you see a large glass tank big enough to fit a human and filled with murky green water. For a reason you can’t explain, you feel yourself drawn towards it and you step into the room, a chill raising goosebumps on your skin. You reach out to touch the tank’s wall and close your eyes.

You’re floating in a tank of your own, tubes running out of your nose, mouth, and down every limb. You jerk around wildly in the water tinged pink with your blood. Your lungs seize for air, but every breath you inhale is wet and salty.

“Shall we go another round?” you hear someone on the other side say.

“Might as well. No pain, no gain, right?” someone replies.

You want to bash your hands against the glass, but you’re too weak to have any control over your movements. You feel a sharp pain in your lower back, at the base of your spine, and your body arches as more drugs are pumped into you. You have no breath to scream with as your body twists in agony. It feels like a fire eating you from the inside out, burning through your bones, and you want nothing more than to wither away to ash...

“Hey.” You jump when you feel Natasha’s hand on your shoulder. “What are you doing in here?”

“Um, I…I thought I heard something,” you lie. Natasha frowns. Like Steve and Bucky, you had been a lab rat yourself, although not to SHIELD or HYDRA. You had been passed around other government agencies—at least, that’s what you think. Most of your memories of that time were fuzzy, which you were fine with. The ones you did remember weren’t worth reliving anyway.

“Y/N.” Natasha looks concerned.

“We’ll talk about it later, okay?” You don’t want to interrupt the mission with your personal problems.

She knows better than to push you, especially at a time like this. “Okay,” she says, leaving the room. You take a minute to collect yourself. When you finally turn around, you see a black-haired woman, shorter than Natasha even, standing in the doorway in the same vest Bucky had worn the first time you met him.

“Hello,” you say, holstering your gun. You’re not going to shoot someone who looks like she’s barely of age. “You must be one of the super soldiers Bucky told me about. Who was your target supposed to be? Romanoff?” you tease.

“Thor.” The woman’s voice is dainty. Her body is literally the size of one of Thor’s arms. There’s no way she’s telling the truth.

You laugh. “That’s cute. But this is no place for a kid,” you say, walking towards her. But she sees that you’re too casual, your guard let down too low, and takes advantage of that. “Now all I need is for you to put this mask on and—”

The woman launches at you with a speed you don’t even process. She swipes your legs out from under you, causing you to crash on your back. Then she’s on top of you, hands around your throat. You reach into your pocket for your knife, all jokes lost with her attempt to take your life.

You flip the blade out and swing at her face, but she’s quick to dodge and rolls to the side. You jump to your feet, wondering where Natasha is. But you’re too embarrassed to call for her help, even if this soldier claims she was given the task of taking out the god of thunder.

The woman is impossibly fast and she lands blow after blow on you while you stagger back and slash out helplessly with your knife. When she kicks you in the stomach and your back collides into the water tank, you’ve had enough. 

You switch your knife to your left hand and aim for the woman’s neck. She grabs your wrist and twists it around so the knife turns towards you. Your eyes widen as she puts her entire body weight behind the knife. The blade sinks into your shoulder.

“What the—” You don’t even register the pain, more upset that you’ve been harmed with your own weapon. The woman grins, distracted, and you punch her in the throat as hard as you can. Her eyes bulge and she coughs, her hands flying to her neck. 

You take the mask out of your pocket and shove it onto her face, hearing the hiss as the sedative is instantly released. The woman immediately goes limp and you have no problem letting her drop to the floor.

“Y/N!” You look up and see Natasha staring at you, arms crossed over her chest.

“I got one.” You puff out your chest proudly.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Natasha comes over and inspects the soldier’s limp body.

“I didn’t need to. I handled her all by myself,” you say, a little annoyed by her doubt in your abilities.

“Is that a knife in your shoulder?” she asks.

“I…Oh, yeah—” 

“Is that your knife?” Being called out hurts more than the actual pain of having the knife in your shoulder.

“Uh…maybe…” You can’t even look her in the eye.

“Y/N,” Natasha growls. “Here, let me take it out.”

You back up until you hit the tank again. “Wait, shouldn’t we—ow!” you yelp as Natasha jerks the knife out.

“You’ve been through worse.” She tries to hand you the knife, but you shake your head, too embarrassed to continue carrying it with you since you obviously can’t be trusted with it. She shrugs and pockets your knife, taking out some gauze and tape to patch up your wound. You rotate your left arm in circles; besides an uncomfortable twinge, it works fine. 

“So, what do we do with her body?” you ask.

“We’ll come back. We need to find the other three first.”

“Three? I thought there were four.” You try to do the math in your head. Bucky had said there five super soldiers, and you had just defeated one, meaning there were four left—

“Three,” Natasha repeats and you look at her in confusion. “Mine’s outside.” Unlike you, there wasn’t a single scratch on her. Together, you leave the room and find a man slumped on the floor, a mask on his face.

“When did this happen?” you ask.

Natasha shrugs, but you can tell she’s extremely proud of herself. “When you were busy dealing with that little girl.”

“Excuse me. According to her, her target was Thor,” you say. “So, I just took out the soldier who was supposed to take down the god of thunder.”

“Yeah, you can keep telling yourself that.” Natasha nudges you playfully.

“Whatever.” You roll your eyes.

“Hey, are you two okay?” Steve asks in your earpiece.

“We disabled two soldiers on the second floor,” Natasha responds.

“Perfect. We got two down here as well.”

“Who did you take out?” Clint asks.

“This tiny woman and a guy,” you answer.

“How big was the guy?” Bucky asks.

“Maybe around your size?” you estimate, staring down at the soldier Natasha subdued.

“Okay, because the two we took out were also average-sized dudes. The last one—I was hoping it wouldn’t come down to this—he’s an absolute beast. I think he’s almost seven-feet tall and could bench press a plane with one hand,” Bucky says.

“So whoever takes him out wins,” you say. Between you and Natasha, you were certain you could win any fight.

“You’re on,” Clint says.

Natasha and you leave the soldiers where they lay and search the rest of the floor. This time, you take the lead, a little more cautious since you know what to expect. You head up to the third floor, expecting the last soldier to jump out at any moment. The tension of waiting to find him is almost unbearable and your muscles ache from being coiled so tightly.

“You guys find him yet?” Natasha asks through the earpieces.

“Negative.”

Suddenly, a moving shadow catches your eye and you throw out your arm to stop Natasha. A man steps out from around the corner and Bucky wasn’t lying about his size. He’s so tall the top of his head disappears behind the ceiling beams and he looks like he would sweep any bodybuilding competition he entered.

“Never mind, we found him. Third floor,” Natasha mumbles.

“Don’t engage him alone.” That’s Steve’s voice. “Try to stall—”

“Too late” you want to say as the man charges towards you. There is no way you two are taking him down without the use of any weapons; plus, you don’t have any more masks to use. But if you punched or kicked him, you wouldn’t be able to reach his face without catching airtime. You run backwards, fumbling with your options. An idea pops into your head.

“Maybe he has a safe word, too,” you say, crashing into Natasha and shoving her back. “Lizzie! Karen!” you scream the first names that come to you. “It could be a guy’s name—can’t assume anything, right? Chris! Tom! Mark!” The names have no effect other than making you look like an idiot.

“Shut up, Y/N—” Natasha hisses.

The man roars and reaches out, grabbing a fistful of your shirt. He throws you like a javelin and you can’t believe how far you fly, landing on your stomach and skidding another 30 feet.

Natasha tries engaging him, and although she’s faster than him, any punch or kick she lands goes completely unnoticed by him. The man flings her aside like a sack of flour and comes towards you.

You reach for your gun, but before you can bring it up, he kicks it out of your hand and stomps on it. The barrel literally flattens before your eyes, and you roll onto your back to face him. He lifts his foot, which is easily as big as your calf, and brings it down on your right knee.

CRUNCH.

The pain of your leg snapping in half is so blinding and nauseating you don’t even scream. It feels like someone is holding a blow torch to your bones and your entire body starts trembling in shock. The man scoops you up with an arm leveraged underneath your chin, and once you’re upright, you feel the lower half of your right leg dangling like a broken branch.

He lifts you high enough so your feet don’t touch the floor, leaving you scrabbling at his arm and choking on your saliva. Your vision flashes white and you feel the overwhelming urge to vomit as he spins you around to face Natasha.

She has her gun out, pointed at his head. “Put Y/N down,” she orders.

“And what if I don’t?” the man says in a voice that sounds like it came from the depths of the ocean. “You think you can shoot me before I can break a neck?” He squeezes you harder and you whimper.

Natasha pauses to think, and her eyes dart to the side before looking back at the man. “Okay, okay.” She sets her gun on the floor and raises her hands. “Just please don’t—”

“Kick it towards me.” The man crushes your windpipe like a straw and your eyes water.

Natasha reaches out with her foot and sends the gun spinning towards you and your captor. Suddenly, the man tosses you away and when you crumple on your broken leg, you swear you see purgatory. 

“Get on your knees,” the man tells Natasha. She doesn’t obey. “I said, get on your knees!” Very slowly, with a defiant look on her face, she drops to her knees one at a time. The man picks up her gun and holds it in front of her face. “I’ve been waiting years to finally meet you, Agent Romanoff.”

“Well, sorry for not coming around sooner.”

“My comrades may not have been successful in eliminating their targets, but I don’t fail,” the man says.

Natasha looks away from him to you. “I love you,” she calls, as casually as if you two were lounging on the couch watching a movie together.

You blink away tears to make eye contact with her. You can’t move, you have no weapons, and he has a gun pointed at her head. The complete helplessness you feel hurts more than your broken leg, more than Bucky’s gunshots had, more than any pain you’ve ever felt before. There’s a thousand things you want to tell her, but you only have time to say one.

“I love you t—”

But there isn’t even enough time for you to finish your sentence, because suddenly Natasha’s face is covered in blood.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Click here for Part 5!

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff #black widow fanfiction #black widow #marvel

[sweetest-honeybee]

Down to Dust

Chapter 5

Fic Summary: Grian will have to keep the dragon egg secure for the Watchers. But, they’re not the only ones who want it. On a completely unrelated note, Mumbo will have to deal with a version of himself that's only amplified by his No Killing mindset.

Chapter Summary: After a semi-sleepless night with a mysterious and insult heavy voice, Mumbo admits to Grian that he wasn’t exactly honest when he said nothing happened to him before he gave back the egg.

TW: Sleep deprivation (just in case), insults/degradation, and similar things (it’s not a bad chapter but to those a wee bit sensitive)

Word Count: 1441

Notes: None I don’t think

Enjoy!

——————

Your idiocy astounds me.

Mumbo turned on his side and pulled his knees to his chest. It was still dusk, the middle of the night most likely. At least, it felt like he’d been up for hours. Just as sleep tugged at his eyelids in an almost successful attempt at letting him drift into a peaceful slumber, a voice, and a strange one at that, jabbed itself into the back of his mind. It did nothing more but insult him.

How’ve you become so gullible.

It wasn’t just any voice, he discovered. It was his voice. Of course, that’s what thoughts were most of the time, especially particularly degrading ones. However, it was different from his usual self deprecation. It was a deep, distorted echo of his voice, but he recognized it all too well.

And it wouldn’t stop talking.

He didn’t see you take it, you daft spoon.

It was likely just buzzing nerves after the egg’s outburst. His heart still raced at the very thought of it, and when the egg came to mind, so did the eerie voice. Weird things happened after he got his hands on the egg in the first place. Thus, the voice was a new addition alongside an aching in his limbs and an uncanny…guilt, for lack of a better word. Almost as if he’d done something wrong. Like a child that’s broken their parents’ favorite vase.

Must’ve been the leftover shame from Grian’s scolding.

He sat up, leaning his head back on the cold wall of the van and rubbing his eyes.

Grian’s lied to you like he’s done several times before. You’re a fool to trust him.

Mumbo didn’t feel like listening to the gravelly voice. He pulled his hand away from his face and held it in front of him. The fatigue left it blurred against the interior of the van. Only a soft golden light emitted from the windows behind it from the bases outside. It was a nice glow. A soft, serene warmth that he could almost…almost doze off to…

That egg holds a power unlike anything you’ve seen. A thousand times more than all the redstone you can imagine.

He lifted his head from its slow descent to his chest. Power? What was power to him if he was too tired to use it because the damned voice wouldn’t let him sleep. Half lidded eyes trailed towards the hand that was now in his lap.

Why don’t I get it for you if you’re so frightened of your little bird friend.

Mumbo was dozing again. In this state, he mumbled to himself.

“Don’t even know who you are,” was all that slurred from his lips. He decided to humor the voice anyway. “Just some thought.”

Who I am hardly concerns you.

“You keep insulting me. Why would I listen to-“

Mumbo, it snapped. If you wish to keep questioning me, it’s a futile attempt. My purpose here is to…make a deal of sorts.

“Deal,” the redstoner echoed with a short nod. “I must be very tired. I’m making deals with myself. Mhm, what kinda deal.”

I need a little bit more power. You retrieve the egg, then we can talk more.

“I can’t…get the egg. Grian has it.” He snorted. “If he hid it well this time. Didn’t you say you could just get it?”

If a vexed businessman with less common sense than a beached squid can find it, I’m sure you can. As for the offer, I unfortunately cannot get it alone.

“I’m not very helpful.” Mumbo yawned. “Just some stupid hermit.”

Believe me, I’ve heard, the voice sounded as if it were to roll its imaginary eyes. But, you’re the only stupid hermit that I have the capability to ask. I’m asking for your assistance. You want the egg, yes?

“I…do want the egg.” It just causes issues though, he added to himself. But, it could revolutionize everything if he could experiment with it. Test its limits.

Good, Mumbo, you can use it for all kinds of farms. You love farms. Farms, vaults, walking…bases. The voice cleared its throat. Many things, of course.

“Mhm. I do.”

Do we have a deal, then?

Mumbo nodded silently, more so to please the voice and get on with ending the conversation. But, he was just talking to himself, it wasn’t exactly easy to simply turn off your thoughts.

He pulled the blanket over himself. As long as he got some rest, things could go back to being as normal as Hermitcraft would let them be. It was already looking up for him. The voice quieted for longer and longer until he was successful at his final attempt to sleep.

The next morning, however, he was up much earlier than he certainly wanted to be, having been awake a mere four hours later to a knock at the van’s door.

He groaned, finally having just gotten comfortable in the small space. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed at his eyes with a wide yawn. He reached over to the other side of the van, opting to pull the door open from his bed. (Having spider-like limbs came in handy once in a while, he supposed.)

At the door was Grian who looked much more awake- no- alive than Mumbo certainly knew he did. The builder initially greeted him with a smile but before a word even partially escaped his mouth, he grimaced at Mumbo. Though, cringe seemed a better word.

“My god you look awful,” he hissed.

“Good morning to you too,” grumbled the redstoner as he pulled himself out of the van. He stretched, earning a chain of pops down his spine which ended in a satisfied sigh.

“You know, I’d say sorry but I’m not joking, you look like the walking dead. Did you sleep at all last night?”

“A bit,” came a simple answer.

“A bit,” Grian mocked. “When someone says they got a wink of sleep, it’s not a literal statement-”

“Do you need something?” Mumbo turned with a huff.

The avian cleared his throat. “Oh yeah, just wanted to check up on you.” The redstoner only raised a brow. “And you’re out of end crystals.”

Mumbo waved a dismissive hand, only to cover another yawn. “I’ll get those soon.” He began to walk to his potato farm when Grian stopped him with a tug of his arm.

“And I um-“ He sighed. “Sorry again about the whole egg thing. I hope that’s not the reason you look so tired.” Rather than ending in a snort or a giggle, he only looked up at the other with an almost regretful expression. A stark contrast to his mood seconds prior.

Ah, Mumbo guessed that he only came to talk more about the egg. The sentiment was nice though.

Too tired to try to lie, however, he shrugged. “Well, it kinda was but not much to do with you.”

Grian pulled away. “Kind of?”

“Yeah, can’t really explain it. Just nerves I guess.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to choose his next words semi-carefully. “But, I um- I wasn’t all that honest when I said nothing happened when the egg did what it did yesterday.”

This only earned a groan from his friend who accompanied the sound by pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jeez, Mumbo, of course you weren’t. What happened?”

“The egg…I don’t know. When that whole thing happened I was kind of…caught in it. I didn’t run fast enough to avoid this weird wave of energy. Weird stuff’s been happening since.”

“Oh,” was all that left Grian’s mouth.

“Oh?” Mumbo gestured for his friend to continue. “Am I- Is that a good thing? Bad thing?”

“Well did it feel bad?” The avian ran his fingers through his hair. His expression seemed a mix between confused and fearful. Still, wide eyes darted in every direction except the other man.

It only made Mumbo anxious. “What? Is something going to happen to me? Did I screw something up?”

“We’ll that’s the thing, I don’t know! The Watchers don’t know either and-“

The redstoner held up a hand to halt Grian’s answer (or lack of), now mirroring the wide eyed horror on his friend’s face. “Hold on The Watchers don’t know?! Grian you’re a Watcher!”

“Ah, not quite-“

“Not quite?!”

“Mumbo!” snapped the builder. He continued in a hushed voice. “Okay, no, we don’t know. Really, you won’t die but the likelihood is that you might’ve just started a potential dimensional war.”

“I did what.”

#pro tip if you want Mumbo to listen to you just don’t let him sleep lol #pacing is weird which I don’t like but eh #my fic #down to dust fic #hermitcraft #grian #mumbo jumbo #I’ll add a read more here soon don’t worry

[theimmaterialplace]

holding on | emily prentiss x reader & spencer reid x reader | ch. 1: prologue

Summary: Emily is an easy person to love, even if you shouldn't. This becomes apparent when she leaves you after two years of hiding your relationship, if you could call it that, with just a text. It's not long after that you are alerted with news of her death and you break down completely. Confiding in Spencer, the one to introduce the two of you, seemed like a good idea at the time but it becomes something more. You slowly begin to heal and then one day you see her, alive and well, and every feeling you have for her comes back to you. You're met with both your present and your past and you don't know what to do.

Contains: female!reader, bisexual!reader, friends with benefits/ hidden relationships, mentions of death, angst, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 2k

A.N: I like making things complicated and messy so here we are! I hope you enjoy whatever the hell this is! Also, this is first time writing for cm so sorry if the characterization is off; we’ll get there eventually!

masterlist | read on ao3

I want to be the power ballad that lifts you up and hold you down

I wanna be the broken love song that feeds your misery

And I can wish all I want, but it won't bring us together

Plus I know whatever happens to me

I know it's for the better

- Phoebe Bridgers, "Waiting Room"

It’s not uncommon for you to wait on Emily but even this is a new level of tardiness you’ve never encountered with her. She’s nothing if not kind and always alerts you when she’s on a new case or has to reschedule. It worries you to say the least.

You really shouldn’t care this much for her but mistakes are supposed to be made. It’s just that you can’t even begin to consider Emily a mistake but if she is one, she’s the best mistake you’ve ever made.

Sometimes, you think she looks at you with something akin to adoration in her eyes and it takes every bit of your control not to look at her with that same exact look. She’s a profiler, after all, and you’re typically one to wear your heart on your sleeve but she made herself very clear in the beginning.

Your agreement was simply just a friends with benefits situation, no feelings involved. That lasted for a while, truly. You had managed a little over a year with her before you realized that the feeling in your stomach was the fluttering of butterflies. It had frightened you but you decided that she was worth it, even if the decision might come back to haunt you.

Twirling the wine of glass in your hand, you contemplate calling her but decide against it because you don’t want to seem desperate. It may be an accurate description but you weren’t going to show that. Ignoring the waiter who’s been shooting you knowing looks for the past hour, you decide just to leave. You call the waiter over and ask for the check. He just nods at your words; his eyes filled with pity and it pisses you off more than anything,

It’s not that you care that you got stood up because you understand that her work is demanding. It’s more that you’re worried for her because she’s been inactive and short in her recent messages. You hadn’t received a good morning or good night text in days. It makes you wonder if she’s finally gotten sick of you. You’d like to believe that she would at least grace you with a text informing you of this decision but you’re not the best at predicting her.

Emily is a very closed off person and you respect that, you do. It’s just sometimes you wish she didn’t compartmentalize every part of her life into tiny, separate boxes. She likes to pretend that you and Spencer aren’t friends, even though it’s how you were originally met. She tells you that no one needs to know and at the beginning, you were okay with this but lying to Spencer is something you wish you didn’t have to do.

You have to pretend not to know every little bit of Emily she shares with you that she also shares with her team and try not to focus on every little detail he shares about her that you don’t already know. You feel a bit guilty but you figure that she wouldn’t really mind. The only thing that would make her annoyed, never mad because she says anger is useless, is if you mixed her personal life with her work life. You understand to a degree but you also wish that you didn’t have to hide.

Clearly, you were too far gone for her. You always had to take a step back and remember that you weren’t in a relationship with her. If only she didn’t make it so easy to love her. When this ended, you were going to end up heartbroken and that was okay with you. You had accepted that a long time ago but now that you’re actually faced with the inevitable, it scares you.

Emily Prentiss was not the first woman you were with but she’ll be the one to always haunt you. She’s shaped you into the person you are today without even knowing it. You’ll never regret your decision to be with her but you’ll always be left with the “what ifs”.

Lost in your thoughts, you don’t notice the man who sits across from you and it’s only until he coughs that he brings you back to reality.

He’s handsome in a rugged sort of way. If you weren’t so enamored with Emily, he surely would have fired something in you but as it is, she is the only one able to cause a spark in you.

“Hi, I saw you here and couldn’t help but notice how you’re alone. Such a shame since you seem like such a catch.” His voice fits him well and he has a nice smile despite its crookedness.

“Ah, my date couldn’t make it. I guess he got busy with work or something. It happens to the best of us.” His eyes narrow the slightest bit at use of “he” and you wonder why. He’s the one hitting on you, after all. It’s gone as soon as it comes and he’s back to those kind eyes.

“Oh, he’s one of those. Well, I know when I’m unwanted when I hear it. Have a lovely night…” He shoots you one last smile and gets up and leaves the restaurant. The waiter shows up and you pay immediately and get into your car as soon as you can.

It’s only when you arrive at home do you see it. You have one new message from Emily and it brings a smile to your face until you see the contents.

Emily <3

I think it’s time we called it quits.

Don’t contact me anymore.

Goodbye.

At first, you feel nothing. You reread it and reread it until it’s practically ingrained into your vision. You knew it was coming but seeing it actually made it real and before you know it, you’re crying.

You feel like a fool because you’ve known that this was just a casual thing for her. It doesn’t make it any easier to accept. Perhaps what hurts the most is her demand to not contact her anymore. You would have been fine, loving her at a distance but remaining friends. Emily cutting you off completely had never been a possibility in your mind. It almost makes you want to laugh though because although you’d never thought of it, it’s such an Emily thing to do. You just never thought it’d be something to happen to you.

A fool, you might be, but better to have loved than to have not. It’s like you had thought earlier, Emily would never leave you, even if she had in person. There would always be reminders of her in your life; in the interior design of your home, in the music you listened to, in the movies and books you had shared together, and in the hidden, ignored corners of your heart.

It hurt. God, did her short messages pain you but you’d seen it coming. You had time to accept it but that did nothing to quell the tears that fell down your face or the sobs that wracked your body.

You cry yourself to sleep, still in the dress she bought you, the one she said you looked your best in and always brought out her coyness to the fullest.

When you wake up, you’re thankful it’s a Saturday because you can’t imagine facing anyone today. The most you want to do is get drunk on every bottle of wine you own, which is quite a few. You hope it’ll be enough to keep your mind off of Emily.

You go to the bathroom and you can’t help but wince at the image you make. Your makeup has run all over your face and you look like la llorona with the mascara and eyeliner running down your cheeks. Your lipstick is smeared beyond comprehension and overall, you look like a mess, not even a hot one at that.

You look like the stereotypical girl who has just gotten heartbroken and so you scrub it all off until your skin is clear of the previous night’s emotions. You change into something comfortable, throwing the dress into the hamper rather than the trash because you can’t bear the thought of throwing away things from her. Maybe it’d be the smart thing to do but you can’t.

You’re in a sort of limbo and you’re unsure of where to go from here. You’ve accidentally built up your life around her and now that she’s gone, you’re left with nothing but yourself.

-

It’s only a week later that Spencer shows up to your place, looking worse for wear. He looks like you did on that day when Emily broke up with you but worse. His eyes are bloodshot and his nose is bright red against his pale complexion.

“Um, could I come in?” His voice cracks and he only shrinks further into himself and you nod at him, opening the door to accompany his skinny frame.

You guide him to your couch and place the cup of tea you had made for yourself into his hands since it seemed like they needed something in them with all the twitching they were doing.

You sit in silence, knowing that whatever he had to say would eventually come out.

His tea has stopped steaming when he finally speaks up. “Today, my colleague was taken by the person she had been chasing after. We found her and apprehended the person she had been chasing but… But we were too late. By the time we had gotten there, she was already wounded and she was pronounced dead two hours, thirteen minutes, and twenty seven seconds ago. She’s dead and I never got to say goodbye.” With his proclamation, his tears begin again and you take the cup from his hands.

“May I hug you, Spencer?” He nods and that’s all it takes for you to take him into your arms. He sobs into the crook of your neck. It’s hard to connect the image of the nerd you know and care for to the man who’s breaking down in your arms. You rub soothing circles on his back and try to keep up with his words but they’re too quiet and unintelligible to your ears.

The both of you sit there like that for a while. It could have been five minutes or an hour but you can’t tell and you bet he can’t either.

When he finally runs out of tears, he whispers something so quietly that you think you’ve misheard him.

“I never got to say goodbye to Emily.”

Emily . She’s his colleague. He had said she in his retelling of the events. It takes your breath away and you have to stop the tears from coming on because you’re not supposed to care for her, not like this. Not in front of anybody, especially not Spencer.

She’s dead. Emily is dead. It’s a truth you don’t want to accept. It makes you glad that Spencer is still hidden in your neck because you’re sure your face can only show the agony you feel over such a reveal.

Your worst nightmare has come true, it seems. You don’t want this. Anything but her leaving you permanently. She can’t be dead, not the woman who’s changed you so irrevocably and made you feel like life was worth living.

You could accept loving her in quiet, away from her, but not at the cost of her death. You can’t deal with this, not when Spencer needs you so push it away. You shove the pain and agony down until you’re numb.

You’re supposed to be nothing but an acquaintance to her. She hadn’t even loved you. You shouldn’t feel like your heart has been ripped violently from your body and that your soul will always have an Emily sized hole left in the wake of her death.

You focus on Spencer so that you don’t break down and you’re grateful that he doesn’t notice your little episode. You can’t confront this in front of anybody. It’s better to deal with your grief in private, just like everything else you did with Emily. It made sense for the last thing you’ll ever do for her to stay quiet and watch from afar.

#emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x female reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #emily prentiss fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #my writing #holding on