#this sounds better than it did on the cast recording

[springtyme]

munch spencer. that’s it. this is the ask.

𝐀 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐀 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐲) ♡

Yo, doc, what that mouth do? thank you for the ask, hun! I'm sorry it took so long to get around to it <3

Spencer Reid x afab!reader || Masterlist || Spencer playlist

summary: You love Spencer, you love all of him. You especially love that big, beautiful, brilliant brain of his, it does, however, make him talk a little too much sometimes. But there's one activity he loves that seems to effectively shut him up every time.

word count: 4.5k

warning/tags: Smut! (18+, mdni!) Language. Cunnilingus (obviously). Vaginal fingering. Squirting. Multiable orgasms. The moodboard is only for vibes, there is no description of how the reader looks.

The soft glow of the television is casting long shadows on the walls as Spencer’s sweet lips begin to explore down your neck, kissing a trail down your heated skin and down to your collarbone. 

“Did you know that the average person spends two weeks of their life kissing?” he murmurs against your skin, causing you to giggle, the movement of his lips making your skin tickle. His smooth voice sounding huskier than usual, sending shivers down your spine. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your neck, his touch lingering on your collarbone as he leans in closer. 

“Oh, really?” you reply, playful amusement in your voice as you tilt your head back to give him better access.

“Mmmhmm,” he hums against your skin, his lips leaving a trail of desire wherever they roam. “And the longest recorded kiss lasted over 58 hours,” he continues, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, sending a wave of goosebumps down your spine. 

“That’s really interesting, Spence,” you gasp as Spencer’s lips finally reach the hollow of your throat. “But can we focus on the kissing part right now?” you add, gently tugging on his hair. Spencer chuckles softly, clearly amused by your eagerness as he lifts his head to lock eyes with you. 

You love Spencer’s mind; his big, beautiful brain never ceases to amaze you. It is one of the first things that drew you to him. And when he had looked into your eyes for the first time, with those beautiful hazel brown eyes of his, full of warmth and intelligence, you knew you were done for. You love everything that makes him him, but in this moment, all you can think about is the way his lips feel against your skin, the way his touch ignites a fire within you.

His gaze is intense as he leans in, his lips capturing yours in a passionate kiss that leaves you breathless. The world around you fades away as you lose yourself in the sensation of his lips moving against yours, the warmth of his body pressed close to yours. The sound of the television is now just background noise, the documentary you had been watching completely forgotten as your focus now is solely on the feel of Spencer’s lips on yours.

Time seems to stand still as the kiss deepens, a mix of desire and adoration swirling between you and Spencer. His hands move to cup your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek as he deepens the kiss even more. 

You moan softly against his lips, arching into his touch as the intensity of the moment washes over you. Spencer pulls back slightly, his eyes fixed on yours as he breathes heavily, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

“I could spend a lifetime kissing you,” he whispers, his voice filled with emotion.

Your heart flutters at his words, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his sweet declaration. You smile, feeling a rush of love and affection for this man who holds your heart in his hands, but you also feel how a warm flutter of fire hot desire starts to burn in your stomach, a primal need for him burning inside you.

“I could spend a lifetime kissing you too,” you reply, your voice filled with equal parts love and desire as you slowly start to straddle his lap, Spencer’s hands instinctively finding their way to your hips, pulling you closer against him. “But I wouldn’t mind doing a little more than just kissing,” you add, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper as you feel a tingling sensation course through your body at the thought of what could come next. 

Spencer’s eyes darken slightly as he watches you with a hunger that mirrors your own, his hands sliding up your sides and you can’t help but squirm a little at the sensation of his touch.

His lips curve into a mischievous smile before he gently pushes you back onto the couch, his eyes never leaving yours as he leans in, his breath hot against your ear.

“I think we can definitely do more than just kissing,” he murmurs, sending a shiver down your spine. You still can’t believe how confident he has become since you started dating. He is still the same sweet, smart, nerdy Spencer, but now there is a newfound confidence in him, he is not as hesitant. 

The air between you crackles with anticipation as he leans in to capture your lips once again, the kiss deep and searing, sending sparks flying through your veins. His hands roam over your body, igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume you both.

You tug at his shirt, desperate to feel his bare skin against yours, and he responds by pulling it off with a quick efficiency that leaves you breathless. His fingers trace patterns on your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake as he leans in to capture your lips once more.

You are just about to ask him if he wants to stay on the couch or if you should move this to the bedroom when the sound of Spencer’s phone ringing interrupts the moment. Spencer freezes mid-kiss, a soft sigh of frustration leaving his lips as he reluctantly pulls away. 

“Sorry, I have to take this,” he says apologetically as you remove yourself from his lap. You nod understandingly, trying to hide your disappointment, you know that this is just a part of dating someone with as important a job as Spencer, that he has a job that can require his attention and focus at all times.

You take a moment to catch your breath, your body still humming with desire from the moments before, feeling the ache between your legs grow stronger as you hear Spencer answering the call from the kitchen. 

A little pang of hope lingers in your chest as you hear Spencer groaning down the line. “I can’t believe you’re calling me for this now, Garcia,” he says, his voice filled with annoyance. You can hear the woman’s laughter through the phone, followed by some witty banter that makes Spencer chuckle softly despite himself. Doesn’t sounds like he has to leave to go on a case

You have not met any of Spencer’s coworkers yet, they don’t even know that Spencer is dating anyone. Maybe you should feel some type of way about your boyfriend keeping you secret, but you understand his choice. His job is high-stress, demanding, and potentially dangerous. You trust his judgment and respect his decisions, even though a small part of you wishes you could be there for him more openly. 

His colleagues and him are close-knit, almost like a family, and they have their own ways of showing support and camaraderie. It doesn't bother you that he hasn't introduced you to them yet, but you can't help but feel a twinge of curiosity about the people who mean so much to him. 

As Spencer finishes up his call, he walks back into the living room with a sheepish smile, his eyes flickering with a mix of guilt and desire. “Sorry about that,” he says as he flops down next to you on the couch with a groan. “Garcia keeps trying to set me up on a date, it was with someone from her book club this time, says I need to get out more.” he continues, rolling his eyes. “I keep shutting it down, but she’s so persistent.”

You chuckle at his admission, reaching out to run a hand through his tousled hair. “Well, I’m glad you’re not interested in going on a date with anyone else. I quite like having you all to myself,” you say with a teasing smile, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose.

Spencer’s eyes light up at your words, a smile spreading across his face as he leans in to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. “I have no desire to go on any dates that don’t involve you,” he murmurs, his voice filled with sincerity. “Maybe it’s time I introduce you to the team,” he adds, his eyes searching yours for approval. “Get Garcia to stop trying to set me up on blind dates.”

You feel a rush of warmth at the thought of finally meeting the people who mean so much to Spencer, of being able to share a part of his life that he keeps separate from you. “I would love that,” you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. “I’ve been curious about the people you work with, they must be amazing if they’re anything like you.” 

Spencer’s smile widens at your words, his hand reaching out to intertwine his fingers with yours. “They are pretty amazing,” he admits, a hint of pride in his voice. “I think you’ll fit right in with the team.” 

“But they can’t be as amazing as you,” you say, leaning in to press a lingering kiss on Spencer’s lips. The warmth of his smile against yours only confirms the depth of emotion you feel for this man. 

As you pull back, a spark of mischief lights up in Spencer’s eyes. “I think it’s time we pick up where we left off,” he murmurs, his hands already starting to trail down your body, igniting a fire of desire within you once more. 

You can’t help but laugh as you lean in to capture his lips in a hungry kiss. “Sounds like a good idea to me,” you whisper against his lips, the desire igniting once again between you both. “Bedroom?” ask, your voice filled with anticipation and desire.

Spencer’s eyes light up with anticipation as he nods, a mischievous glint in his gaze. “Definitely bedroom,” he agrees, his voice dripping with desire. With a shared grin, you both rise from the couch, hands intertwined as you make your way to the bedroom, leaving the glow of the television behind,  his warm hand holding yours tightly as he pulls you along.

Once inside the bedroom, Spencer pulls you close, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss that leaves you breathless. Clothes are discarded hastily, a sense of urgency driving you both as you fall into the bed, a tangle of limbs and desire. 

“Did you know that making love releases oxytocin, the hormone responsible for bonding and feelings of intimacy?” Spencer murmurs against your skin, his hands exploring every inch of your body as if he’s committing your form to memory. You gasp at the sensation, the warmth of his touch sending waves of pleasure cascading through you.

“I didn’t know that,” you breathe, your fingers threading through his hair as he continues to worship your body with his kisses. 

“Yeah, and it also increases levels of dopamine, the pleasure hormone,” Spencer adds, his voice husky with desire as he peppers kisses along your jawline, his hands skimming over your curves. “Which means that being with you not only feels amazing physically, but it also strengthens our emotional connection.” 

“Oh, really?” Is all you muster for a reply, the husky tone his voice has taken, is sending a thrill of warmth through you.

“Yeah, and cunnilingus has also been shown to have numerous health benefits, including reducing stress and boosting the immune system,” Spencer continues, his voice laced with a hint of playfulness as he looks up at you with a knowing smile. 

You can’t help but laugh at that comment.  You remember how shy Spencer had been when you were together for the first time, the way his eyes had been wide and his pale cheeks blushing as he had asked you if he could go down on you, almost pleadingly, like a parched man begging for water, like your pussy was the water that would save him. And that is exactly how  Spencer eats pussy, with a reverence and devotion you would never guess, and he fucking loves it-You've never before been with someone who genuinely enjoyed giving oral sex as much as Spencer does, and it drives you wild.

“I’m all for boosting my immune system,” you reply playfully, your hands roaming over his body as you pull him closer to you. Spencer grins at your response, his eyes dark with desire as he leans in to leave a sloppy kiss to the side of your neck, sending a hor shiver down your spine. He continues to kiss a wet trail of kisses down your neck  to your chest. 

He is kissing and licking down between the valley of your breasts, his hands sliding down your body to explore every inch of your skin. The sensation of his lips and hands on you is almost overwhelming, the desire building up inside you like a wildfire. 

The only thing you’re still wearing is your now soaked panties. Spencer’s hands slide slowly down to your hips, his gaze meeting yours as he presses a tender kiss to the center of your chest. The intensity of the moment fills the room, the air around you charged with desire as you lose yourself in the sensations of his touch.

Your breath catches as he leans in, his warm breath ghosting over your skin as he trails kisses down your abdomen, his hands deftly hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties, but instead of pulling them down, he lowers his head and places a gentle kiss to the fabric, his lips teasing the sensitive skin beneath. 

A soft gasp escapes your lips at the sensation, your hands grabbing the sheets as he continues to worship you with his mouth, his tongue tracing patterns over the thin fabric. 

Finally he takes the delicate garment between his teeth, gently biting down on the fabric and with a slow, deliberate motion as he uses his mouth to slide the panties down your legs until he reaches your knees and his hands take over, leaving you bare before him. The cool air hits your heated skin as he tosses your panties aside, his eyes locking with yours as he moves back up your body, kissing up your legs until he again is placed between your thighs, his hands prying your legs apart as he settles himself in between them.

His gaze is intense as he looks up at you, the desire in his eyes burning bright as he leans in to press a soft kiss to your inner thigh, his hands gripping your hips firmly. You can feel his warm breath against your core, sending a rush of heat through your body as he begins to slowly explore your most intimate parts with his lips and tongue.

“You are so gorgeous,” he hums into you, his voice filled with adoration and desire. The vibration of his words against your cunt is sending a delicious shiver through you, making you arch your back, pressing your pussy more firmly against his mouth. He groans with content as he nuzzles his face against you, his nose brushing against your clit as inhale deeply, savoring the heady scent of your arousal. 

Spencer’s tongue is warm and velvety as he pushes it through your slick folds. You thread your fingers through his hair, urging him on with soft moans and gasps as he continues to lap into you with a hunger and passion that leaves you trembling with need. 

“You taste so sweet,” he murmurs, his words sending a delicious thrill down your spine as he swirls his tongue around your swollen clit, his hands gripping your hips tightly. You can’t help but let out a cascade of  moans and whimpers as he begins to move your hips in rhythm with his ministrations, making you gently grind against his face as he continues to worship you with his mouth. 

After a little while one of his hands leaves your hips to slide up your body, teasing and caressing your skin as he cups your breast, flicking his thumb over your hardened nipple, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.  

The sound of your moans echoing through the room only drives him further, his movements becoming more urgent as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. Your wet pussy pulses with desire. The bedframe is now creaking under you, Spencer grinding his erection against the mattress as he eagerly devours you. Your head is spinning, the sensations overwhelming you as you feel the coil of pleasure tightening within you.

The dual sensations of his mouth on your pussy and his hand on your breast are driving you wild, the pleasure building up inside you like a tempest. You can feel your orgasm approaching, a wave of ecstasy ready to crash over you at any moment.

You arch your back, gasping for breath as the wave of pleasure crashes over you, your body shaking with the force of your release. Spencer’s name falls from your lips in a breathless whisper as you ride out the intense waves of pleasure, his eyes locked on yours, filled with desire and adoration, but he doesn’t stop. Your body is writhing beneath him, every nerve ending aflame. 

“I know you got more in you,” Spencer’s voice is husky and filled with desire before he teasingly flick his tongue against your sensitive clit. “Want you to sit on my face, love.” 

Your breath hitches at his words, the suggestion sending a rush of arousal through you as you meet his gaze. Without hesitation, you lift yourself up slightly, allowing Spencer to shift beneath you as you straddle his face, settling yourself comfortably in his eager mouth. 

The sensation of his warm tongue lapping at your sensitive folds sends a surge of pleasure coursing through you, your hands clutching at the sheets as you ride the waves of ecstasy that wash over you. Spencer’s hands grip your hips tightly, guiding your movements as you grind against his face, the slick sound of his mouth on your wet pussy mixing with the sweet sounds of your moans and gasps filling the room. He brings your throbbing clit between his lips, sucking gently before flicking his tongue against it, sending another wave of pleasure crashing over you. 

You can feel the tension building within you once again, your body trembling with need. You lift yourself up slightly, feeling the heat of Spencer’s breath against your swollen clit, he lifts a hand to your pulsing core, flicking over your weeping cunt with a speed and urgency that has you gasping for breath. your toes are curling as you gush all over, the clear liquid getting flicked everywhere. You know how much he loves it when he can make you squirt. 

You feel your body tightening with the impending release, the pleasure building up inside you like a tidal wave ready to crash. The intensity of the moment is almost overwhelming as you feel the waves of pleasure crashing over you relentlessly. Spencer’s name keeps spilling from your lips as your body shakes with the force of your release. 

Spencer eagerly drinks in your essence, bringing you to new heights of ecstasy with his expert ministrations. You feel the world around you fade away as you lose yourself in the delicious pleasure he is giving you, his devotion and desire evident in every touch, every caress, every flick of his tongue.

As the waves of pleasure finally subside, leaving you breathless and trembling in the aftermath, Spencer pulls you close, kissing you tenderly, making you taste yourself on his swollen lips. You pull away after a little while so you can look into his beautiful eyes. His lips and chin glistening with your juices. 

“You are incredible,” you whisper, your voice filled with genuine awe as you brush a stray lock of hair off his forehead. Spencer smiles softly, a contented look in his eyes as he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a warm embrace. 

“You’re pretty incredible yourself,” he murmurs, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead. 

“Do, eh… Do you need me to return the favor?” you ask, feeling a surge of desire to give him just as much pleasure as he had given you.

Spencer lets out a soft chuckle while he gently shakes his head. “I don’t think that will be necessary,”  he says, a slight red blush creeping across his cheeks. That’s when you notice the wet, sticky spot on the front of his gray boxer briefs  

“I think I might have taken care of that myself,” he adds with a small, almost shy, smile, causing you to giggle softly. You lean in to press a gentle kiss to his lips, feeling a rush of love and affection for this man who will devour you like a starved man and bring you to the highest of highs, who also blushes after creaming his pants while eating you out. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re really fucking cute, Spence?”tease, your heart filled with warmth and adoration for the man in front of you. as you lean in to capture his lips in a sweet tender kiss. “And so fucking sexy,” you add, whispering the words against his soft lips.

Spencer chuckles, the sound vibrating sweetly against your lips, his cheeks flushing even more at your words. “Only you,” he replies, his voice filled with warmth and adoration. “But I like being told that by you.” You smile, feeling a rush of affection for him as you snuggle closer, reveling in the warmth and intimacy of the moment. 

“I love you, Spencer,” you whisper, feeling his arms tighten around you in response, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. 

“I love you too, more than words can express,” he murmurs, the sincerity in his voice making your heart swell with happiness.

“And here I thought you had words for everything Dr. Reid,” you tease playfully, earning a soft chuckle from Spencer. 

“I may have words for a lot of things, but when it comes to how much I love you, words always fall short,” he says, his voice filled with sincerity. 

You can feel your heart overflowing with love and happiness at his words, knowing deep down that this man truly adores you. You snuggle closer to him, feeling his warmth and love surrounding you like a comforting cocoon. 

“Do you have any plans next Saturday?” Spencer asks, his voice filled with excitement as he looks down at you with a mischievous glint in his eye. 

You raise an eyebrow in curiosity, a smile tugging at your lips. “No, why?” you reply, wondering what he has in mind. 

“Just… Maybe you could meet the team next weekend,” he says, a shy smile playing on his lips.” They mean a lot to me, and you mean a lot to me, it makes sense to introduce you to them,” he explains, his eyes shining with love. “Would be nice to get Garcia off my back as well,” he adds, his playful tone causing you to laugh.

You feel a rush of warmth and happiness at the thought of finally meeting the people who are so important to Spencer, of being able to share a part of his life that he's kept separate from you.

“I would love to meet them,” you reply, a smile spreading across your face. “I can’t wait to finally put faces to the names you talk about so often.”

Spencer’s grin widens at your words, his eyes shining with excitement. “You’re going to love them,” he assures you, pulling you into a tight hug. “I can’t wait for them to meet you. And they are gonna love you. You’re so lovely,” he adds, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead.

“You are lovely,” you murmur, feeling a surge of love and happiness at the warmth and affection in his words as he kisses your forehead again. You snuggle closer to him, feeling content and secure in his embrace, knowing that you have found someone truly special in Spencer.

You lay tangled together in a peaceful silence for a long while, the tranquility of the moment wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

“You want a shower?” you ask, breaking the silence as you feel the stickiness of sweat and other fluids on your skin.

“What about a bath?” Spencer suggests, squeezing you a little tighter.

“A bath does sound amazing,” you agree, feeling a smile tugging at your lips as you shift to look up at him. “You know me so well.” 

Spencer chuckles softly, the sound filling the room with warmth as he presses a tender kiss to your lips. “I aim to please,” he says, his voice filled with affection.

“Hmm, maybe I can please a little too,” you counter, running a teasing hand down his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. 

Spencer lets out a breathy giggle as his eyes find yours. “You don’t have to do that,” he replies, his soft smile making his eyes look like they sparkle as he leans in to capture your lips in a sweet kiss.

“Maybe I want to, Spence,” you reply with a mischievous grin, feeling a surge of desire pulsing through your veins at the thought of returning the favor to him. “After all, we did just learn about all those health benefits of cunnilingus, isn’t it the same with fellatio?” you ask, raising an eyebrow playfully as you trace a finger along his jawline.

Spencer’s eyes widen slightly at your boldness, a hint of surprise flashing in his gaze before a playful glint takes over.  “Well, I suppose it’s only fair to test out those health benefits,” he says, his voice filled with amusement as he stands up from the bed, offering you his hand to help you up as well. 

The two of you make your way to the bathroom, filling the bathtub with warm water and bubbles as you both slip in together. The warm water soothes your muscles as you relax against Spencer’s chest, his arms wrapped around you in a loving embrace.

As you relax in the warm water, Spencer’s hands find yours, intertwining your fingers as you both bask in the peace and comfort of the moment. The sound of the water gently trickling around you is soothing as you lean back against Spencer, feeling his warmth and love enveloping you like a blanket. You close your eyes, savoring the moment of intimacy and connection that you share with him. “I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you in my life,” you murmur, feeling a rush of gratitude and love for the man holding you close. 

Spencer presses a soft kiss to your temple, his voice filled with sincerity. “I feel the same way about you,” he whispers, his arms tightening around you in a loving embrace. 

The words warm your heart, filling you with a sense of happiness and contentment. You feel truly blessed to have found someone who loves and cherishes you so deeply. “I love you, Spencer,” you say, your voice filled with emotion as you turn to press a gentle kiss to his lips. 

“I love you too,” he says, bringing your entwined hand up to kiss your knuckles. “So, so much.”

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are always greatly appreciated ♡

@sadroses98

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[utterlyazriel]

let me keep you company

a/n: a wee break from the doom & gloom of wtssf! it's unedited so i want no flack for that thank u <3 enjoy <3 wc: 5.1k whoops synopsis: You're studying in Velaris and a certain Shadowsinger catches your eyes in more than one way. It takes a while to realise the shadow keeping you company means more than you expect.

For the record, you had never met a Shadowsinger before.

You'd never even seen one. Sure, you’d read about them briefly in your studies and almost every Fae in Prythian had heard about them in whispers and rumours.

Rumours that increased more so when a Shadowsinger rose to become a hand for the Highlord, his own personal spy. Then became the spymaster of the entire Night Court for the next Highlord.

But beyond gossip and unfinished chapters within the scripts of your libraries, the knowledge of Shadowsingers is far limited. They’re rare. For all you know, Shadowsinger’s are a ghost— moving as a shadow, disappearing in and out of the darkness of the world.

You had never met a Shadowsinger before—so it makes sense that you hadn't an ounce of a clue what to expect.

Staring at him now, 6 feet something of pure muscle, you're a bit embarrassed at your own surprise.

Because he's probably— no definitely— the most beautiful Fae you've ever laid eyes on. His hair is tousled and dark, his glorious tan skin that's mostly hidden beneath the black of his fighter leathers, and his amber eyes that laid on you for only one long moment. Breathtaking is the only adequate word for him.

All that beauty and he's a Shadowsinger.

And it's not like you thought he wouldn't be like, well, any other Fae. But also... you kinda did? Mother, you should've known Freya was tricking you when she said they were all just shadow-y corporeal forms.

But she's also not entirely wrong there. There are dozens of wispy shadows that hover around him in constant motion, dipping and flying around his shoulders and if you look close enough, you can see how he seems to ripple at the edges. Shadows blur the edge of his very being.

You wonder if he can disappear into them all together, if that was one of the abilities granted with them. Does he control them? He must, you think, if the title is Shadowsinger.

But looking at him now, his beautiful face turned to face the Highlord you should definitely be listening to, they flit about almost absentmindedly, as though they have a mind of their own.

One curls up by his ear and you watch it, fascinated, more and more questions springing up in your mind— what do they feel like on skin? Do they make any noise? Is that what they're doing now? Talking to—

A sharp elbow jabs into your side, making you jump.

Your head whips to the side, an instinctive scowl almost overtaking your face before you plaster it over with a smile, realising your mistake. Your mentor, Sergei, clears his throat and smiles awkwardly ahead at Rhysand. You blink and take another moment to realise you've been asked a question.

"I'm— I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" You try not to sound as mousy as you feel but the question comes out as a squeak anyway. He is the Highlord of the Night Court after all. You suddenly feel very foolish for being so easily distracted.

Thankfully, Rhysand regards you with an easy smile. He's leaned back in his chair, relaxed, and his violet eyes dance with humour as he flicks his gaze over to where you had just been staring.

"That's alright. Azriel is a piece of eye candy, I can't blame you for staring," He all but purrs, a hint of mirth pulling at his lips as he casts another glance at his Spymaster. You're taken aback by the casualness of his words.

Rhysand continues. "I was only saying that for the duration of your stay, you'll be hosted in one of my homes, the House of Wind. You aren't afraid of heights, are you?"

A smidge of fear pinches at your stomach because, honestly, you aren't overly keen on the idea. But you know better than to turn down the generosity of a Highlord.

You take another glance at the wings of his Spymaster and General and pray that it's not too high up.

"Not... much." You answer honestly.

There's a chuckle from the side of the room and your head swings around at the noise. It's not the Shadowsinger, though he looks as though he's politely trying not to smile, his chin ducked. It's the General, just as beautiful as his brother but in that more rugged way.

He flexes his wings out a bit, showing off their mighty wingspan. "We'll rid you of that fear in no time."

You try for a smile but it might be closer to a grimace.

"Fantastic." You say, not managing to put all your enthusiasm into the word like you hoped.

Another sharp jab of Sergei's elbow in your side. The Shadowsinger, Azriel, huffs a quiet laugh, his amber eyes flashing up to steal another look at you. You try your best not to fluster.

It's going to be a long two months.

—

As Sergei's apprentice, you're expected to shadow him through his allowed time within Velaris.

Which means if he goes to the library, you go to the library.

There's just one problem; the library is down in the city and your temporary home is up in the mountain. The quickest way down is with wings.

Rhysand— or just Rhys as he had told you to call him— had relayed the information that you could ask either Cassian or Azriel to escort you if you didn't wish to take the stairs.

Cassian, the General, had been the one to fly you down and back the first couple of times you had asked and you weren't in any particular hurry to relive the experience.

Cassian was nice and he was more than friendly but seemingly incapable of understanding any fear of heights. You weren't sure if that was just the only way to fly— swooping and dropping fast enough to make you shriek— but it certainly seemed to be Cassian's way.

Which leaves you with the option of either asking the Shadowsinger or taking the stairs.

You get down about two hundred steps before you start to regret your decision. But, also, how in the Cauldron were you supposed to ask him to take you? (Never mind that you had asked Cassian quite easily, albeit very nervously.)

Oh, hi Shadowsinger who I can't stop staring at for both your abilities and your handsome face—care to sweep me into your arms and carry me places?

As if, you snort to yourself.

You take the thousand stairs all the way to the bottom and trot towards the enormous library, pretending your thighs aren't aching with overuse or that you're out of breath. Thankfully, the library itself isn't too far from the House of Wind, carved into the same side of the mountain.

As expected, Sergei is less than pleased with your tardiness.

"Sorry," The word rushes out of you in a wheeze, probably too loud for the library, as you scuttle in the entrance. A few priestesses turn their heads to look at you and you cringe, raising your hands in apology. "Sorry, I'm sorry,"

You focus back on your mentor and try to catch your breath, all while you explain. "I took the stairs and it took—" You huff out a breath. "—way longer than I thought."

Sergei's face softens a bit at your explanation, his face taking on a pitiful smile. "Still not enjoying the flying?"

"You are?" You ask in response. The thought of Sergei, your old-Fae mentor, swept up in Cassian's arms as he dips and dives makes you chuckle just a bit.

Sergei shakes his head as if to change the topic of conversation, deciding you've wasted enough time already. He turns, beginning to head further into the library and you follow behind him closely, eager to brush over your early morning fumble. The cavernous structure within the mountain yawns out ahead of you and you get all of two moments to wonder just how deep down it goes, when—

"You did not ask for a ride this morning."

Azriel steps up beside you, seemingly from nowhere, his steps falling in time with yours with ease. You jump, startled, and your footsteps falter for a moment. You're relieved to say that you only make one embarrassing noise in your surprise.

"I— oh, it's— I mean, I just..." You trail off, feeling flustered. "...like to walk."

You chance a glance up at him. He's wearing that same polite expression from yesterday, as though he's trying not to laugh and you get too caught up in the swirlings of his shadows to remember to be properly embarrassed. Both of you walk in tandem behind Sergei, slowly descending into the lower levels of the library.

"If you insist," He says, his voice low. It sends something warm down your spine and you pray he doesn't notice how your body temperature is definitely climbing.

His amber eyes pin you with another look, his lips twitching into a small smile. "However, if Cassian is giving you trouble, I would be happy to provide a smoother ride."

You flounder for a moment. You don't want to get anyone in trouble.

"I— he's not giving me trouble," You stammer.

Azriel smiles a little wider as if he can tell how polite you're trying to be. He slows to a meander and you realise only after you walk past him, it's because Sergei has stopped himself, turning down one of the many aisles.

You skid yourself to a halt and turn back, praying your flaming face isn't as obvious as it feels. You're not entirely sure if Azriel is accompanying you today but you're sure that Sergei would've mentioned it if he was.

You dip your head in a strange, awkward bow motion. Then point to the aisle Sergei disappeared into.

"I'll be... going this way."

Azriel's smile grows, like you've told a joke, and he ducks his head. He peers up at you through his dark lashes and you wonder if anyone's ever told him how damn beautiful he is. Probably. You're probably the last in a long line of people. Mother, his eyes though.

"If you don't wish to make the hike the other way," He murmurs.

He extends one of his hands and you watch the dozen shadows swarm around it, one of them separating from the pack to dive to the ground. It shoots forward and spins around your ankle, almost happily. "Just let the shadow know. I would be happy to assist."

When you look back up, he’s already gone without a sound. You try not to look so surprised— you’ve seen someone winnow before but you’re almost certain that the way Azriel moved about silently was something else altogether.

“Y/n!” Sergei’s voice echoes down the shelves, reminding you that you’re still late. You throw a quick glance around to check but it's fruitless; you can’t see the Shadowsinger anywhere.

You turn and bustle down the aisle quickly, not wanting to keep Sergei any longer. It takes only a second to notice the sole, black shadow that dances along behind you.

Guess you have company.

—

Okay, so, the shadows are definitely their own little guys.

Mainly because you can’t imagine how Azriel would be controlling them when he’s nowhere in sight.

And this one shadow is being awfully helpful.

The first time you drop your quill, knocking it to the ground as you lean over one of the many intricately carved desks, trying to reach another book, you don’t even notice it fall to the ground.

In fact, you have no idea how many times it’s picked up your fallen quill that you’ve undoubtedly knocked over countless times— only that it had given you the fright of your life to have it hover before your face, gripped only by the wispy shadow Azriel left with you.

“Holy shit!” You gasp, your loud voice echoing in the quietness of the library.

Sergei's head whips up, his eyes narrowing at the intruding sound with evident disapproval. You quickly snatch the quill out of mid-air and sink down in your seat. Gods, the echoes in here were doing you no favours.

“Sorry,” You whisper. Your eyes dart down to the shadow that retreated to your side, flickering around your ankle more wildly. “Er, thanks.”

It feels a bit silly to give thanks to something you’re not sure can hear you. But you figure if it can pick up your quill, you're better off using your manners.

Sergei gives you a somewhat bewildered look and you try to appease him with an awkward smile. It works enough for him to continue his work but not without one more lingering glance of worry in your direction. Great. You're talking to shadows and your old-man mentor thinks you're a bit nuts.

The shadow continues its helpful endeavours, following you when you head down different aisles at Sergei's request. It dances across the shelves, dissolving occasionally just to puff back up somewhere else, pulling your attention this way and that. It's playful. Friendly.

You deduce by the end of the day that you know even less about Shadowsinger's than you had thought. The abilities and personality of just one shadow are uncanny; like a silent friend keeping you company. You imagine that Azriel rarely gets lonely with as many as he has. Maybe you'll ask him.

When Sergei and you wind back up the staircases and he dismisses you for the evening, heading into the city for his own further business, you stand at the mouth of the library and ponder if you'll be brave enough to summon the Shadowsinger.

The shadow is still with you, circling your wrist absently. You peer down at it and think of all those stairs. Somewhat nervously, you raise your hand and try to be as casual as possible about talking to a shadow on your hand.

"Hi." You start, trying not to feel foolish. "Um, well, I guess I'm done for the day. Could— could you, if he's not busy that is, uh, let Azriel know? I don't mind waiting if he is."

The shadow zips off barely before you can finish your sentence and your head swings to watch it go, disappearing somewhere to your left.

You can't help but be a little amazed at its speed—it must be an incredible networking system to have a thousand little spies running around for you. No wonder almost all Shadowsingers tend to end up in the same line of work, you think to yourself, still peering in the direction of the shadow when—

"Y/n."

Even though he's said your name soft and quiet, Azriel still manages to take you by surprise. You jump and turn, all in one motion.

"Mother!" Your hand holds over your chest, relief curling in at the sides as your fright ebbs away. "That was fast."

"You called," Azriel responds, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. He gives you an almost shy smile.

It makes you fluster a bit and you gesture to the exit awkwardly and wordlessly, if only so you don't have to come up with a response to his intense and endearing answer.

Together, you wander out from the library and creep towards the edge of Velaris. It's a beautiful city and more than deserving of its title, especially when viewed from the House of Wind. You turn and cast your eyes up the mountainside, your familiar nervous fear pitching up from your stomach.

Then you look at the warrior beside you, tall enough that he's got what feels like more than a head's height on you, with his wings reaching above even his own head. His jaw is sharp and his eyes are already on you as your gaze trails up his face. Fuck. He's really pretty.

Now you're nervous for an entirely different reason.

"We can still take the stairs if you wish," He says, his hand sweeping back to the path you had followed along this morning. His shadows move with his hands, a black vortex that whirls around and around. "I'd be more than happy to keep you company."

Mother, he's not helping you in the slightest, being so perfectly nice to you. You regard the stairs and think back to how many hours it took before your thighs stopped aching—and that was on the way down.

"No, we can- we can try flying again." You say, nodding to yourself as if it'll help quell your fear. It takes another moment to realise that means you'll be bundled up in his strong arms, held against his broad chest and you feel a little shiver run through your body at the thought.

Azriel notices it too, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. "You're sure?" He checks.

You nod, not meeting his eyes, trying to keep your nerve. Flying is already something you're not keen on. Flying whilst being swept up in the arms of a Shadowsinger who you think is the most beautiful Fae you've ever seen? You send a silent prayer to the Mother that you don't do something embarrassing, like puking down his front.

"Let me know if you're uncomfortable at any time," He says softly and then he bends his knees slightly, one of his scarred hands resting on your lower back as the other scoops beneath your knees. He lifts you as though you weigh nothing.

It's impossible not to flush as you get nestled against his firm chest, your hands panicking for a moment as you try to think of a normal place to put them. Around his neck? On his chest? Either of them feels far too intimate for a man you've known only a week.

"You don't have to but I would suggest holding on," Azriel comments with a smile, his chest vibrating with the words. You nod, agreeing with him, but don't make a move to do so, only holding your hands out in front of you to indicate you're not sure where to put them.

The shadows adorning his shoulders move on their own, their friendly presence easing your nerves as they slither down to circle around your wrists. There's a gentle tug and you let them move your hands til they're wrapped around Azriel's neck, moving you much closer in the process.

Gods, your faces are close together. Another couple of inches and you could probably press your lips to his perfect ones—a thought that makes you fluster all over again. Was he getting prettier every time you saw him? For not the first time, you thank the Mother that it was Rhys with the daemaeti gift and not Azriel.

"Ready?" He checks, which is sweet. Cassian had just shot up into the sky the first time, without any warning.

You grip your arms around his neck a little tighter and then nod. "Ready," You say, quieter than intended.

You catch just a moment of Azriel's demure smile, your heart swooping at the sight, before you're both launched into the sky with one flap of his wings.

The noise that escapes you is one you're less than proud of, a squawky sound noise of panic that you bury into Azriel's neck. You expect him to laugh like Cassian had, not meanly but playfully, but instead Azriel's arms just tighten around you. As if he was assuring you that he would not let you fall.

By the time you're up at the House of Wind, Azriel making a far more graceful descent than his brother, you're less freaked out and more ready to point some accusatory fingers in the face of the Night Court's General.

That bastard had been fucking with you! The flight with Azriel proved as much, considering how much calmer and smoother it had been. You couldn't help but say as much as you were placed down from Azriel's hold, glad to be back on solid ground.

"I have some words for Cassian, Mother above," You ramble, straightening out your rumpled clothes from the flight. "Did he think I was kidding when I said I was afraid?"

Azriel smiles at your fieriness, his shadows calmer than they were in flight, moving about lazily. His eyes take a fleeting glance at the house behind you before focusing intently back on you.

"Cassian can have a strange sense of humour at times. He means well." He says. Then he grins. "I should like to see you tell him off— not enough people do."

You hmph. "Maybe I will."

You suddenly realise the closeness between you and Azriel, close enough to feel the warmth of his body. His scent of cedar and mist swirls around you, tantalizing and alluring in a way you've never known before. You take a step back to contain yourself.

"I—uh, well, thank you very much." You say, as sweet as you can. "For the ride."

Your eyes catch on one of his dozen shadows and you smile, observing them for a moment. "And the shadow. It was excellent company."

Azriel brightens, an expression of surprise crossing his face before he schools it away. He smiles, brazen and breathtaking. When he speaks, he sounds a little disbelieving. "You like them?"

You nod quickly, noticing how one of his shadows has snuck off again and circulates your ankle speedily. You laugh at the ticklish feeling of it against your skin.

"They're incredible." You breathe, meaning every word. "I imagine you must've ge—"

"Apologies, y/n." A smooth voice cuts in, Rhys stepping up somewhere behind you and stealing both of your attention. He dressed in more casual clothes than you last saw, but not quite Azriel's fighting leathers. "Azriel here is needed for some brief business. Do you mind if I borrow him?"

The way he poses the question, as if Azriel is yours, does something wonky to your heart. You flounder for a moment, stepping back and waving your hand in the direction of the Shadowsinger.

"Of- of course, by all means." You trip over the words and hope you don't sound too eager to escape his company. That couldn't be more untrue.

You turn back to Azriel and fix him with a smile, hoping it's not as nervous as you feel. "I'll... see you around?"

Azriel steals a glance to the side where Rhys awaits before he nods with another reserved smile. Hold on, is that pink on his cheeks?

"Let me know if you need any more help getting to and from the library. I'd be happy to assist."

And then with a quick nod to you, he walks off to join Rhys, his wings tucked in tight, careful to not nudge you. You watch them go, unable to stop yourself from letting your eyes wander down. Damn, all that training did wonders. What was that saying? Hate to watch 'em go, love to watch them leave.

Ahead, Rhys abruptly laughs and peers back over his shoulder, letting you exactly how well you had shielded those thoughts. You flush and scurry into the house as if it'll save you from the embarrassment of what's just happened. You only hope he won't pass the message on to Azriel.

—

It continues like that for the rest of the week.

Azriel carries you down the height of the mountain and leaves you with a promise that if you need anything, you can tell the shadow and he'll come to find you.

The shadow keeps its usual playful company. Beyond retrieving your dropped quills, it helpfully turns the pages of books for you. When you're focused on what you're writing, it nudges back any loose strands of hair. Once it even brings you a flower from Mother knows where. One single Lily of the Valley, left resting on your desk.

It makes you wonder; are all Shadowsinger's shadows like this? You can't help but imagine these niceties are shaped by Azriel's own soft nature.

Today, whilst you study in the vast caverns of the library, you get an unexpected visitor.

As you take your time scanning through the books in one of the vast aisles, you realise the Fae coming down from the other end of the aisle is none other than the Highlady herself.

"Feyre!" You greet warmly. The two of you had met before when she had taken duties in your home court and if it weren't too bold, you'd say you consider yourself good friends. Feyre smiles, glowing like moonlight, as she realises who it is.

"Y/n," She says your name sweetly and her hug is just as such. She pulls away, ready to inquire about your studies when she spots the trailing shadow behind you.

"Making friends, I see," She comments. Her eyebrows raise almost teasingly as if she's made a certain insinuation. You take a moment to notice what she's referencing.

"It's nice," You say, a defensive lilt to your tone. You hold out your hand and the shadow jumps at the opportunity to skitter around it playfully. "It's like a little friend."

Feyre smiles at your words but chuckles a little. "Except Azriel is anything but little."

You pause at her words, glancing down at the shadow and back up at Feyre. "What do you mean? I thought— they're not- I mean, aren't they...?”

You trail off, unsure of how to word the question you're trying to ask. Feyre smiles, her gray eyes glittering with mirth as she realises what you're figuring out.

"They're all his. Azriel's. He controls them." She tilts her head a bit, watching the shadow that drifts about your hand and wrist. "True, they roam a bit on their own but... Not like this."

"Oh," You murmur, thinking back to that first day in the library.

The playful shadow that lead you back and forth, picking up your quill and turning your pages. It was him, all along.

Something immeasurably warm starts to glow in your chest, a thread that loops through your heart and sends the valves into overdrive. Its warmth grows, something molten hot beginning to bleed in your chest— and it feels wonderful. It feels right.

"Oh," You gasp as you figure it out.

Feyre grins, watching you piece together what the rest of the inner circle has clued together from the very first day. She stands to the side and gestures to the entrance of the library with a tilt of her head.

"Go on then," She urges you.

For a moment, you think back to Sergei who sent you hunting for a certain manuscript Cauldron knows how long ago but the thought is washed away in an instant. You can feel it now, the strong tug in your chest. The connection that binds you to another.

You stride past Feyre, giving a quick thanks! and all but run up the spiral staircases, heading for the entrance. The shadow pings along with you and as you near the top, you look down at it and say through huffed breaths, "You better go get him."

He's waiting by the time you get there.

Against the setting sun, for a moment there's only the silhouette of him— a warrior with tall wings, the edges of him rippling like a mirage. He might just be one; an oasis in your life, the answer that you've been searching for for centuries. You can't believe you didn't notice.

Your footsteps echo on the marble as you march right up to him and Azriel watches you closely the whole time, his amber eyes soft but his expression hinting at his nervousness. Gods, he's wonderful. You can't believe he gets to be yours and you get to be his.

"How long have you known?" You ask because it's the first thing on your mind. You're nearly panting from the exhilaration of your sudden exercise, from the dawning future that's blooming right in front of you. He's your mate. Gods, how could you have missed it?

Azriel smiles, that same tentative one that's been driving you crazy all week. His wings give a little shake behind him, a giveaway of his nerves.

"I... suspected from the beginning." He chooses his words carefully, wary of how you might respond.

You can't help your little gasp, feeling even more of a fool. You curse, ducking your head before you glare back up at him, no real heat in your gaze. You have the urge to give him a little shove, just for keeping you in the dark.

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

One of his shadows spins up unexpectedly, dancing across your shoulders and tickling your cheeks gently. You startle in surprise but something sweeter curls up in your chest at the tenderness of its touch.

"Believe me," Azriel says with a quiet chuckle, his amber eyes darting over your face intensely. "I've been trying."

You melt. Eyes locked with his, you move slowly, letting your arms drift up to drape around his neck like they've done every morning and evening since he began flying you around. You realise acutely that Cassian's behaviour, his shoddy flying, had likely been on purpose. You laugh a little, eyes creasing shut in pure euphoria.

Azriel's hands find your waist and you can feel the slight tremble in them.

"In my defense," You murmur, pushing up on your toes. You're close, so close, your lips hovering just an inch from a kiss—his shadows go wild around you both. It makes you grin. "I had never met a Shadowsinger before."

"Yeah?" Azriel breathes shakily. "Disappointed?"

He says it like a joke but you can hear the note of sincerity in his tone. His hidden worry that he isn't all you dreamed of. It's nearly laughable how wrong he is.

This close you can see his long lashes and every shade of brown in his eyes. You wonder if you'll ever get used to how beautiful he is. Part of you hopes you never do.

"Not in the slightest," You say, nearly a whisper.

Then his lips are on yours, pillowy soft skin against yours, and it feels like coming home. He kisses you, kisses you, kisses you til you're breathless and the glow in your chest could rival the sun in its warmth.

He kisses you and every atom in your body hums and fizzes and comes to life — and all you can do is hold him tight and kiss him back, just as fiercely.

Breaking the kiss to catch your breath, you pant and grin brazenly at Azriel, at your mate, happier than you've ever been. Faintly, you realise that you won't be heading home when the two months of your study are up after all.

Not when you have a man who looks at you so reverently, who kisses you like there's oxygen hidden in the plush of your lips, who holds you like there's nothing more precious in the world.

Not when you know that home is right here, in front of you.

#YIPPEE! written in like... 3 days #no editing less go #love it or leave it #a break from all the doom and gloom of wtssf #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel x you #acotar fanfiction #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger x you #sloane writes

[gogobootz1]

The Mentor pt. 2

Finnick Odair x Reader

Summary: Your mentoring tasks persist as you and the newly crowned victor tackle a Capitol party- with some help.

part one | part three

"So you’re stealing from me now?” 

You jump at the sudden sound of the voice behind you. Luckily, none of your champagne spills. 

“Pardon?” You look over your shoulder, only to see a pretty face coming your way. 

“Intellectual theft is serious, you know,” Finnick says with faux sincerity, and takes a sip of his own champagne. 

You lazily roll your eyes, “Please, one of my cows could have come up with the momma-bear angle.” You pick at your nails again, gaze drifting back to where District Ten’s Capitol escort parades Darla around. Before the group of you had even arrived, she’d forbidden you from sticking by Darla’s side the whole night. Said the president wanted people to get to know her- which made you reluctant to separate from the girl you’d taken under your wing. 

You’d settled for watching her like a hawk, prepared to intervene if you recognized any bad apples. 

"Blue suits you, by the way," he starts, and you cast him a suspicious sidelong glance. "Much better than brown, or so I'd assume." You prickle with embarrassment, catching the reference to what he'd overheard the other night.

You cross your arms, "Don't be a jerk." The words sound sad rather than snippy- like you intended them to.

"I was trying to compliment you," he insists. "Really, you look quite nice. This is a far cry from your outfit the other night." Your pajamas. They were the closest thing in reach when you were paged to the recording studio during Darla's breakdown. The reminder makes you shift awkwardly, suddenly even more uncomfortable.

"How kind of you," you say flatly, smoothing the non-existent wrinkles of the dress your stylist had placed you in. At least this interaction is slightly less mortifying than the one, or two you suppose, you had with him the other night.

Finnick doesn't respond, and you don't bother looking at his face to gauge his reaction. Instead, you find Darla in the crowd and start picking at the skin around your nails again. She seems okay for now, but it doesn't do much to ease your worry.

”You seem nervous,” Finnick says, without his former mirth. You startle again, assuming he'd walked away. 

 “Do I?” You briefly let your gaze flick up to him, eyes wide, before turning right back to your task. 

“Well, at the rate you’re going, your hands will be bone within the hour,” he lightly grabs your wrist, drawing your attention to the blood (both fresh and dried) that sits on your cuticles. "Have you been at this all night?"

“Thanks for your concern,” you snatch your hand back, trying to shield it from his gaze. It takes you a second to spot Darla again, and when you do your shoulders drop in relief. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” he doubles down. 

“Did you ask one?” You bite back. 

“What are you nervous about?” He asks. 

You turn fully toward him, “What do you think?” You extend an arm out, gesturing to where Darla is. 

Finnick follows your gesture to spot Darla being dragged around. He huffs, "She'll be alright, you know. Like us."

"Speak for yourself," you laugh, but it's a hollow sound.

His face falls, "You know what I mean."

"I do, but I don't like it," you snap sourly. Closing your eyes, you take a deep, albeit shaky, breath. When you open them, you face the front again. "The way I feel all the time," you shake your head slowly, "I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Let alone Darla, so if I can- if I can just keep her close enough, I can spare her from some of this."

He quietly says your name, almost like a warning.

"No!" You cut him off, "No, I know how I sound. I can do it." The look in his eye says he's not buying it, but you double down, "I have to. I have to... try." Your voice breaks a little, but there's no time to be embarrassed over it when a different voice calls out your name.

Finnick watches as you pull yourself together. The change is visible. It's almost like you're a new person, the one the Capitol adores. Sweet and pristine, bloody hands hidden neatly behind your back.

"I wanted to thank you for coming in this week. The kids love your visits," the middle-aged woman says, smiling at you. Her attire is far less ostentatious than her fellow partygoers, but she's clearly Capitol-born and bred. Her gaze shifts to Finnick, and he stiffens, recognizing the look in her eye.

It seems you notice it, too, as you're quick to intervene. "It's my pleasure, Mrs. Montgomery," he almost cringes when he recognizes the name you call her. "If I could, I'd come often enough that they'd be sick of me." You're good at this, though, he notes, grateful for being off the hot seat. Quick and clever, just like in your games.

"Impossible!" The Capitolite laughs, "In fact, they're already asking me when you'll be back. When are you free?"

While your facade is impressive, it's not perfect. He sees you tense before replying, pleasant as ever, "I'm actually heading home soon, but I'll let you know when I'm back." It's enough to appease Mrs. Montgomery, at least. She eyes the buffet table.

"Please do! I'll see you soon, love," she waves as she walks away. You wave back, picture-perfect smile lighting up your features.

It drops as soon as she turns, and he does his best not to laugh at the contrast. "If that's who I think it is, I hate her husband," Finnick tells you.

You echo the sentiment with a scoff, "Me too."

"I thought you were sweet to everyone but me," he turns toward you in surprise, and you shrug. "Here I was thinking I was special," he shakes his head in faux sadness.

A small grin emerges on your face at his antics, though it's clear you're trying to hide it. He spots it, however, and smiles a bit, basking in his victory. Suddenly, your poorly concealed grin drops, and he follows your gaze to see who stole the humorous moment you'd been sharing.

Darla, of course, but someone else is with her. A large man, probably a few inches taller than Finnick, towers over the sixteen-year-old. She looks terribly uncomfortable, and the District Ten escort is missing from her side. When his eyes flick back to you, he finds your expression mirrors Darla's. It's worse, even, and far worse than when Mrs. Montgomery came around.

You turn to face him, eyes wet and blown with fear. He's never seen you look so vulnerable, not on TV and not in your limited interactions. You looked worried the other night, sure, but this is different. This is a look of terror.

"Dance with her," you practically beg, suddenly grabbing his forearm. Your voice trembles, "Please. They'll- I can't take her away. Please just go dance with her." Tears threaten to spill over, and you get more upset as you go on.

Finnick's reluctant to leave you so distraught, but he's sure that whisking Darla away from whoever this is is the only way to assuage your worry. "Of course," he nods, ducking his head a bit to be on eye level with you. His hand covers yours, subtly removing himself from your grasp so he can attend to your request. "Keep an eye on us, okay? It'll be fine."

He holds your gaze for a bit as he departs, but he can feel your eyes on him even after that. Quickly, he comes upon Darla and the large man that you apparently know and abhor enough to ask him this favor. He spews some of the charming bullshit everyone in the city eats right up and steals Darla away without issue.

Finnick looks back to where he left you as he leads her onto the dancefloor, hoping that seeing Darla safe will ease your panic. He's caught in the act, though, "Sent by my guardian angel, then?" The teenager asks him, pulling his attention back to the dance floor.

"How'd you know?" His eyebrows knit together, and the girl laughs.

"She's been watching me from the same spot all night. It's kind of creepy," she jokes.

"I think she's just worried," Finnick says defensively.

"I think if she stays there for much longer, they'll install her as a statue," Darla quips. It's funny, but he fails to chuckle since he wouldn't put it past the people here. She sort of cringes, realizing the joke didn't land. "I'm really grateful for her, don't get me wrong," Darla tries, "it's just- sometimes I wonder about her."

"How so?"

Darla inhales, "I don't know. She disappears and just seems... different when she comes back. And I swear she lies about where she goes since there's never any press coverage, but cameras constantly follow her." His face falls as Darla goes on, "Sometimes when she sees random people, she instantly clams up."

It's a little too familiar to him. Paired with your reaction to both his comment about Mr. Montgomery and seeing that man with Darla, he's starting to understand. Maybe he has more in common with you than he'd originally thought.

"Finnick?" Darla says, and he realizes he's left her in silence for too long.

"I was gonna say I wonder about her too, but I was thinking more- favorite food, favorite color," he tries to lighten the mood.

Darla looks pleased as punch, "Well when it comes to you, I have her pinned."

"Yeah?" Finnick asks, amused.

"Yeah," Darla nods, "she’s clearly head over heels for you.”  

His eyes nearly bug out of his head, “Excuse me?” 

“Yeah, no, she’s totally in love with you,” she reaffirms.

“Are we thinking of the same person?” He asks, extremely skeptical.

“Yes!” Darla insists, lightly slapping the side of his head. 

“Well, it just seems like she doesn’t like me,” he defends himself. 

“You make her nervous,” Darla affirms. “She’d make a fool of herself if she wasn’t being rude. She told me the other night, this is a quote by the way, 'he's so gorgeous, I can't say anything to his face.'"

“You’re kidding.” 

“Nope,” she pops the P. 

“I struggle to believe that Capitol’s loveliest victor won’t talk to me because she thinks I’m pretty,” he scoffs. 

“It’s more than that,” Darla chides, “she thinks you’re too good for her, so before you can reject her, she tries to beat you to the punch.” 

“And when exactly did she tell you all this?” He asks skeptically. 

“Oh, we had a sleepover the other night and got super drunk. Boy, was she an open vault,” Darla laughs, but it's clear to him you'd kept some secrets to yourself.

“And you don’t feel bad telling me?” He inquires skeptically. 

“Please, I’m helping her help herself.” She scoffs, “She’d pine over you until her dying day without ever saying a word.” 

“Whatever you say, kiddo,” he says. Finnick's not sure how reliable a source the teenager is, so he decides to refocus on his original goal. "I meant to ask if you were ok, by the way. You know that guy?” 

Darla’s face sours. “No clue. But let’s just say I was glad for the interruption.” 

He raises a brow, hoping she’ll elaborate. 

“I felt like he was … looking at me,” she huffs. “Like, trying to see below the dress.” Finnick's jaw clenches at that. He knows the type. He deals with the type. And now he's almost certain you do too, hence your big reaction.

"Well, if he bothers you again, just come find me. I'm quite comfortable on the dance floor," he tells her as the song comes to an end.

Darla pats his bicep, "Thanks, but you should really be getting comfortable with someone else." She nods her toward where you'd been standing. "The bar will take good care of me." She only gets a few paces before he calls out after her.

“Hey!” She turns to catch his words. “Moderation,” he points at her, emphasizing the word.

She smirks, “Yeah, yeah, whatever, Dad.” A smile twitches at his lip, and he shakes his head as he turns to find you. 

When Finnick finally circles back to where he'd left you, you're nowhere in sight. He sighs, disappointed, though he can't quite blame you when you've revealed more about yourself tonight than you probably intended.

He wonders if you've left the party or just found a better observation spot, but either way, something tells him you don't want to be found right now. He remembers something you said earlier about shielding Darla. You seem to be doing alright so far, but he's suddenly wondering how far you'll go.

———————————————————

Once again- super unedited. I'm just having fun on my holiday break at this point. I feel like this leaned kinda sad? So... sorry for that. <3

#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #finnick x reader #hunger games fanfiction #hunger games #the hunger games

[lesbianpepsi]

sweet as honey | part iii

pairing: jenna ortega x blind!fem!reader

words: 4.741k

masterlist

warnings: ableist remarks, swearing, mentions of smoking/drinking, bad writing

authors note: hey guys, i just wanna say thank you to the anons who pointed out my mistake and made me realise how insensitive my old ver of this chapter was. i have rewritten it and changed it, i hope this is better

After your first date with Jenna the two of you have gone on many, many more dates. 

By the third date you and Jenna did actually go to that restaurant you were supposed to go on your first date. 

You couldn't help but feel utterly euphoric anytime Jenna asked you out on another date or even held your hand, hugged you and kissed you. If there's a heaven you're more than sure it's with Jenna.

Altogether you've been on six dates with Jenna, and each date you could feel yourself falling harder and harder for her.

Maybe that's why when Jenna calls you on a sunny Sunday morning her words leave you stunned with silence.

"Y/n? Did you hear me?" She asks, breaking the silence. You dumbly nod your head, coughing soon after as you shake your head.

"No, yeah, I- what?" You stumble over your words with confusion as Jenna giggles over the phone.

"I asked if you wanted to be my date to the Wednesday Emmy Party." She repeats for your sake. Yet again, the words feel like a positive slap to the face. 

Jenna wanted you to go to the party with her? A party full of famous actors? 

"It's not gonna be huge, if that's what you're worried about. Just a small gathering of the cast at Joy's apartment to celebrate that the show won twelve emmys." Jenna explained in a reassuring manner, taking your stunned silence as a sign of rejection.

"Oh yeah, just a small party full of famous actors, no biggie right?" You finally say, laughing nervously. "Are you sure you want me to be your date though? I'm not exactly the same level as you guys." 

"Of course I want you there, I know for a fact Emma is dying to meet you. I can tell she's getting annoyed with how much I talk about you to her."  She says with a giggle, probably biting her bottom lip nervously as she awaits your answer. 

You let out a breathless sigh, a nervous smile on your lips. What's the absolute worst that can come out of it?

"Okay, I'll come as your date." You finally answer her question, your smile turning into one of relief as Jenna immediately starts saying 'yes!' over and over like an overused child finally getting the toy they've been begging for.

You chuckle as you nod your head, biting your lip. 

"You talk about me to your friends?" Jenna groans through the phone as you laugh, a smug smile on your face. 

"Shut up." Jenna replies through a small laugh. "The party is on Wednesday, I'll pick you up?" She confirms as a small static sound rippled through the phone.

You snort a laugh at the day, finding it much more ironic than Jenna was. 

"Yeah I'm free Wednesday and Thursday, so it doesn't matter if I get hung over." 

"I didn't know you were so rebellious to drink under the legal age." Jenna teases you, her voice becoming more static on the phone. You rolled your eyes as you scoffed. "Like you didn't admit to being hung over when recording a scene in 'X'." 

"Stalker much?" She quips back with a dry laugh. 

"Oh yeah because I would be such a stalker with my binoculars, staring and following you around the place like a peeping tom." 

"Oh whatever, I'll see you Wednesday?" Jenna replies, you chuckle as you nod your head, as if Jenna could see you.

"I'll be waiting." You say with a nostalgic smile. "I won't make you wait too long." She finished with her own soft smile.

—————

"I'm so fucking nervous." You complained with a groan as you dropped to sit down on your bed, rubbing your sweaty palms against your jeans. "All of them are actually famous people. All of them!"

Delilah -your childhood best friend- chuckles as she patted your shoulder. "You're overthinking it, babe, they're just a bunch of dickheads who are known while we're a bunch of dickheads who aren't known." She tries to reassure you but it simply went into one ear and right out through the other. 

"But they're Jenna's friends, if they don't like me then Jenna might lose interest in me." 

"You're crazy if you think that. Everyone can see she's head over heels for you, hell, the media even knows." She replies swiftly as she squeezed your shoulder with a reassuring squeeze. 

You turned your head to look at hers. "Well I can't see that, can I?" Delilah shakes her head as she laughs softly, loosening her hand on your shoulder before you feel her take it off.

"Then you can hear it in the way she speaks to you, it's as if she's the one who's speaking to a famous actress." Delilah says as she stands up from the bed, picking up the dishevelled clothes off of your floor and folding them for you. "If it is shit then just give me a call and I'll pick you up, okay? I'm staying the night here anyway so it's not an issue."

That's true, Delilah had to ask to sleep at yours since she had a fight with her own girlfriend Claire, and like the good friend you are you told her obviously she could crash at your place.

You sigh as you nod your head at her words, running a hand through your hair. "I guess you're right." Delilah smirks at you as she opens the drawer full of clothes, neatly keeping the now folded clothes. "Of course I'm right." 

Abruptly, loud knocks are heard from the other room. You let out a rigid breath as you stand up stepping towards your wardrobe as you grab your cane. 

"Wish me luck." You ask Delilah as you run the cane along the wooden floor, heading towards the living room. "You won't need luck." She replied with ease as she walked alongside you to the door.

Opening the door for you, Delilah stood by your side as she grinned at Jenna. 

The brunette looks slightly surprised at Delilah but she doesn't stop smiling as she gives an awkward wave.

"Hey, nice to meet you, I'm guessing you're Delilah?" She asks as Delilah nods her head with a grin. "The one and only. Nice to finally meet you Jenna, Y/n talks about you very often." 

You not so subtly elbow her side as you smiled at Jenna, walking out of the apartment as you naturally went to grab her elbow. "She's more delusional than me, ignore her." You tell Jenna as she giggles, looking back at Delilah who leaned against the doorway waving at them.

"Have a great time, remember curfew is at midnight, young lady." Delilah teases as you and Jenna walk towards her car, rolling your eyes under the glasses as Jenna giggled once again. 

"So you talk about me to your friends, huh?" Jenna jabs at you playfully as she opens the car door for you, reciting your words from Sunday's phone call. 

"Shut up." You grumble as a soft blush attacks your cheeks. "Bullying the blind is a very cancelable thing, you know."  

Jenna is the one to roll her eyes this time as she smiles, taking your cane once you've sat down on the car seat.

She joins you in the front soon after she keeps your cane in the back seat, revving up with its surprisingly quiet engine.

"So who's at this supposed casual party then?" You ask her with a curious face as you nervously play with the hem of your shirt, a habit you've picked up since you were little. 

"Emma, Hunter and his husband Fielder, Joy, Georgie, Steve, Naomi, and Johnna and. Oliver can't come since he's currently filming another movie which is in another country." Jenna lists off as she drives towards Joy's apartment, where the party was being held. "I told you it isn't a massive party, so don't worry. Plus they're all very excited to meet you." She reassures you once again, at the same time she speaks, you feel her place a hand on your thigh.

You smile as you lay your hand over hers, gently caressing your thumb along her knuckles.

"I'm just as excited to meet your friends too, even though I'm shitting bricks over it." You say afflicting a chuckle from Jenna, you feel her squeeze your thigh in an attempt to calm you down. "If you feel uncomfortable at any moment just tell me and we'll leave early, okay? Nobody will shame you or be mad."

You let out a gentle sigh at that, a bit relieved at her kind words. "Thanks Jen."

Jenna smiled at your side profile briefly before she turned back to focus on the road. 

The rest of the car ride was full of mindless conversations between you and Jenna as the low music of Hozier filled the rest of the car. 

As usual, when Jenna parked the car she went to grab your cane before opening your car door open for you, and just as usual you gave her a small kiss in gratitude, resulting in Jenna having a soft blush on her nose and cheeks.

Jenna's elbow is already out for you to latch onto with your non-dominant hand. She double checks you're ready before the two of you make your way to Joy's apartment which thankfully has elevators since she lives on the ninth floor.

"I think they're playing UNO, right now." Jenna mentions as the two of you entered the elevator, her pressing the button '9' as the soft hum of elevator music filled your ears. 

You dryly laugh as you lean against the metal wall as the doors close. "Don't think I'll have much of a chance of winning." Jenna rolls her eyes as an amused smile rises on her face.

"Don't worry, they get distracted so easily that I bet they'll forget about it within five minutes." She says as she moves to stand by your side, leaning her head on your shoulder as you grab her elbow gently, drawing small circles on the clothed skin with your thumb. 

You chuckle at her words. "So they aren't like you then, little Miss Competitive?" You tease.

Jenna can get quite competitive, that's something you picked up quite quickly. Whether it be board games, video games and especially with football (or soccer as she calls it). 

"Oh no, Georgie is even more competitive than me. We once played one match of monopoly that lasted two days in total. In the end we had to call it quits but I was so close to winning." Jenna replies confidently, as if she was truly the one who was going to win.

You chuckle as you nod your head, turning your head soon after to place a feather light kiss to her head. "I don't doubt that for a second." You whispered with a low chuckle before pulling away from her head, leaning your head back against the metal cold wall of the elevator.

The elevator dings loudly as the door slides open, a robotic voice coming through the small intercom telling you and Jenna that you're on floor nine.

With a nervous smile you and Jenna make your way to Joy's apartment, Jenna knocking loudly three minutes before entering.

Music hits your ears the moment the door opens, the familiar voice of Lady Gaga filling it up even louder as you enter further into the apartment.

Your nerves spiked as you heard the chatter get loud and louder as you and Jenna walked into the living room where you could smell the strong scent of tobacco mixing with alcohol infiltrating your nose.

"Hey guys." Jenna greets the group, their heads instantly snapped towards her voice as you and her stood side by side. "This is Y/n, my-" She stops, not knowing what to say.

You haven't asked Jenna to be your girlfriend. Jenna hasn't asked you to be her girlfriend.

"-date, she's my date." Jenna finishes swiftly as she grins proudly at the fact you're her date.

A mix of "Hey, Y/n" and "Hi"s are thrown around the room by a myriad of different voices.

"Hey, Y/n, nice to meet you! Finally I can put a name to a face." A feminine voice speaks up, her voice sounding as smooth as a pearl. By her voice you guess you guess it's Emma Myers, one of Jenna's closest friends.

You chuckle aa you turned your head in the direction of the voice. "Wish I could say the same." You joke, hoping, praying they'll laugh at it rather than freezing up and wondering if they should or not.

Thankfully a snort of laughter is heard along with a few gurgles before the person laughs even harsher than before, coughing loudly.

"Jesus, someone take Naomi's drink away from her." A more masculine voice says this time, chuckling as he does.

"That's Georgie, the one who sucks ass at monopoly." Jenna whispers in your ear as she guides you to a free spot where you and her can sit on the couch. 

"I heard that." The voice you know as Georgie speaks up from close to where you sit. 

"Well, it is true Jen was winning and you were on the brink of bankruptcy." Someone else speaks up with a slight slur in their voice, indicating they've definitely drank a few before you and Jenna arrived.

"That's Johanna, she's a lightweight." Another voice speaks up before Jenna does, the voice is coming from beside you making you turn your head in the direction. "I'm Joy by the way." She introduces before she points at Hunter and Fielder who are sitting on the floor. "Hunter and Fielder, our local gays are currently sulking on the floor since they lost at Uno."

"I only lost because Hunter got me out." A deep voice says which you presume is Fielder's voice. "That's only 'cause you're the worst at Uno." Hunter replied with a smirk as he took a sip of his drink.

“I’m Steve.” Someone else announced from the other side of the room. You turned your head in the direction of the voice as you smiled politely. “Hi Steve.”

“Fielder might be bad at Uno but you lost seconds later, Hunter.” He remarks as he ate some of his chips from a bowl.

You laugh lightly as you loosen your grip on your cane but don't let go. Now knowing everyone's voices gives you much more confidence.

"Thanks for having me over, by the way, and congratulations on the twelve emmys." You say with a smile as you turn your head to look at the direction of where the music was coming from.

"No need to thank us, we're all more than happy to finally meet you after Jenna has been chatting our ears off about you." Joy replies, sipping her wine as she smirks at Jenna.

You grin as you turn your head to your side where Jenna was sitting. "So not only you talk Emma's ear off about me, but to everyone?" You jab playfully at her once again, Jenna's cheeks turn a scarlet hue shade as she turns to glare at anyone who laughs at your words.

"They're being dramatic and they're drunk, they don't know what they're talking about." She murmured trying to sound annoyed, but she had a small smile on her lips the entire time. "Sure." You remarked with your own smile.

Your fear and anxiety dissolved as the minutes passed, your fear that Jenna's friends wouldn't like you absolutely thrown out of the window.

Well that was until two hours passed.

You were in the middle of a conversation with Emma as Jenna and a few others such as Naomi, Georgie, Fielder and Johanna had left the room to go smoke on the small balcony near the kitchen. 

As Emma finished her sentence you felt a tap on your shoulder, jumping slightly your turned in the direction of the touch.

Steve chuckled awkwardly at your reaction as he plopped down next to you, forcing you to move up on the couch.

“Can I ask you a few questions about, you know?” He asked you with a slur to his voice, his breath having a strong smell of alcohol which definitely confirmed that he was quite drunk.

You nodded your head as you smiled at him. “Of course, and you can say blind, it's not like it's a bad word.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he laughed.

“Aight, cool. So do you know what Jenna looks like or what any of us looks like or are you completely blind?” He questions curiously as he sips out of a beer bottle with a burp.

“I lost all eye sight when I was in my teens so I don't know what any of you look like.” You explained to him before adding. “I did get a description from Jenna on how she looks, so I’ve got a pretty good idea in my mind.” A soft smile forms on your lips as you think of the memory.

On your fifth date with Jenna, you went over to her apartment for the first time and Jenna cooked for you an incredibly delicious meal. 

That night Jenna let you explore her body but it wasn't in a sexual way. She was wearing a shirt and jeans the entire time as your hands roamed her body as she described herself to you in great detail. 

She held your hands as she placed your hands on different parts of her as she described herself in detail to you. 

Her hair, her face, her neck, her arms, her waist, her stomach and even her legs. There wasn't anything sexual about the interaction, it was only meant to be viewed as something soft and intimate. 

Steve hummed as he dropped his now empty beer bottle to the ground, yawning as he lazily turned to look at you.

“Okay, okay.” He mumbled. “Why do you wear glasses inside then? Is it ‘cause like blind people's eyes kinda get nasty after they turn blind?” 

“Steve.” Emma whisper yells as he gives the drunken boy a look. He raises his hand, faking arrest as he rolled his eyes. “Jeez Emma, chill. I’m only asking questions and she said she was alright with it. Didn't you, Y/n?” 

You decided not to take his words to heart before you nodded your head. “It’s fine, honestly.” You reassure her with a sweet smile. “Before I turned fully blind I always wore sunglasses since it would reduce the glare from the sun and could help me much better with seeing with the small sight I had. After I completely lost my vision I guess I just never stopped taking them off, and I guess it’s because I also don't like how my eyes look.”

“That's fair. I mean no offence or anything but blind people’s eyes just look so creepy.” He replied with a lazy smile as he chuckled, moving his hand to scratch at his small beard. 

“Don't be a dick, Steve.” Joy voices up from her seat, glaring at the boy momentarily before going back to talk with Hunter. 

He scoffs slowly as he ignores her, deciding to see how far he could push you. 

Not knowing what to say you awkwardly laugh as you shuffle further away from him. 

After a few moments passed you presumed he was done speaking to you but you were unfortunately proven wrong the second you opened your mouth to speak to Emma.

“I couldn't imagine being blind, it sounds proper shit and miserable.” He says with an exaggerated sigh. “I mean you can't even see your girl, you only have to imagine her.”

“Steve, stop.” Emma repeats again as her voice becomes more firm. You swallow down your emotions as you try to give a small smile.

“Life isn’t automatically bad just because I’m blind, I actually love my life and wouldn't exchange it for any other life.” You reply trying to keep your emotions at bay and not let his words affect you. 

He sighs dramatically once again as he shakes his head. “I dunno man, being blind sounds shit. How're you supposed to even please your girl if you don’t even know where she is without her speaking?”

“How’re you supposed to please your girl with your one inch pinch?” Hunter remarks, sounding annoyed as his eyes narrowed on him. “Just shut the fuck up.” 

Steve snickered as he narrowed his eyes back at Hunter, crossing his arms over his chest. “Jesus, people are such snowflakes these days.”

As Hunter and Steve get into a heated argument you lean closer to Emma, in a whisper you ask her, “Can you please go get Jenna?” 

She nods her head immediately as she squeezes your shoulder in a silent agreement, standing up moments later and heading towards the kitchen.

“We’re not sensitive, you're just being a blatant asshole to Y/n.” Joy intervenes as she defends your honour, you smile in relief as you scoot further away from Steve, the grip on your cane tight. 

“I was just asking the blind chick some questions, is that a crime now too?” He asked in a mocking voice as he now turned to glare at Joy. 

A blind chick? Is that really all he saw you as? 

You swallowed nervously as your fingers began unconsciously tapping against your cane, a small frown on your lips.

“Why are you being such a dick?” Hunter asks him with his voice becoming more gruff. Steve laughs in disbelief as he turns to look at you. “You said you didn't mind my questions, true or false?” He questions you with a click of his fingers. 

You didn't know what to say as you tried to open your mouth, no words coming out as you felt incredibly uncomfortable by the entire situation. 

Steve scoffs as he clicks his fingers at you again acting as if you're a dog and he’s your owner. “Are you dumb as well?” He asks you in an annoyed tone.

“What the fuck did you just say?” A voice that reminds you of heaven says darkly, storming into the room. You sigh in relief as you gingerly put your hand out for Jenna to grab, to which she holds onto instantly, interlocking your fingers. 

You stand up next to Jenna as you grip your cane tightly.

He shakes his head again as a breathless sigh escapes his dry lips. “Nobody can take a joke these days.”

Jenna scoffs angrily as she glared at him. “Jokes are meant to be funny, I hear nobody fucking laughing, Steve.” She snarled as she ran her thumb along the skin of your hand. 

“That’s ‘cause you all can't take a fucking joke, nobody appreciates dark humour these days, fucking hell.” He grumbled, glaring right back at Jenna as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

You're frozen in place as you listen to the unfolding argument, your heart speeding up uncomfortably in your chest. 

“Apologise to Y/n right now.” Jenna demands dryly, not breaking eye contact with him. “If she can tell me where the remote is then sure.” 

Jenna’s grip on your hand tightened as her jaw clenched at his words. Fearing the argument was going to escalate quickly you tug at her hand making her break the staring contest to look at you with concern. 

“Apologise to my girlfriend right fucking now.” She growled out in a venous voice, her eyes never leaving the boys. 

Your heart stopped at her words as your eyes widened under the glasses. Girlfriend? Jenna thought of you as her girlfriend?

The two have an intense stare off as everyone else in the room holds their breaths, not knowing whether they should stop the argument or let it be.

Steve scoffs as he takes his eyes off Jenna standing up, laughing drunkenly with a shake of his head. “Fuck this, I’m out. This party was too lame for me anyway.” He announced as he headed towards the apartment door, slamming it shut behind him. 

Nobody moved, nobody uttered a word; all frozen in spot as to what just happened. 

You couldn't help but feel a sense of guilt crawling up your spine at the argument. If you didn't come none of this would've happened. 

Swallowing down any emotion in your voice you shakily slipped your hand free from Jenna’s. “Can you take me home please?” You gingerly whispered to her, your head hanging low. 

“Of course, I’ll go get my keys.” She replies instantly leaving the room to go retrieve her keys from the kitchen. 

“It was really nice to meet all of you.” You say, turning your body to face where the rest of them were, a weak smile on your lips. “I’m sorry for the whole mess and leaving early.” 

Emma moved to squeeze your shoulder momentarily as a sympathetic smile toyed on her lips. “You don't have to apologise for something that wasn't your fault.” She informs you.

You sigh as you nodded your head weakly, trying to let Emma’s words win the battle against your guilt. 

“We need to hang again, but without Steve this time.” Georgie says making you and a few others let out a weak chuckle. 

Jenna waltz back into the living room moving to your side and you quickly latch onto her elbow with a weak grip. 

“Thanks for having us over.” She says to them as she gives them a soft smile. All of them smile back as Joy nods her head.

You and Jenna make your departure without another word; no words being exchanged between you two as you head into the elevator.

The moment the doors closed in the elevator Jenna let out a sigh before she pulled you into a bone crushing hug, you're almost surprised you didn't drop your cane at the sudden movement. 

“I’m so sorry he said those things to you, Y/n, you didn't deserve any of that.” She whispers in a feather light tone of voice, her small arms surprisingly strong as they wrapped around your waist.

With one hand you wrapped it around her neck as you smiled a weak smile. “I know but it's okay, I promise. People say stupid shit all of the time especially when you have a disability; you just have to learn to not take it to heart.” 

“But he shouldn't have even said any of those things to you.” She added, removing one arm from around your waist to place her soft hand on your cheek. “You out of everyone don't deserve anything like that.”

Your heart melted at her words, nodding your head weakly. “I don't care about what he said, what I care about is what you said.” 

Jenna cocks her head to the side confused as she gazes at you. “What?” She questions confused, not knowing what she said.

“Apologise to my girlfriend right fucking know.” You quoted with your smile growing on your lips. “Last time I checked I didn't even know I was your girlfriend.”

Jenna’s cheeks turned a scarlet red shade of embarrassment as she let out a little. “Oh.” 

You giggled amused at her words as your fingers played loosely with the hair at the back of her neck. “Oh? Is that all you have to say?” You teased her before adding in a whisper. “Ask me.” 

“Ask you what?” Jenna asks, confused as she leaned into your touch. You rolled your eyes under the glasses as you paused your movement. “Ask me what I think of being called your girlfriend.” 

Eager to know your answer Jenna repeated your words with ease as she smiled nervously. “What do you think of being called my girlfriend?”

You smirked as you leaned even closer to her, your lips hovering over hers as you whispered. “That it's the only thing I've wanted to hear from you since our first date.” 

Jenna’s lips immediately connect with yours the second you finish speaking, sighing against your lips as she pulls you even impossibly closer to her.

You've never had what you'd describe as "perfect" in your life. But now to you, Jenna is the epitome of it. It's how you've always wanted life to feel, calm, and content; and you have that when you're with Jenna.

—————

taglist: @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @canvascoloredin @alexkolax @wol-fica @caitlynscat @jyucejpg @omega-horus @andsoigotabutterfly @fanboy7794 @jjsmaybank20 @zhasmindoesntknow @jujuu23 @214-sofa @ssinfulprayers @nitchxhdc

if you wanna be added to the taglist comment and i'll add you:)

authors note: i hope this was better

#jenna ortega x blind!reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega #sweet as cinnamon series #fluff #my writing #angst #my fan fic

[kiarastromboli]

Teach me 3 (Chris Sturniolo x y/n)

Part. 1. Part.2

Masterlist.

Warning: angst, argument ?

Summary: After being summoned by her principal for what she did with Chris, Y/N sees things take a completely different turn. Unintentionally, Chris will not make it any easier for her, pushing her to make a choice that is more than painful for their mutual well-being.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

A week had passed since the incident in the locker room with Chris.

After being summoned, the principal decided to suspend both Chris and me from school for two weeks.

If only that was the end of it…

After the meeting, my parents demanded a serious discussion at home.

“Y/n, I’m trying to keep my calm, but what the hell is this story?”

“This is not how we raised you. What kind of girl sleeps with a guy in her high school locker room?”

“Your behavior is disappointing, Y/n. I expected better from you.”

“For how long did you hide this little adventure with that asshole from us?”

“Do you realize how irresponsible you’ve been? Do you think universities will appreciate seeing this on your school record?”

“Believe me, you won’t see that boy again, Y/n. I’ll make sure you never see him again.”

It was mainly my father speaking, as usual. My mother just cried, casting disdainful glances at me, as if I had ruined our lives with my actions.

As always, it wasn’t about me, but about them. I was their daughter, but I wasn’t really myself. All my life, I had been just their daughter, nothing more. The one time I allowed myself to be me, I ended up making an unforgivable mistake in their eyes.

I was not allowed to go out, and I hadn’t seen my phone since then, so no way to communicate with Chris about what happened.

I felt so guilty for leaving him in the dark like this. Chris knew my parents were strict, but I had never dared to tell him how much.

I wasn’t even allowed to break up with my boyfriend as I wanted; my father took care of sending him a message, making it clear that if he dared to approach me, he’d be in trouble.

It was the first time in my life that I was punished, and the first time I saw my parents so disappointed in me. To be honest, I was disappointed in myself. What had possessed me to do that? What did I hope to achieve?

I hoped to one day be more than just their daughter, seriously, Y/n?

My days consisted of crying, staring at my bedroom ceiling, and rereading the same books over and over. Maybe that’s all I deserved after what I did.

And maybe it was better for Chris too. He and I could never have worked; we could never have hidden this relationship indefinitely, and my parents would never have accepted me being with him.

He loved a girl who didn’t even have the right to exist, and how selfish I was to trust that “we” could ever exist one day.

I had to let him go, even if it broke my heart. I knew that by staying with him, I condemned us to a catastrophic end, and it eventually happened.

It was now 2 a.m., and I was lying in my bed doing nothing. Sleep had abandoned me a long time ago.

Every night when the lights went out, the only thing I could think about was how much I had disappointed my parents, and it haunted me.

*knock knock knock*

I panicked and sat up in bed when I heard the familiar sound at my window.

*knock knock knock*

I knew it was him, but what was I supposed to do?

*knock knock knock*

Oh my God, if he keeps this up, he’ll wake up my parents. I have no choice.

I got up to open the window for him, and he immediately entered, almost pushing me without waiting for my approval.

“Chris, what the hell?!” I said, surprised, as he stumbled towards my desk.

He looked in bad shape, with huge dark circles, disheveled hair, red eyes, and the smell of alcohol.

“My beautiful baby,” he said, placing his hand on my cheek and smiling.

“Chris, have you been drinking?” I asked, concerned, before going to lock my door.

“I missed you so much, Y/n,” he said, sitting on my bed.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” I sighed.

“Why didn’t you answer any of my messages, baby? What did i do wrong?” he said, looking up at me.

“Chris, you have to leave. You can’t stay here,” I told him, sighing.

“I’m not going anywhere until you answer me,” he said, crossing his arms.

“Oh God, please, I’m serious. If my parents find you here, they’ll kill me. It’s not a joke!” I told him, getting annoyed.

“Y/n, I don’t care about your parents. This is about us!” he said, standing up.

“But what ‘us’ are you talking about, Chris? There’s no ‘us’ anymore!” I replied, feeling tears welling up.

"Y/n, you can't do this to me; I just went through the toughest week of my life without you," he said, breaking down.

"Y/n, look at me, look at the state I end up in without you; I need you," he said, hitting his chest.

I was simply helpless before his speech; it killed me to see him so distressed, and it broke my heart not to be able to do more to help him.

"Look at how pathetic I am without you," he said, grabbing my hand.

"Chris, you have to leave now," I said, feeling a tear roll down my cheek.

"You can't give me the best moments of my life and take everything away like this overnight without giving me an explanation, Y/n. I'm sorry for what happened in the locker room; let me make it up to you," he said, getting upset.

I didn't know what to say; honestly, I wanted to tell him how much I missed him, but I had to let him go. The state he had just put himself in because of me was proof enough that this relationship was not good for him, and that's not what I wanted for him.

"Y/n, we'll find a solution, but you have to explain me the problem if you want us to get through this. I know you're not telling me everything, baby, talk to me," he said, locking his eyes with mine and placing his hands on my cheeks.

And I cracked. I cracked when I saw hope in his eyes, when I saw how much he wanted it to work. It was what I wanted too, but it led to nothing.

It would have been selfish of me to tell him how much I loved him, how much I wanted us to find a solution because I knew I had condemned myself. I knew that by giving him the slightest hope, I risked breaking him even more than I already had.

"Don't make things more complicated, please. I can't do this, Chris, go away," I said, crying.

"Baby, tell me what's wrong," he said in a trembling voice.

"My parents don't want me to see you anymore," I confessed, hoping he would understand, but I knew he wouldn't give up that easily.

"And is that the only problem? Y/n, if that's all, we can continue to see each other secretly. I swear I don't mind; they won't know anything! If that's what we have to do to stay together, then I'm ready to do it, ready for anything. But please, Y/n, don't end everything like this, I beg you," he said desperately.

"No, you don't understand. It will never work. What kind of couple hides their relationship from the world, Chris? You deserve better than that," I told him, shaking my head and stepping back.

"But it's you I want, Y/n. I climbed to your window, and it's with you that I want to spend the rest of my days," he said, advancing toward me.

His words were like shards of glass stabbing into my heart. As long as they remained, I knew the blood wouldn't flow, but I also knew I had to tear them out to heal.

"No, you're just drunk, and you don't mean any of what you're saying," I said, shaking my head and trying to hold back the tears.

"I'll tell you all this again tomorrow when I'm sober, and I'll tell you every day of my life if I have to. But, Y/n, please, I need you; I can't do it without you," he said, a tear running down his cheek.

I stood there, staring at him, crying, and he took me in his arms.

And I felt those same shards pierce my heart again because of the comfort I could find in his arms. I wished to die there, die in his arms.

"I'll fix everything, Y/n, I promise. Let me fix everything for you," he said, stroking my head, and my heart was never heavier than at that moment.

I cried so much I had trouble breathing; I couldn't stop. I was in his arms, and I knew it was probably the last time.

"Y/n, I love you; don't let me down," he said in a weak voice, and I left his arms.

I looked at him with tear-filled eyes; I wanted to scream that I loved him too, but I couldn't. So I closed my eyes and screamed it in my head without letting the sound escape my mouth.

He looked at me confused, and I bit my lip to stop my sobs.

"Y/n, please," he said, sighing.

I shook my head, and he started to move towards me, but before he reached me, I told him everything.

I had to tell him the truth if I wanted him to understand, even though I knew it meant stabbing him in the heart.

"My parents are sending me to another school, Chris," I said in one go.

"What?" he said, confused, stopping.

"They don't trust me anymore. They're sending me to a private school on the other side of the country," I told him, trying not to cry.

He took a step back, completely disoriented when he heard that.

He sat down on my bed and ran his hand over his face, letting out a few sobs that broke my heart.

He had just realized the situation; he had just realized it was hopeless.

I stood there, watching him realize what I had just told him, and it was horrible, but at least now he knew it was over for good.

"It's okay," he said, wiping his tears and getting up. "We'll find a solution, Y/n. I'll come to see you."

"No, Chris," I said, crying.

"Yes, I'll fix it. I'll sort this out," he said, pacing back and forth.

"Chris please..." I sighed.

"I'll just set aside some money to come and see you," he continued, completely in denial.

"Chris-" I said, with a weak voice, still crying.

He lifted his head towards me and immediately came to wipe away my tears. "Don't cry, baby, it's okay, it's not a big deal."

"You have to let me go," I replied in a voice so weak that I almost doubted he heard it.

"No, Y/N, we just got together, stop saying such things," he said with a fake laugh, trying to conceal his sobs before placing his hand on my cheek.

"Chris, you have to let me go," I said, placing my hand on his cheek with a reassuring smile to show him that it would be okay.

"No," he said, letting a few tears fall. "Y/N, I'll handle this, I promise. I'll do it for us," he continued, wiping his tears and placing his other hand on my cheek. "I'll fix it."

"There's no 'us' anymore, Chris; it's over," I said.

"So what, you're going to give up at the first problem?" he said, raising his voice.

"You're just going to throw everything away just because your parents don't want you with me?" he said, getting upset.

"Y/n, fight for us, for me... for yourself," he said, desperate.

I wanted to answer him, but I had nothing left to say; it was too hard. It hurt too much to see him break his heart over me like this.

"I'm ready to fight for you, and you're giving up just to please your parents, seriously, Y/n, damn it," he said, cracking.

He placed his hands back on my cheeks, "You're not going to let your parents separate us, baby, I-," he started before I cut him off.

It was too much for me; I couldn't continue to stand there listening to him beg me to fight for him when I couldn't.

"It's over, please go now," I said, removing his hands from my face.

"You don't mean it, Y/n; you can't even say it properly. You don't want it to end; I told you we'd find a solution," he said, getting frustrated.

I closed my eyes before taking a deep breath; I felt like I was suffocating.

"Y/n, if you want me to leave, look me in the eyes and tell me clearly," he said, clenching his jaw.

I opened my eyes and tried with all my might to hold back my tears.

I tried to contain all my pain; it was so unfair. Why didn't he just let me go? Why did he have to ask me to fight? Why did he keep pushing me to keep hope?

I didn't want to do it, but I had no choice; I had to tear the bandage off at once if I wanted Chris to be happy one day without me.

"Chris, it's over; I want us to separate i don’t love you anymore. This relationship is doomed to fail; go, please," I said in a harsh tone without looking away from him.

And I could almost hear his heart shatter in his chest.

I was dying to tell him that I didn't mean a word of it, but I didn't have the right to condemn him in this relationship.

He turned around and started walking towards my window, and before leaving, he looked at me one last time, his eyes shining with tears.

He was waiting for me to stop him, to grab him by the shirt and kiss him like the first night he climbed through that window.

He was waiting for me to crack like all the other times and tell him everything would be okay.

But this time, it wasn't the case, and when he realized that, he went through my window and left.

I collapsed on the floor; I had just put an end to the most beautiful thing that had ever happened to me.

I had just broken my heart and the heart of the man I love the most.

All this would never have happened if I hadn't kissed him that night.

If I hadn't let him into my room and into my heart.

I was convinced that love stories like ours never died like in books; I thought things would eventually work out, and a solution would come to us unexpectedly.

But life is a heartless bitch ready to rip your heart out when you least expect it.

The next week, I found myself packing my bags to leave Boston for good. Chris never climbed back through my window, and I deleted his number from my phone, hoping he would eventually find someone with whom he would have a happy ending.

We were just an anomaly in the system of lines that were supposed to remain parallel but ours ended up crashing into each other.

We consumed each other without knowing that this story had an expiration date, and I pay the price every day waking up far from him.

I pay the price every time I see something that reminds me of him.

A lacrosse jersey, a half-open window, a soda can—absolutely everything brought me back to him.

And I continued to search for a piece of him in every new person I met.

Even though I lost him, my love for him will never fade. Every day, I pray for my day to end quickly so I can find him every night in my dreams.

To the boy who made me realize how good love could feel.

And how painful it could be too.

Masterlist.

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo edit #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #angst

[orqheuss]

In any version of reality

(Ominis Gaunt/F!Reader FLUFF)

Reincarnation!Soulmate AU

Summary:

In the world of soulmates, ties told through memories of past lives and reincarnation, Ominis was sure that he had to be a very new soul. *** Ominis Gaunt was more sure than anything in his life that he did not have a soulmate. He had heard tales from others about their experiences, how lovely it was to finally find the one you had been searching for through any timeline, and he had resigned himself to the fact that his soul was too new to have a past life. But, after hearing you sing in the deserted music room sends him on a journey back in time, could he have truly found the person he had been longing for since before the dawn of creation?

Story is based off of "Epic iii" from the Hadestown 2017 Original Cast Recording.

Word Count: 4.7k

In the world of soulmates, ties told through memories of past lives and reincarnation, Ominis was sure that he had to be a very new soul. He had heard stories told through grapevines, whispers in the night of people finding their loves at a young age; how their timeless histories came flooding back to them like a torrential downpour of emotion they couldn’t identify until they tasted their loves name on their lips— heard their voice flitter through their ears like a soft ocean breeze for the first time. Some said it happened suddenly, as soon as they brushed against each other or looked into each other's eyes for the first time. Those people said it was like being struck by a falling star, burning to the touch and gloriously wonderful all at the same time. Some said it happened gradually, after years and years of knowing each other, only to be triggered by an oddly familiar moment in time or a feeling, like a song murmured from an ancient gramophone in the corner of a room they’d long forgotten about. Those people said it was warm, like a blanket you’d just cast a drying charm on— like they were coming home after a long trip and the hearth was already lit for their arrival. No matter how much he longed to tell stories like this himself, how much he yearned to find that grand, timeless love that he could only read about in books, the universe did not have a past life to spare him. 

For a while he blamed his parents, like they were the ones that ripped him into the world before one of the many ghosts floating around in the stratosphere could latch onto him and call him theirs, but he knew that they had no control over ethereal beings like that. Then, he blamed his disability for his woebegone-ness. Every story he had ever heard told tales of looking into their soulmate's eyes and seeing the world as it was for the first time— could it be that because he could not see he would never know the feeling of holding someone's gaze and seeing yourself as you truly were the day your ageless soul was born into the world like a bursting supernova? Not knowing anyone else that suffered the same blindness as him, he didn’t have anything else to go off of. And so, that was the only answer his feebly human mind could give him— the only thing that actually made sense in his brain.

Being born without sight had never really bothered Ominis much until he got to Hogwarts. His childhood home was dreadfully quiet, and very few members of his family were home at a time, so he didn’t have any sounds invading his sensitive ears very often. All of that changed as soon as he crossed the threshold of the grandiloquent school. The tall ceilings echoed all voices like a cathedral tower echoed the hymns of a choir— he knew everyone's business better than his own, sometimes before his peers even learned of it themselves. With that came the knowledge of everyone's soulmate encounters, each story different from the last but just as magical each time. Down the castle stairs, tucked away in the corner near the one-eyed witch, Ominis heard Adelaide Oakes recount her story of brushing against a muggle boy in her village and seeing a post-colonial British soldier standing at her doorstep, stretches of farmland spanning farther than her eyes can see over his shoulder. In potions, he heard Garreth Weasley whisper to his cauldron partner about how he had known his soulmate for years, only realizing that they were meant to be after seeing them lounging on the shore of the pond behind his house— one moment they were strewn across the damp, summer-green grass, and the next they were curled around his past in a bed made of purple silk, the Paris skyline just beyond his reach through their bay windowed apartment. He could distinctly recall all of the details of Sebastian’s revelation, having heard how he saw himself galloping through a field of flowers with a lovely princesses arms wrapped around his waist, pressing her delicate fingerprints into his shiny chain-mail armor as they laughed into the sun many a time before drifting off into a dreamless sleep in their common room. Even Leander Prewett found his one true match, spinning the tale to anyone who would hear in their herbology class about how he was a British king once, married to a beautiful woman dressed in green with a matching choker necklace of pearls and emeralds— how the large “B” charm caught the light just right during their private garden strolls to make her blue eyes sparkle (Ominis also remembered the next day when he stumbled upon the frazzled Gryffindor in the library annex, filled with dread as he poured quite anxiously through the books and reading about that particular necklace, as well as the pretty neck that went along with it. Poor sod). 

No, Ominis Gaunt had not found his soulmate yet, nor did he think he ever would, and he was perfectly fine with that, thank you very much. 

At least, that’s what he told everyone when they asked. 

What didn’t help his case, unfortunately, was that he was irrevocably and incandescently infatuated with the new fifth year. It had taken him some time to get used to their presence in his inner circle. All of his friends had a very distinct magical signature that he memorized after knowing them for some time— every magical being had one, really. Magic to Ominis felt like the fizz of cider against his skin, some slightly more carbonated than others and carrying a different taste in his mouth. Anne felt like the sparkling citrus water that the kitchens would bring out on particularly hot days before finals. Sebastian felt like the burn of firewhiskey on an autumn night, the bonfire in the center of the circle warming the tips of his nose and ears. Both were refreshing and lovely in their own right, but his newest friend was something he had never felt before. He was never able to feel someone else's soul under their skin and determine how old it was, but there was no way you were a young, or even new soul like he was. Even your magic felt old. Your signature was the most distinct one he had ever felt in his short life; it wasn’t a soft fizz like the others, or a pleasant warmth, it was a firework in his chest. You smelled like the smoke after a particularly rowdy Guy Fawkes Night and felt like tiny smoldering ashes falling against his skin, not too hot, but more of a pleasant kiss of heat. He got used to your voice quickly, no matter how your laugh made his knees want to buckle and cause his heart to race faster than a stampeding graphorn, but your magic took some time, even after he found out about your proclivity to ancient magic. There was something so distinctly familiar about it to him, like he had met you before coming to the castle. He didn’t recall ever doing so, but his family threw so many parties in his youth he wouldn’t really question it if he did. Once he started to get used to the feeling, maybe even crave it a little, he realized it was too late to stop the tumble his feelings were taking off your sweet, summer-side cliff. 

Ominis knew that you hadn’t found your soulmate yet, but it was only a matter of time before your soft brushes and lingering stares disappeared into the air like everything else in his life. He was doomed to never have anyone by his side, but he knew deep in his heart that you were not destined for loneliness like he was. You were a flowering weeping willow at the edge of a monumental body of water, and he the lowly lake lapping at your petals as they fell, forever in the others orbit but never within arms reach. 

That’s how Ominis found himself wandering that day, high up the many stairs of the magical castle and steadily walking towards the deserted music room, his favorite place as of late. Very few people knew where the room was, let alone that the school even had a music room to begin with. Here, he could wallow in his self pity with only the soft sound of his piano to keep him company. About a week ago a line of melody came to him in his dreams, soft and sweet but full of so much empty melancholy that he was on his feet at that very instant, quickly jotting down the notation on one of the many pieces of sheet music that he had lying around his desk. Ever since then, he had gone to the musical tower in the sky to sit by his lonesome and chart out chords like constellations. The song was ethereal to his ears, something that came from the universe itself as a gift that he was destined to write. Ominis was nearly done with it after hours of slaving over the parchment and quill, his fingertips surely staining the ivory keys of the baby grand piano to the point where the house elves despised his presence. He was like a man possessed whenever the melody came to mind, like something in the world was trying to tell him something very important but it couldn’t find the words to do so. The notes rose and fell like a bird flying south for the winter, wings stretched across the sky, swooping and diving only to rise again and kiss the sun. Some parts felt like a walk through a beautiful meadow, the sun on his shoulders and the wind blowing through his hair. Others were dark, like descending a staircase into the very center of the world with no light to guide you, just its ghostly melody to call you home. And some were both at the same time— a shady spot under a corkscrewed sycamore, tiny graves for the woodland creatures of the forest taken over by the wilds of nature, hidden off the beaten path in lamentable isolation. It told a story of everlasting, encompassing love that was ripped away too soon, found again after searching every possible and impossible place for their hand to hold, only to have to part ways once again until their effervescent hereafter. It reminded him of some of the muggle mythology he picked up last year for some light reading during one of his bouts of nightmares— how each tale began weaving together a love that would break the very fabric of the universe until it was taken from the pair by Fates' terrible string. The blond could tell that the song needed lyrics to be complete; Ominis was many things, but he was not a poet. So, much like his future to come, the song would forever remain unfinished. Even still, his forlorn melody kept him company, and he was perfectly fine with that. 

Today was different; Ominis knew that as soon as he rounded the bend to the music room and felt a presence inside. The blond cursed to himself, resigned to find another corner of the castle to mope in his hopeless romanticism for the time being until the other person left. He turned on his heel and was about to leave when a sound stopped him in his tracks, his ears pricking up like a startled deer. From the crack in the door came a haunting voice, soothing through a melody that was vaguely familiar to the boy. He curiously took a few steps closer, pressing his ear to the tiny opening to hear better. The voice was one of the most beautiful things he had ever heard. Its tone was clear like the church bells outside his family home, soaring around the room up to the top of its spiraled ceilings and diving downwards towards the bordeaux patterned cherry floor. It caught the acoustics of the room like a wind chime in the beginnings of spring, and his entire body visibly softened at each lift and fall of its gentle ballad. Ominis listened intently to the lyrics as they made their way through his ears, swirling around his brain and kissing him just behind the eyes with winsome adoration. 

Heavy and hard is the heart of the king King of iron, king of steel The heart of the king loves everything Like the hammer loves the nail.

The woman’s voice was like honey in his favorite tea, soothing and with just the right amount of sweetness. Her dulcet tones took Ominis into their arms and waltzed with his heartstrings like two ghosts lost to time. He couldn’t help but keep listening, diving deeper and deeper into her saccharine song. 

But the heart of a man is a simple one Small and soft, flesh and blood And all that it loves is a woman A woman is all that it loves. And Hades is king of the scythe and the sword He covers the world in the color of rust He scrapes the sky and scars the earth And he comes down heavy and hard on us.

Hades. Something about the name shook the blond to his core, the word feeling strange at the tip of his tongue like a word he knew but couldn’t remember. Little flashes of light burst behind his closed eyes, bright but not painful, carrying the feeling of…grass under his feet? He wasn’t truly sure what he was feeling, but he knew it wasn’t the wooden floors of the hallway anymore. For a moment he could feel the luscious heat of the spring on his skin and hear the soft call of whippoorwills from the tree tops just beyond where he stood, even though it was a cold and stormy winter outside the stone fortress walls. He continued to listen to the song, careful to not let himself be known to the angel of music just out of his reach. 

But even that hardest of hearts unhardened Suddenly, when he saw her there Persephone in her mother's garden Sun on her shoulders, wind in her hair. 

Persephone. Why was that name familiar too? Why could he suddenly feel the phantom of long, thick hair stream through his fingers like a waterfall, the tresses gently caressing his skin in a way that he only dreamed of? Ominis flexed his fingers, swaying his hand in the air to feel around for a sudden body in front of him; he found nothing there except dust and stale air. The scent of wildflowers invaded his nose harshly, leaving him twitching and fighting off a very unbecoming sneeze until the strong scent pittered away to a delicate gale of sugared anemone and aster flower. The taste of nectar and pollen were heavy on his tongue. He listened closer, eager to hear and experience more. There must be a charm on their voice, the boy reasoned. That had to be the reason he was experiencing all of these things so suddenly. 

The smell of the flowers she held in her hand And the pollen that fell from her fingertips And suddenly Hades was only a man With a taste of nectar upon his lips, singing: La la la la la la la…

It was like suddenly being dropped into the icy waters of the black lake. That melody, no wonder it was so familiar to him; it was the piece of music he had been working on nonstop for the past week! Just as the realization dawned on him, the magical aura of the person behind the door struck him harder than anything he had ever felt before— harder than when he had first felt it outside the Undercroft what felt like years ago. 

It was you. You were the one singing.

You were the missing piece to his lonely symphony. 

Seeing flashes of your past self did not feel like how Ominis originally thought. It wasn’t quick like a speeding bullet into the brain, or loud like a confringo smacking into the pillars of the Undercroft. The flashback started soft and hazy— his vision blackening around his normal shadows and all sense but sight returning first. First came his smell, his hearing, his touch, and his taste while he listened to your silvery cadence fade away into the heavens. All of the feelings that had come one at a time earlier suddenly slammed into him in an influx of sensations, shocking his system into a more startling consciousness than before. Lastly came his sight, coloring his once grey and silhouetted world with a plethora of hues that he had never heard of before. If the boy was being honest, in all the moments where he had imagined finding his soulmate, he hadn’t pictured anything at all. He had never known the gift of sight, so how could he truly prepare himself for what it meant to see? Was that what green was, in the grass below his shined oxfords? Was that blue, in the sky above that stretched on forever? Was that yellow, in the little bumblebee that buzzed around his head searching for a flower to land on? There was so much that he wanted to see, so much that he wanted to know now that he could. His subconscious reminded him that this was not the time for that though, when he spotted a figure bent at the waist in the garden just over the hill from him. 

Ominis gulped against the knot forming in his throat, the lump pounding with the beat of his heart just under his ribs as he stepped out of the trees and into the clearing. He had never seen a creature as beautiful as you before; it was like everything in his life had led up to this very moment of meeting. Watching the way your hair glimmered under the summer sun like the jewels adorning his home as you tended your mothers garden, he was nothing more than a man in the presence of a nymph of the forest— something otherworldly, something too beautiful to touch. The sun danced across your skin like the finest silk, creating star-kissed freckles at the apex of your shoulders and down your toned arms, and oh, how could he do anything but remove his hat from his head and gaze at you with awed, enraptured revelry? The air around you smelled like his future— like pomegranates and the promise of forever. He felt in his very being that you were his one love, far before he truly understood the meaning of the word. The emotion could not be named with words, only the feeling of coming home. All he knew is that he needed to know you more than he needed to breathe, more than he needed to eat and drink and sleep and live. Your souls sang in tandem with each other, calling your names into the void and waiting for the shout to come back to them— to sing with them forevermore. Ominis was useless under your charm, like a siren luring an unsuspecting but oh so willing sailor to his doom under the frothing sea waves. He had never spoken to you, but he knew in that moment he would happily die by your hand if you would just meet his gaze one time. He would build whole worlds for you if that was what you wished— tear down entire galaxies if it would make you smile his way. 

All of his dreams came true seconds later when you stood from your hunched position, tossing your hair over your shoulder in the intricate braid you wore, each strand decorated with the honeysuckle that bloomed at your feet, before turning and staring at the man before you. You startled at first, unaware that you were being admired for so long by someone so breathtaking. The blond haired beauty under your maple tree  was like winter incarnate. His hair was quiffed and slicked away from his face, allowing you to see his strong jaw and perfectly sculpted facial structure. Your eyes drank him in like a garden in a drought with his tasteful three-piece suit, black from the collar at his neck to the wing-tips of his shoes— an unusual color for somewhere so sunny. He was as pale as fresh fallen snow with tiny moles breaking up the color— birdseed trapped in a thin layer of ice. He would be called monochrome if not for his eyes. They reminded you of the Grecian sea, those eyes. Like two pools of seafoam, or two small bouquets of baby's breath and cornflower. Your heart called to him like a lighthouse across a stormy ocean. Fate rarely ruled your life, you’d decided that from a young age after listening to the warnings of your mother, but if the Fates brought you him, you would listen to their words from now on. With one glance it felt like you had known him for years, and yet you didn’t even know his name. He was your past, your present, maybe even your future if you allowed it. He was not one of the flowers like you, more like one of the dead, but you’d happily plant your gardens in his domain. You’d plant flowers that thrived in the dark and the cold, flowers that only bloomed under moonlight, if it meant the universe would be kind enough to let you keep him. 

It was you that spoke first, breaking the spellbound trance you both were in from the first moment of contact. “Hi…” 

Your voice was like the sweetest music ever played— sweeter than those of the muses, those of the deific. They were nothing, for it was you who was truly divine. He was the moon, and how he longed to know the sun. 

His voice was little more than a breath as he murmured in return, still caught up in the sheer transcendence of your beauty. “Hello…”

Your soft laugh shook him from his stupor, softening the frozen heart in his chest as you warmed him in both body and soul. He cleared his throat, shifting his feet for a moment before taking a bold but respectful step forwards, his hand reaching out for yours like a sunflower reaching towards the brightest star in the sky. Around you, the mockingbirds began to sing a tune for your love. You couldn’t help but think it was familiar, like something from a dream you’d had long ago. Their soft song echoed through the trees, each new whistle bringing a new melodious harmony. 

La la la la la la la~

“My name is Hades,” he said, the softest smile you had ever seen turning the corners of his mouth. 

You return his gaze shyly. There was a smear of dirt across your face, painted across the turn of your nose and the rosy apple of your right cheek like a thick splattering of freckles. The man thought he had never seen anything so beautiful. 

“Persephone,” you whispered, smiling ruefully at the flustered pink that colored his face. “What took you so long?”

In a moment it was all over— Ominis’ world dyed grey once again and only the shadows of the things around him visible. Never had he mourned his sight before, but before he had not known the beauty of seeing the night sky in your eyes; he did not know the delightful turn of your lip when you grinned or the crinkle of your nose when you laughed. He knew now that you were not the thing that he could not have, you were the thing that the universe created just for him to hold. You and him were not just a weeping willow and a babbling brook; you were the water that breathed life into your roots and the tree that fed the fish under his waves. You were not simply the sun and the moon, passing constantly but never crossing paths for long; you were an eclipse, two celestial beings dancing together and showering the world with your lovely glow. 

You both had done this dance before many a time— taken many a shape before. How could he have ever thought of you as anything other than his other half, his soulmate, his world? He revolved around you, and your benign gravity kept him steady. 

That pull was why he had just enough courage to push open the door to the music room, stepping into the sunlit space and basking in the feeling of your seraph-like presence. Ominis knew exactly where you were when he spoke, his soul knowing the feeling of yours for longer than this earth had been breathing. 

“Persephone.” It was a breath. A whisper. A prayer. 

You looked at him like he hung the very stars you love so much in the sky. There was no one else in that moment, just the two of you and the soft echo of your past lingering in the lines of sheet music strewn across the piano bench. 

“Hades,” you simpered, a smile glowing in your voice. 

It was moments later that he was upon you, hugging you like your body needed to be a part of his, kissing you like you were the oxygen he needed to live. You met him with the same enthusiasm, finally whole after years of being apart. You pressed your face into his neck, soothing tiny kisses along any skin you can reach, stretching from his collarbones to the tip of his nose. He smiled down at you, his hands reaching up to cradle your face like he was holding starlight in his palms. 

“I never thought I would find you again.” 

You laugh, your own hands reaching up to cover his. His heart skips a beat when you nuzzle into his skin. “I knew we would find each other again, just as I knew the sun would rise again every morning.” 

He was frowning now, a look that did not suit his face in the slightest. He couldn’t help but feel insecure after his years of festering in his terrible self worth. “But how?” 

You flipped his world on its axis, removing his hands from your face and in turn placing your palms upon his, caressing your thumb along his jawbone. “Ominis, my darling Hades, did you think I ate those pomegranate seeds unwillingly? Did you think I did not wish to fall into your darkness with flowers in my hair?” You stood on your toes, bringing his face down further and raising yours to rest your temple against his. You found your happiness in his tiny smile. “My love, I chose you that day in the garden. I would find you in any lifetime, any version of reality that calls our name. I would never let you stay too far from me, that I promise to the gods themselves.” 

He sealed your words with a kiss, accepting and agreeing with your terms proudly and eagerly. Never would you ever separate again. 

And so there you stayed that day, curled in the far corner of the music room with your soft, no longer so lonely melody singing from the baby grand piano. You took turns feeding each other grapes from the vine, laughing like you were the world's sunlight and lounging under the tresses of your own created sky. Behind that, now closed, door was the real world, a terrible thing that brought torment and woe to even the happiest of souls, but in that little space at the top of the tower, you had found your own personal cosmos. 

The king of the dead had finally found his queen of the flowers once again. 

like what you read? here's more!

#tina speaks #hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt x reader #ao3 #ao3 fic #ao3 writer #ominis gaunt x you #ominis gaunt #soulmate au #harry potter soulmate au #reincarnation au #fluff #romantic fluff #hades and persephone #hades #persephone #greeky mythology #masterlist

[cowboycannibalism]

just got out of a late showing of Talk To Me and I have thoughts!

⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️SPOILERS AHEAD ⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

so let's dive in while it's still fresh in my mind

Grief is a heavy player in this movie and that's what makes it so good. So much of what happens is because of Mia not being able to let go or face her grief. she's vulnerable to the spirits/demons/souls because she's lonely and sad and she's trying to find anything to make her feel.

The opening scene was absolutely amazing! it sets up how fucking crazy the movie is going to be. It brings us into the world where everything is for views, everyone is entertainment even when they're suffering. It's not the focus of the film but they way social media guides the story is interesting.

to add to the previous point, every time someone does the "game"/seance, the others whip out their phones with lightening speed. They laugh, they point their cameras at the possessed and scream and shout in joy regardless of what the possessed is doing. we see this in Daniel's first go which is a weird sexual possession that leaves him embarrassed and scared, whereas the group is laughing and recording. it's also what brings Mia to the hand in the first place, she keeps seeing the videos posted of people playing the game and having "fun"

I really liked the kangaroo scene because it was so jarring and the foreshadowing was just mwah. wonderful.

I will admit Mia got annoying because you want her to know that she should stop, but she won't. I was literally trying not to yell at the screen lol

on the other hand (ha hand), I get it. She was desperate, grief will do that to you, she just wanted answers and closure. And that can drive you mad.

The gore/violence in the movie was so good for a possession film! The Riley scene was intense and had the small amount of us in the theater squirming and yelling and gasping. And the limbo/purgatory scene although brief was not what I was expecting and it blew me away, it gave cronenbergian/yuzna's Society [1989] vibes.

the cast was very very good! Sophie Wilde played Mia with such an intensity and passion that drew me in even when I didn't care for her character's actions. And the supporting cast stood their own which was awesome because sometimes in horror those other characters can sometimes get pushed aside or fade into the background.

the sound design had me so tense! I swear I thought I was hearing things and not sure if it was me or the movie. We don't talk enough about sound when it comes to horror. It's honestly what really scares me, more than the actual scenes, it's the score that revs up my anxiety and fear.

All in all, the movie was really good! I'm not even a huge fan of possession horror but I was excited to see it and really glad that I did. I know it's been greenlit for a sequel which would be interesting depending on where they take the story but I'm definitely more interested in the prequel that they've already made!! I hope it gets picked up by A24 like the sequel is because I definitely would like to know more about the hand and mythology behind the "game".

Just to add on some more personal thoughts: It's interesting to me how often grief plays a role in horror. From Midsommar to Hereditary to The Babadook to classics like Pet Sematary, the list goes on. We are vulnerable when we're grieving, easier to let bad things in or ignore the people who love us who are trying to help. When I watch horror about grief, it gets to me more often than any others because I've known grief like a childhood friend. It's been with me my entire life. But I've learned to handle it better than I used to, and with movies like this it's a safe place for me to let it consume me, let it be messy and overwhelming like it is for the characters in the movie.

Anyways to wrap this up please go see Talk To Me! If you like possession movies you'll like it, if you like movies with deeper layers you'll like it, it feels like there's a little bit of everything to appeal to most horror fans.

#yami's movie thoughts #horror #a24 films #a24 horror #talk to me movie #yami's hyperfixations #horror nerd #horror fan #talk to me a24 #talk to me

[dearsnow]

MONSTER

- ⚠️ LAST EPISODE OF HOTD SPOILERS AHEAD! the tragic happenings surrounding lucerys valeryon spark conflict between you and your dear husband. (aemond targaryen x fem!reader, lots of angst and barely any fluff, might make another part?????)

a/n - i’ve had so much aemond brainrot these past few days omg he is my evil lil boo boo bear

The small slip of paper warps under your shaking fingers, tears slipping their way down your face. Lucerys Valeryon is dead, and the fault lies on your husband.

You were close to the young boy. Rhaenyra had always regarded you as an older sister to him, despite the tensions between her family and your betrothed. You took care of him, played with him, brushed his hair when he was in his “no-hair-brushing” phase, and now it’s all gone.

The lump in your throat scratches your insides as you sob.

“It was not my intention-“

“Fuck if it was your intention, Aemond! You killed him. He was fourteen, just a child. Not only that, but you started a whole damned war.” You think nothing will ever overcome how your throat tightens as you yell, voice much louder than a volume befitting someone in your position. You don’t care though. You care about the boy torn to pieces and cast down onto unfamiliar grounds.

“You’re acting like I did it with my own hands.” He spits.

Your eyes burn with angry tears. “You might as well have. Vhagar is your dragon, or have you forgotten?”

“He took my eye.”

“And you took his life! That is not an equal exchange, not in the eyes of the gods and not in the eyes of me.”

Aemond’s hair is frazzled and he paces around the room like a caged beast, showing an intense display of anger- whether the anger was towards himself or you, you do not know. “I will not be a broken record. I did not mean to kill him. Now will you stop pestering me about it?” The sneer in his voice sounds almost childish, like a toddler crying when they don’t want to leave their playhouse.

“I wish I was never betrothed to you, you fucking monster.” You say, hastily scrubbing the wetness from your eyes. You know how it will hurt him, how it has hurt him in the past. You just can’t bring yourself to take it back.

You did love him. Even “do”, though the warm and fuzzy feeling has no place in your argument. You traced his scar with your fingers and your lips, tangled your fingers in his hair, and laid in his arms when the nights became cold. Every feeling of love, every spark on a dreary day, will be long-wilted until Luke springs back to life and hugs you with a proclamation of “Auntie, I am alive!”. Everything feels so surreal, like he really is waiting just outside the door. Like you and Aemond are the perfect couple, Rhaenyra is the queen, and sunlight filters over warm pastures. Your fantasy world crackles and shatters bit by bit until your knees can’t take standing.

You sit down on the floor and cry.

Aemond is suddenly worried. He has seen you angry, sure, and terribly sad, but it was nothing compared to the desolate state you’re now in. He stops his pacing, eyebrows creasing in the middle.

“My love?”

“Don’t call me that.” Your voice wavers. “I have no love left for you.”

He feels a burning in his gut, like every negative thing he has ever thought about himself is discovered to be true. The grip of sadness on his throat does not cease.

“I’m sorry. I’m… I am regretful. I meant only to scare the boy, but Vhagar took matters into her own hands.” He takes a seat next to you, not worrying about the creases sure to form on his clothes. Despite his efforts to rid himself of it, he carries the burden of care deep in his heart. No amount of training or acting better than others could ever cure him of this ailment.

You’re silent as he slides a hand across your back, movements slightly awkward.

“Do you truly think I am a monster?” He asks, voice cracking towards the middle of his sentence. As always, he didn’t mean to let emotion dictate his tone of voice.

As much as you want to be mad at him, as much as you resent his actions and his family, you gently shake your head. He may be many things, but he is nowhere near as bad as some of the true monsters you have faced in your life. He is just a scorned little boy.

You lean your head into his shoulder, so tired from arguing that you forget your anger. It will come and go. Right now you just need the comfort of another warm body, even if that warm body is the person that started the whole mess in the first place.

Aemond leans back, letting your head slide into his lap.

He may not be a monster to you, not yet anyways, but he knows he has much more to do to win back your heart.

Reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

#solar eclipse. #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #hotd #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x you #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd x you #aemond one eye #aemond x y/n #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #aemond x reader

[kay-elle-cee]

@jilytoberfest 31 Prompts: Day 31 || 1733 Words || Read on Ao3 A/N: I would like to state for the record that I know trick-or-treating wasn’t a thing in the UK in the early '80s but please just suspend your disbelief I’m BEGGING you. This is already going canon-divergent so let’s pretend trick-or-treating exists, cool thanks.

Additionally a quick little thank you for joining me on this ride <3 I've read every tag and comment and I'm so grateful for all the love for this fic! Keep an eye out for a masterpost with all these linked, and please feel free to drop into my ask box and let me know if you had any favorites! —

Three raps on the door and James opens it wide, only to find himself immediately arrested by the sight of the beautiful woman in front of him. Her auburn hair is swept over her right shoulder, a pointed witch’s hat sitting tall atop it as brilliant green eyes flicker between him and a small boy that sits on her hip. The boy is smiling, a disheveled mess of black hair poking out from under a little green hat—the stem to the soft orange pumpkin costume his little arms and legs stick through. 

“Trick or treat,” the woman smiles at James, and his lips immediately pull into a grin, even as her eyes once again travel to the small boy on her hip. “Can you say ‘trick or treat’, Harry?”

Harry rocks his weight against his mother’s side, bouncing with excitement as his eyes (green, like hers) sparkle at James. “Dada! Dada!” he babbles, arms outstretched, and James reaches out to take his son with a gentle smile, settling on his hip. 

“It was a long shot,” Lily sighs with a weak shrug, taking a few steps forward and nestling herself beneath James’ other outstretched arm—his whole world now within his grasp. “We’ll just have to try again next year.”

“Well if it helps,” he places a kiss on her head, “you two were my favorite visitors of the night.” Nevermind the ‘only’ that lingers in the air—the heavy weight of isolation that sits, strapped around their necks, trying its damndest to drag them further into despair every day for the last ten months.

But not tonight—not on Halloween, when they can coo over their son and his excitement, when they can enjoy the fact that they can spend another holiday together as a family (especially when the alternative is too gut-wrenching to consider). James places a firmer, longer kiss on his wife’s head as the thought flickers across his mind. Not tonight.

The pop of apparition on the other side of their wards sends his nerves on high alert. Exchanging a quick, loaded glance, Lily takes Harry inside with a protective arm around him as James reaches for his wand.

It’s not there.

He follows behind Lily in a hurry, mind racing at who could be visiting—they didn’t have any planned visits and everyone knows better than to show up unannounced. 

“James—” 

Lily’s eyes are wide and fearful when his attention snaps to her, misplaced wand securely in his hand once more. Harry’s started to fuss—the moods of his parents alerting him to something wrong, and she’s got both of her hands holding him securely to her chest, rocking back and forth.

“It’ll be fine, Lil.”

It’s an empty promise, but one he has to make. For his sanity, for his family, he has to make it. 

Silently casting a Shield, he approaches the door just as frantic beating disrupts the silence of the house.

“Prongs! Lily!”

James’ shoulders stiffen. It’s Sirius. Or rather—it sounds like Sirius.

Sirius, who had insisted on not visiting too often so as to not draw suspicion. Sirius, who had shockingly adhered to a pre-planned visit only rule. Sirius, who’s now here, unexpectedly.

“Please, please open the door or I’ll open it myself!”

Sparing a quick glance to Lily over his shoulder, James holds his wand up to the door.

“What did you say to me the day Harry was born?”

“Oh thank Merlin,” he hears with a final thunk against the wood. “I told you that it seemed unfair for Lily to do all the hard work only for him to come out looking like a shrunken duplicate of you.” James’ shoulders relax the smallest fraction at the correct answer. “Now, let me in immediately. We don’t have time. Wormtail’s been compromised. You aren’t safe here.”

The blood in his veins turns to ice, the sounds of the world dropping away as a ringing intensifies, mixed only with the sensation of his heart pounding painfully in his throat.

Wormtail’s been compromised.

“—should’ve never listened to me. Fuck, but we’ve fixed it, okay?”

“James.” The croak of Lily’s voice is what pulls him out of his stupor, more than Sirius’ ramblings through the door, more than the pounding of his heart. Lily. Harry. Wormtail’s been compromised. “James, love, open the door.”

His muscles act of their own accord as he twists the handle and he’s nearly barrelled over by Sirius’ determined strides as the door flings open and the man walks in, long hair wild and unusual panic in his gaze. Grey eyes fall on Lily and Harry and James sees the sigh of relief expelled in the rise and fall of Sirius’ chest before he snaps into movement and slams the door shut.

“What do you mean ‘compromised’?” Lily whispers, eyes shimmering with terror.

Sirius shakes his head quickly. “I can’t get into the specifics right now but I went to check on him and he was just gone. No struggle, nothing.” His wild eyes turn back to James, who's still standing by the front door, wand clutched tightly in his hand. “Something feels off. Bad off. Fawley came with me as a lookout and I immediately had her help setting up a new Fidelius on my flat—she and Graham had done it for their parents at the beginning of all of this.” He runs a hand over his face, and when the hand is gone, the eyes that meet James’ are determined and tinged with fury. “We need to get you there now.”

Head still reeling from all this news, James nods, motioning for Lily and Harry as he walks over to the fireplace—Disapparating from inside their wards is impossible.

“James—” Lily’s hand grabs his wrist in a death grip, and he cuts her off with a swift, firm kiss, hand smoothing down the red hair on the crown of her head, the black witch’s hat discarded at some point in the excitement.

“Take Harry and go, we’re right behind you.”

“32 Longmoore Street, Lily. The Floo is open.”

With a resolute nod and a clenched jaw, Lily carefully steps into the Floo, green powder spilling to her feet as her hold on Harry tightens and she calls out Sirius’ address. James’ attention is fixed on her, watching as she and Harry disappear to safety in a swell of green flames right as a red beam of light jets through the window, shattering the glass and knocking Sirius off his feet.

Wormtail’s been compromised.

Without hesitation and with everything in him, James throws up another Shield Charm as he drops to crouch low, slinging Sirius’ arm around his neck and firing off a stunner into the darkness outside his window before dragging the two of them to the fireplace.

He knocks the little bowl of floo powder to the ground and scrapes as much as he can into shaking hands as curses continue to fly at the shield. The last one—some sort of dark purple spell that he’s seen on the battlefield once or twice, shatters the shield and the front wall of the cottage, dousing the room in drywall and debris.

Heart lurching in throat, James slams Sirius into the back of the Floo, dropping the green powder as he hurls himself into the flames as well, arm tightening around the unconscious man.

“32 Longmoore Street,” James states as loud as he dares with a trembling voice. The green flames dance around him, higher and higher until it obscures his vision and the floor drops out beneath him—a bone-white wand in a pale hand the last image he sees of their home.

Squeezing his eyes tight, hand clutching his wand and shoulder supporting Sirius’ limp figure, he tumbles out of the grate moments later, knees buckling as the two of them slam to the floor. A hand is on him in an instant and his ears reattune to the sound of Lily’s sobs as she checks him for injuries, Harry crying from his spot on her hip.

“—been holding my breath, I felt sick seeing you disappear, oh my god, James what do we—Sirius!”

With a groan, James sits up, clasping Lily’s free hand with his in an effort to provide some reassurance (for who, his brain is too adrenaline-addled to answer honestly). He brings the back of her hand to his lips, holding it there even as his eyes remain focused on Sirius’ limp form on the rug while he pulls out his wand. Placing the tip to the other man’s chest, he murmurs a shaky ‘Rennervate’, his breath of relief fanning across Lily’s skin as Sirius stirs at the spell, teeth clenching as he pushes himself up.

James shifts so that he can now fully wrap himself around Lily and Harry, his arms holding them close as the shock and terror of the past few minutes begins to settle over him. Wormtail’s been compromised.

His thumb lightly rubs soothing circles on Lily’s arm and he gives Harry a kiss on the head before looking over at Sirius, his throat constricting. “Peter…”

At the name, Sirius’ jaw clenches, his eyes reflecting a hatred James had only seen reserved for his own parents. “I’m going to kill him, James,” he whispers, a growl curling the edges of the words into something deadly. He rubs a hand over his face, eyes flickering down to where Harry’s finally stopped crying before meeting James’ gaze again. “So help me god, I’m going to kill him.”

“Sirius,” Lily’s voice comes, weaker than it had been in their own home, but still with that spark of strength that had carried them all through these months of isolation. She reaches a hand out for him and Sirius grasps it, the four of them connected here, grounded by touch with the proof that they all made it out alive. “You saved us. Don’t risk yourself now.” Dropping a kiss to the top of Harry’s head, she presses her back closer against James’ chest, and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever let her and Harry out of his sight again after tonight. Doesn’t know if he can bear the thought of not having everyone he loves within arms’ reach.

A lump has wedged itself into his throat. “Tell Dumbledore,” he manages around the swell of emotion, attention on Sirius. “Send a patronus, but don’t leave. You’re no safer than we are right now.”

#it's (always) you #jilytober2023 #jily #jple #james potter #lily evans #31 prompts

[theswiftheartsystem]

Look at this Vinyl we got for a dollar at a overpriced book store

We had never listened to Camelot before, we had heard about it, since it’s decently well known and liked, but this was our first listen. It was pretty good! Not like a all time favorite (for me personally, don’t come for me fellow alters in my brain)

Also this was the second to last record we looked at, we first say the ones in the front, and then we saw a ton in the back in two rows on a bookshelf, this one was at the back of the top row, which was the last row we checked. The Vinyls in great shape too! I can’t believe I got it for a dollar!

Julie Andrews is always a delight, but I quite enjoyed everyone else! We may watch a stage performance of the show, not sure yet. Apparently a movie adaptation was made in 1967, but the singing is eh, and has more issues than the original. We love a good mess of a musical, but seeing as the movie is 3 HOURS LONG, we would rather just stick to what’s seen as the better version lol.

Also this some reason is harder to find on youtube, but the second to last song is called Guinevere, and it’s also pretty good! But you will probably have to search it out, which is why I wanted to add that!

The sound Vinyls make when playing is just- so good. It makes me so sad that listening to the songs on YouTube don’t have it. (Obviously it’s because it’s from the record player)

Also it got a revival last year! We haven’t seen a lot from it, but from what we did, it seems there’s an effort in casting POC actors, which is always a good and welcomed change! (Although we don’t know how many POC actors where casted, but Theatre has a history of racism and discrimination, and it’s always wonderful to see more POC actors being casted)

#personal #special interest #hyperfixation #musicals #broadway #musical theatre #broadway musicals #obc #camelot #camelot musical #autism #autsitic

[idontknowreallywhy]

Estera Ch 7 - Gull

(Prologue, Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6)

(Sofasurf’s Recrudescence which is the foundation for all of this)

Scott paces, Virgil paints, John panics…

Another little warning for things discussed but not actually happening here. Some of Scott’s pondering is based on either my own experience or that of friends… sorry if it therefore seems ‘out of voice’ for him, but it’s where I think he lands at this point in the story.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The Sunday morning sun peeked cautiously over the horizon and cast a burnt orange glow over the water as Scott paced the length of the balcony again and again. He barely noticed the changing light, his focus on wrestling his own mind into submission… with minimal success.

He wanted to run. Run until he was too exhausted to think. That would help him get out of this spiral. But he knew he’d never back get past the puppy pile he’d managed to sneak away from when he awoke suddenly desperate to see the sky. He paused and pressed his face against the glass to see them still peaceful, all in wildly different sleeping positions and, he smiled affectionately, probably making the full range of amusing sleep-noises between them.

He’d not get away with opening the door again, not now the dawn chorus had started, someone would wake. And they needed their sleep. Fine. He was trapped here for the time being.

Unless he climbed down…

He peered over the railing down at the pool deck.

No, he couldn’t run if he broke a leg. And his brothers would probably panic and assume he’d been trying something silly. Sillier than climbing down a cliff face merely because he needed to adrenaline-burn some thoughts from his mind without an audience.

Predictably they were very worried about that. John had asked him outright last night if there was any ideation - a form of words that sounded very much like Patricia in risk-management mode. Of course she’d probably had a word.

He knew why he was asking, but it was hard not to shrug it off as a non-issue. Sure, he could admit wasn’t in a great place right now… but as he told her at the start of every session when the question came - his protective factors were rock solid. And they were the brothers he was responsible for. He wasn’t ever going to deliberately do anything to hurt them, they’d suffered enough loss.

As much as he wished his family had been left with somebody more… well… Everything… Scott was what they were stuck with and despite the darker thoughts he knew logically that he was better than nothing. He knew he couldn’t knowingly leave them with all the burdens his father had left him with. One of the more frequent questions he’d yelled at the horizon from the privacy of the far side of the island was why on Earth Dad had saddled him with so much ADMIN?

A gull screeched at him in agreement.

A wry smile. He could sort the admin. He was good for something at least. And, for whatever reason, they did love him, he knew that. They kept going out of their way to demonstrate it.

And Dad had had flaws, hadn’t he? More apparent in retrospect… but Scott still loved and missed him… so it stood to reason the others might miss Scott if he was gone.

No, no silliness.

Whether he’d ever be any real use again though…

He watched the bird wheel overhead and his heart sank. No flight for him for a while. If One was needed, Alan would pilot her. He’d made the decision before poor Virgil had been forced to. His brother had been through enough dealing with Scott’s mess and selfishness recently. He seemed exhausted, he felt a stabbing guilt, and John was little better.

The pacing recommenced.

In retrospect, switching off the comm for the flight home had been unwise. But he’d felt it best that the full range of military-schooled curse words he’d yelled into the void of One’s cockpit did not end up on the official record and could not be overheard by impressionable younger brothers. It had made sense at the time. But yeah, they’d assumed the worst and… he cringed… Virgil and John seemed to have been really freaked out by something else that he needed to get to the bottom of.

Yet another thing to fix. Typical Scott Tracy, number one impulsive idiot - why think it through beforehand when you can overthink it one hundred times after the event?

The seabird suddenly nosedived to plunge into the water. He stopped to watch. It emerged empty-beaked and Scott felt a twinge of sympathy. Better luck next time little friend. The hill seemed to shrug it off, flew out of sight and the useful distraction was lost.

His mind swerved unavoidably back to yesterday and the relentless back and forth began again.

She stared up at him, again, pale-faced and wide-eyed, clear as the fists he clenched in front of him, closer than his own skin.

It had to be her. He knew it was her and she’d known him. But what if it wasn’t? What if she had merely been one of the many other rescuees over the years? His reaction would have seemed so weird and inappropriate. There might be a complaint.

But what if it was her? That was worse? It was definitely worse. He felt sick as he realised he’d grabbed her by the shoulders in much that same way as that monster in the square had when… when…

Maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe he hadn’t recovered as well as he thought. He was just seeing her in the faces of random people. That had happened before, when he first got back he passed her on the street several times a day, she was serving behind every counter, brought the mail to their door…

Could it have been though?

It was. He knew it was as sure as he could be sure of anything. He’d seen her so many times, particularly recently when he’d been sick.

Before the sickness, he’d contained it all fairly well during waking hours. There were certain odd triggers he struggled to counter. The slightly blood-like scent of rusted iron for example, thankfully not a common building material these days, but when they encountered it at close range… for a few moments he’d be back there crouching behind the rubble, the fence pole in his hand resting slightly on the side of his face as he watched her defy the soldiers.

But the nights… So many nights he’d shouted again and again for her to run but the sound wouldn’t come out… or if it did, it was rasping and painful and too slow. Too slow. She had waited too long. He strained and struggled against the unrelenting arms holding him back as the thug with the combat knife barked an instruction, then turned and gave chase.

She hadn’t got far enough away, he’d known that truth for ten years.

He’d failed.

Then there’d been pain and darkness.

He’d regained consciousness in the tiny cell and the pain and darkness had only intensified… he squeezed his fists and eyes closed and sang the names of his brothers to himself under his breath. He didn’t need to go there.

That Place didn’t hold him anymore.

SHE did, though.

She was watching every time he failed to save another person. All the times he wasn’t quick enough or strong enough, he had apologised to the ghost of her over and over and over.

If she was alive…

If she WAS alive… it changed everything.

He had to know for sure.

He turned his back to the sun and gazed up at the fading morning star for a long moment. Then tapped his comm and whispered quietly “EOS? Can you do me a favour?”

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

It had been a quiet couple of days.

Alan and Kayo had completed one rescue in orbit and the rest of them had sat in the lounge assisting on comms. Scott had been a little quieter than usual, deferring to John on a couple of points where usually Virgil might have expected him to be more decisive, but it WAS a space rescue and that wasn’t entirely unheard of. Scott had never been space’s biggest fan.

Other than that they’d all done their own thing, mostly within reasonably close proximity to their oldest brother because, at least for Virgil, it was difficult to actually let him out of his sight. So he’d played piano, painted on the mezzanine, baked a couple of apple pies. Normal things he’d normally be in the communal area to do and not suspicious at all.

Scott himself was sorting some TI paperwork and, at one point, handwriting the little cards they tried to send to young rescuees within two weeks of the event in which they were involved. Many were drafted by a special department at TI, the actual Tracy involved usually just adding a signature or, in Virgil’s case, a tiny doodle. But Scott did like to make them more personal when he had the time so the only unusual thing was that it wasn’t being done at 2am the night before their posting deadline.

When a quick count had revealed 11 cards rather than 10 stood up to dry, Virgil had wandered past and casually queried it - they didn’t usually include the adults after all. Scott silently handed him the extra card which appeared to be addressed to “Alex’s Awesome Right Shoe” at which point the younger brother concluded that whatever the story was behind that, it could wait for when Scott was ready to tell.

Along with all the rest. Hopefully.

He’d even gone to bed at a reasonable hour which was rather more odd. Virgil felt slightly uncomfortable asking EOS to confirm he was actually in bed… like she was some kind of high tech baby monitor… but her assurance meant he felt able to retire to his studio to work on a project too messy for the lounge.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Shortly before midnight Virgil was clearing up in his studio when John popped up on looking serious but not in the usual way.

“Evening John, what’s up? Do we have a situation?”

His brother cleared his throat and appeared uncertain of what he was about to say.

“Virgil, Scott asked EOS to hack a couple of… databases.”

Virgil frowned and turned off the tap, spinning to face John’s hologram with paintbrushes still dripping, “What databases? Whose databases?”

John’s eye twitched. “The UK Home Office and the GDF War Archives.”

Virgil cursed as one of his more delicate brushes snapped in his fist.

“And… did she?”

“Of course she did, he’s the Commander. Honestly, Virgil, I’m beginning to think she listens to him more than to me. She’s certainly been chatting away on his direct line fairly frequently. Apparently he’s been answering some of her ‘modern historical and anthropological questions’” John’s use of air quotes somehow conveyed deep unease. “I have instructed her not to annoy him but he hasn’t complained. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’d gone soft on him since he was sick.”

“Well it’s better that they get along, I suppose. But John, what are they up to? Why?!”

“She said she was instructed not to reveal the details but has interpreted that instruction to mean she can tell me the basics without detail. She’s quite proud of how quickly she got through their firewalls.”

John paused.

“Virgil, maybe you should put those down?”

He looked down at the expensive brushes he’d been mangling and flung them into the sink.

“When was this?”

“Yesterday morning, apparently. Has he been working on Tracy Industries material ALL day today?”

“Yes. At least… I assumed so? I try not to get involved unless it’s R&D. All I did was check in and remind him to go to bed at a sensible time. From what I could tell then it was mostly spreadsheets on screen. Didn’t he have a budget thing to approve?”

“No. That was last week. I’ll see if I can find out what documents he was looking at but...” John coughed awkwardly at this point and Virgil looked at him quizzically until he continued “I haven’t currently got EOS’s help because she’s powered herself down for what she called “essential self care and maintenance” so with one thing and another it might take me a little while. Could you go and check on him?”

Virgil wiped his hands on his jeans and sprinted from the room.

He paused and listened at his brothers’ door. Gentle snoring floated through the wood and Virgil’s frown deepened. His brother didn’t tend to snore unless he was sick? He pushed open the door and found himself unsurprised to find the room empty, his brothers’ comms unit carefully located in the centre of the un-slept-in bed and a sound effects track playing on loop. He swiped it off in frustration and was lifting his arm to call John when his brother popped up in a state of extreme agitation: “Tracy Two has just taken off. Comms are inactive.”

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #john tracy #Estera #Tw: ptsd #idontknowreallywhy fanfic #TB Estera

[mischiefmanaged71]

Let’s Fall In Love For The Night - (9/10)

Summary: Being the eldest daughter of a Duke and Duchess means that Lady Y/N has been prepared for society; to fulfil her duties as the next heir to her family name and estate. However, she dreams of so much more than that, particularly, finding someone she truly loves rather than a political match. Intrigue sparks an idea with the introduction of Tom Bennett, a soldier she meets on a Press tour - forming a new relationship that could either make or break her apart should things turn against her favour.

Pairing: Tom Bennett x fem! Reader

“Do you think you were too harsh on her?”

The Duke glanced at his wife, catching the stern look on her face as she studied him. The empty seat at the table remained as it had for the past three weeks. Y/N had become a shell of the person she previously was. They failed to recognise their daughter as she fell into a new routine. One teetering on self-destructive as she locked herself away. Meals were taken in her room, or at later hours when solitude was suitable. The woman waiting for her soldier to return from a devastating war. The consequences were direly affecting her resolve, forcing her into a fragile state. 

His face relaxed, regarding the empty chair with a solemn look. “I did what I thought was right.”

“But you see what this is doing to her?” her voice lowered, “It’s tearing her apart.” She watched as her husband’s resolve shrivelled with each word. “You know it as I do."

"Who are we to stop her from being happy?”

He met her eyes, “I am only trying to protect her. That’s all I want.”

“We can protect and support her at the same time. Can't we?"

“You know the ferocity of these people. What they’ll all do to her and this family if it gets out.”

“I rather think she would do fine on her own. We’ve raised her to be resilient and strong. We can’t hold onto her forever, Richard.” he’s left with that note.

***

Every day, she listened to the radio. 

And every day, she received nothing.

Although no news was oftentimes better than the inevitable letter many awaited.

The next morning, her younger brother managed to coax her to join them at breakfast. He had managed it with his softened gaze and a gentle smile. Her family missed her presence and so she sat there at the table quietly. The sun shone briefly that morning, the clouds drawing closer. The room was cast in a grey light, the clinking of cutlery and the radio filling her ears.

“News arrived yesterday of the survivors at Dunkirk. A confirmed list of the troops rescued on the shore was tallied this morning. British soldiers were rescued from several vessels, including the HMS Exeter-”

A knife twisted in her chest at the word. The fork clattered on the table as she listened patiently, the sound of chatter ceasing with it. 

“Recorded numbers are in the thousands... many were unaccounted for...stranded at Dunkirk.”

Many erratic thoughts rushed through her mind. It darted from worry to shock within a second at the image of him stranded and alone. Their promise was a far cry in the schemes of a war. Promises were easily broken in the scope where life and death were concerned. Breathing suddenly became difficult as the prospect of his body wrecked her.

Y/N’s breath grew shaky. She pushed her chair out, finding the eyes on her. Her mouth parted as she flickered back to the radio. The impulse stirred in her before she moved, departing from the room. 

The footsteps thundered behind her on the floorboards. Y/N heard her father call out her name, but ignored it. She swung her bedroom door open, grabbing her coat and keys.

Her mother’s concerned voice reached her through the haze. “Please, talk to us.”

A blank stare and glistening eyes reached her parents standing in her doorway. “What do you want me to say?”

Uncertainty brewed in their eyes as they stepped around the topic. “We’re worried about you, darling.” 

She withheld a scoff, nodding her head. “Of course.”

“Where are you going?” her father nodded, looking down at the keys in her hand.

“I have to know.” her voice shook.

“Have you thought about this? What are you going to do?” he asked her.

“I don’t need to consider anything. Did you not just hear what I did?” Y/N gasped out, her heart clambering in her throat. 

“He-”, she choked out, clenching her fists as her eyes fell shut. “-He could be dead. Just let me go. Please. I will never ask anything of you again.”

“Please.” her parents’ expressions softened at the pain in their daughter’s voice. The agony was evident in her face as she pleaded for respite. She watched her parents glance at each other, the Duke eventually nodding his head.

Y/N’s mouth formed a tight line as she withheld a sob. Her hands shook, holding onto the keys like a life line. 

“Go to him.” he said.

Surprise lit in her eyes at his words.

“I-I was...” her father paused, guilt written over his face. “I was wrong. I understand now-- the extent of your feelings. What I did...it was a matter of protecting you, in my mind. But to you...Darling, I will work to make this up to you every day if it means that I’ll have you in my life.” he gulped. “All I’ve wanted was to protect my children. Not to be the source of their pain. I hope that when this is all over, you will want to come back here. Despite my decisions.”

Her eyes shone with unfallen tears, finally meeting his gaze. “And you mean that?”

He bowed his head. “I do.”

A pair of arms tugged her into their chest before she could depart. She embraced her father, a second pair of arms caressing her waist. A heavy breath left her chest as she breathed out some of the built tension. 

“I-I have to go.” she released from the hug, wiping her eyes.

***

Anxiety wringed her stomach, her heart thundering in her chest as she waited for an answer on their doorstep. She waited for relief to fill her once the door opened, but met with the devastation on Lois' face failed to settle those feelings.

“Please tell me he’s here.” her voice low.

Lois’ silence was enough of an answer and Y/N felt her knees grow weak. She hid her sob with a hand on her mouth, the woman pulling her inside. 

He wasn’t one of the list to arrive home. She almost broke down, if not for Lois’ support on her back, urging her to let it out.

“I-I only found out this morning. Do you think its possible he could be-”

The creaking floorboards caused the women to glance at the man’s presence.

“Who’s this?”

Y/N wiped her eyes, blinking between the father and daughter. She stood up straighter as the realisation hit her.

His eyes shone with recognition upon finally seeing the girl’s face. “Lois?” 

“Mr Bennett, I-uh.” she paused, glancing between the pair before she explained herself. The first meeting with his son. The second encounter and everything from there on, except the minor details of course. She recounted meeting Lois, justifying her knowing of their secret relationship and all that led up to the present.

“I assume you heard.” 

Thoughts of what if fill her mind as they all sit in the knowledge Tom Bennett might very well be dead. Y/N flickered between Lois and Douglas, recognising the remnants of Tom in them both. She stepped on her feet, cautious of her place in the room without him. 

“I apologise for coming here without notice. I-” she breathed, “I had to know. If you had heard anything else.” 

“We got the news yesterday with the listings. He wasn’t on it.”

That sent a bout of relief through her body, yet the question lied in when he would turn up. Or if he would. 

“If there’s anything I know about my boy is, he’ll come home.” Douglas stated firmly, “He’s as stubborn as they come.”

“He’s brave, too.” Y/N mustered, a sad smile on her face. 

The Bennetts were kind enough to offer to stay the night. Any news received would be directly to their household. Most of the night she failed to gain any rest, laying across the bed. The scent of smoke and something faintly resembling him filled her senses. 

“Aye, he is.”

It had initially sent a painful ache through her chest after weeks of being far away. The aching had turned to comfort as she nestled her face between the pillow and blanket, falling into a haze of sleep and restlessness over the night.

Two days had passed. She had phoned her parents that first morning of her plan to stay in Manchester. Her mother relayed her concerns and best wishes, understanding of the circumstances. She assured her daughter that her father was supportive nevertheless, much to her relief. 

The rustling of Lois leaving the room caused Y/N to open her eyes. She blinked away the sleep, turning her head to the door that remained ajar. The creaking of footsteps reached her ears, rustling before the sound of the front door opened. A muffled gasp and a shout sounded, her heart lurching in her chest. Y/N rustled for Lois’ gown, slipping into it as her thoughts were lost to her. 

Only instincts pushed her to the door as she slipped down the staircase, turning to the back door with a heavy chest and hope building at the thought of-

Him.

He looked tired and worn. She trailed his face, his wounds still healing with red scrapes along his cheekbone. His outfit was borrowed-- tattered; evidently from travelling all the way here. There was cause for concern with exhaustion in his eyes behind the smile he wore. Lois and Douglas had pulled away from the hug, allowing a full view of her standing in his line of sight.

“Tom.” she finally breathed. “You’re-”

TAGS

Y/N felt her throat close up, and a shuddery breath escaped her. He stepped toward her, meeting Y/N halfway as she fell into his arms. Tom held her tightly against his chest. The woman’s arms clutched around him tightly, afraid this was all a figment of her imagination. The feeling of his body against her was a tentative reminder.

“I’m here.” he whispered as she withheld sobs at the sight of him. The warmth of his touch. The beating of his heart beneath her ear was a comfort, pulling her back from that darkness that paced in her mind for days. “I’m right here with you.”

@pearlstiare @chainsawsangel @aemonds-sapphire @xcharlottemikaelsonx ​ @padfooteyes @batsyforyou @yentroucnagol @cl-0-vr @viviartsy @h3k3t @arcana-greenleaf @yummycastiel @lauraneedstochill @rntrsna @schniiipsel @caribbeangal @ccosmic-illusion @aemonds-wifey

#tom bennett #tom bennett x reader #world on fire #crown au #tom bennett x you #aemond #osferth #aemond x reader

[notexactlyrocketscience]

TMA ending reflections (and theories about the sequel!)

When I initially listened to the ending, it felt like a good plan (and the prospects of a perfect happy ending) unnecessarily jeopardised. Jon and Martin’s panicked conversation sounded so hopeless and their final decision felt impulsive. Everything was in shambles, and a good outcome was unlikely at this point. The promise of Somewhere Else seemed like an empty euphemism to make certain death more bearable. I was frustrated, and heartbroken.

Now that I've taken a few days to process and distanced myself from the characters' momentary pain, I actually truly believe that what happened at the end was a happy accident instead.

I don’t think I can put it better than the Reddit post already has—The original plan proposed by Annabelle could have had equally (if not worse) disastrous outcomes. Even if it had been canonically executed, knowing the way Jonny and Alex love to write, things would still have been shown to end ambiguously—just less tragically poetic. For the purposes of the narrative, I think they did a great job of ending the series on a climactic, fulfilling (and hopeful!) note that remains faithful to the overall tone of The Magnus Archives. Jon and Martin weren’t exactly planning on doing what they did, but it’s given them a chance at the best and happiest ending that was up for grabs.

And I love that I genuinely don’t feel like I have to be in denial of the canon at all to fully believe in this interpretation, since it was left strictly ambiguous on purpose.

But there’s more!

The Magnus Protocol teaser has a seemingly unharmed (and physically corporeal) Martin surprised to see the familiar tape recorder show up again, long after he’s assumed they’ve stopped listening. This, plus the fact that Jonny and Alex have confirmed they will appear in TMA 2, tells me:

It’s unlikely that Jonny and Alex will appear simply to voice other side-characters, even those with distorted voices. It’s clear from Q&As that they take casting very seriously. I can’t see them double-casting (former) main characters.

So we’ll see Martin again, post-escape from Eyepocalypse. Not just an old S1-to-S5-era never-seen-before Magnus Archives tape found by Alice and Sam. Including formerly unrevealed tapes from TMA would be a really nice touch (and I hope we’ll get that too!), but I’m sure Jonny wouldn’t release that particular teaser if he wasn’t solidly planning on following through in some way. Jonny has always been very serious about giving the audience breadcrumb trails with properly viable clues.

Well … what about post-Eyepocalypse Jon? Well, I think Jon is only going to appear in such a way that either fully retains the ambiguity of the TMA ending, or hints/confirms in some way that he is also alive and unharmed (in whatever avatar or semi-avatar form).

In any case, if post-Eyepocalypse Martin (and maybe Jon) do indeed appear (which seems very likely at this point), it will also be implied or shown that they are, indeed, together—in a non-tragic, romantic, bordering on wholesome way.

I say this because confirming their death or separation after the TMA finale would completely ruin the sanctity of the ending. It’s really neatly tied up and beautiful as it is right now. Answering questions to ambiguous events negatively in sequels (eg having formerly surviving main characters simply as side-characters who die in sequels) is really hard to land properly. It borders on being disrespectful of the investment the audience put into the original. Jonny has always been very receptive and sensitive to these things.

However, showing that characters from a previously ambiguous ending are living their best lives as mysterious side-characters that pop in and out—bamboozling the main characters (but delighting the audience)—is a lot easier to execute favourably. It also keeps from taking attention away from the protagonists and the main plot of the sequel.

So my expectation (read: hope) is that we’re going to see Jon and Martin in our world, where the end of TMA implied that the tapes are, and where I assume The Magnus Protocol is set! They will be happy and together (this may be explicit or implied vaguely, I am not sure how they’d keep that completely ambiguous if the post-Eyepocalypse versions of the characters themselves explicitly appear), and nothing worse than TMA finale will happen to them.

I only have this belief because I have incredible faith in Jonny and Alex as writers! I think they subverted insensitive tropes creatively and did just about everything right in TMA, and I can’t say that about most authors I love. Yes, I do generally want my blorbos to be safe and happy, but the above is not just a culmination of my wishful thinking. Jonny and Alex have already said that they certainly aren’t going to try to overshadow TMA, but I’m also hoping The Magnus Protocol will complement TMA while not really trying to step on TMA’s toes. They didn't have to drop so many JonMartin return hints (or even write JonMartin into TMA 2 at all) but they did. Super excited and optimistic for what's to come!

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jmart #the magnus protocol #tma spoilers #tma s5 spoilers #jonathan sims #alexander j newall #jonny sims #alex newell #martin blackwood #jon sims #john sims #jarchivist #the mag pod #the magnus pod #magnus pod #mag pod #the magnus scrotocol #tma 2 #lgbtq+ #achillean #mlm #gay #bi #biromantic #asexual #ace #screenshots from r/TheMagnusArchives via moonlightsapphic (repost bc tumblr algorithm completely ignored the reblog lol)

[all-de-fandoms]

MEAN GIRLS MUSICAL MOVIE LESGOOO

I literally just found out about this today and- yeah yeah yeah I know the musical got a lot of hate but genuinely I adored it (and it was one of my go-tos whenever I got dragged to a scary horror movie!). So to find out that they're making a movie out of it..... I mean yes, I've got some mixed feelings, but mostly I'm excited!

I've listened to the movie album on Spotify already, and held it up against the original. I have lots of opinions.

Cast Performance

Erika Henningsen vs Angourie Rice as Cady Heron: I’m sorry Angourie I’m sure you’re great but Erika really put her soul into her Broadway performance. So much emotion, so much energy and personality in her voice. By comparison, Angourie mostly seems to be singing to sound good rather than to communicate parts of the story in the musical. (I will say however that she did do pretty good in her last song, “I See Stars”.)

Taylor Louderman vs Renee Rap as Regina George: Renee! She did actually play Regina on Broadway after Taylor Louderman. Truth be told, I love Taylor’s version (lol) the best but Renee’s is nothing to sneeze at either. 10/10, no notes.

Ashley Park vs Bebe Wood as Gretchen: Ashley Park did it better. Bebe’s songs are.. okay. But they did cut a lot of Gretchen’s lines in the MG 2024 Spotify album, so that does affect her rating.

Kate Rockwell vs Avantika as Karen: I can’t choose, they both did a good job with their roles. I feel like Kate’s Karen really echoed Amanda Seyfried’s Karen in the original movie, but from what I could tell in the Spotify album, Avantika’s spin on Karen sounds equally good. I do wish they’d given her more songs/lines!

Barrett Wilbert Weed vs Auliʻi Cravalho as Janis!! OH MY FUCKING GOD you guys. If Renee gets a 10/10 Auli gets an 11/10 from me. Auli'i definitely did her homework. Amazing, amazing, amazing.

Grey Henson vs Jaquel Spivey as Damien: There's absolutely nothing wrong with Grey's version of Damien, it's a very good match for the movie one. But Jaquel’s Damien? He had such a beautiful voice, he really went above and beyond for Damien. My vote’s for Jaquel all the way.

The Songs

I won’t be listing them all because that would make this post much too long but here are my highlights:

They cut “It Roars” for “What Ifs” in the movie. Booo. “It Roars” told a good story, “What Ifs” is forgettable, in my opinion.

Auliʻi Cravalho’s version of “Revenge Party” is awesome. She absolutely killed it (/positive) and although I’m not one to usually approve lyric changes, I love the enhancement to Janis’ character by making the song more bloodthirsty.

Renee Rap nailed “Someone Gets Hurt” but I expected no less of course.

They changed some of the lyrics in some of the songs. Some of the lyric changes were just one line, or shifting around of roles ("Apex Predator").

“Meet the Plastics” got pared down in the movie album. Actually, a lot of songs got pared down for the movie album, or just moved altogether. I guess it was to adjust for time, and also to accommodate Angourie Rice’s vocal range. Aaron apparently has no singing roles at all.

"What's Wrong With Me" is another one that got pared down. The original song from the Broadway version tops this one, hands down. Had more plot and characterisation to it, this one was. Not it.

They cut Karen's funny lines in the beginning of the song "Sexy" which. Again, is such a shame. Avantika did amazing though.

They changed parts of "I See Stars", but I'm not mad at it tbh

Final Thoughts

I think my main gripe with the movie (from what I can tell based on the Spotify album) is that Angourie Rice is just not built for the powerful belting songs that Cady sings in the musical. That’s not bad, but I just. Surely they could have found another actress to play Cady? One who could actually perform in a musical? I’m a little tired of people being cast in a movie musical and still singing as if they’re trying to record an album. They’re two different things, people.

I guess they were trying to communicate Cady’s innocent and naïve personality in the original movie? but they cut out the rest of her personality in the new songs, making her just. So flat. This is particularly noticeable in the Broadway version of “Stupid With Love” vs the movie one. We were also robbed of Cady's growl in the line "watch me shake my mane" from "Apex Predator" (which is one of my favourite parts of the musical!) It’s tragic, is what it is. I don’t think this is necessarily all Angourie’s fault- mostly, this is poor writing and/or directing.

Similar gripe with Christopher Briney, Aaron’s actor in the movie. Apparently, he didn’t even want the role when he found out it would be a musical, so they cut out Aaron’s singing parts for him. Like?? Just? Hire someone else? It’s a musical, they ought to be committing to it.

Auliʻi has such a freakin beautiful voice, and as far as her singing performance goes she is the perfect casting for Broadway-Janis. Her performance is on parr with Barett’s in my opinion. She is the perfect example of someone who almost certainly did her homework: she understands the role, she puts in the attitude, the grunge, the “fuck you” attitude that made Barett’s version so damn good. I freakin love her.

Honestly from what I can tell I do love most of the people in this album (Jaquel Spivey!!) except for Cady and Aaron. Which is kind of a shame.

#Mean Girls the musical #Mean Girls #Mean Girls 2024 #musical theatre #Broadway #Auli'i Cravalho #Barett Wilbert Weed #long post

[unfilteredaj]

Ayo since some of the new cast isn’t coming back for the next Scream film, Matthew Lillard has basically already soft pitched numerous ideas to bring the Fandom’s collective babygirl Stu back and I just think it would logically be the easiest move with the highest profit, and also would be huge fan-service…..

Matt’s gone on record, KNOWING people will see and hear it, stating his support of Stu being alive and coming back. He clearly WANTS to play Stu again. Hell, he’d probably even be a good asset in the writing or directing department.

Not to mention Spyglass media has already teased Stu multiple times in the recent films and it would not be a huge leap to write him surviving that TV. They practically have a Ghostface, a motive (Stu is a lover scorned, and blames Sidney), and a selling point. They could market the film as him being the First and Last Ghostface. ‘It ends at the Beginning’ or a similar tagline, and a poster with the Ghostface mask.

Even a teaser trailer wouldn’t be super hard to come up with. Sidney gets a phone-call, and Ghostface brags that he’s not like the others. He’s different. He KNOWS Sidney Prescott better than the last few did. Sidney isn’t having it. Ghostface goes from nonchalant bragging to deadly serious, threatening to gut her family just like Casey Becker. Sid still isn’t convinced. But Ghostface goes even colder.

“You weren’t the only one that loved him Sid. Oh! Hold on, don’t hang up. I’ll be right back.”

*cue the sounds of Sidney’s kid screaming for her.*

Cut to Matthew Lillard, Scarred and covered in blood.

Idk about you guys, but I think it practically writes itself.

TL;DR Spyglass media needs to Bring Matthew Lillard and Stu Macher back into the Scream franchise and cash tf out.

#scream #matthew lillard #stu macher

[fishwithtitz]

The Five Times I Hooked Up with Mary Goore (and the One Time I Couldn’t) - Chapter 2

Summary: From beside me, I heard what sounded like a mix between a groan and a low breath. My brain told me to keep looking ahead, to ignore him, to wait until the movie was done and I was feeling better before finding Des and asking for somewhere to crash for the night. My impulsivity got the best of me and I slowly cast my eyes in Mary's direction. His eyes were slightly larger, the flickering light of the screen reflecting off the olive hue of his irises, and his bottom lip was just barely caught between his teeth. He clearly felt my stare because his head pivoted in my direction. His gaze was nearly smoldering.

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Mary Goore x OFC / 8.5k words

Warnings: language, graphic description of oral sex, graphic depiction of manual stimulation, recreational drug use, alcohol, light gore

ao3 link

Chapter Two: Hook-up #2: The Den

Five hours. Five long, arduous hours of measuring, mixing, cooking, cooling, trimming, crumb-coating, frosting, and piping. I was almost certain that I had inhaled flour or powdered sugar at some point as my nose felt gritty and raw on the inside, but I tried my best to pay it no mind. I was on a mission.

It had been a few weeks since the house show at Thomas’ place (and the subsequent tonguelashing from Mary on the weather-torn roof), and I’d had done my best to try to write it off as the once-in-a-lifetime experience that I’d tried to originally pacify my nerves with. 

It turned out that Thomas and Des had hit it off at the party, in more ways than one. I couldn’t say that I was necessarily surprised; Des was charming, alluring, and very persuasive when she wanted to be. Ever since she’d locked eyes on Thomas at the smoky bar downtown a couple of months ago, she’d known she had to have him, and to her credit, she’d accomplished it in record time. And honestly, I was happy for my friend. It had been a while since I’d seen Des so happy and free spirited while in the arms of someone she was so blatantly enamored with. However, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just a tad bit jealous of Thomas and the hold he’d captured on Desiree. 

Routinely, weekends had been spent just the two of us together - Doll and Des - curled up on my worn couch watching trash TV or engaging in parallel play as we sent videos back and forth that had us laughing so hard that we were covered in equal parts tears, mascara, and snot. Takeout or a drunken “do” meal (as I grew up calling them) of randomly delicious ingredients thrown together and cooked often followed, and both of us banked more memories than we could count of bonding through the sillied, domestic tasks we enjoyed together. 

Not the past few weekends, though.

I got it, believe me, I did, but after the third night in a row that I’d been blown off for either a bar or a bedroom, I couldn’t help but be a little bit worn down at my best friend’s new love interest. To avoid being the ever-dreaded third-wheel, I denied Desiree’s kind offers of accompanying them out or to Thomas’ house, which unfortunately meant many nights of movies alone and crappy blue-box mac eaten straight out of the pot.

So when Des came begging for me to use my baking talents to make Thomas a custom cake for his 30th birthday (Puss in Boots eyes and all), I didn’t even hesitate to agree to the task. I missed my friend, and although I wasn’t looking forward to slaving over the black-metal themed confectionary after finishing a particularly grueling shift at work, I was happy to do this for her. “Besides,” Des had said, “it will give you a chance to do something you enjoy and live a little.”

So, here I was: my grandmother’s old apron tied haphazardly across my curved waist, melted chocolate and white icing smeared across my forearms and the backs of my hands, and the tip of my tongue perched between my lips in concentration as I finished piping the intricate Baphomet head and pentacle on top of the three-layer cake. I glanced up at the microwave clock and felt my stomach drop deep in my guts. The party was in a little over an hour, and I still had to pack up the cake, shower, and make myself look at least semi-decent before heading over. Taking a step back, I admired my work. It wasn’t perfect, but I knew that if I kept fussing with it I’d inevitably fuck it up, so I dusted my hands off with a sigh and left the kitchen to hurry through a shower and makeup routine.

After a way-too-quick rinse and a blow-dry of my hair in record time, I futzed through my closet to try to find something acceptable to wear. It was warm out, so I opted for a dark-printed swing dress and a pair of worn, black sneakers. As always, I lived by the motto of “comfort before style,” and I was fresh out of fucks to give.

I ran my curling wand through the long tresses of burgundy hair that hung down my back and framed my face before putting on a light face of makeup. It was too warm to wear anything heavy, and despite my annoyance of my freckled cheeks, I didn’t want to spend the evening wiping flesh-toned grease from my face every time I felt a sweat droplet dripping down my jawline. Simplistic it was, then.

I fastened my weathered St. Peter’s Cross necklace to rest on my decolletage and gave myself a quick once over before hustling into the kitchen to pack up the cake. After finding a cardboard box, some saran wrap, and multiple crumpled up balls of newspaper stuffed around the cake, I was off. 

 🜏🜏🜏

“Doll, you’re here!” Desiree swung open the front door with a cheshire-like grin, beckoning me in with the wave of her hand. I smiled at my friend, feeling genuine happiness for her excitement of both the party and for us finally getting to see each other. Awkwardly, I stepped into the home and followed her through the short hallway to the garage. “I want the cake to be a surprise,” she said in a low, nearly-whispered voice, ushering me out towards the outdoor fridge. 

We set the cake on a lower shelf, still hidden by the recycled box I’d used to transport it in. She took a quick glance at the hand-drawn decoration on top and her eyes went wide before she all but pounced on me in a tight hug. 

“It’s fantastic!” she squealed, holding me firmly before pulling back to look at me properly. “Doll, I can’t thank you enough. It’s so fucking rad. He’s going to love it.” 

I flashed my own warm smile in response and chuckled. “Of course, Des. If he’s important to you, he’s important to me.”

We headed back into the house and Des led me out to the back patio, motioning towards a cooler propped against the sliding glass door as she stepped onto the eroded deck. I grabbed a random beer from the red and white Igloo and sat down in a nearby plastic chair, crossing my legs as I twisted the top off the bottle. 

“Happy Birthday, Thomas,” I said as I leaned over, clinking the tip of my bottle against his own. At this point, Des had slid into the seat next to him, resting her head on his shoulder as she absorbed herself into the conversation happening around us. 

“Thanks, Dahlia. Glad you could make it,” He replied as he tipped his bottle towards me in salute and took a swig, smiling politely before turning back to the chat we’d interrupted. I looked around and noticed that this party was definitely much smaller than the last one I’d attended here. There were only about ten other people, most of them acquaintances or friends from the music scene, and I recognized a few of them as Thomas’ band mates. 

Leaning back in my chair, I took a long sip of my beer and allowed the warm air of the evening to envelop me. I had to admit, this was nice. It’d been a while since I’d been around friends with no expectations or masks to wear. I could just be me. I could enjoy the banter between the boys of which Metallica album was most iconic (and why according to Johnny, it was definitely Master of Puppets, because “zero skips,” of course), or how Mark was told by a coworker that it was “gay to wash your butthole” and how he found it completely fucked that one, he didn’t wash his ass, two, his coworker was homophobic, and three, Mark finally knew where the smell in the stock room was coming from. At some point during the story, Johnny had lit a cigarette which was now dangling dangerously from his lips, ash falling onto his jeans pocket as Mark animatedly told the tale. Suddenly, he patted the ashen pocket and his eyes went wide. 

“Oh shit! I forgot to give you your birthday present!” Johnny fished a square (and slightly smushed) package from inside his pocket. It was wrapped in what looked like an old titty magazine, but I couldn’t be completely sure from my distance away from him on the patio. He leaned forward and plopped it into Thomas’ lap with a grin. “Happy 30th, dude,” he beamed with a salacious smile. “You’re officially a senior citizen.”

“30’s still young!” he defended with a glare, thumbs inching under the duct tape holding the wrapping together. 

A snort was heard from beside him, and Greg, one of the guitarists from his band, muttered something to the effect of, “Yeah, for trees,” under his breath, which earned an even harder scowl from Thomas. 

Thomas ripped the wrapping off and turned the slightly smashed box over in his hand. “Heat?” he questioned as he squinted at the brand on the box. He shook it a little and gave the parcel a quick sniff. “...is this a box of chocolates?’ His eyes looked at Johnny questioningly, but his lips were curved into a curious smile.

“Yup!” Johnny replied as he took another drag from his cigarette. “They’re kind of a present for the both of you.” He motioned to both Thomas and Des as he spoke, smoke rising from his hand.

“Are they spicy or some shit?” Thomas asked as he tried to read over the back of the box, picking at the plastic wrap covering. 

“You could say that…” Johnny grinned, ashing the cigarette and taking another drag. “I figured that since you’re so old now, you might need some help getting your dick to work.”

I had been mid drink of my half-downed bottle of beer at his comment, and I found myself snorting as I swallowed, immediately causing the fizzy liquid to seep its way into my lungs. I coughed loudly, which luckily covered my laughter. Des and I both leaned over to get a better look, and I glanced at the small print at the bottom of the box:

“The high-quality chocolate that uses natural ingredients to increase your pleasure and boost your sex performance.”

“Are these aphrodisiacs?!” Des yelled out incredulously, eyes wide as she stared at Johnny.

All of my efforts to hold back my laughter were gone as I tilted my head back and dissolved into uncontrollable giggles. I couldn’t even formulate what Des was screaming at Johnny (although I knew it was likely something hilariously angry and defensive), and I beamed at the ridiculousness of the situation. I hadn’t laughed so hard in weeks, and it felt good to let go a little. Though, I’d never admit to Des that she was right…I’d never hear the end of it, especially now.

The conversation was cut off by a pounding on the door followed by three succinct doorbell rings. Des shot up out of her seat, yelling “pizza!” as she ran toward the door, tapping my knee on the way out as if to nonverbally ask for help. I grunted and rolled my eyes, begrudgingly getting myself out of the chair as I followed her. She must have ordered a ton of food if she needed two people to carry it out back, I thought.

Des swung open the front door and her look of excitement slightly fell, but she kept her smile in greeting. “Oh, hey Mary,” I heard from my place behind her. 

Mary? I thought to myself. I felt my stomach somersault in my gut and I unknowingly bit at my bottom lip. 

I hadn’t really seen Mary since the house show a few weeks back. Sure, he and Thomas had probably hung out, and if Thomas was socializing with anyone these past few weeks, Des had to have been there, too. However, she never mentioned anything to me. Then again, it would make sense that she hadn’t — I had never let her in on my evening hanging out with Mary (only that we had talked on the patio that night), and I definitely didn’t tell her about his shitty beer slushies and the eventual redemption arc of his head between my legs. 

“...Do you need some help with that?” Des questioned as she moved aside, watching as Mary balanced at least three giant packs of beer while stepping through the threshold. The heavy boxes made the muscles in his arms appear permanently flexed, each limb framed by the cut-off sleeves of what was once a short-sleeve Morbid Angel tee. He was deceptively strong, and images of those arms curled around my legs as he dipped his face between my thighs ramparted my mind. I couldn’t help but watch as he moved swiftly through the house and out onto the patio.

“Nah, I’m good,” Mary grunted as he hurriedly beelined for the back door, pushing the crack of the door opening to the side with his foot as he slipped through with his contribution to the party. I subconsciously licked my lips and followed Des as she made her way back out to the patio with a sigh. Apparently, she’d really been looking forward to pizza. 

The patio crowd cheered as Mary appeared and Thomas got up to help him empty a couple of the boxes of beer into the cooler. I slipped into my seat quietly, almost hoping to avoid his notice, yet watched as his hands smoothed out the cans of Keystone in the ice to ensure they fit when the lid was dropped. 

He must have felt me staring, because his eyes shifted up towards me, quickly locking on mine. I felt my heart rate begin to staccato in my caged chest and I did my best to keep my face fairly stoic, though I knew it was futile. Those eyes like spring, of sage and straw, glued me into place. 

“Hey,” he said, ever nonchalant as he finished organizing the brews and secured the lid. I looked down briefly, trying to mimic his cool behavior, and then flashed him a small, polite smile. 

“Hi,” I replied quietly. 

Mary took a seat on the other side of the patio (it was the only empty seat available) and struck up a conversation with a couple of the guys and their girlfriends that were nearby. I tried my best to engage myself in the exchange happening between Thomas and Chassie (another mutual friend of ours), but my mind was swimming with snapshots of my evening with Mary. I mentally shook it off, likening my response to my all-too-often loneliness and trying to focus on celebrating Thomas’ milestone birthday.

Not long after, pizza came, and we hovered both in the kitchen and the patio as we listened to Sabbath playing over the speakers and shot the shit with one another. The more beer I drank and pizza I ate, the more I loosened up, and I found myself reconnecting with some of the old friends I used to see at various venues around town. Mary weaved in and out of the conversations, but I did my best to pay him just as much mind as anyone else. He didn’t seem phased by me, and surely, I wasn’t phased by him, either. 

I heard the door to the garage slam, and Des’ voice echoed through the kitchen landing. “Move it, out of the way, come on,” she said as she weaved through the couple blobs of congregated bodies, the cake box obstructing her face enough that she had to peer out from the side to see. I met her at the kitchen counter and helped her to unsheath the cake from the box, gingerly peeling the plastic wrap from it. 

“Oh, god damn it,” she exclaimed as she stared at the top of the cake. I felt my stomach drop with fear that I had messed something up, but it was quickly abated when she continued her sentence. “I fucking forgot candles.”

Mark, who was unknowingly standing behind us, fished through his pocket before brandishing a cigarette. He held it between his lips and lit it before plopping it dead-center into the cake, the smoking stick appearing as if it was perched in Baphomet’s mouth. I let out another chuckle and Des shrugged. 

Mark moved to help Des carry the cake, but she slapped his hand away playfully in an act of defiance and likely in worry that his drunk ass would immediately drop it on the floor. Though somewhat heavier than she expected, she slowly glided across the open kitchen and into the dining area. Chassie noticed and yelled out “Hey, cake’s lit!” and waved a few people in (Thomas amongst them) from outside to the dated dining table. 

A raucous chorus of “Happy Birthday” rang through the room as Des set the pitifully smoking cake in front of a now front-and-center Thomas. I could tell he was trying his hardest to hide his smile, but as he looked at Des with softened eyes, it was obvious how touched he was at the personalized gesture. The moment was immediately broken when one of the guys belted into his own rendition of the song, singing, “Happy Birthday to you, you’re older than poo. If you were a horse you’d be made into glue!” which earned deep laughter from the majority of the room. 

The cake was a three-layer round cake coated in thick chocolate frosting. A bright white Baphomet stared ominously from the center of a pentacle, while swirling piping lined the borders and edges. Thomas took a moment to study the cake, shaking his head in mock-annoyance at the song. As he went to blow out the “candle,” he stopped just short of the cake, eyebrow cocked, and slowly removed the smoking (and now ashen) cigarette from the middle of Baphomet’s lips. Mark took it from his fingertips and inhaled before licking the chocolate off the filter with a shrug. 

The cake was cut quickly by Des and passed out on whatever dinnerware Thomas had laying around the house. It didn’t take long for only crumbs to remain on the cake board — a badge of honor that I took with silent pride. 

After everyone enjoyed their cake, additional pizza, and sweaty cans of beer, Mark sidled into the kitchen to stealthily pour himself a shot of vodka and a chaser of soda. The bottle of soda that he’d found hidden in the fridge had been nearly empty, and as he drained it, realization lit his face. “Shit, Tommy, there’s one more present we forgot to give you!” he yelled out as he grabbed the bottle and ran out to the patio. 

Empty two-liter bottle in one hand and a bag of bud that he had fished out of his pocket in the other, he looked at the crowd on the deck with a grin. 

“Anyone up for grav hits?”

🜏🜏🜏

A small group of people crowded around the stained tub in Thomas’ spare bathroom — one sitting on the closed toilet lid clothed in a fluffy cover, and two others leaning up against the side wall. I sat on top of the builder-grade countertop, legs crossed, a shiver dancing against my skin at the feeling of the cold formica on the backs of my thighs. 

Mark sat on one side of the tub’s edge while he fashioned some tin foil to place over the top of the mouthpiece of the cut-off soda bottle. Thomas sat across from him watching intently while his hands clasped onto the bag of pungent flower. Only a handful of us had been interested in the present Mark brought for Thomas ( Des had decided to stay out on the patio with the rest of the crew). I didn’t mind — the bathroom was small and it already felt pretty cramped with the amount of willing participants. Plus, I saw this as opportune bonding time for Thomas and I.

My eyes studied Mark’s fingers absently as he pricked holes into the tin foil and began to load the bowl with a mixture of shake and bud, packing it almost fastidiously, his movements careful as to not drop it into the water-filled bathtub. After he was satisfied with his work, he proudly  handed the makeshift contraption to Thomas and extracted a BIC lighter out of his jeans. “Want to do the honors, birthday boy?” he asked as he handed him the light.

Thomas sank down to his knees and crouched over the tub, lowering the sliced bottle into the water so that only the top third was left unsubmerged. He held onto the threads of the mouthpiece as he flicked the lighter with a quick flit. The flame etched the surface of the weed, leaves and flower petals curling into charcoaled darkness as smoke began to simmer and swirl in the bottle's thick body. Thomas focused on making sure the bottom of the bottle's cut-off edge remained submerged but that there was enough room inside to collect as much smoke as possible.

When he was satisfied, he removed the flimsy silver bowl and handed it to Mark quickly before fixing his mouth over the neck, inhaling deeply as he pushed the bottle down into the water. The thick haze slurped into his lungs almost instantaneously and he all but shot up, the plastic bottle bottom dripping as his face contorted into discomfort. He let out a series of coughs before grinning wide at Mark. 

"Forgot how hard that shit hits-" he started, head shooting to the side when the door bolted open and almost hit the man standing behind it. 

"Oh fuck, sorry," I heard, and I lifted my legs from their dangling position over the bathroom vanity to hug my chest, hoping to avoid getting smacked by limb, body, or door. 

Mary slipped into the bathroom, his golden hair stringing into his eyes as he turned to fasten the door shut again. He stood awkwardly in front of the threshold as he realized there wasn't much room in the bathroom for him to stand. Thomas reached up and opened the small window above the shower to filter out some of the smoke before inching his way past the person on the closed toilet and the few against the wall. 

"I'm gonna find Des. Thanks for this, man," he reached across and clasped his hand with Mark's in gratitude, grasping into the handshake tightly before slipping past Mary and out the door. 

I sat awkwardly on the countertop, doing my best to keep my legs folded and out of the way while still ensuring my dress covered my crotch and ass. I could feel the cold metal faucet pressing into my back and my butt felt like it was about to slip into the basin of the sink. 

Over the next ten or so minutes, I watched from my uncomfortable position as a few more people in the bathroom each took their hits, most of them leaving directly afterwards to find some air in a less-cramped space. Eventually, only myself, Mary, Mark, and the guy sitting on the john (who I’d learned was named Jesse) remained. Mark gestured to me as he dumped the ash from the foil into the clear water of the tub and began to fill the bowl again. 

I hopped from the counter, smoothing the skirt of my dress as I slipped past Mary and toilet man, eyes straight ahead to avoid any contact. As I knelt in front of the tub, I felt the cool tile lick at my knees and the heels of my feet dig into my bottom. Mark handed me the bottle and lighter. 

I could feel Mary’s stare from behind me, and while I’d like to say he was decent enough to keep his eyes above the belt, I was certain he had snuck a glance at my ass as I flicked the wheel of the lighter. Shaking the perverse thoughts that bombarded my head, I pulled the aluminum from the bong and lowered my head, lips dancing across the mouthpiece as I inhaled deeply and fully while expertly submerging the bottle. 

It was as if I licked a fiery raincloud. The smoke hung heavy in the alveoli of my lungs, pricking at the blood vessels and sacs, and I closed my eyes to keep them from watering. I rose up and exhaled, my hand softly pushing the 2-liter to Mark as I turned and gently pushed past Mary to exit. My head was swimming and I was doing everything in my power not to cough. I didn’t want to make a complete ass out of myself. Unfortunately, that also meant I was holding my breath. 

I could hear the dull thud of the music playing through the speakers outdoors and unremarkable chatter punctuated the beat. I didn’t even recognize the feeling of my feet against the Pergo as I padded down the hallway and across the landing, down the carpeted steps, and right into the den, sinking onto the worn plaid couch with another weighted exhale. My head was spinning and my stomach wasn’t far behind. Maybe smoking after a handful of beers wasn’t my smartest choice. 

Eventually, I lowered my forehead to the armrest of the couch and closed my eyes, lifting my legs up to curl under me as I soaked in the cool quietude of the empty den. I sat there for what my mind registered as an eternity. The calm doused my speeding heart and helped me to keep the heavy reams of impending panic from erupting in my chest. 

I melted into the firm side of the couch, brow bone melding with the scratchy plaid material, and reached an arm out to ground myself against the side table. I'm not sure how much time passed —it could have been a few minutes or nearly a half hour— but my body was lulled into a calmer, settled state when I heard the slap of a remote against something firm followed by some quieted curses. The click of plastic buttons on the TV console tickled my ears. 

Within seconds, sound from the TV began to ring out in the quiet den, the volume loud enough to hear over the buzz outside but quiet enough as not to startle me. I felt the couch slump next to me and the scent of cigarettes, weed, leather, and musk whooshed into my nostrils from the movement. I craned my head up to look at the man next to me. I'm not sure why. I already knew it was Mary.

"Assholes found lawn darts in the shed outside and decided to set up teams. Fuck if I’m gonna get stabbed," He started, bringing a bottle of water to his lips. My eyes trailed his form. His legs were crossed at the ankles, boots perched on top of the coffee table in front of us, and at some point during the night he had put on his leather jacket. He looked over at me and his demeanor changed from one of kind indifference to one of concern. "...you good?" he asked, turning to face me.  

"Mmph," I mumbled, trying my best to sit up straighter against the pillowy back of the couch. I licked my dry lips and realized for the first time just how cottony my mouth felt. "Too high."

Mary let out a soft chuckle and the nerves that I had spent time pushing down into my belly threatened to peek through again at the warm sound of his voice. “Not surprised," he said with a shrug, eyes flickering to the movie on the screen before falling back on me, "I’ve never seen a chick take a hit like that before. You’re a pro.”

I wanted to argue with him. In a much more sober state, I would have denied his compliment and told him that getting the spins from smoking bud was not the sign of a pro, but at the moment, all that came out of me was the sentence "I am liquid garbage." I licked my dry lips again and inwardly groaned at the Sahara that was my mouth.

“It’ll pass.” Mary reached over and handed me the water bottle he had been drinking. I smiled, recalling the last time he'd shared his beer with me weeks ago out on the patio, and I took a couple of swigs. Capping the bottle, I handed it back to him, sinking a little further back into the couch as I began to watch the scene unfolding on the screen. 

"What movie is this?" I asked after a beat, bringing my legs to cross in front of me as I snuggled into the pillows resting against the arm of the sofa. 

Mary murmured his response, clearly focused on the film, and I didn't quite hear what he said. Or, if I did, I didn't recognize it. It looked like an older film (something I confirmed when I glanced across the room and saw the VHS cover thrown on the floor next to the TV console) and the quality led me to believe it was likely an indie film or B-movie. That seemed to track from what I knew about Mary. 

We sat there for a while in a comfortable silence as the movie played in front of us. The lights of the den were off, but the incandescent kitchen lights shown in from the hallway, which paired with the glow of the TV made the details of the room fairly visible. We watched as the characters on the screen sculked down a dark alleyway, not a care in the world, and from my horror trope knowledge I knew that the action was about to start. 

From my left, I heard the crinkling of a wrapper and the distinctive clunking noise of something bitten. Another wrapper crinkled and Mary brushed my arm with his own, his hand coming out in front of me. 

"Here, eat something," he said as he handed me what looked like a square of chocolate. I felt my stomach tumble a little at the thought of something sweet, and I made a gruff noise in response, shaking my head a little. 

Mary shook the chocolate slightly as if to double down. "It'll make you feel better. Settle your stomach." 

I all but rolled my eyes as I grabbed onto the candy and muttered a noise of thanks. Typically, I'd argue with him that sugar was the antithesis of a sour stomach remedy, but his sweetness and ever-present thoughtfulness won me over. I snapped the chocolate with my teeth and as it melted on my tongue, I sank a little further into the couch cushions. It was good — a little more bitter than I expected, citrus-y, and not nearly as rich as I had worried about. Damn it, I hated when he was right. 

Before I knew it, I had downed the whole square. Unbeknownst to me, Mary had watched with side-eyes and already had another square ready for me when I'd finished, which I accepted gratefully.

We remained like that, mere inches between us as we snacked on square after square of dark chocolate until barely any remained, absorbing the scenes of the movie unfolding before us. I felt warm and heavy and full in the sanctity of the cozy sunken room and the party outside lived far from the boundaries of my mind. Glancing at the table, I looked to see if I could find a wrapper or box to mentally note the brand of chocolate to buy it later, and I noticed a familiar smashed box laying open on the surface. Within seconds, the recognizable panic rose in my chest. 

"Mary," I started cautiously, staring at the box, "where did you get those?"

I saw Mary shrug out of the corner of my eye. "They were in the kitchen."

I swallowed harshly. "So...you just…took them?" I said slowly, hoping to clarify that he hadn't taken what I thought he had. After all, Mary had shown up late. He wouldn't have known what they were.

This time, Mary turned his head to look at me straight on. The look on his face was relaxed and seemingly unbothered. "The box was all damaged so I assumed someone would throw them away. And Thomas is more of a Hershey guy," he reasoned. 

At that moment, my heart fell out of my ass — partially because we had just eaten Thomas' entire birthday gift, but more so because of what we had eaten. 

My face must have been a clear tell, because the long-haired man in front of me cocked his head in confusion. "Mary, those were, uh..." I tried to choose my words carefully despite the haze in my mind, "...those were fucking chocolates."

He laughed and looked at me with eyebrows raised and eyes wide, a look of ridiculing understanding on his face. "I know they were chocolates," he said with another mocking chuckle.

I grunted in frustration. "No, they were FUCKING chocolates!" I sighed and ran my hand through my long hair, tilting my head back as I searched for the right words. "God damn it, Mary, chocolates for fucking. Sex chocolates!" I looked over at him, my grey eyes widened a little in irritation, and studied his face for his response. 

He shrugged, fucking shrugged, and leaned back a little further into the couch. "That shit is all marketing BS," he waved his hand and settled back in to watch the movie. I was certain he didn't notice me glaring daggers at him. 

Despite my frustration, I followed suit and decided to distract myself with the film. I couldn't really decipher the plot (which I mostly attributed to my intoxication), but I began to deduce that it was some sort of slasher film riddled with horror cliches and gore.   

My suspicions were quickly confirmed when the movie cut to an intimate scene between two of the side characters. As they moved against each other in the dark, clothing half-ripped off, lips trailing skin, and almost pornographic moans permeated the screen, I felt my stomach tighten. I wasn't typically the kind of person to be affected by sex scenes in movies or TV, but for whatever reason, I felt a rush of heat flood my abdomen and pull at my navel. 

Shadows moved behind the preoccupied couple on the screen and I tried my best to focus on the horror element of the plotline. The murderer is in the room and is waiting for the opportune time to strike, I told myself in prediction, willing my eyes to study any and every small detail in the movie to keep the tugging at my core from building. 

I licked my lips and let out a quiet breath, hoping to God that Mary didn't hear me. Anger started to prick at my gut. Was this a placebo effect? A side effect of weed and alcohol? Or were those chocolates the real deal? Regardless, I pulled my knees to my chest and did my best to not allow the movie to bother me (one way or another).

From beside me, I heard what sounded like a mix between a groan and a low breath. My brain told me to keep looking ahead, to ignore him, to wait until the movie was done and I was feeling better before finding Des and asking for somewhere to crash for the night. My impulsivity got the best of me and I slowly cast my eyes in Mary's direction. His eyes were slightly larger, the flickering light of the screen reflecting off the olive hue of his irises, and his bottom lip was just barely caught between his teeth. 

He clearly felt my stare because his head pivoted in my direction. His gaze was nearly smoldering. I licked my lips, the wet sounds and moans of the TV punctuating our focus on one another, and I felt the air grow thick with tension that was practically palpable. My fixed stare drifted downward to look at his bitten lip and I shuddered as I noticed the reddened teeth mark against the soft flesh.

I don't know what overcame me. Suddenly I was lurching forward, my legs bent below me as I pushed into him, hand resting on the worn fabric of the band shirt below the jacket, knees brushing the fabric of his jeans. Our faces were inches apart and I could see the stubble outlining his chin and cheeks. His hand snaked up between us and grasped the back of my neck, and before I knew it, he pulled me into him with such force that I nearly lost my balance. 

My lips crashed against his for the first time ever, and through the fog in my brain and body, I noted their firmness, how they were slightly chapped but still velvety as they moved against mine. I shifted to lift a leg over his lap and straddled him, both hands resting against him as his own free hand came to slot against the curve of my waist. The fabric of my dress floated around our conjoined laps and I tilted my head to the side to deepen our locked lips.

Mary groaned and the hand on my neck traveled down my back and over my ass before gripping onto the other side of my waist. With both hands, he held me firmly and pulled me down into his crotch. I could feel the rough jean fabric scraping against my inner thighs and seat of my panties. I let out a whimper.  

Heat soared through my groin and had I been clear-headed, I would have laughed at the aptly-named chocolates, but I was too distracted by Mary's noises and his guitar-calloused fingertips now brushing up my thighs and oh god did he smell good (all leather, spice, cigarette, and earth). I felt my dress flutter up to the crease between my legs and pelvis and his hands came to cup around my backside. I let out a wanton moan into his mouth and he pushed his tongue against my lips, parting them as he ground himself into me. 

Had we been completely alone in the house (or at least in a more secluded space), I couldn’t promise myself that I would have had any restraint against Mary completely taking me right there on the old sofa. However, a moment of worry panged at my core and I separated from him slightly, mere centimeters between us as we both breathed heavily. 

“Aren’t you worried about getting caught?” I stumbled out, lips brushing against his own as I spoke. 

Mary grunted in reply and pulled me in against him deeper. “Everyone is distracted outside," he murmured against my jawbone as he pressed slow, tantalizing kisses that flowed down to my neck. I tilted my head further to the side and fluttered my eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of his body pressed against my own, fingertips digging into the tines of his zippered jacket. His lips ghosted a sensitive spot on the curve of my neck and I felt electricity swim across my skin. 

"I don't fuck people I don't know," I breathed out, feeling my own hips move against his now as if betraying my own words. 

He let out a noise that registered somewhere between a groan and an "mmm" before detaching from my neck. One of his hands reached up to brush some rogue strands of hair that had fallen into my eyes, tucking them behind my ear as he brought our faces close together. "I guess we'll have to get to know each other better, then," he rumbled out, voice low as his thumb pressed into my jaw and pulled our lips together again. 

The lights of the movie flickered behind us and screams from the victims of the story percussed our heavy makeout. I paid them no mind, but after the third scream and the sploshing sound of what I assumed to be blood, I could have sworn that Mary's kisses became more heated. 

His hand trailed from my jaw and down to squeeze at my breast through the thin fabric of my swing dress, which earned him a moan from me in response, before he traced his fingertips down to the skirt gathered at my waist. He dipped his fingers low between the heat of my legs, swiping them once, twice up the crotch of my panties to feel the wetness gathered there. I felt him smirk against my lips and his nimble fingers pushed the damp cotton aside to graze my pussy. I let out a whimper into his mouth and he took this as permission to go a little further, stroking along either side of my inner folds with his pointer and middle fingers. 

The muscles of my legs quivered at the sensation and I moaned a little into his mouth again, my tongue licking against his own almost lewdly as he rubbed his hand against me. He broke the kiss just barely, squeezing his fingers on either side of my clit. "Did you want me to stop?" he purred out as he languidly stroked. 

"Please," I choked out, the tenseness of weeks without physical touch bubbling up in my abdomen and throat. 

He began to remove his hand teasingly. "Please what? Stop?" he asked as he bit softly on my bottom lip. 

I tugged my lip back from his teeth and opened my eyes to look at him imploringly. "Please don't stop," I practically begged before leaning back into his touch. He slammed our mouths together again and began moving his fingers with more speed and intensity, rubbing me up and down but being careful to never directly touch my most delicate spot. His teasing had me dripping for him, and right when I felt my frustration about to run over, he dipped his hand lower and slipped inside of me smoothly. 

I let out a noise of complete pleasure against him, our lips breaking apart, and rested my forehead against his as my eyelids squeezed together. His free hand rocked me against him and he added another finger before curling them into me, pushing and stroking and prodding at my g-spot expertly. 

"Mary..." I moaned breathily, and he grunted out in response as he leaned down to lick a stripe from my collarbone to my ear. Goosebumps pebbled my skin and I ground my hips into his hand, unknowingly pushing it into his swelling cock. 

"I've been staring at you in that dress all night," he purred into my ear. The movements of his fingers began to speed up and I reached down between us to rub at my clit, but he beat me to the punch, his thumb reaching up to massage it at a teasingly slow speed. "How your tits were pushed up against your knees as you sat on the bathroom counter," he took in a sharp breath and I felt his inhale prickle the curve of my ear, "The way your ass looked bent over the bathtub, lips around that bottle. Fuck, I wanted that to be my cock."

I could feel the outline of his hardness pressing against me through his jeans, and images of his leaking cock being pressed between my lips made my gut flutter with need. I brought my fist up to my mouth and bit into it, groaning loudly and hoping that it was at least somewhat muffled. The desire pooling in the pit of my abdomen was threatening to break through, the dam nearly cracking, and I could feel each nerve of my pussy jolting with fiery synapses, just waiting to explode. 

My head tilted back and I looked down at Mary through half-lidded, lust-drunk eyes. "Mary, I'm—"

He cut off my whine, his voice gravelly as he spoke. "I want you to cum on my fingers, babydoll. Just like you came on my tongue." 

I felt the fire rage inside me and it was as if I lost complete control of my body. My hips writhed into him and my hand reached up to grab onto his shoulder for support, fingernails digging roughly into the leather of the battle jacket as I let out a noise of complete rapture. His hand on my hip darted up and quickly covered my mouth as he continued to fuck me with his fingers. 

"Shhh, you didn’t want them to hear us, remember?" His eyes pierced into mine, pupils wide and blown with desire, and he watched every minute movement of my face as I came around him. Despite his sultry reminder, I keened against his hand, his skin tasting salty against my tongue and lips with each little noise. He pulsed me through my orgasm and circled my sensitive nub with increasing gentleness as I came down in his arms.

After a moment, he slipped out of me and brought his soaked fingers to his lips before making a show of sucking my slick from them. "You taste just as good as I remember," he breathed out with a smirk. I let out a shuddering breath, closed my eyes, and rested my forehead against his once more, our hair tangling in a mess of golden brown and mahogany tresses. I felt his dick pulse beneath me. 

My mind shot back to our time together on the roof, and as I sat nearly puddled against him on his lap, I realized that I had yet to return any of his favors. With shaky knees, I pushed myself from him (earning me a brief look of concern) before I slid down his lap and onto the floor in front of him. The worry melted from his face as his eyebrows rose, and a grin stretched across his lips. 

My hands slithered down the black denim of his thighs, ghosting the skin of the ripped knees, and I grabbed his shins to push them open. Settling between them, I reached forward to push his bullet belt up and pull at the button on his pants. It popped open with minimal effort and I gripped my hands onto the meat of his thighs as I leaned my face directly over his crotch. Taking the zipper in my teeth, I wrenched it down smoothly. The heat of his groin flushed against my cheeks and even without looking, I could tell he wasn't wearing boxers.

He quickly pulled his pants down from his hips to his knees and his cock sprung out, nearly hitting me in the face. While he was no Owen Gray, it was longer and thicker than I had imagined given his height, and I knew that it would be difficult to take him completely. Grasping onto the base, I flittered my eyes up to him and peered at his face through thick lashes as I licked the tip lightly.

Mary let out his own series of aroused noises and his hands grasped at the couch cushions below him. I smirked and knelt a little closer, back curving to highlight the swell of my ass as I took the tip into my mouth and sucked sparingly before letting it go with a pop. Mary whined at the loss of my mouth and I let out a small laugh, enjoying returning some of the teasing he'd put me through, before I grabbed the base and licked from his balls to his frenulum. 

The dialogue from the TV just barely drowned out his heavy breathing and I surprised him by taking him into my mouth as deeply as I could without gagging, hand still squeezing around the base as I began to bob up and down. By now, the spinning nausea and hazy headspace was gone and I was feeling the more positive effects of the gravity hit, so I slid my other hand down to cup his balls as I took him a little more deeply into my mouth. 

One of Mary's hands came to thread through my hair, grasping the burgundy locks with a tight grip as he helped guide me up and down his shaft. I pressed the tip of my tongue against the vein on the underside of his cock and he groaned out, lips spilling out the words "Fuck, just like that” as his hips quaked beneath me. 

I continued to move my head against him, alternating licking and sucking, hollowing my cheeks and pulling lightly at his balls. I could tell he was close when his moans became louder and his arm started to tremble. Speeding up my ministrations, I looked back up into his eyes to see them closed, his head tilted against the back of the couch, and he started to jerk his hips up roughly into me. I relaxed my throat and stilted the gagging feeling the best I could, tears pricking my eyes as I let him fuck my face. 

The tip of his cock hit the back of my throat and he let out a guttural noise, his other hand coming to grab onto my head as he thrust into my mouth. "Ungh, fuck, babydoll, you're gonna make me cum," he growled, and even with my recent orgasm, I felt wetness instantly pool in my already soaked underwear. 

Seconds later, his hips spasmed into my face and he came roughly into my mouth. His salty spend pooled on my tongue and I swallowed around his cock before slowly sliding off with an audible "pop". A bead of cum dribbled down my lips and I wiped it with the pad of my thumb, popping the digit in my mouth to lap at it slowly while locking eyes with Mary.

He looked at me half-lidded, completely enthralled as I nearly devoured every drop of him, and I leaned back a little while shooting him pleased smile. 

"I couldn't let you go through life without experiencing one of my blowjobs at least once," I said, nearly echoing his words from weeks prior. He instantly recognized this and laughed, one of his hands moving from my head to trace his thumb over the swell of my bottom lip. 

"I don’t know what it is about you, dollface," he whispered. My heart leapt again at the nickname he'd assigned me and I hummed as I leaned into his touch before slinking up to sit next to him. I rested my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. I could hear the clink of his belt as he carefully tucked himself back into his jeans, the sound of his zipper whirring briefly through the heated air. 

His arm came to snake around my waist and we sat there in a comfortable silence, film credits dancing on the screen. I heard the sliding glass door open from the kitchen and footsteps clatter against the fake laminate flooring, but I didn't move from Mary's grasp. I was too tired (and too satiated) to care. 

After a while, I felt his lips press onto my forehead and I opened my eyes again to look at him. He motioned towards the last chocolate square on the coffee table with a subtle flick of his head, a smile carved into his face, and broke the quiet. 

“...you gonna eat that?”

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