#torn between “nothing is wrong enough with me” and “if this doesn't work out I am going to lose my mind” which... you'd THINK would

[skibasyndrome]

.

[the-oblivious-writer]

With Her I Die |11|

Past J.T to Eventual S.S x Female Reader

Chapter Eleven: Dark is the Sky

warnings: graphic depiction of childbirth complications, stillbirth/infant death, blood and medical trauma, grief and psychological distress, hallucinations/delusions, references to cannibalism (in hallucination sequences), death and implied violence/animal attack, intense emotional content related to loss and abandonment.

note(s): as you can see from the warnings, this is an intense chapter, read cautiously.

taglist: @morganismspam23 @slutforabbyanderson

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Pain splits you open, reshapes you. It hollows out spaces where certainty once lived, leaves you raw and exposed. There's a terrible intimacy to it—the way it forces you to surrender, to become nothing but nerves and breath and desperate wanting.

Shauna learns this as her body works to bring forth life in the dim light of the cabin. Her world narrows to the rhythm of contractions, to the voices around her—steady, urgent, afraid. Tai's hand in hers, squeezing tight enough to bruise. Misty's clinical observations, too eager, too detached. The others hovering at the edges, useful and useless all at once.

"Push," someone tells her. "You're doing great. Almost there."

Lies told to make the unbearable seem possible. Nothing is great. Nothing is almost over. There is only this moment, stretched into infinity, her body working against itself, tearing itself apart for the promise of something new.

"I can't," she gasps, head thrashing against the sweat-soaked pillow.

"Yes, you can," Tai insists, her voice anchoring Shauna to the present. "You're the strongest person I know. You can do this."

Another contraction seizes her, more violent than the last. Shauna arches off the mattress, a sound escaping her that doesn't seem human, something primal and ancient.

"Something's wrong," Misty says suddenly, her voice losing its excited edge. "There's too much blood. And I think... I think I see the placenta."

The words mean nothing to Shauna, lost in the haze of pain, but she feels the shift in the room—the way bodies tense, voices drop, movements become more urgent.

"What does that mean?" Van asks, hovering at the foot of the mattress, eyes wide with concern.

"Placental abruption," Misty says, the medical term rolling off her tongue with practiced ease. "The placenta's detached before the baby's born. It's... it's not good."

Not good. The understatement pierces through Shauna's pain-fog. Not good means death out here. Not good means no hospitals, no doctors, no lifesaving interventions.

"Save the baby," she manages between clenched teeth as another contraction builds. "If you have to choose—"

"Nobody's choosing anything," Tai cuts her off fiercely. "Both of you are going to be fine."

But there's no conviction in her voice, just desperate hope dressed up as certainty.

The next hour passes in a blur of pain and blood and frantic activity. Shauna drifts in and out of full awareness, the physical agony so intense that her mind seeks refuge elsewhere. In those brief escapes, she finds herself thinking of you—wondering where you are in this moment, if you're safe, if you're thinking of her too.

And then, suddenly, impossibly, you're there.

You burst through the cabin door, wild-eyed and breathless, as if summoned by her need. Your clothes are torn, face scratched from branches, hair tangled with leaves and twigs. But you're here, solid and real and present.

"I felt it," you say, rushing to Shauna's side, taking her free hand in yours. "I knew. I just knew something was happening. That you needed me."

Relief floods through her, so powerful it momentarily eclipses the pain. "You came back," she whispers, tears streaming freely down her temples into her sweat-dampened hair.

"I never should have left," you tell her, pressing your forehead to hers. "I'm here now. I'm staying. I promise."

Your presence changes everything. The room seems brighter, the pain more manageable, the fear less consuming. With you holding one hand and Tai the other, Shauna finds new strength, pushing with renewed determination.

"I can see the head!" Misty announces, excitement returning to her voice. "Come on, Shauna, one more big push!"

Shauna bears down with everything she has, a guttural cry tearing from her throat. There's a final, searing stretch of pain, and then—release. A slippery sensation, a moment of utter silence, and then—

A cry. Thin and reedy but unmistakably alive.

"It's a boy," Misty says, cradling the tiny, blood-covered form in her hands. "A perfect little boy."

You laugh through your tears, squeezing Shauna's hand. "You did it. He's here. He's beautiful."

The baby is placed on Shauna's chest, small and warm and miraculous. She stares down at him in wonder—this new life that somehow exists despite everything, this tiny person who has no idea of the world he's been born into. His eyes are squeezed shut, face scrunched in indignation, perfect miniature fingers curled into fists.

"He looks like you" Tai says softly, brushing a gentle finger over the wispy dark hair covering his head.

"Lucky kid" you say, your voice is thick with emotion, eyes never leaving the baby's face.

For a moment, everything is perfect. The pain recedes, the fear subsides, the world contracts to just this: a new life, surrounded by people who will protect him at any cost. Shauna looks up at you, overwhelmed with gratitude that you're here, that you came back to her for this moment.

"Thank you," she whispers, reaching for your hand. "For coming back."

But when she extends her hand, you're no longer beside her. The space where you stood is empty, the warmth of your presence already fading.

"Where did she go?" Shauna asks, confused, looking around the cabin. "She was just here."

The others exchange glances, concern evident in their expressions.

"Shauna," Tai says gently, "she wasn't here. You know that. She's still out there somewhere."

"No," Shauna insists, panic rising in her throat. "She was just here. She held my hand. She saw the baby."

But even as she says it, the certainty wavers. The memory of your touch seems less substantial now, the sound of your voice already fading. Was it real? Or just another cruel trick of her desperate mind?

Before she can process this, the baby in her arms begins to change. His skin, pink and new moments ago, turns gray, then blue. His cries, so vibrant and alive, fade to silence. His small chest, which had been rising and falling with new breath, goes still.

"No," Shauna whispers, then louder, "No! Something's wrong with him! Help him!"

The others are moving again, Misty reaching for the baby, face grim. "Let me see him, Shauna."

But Shauna clutches him tighter, unwilling to let go, as if her grip alone could keep him in this world. "Do something! Please!"

The cabin around her begins to distort, the familiar walls stretching and warping. The faces of her friends—Tai, Misty, Van, the others—twist into grotesque masks, their expressions shifting from concern to something hungrier, more primal.

"We should eat," Lottie says, her voice echoing strangely in the distorted space. "The wilderness provides. Always."

"No," Shauna whimpers, trying to shield the baby with her body. "Stay away from him!"

But they're closing in now, their movements jerky and unnatural, like broken puppets. Tai reaches for the baby, her eyes hollow and dark. Misty licks her lips, glasses gleaming in the firelight. Even Van, sweet Van, bares her teeth in anticipation.

"He's a gift," Lottie intones, swaying slightly. "From the forest. For our survival."

"No!" Shauna screams, louder this time, her voice tearing from her throat. "He's mine! My baby!"

But they're not listening anymore, not seeing her at all. They're focused entirely on the small bundle in her arms, reaching, grabbing, pulling. Shauna fights with every ounce of strength she has left, kicking and biting and screaming.

And then, abruptly, she's no longer in the cabin.

She's in the lean-to where you'd been staying, the empty space cold and hollow. The note—I'm sorry—lies on the ground before her. Outside, snow is falling, thick and silent, erasing all signs of life.

"Did you know?" you ask, suddenly beside her again, your form translucent, ghostly. "Did you know it would end like this?"

Shauna turns to you, confused, terrified. "End like what? Where's my baby?"

Your expression is sad, knowing. "Gone. Like Jackie. Like me. Like everything out here."

"No," Shauna insists, reaching for you, but her hands pass through your form like smoke. "You came back. The baby was born. I held him."

You shake your head, already fading. "I'm sorry," you whisper, your voice carrying on the wind that suddenly gusts through the lean-to. "I'm so sorry."

The scene shifts again, and Shauna finds herself back in the cabin, but everything is wrong. The others are gathered around her, but their faces are stricken, tear-streaked. Misty holds a small bundle wrapped in fabric, her expression uncharacteristically solemn. There's blood—so much blood—soaking through the mattress beneath Shauna, pooling on the floor.

"Placental abruption," Misty is saying, her voice clinical but gentle. "There was nothing we could have done. Not out here."

"The baby?" Shauna asks, her voice a croak, though she already knows the answer from their faces.

"I'm so sorry, Shauna," Tai says, gripping her hand tightly. "He didn't make it. He was... he was already gone when he came out."

No. No no no. This isn't right. This isn't what happened. He was alive. He cried. You were there, you saw him, you—

The realization hits her like physical pain. You weren't there. The baby didn't cry. None of it was real—just her mind constructing a kinder reality in the face of unbearable truth.

"Let me see him," Shauna demands, her voice hollow.

Misty hesitates, exchanging a glance with Tai. "Shauna, I don't think—"

"Let me see my son."

Slowly, reluctantly, Misty approaches with the bundle, carefully placing it in Shauna's outstretched arms. With trembling hands, Shauna unwraps the fabric, revealing the tiny face within.

He's perfect. Perfectly formed, perfectly still, perfectly lost. His skin is blue-tinged, his eyes closed as if in sleep, dark lashes resting against his cheeks. Shauna traces a finger over his features—the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, the delicate shell of his ear.

"He has my hair," she whispers, the words a broken echo of the scene she'd imagined.

"Yes," Tai agrees softly, tears streaming down her face. "He does."

Reality and hallucination bleed into each other, the edges blurring until Shauna can no longer tell which parts were real and which were fabricated by her desperate mind. Did you come back? Did the baby really cry? Did she truly see hunger in her friends' eyes, or was that just another manifestation of her deepest fears?

"My baby," she whispers, cradling the still form to her chest. "My baby."

The others move around her, speaking in hushed tones, their words washing over her without meaning. Something about a fever, about blood loss, about keeping watch through the night. None of it matters. Nothing matters now.

Outside, the forest continues its patient existence, indifferent to the human tragedy unfolding within its bounds. Somewhere in that vastness, you're still out there—alive or dead, moving or still, no one knows. You chose the wilderness over her, over them. And now the wilderness has taken something in return.

A life for a life. Isn't that how it works out here? Isn't that the brutal equation they've all been learning since the crash?

As darkness settles over the cabin, Shauna drifts in and out of consciousness, fever dreams mingling with harsh reality. In these dreams, she sees you, always walking away, always just out of reach. She sees Jackie, blue-lipped and accusatory. She sees her son, alive and crying, then still and silent, then consumed by hungry mouths, over and over in an endless, terrible loop.

When she finally wakes fully, the cabin is quiet, dawn light filtering through the cracks in the walls. Tai is beside her, slumped in sleep, her hand still loosely holding Shauna's. The others are scattered around the room in various states of exhaustion.

The bundle—her son—is gone.

Panic surges through her. "Where is he?" she demands, her voice cracking from hours of screaming. "Where's my baby?"

Tai startles awake, disoriented, then focuses on Shauna with concern. "Shauna, it's okay. We... we wrapped him. For burial. When you're ready."

Burial. The word lands like a physical blow. Of course. That's what happens next. What always happens next out here.

"Was it real?" Shauna asks, her voice small, childlike. "Did she come back?"

Tai's expression softens with understanding and sorrow. "No, Shauna. She didn't come back. You've been fevered, from the blood loss. You've been... seeing things."

Shauna nods, the confirmation of what she already knew settling into her bones. "And the baby? Was that real? Did he cry?"

Tai looks away, unable to meet her eyes. "He never cried, Shauna. He was stillborn. I'm so sorry."

So that part was a hallucination too. All of it—your return, the baby's cry, the moment of perfect happiness—just her mind's desperate attempt to shield her from unbearable reality.

"And..." Shauna hesitates, afraid to ask the next question, afraid of the answer. "Did you all... did Lottie say something about eating him? About the wilderness providing?"

Horror flashes across Tai's face. "God, no, Shauna. Nothing like that happened. That was the fever. Just the fever."

Relief washes through her, followed immediately by shame. How could she have thought, even in her delirium, that her friends would do such a thing? But out here, in this place where boundaries blur and hunger gnaws and the forest whispers its secrets to those who listen... is anything truly unthinkable anymore?

"I want to see him again," Shauna says quietly. "Before we bury him."

Tai nods, understanding. "Of course. When you're stronger."

But Shauna shakes her head, pushing herself up despite the pain that radiates through her body. "Now. I need to see him now."

Because already the memories are fading, reality and hallucination merging until she can't trust what she remembers. The color of his hair. The shape of his hands. The weight of him in her arms. She needs to see him one more time, to burn the truth of him into her memory before he's gone forever.

Tai helps her to the back of the cabin where they've prepared the small body, wrapped now in the cleanest fabric they could find. With gentle hands, Tai unwraps just the face, allowing Shauna to see her son one last time.

In the clear light of morning, there's no mistaking the reality before her. No cry will come from those perfect lips. No breath will lift that tiny chest. No life will animate those delicate features. He was never meant for this world, this wilderness. Perhaps that's a mercy.

"What was his name going to be?" Tai asks softly.

Shauna realizes with a start that she never decided. In all the months of pregnancy, through all the fear and uncertainty, she never allowed herself to imagine far enough ahead to give him a name. As if naming him would make him too real, too vulnerable to this place that takes and takes and takes.

"I don't know," she admits, tears falling onto the wrappings. "I never... I thought there would be time."

Time. That precious commodity that slips through their fingers like water, impossible to hold onto out here where days blur into weeks, into months, into an endless present of survival.

"You should name him now," Tai suggests gently. "Before we bury him. So we know who to remember."

Shauna nods, considering. Not Jeff Jr.—that feels wrong somehow, too much expectation for a life never lived. Not a family name either, weighed down with history and connections to a world that seems increasingly distant, increasingly unreal.

"Adam," she decides finally, the name coming to her from nowhere and everywhere at once. "His name is Adam."

First man. Beginning. A name for someone who came into this wilderness new and untouched by all that came before. A fresh start that never had the chance to begin.

Tai nods, accepting. "Adam," she repeats softly. "It's a good name."

They wrap him again carefully, this final act of motherhood—preparing him for the earth, for whatever comes after. Shauna performs each movement with deliberate care, committing every detail to memory. This is all she will have of him—these few moments, these small rituals. She will not waste them.

Later, when the small grave has been dug and the others gathered, a question surfaces through Shauna's grief, persistent and unavoidable.

"Are they still looking for her?" she asks Tai as they stand at the edge of the clearing, watching the others prepare for the burial.

Tai hesitates, clearly torn between truth and comfort. "They went out again this morning," she finally admits. "Travis and Nat. They followed the trail to where they left off yesterday. But..."

"But?"

"It snowed last night. Not much, but enough to cover tracks. And it's been almost two days now. The chances of finding her—"

"I know the odds," Shauna interrupts, the same words she spoke just yesterday, in what feels like another lifetime. "Just tell me if they find anything. Anything at all."

Tai nods, studying Shauna's face with concern. "You need to rest. You lost a lot of blood. Misty says you shouldn't even be standing right now."

"I'll rest after," Shauna says, the words final, allowing no argument. "After we bury my son."

The burial is brief, solemn. No one quite knows what to say, what rituals to perform in this godless place for a life that never truly began. Lottie offers some words—something about returning to the earth, about cycles of life, about the forest receiving him. It should be comforting, but all Shauna can think about is her fever dream—the hunger in their eyes, the reaching hands, the terrible suggestion that they consume what they've lost.

She shudders, forcing the images away. That wasn't real. This—this small grave, this overwhelming grief, this hollow ache where hope once lived—this is real.

As the last of the earth is placed over the tiny bundle, Shauna finds herself scanning the tree line, some irrational part of her still expecting to see you emerge from the forest, breathless and apologetic, just as you did in her hallucination. But the trees stand silent and empty, the wilderness beyond vast and unyielding.

You're out there somewhere. Or you're not. Either way, you're gone from her life as surely as the baby she never got to know. Two losses in as many days, each carving out a different hollow in her chest, creating spaces that will never quite be filled again.

"What do I do now?" she asks no one in particular as the others begin to drift away from the grave site, back to the tasks of survival that don't pause even for grief.

Tai, ever present at her side, takes her hand. "You keep going," she says simply. "One day at a time. One breath at a time, if that's all you can manage."

One breath at a time. Shauna inhales deeply, feeling the air fill her lungs, the pain in her body, the weight of grief pressing down on her. Exhales slowly, releasing nothing, holding everything.

She turns away from the small grave, from the empty forest, back toward the cabin that has become their world. One step, then another. One breath, then the next. This is survival now—not hunting or building or planning, but simply continuing to exist in a world that has taken so much.

As they reach the cabin door, the sound of someone running makes them turn. Travis and Nat are emerging from the tree line, their expressions unreadable from this distance.

"They're back early," Tai observes, a note of concern in her voice.

Too early to have found anything significant. Too early for good news. Shauna knows this, feels it in the hollow pit of her stomach, yet she can't stop the small flare of hope that ignites despite everything.

They wait as Travis and Nat cross the clearing, their pace urgent but not panicked. As they draw closer, Shauna can see that they're carrying something between them—fabric of some kind, torn and dirty.

"What is it?" she calls, unable to wait for them to reach her. "Did you find her?"

Nat shakes her head, her expression grim. "No. Just this."

They reach the cabin steps, and Nat holds out what they've been carrying—a jacket. Your jacket, the one you were wearing when you left. It's torn along one side, stained with what looks like blood.

"Where?" Shauna asks, her voice barely audible as she takes the jacket with trembling hands.

"Near the ridge," Travis answers. "Caught on some rocks. There was... there was a lot of blood, Shauna. And signs of animal activity nearby."

The implication hangs in the air, too terrible to voice directly. Nat watches Shauna carefully, as if expecting her to collapse, to scream, to fall apart completely.

But Shauna just nods, fingers tightening on the familiar fabric of your jacket. There's a strange calm settling over her, a numbness that cushions the blow of this new loss. Perhaps she has reached the limit of what grief her body can process at once, or perhaps some part of her has been expecting this since the moment she read your note.

I'm sorry.

Your final words to her, insufficient then, unbearable now. Sorry for leaving? Sorry for dying? Sorry for everything that led to this moment—her standing here with your bloodied jacket in her hands, a fresh grave behind her, her body still bleeding from a birth that produced only death?

"We should keep looking," Nat suggests, though her tone lacks conviction. "There's still a chance..."

But they all know there isn't. Not really. Not after two nights alone in the wilderness, injured, bleeding. Not with the predators that prowl these woods, drawn to the scent of blood and vulnerability.

"No," Shauna says, surprising herself with the steadiness of her voice. "No more searching."

"Shauna—" Tai begins, concerned.

"She made her choice," Shauna continues, the words falling like stones, heavy and final. "She chose to leave. To be... out there, instead of here. With us." With me, she doesn't say, but they all hear it anyway. "We have to respect that choice."

No one argues. What could they say? That they should risk more lives searching for someone who clearly didn't want to be found? For a body that, even if recovered, would only add another grave to their growing collection?

Shauna turns away from them, clutching your jacket to her chest, and walks into the cabin. Inside, she moves to her mattress—still stained with the evidence of yesterday's ordeal, still reeking of blood and loss—and sits down heavily.

Alone at last, she buries her face in your jacket, breathing in the lingering scent of you, searching for some comfort in this last tangible piece of your existence. But all she finds is the metallic tang of blood and the musty smell of forest decay. Already, you're fading, becoming just another ghost in this place that collects them like trophies.

"I hate you," she whispers into the empty fabric, the words an echo of your last fight with Jackie, of all the tangled, complicated feelings that have defined her relationships out here. "I hate you for leaving. For dying. For making me love you."

But the jacket doesn't answer, and the cabin remains silent save for the distant sounds of the others moving about outside, returning to the business of survival. Life continues, relentlessly, even in the face of death. Even here, in this wilderness that takes and takes and never gives back.

Tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that, Shauna will get up. She will rejoin the others. She will hunt and gather and build and plan. She will survive, because that's all any of them can do now. But a part of her will remain here, in this moment, holding the last traces of you against her heart, wondering what might have been if you had stayed, if the baby had lived, if any of them had made different choices along the way.

Outside, snow begins to fall again, soft and silent, covering the forest floor, the fresh grave, the wilderness that stretches beyond their small clearing. Covering all evidence that any of them were ever here at all. In time, it will cover everything—their shelter, their supplies, their bodies. The wilderness will reclaim what was always its own, and their brief intrusion will fade into memory, then into nothing.

But for now, Shauna sits, breathing in and out, one breath at a time, holding your jacket close, learning to live with the wilderness that has taken root inside her. The wilderness of grief, of loss, of love that had nowhere to go but inward, hollowing her out from the inside just as surely as the forest will eventually hollow out their abandoned shelter.

One breath at a time. In. Out. Survival in its most basic form.

It's all she has left.

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

what a bland goodbye - spencer reid x fem!reader

reader goes to spencer's apartment for a needed breakup. no matter how much they love each other.

genre: angst wc: 935 warnings: breakup, reader wears heels, crying (duh), no happy ending, right person wrong time???, mentioned emotionally unavailable spencer

based off loml by ts!!! (im sorry), also this is much shorter than i intended!!!

The hallway is colder and your heels are louder than you remember. Snowflakes cover your head, your nose freezing from the cool, winter air. The familiar building somehow pains your heart with how much you'll miss it. You're not sure how long it'll take for the route here to be wiped from your body's autopilot. Even the door marked "23" is comforting. Something you'll have to get over soon.

His unsuspecting and far too joyful form when he opens the door makes you immediately want to rethink your intentions. Spencer's arms wrap around you as inviting as they've always been, the smell of coffee and laundry detergent unwelcome for the first time.

"You said you wanted to talk, what's going on?" he murmurs almost mindlessly into your shoulder.

Already, your eyes burn. You pull back and look up at him with an apologetic smile that hurts.

Chapped lips part as his eyebrows furrow. It's like he can feel how torn you are. But he doesn't get it. "Morgan says that when a girl says 'we need to talk,' it means that you're in trouble. I told him that's ridiculous but then I started to overthink and thought that maybe I did do something so I went through the last couple weeks but... I don't know what I did."

He nervously laughs, "he's ridiculous, right?"

Well, not exactly. It wasn't an easy decision to come to. It took a lot of convincing from your smarter side. You just couldn't put up with it anymore. The long hours were bad enough, but he'd never open up, despite eyebags showing just how much he needed to. Long hours were spent wondering if he'd be coming home unharmed or with an extra scar that's yet to be healed. As much as you want to, you can't stay. He's tortured. He needs someone with more to offer. More to give. You're not what he needs.

Glossy eyes find his hopeful ones and you feel despicable. "Spence..."

"What?" he whispers shakily.

It's now or never, you figure, inhaling an unsteady breath. No going back. Like a bandaid, right? If bandaids caused more tears, maybe.

"I want to break up." You attempt to sound firm, decisive, valiant but your voice wobbles and you sound nothing short of pathetic.

Beautiful, delicate features you've spent so long memorizing distort into a mixture of pain and confusion. The same features you've kissed and ran your fingers over every chance you got. You mourn those moments silently as he tries to understand. You know he won't. In only seconds, his eyes match yours in terms of despair, like he's already picturing the moment you walk out and leave him behind like a bad memory.

"Why? Is it... something I did?" he asks, voice so soft and breakable it makes everything ache.

"No. It's-it's me. I just can't... I can't." Tears gather on your lashes before spilling over onto cold cheeks.

"Can't?"

The way he's trying so hard to get it is what makes the moment last forever. What could you possibly say to explain yourself? It all feels so insignificant right now.

In his suit and tie, so pretty, he exhales sharply in frustration, a shot to your softened soul. He waits for your answer but you're not sure you have one to smooth the crease between his eyebrows.

You sigh and mutter, "I can't be in this. We don't work, Spencer. You don't talk to me, I-" you sniffle, sobbing hard, "I can't do a relationship where you're never here and, even when you are, you're- I don't know..."

He shakes his head and breathes out as his lip trembles. "You're the love of my life," he whispers, saline rolling down.

"I know." A particularly loud sob leaves you and you nod. "I just can't."

"Can't or won't?" he asks bitterly.

You shake your head, "don't do that."

Somber eyes you love look down at you, begging you wordlessly. In a simple glance, small moments that shaped how you saw and felt about him, it was truly legendary. But you couldn't deal with just those flickers of forever. They were momentary. They're not enough.

He pleads, "we can work it out. We can-"

"Stop. Please."

"So that's it? You're just leaving? I can't say anything?" he breathes desperately, crying in a way you've never seen.

You hate how your mind shows you only the things you wish you could unrecall. All the soft pants, gentle kisses, coffee dates, library trips, interlocked fingers and goodnight texts. Every memory that's only making this harder. "I'm sorry." Small sobs shake your body as each breath seems more difficult.

Spencer shakes his head, pretty curls falling in front of his face. "That's it?" he says in fear.

Sadly, you nod, wishing things could be different. Maybe they could be. One day.

"Goodbye," you whisper through a low sob.

He looks at you with a love that you know will never quite be buried. Not for years, at least. Part of you wants that love to come back to you. When he can be what you need and you can be what he needs.

He mutters, "bye," and you leave, for the first time with a heavy heart. You've never loved someone as much as you've loved Spencer. The breakup was needed but how long will the ache last? How long will you hide away in your room? How long will you dream of a reunion?

How long will it take for the thought of Spencer Reid to not leave you feeling homesick over something you're never sure you had?

tags: @1mnshw @sweetestthingonthissideofhell @punkndisorderrly

[whirlybirbs]

— BE OKAY ; 2 ; SATORU GOJO ; 五条悟

summary: the engagement is on. you move to tokyo. pairing: satoru gojo / f!reader ; arranged marriage word count: 4k (oops) tags: taika clan reader, arranged marriage trope, jjk world building, welcome to the show ijichi, satoru gojo and his luxe shampoo, friends-to-lovers, texting as a plot device a/n: fanfic more like me crafting the most insane apartment layout based loosely on actual shinjuku rentals that are currently on the market. anyways,,, [PLAYS "GETTING TO KNOW YOU" ON MAX VOLUME] ← previous

"Train outbound for Tokyo, now boarding at platform three."

Your mother kisses your wind-chapped cheeks in the winter sun, hands you your bento, and makes you promise to call once you’ve settled in. She tugs on your scarf, and you squeeze her hand as hard as you can.

You pick a window seat so you can wave to her as the train pulls away from Kagoshima station; you hope she doesn't see the tears that begin to well as the distance between you two grows. You crane your neck to watch and wave over the back of your seat as she gets smaller and smaller and smaller. You feel like a child ushered onto the school bus for the very first time, sent off into the unknown, and torn from the safety of your mother's love.

You wind your arms around your bag as your lip wobbles; the bento, still warm, is like an anchor in your hands. 

She promised she would be okay.

You argued with her last night — like a warrior making her last stand. 

"You will be alone," you'd snapped over dinner, "What sort of daughter am I, leaving you so soon after Papa died? It's wrong. I should spend the engagement here—"

But, she wouldn't hear it. 

Your mother knew you would sacrifice everything if it meant her happiness. Your mother knew you'd put everything on halt, just as you did with your father's health. Work, friends, dating... All of it, put on the back burner to grow cold. 

You were so fiercely devoted to your family — and Chiyo Taika wondered how she became so lucky in this life. The cards were always in her favor. Even now she feels that way as she watches the train carrying her only child wind away into the distance until it's nothing but a spec on the horizon.

You grip the bento tight, lean back into your seat, and exhale tightly.

By mid-afternoon, you'll be in Tokyo.

You drop your head back against the seat and screw your eyes shut. Your tears do not fall.

All of this is happening too fast. You feel like you can hardly catch your footing. 

One second, you're shaking Satoru Gojo's hand for the first time. The next week, your mother receives a call from the Gojo Clan seeking her input on updated terms of the arrangement — which she did all while gripping your arm, a finger to her lips to urge you to be quiet, while on speaker phone. 

Sneaky.

The newly agreed-upon terms seemed straightforward enough; there was to be no dowry, and an amendment made to the timeline of... childbirth. Those changes, the man on the phone said, came from Satoru Gojo himself. From the sounds of it, the clan heir wasn't budging, and agreeing to his (no room for negotiation) terms was the only way this marriage would even take off the ground. 

And that was much farther than the clan ever got with Satoru Gojo on the topic of marriage. So, a win is a win. 

You shouldn't complain. 

The fine print meant that your mother would be brought into the fold of the Gojo Clan and looked over financially. She could stay in Kagoshima if she wished, or if she wanted to be closer to you in Tokyo, she was welcome with open arms. 

Your engagement to Satoru Gojo would last six months to a year pending the usual, official, formal announcement. If all went to plan, the wedding would be held — at the latest — this time next year.

In the meantime, Tokyo was going to become your new home.

More specifically, Satoru Gojo's three-bedroom apartment in Shinjuku Ward. 

Why he's renting out three bedrooms in Shinjuku is beyond you — I mean, we get it, you're the Heir to the Gojo Clan. But, c'mon. Isn't that a little excessive?

(You snooped. Of course, you snooped. You were laid up in bed, boring holes into your phone screen in shock. Between the two available unit layouts you saw listed for rent, they were both close to 700k yen a month. Who even has that kind of money?)

The train rattles you back to the current moment. Your phone in your back pocket buzzes.

Ijichi? Is that, like, his butler?

He would have a butler.

You hit send — and then hesitate. Is that too dry? Too formal? What if he thinks you're boring? Or... stale? 

Wincing, you send one more message before locking your phone and tucking it into the front pocket of your bag.

Satoru Gojo, as he bounds up on the steps — two at a time — of Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College, snorts a little at his phone. 

Cute. 

Turns out Kiyotaka Ijichi is not a butler. 

He is, however, a very good driver and a nice man, if not incredibly nervous. He helps you with your bags outside of Shinjuku Station despite your bowed attempts to dissuade his help. You don't want to be a burden — but Ijichi says that's what he's there for according to Satoru Gojo. 

"Don't let her lift a finger," Satoru said, pointing in Ijichi's face that very morning, "We've gotta make a good impression, bud. It's her first time in Tokyo!"

"Sir, I'm sorry to pry, but... who... is she again?"

"I never said," Gojo remarked cheerfully as he pulled Ijichi around the corner; then, the white-haired Jujutsu instructor leaned in close and whispered lowly, "And don't ever ask me again. Got it?"

The seriousness in his voice was enough to make Ijichi break into a cold sweat.

Truth be told, Ijichi wasn't really sure who he was expecting to pick up outside Shinjuku Station, but it certainly wasn't the pleasant young woman in his back seat making small talk with him over the weather and smiling at the sights out the back window. 

At a stop light, Ijichi adjusts the rearview mirror to get a better look at you.

...Who are you?

Don't ever ask me again. Got it?

You're leaning across the back seat, eyes wide with awe, as you take in the bustle of the city.

You're definitely not his sister. As far as Ijichi knows, Satoru is an only child. He sure acts like it. You could be a cousin from the Clan, but isn't it, like, a prerequisite to have white hair or something? And Ijichi definitely doesn't recognize you from their school yearbook. Maybe you attended the sister school in Kyoto? 

But, Satoru did say this was your first time in Tokyo.

...Who the hell are you?

"I really appreciate the ride, Mr. Ijichi," you say softly as you lift your gaze to meet him in the mirror, "I can't imagine it's very fun to drive in all this traffic, so thank you very much."

Ijichi rubs his cheek to will away the blush.

You're too nice. You have manners. 

So, there's no way you're a girlfriend of Satoru's. There's no way. Ijichi decides that's simply impossible three minutes into the ride to his boss's apartment. 

You even try to tip him after he helps you unload your bag from the back and carry it into the lobby. Ijichi shyly promises there's no need for that, and gives you his card promising that he's only a call away in case you need anything else. 

"Have a nice day, Mr. Ijichi!"

...Definitely not his girlfriend. Too nice.

The receptionist at the front desk is young and pretty, and she takes your ID to confirm you're who you say you are as you marvel at the lobby. There's art. A small fountain on the back wall. The modern touch is nice. The lobby is nice. Really nice. Definitely 700k-yen-a-month nice. 

"Here you are," the receptionist hands back your ID with a smile, then hands over the FOB to apartment 601, "Welcome home, we're happy to have you. Mr. Gojo let us know to expect your things within the next day."

The moving company was due to arrive with the handful of boxes you packed up from home tomorrow. 

Er, well, your other home. This place is home now. 

Apartment 601 is, as one could guess, on the sixth floor. It's got easterly facing windows and an open floor plan with modern appliances, one and a half baths, and three bedrooms. You know these things before even stepping inside because, like you mentioned, you snooped. 

But, that was that. It's a different thing completely to walk into that luxury apartment and see it for yourself.

There are flowers on the counter.

A big bouquet of peach roses, white buttercups, and baby's breath. 

You close the door behind you, stepping out of your boots, as you take in the entryway, the kitchen, and the adjoined living room in awed silence.

It's clean. Really clean — like, incredibly clean. 

The shoes in the entryway are aligned neatly. One pair of dress shoes and a pair of heavier-duty, black boots sit beside one another. There's a coat rack, and you recognize that suit jacket he wore to your father's funeral hanging there. 

Quietly, bag slung over your shoulder, you slink inside the kitchen. 

The back hallway leads to the other bedrooms and bathrooms, no doubt. 

This is the sort of kitchen your mother would have dreamed about. The appliances scream money — everything is either black or stainless steel, from the toaster to the espresso machine. Even his plates, dishes, and bowls look more like fine art than anything. Everything has a place in this kitchen, and it's all done tastefully. 

You eye the bouquet. 

There's a plain white card in front of it.

Your name is written in flowing script.

You pluck it up.

Welcome home. Settle in. Your bedroom is the second on the right. If you need anything, do not hesitate to call.  —Satoru

...The note is the polar opposite in tone compared to his earlier texts. It feels like whiplash. Even the handwriting doesn't seem like the Satoru Gojo you've come to understand, three degrees removed.

Either way, it's sweet. Even if he definitely had someone deliver these and write the accompanied note.

You thumb the card as you begin slowly creeping through the rest of the apartment with a wandering curiosity.

The large floor-to-ceiling windows allow for a lot of natural light in the living room and kitchen. The sectional is leather, and there's a large (definitely decorative) book on the coffee table about feng shui. The art on the walls is mostly traditional, sticking to the grey and black color scheme of the entire apartment. 

You poke your nose through the small floating bookshelf beneath the television. The books — ranging from translated classics to non-fiction — look largely untouched but free from even a spec of dust. 

Whoever styled this apartment was really into mid-century modern. Something tells you it was not Satoru Gojo.

Why?

Well, his bedroom for starters.

You're being nosey. You know you're being nosey, but c'mon. This is your home now — and you're telling me you wouldn't poke your head in, at least, to see what your future husband's bedroom looks like?

The answer is: much less put together than the rest of the apartment.

Like a puzzle, you're beginning to get it. Satoru Gojo pays for a cleaning service — and a good one at that. 

But, his bedroom lacks the sterile, clean, modern touch that the rest of the apartment does. There are wrinkled photos taped to the far wall above a disorganized desk. His closet is open, displaying an array of shoddily hung dress shirts and slacks. The lampshade beside his bed is lopsided. His bed sheets are patterned — striped blue and white, and his pillowcases don't match. There's a worn and faded bear, once white and now a loved cream, half tucked beneath his pillow. The sun's late afternoon rays are warm against the carpet, casting shadows across a lone dress sock at the foot of the bed.

Something about all of it is endearing.

Quietly, you shut the door.

Your room is more like the rest of the apartment — with crisply tucked edges on a queen-sized bed with pristine white sheets. You place that little card down on your bedside table as you shrug off your backpack. 

You packed the essentials. A few changes of clothes, skincare, and some makeup all tumble onto the bed as you begin the slow process of putting things away. It feels a lot like killing time. After all, according to Satoru's text, he would be home later in the evening.

You have no idea what time that really means, but you hope it's enough time to at least let you shower away the travel day. 

You hesitate, though, over the threshold of your room. 

His response is nearly immediate.

And rapid.

You snort. The blue heart is cute.

Scoffing a little at the wifey comment, you bundle your change of clothes and toiletry bag into your arms and shake your head.

The bathroom — the full bath between you and Satoru's room — is just as swanky as the rest of the apartment. You lock the sliding door behind you.

Black tile, a waterfall shower, bamboo wood accents, and hand soap that you can't pronounce. It's French. 

You take your time in that shower.

I mean, how could you not? 

All of this is really putting the Taika Clan to shame — it's not even like you grew up destitute, but this level of wealth? 

Your shampoo is off-brand. Meanwhile, the shampoo in Satoru Gojo's shower (that, yea, of course, you use because... something, something, what is yours is mine in marriage? Right?) is in a fancy bottle that takes you far too long to figure out how to open. 

You almost drop it, and swear your soul almost leaves your body.

The conditioner is just as nice.

By the time you're done, the bathroom is thick with steam and you're bundling up in one of the handful of towels folded beneath the sink. They're black and soft and you laugh a little at the sight of a single, white hair clinging to the one you snag.

It's the first indicator Satoru Gojo was even here, aside from his room, of course. 

There's a corner tub and the toilet has a bidet and the medicine cabinet above the double sink is stocked with more products you can't pronounce. You chew your lip, pushing your wet hair aside as you poke your nose inside. You yank the cap off what you assume is shaving cream and sniff — it's sandalwood and musk. It's nice. You hum in soft agreeance (he's got good taste) as you eye the label, and then carefully put it back. 

There's some sporty deodorant, an old tube of emergency acne cream, an electric toothbrush... and beside it, another toothbrush. Same model. 

You squint.

Two toothbrushes, huh? 

You make a mental note about it — maybe it's an exes? Too sentimental to let it go? You get it, you've been there.

You close the medicine cabinet after your continued snooping, wipe away the condensation on the mirror, and begin to sort yourself out. 

You're finally landing on the couch — hair wet, body clean and face dewy — by the time six rolls around. Now, in the dark of the apartment, the fact this place is going to be your new home starts to set in. You bury yourself a little deeper into your sweatshirt and decide you'll text your mother. You'll let her know that you've settled in and—

"Ooooh, honey!"

The door is jingling unlocked.

A slight wave of panic washes over you — like you've been caught doing something you shouldn't. And then, you remember you live here now and—

"—I'm home!"

You poke your head up over the edge of the couch to see Satoru Gojo cross the threshold of his entryway. His eyes already seem to know where to look for you. That blindfold is still on, but you swear you can feel his gaze.

At the sight of you, his posture tightens a little.

His lips break into a smile that is disarmingly handsome. It’s enough to wind you, and you feel a little bit like floating, but you push all that away. 

You’ve thought a lot about how this moment would go. You've laid in your old bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to script it in your head until the wee morning. You wondered if it would be painfully awkward, or tense, or cold. 

How do you go from being complete strangers to newly engaged lovers?

"Welcome home," is the best you can offer as you sit up a little straighter.

Satoru throws his arms open and his grin goes a little lopsided. The bag of takeout in his arms dangles dangerously as he does a little spin. 

You catch yourself fighting the urge to check him out.

“Sooooo?” he croons, “What do you think? Nice, right?”

Slowly, your smile begins. It’s clear he’s trying to dissuade any awkward tension. You watch him cross into the kitchen as you stand, bare feet padding across the hardwood as you knit your arms around yourself. 

"It's... really nice," you say quietly as Satoru plops the takeout beside the bouquet, "The flowers were a sweet touch."

Satoru throws you a grin over his shoulder as he gathers two sets of chopsticks for you both. He knocks the drawer shut with his hip as he throws a thumb to the roses.

“Hey, can’t have my fiancée thinkin’ I don’t appreciate her,” Satoru chirps as he brushes past you; you catch a glimpse of the button pinning his jacket shut. A Sorcerer’s pin, “How was your travel day? Did Ijichi give you any trouble?”

He grabs the bag of takeout and takes it with him.

He moves to flop lazily onto the couch. His feet immediately land on the coffee table. His socks are patterned. There are cats drawn as sushi on them. 

That word — fiancée — doesn’t feel real. 

None of this does, frankly. 

He begins unbagging the meal on his lap, delicately holding out your order of tonkatsu in one hand as you follow his lead and land beside him on the couch. The box is warm on your thighs. Satoru is already cracking open his order of udon.

You watch him slurp up a huge bite of noodles as you slowly crack open the plastic lid to your dinner.

"You know, I thought he was your butler."

Satoru pauses mid-chew as if he didn't hear you, then breaks into a grin that transcends his full mouth. "I don't have a butler."

"Well," you dig a piece of tonkatsu out and take a small bite, "I didn't know who he was. He was nice, though. Great driver."

“My coworker,” Satoru leans his head back and grins up at you, though there’s no telling where he’s looking with the blindfold, “A real stick in the mud, sometimes. Totally doesn't think he's good at his job, but — and don't tell him I said this — he's pretty great."

"Does he teach?" you ask, taking another bite; the food is really good.

Satoru's expression, as much as you can see it, seems to brighten. "Ooh, so you know I'm a teacher, huh?"

"It's, like, the one thing I know about you," you concede quickly.

"Okay, okay, now you've got me curious," Gojo finishes his bite before throwing his arm across the pack of the couch and gesticulating at you with his chopsticks, "What else do you know about me, huh?

You take another bite and chew slowly. You don't speak until you've swallowed — only to drag him along. It works. His attention is so heavy it feels like a physical weight on your chest.

"You're thirty," you tap your finger as you count off the things you know, "We have the same birthday. You're an only child. You've got that whole Limitless thing going for you — cool, by the way. Uh, hm. What else..."

"Wow," Satoru mumbles, "They really kept you in the dark about me, huh?"

"In all fairness," you smirk, "Someone really dragged this whole thing out."

"Parents didn't want you getting your hopes up?" he smirks.

"Eh," you shrug in mild disagreement, "I think it was more that they didn't want to make assumptions about you."

For some reason, that hits Satoru right in the heart.

He's quiet for a beat, and you wince internally. 

"Sorry, was that—?"

"No," he waves you off with his chopsticks, "No, it's cool. Just not used to... that, I guess."

You hum, watching him out of the corner of your eye as you push your tonkatsu around.

"...What would you have wanted me to know?" you ask him after a beat, lifting your chin, "Like, what makes Satoru Gojo Satoru Gojo?"

He's not really used to being asked about himself.

Actually, he can't remember the last time anyone even asked him something like that. Maybe on one of those shit dateshe went on last year when he told himself he'd actually give dating a try? But, even then, his answers weren't honest. 

The last person he was ever really honest with was Suguru.

"You first," he deflects easily as he scoops up another heaping bite, "You liked the flowers, so roses, check. And tonkatsu, check."

You smirk.

"Also an only child—" you begin.

"And thirty—"

"—And thirty," you confirm as you take another bite; your posture is loosening up, "Uh, not a trained sorcerer — might as well get that out of the way early."

Satoru almost chokes.

He blinks beneath his blindfold as he snatches a napkin and coughs. 

You quietly rock a little. 

"You're kidding."

"Nope."

"Now hold on—"

"—I was educated privately but—"

"You didn't attend a Jujutsu technical school?" Gojo gawks, sitting up straight; he drops his food to the coffee table and turns to face you. There's a flare of disbelief coursing through him. 

You shake your head.

And then Satoru throws both hands up to stop you before you can speak.

"Then how the hell did you know how to cancel out my Infinity?"

You blink.

Your brows raise and you gesture in the air as if to say 'go on'.

Satoru can hardly believe this.

"You didn't know that you did that—?"

"Did what?" you ask, leaning forward and forgetting about your meal, "When? Now?"

"No, not now," Satoru exasperates, "At the funeral service. When you shook my hand."

"...Right," you squint, "I... shook your hand... and...?"

"You canceled my technique," he stresses, "Limitless. Y'know, the Limitless."

"Oh!" you brighten — and Satoru can see you suddenly get it. You sit up a little straighter, then move to place your dinner on the coffee table; your smile is proud, "That's my technique!"

Well, what the hell.

"You couldn't tell?"

"It's not like I can use the techniques I disrupt," you chide just as you've been chided before by your trainers and instructors, "Void Hand stops at that. I can void a technique upon touch. Sometimes it... just happens." 

"Because your control isn't refined, because someone didn't attend a Jujutsu technical school," Satoru says tightly; suddenly, he sounds like a teacher, "Every technique has a reserve. There is no exception to that rule."

You blink.

"No way," you laugh incredulously, shaking your head, "The technique has been around for generations — if it had a reversal, I would know. My Clan would know—"

"Clans know a lot they don't share with the class," Satoru cuts and narrows his eyes as he leans back and crosses his long legs, "Trust me on that."

The silence that stretches between the two of you is long. Satoru can see the thoughts racing by as your eyes bounce around, spaced out. 

So, he leans over, pats your knee, and grins.

"Guess we got our work cut out for us, huh, wifey?"

You don't argue with him.

[merakiui]

What are your thoughts on who just can't get over their ex-wife? Who is still crying into their pillow each night? Who is obsessively looking for gossip about them and how they are obviously not doing well (and should come back to him)? Who let them go because it was the right thing to do, and yet, they still leave ex-wife's space in the closet set aside like they'll be home at any moment?

AAAAAA OMG!!!!! This gives me a tremendous amount of thoughts omg omg!!!!!!

I can definitely imagine Azul searching for any and all information on you (mostly bad) because he wants to gather more reasons and evidence as to why you should come back to him. He just won't let you go.

Perhaps Vil operates under the similar notion of searching for you online, but it's only because he wants to ensure you're doing well for yourself and none of his fans (or your fans if you're famous as well or have just gained popularity through Vil due to your relationship) are causing you issues. If an obsessive fan comes after you, that gives Vil all the reason he needs to contact you and offer, at the very least, security to look after you until things calm down. Or, if anything else, why not just come back to him for the time being?

Floyd lets you go. He knows that if he was in your shoes he'd hate having to force something that just isn't working no matter how much he wanted it to work. It would be wrong to be selfish. He still leaves the empty space in the closet untouched for you. He still sets out an extra plate and utensils for you when it's mealtime, cooking portions to feed two instead of just one. He leaves your side of the bed made. Even though he knows you're not there, he still calls out to you when he comes home, hoping you'll one day respond. You never do and you probably never will.

Deuce is crying into his pillow. He's so heartbroken. :( he misses you so much and can't believe you're not here with him. He looks at pictures of you saved on his phone and in photo albums and enjoys the good memories that are photographed, but they always make him emotional. He loved you so much (and still does love you).

Riddle,,,,,,, he has no sense of what a "healthy marriage" is because of the poor example his parents set, so in his mind he thought things will improve if he simply forces it to get better. If he tolerates the growing divide between the two of you. Inevitably, that divide grew cavernous and now you're gone. He's torn between picking up the pieces and trying to move on from there and simply holding onto the misplaced hope that you might return eventually. He doesn't touch any of the things that are yours. Even if you still have some belongings left at his place (though he hates calling it his because it's both of yours), he leaves them be as if expecting you to return for them and (hopefully) stay. He still can't get over you and maybe he never will. Riddle doesn't understand the concept of soulmates, but he's certain that, with what limited comprehension he has on the matter, you were something close to that.

Lilia lets you go and from there he looks forward. It does sting and he is upset, but he's mature enough to know that some things just don't work out and it's best not to dwell on that. People drift apart just as easily as they grow old. That is just a facet of life and what it means to be alive. Instead, he holds onto the memories and when he speaks of you it's always with a smile. Though the look in his eyes is wistful, it's obvious he has nothing but fondness for you even in your absence.

[isabella-2025]

My sisters boyfriend 1: Warnings: (Cursing and body shaming.)

Pair: Zilla Fatu X Arabella

Plot: Zilla and Lauren have been dating for 3 years and things were great at first until they weren't. Lauren started to become distant, so Zilla hung out with her sister Arabella. He is 21 and she is 17. Zilla and Arabella grew closer much to the dismay of Lauren. Zilla was torn between Lauren and Arabella. Who will he choose and what will happen along the way?

A/N: I was going to put part 2 out tonight but I got carried away with this one at the end so Part 2 will be out tomorrow. Do let me know what you guys think. Thanks for all the love. 🤍❤️

Lauren and Zilla met 3 years ago and things were magical. They met at a bar in Texas and he was instantly attracted to her not only because of her looks but because of her kind presence and genuineness. She was instantly attracted to him because of his looks and genuine character. They talked and drank for hours until closing time then like the gentlemen he is Zilla walked her to her uber and kissed her goodnight. A month or two later Lauren invited him to her house and he accepted. Zilla walked into the house Lauren took him to the living room pointed to the couch and said.

" Zilla, this is my sister Arabella, Arabella this is my boyfriend Zilla."

Arabella who was reading a book looked up at Zilla smiled and waved. Zilla was at a loss for words. Arabella had the prettiest red hair, glasses that fit her face just right and the most gorgeous smile he'd ever seen. He stood there frozen for a second but quickly came back to his senses and said.

" Hey, I'm Zilla it's nice to meet you."

" likewise." Arabella says as she smiles and looks away shyly.

Lauren grabs Zilla's hand looks at Arabella and says.

" Well, now that you both are acquainted the nerd has work to do."

Arabella looks back down to the book she was reading as Zilla and Lauren walked into the kitchen. She handed him a bottle of water and she said.

" I'm sorry about Arabella she is very nerdy and a little chubby the guys don't normally like to be around her."

Zilla looks at her seriously and says.

" I don't mind she's your family she doesn't bother me. "

" Wow that's a first." Lauren says as she sips her water.

Zilla does not respond because he does not know what to say. He thinks this is just their normal sibling banter but boy was he dead wrong.

It's been two years since that day and Zilla noticed a change in Lauren she became more cold and distant. Like last month she invited Zilla over for lunch and Arabella was there. Everyone sat down to eat they had Chicken, Salad and cheesecake. Arabella ate her chicken and went back for seconds but Lauren said.

" Don't you think you've had enough sis your big enough as it is cut back some."

Zilla watched as Arabella dropped her fork and ran up to her room. He looked at Lauren and said.

" What the hell was that for."

Lauren smirks and says.

" Look, I was just trying to help her she wonders why guys don't go after her she's chubby she needs to cut back."

Zilla shakes his head and starts to walk up the stairs but Lauren says.

" What are you doing she's a BIG girl she'll be okay."

" You're unbelievable." He says as he walks up the stairs to Arabella's room. He knocks on the door and says.

" Hey its Zilla can I come in?"

He waits for a moment then he hears Arabella say softly.

" come in."

Zilla walks in the room to see Arabella curled up on the floor, glasses off and a tear falling down her face. He sits down beside her and says in a soft voice.

" Hey, are you okay you know nothing she said was true right? "

Arabella looks at him and says.

" I'm used to it but she is right no guy wants me they all want her."

Zilla scoots closer to her, gently grabs her hands and says.

" beauty is more than skin deep."

"what do you mean?" Arabella asks.

" Well the way you carry yourself and treat other people make you beautiful not just your appearance." Zilla says as he looks directly into her eyes.

" You mean that?" Arabella asks.

" Yeah, I do from what i have seen so far your a kind, caring and compassionate girl you keep being you, don't listen to your sister because you look amazing." Zilla says smiling.

Arabella smiles and says.

" thank you Zilla I needed to hear that."

" Anytime." Zilla says as he gets up off the floor he heads to the door but stops and turns around. He walks over to her and to her surprise gives her a kiss on the cheek.

She watches as he walks out the door and thinks to herself.

" I cant believe he's even real I wish he could be mine even if it was just for a couple hours."

Zilla walks back downstairs and Lauren confronts him she says.

" did you seriously go comfort her, I'm your girlfriend you should have sided with me?"

Zilla looks angry and says.

" I do not have a fucking clue what happened to you but this is not the girl I started dating you've become so cruel."

Lauren smirks and says.

" I'm not being cruel I'm telling the truth and it hurts she's going to have to get used to it."

" I cannot believe you, I'm leaving." Zilla says as he walks out the door.

" Wow, I guess he's not who I thought he was." Lauren whispers to herself as she calls her side piece.

Since that night Lauren has been pulling away from Zilla, not speaking, texting or going out with him. He knew it was because he defended Arabella and not taken her side but he did not care, his mother always told him to do the right thing and he did so he didn't care about the consequences. He did go over to her house today to try to make Lauren see the light somehow but that turned into an argument with Lauren running out the door. He sat on the couch for a little bit and was about to leave but he heard the door open and saw Arabella walked in. She saw him sitting there and said.

" Oh hey Zilla, I didn't know you were coming over today, are you looking for my sister?"

" No, we just had an argument and she left." Zilla said sadly.

Arabella walks over to him and says.

" Oh, do you want to talk about it?"

" No , but I do want to go dancing." Zilla says looking at her with hopeful eyes.

" I don't dance I would look like an absolute Tran wreck next to you." Arabella says giggling.

Zilla wishes he could freeze this moment in time because God her giggle did something to him it made him feel comfortable, safe and seen.

" You can't be that bad, I'll help you." Zilla says as he gently pulls her up from the couch and puts on a song which so happened to be Arabella's favorite. It was Ed Sheeran thinking out loud. He places his hands on her waist and pulls her closer. Then he guides her hands to his shoulders and they start to sway to the music. Zilla stares at her and thinks.

" God what the hell am I doing, I shouldn't be thinking about her like this, shouldn't wish that I could touch her, hold her, love her."

Arabella notices him staring and her heart starts beating faster. She whispers.

" how did you know this was my favorite song?"

" I pay attention don't you remember whenever your sister would cancel on me we would go bowling or to the movies and talk." Zilla says smiling.

" Yeah, I remember, nobody's ever really paid attention to anything I've had to say ." She says Looking down.

Zilla frowns, pulls her closer and gently guides her head up so she is looking in his eyes. He says.

" everyone else might not care what you have to say but I do."

Arabella looks into his eyes smiles and says.

" thank you for listening like really listening."

Zilla pulls Arabella even closer to her to where their bodies are almost touching. He places his hand on her cheek leans in and says.

" I'll always listen to you Arabella, you're worth listening to."

Arabella swears her heart was going to beat out of her chest. She softly whispers.

" thank you, you don't know how much that means to me."

Zilla places Arabella's hand on his chest and whispers in her ear.

" You mean so much to me, my heart feels like it's going to beat out of my chest whenever I'm around you."

Arabella gasps at his actions and words she grabs his hand and places it on her chest she softly says.

" My heart does the same thing."

Zilla places his forehead on hers and whispers.

" Arabella, you drive me crazy, you have since the day I met you. You are so kind ot everyone but not to yourself, your generous to others but not yourself. I want to do those things for you."

Arabella says.

" I want that too Zilla but my sister she's your girlfriend I dont want to…."

Zilla gently shushes her and says.

" She's not what I want or need you are."

Arabella replies….

to be continued.

@trippinsorrows @acute-crashout-jeyuso @empressdede @punksyeet @uceyliyahh @femdisa @mytribalnightmare @eringobragh420 @southerngirl41 @officialeve24 @usoinked @bossbitch-22 @madhatterbri @purplementalitybluebird @bloodlinemadness @holycollectivekitty @jstarr86 @livslunaticdamiansdisciple18 @duhitzkay380 @bloodlinesbabe93 @theusotwinzcom @thebigredmonster @chynagirl13 @mamis-girly @transparentphantomface @amazinggirlsstuff @spiicii @mselenalovebug @sharmelasworld @moxley99 @crazylady20 @myleelovesfood @jeysbitch

[catscidr]

hi.. hello... may I request a dottore fic w/chronically ill reader? chronically ill as in, can't get enough sleep due to pain, doesn't clean themselves/shower, or doesn't eat a lot due to the pain and loss of appetite.

this part is a bit self indulgent but maybe reader can't walk properly due to it and needs assistance by dottore (or his segments) to hold her hand and let her cling onto them as they walk?

absolutely understandable if not! hope you have a good day :) 🕊

yes!! absolutely!! (included this other ask too bc i felt they were similar enough) im sorry i disappeared for a bit, life happened and this and that and i didn't have time to write and when i did i just.... couldn't write LOLヽ(；▽；) i don't have a chronic illness so i did my best with what i had (google and my own experiences with body pains n stuff(?) ) so pls lmk if there's like. any wording i should change and whatnot. big smoochies to u nonnie i hope this makes you feel at least a little better ♡♡ ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ cw: a whole lotta fluff, established relationship, dottore is probably a little ooc bc he's very soft, him and The Clones are doting on reader HARD. reader is shorter than the men includes: fem reader, dottore and his segments (Omega is the oldest, Delta is webttore, Iota is the youngest), Columbina is mentioned, fatui npcs are also mentioned wc: 2,3k

The doctor was infamous for being cruel, aloof and barbaric. From his experiments to his way of treating his coworkers, practically everyone that worked in the Fatui wanted nothing to do with him, since even if they happened to not get on his bad side, even being associated with him meant other members of the organization would look at them funny. The only people the Harbinger spoke to daily, apart from you, were his many segments. 

The same couldn’t be said for you though. When you could, you’d spend time with Viktor or Ekaterina whenever they were in Snezhnaya, hang out with Damselette when she was free or simply just make small talk with anyone willing to stop by for a chat. Unfortunately, you haven’t been able to enjoy other people’s presence since your body’s been feeling quite sluggish as of late, exhaustion seeping into your limbs much quicker than it should. Your predicament made it so that you were confined to the four walls of your room most days, human interaction being limited to Dottore and his clones. 

Not that you particularly minded, since they were an entertaining bunch. Dottore took care of you most of the time, but since his job was quite demanding, he couldn’t be there for you all the time. Which is where his segments came in. 

“The soup isn’t that hot, and I already blew on it! Just eat already,” Delta grumbles loudly, his patience wearing thin as it made way for aggressive worry to take place. You stick your tongue out at him, a tired and petty act of rebellion despite your situation. 

“I dare you to take a sip. For sure it’ll be able to melt your mechanic tongue right off,” you huff in annoyance, both from the minimal hours of sleep you’d been getting and your own patience coming to an end. The man makes a tsk sound, torn between wanting to prove you wrong by humoring your suggestion or wanting to just grab an ice cube and tossing it in the bowl in malicious compliance. He doesn’t have time to decide though, because two people come into your room right as he opened his mouth to reply. 

“Prime told me to check in on you,” Omega says as he breaches the doorframe. “You’re taking too long.” he adds, crossing his arms. The older segment stares down at his maskless coworker, lips curling down in a frown. Delta scowls, readjusting himself on your bed- he was sitting to your right, his legs thrown over the side of the bed. He glances over his shoulder at the interruption, scowl now much more genuine as he glares daggers at the older segment. 

“I would have been back a long time ago if someone,” he doesn’t hide the way his eyes glance over at your sulking form, “had cooperated with me.” Still holding up the spoon he had tried to feed you previously, he lowers it into the bowl while gesturing for Omega to come closer. The latter walks over to the bed calmly while Iota saunters over to your left side, chatting up a storm about how he’s missed you and asking when you’ll be joining them back in the lab again. 

“Maybe if you knew how to speak to women,” the oldest taunts, lips curling into a small grin, the only feature visible on his masked face. You giggle as Delta bites back an insult, purposely ignoring his superior to instead try to make you get something in your system one more time. 

“Where’s Dottore?” you ask the Omega segment, turning your face away from Delta. The latter glares at you, handing over the bowl of soup to the other man. Iota suggests feeding you but is quickly dismissed by the other two, much to his dismay. 

“Busy. Although he said he would come by to test something, if I recall correctly... didn’t mention what it was, though,” the masked segment says, blowing on a spoonful of soup to cool it off. You nod, eating the spoonful when Omega presents it to you, earning a look of disbelief from Delta. “How are you feeling today?” the oldest asks, tuning out Delta’s many choice words aimed at him. You do the same, focused on eating and taking your time swallowing the food so as to not upset your already sensitive stomach. 

“Could be better,” you respond with a sigh. “I feel pain... everywhere. And I’m tired but I can’t sleep,” you add between spoonfuls. Omega nods, letting you rant as he silently listens to you while subtly observing the way your chest heaves up and down, as if your lungs were working overtime to accommodate to an elevated heart rate. 

He hums, dipping the spoon in the bowl to feed you again. You shake your head at him and put a hand up in front of your mouth, your brows creasing your forehead. The clone doesn’t push further and instead hands Iota the unfinished bowl of food, quietly asking for him to put it away. The young boy nods eagerly, happy to be of use as he scurries away. Delta follows after him to make sure he doesn’t break anything, but glances behind his shoulder to take one last look at you, worry obvious on his usually irked face. 

“How long has it been since Prime has last given your previous dose of aspirin?” he asks, leaning closer to you to push your hair out of your face. Expression scrunched up in discomfort from the sudden food intake, you make a noise of discontentment, a vague answer to his question. He frowns but doesn’t voice his displeasure aloud, instead comforting you through your nausea. Noticing pearls of sweat beading up on your hairline, Omega pulls your bed sheets away slightly, making you more comfortable. 

“Can you try swallowing for me?” he asks gently, tilting his head forward and to the side to look at your throat. It takes you a hot second but after some struggle you do as he instructed and swallow, your throat bobbing up as you do, and the segment hums in satisfaction. “Good,” he murmurs quietly, placing one hand on your shoulder to help you straighten your back. 

“Let me help you up. Hold onto my hand for me?” Omega asks, helping you slip out of bed, putting a strong arm under yours to help you stand up. You wordlessly interlock your fingers into his own and wobble slightly, knees weak and devoid of strength, but he holds you up, bending his own knees slightly to accommodate your height. The wave of nausea comes and goes, making your legs unsteady as the clone helps you walk towards the bathroom connected to your bedroom. 

Delta comes back without Iota in tow and immediately notices your discomfort. His legs work faster than his mind and he’s to your left in the blink of an eye, supporting your weight as well to help you and Omega out. The three of you reach the sink counter and as the oldest helps you sit up on it, Delta squints at his fellow clone. 

“Can one of you get my bucket,” you manage to croak out between deep breaths, head slumped forward to rest against Omega’s shoulder. While he rubs soothing circles on your back Delta quickly grabs the bucket you kept in your room, footsteps as silent as he could as to not disturb you. You murmur a quiet thank you to him, sitting up to the best of your ability as you shoot him a grateful smile. 

“Are you feeling well enough to bathe or are you still lightheaded?” Omega asks, one of his gloved hands coming up to your forehead. He feels some heat seep through the leather fabric but waits for your answer nonetheless, crimson eyes covered by his mask staring into you. You nod, leaning into the coolness of his hand. 

“Mmhyeah, jus’ help me out a bit,” you mumble sleepily, exhaustion taking over your nausea. Delta doesn't need to be told twice as he turns on the tap to fill up the bath, keeping a hand beneath it to make the sound of water splashing in the tub quieter to avoid bothering you. 

✧✧✧   

With a towel resting over your head and newfound energy flowing through your limbs, you saunter into your partner’s main lab to find him. Omega had left shortly after you finished bathing, begrudgingly telling you that he had to go back to work- but Delta stayed with you long enough to keep you company while you let your eyes rest. He gave you some painkillers- nothing like what Dottore gave you to keep the pain at bay, but it worked as a temporary solution- and you felt energized enough to leave your bedroom to get ahold of Dottore. 

Delta walked behind you, not wanting to go back to the laboratory just yet but the last thing he wanted was to leave you alone, his mind working up a multitude of scenarios in which you’d get hurt. Although he was all bark and no bite, he still cared about you immensely- more than he’d ever admit. He watches your hair drip water onto the pristine white tiles as you walk and steps on the water with his boots, smudging the liquid to wipe it away. 

“Dottore!” you exclaim happily, eyes lighting up when you finally catch sight of the familiar mop of blue hair paired with his matching tired eyes and scarred skin adorning his face. The Harbinger looks up from his work, eyes displaying a mix of surprise and something akin to irritation- a result from catching him off guard. 

“Darling,” he says softly, quietly enough that you barely catch the loving nickname slipping past his chapped lips. “Did you eat?” he asks, brushing the dirt off his hands on his slacks. You engulf his torso in a warm hug, immediately comforted by the familiar faint scent of his cologne and whatever cleaning supply he used in his lab. He returns the hug gently and Delta looks away immediately, flustered at the sight of his boss being publicly affectionate. 

You respond with a muffled mhm, refusing to pull away. “Didn’t eat much but it was something. Omega ‘n Delta helped me bathe. Took something for the pain. Now I’m here,” you summarize, face still smushed against him. He hums in approval, but concern still creases his brows as he uses one of his hands to rub up your back and the other to dry off your hair completely using the towel on your head. Delta murmurs an excuse before leaving the premises, not able to withstand the pda. 

“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” he says sternly but softly. “I’m working on something that’ll help you in the long run, it’ll do you good to allow your body to recuperate as much as it can. Have you been sleeping alright?” 

You slump against him. Of course he’d notice how tired you were even if he couldn’t see your face. 

“...No,” you mumble. He doesn’t respond, but you feel his head moving as he looks around his workspace, seemingly looking for something. He lets out a quiet aha when he does and he brings his arms down to your shoulders to push you away. 

“I have something you can take to help you sleep. You shouldn’t feel nauseous nor dizzy when you take it as well,” Dottore says, immediately talking about the possible complications before you can even open your mouth to refuse his offer. “I tested it out myself,” he adds, lips curling into a small smile when he sees your face change from a pout to bewilderment. 

“You? The great Dottore, ex-scholar of the Akademiya, willingly taking medication to make him sleep? You never get rest, and you expect me to believe you when you talk about sleeping medication?” you say with an amused scoff. Dottore raises a brow at your teasing but doesn’t comment on it, instead he chooses to brush his pointer finger’s knuckle beneath your eyes. 

“You should believe me because I never get rest, my love,” he says fondly. “And because your dark circles are so prominent, I could probably see them from the other side of the laboratory.” he adds. You huff but lean into his touch, eyes drooping from the burst of energy catching up on your body. You hear him chuckle under his breath as he shifts his body to grab the medication in question and a syringe with a sterilized needle, preparing the equipment to administer it to you. 

“If you get an adequate amount of rest, I’ll take two days off work to take care of you properly. How does that sound?” he asks lightly, flicking the syringe to let out any air bubbles out. You look away with furrowed brows and roll your eyes, but still give him your arm. 

“Now you’re just trying to bait me,” you say, looking at him from the corner of your eyes. He shrugs, not arguing with your accusation because you were technically right. When he’s done with the syringe you feel his arms wrap around you, the warmth of his body making you sigh pleasantly. 

You can’t tell what it is that makes your body grow so incredibly tired so suddenly; if it was the medication, the strain on your body or if it was because you just felt that comfortable in Dottore’s arms, but you didn’t really care. As you felt Dottore move you to one of his couches, you reach out to grab onto his sleeve to keep him nearby. 

He complies, crouching to be at your level as you crack your eyes open to look at him. You murmur a quiet love you and shut your eyes contentedly, smiling softly once you feel his lips make contact with your forehead as you hear him clearly say I love you too back. 

[13a07s]

Buddy

(Wakatoshi Ushijima)

[Artwork is not mine! Credit to Gjnoel_]

Requested by: No One

Word Count: 3,773

Warnings and/or Pre-Notes:

Asexuality

Open Relationship

Alcohol Mentioned

———————————————————————

     My foot slams against the wooden floor on repeat, the soft tap, tap, tap of my shoe drowned out by the sound of the volleyball being smacked back and forth. My eyes trail after the ball, watching one after the other being set just for Wakatoshi and the other spikers to slam it over the net.

     Miya is setting for my fiancé, which isn't usual and is showing. Ever since Kageyama was recruited for the national team, he's been setting for Toshi, but for some reason, he's been glued to the new guy that started this year.

     The new player is a short guy with wild hair. A bit of a tan pokes out from his clothing too, confusing me even more. I don't know any ginger that can truly tan, but I suppose the new kid on the block has bigger mysteries than that; like how I swear I've seen him before. He's probably an old rival, that's usually how I know the players that cycle in and out of Toshi's teams.

     A hand wraps around my thigh, forcefully stopping the bouncing of my leg. The annoyance of being touched dips the tip of my tongue in venom, ready to stab my thoughts into whoever thought they were allowed to touch me.

     "You have been rather stressed lately."

     The smooth and monotoned voice melts the anger from my tastebuds, a small smile sliding into place instead. A smile that widens when I tip my head backward to look up at Wakatoshi. His hair is plastered to his forehead, glued there by the sweat glistening over his skin. His eyes are squirted just a tad, barely showing the worry he's holding for me at the moment.

"Just work, Tosh," I murmur, lightly resting my hand on top of his.

My future husband falls into a squat, evening the distance between his frame and me perched in the bleacher seat I've been warming all afternoon. "It's not just work," he responds, his thumb rubbing small circles into my knee. "Your article got approved this morning. You forwarded the email."

My heart jumps a little at the knowledge that he did read the email I forwarded. I don't know why it still does or why I still doubt that he'd read it. Wakatoshi has been reading my travel articles since high school. Hell, he's been reading my acceptance and publishing notification emails for just as long. The first article I ever got published - a small thousand-word essay about my time in the Sumida Ward during one of his practice matches - hangs in his locker, torn from the first magazine my name has ever been printed in.

I shrug my shoulders, tearing my eyes away from him so they can skip around the gymnasium instead. Toshi is a loving man, the center of my world, my other half, my high school sweetheart, and my soulmate. He's everything I've ever known. Everything I've ever wanted... but there are still struggles in our relationship.

Wakatoshi is asexual. He has no sexual attraction, to anyone, including me. During the blooming period of our relationship, I was convinced he wanted nothing to do with me, that I wasn't pretty enough, that he didn't really love me, and that I had to be doing something wrong if he never seemed to want me in that way. I tried a million different things to get some reaction out of him but... nothing.

     Finally, after eight months of being together, I broke, having a complete meltdown and begging him to just tell me why he wouldn't touch me. Toshi was obviously confused, asking what the hell I was talking about. Overall, after a lengthy conversation and multiple days of research, we figured out it wasn't that he didn't find me attractive, he just doesn't feel sexual attraction.

     Since that discovery, everything has been smoother between us but occasionally it comes up again and causes some ruffling in our relationship. Toshi doesn't seem to care much, insisting he can and will fulfill my sexual needs if I want, but I feel bad asking him to do something he doesn't want. Not to mention, I can't enjoy my pleasure knowing it makes him uncomfortable.

     After about a year of us stumbling through this difference, struggling to find a balance, he recommended opening our relationship; one side of it, anyway. Again, Wakatoshi doesn't care. If anything, he encourages me to fulfill my sexual needs.

     However, there are a few rules. He wants to know who, but not what. Protection must be used; I double up just to be sure. If I do ever decide I want a child, I want it to be Wakatoshi's. A limit of one lover at a time, which is another thing I agree with. He plans a date the day after, to reconnect and to soothe any worries on either side. Lastly, have it pre-scheduled so we can plan accordingly and so he can expect when to have me back and when to give me space.

     My "buddy" - as Toshi calls it - was Tendo in high school but in recent years it's been Kageyama. Both people he knows, like he wants, and both people that don't have a want let alone the time for anything more than physical relationships. That keeps things as simple as can be for all parties involved.

     Despite my partner being understanding and supportive of me filling my needs, I still feel bad about it, like I'm cheating on him. Toshi views it differently, he insists that he knows I love him, that I'll always be his, and I'd never leave him over something as simple as sex. He also insists he knows I'd stop if he ever asked, which I would. If he ever even mumbled a no about anything - the partner, the day, the time, the situation altogether - I would stop, instantly, no questions asked.

     I love him, and want to spend eternity and whatever is after with him. It just infuriates me that I can't simply not want sex. But again, Wakatoshi says that it's a normal human need and one he doesn't expect me to stop wanting, let alone give up. Still, with my lack of asking him for assistance and my hesitation to use our open agreement, it's not uncommon that I leave my needs ignored and snuffed out long enough that they claw at me to finally indulge. I wish I could simply not want sex. It would make my life so much easier.

"I can't fix an issue I'm not aware of," he murmurs, the circles on my knee getting a little rougher as his worry grows.

"You couldn't help even if I told you what it was," I softly tease, letting my fingers skip up his arm, enjoying the way his muscles tighten under my touch.

Wakatoshi stays silent for a few moments, eyebrows scrunched together as he thinks over what I said. "Oh," he finally grumbles, the rhythm of his thumb evening out now that he's solved the mystery. "Perhaps you should have a sleepover with your buddy, then."

     "Tosh - "

     "He seems to be stressed too. He's been... angrier since Hinata's return to Japan," he rambles, climbing to his full height as he nods in agreement with himself. "Besides, it's been a few months since you've spent any time with your buddy."

"Wakato - "

"I shall go see if Kageyama's night is free," he cuts me off again, already halfway across the gym by the time I shoot out of my seat.

     By the time I catch up to him, he's already discussing nightly plans with the setter. Embarrassment etches into my skin, even more so when Kageyama's eyes snap toward me. "Hinata is coming over for a bit but he should be gone by five. After that, I don't have anything planned."

     Toshi hums, nodding in agreement again. "You shall go over at five and I will see you at nine tomorrow. Bring her to the gym for our workout session, yes?"

     "Sure," he mutters, barely sparing me another glance. He's always very disconnected, which is another reason why he works perfectly for our situation. "See you at five, Ushi-Chan," a small smile graces his lips with the reverse greeting like it always does. Over the years, I've started to believe Kageyama gets off on the idea of Wakatoshi being my partner in every way but the ways he provides me. Whether he does or not wouldn't make much of a difference though, I suppose.

     "Why'd you do that?" I hiss the question once my "buddy" is out of earshot, leaving me and Toshi alone on the edge of the gym. "You didn't have to get involved."

"Of course, I did."

"The hell do you mean 'of course you did'?"

He lets out a deep breath, moving slowly as he rests his hands on my arms, letting them slide up and down the length of my biceps. "My Darling," he whispers, leaning down so the words can caress my face. "My future wife," the three words make my heart skip, partly because of the sentiment, but also because of the slight weaver of Toshi's voice. "If I hadn't set you time with your Buddy, you would have let your frustration consume you until you snapped. I don't rather enjoy when you snap."

     A defeated sigh spills from my lips, my shoulders dropping some of their tension. Toshi is right, as usual. I would have let my needs feaster until I was an utter bitch.

     He bends down, ghosting his lips against mine before he snaps back into his straight posture, his touches completely gone from me. "I will ask for a ride from one of my fellow members. Go home and prepare for your evening."

Just like that, the soft moment is gone as soon as it's here, like most things with my life partner. Wakatoshi is sweet in his own way, but his gentle words and soft touches only happen occasionally. I don't mind, it just makes them that more special.

I'm still riding the high of his affection as I slip into the locker room, bee-lining for locker 214; our anniversary, and another omen that Toshi can be sweet on occasion. The dial turns easily, writing out my birthday before the lock pops and giving me access to the keys he locked away before practice.

————————————

The click, click, click of my heel is muffled by the material making up the floor of Toshi's car, the soft fabric eating most of the sound. His hand is rested on my leg, cupping a good chuck of the fat, and yet still large enough to dip down and rub soothing circles on my inner thigh. I know why he's doing it; because the small touch sends crackles of arousal straight to my center.

A part of me wants to tell him to stop, but I know I'll be thinking about this minimal moment tonight. Another part of me knows he's doing it to comfort me as well, his way of reminding me that he's fine with this, that he doesn't care that he's dropping me off at another man's house, that Toshi couldn't be worried less about me getting dicked down by our country's national setter if he tried.

"I love you," I whisper into the silence, the music mute just the way he likes it.

     "I love you too," he replies, barely waiting for the words to be out of my mouth before he responds. "You look beautiful, tonight," Toshi adds, an awkward cough following the compliment. No matter how long we're together, I don't think he'll ever get used to touching me or using sweet words to coo at me.

"Thank you."

The car falls silent again after my gratitude is spoken, nothing but the sound of the engine fills the space. I choose to fill the time looking out the window, watching the scenery speed by as Toshi drives the woven path to my "Buddy's" house.

"This is good," Wakatoshi voices once he turns onto Kageyama's street, his apartment complex almost marking the halfway point of the houses clustered together. "You will feel better."

"I guess," I murmur, wrapping my fingers around the hand that's taken home on my thigh.

"I know," He responds, voice matter-of-fact. His stare settles on me when he has the car parked, the motor still purring its calming rhythm. "Your needs are important," Toshi reiterates for the thousandth time today, gently patting my leg, my hand still tied around his.

"I know."

"Good." It's a simple word, a small word even, but I can see the way it notes his stress melting off his shoulders.

Wakatoshi releases his hold on me, popping my seatbelt from its buckle and carefully sliding it back into its spot. He stays hovering over me, his focus on opening my door from the inside so I don't have to. Words might not be a way my partner shows his affection, but acts of service sure are.

"I'll see you tomorrow. At nine," he reminds me, sliding his focus back to me, the door hanging open.

"Tomorrow, at nine," I echo, letting my eyes melt over his features. "Then we're going to lunch."

Toshi hums in agreement, tilting his head so he can slide his lips against mine. "I love you," he whispers before pulling away, and settling back into his seat.

"I love you too," I respond, pecking his cheek once more before climbing out of the car, remembering to grab my overnight bag and the paper-bagged bottle of wine I brought for Kageyama and me to enjoy.

Some of my nerves melt as I walk away from the car, waving the whole way up the sidewalk, only stopping when I slide through the entrance doors. The usual assistant greets me, the ever-present boredom in his voice as he welcomes me.

I ignore the greeting, sliding past him to situate myself in the elevator. The moment in the tin box is more annoying than nerve-racking. Considering how much Toshi makes, Tobio can afford an apartment complex that plays something other than America's Pina Colada song.

     The ding of arrival is very much welcomed, especially since the song has already planted itself into my mind and worked its way into my soft humming.

     "Yes, I like Pina Coladas," I mutter to myself, letting my eyes trail over the golden numbers of each small home. "And getting caught in the rain," I continue to sing to myself, stopping in front of the shiny two hundred and fourteen stamped into Tobio's door.

My knocking echoes in the hallway, quickly followed by tussling behind the closed door. Murmurs and movement continue to leak through, testing my patience as I wait on the setter. "Tobio! I'm here!" I call, trying another knock on the wood.

"Kageyama didn't tell me he invited more guests!" A chirpy voice greets me, paired with a blinding smile and the sound of the door handle slamming against the wall.

"Hinata," Tobio hisses, his cheeks dusted in embarrassment. The color only darkens as his eyes fall over me, drinking in every inch of the tight cocktail dress I slide into for our night together. "I told you to leave ten minutes ago. You need to go."

I let my attention fall a tad, glancing at the new spiker on Toshi's team. His head is tilted, confusion sprinkled in his continually moving eyes. They flicker between me and trying to peak at his friend over his shoulder.

"Do... do you have a date tonight, Kageyama?"

"No!" My "buddy" snaps, huffing out his cheeks as his frustration continues to build. "You need to leave."

"Why?" Hinata asks, pulling his focus off me to place it on his friend instead. "So you can commit adultery? That's a new low, even for your dumbass."

"It's not like that - "

"Are you two going to continue bickering?" I butt in, toying with the foil-like seal on the bottle I'm holding. "If so I'm more than happy to let the lovely couple keep at it and I'll just go home and enjoy myself."

The redhead snaps back towards me, his eyes slit but still drowning in curiosity. "Aren't you with Ushijima? I see you at all our practices and I saw him kiss you today."

     My shoulders jump up before dropping again, my focus on picking at the seal I've been messing with. "He knows I'm here. Last time I checked, there's no harm in having buddies."

     Silence falls between the three of us, thick with nerves, curiosity, and judgment. When it's finally broken, it's the redhead that snaps it. "Does Ushijima know what you're wearing to hang out with your buddy?"

     "Considering he dropped me off, I'm going to go with yes."

     "Personally - " the spiked starts, continuing to test my already shot patience. " - I wouldn't let my girlfriend hang out with her friends dressed like that."

     "Personally," I mock, tearing my attention away from the wine to let my glare rest on the wing spiker. "My Toshi is built like a god damn grizzly bear so he doesn't need to worry about what weasel ass setters or mice-sized players think of me, let alone what they think concerning what I wear." My anger continues to simmer as I look down my nose at the new kid on the block.

     I get the sense he's not going to last long if he keeps pissing off the players' partners. Though, maybe I'm the only one he's managed to anger. It's not necessarily a bad thing he's doing either, just an uninformed jumped opinion.

      His face shifts, a string of emotions from hurt to anger washing through his features as he tries piecing together a comeback, one that doesn't come courtesy of Tobio.

     "Hinata... just... leave," the setter pushes, letting his palms rub at his eye sockets.

     "But she's - "

     "Leave!" Tobio snaps, this Hinata now receiving glares from both of us. "I asked you to leave earlier, you didn't. Instead, you're here ruining the rest of my evening. Go home."

I'm starting to think this Buddy Situation is more hassle than it's worth. "You're going to owe me a huge apology," I whisper to the setter as I let myself slide into the room.

     "I can think of an apology or two. Would you prefer to receive it from my hands or mouth?" He asks, causing the simmer of arousal in me to speed through my veins faster. "Maybe you'd prefer both?"

     "Both would make a perfect apology."

————————————

My head pounds harder because of the bright lights of the gym, but my pain is put on the back burner. My feet putter against the floors as I pick up my pace, racing my way to my Toshi.

Tobio trudges along after me, easily keeping pace with my hurried steps. He relaxed after his friend left and we started our invite-only party, but all that chilliness seemed to have melted at the entrance. Wakatoshi wasn't kidding when he said my lover has been strung tight because of the new guy.

"Toshi!" I yelp, slamming the door open to the private room they've rented out to use during the on-season.

"Hello," his monotone voice responds, making my heart flutter wild enough to make me forget about my hangover. However, the sight of his arms covered in a thin layer of sweat and contorting as he continued his bicep curls might aid in that a bit. "How was your evening?""

"Great," I murmur, thanking the gods above that I hadn't slid my sunglasses off yet. I know Toshi doesn't mind me ogling him, but it would be a bit embarrassing doing it in front of his whole team. "How was yours?"

"It was fine," he says, setting the weight down on the rubber mat before standing up from the bench. My eyes trail laps up and down my fiancé as he makes his way to me, each step making my skin tingle more. "I am excited for our lunch," Toshi tells me once he's settled in front of me.

"Me too," I hum, leaning into the hand he settles against my cheek. "I miss your calmness."

"Was your evening not calming?" His eyes are squinted just a tad, forever his subtle sign of worry for me.

"It was, it just started off rough."

"How so?"

"I'll tell you over lunch," I promise, standing on my tippy toes so I can brush a soft kiss against Toshi's lips.

     He huffs when we part, his minty breath dusting across my face. "I know you missed me, I missed you as well, but kisses are a private matter, Darling."

     "You didn't think that yesterday when you kissed me in the gym."

     "That was barely a kiss," Wakatoshi softly argues, sliding his hand off my cheek. It slides down, caressing my neck before his fingers focus on gently twirling my hair. "We can kiss all you want once we get home."

     "I want to kiss now," I pout, turning my head a bit so I can brush kisses against his wrist.

     Another sigh spills from him, this one from the lack of him being able to give me what I want. I know that's what the sigh is for, the olive shade of his eyes melting over me being more than enough proof. "Darling - "

     "Ushijima!" My future husband is cut off by the devil himself, sporting his bright red hair and his slowly fading tan. I swear, his ears must have been ringing a moment ago. "Can you spare me a second... alone?" The kid quickly adds, beelining his way toward us.

     "Tosh, meet my rough start," I grumble, rolling my eyes and plopping one last kiss on his wrist before pulling away from him. My "buddy" is going to owe me another fat apology because of this.

     Toshi seems a bit confused as I pull away, glancing between the ginger and me as I wander off to bother the other players. Confusion that's not going to last long, especially with how quickly Hinata pounces on the ability to "tattle" on me.

     This is another reoccurring problem in our relationship, people believing they've caught me cheating. Them running to tell Wakatoshi just to hear that he knows, that he encourages it, that he's happy my needs are taken care of. If Hinata keeps poking his nose in my business, I'll have to choose another buddy. Who might the next one be?

[mediocrecowboyhat]

Set in sand - Chapter 22

We mark the year 1934 and a peculiar journal falls into your hands. It's telling the tale of an outlaw and the downfall of a gang. Some pages are torn and others are downright unreadable, but nevertheless, you are still able to make out some parts of the tragic story.

With the help of a certain time traveler friend of yours, will you be able to save the author of the journal or will you be the cause for his demise?

Previous chapter - Next chapter

Word count: 4k

TW: end-game spoilers will be mentioned very early on in the story, 18+ MDNI, sexual themes, violence, gore, death, misogynistic themes (anything that happens in the game as well), she/her pronouns

"Who pissed in your coffee this mornin'?" Sadie seems to materialize out of nowhere next to you and you let out a startled gasp at her sudden appearance.

"What do you mean?", you breathe out and she eyes you from top to bottom. You squirm under her intense stare.

"You look like you're ready to stab a man for breathing wrong."

I do?

A sigh escapes you and you run a hand over your face. It doesn't come as a surprise to you that your fight with Arthur yesterday has left it's mark on you. There surely are some words and actions you regret, but it's as if the outlaw has been swallowed by the earth.

Earlier today, or rather right after you woke up, your eyes were scanning the camp in hopes to catch him, but he was nowhere to be seen. That still is the case. At this point, you might need an iron to straighten out the deep crease between your eyebrows.

"Don't tell me there's trouble in paradise." Sadie rips you out of your thoughts with a teasing smirk plastered on her face. Once she notices that you don't find her joke amusing at all, the smirk falters and her expression turns into a more serious one. "Shit, do you...uh wanna talk 'bout that?"

Even though the question comes out as awkward as can be, you appreciate her efforts to be there for you. Maybe that's good. Maybe what you need right now is a distraction.

You give your surroundings a quick look-over to make sure no one is standing close enough to hear you. Afterwards you tell her what happened after Arthur fixed up your shoulder, intentionally leaving out the part where you two almost kissed of course.

Sadie stays silent the entire time, only nodding every now and then to indicate that she's listening. Once your story comes to an end, she shakes her head and looks at something in the distance.

"He'll come around, trust me. My Jakey...", she speaks up and kicks a pebble away. It takes a second for her to continue and when she does, it's with a strained face. "As wonderful as he was, he could still be a moron sometimes. But we always figured things out at the end and so will you."

"I'm just scared that he won't stop pushing me away.", you admit hesitantly. These thoughts have been plaguing you all night and all day and you're afraid that, now that you voiced them out loud, they might come true.

"I heard from the others that he had a pretty unfortunate love life before he met you. What was her name again? Mary? They were serious, right?"

You nod before answering. "They were engaged, but she left him eventually. Married someone else after that."

"Jesus.", she breathes out with a surprised huff and crosses her arms infront of her chest.

You recall Mary's words from back in Saint Denis, when Arthur went to get her brooch back and left you two alone. She told you that it would work out for you and him. The memory sends a stinging pain through your chest and you immediately shake it off.

It will be fine, I had told Francis. Nothing will go wrong, I had said.

Thinking about your old friend, makes your lips curl up into a bittersweet smile. He would be so incredibly pissed if he'd know what you've been doing this entire time. Robbing, killing, fooling around with outlaws.

Only that it feels anything but fooling around when it comes to Arthur. Every private and intimate moment with that man always leaves you dreaming and hoping, fantasizing about a life together. Do you have the same effect on him? Is that the reason he's pushing you away?

Sadie bumps her shoulder against yours (your good shoulder, thankfully), startling you. Something flickers in her brown eyes. Something mischievous.

"Come on. We're leavin'." With that, she strolls towards the horses and you hastily follow her.

"To where?", you ask, confusion lacing your voice.

"You promised to take me out of the camp, didn't you?" She throws you a knowing look over her shoulder and mounts a horse. As puzzled as you are, you still mimick her actions and get ontop of Penthesilea.

"But we were talking about jobs. Sadie, I don't really think that robbing a homestead is going to make me feel better."

Her long, blonde hair falls over her shoulders in waves as she tilts her head back to laugh. "No! We're just gonna take a walk in town, do some sightseein', maybe visit a saloon."

All that sounds harmless enough, but knowing Sadie, that could very well change throughout the day. Going out with her will either end with the both of you absolutely hammered and having to go through a hellish hangover the next day or you find yourself running from a bunch of lawmen.

Now that you think about it, you probably shouldn't narrow it down to just the law. She isn't picky when it comes to pissing off people. Excited laughter cuts through the air, drowning out the sound of your horses' hooves and you can't help but smile, seeing your friend like this.

"It'll be fun! I can feel it!", she shouts in your direction and you sigh in amusement.

"As long as you behave.", your voice comes out in a teasing tone and she furrows her eyebrows as she looks at you.

"I can behave."

"Sure. Arthur told me what a normal shopping trip with you looks like."

An offended gasp can be heard from her and she places a hand on her chest, clutching her non-existent pearls. "I can't believe he'd go behind my back like this and tell you."

The rest of the ride to Saint Denis goes by with some more banter and chatter and you hitch your horses on the side of the road once you make it to the center. You're not sure if you will ever get used to the smell here.

"How's your shoulder?", Sadie asks and your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. With everything that's been happening, you totally forgot about that bruise of yours. Whatever cream Arthur used on you, it's doing fantastic work.

Your fingers carefully press against your shoulder and a mild, dull pain spread in your arm. Granted, you should probably still take it a bit easy, but all in all your arm is almost fully functional again. "Pretty good actually."

"Good enough to get rowdy tonight?" A sinister smirk tugs at the corners of her mouth and you shoot her a warning look.

"No fighting.", you say in a firm tone.

"Of course!" She snickers, making it obvious that getting into trouble is exactly what she was thinking of. "I meant drinks."

"Yeah. Sure."

With it being noon at the moment, you don't really feel like you're in the mood for drinks just yet. Fortunately, neither does Sadie and she motions with her chin towards a store. It is a tailor, but a tad less fancy than the one Trelawny has dragged you too.

"What? You want a new dress or something?", you ask, amusement evident in your tone and she let's out a scoff.

"No." Her response comes out faster than a bullet and she examines your attire. "You got the guns and the scars, but there's somethin' important missin', outlaw."

Something within you stirs upon hearing the nickname. It's not wrong. That is precisely what you are, an outlaw, but being referred to as one makes you uneasy. Before she could sense that anything is wrong, you school your features and match her energy.

"And what's that?"

"Do you even to ask? Ya need a hat, sweetheart!", she says in a matter of fact way and it gets a chuckle out of you.

Next thing you know, you're being dragged by the wrist towards the tailor and she pushes open the door. The shopkeeper and some of the customers there turn their heads in your direction after that energetic entrance and you shoot them an apologetic smile.

Sadie picks up a bunch of cowboy hats from the wall and places them on your head, one by one. Her lips are pursed in concentration as she studies every single piece closely and you raise your brow. "Do I have a say in what I'll wear?"

"Obviously. I'm just narrowin' it down for ya.", she mutters, lost in thought and you decide to leave her to do her thing.

After a few minutes of her mumbling incoherent words under her breath as she tries out almost every single hat on you, a satisfied smile begin to spread on her freckled face. Seems like you got a winner.

Finally she allows you to see what she picked out as she hands you a handheld mirror. It's a pinch front style hat that is made out of a dark leather that matches your belt. The band is a similar color, but lighter, complimenting the accessory quite nicely.

"That one is perfect.", you breathe out, impressed by her ability to pinpoint what you'd like. Her satisfied smile becomes a proud grin at your reaction to her choice and you go to pay for it.

Afterwards you two spend the time with some errand running and window shopping. There are some rifles she eyes at the gunsmith, but none of them end up being what she's looking for. The next stop is a small restaurant and by the time you leave it, the sun has set.

Sadie stretches her back, cracking and popping some bones with a pleased sigh and she cracks a yawn. "I don't know about you, but I could go for a drink."

"Same." You don't feel like returning back to camp just yet. Sure, you could maybe run into Arthur there and try to talk things out with him. Though, there is also the possibility that he's not there and then you'll be left sitting alone at the campfire, spiraling. Tonight you don't want to go down that rabbit hole that is your complicated feelings towards the outlaw.

Sadie takes you to a small saloon, located more on the edge of the city. The area doesn't strike you as too safe, but it's not too worrying either. You've budded heads with worse than some Saint Denis thugs.

Leaning against the bar counter, you two order a glass of whisky each and you bring it to your lips.

Oh, sweet sherry, how much I miss you.

"Have you talked to Dutch again about joining on jobs?", you ask and a shadow falls over your friend's expression. As if you hit a nerve, she downs the alcohol in one go and brings the glass down with a loud thud.

"No, but I don't think it's much use anyways.", she murmurs and signals the bartender to give her another drink. "Even though I went all out with that O'Driscoll trash durin' the ambush."

Memories of that fight flood your mind, images of bloody corpses scattered on the docks. A shiver runs down your spine and you take another sip, hoping that the alcohol will ease the tension in your muscles.

Maybe it's better to move onto a lighter topic. "Thank you for helping with the hat, by the way. I really like it."

Your words get a cheeky grin out of her and she nudges your good shoulder with hers. "It's the least I could do for you."

"What do you mean?", you ask, confused, but then you roll your eyes in feigned annoyance. "Listen, don't worry about how I feel. Arthur and I only had a fight. Not a falling out."

I hope.

"It's not that.", she counters and lowers her gaze. Suddenly, the air between you becomes awkward and tense and she plays around with her glass. "You've been so kind to me since the beginnin'."

Quickly, your hand shoots forward and you place it on her arms, giving it a gentle squeeze. When she looks up to meet your eyes, you smile softly at her.

"Of course, my friend." Then you clear your throat and order two more drinks. The whisky is going down faster than you expected, but it's nice. "Enough with that sentimental mood now. Let's have some fun!"

It doesn't stop there. The alcohol flows like honey, becoming easier to swallow with every sip and you drink.

And drink.

And drink.

Sadie says something that you can't quite make out, but that isn't stopping you from finding it incredibly funny. You bend over, cackling and she does the same. Some of the customers throw irritated looks your way, but you don't pay them any mind.

Another glass is being placed infront of you and you furrow your eyebrows. "I didn't order that."

"Consider it a small gift from a kind stranger.", someone next to you says and you turn your head to face a man who looks to be your age.

He's rather handsome with his bright green eyes and curly blonde hair, but maybe the alcohol is clouding your judgement. You take a moment to study his features some more, noting how his eyebrows are darker than his hair and how there are dimples on his cheeks when he smiles.

"Might the stranger extend his kindness and tell me his name?", you ask, playing along. Your positive response makes his smile go wider, exposing a set of bright white teeth.

The shirt he's wearing looks old and stained and his pants are dusty, but the skin on his hands is smooth without any callouses. Nothing about this man indicates that he has worked even a day in his life, yet his outfit begs to differ.

"Jim.", he says, extending his hand out to you and you shake it. Indeed, it's very smooth almost delicate. "And you?"

You give him your name and bring the glass to your lips. Before taking a sip, you subtly breathe in the scent of the whisky, but nothing stands out to you. It passes the taste test too.

Maybe you're reading too much into it. So what if that guy is from the upper class? He could be living a double life to get away from something. It wouldn't be anything out of the ordinary.

"So tell me, Jim, what is someone like you doing in a place like this?", you ask and watch him from the corner of your eyes. Sadie shifts in her seat next to you, listening in on the conversation.

The man doesn't look unsettled by your suspicion. On the contrary, he chuckles and shakes his head in disbelief. "Am I that bad of an actor?"

His reaction makes you relax and you allow yourself to smile. "I don't mean any offense, but you don't look like you have lifted a single finger in your whole life."

"No offense taken, my good lady. You're correct, I haven't."

"Then why pretend? Saint Denis has some high-end saloons with liquor that doesn't taste like dog piss." The tipsy state you're in has loosened your tongue quite a bit.

"But they're filled with...snobs.", he counters, wrinkling his nose.

A sly smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth and you cock your eyebrow. "And you're trying to tell me you're not like the others?"

For a moment you're afraid that you might be taking it too far, crossing a line of some sort, but amusement flickers in his eyes. He seems to be enjoying your boldness.

"If you give me a chance then I could prove to you that I'm not."

Sadie let's out a snort next to you and you give her shin a light, but firm kick. You don't think that it's going to go anywhere with Jim. Arthur stills occupies every nook and cranny in your mind.

"I'll think about it."

Jim nods, content with your answer. "Don't worry, I don't intend to rush you. Rome wasn't build in a day either."

The way he speaks makes you smile and you lower your gaze to look at the glass infront of you. Sadie shoots a knowing glance your way and you playfully slap her arm.

"That's a mighty fine gun you got there." Your attention is back on Jim and his eyes are set on the pistol at your side. 

"Can you shoot?", you ask and his eyes go wide in shock before he shakes his head in a bashful way.

"No, I seem to never get the aim right.", he declares with a soft chuckle. Casually, he lift his own glass and swirls the liquid inside it around. "Perhaps you could teach me some time."

Hope flickers under that confident, playful mask of his and you open your mouth to answer, but a deep voice beats you to it.

"You better mind your own business, boy."

The hair on the back of your neck stands up upon listening to that familiar southern drawl. Arthur, your Arthur, is standing next to you and you rub your eyes to make sure that it's not some hallucination your drunk mind has come up with.

"Oh, shit.", Sadie hisses behind you, visibly delighted by the unexpected turn of events, but you, on the other hand, would rather have the ground swallow you whole.

"What are you doing here?", you breathe out in disbelief and maybe a bit of horror as well.

"What I'm doin'? I'm gettin' the two of you home.", he says in a matter of fact way. He stands before you like a dream. Broad shoulders, hat tilted low and his large hands on the belt.

I think I had too much to drink.

Jim is looking between the two of you, confused by Arthur's sudden appearance and hostility. "I'm sorry, friend. I didn't know she is your girl."

His girl...oh, I'm definitely too hammered.

"First of all, I ain't your friend. I ain't nothin' to you and neither is the Lady here, so do yourself a favor and bother someone else.", Arthur snarls in a low, threatening voice that doesn't tolerate any backtalk.

Jim straightens his back and raises his hands. "I didn't mean any offense, sir. We were just talking."

The outlaw moves his jaw, but before he could do more damage, you extend your arm and pull at the sleeve of his leather jacket. "What is your problem, Arthur?"

"C'mon. We're leavin'.", he says, completely ignoring your question and he makes his way towards the entrance.

Sadie snickers, but downs the contents of her glass and follows him. Quickly, you mouth an apology to Jim, but he waves it off with a warm smile and you rush out of the saloon.

Cool night air fills your lungs as you take a deep breath, but it does little to nothing to calm your nerves. It clears up the fog in your head, in fact, leaving you seething in anger. Heat rises up to your face as you think about how much of a fool Arthur has made you look like back there.

With your hands balled up into fists, you stomp towards the man and grab him by the shoulder to face you. In the corner of your eyes, you see Sadie become suddenly very interested in a lamp post.

"Have you lost your mind?", you snap at the outlaw and he looks at you as if you grew a second head.

"Have I lost my mind?", he repeats, absolutely baffled and your mouth hangs open. For a while the both of you just stare at each other through narrowed eyes and with flared nostrils until you decide that it's enough.

This isn't something you want to take out in public. The streets of Saint Denis are buzzing with life and you don't want to draw more attention to you. So with a quiet huff you make your way towards the horses and your trio rides back to camp in awkward silence.

As you hitch up Penthesilea, Sadie taps you lightly on your shoulder and you turn around.

"I'll go ahead.", she whispers and you nod. It's obvious what she's trying to do with this.

Talk to him.

Arthur goes to follow the woman, but stops in his tracks when you softly call out to him. It's very late and you don't want to wake anyone up with your shouting.

"What was going on back there?", you ask, more calm now than you were back in the city. Anger still burns in your chest, but not as hot anymore.

When he doesn't answer, you let out an irritated sigh. "Why won't you talk to me? I thought we were fine. More than fine even until you made it very clear yesterday that you don't want this, that you don't want me. Then when someone talks to me you act like some territorial ape. What do you want from me?"

It's difficult to make out his expression in this darkness, but it's evident that he's carrying out an internal battle with himself. His shoulders are tense and his chest rises and falls heavily.

"I...I'm real bad at this.", he mutters after a while and you dare take a step closer to him. Hesitantly, you take his hand and bring it up to your chest, holding onto it tightly.

The warmth of his body and the feeling of his skin under your fingers has become so painfully familiar.

"That's okay.", you answer in a hushed tone and you take another careful step. He let's you in, let's you stay close to him so that you feel his breath caressing your face and you remove his hat to get a better look at him.

"I had a son once. Isaac was his name."

Your heart drops at the sudden confession. You don't make a single sound, don't move a single muscle. He's finally opening up to you and you don't want to push him.

"It was years ago. I met this waitress, Eliza.", he continues, voice strained and raspy as if he's fighting to hold himself back. "I didn't stay with them, but visited as much as I could. I shared my earnings from the gang, so they could live somewhat comfortable."

His fingers twitch in your grasp and you feel his thumb circling over the back of your hand as he continues.

"One day I came over and was met with nothin' but two graves. Some folk robbed and killed them."

"I'm so sorry, Arthur." Your voice is trembling and he shakes his head.

"Don't be, sweetheart."

For the longest time, both your breathing was the only sound aside from the rustling of leaves and an owl making itself known occasionally. Sadie wasn't kidding when she called his lovelife unfortunate, but you don't think that anyone knows about this. Aside from Hosea and Dutch maybe.

"And you know how it ended with Mary.", he then says and you nod to yourself. There isn't much context needed regarding that topic.

"You don't have to worry about me or us for that matter.", you answer and he let's out a deep sigh, but you continue before he can respond. "I'm part of the gang. We're together in this."

Mary was right. You understand the way he lives his life. Hell, you're living his life yourself. Granted, there is no divine shield protecting you from the dangers that come with this line of work and you're never 100% guaranteed to see the next day.

But that is just the risk of living.

"I'm not a man that you should-"

"Arthur Morgan." You say his name with stern emphasis and he immediately shuts his mouth. Your hands find their way up to his face, cupping his cheeks. "I don't care if you're the man I should be with or not. You're the man I want and that is the end of the matter."

A defeated sigh escapes him and he grabs one of your hands, tender lips brushing over the palm. The gesture sends jolts of electricity through you and heat boils up in your lower stomach.

"You're gonna be the end of me, woman.", he mumbles in amusement.

Taglist: @shackspossum @abducted-cowz @heloixe

[loxalotl]

Piltover is the problem (*Arcane S1 spoilers*)

Throughout Arcane, Jinx is torn between Vi's "Powder", and Silco's "Jinx". Both love her, but neither accept who she is until Silco's final realistion where he switches from "Jinx is perfect" to "You're perfect." 

Something he was desperate to hear from Vander, who gives up on Silco, betrays him and leaves him for dead thinking he doesn't have the capacity to change. But Silco proves him wrong: "Is there anything so undoing as a daughter". Jinx did what Vander couldn't. Gave him something else to believe in. Focussed that anger and injustice.

And Silco did it. He paved the way for peace. And had a good argument for not handing in Jinx for the murder of a couple of guards when Piltover has been systematically murdering hundreds of children and adults alike in the mines etc.. Oh, but it wasn't them directly, so doesn't count? No. Their inaction was what pulled the trigger. And Jayce doesn't even consider being held accountable for the murder of that boy (again, irregardless of all the out-of-sight so out-of-mind deaths). If brokering peace is enough for him, it should be enough for Jinx and Silco too, particularly when Piltover's body count is so much higher.

When it comes down to it, Piltover are the worst kind of abuser. They're the government who acts all nice and shiny and righteous while quietly enforcing child labour, enabling destruction of the environment, gas-lighting anyone who speaks against them, and promoting an unsustainable and lavish lifestyle based on self-interest at the expense of others. The quiet, deep-rooted, insidious evil that points it's finger at any opposers screaming "look, big bad thing threatening our civilised way of life!"

And Vander and Vi are not the "good guys" either. They're another kind of toxic. The "normal" people with a saviour complex who don't understand/accept anyone different, and part of what pushed Silco and Jinx over the edge (because, yes, Silco and Jinx have crossed a line, there is no excusing that). Neither are the Firelights necessarily the "good guys". They are so focussed on infighting in Zaun that they seem to have forgotten about the root cause of their problems. You know, Piltover? The people who have been quietly murdering your families and loved ones for the past X number of years??? Jeez. Remember the bigger picture guys.

Now, we may have been robbed of the "Silco figuring out how to properly dad" in Season 2 as it doesn't fit into Riots universe (looking at you, AO3), but I can only hope it doesn't turn into the "Vi fixes Jinx" show. Jinx doesn't need fixing. She needs people to accept who she is, and access to mental health care so she can focus that brilliance into productive things. People can be not okay but still valid. Yes, Silco was a "bad guy", but he was also a product of Piltover's exploitation, suppression and abuse (hello? Can we address this please?), as well as Vander's betrayal. He was very deliberate in his cruelty. It all had a purpose. Zaun needed someone to step up as nothing else was working (hello Jinx). Was it the right thing to do? Morally, no. But was it the lesser evil that would overall result in the fewest deaths? Who knows.

The key takeaway for me is that Runeterra DESPERATELY needs access to good quality, free mental health services (as do we all). Also, the world could also come a long way if we a) try to be nicer to each other and b) take a closer look at those really in power ('cos there is a whole lotta grey out there).

But that's how I see it. And I think one of the great things this show has done has sparked these discussions on acceptance, equality, mental health etc. It's okay to not be okay. You're not alone, so just be nice to each other. We're all on this lump of space rock together, and for anyone out there who feels lost, I'm sending all the love and hugs in the universe💜

And yeah, watch this show. It's perfect.

[healer-pop]

heyy… can i get a continuation of the aphrodisiac fic but venture being infected instead?? bonus points if they deny it for a good while and are trying to stay calm 🤭

THAT IS SUCH A GOOD SUGGESTION BC HONESTLY, would play out so differently.

Venture reads like a person who's been such a high-achiever, all their life. Being so young when accepted into the Wayfinders, they feel like they have something to prove. Nothing is enough. They need to succeed. They need to be a model. They need to lead. It's half of what plays into their role as a Dom, too. They're well aware of how they seem to outsiders, which is partly the reason they have such a conflict with Mauga, who tries to take advantage of that and corner them into a more favorable and submissive position.

Venture doesn't take sick days. Especially not ones that seem unnecessary to them or would throw anything off-kilter. So when the pollen kicks in... they're absolutely trying to tuck it under the collar. They're more concerned about you, your worried looks, trying to quell your anxious pleas for them to sit down, stop moving around so much, you don't look so good, your troubled touches seeming far too good right now, "Please stop touching me! Please... I'm sorry. I just... I can't handle it right now." They'd get flighty and on edge, backed into a corner, with the urge to fight their way out right there. It seeps into their words, becoming more and more pushy and hostile, even though they desperately don't want that. They feel trapped and hot, too hot, way too hot, even the sands of Egypt didn't feel this bad. It's a whirlwind of a bad mixture, with you trying to calm them down and them torn between getting out and getting in, getting into you. The pain, they can muscle through. They can ignore... The desire. Not so much.

It's imperative you don't leave them, not that you would, not with them in this state, because they need you right now, and that's not the pollen talking. They're getting far too worked up, tugging off their coat, and their overshirt, fanning their tanktop against their chest as they pace around the camp with you following in tow. It comes down to whoever makes the first move, whoever touches who first. If it's you, reaching out, grabbing their wrist to try and calm them down, they're tugging you close, by your waist, into their chest without even thinking of it. And by the Gods, you're so fucking pretty. You're so fucking sexy looking up like that, you're so caring and perfect, God, everything about you sets them at ease. They're panting now, with you pressed against their chest to feel every rise and fall, your arms coming up, around them, to hold them tight. "It's gonna be alright, Venture... We'll... we'll get through this. Whatever it is. Together." And like that, their mouth is on you, their brain is screaming at them, telling them they are fucking everything up, but oh... oh. You're... you're kissing back. You... you're kissing them back. Suddenly, they're hoisting you up, onto some crate, sliding between your legs, legs that feel like lava against their waist, tugging on the bottom of your shirt, needing it off, needing to feel your skin against theirs...

There's more to this, but I'll stop here. Just know. This part ends with Venture being extremely avoidant, mainly because they've not gotten a clear resolution to their internal feelings. We can fix that later :) enjoy the potential angst thoughts!!

But if it's them... oh, boy. Venture snaps. They turn around, grabbing at your wrist, holding it above you before you can even stop, it's shattering, bruising grip that has you wincing, and Venture's eyes widen, immediately pulling away like they've burned you. "I- I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry! I- I didn't mean..." You're holding your wrist, but shaking your head.

"Venture... I don't care. I'm just so worried about you. What's wrong? What's going on?" "I- I can't.... I can't tell you. I don't know. I don't know..." They're starting to falter, starting to fall into the void of insecurity and doubt, feelings so foreign that the intensity of them rocks Venture, and they're sobbing. "I don't know... I can't- can't tell you. It would ruin- ruin everything!"

You've never seen Venture cry. You're standing there, shell-shocked at the sight, your own wrist dropping in confusion and concern, "No... no, Venture. It'll be ok. It'll be alright. I promise. I pinky promise. No matter what. We'll be ok." "You pinky promise?" "God, yes." "I love you." Aaaand we end here, because the smut comes later ;D

[moonrepeat]

there's a sizeable chunk of their core memories that D-1N0 keeps partitioned off, warded from incidental activation through self-made encryptions. they've never tried to delete them—out of cowardice, perhaps, or weak-minded sentiment—and they rarely feel the urge to access them. there's nothing useful there. they keep what they need to do their job, and do it well, and dismiss the rest.

D-1N0 was not built with sensors in their hands. they didn't need them. ███ had changed that, the first time they had tried to cradle his face in their hands and left dark bruises across his jaw. flesh always yields to metal, in the end. "it's alright," he'd told them with a smile as they fretted over the damage they'd unintentionally dealt. "you don't know your own strength. i think i can help with that." the next day, he salvaged some sensors from the rusting carcass of an old bird. he wired them in the same evening, and D-1N0 lost themself in a cascade of pressure, temperature, feeling. an entire world that had been closed to them. they spent hours pacing the length of the ship while the crew slept, tapping the tips of their fingers together to calibrate their new input.

the eyeless dog shambles past, snout half-buried in the dirt as she searches for a fresh prey-scent. crook, that was her name. D-1N0 can't remember who named her. she'd been the strongest of her pack, before age and the loss of her hearing had led to her exile. her teeth are still sharp, though, so they wait a moment for her to pass before crawling through the gap in the wire fencing.

"they're gone, they're dead," ███ gasped, crashing down beside them. blood seeped through the shoulder of his uniform. "fuck. fuck! how are we going to—" "i've got you," D-1N0 said, and then there was nothing else to say. they clutched ███'s hand in their left, dragging him onwards, and killed with their right. you don't know your own strength, ███ had told them. they made quick work of rectifying that when they tore the arm off a thumper and shoved the jagged end out through the back of its skull. their newfound taste for violence terrified ███. he never said it, but they knew him better than they know themself. he let go of their hand to start the ship, but the feel of his hot, sweaty palm lingered in their memory until it became an obsession.

D-1N0 doesn't remember how many years they've been running solo. sometimes there's another crew offloading their own haul when they return to 71-gordion, but the sight of the ragged old robot doesn't inspire much friendliness. D-1N0 doesn't mind. they don't want any crewmates. they die too easily.

they watch their next quota rattle up to a round 16k, and trudge back to their ship. they'll need to flip the system, soon enough. start over. they may be the best in the business, but even they can't manage the highest quotas alone.

something makes them linger by the bunks. they pick up a torn red blanket, rubbing the fabric between their fingertips.

the first time ███ called them dee, it felt like a new connection was established deep in their circuits. a new feeling choked out their processes, heavy but not unpleasant; far from it. the clarity was dizzying in the best way. the silence stretched on, and ███ eventually twisted around to frown at them, concerned. "what's wrong?" "you called me dee," they said, their voice fuzzy with static. "i liked that." ███ blushed, the reddening of his face making his freckles all the more noticeable. they liked that, too. they always switched their optics to the highest resolution whenever they focused on him, just to count his freckles and admire the pretty green of his eyes. "well," he said, coyly, "i've been thinking about a pet name for you for a while, now." "a pet name?" they laughed, wrapped their arms around him from behind. they could feel his heartbeat under their palm. (they liked that, too.) "am i your pet?" "hardly. you're my..." ███ leaned his head against theirs. "i guess you wouldn't use boyfriend, right? partner, then?" "you can call me whatever you want, so long as you keep callin' me dee," D-1N0 said, and they'd never meant anything more.

D-1N0 lets the blanket fall back onto the bunk, and turns away. one day they'll remove the bunks; they take up too much space, space they could put to better use stashing a bigger haul. one day, they keep telling themself, knowing they never will.

there was a presence there, once. something—someone—important. someone they don't remember, don't allow themself to remember. they remind themself that if they don't remember, it doesn't matter.

he's gone now.

[zeciex]

I gotta know bc I’m nosey: just how happy is the endgame? Like on a scale of “we survived but at what cost” happy or a “look at our perfect house and our free lottery win and our happy (living) children and the lovable dog we adopted” happy?

(I totally understand if you don’t know yet, them being endgame is enough for me but I do enjoy being prepared lol. And I’ve seen fic where Aemond/OC is the “endgame” but one of them dies at the end or there’s some other insanely angsty twist and usually it’s still CHEF’S KISS bc fanfic writers are gods in my opinion, but it crushes me every time)

Also I have character questions (if you’re willing to answer) but I haven’t seen any of the ask lists today so I’m going off memory/my own thoughts: What’s your funniest HCs for Aemond/your OC? What’s the dumbest/silliest (non-influential) thing they’ve ever done? Do they have any routines that settle them? How will they be with future children (who actually live lmao rip our boy)? In like 50 years when they’re chilling together as old folks, what will they look back on and laugh about together? What do you think their love languages are and how do they prefer to show it?

Yeehaw

On a scale of how happy the endgame is; we will see. I haven't fully set on anything, but I want them both to survive into old age--only then will one of them die, and I very much plan to write this because it's beautiful and sad and angsty and just... I like the idea I have. But I do think there's a sadness that comes with surviving the war--with most of their family gone, with a realm torn by war, with having to rebuild and redeem themselves. I do hope to give them a happy ending, to give them warmth and love, to have them work through the trauma--because we all know that there will be trauma and it never really leaves you. I want them to have a family of their own and have that family life Aemond never allowed himself to dream of before Dae. So that is what I work towards, but it's so far in the future that nothing is set--everything is broad strokes.

What’s your funniest HCs for Aemond/your OC? -It's not so much a HC because it happened, though it happened between chapters, but sometimes I think about Daenera putting dye in Aemond's bath stuff so what little hair he has on his body turned pink as well as the tips of his hair, which he had to cut. -Aemond can draw, surprisingly well, but it's not something he had pursued because it's 'frivolus' -Daenera has a prank streak--vindictive--and was infamous on DS for exercising that streak on her brother's/the people in the castle. That being said, she was well loved in the small fishing village along the coast because she dragged a master and medicine with her so that she could learn the arts. -Aemond does play an instrument and he's very meticulous at it, but it is not perfect and so he doesn't do it--this goes hand in hand with him thinking this frivolous. -Dae's first kiss was with Baela and Jace most definitely gets defensive if it's brought up because he wants to be Baela's first kiss (he was never going to be) -Dae/Aemond has had dates of their own during the night where they just hang out, kiss, fuck, eat food and read.

They're not so much funny headcanons, but they're the ones I have.

What’s the dumbest/silliest (non-influential) thing they’ve ever done? -I think the dye thing, I mean, that shit was funny. And I really enjoyed their prank wars. I definitely thought about continuing a few minor pranks before they went low low with the love letter and the whore thing. -Them flying to the Isle of Faces for a date could go very wrong, I mean, even if she was just a 'plain' featured girl standing beside a clearly targaryen man with a huge--ass dragon is a neon sign that could have gotten back to Larys.

Do they have any routines that settle them? Aemond is very specific about routines, and he's a 'go-late-to-bed-but-gets-up-early' kind of person. He usually spends his mornings training, then go to lessons (before the war), then read and if he's restless then more training or flying with Vhagar. Daenera finds the monotony of preparing potions/poultices really soothing, she loves the scents and working with her hands, even if it includes some math and measurements. She is a late-to-bed-late-to-get-up kind of person and she gets rather grumpy if she gets woken early (especially by Mertha). And if it weren't forced upon her, I think embroidery would settle her. But she gets up and starts with lessons (before the war) then her afternoons are spent with the maesters, learning from them, or reading.

How will they be with future children (who actually live lmao rip our boy)? There will be more children, and they're very engaged and attentive parents. Aemond can be indulging, especially towards daughters, while he can be harder and more firm towards sons. Daenera is both very loving but can also be firm. And they're both protective with Rhaegar--and they will likely be more so after. But after Rhaegar there will also be anxiousness attached to being a parent, they're both traumatized and they will have to work through that.

In like 50 years when they’re chilling together as old folks, what will they look back on and laugh about together? Murdering Boris, likely lol. The prank wars as well. But I also think they will look back at the stretches between all the trauma and badness that is just them--and I think they actively avoid thinking too much about their family and everything that happened, how fucked up everything was. And, once the war is settled and they're alive, they've got like... 30+ years of times to make those happy and fun memories before they turn 50.

What do you think their love languages are and how do they prefer to show it? Touch. Their shared love language is touch--which I've tried to show throughout season 1. And sharing spaces, where they're not necessarily engaging with one another but they're in the same room, hanging out in comfortable silence. Gestures of affection--like preparing tea on a cold day, ensuring everything is in place where Aemond won't fall over it until he learns the space, bringing a book for them to read, asking the kitchens to make specific food they like, things like that.

Aemond also gives gifts--he had the red robe made for her with the help of Helaena, he also have a ring stowed away for the right time as he knows she'll throw it in his face at the moment, he sent for specific books to be translated and given to her. And, I also think him trying to protect her in any way he can is a love language of his.

Daenera's is stitching up cuts and making medicine and potions for their loved one--that is one of her main showings of love, but just generally touch.

Great questions, tell me YOUR headcanons! I'd love to know <3

[badasgirlfriend]

Twisted Fantasy | A Bada Lee Wattpad Fanfic

pairings: bada lee x chen jiayi (fem oc)

genre: ex best friends (ex lovers) to lovers, enemies to lovers

a/n: here's a brief of chapter 8<3 read the rest of the chapter here (if the link doesn't work my user is hoezzwantme on wattpad)

'Are you familiar with the hitmaker known as Lucky? She's the mastermind behind some of the biggest hits from BTS and other HYBE groups. The truth is, no one knows her identity. Well, no one outside of a select few who have been fortunate enough to meet her or work alongside her. We know nothing about the female producer, save for one single detail: her age, which is alleged to be 27 years old. She supposedly revealed this information to the public, along with her birthplace of Daegu's Otgol Village, which was leaked by someone back in 2019. HYBE, meanwhile, remains guarded about her privacy. They've never shared any information regarding her, nor do they intend to in the future'

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck" this was really her, this was her Jia. All this time, she thought she'd moved away somewhere far. But she couldn't have been more wrong. Her emotions were torn between joy and sadness.

She found her Jia

Now it all made sense. She remembered when Jia told her that her name Jiayi, meant lucky one. She felt a chill run down her spine as that fact finally dawned on her. It was lucky indeed, for their paths to cross once more in such a way.

Bada starts laughing while a few tears stroll down her cheeks. She was proud of Jia for her accomplishments, but she couldn't help but feel a sense of sadness and longing. She was happy for her, but wished she could have been there with her all along.

Wiping her tears away from her cheeks, Bada wanted to hear her songs, even though she didn't have that many. She didn't have a large collection, only 6 songs, but her numbers of listeners was huge.

As she scrolled to the most streamed song on Jia's page, Bada closed her eyes and let the melody wash over her.

Even on my worst day, did I deserve, babe

All the hell you gave me?

'Cause I loved you, I swear I loved you

'Til my dying day

Bada sank down onto the floor, her emotions taking over as she covered her mouth. She tried desperately to keep herself together, covering her mouth and restraining herself as best as she could. But the tears were already running down her cheeks, and she was crying again. She knew that this particular song was about her, about the night that had cost them their friendship, and every time she heard it, the memories came flooding back. The cover of the song was a dead giveaway

And I can go anywhere I want

Anywhere I want, just not home

And you can aim for my heart, go for blood

But you would still miss me in your bones

Bada could feel the hurt in Jia's voice, and it hurt her so much that it felt like a stab to her heart. The lyrics were like a razor to her soul, carving out deep wounds that she knew were self-inflicted. She knew that she had hurt Jia deeply, but now knowing how she somehow felt, it was like the whole world was crashing down around her. In that moment, everything that had happened came flooding back to her

"I'm sorry," the broken girl choked out the words between sobs, rocking back and forth. She was overcome with grief and regret, her whole body shaking with emotion "It's all my fault Im sorry"

You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same

Cursing my name, wishing I stayed

You turned into your worst fears

And you're tossing out blame, drunk on this pain

Crossing out the good years

And you're cursing my name, wishing I stayed

Look at how my tears ricochet

[reddogf13]

Pride & Ruin CH 4

on A03 as well

Alcina X Ethan

summery: Determined to find his daughter Ethan Winters, an omega, storms the castle of Alcina Dimitrescu, an alpha. While fleeing her three beta daughters Ethan has the unfortunate luck of being snagged on the alphas claws. Slipping out a yelp, Ethan fears the worst. Instead, luck will be in his favor under a prideful alpha and Miranda's plans will fall to ruin.

Status: Incomplete

Rated: M - fowl language and gore

Previous chap: Ch:3 Standstill

Next chap: Ch:5 A Bitter End

___________________

~Ch:4 Splintered~

The next day, Ethan had been staring down at the cold bowl of soup given to him. After Rosemary was fed he ate three spoonfuls before rejecting the rest. There was nothing particularly wrong with it. But his mind repeatedly told him. something’s wrong. something’s wrong. something’s wrong. it went over and over. Rose was still sleeping as he gently picked her up to move. Sneaking around as if unwelcome in the space given to him. Shuffling things around to try and force a new nest to appear out of random items. Sticking around it then shortly abandoning the unappealing nest. Tired, he returned to the original one. Jumpy around the alphas scent filling the small room. Fearing he'd see her there in waiting. Thoughts torn on relaxing in the nest to, it's not safe.

Without any windows he wasn't sure how long it'd been since he'd arrived. How long will I be down here? Until my heat hits? And then- his hand stopped fidgeting with the blankets. Shaking from the rush of adrenaline building. Swallowing on a dry throat, he felt overly hot. something’s wrong. something’s wrong. something’s wrong. He had to get out. He'd spent far too long down here. He scooped up Rose to scramble around the winding basement. Checking rooms and doors for an exit. The only one he knew of was the elevator, but he'd have to get past Donna. And she wouldn't let him flee.

It's all a trap. She's working with her. It doesn't matter what I say. I'm a prisoner just sitting around until I'm handed over. Tears threatened to fall as his situation crashed down on him. NO! I'm not sitting around here a moment longer! Setting Rose down he carefully placed her into another makeshift nest he aimed to abandon. Taking up a chisel meant for wood he began carving at one of the walls. Ripping chunks away to reach the dirt behind it. Digging painfully while ignoring his roughed up hands worsening condition. Startled away when Donna called his name. Looking out his measly tunnel before rushing back to work. Almost out, need to hurry. Ripping rocks to roots out of his way to coat himself in crumbling dirt.

Donna knew though, that he wasn't anywhere near an escape. He was two story's down underground. She thought he knew that, but his behavior was becoming extremely strange. What he really didn't know was she had been watching him through the smaller friends she had. Little dolls that could ride crows if given the chance. Seeing Winters trying to escape she came down to try calling him forward first. Attempting to stop his digging or anxious nest abandonment. When he didn't come of his own volition she had to go to him. While also pretending to have no idea where he was or what he was doing. Revealing that would make him more paranoid.

“Ethan?” Angie shouted, whispering the next. “How deep are we going to let him dig?”

not much more, we don't want dirt collapsing on him.

“Ethan!” Angie repeatedly called before they “found” him. “what are you doing?!” feigning shock when seeing his tunnel.

“Get away from us!” he snarled. Coming out only to stand between them and Rose. “you've kept us here long enough! Let us out!”

“We can't! We can tell her no, but you can't leave like this!” the doll gestured at his injuries.

“why not?! I've been here for far too long! How long has it been?! Weeks?! How much more will you keep me?!”

“It's only been a day.”

The fevers made him worse. Donna thought between her and the doll.

The doll grumbled to herself before speaking. “you should sit-”

“NO! I'm not doing anything else for you! Let us out!” roaring his demand. Eyes flicking around to land on a pair of scissors. Snatching them up in readying to fight his way out.

the two stiffened up. “whoa, wait a minute.”

His body shivered uncontrollably with a white knuckled grip on the scissors. “get out of my way.” letting out a deep set growl.

It was not as intimidating as an alphas, but the threatening display made Donna's skin prickle. taken aback by the threat. it was impossible for omegas to growl. Donna spoke up for the first time in a long time rather than through Angie. “You can't go.” expecting her soft voice to bring him down. “settle.”

He let out another deep huff followed by an increasing growl. In two steps he swung at her with the scissors. Missing her by a mere inch he couldn't swipe a second time before the lights went out. Back on a moment later, Angie and Donna were gone. Standing alone he tensed up to breath through his fever that felt to be suffocating him. Have to get out. Turning to Rose he was about to scoop her up and flee the lower level.

“Mr. Winters!”

Alcina's roaring voice yanked him around to face her. He locked up under her furious gaze threatening to crumble him.

“you're sick, you need to sit down. When you do, Beneviento will bring you some medicine.”

Her words rumbled in his head. Sit down? He shivered with his grip twitching on the scissors. “no!” he snapped, body tensing up for a fight. “get out!”

“settle and sit, then I will.”

he growled at her. “get out!”

her gaze turned cold. “you're growling at me?”

His shivering tension built under the pressure of challenging an alpha. He couldn't crumble this time. This was life or death. Fighting her wouldn't be taken so lightly. I can't submit. Have to get out. He growled and snarled at her. Hacking and wheezing on the exertion he was forcing himself through.

“Winters, I'll go when you calm down.”

“You'll go now!” he slashed furiously at her. Feeling nothing but air before falling forward hard into the floor. What?! Wheezing in looking around to find no one else. A sniff of the air told him her old scent, off the bedding, was all that was there. But- The lights switched off as he got to his feet. Turning on, he looked around expecting something else to confront him. Heart stopping when he saw Rosemary was missing. NO! He bolted for the elevator closed shut and off his floor. “GIVE HER BACK!” he shouted up the shaft. Shaking the bars to cutting up his hands in trying to yank them open. Refusing to budge he broke down crying on the floor between wheezing fits. Have to get out! His mind repeated to run back for his failed escape tunnel. Digging more desperately to get out and onto the first level.

“stop!”

he tensed up against the tunnels back to growl at the doll on the other end.

“Hold on a minute. Let's talk.” Angie's attempts to sooth him doing anything but that.

Ethan grabbed a rock in the dirt to fling at her. “fuck off!” missing his throw as the doll dodged. Trying to dig was halted when more dolls crowded at the entrance. Threatening to come in and drag him out. A standoff was happening and they needed someone else to step in.

Donna was upstairs, waiting, with Rosemary carefully bundled in her arms. A knock on the door she'd been expecting had her rush to open it. When lady Alcina saw that she had the child, her brows furrowed. “Why do you have her?” sounding accusatory, but not meaning to.

“He's really sick.” speaking in her hushed tone. “he's trying to escape.”

“Where is he now?” coming in to hear a break down in the living room.

“still below. Angie's there.”

“what happened?” setting down the bundle of food she brought to offer.

Donna took up the bottle to feed Rose. Starting on the events. “it's the fever. He started nests and abandoned them all.”

“He's beyond stressed then. Doesn't feel safe anywhere enough to settle.”

“he tried digging up. We went down and he attacked.”

“What'd you do to try calming him down?”

“talking. … you.” Donna brought up a closed hand to open. A symbol of her golden flowers shaking their hallucinogenic pollen.

“You used me to try calming him down?!” hating that a false representation of her had worsened her chances. Pulling herself back to what Donna had said. “Never mind. Is he still trying to escape?”

“Yes, he attacked you too.”

“That's not surprising. He's taken shots at me in the castle before.”

“but he- ...”

“he what?”

“ … he growled.”

“growled?” not believing her, she chuckled. “you must be mistaken, from being a bit startled I'm sure. Omegas don't growl.”

“he growled at you to.”

“... me?” a challenging threat display done by an omega toward an alpha? no, it has to be a mistake. She chuckled again with a shake of her head. “has to be something else. hm. ...” thinking of what they were to do. He needed to calm down and was too much for Donna to handle. “May I go down?”

Donna tensed. It broke the traditional courting rules. Alphas couldn't see them unless the omega agreed. It kept them safe from aggressive alphas coercing them into accepting against their better judgment. Giving the lady some grace that she wouldn't try anything, but what was necessary. Having nothing better added to that, but there was another issue. “It could be a high fever, or ... something else.” she warned the alpha.

She took a deep breath. “... if it is, I'll see how fair I handle. I'll know once the elevators down and either stay on it or go forward.”

Satisfied by the answer, Donna nodded in acceptance. “you may.” walking her to the elevator that would bring her down. Both stepped inside. Donna escorting her down to judge her reaction for herself. Upon reaching the floor, the doors opened, Alcina took a slow deep breath of the air.

Able to give her answer immediately. “He's not in heat, but I can scent him now.” The suppressants were fully out of his system. Revealing his clean scent he would normally have. The clock was running out on getting another dosage before his heat would kick off. It could hit at any time now, in a few hours to a few days.

Donna dipped her head and waved for Alcina to go. Soon as she was off the elevator Donna pointed down a hall. Elevator shutting to take her back up. Alcina watched the other lord disappear.

Turning to step down the hall in continuing to scent Ethan out, really enjoying his sweet earthy scent. A rich fresh roasted coffee blended with sweet toasted hazelnuts. It was comforting and kept her calm in her approach. “Winters?” she called, not expecting an answer.

“Oh perfect, reinforcements!” Angie came out from around a corner.

“Yes, where is he?”

“We got him cornered in the bedroom. He's been very feisty and taken a few of my friends out.”

“mm, lead the way.” following the doll down multiple halls and through multiple rooms. “Anything useful in here?” passing the medical room.

“nothing for illness, for cuts or burns, mainly the basics.” passing down a few more halls they stopped short of the last room. “he's in there.”

“mm.” heading on without the doll she waited as a group of others came out. Leaving the room to her and him unless needed. “Winters?” she stepped in, ducking under the doorway. if he runs here it'll be a miserable chase. Ducking past so many archways and doorways on the way here.

“where is she?!” he confronted without shying away from the alpha.

Oh dear, he looks awful. Worried at seeing him shivering, wheezing and sweating heavily through his clothes. A death grip on a pair of scissors surrounded by broken dolls. Covered in dirt sticking all over him. “she's upstairs.” calmly answering him.

“bring her back!”

“not yet, you're-”

“Shut up! Bring her back! I'm not sitting down or taking whatever drugs you're giving me!”

She glared at him, hating to be interrupted. “don't you snap at me.” scolding him as she bit her tongue of any aggression seeping through. Intrigued by him holding an aggressive glare back, refusing to submit to her. She took a deep calming breath. “I'll shove the medicine down your throat if I have to. You're not getting out like this.” gesturing over him. “I prefer you settle down quietly and that I won't have to.”

he didn't answer, holding his glare from the back of the room.

Not liking the idea of grabbing him, but having no choice she stepped closer. “if you keep pressing yourself like this-”

He tensed against the wall in readying to fight. Letting out a low clear growl that stopped her.

She shook it off the first. No … they don't. stepping forward again she tested and heard what she wanted.

A deep snarling growl, louder than the first, from him to threaten her away. “FUCK OFF!”

He had caught her full attention. Omegas don't growl. Staying back she settled her hands on her hips. Contemplating how he was like this. not in a few millennia. she'd read that omegas were once more feral then their current submissive stature. They lacked the bulk strength of an alpha, but they were once just as fierce when aggravated. Challenging others for precious nesting dens. Long ago evidence supported that omegas mauling each other was more common. It was hard to believe how they once were, but seeing it here brought a warmth to her chest. His threatening growls were adorable to her. Giving her a strange sense she couldn't pin. Interest, pride, wanting to bond with such a strong omega? A proper mate to court that she had chosen well. She wanted to press him further. Holding her hand out toward him earned another growl followed by a lashing out of the scissors. She was quick to pull away. Removing herself to not press him too hard and make him worse.

She broke her glare to sit on the bed nearby to present herself as less a threat. It worked in seeing his body less tense then before. Trying to have him sit wasn't working so she changed tactics. “what's wrong?”

“what's wrong?! I'm stuck here, you took Rose away, none of you will let me leave!”

can’t argue much with that. “you're here for now until Miranda is taken care of. Rose will be-”

“Liar, all of you are! You're all holding me down here until I accept!”

She was about to say something, then shut her mouth. She had to offer something big and what he wanted right now, she couldn't. “I'll be back in a moment.” hating to leave him like this without any progress, but she had to.

Followed by Angie asking what happened. “where are you going? Is he any better?”

“no, he's extremely stressed. I may have something that can help, but I need to see. Make sure he doesn't escape until I return.”

“ugh, some help you are lady.”

“Oh shut it you little tick.” waving the doll away as she stepped into the elevator.

Donna didn't try to stop her as she left the house to rush over to hers. Meeting with the duke immediately in the hopes something had changed since she'd ask in the early morning. “Duke, do you have it?”

“yes, my lady. Just came in.” smiling in handing off a small bottle. Filled with deep green pills she winced at the pharmaceutical chemical smell she knew well. “it's enough to last through a week. More are on the way.”

“Thank you.” rushing off to return all the way to Ethan's room. Stepping into another standoff she interrupted. Calmly she made her offering. “Will these help?”

He stared at them. Tensing and relaxing in questioning what to do. Were they suppressants or a fake that could kick him off immediately.

“please Ethan, you have my word that I'll stick to the traditional courting. You have the final say, always. This is enough to last for a week, just a start, more will be coming.”

He quietly shivered from his spot, eyes darting around in searching for an answer. Someone to tell him it was fine or if it was a trap. Flinching by the bottle landing on the bed next to him. Far closer to him without need to approach her. He snatched the bottle up to examine it. Catching the recognizable scent of suppressants he double checked the label. Popping open the bottle to inspect each pill. When he finally took one, both were a bit relieved. “Now can I leave?” not dropping his goal.

“no.” she stated.

“I never agreed to this courting! All of you forced me into this!”

“this isn't about the courting! What do you think is going to happen if we let you run out there?! Miranda's still looking for you along with an army of Lycan's built to scour these lands for prey. You had a graze with death the last time.” gesturing to his condition.

“I could get away!”

“Don't be ridiculous, you'll have to figure out a way over the mountains after that. and then what? Go into hiding for the rest of your lives? She found you once, hunted you down, and got you here in the first place. And what about Rose? You think she'll be happy fleeing her entire life?”

Ethan's fight to get out chipped away by each point she was making. Wanting to snap that she was wrong, but was stuck in a corner.

“Were you aware Miranda wanted her to be torn apart? crystallized into jars. Rose was meant to be a lure to keep you here, that's all. but I'm sure after all this Miranda wont be so soft the next time. She told me personally Rose will be crystallized by her own hands.”

He felt sick, more so than before. Thinking how if he had fallen to the Lycan's it would have been over for both. Worse to be caught by Miranda, Rosemary taken and killed to be used as a lock and chain for him to stay. Wanting to run far away to get into hiding felt less and less within his grasp. Staying wasn't an option in his mind. “and you were willing to go along with it!” growling out all his hatred toward his captor. “I'll never accept you, NEVER!”

Her jaw tensed, biting her tongue to hold back her anger. “say what you want. You're not getting out.”

His fury bubbled over into lashing out at the alpha standing before him. Bringing her hand up she caught his scissors by the blades piercing through. Shoving him onto the bed with the other. The weight of what he'd done hit him like a semi truck. Somewhat literally by being smashed into the bed by such little effort from her. He let out a panicked yelp while crumbling down in half expecting claws to stab into his side upon landing. Shivering in a curled up ball he froze in waiting for her to maul him apart.

While she herself had froze from his yelp. Relaxing off knowing she didn't hurt him, it was a fear reflex. She kept him down while inspecting her stabbed hand. Biting onto the looped handles she yanked it free to drop on the floor. Blood free falling next to it not for long. Sealing shut the moment it could she squinted at the small hole in her glove. Pay Donna to fix that. Attention back on the submissive omega under her hand. Glancing over his wounds, some stitching had popped while bandages were thoroughly bled through. She worried about letting Donna try to patch him up. If he would ever let her get close again to do so. Gently taking him by the jaw and his side she helped him into sitting up. He flinched away with a tight shut of his eyes. Opening them by the gentle face petting she was giving.

She sat down next to him for a gentle talk. “maybe hearing a confession will help? …” sorting her thoughts for him to take in easily. “She was my mother and my alpha. Of course I was going to follow her orders. I would have been loyal to the ends of the earth for her. Through the years however, she's shown to lack the same formalities. I've willingly admitted- shown my deepest secrets to her. I ignored that she never shared anything with me. Mother knows best, after all. But you-”

He wanted to shiver under the look she gave him. Fighting his inner self to run or stay still not to activate a hunt. Her light smile followed by a chuckle wasn't any more reassuring of his safety.

“you're her biggest kept secret. I know it, absolutely. I would have understood if she had told me and sent you off for another lord to watch. But she didn't. Even after you escaped my moronic brother she acted like I stole you from him. Again, she had a chance to tell me. My reward for my years of unwavering loyalty was to be treated as a threat. I even gave her a chance. I was fully willing to tell her I had you and your daughter. I want to be very clear how much your lives were hanging by the thinnest thread. She just had to show the most minuscule bit of regret for not telling me sooner. It didn't have to be through words. A hesitation, a sideways glance, those little tics I've known she does for years to show her consideration.” she shut her eyes briefly to let out a long breath.

Ethan sat quietly listening while her hand still gently held his face. Waiting for her silence to break, it stretched onward for too long. Her hold was softening in changing her mind on telling him all of this. She was about to shut down and leave her confession at that unless he did something. He pressed into the hold that kept her there more then him now. Eyes softly closed to the soft petting she gave in return.

Her hold returned alongside her admittance. “I wanted so badly to see it. But there was nothing. Her little hesitance was not from regret. It was fear. That I'd find out about her secret. A few barked orders was all I apparently deserved. Head high with pride, off she went expecting my unwavering loyalty as always with nothing in return. Well, no longer, after giving so much I'm demanding my repayment in blood. Whether or not you say yes, her kingdom will come to ruin.”

A quick flick of a glance away hinted her doubts to Ethan. Reassurance that she'd win wasn't a guarantee. So, he kept his mouth shut about it. What could he really say?

“settled now? ... Come on, I'll patch you up for Beneviento to check you over.” gingerly herding him to the medical room. Shooing away the dolls he flinched back from in the halls. “tell Beneviento to come down in a few minutes.” waving Angie off from her stand by post. She had Ethan sit on the long table while grabbing a wet cloth. Washing a lot of the dirt off him to see the fresh cuts he'd caused himself. Dabbing an alcohol soaked cotton ball on them. His head hung low the entire time to focus on the floor. Just being submissive or-? “no need to sulk.” her voice kept soft. “You still have a fever and need to focus on resting.” her soft words didn't feel like enough to perk up the omega. Urged to help somehow, she gently lifted his chin to leave a soft forehead kiss. Pulling back her jaw tensed in regret. An overstep. Donna will never let me down here again after- when she pulled away he took her hand into his.

sounding tired, but truthful. “Thank you.” He'd been wanting to say something with this being the best he could offer.

She smiled. “no need.” patting his hand. “but please don't make any more holes in lady Beneviento's manor.”

he smiled out a puff of air. “yeah, I'll stop redecorating.” attention snapping to the lady of the house herself coming in. the pair making an immediate separation of space between them. Early contact could get them both scolded by the beta before them.

Alcina cleared her throat to go over everything. “I cleaned him up and tended to the scuffs he's gained. He’s back on suppressants now with enough to get him through the week. The duke will be bringing more soon.”

the calm air broken by Angie jumping out from behind Donna. “you kissed him you perv!”

she had to hold back a growl. “I was- fixing his mood after all the stress.” you snitch.

While Ethan had a blush as Angie continued her screeching accusations. “yoooou can't do that!” pointing up at the tall lord. “the audacity! One meeting and you're already drooling all over him. Haven't even taken him out to eat!”

“I've been feeding him everyday.” waving the doll off. “throw whatever punishment you deem fit, but I will not stand here being finger wagged by Pinocchio.” leaving with the doll still ranting behind her.

“yeah you better leave sicko!” swiveling to Ethan. “and you! We raised you better than this. We warned you about girls like her!”

“what the fuck you talking about?” It was stupid, but it got his mood up. “You ain't my mom.”

Angie gave a feigned gasp. “ugh! How could you say that?! After all i-” Donna must have had enough and shut Angie up with a hand covering the struggling doll's face. Letting go when she went still to speak again. “you're too soft on him!” pointing at Donna, then speaking to Ethan. “Alright, you're getting off scot-free. This time. Let's get you clean, fed and back to bed.”

Ethan agreed by nodding. Glancing over himself at the dirt still sticking to his fevered skin coated in a sheen of sweat. Following Donna he could hear the elevator leaving, along with that lovely scent he wished had stayed.

The tall alpha stepped out of Donna's home to pass through her garden back over the bridge. Back home she greeted her girls as she headed for something important. It's been so long. What if it rotted away in its place? I always hoped it would before being found by someone. Slipping it from its hold. Being in such pristine condition it put a Cheshire cat grin on Alcina's face. Leaving her castle toward the one place she hated to step near. After today's events, should I go tomorrow? no. sooner the better. Miranda will charge the hunt herself as the ceremony turns later and later. can't afford to slack for even a moment. growling to herself. He better not waste my time. The sun blotted out by the huge smoke stacks towering off his factory. Bits and pieces of metal strewn about like a massive scrap yard. Does he ever clean this place? Taking out her building anger on a few Lycan's running away over the junk. Fearing her gaze after the massacre last time. She approached the door to stand before his camera's view.

His annoying voice crackling through a speaker. “Well, well, well, look at who it is. Here to deliver me pizza I assume?”

“Let me in, now, Heisenberg!” snarling at the camera near the main doors.

“geeze, cant even get a “howdy do” outta ya?” a buzz noise sounded to release the door lock.

She had no time for his childish jokes. Managing to restrain herself long enough to not shred the door down. Her usual calm stride far more rushed, she reached him in his inner workshop in no time. Surprising even him on the lack of her usual strict poise. “heh, where's the fire?” his joking dying momentarily. “… ain't the smoke stacks again is it?”

“I'm here to talk about the man-thing and his child.” straight to business.

bored already. “oh, that.” answering what he assumed she'd ask. “no, I haven't seen him since he escaped the gauntlet.”

“Did mother Miranda tell you what the ceremony is about?”

“uh … no?”

“Do you have any idea what it's for?”

“no? She didn't tell any of us jack shit, as always. Why?”

She glanced around, anxious that Miranda was watching from the shadows. Time to really test how comfortable he was speaking out against Miranda. She put on a fake smile. “Since your failure alongside Salvatore's, she's put me in charge of babysitting.”

“what? Like hell she did. Last I heard you fucked up to by letting him escape.”

“she’s also told me how the ceremony's to commence. You're officially put under probation allowing little mistakes. If you want to earn her favor back I suggest you shape up. The child and the man-thing need to be found. Get out there and lead those dumb dogs instead of tinkering with junk. Take your work serious for once, clean up this pig-sty you call home, make yourself presentable. or you'll be left behind. Trust me, Heisenberg, you don't want to make any mistakes right now.”

“earn her favor?! Pah, what kind of mistakes is mother so worried about? That you'll trip and bring the whole ceremony site down upon impact?”

She grit her teeth at the insult. Don't lose your temper. “This is serious.”

“as the plague I'm guessing?” rolling his eyes. “Sooner or later winters will show his face. We’ll get the stupid ceremony over with and get on with our lives. tell her I'll be ready. I don't need to be nagged by bitch mountain.”

He didn't know how much he was testing her patience. All these years Alcina kept her claws sheathed because of Miranda forcing her to. Nothing was holding her now except herself. Karl wasn't an ally, he was a beta under Miranda. An unwelcome intruder that should be disposed of if he didn't submit. She had to take a deep calming breath. “Will you? You always slacked on your duties. It's as if your heart isn't in it for mother Miranda. Was it ever? Even now you take not a single step toward the outside. Waiting for winters to magically drop by? Something I should know about?” She always wanted to do this. Challenge who he was really loyal to, himself or mother Miranda. Thrilled at the dream of having Karl be exposed while she earned all the praise. Unintentionally letting out a chuckle over how things were turning out. Her being the first to betray Miranda, testing Karl to see how on board he'd be with her plan.

“I'll find winters and his little brat. I ain't afraid to go out and get my hands dirty, unlike you. I’m smart enough to know there’s only so many places he could hide with a baby.” He reached out a hand to fly his hammer into it. “now fuck off already! Is this all you're here for? To be the big bitch in town throwing her weight around after a few head pats from mother? Bet you it won't last soon as the ceremony’s over. We don't mean anything to her. Just a bunch of pawns she shuffles around the board. Congrats, you're the top kiss ass. Look where it's gotten ya, living in some bird bitches shadow for all eternity!”

“Heisen-”

“can you hear me from up there?!” shouting over her. “Maybe the severe altitude is cutting off your oxygen! Piss off! Cry to mother, I don't care! Get out of my factory!” shoving his hammer toward her face.

It was one insult too far. A challenge she wouldn't submit to this time. Her claws ached the whole time to be freed. In one swift motion there was a blaze of sparks between them. Clattering screeches of metal shrapnel rained down onto the floor to spark up a flurry of more fire. Left holding nothing but the handle of what was once his mighty hammer. The severity of what had just happened weighed down on him more than the world itself.

[piltoverfinest]

I said I would wait for Act 3 to post my final verdict but some thoughts just won't leave me alone. SPOILERS AHEAD!

Starting with Caitlyn and Maddie. I know we all love to see WLW representation but every single thing about this relationship feels wrong. How much time has really passed between Episode 3 & Episode 4? We don't know but either way after the way E3 left the situation with Cait & Vi, seeing her with Maddie first thing feels like a god damn slap in the face of everything Vi & Caitlyn had. Like Cait just moved on to the next person after leaving Vi sobbing on the ground. And I just...phew...that does not sit right with me. It takes so much importance from the emotional connection Cait and Vi were shown to have. Especially since Maddie & Cait's relationship doesn't seem to carry much importance for the plot? I am not sure why they had to add it at all? It doesn't change any stakes, Maddie doesn't change Cait's opinion not does she spurr her on. It adds nothing to the plot as a whole, or maybe not yet, so I am unsure why they added it in the first place? To add to that: Maddie is Caitlyn's subordinate. That power-dynamic is...questionable but I won't put too much focus on that since they are both adult women and I guess there's no rules against it? Still...questionable in my opinion.

I guess we will still find out what happened to Jayce? Because what the fuck kinda 180 degree turn did that man do that makes him go from going nuts over saving Viktor to killing him in cold blood? We need to get some explanation because otherwise...

Going from there: No Ekko and Heimerdinger? Nothing at all? I can only hope they get the main event in Act 3 but I don't see how there will be enough time for that? There's 3 episodes left? What about the firelights? Who took over while Ekko was gone? What are they doing all this time? Does noone miss Ekko? Heimerdinger, I get, since he left the academy before the whole thing happened and the only one who knows he came back is Jayce and well Jayce is...out of order, I guess.

Which leads us to the other character that did an almost 180 degree turn around: Jinx. Again, we do not know how much time has passed but we do know she appearently tried to reach out to Vi multiple times? Why? How? We left them at enemies at each others throats. And how did she suddenly get a grip on her own mental health from one day to the other? All because of Isha? I just do not buy into it, it happened to quickly and we didn't see enough moments of change to believe it, in my opinion. Suddenly Jinx isn't Jinx anymore, suddenly she's the good guy, the reasonable one, the one who seeks out Vi and saves Caitlyn from being torn to shreds? I just…I am missing some context here. Some filler scenes, a few moments where we see what changed her perspective.

Salo. Again, his story doesn't add anything to the plot. Him going to Viktor doesn't add anything to the plot. Yet? Maybe that will change but apart from him being a vessle for Viktor and Jayce to communicate, what is his purpose? And in addition, they have created this beautiful character in Lest but again, their whole story doesn't add anything to anything at all. Multiple scenes where we see Lest painting Salo with little to no impact (except for her giving info to Mel, which in turn also becomes a little pointless since Mel gets abducted almost instantly and can't use this information. Again: Yet?)

Cait & Vi's "Reunion". Wtf? That's all I have to say. I made no sense. None at all. Last we saw, Cait hit Vi with her rifle and left her a sobbing mess in the underground without ever looking back. And you want me to believe that the next time they meet Cait fucking bodyslams Vi to the ground and they immediately work together. When did Cait change sides again? When did she start working against Ambessa and why? And why in Gods name would Vi have ANY reason to trust her at all? With anything? There's no apology, no talk about what happened, no word about how they've been dealing with the whole situation. But suddenly Cait holds up Vi again, runs to her side to fight against the Noxians because...well, why exactly? We don't know. And I get it, we will get some more friction in Act 3 but apart from that there needs to be an actual conversation about these things and Caitlyn needs to apologize because otherwise I will throw my hat. I just don't buy it. I could add about a dozen more things that play out in my mind ever since I watched Act 2 but all in all, and I think that applies to all of the aformentioned points, there is not enough time for all of this. I am not giving up hope that they'll turn it around in Act 3. It has happened before. But I feel like this time there is just too many storylines and not enough time. This season would have needed 12 episodes, at the very least. Because all of this is just too much. The war between Piltover and Zaun, the thing with the Black Rose, the whole Medarda family mystery, the hextech core and the Arcane and how Jayce and Viktor fit into it, the relationships between the characters, the Warwick and Singed storyline, Ekko and the Firelights...it goes on and on and on. We are opening all of these boxes at once and I don't know how to feel about that. Do I still love the visuals? Yes. They're stunning. This show is still a masterpiece. Do I love the characters? Absolutely. I adore them. (Yes, even Caitlyn because I think her storyarc is actually really complex and interesting but some fandom takes are...also questionable, just leaving it at that.) And I want all of them to have a good ending. That doesn't necessarily mean a happy one, just a good one. This show is absolutely brilliant, I am not trying to take away from the well-deserved success and fanlove it recieves. I just feel like even with the time and money they had, their ambitions for this season were maybe a little too much for 9 episodes. They had to make sacrifices, storywise, and it shows.