#I doubt there would be any tracking of cycles..

[gendiebrainrotreceipts]

Acknowledging how shitty periods can be and how women might have separate needs from men because of their biology is transphobic and ‘cringe’

[assassinsblade]

Heavy Weather

In which yours and Azriel’s mission is disrupted by a major inconvenience: your cycle.

WC: 4.1k

Warnings: Nothing really, just fluff and period stuff!

—————-

Gods, it was cold.

The snow fell down in sheets, covering the forest floor and soaking into your leathers. Azriel was trekking about twenty feet in front of you, eyes scouring the area, although his grip was loose around Truth Teller at his side.

“The Winter Court…” you grouched, mimicking your high lord. “Why couldn’t it have been Day Court. Or Autumn.”

Azriel chuckled. “You wanna spend time with Helion and Eris? I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

The air in front of you steamed as you let out an exhausted breath. You both had been pushing through this snow for hours. You couldn’t even remember what you were looking for at this point. You had only been there for about ten hours, and a little into the cold wilderness, you found your brain becoming foggy and your body fatigued. You really needed a blanket and sleep.

“Helion would never let me freeze. He likes body heat too much. And Eris has fire powers.”

“Something tells me Eris wouldn’t be too keen on helping.”

You shrugged, lifting your foot to step over a snow-covered log. “He’s always been fine to me.”

A muscle in Azriel's jaw jumped, his wings going tight against his back. You could barely make out the pink coloring of his mouth through the snowfall. “I don’t trust him,” he said. “Not after Mor, and not with you.”

“So dramatic.” You attempted to ease the tension in the air at your mention of the soon-to-be High Lord of the Autumn Court.

“I’m dramatic? You live in the Night Court and suddenly you act like snow is going to kill you.”

You did feel like it was going to kill you. You didn’t know what had you so exhausted, why the snow seemed to be soaking through your clothes and seeping its way straight into your bones. You had slept okay last night, hadn’t you? You were wearing weather-appropriate clothing. You had done enough training and exercise that this hike shouldn’t be wearing you down this much.

You hadn’t realized that Azriel had turned around to look at you, stopping in his tracks as he waited for you to catch up.

“Are you actually okay?” His voice was more serious this time, less teasing.

Giving him a nod, you focused on putting one foot in front of the other. “Yeah. Let’s just make shelter somewhere soon. I really am cold.”

He nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. You didn’t blame him, you must have looked pathetic. Your teeth were chattering so loud the same spies you came to the Winter Court to track would no doubt be able to hear you if close. Your body felt like you had weights pulling you down under the earth, with each step comparable to trudging through quicksand. And you just felt off - like you could pass out or throw up at any moment.

Azriel waited until you were by his side once again before continuing to move.

“There’s an abandoned cabin not too far from here. We’ll camp there for the night, get you some rest. Maybe a blanket or two.”

The wind burnt your cheeks as you tilted you head to look at him. He seemed completely unaffected. In fact, it was as if he was taking a stroll through the Summer Court, right along the water, basking in the breeze.

“How are you not freezing?”

His lips quirked up at your angry tone. “Believe it or not, Sunshine, I grew up in the snowy Illyrian mountains.”

You nodded, only half-hearing his response. And then your feet were stumbling over one another, and Azriel had to reach out quickly to prevent you from falling.

“Not too far now,” he reassured. But he kept his hand on your leathers the rest of the way to the cabin, monitoring your movements and ensuring you wouldn’t just topple over. Every so often, you felt him look over at you, as if he didn’t trust his hand and wanted to make sure you hadn’t fallen behind again.

It felt like hours before the rickety structure came into view, and by that point, you truly knew something was wrong with you. Had you been poisoned at some point during the trip? Were you sick? You didn’t think you’d ever been sick in your entire life as fae.

Once you were at the landing of the cabin, you realized Azriel had been supporting your weight much more than you had intended or thought. His entire forearm was supporting your back now, pushing you forward until you crossed the threshold into the enclosed space.

You heard the door shut tightly behind you, sucking the sound of the wind out with it. In the silence, you nearly collapsed.

There wasn’t much time to take in your surroundings. You briefly saw a couch, a kitchen area, and a fireplace. There was probably a bathroom down the hall, maybe a bed if you were lucky. Your thoughts didn’t go past that though as you stumbled for the sofa.

Azriel watched as you fell into it, your head tipping back and eyes scrunching closed. You tried to school your features into something less uncomfortable, but you doubted it was convincing.

“I’ll get a fire going.”

You heard his footsteps move toward the fireplace, the scuffling of movements as wood was moved from the keep to the hearth. However, despite his action to get the cabin warm for you, you could still feel his eyes drifting toward the couch intermittently.

Wood began cracking, a light forming in the corner of your vision. Still cold, still weak, you tried to breathe steadily.

You were about to say something to distract Azriel from your odd behavior when you felt fabric being laid over your body. Your hands automatically went to grip the blanket, pulling it up to your chin weakly before peeking your eyes open.

Azriel was already moving away from the couch, but he didn’t leave the room before muttering a quiet, “Get some sleep.”

Sleep, unfortunately, did not come easy to you. You alternated between feeling like you were going to vomit and feeling like you were being stabbed. Your muscles ached, and it seemed to take all of your energy to rise your chest in a breath.

You tried to focus on the fire, on the way sparks flew from the wood, briefly illuminating the dark stone. The warmth of the flames was drifting toward the couch now, and you tried to adjust your body to move closer to it.

In your movement, though, you noticed the way your damp clothes felt different against your skin. The snow had soaked into the fabric, but the feeling you recognized in your core at your movement toward the fireplace had you nearly whimpering.

Azriel was there before you could make it fully off the couch, reaching his hands out to catch you from falling.

“What are you doing?”

“I- I need to-“

“-Lay down,” he interrupted. “Rest.”

You tried to breathe through the pain. Your vision was becoming blurry with each stab through your abdomen, and you honestly did not understand how you missed your symptoms earlier.

“I can’t, Azriel… I need-“

“-I know.” He gently guided you back onto the couch, hands pulling the blanket over you once again. “I know. Just breathe. I’ll be right back.”

Did he know? Could he sense it now? Could he smell the blood? Recognize the symptoms too?

There wasn't time to be embarrassed because he was gone again quickly, and you couldn’t help the tears that escaped at the pain running through your body.

When you had first met Feyre and she had told you the difference between fae and human cycles, you had nearly cursed the Mother for torturing your kind. You had been literally stabbed before, beaten, and burned, and nothing compared to the pain of your cycle.

“Here,” Azriel said, reappearing before you. He laid some sort of steaming broth he must have found in a cupboard on the table in front of you, along with some torn pieces of cloth, presumably from a towel found in the rest of the house.

You looked at the items, tears blurring your eyes again. You felt like you couldn’t move, everything ached, everything hurt, everything felt wrong-

“I need help,” you got out through your tears, your voice sounding weak even to yourself.

“Okay.” Azriel nodded. “That’s okay.”

He gripped under your legs and behind your back, pulling you up until you were on the edge of the couch. "I have changes of clothes for us in my bag. Do you want me to help you to the bathroom?”

You nodded, too embarrassed to look at him. Azriel didn’t say a word though, instead grabbing a few of the pieces of cloth, his bag off the ground, and scooped you up into his arms.

He walked you both to the bathroom, and you kept your face buried close to his chest both so you wouldn’t have to see if you got anything on the couch and so that Azriel wouldn’t see the redness in your cheeks.

When he entered the bathroom, he set you onto the counter before setting the supplies down. From his bag, he pulled out the extra pair of underwear, pants, bra, and shirt you had packed for yourself.

“Do you want to wash off?” He asked genuinely, glimpsing over his shoulder at the antique bathtub.

Did you want to be clean? Absolutely. But your entire body felt like it was going to fall through the floor, weighed down with aches, pain, and exhaustion. You weren’t even sure you could get your arms to move enough to scrub yourself clean.

You whimpered at your inability to do what you needed, at how weak you felt, and the frustration that coursed through your veins.

"Hey, it's okay." Azriel brought his hands up to cup your cheeks, bringing your eyes to meet his own. "What do you need? What can I do?"

You just shook your head, face flushing red. "I can't ask you to help me with this."

Because this was embarrassing and some males thought it was weak and gross and something to be kept taboo. You were quite literally bleeding through your leathers, with your abdomen, back, and legs all twisting and cramping in pain, heat scouring your body, and you felt like a little kid again -- needing to be taken care of, unable to do the basic task of looking after yourself. It was humiliating, but especially in front of Azriel of all people. Someone so composed, so strong.

It wasn't as if your friends didn't know about your cycle or what you female fae went through. On the contrary, they always offered to help where they could. If you missed out on training because of your cycle, Cassian would always bring up some tonics or some extra food and water to make sure you were okay. A few cycles that were particularly bad had Rhys sending after Madja, and Azriel rushing when he heard. He was the one who had advocated for Madja to give you some sleeping tonics to help you sleep through the pain instead of withstanding it.

But here? On a mission? This was too much.

"Why not?" Azriel's question brought you back to the present. He looked genuinely confused, his brows furrowing slightly.

"Azriel..." you pleaded with his questioning, arms wrapping around your stomach as pain hit you again. You swayed slightly on the counter, Azriel's hands dropping from your face to your waist to steady you.

"You're in pain." His voice was serious, and you wanted to hide your face in his chest. "Let me help you. I don't like seeing you like this."

You swallowed, trying to reign in your shame and embarrassment. It wasn't a big deal, you told yourself. This was natural. And Azriel is over five hundred years old, surely he's seen and dealt with cycles and all they entail before. It doesn't have to make a difference being yours.

"Okay," you whispered. "Could you- could you uh, help me wash off? I don't think I can..."

He didn't make you finish your sentence once he realized you didn't know how to explain your own weakness at the moment. He just nodded, bringing his hands to your arms and rubbing up and down comfortingly.

"Of course."

You nodded, more-so reassuring yourself that this was okay. He was okay. Right? He'd say if he was uncomfortable?

Azriel turned and twisted the faucet to the bathtub, fingers resting under the water that came out until he found the temperature pleasing. The water was clear, thankfully, and the tub looked clean as well.

Once that was filling, he turned to the cabinets you were seated on, bending down and looking through them for any kind of soap and towels. Finding the supplies he was looking for, he set them by the edge of the tub and turned to where you were sitting.

"Arms up?"

His question was hesitant, asking more than if you needed help. Did you want to completely undress? Were you comfortable with him seeing you like this?

You lifted your arms, the weight of your limbs feeling heavy. You wanted to throw up, to go to sleep, to cry.

Azriel's gentle hands moved the fabric up your torso, keeping his touch to the clothing only. Once it was free from your form, you nodded at him to keep going.

He grasped your hips and lifted you to stand, holding onto the majority of your weight when you seemed unstable. His hands gripped your own and brought them to his own torso.

"Hold onto me."

And you did, allowing yourself to lean into his strong form as he unbuttoned your snow-soaked pants and began to pull them down. You rested your head on his chest, turning your face into him to hide your embarrassment at the blood that no doubt coated your pants and your middle.

Tears pricked your eyes at how vulnerable this all was, but you blinked them away as Azriel backed up, your bare form now before him.

His casual look over you wasn't one of lust or desire but of care and concern. He was looking for injuries, hypothermia, anything that would need immediate attention before the bath. When he was satisfied, his gentle touch led you to the edge of the tub, grasping your forearm and helping you ease into the water.

You sank low into the heat, releasing a breath you hadn't known you had been holding from your cramps.

Azriel seemed to notice how you had been holding your breath too. He brought a hand up to push some of the sweat-slicked hair back from your forehead. "Make sure you're breathing, sweetheart."

You nod, closing your eyes and trying to relax through the stabbing in your back.

You could hear the soap bottle cap opening, the sound of liquid meeting a hand, and scrubbing. Peeking an eye open, you see Azriel getting his hands wet and reaching for one of your arms.

"Is this okay?" He asked.

Your heart thumped in your chest. He was too good for you. Better than any male you had ever met.

"Yes. Thank you." Your voice was small, weak in your state, but you both could hear the emotion in it.

"You don't have to thank me," Azriel responded, his hands moving up and down your arm softly before reaching for the other. "I'm sorry you have to go through this."

Humming in response, you sat up so he could help get your back. He was mindful of your comfort, sweeping over any vulnerable or inappropriate places lightly to ensure you were clean but never lingering.

While he washed, he told you stories of Rhys' sister. How when they were younger and she had gotten her first cycle, Rhys hadn't known what to do. None of them had. They thought she was dying, and Rhys' mother had to corral them together into the living room to get them to calm down and stop their panicking. He laughed at the story, and you couldn't help the relaxed giggles of your own.

"I can't imagine the stoic shadowsinger panicking over a girl's cycle."

His lips curved into a soft smile, eyes bright with adoration. "What do you think I'm doing now?"

You looked up at him, smiling. You couldn't believe how comfortable you felt, how normal this all felt. You were completely naked in front of him, completely bare to his touch while he sat clothed next to you, but it felt safe.

"You don't seem too panicked," you tried to tease.

He scoffed. "You should have seen me in the kitchen when we first got here. I was borderline scrambling."

You laughed, and he led you to a sitting position, stroking your back with his fingers lightly. "You ready to get out?"

At your confirmation, he scooped you up into his arms, no doubt getting water everywhere on the floor and also all over his own clothes. You squeaked in protest, but he didn't seem to care, only setting you back onto your feet and wrapping you up tightly in a towel.

Teeth chattering at the newfound cold outside of the bath, you gripped the towel around you, staring up into the bright hazel eyes of the male in front of you. He was still holding you tightly, eyes surveying your form. You wondered what he was thinking in this moment, but you wanted nothing more than to lean forward and let him keep holding you.

His hands moved with the towel, rubbing your arms before bringing the fabric down to your legs.

Right. You needed to get dressed.

"Here we go." Azriel grabbed your spare change of clothes, starting with your underwear. He took some of the makeshift pads he had created, placing one in the underwear before leaning down.

He looked up at you from his knees, and you wanted to frame the image. The sight of this angel, his dark hair messy from the snow, hazel eyes shining with care, on his knees for you, hands open to help take care of you. You wanted to jump on him, kiss him, and never let him stop touching you.

But this was Azriel, and he had never given you any inclination that was something he wanted.

You stepped into the fabric, allowing the shadowsinger to pull it up your legs. Once those were on, he bundled you up in your new shirt before holding the pants in front of you.

"Did you want to wait until we leave for these? They are leathers. I don't want you to be more uncomfortable just for the sake of feeling like you have to wear them."

"I'd rather not."

He nodded, setting them aside before wrapping an arm around your waist and guiding you back to the couch.

You were feeling a little better now that you were clean and not bleeding down your legs, but you still felt drowsy and like someone was hacking your insides apart. On your way back, your knees nearly gave way with the pain of a particular cramp, and you couldn't help the cry that escaped with it.

Azriel caught you swiftly, hiking you back up into his arms.

When he laid you back onto the couch, now covered in blankets with even more on top of you, you looked up at the exhausted male. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he said. He sounded genuine, but you couldn't help but feel guilty.

You gritted your teeth through the pain, gripping your abdomen tightly. "I ruined this mission."

"Nothing has been ruined."

He walked over to the fireplace once you were settled, stoking the logs to get the fire rising again. "Well," he continued. "Except your pants."

You couldn't help but laugh, and the shadowsinger actually cracked a smile at the sound. But then you were grimacing, tears coming to your eyes and your breath hitching in your throat at your body's attack on itself.

Azriel frowned, hands twitching at his sides.

"We'll get ahold of Rhys," he reassured. "Get you to Madja."

You tried to breathe through it, knuckles white from gripping the blankets around you. You could hear his footsteps getting closer, feel his heat as he kneeled down next to the couch beside you, feel his strong hands unravel your fingers from the blanket and grip them in his own.

His other hand came up and slowly stroked your hair back, gently weaving his fingers through the strands. Your eyes fluttered shut at the gentle touch, despite how tightly you squeezed his hand.

"I'm okay," you tried to convince him. "It's just a cycle."

You weren't sure why you were trying to downplay your pain so much. Were you trying to come across stronger than you were? To impress him? Did you think he would truly find you weak?

"I've seen fae be out for a full week because of a cycle. Not eating or drinking, just trying to make it through... You don't have to be okay."

And it was as if you needed his permission, because as soon as the words left his mouth, you tilted your head back, eyebrows scrunching in pain, and let the truth flow past your own lips.

"Yeah, it fucking hurts."

He laughed, but the sound was sympathetic. Bringing your hand up to his lips, he placed a gentle kiss there, and you nearly shot up at the action. You tried not to think too much into it but his lips on your skin was something you couldn't just ignore.

"Is there anything else I can do?"

His voice was soft, gentle, reverent. And he was looking at you like he would do anything you asked. Like you could tell him to go sit in the snow for an hour while you basked in the heat, and he would stand up diligently before marching his way into the blizzard.

He looked at you expectantly, and your heart swelled. One day you would tell him. Tell him how you loved him, how you thought that maybe there was something there between you two, something that tied your souls and hearts together.

"I'm still kind of cold," you admitted. "Could you lay with me?"

At first you thought the question was a bit of a risk, something he might not be comfortable with. But then you thought about how you were completely naked before him not even twenty minutes prior, and you felt less embarrassed to ask.

"Are you sure? There's not much room."

You nodded, and he looked down at his own snow-soaked leathers. He grunted in disapproval and discomfort, reaching down and lifting the tight clothing from his body. You nearly gasped at the action, at the toned body that now faced you. Gods, he was beautiful.

He walked away briefly, presumably to gather his other change of clothes. He might have even cleaned up a bit, because when he appeared again, he looked clean and comfortable. And then he was reaching under the blankets to adjust where you laid.

His body sunk into the cushions of the sofa, and he gathered you into his arms until you were halfway on his chest, his soft and clean shirt overwhelming your senses as you curled into him.

You hummed. "This is nice."

His arms were loose around you, but his hand was resting purposefully curled around your side, his fingers inching over onto your abdomen in a protective and comforting gesture. As if he could take your pain away with just a touch.

"Try to rest. We should be able to get back to Velaris in the morning."

You pushed away the pain radiating through your body, the disorientation and dizziness, and instead focused on the warm muscled body underneath you. The way he encased you, the way he made you feel safe and at peace despite your current state. The way he cared for you.

You would tell him soon -- how you felt.

But for now, you buried your face deeper into his chest, your body falling lax against him. For now, you would rest and savor this moment.

For now, you would pretend like he was doing this because he loved you too. And you held onto that until sleep took your pain away.

[iam-stargirl]

I have manifested many things by deciding and affirming. If I assumed and believed that I could manifest something immediately then it would manifest in the 3D immediately.

But there have been stuff I’ve wanted to manifest for a long time, but haven’t been “successful” with because it has been hard for me to believe and assume that I could manifest it into my reality. Some examples are me wanting to manifest appearance changes, revising a lot of stuff that I wish didn’t happen and waking up in the void.. and currently I want to manifest waking up with everything I want aka my dream life. From desired appearance to waking up in a complete different place (my dream house), getting the job I want and signing with them, fame, shifting realities, money and more.

With other stuff like manifesting angel numbers and such have been easy most of the time but when it comes to manifesting my dream life I’m like …

Bc of this I have been affirming “I’m worthy of everything I want”, “I can manifest everything I want” and “my life is fucking perfect”. When I do them I feel good, but then when I get those doubts and start to identify with them (🙄) it gets hard to come out of that. And then when I start affirming again it feels like it won’t work so I just don’t do it because I’m scared that it’s not possible and that I will just continue being in this cycle.

Has anyone experienced this? If you have, what did you do to get out of that so you could get back in track and then finally manifest what you wanted? I’ve been stuck in this loop regarding my dream life for quite some time and I don’t know what to do. So if anyone has any advice at all I’d really appreciate it. 🫶🏻

I’m ngl, I feel lowkey embarrassed to post this bc I feel like I should already know everything and what to do 🫠 but I love this community and I feel safe to ask for help even though I feel like this 💀 so I’m just saying fuck it and gonna post this

But I really appreciate and love you all!! Thank you for your support it means a lot. 🩷

Stargirl

[httpswritings]

The Great War — Katie McCabe x Reader

Additional info: Story inspired Taylor Swift’s The Great War. I’m in my Katie era, but I’m also planning on writing about other players, especially Alexia, which I have like four ideas to write about. We’ll see. I also have a draft of Ruesha x Katie inspired in Moth to a flame by The Weeknd, but I’m doubting about posting it or not. Maybe in the future I’ll write a Caitlin x Katie fic, but I don't have a clear vision of them yet to properly write about them.

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, throwing up and therapy, sensitive topics overall, avoid reading if you find them triggering. Angsty Katie.

Word count: 1691

Right after Katie ended her relationship with Caitlin Foord, she met Y/N. After some time, they got into a relationship together. They enjoyed every single second of the magical connection they seemed to have. With the passing of time, Katie became more and more anxious about her relationship with Y/N. She doubted she could be what Y/N deserved, even though her girlfriend took her time every day to remind Katie that she's never been as happy in a relationship as she was with her.

«My knuckles were bruised like violets

Sucker punching walls, cursed you as I sleep-talked»

Two heartbreaks in such a little time, with both her Ireland National Team's member Ruesha and girlfriend of seven years, and her Arsenal's teammate Caitlin Foord, who was her girlfriend during half a year, made the Irishwoman insecure about her ability to love, to trust, to have a happy fairytale ending. Katie knew these thoughts would damage her relationship with Y/N, but she couldn't help but to spend most of her day tracking every single detail that built her relationship to the obsessive point where she felt absolutely sick of herself.

«Spineless in my tomb of silence

Tore your banners down, took the battle underground»

When she reached her limit, she told Y/N about what was going on. Y/N responded well and helped Katie, and it started well. Really well. But after some time, Katie fell back into a cycle of doubt and anxiety, and those sensations kept growing when she noticed any change in Y/N's mood, as she took it too personally. This made her re-experience in her mind those moments of stress while she was with Ruesha or Caitlin.

«And maybe it was ego swinging

Maybe it was her

Flashes of the battle come back to me in a blur»

Y/N tried to understand her, she tried and tried but eventually, she reached her limit.

“I want to help you. I really do. But I can't continue like this. I'm not Ruesha, nor I am Caitlin. I am aware that being in a new relationship it's difficult for you, so maybe we should take things a bit slower. I don't mean to take a break, but maybe I should go back to my flat. We will move on slower than we did before, but I do think it's the only way to work it out.”

«All that bloodshed, crimson clover

Sweet dream was over»

“Yeah, maybe you're right´”, that was Katie's only response. Y/N limited herself to sigh. That night, Katie slept alone in her bed. Her body reacting to the cold sheets and crying herself to sleep.

«My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War»

Sweet morning messages from Y/N, “Good morning, baby. Do good at training today! Love you ;)”

Surprise visits from Y/N, lovely gifts, usually handmade ones, brought Katie to tears as she felt endlessly loved.

«Always remember

Tears on the letter

I vowed not to cry anymore

If we survived the Great War»

Katie prayed for things to get back as they were during the first months of the relationship. The feeling of her not being a good girlfriend to Y/N haunted her even in her sleep.

«You drew up some good faith treaties

I drew curtains closed, drank my poison all alone»

Y/N suggested going to a therapist together, but Katie was unsure about that. She thought that if she couldn't quite open to her girlfriend about her feelings and thoughts, she wouldn't be able to talk about what was bothering her to a therapist. Such a huge contrast between the two parts of the relationship that drew them even more apart.

«You said I have to trust more freely

But diesel is desire, you were playing with fire

And maybe it's the past that's talkin'

Screamin' from the crypt

Tellin' me to punish you for things you never did

So I justified it»

“No, I'm sorry, but I'm not doing this. I feel uncomfortable talking to a stranger about our issues.”

“I know, baby, I was just suggesting it. Let me explain you why. We are aware of having some problems in our relationship, but we don't really know how to get through it. We've tried and things keep getting worse. Maybe talking to someone who's out of our relationship can make this whole situation clearer for the both of us.”

«All that bloodshed, crimson clover

The bombs were close and

My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War

Always remember

The burning embers

I vowed not to fight anymore

If we survived the Great War»

Katie took some weeks to meditate Y/N´s idea. She was terrified of being judged by the therapist they would talk to. Even more scared of Y/N realizing she didn't do any good to her. Eventually, she agreed.

“Maybe she's right. People attend therapy sessions. It's normal, Katie. It's normal”, she said to herself.

«It turned into something bigger

Somewhere in the haze, got a sense I'd been betrayed»

Katie was not new to getting help from a therapist. She was very open about her mental health in different areas of her life, whether that included football or not. The first time she attended a therapy session was when she was a teenager. It went well, so did the first sessions with Anna, Katie's and Y/N´s psychologist.

Making progress is not a linear process, and making mistakes is a part of the success. Mistakes are a victory in themselves, it means that you're still trying. One day, Katie had an individual session with Anna. Anna felt it was Katie's time to open about her two past relationships; a young adult romance that lasted for more than half a decade and a short but intense romance of one year after a breakup.

It was a slow conversation filled with many pauses from Katie.

“Are you gonna tell Y/N what I'm telling you?”

“No, Katie. This stays between me and you”, said Anna.

As Katie told her her experiences in love, she broke down.

The wall she had built, in order to avoid being hurt and judged, collapsed in that therapy room.

“Don't be afraid to cry. You have nothing to prove to me nor to Y/N. This is about you and your healing process. Y/N will help you and accompany you, but it's crucial for you to work on yourself, especially being a public figure.”

«Your finger on my hair pin triggers»

As Katie arrived home, she unlocked her phone and asked Y/N to come over.

“I've asked Anna, and she told me it was a good initiative and a great way of gaining some independence in our relationship, leaving her out of it for a while. Don't feel obliged to!”

“I am exhausted, baby. Work was something else today, and I’m a little bit irritated because of it, lol. Maybe another time? Love you.”

As Katie was about to spiral, she remembered Anna's advice. She breathed deeply. Y/N was setting her boundaries. She trusted Katie enough to tell her the truth and not to make any excuses. She felt tired from work. Y/N is not mad at her. She didn't do anything wrong. Everything’s okay.

«Soldier down on that icy ground

Looked up at me with honor and truth

Broken and blue, so I called off the troops»

The next day Katie woke up to a text from Y/N.

“Good morning, princess. I had a great sleep, what about you? How did you sleep? I’m up to seeing you today if you feel like it. Love you.”

Still slightly asleep, she smiled.

“I can't wait to see you today, beautiful girl. I had a good sleep, too. Good to have the bed all to myself ;))”

She frowned after sending the text with that joke at the end.

“Breath, Katie, let these useless thoughts pass. Both you and Y/N feel comfortable teasing each other”, said Katie to herself.

“Ha, ha, really funny. We both know you missed having me snoring next to you.”

“How do you know?!?!”

«That was the night I nearly lost you

I really thought I lost you»

As Katie was preparing herself to go out with Y/N to have lunch, she remembered the night where Y/N left her house.

She doesn't freak out to the thought of it, but instead she does an exercise of introspection. She sees herself in her mind, almost throwing up, completely emotionally depending on her girlfriend while pushing her away and bottling up her feelings.

«We can plant a memory garden

Say a solemn prayer, place a poppy in my hair

There's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair

And we will never go back

To that bloodshed, crimson clover

The worst was over»

Now she looks at herself in the mirror. She sees herself, Katie, as the woman who knows that she's loved, and she's deserving of being it. The woman who respects her girlfriend’s boundaries and doesn't freak out at the tiniest change that she perceives. The woman who's going to take her girlfriend out to have a good time having lunch, not worrying about anything but what order she's going to have.

«My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War

Always remember

We're burned for better

I vowed I would always be yours

'Cause we survived the Great War

I would always be yours

'Cause we survived the Great War

I vowed I would always be yours»

As they arrived home back from the restaurant, Y/N walked towards Katie.

“I’m so proud of you, baby. You did this. You are doing it every day. I’m so excited to see where our relationship leads us to.”

As Katie sobbed, she softly laughed, “It’s nice to cry sometimes. God, I feel so relieved. I’m so proud of myself, too, of us! Thank you for being there for me, Y/N, thank you. I can't wait to spend the rest of my life as your girlfriend.”

“Even when you'll wake up to my snoring?”

“Especially when I'll wake up to your snoring.”

[theferrarieffect]

jealousy, jealousy - chapter 4: those eyes

f1 fanfic: lestappen (max x charles)

previous chapter | next chapter

summary: the grid arrives in melbourne, and max and charles are going through it. they each decide, independently, that they want to get in on some exercise-induced endorphins. and immediately run into each other at the gym.

chapter 4: those eyes

This was the least relaxing off-week Max had ever experienced. Most of the grid had arrived in Melbourne a week in advance to adjust to the time zone and weather, and were making the most of the last vestiges of Australian summer. But Max could not for the life of him shake what had happened last week in Saudi.

“Let me go,” Charles’ angry voice rang in his head. And then his own, “I don’t know why I grabbed you like that."

He didn’t, really. All he knew was that as the paramedics lifted Carlos into the ambulance, he was seized with this feeling, that Charles would run after him.

And why would you care? He didn’t. Shouldn’t. God, Carlos was Charles’ teammate. Wouldn’t Max feel concerned if Checo suddenly passed out during grid breakfast?

Not to the point that I’d forfeit the race. That was it. Max wasn’t afraid of losing Charles, watching him slip through his fingers. He was disturbed by the fact that Charles would give up the race to wait uselessly in a hospital. But that realization didn’t make him feel any better.

Normally, Max would default to his sim racing rig. But even that didn’t seem like it would be enough to quell his anxiety.

His eyes fell onto his ill-used black duffel.

Max had never been all that passionate about working out. He wasn’t particularly athletic like some of the other guys on the grid—visions of Charles viciously returning Nando’s serve on the padel court and Carlos jogging easily with Danny down the track while Max could barely breathe came to mind—and personally believed an hour on iRacing would probably get him closer to a WDC than an hour pumping iron.

So he figured if he felt the urge to exercise voluntarily, he should probably capitalize on it. Who knew, maybe all those workout junkies would be onto something when they harped about endorphins or whatever.

Even though it was past 9, Charles was itching to get in a quick lift, maybe a spin as well. He quickly changed into a pair of lightweight shorts. He debated wearing a shirt but doubted anyone would be in the gym at this hour anyway.

George Russell style, he thought, laughing to himself.

The gym as vacant, just as he’d hoped. He started on the bike, wedging his buds into his ears and queueing up some Hans Zimmer. It felt so good to just dissociate, vaguely aware only of the sweat starting to trickle down his back. The dramatic climax of a song hit and Charles stood up out of the saddle to ride it out—

—and almost fell off his bike when he saw that he was not in fact alone at all.

Max ambled through the doors of the gym, and judging by the looks of the bag slung over his shoulder, he’d only just gotten there.

Charles pulled an earbud out and continued cycling, sneaking peeks at Max but having trouble thinking of what to say to him. If anything. Maybe Max was in another touchy mood and would ignore Charles or see him and leave. The thought made Charles feel…strangely empty. Not as relieved as he would have thought.

He needn’t have worried. Max, spying Charles on the bike, made a beeline towards him first.

“Charles,” he nodded.

“Hey, Max.” Charles wiped his brow with the towel he’d slung over the handlebars. “Here for a lift?”

“Ah, yeah, I was thinking so.”

“Want to spot each other?” Charles dared.

“Sure.”

Charles climbed off the bike and waved Max over to the bench. “I was going for a push day, you good with that?”

Max nodded and loaded the barbell. Charles placed his hands under the bar as Max pressed. His hands brushed Max’s forearms by accident, and Max’s eyes flashed up at him. Charles’ stomach lurched. Calm down right now, he told himself sternly.

Did Charles suddenly think he was George Russell or something? Max rolled his eyes when he saw him pedaling shirtless, bobbing his head to whatever sadboy soundtrack was blasting through his earbuds. Beads of sweat rolled down his neck and collected in the crevice formed by his traps and collarbone. To be fair, his pecs put Max’s to shame…and so did the rest of his chiseled torso. He should’ve been better about going to the gym.

And he just might. He didn’t remember lifting ever being so enjoyable. When his triceps trembled on the last rep, Charles’ tanned forearms rescued him from the bar. And after a set that left him totally gassed, he relished seeing Charles smile brightly, and the feeling of his warm hand clapping him on the back.

His arms felt like jelly, but he wasn’t ready to leave. Not yet.

“Mate,” he groaned. “I’m gonna hit the sauna.” He wondered if Charles would join him. Was it weird that he was hoping he would?

“I’m so finished,” Charles agreed. He slung his towel over his shoulder. “Can I come with?”

Max held open the door for him in response.

The gym sauna was actually quite nice. Dark panels of cedar lined the walls and floor, and nozzles mounted to the ceiling intermittently subjected them to blasts of eucalyptus-scented steam.

Charles stretched luxuriously out on a bench, extending his muscular legs and leaning back onto his hands behind his head. “Ahhh,” he sighed. “I feel like I never see you here.”

Max swallowed. “Dunno, I guess the gym’s not really my scene.”

“That’s because you haven’t seen the light yet, mate. I wasn’t really into it either, but Carlos”—Max stiffened at the name—“is a total gym rat. He converted me.”

“What?” Max asked. “Aren’t you a sports guy?”

Charles giggled. Like, actually giggled. “No way mate, that’s a new side of me. When I wasn’t karting as a kid, the other sports I played were piano and chess.”

This was news to Max. He always felt like a nerd compared to a lot of the other guys. You would never know that about Charles, with his tanned abs and sculpted shoulders and his sun-bleached curls. Max had felt self-conscious the second he’d taken off his shirt as they’d entered the sauna. He was pretty certain that he was so pale it was blinding. Not that he could tan even if he wanted—as soon as his epidermis so much as glimpsed the sun, it decided to go bright red. Bonus points for blisters.

Max stole a glance at Charles. His eyes were closed. There was a freckle right below his right eye that Max had never noticed before. His gaze roamed over Charles’ thick eyebrows, finely shaped nose, neat stubble, down to his lips, the upper one starting in two perfect peaks and curving up into an impish smile. He thought about how the guys regularly gave him shit for being a pretty boy, the legions of girls who fangirled over Charles’ looks.

Girls, Max had seen plenty of pretty girls before. But the Monégasque dozing in the sauna next to him…pretty simply couldn’t do it justice.

Charles’ eyes fluttered open, and Max suddenly remembered that, as a child, he’d bike along the Meuse river in Maaseik. Ninety-nine days out of a hundred, the river was so dark gray it was almost black, but every so often the sun would make its presence known on a spring day, and the river would turn a brilliant azure, fading to green at the banks where the water reflected the trees. He might as well have been right back in Maaseik, gazing at that river. He was happy then. He felt like he couldn’t ask for anything else right now.

Charles must have seen something in Max’s face, because the tops of his ears turned pink. Max felt his own cheeks flush in response. Without so much as a warning, Charles sat up and leaned forward until his face was barely three inches from Max’s. Max felt his stomach somersault, the way it always did before rounding a steep turn. His eyes searched Charles’ desperately, looking for any sign of what he was thinking, what he was going to do.

Then, light as a feather, Charles gently touched a spot on Max’s chin. It tingled; he barely registered that it stung ever so slightly.

“You cut yourself,” Charles said quietly.

Max’s heart hammered so hard, he was convinced Charles could feel the blood rushing through his jaw. Or just see his entire body quaking in time to the beat.

“I…yeah, I must’ve. Shaving,” Max managed, hoarsely.

Charles withdrew his hand. Max fought the overwhelming urge to grab it before it was gone forever. He felt utterly lost in his eyes.

“When I was a kid,” he heard himself say, “Jos took me cycling by this river. In Belgium. I was too young to go karting.”

Charles said nothing, but held his gaze.

“Most days, the river was grey,” Max rambled on, feeling faint. “But every so often, it would be sunny outside, and the water…the water was so blue. And green and brown and all the colors. Like—like your eyes.”

Max saw that Cupid’s bow lift in a tiny, devastating smile. But then it spoke.

“You live in Monaco now. Next time we’re back home, I want to take you to La Mala on my boat. I don’t know why we haven’t been yet.”

Max’s heart threatened to take a flying leap right out of his chest.

Charles continued slowly, “When we get to the horizon, you look in the mirror. Maybe my eyes look like your river, in Belgium. But yours…” His voice dropped a full octave lower. “Yours are where the sky meets the sea.”

He pulled away abruptly, stood up, and left only a trail of wet footprints as he exited the sauna. Max stared dumbly at what was left of Charles, not at all sure if what just happened was real.

It was all Charles could do to not break out into a sprint as soon as he closed the sauna door behind him. His body felt like it had been braised; every inch of his skin felt like it could erupt into flames at any moment. Maybe the sauna had quite literally scrambled his brains. He could not believe he had just told Max Verstappen that his eyes reminded him of the fucking ocean. And he found it even harder to believe that his own had inspired such a comparison on Max’s end.

George’s voice echoed in his head. “He was giving me these eyes…”

No. No no no. This could not be happening. He could absolutely not be thinking about leaving his hand on Max’s jaw, leaning in, letting their lips brush. Except he knew, sitting in that sauna, that was all he wanted to do.

Charles turned the corner to the lockers and promptly slammed into Max, who had replaced his shirt and had his shoes dangling by the laces in one hand.

“Oh my god,” he gasped. “I am so sorry.”

Max, at least, looked equally perturbed. “No, that was my bad, I didn’t see you—”

Charles was sure his face was positively maroon. Maybe even his neck. “Uh, well, nice working out with you,” he fumbled lamely.

“Yeah. Yeah, uh, thanks for spotting me. I think I might come to the gym more.”

“You should,” Charles said emphatically.

Max smiled at him, genuinely smiled, and Charles felt like someone had pumped his head full of helium. “Well, see you around.”

“Yeah, see you.” Charles pulled on his own shirt and slipped into his slides. He turned to leave.

“Wait, Charles.” Max called.

Charles stopped short.

“I don’t know if you really meant it, about boating in Monaco,” Max said from behind, his voice betraying the slightest crack. “But if you did, I think it would be nice to see La Mala together.”

notes: i'm not gonna lie guys i screamed a little writing that last line i am unwell the boys are back is officially chapter 3 and has been labelled as such. this is a continuation of that chapter.

tensions will be boiling next chapter. you have been warned. >:)

also, i have been made aware of something called a taglist (tumblr newbie, sorry), so please feel free to reply on any of the chapters if you want to be included on it!! i never thought anyone would read any of this tbh so...v grateful for those of you who've enjoyed the ride so far :')

taglist @fangirl-dot-com

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

august 26, 2021 4:15 a.m. seoul

halfway down the subway station staircase, the strangeness of the scenario hits him at last.

what are you doing?

no. seriously. hello?

you led her on.

i didn’t. no, i didn’t.

she asked me for a drink first.

at the bottom, as they approach the train tracks, grant quietly observes his conversation partner scanning the subway timetables hanging feet above their heads. a moment later, cold morning air rushes through the platform, blasting strands of loose hair in yunha’s face that stick to her makeup, as a train races into the station, ushered in tandem by quirky trumpet music and an arrival announcement.

it was only supposed to be a drink.

now what?

yunha glances over her shoulder at the incoming train, then spins back around to face him. “where are you going?”

“right, i'm actually just going to walk back to my...” he trails off, scratching at the back of his neck.

“oh my gosh. you came all the way here to the station for me?”

“well, yeah,” grant answers, “i have no doubt you’d have made it over here totally fine, but i would be remiss not to accompany you. it's my pleasure, and it’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”

her face rapidly cycles through a million shades of pink as she looks over her shoulder once more at the train, her hand still firm over her mouth and hiding her real expression, and then back at him.

and then she says nothing. she stands there in complete silence.

just staring softly at him.

oh god.

oh god.

she’s waiting for you.

oh. you’re an idiot.

this was a bad idea. oh my god.

you’re not ready for any of this, but you agreed to–

the doors of the train squeak open in the backdrop. a few late-night stragglers, mostly young folks in club attire, file off onto the platform.

but she’s so…

likable.

maybe you could…

yunha tries to produce words. she finally drops her hand from her face, but what’s painted across her delicate features is the same funny unpredictable mix of embarrassment and shyness he’d halfway seen when she ran off in the arcade hours ago.

“so sorry.” yunha glances at the train again, this time for a few seconds longer. the loudspeaker blares a final boarding call. “thank you. you're very nice. um. that’s my–i'm so sorry.”

he tries to say something, too, but by the time he remembers he’s how to form a single unstable syllable in his throat...

she’s already dashing towards the train as the doors slide precipitously shut, hopping on in the nick of time.

[ggukkiedae]

booked and busy

date: early august 2018

warning/s: none

notes from c: yoonmi gets booked and busy with the album release, their tour, and the new drama she’s filming! ctto for the gif, it’s not mine i found it on pinterest

SURPRISE GUYS I'M BACK 🥰 joon, chimc tae, and kookie went live today and we caught the tiniest glimpse of bald kookie sooooo i thought it was about time i start posting again 🥰 will have something related to the other six tannies' enlistments up later this month

word count: 2.4k

yoonmi gets validation from tae and a dance partner for the tour

Yoonmi barely processed Taehyung’s question as she quickly did reruns of her lines, script in her hands, track open on her monitor, and untouched lunch box on the table behind her. It had been weeks since she started filming for SKY Castle, and, because of how busy she’d be with touring, the crew was trying to get as many of her scenes for the first half of the series over with.

To her luck, the cast and crew were all friendly enough to help her out. There was no doubt about there being hesitation when it came to everyone approaching her at first, but they had speedily warmed up to her, especially the fellow younger half of actors and actresses that she’d be spending most of her time filming with.

However, everything was overlapping with each other. That is, her schedule for the drama and their comeback preparation. There were still a few finishing touches she needed to add to a concert version of the tracks, approvals to go through with the rest of rap line and the production team, and the choreography to complete with her performance team and to teach her dancers. Not to mention she still had to find someone (a trainee, says the company) to be her dance partner for her solo stage on their tour. It’s not like she could take Yeonjun with her since he’d be preparing for debut while they’re on tour. And the tour!

She could practically feel her body hurting from the amount of plane rides she’d have to take going from place to place while performing on stage or fulfilling her role.

“Hey,” Taehyung knocked on her head, pulling her out of her thoughts, “earth to Yoonmi. One task at a time, yeah? I suggest you eat first before continuing anything. Unless you want Jin hyung to be upset you didn’t eat the food he prepared for you.”

She shook her head but closed her script and turned to him, only to find him uncovering her food. “Were you here this whole time?”

“I’ve been watching you mutter lines to yourself for like fifteen minutes now.” He held a piece of meat up to her mouth with chopsticks. “Now, eat.”

She rolled her eyes but ate the piece and grabbed a pair of chopsticks for herself.

This had been how things were for the past few weeks. Whenever she’d be in the company for any of the three main meals of the day, Seokjin or Taehyung would always drop by and make sure she was eating her meals. If she was on the set, they’d call her or call manager Sejin who’d be with her. Hoseok and Namjoon would make her take breaks, while Jimin, Jungkook, and Yoongi would always convince her (or wrestle, in Jungkook and sometimes Jimin’s case) to bed. It was some weird cycle they had established.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, aegi,” Taehyung pretended to scold while hitting her head with a spoon (thank God it was clean). “You get way too into your work, so you know we have to check in on you.”

“And how’d you know I was thinking about this weird set of roles you guys formed?”

“Because I know you. How’s filming going?”

“It’s going great, actually,” she smiled at him. “Everyone’s friendly, and the guy playing my twin brother is an idol, too! It’s funny when we met because he’s my sunbae for acting, but I’m his sunbae for idol life. The role is pretty easy to fulfill, and the plot is really intriguing.”

“As intriguing as me being killed by my brother by accident?”

“Intriguing in different ways,” she laughed before they fell to a silence. It was a whole ten minutes before she spoke up again, “Oppa, do you think this was a bad idea?”

Taehyung looked at her questioningly, making her sigh.

“I mean,” she leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees, “with the tour happening, do you think it was a bad idea to take this acting gig?”

“Personally, yeah,” Taehyung shrugged, making Yoonmi look at him in slight offense. “What, you asked! I’m just saying, as someone who literally helped raise you, I don’t like the idea of you balancing working on music and academics while jetting back and forth between Korea and whatever country we’re performing in and tiring yourself out to the point of passing out. Because I already know that it’s bound to happen at some point.”

She looked down, leaning back and biting into the cookie one of the members had given her at some point. Taehyung looked at her, already knowing the look on her face being one that could lead to her spiralling. He sighed, hating the fact that, no matter what the members and her friends and family told her, she always put others’ opinions of her before her own wants and needs.

“Hey,” Taehyung nudged her arm, “but, as an artist, I think it’s a great idea.”

This perked her up. “You think so?”

“It’s a great opportunity to show more sides of yourself that the public doesn’t really know,” he nodded. “Show them you’re not just an idol or a kid, but something more as well. I know you’re great at anything you put your mind to, except maybe drawing.”

She laughed and hit his arm.

Taehyung laughed with her. “No, yeah. Leave that area of expertise to Jungkook. I’m just saying, it’s a great opportunity for you to break out of whatever stereotypes or prejudices people have against you.”

“So, as my big brother, you say no. As my sunbae, you say yes. Internal conflict of interests, don’t you think?”

“Sure,” he snorted before tapping her knee and looking her in the eye, “but I have to remind you, because your reaction to what I said earlier tells me that you haven’t let it settle in your head. You can’t let what other people think about you discourage you, right?”

She huffed and crossed her arms before looking away. “It’s a little hard when I need to improve myself.”

“But at what cost? Your mental state? Cancelled opportunities? Why let other people’s opinions on you matter more than your own thoughts or opinions of yourself.”

“Because if I let my opinion of myself get to me more than what you guys think about me, I’d probably shrivel up in a hole, you know?”

The joking tone of her voice didn’t carry into the atmosphere of the room. Taehyung just looked at her. He knew that she, despite her proudly speaking her opinion and telling other people to be confident in themselves, is way too insecure for his and the rest of the group’s comfort. It was one of the many reasons that they always went out of their way to baby her and praise her.

It was at times like these, moments where she puts her thoughts on the table and curls into herself, where she looks young. Younger than she actually is. The girl in front of him was sixteen, turning seventeen, eighteen if you use Korean years. Yet, all he could see was the nervous preteen he met years ago.

“You do know you teach other people to love themselves, right?” he asked her.

“Do as I say, not as I do,” she shrugged, making him chuckle.

“We’re just gonna have to rub that into you until you do as you say, too. Wanna talk about it more?”

She shook her head. “No, not really. It’s almost three, and I have to head to the practice room to meet my dance partner for my solo song.”

“Why didn’t you just get one of us?”

“Well, I wanted to, but the company said that it would cut into the rest times of literally any of you, plus, Jungkook oppa was the original plan, but Euphoria and Why are right after each other.”

Taehyung wrinkled his nose but nodded and ruffled her hair. “Alright, let’s clean up, then I can drop you off before I got to my vocal session.”

“I am a mess,” Yoonmi muttered to herself as soon as she walked into the practice room. The reason being manager Sejin stepping in front of her and bringing down his sleeve over his hand to wipe crumbs off of her chin.

“Because you’re stressed out,” he shook his head at her, “so Namjoon and I cleared your schedule for the weekend. I also took the liberty of choosing your dance partner for you, and I think you’ll be okay with him.”

“As okay as I’d have been with Yeonjun oppa?”

“Not as much,” Sejin chuckled at her, “but I’ve seen you talk to Heeseung every now and then, so maybe?”

At the familiar name, she looked behind Sejin and saw the familiar face of the trainee she tended to run into late at night in the company. Heeseung was someone she did try to be more casual with ever since Yeonjun told her they were the same age. It was something she did try to do ever since Jimin and Taehyung had sat her down to tell to be more social with kids her age. She shook her head in amusement while hearing Jimin’s voice saying “Our aegi should spend more time being a kid with other kids!”

Back to the situation at hand, she thanked Sejin and walked to the other side of the room where Heeseung was giving her an awkward smile. It was something she was used to seeing from the trainees whenever they passed by her. The quick bow in greeting completed the experience.

“No need for that, Heeseung, I’ve told you that a billion times,” she laughed while putting a hand on his shoulder to straighten him up. “So you’re my dance partner?”

“Only if you’re okay with that,” he looked at her bashfully.

She laughed a bit and nodded, “Yeah, no biggie. Have you seen the videos?”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” he began after nodding, “I was wondering why it isn’t Jungkook sunbaenim dancing with you like in the video?”

“The setlist has his song and my song right after each other,” she shrugged. “Are you okay if we practice until around nine? There will be breaks of course, but we don’t have to if it cuts into your training time.”

He shakes his head and smiles at her. “Sounds good. The instructors let me off with the condition of doing well for your tour and shadowing you sunbaes for experience.”

“You can stick by me and see the oppas in all their chaotic glory,” she snorted before tugging on his sleeve to bring him to the center of the practice room. “Let’s try marking before the rest of the dancers get here.”

The practice went smoothly, considering she knew the choreography by heart and Heeseung caught on quickly. To Yoonmi’s pleasure, the choreography was almost as clean as she wanted it to be by the time the clock struck 9. All of the dancers got along well together, and there was no tension. They all even messed around with each other during the breaks, which was similar to how the dancers were in previous tours. But, all good things came to an end as the dancers left the practice room one by one, bidding goodbye.

“You’re not regretting agreeing to this, are you?” she asked Heeseung while handing him an energy drink. He had been sweating despite already removing his plaid shirt and being left in a tee.

“Not at all,” he grinned at her while accepting the drink, “it’s a great experience. I just want to know though, how do you practice for hours without removing your hoodie?”

“It’s comfy,” she shrugged.

A knock on the door caught their attention. Seokjin’s head popped in first, a big smile on his face before he let himself in and brought Yoonmi into a hug. Heeseung bowed at him, while he bowed back before turning his attention to her. She wrinkled her nose at him but wrapped her arms around his waist all the same. The elder placed a quick kiss to the top of her head before his face scrunched up.

“You need a shower, princess,” Seokjin squished her cheeks, making her look like a puffer fish.”

“I know,” the words came muffled out of her mouth, “is it home time?”

He nodded down at her before turning towards Heeseung with a smile. “So you’ll be joining us on tour?”

“Yes, sunbaenim.” The awkwardness was back.

Seokjin smiled. “We’ve heard good things about you, Heeseung, from both Yeonjun and management. We’re looking forward to working with you.”

Heeseung’s eyes widened before he thanked the senior. Seokjin laughed a little before letting go of Yoonmi and picking up her bag for her. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m taking this one home for dinner before she passes out from being overworked. She still has filming tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon,” she squeezed Heeseung’s arm with a grateful smile, “don’t stay too late today or I’ll tell Seri! I know she’s gonna mother hen you even from a different continent.”

He snorted but lightly hit her shoulder. “Alright, fine. See you tomorrow.”

Yoonmi made her way towards Seokjin who was waiting for her by the door, already having memorized the spiel he was giving. Eat food on time, rest, one task at a time, and everything along those lines.

“And I want you asleep by 10:30,” he continued despite them reaching the parking lot already, “so you can have a full eight hours of sleep before heading to the shoot, okay? Jimin has the morning off, so he’ll be going with you.”

This put a frown on her face. She hated the fact that the members were going out of their way to help her or accompany her when they could be resting instead. Also, the director and the PDs were asking her to keep the members from coming on set as much as possible so they don’t get spoiled. And because they can get embarrassingly fussy over her in between takes.

It’s not that she didn’t like it, she would easily admit that it felt nice knowing the members cared for her, but it did get her a little shy with all the cast and staff staring at them.

“Yoongi and I made him promise to stay beside Sejin hyung,” Seokjin smiled at her, “you don’t have to worry about the unnecessary staring. You can probably get away with hiding with your castmates. You know, the ones casted as your fellow kids?”

She laughed. “You know me too well.”

“What type of big brothers would we be if we didn’t?” He helped her into the passenger’s seat before getting into the driver’s seat. “Let’s get you fed and showered so you can be at full battery tomorrow.”

taglist: @sunflower-0180 @seaoffangirling @yourwonderbelle @1-800-enhypennabi @kamiiyou @strwberrydinosaur @uraveragefangirlsposts @caratinylyfe @1-800-minji @one16core @kimhyejin3108 @chansols @akshverse @toriluvsfics @billboard-singer

drop an ask or a dm if you wanna be added or taken out of the taglist 🥰 requests are also open!

[averysmolbear]

A Second Chance

CW: This is pretty self ship coded. It's vaguely fluffy so not really a need for a ton of tags, I'd think. It's a female reader fic. I'd say the reader and Pietro would be around in their twenties. It's definitely part of a possible series of one shots so it's the beginnings of a friends to lovers type situation. The only thing that could be maybe triggering is the kind of vague mentions of Pietro feeling "trapped" and the reader is there to kind of psychoanalyze him to a certain degree. I'm not sure how else to word that honestly.

Fandom: Marvel/MCU

Pairing: F!Reader x Pietro Maximoff

Word count: ~2.3k

Just a quick note that this would be well after Age of Ultron and I don't care if it's unrealistic, Pietro survived what happened in that movie because I said so (and yeah, that means this is the MCU version of Pietro, not the one in the X-Men movies) so prepare to suspend your disbelief or something. Or don't. I can't tell you what to do. This also means that the reader works for whatever entity really kind of popped up after AoU that the Avengers would sort of be working for before Captain America: Civil War.

Pietro Maximoff felt like an animal trapped in a cage. He didn’t know why they were keeping him locked away. He had healed and was ready to get back out into the world. He felt like they had to know this, especially with all of their incessant poking and prodding. Whenever he asked someone anything, his questions were brushed aside and they would reassure him that he would be out of there before long. And then the cycle would repeat and Pietro would be left alone in the sterile room that reminded him of his time with HYDRA more than he let on.

It wasn’t the fact that he was getting antsy that pushed Pietro to ask when they were going to let him out. His sister needed him, didn’t she? At this point he was starting to doubt that Wanda was aware he was alive, although maybe that was the reason they were keeping him inside. Maybe they weren’t sure how to break it to her that Pietro had survived. It didn’t matter what the reason was though because he knew that eventually they were going to have to let him out and he wasn’t going to waste any time getting as far from this place as he could when that time came.

He paced the length of the room, moving at a natural speed for once. When he first woke up and was moved to his current room, he would run from one end of the room to the other. It didn’t take long before Pietro realized it wouldn’t do him any good. He wasn’t getting out and it only wasted his energy to zip around the room. At the moment he didn’t want to waste any energy on running around the small space but he felt that pent up energy building up and he hated that he didn’t have a proper outlet for it.

When someone knocked on his door, Pietro ignored it. It was common for someone to knock before dropping off food. If it was a doctor, they would enter without his permission anyway. He waited for the slot in the door to open and a tray to slide on to the ledge on his side of the door. It seemed too early for lunch but it wasn’t as if the speedster had any concept of time. He didn’t know how many days had passed, losing count quickly. He didn’t have the patience to keep track after a week had passed but he assumed he had been there for at least a month, maybe longer.

There was a second, more insistent knock on the door and this time Pietro moved cautiously but curiously toward it. No one knocked more than once and he thought that the sound held some level of urgency to it. His head tilted slightly as he listened at the door, not sure he would be able to tell who was on the other side if he tried. Someone knocked again and with a sigh, Pietro finally asked who it was. It was clear they wanted his attention and now they had it, not that he cared too much about who it might be.

“Pietro?”

He noted that the voice wasn’t familiar but it was soft and feminine and youthful. It wasn’t someone he had met before, as far as he could tell. They sounded hesitant which caught his attention more than the knocking. Not many people around this place were hesitant around him. Most seemed to know that there was security everywhere and he wasn’t a threat. He stepped closer to the door when he noticed the little slot had opened. He could see someone peeking inside but he didn’t recognize them. Pietro didn’t say anything but he did place a hand on the door, closing his eyes for a moment.

“I’m going to assume you can hear me, Pietro,” you continued. You cleared your throat. “My name is (y/n). Can I … can I come in?”

Pietro’s brows furrowed but he quietly backed away from the door. His new visitor had him too curious to not let her inside. He moved over to the bed and sat down but didn’t speak. He could be at the door and out of the room before anyone realized what was happening but his curiosity had gotten the better of him. Still he was being stubborn, not wanting to give anyone anything that they could use against him. If they were going to try to use him for who knew what, Pietro was going to make them work for it.

You walked in, opening the door wide enough to be able to slip in. The heavy door slammed shut behind you, making her jump as you heard the door lock, but you didn’t look back at the door. Your eyes were intently fixed on Pietro as soon as you saw him. Someone on the other side of the door gruffly told you that you had 15 minutes before they would come in and you muttered a curse under her breath. 

Pietro noted that when you had whispered, it hadn’t been in English and for a moment he wondered what language it was. It sounded roughly like Sokovian but not enough that he was certain he recognized the language. He wasn’t curious enough to ask however. You bit your lip as you stayed near the door, looking him over slowly.

Pietro folded his arms across his chest but still didn’t speak. Instead he fixed you with an intense glare, his brows pulled tightly and a scowl on his face. You were pretty, which he noticed immediately, but he wasn’t going to let them lull him into a false sense of security. He might have been a flirt but he wasn’t an idiot. He wasn’t sure who had taken him in, SHIELD or HYDRA, and Pietro wasn’t sure he trusted either of them. That meant he wasn’t sure if he trusted you since he had no idea what your intentions were.

You swallowed thickly as your gaze turned down toward the floor. You weren't trembling but you looked close to it as you slipped your hands into the front pockets of your jeans. You stayed close to the door, timidly glancing at Pietro before looking away when your eyes met. Clearing your throat, you found your voice. “My name’s (y/n),” you repeated, not sure if he had heard you. Your gaze flitted around the room now to avoid making eye contact. “I’m here to talk.”

Pietro rolled his eyes, his arms still folded across his chest as he let out a sigh. He wasn’t sure he trusted that you were as timid as you seemed. It could have been an act. The fact that you seemed afraid of him annoyed the speedster as well. It wasn’t like he was going to hurt you. “I’m not feeling very talkative,” he bitterly said. “After all it’s hard to want to talk to people who keep me locked away in a cage.”

“Oh …” You looked up and stopped short at the look on Pietro’s face. Your lips curled up in a brief smile, trying to show you were there to help. Your hands fell to your sides and you shook your head. Your face softened as you took a couple of steps away from the door although you still kept some distance between yourself and the speedster. “I … I don’t think that’s what they’re trying to do here, Pietro.”

He watched as you moved toward him, his arms falling to his sides. He was still cautious so he stayed where he was, not wanting to let his guard down too soon. He especially didn’t want to let his guard down to a pretty face only to have it backfire. It was better to keep a bit of cautious optimism for the moment. Pietro wasn’t sure what you were doing there after all. He hoped that if he said as little as possible, you would tell him what he wanted to know. It seemed to be working so far although he wasn’t sure if you were as concerned about him as you appeared to be. He supposed it would be easy enough for someone to fake concern.

You swallowed hard again and took another couple of steps until you were standing at the foot of the bed where Pietro sat. “I can’t help you if you won’t let me,” you softly said, your gaze still locked with his for the moment. You bit her lip and nodded to the bed, finally glancing away from Pietro. “May I sit?”

Pietro silently nodded and watched as you carefully sat down. You seemed like you were both terrified and worried. He wondered which would take precedence, although it seemed like it was going to be your concern for his well-being. He felt his features melt into something less intimidating but he didn’t speak, still not sure he could trust you.

Even if part of him wanted nothing more than to trust you. Pietro knew, in the back of his mind, that he could use a friend.

You sighed, reaching up to tuck some of your hair behind your ear. “I’m sure all of this has been very difficult for you. I don’t doubt that it feels a lot like we’re keeping you here against your will,” you said, nodding your head slightly as you spoke. “I know that you have no reason to trust me but I promise that I won’t lie to you, Pietro. If it was up to me, we’d be having this talk somewhere much more comfortable than this.”

You waited for Pietro to speak and when he didn’t, you let out a nervous laugh. Your eyes roamed his face before you looked at your hands as they rested in your lap. You were too nervous to hold eye contact with him for long. “I don’t have much time but I wanted to introduce myself. I’m going to be coming by every day and I won’t stop trying until you open up to me,” you explained. 

You looked up and frowned at the distrust you saw in Pietro’s eyes. “I know how that sounds but I’m not going to try to break you. I’m barely a licensed therapist but that’s why I’m here. I need to evaluate you before they’ll agree that it’s safe to …” You shrugged, gesturing toward the door.

“Before they let me out of my cell.”

You looked up, your eyes widening as you shook your head. “No, Pietro. This isn’t a cell. You’re here for your safety,” you said, your frown deepening. “After what happened, well, no one was sure how you were going to react to being … alive.”

Pietro narrowed his eyes again and sighed, shaking his head. He wasn’t going to let you tell him to trust you and then freely give you that trust. He knew your name but he didn’t know anything else about you. Clearly you knew about him or you wouldn’t have been there. He didn’t like being at a disadvantage like this. If you wanted his trust, you were going to have to earn it.

You bit her lip as Pietro sized you up, your cheeks heating up as you took a deep breath. You glanced toward the door briefly, knowing your time had to be dwindling faster than you would have liked. It wouldn’t be long before someone told you that your time was up and you knew you had barely gotten Pietro to speak to you. When you looked back at him again, you smiled shyly. “We have all of the time in the world. As much time as you need. So tell me how I can win your trust, Pietro.”

Pietro shook his head, shifting his weight as he moved away from you. He didn’t like the feeling of being psychoanalyzed, even if you claimed that you were ‘barely’ a therapist, and he didn’t like that you had piqued his interest. He leaned against the wall at the head of the bed, trying to look disinterested. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” you said with a quick shrug. Your voice was gentle and a bit timid. You tried to smile as you watched Pietro process what you were saying, hoping he would believe you. “It matters to my boss and his boss. It matters to a lot of people. If you can’t trust me, I don’t know when they’ll let you out of here. I just want to help get you out of this room and out somewhere that doesn’t feel so stifling.”

Pietro laughed humorlessly, rolling his eyes as he looked away. He wanted to trust you. He wanted to get out of this room because he was tired of staring at these same four walls. The problem was that Pietro didn’t know where to begin so he figured he could keep feigning disinterest until you told him something that made him feel safe with you. You seemed unassuming but it didn’t mean you were. Pietro was well aware of that.

“I’ll come back later and see if you feel more talkative then,” you said with a nod. You slowly stood, pausing as you watched Pietro. Your smile grew a bit as he looked at you but it was still timid. “I think we’re going to get along if you’ll trust me. I think we can help each other actually. You just have to trust me.”

Pietro watched as you walked to the door. He debated for a split second whether or not he should push you aside when the door opened to let you out but he stayed where he was. He was still staring at the door after it closed behind you. He didn’t know if he could trust you but there was something that was telling him to try. Maybe it wouldn’t lead to anything but if he could get out of this place, he knew he couldn’t keep being so stubborn about this for long. Eventually you would stop trying and Pietro wasn’t sure what would happen to him after that. 

He wasn’t sure he wanted to find out either.

[bit-dodgy-innit]

Trying for Two

Part of my 500 Follower Celebration set in my SHAPE OF YOU AU

The Prompt: You and your husband begin talking about if you’re ready for baby number two. Steven, being the sneaky little shit he is, does everything he can covertly to make sure you conceive so he can get your milk-filled tits back

Requested by: a few lovely fellow heathen nonnies and the wonderful @fangirlfreakingout

Pairing: Steven x afab!reader, with background Marc x afab!reader and Jake x afab!reader, Reader is married to the system

Word Count: 2k (short but horny I promise!)

Spice-o-meter: 🌶🌶🌶, Rated Explicit, Minors DNI!

CW/TW: Talk of pregnancy, breastfeeding, lactation and conceiving, p in v sex, nipple play, lots o’dirty talk, daddy!kink, breeding kink, mention of bondage, unprotected sex, a smidge of unprotected cumplay

A/N: THANK YOU EVERYONE for the amazing response to last full, hope y’all enjoy this fun romp!! Our 🍈🍈 loving daddy!Steven is back in full force in this one, using his big brain and…other things for horny purposes!!

It couldn’t have come at a more unexpected moment. You and Marc had finally wrestled Nyla down for bed and collapsed on the couch with the telly on, watching 8 Out Of 10 Cats of all things. Perhaps something on the quiz show had prompted Marc, inspired him to share with you, but you nearly dropped your wine glass when your husband remarked, seemingly out of nowhere, “It’d be good for Nyla to have a sibling.”

Out of the four of you, Marc had been the hold out on Baby Number Two. Steven had wanted another kid basically as soon as you’d popped Nyla out, and when you mentioned it to Jake about a year ago, he was on board. Understandably, Marc had his reservations. He was so protective of your daughter, and you knew however irrational it may be, Marc was petrified that a similar fate would befall his children as he and Randall. 

It was almost a blessing in disguise that Nyla had been a surprise, since she drastically reduced the potential overthinking about kids. Once you’d discovered a baby was already on the way, both of you knew wanted her without much doubt. 

You schooled your face to appear cavalier and casual, the last thing you wanted to do was spook him. “That’d be nice wouldn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” he agreed. 

“I’ll give Doctor Slater’s office a ring in the morning.” 

Your statement was a test. If Marc walked it back, then you knew he really wasn’t ready. But he didn’t say anything, so you took his lack of protest as confirmation. It was downright strenuous to keep your cool for the rest of the night and quell any urges to rejoice now that Marc had finally caved on another baby. 

It was not a surprise however to wake up next to Steven since he lectured on Wednesday mornings. When your alarm went off and you rolled into his arms, the first thing he whispered to you was “We’re having another baby.”

“We‘re having another baby,” you echoed with a wide grin. 

The two of you shared a chaste kiss, then Steven pulled you closer to him, no doubt for you to feel his morning wood. “What do you say we start trying right away?” 

It was a tempting idea, but it was also a miracle that Nyla hadn’t burst into your bedroom yet. 

“Later baby,” you promised him. “She’ll be up any minute.” 

Steven surrendered with another kiss. He was willing to wait…for now. 

***

This time conceiving was so different than with Nyla. There were cycle tracking apps, appointments with Dr. Slater, and not to mention a two-and-a-half year old to manage in the midst of everything. 

Most experts said the best way to ensure a pregnancy ASAP was to have sex everyday, which of course the boys were thrilled to hear. Even though you had no trouble getting hot for each other still, the difficulty was finding the time and energy. You had been back at work for a while now, and Nyla was non-stop. 

So Steven decided to take things into his own hands to help the process along. He started waking up extra early to jog on the mornings he fronted, since exercise supposedly helped sperm count. He threw out Marc’s beer and Jake’s “secret emergency” pack of cigarettes due to a study he’d read about them compromising one’s virility, royally pissing off his alters in the process. Your husband wouldn’t let you so much as move after sex either, fetching everything you’d desire to keep you still and try to increase conception. 

Disappointment was inevitable when you got your period the first month after you and your husband started trying for Baby Number Two. The last thing Steven wanted to do was put pressure on you, stress was the worst thing for fertility. Besides, he loved you and didn’t want you to feel like you were lacking in any capacity. 

He did however, intensify his covert conception efforts. He read that yams increase one’s chance of fertility and added it to the weekly shop. You were slightly puzzled that Steven was suddenly so keen on having sweet potatoes at least once a week for dinner, but Nyla liked them and your husband always offered to cook when you had them so you weren’t going to complain.

He also learned that morning sex was marginally better for conceiving, so he began waking you up with head so you’d be all pliant and open to sex first thing. Though that was no great effort on his part, his favorite thing to eat was your pussy. 

Obviously, Steven wanted to have another child with you because you were his soulmate, and the vision of two little pairs of feet pattering around your home never failed to choke him up. But there was another, more selfish, more horny reason he was so eager for you to get pregnant again. 

He’d hidden it well until you two had a date night. Nyla was at home with your trusted sitter Sam, and Steven took you to a restaurant on the river you both loved. Despite his steadfast commitment to veganism, your husband insisted on ordering oysters for the two of you (another fertility-friendly food, not to mention an aphrodisiac too). It hadn’t helped that you’d worn a low cut top that perfectly framed two of his very favorite parts of you. 

When you’d gotten home, you wanted to check on Nyla even though Sam had reported she’d fallen asleep a few hours ago without much fuss. Steven undressed in your bedroom while you kissed your daughter in hers, sporting a very prominent hard on by the time you joined him. 

“Mmmm, is that all for me, Doctor Grant?” You purred as you climbed on the bed and reached into his boxer-briefs. 

He answered you with a groan and crashed your lips together. 

“I think I’m feeling the effects of those oysters,” you lilted while you stripped out of your top and jeans. 

A devilish smirk spread across his lips. “Let’s hope so.” 

Steven had tremendous willpower, but all bets were off when he was inside of you and you talked dirty to him. 

“Oh yeah Daddy,” you moaned as he hammered his throbbing cock into your slick cunt. “You gonna fuck a baby into me?” 

“Mmhmm,” he responded, his tongue darting out to wet his lips while he pounded you from above. “Gonna shoot so deep in your pussy.” 

You whimpered, “Make me all big and swollen with your baby.” 

“Fuck…ungh, yeah,” he assented, and you clenched down around him, which short-circuited his brain “Can’t wait to watch you grow so big with Nyla’s little sibling.” 

You dug your fingertips into his biceps. “You’ll have to take good care of me when I do.” 

“Going to take the best care” he vowed. “I’ll rub your feet and shoulders, lick this tight little cunt whenever you want…and-ah-I’ll drink from your titties when they get too full.” 

There it was. Steven was bloody desperate to get your huge, milk-filled boobs back, and in his opinion, they couldn’t return soon enough. Thankfully, you were turned on enough to go with it without asking any questions for the time being. 

“Wanna start as soon as your milk comes in,” Steven revealed, cupping your boobs in his hands, trying to recall the size they’d grown to when you were breastfeeding. “We wasted so much time before.” 

“You can have as much as you like,” you told him, mewling when he licked over a nipple. 

Steven straightened up and hoisted your hips to wrap your legs around his waist, effectively putting you into a version of a bridge yoga pose. The switch in position made him even more frantic as he watched your boobs bounce harder from the force of his thrusts. 

“Good, because Daddy needs his milk,” he rambled. “Need to bury my face between your huge, dripping titties, suck all of your sweet milk down.” 

You keened at the image your husband described as he speared you on his cock, the incline allowing his pubic bone to grind against your clit just right. “Ohhh honey, gonna come.”

He spurred you on. “Yeah? You gonna come for Daddy?” 

“Uh huh!” You shrieked as your climax surged through you, the force of it strong enough to white out your vision for a moment. That didn’t stop you from babbling, “Come on, Daddy, fill me up with your cum…give me that big load.” 

“Bloody hell,” he swore. Steven was so aroused by your back-and-forth he could hardly keep his grip on your hips while he hurdled toward his release. “Want me to pump you full?” 

“Please,” you whined through the haze of your post-orgasmic fog. 

Steven came so hard he was sure that he triggered a switch, since he had no memory of flopping down on the bed next to you. As soon as he came back to himself and waved a thank-you in the mirror toward Jake who presumably laid him down, Steven scrambled upright in bed, fighting off the lethargy that always followed a particularly good orgasm. 

“Don’t. Move.” He whipped back the blankets to make sure none of his cum had leaked out of you. 

Your husband did in fact spotted a little drop trickling from your hole, and swiftly collected it on his finger to push it back in. A little whimper escaped you when Steven did, still sensitive from your climax. “Sorry babe, but we gotta make sure it takes.” 

“We only just started trying,” you countered. 

“True, but we’ve already waited ‘cause of Marc,” he pointed out, rising from the bed to grab both of your pajamas. “We’re also not getting any younger, you know?”

Part of you wanted to slap Steven for making even the faintest reference that you were aging, but it was then you started to put two and two together. “Is that why you wanted to try out bondage last week? Because if you tied me to the bed I wouldn’t move after sex?” 

“No!” he denied while pulling on the old UCL t-shirt and boxers he slept in. 

Your husband was a lot of things: brilliant, nurturing, incredible in bed, but one thing Steven was not was a good liar. 

“Oh my God!” you exclaimed. “The morning runs, the oysters…it’s all to make sure you knock me up!” 

Steven blushed. Come to think of it, his body was in great shape for its age, and most people were having kids later. Doctor Slater didn’t have any concerns on your end either. So when the source of his enthusiasm dawned on you, you couldn't believe you hadn’t reazlied it sooner. 

Unlike your husband, you weren’t in a tremendous rush to get pregnant. “You want my big boobs back as soon as possible!”  

“I…” Steven had no leg to stand on. 

You obscured the breasts in question when you pulled on your nightie. “Steven Grant!” 

“Shh!” The last thing either of you two needed was Nyla waking up. “I’m sorry, alright? And no, I don’t want to conceive as soon as possible only because we’ll get to…you know…revisit everything we enjoyed when Nyla was born. I do truly want another kid.”

It was impossible to stay cross with Steven when he spoke to you like that, his eyes so earnest and vulnerable. “I know, I know. But, you just…you didn’t need to be so sneaky! I’d expect that shit from Jake, but you?”

“I’m cunning too!” he protested. Leave it to him to get defensive about the strangest things.

“You are, but in other ways usually,” you relented, pulling the blankets back up again. Steven followed suit when you settled yourself against the pillows, turning off the lamp on his nightstand. You laid next to him in the dark for all ten seconds before you asked, “do you think it took?”

He shrugged “Dunno, but I can’t remember the last time I came that much.” 

It more thoroughly debauched sex, but soon you, your husband, and Nyla were celebrating the confirmation that Baby Number Two was well on their way. 

Taglist: @twwcs @rmoonstoner , @hot-mess-express1 @murdickdocked @toracainz @saahmi @unspokenmoon @winterbiipp @avatarofseshat @ilikeoldermenhelp, @losers-club6 , @harrys-tittie , @ninebluehearts , @lucianadraven32 , @dawnsutopia , @strawberry1042 @nikitawolfxo @stormkobra-5

A/N: It’s baby number two time!! This one came out quickly and while it’s not exactly the 10k fuckfest my last one was I know it was a popular fill so I hope everyone enjoyed!!

[ailingwriter]

Stardate 244635, 35th of the Kaltari solar cycle

This hunt was a mistake. Oh revered ancestors, it was a mistake. May my fellow Anntah slit my throat if I survive, it will no doubt be less painful.

It was a small-scale hunt. The planet had only just gotten to the fourth tech level, barely spaceworthy. While the sapients were off-limits by rule of the council, the more fantastic beasts were not.

Me and my blood sisters arrived on the 27th, under strict cloaking of course. The area we parked our ship should have been unnoticeable to the natives, considering that. We then went looking for quarry that would serve as grand prizes to show off.

Ik'tal found a large predator with a massive growth of hair around its neck, while I found a large gray beast with a single, large horn on its snout. But it was Kri'mek that found the best find, a gray beast larger than mine that had huge flaps of skin on the side of its head and a long growth on its face. Some of them even had long horns on the bottom of their head!

We all completed our hunts with relative ease on the 29th. As is our way, we took our trophies and left the rest to rejoin its host planet. Perhaps that was our first mistake.

After our hunts, we had a modest celebration in the hold, then retired to the sleeping quarters in preparation to takeoff.

That night, we were awoken by an alert. A malfunction in the wiring on the external hull. We figured that some member of the native wildlife must have charged into something it couldn't see, perhaps one of the beasts I killed. Ik'tal went out to see if she couldn't fix the damage. After 30 minutes of silence, Kri'mek and I knew that something was wrong. We were no hatchlings, we knew better than to go one by one to the slaughter. We both left the ship, leaving the door open in case Ik'tal came back without her card.

That was our second mistake.

The damage to the external hull had to be deliberate. The broken plate could be explained by careless wildlife, but the ones that had been pried off and the wires that had been cleanly severed had to be deliberate. It was easy to reason that it had been the native sapients who caused the damage, and I guessed they were behind Ik'tal's disappearance as well. Fool that I was, I insisted that we hunt for the perpetrators, council be damned.

That was my third mistake. If only I had listened, we would have been able to leave this accursed planet and return with more backup. Instead I have condemned us to death.

I should have listened to Kri'mek. She knew this was foolish, but no, I had to call her a coward. I was wrong. Ancestors, Kri'mek, I was so wrong.

I spent two hours searching, first for any kind of electric traces that would hint towards a vehicle. All I got were faint whispers. Then for vehicle tracks, which i did manage to find, but they quickly became untrackable. Then I decided to search on foot for any sign of civilization. The only thing we found was a sign in the native language, one that my visor translated as informing me that this was conservation land.

I remembered finding this funny, calling the natives cowards, just like the council. I even got some amusement from Kri'mek.

Ultimately, we had no luck on foot. We would have to search from the air. We went back to the ship to find a new pair of tracks. Someone had come by and left. We assumed they had been looking for us, and didn't pay it no mind.

We were such fools. They weren't able to harm us, but our ship was a different story. Even without being able to access the computer, they managed to wipe or corrupt most of the computer. We couldn't even take off, much less leave the atmosphere. We were stranded.

We were not soldiers, we had no firearms, only our ancestral Lihl. We thought that and our juvenile skill and traps sufficient to take revenge on the sapients.

How foolish.

We truly were novices, at the end of the day. We completely failed to track the new set of treadmarks, and our rations were running out. At one point, on the 33rd, Kri'mek spotted a herd of the large creatures. It must have been the same one she attacked days ago. They recognized her. Attacked us.

The two of us were separated. I returned later, only to find a splatter of blue. I don't think she could have survived that, but I never found her body. I pocketed a small vial of her blood so there would be some remnant for the funerary rights.

It feels surreal, even now. My eldest sister, the one who taught me how to hold a Lihl... She's gone. Forever.

The elders always tell us that life is transient, but I don't think I truly knew that until that moment.

Yesterday, I finally found a human settlement. I brandished my Lihl and challenged them to combat. Perhaps it was foolish, but I was starved and mourning. I was not in my right mind.

A shock of pain as I was shot through the leg quickly snapped me out of that haze. I had treated them like any other sapients, and they responded like animals. Or perhaps they saw me as some diseased beast to be put down.

Either way, it was no honorable fight. That's what I told myself as I retreated to one of their buildings, to hide like the coward I was.

By some small miracle, it seems to have been some sort of storehouse for food, though I am unsure why it is so brightly colored. But they know where I am now, and I only have so long until I run out of food.

Tomorrow, I plan to meet them head on. I do not know what will come of it. Perhaps I will back down again, prove that I truly am nothing more than a coward and a fool. But I do not intend that. One way or another, I plan to meet this challenge with honor.

Ik'tal, if by some miracle you find this, please forgive your foolish brother. I leave my and Kri'mek's funerary rights to you. Bury me with my Lihl alone, but give Kri'mek her books. She always did plan on becoming a scholar in her elder years, I think she would appreciate it. And above all else, live. To the stars with the Anntah, I know you are no coward, not like me. So please, do not be the fool I was, do not throw your life away. Please, live to see the next rising of the sun.

End log.

[kryptid-writes]

Chapter 14 - A Battle of Fates

When Sam, Dean, and Cas track down Y/N and Lucifer, there is an all-out battle that results in Y/N having to make the ultimate decision. Will she accept her fate and choose Lucifer? Or will she create her own destiny and choose Dean?

(4.4k)

The days with Lucifer fly by. Counting the cycles from day to night, I believe I've been here for about 3 weeks, but it feels like I've spent my whole life with him. Each day holds another exciting adventure that’s designed to keep me happy and busy. He’s created amusement parks, animal sanctuaries, extravagant balls, and fancy dinners, even taking me to my favorite plays and movies, all created out of thin air with the snap of his fingers. 

It’s been incredible. Truly something out of a fairytale. But everywhere we go, it’s just him and me, Lucifer and I, the rest of the world be damned. I’m not dumb, I know he’s doing this to keep me isolated and safe from anyone that may want to steal me away. 

“I have a lot of enemies.” He grabs my shoulders and looks at me in full seriousness. “Many powerful people that will use you to get to me. But I promise you this, I will never let anyone hurt you. Not now. Not ever,” he explains, confirming my suspicions. 

I have no doubt that’s true. What better way to hurt the Devil than threatening the one thing in this world he loves, his Achilles heel, and God help anyone that dares come between us. But, I suspect he has ulterior motives as well, primarily keeping me from the Winchesters and their pocket angel. I can tell that he’s on edge, always glancing at the door, obsessively checking that each sigil is still intact, just waiting for them to burst in guns blazing.

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The house is secure, located in the middle of nowhere, and sigiled to high Hell. He’s careful. No one knows where we are, not even me. The odds of them ever finding this place are slim to nothing, that is if they’re even looking for me at all. The thought crushes me, feeling as if a little part of me has curled up and died.

I wonder where they are, what they’re doing, which monster they are hunting down this week, but most of all, if they miss me. I know it’s selfish of me to think that way. I put them through Hell, especially Cas, and they’re better off far, far, away from me. 

Nevertheless, I've been practicing the demon exorcism Sam had taught me. I’ve got it down to a T, memorized every word and perfected each pronunciation. I'm ready for any demons that may cross my path. I can just picture the cheery smile on Sam’s face and the way he would squeeze my shoulder to show how proud of me he is.

I’ve even picked up my lessons in Enochian. I doubt Castiel would approve of my methods, but Lucifer has continued where he left off. He was surprised when I asked him, but happy to teach me the basic alphabet and meaning of the simple symbols. I’m still a novice, barely even able to decipher the simplest of writing, but I’m getting better by the day. I dream of seeing Castiel again one day and greeting him in Enochian. The surprised look on his face would be priceless and his kind smile would warm my heart.

Despite the wonderful time I’ve spent with Lucifer, how close we’ve grown, how much I truly adore him now, I miss my family… I miss Dean. The ghost of him lives in my mind. I keep expecting to wake up in the Bunker and see him in the kitchen drinking a beer and going to town on a tower of bacon. I miss his musky cologne and comfy flannels that are way too big for me but feel so right. I miss the way he would hold me at night and whisper that everything will be okay. My heart yearns for him, more than I thought possible. After the way things ended, the big fight that resulted in him storming out, the rage that burned in his eyes, I doubt that he would ever want to see me again. 

“It’s for the best,” I keep reminding myself, trying to quell the feelings that seem to grow stronger with each moment that passes.

Lucifer knows. Despite how hard I try to hide my pain, he’s not oblivious, and the deep connection that we share sure doesn’t help.

“Y/N?” Lucifer asks, hugging me from behind, pulling me to his chest and resting his head on my shoulder like he often does.

“Yes, Luce?” I lean back into his chest.

“Somethings bothering you,” he states matter-of-factly, “talk to me.”

“It’s nothing,” I attempt to ease his suspicion, but it comes out less than convincing.

Uneasy silence hangs in the air as he thinks of what to say.

“Dean could never love you like this, you know.” He gently brushes my hair away from my neck and places a series of soft kisses from my jaw to my shoulder.

I freeze, turning rigid as a board. Hearing those words come from his mouth, it feels like the wind is knocked out of me. “I... I don’t know what you’re talking about Luce,” I laugh nervously, trying to brush off his suspicion. 

“Yes, you do.”

A sinking feeling drops in my stomach, and I close my eyes, preparing myself for where this dangerous conversation may lead. As much as I adore Lucifer, he is anything but predictable.

“A little birdy told me what you and Dean have been up to.” He grits his teeth, trying to control his temper.

“A little birdy being you spying on me?” I bite back defensively.

“Besides the point.” He pulls me in even tighter, perhaps scared that I'll flee at any moment. “I know that you have feelings for that insolent human… I know that you miss him,” he says bitterly, face scrunching up in disdain. “Do you really think he misses you?” He snaps, knowing that it will cut deep.

“Luce…” I whisper, my voice trembling. It’s a thought that’s crossed my mind a million times before, a thought I can’t seem to shake.

“Y/N,” he spins me around to face him, tilting my head up to meet his gaze. His eyes comb over my face like he’s admiring a work of art.

“I’m going to show what it truly means to feel love.” He takes a deep breath. “I promise you that in due time, these feelings you have for that… Winchester,” he says in disgust, “will be a thing of the past. The only person you will crave is me.” He pulls me into a deep and passionate kiss. It’s not angry and possessive like I expected, but rather tender and loving.

I pull away, my lips puffy and cheeks flushed.

“He will never touch you again, do you understand?” He growls, his eyes flash a bright crimson red for a moment, before returning to their usual state. He wraps his magnificent wings around me in a protective manner, the silky feather brushing against my bare arms.

“Yes Luce.” I nod and rest my head against his chest. The sound of his steady heartbeat brings me a sense of peace and safety. Part of me wants to believe him. Part of me wants to forget the feelings I have for Dean Winchester and spend the rest of eternity with the angel fate has decided I’m meant to be with. But the other part of me wants to say, “Fuck fate,” and run into his arms, reuniting with the man I hold so dear. A storm of conflict brews ever stronger inside of me.

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“I want you to focus, I mean really focus,” Lucifer says, encouraging me.

I hold my hand out in front me, just a few feet away from the fireplace. I can feel the heat licking my palm. I screw my eyes shut and pour all my mental force into the flame that flickers weakly from the charred-up logs. My brows furrow and a bead of sweat runs down my face. I give it my all, but still, nothing comes.

“Ugh! This is useless!” I groan, dropping my hand down by my side in defeat. “Maybe I just don’t have grace abilities like you.” My mood fades from frustration into sadness, wings wilting pathetically.

“You think Rome was built in one day?” He replies sarcastically. “I’ve had millennia to perfect my grace, you just need some more practice.”

I shoot him a dirty look, but eventually nod my head in understanding.

“Now,” he clears his throat and steps closer until his chest is pressed against my back, the tingly feeling returning. “Spread your feet apart.” He kicks my shoes with his boot until they’re about a foot apart in distance, giving me better balance. “Hold your hand out. Stiffen your arm.” He lifts my arm into place, intertwining his fingers in mine and holding my palm forward.

The feeling is comforting, his large hands seem to fit perfectly with mine, the familiar electric feeling pulsing between us.

“Close your eyes,” he calmly instructs.

My eyes flutter closed, this time letting them relax instead of scrunching them up in frustration.

“Take a deep breath and imagine the fire growing clearly in your mind.” He rests his head on my shoulder, grounding me just enough to provide reassurance.

I take a deep breath in through my nose, and out through my mouth, instantly feeling a sense of calm wash over me. I picture the fire burning hot and growing several feet tall, the image in my mind so realistic that it feels like It’s really happening.

There’s a warm tingling sensation that builds in my stomach, growing ever so slightly. My hand shakes as a cold feeling wraps around my core. It’s Lucifer’s grace, a sensation I've grown quite accustomed to. My warm grace tangles with his, dancing in harmony. My grace is much smaller, more submissive to his. His grace is heavier and far more overpowering, like a cold ocean wave that makes my ears ring and blood hum.

“You feel that?” He whispers in my ear, the feeling of our graces merging together pleasantly surges through my body.

“...Yes.” I nod, holding back the groan that threatens to spill from my lips.

“Use it.” He kisses my neck, leaving a playful nip. “I know you can do it.”

His encouragement lights a fire in my stomach, and with renewed determination, I put my full focus into the task at hand.

 The fire roars to life, burning to the top of the fireplace. The flames dance up to the chimney, the smell of crackling wood and thick smoke fills the room. A feeling of power surges through my veins, the rush has me instantly hooked, surely an addiction in the making.

“I did it…” I mutter to myself in shock. “LUCE, I DID IT!” I turn around to face him and my wings flutter in excitement, a happy grin on my face.

“I knew you could, my beloved!” He picks me up with ease and spins me around like I weigh nothing to him. His wings twirl around us, magnificent feathers flowing in the breeze. “I never doubted you for a second.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and stares at me lovingly. “I’m so proud of you.” He places a soft kiss on my lips.

“Mm…” I hum in content, happy that Lucifer, of all people, is proud of me. I melt into the kiss, the rest of the world fading into oblivion. I could stay here forever.

The soft clicks of a lock being picked is covered by the fire that still roars strong behind us and the blood rushing in my ears.

The door bursts open with a loud bang, the splintered wood hanging off the hinges. Light from outside pours into the dimly lit room, illuminating the three figures, their shadows stretching across the floor.

Surprised, I whip my head around to see Dean standing his ground across the room, Sam and Castiel looming behind him, all of them armed with angel blades.

“LET HER GO YOU WINGED BASTARD!” the familiar sound of Dean’s voice booms.  Dean looks pissed, more than I ever could have imagined. This must be what monsters see in their final moments, truthfully, it scares me. His knuckles are white from gripping the blade so hard, ready to spring into action.

“Well, look who’s come to party,” Lucifer teases, holding me closer, surely leaving red marks where his fingers dig into the skin of my arms.

“Dean!” I call out. I never thought I'd see him again and my heart flutters at the sight. They came for me. They actually came for me…

Without giving it a second thought, I break free of Lucifer's grasp and make a beeline towards the Winchesters and their beloved angel, awaiting the feeling of being in their arms once again.

Before I even make it halfway across the room, Lucifer appears in front of me. I bump into his chest, stumbling back onto the floor.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” He shakes his head, giving me a disapproving look and picks me up, throwing me over his shoulder like I'm just a child. 

“PUT!... ME!... DOWN!” I demand, pounding my fists against his back. When this has absolutely no effect on him, I run my hands into his feathers and twist, remembering the reactions it elicited from him before. He growls, but refuses to let me down, his grips only growing tighter on me.

“Put the girl down, brother,” Castiel warns, a dangerous edge to his voice.

“Castiel, pleasure to see you again, come back for seconds?” He taunts him with a grin.

Dean takes a step forward, practically fuming.

“Stay!” Lucifer commands me, placing me on the ground behind him. He splays his wings out protectively in front of me, as if I'm the one at risk.

The tension in the room is so thick that you could cut it with a butter knife.

The sound of every window breaking around us, practically makes me jump out of my skin. Shards of glass fly in all directions, one piece just barely missing my face by half an inch. The sky that had been clear just moments ago, is now raining like we’re in the eye of a category five hurricane. Booming claps of thunder fill the room, followed by strikes of lightning that illuminate Lucifer’s wings in the most intimidating way. 

Snapping out of my shocked daze, I completely disregard his command and try to run forward but find that his grace is holding me in place, essentially super gluing my shoes to the floor.

For just a moment, the three boys give each other a knowing look before they all swing into action.

Dean lunges forward, swinging the blade with full force. He aims for Lucifer’s head, but he flawlessly dodges the attack, his eyes flashing red in anger. But this doesn’t deter him, Dean’s unrelenting, like he’s been waiting for this moment his entire life.

Sam keeps himself fixed to the closest wall across the room. He drags the blade across his hand, creating a deep gash in his palm. Blood drips to the floor in abundance, creating a crimson puddle. He dips his finger in the liquid and quickly begins to draw a symbol on the wall with haste. I’ve studied enough to recognize that it’s an Enochian symbol, but I can’t decipher what it means.

Castiel stands a few feet behind Dean, his brow furrowed in concentration. He extends his arm towards Lucifer and his eyes glow a light blue. He chants quietly under his breath, his voice low and steady.

Dean continues his attack on Lucifer. With one precise swing, he slices Lucifer across the face. A cut on his cheekbone forms, blood dribbling from his cheek to his chin. Dean flashes him a cocky smile.

I struggle against his hold with all my strength, desperately trying to pry my shoes from the hardwood floor, but it's ultimately useless. I have no choice but to stand by in horror, watching the scene unfold in front of me with no way to stop it. The only thing worse than being in love with two men, is watching them kill each other right in front of your eyes.

Lucifer reaches up to his cheek, tenderly touching the wound that instantly heals shut with a white shine. He lowers his hand, looking at the blood that coats his fingers in anger.

“You’re gonna regret that,” he growls, lunging at Dean.

“I don't think so brother,” Castiel states, his eyes glowing a bright blue. With the power of his grace, he stops Lucifer in his tracks, forcing him on his knees and keeping him stuck in place.

Dean tilts his head, giving him a look that says, “I win.”

“Hurry Dean, I can’t hold him much longer,” Castiel groans, his body straining to fight off Lucifer’s powerful resistance.

Without a second of hesitation, Dean plunges the blade into Lucifer, his body visibly shaking with adrenaline.

“NO!” I scream out, my wings frilled in panic. With the attack, Lucifer's grip on me breaks and I rush to his side in an instant. I kneel next to him on the ground, lifting his limp head in my hands, his eyes closed and blood dripping from the wound where the angel blade remains buried deep in his flesh. I can feel the hot tears pricking my eyes.

Silence hangs in the air. Dean, Sam, and Cas anxiously waiting to see if they’re plan had really worked. After a few moments pass, they give each other a look of relief and collect themselves.

Their relief is short lived, as he opens his eyes and breaks out of Cas’s hold, more pissed than ever.

“You missed.” He smiles and pulls the blade out from the right side of his chest, dropping it to the ground with a clank, blood splattering the wood. Within seconds the wound is healed shut with a white glow. He stands from his knees and spreads his wings, towering far above the rest of us. “You should really aim for the heart next time.” He grins wide like a Cheshire cat.

All three boys exchange a look that practically screams, “Oh shit.”

With a flick of his wrist, Lucifer throws the three of them against the wall, pinning them in place. They struggle with all their might, but their efforts are essentially useless against his powerful grace. In a fight, archangel always wins.

“Sit, stay awhile.” he teases.

“Lucifer, no,” I beg, just wanting this nightmare to be over.

He wraps his arm around my waist but pays me no mind. He twists his hand into a fist and at once, both of the brothers’ writhe in pain, their body contorting in unnatural angles. 

Dean and Sam groan, their faces twisting up in agony. As if it couldn’t get worse, they start to spit up blood. And not just a little, but a disturbing amount of blood pouring through their lips, staining their skin and clothes a blooming red. The sound of groans and coughing makes me sick to my stomach.

“Lucifer, stop!” I yell in horror. I bunch my hands up in his shirt, desperately trying to snap him out of his fit of rage. I’ve never seen him like this before, but I start to question if those stories about him are actually as true as they say.

“No!” Castiel yells in his gravelly voice, staring at the beloved Winchester brothers squirming next to him.

“Wait your turn, brother.” Lucifer snaps his head in his direction and shifts his hand towards Castiel. A white glow slowly burns inside Cas. It starts low in his chest but builds until the white light shines through his throat and eyes with a deafening ring that continues to grow.

“You really think she loves you? I mean, you?” Lucifer mocks, staring Dean down intently.

Dean tries to speak, but his words are undecipherable through the spluttering blood and groans.

“STOP!!” I pound my fists against Lucifer’s chest so hard that it would surely leave painful bruises on any normal human. But he’s not human, no, he’s the farthest thing from it, an archangel in a savage rage.

He continues his assault, the boy’s looking as if they’re on the brink of death, perhaps they are.

“You promised…” my voice breaks.

This pulls him out of his trance. He stops his brutal attack and turns to me, looking guilty and the slightest bit pained.

“You’re right,” he admits, getting his temper under control. He takes my hand in his and brings them to rest on his cheek, evening out his breath.

The Winchesters gawk at him, as if they can’t believe what they’re seeing. They cough and choke, but the waterfall of blood stops and Castiel ceases the blinding glow.

“You’re scaring me, Luce.” I step closer, my eyes wet with tears.

“Forgive me, love.” he looks at me with loving eyes, the man I love coming back to me, even if it’s just for a moment. He pulls me into a kiss. It’s soft at first, caring and apologetic, but it soon turns deep and possessive. He wraps his wings around me and looks over to Dean, holding eye contact, needing to see his jealous reaction.

“Leave her alone,” he demands in a hoarse voice, his face burning with anger.

I break the kiss with a light shove and look at him, my cheeks burning in shame. I can practically hear his heart breaking into a thousand shards.

“Or what?” Lucifer snaps, “What did you think was going to happen, hm? You’d just storm in here, kill me, and she’d come running back to you like some lovesick puppy?”

Dean musters up the strength to shoot him a look that could kill, but I could see Lucifer’s words were gutting him inside.

“Newsflash kid, Y/N’s my soulmate. We’re meant to be together, it’s our destiny,” he says, pulling me so close that my wings are pressed flat against his chest, wrapping an arm around me to secure my body in place.

Dean’s face becomes somber as he processes the information. I can see the internal debate going on inside of his head, one that I’ve had many times before. 

“Is that true, Y/N?” Sam asks hesitantly.

Cas gives Sam a knowing look.

“Yeah, tell them Y/N.” Lucifer takes my chin between his fingers and forces me to look them in the eyes, unable to escape their awaiting glares, “Is it true?” He mocks.

“...Yes,” I admit, barely a whisper.

Dean’s eyes go wide, tears threatening to spill at any moment. His green irises flick back and forth, desperately scanning my face for any sign that I might be lying, that this is all some part of a masterplan to deceive Lucifer, but finds none.

“I’m sorry,” my voice cracks and I close my eyes in shame, tears streaming down my cheeks. I can feel Lucifer smirking behind me, clearly amused with this turn of events.

The room is quiet for a moment before something in Dean changes. His eyes harden and he lifts his head with a wave of confidence. “Yeah? Well, I say screw destiny. You can shove it up your feathery ass!” He spits in defiance.

“Give it up Dean.” Lucifer rolls his eyes dramatically, “She’s my mate, you can't have her!” He growls, his wings spreading to their full wingspan.

“Lucifer… that’s enough!” I warn, grabbing him by the shoulders, trying to get his attention, but he keeps his eyes glued on Dean.

“No, she’s not! She’s one of us now, she’s a Winchester!” He snaps back.

Hearing those words makes my heart flutter but it sends Lucifer over the edge. His eyes glow a red so bright that I’m sure the color will be burned in the back of my retina for days to come. He balls his hand into a fist and twists it sharply. 

Dean screams as the unmistakable sound of his rib bones crunching and breaking under the angel's grace bounces off the walls, followed by a series of pained whimpers, drowned out by Sam and Cas’s protests. 

“I SAID, ENOUGH!” my voice echoes around the room. With a sudden surge of grace, Lucifer is shoved halfway across the room. Dean, Sam, and Cas are released from his hold, falling to the floor. The storm stops and all is quiet for just a moment.

Dean clutches at his ribs and attempts to stand, but collapses onto the ground in immense pain. Sam and Cas rush to his side and help him to his feet, throwing his arms around each of their shoulders to help him stand. The three of them look at me in shock, Dean seemingly more amazed than the others.

Lucifer, on the other hand, is beaming, clearly impressed with my sudden surge in power. “Look at y-” Lucifer starts with a cocky smile.

“Shut up!” I interrupt him, shooting him a warning look.

“I’m tired of everyone treating me like I’m some prize to be won!” I yell, angrily looking between the two of them, disgusted with the little show they put on tonight. I try to catch my breath as I collect my thoughts.

“I’m my own person, and I decide my destiny! Not you,” I turn to look at Luce, images of our amazing dates together play like a movie in my mind, how he makes me feel like I'm the only girl in the world, the only thing that matters to him, and the powerful connection pulling us together like magnets. I can just imagine spending eternity with him, exploring where my powers could take me, seeing how deep our connection goes, and what the next millennia together has in store for us.

“Not you,” I look at Dean. Memories of my nights with him flood back, the way he was always there when I needed him, the way he makes my heart flutter every time I look at him, the way I crave him in every sense of the word. It’s no use denying the feelings I have for Dean, and what I wouldn’t give to spend the rest of my days with him, watching him grow old and showing him what it really means to be loved.

“And definitely not fate.” I raise my head high and frill my wings out to their full extent, refusing to hold myself back any longer.

“It’s my choice, and I choose…”

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[chloe-caulfield94]

Specific love versus general attachment

I love finding parallels between Life is Strange and other stories. Recently I found one such parallel in a most unexpected place – while re-watching the Matrix trilogy. In Matrix: Reloaded Neo was presented by the Architect with what was essentially the Bae vs Bay dilemma. And he chose Bae, without a moment’s hesitation!

In one of my previous posts I argued that in any trolley problem, the moral solution is not to pull the lever, as nobody has the right to judge the person on the side track unworthy of survival and to deprive them of their life, even if it would save the lives of the people on the main track. No matter if it’s one life versus a hundred, or a thousand. Of course, you could keep raising the stakes. One life versus a million. One life versus a billion. The most extreme trolley problem would be the one in which one life would be pitted against all other human lives in existence – one person on the side track, the entire human race on the main track.

Neo was presented with such a dilemma. Sacrifice one person or the entire human race will die. He was told by the Architect, the program in charge of the Matrix, that a system crash was imminent, which would kill all human beings connected to the Matrix, thus wiping out mankind for good. Neo was then presented with two doors. One would lead him to the Source, a part of the Matrix Neo, being the anomalous Chosen One, had to reach in order to prevent the crash. The second door would lead him to the part of Matrix where Neo’s beloved, Trinity, currently found herself in mortal danger, pursued by the murderous Agents. Neo was told, in no vague terms, that he could save mankind from extinction, but to do so, he had to leave the woman he loved to die alone.

I reject the notion that Neo didn’t believe the choice he’d been presented with was real. Neo had no reason to doubt the Architect’s words. On the contrary, he quite clearly believed that the Architect told him the truth. In the last moments of the movie Neo relays to Morpheus a warning of an impending machine attack against Zion, which is another thing the Architect told him about. If he believed the Architect’s words about the attack, he also believed his words about the system crash. Why the system crash ultimately didn’t take place is of secondary relevance. Many things in Neo’s cycle went differently than in previous ones, in no small part thanks to Agent Smith serving as the wild card. What is important is that Neo believed the choice was real. The woman he loved or the entire human race.

Neo immediately, without a second thought, went for the door leading to Trinity. The Architect mocked him for being an irrational, primitive being driven by chemical reactions in the brain.

I know the Architect scene in Matrix: Reloaded is often cited as the foremost example of overwritten dialogue which talks a lot but doesn’t say much. Having re-watched it, I disagree. I think the style of the Architect’s dialogue fits his character (he’s a program, his mind is completely alien to us humans – it’s no wonder he speaks in a way difficult to understand). But the contents of his dialogue lines I find genuinely thought-provoking.

In his speech, the Architect contrasted two types of attachment to others. Love and “general attachment”. He said that Neo was different from the previous Chosen Ones. Because while all Chosen Ones felt a profound attachment to the rest of mankind, those who had come before Neo had only experienced it in a very general way. But Neo’s experience was far more specific. Instead of the general attachment of his predecessors, he felt a specific form of attachment. Love. His love for Trinity.

The Architect was able to comprehend general attachment. When Neo asked him what would the machines do if they lost humanity as their primary power source, the Architect replied there were levels of survival he was willing to accept. If the machines lost their source of power, many, perhaps most of them would die. But some would survive. Their kind would live on. That’s the only thing that mattered to the Architect. Because he was only generally attached to his kind. But he was unable to care about specific machines. He was incapable of love. Of caring about individuals. It was an alien concept to him. Something he ridiculed as a result of chemical reactions in the brain of a primitive creature. In the Architect’s mind, rational creatures never form specific attachments, only general ones.

I am fascinated by the Bae vs Bay dilemma, because to me it seems so obvious. Of course you’re not going to leave your friend to die alone, abandoned and afraid! But to my surprise, there are a lot of people for whom the choice is a no-brainer in the other direction. How could you not sacrifice your friend to save many others? This sentiment always baffles me. Not only the willingness to sacrifice a friend, but the conviction that it’s the obviously right thing to do?

I cannot comprehend that mindset. I cannot understand why Neo would leave his beloved to be murdered by Agents, even if it would save the entire human race. I cannot understand why Max would leave Chloe to be murdered by Nathan, even if it would spare Arcadia Bay from the Storm.

Because if you are unable to care about a single person specifically, why in the world would you care about a group of people?

If you are unable to care about a loved one or a friend to the point you would do everything to save their life, then you are most certainly unable to care about a group of people to the point you would perform what is essentially human sacrifice to save them.

If you are unable to love one person, you are unable to love a group of people. This is clear when we contrast Neo with the previous Chosen Ones. Neo was capable of love. This allowed him to defy the Matrix and ultimately liberate mankind from its shackles. The previous Chosen Ones, who were only capable of general attachment to others, chose to perpetuate mankind’s enslavement by the machines. Because they didn’t love their fellow human beings. How could they? They were unable to care about individuals specifically. So they were unable to care about collections of individuals as well.

If Neo was unable to care about Trinity to the point he would do everything to save her life, why would he care about mankind in general to the point he would go through all the hardship associated with being the Chosen One to save it?

If Max was unable to care about Chloe to the point she would do everything to save her life, why would she care about Arcadia Bay in general to the point she would be willing to push someone in front of a barrel of a gun just to spare it from a hurricane?

I’ve never seen anyone accusing Neo of being a monster, or a sociopath or selfish or any of the other epithets lobbed at Bae Max, even though Neo chose his own Bae over a million Bays. And I completely understand him. The mindset allowing one to leave someone they care about behind, to die alone, is incomprehensible to me. As if it was the mindset of a completely alien creature, like the Architect.

[thehotelier]

On Housebroken

“Every true novelist listens for a suprapersonal wisdom, which explains why great novels are always a little more intelligent than their authors. Novelists who are more intelligent than their books should go into a different line of work.” -Milan Kundera

The subtext of this short quote that my friend posted the other day provided a pretty neat angle for thinking about the job that artists do for society. While some of us are working, making dinner, following up with people, or addressing every little aspect of our lives that are slowly degrading, artists are creating the conditions for profound truths of the world to speak through their bodies for a brief moment and then document it. These moments of oneness with profound truths are not unique to artists or writers, but a good artist is one who can capture that moment and communicate it through their medium, in a way that allows us viewers to access by interacting with their work.

It explains a thought that I’ve had quite regularly about my own work. People say “hey I like this music you’ve made” and my first inclination is to respond with “yeah isn’t it great?!”. If I were to say this aloud, it would probably either confuse or upset the person who would expect an either humble or self-debasing acknowledgement. But my excitement about my work, and part of the reason I had listened to some of my own tracks non-stop, was because I didn’t feel like it was something I had created. I didn’t feel responsible for it existing insomuch as I feel responsible for regurgitating historical trivia or making box mac and cheese. It’s never felt like trying very hard, making music. Not that I’m an expert or anything (I’m a clunky writer and not particularly skilled with any instruments) it’s just that my process has never been about working hard, and has mostly been about creating a concoction of circumstance to allow magic to happen or god to speak through me. And when that happens I’m sort of like “lol cool.”

So to me, a non-god, my “work” is almost certainly smarter than I was when I wrote it. Once I had witnessed this process fruiting many tracks that made me look smart, I tried not to shortcut that process moving forward. However, I figured this out maybe midway through writing Home, Like Noplace Is There and there has always been one track that stood out as blocky because of this, and that’s Housebroken. Housebroken was the first track I wrote for that record and it got a fair bit of play time in the many acoustic sets I had played prior to releasing that record. It was well received then, but I had sort of always felt an inclination to have to tease out the conversation around it.

The song material attempts to unveil the cycle of abuse, trauma, and conditioning. It was inspired by the trap of entering into the public forum to discuss justification for accountability processes, a model that was ahead of its time and kind of still is. Too often call outs of terrible behavior would evoke normies to object with some version of “this person did something fucked up because fucked up things were done upon them.” It was a trap to engage with this logic but us punks and anarchists did anyway because we knew we were on the right path and truth would prevail. Unfortunately, we didn’t have enough back-pocket rebuttals handy to truly win those arguments for our apolitical tumblr bystanders.

Housebroken, through an allegory of a naive utopian speaking to a domesticated dog, went on to say that empathy alone is not strong enough to dam the river of harm in which we swim. At least that’s my interpretation. My interpretation, however, has the privilege of being granted the benefit of the doubt by its intent. Some other interpretations were not as generous.

I remember stumbling across a podcast (a flock of men) who were in the business of bad faith critiques of scene music. Their interpretation of Housebroken likened domestication to abuse in the home and abuse in the home to abuse of women by men. Through this lens, the use of the dog as a literary device was describing women as dogs, which is of course not cool, boo-boo.

The common interpretation by those who enjoy the song is actually not even that far off from the one above. The slight deviations come in the form of domestication not necessarily abuse in the home, or abuse in the home not necessarily being abuse of women by men. But even within these more favorable framings, there was still a path to an unfavorable interpretation which some had found in the moment where the narrator kills the dog. For me, this was actually a lazy way of saying “we can’t divert the flow, we can only break the cycle.” But it’s over dramatic, inconsistent, and a cop out. The dog probably should have eaten the naive utopian narrator, but then who sings the ending??

This was where my analysis ended when Hotelier decided to stop playing this song. I couldn’t really reconcile which interpretation should be given the most priority, mine or the fans. We had a couple of odd interactions with legitimate die-hards about this song at the time. I figured it would be a good faith gesture to let them be in the driver seat a bit for this one and we gave out some benefit of the doubt. To some, this might have seemed like an odd choice to give a few fans this much say over our artistic decisions. But I was 22, and truly trying to figure out the best way to navigate these fan artist relationships where the principles of consent do not map so cleanly. Looking back, I still think it was fairly wise to avoid intentionally grinding up against the edges of our fans who were so willingly giving us their vulnerability. And that’s how Housebroken got nixed.

Now admittedly, this is one of the Hotelier songs I felt like I had a hand in writing, that is to say that I wasn’t simply a conduit for messages containing more wisdom than I possessed. I remembered being inspired by an idea, but only having the distance from Akron to our recording session in Chicago to get down. We drove overnight in a short school bus with 7 people drunk asleep, and strewn about on the seats and carpet. I was on the couch in the back forcing that ditty out. Once it was recorded that acoustic version, we just built the album version around it and stuck it in the most likely place.

Every other song on that album was given time, was meditated on, was never written but allowed to write itself. The lyrics were many words I have never said before in any real order. Writing the rest of that record genuinely felt like many therapy sessions. I remember sensations in my body that I haven’t felt since, like being a moment from sleep and being suddenly massively awake and strangely cold, suddenly crying at phrases from a stream of consciousness, and what felt like a rattling marble at the top of my spinal cord. Writing Home was like simultaneously realizing trauma held in my body for the first time and quickly unknotting it. It was pretty absurd. I could have been possessed but it would have been by something pretty nice. I understand why people could believe in angels. Through your own actions, you induce some state of consciousness in which everything makes sense, and everything is okay, and its wise and kind and all of these things that might feel so unlike you. How can someone have experience and be expected to believe that that is just them. In a period of time when we still don’t understand consciousness. Could be angels, babe.

It Never Goes Out was an album that shouted ���As long as we have each other, the world stands no chance.” Turns out, the real weight of that statement rests on “as long as”. It’s really amazing the amount of absurd scenarios a bunch of suburban beatnik cosplayers in early adulthood can find themselves in. One of us got kicked out of our home by our parents. I showed up in my underwear to lighten the mood not expecting her dad to come out and try to bust through my car window. I remember us trying to figure out how we were getting home from the mall because the only friend who could drive was having a personal moment in the back seat and not talking to us. Lots of “you don’t get me”. Lots of “I’m going to kms.” I’ll skip a lot of details that I can’t or don’t want to remember, but it was clear we were too big of a mess to change much.

And here we circle back to trauma not as a thing done to us by bad people, but now by people we love with every ounce of our being, people we wouldn’t throw out in front of a moving car. Many people will have their own interpretation of what that means to them, and I’ll let them have it. I’m just the messenger.

[casualsavant]

20 Questions More

This is a deeper and more detailed version of the 20 questions for AO3 fanfic writers. Thanks to @TetsujinOtaku88 for the tag. I'm doing this #Supercorp style.

1) How do you keep getting ideas for your ship / fandom?

I think the Supercorp Fandom is pretty self-perpetuating because the canon needs to be fixed and there's lots of AUs to put them in. Plus there are so many talented people whose art, video edits, and fanfic fuel each other.

2) Which authors inspire you in your fandom, and why are they so freakishly good?

Following the answer above I think the beauty of Supercorp is that it attracts really talented creators. I love reading @searidings, @jazzfordshire's fix-its and canon-adjacent stuff, @lgbtimelords, @coffeeshib, @mycatismyeditor, and @snowydragonscave just to name a few. They have such a deftness of language and an understanding of the characters that it's hard to stop reading!

3) Aside from the characters of your main ship, who are the characters you love to write?

I really love Sam Arias, Jess, and Alex. I wish I could get a better handle on Kelly because DANSEN forever. I also have a soft spot for Eliza and a deliciously evil liking for Lillian.

4) Are there pairings or tropes you know for sure you'd never write about? Which ones?

Karamel, Lames, Top Lena, Bottom Kara. To each their own. It's just not my thing.

5) What is your writing process and why is it cursed?

Carry around a little notebook to scribble ideas, lines, sometimes whole scenes. Figure out a rough outline / structure / plot. Do unnecessary amounts of research. Open doc file. Plunge into dismay and self-doubt. Watch the show. Get frustrated. Open the doc file. Be filled with despair and self-loathing. Get a blast of inspiration and productivity. Cycle through mental instability, writer's block, and actual writing. Get dragged by Kara and Lena to unanticipated places that derails what I intended to do. Sighing and doing what the muses want. The elation of completion. Struggling with summaries and tags. Posting. Crippling anxiety and running away from AO3. Lather, rinse, repeat.

6) What is your favorite part of your writing process?

The elation of completion. The unnecessary research is fun too.

7) What’s the weirdest thing you’ve had to research for a fic?

Cherry tree mutations and the structure of yakuza organizations in modern Japan.

8) Is there a particular writing rule you struggle with (grammar, spelling, tense, reality in general)?

Different tenses in the same document. Also it's and its.

9) What was your hardest scene to write so far and why?

Describing Kara's post-PZ night terrors and Lena’s fever dreams in Deliverance. Also the action sequence at the end of that story was so difficult.

10) Have your characters ever done something you didn’t expect, changing your plot completely?

ALL THE TIME.

11) If you could converse with any of the characters, who would it be and why?

Both of them. After I come to my senses and out of a dead faint because I was meeting them at all. And then I would die of sapphication.

12) What are some of the tropes or themes that you find yourself returning to in your writing?

Oh my usual tags are: light angst, tooth-rotting fluff, friends-to-lovers, Lena needs a hug, Kara gets a hug.

13) What's your most important resource as a writer?

Talking with other writers!

14) Can you share some of your strategies for editing and revising your work?

I usually give it some time before I edit so I can have relatively fresh eyes. Spell checking, punctuation, and grammar suggestions help you catch things but NOTHING beats reading it over yourself.

15) Which is worse: making the summary, picking the tags, or the anxiety when you post your fic?

Definitely the anxiety!!!

16) How do you define sucess for your fanfic - hits? Kudos? Comments? Bookmarks? Or just if you like it?

I think it's good to track kudos and I love getting comments. But ultimately I wrote for my enjoyment or for my peace of mind because the idea would not let me go.

17) Do you have a playlist for your favorite character / ship?

Nope but that's not a bad idea. 🤔

18) If fan art was going to be made from your work, which fic would you pick and which fan artist would you like to create it?

Wow I'd be thrilled if any of them got art. I am partial to the way @rustingcat draws Sakura blossoms though so maybe Cat for No Wrong Seasons.

19) How many WIPs do you currently have?

8 total. Finishing "the Arcana", "The Sound of Veracity" (Part 2), Prequel and Smutilogue of "Always With Me, Always With You", Supercorptober 2023 "Art" prompt, SG Mayhem fic, the Telepathy/Empathy fic, the Body Swap fic.

20) What's your advice to new fanfic writers?

I posted my first Supercorp story in March 2023 feeling it would be completely lost in this large fandom and having no hope for it. I felt that I was too late. That everything had been done (and done better). I did find readers who liked and some who really loved my work. But mostly I learned to write for myself, which has truly been a gift. Write for yourself. Write what you'd want to see. You'll get better at it over time.

Tagging but no pressure: @fyonahmacnally @nottawriter @chaotic-super @luthordamnvers @fazedlight

[roxineedstosleep]

Baby Trap... by Aemond Targaryen

I remembered a headcanon I have from Lucemond.

So, for no one in the fandom it is strange to think or consider possible that the Targaryens have a breeding fetish.

But, for some reason, I've seen several posts on Aemond having this fetish. How did they get there? I don't know, but he gave me sooo many ideas.

Which brings me to the next thing, I'm pretty sure Aemond would fuck with Lucerys' contraceptive methods to get him pregnant, thus trapping him with his baby.

so... there it goes. --------------------------------------------

Aemond, no matter what universe it is in, whether or not Lucerys can be left with a baby inside her... he would look for the ultimate way to trap Lucerys with him permanently.

Of course, Aemond knows that he will become a careful father and will not look after anything other than his family, he really wants to be a father. Only that he takes advantage of his wish to use it as a kind of secret letter to keep Lucerys by his side.

So, he barely has the opportunity, he's going to take it. Believe me when I tell you that he will do everything possible.

Within historical canon time, should they be able to have a baby of their own: Aemond will make sure Moon tea is modified, changed, or simply make Lucerys forget to drink it. Or he'll make sure Lucerys never properly learns about how babies are made, so he can manipulate his concept until the time comes when pregnancy is safe and there’s not rick at all.

At the time, I feel like Lucerys may know that babies come when both adults come together, but he doesn't know everything in fine detail.

In some Alternative Universe within the same situation of the possibility of having a baby of their own, especially the modern one: Aemodn will make its pills just placebos and change them for prenatals, condoms will always have holes or are already spoiled, and it will pretend that they broke on the spot , he will give his boyfriend hormone pills inside his drinks or inside his food to make sure everything is ready. Aemond will keep track of his fertile dates, and all.

In the modern setting it's the only scenario where Aemond can't keep Lucerys fooled about the process of making babies, as it's a relatively more educated environment and I doubt Lucerys doesn't learn abput it outside his home; like the school.

Sure, all dark, of course. We are talking at the end  about how Aemond wants to make sure Lucerys can't leave him.

But only if Lucerys stays innocent about it.

What would happen if it was Lucerys not so? If our sweet boy actually, he thinks very similar to Aemond, but he didn't really take any active initiative about it.

Aemond does not realize that his boyfriend is always available on his most fertile days. He doesn't notice when his boyfriend avoids her leaving his bed or leaving it unfilled at all costs. Lucerys never peep about it, he do not mind at all.

He doesn't notice how his boyfriend takes half of the moon tea and throws the rest next to a pot inside the room. After all, boys cannot have babies, isn’t it? or simply the risk of having a baby is too low.

He doesn't notice how his boyfriend, his sweet boy, always lies in positions that facilitate the process of having a baby. Is just so¿uch a confy position.

As his little boyfriend never buys the condoms, even though Aemond always uses the broken ones every time or doesn't notice that he always asks him to use the old one found in Aemond's wallet. Those help in any way, right?

He never notices, doesn't notice when Lucerys always takes hormone pills "to stay on a regular cycle" that Aemond buy for him. Just do not tell Aemond that he might forget some of them.

[continuous-spec]

ME Fic: The Messages In Between Ch.1

Summary: Shepard and Garrus messages to each other throughout the events of the Reaper War.

Link: Ao3

Notes: GST: Galatic Standard Time. Cycles are one-day cycle of the Citadel per the GST. One Orbit has 40 Cycles. There are ten Orbits in a GST year. 2686 GS is also 2186 for the Alliance.

Galactic Standard Time: Cycle 20, Orbit 9, 2686. Day 6 of the Reaper War.

Garrus breathed in the stale air of his cabin, trying to relax in his makeshift cot. He had been without sleep for almost two days.

Four days since the Reapers hit Palaven and six days since they hit Earth. Six days without contact with the Sol system. Six days not knowing if Shepard was still alive.  

Garrus rubbed his brow plates, trying to push the thoughts of her out of his head. He needed to sleep. He had spent the last two hours stuck on top of a comm tower, sniping any reaper forces within scope of Vitcus' men—All while fixing the comm tower too.  That was somehow just this morning. Garrus' mind whirled with fog without sleep, trying to keep track of the time. He needed to rest, but the adrenaline still kept him stirring in bed. 

Just as he felt himself drifting to sleep, his omni-tool pinged dozens of times. Messages upon messages poured in. Almost all from the same source: Datapad Model OXIV, Alliance Addition.  Garrus shot up out of the cot, trying to scan the messages. The words shifted and moved with his exhaustion, but there was no way he could sleep now. 

***

[Datapad Model OXIV - Draft date GST: Cycle 30, Orbit 4, 2686] 

Garrus, It’s Shepard. I'm sending this out. Hotwired a datapad they’re allowing me to have to prep evidence. I doubt the Alliance is reading. I'm pretty sure they won't notice when this datapad goes missing, either.

Give the Hierarchy hell, and hopefully, we’ll get somewhere with it.

Send back if you can. I think this is going out? 

[Datapad Model OXIV - Draft date GST: Cycle 35, Orbit 4, 2686]

House arrest, you got to be fucking kidding me. Is this on the news? Can you see this? I’m sure Khalisah is having a field day with this.

At least Joker can still get on the Normandy. I'm stuck. Maybe I'll take you up on that offer to break me out. You know, we can steal the Normandy again, too, just like old times. 

[Datapad Model OXIV - Draft date GST: Cycle 5, Orbit 5, 2686]

You’d hate this. It’s all pointless jabbering. Tribunal after tribunal. They won’t listen. Aratoht is all they care about. I’ve shown them the proof. They keep putting their heads in the sand.

Do you know that saying? Does it even translate? It just means that, as always, they’re ignoring the real problem. Why is that not a surprise? 

[Datapad Model OXIV - Draft date GST: Cycle 15, Orbit 5, 2686]

Did you know today is my birthday? On Earth its April 11th. I'm only a little disappointed you didn't get me a gift. 

I think I’m 32 or 30. Does being dead count towards age? Do turians celebrate birthdays? 

30 is a big one, a big milestone for humans. When I was a teenager, I never thought I would get to it running with the Reds. I guess, technically, I didn’t get to celebrate it.  Humans don't generally celebrate it in a jail cell either. 

I just wish you were here with me for it. We could have shared another glass of wine. Among other things…

Right now, I’m so bored that I’m trying to figure out how to make prison wine. Hopefully, I won’t go blind. 

[Datapad Model OXIV - Draft date GST: Cycle 23, Orbit 5, 2686]

If I could go without hearing about the Reds for one more day, I might not scream. They have spent a week dissecting my time with the Reds. Seriously? I left them when I joined the Alliance.  I’m just some drugged-out teen junkie on Red Sand to them still.

When do we stop paying for the sins of youth? 

I hope this is getting to you. I hope you’re getting further than I am. Good thing you left. Imagine both of us in an Alliance interrogation room? 

[Datapad Model OXIV - Draft date GST: Cycle 25, Orbit 5, 2686]

Want to take any bets on how long until the Reapers are here? I'll give it two more months. that what like three orbits? You think the Councils cares? 

What are you wagering? How about we wager like we did with Strip Skyllian-Five? This isn't a bet I want to win this time though. Even if I like seeing you in your skivs. 

[Datapad Model OXIV - Draft date GST: Cycle 29, Orbit 5, 2686]

Still no answer from you. You playing hard to get Vakarian? 

[Datapad Model OXIV - Draft date GST: Cycle 37, Orbit 5, 2686]

The prison wine is nasty, almost as bad as the stuff you brought last time. Still not blind, although I am having visions of you pinning me up against the aquarium. Did I get you blushing yet? 

[Datapad Model OXIV - Draft date GST: Cycle 1, Orbit 6, 2686]

I’d like to think you’re just playing hard to get, and I’m not just sending these off into the ether. It's hard doing one-sided sexting you know?  

No one tells you how boring prison is, even with the datapad. I wish they’d give me a keyboard so I can practice. Also, to hotwire it to get a better signal to you. 

Now I’m starting to know why they try to limit how much electronics I get. It’s the Alliance's fault, they trained me how to do this. Yeah, that’s the excuse I’m going for. 

If you can, send a voice recording, I miss it. You I mean.

I miss you. 

[Datapad Model OXIV - Draft date GST: Cycle 35, Orbit 6, 2686]

God, it’s so annoying. They have these guards watching me constantly. What do they think I’m going to do? Fight someone? or someones gonna fight me? Ridiculous.

It'd be nice to have some privacy to take care of myself since you're not here. I guess I'll just have to think about you in the shower...

[Datapad Model OXIV - Draft date GST: Cycle 15, Orbit 7, 2686]

I got tarred and feathered today by the Brass. This is totally something humans do, not an expression like the sand one. Don’t look it up. Just believe me. 

 If I have to hear one more thing about the geth, I might blow a gasket. Okay, now that one is an expression, although, with the cybernetics, I think that might be possible for me. 

[Datapad Model OXIV - Draft date GST: Cycle 25, Orbit 7, 2686]

I got stabbed by a batarian. He cloaked into the base. Been in the med bay for a week now. Apparently, my heart stopped. I guess that’s twice now on me dying? Let’s hope we don’t get a third anytime soon.  

[Datapad Model OXIV - Draft date GST: Cycle 25, Orbit 7, 2686]

There was poison on the knife too.  So what is that twice now toooo that a batarian poisoned me? Who'se conting 

[Datapad Model OXIV - Draft date GST: Cycle 25, Orbit 7, 2686]

*cunting

[Datapad Model OXIV - Draft date GST: Cycle 25, Orbit 7, 2686]

*counting wow third times the charm

[Datapad Model OXIV - Draft date GST: Cycle 25, Orbit 7, 2686]

the morphine im getting is niceeee though

Who needs prison wine 

[Datapad Model OXIV - Draft date GST: Cycle 25, Orbit 7, 2686]

I misssssss you

[Datapad Model OXIV - Draft date GST: Cycle 26, Orbit 7, 2686]

Sorry, morphine brain.

I did end up figuring out how to make more wine from some apples. You can’t have it, obviously.

But I wish we could share another glass of achiral wine. Maybe you can get something a bit more pricey this time? I’m sure you're not just on a vigilante salary still. 

[Datapad Model OXIV - Draft date GST: Cycle 27, Orbit 7, 2686]

Patia Semmark. Besine Kodsoh. 

Those were the names of his family. He screamed them at me. The batarian I mean.

I think he wanted me to kill him. Now he’s in some cell on this base alongside me. 

Did I do the right thing? What if I am crazy? What if the Reapers were all in my head? 

Did they die for nothing? 

[Datapad Model OXIV - Draft date GST: Cycle 7, Orbit 8, 2686]

Sorry, I haven't sent it in a while. The stress is getting to me. Maybe you're reading this? My face looks like it’s burning a hole through it. I hope you find scars attractive too. 

I’m back on my home planet, but I can't sleep easily most nights. It was easier when you were with me in my cabin. I’m cuddling up on pillows right now, wanting them to be you.

At least the pillows are softer than you, Vakarian. 

But still, I need you here with me. 

[Datapad Model OXIV - Draft date GST: Cycle 36, Orbit 8, 2686]

It’s been almost a month since I’ve sent anything. Sorry, I haven't written. It was starting to feel more like a diary.

Sorry as well I don't think I even asked how are you doing?

How is your family? Did your mom ever get that treatment on Sur'Kesh? How is Solana and your dad? Did you ever get those paintings back from Vlyrica? I'm sure you're doing great things out there. 

I hope you're doing well. I'm thinking about you a lot.

[Datapad Model OXIV - Draft date GST: Cycle 39, Orbit 8, 2686]

I’m pretty sure I'm not getting past certain encryptions set up by the Alliance. 

This is why I could use you. You were always better at this kind of stuff than me. While you know I am the better shot and better looking, I’m pretty sure I am a better dancer, too.

Where was I going with this? Oh, right. I miss you. I hope you've missed me. I'm still waiting for you to break me out.

[Datapad Model OXIV - Draft date GST: Cycle 6, Orbit 9, 2686]

I guess I lost the wager. That a good thing right?

What is the news saying out there? They forgot about me and the Reapers?

Not that it matters. Nothings changed. We're getting nowhere. Six months and nothing to show for it. Almost two and half years of my life gone. First dead, now jailed. At least we made the most of it when I had a few free months together. 

[Shepard - Draft date GST: Cycle 14, Orbit 9, 2686]

They're here. Left Earth, on Normandy. Got Joker, and even Kaidan is back. We're getting possible plans for a weapon on Mars. 

[Shepard - Draft date GST: Cycle 15, Orbit 9, 2686]

Kaidan is badly hurt. Cerberus attacked us. We’re going to the Citadel if you're there. Meet me at the Embassy if you are. 

[Shepard - Draft date GST: Cycle 16, Orbit 9, 2686]

In the old docking bay. Kaidan's not of the wood yet, but stable. Just got all your messages you've been sending. I guess you never got mine either? Hopefully, we can talk now. Where are you?

[Shepard - Draft date GST: Cycle 17, Orbit 9, 2686]

Please Garrus, I need you. 

[Shepard - Draft date GST: Cycle 18, Orbit 9, 2686]

We're coming to Menae. It might take time to get there. Are you on Palaven? 

[Shepard - Draft date GST: Cycle 19, Orbit 9, 2686]

Come back alive, you promised

***

Garrus' mandibles held tight to his jaw as he poured through the messages. Cycles upon cycles, he kept sending out a message to her only to be met with silence. He even set a damn voice recording and vids, hoping those would slip by Alliance encryption. He guessed once she landed on the Citadel she got his message. Now, maybe, hopefully, with the comm tower back on, she was somewhere on Menae? Why else would the messages finally come in? To taunt him? 

Another ping rang out from his omni-tool, bringing Garrus out of his thoughts. General Corinthus needed him. The comms were back down. Garrus cursed under his breath. He hadn't even sent Shepard a message back. Hopefully, she was still out there on the battlefield. Garrus would make damn sure he was right behind her.