#and they develop whistles and call signs

[samdeancrimespree]

idk whose post this is originally and i know this moment was kinda played for laughs in-show but like. they are good enough at hunting animals to find and kill food to eat on a new fucking planet.

they are …. So calm in this situation. they each have their tasks and jobs and they complete them in an orderly fashion, barely even having to talk, like they have a routine for being alone in the middle of the woods. we don’t ever see them doing this, but they must’ve done it before.

at which age do you think john winchester decided his sons needed to learn how to fend for themselves in the Real World and left them in the woods with bows and arrows and knives and said “i’ll be back in 4 days.” cause i’m gonna say 10 and 14? dean might’ve been out on his own before that, with the vague excuse of “training” given to sam to explain his brothers 2 day absence. it was a semi-frequent, maybe quarterly thing throughout their childhoods. obviously not on a Schedule so they never knew when to expect it, but they were always kind of waiting for it. it was just A Thing They Did, just like everything else. a way to prove they were retaining all their training. this was the winchester version of a camping trip. for the first couple years, sam didn’t even know this wasn’t what camping normally meant. he just knew he really hated camping.

one time, john got distracted by a hunt and left them in the alaskan wilderness in october for almost two weeks. one time, john forgot it was sam’s birthday and dean spent any spare time he had looking for cool rocks and leaves to give sam, and promised he’d give him his real presents when they got back. one time, dean got attacked by a goddamn cougar in colorado and sam patched him up and wondered what the tentative friends he had made last week were learning in their tenth grade class. and he hated john but almost cried with relief when he came to get them. dean did almost all the hunting because the very first camping trip, sammy shot a rabbit in the leg and sobbed as it slowly bled to death, and dean never wanted to see that type of anguish again. he hated killing the animals too, but he could do it, because sammy had to eat. he knew john would question it if sam hadn’t improved his skills, so they would set up makeshift archery ranges to practice. and in his reports to john, dean would always give half the kills to sam.

over time, as they got more skilled, john would give them less and less supplies, until at the end they only had a couple weapons each, rope, matches, and a first aid kit. and bobby thought when the boys spent one summer building a fort but refusing the tools he offered them, they were finally being regular kids.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

healing touch

words: 700

warnings: established relationship, catcalling

“you've changed.” rafe observes, cocking his head to the side as you don't respond to his arrival home, or even budge at his words. your eyes are stared straight forward, blank and almost hollow, so unlike the vibrancy rafe is used to seeing when he looks at you.

“baby.” rafes voice is softer now as he takes a step forward, not trying to startle you from your place perched on the countertop, sat with your legs pulled up to your chest, chin against your knees.

“darling.” rafe steps closer again, and your eyelashes finally flutter as you notice him, looking up without even a crack of a smile.

“what's wrong?” he asks, suppressing the urge to get angry, to lash out at whoever-whatever, he doesn't care, made you feel this way. rafe knows he needs to stay calm for you, placing his hands on your hips and looking you in your chocolate brown eyes.

“i decided to walk today to vikeys.” you tell rafe, swallowing harshly.

“uh huh.” rafe knows you usually go to a friend's house when he's gone for the day, giving yourself something to do and also a chance to catch up when you can't be with your boyfriend.

“and i walked past that construction site. you know the new apartments being put up.” you wait for rafe to nod before continuing. “the… the workers there were on their lunch break and they…”

“what did they do?” rafe asks, harsh tone slipping into his voice, but you know it's not meant for you.

“they were just whistling at me at first. i tried to walk by faster, i crossed the street, but they just got louder. started talking about- about what they'd do to me.”

you don't have to say anything more for rafe to understand. he carefully pulls your legs down and pulls you to the edge of the marble countertop so he can press you against his chest, knowing that what you need at the moment is his touch, his hold.

“i got to vickys as soon as i could. i just felt disgusting, gross. she let me shower there and borrow a pair of clothes before driving me back home.”

“ill make sure to thank vicky for helping out my girl.” rafe presses a kiss to the top of your head. “you could have called me though, baby.”

“i-i know.” you look up at rafe, tears welling up. “i just wasn't thinking. i felt like i was in another body almost.”

“and how are you feeling now?” rafe asks, his hands gently petting up and down your back.

“better now that you're here.” you sigh out. 

“did you eat?” rafe glances at the clock, knowing he's home a bit later than usual. 

when you shake your head no, rafe pauses for a moment to think. “how about we order pizza and relax and watch that new season of the tv show you've been hounding me to see?” rafe sees a little spark back in your eyes just from the mention of relaxing with him.

“and im taking the rest of the week of work.” rafe grabs his phone out of his pocket to order pizza before you can argue, but there is one last piece of work rafe has to do before he can be satisfied.

--

you hum along to the song as rafes hand grips your thigh, the other on the steering wheel as he brings you back home from the country club, having went “golfing” with him, which really just means driving the cart around while he plays.

“rafe-” you turn to look at him with confusion when he turns down the wrong street.

“just want you to see something.” he says, pulling up to the construction site you got cat called in front of, the words echoing through your mind until rafe reminds you of where you are and who you're with with a soft squeeze of your leg, snapping you out of it.

you look at the sign in front of the fence. cameron developments.

“you… you bought whole apartment complex?”

“and fired the entire previous crew. they won't find work in this town again, trust me.”

“oh, rafe.” you launch yourself over the center console, kissing him deeply as your arms wrap around his shoulders.

“as much as i like kissing you, baby-” rafe says, mumbling against your lips. “how about we wait until we get home to continue this?”

you giggle and sit back on your seat as he speeds off.

sfw tags: @winterrrnight @ladyinbl00d @bejeweledreverie @ethanthequeefqueen @drewsephrry

[gamergirl929]

It's Different With Her (Everything Is Different With Her) (Kristie Mewis x Reader)

Anonymous Request: So happy to hear you're going to be writing again!

Could you maybe write a Kristie Mewis x reader where they constantly get teased by their teammates for act sweet and domestic, the reader getting a majority of the teasing for acting uncharactisticly soft around Kristie.

You rub your hands together as you make your way out of goal, the whistle blowing loudly, signaling the end of the game against Ireland, a game the USWNT won 3-2, a number of shots on goal being easily blocked by yours truly.  

You move down field, making your way towards your girlfriend, Kristie Mewis, shaking hands with the Ireland players as you go.  

Kristie’s blue orbs widen momentarily as your lips meet her temple, it’s only when she realizes it’s you that she grins. 

Despite her height, you towered over her, your stature making you the perfect person to place in goal.  

That build made you very intimidating to say the least, but it was your attitude the exacerbated that intimidation.  

Your stoicism was off-putting to some, you rarely smiled, and spoke only when you felt it was necessary, these characteristics making you nearly unapproachable.  

There was one person however, who wasn’t put off by your stoicism, wasn't put off by the fact you rarely smiled and rarely spoke, and that was Kristie Mewis.  

Unfortunately, during your time with the North Carolina Courage, you weren’t utilized in any such way, riding the bench more often than not.  

Gotham FC approached you soon after, promising to utilize you to the best of your abilities, which was enough to get you to sign a contract, anything was better than riding the bench with the NCC.  

Though the team welcomed you with open arms, you could tell that you, much like you had everyone else, intimidated them.  

Kristie Mewis didn’t seem at all intimidated, the woman welcoming you with a beaming grin, something you didn’t return, choosing instead to stoically nod in place of a greeting.  

Your first interaction didn’t deter her, and soon she was breaking through your hard exterior, a friendship forming between the two of you. 

Your friendship quickly developed into a relationship after a shared kiss on your hotel room's balcony one night, and that relationship had been going strong ever since.  

Kristie is unable to bite back a grin when you slip around her, grabbing a fan’s jersey that she was attempting to reach for before passing it to her to sign.  

“Thanks.” She whispers and you smile softly, taking the jersey and passing it back after you too scribble your signature along the fabric.  

Much to her and your own elation, after a month as Gotham FC’s starting goalkeeper, you were called up to the USWNT alongside Kristie Mewis, Lynn Williams, Midge Purce and Kelley O’Hara.  

You quickly became a goalkeeper the team could rely on, only second to Alyssa Naeher of course. 

Kristie’s eyes widen when you drop to your knees in front of her, a smile stretching across her face when she realizes her cleat had come untied, the laces now in your hand as you tie a loose knot.  

“You guys are so domestic it’s disgusting.” Emily comments on her way by and you roll your eyes, shooting the blonde a glare as you move to your feet.  

“We are not domestic.” You mumble as you turn back to the fans, eventually working your way towards the locker room.  

Regardless of your hard exterior, you enjoyed interacting with the fans, specifically the younger ones, ones who would realize that women could do anything if they set their mind to it.  

You make your way into the locker room, taking a seat in your cubby beside Kristie’s the blonde turning to you with a grin.  

“Always the last one in, huh?” She teases and you shrug, unable to bite back a smile.  

Kristie made it almost impossible to keep your hard exterior in place when she was around, her smile crumbling the walls you’d built around yourself.  

Kristie scoots towards you, the woman taking your hand as Twila summarizes the game and the things the team needed to work on.  

You, however, can’t take your eyes off of Kristie, you rarely ever could, something about her commanded your attention.  

You knew that something was love, but seeing as it was early in your relationship you weren’t ready to voice those thoughts, not yet anyway.  

Your eyes narrow when you catch sight of a number of your teammates smirking your way, their eyes darting from you to yours and Kristie’s joined hands and back.  

You growl, rolling your eyes as you turn back to Twila, though your hand remains in Kristie’s, the woman stroking your knuckles, aware that your hands may hurt after your time in goal.  

It isn’t long after that the team moves to their feet, everyone gathering their things to head to the bus, before Kristie can grab her bag however you scoop it up, a smile on your face as you sling it over your shoulder.  

“You know I could get that, right?” She teases and you smile, the woman’s fingers tangling with your own.  

“Oh, I know.” You smile, the woman giggling as she leans against you, the two of you making your way towards the bus under the watchful eyes of your teammates.  

Watching you turn to literal putty in someone’s hands was something they weren’t at all use to, but since you started dating Kristie, you smiled more often, something you did your best to fend off before your relationship started.  

You posted more on social media, pictures with the blonde during early morning runs, coffee dates and nights spent watching the sunset.  

You were a completely different person with her, and that meant relentless teasing from your teammates.  

“Oh, carrying bags now?” Megan teases as you make your way onto the bus, earning an eye roll as you slide into the seat beside Kristie, depositing your bags in the seats in front of you.  

“Shut up.” You mumble as you drop down into the seat beside your girlfriend, the woman taking your hand.  

“Ignore them.” She whispers, her cheeks flushing when you bring her hand to your lips, softly kissing her smooth skin. 

“She’s completely different around her, isn’t she?” Ashley whispers softly to Trinity, the younger woman smiling.  

“Love will do that to you.” Kelley comments, Emily’s lips splitting in a grin as she calls out.  

“Are you guys in loveeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee??” She snickers, and you roll your eyes, your cheeks betraying you as they flush blood red, thankfully, it goes unnoticed by your teammates.  

Instead of answering, the two of you choose to remain silent, unwilling to admit to anyone, including each other, that you were, in fact, deeply in love with one another. 

************************************************************************

It was no surprise to either of you that the teasing in no way relented during dinner, especially because the flirting between the two of you didn’t stop simply because you went to a restaurant.  

You grin as you lean towards Kristie, the woman leaning towards you.  

“I really like when you wear your hair down.” You whisper, the blonde giggling when you kiss the flesh behind her ear.  

“I’ll have to start doing it more often then.” She grins, turning to playfully kiss your jawline, your lips splitting in a grin.  

Kristie moves to her feet with a sigh, the woman’s head on a swivel as she surveys the restaurant.  

“I’ll be right back.” She smiles, giving your hand a squeeze before she moves out of reach, your hand and heart feeling empty without her presence.  

“You two are so gross.” Trinity teases, giving you a little nudge, your eyes narrowing as you shoot her a glare.  

“You can’t deny it Y/N.” Rose says from her place across the table from you, Lindsey who’s at her side nodding.  

“I’ve never seen you act the way you do when you’re around her.” She comments, earning a nod from Alex who’s sitting further down the table.  

“You’re a completely different person with her.”  

You hum, your brows furrowing as you stare down at the table, your heart fluttering in your chest, a smile stretching across your face.  

“Because it’s different with her.” You whisper, unable to hold back the smile that stretches across your face.  

“Everything is different with her.” You mumble, hoping your teammates hadn’t heard, but you knew they had.  

You jump when a hand settles on your shoulder, your eyes wide when you glance up at its owner, who smiles brightly as she takes her seat beside you.  

“What did I miss?” She asks and you shake your head, smiling softly as you take her hand.  

“Nothing.” 

************************************************************************

“It’s different with her. Everything is different with her.” 

Your words kept playing back in Kristie’s mind throughout dinner and even as the two of you entered your hotel room.  

What was it that was different with her, what was it about her that made everything so different?  

“Kris.”  

She stiffens, turning towards you, her brows arched.  

“Hm?” She hums as you make your way towards her, your brows knitted in confusion.  

“Is something wrong?” You ask worriedly, the woman shaking her head.  

Your eyes narrow as you take her hand, leading her across the hotel room and onto the balcony, a place that had become sacred to the pair of you since you’d shared your first kiss on a balcony during a late night and heartfelt talk where you stripped each other bare to one another.  

“What’s bothering you?” You ask, knitting your fingers together as you lean against the balcony’s railing. 

Kristie thinks it over for a moment before she speaks, her voice soft, her heart racing in her chest, the thought that you might feel as deeply for her as she did for you making the butterflies in her stomach flutter their wings.  

“What did you mean?” She asks, your head cocked slightly to the side, the sight so endearing she smiles.  

“What did I mean?” You ask, confusion written all over your face.  

“You said it was different with me, that everything was different with me, what did you mean?” She asks, her breath hitching as you back her up against the railing, her upper back pressing into the cold railing’s bars.  

You exhale loudly as you cup her cheeks, the woman’s cheeks flushing beneath your touch, your thumbs gently caressing her skin.  

“I meant what I said Kris.” You whisper leaning in, your forehead resting against hers.  

“EVERYTHING is different with you.” You whisper, bumping the tip of your nose against hers.  

“I’ve never looked forward to waking up in the morning as early as you do, but with you, I look forward to it. I used to think cafes were overrated, but now that I’m with you, I can’t imagine not going.”  You smile, Kristie’s lips splitting in a grin.  

“I used to hate social media with a passion, but now, I would never miss the chance to show you off.” You blush, the woman leaning into your touch. 

“I see everything differently when I’m with you. The world’s brighter, my heart is fuller, life is worth living.”  

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone, everything is different with you, you’re different Kris, and I...” You stop midsentence, your throat bobbing as the words you’d been itching to say make their way up your throat.  

“I love you.” You whisper softly, caressing her smooth skin, the woman’s breath catching in her throat.  

“I’ve never loved anyone; like I love you.” You confess, the woman covering your hands with her own as she leans in, your lips meeting in a tender kiss, the kiss knocking the air from your lungs.  

“I love you too.” She whispers against your lips as you kiss, the world falling away around you as the two of you get lost in the kiss.  

You’re so lost in the kiss in fact, that you completely miss Lindsey and Emily standing on the neighboring balcony, the two sharing a glance.  

“I guess they really are in love, huh?” Emily asks, Lindsey’s lips splitting in a grin.  

“I guess so.”  

It would be years later that they would retell the story of your first I love yous during your wedding day, your cheeks flushing when you realized you’d been heard on the balcony that night, but neither of you cared, not as long as you had each other, everything would continue to be different, because the world was different when you were with each other. 

[fayes-fics]

Mrs Bridgerton

Mrs Bridgerton Masterpost

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Modern AU. Your ex-husband craves you in a way you had no idea about until one fateful call...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors dni, explicit language and thoughts, dirty talk, sexting, sex tape, masturbation, pregnancy kink, smidge of breeding kink. Mentions of marriage, divorce, pregnancy, custody, parenting, heartbreak, emotions. Bit angsty maybe? Not sure.

Word Count: 4.3k

Authors Note: This is an anon request fill from January here. (tldr summary: ex-husband Benedict can't stop thinking about you) Nonny, I changed up a couple of details of your ask; the porn he watches is your old sex tapes from when you were married. Also, he doesn't call once he was spent; he accidentally calls very much in the act ;) I hope that is okay. Guys, I have no idea what this is; sorry. Thanks to @colettebronte for checking I haven't completely lost it and @eleanor-bradstreet for the gif used above. <3

“Mrs Bridgerton!.... Mrs Bridgerton!” A teacher calls out across the playing field as she jogs towards you. It takes you a few seconds to realise she is indeed addressing you. It's been a couple of years since you went by that name—almost a ghost from the past at this point.

“Ah, actually, it’s Ms y/l/n now,” you correct as she draws closer. “I’m, well, I’m divorced from Emilia’s dad,” you explain somewhat apologetically.

“Oh, I am so very sorry! I'm new here. I just asked her if her parents were here, and she pointed you out.”

“No, no, it’s okay. It's an entirely fair assumption to make,” you placate, shielding your eyes from the sun to catch Emilia's gaze and give her the thumbs up at the end of the grassy running track.

“Well, I just need one of you to sign this permission form for the trip to the Science Museum next week,” the teacher states, thrusting a clipboard towards you.

“Oh certainly, no problem,” you assure, taking the proffered pen and signing on the dotted line she indicates. You know how excited Emilia is about that upcoming trip, even though she insists on going to the museum with you or her father at least once every few months.

“Wonderful, thank you.”

You just nod as another teacher brings them all to the starting line with a blast from their whistle, and your focus shifts entirely to cheering on your five-year-old daughter in her first school race.

-----

He knows you haven't seen him, and he doubts even Emilia has clocked him, wearing a baseball cap pulled low as he is. He deliberately keeps a low profile when you arrive. He is here to see Emilia on her first sports day. Only that. Or so he keeps telling himself.

But then he sees you, and something in his stomach knots hard. It’s been more than two years, and still, every time, it floors him. A few months after your split, he took to using Eloise as the go-between for your shared custody arrangements and has never stopped. Since then, he has not seen you in person, too cowardly to face you. His biggest mistake was letting you go.

You met in your late twenties at a party hosted by mutual friends, and that night, he knew his life would never be the same. Something about the connection was instant and electric. He had the best sex of his life, right there in a spare room of a party. Both drunk and foolish, you didn't use protection. So it was only a few weeks into your burgeoning relationship when you found yourselves staring dumbfounded at a blue and white stick that would alter your lives forever. You married quietly two months later at the town hall, with just a few family members and close friends attending, neither of you wanting a big fuss. It was a big gamble in many ways, but you were both willing to try, crazily in love and filled with a youthful optimism that can be so blinding.

All was well until parenting a newborn drove you both to exhaustion and beyond. A wedge grew between you, even as your beautiful daughter developed into the best miniature version of both of you, with his beauty and your brains. You tried to make it work. But bickering about petty things and distancing became the only constant in your dynamic. Part of him had hoped Emilia would be enough glue to hold you together, but it was too much to pin on a small child. Just after her third birthday, he watched his world crumble as you tearfully packed up your possessions and took the light from his life with you.

And now. Now it's a regret that haunts him every day. Replaying the mistakes he made over and over, the ones that meant you slipped through his fingers. Too preoccupied with his career frustrations and plagued by chronic lack of sleep to realise the damage before it was irreparable. He knows now, too late, that with a little more effort and compromise, perhaps you would still be together as a family. He certainly never stopped loving and desiring you.

So when the teacher calls out Mrs Bridgerton, his heart almost stops beating and, to his shame, there is a stirring in his jeans. God, he wishes that was still your name, so much so there is a bitter taste in his mouth as he watches you correct the teacher in an endearingly accommodating way. A large part of him wants to leap up and grab you, lift you into his arms, beg that you use the name again. His name. But he doesn't; he just lingers in melancholic reverie, recalling with perfect clarity how it felt to push the white gold band shakily onto your left hand as you recited your vows.

Then with a sharp nearby whistle blow signifying the race start, his focus is pulled back to why he is here. His little wonder, the centre of his universe. Emilia Bridgerton. The most beautiful person on the planet. 

“Go, Emilia!!” he shouts, transfixed as his little girl moves out ahead of the pack, unthinking of anything but supporting his baby girl.

-----

Your head cuts to the side, and you freeze. You would recognise that voice anywhere. And how many Emilia’s can there be in the race?

He's not looking at you; his whole focus is on the field, but you can't seem to look away. Not even to watch your precious daughter. You haven't seen your ex-husband in more than two years. Using his sister as a go-between just seems like the best way to deal with your residual guilt about leaving him. But now? One look and your insides feel like you are falling down a chasm, lungs suddenly too small for the breaths you need to take.

Time seems to slow like molasses as you observe him. He’s wearing a baseball cap, almost akin to a disguise, but you can see underneath it that profile that still makes your heart flutter. Too much, really, considering you are exes. But his beauty was never the problem; it was part of the reason you always stayed. Those soulful eyes would draw you back every time. Those eyes that now haunt you daily, the Bridgerton genes far too strong not to override all of yours. Emilia is the prettiest little female version of your ex-husband you could ever imagine, and it's both your greatest joy and your greatest pain point, living with a growing reminder of the person who still owns your heart regardless of how much you might wish otherwise.

Looking back now, leaving him was an impetuous decision made from a place of utter exhaustion, not able to see a way out of the treadmill your lives had become at that time. But pride stopped you from admitting perhaps you made a mistake, serving divorce papers before you could think too hard about it. He didn't contest and agreed to all of your terms of custody without a fight. You didn't ask for spousal support; you earned more from employment anyway, most of his income coming from his trust. You never loved him for the Bridgerton name or fortune; in fact, sometimes, it felt like you loved him in spite of it. 

And now, one look at him, and you are breathless and in a complete emotional and, yes, physical quagmire. Your body yearning for him, your traitorous brain supplying image after tumbling image of intimacy, the likes of which you have never known before or since—warm bodies wrapped around each other in ecstasy, that velvet voice pleading with you to come with him, for him, always so eager. It makes your chest heave so hard you have to look away to regain composure, doing so just in time for the universe to seemingly return to normal speed, as you watch Emilia cross the line, victorious in her first-ever race. 

You cannot help it; you leap up and cheer too. And she looks over, beaming and jumping up and down. Running towards you and throwing herself into your arms as you kneel with a huge grin.

“Mummy mummy mummy!!” she peals excitedly, her breath gusting hard into your ear. “I did it! I won!”

“I know; well done!” you exclaim, rocking her happily in your arms. “You did wonderfully!!!”

“Did I see Daddy?” she asks, craning over your shoulder. You tense and swivel yourself to follow her eye line, but where he was standing just moments ago, there is now just an empty patch of grass.

“Oh, I don't think so, my love; it was probably someone else’s daddy who looks similar,” you suggest, the lie feeling odd on your tongue, It's obvious he doesn't want to be seen, and a part of you is grateful to avoid an awkward meeting. Emilia is still scanning the crowd, unconvinced by your assertion. “How about an ice cream from the van over there?” you offer cheerily, wanting to distract her from looking too hard for him.

“Okay!” she chimes happily, squirrelling a warm little hand into yours and pulling you towards the pedestrian gate. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you spy a navy blue Jaguar pulling out of the other gate and know without a doubt it was him.

-----

He couldn't do it. He thought he could, but he feels the weight of your stare and has to leave. The minute Emilia crosses the line, he gives a little victory punch and takes off. Not able to face you. So much of him wants to, but the gutless part of him apparently resides in his leg muscles. Before he knows it, he is in his car and pulling out onto the West London streets, not daring to look back. It's not his day to pick up Emilia; that's still two days away. He would not want you angry for overstepping the agreement you have in place.

As he pulls up at a traffic light, his phone pings a match on the dating app Anthony bullied him into downloading last week. The temptation to fling his phone right out the window is strong. The idea of being with someone else, especially after the tumult of seeing you today, just feels wrong. 

The only person he has slept with since your divorce was the second biggest mistake of his life. Someone he met at a bar celebrating Colin’s last birthday after too many whiskeys. A close enough facsimile to you that, through the haze of alcohol, he let himself be seduced. The lizard part of his brain somehow convinced it was you, even as she rode him in a way that chafed. Nothing like the way you moved, positively undulated, on his cock. Regret clung to his skin, the fug of hangover already kicking in as he watched her wordlessly re-dress and leave almost immediately, never exchanging numbers. He never saw her again. The fact he called your name as he came was probably the majority of the problem.

The only thing that stops him from flinging the phone is all the history it contains. Pictures of Emilia growing up from a tiny infant to now. But also his text exchanges with you, that increasingly he finds himself scrolling back through on self-indulgent nights, back to when things were good, and you would send each other little notes of love interspersed with sexting that; even now, he can barely read without getting hard. Unable to resist, as he waits for the light to go green, a dozen or more quick thumb flicks upwards on the thread for your previous number, and he finds some of his guilty pleasures.

8 March, 3:25 pm

Y/N: You had better plough me over the kitchen table when you get home xoxox

4 April, 5:02 pm

BB: Tough work day, need you, babe

Y/N: How’s this, daddy? 

Y/N: [photo of your naked glowing, slightly rounded pregnant body]

BB: Fucking helllllll, I am one lucky man

Y/N: Come home, fuck me, daddy

BB: You need to stop calling me that…

Y/N: Why? I am literally pregnant with your child.

BB: Yeah, and that’s why it's so wrong…

Y/N: Just get here, pls. I am so fucking wet….

He is pinch-zooming on the photo, head tilted, his tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth… when a car horn makes him jump, the phone slipping from his grip and falling onto his emergent hard-on. 

The traffic light has turned green. 

With an apologetic nod in the rearview mirror, he drives off, shaking his head, knowing it’s probably very wrong to be looking at pictures of you, his ex-wife, and wanting to fuck you so bad that his foot leans heavily on the accelerator. His blood pumping hard, already knowing he will be taking himself in hand the minute he gets to his place.

-----

Emilia is happily smushing the cone of her 99 ice cream in her little fist as you walk the few streets to your sister's place, where you left your car earlier. She has kindly agreed to let Emilia stay tonight and have a sleepover with her cousins. 

Later, you have your first date since your divorce, and you’ll probably need the rest of the late afternoon to psych yourself up enough to go. You've already cried off so many matchmaking attempts that you had to say yes eventually, just to stop the incessant badgering from all angles. Strangely, this one is Eloise’s doing, and you are still slightly weirded out that your ex-husband’s sister is engineering your first date in more than seven years.

Waving goodbye a few minutes later, you slip into your car and sit for a few deep calming inhales, trying not to think of how much Benedict stole your breath earlier. Some part of you thinks maybe you just imagined him there, a fevered mirage, your subconscious telling you to cancel this stupid date idea and stay home with your two best friends, Ben and Jerry. But then Ameila seemed to think he was there too, and honestly, it feels like you don't know what to do about anything anymore. 

-----

He wastes no time, flinging aside the cap, tossing his car keys onto the hallway table and sprinting upstairs to his bedroom, only pausing to insert his noise-cancelling earbuds and discard his clothing.

He is already leaking a little when he throws himself onto the bed and fists his cock with a groan. His other hand is hovering over the play button on the video he definitely knows he shouldn't be watching, hidden in a nondescript folder.

Your soft giggle tickles his eardrums as the video jolts to life. It's one he shot of you on his phone on your honeymoon—it’s one of his favourites lately.

“Bennnnn,” your voice a teasing murmur as the screen fills with a glimpse of your breasts, his hand trying to take a sweeping shot of your body as you writhe underneath him, both of you buried in a soft glow under a tent of sheets wrapped around your bodies.

His own younger self chuckles loud in his ears, behind the camera as he is, both of your breaths loud as the movement becomes more pronounced.

This is him fucking you and filming it. The camera pans down, and there, almost too tough to see in the grainy low light, is his cock surging into you; the shot is never still enough to see in full detail.

Somehow the lack of clarity makes it more of a turn-on. Benedict whines low as his hand moves in a firm motion, jerking hard, losing himself in reminiscence of what it is like to be buried inside you, your scent, younger you panting hard, pleading quietly for him.

His hand speeds up, and he gasps as the video grows more urgent, the noises so loud right in his ear. He can hear the delicious sound of your wet cunt around his shaft, and it's like a sense memory, that viscous heated cling he can never forget.  

“Ben, oh god Ben, you are so good, fuck me harder,” younger you moans loudly on the video, and both Benedicts, the old and new, couldn't resist that siren call.

“Y/n, oh god, give me your all, y/n,” Benedict growls, screwing his eyes shut, just relying on the auditory experience of the video now. 

But not realising with his slurred speech; it's just given his phone a command…

-----

You are driving towards your place when your hands-free car display lights up with the last name you expect.

Benedict.

Your stomach plunges. Just like earlier when you found yourself staring at him and reimagining so many things you know you shouldn't. You reach over and click the little green button to connect the call, heart in your mouth.

“Ben?” you say his name softly, almost timid. Worried about what it might mean after that strange non-encounter less than an hour ago.

The noise that greets you makes every hair stand on end. It's a throaty groan. He seems to hiss your name, and all you do is frown as your car speakers vibrate with the sound.

“Ben, are you okay?” you check.

“Oh god, I am more than okay, baby,” he growls, and every inch of your body is rioting. “Just please, please don't stop, fuck you feel so good. So tight and hot. I want to live inside you,” the words panted, desperate.

Your foot slips hard on the pedal, and you almost crash into a damn tree. 

-----

Your voice sounds different in his ear, and there is a background hum that wasn't there before, but he is so close to something so intoxicating he doesn't think to open his eyes and check the video.

“Talk to me,” he pleads low, knowing you on the video won't respond but somehow still wanting to talk to you regardless, “tell me how you feel.”

There is silence and then a slight shaky exhale. 

“Ben.”

“Yes, yes, yes, say my name,” he pleads, leaking over his own knuckle as his hand becomes a frenzy on his cock.

-----

You pull over, quaking. There is only one reason he uses that tone. That's his bedroom voice, and fuck if it doesn't make you as weak now as it did back then. You can only assume his phone has accidentally dialled you while he is what? Masturbating? You flush so hotly at the very thought, and yet you can’t school what you say next. Your treacherous libido taking command of your lips.

“Are you touching yourself for me, Ben?” you breathe, and your clothing suddenly feels too tight, too hot.

Your speakers vibrate your seat as he groans loud and lewdly, and it's a beeline straight for your clit, now throbbing insistently against your car seat.

“Yes baby,” he moans and now, in the background, you can hear it, a slight slapping sound, his cock passing through his fist. 

Your pussy clenches instinctually, and you feel a heavy pull, a depth charge of lust. Your lips tingle with the thought of kissing him, running your mouth over his body, wrapping around that cock you remember so well.

“I want you to come for me, Ben,” you plead, a hand straying down between your thighs, scarcely believing what is happening, what you are doing so brazen, parked up on the street mid-afternoon on a Wednesday.

“I will; oh god, I'm going to come so hard,” he snarls. “Do you want it inside you?”

Your fingers glance your clit over your yoga pants, and the heat is overwhelming. “Yes, Ben,” you pant, “inside me, give it to me, give me more of your beautiful babies.”

What you are saying is taboo. And so truthful you don't think to censor it. You would bear as many children as he wants to fuck into you. Still, even now.

“But you are already pregnant with my baby darling,” his voice taking on a softer edge, more wistful, “and you look so, so beautiful.”

You freeze.

“Benedict?” you say quietly.

“Yes, my love,” he purrs.

“Who do you think you are speaking to?” your ask is awkward, screwing your eyes shut, your hand moving away from the apex of your thighs. Suddenly mortified, perhaps it's not you that he thinks he is speaking to after all. Oh shit, did he get someone else pregnant? The panicked bile rises until he sighs the following words.

“Y/n, my wife, my life. God, I miss you so much. I know this must be a fever dream; I know we didn't talk like this in the video, but fuck if it doesn't sound so real,” he ends so wistfully.

“What video?” your question is slow, a weird weight on your chest that is your heart pounding out of control.

“Our honeymoon, darling,” he moans, and you can hear he is still masturbating, although slower-paced now. “When you let me video us fucking. I watch it so much these days that I'm surprised it's not worn out. And yet I can't not; every time I fuck my fist, it's to you.”

“You watch us? Every time you…?” your hand clutching your chest now.

“Yes, my love. I miss you so so much. I should never have let you go. You are my angel, the love of my life, the mother of my child and the only person I ever, ever want to fuck.”

The confession knocks your whole world off its axis. And you crave him. The feeling is so utterly all-consuming you struggle to take your next breath. You have to go to him. You have to see him. It's not even a choice not to. Every fibre of your being needs him.

“Ben,” you murmur, “don't come for me yet; I want to fuck you.”

“You do?” the hope in that gasp makes you lightheaded.

“Yes,” you breathe, “I miss your cock so much.”

You scramble to throw the car into gear and pull out into traffic. You are about a minute's drive away or less if he is home. Something in your movements so very urgent.

“Tell me what you are doing,” you whisper, trying your best to pitch the ask just the right level of seductive as you race down the road, turning into his street.

“I’m fucking my fist,” he moans, “but I wish it were you, my love.”

“I'm almost there,” you pant, pulling into his driveway with almost a squeal of tyres. You grab your phone and jump out of your car, crushing the handset to your ear as you run up to his front door and punch in a code, hoping it's still the one he uses. The crest of victory is palpable as the lock beeps and relents, the door popping open.

“Keep stroking yourself gently,” you order as you close the door and start to disrobe as you bound up the stairs.

“Y/n…” his voice is suddenly tremulant “this…. This isn't a dream, is it?”

“No, Ben, it's not,” you breathe, and you are down to your underwear as you skid into his bedroom, panting.

His eyes are wide with shock as you stride across the room, his cock still in hand and utterly naked; he looks just as delicious as the day you married him.

“Hello, Mr Bridgerton,” you purr.

“Y/n,” he stutters, and it's everything—surprise, desire, hope, relief, yearning and ardent.

“Call me Mrs Bridgerton,” you shoot back, and the responding noise he makes is so utterly feral you almost orgasm without so much as touching him.

-----

Eight months later

“Emilia, not there,” Benedict chuckles good-naturedly.

“Then where daddy?” her pout turns epic as she hands the offending item to him. “You do it!” she huffs.

“Okay, hold still,” he laughs and slides the small tiara into her hair. “See? Just perfect,” he opines, dropping a kiss onto her chestnut tresses.

“I look like a princess!” Emilia exclaims proudly, twisting to look into the mirror.

“Yes, you do,” Benedict concurs. “A pretty princess bridesmaid.”

“The prettiest,” you agree from the doorway, and both heads turn around and greet you with mouths that gape open.

“Oh, Mummy, you look like a real princess!” Emilia gasps, running towards you and giving you a quick hug before skipping out of the room gleefully as her grandmother Violet calls her name from downstairs.

“You look breathtaking,” his tone full of wonderment as he slowly gets to his feet, his eyes never leaving you. “But isn't it bad luck for me to see you like this?” he adds with a flash of concern.

You move towards him, and him towards you, drawn together. “I think we’ve had all the bad luck we are going to have,” you smirk, very much enjoying the sight of him in a sharp, custom-tailored suit. “At least I hope so, seeing as we have this thing to deal with,” you raise an eyebrow, pointing to your five-month bump.

“Thing? Darling, I thought we agreed; his name is Henry,” he sighs in mock indignation, his large hands skating around the swell of your belly, his lips warm on your temple.

“When did I agree to that name?” you frown amiably.

“Last night,” he responds silkily, right into your ear now.

“Oh no, you can’t possibly hold me to that,” you decry. “Anything said when inside me is null and void, Mr Bridgerton; you know I can barely remember my own name at that point.”

His rich chuckle vibrates against your whole body. “Well, let me remind you….”

“I’m listening,” you sigh, eyes closing as you sway into his hot neck kisses.

“It's Mrs Bridgerton,” he rumbles. “Or it will be again in about an hour.”

“I can't wait”, you whisper. “Say it again.”

“Mrs Bridgerton,” A dark, slow tease. 

You are almost late for your own (second) wedding just downstairs.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus

[beyondthegame]

DEMO (coming soon...)

The referee brings the whistle to their lips, ready to kick off the game…

There’s no easy road to becoming an athlete. You of all people will know that. Now you’ve finally got your chance. From playing football in a muddy park during a rainy afternoon to signing the professional contract you’ve been dreaming of — the road to stardom is here. You can imagine it all now: being an athlete that jets across the world, having fans that wear your name on the back of their shirts; gaining sponsors and money, and… fame.

You’ve put pen to paper in London and now the ink has dried. It's official. You are an Inter City FC player. You’re starting your career as a professional footballer with a club that has objectives of their own. Winning the league. To the new club you’ve signed for, you’re the missing puzzle piece to their success. 

But, the beautiful game is more than just a mere ball at your feet. It’s more than just your manager and teammates. It’s the media, the opposition, the rivals and everything in between.

There isn’t anything you want more than this. To make a name for yourself on and off the pitch. To press your lips to the shiny trophies you’ve worked so hard for. To hear fans chanting your name in the crowd. To have a club that feels like a family.

Nothing can get in the way, that’s been your motto since you first started playing. Surely the beautiful game won’t ruin you when you’ve given so much to it. 

You just wonder whether it’ll be worthwhile.

Let the match commence…

This is an 18+ game due to explicit language, sexual themes, mention of sexual themes, mental health issues and more.

Customise and play as a male, female or non-binary; straight, gay, lesbian, bisexual, pansexual, graysexual, demisexual, asexual, footballer w/ the choice of your own pronouns.

Choose your footballer’s position: goalkeeper, defender, midfielder, or striker.

Pick your footballer’s public persona. Will the media adore you? Or will you keep them on their toes? Will they love or loathe you?

Did you make it due to hard-work or sheer talent?

Manager your social media presence.

Decide your footballer’s playing style and strengths: a player with flair? Or a no nonsense baller with physicality?

Play as a person of colour (this choice can have an effect on the story). Your gender can also have an effect in game. 

Travel the world with your football club that will become a family.

Romance any of the five romantic options; four of which are gender-selectable; male, female and non-binary. The ROs are: the rival, the teammate, the best friend, the idol and the heir — these romances will get the rumours starting…

Develop meaningful friendships, relationship… or even hook-ups.

Take the sporting world by storm. Do you play football for the fame? Or for your love of the game?

THE RIVAL

It didn’t start off as a rivalry. But you and Nikita/Navarro/Nevada Tallon weren’t the best of friends either. The two of you started at the same football academy, and whilst you were signed for an extra year, they were rejected. That was their first loss. For a while, they lost their dream. Forever: they lost you. Now it’s different. They’re all grown up and they’ve found a football team to call their own — A.C. United — the football team that happens to be the rival to yours. Football is full of history, it’s full of emotion too — and you and N have plenty of that to give, both on and off the pitch. Their one goal is to win. The two of you are, once again, fighting for the same crown. To be the best footballer in the city. Maybe even the world.

Maybe things will be different this time around between you two. The stone-cold glares and the snide remarks could dissolve into something else. Into something real and something beyond hatred.

THE TEAMMATE

You’re the newcomer. You’re waltzing into a team that’s somewhat established already, so having a teammate like Léa/Lando/Lakelyn Santos (their gender matches your mc's) to ease you in is always welcome. They’re the captain of Inter City and they’re a bit of a media darling. Graceful on the pitch, and even more graceful to the press. They’re confident, assured, calm and collected. But, beneath all that lies something else. It’s been a while since someone’s seen the real them. They were burned in the past, all because of a well documented break-up that took a lot out of them. Since then, L has been sworn off of falling for another athlete again, and they're keeping everyone at an arm's length. Beyond football, it’s not easy to get close to them.

But if you did, what a powerful couple that would grace the footballing world.

THE BEST FRIEND 

You know how hard it is to be an athlete. Milan St. Clair knows it too. Since becoming best friends in your twenties, you know you’ve both had the same goal. Whilst they are trying to conquer the tennis world and you’re making it in football, they’re the one constant that remains. The one who is familiar and comforting. Maybe the two of you could’ve been something more, or maybe your passionate personalities for your sports just got in the way. Milan’s rising through the tennis ranks now, they’re becoming more known. Their game continues to improve more than anyone ever expected. They have Grand Slams in their sights.

But you are right in front of them. You could both cross that line, take that next step and become more than friends…

THE IDOL

Cypress de Vera, known for their precise and thunderous tackles — Cypress is footballing royalty. Their potential was high, their talent was even higher — they’ve set records for the ages. But, their career came to an abrupt end after tragedy. Despite all that, football is still their life, they live and breathe the sport. They are always going to be idolised. You idolise them and so does the press. The media still want to know what the great Cy de Vera is going to do next — and now they’re at Inter City. Back at the club that gave them everything, to steer them to success, only this time it won’t be as a player.

Stern and hard to impress, Cypress de Vera only has a championship title on their mind. But sometimes you need to lose focus, let your guards down and just feel something more than a ball on the tip of your toes.

THE HEIR

Estelle/Evren/Everest Acevedo. They’ve been involved in football all their life, but not in the same way you have. Their father is your new manager. E has riches, fame, and a powerful last name — but take it from them, it’s not all its cracked up to be. They’re in a world that’s entirely their own, they model, sing and now their passion has shifted to wanting to write a bestselling novel. Their life has been a whirlwind, and honestly, if the world came with an off switch they’d hit it immediately. But they like to have their fun: their sharp tongue, constant media presence, and attraction to chaos means they ignore their father’s footballing legacy and will continue to make a name for themselves. E has been branded as trouble and it's a current name they quite like.

There’s more to E than meets the eye, and they’re desperate for someone to see it. Give them a chance, peel back the confident persona. You’ll be pleasantly surprised…

[aquatint-101]

Random kataang headcanons

Awkward early relationship Kataang dating headcanons: Okay so the first big thing Aang does after the war is delivering ceasefire messages from the Fire Nation while Katara goes home to rebuild, and they exchange SO MANY LETTERS Their letters are so long with so many crossed out parts because they're trying to be romantic but all they end up doing is rambling about their daily lives Aang always signs his letters "yours" and Katara signs hers "with love" (Aang actually squealed when he got his first letter from her) Aang will get her ingredients for medicines she wants to try making that the SWT doesn't have and this one time he sends her a watercolor paint set from the Fire Nation and Katara is In Love Katara sends back lots of handmade stuff, and once she gets the hang of using her paint set she starts making cute little pictures of stuff she sees When they do reunite they spend most of their time in the SWT, so their PDA isn't ridiculous but expect lots of tight hugs they're suddenly too shy to give The first time Aang wears a parka he looks so cute Katara feels her heart is going to explode They do that thing where they're holding hands and looking away from each other while blushing furiously Katara kind of acts like she always has (compliments, hugs, cheek kisses) but when Aang starts mimicking that behavior Katara.exe stops working They are so shy that Sokka dies from secondhand cringe Speaking of Sokka, he will try to assert his dominance as Katara's older brother, like sitting between them when they're making heart eyes at each other Katara actually starts calling Aang "sweetie" out of spite just to make Sokka feel awkward, and Aang catches on because he also wants to make Sokka suffer, and it takes years for it to develop into an actual nickname they use When Katara gets into charcoal she tries drawing Aang but she gets so fed up with his intricate tattoos that she literally starts crying oh god Aang is in love with her and knows it but he's too scared of saying it so he'll keep whistling I love you in an Air Nomad whistle code, and he starts screaming internally when Katara repeats it without knowing what it means You would not look at these two goobers on a date and think that they'd kill and die for each other The first time they try making out it doesn't work because they're smiling so much A lot of the things they used to do casually, like training together or sparring or even just cuddling, become a little awkward but they grow out of it and become more comfortable with each other Aang tries to flirt, it Does Not Work, Katara tries to flirt, which somehow goes even worse because she takes advice from Suki and Mai This phase passes, like all trying times But yeah Aang and Katara from ages 13/14 to 15/16 are just two babies who love each other so much and are trying to show it but have no clue how

[stars1997]

Lover Boy - Part 1

Warnings: None

Pairing(s): Jeremy Swayman x Fem!Reader

Summary: Y/N Ullmark gets a job with the Bruins as their new photographer. They haven't seen each other in a few years, some things have changed. What happens when her brother's best friend develops a crush on her?

________________________________________________

“Hey guys today’s media day as you know, we gotta get our roster shots. We have a new photographer so do me a favor, be nice to her, she’s ullmarks sister.” I heard Brad Marchand say from inside the locker room. A series of cat-call whistles went off in the locker room before I heard my brother clear his throat. I roll my eyes. Here we go, I think to myself. “Completely off limits to every single one of you. Don’t even think about it.” He says. The whistles continue and I let out a laugh a little louder than needed. The locker room went silent. “I guess I’ll come in now,” I said, stifling the giggles from seconds ago. “As you guys know I’m Y/n Ullmark, your new media girl. So if you guys could suit up and head out to the hallway in 20 that would be great!” I say, and just before walking fully out of the locker room, I saw someone I recognized, Swayman. The last time I saw him was when he first got signed and became best friends with my brother. He looks a little older now. We locked eyes, he gave a smile and a wave which was returned before I headed to the hallway to set up. I set up my camera stand, the lights, and the background as the guys were lining up. A few of the boys jokingly hit on me, but I took it lightly. I could tell I was going to love this job. I was down to the last two guys which were Pasta and Sway. After photoing Pasta it was just me and Sway in the hallway. “Y/n, it’s been so long. How was school?” He asked. “Ah, he speaks. School was awesome but it definitely had its ups and downs. I’ve been keeping up with stats, you guys have been doing really well. Are you excited to be in net for the rangers game tomorrow? I hear they’ve got a new bruiser, Matt something?” I asked while fixing the lighting for his photo. “Matt Rempe, yeah I’ve heard of the kid. Make sure you get my good side tomorrow. No bad angles.” He joked. I laughed and playfully pushed him into position for the photo. I snapped a few good headshots for the roster and some full body for the Instagram, which I now run. Most of the photos weren’t usable since he kept making silly faces at the camera but those were the photos I knew the fans would adore. After taking his pictures he walked back to the locker room and I started putting away the lights and backdrops. This took longer than I thought it would. Almost all of the boys had left by the time I was almost done putting it all away. “Hey, Y/n do you need any help with all of that?” Sway asked from down the hallway, walking out of the locker room in jeans and a flannel, while putting on his hat, flipping so it's backwards. “Oh no its okay, I’m almost finished.” I responded with a smile. “Are you sure, its really no bother.” He said. “Y/n, is this guy bothering you?” My brother asked, stifling a chuckle as he walked down the hallway towards us. “Hey Bubba, Sway asked me to go get drinks with him, would you mind putting the lights and tripod in the closet?” I asked my brother sweetly, watching Jer’s face drop into a puzzled expression out of the corner of my eye. “Wait, what I-“ My brother started. “Thank youuuu.” I interrupted, grabbing Sway's hand and pulling him toward the exit. I turned around to see my brother still standing there shocked. “No need to worry bubba its just as friends, promise.” Once we walked about of the arena I let go of his hand. “Alright tendy, where are you taking me for drinks?” I asked as we make the short walk over to his truck. “Well, since I don’t have much of a choice I was thinking Brock’s bar. Have you ever been?” He asked unlocking the doors and opening his own. I opened mine and grabbed the handle at the top to pull myself in. “Oh come on Jer don’t act like you don’t love my company. I’ve been once or twice but I don’t really remember those nights honestly.” I joked, and we both laughed at the hard truth while he started the truck.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request the students of Jujutsu Tech meeting Gojo's lovely s/o?

She's a gentle and sweet woman wielding the deadly ability to manipulate threads.

Another loud crash echo through the building as dust kicked up, then settled, around the coughing, injured high schoolers.

“Damnit! We can’t get close to him!”

“It’s not a question of close you idiot.” Nobara barked at Yuji, holding her shoulder; which she had landed on badly. “It’s that that thing has eyes in the back of its head and a reach for miles. We can’t do an ambush if we can’t sneak up on it.”

The special grade curse gleefully whistled. As if to agree with its prey. The hundreds of eyes littering its head, shoulders, and torso, scaling down its back, all quivered with enthusiasm at the idea of them trying to sneak up on it. Even with three of them, all with difficult tactical abilities, there was no way it seemed to break past it’s literally thousand-yard stare and wavey tentacle talons of arms.

“You guys make a break for it.” Yuji and Nobara both let out surprised grunts as Megumi stood. “Try to head for the front exit and meet Ijichi-san. Maybe he can get you back to campus and find someone else in enough time to still hold the curtain.”

“We’re not going to leave you here!” Yuji snapped. Furious at the idea.

Megumi sighed. Already made his decision that this was the best idea for everyone. His hands were already making the sign for Rabbit Escape, to give Nobara & Yuji coverage to get out, when the curse’s long arm reached out like a deadly accordion right at his head.

“Megumi!!”

The pair called out and caught Megumi’s attention. Causing him to look up just in time to see the hulking claw poised around his head to crush it. Just hanging there. Twitching. Like it was trying to close but couldn’t.

“My, my, my….” The sound of footsteps, and unmistakable voice of [Y/N] echoed through the room as she suddenly came out from the shadows. “I never pegged you for the heroics type, Megumi-kun. If I was a few years younger, I might develop a crush on you.” If the situation wasn’t so direr, Megumi would have blushed at his mentor’s wife complimenting him like that.

“Sorry to keep you kids waiting. Traffic was a bear. Although, I’m sure not as much of one as this guy.” The ‘guy’ in question growled and flailed miserably. Unable to move as it was suspended, apparently not of its own free will, in the air. “Those fools. Sending children to do a grow-ups job. It’s disgraceful.” Her hand reached out to delicately grasp and now visible tread in the room. Literal hundreds of red threads suddenly coming into view. Wrapped tight around the curse and pinned to any surface imaginable to keep it pinned. “Much like you. You’ve had your fun, but now it’s time to go. If you choose to go peacefully, I would have made this easier.” The strings pulled tighter in her grasp. Cutting deeper into the curse in a strangle hold. It’s once gleeful cries now one of painful screams. “But you’ve hurt my husband’s precious students. I can’t let that go unpunished. I’m usually a gentle woman. But since you’ve chosen violence.”

The strings tighten and tighten and tighten. Pockets of flesh bulging at their pinching crosshairs before their burst. The screams becoming a gurgling sound as they tighten around its throat. Until, eventually, the strings all pull together too tight, and the curse was cleaved. A flurry of parts exploded over the room before they eventually burst into cleansing, exorcism fire.

The students of Tokyo Tech stunned.

[Y/N] turned on their heels and faced their shocked faces with a smile that they all recognized. “Who wants ice cream?”

Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi all follow after her still in shock. “Did you know that [Y/N]-chan was that strong?” Yuji whispered to Megumi.

To which Megumi shrugged and said, “I don’t know. Gojo-sensei always said they were. That’s why he married them. But Gojo-sensei says a lot of things.”

They all met Ijichi outside, and [Y/N] instructs him to take them to the nearest ice cream shop. He seemed hesitant, at first. Starting off with a comment of ‘they needed to get back to school’ but quickly clammed up about it.

[Y/N] bought them all ice cream and they sat in a booth until Gojo-sensei showed up. Asking where his sundae was. “Of course, I knew how strong [Y/N] was.” He confirmed when regaled about the story and asked if he knew. “She’s my wife after all.”

The group finishes their ice cream and Ijichi was instructed to take them back to campus. Gojo telling him that they would take the scenic route. “Thanks for saving them.” He said as they watched the taillights fade off into the distance.

[Y/N] continued to smile, but dropped her arm from waving. “Of course. I couldn’t let anything happen to them. They’re your precious students. And I’m pretty fond of them as well.”

“It’s pretty sexy how you went all ‘momma bear’ over them.”

Gojo smirked as [Y/N] elbowed him in the ribs. “Don’t be gross. I may have my conflicts with the school that prevent me from teaching, but I still take my job as a sorcerer and de facto den mother seriously.”

He took a step a head of her with his long legs, then turned and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “That is why I married you.” [Y/N] blushed and returned with a shy smirk. “Let’s go home. I’m sure the kids are worried sick about us already.”

[scarredwithcruelintentions]

chapter 7: sorrowful lash

Find the master list here!

CW: Allusions to past trauma.

W/C: 1,835

A/N: A shorter chapter this time.

Astarion rolled over, a pain unlike any he’d experienced in his two hundred years as a spawn cleaving his skull. He recognized the symptoms of a hangover, shocked to find that he could still develop one as a vampire. Though, he supposed he had drunk quite a bit to numb the shocking sting of your rejection. He moaned his discomfort, blinking blearily against the sun’s rays penetrating his tent as he sat up. He gave himself a moment to gather his bearings and then parted its flaps, wincing at the sudden increase in brightness.

Looking around the grounds, he was surprised to find them all but deserted. He could hear Karlach humming somewhere nearby, and smelled the unnaturally dark ozone of Gale on the breeze. He could not, however, find anything more than the faint fragrance of you that lingered on your belongings. It appeared as though you’d left for the day, and a sense of panic washed over him as the events of the evening prior came to the forefront of his mind.

Gods, what have I done? I’ve ruined it!

He caught sight of Karlach in his peripheral vision, head whipping around to glare at her.

“Where’ve they gone?” he snapped, voice harsher than he’d meant it to be.

“Aw, cheer up, Soldier! She’ll be back before you know it,” she chirped with a grin, taking no offense at his sour tone.

“And just what in the bloody Hells is that supposed to mean?” he snarled, bristling with embarrassment at her knowing expression.

“You’re daft if you truly believe we don’t all see it, Astarion,” was all she said in response, bright smile still residing on her face. She continued her trek onward, whistling a jaunty tune.

“That’s not a damn answer!” he shouted after her.

She only continued to whistle as she walked out of his line of sight.

He huffed his annoyance, then retreated back into his tent, yanking the furs of his bedroll up over his head.

Apparently, it was to be another very long and arduous day. ______________________________________________________________

The next time he popped his head out, the dusk was already losing its battle for the sky to the blanket of night. He was relieved to see Shadowheart and Lae’zel making nice over a shared meal, Wyll laughing heartily with Gale as Karlach told impassioned tales of her adventures in the Hells. His eyes continued to scan the campgrounds, looking for any sign of you and finding none. He could smell that you’d made it back, but could not locate your whereabouts among the other companions. A warning bell tolled in his mind, anxiety tightening its chokehold on his unbeating heart.

He crept silently from his tent, following your scent as it gradually intensified. He found you sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree by the riverbank, knees drawn to your chest and arms hugging them close. He marveled at the glow of the waxing moon on your skin, sleeves of your nightdress falling to expose your shoulders. Your hair rippled gently with the breeze, reminding him of the water as it ran over and between hidden stones. You gazed out into the waiting darkness, eerily silent.

“I’d ask if you wanted company, but I doubt you’ve come all the way out here to find it,” he called out, grimacing guiltily when you startled.

When the frantic beating of your heart had slowed to a normal pace again, he took stock of your expression. There was a weary mournfulness burdening your gaze, and he was briefly arrested in his movement by just how terribly sad you looked. You said nothing, but moved to make room for him to sit next to you.

“Just needed some space to think, ‘s all,” you whispered, voice strangely devoid of emotion.

He wrung his hands uneasily, a million worries about what might have caused your strife darting through his mind.

“About last night -” he began, but you held up a hand to stop him.

“I don’t need apologies. As I’ve said before, it’s not you. Yours was far from the first bed I’d declined at the party.”

That drove an unwitting chuckle from him, quickly hushing himself at the unimpressed raise of your brow.

“I may have overheard several…propositions, shall we say, for a night of shared ecstasy,” he explained.

You cracked a small smile, momentarily loosening the grip around his heart.

“Eavesdropping, were you?” you questioned, amusement plain.

“Perhaps,” was his only reply.

You looked away again, staring unseeingly at the horizon.

Without turning to address him directly, you asked in a cold, distant tone, “Then why did you try your luck? What makes you think you’re any different?”

The grip around his heart tightened once again, breath catching in his throat and dizzying him with its sudden ferocity. Words failed him as a sense of burning shame enveloped him.

“I see the way each one of you looks at me. Admiration, adoration, idolatry…lust. As though I’m something to be consumed, a bottomless well of giving. A savior from your many sins. Have I not my own to atone for as well? Am I not due an ounce of respect for all I’ve sacrificed to get us this far?”

Though your words carried the weight of long held anger, they fell from your lips with a lifeless monotony. He hastily opened his mouth - to explain or apologize, he knew not which - but you began to speak again.

“I suppose it matters not. I am whatever I am perceived to be. No more, no less.”

A haunting echo of his own emotions reverberated dully within his skull; he knew this pain. Had lived with it for too long himself. He lost himself in the roar of agony between his ears for a time, startling when he heard a quiet sniffle.

“Forgive me,” you whispered, breath hiccupping with sorrow.

Finding his voice, he murmured, “Dearest, there is nothing to forgive. It is I who should be asking your forgiveness, once again. I would lie and say it was the wine talking, but I find that I can’t when it comes to you.”

He was surprised by his own honesty, words falling from him with an ease he was unaware he possessed. You turned to look at him shrewdly, tears spilling as you narrowed your eyes to discern his truthfulness. You said nothing, wordlessly urging him to continue. He took a shaking breath, steadying himself.

“You have shown me kindness unlike anyone I’ve met in the whole of my life, both before I was turned and after. You have no expectations of me, have given me no reason to believe that your motives lie elsewhere. You are simply lovely, just for the sake of being so. 

I, too, have been wanted for things I was unprepared to give, and have been forced to give them anyway. It is a burden I would not wish upon anyone, least of all you. So, please, forgive me. I am not well versed in matters of sentient interaction beyond those of carnal depravity.”

You sucked in a gasping breath as he finished his monologue, and he turned sharply to look at you just as a great sob pushed past your lips. An icy shard of dread punched through him at the sound, fearful he’d said something wrong yet again. He watched your hands twist in the fabric of your nightdress just over your heart, clawing as though you could rip the wretched thing from your chest just so that this torment, whatever it may be, might end.

“Have I done it wrong again?” he whispered, nerves making his voice tremble.

You only cried harder, despair leaking freely from you and into the recesses of his soul, a reflection of your pain mirrored in him with its intensity. He was at a loss as to how to comfort you, never having seen you so distraught. Something urged him to reach out to you, to hold you and pet through the strands of your hair soothingly until you quieted. But another voice, louder and more ominous, told him that he should not touch you just yet. It screamed that you knew exactly of what he spoke, knew it in a way he dared not fathom.

He began to hum the lament of yours that he so loved, unsurely at first, then with more fervor. It had helped him in his darkest moment of weakness; he could only hope that it would help you much the same. Your fitful sobs gradually turned into hiccups, sniffles and then silence as you came back to yourself, listening intently to your favored tune whispered back to you. You eventually reached out to clasp his hand in yours, placing a sweet kiss on the back of it in thanks.

You gestured at the space between you and him, asking quietly, “May I?”

He wordlessly held his arm aloft, inviting you to sidle closer as he continued to hum your song. You folded into his arms, resting your head against his chest to feel the rumble of his voice. He reached a hand up and into your soft tresses, blunt nails scraping along your scalp as he sang the last phrase. A contented silence fell in its wake, one hand running idly through your hair as you held the other.

You eventually broke it with a quiet apology.

“Whatever are you sorry for now, my sweet?” he murmured, continuing his slow, soothing ministrations. 

“That you’ve been used that way,” you whispered back, cautious of breaking the fragile moment.

“Ah, that. Think nothing of it, darling. If anything, it’s taught me to cherish these moments of freedom all the more.”

“Nonetheless, it’s an awful burden to carry,” you responded forlornly.

“It is one of many that weighs on me, but it is far from the worst,” he intoned, voice bitter and solemn.

“I am always here to lend an ear, should you ever need it, dear Star.”

“Perhaps one day,” he answered, resting his cheek on the top of your head.

The lull in conversation preceded another blanket of comfortable silence, and he listened to the sound of your breath mingled with the night ambiance. It was serene, startlingly so, to hold you close and offer you the same sanctuary you’d given him so freely. An uncharacteristic tenderness overwhelmed him, and he clutched you ever so slightly tighter, as though this beautiful dream were liable to shatter around him at any moment.

You cleared your throat, breaking the silence for a final time.

“We found the gith creche today. I’m taking Lae and Shadowheart with me tomorrow to infiltrate it. Lae insists that the zaith’isk will cure us, but I have my reservations. Besides, I found a reference as to the Blood of Lathander’s whereabouts, and I have reason to believe it might be hidden somewhere in the temple the gith commandeered. Would you like to join us and cause some chaos?”

“My dear, there’s nothing I’d love more.”

[verdemoun]

Don't know if you've already talked about bill but how is he coping with modern times? I always imagined a modern bill becoming a car mechanic, or something adjacent, maybe even becoming a small influencer where he posts abt trucks and such (and also his dog. I just know that man gets a dog in any type of modern au)

i have not spoken about bill because bill as a character just makes me so sad fam like was he doomed to be the power hungry bastard of toxic masculinity we see in rdr1 or did the events of rdr2 actively make him that way why was everyone so mean to him like you can see the way people treats him chipping away at him it makes me want to scream but back to timewarp au

therapy. my otp is bill and therapy. man needs anger management and to unpack that emotional baggage. it would take a while but once bill made the connection sometimes when he feels angry and acts out he's actually feeling sad/upset he'd start to develop as a person really quickly.

he would be so conflicted about seeing the gang again. why does no one talk about what happened to bill in the gap between rdr1 and 2?? dutch fucking left him behind bill would've followed dutch to the ends of the earth and been the perfect obedient loyal son he always wanted and dutch just threw him away because hunting down arthur and john for betraying him was more important!!

the new main gang would've picked him up because they knew he was going to be timewarped but it would be so uncomfortable.

poor kieran would've been so terrified he had to stay with annabelle and grimshaw until bill left. he usually regresses a little whenever someone timewarps because he has obvious reason to be nervous about the gang but it would've been a full breakdown just knowing bill was coming back. bill would've felt bad about it too because he never made the connection between how the gang's teasing made him feel vs what his bullying was doing to kieran.

the rest of the gang would've gone straight back to teasing bill because that was the dynamic last time they were all together. he would've hated it and lashed out a lot. he became something after they died they better respect it but of course they just don't. bill would've barely understood modern era before he bounced.

happy stuff now i promise. he ended up hitchhiking for a bit and learning about the modern world from truckers. he would love going to bars and truck stops and dodgy mom and pop diners along the highway.

he ends up getting a job on a ranch (ironically the modern day MacFarlane which became a massive multimillion dollar operation) and still gets to ride horses almost every day. he picks up herding super quickly and gets all the validation and care he deserves. the owners love him and are really supportive and patient when it comes to dealing with his temper.

he gets a little power trip out of learning to drive the semi-truck and unlike most of the hands is always super excited and happy to go on cross-country road trips delivering things to processing facilities. his favorite thing though would be the combine harvester he will work 14 hour shifts without complaint harvesting grain.

bill loves dogs almost more than he loves his horses he cannot drive past a sign that says puppies for sale without at least stopping to look. this habit has resulted in him having five dogs and they are his new gang. his first dog was a stray he picked up on the side of the road it's a wire-haired gundog mutt just called Mutt. he also has two cattle dogs (Clem and Roanoke), a long hair shepherd called Mercer and finally a catahoula called Abel. they are all working dogs and he does not go anywhere without all of them. they all sleep on his bed and are just as happy to go on cross country road trips in the semi as he is.

he can control all of them with a whistle or non verbal commands and they are insanely well trained. Micah fucking hates him sure Baymax can bark and growl and look scary on command but the second one of Bill's dogs curls up its lips Baymax is hiding behind Micah terrified and Bill is so fucking smug about it.

through therapy and having his ideals challenged bill starts making an effort to be less racist and sexist and actually confronting some of the gang about the way they treated him in 1899 and mending those relationships because look yeah he went off the deep end after the VDLs but he does still care about them and wants to have good relationships with them he's just got to work through a lot of issues go bill i believe in you

and most importantly he finally got over the internalized homophobia and admitted to himself he's a bit/lot gay. he's not wearing beads at pride levels of comfortable with it yet but he is a classic bear who will protect the gaybies from violence with violence.

it's like a many, many years slow burn but him and alden get together because charlybird's art is one of the only reasons i gave bill a chance as a character and i am a better person for it

[maarcyeen]

The rumbling echoed through the small cave they just got trapped in. Smaller pebbles and rubble settled and made sure no opening was left for the Heroes to exit their entrapment.

"Fuck!" Champion growled out when his hands slipped on wet rock he tried to push out. He huffed in frustration and turned to his twin. "Are you okay?"

He heard metal gear clanking as other Link got up. Then a sturdy lether glove patted his shoulder. He exhaled sharply with relief. Being stuck with someone injured without a way to help them wasn't his idea of spending the afternoon. Another set of rustling and bright sparks illuminated the small space. After successfully lighting up the torch, Soldier got up from his knees and looked around, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light.

"We should-"

"Here" Champion grabbed the torch, seeing Soldier struggling signing with only one free hand.

"Oh. Thanks" Wild gave a quick smile. "We should let the others know we are alive."

"Agreed." He looked around again to find just a small gap of space between the rubble, only to find neatly fitted chunks of rock sealed with gravel. "Not sure if they would hear us through this wall of rock, tho."

Soldier walked to his field of view holding two fingers by his lips, his look asking for approval to what he's planning.

"Go right ahead." Champion nodded.

A loud whistle pierced through their ears and bounced around the small room almost endlessly. Wild winced as the ringing in his ears faded, trying to listen for any response.

After an awfully long silence they heard familiar voices behind the rocky curtain and sighed with relief.

"Hey! We're alright! But we're proper stuck in here!" Champion called out. He heard an answer, but couldn't understand it through the thick rock barrier.

Soldier sighed heavily and sat on the ground, propping himself against the wall. Wild followed, taking his place opposite of him. The room was small enough for their boots to touch, which gave both of them small snippet of closure.

Closure wasn't a thing they developed, and none of them was ready to address their relationship. Unfortunately for them, their presence was the only thing they had at the moment.

It wasn't as colorful when they met. It was a mess, really. At first, Wild wanted to inform the group that they finally were in his time, but quickly swallowed his excitement. He saw buildings, roads and people. Hundreds of them. Although those buildings weren't in the perfect condition, some of them had windows shattered, roofs burned down or a wall collapsed, they couldn't be compared to Wild's ruins only left with fundaments.

The group was rightfully shocked when they recognized Wild's walking copy, only taller an inch, his hair shorter and neatly put back in a tight ponytail and visibly lacking major scars that Champion wore under his hood.

After welcoming Soldier to the group, none of them was eager to socialize, until now.

Silence wasn't a foreign sound to them, but now it made them suffocate and squirm in their places, unable to think of a topic to discuss. They were so similar, yet so different.

Soldier exhaled loudly, bringing Champion out from his thoughts.

"Sorry, it's just so quiet."

"Yeah..." Wild moved forward, resting his elbows on his knees and tilting the torch closer to Soldier to see him better.

"I hope they will find a way out for us quickly"

"Yeah..." Wild repeated, visibly absent from reality. Soldier nudged his boot to bring him back, question on his face.

"Sorry, this is so weird." He explained. The look on other Link's face encouraged him to continue. "You are quite literally the image of my dreams, or nightmares..." He added the last part quietly.

"What do you mean?" Nothing but confusion was painted on Soldier's face.

Champion scoffed, throwing his head back. "Look at you!" He gestured out to him. "Always in his shining armour, defeated the Calamity with no problems, walking example of a Hero!"

Soldiers face scrunched from confusion to anger.

" 'With no problems' ?!" He straightened his posture, armor rustling. "Do you think I just plunged my sword to this guy without any complications?? Really??"

His eyes were burning into Wild's, now shocked, face. He didn't expect such burst of emotions out of his twin.

"It took us MONTHS of constant battle, we lost so many good people, and if not the solidarity and help of all of Hyrule we would have lost many times!! And YOU'RE saying I had it easy?? Unlike you, I didn't even HAVE the Master Sword until the middle of the war!"

Soldier took a long sigh, trying to compose himself. He leaned back, controlling his breathing again. Wild said nothing.

"What I would give to be like you."

That shook Champion. What did he mean? He was a failure, bearing thousands of lost souls on his shoulders, running around aimlessly. How could a perfect knight envy someone like him?

"What??" Wild breathed out.

Soldier chuckled. "No commanders or kings to push you around, no reports you have to rewrite because of one spelling error..."

He looked fondly at Champion. "You get to actually choose for yourself what you want, where to go. Hell, you can actually say no to people! Could you imagine what would happened if I said no to the King?" He chuckled again. "No Shrine of Resurrection would help." They both laughed quietly.

Now the silence wasn't as awful as before. They both had time to analyze each other's words, slowly understanding their points of view.

"So, you met the New Champions?" Wild quickly changed the topic, for both of their sakes.

Soldier hummed fondly. "Yeah, if not them, we would've lost. They were a huge help to all of us. And a pleasure to meet, too."

Champion smiled at the thought of his friends back home. He let his thoughts run free, somehow going back to Mipha. A sly smile appeared on his face.

"So, how's Mipha?" He chuckled as Soldier flushed red, trying to turn away his face away from the torch light.

They got up quickly as their attention was stolen by a rumble coming from the collapsed wall. Multiple voices could be heard, now more clearly. Finally, a familiar face popped out from the rubble, that saved them (mostly Soldier from a sensitive topic) out of the dark cave.

Once they got out they could feel their relationship grow closer. It wasn't as close as with other Heroes, but it was a start.

[blinddreams24]

Communication/Language

A Mermay Prompt

Masterlist

Prev / Next

“Hey, y/n!” Killer greeted.

You gave him a halfhearted nod and returned back to your food. It was weird only eating fish and sea weed. Not that it was bothering you.

Killer leaned over your shoulder to nip at the fish in your hands. You swatted him away without a sound and Killer backed up. “…You okay, suckerfish.”

You nodded and smiled at him. No. No you weren’t okay. But it was fine. It had only been a week since you’d moved in. And you still couldn’t speak properly. But it was fine. You’d figure it out.

“Killer.” Nightmare called from the crevasse.

Killer shot away with a singsongy, “Yes, Boss~?” and disappeared into the trench.

You sighed through your nose. You were jealous. Yes, jealous. Killer was always talking and singing all the time, and the others did too, but you couldn’t even sing a siren song yet. All you could do was chirp and whistle.

A few minutes later, Killer swung by to tease you again on his way out. That was another thing. The boys could leave the trench for one reason or another, sometimes the Boss would send them on missions you weren’t allowed to know about, but you couldn’t leave unless absolutely necessary. No one let you go anywhere, especially by yourself. Even now, Dust was watching you from his cave, ready to stop you if you tried to leave.

“Y/n.” Called Nightmare.

You shivered and looked over at Dust, who shooed you with a hand. You gently set the half-eaten fish down and cautiously swam into the trench. You hadn’t been to see Nightmare by yourself before and you were terrified.

“I’m not going to bite you. Calm yourself.”

Right. Negativity. You took a few deep breaths as you descended to the floor of the trench, stopping when you were level with his eyes.

He smiled kindly at you. “It has come to my attention that you have not been using your voice, refraining from speaking even in casual conversation.”

You sank a few feet in embarrassment. He wasn’t wrong.

“If you do not practice, you will not develop a voice or a call. Do you know what that means, y/n?”

You shook your head.

“It means you will never become independent. If you cannot use your voice, you will die if you get separated from your pod. Either from starvation or because a larger predator attacked you. Your voice is very important. So I’ve decided to teach you.”

What.

You looked up at the kraken in confusion. He was going to help you? He wasn’t upset that you’d failed to even try?

“As I understand it, you have made quite the impression on my pod. Usually after I’ve rested, Horror would be all over me. He has only come to me twice without being called. The others are sharing food with him too. Cross and especially Killer haven’t shared their meals in decades. And Dust, though you hadn’t met him before, has been visible almost constantly since you arrived, sitting in the edge of his den instead of the very back.” Nightmare encouraged softly. “You have fixed multiple problems, that I have spent years trying to fix, within a few weeks. I wish to thank you. So I am offering my help in your speech therapy. Do you accept?”

You nodded furiously. You’d given up trying to speak to the others. If he could fix your voice, you wouldn’t say no to that. Do you know how hard it is to communicate with someone when you can’t use your voice and don’t know sign language? It’s stupid difficult.

Nightmare grinned. “Good. Now, let’s start shall we?”

Nod nod nod.

Killer swam over you and poked your head. “Hey, suckerfish~!”

“Hhhhey.” You managed back around your food. ‘H’s were hard.

Killer flipped out and spun back around to face you. “What? Y/n, what? What did you say?” He was excited.

You took a moment to swallow. “Hhhey.” You grinned.

A sharp whistle pierced the water and Dust flinched away as Killer cheered you on. “You did it! I knew you could, suckerfish!” He hugged you, shoving you to the side.

You chirped angrily at being manhandled until he stopped. “Mmm- Mmmmnnn- Nnnniiigh…d…mmmmaaaare…hhhhep mmmme.” Scratch that. ‘N’s were harder.

“Wait. Boss helped you?” You nodded and Killer looked even more confused. “Huh. He doesn’t normally do that. Whatever. What have you learned?”

“Sssssssssounnnnndsssss.” You struggled. “Nnnnnnothhhhhhh- thhhhh- iinnnnnng b-big.” ‘Th’s sucked too. You actually gave up on that sound. “Jussssst worrrrdssssss.”

“Liiiiike? C’mon, suckerfish! Give me details!”

You frowned at him. “Toooooo mmmmmuch.”

“Too much what?”

“Too much overstimulation, Killer. Leave them alone.” Dust growled, speaking for you where you could not. You didn’t know how he knew what you meant but you appreciated it.

“When did you become the y/n expert?” Killer snapped. “You’ve barely met them!”

Dust, not caring for Killer’s fit turned to address you. “Was I correct?” You nodded. “I rest my case, Killer. Talk their ear off for all I care but don’t force them to talk when it’s already hard enough.”

Killer struck his tongue out at Dust who ignored him in favor of lying down in the entrance of his den. Without someone to mess with, Killer turned on you and started getting in your space. He tried to grab your food and you slapped his hands away.

“Get yyyyyourrr ownnnnn.” You snarked, pushing him away from your fish.

“Aw, c’mon!” He twisted away from your hand and tried to come back for your food again.

Being trained to deal with sharks, you decided to try something on him. Killer darted forward and you dropped your food to grab him with both hands. You flipped him with his tail upright and he stopped moving, stunned. You happily dug back into your food. Get rotated.

“What did you do??” Dust exclaimed, staring wide eyed at a frozen Killer who couldn’t even speak like that. “He’s quiet! What did you do to him?”

You smiled at Dust and continued eating without answering.

Dust looked excited and worried at the same time. “…Can you do that to all of us?”

You almost choked on your food as you laughed. Dust looked more and more concerned as you didn’t answer.

[ddarker-dreams]

Aftertaste.

Yan Diluc x F!Reader x Yan Kaeya.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, alcohol, implied drugging.  Word count: 4.5k. 

CHAPTER I OF III // The Dinner. 

Some places lose their splendor as you age; when the rose-tinted glasses of childhood ultimately succumb to reality.

Nostalgia tricks you into believing the past is better than it ever was. There’s no harm in willingly falling for these lapses in truth, as far as you were concerned. So what if a snack you swore by in your youth did little for your developed taste buds, or a book you strained your eyes by flickering candlelight barely held your attention any longer? Those memories still had a special place in your heart regardless of your inability to recreate them.

While this could apply to many aspects of your younger years, there was an outlier that stood the test of time.

That outlier being Dawn Winery.

It was a breathtaking sight then and a breathtaking sight now. A paradise tucked away in the nook of Mondstadt, concealed by trees that always wore autumn’s colors. Stubby legs used to carry you through the foliage, past the watchful gaze of the Anemo Archon’s statue, and by the windwheel asters that whistled in the breeze. Workers in the fields would call out to you by name, welcoming you in kind. The very first few times you arrived, they’d tell you where you might find the two young masters, but they quickly learned there was no need. You were always curious to see if it’d be a head of fiery red or icy blue that’d rush to greet you first.

Smiling softly to yourself, you walk the same path that you would then, past the Dawn Winery sign that welcomes its guests.

It’s evening, so most of the workers have settled into the nearby cottages after a hard day’s work. Candlelight from their window sills bathes the endless sea of grapevines in a soft glow, rivaled only by the luminescence of crystal flies dancing in the air. Smoke wafts from their chimneys, the scent of firewood and the tartness of grapes intermingle to form a perfect blend. It smells familiar.

It smells like home.

The dirt path beneath your feet gives way to cobblestone, kept up to order so that no moss or weeds may grow between the cracks. There’s light inside, but little chatter, a far cry from when Master Crepus would welcome any excuse to host a wide array of events. In those days, it was said that laughter and the popping of corks could be heard from miles away.

You always found this to be an exaggeration born from intrigue in Mondstadt’s most noteworthy nobles, but there were kernels of truth in the claim. It wasn’t uncommon for you to run into people from all corners of Teyvat who came to enjoy Dawn Winery’s luxuries. Businessmen from Liyue, Shogunate officials from Inazuma, scholars from Sumeru… it was an undeniable hub for activity. Now, with Master Diluc at the helm, it’s far quieter. Still, as if stuck in a permanent state of inertia. A once roaring stream that no longer sees ripples across the water.

Your knock on the wooden door. From muscle memory alone, you’re tempted to fall into the peculiar rhythm of a knock the three of you devised. The tempo remains as fresh in your memory as ever. One knock, a pause, then two following in quick succession. This was your little secret that no one else outside your circle was privy to.

The face that greets you belongs to Adelinde.

“Welcome back, Miss [First],” she greets, both her tone and posture professional. Then, a slight crack in the façade reveals the mirth in her eyes. “It is good to see you again. Please, do come in. Master Diluc has been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”

You fight the urge to laugh at the picture in your head such a comment paints. Diluc Ragnvindr, Mondstadt’s wine tycoon and name of world renown, impatiently checking the time so it may move faster and gazing longingly toward the horizon for you? Flattering as the sentiment is, you sincerely doubt its credibility. It would appear Adelinde’s strange sense of humor hasn’t changed.

You’re quick to learn that very little has changed regarding the manor’s interior as well. The warm ambiance from the chandeliers overhead, towering walls of mahogany, and sprawling red carpets extending further than the circumference of your entire apartment. Classiness all but emanates from every visible surface. Although you know the manor’s layout by heart, Adelinde still guides you to the dining room, making occasional small talk along the way. Falling into conversation with her comes as natural as breathing.

“So, no reservations about being entirely on your own in a new place then?” Adelinde questions as you both turn a corner.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous,” you reply. She shoots you a look of concern, so you quickly follow this up by adding, “It’s nothing I can’t handle, though! So long as I have the stars above to serve as my guide, I’m confident I can get through anything.”

“Anything, huh…?” She trails off with a hum. You finally arrive at the doors separating this hall from the opulent dining room. “I sure hope so.”

Before you get the chance to ask her what she means by that, she thrusts open the doors, then announces your arrival as if you were the esteemed guest of honor at a banquet. In a way, you suppose you were. It just felt bizarre to go through so many formalities in the same room you used to sneak your and Kaeya’s vegetables onto an unsuspecting Diluc’s plate. Much has changed since those idyllic days. The most extreme example is the one who currently stands from his position at the head of the table upon your arrival.

It’s been some time since you’ve seen him in person. Following the untimely passing of Master Crepus, Diluc became a wandering specter, intangible and impossible to pin down. You’d kept up a regular correspondence in the form of letters, but even that was spaced out through long stretches of time. You were never given a definitive answer about what exactly it is he does during his travels. The topic never seemed to interest him nearly as much as the going-ons in your life, which you insisted to be perfectly mundane compared to his global trotting.

Alas, upon hearing about the next upcoming chapter in your life, he returned home so he could see you off himself. He said you deserve nothing less.

Diluc’s physiognomy isn’t as carefree as it was in his youth, but there’s still a certain playfulness to him that most fail to pick up on. Many would frequently come and ask how to get in his good graces, for a friendship with Diluc practically guaranteed success with business across the board. From afar, he could come off as intimidating, largely owing to his near-constant frown even amidst the most jubilant atmosphere. Your advice was always the same. Treat him like you would any other and hold Mondstadt’s best interest at heart. He is less grave than most people give him credit for.

Case in point: when Adelinde is dismissed, you give him an unnecessarily deep curtsy while proclaiming, “Good evening, greatly revered Master Diluc. How kind of you to carve out time in your schedule for a lowborn peasant such as I.”

You can practically hear his eyes rolling, but still, he entertains you, though with significantly less theatrics. “It’s a necessary sacrifice, I’m afraid. How else can I maintain appearances?”

When your eyes finally meet, a chorus of memories sounds in your mind. From long summer days playing hide and seek in the vineyard to winters spent curled up by the hearth drinking apple cider. As always, the lull of nostalgia is tempting to submerge yourself and remain trapped in. You never know if you should mourn what was lost or thank the Archons above for what remains. It’s this surge of sentimentality that encourages you to wrap your arms around Diluc, who, despite knowing he should expect the unexpected in your presence, is taken aback.

He’s as warm as one might expect.

He grunts in surprise, the force behind your embrace almost enough to knock him back. After ensuring you’re secure, he reciprocates the gesture, his hands hesitantly landing on your lower back before ghosting upward. The fabric of his dark coat is surprisingly soft against your cheek. He smells of fine leather and firewood. You hear his breath hitch, presumably from how unused he is to affection. He’s been that way. He’d never initiate physical contact yet happily reciprocated when you did.

“I’ve missed you, Diluc,” you admit after pulling back. He coughs into his hand. “It’s been far too long. Don’t get me wrong, your penmanship is lovely, but nothing beats having you in the flesh.”

His oh-so-famous frown makes an appearance. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I do plan to be around more often, since it’s almost harvest season—”

Diluc cuts himself off prematurely upon noticing how your shoulders droop. He parts his lips as if thinking to correct his mistake, preparing to verbally acknowledge the reality that you’re leaving, but no sound comes out. It would seem he met his match. Diluc, who could gracefully deflect any insult from business competitors acting in bad faith, was rendered speechless by what wasn’t even a surprise. You’d broken the news to him weeks in advance — it’s the very reason he’s hosting this send-off dinner in the first place.

For after many years of trying and receiving complete silence in response, the Sumeru Akademiya has finally accepted you into their ranks. Come tomorrow morning, you’re officially heading out to join the Rtawahist Darshan. The fulfillment of a lifelong dream is surreal in the best and worst of ways.

You’ll be leaving home — leaving your two dearest lifelong friends — but you’ll be gaining plenty as well.

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” A new voice pipes up from behind, low and mischievous.

Immediately, you turn on your heel, your face lighting up at the sight of a familiar Cavalry Captain. You waste no time striding over to greet him; Diluc is almost unable to detach himself from your person fast enough to prevent you from tripping. Kaeya Alberich gives you his winning smile, his arms already wide and ready to accept you, which he does with great enthusiasm. Before you realize it, you’re hoisted off the ground. He spins you around as if you were weightless. Right as you think he’ll put you back down, his grin takes a malicious edge, and you’re sent gliding through the air again.

“Keep it up and I’ll get sick, Kaeya,” you manage to get out in between your fits of laughter.

“I’m calling your bluff,” he replies without hesitation. “Your constitution is stronger than that.”

Playfully aghast, you reply, “Is that a risk worth taking?”

“There’s nothing I love more than a good gamble. Well, almost nothing.”

Your banter is cut short by the sound of Diluc rather loudly clearing his throat. At this disruption, Kaeya offers clemency, helping you back down and lending his shoulder until you’re steady again. Unlike Diluc, Kaeya wears notable cologne. It has woody notes but is primarily spicy at its base. Since you happen across Kaeya in Mondstadt often, you’re familiar with his scent, to the point you can immediately pick up on an unusual underlying aroma. You’re unable to place what it might be. However, it reminds you of the laboratory your hermit-like friend Sucrose spent all her time in.

“You’re late,” Diluc points out in an unimpressed monotone.

“Fashionably late, I believe the term is,” Kaeya retaliates, still holding you steady while you regain your balance. “Believe it or not, I actually have a good excuse. There were some matters on your end that I got stuck cleaning up. Quite the time sink. Trust me, I wouldn’t be late for such an important occasion as this if it was up to me.”

“Oh? Are you actually collaborating with the Knights on something, Diluc?” You inquire, the notion stupefying considering their turbulent history. The aforementioned male crosses his arms over his chest and then gives Kaeya a near-scathing look. You’re not the one on the receiving end of his ire, and still, the hairs on the back of your neck stand from the brewing tension.

“… No. Let’s leave it at that, Kaeya.”

Kaeya puts his hands up in defense, but by the wicked smirk on his lips, you get the sense he’ll fan the flames rather than extinguish them.

“Duly noted, Master Diluc. Well then! Dinner awaits, does it not? Ah, and what a spread it will be. I’m glad I wasn’t held up for too long. Let’s dig in before Adelinde learns we allowed her feast to get cold.”

Kaeya has always been one to let matters go like water off a duck’s back, but that rarely applied when Diluc was thrown in the mix. The two seemingly lived for discreetly and not so discreetly flinging insults at every opportunity. That’s why you can hardly believe your eyes at how quick Kaeya is to concede, dropping the subject instead of prolonging it painfully. Could it be that they want to be on their best behavior for your farewell dinner? You already knew you were asking a lot from them both, especially Diluc. The letter he sent confirming his acceptance of Kaeya’s attendance almost had palpable dark energy to it. Never would you have braved asking this of them if not for the star’s consultation, scrying for hours on end.

Notcua and Pavo Ocellus.

You examined their constellations with great care, along with your own — Cygnus. For as far back as you could remember, the three were interwoven closer than the threads of a tapestry. While light from the stars is far apart regardless of how close they appear, their constellations always illuminate yours, affecting your readings. This bizarre phenomenon was the main catalyst that inspired you to pursue astrology beyond a hobby. Usually, you could never get a clear reading on Notcua and Pavo Ocellus. However, the stars promised that the two would be amiable the night before you were to depart. It was hazy, yet you wanted to place your trust in it.

And sure enough, they both accepted your request to share your final dinner in Mondstadt together without much fuss.

The three of you sit and the first course is served.

For the most part, you and Kaeya do the talking. He speaks about strange sightings of a massive beast in the sky that has put the Knights on high alert, then how he caught Ellin training with a bucket on her head ‘in case she must ever fight in the dark.’ Meanwhile, you mention the thoughtful gifts you’ve received in the past week. A bomb from Klee ‘to help in your studies’, herbs for the inevitable headaches from Lisa, fine writing implements whose ink flowed on paper like water from Jean. Amber also asked for you to give a little handmade baron bunny to Collei upon passing through the Avidya Forest. Diluc remains notably silent while you speak, but Kaeya is quick to pitch in when given the chance.

“Without your divinations, it’s only a matter of time before Klee burns the Knights’ Headquarters down,” Kaeya laments, accentuating the words with a sigh. “The Grandmaster will return from his expedition to find nothing but rubble and ash. I suppose you wouldn’t mind that, would you, Master Diluc?”

You both turn your head in his direction upon his lack of response.

Earlier, you were so inundated with your conversation that you hadn’t noticed he’d barely touched the food on his plate. You can’t imagine the meal wasn’t to his liking, both you and Kaeya utterly devoured it. Frowning, you hope that you didn’t upset him by speaking about leaving so haphazardly. There was an almost therapeutic quality to pretending it won’t bring any of you pain, a charade that the Cavalry Captain freely went along with. Diluc was never as cavalier about problems as the two of you were. He brooded over issues, Kaeya pretended like they were never there, and you threw yourself into fixing the unfixable. That’s how it’s always been.

“... Tell me, [First],” Diluc’s stare feels like it could pierce right through you. “Are you sure this is what you want? To leave Mondstadt, I mean?”

To leave us, remains unspoken. To leave me.

“Diluc, I doubt now is hardly the best time to—”

“Let her answer,” Diluc interrupts Kaeya, who presses his lips in a thin line. “I want to hear what she has to say.”

Kaeya leans back into his chair, smiles weakly at your worried glance, and motions for you to go on with his hand. Your eyes dart between them and the sudden grim twist to their expressions. Kaeya does a better job at hiding it, but not by much, you know him well enough to see through the various masks he prepares for every possible situation. You suppose such a question was inevitable. It cuts as deep as a knife, twisting and churning your insides enough to almost make good on your mention of getting sick earlier.

The spotlight is yours and you have a captive audience.

“I’ve asked myself the same thing ever since I received the acceptance letter,” your voice comes out stronger than you expected. You take a deep breath to keep it that way. “Mondstadt is my home. You guys… are my home. I used to be sad whenever my mom and dad told me they were going off on a new adventure, but after I met you guys, I learned that meant I’d get to go on an adventure of my own. Really, I learned a lot from you both.”

You bunch up the material of your skirt on your lap. “For the longest time, I didn’t understand why the Akademiya didn’t even bother to send a rejection letter after I sent in all those applications. It’s discouraging to know you aren’t good enough, but it’s even worse when you don’t know why. I’d often consider just giving up. But then I’d remember… I’d remember the two of you.”

“There I’d be, throwing a pity party for myself, when you’d both weathered storms I could barely fathom. And no matter what happened, you managed to keep going,” you give a derisive chuckle. “So I’d try again. And again. And again. Because as much as I love my home, I love to learn, and the stars in Sumeru are bound to look different from how they appear here.”

No one speaks for a while following that.

The pendulum of the grandfather clock swings back and forth while you gnaw on your lower lip, refusing to let the waterworks flow. You promised yourself that you wouldn’t cry, not in front of them, that’s the last thing you wanted to be remembered by before you left. It would bring the mood down to a level so low, that not even the silver-tongued Cavalry Captain could fix it.

Diluc loosens the collar around his neck, a nervous tic. “I apologize — I didn’t mean to call your resolve into question.”

“Ah, no, not at all,” you scramble to smooth over any possible tensions, your hands flailing around, “I should be the one saying sorry, I, um, didn’t mean to go off on such a tangent there.”

You follow this up with an awkward laugh that soon dies off in your throat.

Kaeya chimes in next. “There’s no need to apologize. Talking beats sitting with your mouth shut and looking all distant and brooding.”

You cover your mouth to hide the chortle Kaeya’s not-so-subtle dig at Diluc earns. A few tears manage to slip past your defenses, though before they can slide down the groove of your cheek, Kaeya pats it dry with a handkerchief. Your eyes widen as he holds your chin steady with one hand and does away with your tears using the other. The tenderness might have made you cry harder if not for how taken aback you were.

“My dense brother does have a nasty habit of making you cry, doesn’t he?” Kaeya hums. “Let me try to translate his words using a bit more tact. The world as we know it is becoming a scarier place and Sumeru is so far away. There’s the Withering, general tensions between those who live in the desert and those who don’t, and a whole bunch of other things I’m sworn to keep confidential. I’m not trying to say you can’t take care of yourself — you most certainly can — it’s just something to consider.”

Diluc nods his head, seemingly approving of Kaeya’s take on the issue.

“I understand your concern, but really, try not to worry yourself gray on my account. I made thorough preparations for tomorrow’s trip with the caravan. I want to do this. I know I can do this.”  

“Did you catch that, Master Diluc?” Kaeya relinquishes his hold on you and tucks his handkerchief away. “[First]’s given us her final answer. We have to respect that.”

“I’m aware.”

You almost let out a sigh of relief, presuming the topic will be dropped. You’ve done plenty of worrying about both of them, so you understand the sentiment; the pressure was getting to be overwhelming. You expected some overprotectiveness from Diluc, just not from Kaeya. He’d been nothing but supportive ever since you told him you were accepted in person. The sudden shift in his position almost gives you whiplash.

A few years ago, you may have been tempted to placate them by agreeing to stay. You feel like you’d be betraying yourself if you caved now. It’s for this reason that you stand firm, unwilling to give ground where you shouldn’t have to.

Kaeya clasps his hands together, breaking you from your reverie. “Alright, enough of that. I’m dying to break into that bottle of wine there. Will you do the honors, Master Diluc?”

At Kaeya’s prompting, Diluc turns his attention to said bottle. It has remained untouched, acting almost as the centerpiece of the table. He pops it open without further delay.

The rich aroma of Dawn Winery’s infamous Dandelion Wine soon wafts through the air. Diluc pours a generous helping into your crystal glass, then repeats the motion for Kaeya, who he has seemingly lost interest in looking at. Unsurprisingly, he pours none for himself. He’s never been interested in alcohol like his brother is. After letting it breathe for a few minutes, you take a sip, allowing your tongue to savor the luxurious brew. Sweet and refreshing.

“Don’t tell me that’s all you’re having,” Kaeya raises an eyebrow when you place it back down immediately following your first sip. “What kind of Mondstadt sendoff would this be if your glass remains full? It’s shameful, really.”

You roll your eyes and give his shoulder a playful punch. “Unlike you, Cavalry Captain, I can’t afford to wake up with a hangover tomorrow. I’m going easy on the alcohol tonight.”

“I’ll have you know that there’s going to be plenty for me to do in the next few days,” Kaeya retaliates, picking the glass up and putting it into your hands. “Allow me to let you in on a secret. Master Diluc’s too embarrassed to admit it, but he actually brewed this batch himself, start to finish. Just for you.”

“Kaeya…” Diluc trails off, his voice taking a threatening edge. You can hear the leather of his gloves crease from how he tightens his hands into fists.

“Really? You made this, Diluc?” You blink, turning your attention to the head of the table, who suddenly struggles to maintain eye contact. It’s a kind gesture, yet you don’t understand why Kaeya revealing that would make Diluc so sheepish. You gaze into the clear, undulating liquid, considering the great efforts necessary for it to reach this final state. Diluc’s busy enough as is, the thought he dedicated the time to crafting your last perfect taste of home touches your heart.

“I did,” he confirms after a moment’s pause. “I hope the flavor is to your liking. Please, have your fill. It would mean a lot to me.”

Well, when he puts it like that…

… You suppose one glass couldn’t hurt.

Kaeya picks up where the previous conversation left off.

No matter what it is he’s doing, there’s a certain flair to his body language that makes him enchanting to watch. Whether it be his animated hand gestures, how he switches between intonations depending on the subject, or his complete mastery over storytelling. You’re convinced Kaeya could’ve been a bard had he chosen not to join the Knights. Your muscles and heart rate relax as you absorb the tale Kaeya spins, stress evaporating from your weary mind. Diluc even tosses in a few remarks of his own when it’s appropriate to do so.

This is nice, you muse, attempting to blink away the abrupt heaviness of your eyelids. Everyone is getting along so well.

You take another sip.

“... That’s when I said… and then he chose not to come! Really, it’s like…”

And another.

“... Couldn’t have asked for worse timing…”

And another after that.

“... Maybe you should’ve…”

You rub your eyes with the back of your hand. It’s strange. Kaeya is sitting in the chair beside you, yet for some reason, his words sound like they’re coming from rooms away. Slowly, you turn your head to face Diluc. It feels light. You feel light. He’s staring at you, despite the fact it’s Kaeya who is speaking, his eyes never leaving yours for a second. His lips part. You think you see him mouth your name, though you can’t be certain. Every sound reverberating throughout the room blends together like watercolor on a canvas. Unidentifiable and cloudy.

You place your clammy hands on the wooden table and force yourself to stand.

Something clatters behind you, you think it might be your chair. Your breathing is so slow and shallow. Why can’t you stand right? Why aren’t your legs working as they should? You want to ask. Both Kaeya and Diluc are next to you now, one of them has placed their fingers on your neck. They’re talking to each other in hushed whispers. You’re leaning on someone — you can’t tell who — but at least you needn’t concern yourself with falling over. The ringing in your ears is growing louder. Was it always doing that? Why did it have to sound so shrill?

You don’t want to be here.

Diluc’s face is so close to yours, his eyebrows furrowing, lips downturned. He strokes the side of your face with his knuckles. You see it; you don’t feel it. You feel nothing. He’s saying something again, not to you this time, but to whoever’s holding you from behind.

“Taking… long…!”

“It isn’t… didn’t have enough…”

You feel like you’re experiencing everything from underwater. Floating, floating, endlessly floating. To where, you couldn’t possibly know. Maybe it’s for the best you don’t. As your consciousness fades, going someplace far away, one last thought prevails.

You cannot tell if you’re too hot, or too cold.

[poorly-written-fiction]

replay (logan howlett x oc)

prologue - she wolf

A/N: it’s finally here! my logan x oc fic! for more information on the oc in question, check here for a run-down on her character. this first chapter is mostly her backstory, which is why it’s the prologue. feedback is always appreciated!

Summary: Inez Brando's life has been a whirlwind, both good and bad. Growing up feeling different is hard.

15k words (i'm so sorry gang)

tags: canon x oc, logan howlett x oc, mutant! oc, slow burn, enemies/rivals to lovers, brief mention of some guy being creepy, growing pains + general growing up struggles, mention of mental health issues, probably grammatical and other writing errors, i was just too excited to post this, okay bye i hope you enjoy

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On one frosty night in January, a baby girl was born in a small town. Lola and Cylas Brando were over the moon to be holding their own child, having dreamt of having their own little family ever since they started going steady. They got married less than a year after they started dating and had conceived during their honeymoon. Now the little bundle of joy slept peacefully, snuggled close to Lola’s heart. There was much debate over the baby girl’s name, but eventually, the name Inez was decided for her.

“She’s named after my Nonna Agnes on my father’s side,” Cylas would say proudly. He had dreamed of holding his own baby since he was young. He thought very highly of his own father and the woman that made his father the man he was. “My nonna was one of the strongest women I knew, she raised my father to be a good man.”

The family of three rested peacefully in their hospital room. The full moon flooded the room with a soft white light, and all was right with the world.

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Inez grew up loved and well-taken care of. She had her mother’s chocolate brown hair and her father’s amber eyes, framed by thick, dark eyebrows. She had freckles dusted across her nose and shoulders from running outside and playing with the kids in her neighborhood. She would come home with scrapes on her knees, but a smile spread across her face. She didn’t have a care in the world, she had nothing to fear.

Calling her parents supportive was an understatement, they were her cheerleaders. Through her early childhood development Lola and Cylas celebrated their daughter in everything she did. When she started school, every report and milestone was praised. When she was 10, she decided she wanted to get into sports, which her father was more than happy to assist with. 

“What sports sound good to you, my little lamb?” Cylas asked her one day at breakfast.

“I wanna run a lot,” Inez thought aloud, pushing her cereal around with her spoon, “what can I do with a lot of running?”

Her father thought for a moment, “You could do soccer, or run track, I think both of those would be wonderful for you.”

“Can I do both?” Inez asked excitedly, taking a bite of her breakfast.

Cylas smiled, “I don’t see why not, but you’d be really busy. Are you going to be okay with that?” Inez smiled back, nodding excitedly. 

By the end of the month, Inez was signed up to do sports and started training.

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When she was 14, she had decided she felt her happiest running track, deciding that soccer wasn’t quite the right fit for her. Track meet nights were her favorites. The sounds of the stadium were deafening, but she had tuned every sound out. She was focusing on listening for the signal that meant “go!” Her heart drummed in her chest, her vision tunneled, and when she heard the whistle, she took off. She couldn’t hear anything, except for her family’s voices repeating encouragements in her head. She rounded the first turn in the track, slowing down slightly to reserve her stamina, and shooting off again when the track straightened out. One more curve in the path ahead of her, and she had made it fully around. The stadium suddenly erupted in applause and cheers, and Inez was fully tuned back into where she was. She breathed hard, her chest rising and falling slowly. When she turned around, her opponents were just starting to cross the finish line. She smiled at each of them, giving them a high-five and congratulating them. “Well done, you did so good,” she would compliment her competitors, shaking their hands if they let her. 

After her track meets, Cylas and Lola would walk down to meet their daughter, congratulating her with hugs and kisses, before letting her gather her things from the locker room. “We’ll wait for you in the car! We’re parked across the street, okay?” Her father would yell to her. She’d flash them a smile and a thumbs-up, before taking off. Once inside the locker room, she went to a sink, rinsing off her face and her chest. Then she’d go to her locker and pull out her things - some baby wipes, deodorant, clean clothes, and her sports bag. Once she felt as fresh as she could feel without taking a proper shower, she’d pack everything up in her bag, shut her locker, and walk out to go find her parents’ car. They were parked exactly where they told her they’d be, the headlights on the red vehicle shining brightly in the darkness of the evening. 

Once they were all on their way, Cylas smiled at his daughter through the rear-view mirror. “We’re going to Nonna and Nonno’s for a celebratory dinner! Nonna made pasta alla Montecarlo.” Cylas would chuckle as he saw his daughter’s face light up. Inez, for as long as the family could remember, was always a little carnivore. Now that she was a growing girl - and an athletic one at that - they knew they’d have to sustain her with enough protein and carbohydrates to keep her energy up and her muscles strong. Inez could barely contain her excitement all the way to her grandparents’ house.

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At 15 years old, Inez had started to become incredibly uncomfortable in her own body. The doctors had deduced that her late start to puberty was in some part a result of her being an athlete. While the rest of her female classmates had started developing, Inez hadn’t quite caught up with them. The new adjustment wasn’t fun. Inez was incredibly hairy, bordering on almost furry, and found herself shaving - and later on waxing - everything below her eyes. Yet no matter how much she did it, the hair would keep growing back. Her mother would reassure her as best as she could, telling her it was probably a result of genetics. “Your body will sort itself out as you get older, just be patient with yourself, okay?” Lola would wrap her arms around Inez, squeezing every ounce of love she could into her daughter.

It was also at this age that she began to notice that streaks of grey were growing into her hair, which she hated with every bone in her body. She began box-dying her hair to cover up the greys, thinking it made her look old. Even worse, it just highlighted - in her mind - how different she was. She was trying so hard to seem normal, she just wanted to feel like other girls her age. She wanted her biggest worry to be about the boys she liked, not about her hair changing color, and growing so fast that she felt like an animal. She felt like a freak.

Inez also experienced a new first in her life - anxiety. Inez had a solid support group in her family, so when she suddenly began to feel like the walls were caving in on her, they were the first people to come to her rescue. The only thing that brought her peace was when she was training and competing in her sports. When she had a goal in mind, she could focus all of her energy - good and bad - into it, and give everything her all. She would focus on the memories of her family’s encouragement, knowing they’d always be proud of her as long as she was putting her best effort forward.

Inez had gotten to a point where she would go for a run first thing in the morning, then train in her sports at school, and go for another run when she got home before the sun went down. Her mother wouldn’t let her go out past dark, worrying for her only baby’s safety. Some nights, Inez would sneak out under the cover of darkness and run around the neighborhood. Then she’d sneak back into her house, as quietly as she could, and get back into her bed. Some nights were easier than others, and it was on the really difficult nights that she’d run laps around her block from midnight to 2 or 3 in the morning, only allowing herself a short bit of sleep before she’d get ready and go to school. Nonetheless, she’d wake up feeling somewhat refreshed, and ready to take on the day. 

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Inez hit a breaking point in her early adult years. When she was 21, she was enjoying some time with a few of her co-workers, when a man approached her with ill intentions. After repeatedly telling him to fuck off, this man still reached his grubby hand out and grabbed her. A thread inside of Inez snapped, and before even she could comprehend what was going on, the man was on the floor, screaming and cursing in pain. He held his face, while blood poured from his nose, which now appeared to be nearly inverted. Inez’s coworkers, rushed her outside, calling 911 and explaining the situation. Police and an ambulance arrived shortly thereafter. The police dismissed Inez, acknowledging that she had acted in self-defense, and in the event that the man attempted to press assault charges, that he would be shit out of luck. The man, who now looked like a close relative to Voldemort, was taken away in the ambulance to receive some help. The officers wrapped up getting the statements from Inez and her colleagues, before explaining that they’d need to go question the guy, “just protocol,” they said. Nothing came of the situation afterward, but Inez now felt something stronger than she ever had before - anger. In one night, Inez had gone from being angry when it was necessary, to now letting her rage consume her when she got lost in her thoughts.

Her father - who was furious when he had heard what happened - suggested Inez take up boxing. It definitely helped, with each blow to the punching bags, Inez felt the fire that once roared inside of her slowly begin to dim, until it was a comfortable warmth. The anger never burnt out completely, but it was now the size of a campfire, rather than a forest fire. But over time, the feeling wouldn’t die down as quickly. The perfect storm was just forming.

Inez took off on a run one night, every emotion ready to burst out of her chest if she didn’t control herself quickly. She had run from her home to a nature reserve park, 8 and a half miles away from her home. When she got there, she had a run-in with the groundskeeper, who had approached her with a gun. This time, rather than tearing the man’s face off, she raised her hands in surrender, while her heart hammered in her chest. After apologizing profusely and begging the man not to call authorities, Inez was left alone to take herself home. So off she ran, 8 and a half miles going back home. She slipped back into her house without anyone noticing, crawling into bed and trying to come to terms with the near-death experience she had.

Unbeknownst to her, the groundskeeper had reported the run-in, raising alarms to the owner of an institution in Salem Center, New York. The owner gathered his staff together, and a plan was made. Inez did need help. She needed their help. After a week, more reports had been made. Inez was quickly putting herself in danger every time she’d show up at a nature preserve or in a park where she wasn’t supposed to be. She never went to the same spots twice, out of fear that someone would eventually catch her, or worse. Unfortunately for the people from New York, there was no clear way to tell where she’d be going. They would have to meet her at her house.

================================================

On a bright Sunday morning, the Brando family was eating breakfast, when there was a knock at the front door. Cylas stood up, walking over to answer it. When he opened the door, two well-dressed men greeted Cylas with a smile. The older of the two sat in a wheelchair, while the younger one stood beside him.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Cylas greeted with a nod, “how can I help you?”

“Good morning, sir. Is this the Brando residence?” The man in the wheelchair inquired.

“That’s correct,” Cylas answered.

“You must be Mister Cylas Brando then,” the man in the wheelchair held his hand out to shake Cylas’s, “my name is Charles Xavier, this is my associate, Henry McCoy. Is your daughter home?”

Cylas shook Charles’s hand, then Henry’s. “She is, give me a moment and I’ll get her for you.” Cylas took a step towards the kitchen, “Inez, there’s some gentlemen here who would like to speak with you.”

Inez got up from the table, her thick eyebrows furrowed together. She saw the two men, and smiled politely. “Hello.”

Charles held his hand out to Inez, “Good morning, Inez. My name is Charles Xavier. I’m the headmaster of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, I’ve come to ask you about an opportunity we have for you.”

Inez shook the man’s hand, smiling. “Nice to meet you, what is the opportunity?”

Charles looked to his colleague, and then back to Inez, “Have you ever felt that you are… different from those around you? Have you been experiencing strange occurrences?”

Inez looked at them with a puzzled look on her face, “I… yes, I have. How do you know?”

Henry now spoke up, pushing his glasses up on his nose, “We’d like to ask you to join us at our school.” 

“We help people who are… different. We don’t mean to alarm you, but we think we may be able to help you.” Charles gave Inez a knowing look. Before she could respond, his voice was in her head, “I know you are different, you are special. We can help you.”

Inez’s eyes widened, shifting her glance between the two men. “What… what are you?”

“We are mutants, Inez, and we believe that you are one as well. If you do not wish to come with us, we understand, but we’ve created a safe and supportive environment for others like us. You have unique abilities, and we want to help you learn to live with them, perhaps even use them to help others. If you choose to accept, we will sort out and problems you may have with your family. The choice is yours.” Charles smiled gently. Inez looked at her front door, and thought of her parents. If going to this place made her happy, they would be happy.

After a moment of thought, Inez turned back to the two men, “Would you like to come inside, and talk with my parents?”

“It would be our pleasure.”

================================================

“This is amazing, our baby’s gonna get to work at a prestigious academy!” Cylas beamed, hugging Inez tightly.

“How excited are you, little lamb?” Lola folded one of her daughter’s shirts, placing it neatly in the suitcase they had bought for her.

Inez smiled, resting her head on her father’s shoulder, “I’m very excited. I’ll miss you while I’m away, but I’ll come and visit when the school year is off.”

“Of course, we’re gonna miss you too, kid. But, this is an exciting and big step for you, and we’ve always wanted what’s best for you.” Her mother continued to fold clothes, “I can’t believe you get to go all the way to New York. Will you promise to call us when you have free time? Let us know how you’re doing?”

“Of course, Mama.” Inez zipped up the suitcase once it was full. “Charles and Henry will be here to pick me up soon, are you both gonna be okay?” Cylas nodded, even though it hurt to see his daughter grow up so quickly before his very eyes, he was proud - as always - that she was spreading her wings and leaving the nest for the first time. He picked up her suitcase and wheeled it near the front door. Inez hugged her mother and father both tightly, and for the first time, she was also seeing how much they had changed since she was little. Both of them were beginning to get grey around the roots of their hair - Cylas having lots of grey in his beard. For the first time in her life, she found the grey to be really beautiful. Maybe it wouldn’t look so bad on her, after all.

The time finally came for her to leave. A black van had come, with Charles and Henry both sitting inside waiting for her. She pulled the handle up on the suitcase, and dragged it over the threshold of the front door. She gave her parents one more hug, and each of them a kiss on the cheek. Cylas placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing her lovingly, “You can always come home if you need us. There will always be room here for our little lamb.” Inez nodded, giving her parents one last smile, before she got into the vehicle and waved goodbye.

[bun-lapin]

Congrats on 100 followers!!!!!!! Was wondering if I could request either #3 or #6 from your event prompt list with Rook Hunt, fluff, romantic with either gn or male reader?

Thank you so much~!! You're one of my earliest mutuals (like, first or second??) so I was super excited to see your request for the event! And with Rook Hunt no less! I absolutely adore his theatrical and flowery mannerisms but I tried to dial it down a little for this one lol I hope enjoy what I came up with for this prompt~! <3

Prompt: Smile Genre: Romantic / Fluff Character(s): Rook Hunt, m!reader CW: hand kiss, forehead kiss, French language

Leaning back with a comfortable sigh, you rest your shoulders against the firm trunk of the ancient apple tree that towers above you. The morning sun filters down through the green leaves overhead in gentle scales of light and you hear the chirping melodies of birds in the trees nearby. Tilting your head upwards, you smile and call out softly, “How much longer are you planning on staying up there, Rook?”

Looking down at you from his well-hidden perch on a sturdy tree limb, Rook smiles joyfully and politely tips the brim of his hat. With his eyes sparkling with delight, he replies in a clear whisper, “My apologies for the wait, mon cœur! It will be just a few moments more. My quarry is nearly within my grasp.” Turning to look at a branch below him, he silently tilts his head in thought and then whistles a perfectly performed bird call. A response call rings out from the spot under Rook’s watchful eye and then a small bird flies out from its hiding place. Quickly lifting the camera in his hands, Rook points the lens at the bird as it flies off towards the horizon and you hear the soft click of the camera’s shutter. With a satisfied smile on his face, he murmurs in a dreamlike voice, “Quel oiseau magnifique! This is the perfect location for capturing the beauty of birds in flight!”

You watch Rook gracefully climb down the tree and laugh when he lands on his feet in front of you with a little flourish. You turn to look in the direction of the small bird in the sky and ask, “What kind of bird was that?”

Rook follows your gaze and lets out a soft, almost musical sounding sigh, “It’s a bird found only here on this island. A starlight sage swallow.” You turn to look back at him and Rook smiles radiantly towards you, “The swallow is an auspicious sign. Many cultures regard it as a sign of good luck!” He takes your hand in his and brushes several soft kisses against the back of your hand. Pressing your palm against his cheek, he states in an alluring voice, “Not that I have any need for that kind of luck. With you by my side, I have all the good fortune I could want for countless lifetimes.”

You smile warmly at him and reply, “Well I hope I brought you good luck in getting some beautiful photographs today.”

Rook lets out a light, carefree laugh. “Mais bien sûr! There is no doubt in my mind these photos will develop beautifully! All thanks to you, mon rêve!” He smiles affectionately as he studies your face for a moment, but then suddenly glances over to the side at a patch of tall grass. Pressing a finger to his smiling lips, he gives you a wink and begins to creep silently into the grass. Reaching his destination, he glances over his shoulder at you with a playful look in his eyes. Rook then raises his fingers to his mouth and lets out a piercing whistle, causing a small bird to erupt into flight from its grassy hiding place. The sudden sound of furiously flapping wings startles you and you instinctively turn your head sharply to the side to watch the bird rush off into the sky. Rook suddenly calls out to you, “Arrête! Don’t move!”

You freeze in place, listening and waiting for further instruction, when you hear the snapping sound of the camera’s shutter. You look over and see Rook holding his camera pointed directly at you, an expression of joy and wonder radiating from his face. You laugh and playfully ask, “Why did you take my picture? I thought we were out here to photograph birds.”

Rook wags his finger in a gently teasing way and laughs, “Remember, mon trésor, I am a hunter of beauty above all else!” Lowering his camera, he begins to slowly walk back to your side as he says, “I could not resist the urge to photograph your captivating form. The way the sunlight falls across your face, the curve of your cheeks.” Finally reaching your side, he reaches out to you and softly strokes the side of your face. Brushing a kiss against your brow, he continues in an enraptured voice, “The sound of your laughter, the blaze of joy in your eyes! There is so much of this moment and of you, that I wish to always hold tight in my heart and treasure for the rest of my life.”

You smile softly and think over Rook’s words for a moment before asking, “How about we take a picture together then? To help us always remember this moment.”

Rook gasps with delight and quietly exclaims, “Bonne idée! What a brilliant thought, my love!” You laugh at his enthusiasm and Rook laughs right along with you. Holding his camera at arms length and pointing it towards the two of you, Rook nestles up against your side and places his head on your shoulder. In a dreamlike whisper, he says, “In the face of this shared eternity, let us smile together now, mon amour.”

[adapembroke]

Diving With Sedna: An Astrologer’s Journey Begins

First having read the book of myths,

and loaded the camera,

and checked the edge of the knife-blade,

I put on

the body-armor of black rubber

-Adrienne Rich, “Diving Into the Wreck”

"The child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth." 

-African Proverb

In Iceland, there is a Christmas tradition called the Jolabokaflod (“Christmas book flood”). Everyone in the family exchanges books on Christmas Eve, and the evening is spent reading together. After I stumbled on this tradition in the news, my family decided to do our own version last Christmas. We each asked for a book we wanted to read, and we opened our book presents on Christmas Eve. 

I asked for Never Whistle at Night: An Indigenous Dark Fiction Anthology because it felt fun to combine Jolabokaflod with the old tradition in the English-speaking world of telling ghost stories on Christmas Eve. 

My husband got me the book, and I read aloud the story “Kushtuka” by Mathilda Zeller. It was a wonderful ghost story, creepy and violent, but I was especially tickled that there was a reference to the goddess Sedna in it. 

I knew from Alison Chester-Lambert’s lecture (YouTube) on the dwarf planets that there was a dwarf planet named for Sedna, the Inuit goddess of the sea and the underworld. Aside from that, I didn’t know much.

A quick Google search told me that Sedna is best known for her violent origin story. While Sedna and her father are at sea in a boat, her father throws her overboard and refuses to let her back in the boat. Instead, he chops off her fingers when she clings to the side of the boat, begging to be allowed back in. Her fingers become sea mammals, and she falls to the bottom of the ocean where she becomes the protector of sea mammals.

It struck me that there are many different versions of her story. Each version of the story contains the story of the assault of Sedna, but they all give a different explanation for why the violence is happening. It is as if the Inuit received a common vision, and the different versions represent different ways that people cope with the hard truth that parents can do horrible things to their children.

Curious, I started including Sedna in all my charts and looking for her influence in astrology readings. 

Showing up in charts isn’t the same as having something to say in readings, of course, especially when the astrologer has done much research on the planet, but Sedna has been coming up a lot in readings this year. Recently, I was talking about Chiron with a client, and the only way to understand her Chiron was to tell Sedna’s story. What came after was so dramatic and so healing for my client, I knew that I needed to go deeper with Sedna. 

Most astrologers begin their research by looking at celebrity charts, studying history, or reading myths. My instincts told me that the best way to start learning about Sedna was to continue doing the work I was already doing. I would just do it in a more purposeful way. I would offer a reading in which I would tell her story, describe the places that Sedna touches in the charts of my clients, and help them process their responses to it. 

I asked the members of the Narrative Astrology Lab if they would help me develop these new Sedna readings. So far, eleven people have had or scheduled these readings with me.

I’m writing this in 2024, which is a big year for Sedna the planet. She was discovered in 2023, and 2024 is the 20th anniversary of the announcement of her discovery. As luck would have it, I happened to announce to the Narrative Astrology Lab that I was ready to start working with Sedna in charts on her last day transiting the sign of Taurus. Sign changes are significant for every outer planet, but especially for Sedna. Her orbit is 11,500 years long, and it takes her way out past Pluto--halfway to the next star! She’s moving quickly right now and approaching the fastest part of her orbit, but fast is relative. She spent almost 60 years in Taurus..

Because Sedna has been in Taurus for such a long time, most of the people who have gotten Sedna readings from me have Sedna in Taurus in their natal charts. As you might expect from her story, she tends to feature prominently in the charts of people who have been rejected by their parents, but parental rejection isn’t the only similarity. 

Just like Sedna is an advocate for the sea mammals who provide food for the Inuit, I have found that people with a prominent Sedna tend to be involved in advocacy. Sometimes, this advocacy is professional, such as fighting for fair treatment of women in the workplace. Other times, the advocacy is more informal and subtle, like building communities that are safe spaces or having a presence that makes women feel safe.

So far, the people who have answered the call to meet Sedna in a reading have told me that they found the process to be illuminating. It is far too early to know what Sedna in Gemini will bring, but Gemini is the sign of the storyteller, and I suspect that Sedna’s passage through Gemini will be a time for telling healing stories.

But Sedna is polarizing.

As I’ve started to talk about the things I’ve learned from Sedna publicly, I've been getting a crash course in the lengths to which people will go to convince themselves that bad things always happen for a good reason. 

Sedna cannot hide her scars. To face Sedna is to face her story. To face her story is to face the problem of evil… and the evils we need to keep us alive. She is the child of Omelas. She is the sacrificial victim on the altar to the lies we tell to make ourselves feel safe.

But for the ocean’s prey and rejected children and the ones who can’t hide our scars, she is one of us, and she is Goddess.

If you would like to learn more about Sedna in astrology, I will be sharing my research at a workshop on May 28, 2024. A recording will be provided for those who can’t attend live.