#belle writes stuff

[sophiebaek]

Life at My Cottage:

The whole family loves to spend time outside exploring the land and especially by the lake near by.

Sophie will take the kids to garden with her; William always sneaks in some snacks when they pick strawberries.

Benedict (with the assistance of their neighbor Mr. Crabtree) built some swings outside the moment they found out Sophie was pregnant.

One afternoon they went for a picnic by the lake. With the sun high and full of splashes, the children all fell asleep as Sophie read them Alice in Wonderland. Benedict captured the moment with his charcoals and it’s his most cherished drawing.

It’s not surprising to find a cousin at My Cottage.

Sophie loves to hear the children play and laugh as she bakes with the windows open.

Charles always takes the lead when they go exploring. He must make sure all of the trees are safe to climb for his siblings (and secretly he wants to be first).

Alexander is always bringing Violet back flowers when he goes out since she can’t walk just yet.

In the few quiet moments, Benedict and Sophie like the dance as the sun goes down as their children snicker not so quietly from behind the bushes. An impromptu dancing lesson then ensues.

[writergeekrhw]

I heard some Trekkies are planning to donate to charities that aid those experiencing homelessness to celebrate The Bell Riots in dedication to Gabriel Bell or under the name of Gabriel Bell!

Yes! This is a good plan, and I did it myself.

[creativesplat]

I would also like to see some miphlink, if that's okay!

I was really struggling with what to draw, and then I remembered your ask from ages ago (dang ADHD brain...) anyway, sorry its such a late answer, but Miphlink inspired by Dicksee's La Belle Dame

[firawren]

“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”

Beast squirmed. “I don’t know, Belle…”

“Please? I really liked having you with me in my bed, but your bed is bigger.”

He had liked being in her bed too, but that was the problem—he liked it too much. It had been so hard to pull away from her soft body and warm mouth that morning. But it was so hard to say no to her, too.

“Alright.”

Her face lit up with delight, and she linked her arm with his. “Let’s go!”

Beast felt a nervous anticipation fluttering in his stomach as soon as they walked into his room. She’d been in here before, but never with the intention to share his bed. They walked toward it together, and Beast swallowed thickly. The bed had been magically repaired and beautified when the curse broke, but was still enormous and solid enough for a huge beast like him. He knew for a fact it could stand up to the force of his frenzied rutting, in those times when his animal lust drove him over the edge. But there would be no rutting tonight, he firmly reminded his already betraying body. Just sleeping.

As soon as they stopped by the bed, Belle started unlacing her dress, and Beast’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?”

“Getting undressed for bed. Don’t tell me you normally sleep in all your clothes.”

Normally he slept naked, but there was no way he’d be able to make it through the night in a bed with Belle if he wasn’t wearing pants. He doubted he’d get much sleep tonight as it was.

But sleeping fully dressed like he had last night was dreadfully uncomfortable. So he pulled his shirt off and left it at that. Belle had seen him like this before. This would be safe enough.

He climbed into bed and stared hard at the ceiling while his blasted beast ears picked up every hushed sound of fabric sliding over soft skin and dropping to the floor as Belle finished getting undressed.

The previous night she had been sleepy, but tonight she seemed not to be, running her hands into his mane and kissing him eagerly as soon as she was beside him. He grunted and curled a paw around her waist, holding her close as his tongue explored her mouth.

The rich scent of her arousal bloomed out from her, making Beast feel almost giddy with want. He pulled his mouth from hers to bump his snout into the crook of her neck, where her scent was even stronger. His nostrils flared as he breathed it in, filling his greedy lungs with her desire. He swept his tongue over her throat, needing to taste more of her, and she moaned and rocked closer to him.

Continue reading chapter 8 of Transformation on AO3

This gorgeous artwork by @rain1940 was commissioned by my friend @thefamilybruno to go along with my Beauty and the Beast fanfic Transformation. In chapter 8, things start getting spicy as Beast and Belle finally start sharing a bed, though they won't end up as they are in this artwork for a wee bit longer yet...

[oetscop]

this is kinda old and i almost didnt post it. i kinda gave up on making a full rainer ref like i did with daniel soooo take this ^}^

this is after 1997 and before 2000 when he went missing for good.

[daboyau]

I got an idea when looking at this post by @tangledinink. I couldn’t rest until I’d jotted it down. The art possessed me like an evil spirit. warnings for body horror, vomiting, general fuckery. 💚

what probably happened directly before Leo found himself in this situation:

Leo: Fairies? No way those sparkly little assholes are real.

The fae who happened to be within earshot: and i took that personally.

Anyway, here we gooooo:

Leo opens his mouth to scream, but the sound won’t come out. He gags on the feeling of it catching inside his throat, and then again when the trapped scream begins to grow thorns. It scrapes its way up, and he claws desperately at his throat, trying to tear the feeling out, falling to his knees as he gags around the forced silence.

The threat of suffocation is enough to tear his attention, however briefly, away from the horror of what is happening to his shell. His body is changing itself on the urging of some other thing’s whims, and even though his nerves didn’t seem to get the memo that a dissolving shell (you know, the thing that most of his internal organs and, like, half of his bones need to stay inside his body?) should probably hurt a lot, he can still feel it.

He retches as the first flower falls from his lips. It hits the ground with a disgustingly wet sound, coated with bile and saliva. It shines wetly, rich orange hues standing out brightly against the black soil. The rest follow shortly after, a painful deluge of familiar colors, and he’s helpless to do anything but dig his fingers deep into the rich soil and try not to let the horrific impossibility of the situation drive him crazy. Tears flow freely, staining his cheeks before they fall to the ground below, greedily absorbed by the cursed earth of this place.

“Oh, dear,” a voice says, too close for him not to have noticed their presence. He tries to jerk back, but he can’t pull his fingers from the dirt. It hurts when he tries. A high pitched whine escapes his throat, but he’s too terrified to be embarrassed by that. The voice shushes him, soothes him, and warm fingers wrap tight around the back of his neck. They come to rest just above where the lip of his shell should be. He sobs at the way his back squirms as heat shoots down his spine and something begins to grow. The furred fingers drag like velvet against his scales as they squeeze, the sharp prick of claws threatening to break skin, and then release him just as suddenly. 

“So much sorrow and pain. And, oh, so many regrets,” the thing says as she circles him, humming a tune that makes his head pound in rhythm with his racing heart. His hands have sunk beneath the black soil, and it has begun licking greedily at his wrists as well. He can feel tendrils of something wet and cold winding themselves around his fingers, and he wants to scream again, but the bursts of bile-soaked colors decorating the ground keep him from opening his mouth. He can feel a petal still clinging to his bottom lip, and when the thing kneels before him, she reaches out to pluck it off, unbothered by the way he shrinks as far away from her touch as he can manage.

She slips it between her lips, and he catches a flash of a blackened tongue as it darts out to meet that single purple petal. Her teeth are sharp when she smiles at him. They hadn’t been sharp, when she’d first approached him in the Hidden City. Nothing about her had been.

In the dim lights of the underground world he and his brothers had only recently begun to explore, she had looked soft. He’d seen her approaching, and the first thought to flit through his head was, aw, bunny. A fluffy, rounded face. Big eyes, dark and deep as a still pond as they reflected the flickering neon of a sign in the shop window behind him. A pink nose had twitched when she’d smiled at him, sweet and kind, and asked him for his name. 

(What had he told her?)

Now, she would be unrecognizable, if not for the same strawberry patterned dress that drapes over her stretched out frame. He’d think to compare her to a hare now, but the hares he’d seen when watching Animal Planet with mikey had never looked like they would take delight in tearing his nails off one by one or plucking out his eyeballs. They had never made his vision swim or his body shake when he’d looked at them. Maybe she’s become more of a wolf.

The soil has reached his elbows. Those cool, slimy tendrils have circled his wrists like shackles. They’re squeezing tighter and tighter, and he feels his fingers throb and tingle as circulation is cut off. 

His mind flashes briefly to raph and how he used to tell them not to wear rubber bands on their wrists, convinced that their hands would fall right off if they got squeezed too tight. He wonders if the things that live beneath the dirt will steal what they’ve claimed, just like she’s stollen his shell. Another sound wants to bubble up his throat at the thought, and he lets it, because what use is a swordsman without his hands?

The hysterical giggles escape as big, iridescent bubbles. They glitter pink and blue and leave a bitter taste on his tongue. They only float a few feet into the air before they fall back to the ground, their attempt to flee the horror of this situation not getting too far at all. Soft green grass rises up from the dirt to catch them, but they do not pop. They rest, suspended on those tiny blades, for far longer than any bubble he’s ever blown before. He watches, transfixed, as his laughter is eventually swallowed by green. It begins to spread.

A hand cradles his chin, and his gaze jerks back to the thing that brought him here. She is watching him intently, eyes darting to take in every tiny change in his expression. She looks curious, in the same way that donnie does when he’s thinking about all the ways he can take something apart, and what he can do with those pieces to create something better. 

Her hand is soft where it touches him. She is gentle as she wipes a cloth across his mouth. It feels like water, soothing and cool, and he finds himself leaning into this tiny offer of comfort among the stomach churning violation of what is being done to him. His eyes flutter, and he distantly registers that the face she wears seems to swim before his eyes with each rapid blink, shifting back and forth between bunny and wolf and something other. She looks like she wants to devour him whole, no matter which face she wears.

From this close, he can see the way her eyes sparkle and dance when she smiles. He can’t help but think that maybe being swallowed whole wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, after all. 

The writhing shackles around his wrists tighten. 

She laughs, breathy and soft, and the sound is layered and beautiful like wind chimes. It conjures a hurricane inside his mind. Her cool breath gusts over his face. It smells like churned dirt and funeral flowers and pustulous rot. He doesn’t know if he wants to gag or breathe deeper. 

“Little blossom,” she croons, cupping both his cheeks, dragging their faces close. He doesn’t resist. She giggles, and she drags those soft hands and those sharp claws down his neck and over his shoulders, fingertips bumping against the disgustinghorriblewrongparasitetumor gathering of delicate buds that have sprouted up all across his back. She pinches one between the pads of her fingers, and he wants to screamcrybeghertostoppushherawaycutherdownandtearthemalloutbytheroots be good for her.

“Little blossom,” she says again, and those dark eyes catch his gaze and hold it as a heavy feeling settles against his skin, across his shoulders, around his neck, and he can’t look away no matter how desperately he tries. But he doesn’t want to try. Her smile stretches wider, wider, and for one brief flicker of a second he can see blood on her teeth as she asks, “Do you believe now?”

.

(Side note just for fun. The flowers that appear in this but aren’t actually described or named are:

Orange marigold, for grief and despair

Purple hyacinth, for sorrow and asking for forgiveness

Red cyclamen, for goodbye and resignation

Yellow zinnia, for missing a friend and remembrance

Bluebells, for gratitude and everlasting love 

[orion-kenobi]

I am choosing to believe in a better version of stargate canon where jonas has the ata gene

[queenofallimagines]

Meet cute~

Isagi x fem Reader

A/N: Morning to all the baddies✌🏿Nothing gets you in the mood to write than starting something brand new and not working on WIPs�� based off a rly cute TikTok I saw I think isagi would be one of the ones to meet his S/O in a super cute way

CW: black reader but not rly focused on, bad grammar it’s like 4:45 am sorry,foreigner reader, was gunna sneak in like artist reader or something but the way it’s so ambiguous is cute, Bachira the pot stirrer, he also knows Spanish a little,U-20 captain isagi?? polyglot reader, She’s afro latino, Isagi falling in love at first sight. Let me know if I missed anything!

TAGLIST: @priv-rose

"Did you see the way shidou kicked rin?” Bachira could barely breathe as memories of today’s practice filled his mind— he looked over at isagi, who was shaking his head in faux disappointment, trying to hide a smile.

“Course i did, poor rin.” Isagi chuckled, running a hand through his hair. the striker was about to add onto his sentence but the feeling of someone bumping into him distracted him. he peered over his shoulder, a small smile on his face when he saw who it was. “mm… you good?”

Looking up at him with apologetic eyes she anxiously rushes out her words.

“Ah, im Sorry!”

“It's fine, it was an accident, it happens." Isagi smiled softly, and that smile would remain on his face even as he noticed her hair. his eyes lingered on it for a moment too long, taking in the way it was pushed out of her face, the colour of it.

“Nice hair."

“Huh?” He watches as she brings a hand up to her hair reflexively fidgeting with it. “oh uh thanks. I like yours too….”

“You do? thank you, it's nothing special." He smiled still staring down at her hair. he realized he was staring and cleared his throat. After a brief moment, he spoke. Trying to clear the awkwardness.

“Hey, just out of curiosity, where are you from?" He fumbles out awkwardly internally wincing at how nervous he sounded. But he was curious as to the way she spoke. her accent sounded familiar to him, almost foreign.

“I guess but it really suits you! Shapes your face really well. And, I mean… if you’re asking where I was before Japan I’m from America.”

“Oh you think so?" Isagi's cheeks had begun to turn red, he could feel the blood rushing to his face as he smiled sheepishly Rubbing the back of his neck.

‘America? He was right, he thought. She spoke differently.’

“Ahh, you're an American, yeah? Is that why you speak funny?" He teased playfully, smiling down at her. Watching her wince a little at his words and he immediately felt embarrassment wash over him. Saying she talked weird wasn’t really polite was it? He watches as she chuckles nervously at him.

“ah, kinda? America has a lot of different accents depending on region so I’m not sure which one takes precedence when I speak Japanese. Nodding his head in relief she didn't deny it, so isagi decided to continue with his questioning.

“Okay, but what region are you from? Are you from the South?" Tilting his head slightly, his eyebrow cocked, curiousity sparking in his eyes.He tries to hide his smile as he watches her face morph into shock. Her eyes were really pretty from where he was standing…

“That easy to tell huh?”

“Yeah." Isagi snickers, he continued. "The way you speak….it's different— a lot more laidback, but not like the Tokyo-y, or Osaka accents. The American accent isn't quite heavy, but not super light either. There's no way it’s something like Texas, Florida, or California, but I'd guess somewhere in the South, closer to the South-east. Am I right?" Looking at her expectantly he can’t help but get lost in her eyes.

“….. Spot on again. I moved from Texas but I was born and raised in the east coast so sometimes I’m New York sometimes I sound more like Houston or New Orleans. Depends on the words I’m saying and how fast I’m talking.” He was actually surprised that he'd managed to guess correctly not one, but twice! With the way the corners of his lips crept upwards, he didn't realize how much he liked talking to her. As the conversation continued, he found himself smiling.

“Wow, so you're just all over the place huh, like a rainbow?" His heart fluttered hearing her giggle reach his ears. It sounded so melodious.

“yep!” Humming in thought he shoots her a smirk. “It'd be interesting to hear how you speak, like if you were super angry or something." The black haired boy teased, not realizing the flirtatious implication it could have.

“I’ve been told I talk faster and with more force so probably New York. And then I speak Spanish too so definitely that.” At the mention of her being able to speak a third language, Isagi's eyes widened. He leaned closer his curiosity growing.

“You can speak Spanish?"

“Mhm. My family is Latin American so Spanish fluency runs through my family.”

Isagi's eyes twinkled with an undeniable sparkle of curiosity. he was definitely intrigued. He’s only heard some of the players on opposing teams he’d play curse at him in Spanish but never actual full on sentences. his lips curved upwards slightly. "Can you speak it right now? If you don't mind." He watches as her eyes far around for a second before letting his again. He felt a little bad for putting her on the spot like that but not bad enough to take it back.

“Oh uh sure. Uhh” She hums for a second before clearing her throat.

“Hola, isagi y bachira. Encantado de conoceros. Los dos sois muy guapos.”

(Hi, isagi and bachira. Nice to meet you both. You are both very handsome)

Isagi's eyes widened with amazement, a look of pure joy on his face. he clapped his hands together. “That's amazing! You speak it so well!" His face flushed at the compliment.

“You know what, I have a question for you." His grin grew into a bigger, brighter smile. Her way of speaking had a certain musical quality to it. He watched her closely all the while, his eyes taking her in, and listening to the way she spoke. She'd said something about them being handsome he thinks? He looked at Bachira who'd been witnessing the conversation the entire while, he noticed his friend's eyebrows raise slightly, and a small smile come onto his lips.

‘Did she just call us handsome?’ Bachira mouthed to him. He knows Bachira definitely isn’t fluent playing in Spain and spending time around Lavinho he must’ve picked up on some. He understands it better than he does English anyway. Feeling his heart racing he looks at her without missing a beat.

"Can I try something?" His gaze didn't waver from the way her lips curved at the sides, her smile being a mere testament of her good features.Quirking an eyebrow at him she looks at him confused for a second before cautiously replying.

“Okay?”

“Say my name." Isagi said, his words laced with a soft breath. Taking half a step closer he watched her lips closely, taking in how each syllable looked as it left her lips. He heard her breath hitch as those beautiful eyes widen looking up at him.

“Yo- I mean Isagi Yoichi.”

He couldn’t help but smirk at the way she said his name. he'd told her to do so, he'd expected it, but the way she'd said his name had his heart beating out of his chest..

"Say Bachira." She chuckles smiling at him confused but obliging him anyway.

“Bachira.” Isagi's gaze remained fixated as he watched her lips form each syllable. He was enjoying this and his brain hadn't quite caught up with the fact that he was enjoying this.

“Say your own name." She smiles at him before speaking her own name. He can’t help the shiver that runs up his spine. The way the words flowed out of her mouth like honey, her tongue curling around every vowel. He would do anything to hear her talk forever if he could. The way her accent was almost hypnotic to his ears. It seemed even her name had no special effect on him.

“I have to tell you, your accent is so cute." He tilted his head slightly as he continued.

"One more thing." The stunned look on her face had him biting back a smile. That deer in headlights look was absolutely precious. It wasn’t until then did he notice the difference between them. The way she looked up at him made something inside him go absolutely wild.

“Oh. Uh thanks.”

“How about you say... isagi yoichi is an absolute cutie?" He teased playfully. He knew when saw her flustered face he had to tease her just a bit more. Like if he’s gunna try and shoot his shot he’s going to put himself at an advantage. Grinning, he was having so much fun, he forgot Bachira was watching the two of them carefully now. His eyes darting back and fourth between the two.

“Yoichi Isagi es precioso.”

The athlete felt his heart stop. He wasn't actually expecting her to do it! And so quickly without any hesitation. He was stunned into silence. His jaw had dropped and his cheeks were blazing bright. Bachira hadn't missed or misread what had just happened. He laughed quietly, a smile tugging at his lips.

‘Damn.. Did that really just happen? Talk about matching energy.’

She laughing seeing his flushed face. He looked like he was trying to find words but forgot how to speak at all.

“Uh,you ok?” Isagi who was was still blushing, lifted the corners of his mouth tilted upwards in embarrassment and joy. Bachira was just barely holding back a laugh. When he found his voice he finally managed to speak after a moment.

“Y-yes. I'm very okay." Isagi's voice was still laced with embarrassment, but he continued anyway. “Can I ask you something though?”

“Hm?”

“Do you have a boyfriend?" His voice still laced with embarrassment, but there was genuine curiosity behind it now. He tries to steady his heart as he looks at her expectantly. He watches as she looks at him surprised stuttering out her words.

“W- I- no?? Like I don’t. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Isagi nodded, his mind reeling. This day was wild already, she was flirting with him, he was flirting with her– it was really something else. He couldn't deny that the idea of her not being taken was something that gave him the confidence to continue.

"You don't?" He asked again, this time a little slower just to hear her say it. His eyebrows rose, his cheeks were hot with embarrassment, his mind began to race. Deep blue eyes remained on her, he couldn't help staring. He didn't need any other confirmation other than this. he smiled softly, trying to hide just how happy her answer made him.

“Oh, So that means there's no one who'd come and beat me up if I asked you out?" He asked her jokingly, but his voice still remained soft.

“o-oh uh no that wouldn’t happen….” Smiling wider as he caught onto the fact that she'd blushed. She was too adorable, the way her eyes were looking at everything but him. Her hands nervously pulling at her shirt. That, and her soft, smooth voice was sending him into a state of bliss.. And he was starting to get carried away. His grin grew.

“Wellll... Can I ask you something then?"

“Y-yeah?” Shyly looking up at him he noticed the tips of her ears looking red.

“Would you like to go out with me?" He had put all his cards out on the table now and was waiting in anticipation as he asked her. He could hardly believe that he'd gotten to the point of asking her this. His heart was beating out of his chest and there was something happening in his stomach. It wasn't pleasant... The nerves were eating away at him.

“Mhm….i would.” Isagi felt his breath catch in his throat as she agreed. His cheeks were heated, his palms were sweaty, his fingers were trembling. He couldn't breathe. Everything about this felt surreal, there had to be a catch. But, no. It was really happening, he really just asked her out on a date and she agreed.

“Really?" He watches intently as she rocks on the heels of her feet looking away from him. “Mhm.”

His heart was still beating out of his chest. His whole body felt tingly as his cheeks grew hotter. Her answer had taken him by surprise, it'd been a lot easier than he thought it'd be to ask her. His eyes were drawn towards her lips, they were so cute and looked so soft…

Just before he could say anything though, Bachira coughed.

"Isagi?"

Jolting she glances over at him flushing in embarrassment forgetting he was there. She’d completely put all her focus on the boy flirting with her. Bachira looked more like an amused observer, his lips curled up into a small smile. Isagi was flustered to have been caught staring, he snapped out of his thoughts to glance over at him. He felt his face grow even more hot.

“W-what?"

He felt a wave of embarrassment slack him in the face as his friend’s laughter rang out. he'd been enjoying watching what was going on behind the scenes. Bachira's teasing was usually directed towards Isagi, who was easy to tease. So, seeing him be the one getting teased for once and being affected this much by was entertaining.

"You're all red, man.." Bachira teased, the corners of his lips remained curled upwards.He whips his head around to hear the girl snickering at him, hand over her mouth.

“Shut up." Isagi tried his best to sound annoyed, but his voice came out sounding flustered. He was very flustered, he was still red like a tomato. His mind couldn't seem to come up with anything else.. The only thing his body was focused on was her. Her pretty face, her soft voice, her sweet smile, her laugh…. Flinching he felt her grab his hand and he froze.

“Here.”

His heart skipped a beat as she grabbed his hand and held it firmly. He couldn't help, his eyes went wide and his jaw dropped. Was she really holding his hand? Her touch was so soft... her grip was gentle, yet firm.. He found himself trying not to close his eyes in that brief moment. She steps closer to him turning to hold her hand in front of him. He was hoping she couldn’t feel his heart beating out of his chest as her back pressed up against his chest. He feels frozen where he stands as she writes her name and number across his wrist.

“How about you can decide after you win your next game yeah? I’ll be watching so don’t disappoint me.”

His eyes remained on her as she wrote her number down on his wrist, their thumbs grazing together and sliding together for a brief moment. The feel of her grip on his wrist had Isagi's body tingling and his mind racing. He was taken aback by her gesture, but his mind was only focused on one thing right now. She wanted to watch him? She'd be there... watching him? Isagi couldn't help, he grinned, his pulse was rising. Once she finished she moved away from him letting his wrist fall. Capping the pen she held she tapped the end on his nose smiling at him.

“Don’t disappoint me now pretty.” Isagi was startled by her words. For the first time in his life, he was called pretty. His cheeks went red and that one word alone caused his entire world to stop moving around him, he felt so warm.

“I don't plan on it. You'll see, I'll be impressive." He said, his tone was much more confident than he'd meant to sound. She rolled her eyes at him letting a huff leave her lips.

“I’ll definitely hold you to that Mr egoist.”

“Oh?" Smirking he was aware that she was teasing him.He chuckled as it was his turn. “You have no idea..I'm gonna do my damn best to go all out in the game and win." He was already confident. His ego was growing, but he didn't mind that. He had every right to be confident with the skills that he had. His cocky smile remained on his lips.

“I expect to see you there?" He watches as she swallows hard looking up at him. She felt her face heat up at the look of determination in his eyes.

“y-yeah definitely. I’ll keep my eyes on you the whole time….”

Now isagi could feel the adrenaline running through veins. This was all so new to him, the way she was acting so flirty, the way her eyes were on him and her cheeks were flushed just by his look.. The way she was talking right now was making his whole world spin again. Smiling he was enjoying the feel of all those butterflies. He let go of her hand finally and he looked away for a second.

“Okay, then. I guess I'll see you there." He finally said as he turned to leave. Clutching his jacket in hopes to stop his heard from beating so loudly in his ears. He was on cloud 9 and he couldn’t even process this moment being real.

“Yeah… bye yoichi. See you there.” Isagi waved at her, turning to exit. He felt her eyes still lingering on him as he went. His mind was filled with so many thoughts right now. He couldn't believe that he'd done that, he couldn't believe that it had happened... But, it did happen. He had got a date. He had a date with the prettiest girl he'd ever met. That didn't seem real, and he couldn't be happier about it. As he left the gym, Bachira was waiting for him with a smug look on his face.

“You got a date?" Bachira asked, watching him as he approached. Isagi's cheeks were glowing bright red, his grin was infectious. "Shut-up." Isagi snapped back, clearly feeling flustered still. His hands were trembling ever so slightly and he was aware that it was all over his facial expressiosn. He attempted to hide his emotions but to no avail, he was just too excited for his own good.

“Awwwww Come on, you can't lie! I can see it all over you, your face is bright red and your lips got this dumb grin on em. You're down bad when you're flustered, and the way she was looking at you? Yeah, you got a date." Bachira said excitedly as he watched his friend trying his best to hide his emotions.

“Shut. up." He said, a hint of frustration in his voice. Isagi didn't want to acknowledge that his friend was right, but he had a point. He was right. Isagi could still feel her hand on his wrist. He felt like he could still feel her breath on his skin. His cheeks were red, his hands were shaking. All because this damn date.

[bella-rose29]

I love writing fics that have quests/missions in because I then have to crack out a map and figure out just how long it'll take them to get from A to B while also sticking to the timeline of the actual show

[cirrus-grey]

Trick or treat? 🎃

Why hello there! Beautiful night for it, though I do advise you cover your neck if you plan to be out long - I've heard rumors of vampires in these parts...

“Speak of the devil!” Jon said, with false cheer. “Tim, Sasha, this is my new familiar Martin. Martin, these are my roommates, Tim and Sasha.”

He placed a hand on Martin’s shoulder, propelling Martin a step farther into the room. The hand lingered once that motion was done, and Martin couldn’t quite decide if it was meant to reassure him, or if it was Jon making a possessive claim on him to send a message to his roommates about Martin’s hypothetical edibility. Perhaps both.

“Martin!” The man - presumably Tim - stepped forward, his arms wide in greeting as though he hadn’t been talking about eating Martin just a minute ago. “Nice to meet you!” He grabbed Martin’s hand, pumping it up and down enthusiastically. His hands were ice-cold and his grip was strong. Martin gave him a weak smile in return.

“You too.”

The woman - Sasha - crept closer, sidling up to Martin like she didn’t want him to see her approach. She reached out with one hand. Martin raised his own to shake it, and then froze in shock as her hand darted forward to pinch his cheek.

“Are you sure we can’t eat this one, Jon?” she asked, sounding a bit disappointed. “He looks delicious…”

It was the creepiest compliment he’d ever received, and that was including the time a guy on the street had stopped him to tell him he had nice teeth, ‘in case he was ever looking to sell them.’

Jon’s hand tightened on his shoulder and pulled him back a step. “I’m positive,” he said dryly.

It was hard not to feel like a non-entity, being pushed around and talked about like he wasn’t even there. If this was the life of a vampire’s familiar, Martin was starting to rethink the whole idea.

Sasha huffed a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes. Then her face split into a grin, the peeved expression falling away like it had never been there at all.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, grabbing Martin’s still-raised hand and giving it a decisive shake. “We’ve been bugging Jon to take on help for ages, it’s good to see he’s finally listened.”

[revolutionistarchives]

Today in history, our teacher asked us how long people have known freedom as a concept. According to him, this was a new concept because people had not had freedom for a long time. They still lived in imperial empires, absolutist states and dictatorships. People don't even know what freedom means because they have lived under oppression for so long. He also said that this is the reason why democracies fail or are always overthrown. I think people have been oppressed for so long (women especially) that they still don't know freedom. We now, people from the new century and modern times, still don't know it. Otherwise we wouldn't fall for right-wing propaganda and stand in our own way with political opinions. Racist political parties wouldn't be on the rise either if people weren't easily manipulated and controlled. Dictators know exactly how to manipulate people and they usually come up with religion because they know that desperate people always break first.

Freedom is such a strange concept because everyone's definition of it is different. For many, religion is freedom under a religious state, for others the opposite. Then there are those who are enemies of the state and want to abolish the entire state, because for them anarchism means true freedom. Who is wrong now? In my opinion, we are being held back from the absolute freedom that we could achieve as a society. Because without a state, violence against women would be even higher than it already is. In true anarchism, everyone could do what they want and that is exactly what could harm women the most. Because if there is no state and no laws, women are not protected from male violence, even less than they are now. That's why it makes no sense to talk about forms of government and freedom, because we only know politics from the male perspective and this perspective doesn't see women. In the perspective of men, women exist only as an extension of themselves but not as autonomous beings, so no thought is given to what they need and how they live in different forms of government and what dangers they are or could be exposed to, because men behave ignorantly in this area. Everything we know about politics now only comes from the male perspective, so I have a big problem dealing with these forms of government because they don't include women.

We all know that when it comes to violence, men are in the majority of perpetrators.

[sophiebaek]

All My Life…

“How do you feel?” “Like I’ve waited my whole life for this.” “Marriage?” “For you.” OR Benophie's words of exchange before thier wedding For Benophie Week 2024! Day 1: Wedding

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[writergeekrhw]

Hello Sir! Just watched Past Tense for the first time today and wanted to ask, was the Bell Riots occurring on/near Labor Day at all purposeful? Thank you for your time!

No, I picked September 1st as the first day because it's my father's birthday.

[queenlucythevaliant]

make your choice

Digory didn’t think much on making choices. The whole world would be over when his mother died anyhow.

Of course, this didn’t keep him from being curious or adventurous. It was exciting to meet new people, exciting to go exploring and to speculate about whatever mischief his Uncle Andrew was up to. Being a lively young boy was perhaps the best distraction from being a boy about to lose his mother.

Going after Polly was so obviously right that it might as well not have been a choice at all. What else could he do? It was easy to be righteous in the face of an evil old magician who said things like "Ours is a high and lonely destiny."

Yet once they were there in that rich, in-between place, with all the worlds there were splayed out before them— ((Make your choice, adventurous stranger)) Well. What sort of lively young boy would he be if he turned back now?

Digory could feel the bell’s magic ((strike the bell and bide the danger)) beginning to work on him. There was no use in resisting. He felt tendrils of magic sinking deep beneath his skin, laying claim to any free will he’d ever had. He said as much to Polly, but she wasn’t listening.

Polly said ((or wonder till it drives you mad)) that he looked exactly like his uncle when he said that.

Jadis’s whole world had ended. Everyone had died, and she’d just gone to sleep. She might have stayed sleeping forever if he hadn’t woken her. Sitting outside his mother’s sickroom, Digory wondered ((what would have followed if you had)) if that was really so shocking. Hadn’t he been preparing for just such an end? Were Charn and Mabel Kirke so different?

Narnia was not an end. It was a beginning.

And face to face with the Lion, Digory was forced to admit that the bell had not been magic. Nothing had caused him to strike it. Make your choice, the writing had said. Digory had chosen. 

I’ve spoiled everything. There’s no chance of getting anything for mother now.

The enormous Lion asked him, "Son of Adam, are you ready to undo the wrong that you have done?" and Digory sputtered his maybes.

"I asked, are you ready?" the Lion said again.

At that very moment, an ultimatum flashed through Digory’s mind. If I salvage your beginning, will you prevent my end? If make amends, will you save my mother? He thought of refusing, of holding his choice hostage until his future was secure. Could the Lion be bargained with? Could Digory twist his arm, as he'd twisted Polly's?

But what Digory said was, "Yes."

Jadis conjured such lovely visions of the future. His mother's face would lose its gray sheen and she would say, Why, I'm beginning to feel stronger. There would be no more morphia, no more of the terrible drawn look about her when she slept. She would rise from her sickbed, vibrant and whole ((Come in by the gold gates or not at all)) rise and walk to the door and fling it open and then Digory would go running into her arms. 

He gasped as though he'd been mortally wounded. Perhaps he had been in a way. After all, had the gate not said ((take my fruit for others or forbear))? 

Jadis ((for those who steal and those who climb my wall)) called Digory the Lion's slave. Years later, he would think back over all that those words implied. The Witch seemed to think that Digory had no will, if he was willing to subordinate himself to Aslan.

But was it not Aslan who made Digory realize his own culpability ((shall find their heart's desire and find despair)), and in the same breath gave him a way to repair it? Had not Aslan given his will back to him?

And at the foot of the tree, Aslan gave Digory his future back as well. 

He was old, but now he is young again, watching as the stars fall headlong across the black of the world-that-was. The world is ending at last, but Digory does not fear such things any longer.

[firawren]

My Beast/Belle smut master list

For ease of pointing my monster fucker readers to my Beast/Belle smut, here's a master list of all the fics and chapters I've written with some sort of sexual intimacy between Beast in his beast form and Belle, from most graphic/kinky to tamest.

🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ Chapter 11 of "Transformation"

🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ "A scent there that wasn't there before"

🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ Chapter 10 of "Transformation"

🌶️🌶️🌶️ Chapter 15 of "Transformation"

🌶️🌶️🌶️ Chapter 16 of "Transformation"

🌶️🌶️🌶️ Chapter 9 of "Transformation"

🌶️🌶️🌶️ "Scent doesn't lie"

🌶️🌶️ Chapter 8 of "Transformation"

🌶️🌶️ "Air heavy with the sound and scent of rain"

🌶️🌶️ "Warming up"

🌶️🌶️ Chapter 13 of "The Rose Brides"

🌶️ Chapter 9 of "The Rose Brides"

🌶️ Chapter 11 of "The Rose Brides"

🌶️ "Rose-scented bath water"

If you read and enjoy one of these stories, please leave me a comment! Thanks friends!

(Believe it or not, only about half of what I write is smutty, and only about half of that smut is Beast/Belle. So if this isn't your cup of tea, check out my complete master list for non-smut and/or non-monster stories.)

[imagoddamnonionmason]

Unknown Soldier

Fandom: Call of Duty Word Count: 5985 (sorry) Summary:  Jodie Hall, callsign Bell, is faced with the revelation that she is not who she's been made to believe she is. Feeling betrayed, with memories rushing back, all she wants is a little bit of air.

A/N: Hello! This is a rewrite of the cutscene where Bell finds out they're brainwashed but written for my version of Bell! Hope you enjoy, pls let me know what you think :) Slight implied woods/bell, but at this point in the story they're not really a thing yet

Read on!

CIA SAFE HOUSE E9, “DIE LANDEBAHN” Jodie "Bell" Hall, MI6 52.5200 N, 13.4050 E, West Berlin March 14, 1981

As Bell worked to open her eyes, the lights above left sparking spots dancing across her vision. She attempted to block out that sickly light with her right hand, but found resistance against her limbs. Sluggishly, she moved her head to the side, eyes pained to focus on the leather straps that restricted her movement, that pinned her to the gurney beneath her back. Her mind was fogged, encased in a painful ache that even the tiniest movement made her stomach lurch and her body wishing it could anywhere but there. 

Beside the gurney was Sims, his arms folded over his chest and eyes watching her so very intently, scrutinising her, judging her. Bell may be feeling like her mind was a million miles away from her physical body, but she was not stupid; he was regarding her with a deep seated hatred and it burned her skin. 

He muttered, calling out to someone, “she’s coming to.” 

In an instant, Adler was in their presence, leaning over her as he placed his hands firmly on her shoulders. The grip was tight, edging towards being painful, and Bell winced against the pain. He did not care, instead, his voice loomed over her, deep and assertive, “Bell, no more fucking around. What did Perseus say? Where is he?” 

Her eyes met his, though her sight was blurred, fighting incredibly hard to focus. There was a brief thought that danced across her mind, as the fog started to rise and her brain began to settle down from whatever heights it had been at before. Her head shifted back, an attempt to put more space between her and Adler, only for the gurney to keep her rigidly in place; the thoughts became clearer, incessant, and she found that the voice in her head grew louder than the voice of the man before her. It screamed that she was clueless, lost, and everything was a lie. 

Her voice was small, as her sweat slicked brow furrowed, “who am I?” 

There was a flicker of derision on Adler’s scarred features, but it was gone as quickly as it had come, soon replaced by a concern that did not sit right with Bell. His voice grew soft, levelled with a sense of urgency, “you’re disoriented, Bell. We’ll explain everything later. Right now, we need to help each other.” 

Her dark eyes remained on him for a moment longer, growing darker as clarity finally came about her. Memories flashed across her mind’s eye, so quickly that the course of events overlapped and flitted in a slurry of blurred images, headache inducing and raw. The drugs that had pumped through her system burned inside her veins, the ingenuity of her captors seared across her skin as their eyes bore straight through her. These people wouldn’t help her, they had her tied down to a damn gurney. 

“Bullshit,” she spat, lurching against the restraints. 

“Bullshit is what your whole life will amount to if you don’t come clean.” Adler leant closer, a sneer on his features as a low growl roughened the edges of his vocals, “tell us where Perseus is.” 

While Adler and Sims were settled by the left of the gurney, Park stepped into the light by the right and her hands came to rest on Bell’s forearm - it was a calmer sensation, gentle in some way, a reminder that Bell might still have someone. But there was the instinctual desire to tear herself away, denied the right by the restraints. 

Park spoke, as softly and calmly as her touch attempted to coerce Bell to feel, “you were one of Perseus’ agents, Bell, and his associate, Arash Kadivar, turned on you at the airstrip in Turkey. He left you for dead.” 

She was partly right. Bell could feel it, knew it, deep down, that there was a truthful essence to those words; but they had it completely wrong, too. At the edges of the very recesses of her conscious mind, after all the drugs, the conditioning, there were glimpses of memories that belonged to the woman that Bell once was. After a second of reaching for them, desperately clinging to that consciousness, she found that those memories came forward, rushing at her in a cold wash of dread. 

In her fingerless gloved hands, a thick file, filled to the brim with bountiful knowledge that, in the right hands, could end Perseus in his steps and see him rot in Hell. Her eyes settled over the Russian text, reading it over and over, as a reluctance to hand it over to her counterpart weighed heavy in her chest. 

This is the information that she had been asked to collect, to give to Agent Wells when they next met, and yet she could not find an ample opportunity to stash it away. Eyes were on her, ever present and lingering, as though they knew exactly what part she was playing. 

The hand of Arash Kadivar is out to her from her right, waiting expectantly, urged to hand over the files with the slight wiggle of his index and middle fingers. Forcing herself not to hesitate, Nadežda placed the files in his hand, the mask over her face hiding the reluctant grimace that flashed across it. 

Arash opened the file, flicked through the pages, nodding as though something had been confirmed to him. He looked at her, offered her a cocky smile, then spoke, “when the plane leaves Trabzon, it stops in Duga. This you know.” 

Nadežda nodded, brows twitching into a short lived furrow, as her heart skipped a few beats - the palpitations did not last long, willed away by the strength of her resolve to complete her mission. She had come so far and she was not about to lose sight of the end goal now. 

“Here’s what you don’t know,” he continued, tilting his head slightly, as though gauging her reaction, “Perseus won’t be there.” 

Now this was new information, a dash in the plans that she had not foreseen coming. Perhaps, she thought, these differences were ironed out in a meeting that she was not able to be present for, and could only hope for that to be the truth. But, Nadežda knew that the entire faction played with the semantics of the word truth, she played with it, and so found herself unable to commit to that notion. 

She was singled out for a reason and her palms grew sweaty, as she tried her best to hide the nervous anticipation of Arash’s next words. 

In turn, Arash waved his hand out to gesture at the collection of men and women working along the airstrip, the sight coming into view as they began to arrive. They were loading weapons into the plane that sat patiently on the airstrip, “none of these hired guns are going to leave Duga alive. We’ll dump their bodies in the forest. Then we will move the weapons to Volkov in Berlin.” 

He handed the file back to Nadežda, though did not let go of it for a second. He was attempting to shake her confidence, to cause a fracture in her well designed facade, and he was met with failure. 

“From there, we fly to Solovetsky,” the truck growled and spluttered, wheels screeching as the driver pushed his foot flat against the brake. The three bodies lurched forward with the ending motion. Nadežda hovered in her seat for a moment longer, as Arash stepped out of the vehicle and closed the door. The window had been set down, which now had Arash leaning over the lip of it. He ducked his head down, his shoulders bouncing in low-levelled laughter, before the chuckle grew into something mocking and scornful.  

Arash spoke, words laced with disappointment and contempt, “Perseus has other plans for you, though. He thought so highly of you. Then it turns out you’re nothing but a traitorous dog.” 

The dread had grown exponentially in her stomach, heavy and cool, driving ice through her veins and urging her body to react to the man drawing his pistol on her. However, she was taken off guard and though her reactions were fast, they were not enough to stop the event that was in motion. 

As she began to aim her pistol at Arash, the bullet fired from his own and shredded straight through her upper left chest. It threw her body heavily against the door, blood splattering from the open wound and onto the frame. Nadežda knew she should feel pain, but instead she felt nothing, as adrenaline dulled it down to such an impossibly low level. It was screaming at her to use its masking to get away, to run, but all she could do was slump forward and try to protect the file she still had in her hands. 

Arash then shot the driver, before he opened up the door and snatched the files from her hands. 

“You can bleed out,” Arash snarled, “and while you die, know that everything you tried to do has amounted to fucking nothing.” 

Desperately, sluggishly, she tried to reach for the files, but he pushed her away, leaving her to slowly fade into unconsciousness. 

A voice broke through her reverie, booming, agonising, “we were there, Bell, we found you after everything went down.” 

That’s right. She remembered the blistering heat of explosions, gunfire, screams, agonising screams- 

Her door was pulled open, violently, and the stale air that clung to her dying form was sucked away as though caught in a vacuum. Hands were on her. Searching. Hands were on every inch on her but they found nothing but her blood. Gasping breath wracked her lungs, inflating them weakly as her own hands began their own blind search. They sought after the person next to her, fingers feebly clutching at unknown fabric. 

End it. 

You’ve come back to finish the job. 

Do it. 

“Over here! We’ve got a live one!” 

American? 

He’s American. 

One name was present on her chapped lips, but her eyes could not focus on the blurred figure that pulled her up from her slouched position. 

“Wells?” 

No- No, it hadn’t been Wells, had it? It had been the bastard that had the nerve to stand beside her now, right? She couldn’t remember everything, no matter how much she fought to cling to the nuances; they were always just out of reach, just beyond her, and her instincts, again, screamed ‘don’t fucking trust anything. It's all lies. Lies.’ 

Through gritted teeth, tortured vocals hounded, “you’re lying- you put this shit in my head. You’re fucking lying-” 

Impatience grew thick around Adler and his hands were back on Bell’s shoulders, shaking them, as he barked, “the CIA reinvented you, Bell. You fought against us every interrogation. You left us no choice. We gave you a new identity to replace the old.” 

Flashes of those interrogations seared across her mind, burning holes and leaving scars. She’d never said a word and if she did, it was only ever to utter Agent Wells’ name. He’d told her not to trust any other agent, that the CIA had been compromised by a mole. She couldn’t have risked the information she had getting into the wrong hands, even if she was already destined for a destructive path. The last thing she would do in the face of her betrayal to Perseus was to make sure the information she had either reached Wells or died with her. 

Adler continued, a hollow laugh filling the air, “it was Park’s idea to make you MI6. She wanted that bond with you. You even picked up a bit of her accent.” 

Park tried her best to offer the woman before her a genuinely concerned, reassuring smile, but she was never able to tell whether Bell appreciated the effort. Her light eyes then focused on her colleague, brows furrowing as he continued, guilt beginning to sow seeds in her chest. His voice was quieter now, “we were able to utilise your language, your cryptography skills, they were an added bonus. The bigger challenge was your memory.” 

Park interjected, hoping that her softer tones might be more palatable, begging that Bell could read between the lines and see that they did only what they thought was right, “the CIA’s MK-Ultra program used Adler’s missions in Vietnam as a template. We needed you to have that shared experience. A lifelong bond. We needed you to trust us, Bell.” 

Bell hated that she could feel tears threaten to fall, as her throat clenched, sharp pains coursing down and into her chest, “you people are sick.” 

Adler moved away, pointing in her direction with a judgemental glare, “are your hands clean, Bell?” 

Again, she moved to rise, her anger flaring in the pit of her stomach, only for her dive for the other to be restricted, “fuck this- fuck you.” 

His voice was ravaged by disgust, cold and menacing, “I don’t think so. You’re still holding back on us, and we are going to get it out of you.” 

She felt sick. 

She wanted to throw up. 

To cave in on herself. 

To fade. 

Bell felt a whimper form in her throat, but would rather die than allow anyone to see her give in to her fear. 

Then, he muttered, “we have a job to do.” 

Her brain felt like it had just had a thousand volts of electrical current run through every synapse, crackling and stunning every inch of her being. It was like her emotions were torn from her, a factory reset taking over and forcing her into a baseline. Whatever she had been thinking about before, whatever memories from the past she had fought to hold onto, they were snatched within an instant and everything became a blinding white. 

On the gurney, she convulsed, writhing and screaming in pain, as part of her battled against the conditioning. 

In the end, she lost. 

That white light scorched her sight, overtaking her vision, until flashes of a red door were all she could see. It was to her left. Then her right. Behind her. In front. It was all consuming, following her, unrelenting and torturous. 

“The trigger phrase kept you in line, but it didn’t get us everything we needed,” Adler informed, now too invested in this reveal to give a damn about what this would mean for his subject. Did he even care to begin with? 

The red door was now in front of her, the force of it dropping from above driving its base deep into a greyed concrete floor. Wherever she was, it was vague enough that she couldn’t place it in the real world. She was everywhere and nowhere, all at once. 

“Your innermost secrets were always locked behind a door.” He added, then a sigh heaved through his nose, a tired look on his features as he came to stand by her left. His hands were on the gurney, taking the weight of his upper body as he leant forward, contemplative, “Bell, I realise you probably hate us right now.” 

“Fucking understatement,” she spat. 

“I need you to fully understand the stakes here. What you do right now is not about me, it’s not about you. It’s about millions of other fucking people. It’s about stopping someone who, in the end, has no true allegiance to anyone other than himself.” Adler clearly felt proud with that speech, and he removed his sunglasses to aid in gauging Bell’s thoughts. He kept his eyes locked with hers, intently searching the brown hues for any nuances, any flickers, something he could recognise as winning. He spoke impossibly soft, “tell me, Bell.” 

A beat. 

“Where is Perseus?” 

Before her stood the man that had been with her since she was a child. Eyes that had once regarded her warmly, fatherly, now did so with cold synergy. She did not know what went on behind those eyes, she could never read his thoughts, nor could she even begin to understand the complexity that was him, Perseus, and so had given up trying years since. That had been until she had come across a wayward file, written words never intended for her own eyes to see and it had been the first glimpse into the kind of man that he was, the kind of man that shaped a child into a soldier and promised her everything, but gave her nothing. 

For years she had known what he had done, that those eyes were filled to the brim with fallacies and delusions, contorted into orders and manipulation. Those were the years that she had spent sick to her stomach, playing a game of chess with the man that held all the cards. All the lies she had told, the lies she had lived, the lies she would continue to tell would all amount to nothing if she did not stick with it at this moment. She had to continue, to persevere. 

His hands rested on her shoulders, as he offered her a warm smile that did not reach his eyes. In their native tongue, he spoke, addressing her tenderly, as a father would a daughter, “once we control the Greenlight arsenal, Nadežda, we will detonate them all from the safety of Solovetsky.” 

The word ‘safety’ rang in her ears and she was reminded again why she was finally breaking free from his hold. 

He had promised safety to her brother and he shattered it himself. 

“Yes, from the safety of Solovetsky,” she had echoed. 

“This is your chance to define who you really are, Bell. Tell us, where is Perseus?” Adler let the desperation slip through into his tone and Bell closed her eyes. They stung from the tears that wanted to form, that threatened to fall, but she wouldn’t let them. Eventually, when she opened up her eyes, she forced her gaze to stare at the ceiling. She could hear Perseus’ voice echoing against the inside of her skull and her rage began to build again.

 Bell had been betrayed by Perseus her entire life, fed his lies over and over; then, agent Wells who had made her believe that she couldn’t have trusted those that now currently stand around her, he had betrayed her, too. 

But whether she trusted Adler, Park and the rest now, or not, did not matter. 

This was it, everything she could remember doing, everything she had fought for, what she had been destroyed for, it all came down to her next words.

Quietly, she murmured, “Solovetsky… It’s Solovetsky Monastery.” 

He echoed her, then turned to Sims, “Sims, get Washington on the line. Everyone else, gear up, we’re leaving now.” 

As Sims left the room, Bell was released from the restraints by Adler, “you made the right choice, Bell, come on, you’re still one of us.”

He moved to help her sit up, but she shrugged him off, pushing him away and seething, “don’t fucking touch me.” 

“Bell,” Park started, then switched up, “Jodie-” 

“Shut the fuck up-” Bell fought to get off the gurney as quickly as she could. Beside Park was a metal tray nestled atop a table, the contents being the copious amounts of drugs and the used needles that had kept Bell compliant throughout the session. Bell stumbled, knocking into this table, the tray clattering as her hand caught the lip of it in an attempt to steady herself. Adler and Park motioned to help, but Bell swatted them away and shot to the entryway of the room. 

Leaning against the doorframe, she felt her stomach flip, empty of contents, but bile sloshing uncomfortably against the lining. It wanted to rise up her throat, burning the flesh raw. But, she ignored that feeling, willed it away, and pushed herself onward until she was in the open, stale air of the safe house. Her heart was pounding painfully against her ribcage, to a point where she believed that, if it beat hard enough, it would burst through the bone as though it was nothing but brittle china. 

Eyes were on her. One set was hidden behind darkened glasses, steadily trailing her form and remaining stoic in the face of the situation; it was to be expected, the man was like ice. Hudson stood, leant at an angle against what he had claimed as his desk, arms folded over his chest as he kept a hawklike watch on her actions. 

The other two sets were nestled by the van and their owners moved their sight to her, warily concerned, as they rose from their seated positions. Mason began to walk towards hers, hand out to help steady her, but she quickly stepped back. He hovered in place, then withdrew his hand and retreated from her. His tones were laced with a cold sensation, torn at the edges, and his eyes glowered at the direction of the room she had just come from. Mason could feel a heat burning in his chest, spreading like a wildfire until the anger singed at his fingertips and lapped at the edges of his mind. Sharply, he asked, “Is Adler finished with you?” 

His question did not reach her. All she wanted was air, cool and refreshing and free of anyone else. 

Bell needed to be outside. She needed to be out of the damn safe house, out of their company. 

She wanted out. 

“I need some air,” was all she could breathe, taking brisk steps past the man before her. Mason turned his body to follow after her, but froze himself to the spot, as he shot Woods a look. He was speaking volumes without having to use his voice and Woods knew better than anyone that Mason was pissed. 

There was part of him that asked when does this kind of thing end? It should have ended with him. Yet, here he was, staring after a woman who had been put through the same horrendous agony. Maybe, deep down, he knew that this is what had become of that woman from the airstrip, but to have it confirmed… it caused a rage he’d not felt in years to boil up. 

He supposed this was just another thing Hudson had kept from him, from Woods. Perhaps it’s because they would have shot it down, the idea of destroying someone completely and utterly. Who knows? And in that moment, Mason quite frankly couldn’t have given less of a fuck about the reasons. 

At the exit of the safehouse, Bell was slumped headfirst against the door, hands fumbling about the face of it in search of the handle. She felt as though she was drunk, body battling the effect of the drugs that had been pumped through her veins. Her ears were ringing, pulsating, and with each throb she felt her heart ache more intensely than it had seconds before. As she focused on steadying her breathing, she didn’t acknowledge the sounds of voices behind her, gaining on her position. 

“Bell, do not go through that door,” it was Adler. He was firm, cold, and his footsteps were frantic as they approached. Her hand finally grasped the cold doorknob, twisting it in a stubborn response to his order, but before she could escape into the cool air outside, his hands were on her. 

The second she felt his touch on her, she turned on him like a wild animal. Her sight was entirely consumed by pounding red, like fire scorching her skin and lighting a fury in her core. The rage coiling within her chest burned so violently, blindly, that she was acting before her mind could quell it. Instinct was in control now, leading the charge against the threat it perceived in Adler. In one quick thrust, her enclosed fist flew out to strike his face. Her knuckles collided with his chin, rocking him backwards. 

He took a few stumbling steps, but ultimately he remained standing, a hand cupping the area that she had made contact with. His glasses were gone, the force of the hit throwing them from his features, leaving behind the unobstructed thinning glare he sent her way. 

“I said, don’t fucking touch me,” she seethed, as their team came to stand between them. Woods was by her side, hands hovering over her; he didn’t want to touch her, less he received the same treatment Adler had. One thing he noted, however, was that she didn’t even acknowledge his presence. Bell acknowledged no-one, other than Adler, and her searing glare burned right through him and to the man behind. 

“Take a walk, Bell,” Woods uttered, shooting a daring glance over his shoulder, wishing someone would just try and say that she couldn’t. If he had to, he’d stand and guard the damn door. 

“She’s not going outside alone,” Adler muttered, as Park tugged him back further into the safe house.

“You goin’ to stop her,” Woods snapped, turning away from the woman that was still at his side. He could still feel that glare, hear the steadying deep breaths fill her lungs as she fought the rage within her. He then snapped at her, “I said take a walk.” 

He accentuated his words with a firm point to the door, his arm hovering just over her right shoulder. It was then that she broke her eye contact with Adler, sending that hateful gaze towards Woods; the heat faltered when it was faced with this new person, lessening considerably. It was then that he saw it, the slight crack of a facade he hadn’t even realised she’d been wearing. There was the slight ghost of tears welling in her waterline, but Woods didn’t have the opportunity to see if they came to fruition, as she was turning and throwing herself through the door like her very life depending on escaping. 

It slammed, leaving behind the team in silence. 

As most moved back into the safe house, Woods remained by the door, head ducked down as he thought, his thumb running circles over his forefinger. If she hadn’t done it, he would have probably hit Adler himself, as similar rage was settling in the pit of his stomach. Part of him wondered if he should be angry, whether he had a right, and the questions left a bitter taste in his mouth. He took a deep breath, followed by biting his lower lip to fight against the grimace of bitterness on his face. 

He didn’t want to admit that he had gotten too attached, too close, and now he was left adrift in a million questions with no sail to guide him through. Bell was on their side, she had fought alongside them, saved Park’s life and now he was supposed to believe that she had been one of Perseus’ most trusted? It didn’t fit. 

“If she runs,” Adler had called out to him as Woods fought his internal monologue, “it’s on you.” 

Woods settled his gaze on him, cold, icy, and he wondered if it was worth telling him to go fuck himself. He settled, for once, on ignoring that impulse and moved to go through the door, the same one that Bell had used to escape into the outside. 

As he moved into the night evening air, he felt the slight chill in the wind cling to his body, begging to break past the leather of his body warmer. Initially, Woods couldn’t spot where the woman had disappeared to. He hated to admit it, but for a second he wondered if she had taken the opportunity to run. Who could blame her, though, in the face of what had just happened within the walls of the safehouse. Woods had never seen her so emotive, so unstable, and her professional facade had shattered right there in front of their eyes. But, if he knew her as well as he thought he did she wouldn’t have gone far. Bell wouldn’t run, not from this, not from anything. 

Taking a few steps forward, Woods squinted against the harsh sickly lights that shone from the sides of the safehouse wall. They illuminated the surrounding area, until the light slowly faded to the depths of shadows a couple metres out. His gaze focused there, in that dark evening ambiance and hope that she hadn’t wandered that way out. 

“I see Adler sent a guard dog after me.” There was bitterness to the stressed tones, a slight waver, that usually was absent, wracking the vocals. He swung his head to the left, following those indignant tones until he was met with the image of Bell leaning against the wall. There were a few discarded pallets, stacked high next to her and they created a small shaded spot for her to hide in. The only show that anyone was there was the gentle silhouette and the occasional glow of red as a cigarette burned. As he stepped, cautiously, closer, Bell's sight remained steadfast in its forward gaze, darkened eyes refusing to acknowledge the company she now had. 

She brought the cigarette to her lips, drawing in a long, deep inhale of smoke. It remained, pooling in her lungs until a rush of short lived relaxation washed over her and then she exhaled. 

“He hasn’t sent anyone,” Woods retorted, gruffly, frowning as he came to a stop next to the pallets, “I came out here ‘cause I wanted to.” 

Her eyes moved, downcast, as she flicked away ashes that clung to the end of her cigarette. 

“Listen, Jodie-” His tones were considerably soft, something not many had the privilege of being the subject of. 

“Don’t call me that.” She snapped, instantly, growing rigid at the name. 

“But that’s who you are-” He urged, annoyance clinging to his throat. 

“You haven’t got the slightest clue who I am,” she seethed, voice wavering once again.  

He crossed his arms over his chest, gloved hands tensing as he stared at her incredulously, “are you kiddin’ me?” 

“Do I look like I’m joking?” 

A beat.

“What are you even doing out here, Woods? I don’t remember asking you to follow me. I don’t want you here.” She moved to spare a fleeting glance his way, as she shifted uncomfortably against the wall. 

“Well tough shit, cause I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” Was all he said in response, trying his best to stunt the feeling of growing annoyance at the way she spoke to him; he had to understand that she had every right to be angry, to be belligerent and aggressive and seething. Damn, he’d be worse if the roles were reversed. 

Silence fell over the two, as Woods pulled out his own packet of cigarettes. He pulled one for himself, then offered her one. 

She did not take it. 

As he lit his, the glow of red fading over his face with each attempt to get the lighter to work, he was posed a question. If he didn’t know any better, he might have flown off the handle, but right now he supposed Bell was reevaluating those around her. 

“Did you know?” 

“What-” 

“Did you know?” She cut him off, lips thin and tight over the snarl that erupted along with those repeated words. She didn’t have time to play games and she was tired of the constant mental chess she had been forced to play with the others. 

“No.” 

The unconvinced scoff that formed in her chest was heavy and she shook her head as she muttered, “really? You expect me to believe that.” 

“Yeah, actually, I do,” he griped, “you really think I’d have let them brainwash you?” 

Pushing herself from the wall, she yelled, “I don’t know what to think, Frank, because ten minutes ago I was Jodie Hall, MI6, and now I’m some brainwashed terrorist.”

Wiping a hand over her mouth, there were waves upon waves of distress and anxiety that were almost tangibly rolling over her body. If she hadn’t covered her mouth, she feared that she would have said much more than she was willing to admit. There was part of her that was relishing in being free, letting her emotions escape and ransack the outside world; then the other part hated being so vulnerable. 

Silence fell over the two and though it was tense, rigid, Woods didn’t want to leave her. There was nothing he could say, or do, that could make this revelation any easier on her and he wasn’t entirely sure why he decided to stick around. But he did and he didn’t plan on leaving any time soon. 

He eventually found himself looking at his feet, then at anywhere but her, only for his attention to be pulled back to her when she let out a scoff, something akin to a vindictive chuckle. He silently waited for her to speak, as it seemed that there was something on her mind and Woods worried that if he interjected, she might close up.

“You know what’s funny?” 

A beat. 

“I thought about lying.” She said, her features haunted by a vacant, ghostly reverie, “I thought about sending the lot of you to Duga, to chase after nothing.” 

She stubbed out the cigarette on the wall before discarding the butt to the floor, a hollow laugh rattling through her aching chest, “I imagined what your faces would look like, being betrayed. Maybe you’d all feel a fraction of what it’s like. To be fucked over.” 

There was a heavy feeling in his chest, brows furrowing further as he watched a dark look come about the woman before him. Before he had a chance to catch the words, they were out in the open, snapping, “then why didn’t you?” 

Bell looked up and quietly regarded him. She was doing what she usually did, reading his features, gauging his reactions. Her eyes locked with his and there was the hint of tears forming in her eyes again. But, she didn’t cry, unable to allow herself to reveal any vulnerability. 

“Why didn’t you lie, Jodie?” 

“I…” She faltered. 

She ducked her head down, then to the side as she fought the tears, the burning tightness in her throat. If she spoke now, the tears would fall, her voice would crack and she couldn’t risk him seeing her so weak. Bell motioned to move away from him, to run from this situation and fade back into the shadows where she could silently cry but Woods’ hand gently took hold on her forearm. He softly guided her to stand before him, the lights now allowing him to see her features clearly. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes red-rimmed, and her lips quivered. His hand gave her arm a slight squeeze; it wasn’t much in the form of comfort, but she knew what he was trying to do. 

Then, she cleared her throat, fought to push out the words, “because I don’t matter.” 

She inhaled sharply and she uttered the next words almost to convince herself that she had done the right thing, that she had made the right choice; after all, everything she had done over the last few years, the pain she had endured, it was all coming to a head. 

Stopping Perseus is what she had been aiming for, right? 

Saving millions of lives is why she had betrayed the faction in the first place, right?

After everything awful she had done for that man, after the lives she had taken, ruined, destroyed she supposed it made sense that this was the way her story came to an end.

 Her voice was barely above a whisper, “what’s one more sacrifice…” 

Pulling away from him, she began to walk back into the safe house, leaving Woods to watch after her retreating form. She had no intention of speaking with anyone else; there was nothing left to talk about other than do one singular thing.

Stop Perseus.