#courtesy of my fear of mirrors

[thepenultimateword]

Short Prompt #81

“Don’t look into the mirrors at night.”

“Why not?”

“When it’s dark, you can never tell what’s looking back.”

[queenie-avenue]

Terms and Conditions Apply.

💌 ⤻ THE CEO, ADRIAN HOUDE

—> you're the sweet little intern, and he's the big bad wolf who wants to eat you up.

⤻ reader is written as a female, yandere male, age gap, power dynamic, toxic obsession, slightly suggestive, slight financial abuse, set in london, this is a drabble but full fics of him will be made in the future

🦋 ⤻ archives.

TOP TEN BACHELORS NEAR YOU!

1. Adrian Houde.

Tall, Handsome, Rich, Successful, Ambitious. Ask anyone with more than half a braincell and they will immediately tell you that all these traits are what Adrian Houde has! Born from the rich Houde Family known for their luxury fashion products, he had risen the ranks as CEO of his family's company a few years back.

And boy oh boy, has he made himself known. From various (fake) scandals of him dating various women, to his success in the market in revolutionising his family's industry in fast fashion but still remaining loyal to his grandmother's routes as a custom tailor who first gained traction in France.

Perhaps Mister Houde's only flaw is that he has been on this bachelor list for far too long! He's already in his mid-30s, can you believe this guy has been single for so long?

So, to the lady who catches his eye, good luck surviving all the jealous women who are going to come after you, sweetheart!

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

Adrian Houde is a proud man. I mean, who wouldn't be, right? He was successful, and rich, and practically everyone — regardless of gender or age — wanted to be with him or be like him. He was the pinnacle of a great man, just like his father had said he would be.

So why was it that when you entered the office, looking like a lost little puppy dog, that you captured his interest immediately. Perhaps it was the coffee stains on your skirt and the way your eyes sparkled with desire for greatness. He had seen that spark many times before. In his own eyes, actually. From the moment he saw himself in the mirror as a teen who became aware of the legacy on his shoulders, he knew he was bound for greatness. And you, a simple woman, of all people, carried that same determination and ambition within those cute eyes of yours.

You couldn't blame him for being intrigued by you.

Especially when you looked at him with so much fear in your eyes he couldn't help but laugh.

"I am so sorry, sir- I had no idea anyone was in the meeting room this early." You apologised frantically, holding a bunch of papers and a small, slightly shabby notebook.

"No, no." Adrian voice was smooth and sweet, a mixture of his French accent and his London boy accent he had gotten from the years of being raised in London. "Don't apologise. I was a bit too early to the meeting room, it seems." He said, taking his hands out of the pockets of his suits, raising out his hand towards you.

"Adrian Houde." He introduced out of courtesy.

Hurriedly, you rushed to take his hand, firmly shaking it like you had been taught.

You touch sent shivers down his spine. Was it because your hands were cold or was it something else about you?

Either way, he liked it.

"[y/n] [l/n], sir. It's a pleasure to meet you." You smiled at him, that glow from your eyes never fading.

"[y/n] [l/n]," he repeated, allowing the syllables to roll down his tongue like something falling down the stairs, bouncing. "A pretty name, for a pretty girl." He chuckled cooly as he pulled his hand away.

"I've never seen you before, Miss [y/n]. Are you new?" He inquired.

"Ah, I'm an intern. I just- uh, got posted here recently." You smiled. "I'm a fashion design major."

He couldn't help but be a bit disappointed by that. You were a fashion design major, which meant that you and him would probably not see each other often unless he kept paying visits to the fashion department.

"Wonderful. It's nice to see such wonderful young minds in my company." The older man said as he adjusted the cuffs of his suit with a relaxed grin. "I just know you'll do great in this company."

That blush on your cheeks after he complimented you drove him crazy.

That was how your first meeting concluded.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

You were so intriguing that Adrian just couldn't keep his mind off you. The moment he returned to his office, he called up his secretary and immediately requested for your file.

When he got it, he couldn't help but obsess over it. Your portfolio was so perfect. From all your university extracurriculars to all your little quirks that the intreviewers had noted down, they were all there for him to overanalyse and understand. Your designs, he had to say, surpassed his grandmother's when she first started out the business.

His fingers traced past all the small details of the sketches of the dresses and suits you made and he wondered what you would look like as a model. Sure, you were the artist, but what if you were a muse?

He couldn't help but imagine you draped in fabrics, nothing else underneath.

He shook his head out of it.

Where was all this coming from? He was a gentleman, his grandmother had taught him to be one.

Brushing those thoughts aside, he went back to admiring your work with a smile.

Indeed, you were an asset he couldn't lose.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

Afterwards, he invested a lot of time into you. He would always drop by to the studio to talk to the head fashion designers then he would come find you, especially during your break where no one else would see you.

He disliked seeing you with others, terrified that someone else might steal his skilled intern away. No, he couldn't let any business rivals take you away from him.

Or at least, that was his justification.

Adrian would always watch you sketch your dresses behind you till you noticed and promptly let out a yelp. He enjoyed that fear in your eyes but what he enjoyed even more was the constant ambition sparkling in your pupils.

Right, you were his intern and his future designer. It was normal for him to be so invested in your growth.

After all, he was a gentleman. His grandmother had emphasised him to be in all his teachings, so this wasn't wrong. He wasn't preying on the cute intern because he wanted her. No, no, he was being a good boss by observing your actions and your growth.

Another defense as to why he began to nick your drawing pens away.

He would always replace them by gifting you more expensive pen though, a gift for you "allowing" him to have a close-up of the materials you use.

Plus, his future designer deserved the best.

You were his, after all.

"You lost another pen? No worries, I can gift you this one. Hm? Don't worry about it. Think of this as... an investment on your career."

[poisonlove]

Lust +18 | Jenna Ortega

Part 1

JENNA'S POV:

I open my eyes and gaze at the white ceiling of our bedroom. Harry came home late last night, and the first thing he did was dive under the shower and then slip under the covers, falling asleep almost immediately.

I sigh loudly at the memory.

It wasn't the first time this happened, but can I at least get some attention when I secure a new job? Apparently, Harry only looked at me when he felt like it.

I turn to the side of our marital bed, but his figure is not in sight.

I nervously bite my lower lip, staring at the alarm clock next to our conjugal bed.

"Well… the time has come," I whisper weakly, carefully lifting myself from the sheets and hesitantly placing my feet on the floor.

I sigh, and with a mental encouragement, I decide to get up to face my first day as a teacher.

Worry grows inside me as I have no clue how to start the curriculum, and the prospect of facing a mass of teenagers, full of hormones or terribly cruel, doesn't help at all.

I head to the bathroom, trying to dispel the nerves building up in my stomach. The shower water flows warm, and as I feel the steam envelop my body, I try to focus on the opportunities this job could bring.

I step out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, and look at myself in the mirror. My eyes reflect a mix of emotions, from fear to excitement. I leave the bathroom and walk to the wardrobe, still with the towel around me, and choose an outfit that strikes a balance between casual and professionalism. I opt for a stylish white shirt paired with a black knee-length skirt. I put on moderate heels to add a touch of confidence to my stride.

I look at myself in the mirror and smile with satisfaction.

I descend the stairs and see my husband in a tuxedo with the briefcase resting on the table. I smile at seeing Harry struggling with the tie.

"Good morning, dear. Do you have an important meeting today?" I ask with a smile as I watch Harry struggling with the tie.

"I have to leave early," Harry replies coldly, without looking up. "I can't be late."

"I understand," I respond, trying to hide the disappointment. "I hope everything goes well in the meeting. I'll call you later to tell you how my first day of work went."

Harry nods distantly, finishing fixing the tie. "Let me know if you need anything," he adds, but the tone is more of a formality than a sincere expression of concern.

"Okay," I say, trying not to let the bitterness show.

I help Harry grab the briefcase, and then I see him walking towards the door. "The driver will accompany you," he starts, looking at his wristwatch. "If you don't want to, you can use your car or go on foot," he says before leaning towards my face.

Harry joins his lips with mine, and I sense something strange in the gesture, as if it were wrong. I try to ignore the unpleasant feeling, but a knot forms in my stomach, making the kiss more of a courtesy than a sincere expression of affection.

Harry sighs. "I know we don't spend much time together… but I'm really swamped with work," he justifies, looking at me with guilt-filled eyes.

"Don't worry," I pull my lips into a small smile, "it's okay, your job keeps you busy all the time." I lift my chin, and I see Harry smiling at me shyly.

"To make up a bit, I've booked a dinner at a restaurant tonight," Harry announces, trying to add a touch of enthusiasm to his voice.

"That's good news," I respond with a genuine smile, although the strange feeling from the kiss continues to whisper in my mind. "It will be a pleasant evening."

"Good," Harry smiles, and then he leaves through the door, letting the feeling of loneliness take over me.

I grab an apple from a basket and take a bite, then, grabbing the bag I left near the door last night, I leave. I stop outside the front door and immediately return, walking towards the cabinet to take the keys to my car: a Porsche.

I smile and head towards the garage.

After the garage opens, I smile genuinely. "Here's my baby," I say affectionately as I approach the driver's side, opening the car door.

I run my hands over the steering wheel, squeezing my knuckles tightly, and start the car, speeding towards the university with a determination that reflects my anxiety and desire to face this new adventure.

The journey is relatively short, and I sigh with relief seeing the outline of the college in the distance. I slow down the car, stretching my neck on both sides to spot a free spot in the parking lot.

A smile unconsciously forms on my face when I notice one almost two steps from the entrance.

As I drive, I notice many students entering school stopping and staring at my car with curiosity, while others seem to pay it no mind. I press the brake when I see a guy skateboarding pass close to the hood. "Reckless," I mutter to myself before parking.

As soon as I get out of the car, I feel many eyes on me, and whispers begin to echo in the air.

"Wow, what a car,"

"Do we want to talk about her? Ugh, I'd fuck her,"

"Bitch"

"But who does she think she is,"

"Cool."

These were just some of the comments I could hear as I walked, comments that I decided to ignore for the sake of everyone. I had no desire to argue at that time in the morning.

I look around, observing the lively surroundings filled with student chatter. I turn the corner, and suddenly, I feel a body collide with mine.

"And what the hell!" shouts a female voice, and my senses activate recognizing the owner of that voice.

"You?" I say unconsciously, slightly irritated. The girl opens her mouth in surprise and then smiles mockingly.

MARTINA'S POV:

The morning had started off terribly, considering that last night Jessica, despite her apologies, didn't want to see me. Well, after all, she and I weren't anything serious, and especially, I could aim for one of her cheerleader friends to pass the time.

I unconsciously smiled at this possibility.

Later, I woke up late; Jackson didn't accompany me to college, and now I collided with someone while in a hurry.

My eyes carefully analyze the body of the girl I knocked down; I must say she was extremely sexy: brown hair gracefully falling on her shoulders, brown eyes piercing the soul, full lips, and freckles surrounding her face.

She must be a new student.

"Look who's back," I smile widely, observing the outfit she was wearing: a white shirt and a black skirt that reached her knees, high heels.

The girl rolls her eyes with annoyance.

"What do you want, kid?" she responds with irritation, and I playfully smile.

The girl has character.

"I'm sorry," I say with a fake innocent tone, trying to get forgiveness from this Greek goddess. "Also for the other time… I was rude," I add, approaching her.

The brunette raises an eyebrow with confusion and lifts one corner of her lips.

"Okay, sorry for calling you that, I'm nervous," she begins, sighing tiredly and walks towards me. My head turns to the left, watching as the girl passes by me, and my eyes ardently gaze at the brunette's figure; figure? I meant, a stunning rear.

I tighten my backpack and walk towards her, putting myself at her side.

"You're new, right?" I ask curiously.

The brunette glances at me and continues to walk down the hallway. "I'm looking for class 5A," she says, turning right without fully answering my question.

I quicken my pace and approach the girl, smiling openly. "Well, you're lucky; I also have to go that way," I tell her, pointing to the hallway. The brunette raises an eyebrow with curiosity as she continues walking.

"And then why were you walking in the opposite direction?" she asks, intrigued. Her tone is polite but informal.

Actually, I had initially intended to head to the bathroom for a quickie with Katia, but my attention was quickly captured by the new student.

"I was going to the bathroom," I simply reply, trying to keep my answer vague. "And not now?" she asks innocently. "No," I confirm.

"Anyway, you can go; I don't need to be accompanied," the girl says, quickening her pace.

The brunette remains firm, with a detached and cold attitude. Even though she seems little inclined to conversation at the moment, my determination to get to know her better doesn't waver.

"At least tell me your name!" I shout to her, hoping she hears me. The brunette calmly responds, "Jenna." I smile satisfied.

Jenna… Jenna… well, I must say it suits her perfectly: a sexy name for a sexy girl.

Well then, I have a mission this year: Jenna must come to bed with me, and I wouldn't be interested in anyone else until I get what I want.

"Let the hunt begin," I whisper, licking my lips as I savor the imminent victory, and I continue walking down the hallway.

[alexawynters]

Scarlet Whispers pt. 1

Gif not mine

A/N: Title subject to change, not sure how I feel about it. This is my first published fic here so pls be gentle. Also I'm terrible at summaries.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female!Reader

Trigger warnings (let me know if I forgot to tag anything): Mentions of past child abuse, ongoing adult child abuse, stalking, horror, dubcon, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, gaslighting, angst, smut. There will be bits of fluff tho.

Rating: M. Minors DNI

Summary: For the most part swap Vision with mutant Y/N whose powers were enhanced by the Mind stone embedded in her forehead courtesy of Hydra. Takes place post Multiverse of Madness, only instead of trying to kill America Chavez, Wanda taught the teen how to control her powers and in doing so, learned how said powers worked herself, becoming able to copy them.

With her newfound powers, Wanda searches the multiverse for her lost spouse and children. She discovers a universe where Y/N exists but she and their sons do not. This aligns with her plans, allowing her to avoid dealing with another version of herself. Using her powers, Wanda intends to make Y/N love her in an attempt to rebuild their family. Whether she does so willingly, or the Scarlet Witch makes her, both are acceptable to Wanda.

Masterlist here

Chapter One

A silent scream escapes your lips as you gasp for breath. Another nightmare. Damn, that's the third one this week, and it's only Monday. Weary, you wipe the sweat from your forehead and head to the bathroom to splash water on your face. It's finals week, and you have an exam in a few hours. A quick glance at the clock shows that it's already 3AM and you groan. Maybe you can manage to get a couple more hours of sleep before the rest of the night slips away.

Lately, for some unknown reason, your troubled mind has been subjecting you to night terrors that make you question your entire reality. These nightmares have been unusually realistic, and you frequently experience more than one per night. At times, you are haunted by so many consecutive nightmares, causing your friends to wonder if you are getting any sleep at all.

The sound of your footsteps padding across the floor is the only thing you hear as you walk from your bedroom to the adjoining bathroom to wash your face. You don't bother turning on the lights since you have a nightlight in the bathroom. You've never been a fan of the pitch black darkness in the bathroom, but the bright overhead lights give you a migraine at the best of times. As a result, your bathroom is mostly covered in shadows, usually just enough for you to do what you need to do and then go back to bed. However, tonight is different. As you accidentally glance up at your reflection, your eyes nearly pop out of your head as you see a pair of glowing red eyes staring back at you from behind, causing your heart to race.

As you spin around, you raise a fist to defend yourself against the intruder, only to realize that you are alone in your bathroom. You turn back to your mirror and find yourself alone once again. It must have been remnants of the nightmare. In a hurry, you turn on the faucet's cold water tap, run your hands under it, and splash your face. Although hesitant to fully look away from your reflection for fear of the 'intruder' returning, you still want to wipe the sweat from your clammy face.

It was just a bad dream. However realistic, it wasn’t actually real. Shaking it off, you quickly close the bathroom door and head back to bed, intent on getting as much of your remaining night’s sleep as you can before your exam tomorrow. Or rather, later today. 

A few hours later, you find yourself in your usual study spot at the university. The library is your safe haven, and it's definitely your favorite place to be. Even if you didn't have to study (which you absolutely did - you were so far behind if you had any hope of graduating with honors, you needed to spend every available moment here), you would often be found here simply reading a book. Your friends and professors are well aware of your voracious appetite for reading, so if anyone ever wonders where to find you, the answer is likely to be here.

Your first exam was in an hour, and you were cramming every last bit of knowledge you could before taking said exam. You needed the highest grade possible. Your future, your escape, depended on it. It could be argued that this desperation was why you initially didn't notice the sound of children's voices reverberating through the library. While the library was usually empty, it was not uncommon for adult students to bring their children with them to study when their own childcare plans fell through. It was inconvenient, but you tried to be considerate and simply tuning it out. Another day, another distraction, and you didn't have time for it.

Eventually, the disruptive sound became impossible to ignore, and despite your desire to not be rude, you needed to focus and get your work done. With more force than strictly necessary, you slammed your book shut, preparing to find a quieter place to study. However, just as you were about to stand up, two twin boys, around ten years old, came running down the library hall, filled with laughter and giggles, heading straight towards you. Your eyes widened as you realized they had no intention of changing their course - they were definitely going to collide with you.

Opening your arms to catch them, and hopefully prevent all of you from careening onto the ground, you found yourself asking “Hey what’s all this? Where’s your mother, you guys?”

The boys looked at you, confused. “What are you talking about, Momma?”

Your eyes turned the size of saucers. “Momma”? That was new. Someone must be playing a trick on you. How ~delightful~ you thought, annoyed. As if you weren’t already stressed out enough, someone had roped in a couple of kids to play a game of fuck around and find out. Well, whomever had put them up to this, when you found them, they were about to find out. 

The library's main door swung open, revealing the presence of an incredibly beautiful woman you estimated to be in her mid thirties, with fiery red hair and the most mesmerizing emerald eyes you had ever seen. Her appearance headed straight towards you left you speechless, immediately taking all the wind out of your sails. Oh well, you were always more bark than bite, you supposed. If you thought her looks were stunning, though, they paled in comparison to the melodic sound of her angelic voice.

“Billy, Tommy, come here boys!”

"Mommy!" the twins shouted at the same time before running into her arms. Part of you wanted to scold them for clearly breaking the library's code of conduct, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it when all three of them just looked so happy. You couldn't explain why your heart clenched at the sight of them either, but for some reason, now that the initial surprise had faded, you were soothed by their presence.

You observe their interaction, not wanting to interrupt their intimate moment. Your heart ached at how comfortable the family appeared to be with one another. Once the stunning woman appears reassured about her children’s well-being, she instructs them to go play and shooing them away before redirecting her attention towards you. You feel a pleasant tightening in your chest as her warm gaze focuses on you.

Even though the children have clearly disrupted your valuable study time, you find yourself dismissing it as if it were insignificant. "Oh, it's no problem, I understand how children can be." You don't, you have never had a sibling nor a child of your own, and you have never babysat a day in your life. 

"It's just that they missed you so much, darling," she whispered, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness.

“Huh?”

She takes a step closer, invading your personal space, and begins adjusting your shirt. One of the buttons had come undone at some point, and she seems determined to fix it. Part of you wants to point out that she, a complete stranger, should not be in your personal space, let alone touching your clothing. And what did she mean by saying that her children "missed" you? You didn't know them. You didn't even know her. Warning bells start ringing in your head, as you are pretty sure this is the plot of some horror movie. You should leave. This is not a level of crazy you can deal with right now. 

"The boys missed you, Detka. It's been a long time since you've been home, so we decided to come see you!" The woman finally finishes fixing your shirt and looks up at you. Though there is warmth in her expression, there's also a hint of madness, her once green eyes tinged with red.

“I-ah… that’s great, and all but I uhh.. I have an exam coming up, I need to get going.”

“Going?”

The warmth in the woman's voice is gone, replaced by a raspy iciness that sends a chill down your spine.

"My love, the only place you need to go is home, with us, your family."

You turn to face the woman and immediately regret it. Standing before you is no longer the woman in mom jeans and a plaid shirt. Instead, she appears to be dressed in some expensive sorceress cosplay that you estimate would cost thousands of dollars to create or purchase. When... when could she have possibly changed? Just a second ago she was dressed like a normal person, right?

Slowly, you take in the sight of her. Not only has her outfit changed, but her overall appearance as well. Her cheeks hollowed, the sockets of her eyes are sunken as if she hasn't slept in weeks, and her eyes are a glowing crimson. The same shade from your nightmares.

This isn’t real. This is another nightmare. One you need to wake up from. 

“Oh absolutely fucking not.” You whisper, as you turn and run.

Unbeknownst to you, the Scarlet Witch allows you to flee. With a flick of her wrist, she could have immobilized you, could have compelled you to accompany her, whether willingly or not, but she chooses not to. The pursuit begins, and she intends to enjoy herself. You will succumb to her, and do so quite prettily. She starts walking down the hallway after you, taking her time. After all, now that she has found you, she has all the time in the world to play with you.

Grace has never been a quality that you possess. In fact, you remember a song your mother made up when you were a child specifically to remind you just how graceless you were. Not that it helps you now, as your brain never finds the appropriate time to recall useless facts. Cursing your ineptitude, you rush out of the library as fast as your legs can carry you.

 Moments later, you’re throwing yourself into every door along the hall, however, none of them open. What is wrong with this place? Why is everything locked? You don't remember the university being so fond of locking everything, but then again, you only go to about the same four places. Variety might be the spice of life, but your stomach (anxiety) prefers a milder taste.

As you run, you hear the clicking of the woman's heels, hot on your trail. Or is she really hot on your trail? It sounds as if... you tilt your head, listening. She's walking? You think to yourself that surely you can outrun a woman walking in heels. Surely. (Your asthma would suggest otherwise). Abandoning yet another locked door, you rush further down the hallway. Maybe you don't need to outrun her or find a room to hide in; after all, barricading yourself would only delay the inevitable. Your goal is to reach civilization, to find other people. Speaking of which, where is everyone? Usually, this wing of the university is bustling with activity at this hour.

Exhausted, you pause to catch your breath, hands resting on your knees, hoping that you have managed to buy yourself some time. Unfortunately, your hopes are dashed as her low, raspy voice fills the corridors, humming what sounds like a lullaby in an unfamiliar language. The eerie sound sends chills down your spine, making it painfully clear that luck is not on your side. Where could she be? She is not next to you, nor ahead, yet her voice continues to echo, sounding almost...

Almost the same moment you realize the source of the danger, a hand reaches through the mirror from behind you and grabs your shirt with an unnatural strength. You scream loudly, hoping to alert someone in the building for help, but no one comes to your aid. "What the- LET GO OF ME!" You forcefully pull your shirt from her grip, tearing it in the process, and hastily retreat down the hallway.

To your horror, you see the woman's arm brace against the wall and begin to pull herself out through the mirror. You scramble to your feet, desperate to flee once again, with only one thought repeating in your mind: "What the fuck?!" None of this could be real.

"Y/N," a low voice said in a saccharine tone. "Where do you think you're going? Don't you know that I will always find you? I have crossed thousands of universes to find you, and now that I have you, I will never let you go." In any other context, this would probably be incredibly sweet. Currently however, it only fuels your fear, sending you into a blind panic. You have to escape whatever the hell this is.

Navigating through corridor after corridor you eventually  spot one of your classmates at the end, entering the exact exam room you needed to be in that morning. It's a desperate situation, but maybe they can buy you some time while you make your escape through a window or something. It’s not a brave thought, you’re not proud of it, but survival instincts have already kicked in. 

You quickly catch up to your classmate, despite initially being so much farther behind, managing to slide into the room just after them. The proctor promptly closes the door behind you. You're breathing heavily, and in your haste, you embarrassingly just slid into the backside of your classmate, with your shirt heavily torn. You must look ridiculous, but unsurprisingly no one questions you about it, your classmate simply looking miffed and whispering an insult as they move out of your personal space. The situation would be comical if you hadn't just been running for your life.

It’s fine. This is fine. Everything’s fine. 

Steadying your breathing, you make your way to the back of the classroom, nearest the window and stare apprehensively at the door. You’re expecting any second now for that woman to come barging in, but she doesn’t, and now here you are ready for your exam. Wow you must really be losing it. Stress induced hallucinations, that has to be it.

Although you were hesitant to simply continue with your day, the world doesn't wait for anyone. Whether you actively participated or not, your proctor would still grade your exam, which your future still depended on. You made an effort to push the hallucination from your mind and concentrate on the information you had retained for the exam, aiming to achieve the highest score possible.

Once you have completed the exam, you hand it in and cautiously enter the hallway. The grades wouldn't be posted until the end of the term, but you were confident enough in your answers to believe that you had earned at least an A. Whether it was an A+ or A- was still uncertain, but you were hoping for the former. So focused were you on your test that you had almost forgotten about the incident earlier that morning. For a moment, you wondered if you should visit the university's nurse. Although she was not an actual doctor, it was a free service, and perhaps she could recommend something. On the other hand, at worst, she would suggest getting more sleep, and at best, she would advise you to see a doctor, which you couldn't afford. Not to mention the argument your parents would start regarding the doctor’s bill (as if they were above opening your mail). Perhaps not. 

You had no more exams for the day, so it was time to go home. There were chores to do for your parents, and then you had to study for tomorrow's exam. If you were lucky, you could finish everything early and get a few extra hours of sleep, hopefully avoiding another hallucination like today. Rubbing the exhaustion from your face, you head towards the bus stop. It was early enough that the bus should arrive within the next fifteen minutes, and you would be home in about an hour. Everything was going according to plan. Tomorrow was going to be a great day, you just had a feeling.

Once on the bus, your exhaustion started to overwhelm you, your headphones doing little to drown out the ambient noise. Before long, you were fast asleep. Even if you were awake, you probably wouldn't have noticed the viridian eyes in the reflection of the bus window watching over you. Unlike before, these eyes didn't appear to be of malicious intent. If anything, they seemed to observe you with care and empathy. If the volume of your headphones spontaneously happened to outweigh that of the alarm you had set for yourself to awaken you for your stop, that was just a coincidence.

A/N 2: sorry but the writers of the M.o.M. butchered her character just to have her shoehorned into a villain role so Strange would have an adversary already established in the MCU as a powerful magic user - I'm still salty about it. However Ms. Olsen's performance was phenomenal. Anyway lmk if this is absolutely trash or if you wanna maybe read more? I have a couple of chapters pre-written but not the entire thing.

Many thanks to my editors @flowers-shouldnt-die, and Brooke for helping me through this and providing valuable feedback! Especially @flowers-shouldnt-die for her assistance with translations in helping me learn both Hungarian and Russian for this. Wouldn't have made it this far in the story without you :3

[syrma-sensei]

→ A Dragon's Glory.

gif credit

pairing: daemon targaryen x lannister!reader.

rating: fluff, smut.

word count: 4.5k

warning: polygamy, established relationship, sub/dom dynamics, pregnancy sex, god complications, oral (female receiving), body worship, daemon being silly, extremely cocky, and absolutely smitten with you...

a/n: this is a sequel to my "a true victory". However, you need not to read the prequel, but it's preferable, though. the events of this fic take place in episode five, but the plot doesn't necessarily follow the canon agendas.

masterlist | ao3

IT'S PRINCESS RHAENYRA'S BETROTHAL DAY. You look at yourself in the mirror as your handmaid is sprucing your hair up with shinning rubies and golden accessories, and another is decorating your hands with jewelleries. Red and gold, the colours of your house; Lannister. The gown hugging your frame ever so delicately is crimson of colour, its velvet touch is so smooth on your skin. Two rounded, golden earrings adorning your ears; the right one is lion-shaped, and the other takes the form of the three-headed dragon of your husband's royal house; Targaryen. And both sigil are ruby-eyed.

You take pride in belonging to both houses; the lion you inherited, and the dragon you're married to. In occasions as such, you don't waste the opportunity of flaunting your post off; your glory.

When you're done, you study your appearance in the mirror. Satisfied by the results, you hum approvingly and praise your handmaidens' good work. Then, one of your ladies-in-waiting steps into your dressing chamber, dipping her head in courtesy. “The Prince is waiting for you, my lady.”

You find your prince husband waiting for you in your shared corridor, the one links your chambers to his. Daemon grins the instant his eyes fall upon you.

“Oh, my lioness...” He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles softly, “You look ravishing, love.”

“Why, thank you...” You kiss his both cheeks, giggling when he tries to plunder your freshly-painted lips into a kiss, “You look gorgeous yourself, my dragon.”

You do indulge him in a peck on his lips, but of course such teasing gesture doesn't rise to his contentment as he presses his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. His rough fingers caressing your stomach in circles. He draws out, kissing the tip of your nose, then stares at the bump in your belly.

It's been months since Daemon's back at court, and you can't be any happier. He's now a lot more behaved. Perhaps the fact he's going to be a father soon eased his usual wildness. Nevertheless, you cannot say the same thing about his appetite for you, especially after you stomach started to swell. It drives him mad knowing that you're carrying his child within your womb. He takes you almost every night if you're not tired.

“Gods,” He grumbles in a low voice, “You're growing prettier each day...”

“My toes do not agree with you, though, darling. They're disappearing,” You hum jocularly, “They look hideous.”

“Nonesense.” He asserts, cupping your cheek, “I like your toes, they're the second-best thing about you.”

Your eyelashes blink coquettishly. “Might I know what's the best thing?”

“The best thing...” Daemon looks aside for a moment, pondering, then he gazes back at you with a mischievous grin, “Two things, actually.”

A strong red colour flushes across your cheeks, “Daemon!” You chide him, throwing your eyes in a quick scan in fear of someone lurking around while your husband savouring your embarrassment.

Accepting his offered elbow, you shake your head a tad, murmuring, “You're incorrigible.”

“I'm afraid I am.” He chuckles, his steps are cautious and slow to not hurry you, “You like it, though. I know you do.”

The corner of your lips tugs upward in a half smile, your fingers tenderly brushing his arm. “I would not have it any other way, my love.”

“I'd find my way to you, darling, trust me.” He pinches your cheek playfully.

“Of course you would.” You chuckle.

Daemon tugs a strand of your mane behind your ear, asking, “Feeling better?”

You nod, “Do not worry, my love, I'm perfectly fine.”

You stroll your way towards the throne room, making sure to arrive at the feast before the announcement of any arrival of lord paramount. In better circumstances, you two should have been by Rhaenyra and the King's side from the very beginning of the banquet, but due to the sudden fatigue you suffered this morning resulted by your pregnancy, Daemon insisted on not being in hurry, telling you that his brother and niece would understand. And should you not be excited about his niece's wedding —and perhaps the most enthralled one of them all— so much, your husband would forbid you from attending today's celebration. You know he means well, and he only cares about your health and the babe's. But you assured him that mere nausea and tiredness wouldn't render you in bed. He wasn't quite convinced, but Daemon acquiesced to your determination, nonetheless. However, you had to make him a promise; that should you feel any kind of discomfort, you'd immediately retire to your chambers and have rest.

When you reach the throne room, Ser Harrold Westerling, Lord Commander of the Kingsuard, bows his head for you both before announcing, “Prince of the city, Prince Daemon Targaryen and his Lady wife, Lady (Y/N) Lannister!”

You watch King Viserys smile when he spots you both, and your heart is put at ease. Everyone in the hall stands up and bows for you and your husband. And once you are in front of the king, both of you curtseyed him. The latter nods at you in acknowledgement.

You turn your head to the Princess, smiling widely. “Congratulations, Princess, you live to your title indeed; bringing such delight to the realm.”

“Why, thank you, Lady (Y/N).” She smiles in return, “This celebration wouldn't come out perfect as such if it weren't for you.”

“Oh, please, I only did my duty, Your Grace.”

“My daughter and I owe you infinite thanks, Lady (Y/N).” King Viserys remarks, while drifting his eyes to his brother, “You're a fortunate man, Daemon. She's a rare gem, do keep her treasured, brother.”

“I shall do, brother,” Daemon holds your waist, pulling you a bit to his chest, “I shall certainly do.”

After curtsying the monarch again, you and Daemon take your place at the main table, with your husband sitting next to the empty chair, which you presume the Queen's, and you between him and Lord Lyonel Strong, Hand of the King.

With slight worry in your eyes, you scan the hall, corner by corner, while your smile is wavering on your lips. Everything is set to your exact dictation. The beautiful music, and delicious platters, and the mesmerising decorations of the throne hall. Even though everything is meeting with your expectations, something within your chest doesn't set right.

You feel the warmth of Daemon's hand on yours, as he leans to you, his face close to yours, “You need not to worry, darling.” He kisses your temple, “Everything is perfect and you just got praised by the bride and her father. Your grand efforts are profusely paying off.” He squeezes your hand gently, “You took it upon yourself to organise and supervise my niece's wedding festivities and worked on it so hard even though you're with child. I admire your strong will, darling.”

Your lips stretch in a genuine smile, “You flatter me, my lord.”

“No, I'm only stating the truth, my lady. I can't even imagine how patient and understanding you were throughout it all.”

Your smile slips away again when you glance at him, murmuring, “What if it's not to the Velaryons' taste. What if they don't like it?”

“If it were not, I'd question Lord Corlys's standards.”

You hide your giggle behind your fingers cordially, whispering “You can't, since queenly women are his taste.”

Daemon chuckles, “Can't say the same thing about his son, though, can I?”

You nudge your husband by your elbow, “Daemon!” You berate breathlessly, darting your eyes around to make sure nobody heard your husband's words, “Gods be good, you truly are incorrigible.”

Of course it reached your ears, the matter of Ser Laenor's taste. You did not believe such allegations at first, but having your husband confirming them to you broke your heart. That Laenor and Rhaenyra are bounded by an arranged marriage, in spite of their personal unhappiness for the sake of the realm.

You regard yourself lucky. Being married to your true love despite the impossibility of it. But you have to admit that Daemon is no like any other man. He's the type of a man if he wants something, he takes it, and nothing will ever stop him from doing so, not even the Seven themselves. There is a common belief that Targaryens are closer to gods than man, and being married into this dynasty, you allow yourself to indulge in being a god's wife... his goddess, the one he fought the world to claim her.

He never cared about tradition, especially foreign ones to him, and he clung to his family's customs by claiming two wives. If the first one was forced upon him, then he'd force the second upon all. And that was exactly what he did when he proposed to you, asking your brother, Jason, the head of house Lannister, your hand in marriage. Your brother did not show in sign of refusal at the time. Jason saw a great opportunity by accepting Daemon as your groom; he'd have Targaryen nephews, and dragons flying over the lion's banners if needed. Surely, what your brother did was frowned upon, and risked the King's wrath. But Daemon didn't care, nor did you. Mayhaps your successful marriage to the prince made Jason's ego go so high that he himself proposed to the Princess some time ago.

Speaking of the lions...

Ser Harrold Westerling announces again, “It with great pleasure, that His Grace, King Viserys, announces the start of the royal wedding celebrations.” Everyone is set alert as the Lord Commander continues, “House Lannister, with their Lord Jason Lannister; lord paramount of the West, and master of Casterly Rock...”

You smile when you see your twin brothers, Jason is several steps ahead to everyone, of course. They bow to the king respectfully, and then guided to their spot in the hall. You made sure to give your house a good seat at the banquet. Jason strides upward and dips his head to the monarch.

“Congratulations, Your Grace,” He says, “You have made a fine match for the Princess.”

“Thank you, Lord Jason.” You hear Rhaenyra remark, “I can think of no better man than Ser Laenor.”

You can detect the slight mockery in the future queen's tone. Daemon sneers under his breath and you frown at him. Of course you understand the reason behind the Princess' attitude. You know how your brother proposed to her, and how she wounded his pride. Although you don't endorse your brother's behaviour, but he's as a lion as you are, he's your blood, and you do not tolerate any kind of debasing he or anyone of your house might be regarded by.

Jason chuckles, “Well, if this is only the welcom feast, I admire I can only imagine what might be planned for the rest of the wedding...”

“Oh, my daughter is the future queen,” The King replies, “I want this a wedding for the histories. And we have your lady sister to thank.”

Jason nods and turns to you with a smile, “Dear sister!”

“Dear brother!” You nod in acknowledgement to him.

“My prince.” Jason salutes your husband too. He returns his attention to the King again, “Where is the Queen? I hoped to pay my respects.”

“I understand that the Queen is still readying herself for the celebrations.”

“This is why men wage war, because women will never be ready for the battle in time.”

You blink in your seat, cringe crawling at your skin because of your brother's dull jest.

Daemon snores a bit, dropping a comment, “Perhaps Lord Jason finds women late at other specific matters as well.”

Your eyes fly wide at the under-the-belt insinuation your husband just made, and the King's deep chuckle with Rhaenyra making no effort to hide her amusement make it worse.

You gaze at your brother apologetically. “Brother!” You cheered, “I shall be with you in a moment to catch up with you.”

Jason forces a smile, “Of course, sister.”

You throw a glare at your husband while he's still grinning. However, he drops it. “What?”

“It's not funny, you know.” You say, “Making fun of my brother right in front of me and everyone else.”

“Oh, darling please—”

You turn your head straight again, to receive the next guests. You hear Daemon sulk which makes your lips tug up in a small grin. House Hightower followed, then finally house Velaryons are announced. And such an entrance they are. You sigh in relief when you see their approving faces.

The King makes a small welcoming speech untill he's interrupted by his own wife, Queen Alicent Hightower. Eyebrows being raised, and hushed comments are made as the Queen, with her brilliant green gown, threads her way towards the main table. Everyone stands for her, except for your husband. She congrats her stepdaughter and kisses her husband's cheek as the latter carries on with his welcome, and he doesn't forget to give you the credits for your efforts.

When the King is finished, and after the Princess and her betrothed danced their private dance, you excuse yourself and go to entertain the guests. Daemon grabs your hand and you squeeze his. “Everything is going to be alright, love.” You slide a hand beneath your engorged belly as you waddle to the spot where you placed your house; close to the royal table at the front right.

Jason is the first to greet you. “Dear sister,” He leans in to kiss your cheek, “I've missed you so much.”

“I missed you too.” You return his kiss then nod at your other sibling.

“Sister.” Tyland says, roaming the hall with studying eyes, then he smiles at you, “I see you're quite deft at planning celebrations, (Y/N). We're proud of you.”

Jason grasps at your shoulders in enthusiasm. “Well, of course, brother. She's the most suitable for such post. She and Daemon make the perfect royal couple.” He says the last sentence with a bit bitterness.

Tyland clicks his tongue, “Wish the Prince has known you first though. His late wife did not deserve such failed deal.”

With furrowed eyebrows, you ask your brother, “Late wife?”

Jason looks at his twin perplexed, then back at you. “Yes, sister, Lady Royce passed weeks ago. Are you not aware?”

You fix a smile. “O-Of course, I am. I just do not keep her in mind so much.”

“And you shall never have to from now on, as she's out of your way, sweet sister.”

Your face deadpans. “She wasn't in my way to begin with, brother, and surely of all people, you know that the most.”

“Certainly, but—”

“If you'll excuse me, dear brother, I must attend to the other guests.”

You leave the guests of your house slightly puzzled. You spot your husband dancing with Lady Laena Velaryon as you make your way to the other side of the hall. Where house Hightower are seated. Lady Lynesse Hightower, wife of Lord Hobert Hightower, dips in courtsy for you.

She was one of the many appalled ones when you and Daemon got married. Thinking of your knot illegal by gods and man's laws as you were his second wife. You've received lots of responses of the sort. It never bothered you really. In fact, you relished in them; watching all of them bowing for you despite their inner disgust, you really didn't care. You're a lioness of The Rock, and your husband is a dragon prince, the strongest knight of the seven kingdoms, and the fiercest warrior of the realm. You have nothing to fear.

However, something about Lady Lynesse's smirk unsettles you greatly.

“Ser Gerold Royce is invited to the royal wedding, I see.”

“Ser Gerold is a fine knight, and a good man, can't see why not?”

Lynesse shakes her head with a sneer. “Must salt be rubbed in his wound, Lady (Y/N)?”

That makes you brows knit in a scowl. “I do not quite catch your meaning, Lady Lynesse.”

“You do know that your prince husband's first, lawful wife who was Ser Gerold's cousin, has passed, do you not?”

“Yes, I do.” You answer, with every ounce of indifference you can muster.

Lady Lynesse clicks her tongue amusedly. “It's said Lady Rhea fell off her horse and was crushed by it. But you see, Lady Rhea was an excellent rider, and many are not convinced that such accident would kill her.”

“Your point?” You say impatiently.

“I'm only saying that there are some people who believe that Lady Rhea Royce's death was no coincidence, and was by design.”

It casts upon you, and you raise an eyebrow at her. “Well, that's unfortunate to hear.” The calm in your voice surprises you, “Even though I did not meet her in person, but Lady Rhea was an honourable lady of the Vale, such brave woman is quite irreplaceable.”

“Oh, I beg to differ, my lady.” The mischief in her voice unnerves you, “You are taking her place now, as your prince husband is to inherit her castle in Runestone since they didn't produce heirs together.”

Your eyes fixate on her face, she makes no effort to hide her brazen expression. You fall silent for a moment, shaking your head a tad.

“I did hold respect to my husband's wife indeed, Lady Lynesse.” Your green eyes glower at her fiercely and the shiver of her frame doesn't go unnoticed by you. “But it seems as though the people of the south do not have the ability to distinct gold from bronze, as I clearly see.”

The face she makes is priceless; you allow yourself to grin. “Now, if you'll excuse me, Lady Hightower.”

You spin rather adroitly as your eyes roam the room, looking for your husband. You find him still dancing with Lady Laena. However, your eyes lock for a moment and he smiles at you, but you do not return it. Instead, you tear your face aside with a slight scowl on your face.

You wobble towards the King, a hand on your belly. You dip your head in courtesy and asks for his leave to retire to your chambers and rest. They express worry about you, but you brush it off, telling them it's but normal tiredness.

Spinning around, you face the solid chest of your husband.

“Is something the matter, love?”

“No, nothing is the matter, husband.” You hiss through gritted teeth.

“Your Lady wife is a tad tired, Daemon.” The King's interjects, “Do escort her to have some rest.”

Daemon glances at his brother then at you. “Of course, brother.”

Your short trip to your chambers is silent. However, the instant you're in your bedchamber, alone, your husband demands, “What happened, love?”

You sit on your bed, sighing. “Nothing requires your concern, my lord. Seemed the babe didn't like rowdy places, that's all.”

Daemon clicks his tongue. “If I didn't know better, I'd say our child is giving you a hard time.” He stands right before you, tipping your chin up with his fingertips. “Tell me what that bitch said to cause you such distress?”

You press your lips into thin line. “Was it your intention to keep me in the dark regarding your first wife's demise, Daemon?”

“Yes, but it reached your ears, nonetheless.” He clicks his tongue again, unamused.

“Why would you do such thing?”

“Her death was a tragic one, and knowing your sensitivity that is increased by the pregnancy, I had no choice but to conceal the fact away from you. I did not wish it to affect on you or our child.”

“They're whispering that you did it.” You mutter.

He gives you a vague grin. “And you believe them?”

“No, but...”

“But what?”

His eyes don't leave yours, probing and studying. You drop your head down and fall silent. Daemon kneels before you briskly, taking your agitating hands in his. His violet eyes are gazing up at you, more softly this time.

“But what, darling?” He rumbles.

You sigh. “We've been married for six years now, Daemon. And the court has yet to accept me as your lawful wife.”

“But the lioness doesn't consider the sheep's opinions, darling, neither does the dragon.” He says tenderly, wringing your hands fondly.

“I know, but imagine how it would influence on our child when it's born.” You tear up, “They're already calling it names...”

That kindles a fire in his eyes. “Anyone dares to insult our child, I shall rip their tongues out with my own hands.”

“Daemon, please I can't take this any longer,” You sob, “I work each day to prove to everyone that I'm fitted to be a royal consort but...”

He shushes you gently, and brings your hands to his mouth. Daemon kisses your knuckles ever so softly then glances up at you. Rough fingers are barely touching your face, brushing your tears away.

“You're more than fitted, my lady,” He says in whisper, “You're my fierce lioness, love of my life, my one and only wife, and I wouldn't have it any other way.”

Through your blurred vision, you let a smile slip. “I'd find my way to you.”

He gives you a smile of his own, “I know you would.” He laughes before taking your lips in a kiss. A sudden urge, a sudden need sweep over your body, and you find yourself cling to your husband's shoulders.

A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest as he rises on his feet. You look at him in awe and gulp. “Aren't we supposed to return to the feast, husband?”

“Fuck the feast. They're fine on their own,” Daemon replies, voice is thick and deep as he takes off his black, leather jerkin.

You open your mouth to retort, but whatever you have to say is swallowed by his kiss. “I've craved to fuck you the moment I saw you in this gown.”

You lay on your back as his hands guid your shoulders back into the sheets. He scramble your red skirts up, and your body quiver when Daemon caresses your very swollen belly with utmost tenderness. He trails smooth kisses on the stretched skin, then you both feel it, the babe's kick.

Daemon lets an amused chuckle, “Look who's thrilled too.”

Your body vibrates as you giggle, “Gods, I can already tell it's as incorrigible as you are.” You laugh again.

“The gods have tossed their coin.”

Daemon slips your undergarments, and your wet cunt is bare to his burning eyes. He settles your knees on his shoulders as he leans down.

Already overwhelmed, a loud moan tears out of your throat as the tip of his tongue brushes the hood of your clit. He kisses the bud, and his lips are softer than silk.

“Daemon... Daemon... Daemon...”

Your hand comb through his white locks, toes curling, while his tongue is making the most obscene, wet noises with your cunt.

Your breathing grows short, as you beg him for a release. His tongue slips inside of you and your walls collapse.

He leaves you shuddering and stirring in the sheets, giving you some time to recover as he wriggles out of his red tunic, and black trousers, sliding his boots off.

When you sober up from your high, you witness his lithe physique. Muscled and toned from years of training and battles, all in the right places. Your eyes wander his figure down until they perch on his hardened cock.

He glimpses at it then at you, smirking widely at your amazed eyes. “It's all yours, my lady.”

He helps you with your dress, until you're naked before him. Daemon tells you to let the jewelleries on. He loves it when you're naked but adorned to devour you with his unquenchable eyes.

Your husband kisses the crown of your head before he arranges the pillows for you. Once done, he ushers you to be on all four, the pillows holding the weight of your belly. He mounts you from behind and slips through your warm folds. He grunts, and his eyes are closed in full ecstasy.

At first, his rhythm is slow and leisure, but he loses control in no time when plunged deeply in your welcoming cunt. His hands don't leave you neglected as he caress and fondle your skin ever so delicately. Within few minutes you feel another release building at the tip of your stomach.

“Gods, Daemon!” Your soft, whiney mewls are music to his ears, “Oh, gods!”

You feel his large hands cradling your head, your golden mane messy between his fingers, until he decides to snap your head aside. Through ecstasy, and erratic breathing, you see your husband moving your hair from your face as he dips lower until his sweet breath slams your hot face.

“I'm your god,” He grumbles deeply.

You nod vehemently and he holds you to his chest, an arm breath your stomach and the other hand grabbing your head.

“Say it...” He whispers hoarsely in your ear, a command, an order, ramming his hips to yours.

“You're my one and only god, Daemon!” You moan loudly, “Oh, my god, my Daemon, please!”

Your god makes love to you, worship you, until beautiful tears of joy streaming down your cheeks. He takes you several times before your stamina wears out. And when your finished you don't bother to clean up. You two just savour in the the delightful aura surrounding you both.

Your head is resting on his chest, while your legs are tangled, as his hand is twirling and playing with your golden locks, whereas your fingers are tracing random patterns on his breast.

“Lys.” You hear him say.

You tip your head up, and your emeralds meet his amethysts. “What?”

“How about we go to Lys?” He gazes down at you, “I doubt this court or any other part of the Seven Kingdoms would be a suitable place to raise a child. In Lys we can live—”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” You respond immediately. “I can't ask for a better place, my love. It's the most beautiful out of the free cities, and the blood of Old Valyria still runs through its people.”

During your adventures with your husband on his Caraxes, Lys, the Perfumed Sister, was the city which captured your heart. And currently, you do not mind living in Flea Bottom if it meant being away from all the courtiers and everyone else. Furthermore, you can embark on trade business there, and live with your husband and future children a generous life away from the toxic fuss of the palace.

“It's settled then.” Daemon declares, kissing your lips, “Once you deliver our child, we shall be off to Lys.”

“Yes!” You kiss him again.

You set your head against his chest again, his heart drumming loudly against your ear. He's as excited as you are, and perhaps more. You both are enthralled for your next glory.

[kennysboxergf]

Eyes Open ~ King Kenny

⚠️ smut warning ⚠️

— You lay on the bed waiting for Kenny to arrive. You had been following your boyfriends latest boxing match on the TV and had seen that it hadn’t gone exactly as planned. You knew he would be angry and disappointed with himself but you also knew how to make it all better.

You stood and made your way to the bathroom to sort yourself out when you heard the noise of the front door slamming  open and then shut again.

You called out to him, “Babe! In the bathroom!” This was almost a courtesy because there was no guarantee he’d come. 

Kenny liked time alone sometimes especially when he’s working through deep emotions after losses. You understood but still you always let him know where you were incase he needed you.

Today was one of the days he did need you.

You heard his soft footsteps approach you in the silent bathroom. You saw his eyes looking down at the ground in the mirror in front of you. You felt his arms wrap around your waist as he buried his face in your neck from behind you.

You stood there and lay a warm hand on his arm. You both stood in the quiet bathroom, breathing in sync. 

After what could have been a minute or an hour of his heavy breathing into your neck, you turned around in his grip. He refused to look up at you. You grabbed his chin and tried to gently move his face up to meet yours but he resisted any attempts.

You had no other choice left. You dropped down to your knees and looked up at him. For the first time that night the two of you looked each other in the eye. He looked so sad, like a lost puppy, and you couldn’t help but feel bad for him.

He looked away just as quick as he had looked at you. You continued to look at his face as your hands start roaming around his hips, you tease his abs and his v-line, your hands moving under his sweats every so often.

He gasps and tries to keep his noises to a minimum as you feel him up. You can see he has his eyes closed from your angle. You immediately stop all movements and pull you hands back. You cross them over you chest. He opened his eyes to look at you confused. You mouth ‘eyes open’ at him, not speaking out loud fearing you’d ruin the moment with your words.

He nodded at your silence and grabbed your hands and put them back onto his torso. You chuckle silently and you start pulling his sweats down. He shivered when the cold hit his bare legs but allowed you to continue.

You start palming at his semi-hard cock through his boxers. You look up at him through your eyelashes while you continue your motions. You can see him biting his lips to stop from making any noises as he hardens up all the way.

As soon as you see him squeeze his eyes shut once more you pull away. His eyes immediately snap open once more as he whispers apologies into the room. You stroke his arm up and down as you continue your motions underneath his boxers. 

He loses all control of his noises and movements as soon as you pull it out of his constraining boxers and into you mouth. The moans and the whimpers are accompanied with him throwing his head back, eyes squeezed shut. You pull off of him with a pop, your eyebrow raised. He looks you in the eye and let’s out whispers and noises of please.

A whine escapes his lips as you get off you knees but it stops short when he smiles as you lead him to the bedroom with a small touch and a wink.

—

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[healix17]

Whispers, Gazes, Mutters and Mumbles

For the sake for my Autobots.

Only for my Autobots...that's all.

That's why I'm doing this, right? Just for them.

He took a deep breath before stepping in.

Optimus walked towards the 'alter' made of gold and glass crystals.

The room was very well-decorated with roses made of the same matching combination of glass and gold, the translucent crystal window reflected his perfectly polished and flawless blue and red armour.

All optics were on him, he heard their gossips and whispers —Mostly KnockOut and BreakDown's.

The Autobots sat on the left, while the Decepticons on the right.

Even the humans—Jack, Miko, Raf and June—watched them through a small screen held by BumbleBee sort of like a video call.

Jack and Raf wore a black suit and tie while June wore a navy-blue dress and Miko wore a white dress with pink gradients at the end.

Blue, red, yellow, gray, green and purple optics—and eyes— were all over him.

But he didn't care, no he was used to people staring at him. His optics were only focused on those crimson reds staring back at him.

Primus, he could never get enough of that—now polished— silver armour.

A purple cape slid behind his back, fashioned with a matching purple Decepticon insignia pin. Optimus also wore a similar cape except his was red and fashioned with an Autobot insignia pin.

Both wore Laurels matching their optics and painted on designs on their armour, representing their past, present and future.

The main reason for their conjunx ritus—or how humans would call it 'marriage'—was for the purpose of bringing peace amongs both factions and the others in between.

And although Optimus preferred just a simple 'peace arrangement', the others however had different ideas of the word alliance, for they expected them to be Conjunx Endurae. And it definitely didn't make both the leaders happy.

But after some courtesy and convincing they both reluctantly agreed.

Megatron couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions: awe, intimidation, passion, and fear. Optimus was everything he had ever hated and desired rolled into one captivating package.

"Good luck sweet rims." KnockOut whispered with a wink as he watched Optimus nervously take the steps towards Megatron.

The red medic couldn't help but bite his bottom lip as he waited for drama to unfold.

A part of him wanted Drama, consisting of the ritual ending horribly and a huge fight breaking out, but he also wanted some sweet romance.

And he wasn't alone, although a majority wasn't excited but fearing the worst.

Optimus ingnored the whispers and gazes of the others and continued walking towards Megatron flushed, it was pure chaotic reading their expressions and emotions.

"You look nice." Megatron whispered to him and extended his hand, a simple yet tender gesture.

"So do you." he smiled brightly at him. The guests looked at them with joyful tears and excitement—although some of them were crying due to envy— they had waited for an alliance for eons, now it was the day it came. It felt so unreal.

A worried expression on Megatron's face formed as they walked towards the suppose 'alter'.

"Is something wrong?" Optimus whispered "You look troubled."

Megatron couldn't help but return the smile, feeling a warmth spread through his circuits at the sight of Optimus.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions within him as they stood before their guests.

"It doesn't matter, we aren't supposed to look so gloomy." His words were out-of-character and surprisingly carefree "Shall we?" His voice shifted to calm and unfazed.

Optimus took his hand, this was truly an unforgettable moments of joy.

Together, they walked down the aisle towards the altar.

As they stood facing each other, hands clasped, Megatron couldn't help but feel a mix of fear and desire.

He had never felt this vulnerable or this alive in his entire existence.

Optimus could feel the tension in Megatron's grasp, mirroring his own nerves.

He took a deep breath and looked into those fierce, fearless optics. This was it—the moment they would seal their fates together.

"Don't overthink it too much Pri... Optimus." Megatron whispered to him "It'll will only make it worst."

Megatron's voice was surprisingly soft, almost tender. It was a side of him that Optimus wasn't used to seeing—or hearing—anymore. He looked up at Megatron, feeling a strange mix of emotions: gratitude, fear, and something else...could it be love?

Optimus questioned his own thoughts at this point, with a small shrug, his face plate flushing slightly. "You...we could have done this earlier," He said "It would have saved hundreds of lives." His grip on his hand slowly tighten "But why now?"

Megatron lifted his other hand gracefully to cup at Optimus's face, looking him dead in his eyes with his answer. "Because I've needed to see you smile, to see you be at ease. Once again, " he replied, leaning in once again. "I wanted to see you cheerful again, I didn't want you let go of your own emotions just because of me..."

There was a sudden pause between them. The words stuck up their throats.

Megatron wanted to continue, to reassure him....to look after him once again.

But he stayed silent...

Waiting for his reply.

"I...thank you," Optimus breathed out, taken aback by the sincerity and caring in his words. It was a side of Megatron he longed to see again, making him feel vulnerable and loved at the same time.

"Well let us continue." Optimus said with a chuckle "Before the crowd gets too over Zealous."

"Zealous, huh? You're right," Megatron murmured, his gaze distant for a moment as he seemed to be lost in thought. "I am...possessive. I don't like sharing what's mine with anyone else. But with you..."

He wrapped one arm around his sleek waist pulling him closer, his other hand intertwined with his' making it seem as if they were actually sharing a sweet moment.

"But with you, I don't feel the need to be possessive," he continued. "Because I know that you're mine, and I'm yours. And that's all that matters." He leaned in close, their faceplates almost touching. His clawed hand hesitantly cupped his chin, locking gazes with him.

His words too sweet to be true, yet not too bitter to be false.

The crowd faded away into a colourful blurr, as the others either drank or danced so they didn't even notice the collided Prime and Warlord—Except for Ratchet who gave them a venomous look.

Megatron followed his gazed and smirked slightly at the thought of the grumpy medic's disapproval. "I think he's just envious," he murmured, nuzzling Optimus' cheek-plate. "You know, for not being the one to catch your optic."

"He'll get used to it," Optimus said sheepishly. Megatron Turning his attention back to Optimus, he deepened their kiss, symbolising their offical bonded sparks.

The dark-plated mech purred softly into the kiss, his hands sliding down Optimus' around to grip his waist even tighter. As they pulled apart for air, he smiled widely at the other Prime. "I'm glad we could share this moment together,"

"It seems we've sparked more than just a simple alliance, haven't we?" he said, nuzzling closer to him.

"Indeed we have." Megatron chuckled.

"Guess they're getting along." They could here the Autobots and Decepticons whisper.

"I thought this was going to end horribly"

"Huh, suprise they even agreed to this."

"Aww...I expected drama."

"We're witnessing history being made right now!" The mutters and mumbles were endless.

"Ohhhh.......They're so cute together."

"Pfft...I was hoping for sparks to fly."

"C'monnnnnnnn can you guys kiss again!?!I need to take a good pic!!!"

Megatron chuckled softly as he watched the others whispering around them, his arms draped possessively over Optimus' shoulders. "Let them talk," he stated simply.

For once he finally saw him. His Optimus.

The mech he cared for the most. The mech who was truly worth fighting for. The Optimus he loved. It was a complete blessing to be with him.

The bright crystal roses with the structure build of glass and gold platings reflected their beautiful collided selves.

The translucent windows and crystal decor made the scene look unrealistic.

Megatron smiled down at his lover, seeing the look of adoration there that he had been craving for so long.

It was illogical, on how they came to this point, especially when it all began with him just wanting to claim territory.

But now...

Megatron leaned in closer, their faces only an inch apart. "Let's have the whole world know who you belong to, shall we?" Megatron asked with an expression full of confidence.

"Yes, let's make it official," Optimus replied, nuzzling his cheek into the other leader's hand before they faced each other once again, hands locked in a firm grip as they exchanged their sacred vows in front of all of Cybertron.

They both opened their spark chambers in unison, the 'clank' causing all the attention of everyone to be with them once more.

"I Megatron, Lord High Protector do hereby pay heed to this alliance. Though it may last forever or be temporary, I vow to be your High Protector as long as you would be my Prime." He said that with absolute full flirtatious confidence, as if he wasn't nervous. Although he actually wasn't bothered by this.

Optimus took a breath, he couldn't frag this up, no he couldn't.

"And I, Optimus Prime, accept your vow as my Lord High Protector," he replied, his own tone echoing the same confidence as he spoke his part in their ceremony. "Should our alliance be temporary or forever binding, I will serve and protect you with all my might."

And before the others could even blink their optics and eyes, a bright soft blue light filled the entire room.

At the moment of their sparks' connection, Megatron felt a jolt of energy surging through him. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced before, a feeling of wholeness and completeness that made him realize just how much he needed this bond with Optimus.

The blue light bathed their faces in a warm glow, and Optimus couldn't help but feel his heart swell with love and happiness. The energy coursed through them, filling every corner of their being with a newfound joy and pride as they officially became one.

The light grew brighter and brighter until it was at a blinding level.

It went to a point where the others had the cover their optics to make sure they wouldn't because blind.

Even through the screen the humans had to cover their eyes with their hands, even closing them wasn't enough.

In a momentous event that ended the ages-old rivalry between Autobots and Decepticons, Megatron and Optimus Prime united in matrimony amidst the grandeur of Cybertron.

Surrounded by their comrades, their friends, from every corner of the universe, allies and former adversaries alike gathered to witness the historical event, a representation of power to love to transcend even the deepest of individuals.

Even the fraging DJD was here.

As they sealed their bond with a resounding clang of metal, the echoes sounded throughout Cybertron, indicating a new era of peace and solace for all Cybertronians.

"Woohoo!!!" A small medic applaud. Followed by the others.

"Heck yeah!!!"

"Bout damn time!!!"

"I took more than a hundred pictures glitches!!!"

"I'm telling my future sparklings about how I witnessed history!!!"

The sound of applause filled the air, so did their complements.

"Tooooooo....The Dance floor!!!" Another bot said. They couldn't make out who it was due to the colorful mess of the crowd, but they all followed.

Megatron huffed out a smile before pulling his lover into a small circle to dance along with the music.

The melody of the music filled the air, they just move with every sweet melody. All the attention of Drunk and dance-y Mechs and femmes were on them but they continued.

SoundWave was good at picking songs.

A million dreams, Rewrite The stars, Can't help Falling In love, Despacito.

Just to name a few.

A smile spread from their face plated from one cheek to another as they moved alongside the melody and beat.

The rest of the night faded away into a blurr, but it was indeed an unforgettable time.

Please read this before y'all say anything:

1. I only discovered the existence of Conjunx Ritus only like three weeks ago so I'm still doing my research.

2. I'm sorry if it's rusty, I got alot of undone assignments, and haven't posted in a while, so I'll probably edit/fix it later.

3. If it's illogical, read point 2 again 🥲.

Vote :)

[for-a-longlongtime]

On Dieter, Goya's Black Paintings, and Pedro on Talk Art 

Alright y'all, it's Saturday evening, I have nothing better to do (I actually do but I don't feel like it), so welcome to my mini TED Talk about 'how to pay too much fucking attention to the Pedro cinematic universe'. None of this is new, and maybe everybody already knew about this, but I didn't... so here's a nerdy tangent courtesy of googling/wikipedia-ing.

I was reading a Dieter!fic (this one right here by @chaoticgeminate - go read her writing!) earlier today, which refers to the 'Saturn Devouring His Son' painting - that giant mural Dieter is working on in The Bubble:

(his brush isn't even touching the wall tho, ha)

The original 'Saturn' by Goya

The fic mentioned its part of 'The Black Paintings', so I got curious and started googling. I'm no art major or expert, so please allow me to just paraphraze the Wikipedia page. 'Saturn' is part of a group of 14 Goya paintings that are called Pinturas Negras/The Black Paintings. They "portray intense, haunting themes, reflective of both his fear of insanity and his bleak outlook on humanity" --this was late in Goya's life, and was connected to several illnesses he had experienced (and the fear of relapsing) and political turmoil in Spain at the time (post-Napolean war, changing Spanish government, etc.

Trivia fact 1: Goya actually made these paintings right on the walls of the Quinta del Sordo (so-called Deaf Man's villa) where he was staying -- so I love that Apatow had Dieter also paint right on the walls.

Trivia fact 2: while Goya was living in this villa, he actually became gravely ill (again) - not by a pandemic obviously, but it's hard to not link that loosely to the COVID period. He had never intended for these 'Black Paintings' to become public; "these paintings are as close to being hermetically private as any that have ever been produced in the history of Western art" (the murals were eventually transfered to canvas by other folks once he had moved out of the villa). Switching back to The Bubble -- I love how the tragic influence of Goya's illness(es) and art/things 'made at home away from the world, not intended for an audience' (so obviously, in a bubble) has that connection to the COVID experience and how many folks were suddenly homebound, along with the burden of illness in many ways (lord knows this all did a serious number on our mental health). In the movie, Dieter and the others do not want to go into isolation again, but that solitude is what eventually led him to painting on the walls in his room. This is not a 'grand discovery' of any kind, but I got a kick out of the parellels once I read up on it - and honestly makes me appreciate the movie a bit more, haha.

Not happy about another quarantine period.

Alright, more hyperfocusing after the cut:

Some googling led me to a post from last year by @nicolethered (gifs in this post are hers), and she included screencaps of the walls of Dieter's room (during that drug scene), which I hadn't even noticed while watching the movie. Upon taking a closer look, I noticed they're outtakes from other pieces of Goya's Black Paintings! I thought that was really cool, they sure worked on the details with that set (there's one more that's shown in a different shot but I can't exactly figure out which outtake that is):

First one is a mirror image from Two Old Men Eating Soup and the second one is basically Satan aka 'The Great He-Goat' from the Witches' Sabbath painting. Which IMO makes for fucking hilarious perfection a.k.a. trivia fact 3 -- because we all know about Dieter and his little emotional support goat, LOL. Excellent connection.

*insert sound bit from Hot Ones interview* : "Just let me love you!"

Anywaaay there's more. The Bubble was shot during Feb 22, 2021 to April 16, 2021, right? Pedro has spoken about how his input in shaping Dieter was mostly regarding his outfits (the Crocs, the robe, etc). But then I suddenly remember the Talk Art interview he had done in 2018, and how he namechecks 'The Dog' by Goya - and lo, guess which painting is actually part of the 14 Black Paintings? Yeap - the dog! So I checked the podcast and he was asked, 'if you could be any painting, what painting would you be?' by Russell. Here is the painting, and below it is what he said on Talk Art:

'The Drowning Dog' by Goya

"I think… it's a Goya. Yeah, old school. I think it's called 'Dog Buried in Sand' or something like that. It's so… I remember feeling it was such a visual representation of helplessness, in such a… come on, let's all admit that helplessness is a very recurring feeling for many of us, you know what I mean? When it comes to so many things. I guess… I was in Spain, in Madrid, and I was 20. And I went to the Goya museum. What's interesting about it is that the head of the dog is really quite small and sort of adorable, it looks like a stray mutt, and the painting - if I can remember it correctly - is very rectangular. There's so much above him, like the world just seems so big. It's quite incredible, isn't it? I know it's really sad, and sort of dark, and maybe I really like enjoy perceiving myself like..." (He gets interrupted by Russell, and then continues;) "Yeah, he's certainly not dying, it's sort of - it's a moment", (then interrupts himself with;) "Maybe he's totally dying, there's no way that dog is getting out of that. That dog is SO fucked. Anyway, that's the painting that represents my life". (All three of them burst out into laughing.)

If you're still reading this - I am impressed with your dedication to my silly little post, haha. Anyway, I just thought it was so striking that there basically is a straight line from the painting he mentioned in Talk Art to what Dieter is painting in the Bubble. Makes me wonder if perhaps he - or even Russell/Robert - had any input in that part of Dieter's backstory.

Thank you for attending my TED Talk on artistic analysis of Dieter Bravo during COVID, we now resume your regularly scheduled program for Saturday night. 🤪

(Have I been smoking because a local dispensary actually had 'Mando' bud? I sure as fuck have and I blame that for this post.)

[swordsmans]

have any snippets you want to share from what you wrote last night? 👀

it took me a bit to figure out how you knew i’d been writing last night hahahahahaha. i’m finally settling back into working on the sequel to the poison immunity fic! progress is slow but steady, which has actually been quite nice. This takes place on Zou after the crew arrives from Dressrosa but before they split up again to go to Wano and WCI, respectively. Disclaimer, of course, that this is a draft :'3c

“A whale’s lifespan is rarely longer than, oh, seventy years,” Brook hums, tilting his head to the side, curling white-bone fingers through the darkness in a vague gesture out to sea. “I will cherish my time with Laboon, but in the grand scheme of an endless death, the years he has left are so very small.”

Zoro watches him, bleached body almost reflective even in the dim moonlight, and not for the first time (or the tenth time, or the hundredth time) Zoro is struck full-force with the incomprehensible horror of Brook’s strength. More than any of them, he is an immovable force. Untethered (and who could blame him) but still here. 

“Fifteen at most, then,” Zoro replies, “give or take,” and Brook tilts his head the opposite direction, a learned courtesy to show he’s listening. 

“Optimistically, yes,” Brook replies. His voice is light, carefree like always. “Whatever I am given, I will take. It’s more time than I spent half a century believing I had, after all.”

“We’ll all still be alive.”

“And quite spry, in fact.” Brook nods. “When Laboon passes, I will still have my crew. I won’t be alone—not again. Not yet.”

“Not yet,” Zoro grunts back, blunt as ever, and as he shrugs a wordless yohoho! floats up between them. He thinks of a span of time more than twice his age, so long he can’t wrap his head around the depth of it—and he thinks of sagged bodies decaying in sprawls across rotten wood, purple and bloated with a poison of their own. 

“I find it funny that people so rarely talk to me of death,” Brook hums, light and easy. 

Zoro snorts. “You’re always talking about death.”

“Oh, indeed. But one man does not a conversation make.” He chuckles, then—quick. Bright. “I would know!”

It’s hard not to feel his own mouth pull into some kind of involuntary smile, even as his brain processes what’s been said. Brook is just so—Brook. Not for the first time, Zoro marvels at him. 

Still, though—

“Maybe it’s ‘cause you do that,” Zoro says. “The jokes and shit.”

And Brook throws his head back—his arms out—and laughs. Laughs loud enough to wake Nami but doesn’t, somehow (which is a good thing and also a terrible thing, Zoro thinks—he wonders how long it’s been since she properly slept, waiting for them here, waiting for Luffy to come and fix things). Still, he mutters, Oi—and Brook twists his bony neck to look down at him—grinning. Always grinning. Physically incapable of anything else. 

“Oh, but that’s the point!” Brook says, absolutely delighted. “I’m a musician!”

Zoro feels his own eyebrows raise, but Brook is Brook is Brook—so he just grunts,“I don’t follow.”

And animated in his own strange, manic little moment of joy, Brook sways, spinning once across the grass and slipping out of his coat in the dance—before he folds smoothly into a crouch in front of them both. Without missing a beat, he gently, gently drapes his coat across Nami (and across Zoro’s legs, too) and says, “My job is joy.”

“Joy.” It’s a statement and a question in one. 

Brook simply nods, standing straight again. In the moonlight, his bones shine. “Death is an inevitable part of life, and if I can make you fear it just a bit less—make you laugh just a bit more when you think of it because you think of me, then I have served my purpose. We are surrounded by death—seeped in it—but death is proof we are alive. All things need an antithesis, a mirrored opposite such that its best qualities can shine against the juxtaposition. Without death, what is life! And what is life if not laughter and music and companionship! We must laugh at death to laugh in life!”

Zoro watches him, bursting forth with a half-coherent rambling into the night—and he doesn’t get it. But at the same time, he does. 

But— 

“Maybe it's good for the others, but I’m not afraid of dying,” Zoro bites, more defensive than he means. It has been—a day. “I’m not afraid of shit.”

With easy acquiescence, Brook nods. “Of course,” he says, still light and breezy. “I believe that’s part of what our dear Navigator has taken issue with—one could argue that’s part of the overall issue at hand. But, I must say—if anything, this is proof that you do still fear death. Fundamentally different.”

“Oi—”

“It’s not a weakness!” Brook says, shaking his head. “Or if it is, I’m quite spineless myself—oh, but I do have a spine! You can see it right here—” he poses, distracting himself, giggling against the sky as Zoro frowns. 

“Doesn’t seem any different to me. And also—I don’t.”

“Everyone has a spine, Zoro—even if you can’t—”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Zoro grumbles—but it’s around the twitched lips of a suppressed laugh. Because of course—

And then Brook says, “You do indeed. You fear our Captain’s death more than anything, anything in the world, though you know better than anyone but me, perhaps, that it will come.”

[1986harrington]

hi! can i request steve with, “It’s pouring rain why are you here?” + “I love you.” “Tell me that when you’re sober.” from the prompt list? (maybe reader randomly shows up to steves drunk?) <3.

Hey anon! I'm so sorry I'm such an awful human being and this took so long, but here it is! It's over 3k so hopefully worth the wait ahssnndks

::readmore::

“What d’you mean you don’t know where she is?” Steve demanded, incredulous. 

It had been no more than twenty minutes since you’d called him, words slurred down the phone and practically incoherent over the sound of music blaring from a stereo in the background. He managed to determine that you were at yet another of Chelsea Carlton’s parties, which shouldn’t have been hard to guess since all you seemed to do these days was hang around with people you never used to be able to stand, and get drunk in the process. 

He wasn’t sure if you’d been asking him to come get you, the call cutting off before he could really make sense of why you were calling. But if there was even the smallest chance that you needed him there, he couldn’t risk not showing up.

It had been almost a month since you’d broken up, and it definitely hadn’t been a mutual thing. Steve had walked around in a perpetual daze for at least 48 hours, trying to make sense of everything you’d said.

“I love you so much, more than anything. But it’s not enough if you don’t feel the same.”

“You know everything there is to know about me. There’s nothing I wouldn’t tell you, but you’re holding something back from me, and I need to know what it is.”

“I can’t do this anymore if you’re not gonna be honest with me.”

“If you really loved me, you would tell me. If there’s someone else, please just put me out of my misery. Please.”

“I'm done. We're over, okay? I can’t do it anymore.”

Those words lived inside his head on a constant, tortuous loop. Three, four, five times a day since, he’s considered telling you the truth. 

About the Upside Down; about what really happened to Will Byers; how Barb and Chrissy really died; how he got those scars he could never explain to you; why he slept with the hallway light on and woke up in the night, sweating and panting and scrambling for his baseball bat he kept under the bed. 

But he couldn’t be that selfish. 

He couldn’t turn your whole world upside down, drag you into the danger that came with knowing about all that stuff, the fear that would plague you once you knew the truth.

He’d have done anything to keep you.

Anything, except the one thing you needed him too.

He wouldn’t ruin your life. 

So he didn’t deny it when you said he was keeping something from you. He didn’t object when you implied he didn’t love you enough, and fuck, he didn’t correct you when you asked him straight to his face if there was someone else. 

He just stood and watched you fall apart, let you sob and hit at this chest with frustration when he couldn’t even do you the courtesy of answering out loud. He hoped the look in his eyes would be enough; a silent, unspoken apology for everything he was putting you through. But you still left his house that night in tears, car tearing off down his driveway only to pull in a couple hundred yards down the street, head falling back against the headrest - eyes closed and streaming with tears as your hands beat at the steering wheel.

Steve smashed up his house that night - his fist through the bathroom mirror, the desk by his window flipped over and contents scattered across the floor, beside lamp smashed with a swing of his bat, until he was sitting amongst broken glass and splintered wood wondering how the hell he had fucked this all up so badly.

***

He’d been a little surprised that first weekend when he heard you were at a party. Sure, you’d always been up for a good time with your friends - but Chelsea Carlton and her minions? Those people weren’t your friends. 

Curiosity had gotten the better of him that night and he’d shown up at Chelsea’s house, loitering in the doorway trying to catch a glimpse of you. 

And he did. And you looked beautiful. And he felt his chest crack open at the sight of you. 

Then he watched on as half the basketball team circled you like sharks, all bright smiles and dark eyes that raked over you and Steve felt his keys dig into the palm of his hand as his grip around them tightened. 

You may have been drinking, but you still had your wits about you and he’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t swell a little with pride as he watched you shut them all down, a sweet but stern smile on your face as each of them cut their losses and moved along. 

By the next week, word had reached him that you were going on a date, and he was almost sick then and there over the counter at Family Video. Robin being Robin made an excuse for him to dip, and he made his way to the bathroom, hands on his knees and back against the door as he caught his breath.

The following Sunday, he was at work again when he overheard that the date hadn’t gone well at all. Two girls, who didn’t even know you, were giggling over the fact they saw you storming out of Drew Kellerman’s truck at the drive-in, door slammed behind you and tears in your eyes. 

His first instinct had been to reach for the phone, to call you and make sure you were okay. To ask if that asshole had hurt you or touched you or so much as looked at you in a way you didn’t like. But Robin had caught his wrist, told him she’d already checked and you were fine - just embarrassed by your own public outburst but totally okay. His shoulders sagged in relief, but he still set the receiver back down with a bang, cursing under his breath as he headed outside for some air.

What Robin didn't tell him was that you also told her the only thing wrong with her date with Drew Kellerman was that he wasn't Steve.

The next weekend, by some miracle, both Steve and Robin had the Saturday off and Nancy and Jonathon were both back visiting from college. 

They were heading out for a day on the lake when Steve realized they needed to stop for gas. He was so preoccupied trying to fish his wallet out of the glove box that he didn’t realize the car in front was yours. 

You had just set the pump back into place and turned around to head inside to pay when you spotted him, only a few feet away. Your chest felt tight, like suddenly there was no air and all you could smell was gas and all you could see was Steve and you were sure you were on the verge of passing out. He cleared his throat then, shifting awkwardly on his feet and you darted around him, legs moving on their own accord and taking you inside.

The cashier was serving painfully slowly, so you were still in line to pay by the time Steve joined the queue behind you. He kept a safe distance, but it was still too close. He could smell the faint strawberry scent of your shampoo that used to cling to his pillows and the coconut body lotion he used to help you smooth over your shoulders. Your breath hitched, and you swore you could feel the heat radiating from his chest onto your back. Your knees felt shaky, like any second now they’d just give out. You thought about what would happen then - how you had no doubt Steve would catch you, strong arms wrapped around your waist, mouth against your ear asking if you were okay, and suddenly you wanted to run out of the gas station and risk the repercussions of skipping out without paying.

That was the last time he’d seen or heard about you, until the phone call.

***

“What d’you mean you don’t know where she is?” Steve demanded, incredulous. 

His eyes scanned the crowd of bodies surrounding them in the kitchen of Chelsea’s mansion, the air cloudy with cigarette smoke making it hard to see and the music thumping from the stereo system one room over making it even harder to hear and he couldn't think straight.

“Like I said, one second she was here, the next? Poof!” Robin explained, a typically exaggerated hand gesture accompanying the ‘poof’.

“And you didn’t think to call me?!” Steve worried, one hand running anxiously through his hair, the front pieces falling into his eyes.

“I didn’t exactly know you two were on speaking terms now!” Robin yelled back, defensive and kind of offended at being so out of the loop.

“We’re-” Steve started, exasperated at not being able to finish the sentence because quite frankly, he didn’t know what you were to each other now. 

“We’re not.” He finally settled on. “But she called me. And if she called me, of all people, then something must be wrong.”

Robin sighed, a sympathetic but frustrated expression on her face. “Look, Steve, I get it. You’re in love with the girl, and you’re miserable without her, and she’s miserable without you - but you're both my friends, so until you get your heads out of your asses, do me a favor and leave me out of it?”

Steve knew it was unfair to put Robin in the middle like this, so he didn’t argue when she turned her attention back to an unusually tense game of flip cup that had drawn in quite the crowd, mumbling something about how you probably just caught a ride home with someone and she’d call you in the morning.

***

By the time Steve had searched every room, closet and outbuilding on the Carlton property and confirmed you were nowhere to be found, the weather had taken a turn. The already dark sky was thunderous, raining falling harsh against the sidewalk as he made his way back to his car. He hadn’t been driving more than five minutes when the first flash of lightning forked across the sky, cursing under his breath at the thought of you wandering around on your own drunk on a night like this.

He went to your house first and parked two houses up, like always, to avoid waking your dad. The single-story layout made it easy for him to look in through your window, your bed still made and room in darkness.

“Shit,” He muttered, wiping rain from his face and heading back to the car.

He spent the next hour driving around the streets of Hawkins, stopping off at any place he thought you might be until he decided to go home and try to call you again.

As his car rolled up the driveway, the headlights illuminated his front porch, and all the air left his lungs when he saw you sitting on the bottom step.

The rain was still falling, hard and fast, but you were already soaked and so was Steve. He yanked the keys from the ignition and climbed out the car, leaning his forearms on the top of the door and dropping his head down on to them.

He stood like that for a second, letting the relief settle in that you were okay - that all the worst-case scenarios of you being hurt or in trouble that had been running through his head for the last hour and a half hadn’t amounted to anything.

You stood up before he moved, taking a few tentative steps towards him, the car door he was still leaning on separating you both.

When he finally lifted his head to look at you, he could tell you'd been drinking, and he was instantly angry that you’d walked all the way across town so out of it and in this weather. Your dress was clinging to you, the once floaty skirt of it stuck to your mid-thighs, tendrils of hair plastered to your face and droplets of rain dripped from your lashes. He could tell you’d been crying, eyes rimmed red and make-up smeared around them from where you had rubbed at it.

You pulled at the collar of the jacket you were wearing, it having slipped off your shoulder with the weight of the rain, and when you pulled it tight across your front, Steve realized it was one of his that he thought he’d lost a few months back.

It swallowed your frame, but the look of comfort that swept over your face as you clung to it made his chest hurt and all he could think about was how you were still the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. 

“‘You alright?” He asked, pushing off of the door and stepping around it to close it.

You nodded, eyes fixed on his and fingers tugging anxiously at the sleeves of the jacket. 

“It’s pouring rain." He stated, as if it wasn't obvious. "What're you doing here?”

You swallow hard, taking another step forward.

“I found it in Chelsea’s guest room closet.” You finally speak up, gesturing to the jacket as if he didn’t know what you were talking about. “You must have left it behind the last time we were there-”

Your voice caught in your throat when you realized the other reason it could be there.

“I mean, unless…” You trail off, head swimming with the idea of Steve with Chelsea, or Steve with any girl that wasn’t you, and suddenly you feel that familiar sensation of being about to pass out wash over you again.

You begin to pull it off, and Steve knows you well enough to know exactly where your head is at, so he reaches forward and takes a gentle but firm hold of your wrists, stopping your hands in their tracks. 

“Look at me,” He says, and it's halfway between a command and a plea.

Your eyes lift slowly from where they’d fixed themselves on his hands around yours until you're staring up at him.

“I know I’ve made it hard for you to trust me,” His voice is barely above a whisper, and if you weren’t so focused on clinging to his every word after not hearing his voice for so long, you’d probably struggle to make it out over the sound of the rain. 

“But I need you to believe me when I tell you there’s no one else. Never has been.” He says with a shake of his head as if the very idea was ridiculous, because to him it was. “And I never should have let you think for even one second that it was ever a possibility.”

You release a painful, jagged breath you didn’t even know you’d been holding, and suddenly his grip on you is the only thing keeping you upright.

His eyes feel like they're burning into yours and you want desperately to look away because it's too intense with his fingers still pressing into your skin, but you know instantly he’s telling you the truth. 

You swallow and nod, and you're almost relieved when he finally drops your hands back down by your sides and you can think half-clearly again.

“You never answered the question,” Steve presses, filling the silence that’s swallowed you both whole.

“What question?” You ask, head still cloudy from the alcohol and just being near him again, although you’re mostly sober now from the long walk you took in the rain.

“What’re you doing here? At my house. Why’d you call me at all?”

He seems genuinely confused, as if there’s no possible reason why you’d still give him the time of day, and you know it’s because he doesn’t feel like he deserves it.

And then you take him by surprise, and you laugh.

It’s short at first, one huff of air from your chest that shakes your shoulders, and then another until your hands are running through your hair before falling down at your sides with a shrug.

“I love you.”

You say it as if it’s so obvious, so simple. And it is.

“Don’t say that.”

“I love you.” You repeat, walking towards him. “I was at Chelsea’s, and I was sad. Even sadder than usual, and so I drank more than usual. But that didn’t help. It just made me miss you more. And all these people were talking to me and crowding me and I couldn’t breathe because none of them were you, and that’s all I wanted. You're all I ever want. When I’m sad, or happy, or lonely, or scared… and I just had to get away from them all, y’know? So I went upstairs to the guest room, and I found your jacket and it smelled just like you and when I put it on it was like I forgot every bad thing that’s ever happened. All the reasons we don’t work just didn’t matter anymore and I needed to hear your voice. So I broke. And I did the one thing I swore I wouldn’t do and I called you. But it was so loud and I couldn’t hear you, and I needed to hear you, Steve. So bad. And I didn’t know if you were coming, so I came here-”

“Can you do me a favour?” He asked, cutting you off mid-ramble and you just nod, taken aback.

“Can you tell me all this when you’re sober tomorrow?”

“Steve, I walked 30 minutes in the rain. I’m sober.”

“Good.”

And just like that he’s on you, all around you, and you feel the horrible, suffocating weight that’s been holding you down for the last month just disappear.

His hands are cupping your face, thumbs grazing your jaw, fingers tangled in the wet knots of your hair and his mouth is warm and familiar against yours. You’re clinging to his wet t-shirt, pulling at it in an attempt to get him closer to you, but his chest is already flat against yours. He drops one hand from your face to tug at your waist and you gasp into his mouth, his tongue slipping in and pulling a moan from you that he can hear even over the rain that’s still falling around you both. 

His hand slams down on the roof of the car as your back collides with driver’s side door, arms tangling around his neck and fingers pulling at his hair. 

When you’re forced to tilt your face to side, away from his lips to catch your breath, he plants a trail of open-mouthed kisses the length of your throat until he’s met with the wet material of his jacket still hanging off of your shoulders.

“I can drive you home,” He mutters against the warm skin of your neck, face buried in the crook. 

“Or?” You ask, breathless as you use both hands to pull his face up to meet yours.

“Or you can stay here.” He offers, and your face lights up, bottom lip pulled between your teeth to try and contain the smile at the thought of spending the night in his bed again.

“With me. If you want. We don’t have to do anything.” He clarifies, hand pushing wet strands of hair out of your face before you lean up and kiss him again.

“I wanna stay. With you.” Your arms loosen from around his neck, hands sliding down his chest until you reach his wrists and pull him towards his front porch.

He lets you lead the way, only dropping your hand to fish his keys out of his back pocket and he laughs so contentedly when your arms wrap around him from behind, your cheek pressed between his shoulder blades as he fumbles with the wet keys in the lock.

You both stumble into the door as it opens, immediately pulling your wet clothing off and letting it drop to the floor. You're back on him instantly, pulling and kissing him towards the stairs to his room and it takes all his strength to take hold of your shoulders and push back lightly.

“Baby, baby, wait,” He breathes, chest heaving as he stares down at you. “There’s a reason this - we didn’t work. There’s so many things I want to tell you, but I can’t. And I don’t wanna go backwards and do anything that’s gonna hurt you or confuse you or-”

“Steve, please,” You cut him off with a shake of your head. “I know all of that but- Can we talk about it tomorrow? I just, I need to be with you. Please?”

“You’re sure?”

You nod, hands bringing his lips back down to yours again, and you feel him give in against your mouth before he pulls away from you, taking your hand guiding you in front of him and up the stairs.

PART II

[llondonfog]

twst (horror) tober — day 6 (time)

➤ Day 6: Time | “How long has it been?” 

Silver once told him that ever since stepping into the role of caring for Lilia, the concept of time turned meaningless to him.

Silver told him that he can only categorize the days now on a continuum of good and bad.

There were days when his father would wake up with the hint of recognition in his eyes and an agreeable slant to his lips, and Silver needn't coax him out of bed to amuse him with the trinkets and gifts bestowed upon him by well-meaning classmates and a grieving liege. There were even better days when a glimmer of memory not yet lost would surface in the dark and mired deadlands of his father's deteriorating mind, when he'd pat the cushion beside him on the couch and regal Silver with a tale he'd heard at least several times before— each time, he listens just as patiently as if it were the first.

And then there were bad days when the fae that awaited him on the other side of the bedroom door screeched and howled in a long-lost tongue, days when Silver was forced to use the iron bolts that Malleus-sama had pleaded with him to install on the wooden frame if he wouldn't listen to reason and use manacles fixed to the bed instead ("My father isn't a monster, Malleus-sama, I won't humiliate him and strip his dignity away!") to stop those wild, ragged claws from tearing through the wood like paper to scratch out his eyes. Days when it is hard to separate the loving, smiling father from the feral creature caught in a losing battle as it succumbs to a fate inevitable to its kind.

Sebek listens to his friend, remains silent for once— it is unlike Silver to share his burdens, to even talk about the difficulties of caring for a fae so advanced in the decay as Lilia lest he fears that anyone find him complaining. They had all tried to talk him out of it when they had learned that Silver had already rescinded his studies at Night Raven College with the intent to care for his father to the bitter end. Malleus had nearly been beside himself, for safety could not be guaranteed, even for a human as strong and determined as Silver— "He'll overwhelm you," Sebek had watched his prince all but beg the boy to reconsider. "You know naught of what you are consigning yourself to, you have never seen our kind at our most frightful display. He would not wish this upon you, he would want his memory to remain pristine in your mind!"

But Silver had remained steadfast, loyal and devoted to his father beyond all rational persuasion. "I will not allow his last moments to be in suffering and all alone, Malleus-sama. He has sacrificed his life for the country, for you, and for me— I find it hardly equal what meager weeks I can give to him so that he may go in peace."

And so they had left to that cottage in the forest, the only home that both of them had ever known. Sebek had visited only once, the nature of being Malleus-sama's sole guard until Silver's return dictating that he shoulder a more hefty responsibility. They had both appeared rather worn and weary, bags deeper under Silver's eyes than he had ever known them to exist before, but together at least with wan smiles on their faces, as Silver had so desperately wished for them to be.

All the same, Sebek's gaze had keenly noted the presence of thin, crimson lines along Silver's forearms and neck— he found himself too much of a coward to glance at Lilia's hands.

Today, however, he's visiting for a much different reason than merely personal concern. Malleus-sama had bid him to venture out into those isolated, lonely woods, a frown deep and haggard on his perfect face; Sebek knows that if he were to look in a mirror, the same expression would be reflected back at him. For two weeks now, not a single letter delivered to the cottage had returned with correspondence, courtesy of Silver's little feathered friends usually so delighted to concede to his requests. Normally, a week's worth of silence would have jolted the both of them into worry, but with the whirlwind of a recent goodwill trip to the neighboring human countries, Sebek had merely assumed there would be a small pile of daily updates from Silver for them to look forward to reading upon their return. Imagine then, the foreboding that had settled in like an ominous pressure at the lack of any such notes.

That pressure only mounts and builds with a wicked weight upon his shoulders as he approaches the darkened cottage, silent among the stilled trees. A pressure that twists in his stomach like a corkscrew, and grips his throat in a vice, thinning the air he breathes as he stares with dread at the front door swinging off its hinges, and a faint, nauseating smell choking the scent of violets from beneath his feet.

Today, it seems, is not simply a good or bad day— it is an awful one.

[aphrodisiac-siren]

Words left unspoken

Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader

Summary: When writing a love letter for one of your ladies' maids, you start to remember your own feelings for Aemond who you were separated from for years and then all of a sudden you find yourself reminded of how much you are head over heels for the prince.

Part 1

Part 2

Aemond’s POV

Aemond peeked into the chambers he was passing by as he walked along the long and spacious hallways of the castle. It wasn’t in his nature to be prodding, to be nosy enough to peer through people’s quarters but then again, he wasn’t really intruding anyone’s privacy for the room he had glanced toward once belonged to his dear friend: princess Y/N.

Her chambers remained empty after her departure from the Keep and he was glad. The prince couldn’t care less to be rather honest but the boy within him wouldn’t let anyone take residence in her quarters.

It had become somewhat of a subconscious gesture for him to have a little peek inside her room, of which the doors always stayed ajar. It was no longer littered with pretty frocks of the most expensive fabrics or beautifully hand crafted toys that used to, for some reason, always stay sprawled on her floor. He didn’t know when this habit formed nor did he know why; it was not as if he would find her sitting there in front of her mirror, brushing her beautiful hair and then smiling when she saw him in the mirror, standing at the door awaiting to walk her to break their fast together.

Still, he didn’t try to break the habit. This was all he had left of her, apart from the tall stack of her letters that he had kept. He missed her, very dearly but he feared it was too late for him to make amends so he instead just read her letters over and over. For all he knew, she could be betrothed to another noble whilst away at Dragonstone. He often caught himself wanting to be the man who would one day get to announce to the world that she was his wife. Gods, he couldn’t bare the thought of her betrothal being made to Jace. He would throw himself off the cliffs of the Vale and then haunt the boy till kingdom come.

But then again, he had to remind himself he was in no position to get so possessive. Especially since the both of them hadn’t written in years. He had wished to send a letter, so very desperately and he had written one as well- one he was far too afraid to send at first.

Finally getting over his nerves, he rolled up the parchment and poured the wax over it to seal it shut before placing a stamp over the hot wax; the one that had the symbol of a dragon. Once the wax had cooled and hardened, he sent it out with a raven, heart beating even faster than usual.

He’d written it just the night before and he remembered each and every word, as if the script was etched into his mind, as if it was something he'd been reciting to himself each night before he slept.

Ñuha dārilaros [My princess] Y/N,

I know I have not written to you in years although I must say, to me it feels like it has been several lifetimes. The distance between has grown so vast over the course of these few years that now I fear it is a distance I may never be able to lesson. I know I could’ve written and I did not and all I have is my foolish pride to blame.

Try as I might, this might be something I am unable to mend, something out of my control; like how it was never in my power to make my dragon egg hatch. And even though I did claim the mighty Vhagar, queen of the skies I will forever be tormented over never being able to call you mine, dāria hen ñuha prūmia [queen of my heart] for the notion of being able to win you back seems far more onerous than claiming the largest dragon in the world. I do not expect you to write back, I would not hold you at fault for your ignorance after I have treated you with nothing less than the same but I do hope, you will grant me the charitable courtesy of informing me that this letter has reached you well, even if it is in the form of simply a piece of parchment with your initials lazily sprawled on it.

It is of importance for me to know that you are aware of my regrets and the space in my heart that you occupy for I am sure, that the gods have crafted me solely to be complete by you, which is why every time my heart begins to hammer ferociously in my chest, a reminder that I am alive, I always find myself thinking of you in those moments and I feel as though if I let you slip away completely, then this heart of mine will cease to beat for if it isn’t beating for you, it won’t at all.

I am aware this might sound absurd, to hear such words after years of not exchanging any but you must believe me when I say that despite my lack of letters, you never left my mind- not even for a single day. There were times when I had to resist the urge to mount Vhagar and show up at Dragonstone and weep at your door, begging for you to come back for this old castle radiates no warmth if you aren’t residing within it. Just the same as I am cold and distant without you at my side.

The last time I saw you, in the flesh, I was only a boy of ten. I was a foolish lad to not see what the gods had blessed me with until you were taken away. It is both cruel and ironic how I was blind while having both my eyes but then being able to see the truth clearly only after I had one taken away. I had fallen for you and have continued to fall for you each day that has passed since our last farewell. And truth be told, I do not think I shall ever stop falling for you, for hidden beneath this stoic monstrous prince is a boy who is still clinging on to the tiny fragments of hope that you too might feel the same.

If you find it in your heart to forgive me for my faults influenced by my own pride, I should like to mend and rekindle the bond we once shared and if you will have me back, if not as your prince then at the very least as your friend, I should like that very much.

Aōhon va moriot, Aemond [Yours always]

Aemond heaved a sigh as he walked passed her chambers, finally tearing his gaze from the room but not because he wanted to; he could spend hours just staring and daydreaming. No, the only reason he brought himself to look away was that someone had called out for him- a servant.

“A raven arrived earlier, my lord” the younger boy bowed out of respect, holding up a letter bearing a seal of a pale lilac-coloured wax- something Aemond hadn’t seen in years but recognised instantly “a letter from Dragonstone”

Aemond was aware in that moment he might’ve come across as a lad who was being given sweets after weeks of starvation for he snatched that scroll with such urgency he could feel his cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

“You may leave” he gruffly spoke, dismissing the boy as he turned on his heels to find solace in Y/N’s old room to read the letter he’d just received.

A letter from her.

He took only a moment to trace the wax seal as he sat on the bed that once belonged to the princess before impatience once again took over and he broke the seal with a new level of urgency.

His eyes scanned the text and Aemond felt as though he couldn’t read fast enough, through he feared his heart was sure to break free from his rib cage for there seemed to be no limit to how fast that was beating.

Her handwriting differed slightly and Aemond knew he was absolutely head over heels for her if he managed to notice something as subtle as that.

His lips involuntarily curled into a smile as he continued to read, and he immediately shot up to his feet as soon as he finished reading all of it.

He dashed down the hallways, hoping to catch that servant boy who had delivered him the letter that he was holding so delicately in his large hand, one might think it was made from glass instead of paper.

“You!” He bellowed when he caught sight of him, a couple of metres away from himself “ready my dragon and my horse to ride to the dragon pit”

Aemond could care less about the scolding he’d receive from his mother or the teasing from his older brother. All he could think of was Y/N. His sweet princess who still cared for him and there was nothing and no one who would come between him and his princess now. He was sure his letter must’ve reached her by now but he did not care and judging by the words she’d written to him, she too was smitten by him. A wave of relief washed over him and provided him with a new sort of confidence.

He would fly to Dragonstone and ask for her hand. He couldn’t thank the gods enough and this time, he would not lose her. This time he would make her his once and for all.

For what is a prince without his princess?

A dragon without its wings?

Aemond without his Y/N?

Nothing. And that was something the prince was not too keen on being.

"I'm coming for you, my princess, my Y/N" he muttered to himself as he headed for the stables "and I am never letting you go again"

Taglist: @beiigegalx

[gyorklady]

So, I did a thing...

This was inspired by the finale of Candela Obscura: Crimson Mirror as well as the references to Tide and Bone made during the chapter courtesy of Mr. Liam "Heartbreak Prince" "Little Shit" O'Brien. Credit also needs to go to my fellow Grimm family/Tide and Bone stan @inconmess and the many conversations we had brainstorming ideas and connections between the members of Crimson Mirror and Tide and Bone.

There may be a second part to this, there may not.

Cosmo Grimm did not like Fourth Pharos. 

He wasn’t alone; there weren’t many Candela agents that could say they liked spending time in Candela’s vault for dangerous magickal items and phenomena, and most tried to avoid going there when they could.  Cosmo was no exception.  Whenever one of his Circles came across an artifact that needed to be locked up or studied, he would leave it to their Lightkeeper or another Circle member to deliver it to the vault.  And he always took care not to risk significant exposure to Bleed, lest he end up in one of Pharos’ isolation rooms.  It wasn’t because of the artifacts or phenomena that Candela kept locked in their vault (though some of those did unnerve Cosmo, truth be told).  It wasn’t even his fear of Oscar being imprisoned in the vault someday. 

It was the gods-be-damned hallway. 

Cosmo stopped for what seemed like the fourth or fifth time as he slowly made his way down the hall, head leaning against the wall, eyes closed, waiting for his head to stop spinning and his stomach to stop churning.  He had never been motion sick as a child, but since he’d joined Candela the hallway of Fourth Pharos always affected him like this.  The fact that he was one of a handful of Candela agents who were similarly affected was small consolation, as was the fact that their scientists were “looking into” ways of alleviating it.  If it hadn’t been for the summons from Lightkeeper Zora Manning, telling him that the matter was urgent, Cosmo wouldn’t have come at all.   

Taking a deep breath, Cosmo sat back up, only to feel his chair jolt slightly as someone took the handles and began pushing him forward. “It’s only me, Cosmo,” he heard Zora’s voice from behind him. “I’m sorry; my meeting with the council ran late, otherwise I would have been there to meet you.” 

“It’s all right, Zora,” Cosmo assured her, keeping his eyes shut.  The hallway was easier for him to manage if he couldn’t see it.  With a weak chuckle he added, “I do think I’m getting better; I didn’t need to stop as often as I had to the last time I was here.” 

“I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t have sent for you if I didn’t think you were needed,” she apologized. 

Dread pooled in Cosmo’s stomach now, instead of nausea.  In all his time with Candela, nothing good had ever followed those words.  He grabbed the wheels of his chair to stop it and, when Zora let go in surprise, turned around to face her. “What happened?” he asked. 

Zora’s face crumpled, as though she was going to burst into tears, but then she took a deep breath to compose herself. “The Circle of the Wyrm perished during their excavation of Calinus’ vault in the ruins of Oldfaire. The Circle of the Crimson Mirror was assigned to check on them after we lost communication; they neutralized the threat that killed Wyrm, but at the cost of two of their own,” she told him. 

“Oh, no.  Oh, Zora, I am so sorry, child.” Cosmo closed his eyes and bowed his head out of grief for the Circle and the Candela agents that were lost.  Looking back up at Zora he asked, “Who survived?” 

“Leo Amicus, and Grimoria,” Zora answered as she resumed pushing Cosmo down the hall, “which is why I called you here.  Leo’s wounds require him to remain in Pharos for a while longer, but Grimoria has been cleared to be released.  I’d rather she not be alone during this time, so I was hoping that you would agree to let her stay at your chapter house for a few days.  At least until Leo is well enough to leave.” 

Cosmo looked up, over his shoulder, at Zora. “What about her guardians?” he asked.  As a Candela agent and a dealer in antiquities himself, Cosmo was not a fan of Oliver and Cynthia Fogg.  He knew that the couple had claimed guardianship over Grimoria after she was orphaned just so that they could exploit her gifts.  There had been many times, before she joined to Crimson Mirror, that Grimoria had sought refuge at the Antiquarian when the Foggs’ treatment became too much. Unfortunately, Grimoria’s misplaced sense of loyalty to them made it difficult for her friends to convince her to move out and find lodging elsewhere. 

“They are…otherwise occupied at the moment,” the Lightkeeper replied, and the corners of her mouth twitched upward in a smile. “When Grimoria hadn’t returned home after several days, the Foggs had no choice but to file a missing person's report with the Periphery.  Unfortunately for them, the officer that came to take their statement happened to be there when a dissatisfied customer showed up, accusing the Foggs of selling counterfeit goods – a customer with ties to the Primacy.  Cynthia and Oliver were taken to the nearest Periphery Station for questioning, and the last I heard they were occupying separate cells while their business was being investigated.” 

“Oh, dear.  What a shame,” Cosmo said without an ounce of sincerity.  There was a stifled chuckle from Zora as she continued to push him along.  Finally, they stopped at one of the many doors that lined the hallway.  Zora reached out and put her hand on the knob, flexed her fingers for a second, waited for another two, then opened the door. 

It was one of Pharos’ standard hospital rooms rather than an isolation room, so there was no antechamber to separate them from the patient inside.  Grimoria sat on the edge of the single bed in the room, her gaze focused on her folded hands in her lap.  Zora knocked on the door as she opened it to announce herself. “Grimoria?” she called. 

Hearing her name, the young medium looked up. “Hello, Zora,” she greeted her Lightkeeper with a wan smile. “How’s Leo doing today?” 

“I’ve been assured that Leo’s recovery is progressing nicely, but Dr. Aguilar isn’t ready to release him yet,” Zora answered. “You, on the other hand, are being released today.  Unfortunately, your guardians have been…detained by the Periphery for the foreseeable future, so you won’t be able to return to them.” 

“Oh.” Grimoria blinked in surprise. “Well, Leo did say that I could stay with him for as long as I wanted to.  I guess I can go back to his apartment.” 

“Yes, well… Be that as it may, I’d rather you not be alone during this time,” said Zora. “I’ve made arrangements for you to stay at another chapter house, at least until Leo is back on his feet.” 

“Where?” 

Recognizing his cue, Cosmo wheeled himself into the room. “At the Antiquarian, with Oscar and I,” he said.  Grimoria’s eyes widened imperceptibly when she saw him. “Ms. Manning told me a little bit of what happened to your Circle, child, and the loss of Mr. Trills and Dr. Lycoris.  I am so terribly sorry.” Grimoria sniffled, then suddenly the girl flung herself at Cosmo, wrapping her arms around his neck before bursting into tears.  Zora moved to pry her off, but Cosmo held up a hand to stop her. 

Yes, Cosmo Grimm hated Fourth Pharos.  But, for now, he had a reason to stay. 

[imsparky2002]

Mirrorverse Crossover - Mylene

The sea witch felt as though she could throw up as she watched the princess practically float to her seat. Sweet little songbirds fluttered around her, at her feet were some squirrels and rabbits.

“Revolting…” Mylensula sneered. “Simply revolting.”

“I’m sorry!” Snow Mylene explained. “My little friends feels comfortable around, and I wouldn’t shoo them away.”

“I’m going to be sick!” Mylensula groaned as Snow Mylene nuzzled a songbird against her cheek.

The other villains watching made gagging noises to show their disgust. Mylensula just rolled her eyes and let out a knowing chuckle.

“Oh come now. I’ve seen the way you take care of your ‘poopsies’.”

The sea witch let out a “hmph” and tossed her hair. “My little darlings are superior to your little fleabags! Just as I outclass you in every way” she said, her voice dripping with arrogance.

As expected, Snow Mylene remained humble. “Well you are quite the enchantress. I couldn’t make your sort of deals if my life depended on it.”

Mylensula didn’t soften at the compliment. “Flattery will get you nowhere.” she sneered.

At this point, QuasIvan couldn’t help but let out a grunt of annoyance. “Can’t she take a compliment?” he muttered.

“My scallop ain’t need any hero to tell ‘er how great she is! She’s perfect in every way!” Ivan Oogie gushed, with spiders spinning heart-shaped webs in his eyes.

“Doesn’t stop you from yapping about her constantly.” Kimton snarked. 

His hero counterpart waved him off. “There’s nothing wrong with letting the world know you’re dating a queen.” He said, snuggling AriOndine, who giggled and pecked his cheek.

“For once, I agree.” Juleficent admitted, grasping QRC’s hand.

Back in the meeting room, Mylensula began to grin once again.

“How on earth are you the fairest in all the land?” she said, her voice clearly mocking the idea. Snow Mylene began to frown, as she had always been rather insecure about the mirror’s declaration.

“I… I don’t know. I’ve never really felt as though I deserved that title.” she admitted. Mylensula’s grin became even wider.

“Oh but you didn’t have a choice, did you? After your daddy croaked and your mother was already six feet under.” The villain taunted, cackling with glee.

Snow Mylene felt time stop as she relived the memories of being driven away by her stepmother and watching her father die. She took deep breaths to calm herself.

“And even worse, you repay his sacrifices by partnering with a freak.” Mylensula jeered.

“I haven’t insulted your darling ‘bugaboo’, so I’ll ask for the same level of courtesy when you speak about my gentle harmony.” Snow Mylene replied, her tone incredibly curt.

“And what are you going to do about it? Sing me to death?” Mylensula mocked.

“Well, it’d be a shame if my woodland friends discovered a new type of seafood.”

The sea witch’s eyes dilated as she let out a roar of fury.

“DON’T YOU DARE THREATEN MY BABIES! YOU INSOLENT LITTLE WHELP! I WILL TURN YOU INTO A POLYP AND LOCK YOU IN THE DEPTHS OF THE SEA!!” Mylensula screamed, her tentacles whipping about as she rushed to attack the princess. AriOndine let out a gasp of fear and hid her face in Kimules’ chest.

Snow Mylene merely rolled her eyes and grasped the villain’s arm, giving it a small twist with her fingers. The sea witch immediately went down, out for the count. There was a moment of silence… before a deafening roar of fury from Mylensula’s boyfriend.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!” Ivan Oogie snarled, rushing to Mylensula.

“If you would let me explain-”

“YOU SHUT UP!” he hissed. “WHAT DID YOU DO TA MY SCALLOP?! I SWEAR I’M GONNA-”

His wrist was suddenly grabbed by QuasiIvan, who had rushed in as well.

“If you so much as lay a finger on my songbird-”

“YOUR PRECIOUS FUCKIN’ SONGBIRD HURT MY DARLIN’ I WAN’ HER HEAD!” the boogieman roared.

“I can help with that!” Nath of Hearts offered, pulling out his axe.

Ivan Oogie suddenly freezed as a pair of delicate hands hit the pressure point on the back of his neck.

“She did no such thing.” Marilan stated icily. “Your precious sea witch is only unconscious, because of a nerve technique. She’ll wake up in ten minutes, tops. I would know, I’m the one who taught Mylene that move. Calm down now.”

She pressed harder on the spot, causing Ivan Oogie to yelp in pain.

“AAAGH! Alright! Alright! Just lemme go!” he squealed. She does so as he limps over to Mylensula and picks her up, scurrying away.

“Y’all are gonna pay! I swear!”

Finally we get our next crossover! As you can see, Snow Mylene isn't as dainy as she appears on the surface. Me and Weeby had so much fun writing it and we can't wait to see what you guys think in the comments and reblogs! @artzychic27 @msweebyness

[nivtee]

i NEED a part two to falling girlie

: ̗̀➛ WOKE UP. sirius black.

sirius black x gn!reader

angst ! mention of coma ! happy ending ! description of medical technology ! yes, hogwarts has phones now !

sirius black can't sleep without you, so he doesn't

sirius black hasn't slept in four days.

staring at your body, lifeless, laying in the hospital bed with tubes in your mouth and nose, it hurt- no, it killed him to sit and watch. but he couldn't just go back to hogwarts, sleep it off and wake up.

as much as he wanted to, he feared that if he fell asleep he'd believe it was all a dream, and he'd imagine you waking him up from a nightmare where you couldn't breathe without muggle technology, where your limbs had to be rebroken to lay straight, where your lungs didn't work.

he was afraid of waking up from that reality just as bad as he was afraid of you not waking up.

he'd seen you cast the spell, falling towards the ground, and he'd watched your body slow down but not fast enough, hearing the sickening CRACK from all the way in the astronomy tower.

he'd almost pushed those fuckers off the side himself.

furiously rubbing his face with a wash cloth, he glanced at himself in the mirror. he kept himself clean, yes, he couldn't imagine you waking up to a version of him you found unattractive, and he made sure that he styled his hair the way you liked, with a man bun and your wand wrapped tightly in his hair.

maybe you'd need it when you woke up, so he kept it for you.

he also kept your textbooks by your side, he knew how badly you'd cry if you couldn't finish your homework, and he'd made sure to get your homework from your friends, your teachers, hell- he'd even asked Dumbledore to owl any homework you had to St Mungos, just in case you woke up.

he'd put all of the letters you'd received, 'get well soon' and 'champion of the diving squad (courtesy of james potter, everyone) up in a nice pile on your bed side table, so that when you woke up, you'd be able to grab them and read them all again.

after two weeks, he was starting to get worried. he started sleeping, only with a sleeping drought every night, and only if he had seen you during the day.

you never moved, exactly the same position when he'd arrive the next day.

you lost weight, despite the feeding tube you were given you had become somewhat gaunt, him being able to feel through your hip when he hugged you goodbye.

he left a few snacks in your bed side draw, incase you woke up and needed something to eat, so he'd stocked it with everything you could want.

he still got you a birthday present, and a valentines day gift, and he still spoke to you about everything that happened during his day. you'd respond when you woke up.

even when he couldn't be with you, he'd sent you funny texts and memes he found during the day, smiling to himself when he imagined you reading through them once you were awake.

he'd stopped visiting for a week, exams were approaching and he knew that once you woke up and found out he'd failed because he was stuck to your side, you'd go balistic.

and then one day, he's visiting again, with a fresh new bouquet of flowers and freshly styled hair, still just as nervous when he first met you.

he waved hello to the nurses, winked at the kids running past and walked into your room like he owned the place, like he did when you were asleep. only...

"i was wondering when you were gonna replace my flowers, these are starting to smell like you."

you woke up.

[winxanity-ii]

𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

╚»★«╝ 𝐁𝐍𝐇𝐀 𝐌𝐞𝐧: 𝐄𝐢𝐣𝐢𝐫𝐨 x 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ╚»★«╝

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: fluf—look, i'm not finna lie, idk what to put this as. fluff, non-fluff-but-not-sex-or-angst, idfk i just write y'all

‌🇷‌🇦‌🇹‌🇮‌🇳‌🇬‌: non-explicit(?) y'all i gave him dacryphilia idk why im like this💀

🇵‌🇴‌🇻‌: 2nd person; You/Your

🇩‌🇪‌🇸‌🇨‌🇷‌🇮‌🇵‌🇹‌🇮‌🇴‌🇳‌: in which, kirishima isn't always a big ball of sunshine he's known for.

🇼‌🇴‌🇷‌🇩‌ 🇨‌🇴‌🇺‌🇳‌🇹‌: 2.2k

🇦‌/🇳‌‌: Y'all i think i got a problem...i keep wanting respectful 2d characters to make me cry 🥴🫣🫣

★·.·´🇲‌🇾‌ 🇭‌🇪‌🇷‌🇴‌ 🇦‌🇨‌🇦‌🇩‌🇪‌🇲‌🇮‌🇦‌/🇧‌🇳‌🇭‌🇦‌/🇲‌🇭‌🇦‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

You, originally a general course student, had always admired the aura surrounding Class 1-A of U.A. High School. It was during the Sports Festival that you got a chance to showcase your unique quirk, "Mirror Sync," that allowed you to mimic and amplify any quirk you'd previously seen. The spectacle of your powers stunned the audience and left Class 1-A speechless, well, except for your classmates in the general course. They'd seen your capabilities during your Quirk Apprehension Test and rooted for you to claim a spot in the prestigious hero course, which you did.

And surprisingly, making the move to the hero course was easier than you'd anticipated. You'd expected to be an outsider, but instead, you were welcomed with open arms. Perhaps it was because you were all bound by the same dream—to become a hero. Still, you found yourself gravitating towards a specific group: the Deku Squad.

Izuku Midoriya, especially, became a close friend. He was like a human encyclopedia when it came to heroes, and the two of you clicked instantly. Your conversations would often start casually, perhaps over some notebook sketches of hero moves or a quick discussion about the latest daring escapades of pro heroes you both admired.

"Hey, have you seen Ingenium's new move? It's amazing!" you'd often start, and that would be enough to set off an hours-long conversation, discussions that made time fly and hearts soar. The two of you would delve into the physics of quirks, the ethics of heroism, and sometimes, personal stories and ambitions.

During one late-night chat, you'd even opened up to him about your shyness, how you often felt crippled by a fear of rejection. Izuku's eyes had widened, and then he'd laughed, a warm, understanding chuckle. "You too? I totally get it," he'd said, and in that moment, you knew you'd found a kindred spirit.

Ah, yes. The good old days. Since then, life in Hero Course 3-A was mostly routine, with the regular bouts of chaos here and there, courtesy of villain attacks and challenging training sessions.

Today was no different. It was lunchtime, and the Deku Squad was getting ready to head to the cafeteria.

Uraraka floated a few things into her bag and smiled. "Ready to head to lunch?"

You chuckled at her enthusiasm. "Go ahead, I need to grab my bento from my bag real quick."

"Sure thing!" Iida chimed in, "We shall secure a table fit for heroes-in-training!"

You laughed at Iida's usual flair for the dramatic as they walked out, each of them offering you a smile and wave of reassurance. Alone in the classroom, you took a deep breath and moved towards your bag to fetch your bento.

As you leaned over, you felt your shoulder-length passion twists sway freely, momentarily obscuring your vision. Deciding it was best to keep them out of the way, you gathered the twists deftly in your hands, pulling them back into a low ponytail. With your hair now neatly pulled back, you bent down one more time to unzip your bag and retrieve your bento, humming a tune that had been stuck in your head for days—courtesy of Izuku, of course.

Just as your hand finally grasped the bento, a shadow fell over you, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. The humming ceased, as did the playful notes dancing in your mind, replaced by silence.

Looking up, you found Kirishima standing there, blocking the sunlight streaming in through the classroom windows. A smirk played on his lips, but his eyes lacked their usual energy.

"Uh, h-hello," you stammered, clutching your bento as if it were a shield. Sweat trickled down the side of your face.

This was far from the first odd encounter with him. Ever since you’d been in 1-A, Kirishima’s mood shifted in perplexing ways when it was just the two of you. He was the life of the party, a ball of positive energy around everyone else, always engaging, and supportive. But with you, his demeanor changed—his expressions turned cold, eyes that usually sparkled now clouded with an unreadable emotion.

The problem wasn't that he was necessarily cruel, but the duality made you anxious, left you questioning your worth in a way your imposter syndrome often did. Why was his kindness so universal yet so exclusive? And why did it have to exclude you? You’d often found yourself wondering what it was about you that drew out this other side of him. Was it intimidation, annoyance, or something else entirely?

This odd, unspoken tension between you and Kirishima had always lurked in the background, but you'd never had the courage to address it upfront.

Shaking your head slightly, as if trying to dispel a cloud of thoughts, you stuttered, "Y-Yes? Kirishima-kun? Did you need something?"

His smirk widened, if only just, as if your stuttering delighted him in some twisted way.

"Need? Nah. Want? Maybe..." he drawled, his eyes sharpening as they scanned your nervous form. "I'm just stuck on something, ya' know? I can't help but notice how much you seem to think you belong here," Kirishima began, a teasing edge sharpening his voice. "I mean, you have the quirk, sure. But truly, you're not fit for this, yeah?" There was something almost hypnotic about the deep red of his irises, contrasting sharply against the harsh words he was spitting out.

"I saw your grades from the last exam. What, did you just scrape through?" He snickered, baring a sharp-toothed grin that was anything but friendly. "And let's not kid ourselves about your performance during the recent sparring sessions. Stumbling, tripping, falling flat on your face—it's like you're inventing new ways to fail."

His words felt like needles, and you could feel your eyes sting with fresh tears. You hated how spot-on he was—how he aimed precisely at your insecurities. Overwhelmed, your gaze fell away from him; you tried to look anywhere but those judgmental eyes.

That was a mistake.

Feeling a swift jerk on your ponytail, your head tilted back to face him. "Who told you to look away?" Kirishima sneered, his grip on your hair unyielding.

The disparity in your heights became glaringly obvious; your eyes, now watery, could barely meet his. "You can't even face me while I talk to you? No wonder you're struggling in this course," Kirishima added, keeping up his barrage of taunts. Your mouth opened, as if to defend yourself or maybe even say something snarky back, but before you could get the words out, he stepped even closer to you. His body pressed against yours, cornering you against the desk. Your heartbeat echoed in your ears, drowning out all other sounds.

Your senses flooded with his presence—his scent, his warmth—and you felt a heat creep into your cheeks. You placed your hands on his chest in a feeble attempt to put some distance between you two. But his shirt felt thin against his rock-hard muscles, and he didn't budge an inch, holding you firmly in place. His nearness was intoxicating, your mind swirled, and for a brief moment, you felt almost dizzy.

But before you could fully grapple with this complicated tangle of emotions, Kirishima suddenly yanked your ponytail harder, snapping your attention back to the uncomfortable reality. A whine slipped through your lips involuntarily, and a tear broke free, streaking down your cheek. Your face turned even redder from the combination of the pain and the embarrassment.

With a smirk that was almost wolfish, he leaned in close, his nose gently grazing your damp cheek in a gesture so intimate it made your heart pound erratically in your chest. The dissonance between his actions and his previous harsh words disoriented you, and you were lost in the labyrinth of his mixed signals.

"I'm not sure if it's unmanly of me," he began, leaning back to squeeze your cheeks, forcing your lips to puff out into an exaggerated pout, "but I really like seeing you cry."

You were still processing the weight of his words, your mind a whirlwind of confusion and indignation, when a knock sounded at the door. Kirishima's eyes flicked to the entrance, and so did yours. Bakugo was leaning against the doorframe, his gaze as piercing as ever.

"What's taking so long, Shitty-Hair?" Bakugo's voice was tinged with both irritation and a certain kind of interest that you couldn't quite place.

Rather than responding, Kirishima shifted to the side, giving Bakugo a full view of your pouted lips and flushed face. Bakugo's eyes seemed to rake over you, lingering just a tad longer than you'd expect. A scoff that bordered on a chuckle escaped his lips. As he turned to leave, he paused to glance back over his shoulder at Kirishima.

"You better not take all day, Shitty-Hair." The weight of his gaze met Kirishima's, filled with an implicit promise—or perhaps a warning—before he strides away. The atmosphere became even more electrified, tension hanging like a thick fog.

As the door swung shut behind Bakugo, he couldn't help but shout over his shoulder, directed toward the fading chorus of complaints coming from down the hall. "Quit whining! I'm coming!" The annoyance in his voice was clear, but it was tinged with a familiarity that could only exist within their tight-knit group.

Before the door had a chance to latch shut, a whirlwind of pink and black burst into the room. Mina, eyes wide with anticipation and a lively grin on her face, ignored Bakugo's growled warning and tumbled inside. Her gaze ping-ponged from Kirishima to you, and then back again. "Kirishima, what's taking you so—"

Her words sputtered to a stop as she registered your appearance—flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, and tear tracks still shimmering on your skin. Her eyes rounded with concern, the earlier ebullience vanishing in an instant. "Hey, are you okay?"

It was like Kirishima flipped a switch inside him, so swift and complete was his transformation. The challenging gleam in his eyes softened to something warmer, more vulnerable. The tilt of his lips shifted from a smug, controlling curve to a gentle, almost shy smile. Even the space he'd previously claimed, so close and confining, opened up as he took a small step back, allowing you room to breathe.

"Ah, well, you see," he began, his voice shifting from its earlier confident timbre to something softer, tinged with regret. "She laid it all on the line, wore her heart on her sleeve, ya know? And I—well, I had to let her down. But we're talking it through, right?"

Mina's eyes seemed to widen even more, if that was possible. Her lips, painted a lively shade of pink that matched her hair, turned down in a pout. She looked like she was gearing up to give Kirishima a piece of her mind, to defend your honor perhaps, but he cut her off before she could gather steam.

"You know what? Forget it," he suddenly interjected, his eyes locking onto yours for a moment as if he were searching for something. "I've changed my mind. I accept your confession."

The moment Kirishima's words settled in the air, a shrill ring punctuated the tension, signaling the end of lunch. You felt your eyes widen, your pulse quickening in a blend of horror and disbelief. Before you could even process the whirlpool of emotions engulfing you, Mina leapt into the air with a squeal of delight.

"He said yes! She said yes!" She whooped, dashing out of the room to announce your 'new relationship' to the rest of the Bakusquad drifting back from lunch. Her voice echoed down the hall, the enthusiasm infectious enough to stir a chorus of cheers and laughter in response.

You were catatonic, a statue frozen in time, even as you felt Kirishima's arm wrap securely around your waist. The physical connection snapped you back to reality, but the emotions still swirled—bewilderment, trepidation, and a touch of excitement, a tangled mess that left you dizzy.

As your classmates returned from lunch, Kirishima's arm, which had been wrapped around your waist, lessened its grip. He was soon tugged away by the returning Bakusquad, eager to question him about the sudden turn of events. You barely noticed his departure, still stuck in a sort of emotional limbo.

As you stood there, a presence quietly sidled up next to you. It was Izuku, his notebook clutched in one hand as if he'd spent his lunch jotting down hero strategies. His green eyes met yours, a curious blend of surprise and inquiry filling them.

Across the room, Denki and Sero had already taken it upon themselves to mercilessly tease Kirishima about his sudden "girlfriend." Their laughter and jibes filled the room, creating a surreal atmosphere that had you questioning if this was reality or just another complicated layer of some daydream.

Your eyes locked onto Kirishima's for just a moment. He tilted his head, and there it was—a self-satisfied smirk that morphed seamlessly into his standard, friendly grin as his eyes flicked to his teasing friends and back to you.

Izuku cleared his throat, bringing your focus back to him. "Wow, you and Kirishima-kun, huh? Who would've thought."

Your mouth moved, but the words came out as an incoherent mumble, barely louder than a whisper. You finally managed to eke out, "...Me neither."