#how to pack fragile items

[velmas-guitar-shop]

adventures in synthesizer shopping part 1

Bought a Korg minilogue 🎹 described as being in “new” condition off the interwebs and it arrived, shall we say, loosely packaged, and thus dented. 😠 😖

I realize they don’t teach how to pack things in school, so please, folks, check out this tutorial at HowToGeek.

Thankfully it��s covered with shipping insurance, so I should be able to get it fixed, but in the meantime I’ve gone ahead and purchased a minilogue XD module - I didn’t realize the original minilogue didn’t have the poly chain feature, and if I end up getting along with the XD it’d be nice to be able to expand it to 8 voices.

Here’s hoping this one is more solidly bubble-wrapped.

[aryawartapackers-blog]

The Importance of Choosing Reliable Packers and Movers in Dharamshala

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At Aryawarta Packers and Movers, the pursuit of excellence extends beyond mere logistics to encompass a holistic approach to customer service. Recognizing the unique needs and concerns of each client, the company offers personalized solutions tailored to specific requirements. Whether it's providing additional packing materials for fragile items or accommodating last-minute changes to the relocation plan, Aryawarta prioritizes flexibility and adaptability. With a reputation built on trust, reliability, and integrity, Aryawarta Packers and Movers emerges as the premier choice for those seeking unparalleled service in Dharamshala's bustling relocation landscape.

How to Choose the Best Packers and Movers in Dharamshala

In the scenic town of Dharamshala, nestled in the picturesque Kangra Valley of Himachal Pradesh, the process of relocating can be both exhilarating and daunting. Amidst the breathtaking vistas of the Himalayas, one seeks the seamless transition of moving homes or offices, a task that necessitates the expertise of reliable packers and movers. In the quest for the best packers and movers in Dharamshala, meticulous selection becomes imperative. Understanding the nuances of this selection process, from evaluating reputations to assessing services, is crucial. Discerning individuals embark on a journey of research, weighing factors such as experience, customer feedback, and pricing structures. Equipped with this knowledge, they navigate through the myriad options, ensuring that their chosen movers align with their specific needs and expectations.

How to Pack and Move Efficiently with Packers and Movers in Dharamshala

Efficiency becomes paramount in the endeavor to pack and move belongings swiftly and securely. With the assistance of proficient packers and movers in Dharamshala, individuals embark on a journey of streamlined relocation. From meticulously packing fragile items to efficiently loading and transporting possessions, every step is orchestrated with precision. Techniques for optimizing space, safeguarding delicate items, and expediting the process are employed, ensuring a smooth transition to the new abode or workspace.

How Do Packers and Movers in Dharamshala Ensure Safe Relocation?

Central to the concerns of those entrusting their possessions to packers and movers in Dharamshala is the assurance of safety throughout the relocation process. These reputable service providers prioritize the protection of goods, employing stringent measures to safeguard against damage or loss. From employing trained professionals to utilizing high-quality packing materials, every precaution is taken to ensure the integrity of items during transit. With a commitment to excellence, packers and movers in Dharamshala adhere to industry standards and best practices, instilling confidence in their clientele.

What Services Do Packers and Movers in Dharamshala Offer?

The spectrum of services offered by packers and movers in Dharamshala encompasses a myriad of offerings tailored to meet diverse needs. From residential relocations to commercial moves, these versatile service providers cater to a broad clientele. Packing services range from basic to comprehensive, with options for customized solutions based on individual requirements. Loading, transportation, and unloading are executed with precision, utilizing specialized equipment and vehicles to facilitate the process. Additional services such as storage solutions, unpacking assistance, and furniture assembly further enhance the convenience offered by these professionals. With a commitment to customer satisfaction, packers and movers in Dharamshala strive to exceed expectations, ensuring a seamless transition to new beginnings.

[fvsm4x]

MAYBE IN ANOTHER LIFE? Gojo Satoru

SUMMARY: Your boyfriend, who you loved more than anything, who was your will to live, broke up with you.

— C.W: ex-boyfriend! Gojo satoru x depressed! female reader , dark themes , slightly geto suguru x female reader , no curses au.

— WORD COUNT: 5.3k+

NEXT

„I think we should break up.“

Gojo’s words hung in the air, as he looked into your eyes.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you fought to keep the tears at bay. You desperately tried to maintain your composure, not wanting to show Gojo just how deeply his words had wounded you.

“Why? What happened?“ You managed to ask, your voice trembling.

Gojo’s gaze softened, but his eyes held a distant look, as if his mind was already elsewhere. “I’ve found someone else,” he admitted, his words like a dagger to your fragile heart.

A whirlwind of emotions engulfed your thoughts. Insecurity, confusion, and a deep sense of betrayal washed over you. You had always known Gojo was popular, surrounded by women who seemed to possess an otherworldly beauty that you could only dream of. But you had hoped that your connection would be strong enough to withstand any external temptations.

As tears welled up in your eyes, you couldn’t help but question your own worth. Gojo had been your beacon of light, the one who had brought joy and stability into your chaotic world. You had believed that your love was strong enough to overcome any obstacles.

But now, faced with the harsh reality of Gojo’s confession, your insecurities resurfaced with a vengeance.

How could Gojo have led you on, making you believe that your love was real, only to discard you so easily for someone else?

But despite the storm of emotions raging within you, you knew that you had to find the strength to let Gojo go. You couldn’t force someone to love you, no matter how much you wanted to.

And so, with a heavy heart and tears streaming down your face, you whispered, “If that’s what you truly want, then I won’t stand in your way.”

You wiped away your tears and caught Gojo’s gaze. His eyes were filled with regret and sadness, and you could see the pain he felt in his expression. It was as if he realized the gravity of his decision and the hurt he had caused you.

“I’m so sorry,” Gojo whispered, his voice filled with genuine remorse. “I never wanted to hurt you. It’s not about your worth or how you compare to anyone else. It’s about me and my own shortcomings.”

You looked at him, surprised by his words.

“I understand,” you replied softly, your voice filled with a mix of sadness and acceptance. “I know I can’t change your feelings or make you stay. I’ll start packing my things so you can have your apartment back.”

As you rose from the plush couch, your footsteps echoed through the spacious apartment, the sound muffled by the thick carpet beneath your feet. With a heavy heart, you made your way to the bedroom you had once shared with Gojo. The room seemed to hold its breath, as if aware of the impending change that would soon occur.

You opened the grand closet, its ornate doors revealing a collection of clothes and personal belongings. The air was filled with a bittersweet nostalgia as you carefully selected each item, their presence a testament to the love and happiness you had once shared. The room seemed to whisper your name, its walls bearing witness to the countless moments of joy and intimacy that had unfolded within its confines.

As you held each cherished possession in your hands, memories flooded your mind like a river. The soft touch of Gojo's hand, the warmth of his embrace, and the laughter that had once filled the room. Each item carried a weight of emotions, a reminder of the love you had believed to be unbreakable.

Gojo, sitting on the edge of the bed, watched you with a pained expression. The reality of the situation seemed to settle in, and he realized the depth of the connection he was severing. The room felt colder, emotions hanging thick in the air.

As you folded your clothes and placed them in a suitcase, Gojo finally spoke again, his voice carrying a tinge of regret. "I never wanted it to come to this, Y/n. You deserve happiness, and I hope you find it even if it's without me."

His words lingered, a bittersweet acknowledgment of the end. The room, once filled with shared laughter and intimate moments, now felt like a haunting memory. The pain was palpable, and you couldn't help but wonder if it would ever subside.

As you zipped up your suitcase, Gojo approached, his hand hesitating in the air as if unsure whether to touch you.

He gently brushed away a tear that rolled down your cheek.

"I'm truly sorry," he murmured,

With your suitcase in hand, you stood near the doorway, taking one last look at the place that had been your shared sanctuary. It was a goodbye to not only Gojo but also to the dreams you had woven together.

As you walked out, Gojo remained in the room, the emptiness echoing the void left by the shattered relationship. The door closed behind you, sealing the end of a chapter that had once promised forever.

-

In the days that followed, the task of finding a new place to call home became increasingly overwhelming. The once vibrant city, which had once been a source of shared dreams and promises, now seemed indifferent to your struggles. Each apartment viewing brought with it a fresh wave of emotions, serving as a painful reminder of the life you had envisioned with Gojo.

In the midst of this turmoil, old habits resurfaced. You found yourself reaching for cigarettes and turning to alcohol as a means of coping.

It was disheartening, as you had believed that these vices were behind you after Gojo entered your life and seemingly fixed all your problems. But now, they have reappeared, threatening to consume you once again.

What made matters worse was the lack of support you had. There were no parents to lean on, no friends to turn to for help. You were left to navigate this challenging situation all on your own, starting from scratch.

Before meeting Gojo, you had worked countless jobs to pay your bills and support your studies, scraping by with whatever little money you had.

The weight of it all was taking its toll on you. You felt yourself falling apart, the stress and uncertainty chipping away at your resolve.

But then, Gojo appeared, and your life took an unexpected turn. It was as if the universe had conspired to bring the two of you together. The first time you laid eyes on him was when you were working as a waitress at a cozy bakery. As he walked in, time seemed to stand still. Your heart skipped a beat as you took in his striking features.

His vibrant blue eyes, reminiscent of a clear summer sky, held a depth that drew you in. His snow-white hair and lashes added an ethereal touch to his already captivating appearance. And when he smiled, it was as if the whole room lit up with warmth and charm. You were instantly captivated by his presence, unable to tear your gaze away.

To your surprise, Gojo noticed your lingering glances and, with a confident stride, approached the counter where you were working. He invited you to join him, and you couldn’t resist the opportunity to spend more time with this enigmatic man. As you sat together, indulging in delectable desserts, the hours seemed to melt away in a blur of laughter and shared stories.

Days turned into weeks, and Gojo became a regular at the bakery, always seeking your company. The two of you would engage in deep conversations that spanned a wide range of topics, from the trivial to the profound. Each interaction only deepened your connection, and before you knew it, you found yourself falling for him.

However, amidst the blossoming romance, a nagging doubt lingered in the back of your mind. You couldn’t help but notice the parade of women that seemed to surround Gojo. He would visit the bakery at least twice a week, each time accompanied by a different woman. They would engage in affectionate displays, acting as if they were a couple.

As you observed these interactions, a wave of insecurity washed over you. Comparisons became inevitable, and you couldn’t help but feel inadequate in comparison to these stunning women. Their flawless skin, plump breasts, and alluring curves seemed to highlight your own perceived shortcomings. Their beauty was undeniable, and you couldn’t help but wonder if you would ever measure up.

But despite these doubts, Gojo continued to seek your company, showing genuine interest in your thoughts, dreams, and aspirations. His actions spoke louder than words, and you began to question your own self-doubt. Perhaps there was more to this connection than meets the eye.

Maybe, just maybe, Gojo saw something in you that went beyond physical appearances.

Motivated by this newfound hope, you made a conscious effort to break free from your bad habits. Weeks turned into months, and Gojo continued to visit the bakery every day just to see you.

However, one day, something special happened. Gojo waited patiently for you to finish your shift and then walked you back to the motel where you were staying. It was during this walk that he truly realized how difficult your life actually was.

Seeing you work tirelessly, with dark circles under your eyes and wearing the same clothes day after day, Gojo couldn’t bear to see you living in such difficult conditions. He noticed the presence of alcohol and cigarettes in your room and insisted that you stay with him instead. He wanted to provide you with a better life, free from the struggles you had been facing.

And so, you took up Gojo’s offer and moved in with him.

And that's when you became a couple.

But after two years of being in a relationship with Gojo, he found someone else. The person who used to hold you in his arms, whisper sweet words of love, and make you feel like the most important person in his life was now directing those affectionate gestures towards someone else.

You didn’t want to let him go. The thought of losing him was devastating. However, you also understood that you couldn’t force him to stay with you if his heart was no longer fully committed. Questions swirled in your mind. Did you do something wrong? Were you not exciting enough for him anymore? Was there something else that led him to find someone new?

Despite the heartache, one thing remained certain- your love for Gojo would never fade. The pain of knowing that he loved someone else, someone who wasn’t you, was excruciating. No one could ever replace the way Gojo had changed you, the way he had touched your heart and made you feel alive.

You sat alone in the dimly lit motel room, a bottle of liquor in hand, you sought solace in the numbing effects of alcohol. The pain in your heart seemed unbearable, and you hoped that drowning your sorrows would provide temporary relief.

The room felt suffocating. Each sip of the bitter liquid seemed to momentarily wash away the ache, but deep down, you knew it was only a temporary escape. The truth remained that Gojo had moved on, and you were left grappling with the shattered pieces of your heart.

With a heavy sigh, you placed the half-empty bottle on the grimy nightstand and slowly rose from the disheveled bed. Your footsteps carried you towards the suitcase, which stood dutifully beside a small table, as you rummaged through its contents in search of something comfortable to wear for the night. The weight of your emotions bore down on you, causing you to push up your hoodie, removing it with a forceful toss onto the nearby chair, as you attempted to regain control over your tears.

The question echoed in your mind once again, piercing through the haze of confusion and hurt. How could he do this to you? The betrayal felt like a knife twisting in your heart, leaving you gasping for air amidst the waves of anguish.

You made your way towards the mirror. Your reflection stared back at you, a vulnerable and exposed version of yourself. The longer you gazed upon your topless form, the deeper the sadness seeped into your being. Your hand instinctively reached out, fingers grazing the surface of your bare stomach, as if trying to grasp the weight.

Could it be that your weight gain was the reason behind his abandonment? Did he no longer desire to be with you because of the changes in your body? The thought gnawed at your self-esteem, fueling the belief that the girl he now chose to be with possessed a flat stomach, a flawless figure, and enviable curves. Qualities that you, in your own eyes, did not possess.

Feeling the ache in your stomach intensify, you released your grip and turned your attention back to the task at hand. Pulling out a set of comfortable pajamas from your suitcase, you quickly changed into them, hoping that the soft fabric would provide some comfort amidst the chaos of your emotions.

As you lay down on the bed, the worn-out mattress offering little respite, your mind raced with thoughts of the uncertain future that lay before you. The realization hit hard – you would have to find a job, and fast. The fear of being kicked out of the motel, with nowhere else to go, loomed over you like a dark cloud.

You lay there, staring at the ceiling, your mind began to form a plan. You closed your eyes, the weight of exhaustion finally settling upon you.

-

Days turned into nights, and nights into days as you tirelessly searched for a job. The motel room became a temporary refuge, a place where you could rest your weary body and gather your thoughts before facing the world again. And then, finally, your efforts paid off.

You received a call from the bakery where you had once worked, offering you a position. Excitement and relief flooded through you as you accepted the job. It was a familiar place,

The first day back at the bakery was filled with a mix of nervousness and anticipation. As you stepped through the familiar doors, the scent of freshly baked bread enveloped you. The warm smiles and greetings from your former colleagues made you feel instantly welcome, as if you had never left.

You returned to your old position as a waitress and memories of Gojo lingered in the back of your mind. It had been a while since you had seen him, and you had made peace with the fact that he no longer wanted anything to do with you.

You let out a sigh as you walked over to the table where some guests were seated. Taking their orders, you jotted them down on a small notepad and headed towards the counter to place it.

As you turned around, the door opened, and there stood Gojo Satoru, looking as charming as ever. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on you, and a smile instantly spread across his face. He waved at you, and for a moment, your heart skipped a beat.

Beside Gojo stood a breathtakingly beautiful woman, exuding confidence and radiating charm. It was clear why Gojo was drawn to her, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy.

With a polite smile, you excused yourself and walked away, seeking solace in the different side of the bakery. Your heart raced as you tried to process the unexpected encounter. The memories of your past relationship flooded back, bringing with them a whirlwind of emotions.

In the safety of the different side, away from prying eyes, you took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart.

As you continued your work, serving customers and attending to their needs, you found solace in the routine. The hustle and bustle of the bakery provided a distraction, allowing you to momentarily forget the turmoil that Gojo’s presence had stirred within you.

But deep down, you knew that healing would take time. The wounds were still fresh, and seeing Gojo with someone new had reopened them. Yet, you refused to let it define you.

As you stood behind the counter, your eyes scanned the room, searching for any customer in need of your assistance. However, it seemed that everyone was content, engrossed in their conversations and meals. Your gaze involuntarily shifted towards the table where Gojo sat with his new girlfriend.

You couldn’t help but observe the way Gojo’s eyes sparkled with adoration as he looked at her. The way his face lit up with a blush whenever she smiled at him was a sight you had never witnessed before. It was as if he saw her as a goddess, someone worthy of his utmost devotion and affection.

A pang of jealousy washed over you as you compared Gojo’s current demeanor with how he had looked at you in the past. His eyes had never held that same lovesick gaze when he was with you. It was a bitter realization that he had never regarded you in the same way he now regarded this new woman.

You couldn’t help but wonder what it was about her that captivated Gojo so completely. Was it her radiant smile, her confident aura, or perhaps something deeper that you couldn’t comprehend? Whatever it was, it was clear that Gojo had found someone who made his heart race and his eyes shine with love.

As you continued to observe them from a distance, a mix of emotions swirled within you. Part of you longed for Gojo to look at you with the same intensity, to make you feel like the center of his universe. But another part of you knew that it was time to let go, to accept that Gojo had moved on and found happiness elsewhere.

With a heavy sigh, you turned your attention back to your duties, reminding yourself that your worth was not defined by Gojo’s affections.

You carefully balanced the two deserts and the cup of hot chocolate on your tray, making sure everything was secure. Lost in your thoughts, you absentmindedly glanced at the table number where this order was meant to be served. Without looking up, you started walking towards the designated table, unaware of the impending collision.

Just as you were about to lift your gaze, your body collided with someone, causing your grip on the tray to loosen. The board slipped from your hands, and the cup of hot chocolate tumbled through the air, its contents splattering onto the person you had unintentionally crashed into.

Your eyes widened in shock, and panic surged through your veins as you realized the gravity of the situation. You quickly raised your gaze, meeting the eyes of the person you had accidentally drenched with hot chocolate. And in that moment, your whole world seemed to crumble around you.

It was her. The woman for whom Gojo had left you. The same woman who had stolen his heart and shattered yours in the process. The sight of her standing before you, her face contorted in pain as tears streamed down her cheeks, was like a knife to your heart.

She hissed in pain as the scalding hot chocolate made contact with her skin, desperately trying to wipe away the sticky liquid that clung to her. Your hands trembled as you reached for tissues from a nearby table, desperately attempting to alleviate the discomfort you had caused.

But just as you were about to wipe away the hot chocolate, a forceful hand slapped yours away, taking over the task of cleaning the girl's skin. Startled, you looked up and saw Gojo, his face contorted with fury. His eyebrows knitted together as he witnessed the tears streaming down the girl's face, his protective instincts kicking in.

You stood there, next to Gojo, your voice barely audible as you muttered apologies, trying to explain that it was an accident. But Gojo's anger seemed to drown out your words. He finished wiping away the hot chocolate from the girl's skin and pulled her into his arms, shielding her from any further harm. His gaze shifted towards you, his eyes filled with a mix of disappointment and rage.

"Why would you do that?!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the air. His words pierced through your heart, intensifying the guilt that already weighed heavily upon you. You could see the hurt in his eyes, the pain of betrayal mingling with the anger. But you couldn't find the words to defend yourself, knowing deep down that there was no justification for your actions.

„It was an accident-“

He took a deep breath,"Save it, I know why you did it.“

„Just because I found someone else and that I’m happy with them doesn’t mean that you’ll get to hurt them out of jealousy!“ he spoke

„I thought you were better than that," he said. The girl, still in his arms, chimed in, her voice filled with anger. "Call your manager, you need to be fired!"

Gojo's gaze shifted back to you, his eyes searching for an explanation. The weight of his disappointment and the girl's demand for your termination bore down on you. Panic set in as you realized the implications of losing your job. You couldn't afford to be fired; you needed the money to support yourself.

Desperation filled your voice as you pleaded with Gojo, "Please, don't ask for my manager. It was just an accident. I need this job, I can't afford to lose it." Tears welled up in your eyes as you tried to convey the sincerity of your plea. You knew you had made a mistake, but it was one born out of carelessness, not malice.

You instinctively grabbed Gojos' hand,“Please-!“ you begged, but your hand only got slapped away by the woman in his arms.

„And now you go touching someone’s boyfriend? What‘s wrong with you!“ the girl shouted as she slapped you.

Your head turned to the side from the force of the slap, a surge of pain radiated through your cheek. The impact left your skin hot and flushed, a visible mark of the humiliation you felt. You fought back tears, determined not to let them see your vulnerability.

With trembling hands, you gently placed your palm against your reddened cheek, trying to soothe the pain. Your eyes flickered towards the girl, searching for any sign of remorse or understanding, but all you saw was a cold, dismissive gaze. Her arms crossed defiantly, she demanded that you call for the manager, her voice dripping with disdain.

„Call the manager.“

Desperation welled up within you, and you mustered the courage to speak, your voice quivering with a mix of fear and desperation. "Wait, please! I... I really need this job," you pleaded, hoping that she would see reason, that she would understand the dire circumstances that led you to this moment.

She cut you off, her words sharp and dismissive. "I don't care, call for your manager," she interrupted, her tone leaving no room for negotiation or empathy.

Your gaze shifted towards Gojo, silently pleading for his intervention, for him to vouch for you or at least offer some support. But as you looked into his eyes, you saw a furrowed brow and a hint of disappointment. His voice, barely above a whisper, carried a weight of disbelief and disapproval. "Can't believe you would pull something like that," he murmured, his words landing like a heavy blow to your already wounded heart.

Your hand, still trembling, fell from your cheek as you straighten your posture. With a deep breath, you mustered the strength to bow,

"I'll get t-the manager right away," you said,

With a heavy heart, you turned away from Gojo and the girl, making your way towards the counter to call for the manager.

Your hands trembled slightly as you picked up the phone, dialing the number with shaky fingers. Each ring felt like an eternity, amplifying the anxiety that coursed through your veins. Finally, a voice answered on the other end, and you took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice.

"Hello- this is Y/n L/n from [Bakery]. I... I need to speak with the manager, please," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The person on the other end assured you that they would connect you, and you waited anxiously, your heart pounding in your chest.

As you waited, your mind raced with thoughts of the consequences that awaited you. Losing this job would mean losing your only source of income, and the financial strain it would bring was overwhelming. You couldn't bear the thought of disappointing your loved ones or struggling to make ends meet.

Finally, the manager's voice came through the line, and you mustered up the courage to explain the situation. You recounted the accident, your sincere apologies, and the girl's demand for your termination. The manager listened attentively, their voice calm and composed as they absorbed the details.

After a brief pause, the manager spoke, their tone firm yet compassionate. "I will come over to assess the situation and speak with all parties involved. Please remain calm and await my arrival."

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves as you hung up the phone.

As you turned around, you noticed Gojo and the girl engaged in a hushed conversation. Their expressions were still filled with anger and disappointment, but there was also a hint of uncertainty. You approached them cautiously, your eyes downcast.

"I've c-called the manager," you said softly,"They will be here soon to address the situation. I... I'm truly sorry for what happened. It was never my intention to cause any harm or distress."

„Sure“ the girl replied.

-

Months had passed since that fateful encounter at the café. You had lost your job, the incident with Gojo and the girl tarnishing your reputation and leading to your dismissal. Now, you found yourself standing by the reception desk of another run-down motel, desperately seeking a place to stay for the night because you got kicked out of the last one.

As you approached the receptionist, a tired-looking man with a permanent scowl on his face, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of anxiety.

“Excuse me,” you began, your voice wavering slightly. “I was wondering if you have any available rooms for tonight?”

The receptionist glanced up from his paperwork, his eyes narrowing as he took in your disheveled appearance. His tone was curt as he replied, “We do have a few rooms left, but I’ll need payment upfront.”

Your heart sank. You had been scraping by, barely making ends meet, and the little money you had left was barely enough to cover your basic necessities.

“I… I’m sorry,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t have enough money to pay for a room.”

The receptionist’s scowl deepened, his impatience evident. “Look, we can’t just give away rooms for free. If you can’t pay, then I suggest you find somewhere else to go.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you realized the gravity of the situation. You were alone, with nowhere to turn and no one to rely on. The weight of your mistakes and the consequences they had brought upon you felt suffocating.

With a heavy heart, you turned away from the reception desk, feeling the eyes of the other guests in the lobby on you, judging and pitying your predicament. As you walked towards the exit, a mix of shame and desperation washed over you, threatening to consume your spirit.

Outside, the cold night air greeted you, a stark reminder of your current reality. You stood on the sidewalk, feeling lost and defeated. The world seemed to blur around you as you pondered your next move, wondering how you had ended up in this dire situation.

Suddenly, a voice chimed in from behind, jolting you out of your thoughts. Startled, you turned around to find yourself face to face with Geto, your ex's best friend. His black eyes bore into yours, his raised eyebrows conveying curiosity and surprise. His gaze drifted to the suitcase clutched tightly in your hand, a silent question hanging in the air.

"Geto?" you questioned, your voice tinged with confusion.

A puff of smoke escaped his lips as he exhaled the cigarette between his fingers,"How many times do I have to tell you, you can call me Suguru," he replied,

“Why are you here?” he asked, standing before you and peering into your eyes. But before you could answer, another question slipped from his lips, catching you off guard. “Where is Satoru?”

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut. He didn’t know. How could he not know? Wasn’t he Satoru’s best friend? Shouldn’t he have been informed about the breakup that had occurred just last month? Did Gojo, your ex, not bother to share the news with him?

“Didn’t Satoru tell you?” you asked, breaking eye contact with him, unable to bear his gaze any longer.

“Tell me what?” he questioned. He removed the cigarette from his lips and threw it to the ground, crushing it under his shoe.

“That we broke up,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. As you watched his reaction, you noticed a flicker of surprise in his eyes before he regained his composure.

“You two broke up..?” he questioned,“Since when did you-”

“Last month we broke up,” you interrupted,

“Is there any reason why you two broke up? Everything was good, wasn’t it?” As he placed a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“He…” you hesitated, your gaze shifting to the side. “He found someone else,” you admitted, your lips trembling slightly.

“Oh,” he responded, his hand retracting from your shoulder as he crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes turned towards the night sky, lost in his own thoughts, before refocusing on you. “And why are you here in the middle of the night?” he asked, his gaze scanning you from head to toe, taking in your worn-out clothes. His eyes returned to your face.

“I got kicked out of the motel because I couldn’t pay for it anymore,” you replied,

His brows furrowed,"I'm so sorry to hear that," he said softly,"You shouldn't have to go through this alone."

Without hesitation, he reached out and gently placed a hand on your shoulder. "Listen, I have an idea," he said,"Why don't you come stay with me until you find a job and get back on your feet?"

Surprised by his offer, you looked at him,"I- I can‘t do that-!" you spoke.

A warm smile spread across his face. "Of course you can," he replied. "I have a spare room and it would be my pleasure to help you out. Sometimes, all we need is a little support to get back on track."

„But-!“

„No buts.“

"Thank you," you whispered, "I don't know what to say..."

He smiled warmly, his eyes sparkling,"No need to thank me," he insisted. "We all go through tough times, and sometimes we just need a helping hand. If there's anything else I can do, please don't hesitate to ask."

He took the suitcase from your hand and turned around, walking towards his house. "Let's go," he said, looking back at you.

You nodded and followed after him.

NEXT

[prettybugsinbandages]

Blot!reader pt. 2

Part 2 to this

This is a darker story. I suggest you refrain from reading it if you're in a fragile mental state or unable to handle darker themes.

Steps echoed softly against the snow as you made your way toward Mr. S's Mystery Shop, the sound somehow muted, swallowed by the heavy quiet of the world around you. It felt oddly distant, as if the entire universe had drawn its breath and left you alone with the sound of your footsteps. The fog clouding your thoughts lifted slightly as Grim darted around your legs, animatedly recounting how he and Yuuken had gotten into trouble earlier that day. His enthusiasm was contagious, pulling a chuckle from you despite yourself—a rare flicker of light in the usual gray haze.

The shop door slid open, a warm breeze rushing out to greet you like an old friend. The chill melted from your bones as you stepped inside, the scent of old wood and something faintly spicy filling the air. You followed Grim down the narrow aisles, your eyes wandering across the haphazard stacks of oddities and trinkets. The faint hum of a space heater buzzed in the background, blending with the soft thuds of items being restocked.

Your gaze landed on Grim busy packing away cans of tuna into his own basket. The extra weight of the thaumarks in your pocket served as a gentle reminder of Crowley's recent miscalculation of Ramshackle's weekly allowance. The headmage likely thought himself generous—he wasn't. So none of you bothered to correct his mistake.

A little extra was hardly a sin, and in your eyes, it was long overdue.

Leaving Grim to his own devices—his attention firmly locked on a staff member restocking the vending machine and occasionally eyeing the tuna cans with restrained interest—you made your way to the produce section. Your dormmates had sent you out with a list, and you were determined to fulfill their requests without incident. On your way back, a treat caught your eye. The packaging was flashy, almost comically obnoxious yet charming. The picture on the front was practically begging to be tasted, and you decided it was well-deserved after... well, everything

The sound of beeping filled the store, blending with the hum of quiet conversations and footsteps. At the till, you placed your basket on the counter and waited while the cashier scanned your items. Stifling a yawn into your sleeve, you reminded yourself that dinner would be soon. Briefly wondering if you'd make it back in time. A light brush against your neck jolted you from your thoughts. A hand reached past your shoulder, casually turning one of your items over.

"Ahh.. You got the last, huh? These are so popular on social media these days. Enjoy it for me, 'kay?"

The voice behind you was playful, with a hint of mock disappointment, quickly replaced by cheerful teasing. The arm withdrew just as you turned to find none other than Cater Diamond standing behind you, his signature easy-going smile already in place.

Your lips twitched, an instinct to respond stirring but words failed you. Instead, you gave a polite nod and returned to what you were doing, keeping your attention on the cashier. Cater didn't seem to mind; his light banter shifted toward Grim, who chuckled along with him, occasionally adding his own commentary.

As much as you had once longed for moments like this—to be seen, spoken to, acknowledged, the confidence you'd briefly held earlier had crumbled.

The sun was already setting by the time you left the shop, casting the sky in shades of muted blue and grey. Though the snow had stopped for the day, the cold lingered, biting at your fingertips even through your coat. You buried your hands deep in your hoodie pockets, the weight of the grocery bags straining against your arms.

"Come on, little star. You wanted to shine, didn't you? Why hide now? You're making a waste of me."

The Blot's voice echoed in your head, silken and sweet with a bitter edge. The ring on your finger grew uncomfortably warm, almost burning against your skin—a searing reminder of your contract. Your pulse quickens as guilt crashed over you in relentless waves, tangling with rising panic. You had made a promise to yourself—a cruel, unflinching vow to get your revenge. To make them feel what you had felt. To become so important that losing you would destroy them. And yet here you were, frozen in place, paralyzed at the thought of receiving exactly what you'd wanted for so long: acknowledgement.

Worse still, you found yourself too afraid to even wield the power you had traded so much to obtain, recalling how you foolishly agreed to the Blot's honeyed words that night without asking more. Then again, your time had been running out like an hourglass with a hole in it.

Grim's tug at your pant leg pulled you from your trainwreck of a mind, the words spoken softly by the blot still resonating within your mind, unable to be pushed aside and filling you with some irritation. Blinking, you tried to reorient yourself, offering him a half-formed reassuring response—until a familiar figure caught your attention near the store's exit. Cater.

"Cater.. right?" you said, tilting your head just enough to feign casual curiosity.

His bright green eyes met yours, lighting up with recognition. "Yeah! And you're... uh..." He trailed off, scratching the back of his head with a sheepish laugh, threading his fingers through his orange hair. "One of the Ramshackle prefects, right? You're so hard to get ahold of." His laugh was easygoing, but something about it hinted at familiarity, like he'd been trying to speak to you for some time now. Your jaw tightened at the thought.

You knew who he was, of course. Cater Diamond—the social butterfly, the NRC blog king, the guy who talked to nearly everyone or updates on his fast-paces student-run blog. One of the many who treated you like a nameless voice in the crowd, a background character at best. But something in his words made hope flicker faintly in your chest, a dangerous ember waiting to catch fire. Had he really been trying to reach out all along? Were you just that hard to approach..? Doubt creeped in momentarily before you brushed it off. He's lying.

The doubts clung to you like oil on fabric and your smile almost faltered. Almost. You caught it in time, replacing hesitation with a soft chuckle as you offered your name.

"You said these treats are popular online, right?" you asked, gesturing toward the flashy package. "Why? Some influencer?"

His eyes lit up, and you knew you'd hit the right note. As the two of you walked toward Ramshackle together, Cater launched into a detailed explanation about the trending treat—some influencer's viral snack review had sent demand soaring. You listened, nodding at just the right moments, letting him fill the space with his cheerful energy.

Eight minutes and fifteen seconds. The longest conversation you'd had with anyone outside of Grim or the Yuus since... well, since home.

At the front gate to Ramshackle, you paused and opened a pack of treats. Splitting it nearly in half, you handed one portion to Cater. "Sam's restocking in a whole week. You wouldn't want to miss out on the trend, right?"

For just a moment your usual resolve wavered. You knew what you intended to do—make them all regret forgetting you, bring everything crashing down—but right now... right now, you just wanted to feel a little less lonely.

Cater grinned, his eyes crinkling with the motion. "Our little secret, yeah? Guess that makes us snack buddies now. Next time, my treat—you can totes hold me to that!"

His words sparked a fleeting warmth, a rare feeling of belonging. You nodded, unable to summon a proper response.

Just for a bit... this was okay.

You tighten your grip on the bags as the warmth from the interaction fades, the stinging cold of the winter air nipping at your flesh once again.

It had been a few months since it all began—the Blot, the deal, and your decision to tear everything down. Returning to Ramshackle after parting with some friends, you shut your bedroom door behind you, the warped hinges protesting with a grating scrape against the frame. Your thoughts swirled from the events of the day, seeming vague and hazy even though it happened only a few hours ago.

"I've missed you." A voice crooned from behind—smooth and sweet, yet laced with something razor-sharp. If you could assign an item to a voice, it'd be a sugar cube.

"I was gone for two hours." you replied, setting your bag down and beginning the slow unwinding from your day. You never really knew if the Blot lived in the ring on your finger—whispering its thoughts directly into your mind—or if it was free to roam as its own entity. Tonight, it was lounging on your bed, propped up on one elbow in a mockery of comfort, the picture of lazy contentment. Despite being a humanoid figure of pure shadow, it radiated an unmistakable fondness. If shadows could smile, you knew it was smiling at you now.

"Two hours too long," it purred, with a hint of petulance bleeding into its honeyed tone.

As you sat at your desk, the Blot drifted close, leaning over your figure until both your reflections appeared in the small mirror. Its fingers, dark and lithe, combed slowly through your hair—gentle, almost reverent. Or was it mocking possessiveness?

"Do you think they'd miss you if you left for longer?" it mused softly. "Or would you slip their minds again, like you always used to?"

The question struck a nerve. You averted your gaze from its reflection, unwilling to entertain the thought as your jaw unconsciously clenched, deciding to test the waters, you shot back a reply a little too sharp for your liking. "Are you jealous?"

You turned to try and catch a gleam of its reaction, anything to give you a better understanding of the enigmatic being you've tied yourself to.

"Of them? Never." it whispered, shadowy lithe fingers tracing along your jaw, gently tilting your head back to meet its gaze in the mirror once again. "They don't know you like I do."

A chill crawled down your spine as its grip lingered a moment too long. Silence stretched between you, heavy with words left unsaid—words only the Blot seemed to know.

"How was your day, my little adventurer?" it murmured, its voice dropping to something low and intimate, almost conspiratorial. The way it spoke made it seem as though its words were meant for your ears alone, a secret shared just between the two of you.

You didn't respond immediately, focusing on your homework instead before offhandedly responding. "You're talkative today."

The air shifted subtly, the Blot retreating to your bed once more. It flopped onto your sheets like a restless cat, rolling and twisting the fabric with a peculiar energy, almost playful in its antics. For a creature so powerful, it had a strange, childlike quality in moments like these—unsettling, yet somehow familiar the way it could switch from suave and seductive to childish and pesky.

"Perhaps I'm feeling nostalgic." It mused after a pause. Was that vulnerability bleeding through, or just another calculated lure to pull you in deeper?

"Ask me something," it offered, voice as smooth as silk, "I'll humor you with an answer—a gift for all you've done, my dove."

You hesitated. There were so many questions but one had tumbled from your lips before you could stop it. "What are you?"

"You already know the answer." It interrupted, its voice dripping with mirth. It almost seemed to avoid the question, a moment of lost composure that piqued your interest.

Your disappointment must've shown—your eyes narrowed, brows furrowing and lips pursing just slightly into a pout or protest—as the Blot paused, considering you. Finally, it relented, leaning closer with a softer tone.

"Another. Ask me another. I'll give you more because it's you."

Time stretched as you considered your options once again—more carefully this time to pull back as many layers as you can grasp to reveal just a bit more. The Blot was clearly fond of you for one reason or another, but why?

You asked, your voice steady but curious. "What were you?"

The question hung in the air like a heavy cloth, wet and suffocating. For a moment, the Blot stilled. Then it smiled—a slow, deliberate curve of its shadowy mouth.

"You're so curious," it purred, voice dropping to a velvet murmur. "I love that about you."

Before you could react, it was there, face-to-face with you again, close enough that the air seemed to hum with its presence. Its tone grew lower, softer, yet charged with something deeper. The air had grown heavier. When it spoke, its voice was softer, yet somehow deeper and filled with something ancient and still thrumming with life. "Once... I was something like you. Real. Tangible. Alive."

"Wh-"

"We'd get along. At least I like to think we would" Its voice gained a firmer edge, almost wistful, yet underlined with certainty. "No... I know we would. I've seen what it's like to be forgotten." The Blot sounded firm as if it had substance behind such an egregious claim.

You recoiled slightly at the sureness of its tone as the tension thickened, words caught in your throat as you searched for a response. But the Blot spoke again, its voice growing almost tender.

"Yes. That's how I'd explain it. But it's all in the past. And now... here we are. Together."

Its fingers laced with yours, dark and cold yet strangely warm at the same time. Its thumb gently traced the rim of the ring on your finger—the physical reminder of your contract.

For a moment, it almost felt like an embrace—warm in its own strange way—before the Blot retreated at the sound of a firm knock at your door.

"Human! Come downstairs! We're watching films and consuming takeout!" Sebek's voice rang out, loud and commanding as always. You blinked, suddenly remembering your prior engagements for the evening.

On the other side of the door, Sebek continued his monologue. "Unless you fear the horror genre?" His tone wavered between challenge and care before taking a haughty turn and somehow louder. "Shall I request a film more suited to your frail constitution? I shall do it only to protect you from disgrace!"

His rapid footsteps retreated down the hall, leaving you in a strange quiet once again. Your gaze lingered on the Blot, still stretched lazily across your bed, its head tilted in quiet amusement.

With a sigh, you stood and made your way to the door, half relieved and half-annoyed.

The TV blared whatever movie had been chosen for the night, a tradition at Ramshackle where native members of Twisted Wonderland picked their favorite media to share with the prefects. It had become a cherished cultural exchange, a chance for everyone to gush about their favorite things—though you and the others never had anything to contribute.

Not that any of you wanted to. Any mention of home dampened the mood. The others missed it—their world, their families—while you had long stopped thinking of returning. You're never going home. It's too beautiful in your memories, untouched by everything you had become. Setting foot there would be like introducing flame to the wings of a butterfly.

You sat beside him, finding solace and comfort in each other's quiet presence. There was no need to speak, no need to acknowledge it aloud. He was your own guest for tonight's movie, something you never thought you'd have based on your previous reputation, or lack thereof. And yet, despite everything, you still couldn't forgive him for the way he once ignored you. You couldn't even recall how long ago that time was. It should have been easy to let go, to forget the loneliness, but the ache of it still lingered, a phantom pain of being unseen, unheard, unnoticed.

Everything felt so stagnant back then, so suffocating. In moments like these you couldn't help but be appreciative of the Blot's assistance, even as you both resented yourself and the entity in your bedroom for what it had cost you—even worse, knowing you had willingly accepted the deal. The truth, that claustrophobic reality, felt like a noose around your neck, dragging you deeper with every breath. Without the deal, you would have remained nothing—forgotten, buried in the snow, your name lost to time, your face unrecognizable by all. And when the thaw came, they could have found your body, decayed and nameless. A casualty.

A chill ran down your spine at the thought, the memory of that night creeping back, sharp and biting like frost against your skin. Jack, seated nearby, must have noticed. Without a word, the beastman draped his large, fluffy tail over your lap, a quiet attempt to offer warmth without interrupting the film.

The movie came to an end without you fully understanding the plot, the storyline lost to your distracted mind as you reflected on the whole evening. The lamps flickered back on as everyone began cleaning up, and there was an awkward, unspoken feeling hanging over everyone. The sort of quiet tension that lingered at the end of a gathering—was this goodbye? Was this the end, do they go home? The moment felt too brief.

But how many tomorrows are left?

Everyone knew that the Prefects of Ramshackle didn't belong here no matter how defined of a shape carved into everyone's hearts that only they could fill, they all knew that the Yuus would return home someday, often lamenting about their own world. Whenever the topic came up, you'd catch a fleeting glance from your friends. You'd never mentioned home—not since you'd given up on the idea. But you knew he was silently asking:

Do you plan to stay?

The boys scurried around cleaning up their messes, but their efforts were clumsy, adding new minor messes to clean—small, unnoticed attempts to stretch the moment just a little longer. They didn't want it to end yet. For now, neither did you.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a loud sneeze from Epel—one that would certainly earn him a lecture from Vil. You turn to see what he'd done, spotting a vase tipped over the kitchen counter, water and flowers spilling across the surface. They had been a gift, though the reasoning behind them had been flimsy at best. Not that you cared much. They weren't even your favorites, and flowers never lasted long anyway.

Wilting. Drying. Rotting.

Much like people.

You were slightly startled by the dark thoughts, pushing them away as Yuuken passed Epel a tissue before grabbing a rag to mop the mess before it seeped into the floorboards. Ramshackle already had enough mold; any more would be cruel.

"Did you catch a cold? I told you not to sit out in the rain too late trying to win that bet." Yuuken's tone was exasperated but laced with concern. Yuuka, less patient, flicked Epel's forehead in reprimand.

The mention of illness must have triggered Ortho's health and safety protocols, as he immediately zipped over, offering a full-body scan to check Epel's vitals.

"Uwah? Me next! Scan me!" Ace butted in with a cheeky grin—an obvious attempt to dodge dish duty. You shot him a knowing look but he only grinned wider, brushing it off and receiving his scan.

What started as a routine checkup quickly turned into a competition to see who was the healthiest, with everyone eagerly comparing stats. In the end, it came down to Jack and Sebek, though Jack narrowly took the win. Even Ortho seemed baffled by the results, staring at his screen in genuine confusion.

"I cannot understand how Sebek Zigvolt functions with such high exposure to Lilia Vanrouge's cooking..." he murmured, tilting his head.

Laughter rippled through the group as Sebek loudly protested, but the amusement died down as Ortho turned to you. Unlike the others, you hadn't joined in on their little contest, preferring to avoid the inevitable teasing about your ranking. But now, Ortho's bright yellow eyes scanned you from head to toe, and for a brief moment, his expression flickered with something strange—confusion?

"That's odd," he muttered. "You don't have any health complications, but... your body temperature is significantly lower than normal. By a lot. Please wait a moment while I check something."

Yuuta shot you a concerned glance, setting down a broken shard of the vase and rinsing his hand before reaching out to touch your forehead, only to immediately recoil.

"Woah. You're freezing..! Like wax."

Ortho scrolled through his holographic screens with increasing confusion, while the others hesitated before brushing against you, testing Yuuta's claim. You hadn't noticed before, but now that you thought about it—your skin was cold. Not just cool, but room temperature. Maybe a degree or two above it.

Ace snickered. "Maybe you really are a corpse, prefect. Don't worry; I'll cry over your grave for a good hour so you feel loved." He received a punch in the arm from Deuce for that, assuring you they'd visit every day and cry tons if you died.

The joke sent a sharp chill down your spine. For a split second, you were back there—lying in the snow, the cold sinking into your bones, the world growing quieter and quieter. The Blot ring on your finger felt soft and warm like an embrace in that moment as you pushed the memory down. You didn't even want to think about Ace and Deuce's reassurance about your death, not daring to recall how they wouldn't have even noticed a few months prior.

Ortho, unimpressed with Ace's comment, gave him a firm shove out of the way before running another scan. As he worked, Yuu barked orders at the others to finish cleaning up their messes, leaving you to sit on the couch under Ortho's scrutiny.

"It's strange..." he said, flicking through his screens and mumbling your full name a few times to search for you. "I have a database of nearly the entire student body in my records, but I had to create a new profile for you."

Something in your chest twisted.

That sick feeling, the one that always crept in whenever you felt especially neglected, clawed its way to the surface. This was a punch to the gut, a reminder that even a machine designed to remember, hadn't even noticed you enough to have you in his system.

How cruel.

You forced a laugh, pushing past the bitter taste in your mouth. "So, what do you think? Am I a corpse after all?"

Ortho paused, then, as if to make up for the oversight, carefully selected your favorite color for your new profile, even marking the tab as favorite with a cute icon.

"I apologize. I don't know," he admitted. "But I'll ask Big Brother. Maybe it's something I haven't thought about yet."

Ortho had left earlier than the others after being called back by Idia for something, but a sense of foreboding lingered in the air. You couldn't shake the feeling of being caught—caught in a way that was difficult to explain. Who else, other than the Shroud brothers, would have the highest chance of recognizing what you'd done?

Then again, the Blot taking a form and making a deal wasn't something that had ever been seen throughout Twisted Wonderland's history. Perhaps you were safe.

But the uncertainty gnawed at you, that creeping feeling that something—someone—might figure it out. The longer the silence stretched, the more unexplainable guilt festered.

Part three

was the second part weird?

I hope not hah

I have more plans to write more for this if it's still requested, and I'd like to apologize for taking two weeks to write this short thing. I got very sick, then very behind in schoolwork and then procrastinated for far too long.

My lovely little taglist: @tachibubu @shirp-collector-of-fixations @goatsmilksblog @iris-arcadia ( @tipsyon-tea - You mentioned wanting to read whatever happened next but never directly asked to tag. pls tell me if you'd like to be removed from this)

[mandalhoerian]

(2) 🦭 signed, sealed, delivery pending...

Eight years ago, during the worst summer festival of your life, you cross paths with a certain seal for the first time.

genre: fluff, comedy | wc: 4K | read on ao3

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note: YES, THIS IS A SERIES! I hope you'll bear with me as I'm not actively editing/proofreading my writing and am going with the flow for the most part. Rafayel will also stay as a seal in the next chapter which centers around how he came to be smitten with the reader, so PLEASE PLEASE HANG TIGHT WE'RE GETTING THERE. I hope you enjoy!!!!

Ah, sweet summer festival. You're fifteen.

The entire archipelago is in motion tonight — a grand spectacle brought to life in the unofficial capital Salverna, which is also where you were born and raised, by throngs of locals with visitors pouring in from the mainland for an evening of festivities. Decorated boats crawl like jeweled beetles across the bay beneath a moonbeam sky, torches flickering like amber blossoms amidst colorful lanterns suspended overhead, painting faces in warm splashes of light. Instruments are tuned to perfect pitch, ready to launch into jigs and reels once revelers spill into dancing rings. Children sprint around bonfires with cheeks flushed by sugar, laughter ringing like silver bells in the breeze. Farther along, games fill the streets — prizes stuffed inside balloons perched precariously atop slender sticks, targets waiting to be pierced by dart tips, bobbing heads eager for coins — competing for attention with the delectable aroma of spiced sausage, roasted meat, skewers, sticky cinnamon treats, and fresh fruit piled high for sampling. Even the night's salty breath tastes like sunshine, and despite everything feeling faintly familiar, somehow still manages to seem entirely fresh.

If only you'd been there from the beginning.

No, you were here. The whole day.

At the docks, which is the farthest away from the main event.

Hauling seafood and chasing down lost tourists like some unpaid festival guide.

The family ferry business consisting of multiple vessels is the only one making direct trips between the mainland and the archipelago. Usually, things run smoothly — your parents know this route like the back of their hands, and during normal weeks, the boats run on a fairly consistent schedule with only the occasional minor detour to accommodate delayed travelers. Renting smaller boats out to tourists helps maintain some steady income for maintenance expenses during quieter months, although the real money comes from transporting passengers year-round.

But big events like this summer festival change everything. The mainland port is overflowing with people packed like sardines in a tin, and everyone scrambles for transport space like sharks smelling blood. It's impossible to accommodate every arrival simultaneously, even though Dad doubled the ferry service to operate nearly nonstop — one boat shuttling incoming guests while its twin carries locals back and forth between islands, and even then it isn't enough. People are forced to wait hours for passage, which inevitably leads to chaos erupting.

And the locals ferry doesn't just transport passengers. It hauls festival supplies — crates of seasonal produce shipped to the islands via mainland distributors, stacks upon stacks of boxes labeled FRAGILE in thick black marker, paper fans for the parade, props for the pageant, a seemingly endless list of necessary items for the vendors, bands, food stands, street performers, the barrels of festival cider rolling onto the deck, stacks of pastries needing careful hands to avoid toppling, baskets of flowers meant for decorating stalls that nearly got crushed in the shuffle — you name it — the list of deliveries keeps growing by the hour. And no one has extra hands to spare to deliver all this cargo to its final destinations.

Well, actually, one person does. Namely, you.

It started small. Mom catching you right as you tried to slip away this morning, asking to help with boarding real quick, and if you could take some packages along the way... It was easy to agree, at first — help a few elderly tourists steady themselves as they stepped from the ferry, answer questions from confused festival-goers trying to navigate between islands, toss a sack or two over your shoulder for the vendor working nearby. But an hour later, you were hauling half a crate uphill when one of the wheels broke loose, scattering fireworks across cobblestones in glittering disarray, leaving you running through town chasing them all down under curious gazes of the locals who saw the explosion...

And the moment the ferry docked, suddenly it was all hands on deck. One trip in, another out. Then, next thing you knew, you were the one handling tickets and guiding stragglers toward their destination, organizing groups, shouting helpful tips about what to avoid and what not to eat so you are not about to have people get sick on board and clean off their vomit, answering questions about local attractions and restaurant specialties, calling out to Dad who drove the ferry like it was child's play, warning the older folks and kids not to fall off because the last thing your family really needs is to be sued by someone stupid falling overboard...

And the entire time, you were in the dress you'd picked out specifically for the occasion. Thinking one more trip, and you could finally join your friends in the festivities...

A whole shift later, there are no celebrations awaiting you. No bonfire parties with the music so loud and joyous you could feel it thrumming through the ground, no crowded bars filled to bursting with cheerful singing and dancing, no raffle stalls offering chances to win souvenirs and free meals for years, no fireworks bursting across the night sky so brilliant they chased away the darkness.

Just you with your dress ruined and ripped because someone couldn't watch where they were going while drunk and collided straight into you and left you soaked in cheap beer, and the hem of it torn apart from you desperately trying to fix your mistake after misplacing the boxes of merch you were supposed to haul, again. Your friends probably already enjoying every aspect of the event, laughing their asses off in pure delight without caring for what you missed or had endured all day, knowing you were supposed to arrive with them to witness the greatest part of the summer celebration together.

With angry tears gathering at the inner corners of your eyes, you let the bags drop onto the dock with a harsh thump, “I can’t do this anymore.”

Maybe you're expecting an argument. Maybe you want to pick a fight because the frustration had been stewing ever since you woke up today and demanded release. Or maybe you hope your father would give you permission to go enjoy your own life, rather than force you to suffer his. But none of those comes to pass. Instead, he merely glances up with a tired look, holding your resentful stare before sighing heavily and scrubbing his face wearily with calloused, wrinkled hands.

“You said it would be quick,” you snap, voice shaking. “You said I could go like hours ago. The day is over!"

You choke back the wobble in your tone, biting harshly into your lower lip, hoping it'll prevent tears from leaking out even though it hardly hurts enough to distract you.

"Look, we're in the middle of peak season..."

"Which means peak profit for our business! Couldn't you have just hired someone extra to fill in?! Why did it have to be me?!"

"No other staff is available on such a short notice, especially during a big event." Dad shrugs weakly in apology, the gesture lacking any defensiveness or remorse. He looks drained, exhausted. And still, his priorities remain firmly fixed elsewhere. "Sorry, honey. Next week I'm hiring additional staff permanently, but for now — just one more hour, okay? You know we don't extend our services after the night falls and that's why—"

“No!” The frustration spills over before you can swallow it down. “It’s never ‘just a little longer.’ It’s always one more trip, one more errand, one more thing! I’m always the one stuck here!”

Dad frowns and straightens his spine slowly like a looming anime villain, wiping sweat from his brow. "Don't raise your tone on me like that, I'm not one of your little friends. This is nothing. When you become captain, you'll have to endure far more work."

"I did everything you ask and suddenly my tone is the issue?!" You gesture wildly at your ruined dress, at the damp stains and torn fabric clinging to your skin. “Look at me! I was supposed to be there with everyone else, and now I can’t even show up like this—”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Dad's voice turns sharp, exasperated. “It’s just a dress.”

"And now everyone probably hates me because I've skipped yet another celebration and ghosted them!" you huff and puff like an enraged bull despite his interruption.

"What's going on?" Mom hurries over from the harbor shop, stepping between you and your father before tempers flare even further. She takes in the scene at a glance and sighs deeply — though whether out of disappointment or irritation, you can't tell — carefully setting aside several stacks of receipts. "Are you two seriously bickering about nonsense when you should both be working?"

“I’m not being dramatic! I’m sick of this!” You throw your hands into the cold, humid sea breeze as though casting your complaints upon the tides, unable to keep the tremble from your fingers or the tears from streaking down your face. Hot drops patter against the faded wood planks beneath your feet. "“I work just as hard as you do, I never say no, but the second I want something for myself—"

Mom immediately gets what's going on, and alerts you to lower your voice by pointedly widening her eyes and thinning her lips. The entire dock is witnessing the argument and turning their heads to listen in at this point, but you don't care. Everybody should hear about this injustice.

"Yes, honey, I know," Mom hisses, "And we appreciate how hard you're trying, believe me. But — just one more trip, alright? Your friends will wait a bit longer for you, won’t they? Don't forget this isn't just about you. The archipelago depends on us running our business steadily and reliably."

And there it is. That unspoken expectation, that quiet assumption that you’ll always choose responsibility over what you want. That you’ll always understand.

Your throat tightens, choking back the bitterness burning in the pit of your stomach, and for a long moment, neither you nor your mom break the silence, and her stare remains fixed somewhere above your shoulder. Only Dad says anything, grunting a vague affirmative that tells you nothing more than your mother did; work must come first, whatever personal sacrifice must be made for that to happen.

You step back. “Forget it.”

“Honey—”

“I said forget it!”

You're running hot and cold, the rush of blood in your ears don't let your parents' protests in as you rush into the only place where you can be alone right now, the ticket counter cabin with the "CLOSED" sign on it, slamming the door shut behind you loudly and letting the cool glass barrier isolate you from the rest of reality. It's just you inside. There's a desk, empty paperwork piled neatly at the corner, a cash register. An old computer screen covered by dust. Shelves crammed with stacked-up folders and manuals. A window overlooking the harbor. This is also the place to leave your belongings at before clocking into work, just beside the locker of where the attendant usually leaves theirs.

On a whim, you snatch up your jacket and backpack before fleeing out into the crowd again. It's so easy to lose your parents along the wharf because of the teeming masses.

Your phone is buzzing rapidly in your bag with Dad and Mom both probably threatening to drag you back by your ear, so you take it out and switch to airplane mode before tossing it back in with a grimace. You're not allowed to be out this late without supervision (much less sneaking away from work), but right now, there's not an adult in existence that could compel you to walk willingly back into this mess. Screw it. Being grounded for life isn't any worse than being imprisoned on this stupid island forever anyway, you think, huffing quietly in protest as you stomp down the street. Besides, if worst comes to worst, you can spend some time with Aunt Leen. At least she wouldn't judge.

The festival feels a million miles away. You can’t go there, not in this state, stains everywhere, smelling like fish and sweat and regret, dress ripped apart. So, instead, you end up wandering along the rocky beach near the outer edge of town, in parallel to the protected seal rookery islet offshore and well beyond the boundaries of the town proper. The bright, swirling glow of the firework display across the water glints in the dark, mingling with distant stars and overshadowing the full moon, reflecting off rippling waters like flickering embers dancing across a glossy obsidian surface. The waves roll gently across sand and stone in soothing rhythmic whispers whooshes that pull you onward through the night like invisible ribbons drawing you back into the present.

This was always your favorite place as a child — wild and beautiful. An unclaimed stretch of wilderness stretching beyond the public access point, filled with coves and tide pools that felt like hidden kingdoms tucked away from the rest of the world. Here, among the jagged rocks, washed smooth by centuries of ebbing currents, you sit on one flat boulder, bare feet lapped at by the high tide and shoes by your side, frustrated tears dropping into the sea, staring absently off towards the seal islet floating peacefully in the distance.

You remember trying to swim out there years ago, despite having been strictly forbidden from venturing close to not disturb them. What would it be like, to be out in the open sea instead of tied to this isolated little community? To see something other than the same faces, places, and names repeated ad nauseam for all eternity, as though nothing changed no matter how many seasons passed? What would it take to break free?

"Ugh!" The sound bursts free before you can clamp your jaw shut, a ragged groan against clenched teeth as your palms scrub fiercely across your damp, salty cheeks.

Before you can start ranting into the night like a madman, your turmoil is shattered by a sudden, piercing cry like metal scraping stone ripping through your tangled thoughts. Your head jerks upward, pulse quickening into a painful drum-beat. Something is terribly off. Someone's hurt, panicking—or worse—maybe drowning?

But where?

You blink frantically, scanning the surrounding coastline, but the thick curtain of night refuses to offer clues. So you rely on your ears and follow the keening through the beach, stumbling hastily across damp sand, uneven rocks and slippery seaweed patches alike, nearly slipping on slimy barnacles embedded in the crevices between each massive stone and fighting hard to balance every step, all the while ignoring the scrapes accumulating on your soles from sharp pebbles digging into tender flesh and flaring in protest at every bit of impact.

Then, unmistakably—

A high-pitched, squealing shriek erupts out of the ocean — like the frantic deflating of a balloon twisting violently apart in midair.

Your stomach drops. The sound is frantic, terrified. Unmistakably animal.

And it's coming directly from the water.

At last, you spot the source of the commotion — about fifty feet offshore, just beyond a tangle of blackened driftwood clogging the shallows: Moonlight catches on slick, gray fur, the seal’s body bobbing helplessly, its hysteric movements hampered by the thick snare of a fishing net and heavy with debris, the tangled mess constricts tight, dragging it downward each time it fights to resurface.

Seals can drown. You know that much. You’ve heard Elias muttering to Dad, thick with disgust, after cutting loose yet another pup ensnared by abandoned traps — relics of poachers who refuse to acknowledge sealing was banned around here nearly thirty years ago.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

Your mind stutters, paralyzed for a breathless instant. What do I do? What do I do?

There’s no time to think.

You’re moving before reason catches up, scrambling over slick, uneven rocks as brine stings the scrapes blooming across your bare feet. Your pulse slams against your ribs. In one frantic motion, you strip off your windbreaker, fling your bag aside, and plunge into the waves without hesitation. Salt explodes in a cool rush over your skin as you kick off from the seafloor, paddling hard, muscles burning with every stroke.

Next thing you know, your arms are locked tight around the drowning seal, grappling to haul it toward shore as it thrashes wildly, overwrought beyond reason and twisting all it can to land a blow with brutal strength you wouldn't expect from a round and inflexible body like that. Flippers beat against your chest, claws scrape at your arms, and its ragged cries tear through the night like something feral and furious. It doesn’t understand you’re trying to help — it only knows fear.

Somehow, impossibly, you make it.

Every muscle in your body screams in protest as you drag the tangled pup onto the shore, collapsing beside it in a gasping sprawl, limbs weak and trembling. Your lungs gulp down air that tastes like victory, the sweetest breath you've ever taken.

And then—

The seal’s shrieks reach a fevered pitch. It flails vigorously, flinging itself against the unyielding net, snapping, fighting, tearing at the fibers with blind desperation.

That’s when you see it.

The moon-desaturated dark liquid pooling beneath its body, sinking into the wet sand in sluggish tendrils.

Blood.

"No! Stop that, stop!"

You scramble upright, stomach at your throat, hands grabbing frantically at the writhing seal to keep it from thrashing itself into worse injury.

"Hey, hey — settle down! Stop moving — please! You're making it worse!"

It doesn’t listen. It fights harder.

Panic and instinct are what fuels its every move, and the more you hold on, the more fiercely it resists, wails cutting straight to the center of your chest, high and desperate, feeding your own fear in a vicious cycle. Its pulse is hammering beneath your hands, a wild, terrified beating of a bird's wings matching your own as its breaths come fast, erratic, interrupted by harsh snorts and shuddering yelps. The pup is almost one singular muscle beneath your grip, trembling and taut with the primal need to flee.

"It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," you chant, the words spilling out in a frantic loop, cracking under the weight of utter desperation of not knowing what to do even as you're repeating you're there to helo. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just let me help — please — fuck, what do I do — ow!"

Pain explodes up your right forearm before the scream even leaves your throat.

Teeth. Deep. Sinking into muscle like fire.

Your body jolts with the instinct to yank away, but you don’t. You can’t. One wrong move and you’ll scare it even more, maybe make it clamp down harder. Tears blur your vision, breath coming in ragged gasps as you bite your own molars together, forcing yourself to go still.

And then — so does the seal.

The aggressive lashing out ceases, replaced by eerie, frozen silence. Its nostrils flare against your skin, warm breath feathering across the bite, making the hairs on your arm stand on end. Your pulse pounds between your teeth, the sting of the wound dulling under the weight of something more pressing — its eyes.

Two inky pools, round and bottomless, reflecting your fractured likeness like tiny mirrors.

"Please," you whisper, shaky, but soft. "I just want to help. You're safe. I won’t hurt you."

The grip on your arm doesn't tighten. Doesn't loosen. The only thing left between you is the weight of your words and the fragile, fragile stillness.

"Let me go," you murmur, swallowing hard. "And we’ll fix this. Okay?"

There's a pause, a single, terrifying moment suspended in time. Then, the seal's jaws relax, and he releases his painful grip on your throbbing arm, and as quickly as the assault began, it ends. Blood rushes forth in a thin rivulet down your wrist and between your fingers. It doesn't really hurt, not compared to the dull ache in the rest of your exhausted body, and the relief that washes over you is so profound that you're momentarily dizzy from it. And yet... The fact that the seal has calmed down means everything.

"It's okay, it’s okay, don't worry about it," you say hurriedly, intended for yourself more than anything so you wouldn't freak out about it. "You were scared, that's all. It's not your fault."

But the pup isn’t looking at the net.

Its gaze is locked onto your arm, the blood pooling at the wound, round, ink-dark eyes impossibly wider, focused in a way that makes something in your chest tighten.

You stare at him, and for a fleeting, impossible second, it feels like he understands. Like he knows what he did. Awe prickles through you, pushing aside the pain, the exhaustion, everything.

Seals are intelligent — you’ve always known that — but this is so magical to experience how emotionally aware they are.

"Hey. Hey, I’m fine, buddy," you insist. "Look at me, look. I'm good, it’s just a scratch. Let's focus on getting that net off, yeah? Can't have you swimming away in that state. You’ll drown."

As you lean in to inspect, the pup shies away initially, clearly wary and distrustful, but eventually allows you to examine the tangled mess of knots and lines ensnaring his sleek, streamlined figure. The heavy, dense debris he's wrapped in like a blanket is making it impossible to unravel anything, and the more you try to remove it, the tighter the bindings grow. Your injured arm is growing numb, which is probably not a good sign, but there's no time to dwell on that now.

Frustrated and increasingly anxious, you search frantically for something in your backpack to use as scissors or a knife, but the jerky movements make the pup tense up, its tail slapping nervously in the sand, and you have to take several calming breaths to prevent scaring him further.

"Sorry, sorry. Didn't mean to frighten you. I'll be gentler," you promise in a rush. "Just bear with me, okay?"

All you can find is your nail clippers, but they'll have to suffice. With painstaking care, you snip away at the individual strands binding the pup's limbs together, pausing every few moments to reassure him that everything is alright, that it will survive and go back to the rookery islet. Its fur is wet and matted with blood beneath the ropes, and the sight sends a fresh surge of anger through your veins at the thought of whoever abandoned such a careless trap in the ocean.

"Almost got it, buddy, almost, you're doing great," you sniffle, working steadily to free its front flippers. They're the most delicate and prone to injuries, according to Elias. "One last cut and..."

With a soft pop, the final strand gives way and the net falls loose, the release of pressure causing the seal to scramble sideways and flop awkwardly onto his belly in a clumsy roll. It lies there motionless for a brief second before letting out a piercing, mournful wail that stabs at the pit of your stomach.

You drop your tool and fall to your knees beside him, hands hovering uncertainly over its body. You don't dare touch, afraid of hurting it further. In a burst of energy, the pup pushes itself upright, body wiggling and coiling to propel it forward in a frantic dash towards the safety of the sea. You watch helplessly, unable to move or think or react in any way, until it pauses halfway to the shoreline and glances back at you, a low whine emanating from his throat.

"Go on, get out of here," you urge him, waving it onward. "Stay safe and take care of yourself, alright? You've had enough close calls today." A pang of dread hits you, realizing how much danger the pup was already in and how lucky it had been that you happened to be nearby to save it from a terrible fate. But now, all you can do is let it return to its natural environment. "Be free, cutie," you say quietly. "Live well and happy. You deserve better than this."

The pup hesitates, still watching you with those soulful, inscrutable black eyes. Then, in an act that leaves you speechless, it turns and galumphs back to your side, lowering its head and nudging its muzzle against the bleeding gash on your forearm. When it pulls away, his whiskers are slick with red, and a strange sense of gratitude overwhelms you.

"Oh, you angel," you manage, a lump forming in your throat. The urge to viciously pet his head is strong, but this isn’t a cat or a dog. Your arm really might get bitten off from the elbow socket. "Now scram. I'm sure your mama is worried about you."

This time, the seal does as instructed. It slides gracefully down the sandy slope and slips into the waves, vanishing from view in an instant. Only a small trail of blood remains, mingling with the foam and seawater that wash over the shore, evidence of the ordeal endured by this remarkable creature wiped away in an instant by the protective hands of the sea.

The shock of it all, of the stress and adrenaline, finally catches up to you and you collapse backwards in the sand, the pain in your arm flaring once again and only now feeling the cuts on the bottom of your feet.

Shaken to your bones in a way you can’t quite name, your fingers fumble to switch off airplane mode before you even realize what you’re doing. The moment the call connects, you’re babbling into the phone, voice thick with tears, words tangled and frantic. Mom struggles to make sense of you, but it doesn’t take long for her to find you — half an hour later, sprawled on the ground, your windbreaker haphazardly draped over your shoulders, backpack wedged beneath your head. The gash on your arm is wrapped in a makeshift tourniquet, one of your old bandanas knotted tightly around the wound.

If Dad’s ferry hadn’t been stuck in the harbor, he would’ve been here too. No doubt about it.

You get an earful the moment she kneels beside you. Irresponsible. Reckless. Running off without telling anyone. Dad would’ve had a heart attack if things had gone any worse. Yes, yes, yes. You let her words wash over you, nodding at the right moments, too drained to do anything else. Her hugs and kisses make up plenty for it. 

Neither of you bring up the fight. Neither of you need to. Some things are easier left unspoken.

She doesn’t mention the festival, either. But you both know what kind of rumors will be swirling by morning.

For now, you're taken to the local clinic and given a rabies and a tetanus shot, and a lecture from the nurse who treated you, warning you to never approach a wild animal again because the next time, you might not be as lucky.

[angel-of-the-moons]

The Arm of a God (And Other Things)

Khonshu x Fem!Reader

Summary:

You take a week-long hiking trip alone, despite the warnings at the lodge from experienced hikers.

But were you truly alone?

No. Never.

The bears and mountain lions were the least of your concerns. In fact...

They never were to begin with.

TW/CW: NSFW, Smut, PiV sex, unprotected sex, size difference, reader is a size queen, needy(?)Khonshu, creampie, ngl it's a lot like the dude's a god and like 9 feet tall I refuse to believe every part of his anatomy isn't proportionate to the rest of him, like he has a breeding kink?? God of fertility hellooooooo

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

Taglist: @drinkingwithkhonshu @gingersforeverbox @manque-damour @nikkivenomized

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"Look, kid, no offense but..." The older man replied to you, his thick, bushy eyebrows pinched with concern for your well-being, "It's dangerous out there if you're alone. And compared to a bear, you're a small snack."

You smile at the old man, briefly taking in his far more rugged appearance. He looked every part of a human grizzly bear; large, imposing, muscular. He could probably take an actual grizzly bear in a bare-knuckle fight and come out even. He was an experienced hiker, a man born for the wilderness.

His concern for you was sweet. Compared to him, you were a tiny porcelain teacup; clean, and fragile. Sure you looked that way, but you trusted yourself and your abilities.

You looked small... but you weren't helpless. And you never had to worry in any of your travels.

"Thank you for your concern, but I'm covered." You chuckle sweetly, tapping the pendant around your neck. It was a small stone, scribbled with some sort of symbols, a crescent moon featured most prominently.

He squinted his green eyes at the necklace. He obviously couldn't understand what they said, but he understood it was some sort of religious object.

"Look kid, god can only do so much if a brown bear raids your camp in the middle o' the night." He says, clicking his teeth.

"Trust me. I got my bear spray, a good taser, a machete..." You begin listing off your protective items, some of which were bullshit. Most of your items in your pack were food and other important supplies.

He seemed impressed once you were done, stroking his thick beard approvingly. "All right, I s'pose. But since you've checked in here, there's a policy you tune into the lodge's frequency so if anything happens, we can come get ya."

To show how serious you took his advice--even if it wasn't needed--you pulled out your radio. It had about a 30 kilometer radius. An expensive purchase, to be sure, but a nice one. You tune it to the frequency he tells you and look at him as you clip it back to your pack securely.

"Anything else?" You chirp.

"Nope... Just... Be careful. The weather can get kinda crazy further up the mountain." He grunts.

You turn, giving a playful salute as you do, dragging deep into your lungs the air of the mountains after a fresh morning rain.

You weren't afraid for what the night brought. Not at all. But you knew that you've never had to be afraid when the moon rose.

Not when you had faith.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

You'd made good progress, only having to stop and rest a few times throughout the day, free-climbing a few boulders here and there, and to check your map. Your destination was an old burnt-down mansion that was destroyed in a bad storm sometime in the 1920s. So, over a hundred years ago.

Nobody really knew about them or bothered to find them because they were so far off the beaten path, but you marked your trail to find your way back. If you even got lost in the first place.

The first time you found out about this place was a small article written by a backpacker who explored forgotten ruins on YouTube. Yeah, they aren't as exciting as climbing a pyramid down in South America, but to you they were. You adored finding them and exploring them, touching pieces of recent history that were forgotten far quicker than ruins from thousands of years ago.

And when you found them, you tossed your pack down and did a happy little dance; they were amazing! The walls were made of river stone, joined by concrete and held up merely by their own sturdy construction. Some of the walls had fallen due to time, but you could easily make out a few old windows and doorways. Every inch of the ruins was covered in moss, shrubbery, and old and young trees embracing what was left.

You'd even climbed an old stairway you found in the back for fun; it may have led to the worker's lodgings, or.... hell maybe just another entrance to the second floor.

But now, the sun was gone, and you'd set up camp in the middle of the ruins, where a small pond had formed thanks to a depression in the ground. Perhaps the remains of a basement or cellar that had caved in due to the fire and passage of time.

Your fire crackled as you let your water purifier do it's job, your clean water dripping into your canteen with a steady "drip, drip, drip".

You finished off your pre-packaged meal--a nice packet of spaghetti and meatballs with some extra protein powder thrown in--and was now letting it settle, laying on your plush sleeping bag as you stared at the night sky, the moon fat as it hung from the stars; your fingers brushing and caressing the small pendant around your neck.

"I am not surprised to find you in a place like this." A heavy voice echoed off the stone walls.

You sat up on your elbows and lifted your gaze, smiling as you spot him--a large, lithe figure perched casually on the ruins, the light of the moon illuminating the eerie bird skull in place of his head.

"You know how much I love doing this." You remind him.

"Yes, I know." His voice said softly, his body moving in a blur. In a moment, he was standing above you.

You crossed your arms behind your head and grinned up at him. "It's been a month... Having fun with your Moon Guy?"

"My Moon Knight." He corrects, moving to sit next to you, laying his staff down on the remnants of the stone floor, little bits of grass and foliage peeking through the crags.

"Yeah, yeah." You snort, turning to roll on your side to grin at him again, resting your head in the palm of your hand.

"So... Read on the internet about some crazy shit going down in Egypt. And... It felt like you were gone. What happened with that?"

"Ammit and her cult. My Moon Knight and Taweret's Avatar stopped her. My Fist killed her Avatar." He said slowly. "And for meddling with the heavens... The Ennead imprisoned me, briefly."

You sat up fully, shocked by this news. "What? H-how... Why did--"

His fingers brush your lips to silence you, the touch feather light but enough to cease your speaking.

"It is settled, now. Don't worry." He says to you gently, his hand moving to cup your cheek, his warm palm heating your skin while his thumb brushes your cheek.

You close your eyes and sigh, frowning at him. "Damn you, old man... Don't worry me like that again, or I'll kill you."

"Of course. I wouldn't dare incur your wrath." He chuckled.

"Damn straight you won't." You sigh; his hand moved down your throat to encircle you, flattening on your upper back to pull you against him so you were astride in his lap.

You slowly slide your hands up his bandaged chest, feeling his heat bleed through your skin and warm you to your core. Your fingers toy with the large crescent moon fixed to his chest, brushing his flowing robes off to the sides.

"You are a force of nature," He hums, his other hand sliding down to completely encapsulate your ass and pull you tighter against him.

"One I have come to appreciate far more after my imprisonment."

You chuckle and watch as the strips of linen as soft as a moth's wing fall away into wisps of mist, leaving his almost searing hot skin bare to your touch.

His skin was a lifeless monochrome, ashen color, but it wasn't lacking in life at all, far from it. You could feel his godly heart thump in his chest, feel his muscles twitch as you touched him.

And already, you could feel the hard length of him pressing against you, swelling and twitching as it came to life as well.

It felt like his arousal flooded into you, spreading through your core and riling you up. You could already feel yourself soaking through your underwear, a dark stain soaking through your pants.

Sometimes you wished he could come to you at home; or in a motel room at least, so you can wear something nice for him, some lingerie or...

His fingers brushed your lips once again and he tapped them twice, signaling for you to open.

You obey silently, letting the soft pads of his index and middle finger part your jaws, caressing the muscle of your tongue, your eyes locking with his own eyeless gaze.

A rumble comes from him, and he groans as you roll your hips against his erection, the want and heat almost burning you inside and out.

One of your hands shoves down to undo your belt and unbutton your pants, and Khonshu withdraws his fingers from your mouth and almost dizzingly fast, his hand was shoved into your underwear, toying with your swollen clit.

You moan softly, your own small hands gripping at the gold collar on him for stability as one of his large fingers dips into your tight hole.

He grinds his palm into your clit as his finger curled and pressed against that overly sensitive spot on the walls of your cunt.

"Tight..." Khonshu growled, his other hand rolling your hips in time with his other hand. "You need to relax for me, love."

"T-Trying..." You pant, feeling the cool texture of his smooth dry beak caress against the blazing heat of your cheek.

"Hmmmh." He sighed and retracted his hands from you. "Get undressed. I need you to lie back."

You scramble off of his lap, watching his throbbing length bob eagerly as you peel your clothes off of you, lying back on your sleeping bag, spreading your legs for him to see every inch of you that was ready and waiting for him.

He had been gone for a month, and you knew on some nights, even when he wasn't there with you physically, you knew he would watch as you'd touch yourself to thoughts of him. No mortal man could ever compare to the love and carnal touch of a god, and he always felt a pang of guilt when he had to leave you for whatever duties he had.

But your reunions always ended this way, heat, lust and sheer want for companionship. You had started praying to him when you felt other religions didn't do it for you, finding that you being the wanderer that you were, would find more solace in prayer to a god who protected those like you.

And you certainly didn't expect to catch his eye, let alone capture his heart the way that you had.

His hand rests on your knee, thumb caressing the bones beneath the skin as he leans over you. He couldn't kiss you, but you always made sure that was never a problem, even now, as you tipped your head to place a soft kiss to the smooth side of his beak.

"Fuck--" You groaned, dropping your head back onto your travel pillow when his other hand rediscovered its place against your weeping sex, his thumb rolling small circles over your engorged clit while his other two fingers glide over your entrance; the muscles fluttering in anticipation of what was to come.

You squirm with impatience as each swipe of his fingers only serves to ignite a hotter flame burning low in your loins.

"Khonshu." You breathed.

When you said his name like that, it was always sweeter than any offering or prayer he has received. More uplifting than knowing his works uproots evil to protect the innocent, more delicious than watching Ammit and Harrow die at the end of Jake's gun.

"Just a bit more." He tightly reprimands, his other hand squeezing your knee to remind you to relax.

"You're such a damn tease." You whine, wiping one of your hands down your face, biting your lip and gripping your hair as his fingers inch slowly into your tight, hot hole.

Another deep, rumbling groan comes from him as he feels your body grip him like he was your reason for breathing; dragging, squeezing, pleading for him to just take you already....

But he wouldn't--couldn't--until your body had adjusted enough for this to be pleasurable for you as much as him. He was larger than a human man, and he knew your body was fragile compared to his.

Of course, he always felt smug and prideful when he acknowledged the fact he probably ruined you for any mortal man you may decide to bed one day. Because, honestly, now.

What mortal man can compare to a god in both love and in the bedroom?

You arched your hips up off the ground with a moan, whimpering out his name when his fingers curled upwards. But by bit he could feel your muscles ease up around him, your sweet body becoming slick and welcoming.

Sometimes he would get so mesmerized in how your body reacted just to his fingers that he neglected his cock entirely in focus on you.

He could feel your gummy walls press down on his fingers, fluttering around him as he pumped and curled them inside of you, fingering you open so you could take him fully.

He said your name so softly that it crackled like dry leaves on the wind, and you had to lazily drag your eyes open to look at him, the moon and stars shining above and behind him.

He was beautiful, in his own macabre sort of way...

Oh, if the Ennead knew he was fucking you, you both would probably be in heaps of trouble. But you always figured "bring it on" because you had some choice words for those bastards if you ever had the chance to meet them.

But those were thoughts for later, right now you were focused on your impending orgasm as his fingers scissored inside of you, pushing you closer and closer to that peak so when he pushed inside of you with his cock you wouldn't hurt (or bleed, as that has happened before when the two of you got overzealous).

And of course, right as you were about to cum, your whole body electrified to the point you actually thought you saw sparks in your peripheral vision... Khonshu pulled his fingers free of your wanting body.

You practically sobbed in frustration as your climax was taken from you so abruptly. It was a favorite thing of his to do to you; edging you like he does. But you knew it was for more selfish reasons than anything else.

He leaned over you, bracing his body on his forearms as he gently brushed your head with his beak--his closest approximation of a kiss--and you felt something warm and wet drip onto your belly.

Sparing a glance down, you pant softly as you watch the faintly glowing fluid drip from the tip of his cock; the very tip of it flushed the tiniest shade of pink on his otherwise colorless body. Maybe once upon a time his skin was a different color, but in his exile, it has become so dull.

"Are you ready." He grits out. More a statement than a question, really, as he knew your answer beforehand. But it was important to him that you never had any reservations.

He would not take without first receiving consent from you, without giving.

He was not Set, after all.

"Please." You breathe, reaching out to touch his cock, fingers brushing along the silky soft skin, smearing the precum over the tip with your thumb; earning a delicious groan from him.

He grunts softly, nodding as he lets you guide his weeping cock through your slick folds and to your hole.

It was always breath-stealing, the moment he pushed into you, his thick girth spearing you open and filling you so full you swore he was buried in your guts.

You kept your hand low, feeling him as he slowly slid further inside of you, a hiss coming from him. You were relaxed now, yes... but still so tight because of your comparative sizes that it knocked him off kilter; your heat enveloping him so welcomingly as though he was coming home again.

"K-Khonshu!" You hiccuped, your eyes rolling back into your head as you felt him fill you.

Khonshu's leg moves, pushing your thigh and nudging your legs open for him further; the both of you making low breathy sounds as your body squeezed him instinctively at the action.

"I'm... going to move, now." He snarls, reaching down to caress your thigh as he pulls back, your body desperately clinging to him, begging him to stay inside.

Your nails claw at his arms as you grit your teeth, sweat beading your brow as you feel him slide out inch by torturous inch before rolling his hips back into yours, filling you up almost as quickly as he pulled away.

"Oh--oh--" You whine, barely able to speak or form coherent thoughts as Khonshu starts arching his back and rolling his hips at the right angle to make your brain turn to mush.

The first time he had you, you thought you actually died. He had you ride his fingers until you couldn't move, and then he had you pinned, still thrusting his hand inside of you, coaxing and caressing your muscles to allow him entrance.

You did bleed, of course, because of his size. You'd had human bed partners, yes, but none compared to him in any way. You'd probably never be able to look at a human cock again and get as excited as you did when Khonshu teased you.

Oh, how strange it was... Gods often looked down at mortals because of their fallacies, not unlike their own in some ways... But lifetimes ago, the Old Gods of Egypt kept close relationships with their mortal followers. Of course... None had gone so far as to lay with them like Khonshu had done with you.

You'd tried to tease him, the first time you got intimate, that you were his first.

That's when he proved to you that just because you were his first human, didn't mean you were his first bedroom partner.

The way he made love to you was ethereal, almost entirely unreal. It was so good that sometimes you thought you'd dreamt it.

"Khonshu, I'm..." You moan, lifting your hips off of the ground to meet his thrusts as they picked up speed.

Khonshu watched you, his eyeless gaze boring holes into you as he studied your face, as beautiful as the most detailed works of art in human history as you came undone around him, soaking his skin as your body pushes every wave of your climax out.

His pace faltered, and he collapsed back onto his forearms as your legs locked around him, digging into the taut muscles of his glutes as your orgasm nearly knocked him senseless for a moment.

He gripped your sleeping bag tight in one hand as his pace quickened, desperate to taste his own release that threatened to swell up inside of him.

"Almost." He says, his voice wavering.

"Do it." You moan loudly, dragging your nails down his back desperately.

"Hrr--you--" He moaned back, his other hand moving back to grip your thigh so tightly you'd be feeling the bruises for days onward, even in his absence.

"Please."

"You... are... always... so... greedy." He snaps out with each thrust of his hips, the sinful sound of skin slapping skin and your cries filling the ruins.

"Is--Is it really being greedy if you--you want to--want--" Your voice breaks apart as he angles his hips up, his cock throbbing and twitching inside of you as he pumps you full, the sensation of being so utterly stuffed enough to push you into your second orgasm, forcing out globs of his glowing seed around his cock as he fucks you through both your orgasms, riding our your highs together in a blissful, mind-numbing spiral.

You were vaguely aware when he pulled his cock free of your body, barely grasping at the threads of consciousness as he looked down at you, his thumb pressing into your lower belly as he watched his divine seed drip from you.

He half wondered, if maybe you would get pregnant. Wondered what kind of child you would bear. A demi-god, surely, but what kind? In his pantheon, the children of their parents rarely shared the same aspects. Save for some overlapping connectivities, that is...

He could almost see your belly swell, nice and round... And felt something tug deep within his chest, a drive to see if this little thought bubble could burst--to see if his imagination would be a reality and bear fruit.

But, of course... His mind was dragged to the forefront of reality when your shaky little hand caressed the skull that was his head, your eyes drowsy and satiated as you smiled up at him, your god, your protector.

Your lover.

As he laid next to you, he curled your body with his and watched as the last embers of your fire burned away, leaving you only haloed in the soft, silver rays of his moon.

He couldn't believe he ever found you

[tarot-archives]

soldiers are outside the inn. it irks you to have your home surrounded by security. but then there’s laios, who’s putting his things in crates as he’s going to leave you for his golden castle. that’s right, a freaking castle. just a few days ago he was made king after conquering the dungeon. rumors were flying all around your inn. how he was a prince from a distant nation. how laios had supreme charisma and strength.

they don’t know him like how you do. laios is a ditz who gets distracted at his personal items, his memorabilia.

and you’re not usually one to call him things, but the soldiers were getting on your nerves. too much so that you’re calling him a nuisance. laios sits around in his chair, reading a book from his collection. he doesn’t have objective permanence whatsoever. or was this the hurt talking? as unrecognized loved tasted bitter in your tongue so you spout out words never mean. whatever it was, he needs to go. he should leave you, get married to some damn nobility, then let you rot by yourself!

you stomped all the way to his cabinet. you should pack his things so he could leave as soon as possible. the bag one of the shelf was too far to reach, your maximum tip toe height was barely getting there. but just as you were pulling on its string, laios shouts.

“look out!” he uses his body as a shield from the fallen object perched on the highest ledge. you were too startled to speak from the shock. yeah, shock from getting blunt force trauma, but also from how close laios is to you.

laios is quick. you didn’t even see him move, and now you have laios towering over you in a protective stance with one arm pulling you towards him. you didn’t even register that the soft surface your face was pulled in so intimately against was laios. the king leans away, gentle and cautious, as if you’re like a fragile dungeon artifact.

“are you alright?” his hands cup your cheek to check for any bumps or lacerations. “tell me where it hurts. i know basic healing magic.”

—thump-thump—

“will you take responsibility?” pushing all thoughts of embarrassment aside, you lean into the hand holding your cheek, “can you heal a broken heart laios?”

heat rised from his cheeks. he was about to reply, but the moment was cut short by his soldier knocking down on the door, wanting to know the well being of their king.

those damn soldiers…

[fortunapre]

𝐀/𝐍𖧞 oh my gosh??!? an update that’s semi on time?!? anyways enjoy tbis because it sure gets interesting… and someone pls give me another word for “skimpy” that’s not derogatory 🤓

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𖧞 16+ (series rating and swearing), sister mention, alcohol, wlw mention, use on y/n

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𖧞 oscar piastri x fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓𖧞 (scene vi) 3.2k

Go back?? (scene v) Click Here!

𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐟𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐬 𖧞 scene vi 𖧞 (𝐒𝐞𝐭 𝐈𝐭 𝐔𝐩)

try telling me someone didn’t read winter affairs and immediately type this up 👇🔽

Monday, December 17th

You know what they say: “Don’t talk to strangers. Don’t accept rides from strangers. Never tell a man that you’re interested in Formula One.”

Because if you do, you could end up in a most unwanted dilemma like death or, you know, being asked “Oh yeah? Name the 2009 WDC?”

Both are equally horrible.

However, less than four hours ago, my sister and I did exactly what we were told not to do.

Not tell a man about F1, God that’d be horrible, of course not!

No, we met some strangers downtown while shopping this afternoon, and let them drive us to a party.

Four Hours Earlier…

My sister and I decided to go back downtown in search of fresh baked wintertime desserts to take back to the family for lunch. We walked into a cozy bakery where pottery and art lined the walls.

“This place looks promising.” I wished, walking towards the front of the store in search of the baked goods. In clear cases were delicious looking cakes, tarts, and pastries- Jackpot.

I pointed at the largest desert there, a tall cherry tart.

My sister nodded her head and also pointed to another sweet that had caught her eye. We silently agreed on the items and looked away from the case, trying to find someone to help us. The store had only a few customers, and one lady standing in line at a cash register, but no cashier.

“How long have you been standing here? Is there someone working?” I asked the lady, whose hands were filled with a dark blue vase that looked hand crafted, probably from one of the shelves in here.

“Not long, actually.” She replied, looking towards a door to our left. “The young man who was helping me earlier will be right back, he’s just grabbing something for me, sorry.” She looked around my mothers age but with lighter features. While talking to us she attempted to point towards the door, but her grip on the vase only let one finger slightly move. She tried to free her hand to show us exactly, but the vase began slipping. I moved my hands quickly, positioning them under, so that if it were to fall I could catch it.

“Woah careful, Mrs. Petersen.” A voice said from our left. Out from the door emerged a young man, around our age, with an apron and beaming smile. “Don’t let that slip, you're making the poor girl stressed.”

He was acknowledging that I still had my hands in the same position, worried the fragile pottery might slip again. I noticed the woman, I now knew as Mrs. Petersen, had a better grip, so I retracted my hands quickly and shoved them into my pockets.

The young man, who I assumed worked here, had a small box in his hand and walked towards the cash register.

He spoke to Mrs. Petersen with a kind smile before helping wrap her vase and sending her out the door. After he finished helping her, he turned to us with an expectant look.

“You two lookin’ at something specific?” He asked motioning towards the case of goodies my sister and I were marveling at, moments before.

“Yes actually. Could we get the whole cherry tart and a pack of those apple crumb bars, please?” I answered, pointing as I talked.

He just nodded and carefully picked both desserts for us, boxing them, bagging them, and ringing us up.

As I was paying, I noticed him looking at us with interest. I tried not to make eye contact with him, suddenly not wanting his attention.

My sister, however, met his gaze more than once, no doubt checking him out.

“Hey, so wait…” He spoke as we started walking away.

We both turned, waiting for him to speak.

“You two… wouldn’t be interested in a party tonight, would you?” He finally said.

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. Of course not, why would we want to go to a random part-

“Oooh, sounds fun! We’ll totally be there!” My sister answered for the both of us. I tried to pinch her elbow to get her to look at me, but she kept her eyes on the guy.

“Oh, no way, alright. Well let me pull up the information..” he trailed off while digging in his pocket for his phone. “Hold on, I left my phone in the back but I’ll get it for you. Just a sec.” He disappeared behind the door, like earlier. As soon as he was out of sight, I turned towards my sister.

“What?! There’s no way I am going to a strangers party.” I whispered through my teeth, looking around at the other customers, hoping not to cause a scene.

“Y/n, yes you are. We need to do something fun outside of the cabin. We can only add so many new rules to Uno before it gets boring.”

“What? I thought you liked Go-Fish-Charades-No-Takesy-Backsey-Uno?”

“I did! But now it’s lame and a party is just what we neeedddd.” She pouted her lips and looked like she desperately wanted this. I immediately caved and shrugged my shoulders looking away. “Look, how about this?” My sister began, trying to make me feel better. “We’ll bring our brother and Oscar.”

She let a smirk show at her idea.

“I already agreed. Oscar doesn’t have to come.” I fought.

“Ok, even if you agreed, I think Oscar should still come. He’s fun at parties.” She tried. “Come onnnnnnn. Just let loose for one night”

I looked at her, saw the look in her eyes, and walked away before I kept agreeing to whatever she said. Sometimes it’s hard to disagree when she looks so deeply, like she really cares about you. So before I agreed to wearing frisky outfits and dancing on a table, I got away.

From behind me, I heard the young man approach my sister and give her the details for tonight.

Maybe a night out could be good, we’ll see.

Now…

My eyes are drooping, closing for seconds of relief, and then opening again. Everytime I blink, the comfortable silence fills my brain and I could almost drift to sleep standing right here. I can feel my mouth getting dry and my eyes burning with the need to shut. However tempting sleep may be, I need to stay awake.

I’m basically swaying in my spot, desperate to topple over and cuddle on the floor. The hold I have on the drink in my hand Is all that my brain is working on. My mind is fuzzy with however many cups of this ‘magic jingle juice,’ as the party host called it. Anyone in this room could look at me and think “Man, she’s wasted.” But, really, I’m staying quiet and having trouble standing upright because of how exhausted I am. Sure, I drank someeeee but I can easily say the worst I am, is a little tipsy. I shut my eyes tight, to stop the burning. Once I tried opening my eyes again, a squint was all I could hold.

What time is it? Is she ready to go home yet? I started thinking about how we even got her in the first place: some strangers' Christmas party.

People around me were laughing and swaying. Some were in costumes, but most of the people looked like they only came for the alcohol, dressed in casual clothing. At one point, I think I saw some women in matching skimpy reindeer costumes. Hope they’re having fun. I hope my siblings are having fun too.

If they’re not, and this was just a waste of time, I might strangle them.

After a nap. I don’t think I could lift my arms if I tried.

Home, Nap, Strangle. Ok, good plan.

Suddenly, sleepiness drained from my face as I caught sight of something interesting happening near a couch in the center of the room.

As I walked over, my interest piqued. I recognized my brother and sister, sitting on the floor, and a face I haven’t seen since the beginning of the party- Oscar.

He was sitting two people away from my sister in what looked like a circle. Everyone was talking and sipping on their drinks. However, what caught my eye in the first place was a girl standing in the middle of the people-circle. She was wearing a bright red dress that fit her nicely, and a santa hat on top of her curled hair. In her hands was another Santa hat. She held it upside down and open, walking around the circle. I was confused, because instead of collecting pieces of paper, or trash, people were dropping personal items in the hat. I watched as my sister put in her bracelet.

I made eye contact with her as the Santa girl walked away. Her eyes widened and she smiled a goofy grin. She looked sober at least.

I tilted my head, making a show that I was confused at what was going on. She just smiled and watched the Santa girl turn towards my brother.

He took a look around the circle of people and then back to the girl. He then took off a ring and dropped it into the hat.

I was even more confused, why are they giving her their jewelry?

I walked over after throwing away my drink. I crouched down next to my sister on the ground and got close to talk to her.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

She let out a quiet giggle while whispering close to my ear. “Oh! Good timing, we haven’t started yet, you can still join.”

Before I could ask for more information, my sister grabbed my wrist and slipped off a beaded bracelet I was wearing. She motioned the Santa girl over and put my bracelet in the hat. The santa girl gave a look to my sister then to me, nodding like she approved.

“Hey! I liked that bracelet, why would you just-” I got a little annoyed. Instead of taking me seriously, my sister tugged on my arm again, making me plop onto the floor in between her and my brother.

“Relax, you’ll get it back at the end, or if you get chosen.” She tried to assure me, but my mind was just whirling with questions.

“If im CHOSen? What is this, a cult initiation?”

“Oh my god, Y/n, no it's just a party game. Apparently it’s a local game they play here every year.” She didn’t elaborate until I quirked a brow and shook my head.

“Which is…..?” I asked.

“Oh, I have no idea. I just wanted to do something and this seemed like fun. Plus I got Oscar and our brother to join so it should be fine.”

I was bewildered at this information. I looked away from my sister to the other side of me. My brother looked relaxed and met my gaze. He just shrugged his shoulders and took a sip of his drink, seemingly unbothered. I scoffed and looked around the room. looking for a clue to what I was getting myself into.

My gaze latched on to the Santa girl, holding her hat in front of Oscar. He looked at her, confused. Then I’m guessing she started to explain to him what was going on. From where I was, I couldn't hear anything but saw her lips moving quickly and her point around the circle of people. Once she finished talking, Oscar’s face turned to one of shock, his brows shooting up. He stayed frozen before he nodded and looked down to his cup.

In less than a second he downed the rest of its contents.

When the Santa girl shook the hat in front of him, it made a sound of metals clinging together, no doubt filled with random belongings. I'm guessing she was asking for him to give up an offering or sacrifice a personal item, for whatever reason it was necessary to this ‘game.’ Oscar nodded to the girl and started taking off his watch. He undid the metal band quickly and dropped it into the hat.

As soon as the girl walked away, Oscar’s eyes darted to me. I was already watching the encounter so we made eye contact. Instead of looking away, he kept looking. I don’t know what he was looking for but his gaze made me start to feel achingly sober.

I was one of the many people dressed in casual clothes, not bothering to go all out for a stranger’s party. As I looked away from Oscar's piercing gaze; my eyes traveled away and down his attire. He was wearing a white tee-shirt (one that actually fits him). A tee shirt shouldn’t be anything special, but something’s wrong with my mind tonight. Maybe it’s the alcohol.

I traced down his body to the nice-fitting dark jeans he was wearing. Then back up to the shirt. He was looking away from me now, talking to my brother. As he used his hands while he talked, I watched his form- more specifically his arms. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. When did he get so…

Yep. Definitely the alcohol.

Santa-girl stepped back into the circle, breaking my thoughts and bringing everyone’s attention to her.

“Alright!” She had an annoyingly cheery voice. “Let’s get started. To those who don’t know, we’re playing 7 minutes in heaven.”

Oh my god.

My sister didn’t know what 7 MINUTES IN HEAVEN was?

I looked around trying to find away out of the game, but people had already gathered around and It’d be embarrassing to leave.

“What kind of party is this?” I asked my sister. “A middle schooler’s dream experience surely.”

“I agree… But it’s either this or a monopoly with the skimpy reindeer over there.” She used a thumb to point to behind her where some skimpy reindeer were in fact, playing monopoly.

I rubbed a hand down my face and huffed.

Who doesn’t know what 7 minutes in heaven is!?

Santa-girl was, I'm guessing, the host of this childish game, walking around the circle. She stopped in front of my sister, to my surprise and held the hat in front of her.

“Oh and I hear you three are siblings, so either throw their item back in the hat or give it to somebody else.” She added on with a smile and held open the hat to my sister.

Slowly, with anxious eyes, she stuck her hand in her hand and dug around. She carefully took out her hand, a sparkly pink lipgloss in her grip. She turned towards me quickly, and smirked, obviously interested. She held up the item proudly and waited for someone to claim it.

In seconds, my sister sat up and walked with someone to a room with a candy cane taped to the door. Everybody clapped as they left.

“There’s the first couple!” The santa girl clapped her hands together, then went on her phone, supposedly waiting for their time to be up. I talked to my brother for 7 minutes, trying to guess how my sister will be once she walks out.

To neither of our surprise, she walked out a mess, matching the lucky lady next to her. She didn’t bother fixing her makeup or hair, wearing a big grin. I laughed at her appearance as she quickly sat back down next to me.

A couple more rounds passed, and I was yet to have been picked. My brother went in with a girl earlier and came back with what I swear was the dictionary definition of “awestruck.”

Oscar’s also been chosen. The girl that grabbed his watch looked way too eager to get him alone. The whole time they were gone my mind was reeling. When they came out the girl had the same expression but neither of them looked messed up like my sister had.

I felt something deep inside me that sort of felt like relief.

Santa-girl walked around the circle. Other than me there were a few others, so I was praying she chose one of them, and not me. She was about to walk to a guy next to me, but all of a sudden, my sister grabbed her arm and lightly steered her back, In my direction.

“Here you are…” My sister whispered to me.

I cleared my throat and tried to laugh to ease the stress building in my throat.

Now that she stood in front of me with an eager look that matched the rest of the room’s stares, I panicked. I sat still until my sister spoke up.

“Y/n, you don’t have to, i just thought you wa-” My sister tried.

“I DO!” I shot back, a little too quickly. “I mean,” I cleared my throat and spoke quieter. “I’ll do it, I'm fine.”

But even after announcing i’d do it, my hands didnt move towards the hat.

My sister looked at me, like she was making a decision, and then asked me quietly, so only I could hear her.

“How ‘bout this? I’ll pick for you.”

“Yeah, umm. Sure yeah you pick for me.” The santa girl heard my reply and nodded in approval, she turned the hat towards my left and my sister immediately dove in.

She dug in the hat for a bit. It must have been 30 seconds before she stopped digging. Her hand was still in the hat, and she turned to me with the biggest smile I’d seen tonight.

To my horror, she pulled out a familiar looking item, shining in the firelight.

“Ah.” She held it up to the circle with confidence and then turned to drop in in my hand. I looked down at the silver watchface, taunting me.

She’d picked Oscar’s watch for me, and I know she’d been purposely looking for it too.

I looked at her again, then when she didn't say anything but smile, I closed my eyes tight again. I took a deep breath out of annoyance and stood up. Everyone’s eyes watched my stand and held out the watch.

I didn’t need to wait for anyone to claim it. Instead I looked straight at Oscar. He was already looking at me, his eyes were dark and trained on my own.

From the side of me, I heard someone ask my brother “no way, do they have, like, tension or something?” the person wasn’t’t being as quiet as they thought they were.

My brother replied “apparently…”

My sister joined in the conversation. “Tension? These two have had tension since elementary school.”

“Ooh childhood romance.” the stranger acknowledged.

“More like childhood rivals.” My brother whispered. I didn’t turn to them to show I heard their entire conversation, and instead kept looking at Oscar.

He moved his legs to stand and wiped down his pants, smoothing the ripples from sitting.

Instead of looking back at me, he beelined for the candy cane room, not bothering to turn and see if I was following…

NEXT PART HERE!!!!!!!!!! ASHDJFJSNJDKDNDJDNDNDJDNDJF WOOOOOOOOOOOOO CLICK HEREEE!

[hunn1e-bunn1e]

Bonten - With Debbie Jelinsky Male Reader

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Okay! So, I decided that the business partner, named Matsumoto Jun because I can't keep calling him 'Business Partner', is embezzling money from Bonten. Bonten is planning to kill him but the reader beats them to it. I hope this is what you wanted 🫓Flatbread Anon. —Benny🐰

Part 1 Part 2

                                                                                                   

🎴•♡•🎴•♡•🎴•♡•🎴•♡•🎴•♡•🎴•♡•🎴•♡•🎴

Sakūmou [Name], now known as Matsumoto [Name] has always been sensitive and delicate in outward appearance. His wide doe eyes and pretty smiles have always drawn in those who look for love in someone that seemingly needs their protection.

It really is such a shame though, that they had no clue what kind of monster they had just let into their life. They had no idea just how mush blood the unassuming and fragile looking man had on his hands.

And this too was the case for Matsumoto Jun, [Name]'s latest husband.

Matsumoto Jun, 46 years old, owns Matsumoto Industrial, a construction company that became very successful after gaining a partnership with Bonten.

Jun met his darling husband at a high end bar a year ago where he became absolutely smitten upon first laying his eyes upon the fragile looking [Name]. He was quick to strike up a conversation involving his business successes and his vast accumulation of wealth in an attempt to impress h/c-ette, and oh, was that the biggest mistake he ever made.

▪︎■🐰■▪︎■🐰■▪︎■🐰■▪︎

"Holy shit."

Says a shocked Sanzu as he looks through the window of the building opposite to them with the binoculars in hand.

"What is it?"

Kakucho groans in annoyance as he glances at the pinkette he was partnered with.

The two were sent to stake out the condo of Matsumoto Jun; one of Bonten's business partners who was suspected of embezzling money from Bonten; to make absolutely sure that they were in fact embezzling. It'd be a waste to kill off a good source of income over a false observation, after all.

So the two of them settled in on the roof of the building directly across from their target's condo and waited.

"Some guy just knocked 'im the fuck out. Well, looks like our jobs gonna be done for us. Let's go, I'm expecting some of the good shit later."

The pinkette smirked as he began to pack up some of the equipment brought with them.

"What? No! What if he ends up being fine after this? How would Mikey react to a failed job from you of all people? We should stay here and wait it out."

The partially blind man argues as he snatches the bag Sanzu was repacking and puts it off to the side.

The pinkette growls, muttering a small 'fine', before he looks through the binoculars again. He watches the unidentified man passed the window several times; grabbing several items and bringing them to another room out of view. The man then drags the unconscious target slowly across the room, clearly having trouble, before stopping midway and turning his head to the window. Sanzu flinches as it seems the man looks right into his eyes before he approaches the window and quickly closes the curtains.

"Shit. Did you get a picture of 'im?"

Sanzu asks as he quickly resumes packing up their equipment.

"Already sent it to Kokonoi."

"Matsumoto [Name]. Other names being Sakūmou [Name], Yamamoto [Name], Sato [Name], and [Surname] [Name].

He's currently married to your target, Matsumoto Jun, but has been married three times before now. Sakūmou Kenjirou, Yamamoto Taiga and Sato Shuichi were both found mysteriously dead in their homes with all of their finances depleted.

This guy seems to be a serial killer so you both need to be fucking quick; we can't loose out on any of our income, you hear me! I'm sending the Haitani's too, they should be there any minute now."

Kokonoi says quickly through the phone, belting out information as fast as possible as their time is running out.

On cue the Haitanis pulled in front the condo, meeting Sanzu and Kakucho on the side walk as the two fill them in on the vital information while they make their way inside.

"You remember our first date, Jun? Oh, it was so magical! You took me out to dinner on top of the Tokyo Tower and to top the night off, you got me this gorgeous mink coat!"

[Name] coos at his bound and gagged husband as he gracefully walks around him in a circle, tracing his hand across his chest, shoulders and back as he holds a pistol with the other hand.

The h/c-ette runs his fingers over the soft, expensive furred coat that he wore, smiling fondly at the memory. He stops behind the balding man and rests his hand on his shoulder, giving a harsh squeeze as he digs his manicured nails in.

"But it's not enough. You took me into your home, you provided for me, but did you love me? Really love me? ...So I— I killed. So I maimed. So I destroyed one innocent life after another. But aren't I a human being? Don't I yearn and... ache and... shop? Don't I deserve your love ...your money?"

[Name] whines out to him, face drawn into a pout as he swings the gun in his hand around with each enunciation of his words. His e/c eyes becoming glassy with unshed tears and his cheeks and nose flushing a soft pink hue.

"Mmnph hhmp hn ghmp hngh hmp"

The bound Jun attempts to speak through his gag to now avail, but [Name] can see how he generally feels from his confused and fearful expression.

The h/c-ette reaches forward and yanks the gag from his husband's mouth, allowing him to speak.

"I— I don't know what you mean by killing... But Baby, I‐I do love you, I promise! I still have so much to spend on you too. Just untie me a‐and it's all water under the bridge."

Jun pleads, his voice shaky as he tries to reason with his homicidal lover.

[Name] stares at him blankly; clearly unimpressed that he hadn't bothered to check on his finances and see that he was dirt poor now that [Name] had cleaned out all of his bank accounts in record time. Might as well let him know.

"You don't actually, I've made sure of that. You don't even have a penny to your name as of now, my darling Jun."

"B‐But that's— No no it's fine! I'm expecting quite a large s‐sum of money from my sponsor, in fact it should have already been deposited by now."

The bound man belts out in desperation, unknowingly sealing his fate from just that revelation alone.

The h/c-ette sprouts a wide eyed smile as he walks around to the front of the chair. He sits the gun aside on a nearby coffee table and grips both of older man's shoulders as he takes a seat on his lap.

"Oh? How much?"

[Name] asks enthusiastically as he flutters his long gorgeous lashes at Jun, running a finger up and down his chest sensually.

The balding man chuckles nervously as he gives his husband a shaky smile, thanking whatever deity that'll listen for allowing him to be a scumbag and start embezzling money.

"3.8 million. A-All for you, Baby."

"Really?... Well, it's just too bad that I don't believe you, isn't it."

The h/c-ette coos, whispering the last part into Jun's ear, as he runs his finger through what's left of the man's graying hair. He stands quietly before taking up his already cocked gun once again and settling it under his husband's chin, his finger on the trigger.

"3.8 million. A‐All for you, Baby."

"Really?..."

"Well shit, there's the proof."

Rindou whispered as he watches the seemingly resolved hostage situation from his crouched position next to the other three executives.

"You think he'll kill him or wil we have to step in and do it? He look pretty satisfied, right now."

Kakucho asks quietly, glancing at his coworkers for their input.

"I don't care either way, really. Hey, you think we can keep him? He's pretty hot, I'd love to get a taste of that."

Ran chuckled, a smirk spreading across his lips as his lustfully eyes trace up and down [Name]'s figure, undressing him with his eyes.

Sanzu groans as he stands abruptly, drawing the attention of the other three. Kakucho attempts to pull him back down but the pinkette aggressively shakes his arm off.

"Let's get this shit over with already. I' just remembered I've got some leftover Blow in my office."

He grumbles in annoyance, he's been sober for way too long and it's really catching up with him now.

BANG!

The sound of a gunshot resonates throughout the condo, the sudden noise startling the four Bonten executives and making them flinch in surprise.

[Name] sighs as he looks at the blood spattered on his once beautiful mink coat before slipping it off his shoulders and tossing it onto the sofa next to his deceased husband.

He looks at Jun's body, his eyes trailing down to his ring adorned hands. Grabbing the rings between his index, middle finger and thumb, the h/c-ette tugs them off of the older man's thick fingers. [Name] smiles, admiring the three rings in his hand for a moment before slipping them into his pocket.

"You know, Jun honey, I would've liked you more if you just gave me the business.—"

The e/c eyed man cood as he stroked his dead husband's bloody cheek.

"—It would've helped if you could've gotten it up as well, but guess it's my fault for marrying a tubby old man, huh."

[Name] stares lovingly at the corpse for a while, stroking his cheek with the backs of his fingers and playing with his blood matted hair.

"Now... What do I do with your body? Hm?"

The h/c-ette asks rhetorically, only to be startled by a voice behind him.

"We'll take the body, pretty.—"

Ran chuckles as he wraps an arm around the e/c eyed man's waist and pulls him in close so the shorters back is flush against his chest.

"—Don't worry, we're not the police, we're Bonten."

And for once, [Surname] [Name] felt like he was prey instead of predator.

🎴•♡•🎴•♡•🎴•♡•🎴•♡•🎴•♡•🎴•♡•🎴•♡•🎴

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Masterlist!

[sweetvoidstuff]

Whispers in the Wasteland Part 1 II Cha Hyun Su x Reader

Cha Hyun Su x Reader

Summary: In a post-apocalyptic world, you and Hyun Su reconnect during a scavenger run, with unspoken tensions from the past lingering. A fragile connection blossoms through shared vulnerability, leading to a quiet understanding and healing in the desolate landscape.

Part 2: In the soft dawn light, Hyun Su awakens in your post-apocalyptic hideout, discovering your caring gestures and the comforting routine you've maintained. As the outside world's harsh reality fades away, the haven of your kitchen becomes a sanctuary, a refuge from the echoes of destruction, forging a deep connection between you and Hyun Su in the midst of desolation.

Masterlist

The eerie silence of the post-apocalyptic world was shattered by the clinking of scavenged supplies as you and Hyun Su reconnected during a scavenger run. Emotions swirled in the air, thick with the weight of the past year apart. Hyun Su, unable to hide his relief, began visiting your hideout regularly after you invited him but never stayed long, his presence a familiar balm in the harsh reality of survival, always offering help with necessary items, if not for you, at least with you.

As he assisted with supply runs, the unspoken tension of your previous parting hung in the air. Hyun Su, haunted by the ghosts of his past behaviors, sought to make amends. "Why don’t you stay? It’s getting late. You can always have the couch if you want," you suggested one evening, sensing the invisible struggle within him. "I don't want to overstay my welcome," he admitted, his eyes betraying a mix of fear and longing.

Smiling sadly, you respected his self-imposed boundaries and softly replied, "Hyun Su, you're not overstaying anything. I'm glad you're here." Despite your reassurances, and with a heavy heart, he left, maintaining a cautious distance, hesitating to cross an invisible boundary.

During one visit, he brought you petrol for an old generator you'd been trying to fix for a while. As you moved, wincing and subtly favoring your right side, curiosity and concern etched across his face. Hyun Su gently probed, "Are you okay? You're moving funny."

Sighing, you revealed the truth about your healing injury – a deep cut around your left rib. Recounting the close encounter with a slow but hostile monster, you explained how you'd narrowly dodged its attack. The pang of guilt and fear in Hyun Su's eyes mirrored the emotions you had felt that night.

"I should have been there to protect you," he confessed, his voice filled with regret.

Shaking your head, you said, "Hyun Su, you can't be my protector all the time. It was my fault for not paying attention, and I'm healing fine. It’s just a little red." Despite your reassurances, he needed to make amends, even if he didn't voice it.

The night unfolded with a delicate dance of shared vulnerability. Hyun Su was up, fetching everything you needed and making sure you didn’t move too much. It was sweet seeing him caring so much. After inquiring about the implied redness of your wound, he retrieved the hastily packed first aid kit you had scavenged together.

As he began examining and cleaning the wound, his touch was surprisingly gentle. Each movement was deliberate, almost tender. The intensity of his gaze showed not only concern but a deeper emotion. "You have to be more careful," he murmured, his fingers tracing the bandage he expertly applied. Your breath hitched, and a shiver ran down your spine at his touch.

Your eyes met his, and in that moment, there was a silent understanding. Hyun Su wasn't just tending to a wound; he was silently expressing regret, seeking forgiveness. Despite the apocalyptic world surrounding you, a fragile connection was rekindling. His eyes were intense, and you couldn’t tell if you looked at him for a moment or a lifetime. The closeness was palpable, and for a fleeting second, it seemed like the unspoken tension might give way to something more. His breath hitched, and your heart raced, but then Hyun Su locked down again, pulling back, a conflicted look in his eyes as he slowly removed his hands from your ribs.

After the makeshift first aid, you and Hyun Su sat together on your sofa. The rest of your shared dinner was left forgotten on the table. Many unsaid words lingered between you, but for the first time in a long time, you felt safe.

As you drifted off to sleep on Hyun Su's shoulder, he nudged you, suggesting you go to bed while he would take his leave. But all his nudging did was make you lie down. Sleepily, you clumsily mumbled, laying your head on his leg, clutching his shirt tightly, and voicing a quiet "stay." He was confused, unsure, and couldn’t quite shake his concerns away.

"You sure?" he asked softly, the vulnerability in his eyes contrasting with the strength he showed during perilous scavenger runs.

"Yeah, Hyun Su. Just stay a bit longer," you whispered, and with that, he scooted a little bit down on the dingy sofa, allowing himself to enjoy your closeness and trust. In the quiet moments of the post-apocalyptic world, a subtle understanding and healing blossomed between you and Hyun Su. As he as well soon fell asleep, with you by his side, gently playing with your hair. Embracing a rekindled connection in a world that desperately craved it.

[otakusheep15]

Flufftober Day 2 - Trip

Content includes: Trey x reader, established relationship, gender neutral reader, reader is described as a procrastinator

You stand in the middle of your room, surrounded by clutter. Most of it is your clothes, which have been pulled out of your drawers and closet, messily slayed out before you. The mess only serves to worsen your already fragile mood, and you groan in frustration. 

“You’re making this far more stressful than it needs to be, you know.”

Trey Clover speaks to you over the phone, trying his best to console you. He really didn’t mean to add so much stress onto your plate. He thought this would be a chance to help you destress, not this. 

A sigh escapes your throat, and you reassure him that you’re fine. It comes out strained, and you obviously don’t mean it. Still, you try your best to relax, knowing you’re just making it worse for yourself. 

A couple of days ago, Trey had invited you on a trip with his family. You have been dating for a couple of months now, and his parents really wanted to meet you. They figured this trip would be the perfect time to do so, and had encouraged Trey to invite you. You had agreed, naturally, excited to finally have something to do over break instead of staying at Ramshackle. 

However, you are a chronic procrastinator. Instead of being responsible and packing early, you waited until the last minute. You’re supposed to meet up with Trey in an hour to leave, and you just started. You called Trey in a panic, which has led you to now. 

“How about I come over and help you? I’m already packed, so it wouldn’t be much trouble.” Trey does his best to help you, but there’s only so much he can do from a distance. It would be helpful to have him here, but you also don’t want to burden him even more. In your silence, Trey seems to make up his mind, and you hear rustling on his side of the call. You ask him what he’s doing. “I’m coming to help you, of course. I’ll be there in a couple minutes.”

The call gets disconnected, meaning he hung up on you. You plop down on your bed, still feeling guilty. Not only are you making him help you, but now you’re delaying his plans. You hope this isn’t the impression you’ll give his family. 

Eventually, Trey shows up at your door, his own bags in hand. At least one of you is responsible, you suppose. You let him in, leading him up to your room. 

He surveys the scene, a thoughtful look on his face. “Well, it’s going to be cold, so we should stick to the warmer clothes. That should narrow it down some, to start. How does that sound?” He looks at you patiently, waiting for your decision. You agree, and he begins sorting through your clothes. 

One by one, he goes through every warm item you own, asking if you want to bring it. If you say yes, he neatly folds it and packs it into your bag. If you say no, he still folds it, but he places it at the end of your bed, saying you can pick it up when you return. Soon enough, you have enough clothes packed to last you for the trip. 

“Alright, now that that’s settled, let’s see what else you need…” Trey looks around your room, helping you figure out other essentials. He immediately grabs your toothbrush and toothpaste, and that makes you laugh. Of course he’d consider that the most essential. 

With his help, you’re able to get packed up with ten minutes still to spare. The two of you rush to the Hall of Mirrors, ready to embark. You smile at him, thanking him for the help. 

“It was nothing. I’m always happy to help you.” He reaches out to you, patting you on the head. “Now let’s get going. We wouldn’t want to keep my family waiting.���

You gawk at the subtle dig as Trey laughs, stepping through the mirror. After you recover, you step through as well, feeling much more relaxed. You really do have the best partner.

[traintrainingmontage]

If you’re still accepting prompts, I’d love to see what you could do with Spencer!

Ooooh, Spencer! He's so fun to hate on, honestly. It's neat to have characters like him in the series! That said, I have considered who he is as a character, and I do have some ideas...

(March is coming to an end, but prompts are still open until the end of the month! Details here!)

Spencer couldn't particularly say that he enjoyed visiting Sodor. It was too pastoral, too rural, and too overrun with cows for his liking; he was far more interested in spending time and sharing sheds with engines of high stature and great prestige than having to visit this backwater island with all of its barbaric little engines. Really, besides Gordon (as well as Connor and Caitlin, who he couldn't help but begrudgingly admire), there was nobody worth seeing on this godforsaken islet, and even then, it was fun visiting Gordon simply to demonstrate who was the superior Gresley between them.

On this particular trip, the Duke and Duchess of Boxford had come to enjoy the lavish surroundings of their summer home, leaving Spencer with little to do but sit around and wait. On previous trips, he'd assisted with building this very manor and even helping to restore the nearby Ulfstead Castle, but this particular venture seemingly held no such exhilaration; instead, he was made to sit and wait until their Graces wished to go gallivanting about the island, taking in the quaint local surroundings such as the zoo. Naturally, there were far better zoos available in London, but the Duke and Duchess somehow found joy in visiting all of these places of substandard and frankly insulting quality. Spencer couldn't understand it himself, but then again, what did it matter as long as he had the honor of escorting such distinguished personages?

As Spencer idled in his recently constructed shed, contemplating whether he might allow himself to indulge in the island's warm sunshine and enjoy a well-deserved rest, a bright peep peep! startled him back into wakefulness. Percy, that little green caterpillar, was fast approaching with a single car, albeit traveling at quite the slow speed.

As he pulled up to Boxford station, he gave a quick whistle, causing his crew to leap from his cab and the stationmaster (who was truthfully a glorified doorman) to leave his office and come to inspect. The smaller engine's crew opened the car to reveal a myriad of carefully packed packages, many of which were labeled as fragile. Given Spencer's close proximity to said station, it was quite easy for him to conveniently assess just what was going on; these were apparently items ordered by their Graces by which to furnish their manor, and Percy had been the one scheduled to bring them over.

Well. That was boring.

Wholly unsatisfied, Spencer let out a deep sigh, drawing the smaller engine's attention. "Oh! Hello, Spencer," Percy greeted hesitantly, eyes shifting over to meet the larger engine's. "...How are you?"

His tone wasn't as fawning or adoring as Spencer would have liked from a conversation partner, but it was a step up from that ridiculous Thomas or just about anyone else on this horrid little island, so it would have to do.

"I am well, Percy," Spencer intoned, a haughty smile coming easily to his face. "As always, I am doing my utmost to live up to the great expectations placed upon me by my illustrious designer and lineage—"

"You know, I've always meant to ask about that," the little green engine oh-so-rudely interrupted. "What is with you guys going on about your builder and your legacy and all of that?"

Spencer recoiled in shock, struck dumb with disbelief. "Are... are you serious? Do you have no pride in your origins? I, for one, was originally put to to paper by Sir Nigel Gresley himself! Of course I have a duty to uphold that great man's honor! But you seem to have no respect for your history at all!"

In the face of Spencer's passionate declaration, Percy could only make a noncommittal noise of "I guess."

"I don't know what to tell you, Spencer. I don't remember where I was built, and I also don't remember who designed me. All my life, I've worked, and worked, and worked some more. I have no idea what my history is, and even Sir Topham hasn't been able to puzzle it out."

The very idea of Percy's "obscure antecedents" was enough to make Spencer's face pucker in on itself, as though he'd swallowed a lemon. "Do you mean to tell me," the silver engine finally rasped, "that some little engine of uncertain origin has been tasked with bringing the Duke and Duchess of Boxford their precious cargo?!"

"...Yes?"

"...Ugh." The straightforward answer managed to knock all of the wind out of Spencer's metaphorical sails, prompting a scowl to peek out. "Right, well, seeing as some poor orphan like you couldn't begin to understand, I shall educate you. You see, engines like myself—and, though it pains me to admit it, Gordon—were built to be the best of the best at what we do. Our success is our designer's pride. And so, we mustn't tarnish his legacy by being anything less than exemplary!"

"Huh," came Percy's vastly unimpressed reply. "Well, congratulations, I guess."

This earned the tiny tank engine a rather severe pout from Spencer, who was fast becoming quite displeased that all of his self-aggrandizing was somehow not earning him the desired level of awe. "Listen here, Percy. Everything we are, everything I am, is tied to being a Gresley. I must prove that I am worthy to stand among them! Gordon is the First. Scotsman is Beloved. Mallard is the Fastest. So many other members of our family have earned prestige, and I... well."

At this, a rare spark of hesitation flashed across Spencer's face, but it was quickly buried beneath a smug smile. "I am still in the process of building my fame, but I've no doubt that I will do so, and take my own place in the annals of railway history."

Percy didn't immediately respond, but instead blinked owlishly at Spencer, as though trying to peer through the illusion of pride that Spencer so often projected. "But... why? Is that really what you want, or just what you think you should do?"

Spencer blinked once, then twice, his smile slipping from his face as he found that none of his prepared answers were sufficient to answer the question. Of course it was what he wanted; of course he wanted to establish himself as an untouchably glorious member of the vaunted Gresley family. One whose honor could not be questioned. One of the great families who stood above all others who rode the railways of the United Kingdom. That was a given. That was only to be expected. That was...

...

After a long, long moment, the silver engine shifted slightly in place, fixing the little green engine with a weighty gaze. "...The answers are one in the same, Percy. What I want is what all Gresley engines want, which is to contribute to the legacy of our designer, Sir Nigel Gresley, through my great prestige. That is how I will become truly Useful. Everything else is secondary."

Percy's brow furrowed in response, seemingly dissatisfied by the answer. "Ugh, I don't understand you! You're so selfish, but not even for yourself! It's all for the memory of your dead designer and a family legacy that nobody except for you Gresleys cares about anymore!"

Spencer couldn't look away from Percy as he spoke, stuck between wanting to take massive offense at his words, yet utterly unable to refute him. At Spencer's silence, Percy continued, clearly not finished with his thought.

"I may not have some family or railway legacy, but that just means I have to be really Useful through my own work and my own merit! Heck, that's true of any engine! If you think nothing matters except for approval from some dead guy and the stuffy people who care about stuff like that, then no wonder you're unhappy. I'm sorry for you."

Suddenly, there was a whistle, and Percy's crew started coming back. "Wait!" Spencer called, the sound shaking him from his stupor. "If... if not him, then who? Who am I supposed to get approval from?!"

Percy blinked, then gave the silver engine a look like he was an absolute idiot. "Are you daft? Your crew, your owner, and yourself! Duh!"

With that, the little green engine pulled away from the station, murmuring something (likely derogatory) about "trust fund engines," and Spencer could only watch him go, smokebox swirling with thoughts of what Percy had said. All his existence, he'd had it drilled into him that everything was temporary, but the Legacy was forever. No matter what he did, it was all to serve the Legacy; if scrapped, he'd be a martyr for it, and in life, he would work toward its glory. Working toward the Legacy was how Gresleys cemented their Usefulness.

And yet, here was Percy, poor orphan Percy, who found fulfillment, who fancied himself Useful, simply through the approval of the Controller and his crew. He wasn't beholden to his builder, or his designer, or any sort of legacy; all he had was his present, and yet, he could still smile so genuinely.

For once in his life, Spencer found himself at a loss for words. He'd wondered for years what had changed for Gordon once he'd some to Sodor, but perhaps he too had let go of the weight of the Legacy. Perhaps he too had shed its great burden, and that's why he shined so brightly now.

Quietly, Spencer let his eyes slip shut, savoring the breeze and the warm Sudrian sunshine. His encounter with Percy had given him much to think about, but for now, he would take his rest; something told him that he might not have such inner peace for some time.

[ceo-of-sloppy-women]

No grave can hold my body down; I'll crawl home to her

Chapter 14

CW: alcoholism, referenced childhood trauma/abuse, weed

Chapter 15

To call the atmosphere in the house the next morning strained would be an understatement. You wake to Sevika bent over the toilet, her guts throwing a violent revolt from the amount of alcohol she drank. Yet, that broiling frustration from being completely, wholeheartedly ignored, bubbles to the top, and you throw on clothes, slipping out of the house before she has a chance to know you’re awake. You just… need to walk. Somewhere. Anywhere. She’d rather put her body through Hell than have an adult conversation with you that would have taken two minutes and consisted of “I’m sorry I tried to sacrifice myself, I won’t do it again.” The other two minutes would be you hugging her and reassuring her that it was okay, just to not do it again. But no, now you’re storming to the gates of Zaun and out into the fields, huffy and glaring at everyone.

You barely register someone calling your name, glancing up to see Vi attempting to wrangle a field full of absent-minded calves and disgruntled cows by herself. No matter how many times she circles them, urging them forward, the cows are not having it.

“What do you need?” you call out, coming up to the side of the fence.

“You mind giving me a hand? I gotta get these cows out into the pasture, but ain’t no one around – most everyone’s out on patrol or still asleep right now!” Vi begs, giving it another fruitless attempt.

“Fine, alright – need me to get King?”

“Yeah -!” a calf starts moseying from her urging only to stop a few paces away from its mother, Vi sighs in defeat – “Yes, please!”

It takes you all of fifteen minutes to get King saddled up and out through the gates. In that time, Vi has managed to coax some of the cattle to the gate, but not nearly enough. You want to question why she’s doing this so early, but she leaps into instructing you, desperate to get the cows out to pasture. So, you clam up and follow her lead, engrossing yourself in the ride out and ensuring the calves wander away from the herd. It’s strangely calming and somewhat fulfilling to guide the cows along – so much so that it has you trailing after Vi, helping with various farm chores afterwards. Thankfully, she doesn’t make you scoop manure, claiming the stable hands need the practice. Instead, you help her milk the cows still in the barn, feed the pigs, check on the sheep and even gather eggs from the chickens.

By the time you’re done, the sun is high in the sky, and you are starving. Vi lets you go, and lacking a better alternative (you can’t eat diner food forever), you head back to Sevika’s place to find it empty. The retching from the bathroom has ceased, the house standing silently amongst the rows of various decaying buildings. Part of you had foolishly hoped she would be waiting for you, shoulders hunched forward and head hung low in shame, waiting to apologize.

Instead, you make yourself scrambled eggs and fried sausage. Your only company the wind as you eat on the porch.

That small, aching part of you resigns itself to its fate, nestling in your chest around your fragile heart. By the time Vander swings by the house, you’ve already packed the few meagre items you own into your backpack, slung over your shoulder as you wait on the porch. You’ve even returned all but the plaid shirt Sevika gave you, leaving it sitting on the bed formerly yours.

“Kid…” Vander says softly, shoulders fallen and an aching look spread across his face as plainly as butter.

“Just... show me the printing shop,” you request, standing up and repositioning the backpack. The last thing you need right now is for Vander to give you false hope again.

He wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you against his side as he leads you away from the house in silence. You swallow thickly, willing yourself not to cry – not to turn around and watch it disappear behind you. That home, formerly your home, which Sevika had welcomed you into with begrudgingly open arms, now but a faint inkling of fantasy in your sullen mind. Vander holds you steady, a strong grip on your shoulder, letting you lean on him as you clench your jaw in a desperate attempt not to cry.

With Vander guiding you down back alleys and side streets, the two of you avoid the larger population of Zaun. A few still see you pass by, but far less than if you had taken the front streets. Leading you to take the back door into the shop. It has a large, open space for a work area which has been populated with a few tool racks and various benches. There’s even a swivel chair in the corner with wheels. In the centre of the room stands Silco, leaning on his cane with a slender, knowing smile that aches of empathy.

“My dear, I had hoped this would have been a more… joyful occasion. My deepest apologies that our leading lady is an utter fool,” Silco sighs wearily, sweeping his arm to usher you into the shop.

“I was going to flush this place out with some tools and materials before you saw it, but Silco thought it would be better if you did that yourself,” Vander adds, squeezing your shoulder reassuringly.

“Thank you – both of you. This… this means a lot. Especially after nine years of probably the most chaotic, ill-prepared nomadic lifestyle,” you attempt to joke, but it comes out flat, dying on the floor between the three of you. “… so, uh, how about a tour? Please?”

Vander sighs softly, shaking his head with a poorly disguised smile. “I’ve got a patrol route to manage, so I’ll leave you in Silco’s capable hands –“ he leans in close to whisper: “He loves jokes about ducks.”

Before you can respond, Vander turns on his heel and is out the door. Leaving you alone with Silco, who’s watching you with an auspiciously raised eyebrow. You chuckle nervously and summon your best duck-joke.

“What time do ducks get up? The quack of dawn!”

Silco groans like you were just part of a long-winded and very much overdone joke between him and Vander.

“Honestly, you would think after nearly fifty years he would come up with better icebreakers,” Silco mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Sorry,” you say, shuffling awkwardly.

“It’s fine; it’s not your fault, anyhow. He tells that to everyone – claims it’s because I’m ‘intimidating’ – I don’t mind, but there are only so many duck-related jokes in the world,” Silco explains, straightening out to gesture with his cane to the door leading out of the workshop. “Shall we?”

“Lead the way,” you agree, following patiently behind him.

The shop consists of two floors and a handful of rooms. The majority of the first floor is taken up by the workshop, with only a small storefront for your potential customer base. A staircase sits off to the side, leading up to the second floor into a common area with an open-concept kitchen and living room combo. There’s a bathroom off to the side, shower included (thank God) and a bedroom with enough space to sleep without feeling cramped. Yet, that sinking, bitter feeling of regret and loneliness curdled in your gut as you stood in the living room listening to Silco talk about how Violet donated an old bed from her place for you. You wish you still had Sevika’s to go home to, with a working stove and a fluffy cover on the toilet seat – a place that felt like home instead of a tiny apartment above the printing press, sterile and distant. Your ratty bag of the few scavenged items to your name droops next to the couch like your aching heart.

Silco lingers until the tea is cold – his housewarming gift – until he is wringing his hands in the middle of the room, doing his best to keep you company while his face betrays him. You put the cups in the sink and smile sadly as you wipe your hands on the kitchen towel.

“Silco, you can go; I’ll be alright,” you say, putting on a brave face. Pity taste so bitter in the wake of your harsh words that landed you here.

“I assure you, it is fine, I can stay a little while longer,” he insists, moving to take a seat on the couch.

“She’s not coming. We both know that. Whatever Vander is trying to say to her is falling on deaf ears.” You sit on the kitchen counter, hands folded in your lap.

“How did you –“

“Vander isn’t in charge of patrols; that’s Grayson’s job. You’ve got a whole city to run; it’s unlikely you took time out of your day just to give me the extended tour of a tiny shop unless the two of you were trying to fix it. You can’t fix it. For all her virtues, Sevika is stubborn – if she doesn’t want to talk to me, she won’t. Ever again. It burns like Hell, but I’ve made peace with it. I had to find out why she was alone all this time one way or another. I just wish I hadn’t fucked it all up so soon…”

“This is in no way your fault,” Silco argues, abandoning the couch to stand in front of you. He takes your hands, staring you in the eyes with a hardened gaze. So self-assured, so insistent. “You are not to blame for Sevika’s problems. Especially not this one. Caring for someone is never an act of guilt, regardless of the outcome. Caring for someone takes compassion, bravery and stubbornness – all traits you have exemplified brilliantly, my dear. Unfortunately, Sevika has been this way for a long, long time.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know this isn’t my story to tell you, but God knows she won’t, and I can’t leave you fumbling around in the dark any longer. We knew Sevika long before Zaun – before all of this. Yes, she was a bouncer at our bar, but before then, she was our sister. Though not biologically, the three of us grew up together in a group home; four kids the system failed – Violet and Jinx’s mother was still alive back then. She rarely spoke of her childhood; her father was a bastard who couldn’t keep his hands to himself – her mother took the brunt of it until she… couldn’t anymore. When he turned to her, the state stepped in, but the damage was already done. She never got the therapy she needed; barely got the medication before the world ended. She has tried for years to dig herself out of that hole. Unfortunately, some part of her is still in that house, repeating what her father said to her… remembering what he did. Despite the best efforts of everyone around her, she still doesn’t believe she’s worthy of any of it – she’s fought tooth and nail to crawl out of that hole so hard she keeps burying herself back down within its depths. Don’t give up on her; just give her time.”

“Thank you for telling me,” you whisper quietly, staring at the floor in an effort to process this information without crying. “I – it…”

“It doesn’t justify what she’s done; I know. I’ll leave you be, you know where to find me when you have questions. Make sure to eat dinner tonight.”

“I will,” you croak around the tears welling up in your eyes.

Silco takes his leave, letting you process your emotions in privacy. You desperately want to scrape all of your words back into your mouth – to go about it all again with a gentler approach. If you had known – but you hadn’t. And that isn’t your fault. You can only work with what you’re given and continue forward when you’re given more. You’ll get some things wrong and some things right, yet at the end of the day, you’re only human; you can only do so much. You cannot be expected to know everything. Only what you know in the moment.

Somehow, despite Silco’s intentions, the knowledge only makes it hurt more – like pouring disinfectant on a gaping wound. The sting reverberates through your chest as you puttering around the shop, putting away various tools and reorganizing everything until you know exactly where everything is (and it appears like chaos to an outside perspective). By the time you had finished, the sun was starting to set on the horizon – between Silco’s tour and your distraction, you’d rapidly burned through daylight. A small voice inside itches to make dinner, to emulate the comforting atmosphere of Sevika’s house – so you set out to get groceries. Maybe a part of you is also hoping you’ll run into Sevika on the way, even if it only earns you the barest acknowledgement.

You have no such luck. The grocery store is swimming with people getting a jump on weekly deals and bargains – a thick haze of bodies that you swim through to grab what little you need to make yourself dinner. You’ll do a proper trip tomorrow when you have more time, tonight you’re starving. Nothing too fancy; just fresh pasta, canned tomato sauce, ground beef and squash. You find a cheese grater down one of the aisles and several knives (thank you, Jayce), as well as a wooden cutting board and a pan. The pasta came pre-cooked, so all you had to do was toss it in last.

Returning to the printing shop, you heat up the pan, browning the beef, grating squash while it cooked, then adding the sauce, and finally stirring in the grated squash. The noodles were a last-minute addition, so they didn’t get too soft. In the end, you wind up with leftovers, which you wrap up and place in the fridge – thankfully, it has power. At least you’ll have something to eat tomorrow morning as you’d forgotten to grab breakfast items in the chaotic sea of people. The apartment actually smells good – not quite homey with the lingering dust, yet, there’s an odd comfort that comes with being inside a refurbished building. You can’t place your finger on it until you’re sitting on the sofa, fingering through an old book while you eat. It hits you suddenly; the apartment smells like Sevika’s home. The earthy, wooden scent of repainted wood and old pipes, mixed with lingering disinfectant to clear away any mold or mildew. Your heart sinks in your chest as you pull your feet up on the couch, curling around your plate with a heavy sigh.

If only you hadn’t opened your mouth – even if Silco had assured you it wasn’t your fault, even if Sevika was the one to blame for reacting this way… you and your big heart cost you the closest friend you’ve had in years.

You leave the plate in the sink – you’ll wash it tomorrow. Curling up on the couch, you lose yourself in the book you were reading, only realizing hours into it that this was one of the old romance novels you pulled out of the abandoned library. Desperately, you wish you were still there – surrounded by the smell of old, weathered books, with the leaking ceiling and the sunlight filtering in through green leaves. The couch springs digging into your hip insist that you’re exactly where you’ve always been: alone. Even as the leading lady finally confronts her suitor for abandoning her midway through the courting season, her Victorian dress pressed against a poorly tailored suit, you find no joy in the suitor’s confession that he had been a she this entire time and her sudden abandonment was so the leading lady wouldn’t figure out. The only thing that sparks in your chest as the two kiss passionately against the side of the house is sorrow and desperation. Your heart aches, cracking and crumpling in your chest, crying out into the universe for Sevika’s tender embrace. Still, you continue to flip the pages; this is all you get now. Surrounded on all sides by the comforting embrace of civilization, yet impossibly alone.

The ladies slip from the side of the house into a carriage, telling the driver to keep driving until told otherwise. The carriage rocks with their intertwined bodies, virtues dashed across the rocks, pulling pleasure out of the other in exchange for air. At least the book is good (how this was in a library, you have no idea). Slowly, the pages grow easier to flip as you fully access the story.

Maybe a little too fully. So engrossed by the book, you nearly miss the knocking sound from the door downstairs. It comes as a weak tapping ringing through the shop like a gunshot. You toss the book down on the table, scrambling to the stairs (you’ve read it countless times, you know how it ends). Whoever’s bothering you this late at night must have a good reason – neighbours don’t tend to ask for a cup of sugar when they’re supposed to be asleep.

Unfortunately, the shop door doesn’t have a peephole and all the curtains were drawn while Silco was giving you the tour earlier. You left them shut, deciding to open them once the shop itself was open. Thus, you have little time to process who’s standing at the door until you pull it open to reveal Sevika, fist raised mid-knock, swaying slightly on her feet, shirt untucked, face red and puffy as if she’d been crying. Sniffling as if she’d definitely been crying. Your barbed wire heart cracks in your chest, straining against the metal spikes. It screams at you to wrap her in your arms – to bring her inside and upstairs, like a wounded dog that’s limped home after losing a fight to a wolf. Desperate eats away at you in that empty, motionless void where neither of you moves to speak.

The smell of alcohol hits you like a truck, forcing you to acknowledge reality.

“You’re drunk,” you spit like you’ll develop intoxication by proxy merely stating it.

“I –“ she starts to say, swaying slightly.

“Go home. You’re drunk,” you repeat. This isn’t how you wanted this; the bitter taste of absolution was better than heart-clogged, alcohol-induced guilt.

“No, let me in, it’s fucking cold,” she argues, trying to body her way inside.

Easily, she knocks you aside, forcing entry until she’s standing in your shop, and you’re still standing at the door, dumbfounded. You’re no match for her, even when she’s drunk. That doesn’t mean she should use her strength against you like this. You wanted her to talk to you… just, not like this.

She leans against the counter to stop herself from swaying.

Not like this.

“Sevika, why are you here?” you fold your arms across your chest, holding your elbows.

“’Cause you are,” she grunts, gripping the countertop.

“What do you care, you haven’t talked to me for two days,” you spit back in her face, anger boiling up to the back of your throat (or maybe that’s stomach acid, hard to tell). “I can take a hint, Sevika. I’m not stupid.”

“Hint? What the fuck you talking about?” she slurs, squinting at you.

“Don’t be an ass.” You step back, pulling up your shoulders defensively. “You’re drunk; I don’t need this right now. Get out. Before one of us says something they don’t mean… or do. I don’t even know at this point.”

She steps toward you, raising her hand as if to cup your cheek. “Sweetheart, what are you –“

Your hand snaps up, grabbing her wrist as you stare her down with the nastiest glare you can muster. “How dare you! For two days, you didn’t talk to me – you didn’t even acknowledge my presence, and I took it on the chin. I waited. I gave you your goddamned space despite the fact that it was eating me alive, and this is what I get in return?! You, drunk out of your mind, stumbling about and pretending like you haven’t just been a complete and utter jackass to me. You want me out of your life, fine, I get it, you don’t have to tell me twice. But, I won’t let you torture me; you do not get the pleasure of sticking the knife in any deeper than it already is, let alone twisting it. I’m sorry I fucking cared about you. Is that what you want me to say? Is that what you’re after: an apology? I’m no longer the burden you dragged back who won’t stop following you around like an annoying little dog, begging for scraps when you clearly don’t –“

Your suddenly cut off as she pulls you against her chest, wrapping her arms around you before you can push her off you. She holds you with trembling tenderness, one hand on the back of your head and the other wrapped around your shoulders, fingers digging into your side. The waves of emotions continue to rock you until you stop struggling, melting away into gasping sobs as you pull her closer, hands burying under her plaid shirt to grip the t-shirt underneath. She holds you steady, shaking subtly in your hold, thumb stroking the back of your head.

“I never meant to – this wasn’t – fuck, why is this so damned hard? I ain’t good at this shit, why do you gotta make me do all of this? Nine damn years and I haven’t had to word vomit the shit people call emotions to anyone, then you come along and dig up everything I thought was long dead and buried… I didn’t want you out of the house, I just… I’m not used to people caring about me. Then you did; over and over again, you kept caring, and each time I got worse I thought ‘this is it, this is when she stops. This her breaking point.’ But it never was. No matter how badly I fucked up, you stayed right by my side, and when you didn’t, I didn’t even notice. When I realized you actually left me, I couldn’t take it; I can’t lose you. You’re the only good thing that has ever happened to me in this god-forsaken hellscape the world has been rendered into. Come home, please. I can’t lose you… not after everything.” Her voice wavers as a sob claws its way out of her throat. She grips you tighter as you fist her shirt, nails scraping against her back through the fabric.

“Only if you promise not to do this to me again. You can’t just shut down on me, Sev’… it really did make me think you didn’t want me around, and it’s lowkey a tactic abusers use. It’s not healthy – for either of us.” You don’t want to say it, but you have to. While you know she’s not doing it intentionally, that doesn’t make it any less worse.

“Okay, I won’t – I swear,” she agrees quickly, tightening her grip as if you’re about to pull away from her. Too desperate to not lose you again. “And if I do by accident, let me know. Cuff me upside the head or some shit.”

“I’m not going to hit you.”

There’s a pause, where you’re swallowed by the sound of her shaky inhale before she says: “You know what I meant; just knock me out of it.”

“I’ll tell you you’re being an ass,” you counter, not wanting to press her on this issue. Neither of you has the emotional strength for that conversation right now.

“Yeah, do that,” she grunts, squeezing you one final time before pulling back. She looks like absolute shit – face covered in tears and snot, eyes red and puffy, trying to wipe it all away on her sleeve. “You, uh, coming? Home – I mean.”

“Yes,” you manage to squeak out because it’s easier than spilling your guts with what you actually want to say – how long you’ve waited for her to ask you that, a further squabbling sobbing fest over her foolish Jackassery – it’s too complicated for this late at night. “Just let me get my bag.”

She nods, waiting for you in the shop as you grab your bag from upstairs. You’ll be back tomorrow to check on the shop, so you leave the leftovers in the fridge and head back downstairs, the book you were reading tucked under your arm. Together, the two of you walk quietly back home, sharing a joint Sevika dug out of her pocket. The smoke curls around you like an old friend as she inches closer to you, seeping into your personal space until you were walking side by side. You wrap your hand around her waist, heart hammering at her contented hum, as she blows a smoke ring into the air. You watch her lips form together, wishing they were pressed against yours. Instead, all you get is the joint and the faint taste of her saliva.

By the time you make it back to the house, the joint’s finished, and she steals the last few puffs of the roach before putting it out on the ashtray next to the front door. Leaving your shoes and bag at the door, you follow her upstairs, letting her take you by the hand and lead you up to her room. Your heart is hammering as she gives you an old shirt of hers, muttering something about your clothes still needing a wash. You try not to steal a sneak peek at her while you’re changing, yet your eyes catch on her back, and for the first time in a long time, you realize you never actually saw her back tattoo. With her back to you as she digs through her dresser for a night shirt of her own, you see the tattoo stretched out in its full glory across her muscled shoulder blades. A wolf lays at the bottom of her shoulder blades, pierced through with ten swords like the tarot card. Each sword seems to be deliberately placed, pierced through vital organs or limbs – one through the head, heart, each limb and so on. Beneath the wolf is the Roman numeral X, confirming its relation to tarot. From what you know of tarot, the Ten Of Swords represents a tattered life in ruin and strife, loneliness, destruction and emptiness.

You can’t help the soft exclamation of “oh” from escaping your lips. She spins around quickly, flushed in embarrassment, scrambling to get the first shirt she grabbed over her head. Even the hilarious slogan “Do MILFs Not Drugs” stretched across the front doesn’t diffuse the sinking atmosphere.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to snoop, but my eyes caught on it and I –“

“It’s fine,” she grunts, shuffling in place. “It’s just… personal.”

“And this isn’t?” you counter, gesturing with an aborted jerk to the room around you.

She silently stares at the bed for a long moment before moving toward it, trying to avoid the conversation. Pulling back the covers, she settles underneath them, sitting up slightly to look at you.

“I really am sorry,” you insist, not sure if you’re still allowed to follow after her.

“Just get over here,” she huffs with a sigh, patting the bed next to her. “Before I change my mind and make you sleep downstairs.”

Even though you know she doesn’t mean it, you scramble over to her. She chuckles softly, wrapping the covers around the both of you before pulling you close to her chest. Her hand wraps around your sternum, thumb resting between your breasts, fingers splayed against your ribs. The room falls silent around you, her gruff breaths evening out as you melt into the warmth of her body heat. You’re almost certain she’s fallen asleep, and this is the extent of any conversation you’ll ever have until her voice rumbles through the room.

“I got it a long time ago when I was in a dark place… before I worked for Silco and Vander. I never had a good go at life – this is the best it has ever been. Getting it felt like taking back control of my body after all the shit the world did to me. Back then, I thought it was cool; I’d wear backless shirts and let all the girls touch it like it made me deep and mysterious somehow. Just made me feel emptier in the morning when they’d leave. When Violet and Jinx’s mother died, I started covering it up; they didn’t need shit like that in their lives, especially not when the three of us were trying so damned hard to bring them up with happy childhoods. I was going to get it covered up – had the appointment booked and everything – but then the world ended… it’s the last surviving relic of the old world I’ve got left.”

“Why keep it hidden then?” you whisper into the dead of night.

“… didn’t want you to leave, too,” she admits quietly, curling closer to you. Her legs come up, the tops of her thighs pressing against the back of yours.

You rest your hand on top of hers, meshing your fingers together. “I’m not going to leave, not again. Silco, he, erm – he told me a little bit about your childhood –“ she stiffens against your back, hand tensing under yours – “And I’m still here. I came back, didn’t I? I don’t give a fuck about who you used to be; I only care about who you are now. I’m not going to treat you like a delicate vase or a fuckboy trying to use her tattoo to get laid. That’s not who you are; you’re more than the sum of your parts; you’re Sevika. You’re human, just like the rest of us. I’m not even sure I’m making any sense here…”

“You are – to me, at least,” she mumbles against the back of your neck, relaxing again. With a soft exhale, she whispers “thank you” into your shoulder so quietly you nearly miss it.

“Goodnight, Sev’,” you murmur, squeezing her hand as you snuggle closer to her.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” she replies, and your heart skips a beat.

If only she meant it.

///

Disclaimer: please do not emulate Silco in this fic. He has his own moral standing and justification for disclosing Sevika's trauma without her consent, and that's fine. However, you are not Silco; you are also not a narrative foil. People's life experiences are theirs to share when they are comfortable. Obviously I cannot stop you but I can insist that this is, in fact, bad form.

Good? Good.

[kathlare]

how did it end?

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amelie faces the emotional task of packing up her life in London, when she uncovers a forgotten box filled with memories of her past relationship with Lando.

Wordcount: 0.9 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

November 28th, 2022 - London, United Kingdom

The room was a mess. Boxes, clothes, and random items scattered all over the place as Amelie sat cross-legged on the floor, trying to pack up the remnants of her life in London. It was surreal, the way everything felt so... final. She wasn’t sure where she wanted to go, but one thing was certain—she couldn’t stay here. Not in this city. Not in this apartment that felt too empty, too suffocating.

As she sorted through the boxes, glancing at items she hadn’t touched in months, something caught her eye—tucked under a pile of old sweaters, partially hidden beneath a few scattered photo albums, was a small, plain cardboard box. She didn’t recognize it at first. It wasn’t labeled, and there wasn’t anything about it that screamed important. But curiosity got the best of her. She slid it out from under the pile and set it down on the floor, inspecting it briefly. The box felt lighter than she expected, almost fragile.

She hesitated for a moment, an unfamiliar weight settling in her chest, but eventually she lifted the lid.

Inside were memories. Her heart stopped as she reached for the first item: a folded-up T-shirt with a logo she recognized immediately—a design she’d seen on Lando’s shirts more than once. It smelled faintly like him. The fabric was soft, worn, the way his clothes always felt when they’d spent time together. The old familiar ache that she thought she’d buried deep inside her began to rise to the surface, choking her.

The box was filled with things she hadn’t thought about in what felt like years. Photographs of the two of them—laughing, smiling, carefree—taken on random nights they’d spent together in Monaco, in London, during the quiet moments when everything had felt normal. There was a ticket from a concert they’d gone to, a silly gift Lando had given her one Christmas, and an old keychain she vaguely remembered receiving as a joke. Each item was a piece of a past she thought she’d moved on from.

She felt her breath hitch as she came across a picture of the two of them. It was from that night, in early 2021, when they’d spent hours on the balcony of her flat in London, watching the city lights flicker in the distance. It had been one of those rare nights when everything felt easy. When the world outside felt still. She could almost hear Lando’s laughter, the way he’d teased her about how terrible she was at playing Mario Kart.

Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the image in front of her.

Why does it still hurt so much?

She wanted to throw it all away—everything in the box. It was easier to imagine the release of tossing it all into the trash, pretending none of it ever mattered. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t make herself let go. She placed the picture back carefully, as if by handling it with care she could somehow preserve the memories in a more manageable form.

Lando had been such a part of her life for so long. Even before they’d gotten together in the messy, unspoken way they had, he had always been there—like a constant background hum, a presence she could always count on. But somewhere along the way, they’d lost that connection. It wasn’t just the breakup. It was the way things had ended, the silence that had followed. The distance. The hurt.

Amelie wiped at her face, trying to stop the tears from falling, but it didn’t work. They kept coming. And each tear felt like a reminder of the things they never said to each other—the apologies that went unsaid, the explanations that never came. She had never really understood why things fell apart so quickly. One moment they had been wrapped up in each other, and the next... nothing.

She couldn’t even explain it. The way it had ended, the way it had felt like they were both walking around with broken pieces of themselves and never talking about it. Lando had tried to move on with other girls, but she knew—knew deep down—that he was still holding on to something. The same way she was. The same way she’d never truly let him go.

Why did I let him slip away like that?

A loud sob broke through her chest, and she had to press a hand to her mouth to stifle the sound. She’d been so focused on moving forward, on making a life outside of the F1 world, that she hadn’t allowed herself to really process what losing Lando had meant.

Now, she was here—about to move on with someone else, someone she knew she didn’t have the same history with, and yet... she was still holding on.

She reached for another photograph, this time one from a trip to Monaco, where they had spent an entire weekend racing go-karts and laughing until they couldn’t breathe. She remembered the way the sun had felt warm on her face, and how his eyes sparkled when he talked about racing. How they had shared a moment, just the two of them, at the edge of the track, staring up at the stars.

That moment felt like a lifetime ago. And yet, here she was, unable to escape it.

Amelie pressed the picture to her chest, squeezing her eyes shut and inhaling deeply. She could almost feel him there again, as if all the time that had passed was nothing.

How did it end?

She thought about throwing the box away. It would be easy. She could walk over to the trash can, drop it all in, and never look back. But as much as the thought of throwing it all away made her feel like she was cutting herself free, it felt wrong. Like she was erasing a part of her life that had mattered, that had been important to who she had become.

She knew she wasn’t ready for that. She wasn’t ready to let go.

With trembling hands, Amelie closed the box and placed it back on the floor beside her. For the moment, it wasn’t about moving on or erasing the past. It was about feeling the pain, allowing it to exist without trying to numb it.

As much as she wanted to forget, to move on and start fresh, some things were harder to let go of than others.

And Lando? He wasn’t something she could simply throw away. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

[saveahorserideaneddie]

i’m probably gonna lose more followers over this but i don’t think people are understanding where i’m coming from so i’m gonna tall about this again:

TO PREFACE: i do not hate eddie diaz, i hate what the writers constantly to him

eddie choosing to move to texas is not the automatic fix-it to his and chris’s relationship that a lot of people seem to think it is.

eddie’s entire narrative is built around the fact that he and his son do not belong in texas: we spent an entire episode in s3 showcasing how eddie and chris do not belong there.

chris knows that. eddie knows that. if they actually had a conversation about it, they would both come to that conclusion that neither of them want to be in texas permanently. the fact is, however, that every time we saw eddie speak with chris this season, he skirted around the topic- ignoring the elephant in the room, rather than addressing it.

chris ran away bc he was hurt. his dad hurt him, and being a rebellious teenager, chris chose to hurt him right back by calling eddie’s parents when he knows that they and eddie are not in great terms. he wanted to hit his dad where it hurts, and then wanted his dad to beg for him to come back- it’s the same reason why a lot of kids “run away from home” to grandma’s house; they want their parents to know they’re hurt, and they want the parent ti grovel.

chris wants his dad to ask him to come home- to tell him that he needs him to come home.

what chris DOES NOT want is for his dad to completely uproot and leave their lives in LA behind.

he doesn’t need his dad giving up on fighting for him just to settle for seeing chris a couple hours a day or every other weekend like some split-parent custody agreement. all that does is show chris that the only answer is to run away frok your problems, which is not true.

you face your problems head on- even if that means putting your foot down and telling your child that it’s time to have a serious talk.

is that something that a temporary trip could do? yes, absolutely- but moving there? no.

now i know we know that eddie comes back- but eddie also rented a moving trailer. if eddie truly were only going there temporarily, he would gonfor maybe a couple weeks to see chris and talk in person- get the hatd stuff out of the way, and then after those couple of weeks, they would get chris ready to come back home- yeah, when they get back they may not be completely healed from the hurt but they would be home and able to heal in an environment that they know they have a support group in.

what’s not healthy is forcing eddie to return to the place that hurt him to begin with- that is not the key to healing trauma.

so the solution would be to go for a long visit, right?

so then why does eddie have a uhaul? look, i know it’s a small uhaul but- eddie doesn’t have anything in his house. it is very realistic that the important things are packed carefully in the trailer and more valuable items would probably live in the truck (like wallets, jewelry, fragile items, etc).

If eddie were truly going down for a temporary visit to talk with chris, he would take at most a few boxes of clothes, and maybe some things from chris’s room that he thinks chris would like again. this is the age of the air b&b- why would eddie need a uhaul unless he was moving into an unfurnished house or apartment; something you don’t invest in for a temporary stay

not only that, but if it were intended to be temporary, they wouldn’t be putting so much emphasis on the goodbye between buck and eddie- yeah, buck would miss eddie while he was gone, but he would know eddie was coming back soon, so why make it a huge deal? why have him crash out over eddie driving back fo texas unless the intent of it being permanent was there?

again- yes, buck would be sad and depressed regardless, but regressing back into a sex addiction is not a reminiscent if missing someone who’s gone away for a few weeks

so that’s why i say that eddie’s intentions are for this to be a permanent move

now back to the chris of it all; i guarantee you that if eddie said something to chris about moving to texas in any capacity, chris would freak tf out bc that’s not what he wanted- he wanted his dad to come after him and take him home; not uproot everything

and we also know that if chris said that’s what he needed eddie would do it in a heartbeat.

which is why i aks: why the uhauk? why the explicit final goodbye scene?

just because eddie does eventually come back doesn’t mean that the intent wasn’t originally to be permanent- and all a permanent move would do with absolutely zero input from chris would cause an even bigger rift between them, because it’s taking away chris’s agency in the situation- surrendering both eddie and chrs to ramon and helena’s wishes- again which is the very antithesis to eddie’s motivations of the entire series.

i am tired of the writers constantly shoving eddie further and further into a depressive pit- never allowing himself to move forward because they consistently have him make decisions that read more like self harm than anything else. i want him to actually have development and for his plot to move forward, and making things worse with christopher is only going to drag this plot out even longer than it even needed to be;

chris could have realistically been back home by the end of 8a, but instead they chose to focus all their time and effort on brad- stretching the chris-in-texas plotline along even further by having it take u part of at least 2 or 3 episodes of screentime, and now the writers are trying to stretch it even more by causing more unnecessary angst for then rather than fixing the issue.

anyway, i just had to say all of that bc i don’t think that people are understanding where i’m coming from and think i’m just trying to be a hateful bitch when i promise you i’m not… i hope all of this makes sense it’s like 3:20 am and im running on fumes of energy so i’m gonna go to bed now

i just love these characters and i hate when i see the writers giving them angst that’s both unearned, and fails to move them forward.

[magknightidv]

hello sweetie! :D

i see that you want to write about descendants and i would absolutely love to share some requests i've been thinking about.

idk if you write ficlets, headcannons or oneshots, so you can write in the way you feel more comfortable! :)

so, the thing is, uma and harry (separately) x artist!reader (gn please!!) where the reader draw and write music and poetry about their lover/crush. i just want to see how they would react if they seen the readers art bcs i think it would be soooooo cute!

(im so sorry if you can't understand something, english isn't my first language.)

take care of yourself. love u!!

I love this so so much! thank you!

Hope this doesn't end up being too bad, I feel it was a little rushed (not because I felt I was being rushed just that I had a few thoughts that I needed to write before they were gone yk?)

I'm doing it so it's:

Harry Hook x painter/drawer!reader

And

Uma x music artist! Reader

To make it easier to imagine

Also I've kept it gender neutral dw and I've also written it so Uma and Harry are in Auradon when they meet you

Please feel free to request more at any point (I'm going to write for all descendants characters but mostly Harry Hook)

----------------------

Harry Hook

Let's imagine Harry has no idea who you are in the beginning

Some random person that's always seen drawing, painting, creating something.

He's seen some of your works hung around Auradon prep in expensive looking frames

He doesn't approach you for a while, in fact Gil is the first to meet you

Gil takes the same art course as you so you meet there when Gil had a bit of a paint disaster

Harry was originally cautious around you because he thought you'd be some stuck up art critique kind of person who was going to complain about Gil

But when you instead explain that you could see what he was trying to do but the actual execution of it wasn't great , Harry laughed with you

Overall your first meet was a positive one that was the beginning of a laughter filled relationship

Harry would always see you sat somewhere, in some weird position, scribbling away in your sketchbook

He eventually spots what you are drawing, or better yet who.

Him

He crashes.

All thoughts, Gone.

He's just staring at it for a good 5 minutes before you have to click your fingers in front of his face to wake him up.

"H- How, no, why are ye drawin' meh?" Heat rises to his cheeks and he slowly brings his thoughts back to Earth.

He'd already had been developing feelings for you since you two met. I mean you were nice to his friends, kind to him, he let you meet his sisters at one point and they seemed to even like you. You are fun to be around, you check that he's taking care of himself, you make sure he's not too bashed up from the sports he plays. What isn't there to like?

"You have a pretty face, nice to draw." He takes note of the blush that grows on your cheeks and the way you look off to the side with a shy smile growing. "I draw the people I like, the people I'm closest to."

His heart almost stops. Did you just try to kill him?! 'cause clearly you aren't aware of the way you make him feel.

I headcannon Harry to be Pansexual, as a pan person myself, so he was kinda well known on the Isle for being able to flirt with anyone he wanted for various reasons

But let me tell you, not once had he had the air knocked out of his chest from a few simple words.

You take his silence the wrong way and begin packing your things to go find somewhere to wallow in your shame, but Harry just drops to his knees in front of you.

"Please, draw meh, whenever ye want to." He is on his knees looking at you with the happiest smile he can muster and almost puppy like wonder in his eyes. "I'll be yours, if you'll be mine?"

Okay that bit came out a little too easy to him, he didn't really mean for that to happen.

But he can't complain since you agreed!

Everything you create for him, he treats like it's the most fragile item he's ever come in contact with

He's always showing it off though he's so appreciative of everything you do so he wants to show the entire world

When you feel down for not feeling your art is good enough, he's oddly prepared to show every bit of art you've ever given him with reasons on what makes it perfect to him

He may as well be prepared with a PowerPoint presentation on every one of your works he's seen

I fact he's probably prepared one somewhere, pictures, effects, transitions, the whole shebang!

He draws too, almost forgot to mention. I've got a little headcanon of him always doodling pirates on cool adventures when he was younger on the isle. I also like to imagine that there was a time where Evie and Harry liked to draw together but Evie drew Princesses and dress designs and Harry drew pirates which created some childish clashing between the two. So they'd stopped almost as soon as they started their little doodle hangouts

That's offtrack, sorry.

He gives you pictures of you in multiple different styles, each time it seems like he's trying to depict you as an angel of sorts

He also draws the Uma and the crew but he comes to check that he got everyone right with you

ART DATES.

YOU'RE GOING TO ALL THE MOST AESTHETICALLY PLACES HE CAN FIND

He may or may not let you take pictures of him for references as long as he can do the same with you, he's also pretty good at photography so he loves getting new picture of you with some fantastical background making you stand out so much more

Uma

Uma knew who you were when she arrived in Auradon, she'd heard your music played at cotillion

She couldn't complain about it, it wasnt her usual style but it was new and she liked that

When she had officially arrived she would notice you all around

Playing music for parties, proper events, even just around the school

Despite her not meeting you she subconsciously finds her way to you

She listens out for you whenever she can

She ends up actually meeting you thought Evie

Evie was designing everyone's outfits for a party so your fitting time overlapped into Uma's time. Uma didn't mind and in fact took the opportunity to tell you that she'd heard you around but hadn't had the chance to meet you

From then, you became quick friends.

Her feelings developed the more time she spent with you, she just loves listening to your music

She'd like to learn an instrument that would compliment your style of music so you could play together

She helps you with lyrics whenever you need the help

She first finds out that you write songs about your experiences and the people around you by looking at the lyrics for some of your songs

She finds it sweet that although you don't directly mention people, you can share the way you feel to them to those who will listen

But then she finds a song that's for her

I mean who else would it be for, she's the person you spend most of your time with and she's the pretty pirate with blue hair

She definitely looks over the lyrics and gets so giddy that she's kicking her feet with glee, when you walk in and see her smiling at the page she doesn't stop smiling

She immediately asks what you mean and when you tell her she latches onto you

Basically, she asks you out right then and there

Who are you to deny her? Of course you accept

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

So sorry it took longer than I thought, and sorry Uma's part was shorter thats my dumb lil brain being dumb