#i was in a rush when i was saving them all

[ivoirerose]

designated driver | charles leclerc

a reworking of an old fic of mine. no warnings except drunk idiots and mentions of sex. you have to pick up your drunk boyfriend from a night out.

Come pick your idiot up, he just started rapping Baby Got Back.

The text had come through from Carlos attached to a video of Charles singing along, trail of shot glasses surrounding him, and you couldn’t help but laugh as you watched the passionate way he belted every word.

You rolled off the couch, shoving your feet into your shoes and grabbing your keys off the counter, answering Carlos with a firm order to not let Charles have any more to drink.

You try stopping him, he’s a menace.

Well you couldn’t argue with that. You tapped in the address Carlos had sent you, pulling up outside of a bar, music blasting from the door as it opened, letting out a group of girls stumbling over their heels.

You texted to say you were outside, watching the door, and when they hadn’t emerged after ten minutes, you decided to go in and get your pack of drunks.

You spotted them almost as soon as you walked through the door, sitting in the corner. Charles had his arms around Pierre's shoulders, the pair now both singing along to Vanilla Ice while Carlos recorded them.

You shook your head as you made your way over to them.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Charles’ gaze shot to you immediately, smile lighting up his face.

“Baby!! Guys, look, it’s my baby. You’re here!” he stood up and stumbled over to you, hands on either side of your face, and you caught a strong whiff of tequila as he leaned close. “You. Are so. Pretty.”

“Thanks Charlie, you too,” you answered as you peeled him off you, raising your eyebrows at Carlos over his shoulder, the other boy just shrugging and gesturing to the glass-littered table.

“Aww, you think so?” Charles blushed, and you fluffed up his hair.

“The prettiest. And you know what pretty boys need? Their beauty sleep. What do you say we get you back, huh?” You asked as he turned to Pierre.

“She thinks I’m pretty,” Charles smugly told Pierre.

“You know who I think is pretty? Kika,” he mumbled. “Hey, I’m gonna call her.”

He went to take out his phone and you rushed over to grab it from him.

“No you’re not because Kika has a big job in the morning and if you wake her up just to tell her how shiny her hair is, she will kill you.”

“Boo! No fun,” he grumbled. “It is shiny though, isn’t it?”

“Super ahiny,” you gave in, pulling him from his seat to stand next to Charles. “Okay, Carlos, you get Pierre, I’ll get Charles.”

“Got it,” he answered, and as he stood up, he stumbled against the chair, crashing to the floor. You watched as he pulled himself up by the table edge. “Woah, Y/N, did you see the way the floor just rose up then?”

You sighed, rubbing your hand over your face.

“Okay, never mind, I’ll get all three of you.” You reached over to grab him, linking your arm through his, Pierre on your other side. “Charles, link with Pierre. No letting go, children, come on.”

You led them through the bar, saving them from a stumble every few steps. You got to the exit when Charles stopped you.

“Wait, wait, baby, this bouncer? Here? He didn’t believe I had the prettiest girlfriend in the world. Can you believe that?” He gestured to the guy manning the door. “And now, she’s here, see, isn’t she the prettiest?”

You blushed, apologising to the guy as you pushed your way through.

“Wait, but he said…”

“Charlie, you’re gonna be the death of me!” you opened the door for him, shoving him into the passenger seat before wrangling the other two boys into the back.

You climbed into your own seat, clicking the child lock before setting off.

“Hey, can we put the radio on?” Pierre called from the back, and Charles reached out before you could answer, cheering as the sound of Bob Marley came from your speakers.

You smiled as they all sang along, and before you knew it, you were pulling up outside their hotel.

“Can you guys get in okay?” You asked, ignoring Pierre’s offended scoff at your question as he pulled at the door handle before turning to you with a sad look. “It won’t open, Y/N.”

You smiled as you clicked the button to unlock the door, and they climbed out of the back of your car. You and Charles watched them wobble their way to the door and stumble in, giving big waves as they stepped inside.

“Idiots,” you mumbled.

“I agree,” Charles answered sleepily.

“I was including you in that.”

“Hey! I’m your idiot.” He defended, and you couldn’t help but nod at that. “Can we stop for fries?”

“Are you gonna order four portions and then eat two bites before falling asleep again?”

“No?”

“Charles.”

“Okay, no fries.”

You rolled your eyes, signalling to pull in the nearest drive-thru, ignoring your boyfriend’s elated cheer.

“One portion, Charles, One.”

“Deal. Give 'em.”

He stuffed four into his mouth at once, groaning at the taste.

“God I love you.”

“You talking to me or the fries?”

“Honestly, right now, I’m not even sure.”

You giggled and he turned to look at you, eyes drunk and hazy.

“I do love you. A lot. You’re so pretty. And nice. And smart. And funny. And great in bed.”

“Charlie!”

“It’s true!”

“God Carlos was right, you’re a menace.”

“Yeah but you love me.”

“Yeah. I do.”

…

“Speaking of great in bed?”

“Charles, no!”

[moyazaika]

tbh jaded lawyer darling trying to save yan crime kingpin from getting his ass thrown into prison for life — yet again.

he’s lingering at the court’s steps, entertaining the news reporters with a dazzling smile, the entire world waiting with bated breath to see whether this is the day his billion dollar criminal empire comes crumbling down—

“the whole world knows you did it!”

“are you ashamed of yourself?”

“do you really think you’ll walk away a free man after today?”

that gets his attention.

“darling, don’t ‘ya worry about me,” he turns to the journalist, and tilts his head to the side, pulling out his lollipop from between those lips, curled in a sly grin. “i ain’t gotta worry ‘bout no fuckin’ laws when i got the world’s best damn lawyer on my side.”

a young man, then. thick glasses and braces on his teeth. far too thin and lanky, for all his balls of steel as he speaks up. “are you implying that your lawyer is an accessory to your crimes? a corrupt lawyer for a guilty man on his way to the gallows?”

he hears you approach before he can think to respond. the familiar, expensive echo of the dress shoes he’d bought you the first time you’d won a case, before you’re there where he thinks you belong; right by his side.

“alleged crimes,” you correct, and your kingpin turns to greet you with a million dollar smile. “now, my client will not be taking any more questions. kindly, fuck off.”

cameras flash instantly and countless more mics are shoved into his pretty face, still mesmerised by you, even when you grab him by the back of his collar (unironed, you notice with absolute dismay) and pull him inside, away from prying eyes.

“you’re being tried for sixteen drug and weapons counts,” you hiss, digging your newly manicured nails into his skin, as you pull the lollipop he’s sucking on right out of his mouth with a wet ‘pop’ and toss it to the side, seething. “when will you fucking get serious!”

he only dumbly stares back at you with a slack jaw, and stars in his eyes. his voice dips an octave lower, deep in his throat when he speaks. “oh, i could get very serious if you wanted to give me a kiss. or, y’know, maybe you could act as a replacement to that sweet lollipop of mine ‘ya just—oh, fuck!”

when you stride into the courtroom later, in your neat, pressed suit and slicked back hair, nobody dares ask why the infamous ‘alleged’ crime lord is following after you with a bruise blossoming on cheeks that flush a deep, deep scarlet.

-

the judge announces the jury's verdict, and you don’t even look up from the documents you’re perusing when he’s found ‘not guilty’ in a court of law, yet again—

“jesus fuckin’ christ, i knew you were gonna save me!” your kingpin jumps up from where he’s sitting besides you, pressing his face into your shoulder as he breathes you in with an elated, shuddering breath. “can’t even imagine which ditch i’d be rottin’ in without ‘ya, sweet pea.”

“excuse me, sir.” you pry his hands off you with a detached air of reservation you reserve for when the two of you are in public, but the way your knuckles are white when you gather the countless files and papers of yours scattered on your desk tell him everything he needs to know about how pissed you are. “hands off.”

he knows he’s in for it when the two of you get home, and yet, he looks forward to the sight.

it’s always more… exciting than it should be; when you’ve got him shoved right up against a well, going off about how ‘irresponsible’ and ‘immature’ he is, nails leaving his skin bleeding from how deep you sink them into his body, too caught up in your own irritation to notice or, honestly, care.

and maybe, he thinks, as he follows you out, tonight he’ll go pay a visit to someone after you’re done with him.

a man’s got needs, y’know?

he’s high off the rush of his latest win when he walks up the porch steps hours later. it's really only the latest achievement in a long line he attributes solely to you and your efforts.

he’ll make sure to repay you one day, with all you’ve done for him. he’ll take such good care of you; let you do whatever you wanted to him, as a token of his appreciation for ho hard you've worked to keep him on the streets he rules and out of the prisons he knows he belongs in.

in fact, his efforts start right here and right now; on the steps of a nice, suburban house, that belongs to the journalist with thick glasses and braces and a wiry frame. the white picket fence and 'keep off the grass' sign do little to deter the man outside. then again, the poor bastard could have had gates of iron, and he still would have found a way to creep inside.

he never knew being a journalist paid so well. shit, maybe he should’ve gone down this path instead of, y’know, running a criminal empire. this bastard's got balls of steel, for what he had the nerve to say about you. but it’s okay! hey! he’s here to take care of it for you!

you don’t ever need to find out what he’s done in your name. ♡

he’s very adamant about this, choosing to see the job to completion all alone, slinking away from your critical, watchful gaze—only once he’s made sure you’re knocked out by watching you sleep, crouched by your bedside, for a few hours—to make sure the problem’s all taken care of.

the kingpin rings the doorbell, and patiently waits for the door to open with his scarred hands held behind his back. there’s a glock in his left back pocket, and a silencer in the right. a swiss army knife curled in his fingers, because he’s always been creative.

yeah, can you believe that? his teachers used to tell him he would make a great artist one day. and he is, he likes to think. only that his canvases are a little less traditional, and not in the banksy way. you know how it is! life imitates art... or some hippie shit like that.

there's no rules in art for what you can paint with, right? or what surfaces you can carve up into pretty shapes...

and so, when the lock clicks open, and the handle turns, it’s exactly like he said; a man’s got needs!

so sue him! really, so what if his needs mean his heavy hands are clamping over the journalist’s mouth, twisted into a silent scream—

so what if he knocks the smaller man back, a fist flying to his face, those wide eyes and all, slack jaw stupidly hanging open in disbelief—

so what if he shoves him inside and kicks the door behind them shut?

your kingpin knows what comes with the life he chose, and sullying his name is one thing—but nobody gets to drag your name through the dirt and live.

he makes sure of that, personally.

-

“where did you go last night?” you ask, not taking your eyes off the weekly newspaper in your hands. there, on the front page, a greyscale photo of you and your headache of a client, descending the court’s steps after the verdict. “and why didn’t you ask for my permission before you left?”

the headline, in big, bold letters, splashed above the picture; INTERNATIONAL OUTRAGE AS INFAMOUS DRUG LORD EVADES LAW YET AGAIN. SHADY LAWYER TO BLAME?

“just takin’ out the trash, lovely. don’t you worry ‘yer pretty little mind about it.” as he says that, he abandons his own breakfast, suddenly snatching the paper out of your hands and ripping it up, but not before noting the name of the article’s author, tucking it away for later.

shreds of the weekly paper you hadn't even gotten to read yet fall to the floor, fluttering this way and that. you close your eyes and smile. “haha. funny. well, my ‘pretty little mind’ is telling me to throw the coffee in my hands all over you.”

“tryna mark me up?” he purrs, “if you really wanna wake me up, can i suggest somethin’ else ‘ya could throw at me? or on me, really. but—”

“i’m going to kill you in your sleep, one of these days.” you deadpan, turning back to your food. he’s like a little kid, and you’re not about to indulge him by giving him the attention he so desperately wants from you.

“'yer serious??" he grins, hands flying to his face in elation, a curious blush colouring his skin a deep pink. “you mean you actually wanna step into my bedroom— at night— of 'yer own damn will?“

you take another sip of your coffee, fingers trembling around the cup. don’t throw it at him it’s what he wants don’t throw it at him it’s what he wants don’t throw it at him it’s what—

“damn... guess i should start sleeping naked, then.”

[insomniactic-daydream]

Beside You...

Pro Hero Bakugo ♡ Pro Hero Reader

Friends to Lovers

Summary: Bakugo always held victory close to his heart, but he held you closer.

From being kids in the playground, to freshly new homeowners talking about marriage, and til you both took your last breaths with a smile... you were the thing he held closest.

(This is Bruno Mars and Lady Gaga's fault for cooking up Die With A Smile. Had me in my feels.🫠)

TW: ANGST !! and some suggestive writing but no smut. Read at own risk.

Age 6

Bakugo knew from a young age who he's supposed to be. Even as kids change their future occupation to astronauts to doctors, he never had doubt. He was meant to be a hero. He was meant to protect you.

"Hey! Stop pulling my hair it's not funny!"

The young blonde hears your cries from a mile away as two of the older kids from the playground tug your hair and take your toy away.

"Or what? you're just a pathetic weakling who can't even fight back." The two kids laugh as they continue to torment you.

Suddenly, a big explosion was directed at the two bullies sending them flying. Bakugo had never had such perfect precision with his quirk before. It was his first perfect and biggest shots he's had since his quirk manifestation.

"Die you extras! If you even think about bullying her again, I'll blow you to bits!" He barked like a high squeaking chihuahua standing in front of your body that was thrown down from the blast. Safe to say you never saw those bullies again.

"Get up. Your dress is going to get dirty." Bakugo huffs, sounding angry but still holding his hand out with a blush.

Your eyes widen as you take his hand to get up, and you give him a big hug, causing him to be taken aback.

"You're my hero!"

Bakugo never went to the park without you after that. Not if both of your parents wanted to deal with constant crying/yelling from the two of you...

Age 14

After the U.A. exams, you and Bakugo sit in his room as you hold your head in your hands in defeat.

"Stop sulking. You don't even know if you got rejected yet." He says in his usual huff but still holds your hair back.

You mailed your results to his house so you could open it together.

"Easy for you to say. You had the highest points. I swear it took me forever to get one robot when I was too busy saving others from getting mauled by theirs." Y/n sighs as she reflects on the exams.

"I don't know Kats, I think I did better in the Shiketsu exam than I did U.A. I'll probably only be getting the acceptance there." You groan as you wipe some tears from your face.

"Shut up. You don't know shit yet." He said earning a scoff.

"I know I did dog shit at the exam, and that's enough. Sorry to say, but I don't think we'll be in the same class, or even the same school."

"I'll go to Shiketsu then."

You let out an audible laugh before looking at his face, dropping you smile instantly.

"Holy shit. You're serious?" You say before shaking your head. "No, you can't. Your dream is UA. Don't be switching shit up just because of me." You say before turning your body towards him.

"I don't care where I get my license at. I'm still going to be number one. No matter what. Beside can't be training if your ass is getting into trouble the whole other side of town",He said, rolling his eyes as he looked away from your widened gaze.

"Katsuki-," you say before getting cut off.

"Don't make a big deal out of it, princess." He quips, signaling to you that's the end of the discussion. He's going where you go.

Silence falls between the two of you until the sound of a car is heard right after. You both rush to get the letters and begin to open them. Revealing two holograms of All Might congratulating them on their acceptances to Class 1-A.

You grab him and jump up and down from excitement.

"See you idiot. You were overreacting." He says with his usual smirk. You roll your eyes. Maybe you were being a bit dramatic.

"Yeah, but still.." You say before kissing his cheek, causing him to freeze up. You smile at him.

"Thank you for wanting to cheer me up and wanting to stay by me."

His stares at your beautiful smile before looking away.

"Tch. Always, you big baby." He says before pulling you into his arms as you laugh.

Your romantic relationship didn't wait long after that moment.

Age 22

"Last fucking box." Bakugo grunts putting down the box down in the empty living room filled with the rest of the labeled boxes. While your slumped body lays on the couch, you just assembled.

Something about wanting to make the house feel more homey for the time being or procrastination for unpacking Bakugo calls it. Still, he takes the opportunity to lay next to you.

"Why didn't we just keep our apartment." You groan as you look at him. He glares at you.

"You were the one that suggested buying the house in full, princess." He said. They both earned quite a bit the last year and had money to spare.

"Besides, that place was getting too cramped for all our shit. You know this already." He says before grabbing your face as you pout.

"Ugh, but now we have to unpack all of this." You say as he smushes your cheeks. You wrap your arm around him.

You both lean in for a kiss, embracing the comfort of the couch. You both pull away and sit up, looking at all the boxes.

"Cmon, get your ass up and help me unpack." He says, trying to reach for a box before you blurt out.

"Let's get married today."

Just as he thinks you can never surprise him, you say shit like that.

He was planning on marrying you, like hell he would buy a house just for a girlfriend. You were his first and only, no doubt. But he didn't expect how this would play out.

"What?" He says in a shell-shocked tone.

"The court house doesn't close til 9. We still have time to make it over there. So what do you say." Going up to him with a sheepish smile.

"Fuck no." He says to you while you pause, smile dimming while thinking you misinterpreted his goals with you.

"Oh. Okay. Yeah, it was stupid ide - "You say before getting interrupted.

"Fuck that's not what I meant, Babe." He says before grabbing your pulling away figure.

"I wanna marry your ass, but I'm not doing it at a courthouse just because you're trying to avoid moving into our damn house." He says before peppering you with kisses. His grip on you tightening.

"I just needed to make sure that meant moving into a home meant what I thought it meant." You mumble between kisses. Wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Of course it does, dumbass." He says, deepening the kiss as he walks and pulls you down to the couch. Falling into each other's embrace.

It's definitely a creative way of getting comfortable in the new home.

Age 45

"Fucking shit" Bakugo groans after the building collapsed on the two of you by the villian you both were trying to stop for months now.

"Katsuki." You weakly groan beneath him as the raging headache ensued from the collision of the building.

Bakugo look around them, sighing in relief as he realizes his wife is okay, and so is he. He tries to get but stops when he hears you yelp in pain.

"Stop, don't move, Katsuki!" You breathe tiredly. Only then does Bakugo look down and see the large metal bar piercing the two of you together. It's shocking the two of you are still alive.

Bakugo looks into your eyes as you whimper in pain. His adrenaline is beginning to stop as he winces in pain, too. But he puts on a brave face.

"Shh.. Fuck. It's okay, baby. We're going to get out of here okay, rescue shouldn't take long." He now says breathlessly holding you close.

You smile weakly at him, grabbing caressing his face.

"You're no liar, Katsuki. It's okay." You say while your voice cracks with emotion. He grits his teeth as tears spill out of his eyes.

"I'm sorry... I can't save us this time, baby " He says, choking on tears and blood. Your tears beging to spill, too.

"There was still so much I wanted to do with you." He sobs out as you listen, sobbing too.

"Fuck, we should've stopped ages ago, our stubborn asses. Should've retired early, go on a vacation, fuck maybe even had a child or two." He huffs out in a sad laughter as you both realize just how different your lives could've been if you had stopped being heroes year before.

Maybe your guy's death would have been more peaceful; one with old gray hair and wrinkles.

You give out a weak laugh. Your vision starts to get smaller, so you try to soak up every last detail of your husband's face.

"I don't regret this." You say choking on your blood. He stares lovingly into your eyes. His vision too slowly giving out.

"I loved that I got to spend every moment with you, Kats. I fucking love you're annoying ass so much. I couldn't imagine breathing without you next to me." You say with a weak smile, gasping for air with each pause.

Bakugo weakly smiles back at you as he brushes the debris off your face. Taking your beauty in for the final time.

"Good thing we don't have to" He says his final comeback as he pulls you in and puts his lips on yours.

Taking each other's final breath...

[If] our time on Earth was through, I'd wanna hold you just for a while, and die with a smile.

If the world was ending, I wanna be next to you~♡

Shut up, I'm not crying you are 😭.

It's literally one of the most emotional pieces I've ever written in my life.

Blame Bruno Mars and Lady Gaga. 😭

[thatonebirdwrites]

Cheating Death Part 3

Part 1 and Part 2 Doctor Alex Danvers and Karen Starr moved in perfect symmetry, as they worked to extract the bullets.

Kara had sensed the one that punctured Lena's lung, but another had been hidden by her spine. Her stomach rumbled, but the granola bar Nia had dropped off sat uneaten in Kara's pocket. Instead, she kept her vigil, her stomach knotted at the sight of Lena's still form. Alex had been stiff-lipped about the prognosis. Each second, minute, hour, Lena still breathed, unconscious, while the doctors sewed her body back together. Machines hummed and beeped, and Kara took to pacing a groove into the floor. Nia had tried twice to convince her to come eat with the others, but Kara couldn't leave Lena.

If she did, she'd do more dangerous stunts, testing the edge of her powers, just to not feel the intense shame, fear, and worry that throbbed through her muscles.

One of the nurses rushed out of the room. "Rh-null blood!" she shouted to one of the technicians, further down the medical wing. "We need another batch!"

"That's our last one!" the technician called back. "Ms. Lena Luthor was our only donor."

"What do you mean Rh-null blood?" Kara asked, anxiously.

"Need it to prevent hemolysis," the nurse said. "Her blood type is one of the rarest, compatible as a donor with any human blood type, but only able to receive Rh-null blood in return."

Dread curdled through Kara. "When does she need this?"

"As soon as possible," the nurse glanced back at Alex and the other doctor.

Alex leaned over Lena's bed with her tools, her body blocking the spine region from view. They'd propped Lena up on her side with a thick pillow on the other. Her skin was pallid, deep shadows under her eyes, and her body limp against the body pillow. A terrifying sight for Kara.

Kara clenched her jaw. She pushed past the nurse despite the nurse's protestations. "Alex! Does she need another transfusion?"

Alex waved a blood-stained glove at her. "Kara, don't interrupt, and yes. Nurse --"

"We're out of her blood type. Nurse said it was super rare, is that true?" Kara ached to reach out to hold Lena's limp hand, but she didn't want to disturb the delicate surgery.

Alex looked up. Even with the mask, she looked haggard. "Well shit. And yes. i wouldn't even know how to begin to find it. All the stock we had is what Lena herself donated. She's one of the few Rh-null donors in the world."

Kara grimaced. "Then what about synthetic blood? I could make some in the Fortress if I had a sample of her blood."

"Synthetic? Would her body reject it?" Dr. Karen Starr glanced at Kara, her eyebrows scrunched. She held a scalpel in her hand, its edge gleaming silver in the florescent lighting.

"Not if it's an exact match. I should be able to replicate down to the atomic level, but..." Kara nibbled on her lower lip and the urge to weep nearly overcame her. "I could only do a small amount. It takes considerable time and energy to do larger batches. Maybe enough for one or two transfusions."

She didn't want to admit that it had been years since she did any science of this magnitude, and that had been with Kryptonian blood, which differed slightly from human. The protocol for working the synthesizers was the same regardless.

One of the monitors beeped. Alex cursed again. "She's dipping again. Starr we may need a breathing tube if she continues to dive." She stripped off her gloves, tossed them in the bio-waste, and replaced them. "Kara, if you can pull that off, then we need it as soon as possible." She used the IV to pull a small vial of blood. She handed it to Kara.

"I'll be back in a jiffy." She dashed out of the room, leaving a gust of wind in her wake.

Again the sonic boom rattled the windows of National City. The blood vial she held close to her chest.

Returning to the Fortress so soon left her feeling ill.

Here Lena had saved her from Rama Khan. Here Lena and her had fought. And here, Lena encased her in a Kryptonite ice cage. The horrifying truth was Kara could have broken free, it'd been painful, but she had the strength. Instead, she'd stood there, stunned.

If Lena had decided to kill her, Kara would have let it happen. There was no doubt in her mind; she could never fight Lena.

But Lena hadn't wanted to kill her. She'd done all she could to make sure Kara recovered fast. That seeded Kara's wrecked heart with a wild hope.

Turning down a side corridor, she raced for the medical wing of the fortress, the area she had not taken Lena. Inside a massive tube took up much of the room, with several medical instruments, machinery, and a control panel covered in Kryptonian glyphs.

She keyed the command for the synthesis of blood, a program coded into the Fortress long ago, likely when Kal's father sent it on its way.

She flipped open the side panel and inserted the tube. Now Lena Luthor's blood would join her own and Kal's in the archive, along with all of Kara's and Kal's family.

A three-dimensional DNA strand appeared in the air, along with various imaging of the cells contained in the blood. She keyed an analysis against her limited database, then keyed the command for a replica of the blood.

A red alert appeared requesting more material. Kara scowled, of course. Can't synthesize a larger amount from nothing.

She recalled a vague lesson from her father. How he'd used raw ingredients from plants to show her how any ingredients worked for synthesizer as long as it held the correct set of elements.

So, okay, raw ingredients could come from anything. So why not herself?

All that mattered was that the final product exactly match Lena's blood.

"Kara Zor El?" Kelex floated up to her. "Do you need assistance?"

She glanced at the floating robot. "Yes, actually. I need you to take my blood and put it in the synthesizer. It's low on ingredients."

He flew closer to the medical control panel. "This is human blood you are synthesizing. Are you certain you wish to do this?"

Kara rolled up her sleeve and held out her arm. "Yes, do it." She closed her eyes and tensed for the pain of a kryptonite needle. Kelex worked quietly. The soft slosh of blood in the tubing he'd hooked into the synthesizer rang with the hum of the machine.

She opened her eyes to see the data from her donation form on the other side of Lena's blood imaging. She watched in fascination as her blood was broken down into its smallest components and reassembled with Lena's parameters.

The entire process lasted fifteen minutes, but it felt like a lifetime. Kara kept shifting and nearly dislodged Kelex's needle from her vein twice.

When the signal rang for completion, Kelex applied an coagulating agent to her wound and gathered up the tubing. "This will be destroyed per protocol. Do you wish to destroy the original sample?"

Kara tugged the larger container free from the synthesizer. The smaller vial still sat in its slot. "Yes. Thanks Kelex. I got to go."

The entire flight back her head swam with dizziness from the blood draw, the night sky not at all conducive toward recovery. By the time she stumbled into the surgery room with the container, it'd been nearly twenty-five minutes.

"Please tell me I'm on time," she said.

Alex stared at the metal container. Several monitors beeped alarmingly in the background. "Yeah, yeah, how do I work it? Because she needs it now."

She showed Alex the set of controls and where the tube could be inserted for the transfer. "I tried to make enough to last awhile."

Alex swiftly hooked it up to Lena's IV. "All that from a small sample?"

"Well, not exactly." Kara rubbed the back of her neck. "I used my own blood as raw ingredients so the synthesizer could reformulate it for Lena."

"Shit." Alex's hand hesitated on the clip that would start the transfusion. "Are you sure it's safe?"

"Hundred percent match to the original sample. Do you have a choice?" Kara crossed her arms. "You said her blood type is rare."

"Nearest hospital with Rh-null stock has only a quarter of what we need," Dr. Starr said. She worked on the final stitches to Lena's spine surgery. "We've had no other replies on the network."

"Fine. Let's hope this works." She flicks the clip and breathes out a long sigh. "As for you," she pointed to Kara, "great work. Now shoo and go sit under the sunbed. You look pale as fuck." Alex waved her hands toward the door. "I'll let you know when she wakes."

When. Alex said when.

Hope dug its roots into Kara's heart for the first time that day. *** Light danced across her eyelids. Whispers echoed in her ears. Soft fabric lay across her skin. Pain melded with the aggravating thirst and pulsing headache.

If she was dead, then the pain would cease.

Which meant she was alive.

Her eyes slowly opened to a small room of mostly glass walls. She lay on a bed, and a sheet and blue blanket covered her body. Someone dressed in a white lab coat and black pants fiddled with the IV bags. Or rather one metal container that had a tube connected to her IV, its contents blood-red.

The red hair cropped short rang with familiarity. "Alex?" Lena rasped. Speaking hurt her throat. Her mouth way too dry.

The woman turned with a smile of relief. "Hey, the sleeping beauty finally awakes." She turned and lifted the blanket to adjust the blood pressure cuff and examine the IV needle in her elbow. "Maybe now my sister will stop bothering the hell out of me."

"Kara?" Lena struggled to comprehend what happened. "How? What is that? Why am I..." She tried to lift her finger to point at the container, but she seemed to have misplaced her strength on the stairwell.

"The signal watch." Alex lifted her head to study Lena, her eyebrows furrowed. "You're lucky. A few minutes later and I'm not sure even surgery would have saved you. You lost far too much blood. It's a good thing you donate blood a lot, as we had to do several transfusions. When our stock ran low, Kara raced to the fortress to synthesize more."

Lena struggled to parse Alex's words. "Synthesized?"

Alex shrugged. "I'm no expert on Kryptonian tech. That's Kara, Kal, and Brainy. All I know is she used her own blood as ingredients to craft a replica of yours."

"Her own blood?" Lena repeated, stunned.

But why? She'd raged at Kara, trapped her in a Kryptonite cage, deceived her for months, and yet Kara saved her? And why was Alex helping her? If Alex knew about the Kryptonite cage, she'd be more likely to shoot her or throw her in a cage to die. Not save her life.

Hot brands swept through her neck and back, and she hissed, her eyes briefly closing. The machine hummed next to her like an irritating bee. Each pump alleviated some of the dizziness, but the pain burned with a dogged persistence.

Alex reached over her to dim the lights. "Look, I get the whole being reluctant to use the watch. But for that situation? You should have used it sooner." She fiddled with a tablet. "Those bullets did some nasty damage."

She gave Lena a faint smile. "You also don't have to worry about Leviathan assassins any further. Kara took care of them."

"Took care of them?" She felt like a parrot, repeating words that made no sense to her. "But why? We -- we fought."

Alex hesitated far too long, her smile tight. "Ah, she just took care of them. They won't bother anyone going forward."

It dawned on her slowly. "She killed them? But..."

Alex understood her trailed off sentence. "I know," she said, softly. She grasped Lena's hand and squeezed gently. "It's against her code to kill, but you've always been her exception."

This was a dream. It had to be a dream.

Tears blurred her vision, and although she tried to hold them back, they burned on her cheeks. Her body throbbed in agony, her condition atrocious, and this information overwhelmed.

She had been prepared to die on the stairs. Any signal watch activation had been only for a last goodbye.

Kara should have left her there. Moved on and found someone better. Not save Lena, who out of bitterness and heartbreak hurt Kara and deceived her for months.

With a tenderness she didn't deserve, Alex wiped away the tears with a kleenex. "Take it easy, Lena. You're safe here." She gestured to a cup with a straw. "Want a few drops of water? Can't have too much but it'll at least eliminate the dry mouth."

"Alex..." the urge to confess simmered, but the words clogged her throat and came out as a strangled sob. She wanted to curl up in a fetal position and cease existing. She should have died. Why couldn't Kara let her die? She'd lost everything.

"I don't deserve this..."

"Nonsense." Alex smoothed back Lena's hair. "You deserve it more than anyone." Her smile held a hint of melancholy. "And I'm sorry I wasn't as supportive of you and Kara. No matter what happens, we're here for you, Lena. And I want to make up for my mistakes to you."

"Don't!" The word erupted in a coughing fit. "Please, don't. Alex, I hurt Kara. Don't you see? I'm not good." Her tears burned with shame. Her thoughts fixated on the Kryptonite cage, the pain of seeing Kara in it, the urge to free her, how it'd taken all her willpower to walk through that portal. How she'd collapsed into tears on the other side. She loved Kara, and yet still hurt her? What kind of monster did that?

God, she loved Kara. She loved her so much it hurt. Now she was broken on bed, trapped with the knowledge she was capable of hurting Kara. "You shouldn't have saved me."

Alex frowned. "Lena, we all make shitty mistakes. I fuck up and hurt Kara sometimes, and we talk it out and fix it. You doing it doesn't mean you deserve death."

"Shitty? Shitty doesn't cover this." She felt loopy and out of control. Her emotions bubbled and frothed, her head spun, and the pain crawled through her spine. "I killed my brother for her. And... and he showed me she was Supergirl. I didn't know what to do. So I went to all of you, and you were celebrating and playing games." The pain with each breath, each word spoken ripped through her. But she had to get it out. She had to make sure Alex knew she was not worth this care.

"Lena..."

"No! Let me finish!" She tried to push herself upright, but her arm wouldn't handle her weight. She collapsed onto her side, wheezing. "Was I just the Luthor on a leash? No more a friend than a cat with a rat? I wanted Kara to feel my pain. I deceived her, used her, and I do not deserve this care--"

"Lena," Alex interrupted, sternly. "Lena, listen to me. You are hurting yourself with this." She gently pushed her back against the mattress and readjusted the blankets. "I am a trained doctor, and one thing I know, that it doesn't matter what a person did. If they come to me needing medical assistance, I give it. Want to know the best thing you can do right now?"

Lena sucked in a breath, still trembling from the pain and exertion.

"Rest. I mean it, you've been through hell. Your heart stopped during surgery, okay?" Alex's voice shook with an emotion Lena couldn't decipher. "I had to call J'onn in to hold Kara back from doing something very stupid. We almost lost you." She breathed in sharply. "Now is not the time for confessions and blame games. As your doctor, I order you to rest."

She picked up the cup and held it out. Reluctantly, Lena took a few short sips. Her head fell back against the pillow in exhaustion. She closed her eyes, but all she saw was the Kryptonite cage.

***

She woke next to voices whispering by her bed. One she recognized as Kara and the other took her a few seconds. Nia? She hadn't interacted with the girl much. She kept her eyes shut, the pain too much to handle speech.

She wished they'd go away. Leave her to mope in pieces.

"Kara, you need rest too. Lena will be okay. She's under Alex's supervision."

"I'm not leaving her side. I can't." Kara's voice sounded uncharacteristically wild. "She died, Nia, she died for almost twenty seconds. No, I have to make sure she's okay."

"I get that, okay? It scared all of us too. We can take shifts or something. Make sure someone is always at her bedside." Nia shuffled further from her bed. "Didn't you say we were stronger together? El Mayarah?"

Kara breathed in sharply. "Using my family motto against me?"

"Hey, just using my full arsenal here. Like you taught me." Nia paused and sighed. "I didn't want to say this, but Andrea has been on me today about our articles. The only reason we even have this extension is because it's Lena in the hospital. Don't make the situation worse."

"Maybe I'll just quit."

"And never be a reporter again?"

"Lena is more important."

"Oh my god, Alex wasn't kidding. You're like a steel mountain. Not budging. Do you think Lena would want you to just throw away everything you've worked for?"

"Lena is more important than anything."

"Even your life?"

"Yes."

"Jesus, Kara."

"No!" Lena winced at he pain from her outburst. Both Nia and Kara turned to her. "No, god no, I'm not more important than your life."

Pain arced down her back, and she blinked back tears, but still they crept free anyway.

"Yes you are!" Kara shot back. "I'm nothing without you, Lena! I just can't. I can't lose you again."

Lena growled deep in her throat, and gathered up every once of energy she had. If she had to walk out of here to prove her point, then fine.

Except, no matter how hard she tried, her legs refused to respond. In fact, she felt only a vague tingling, more in the thighs and not anything below.

She pushed herself upright, which sent pain shooting down her back. Her hands gripped her legs. They were definitely there, but she couldn't get them to move.

"Lena! You shouldn't be moving yet!" Kara said, frantically. "Please, rest." She moved to push her hand against Lena's shoulder.

In response, Lena pushed back, but that succeeded in collapsing into Kara's arms. "Kara," she growls, "if you don't go out there and do your job, I will verbally berate and flay you alive."

"Um, Andrea already does that," Nia said.

"She's too soft," Lena grumbled.

"That sounds a bit like you're telling on yourself," Nia said. When Lena shot her a glare, Nia took a step back. "And I'll just be getting Alex, bye!"

The door swung shut behind her.

Kara gently laid Lena back in the bed, and to her dismay, she didn't have the strength to protest. "I'm going to stay here until you're better."

Lena wanted to yell at Kara. To get her to stop whatever this was. But the pain crackled through Lena's body, and she couldn't think coherently. Instead, to her horror, she wept, her only intelligible words, "I can't, I can't, I just can't."

Kara tenderly held her through it, her hand smoothing back her hair. She didn't say anything, just stayed there, until Lena, exhausted, tumbled back into blessed unconsciousness.

***

Time held no meaning. Depending on the culture, it either flowed like a river in one direction, or it flowed in a circle. Even cosmology couldn't decide if the universe was cyclic -- a big bang, expansive era, then the big crunch -- or ever expanded in all directions endlessly.

Lena felt trapped at the center of some sort of timeless hell. The pain left her short-tempered, and the fact Kara refused to give up on her also grated on her.

"Why can't you see the truth?" Lena shouted at one point. "My body is broken, Kara! I'd rather be dead!"

Kara had stared at her, but then she clenched her fists. "Don't you dare speak ill about yourself." Her voice dropped to a dangerous low tone that did more for Lena's libido than it did to intimidate. "You are beautiful. Gorgeous. And you're hurt and healing. You deserve life, and I will always fight to save you."

Lena didn't know what to say in response.

Because Kara had an alarming point.

She had fought to save Lena over and over again. No matter what her family threw at them, no matter how many assassin's sought her death, no matter the attacks on her person, Kara had been there. Or she'd send Supergirl, which had actually been Kara.

"Was it really you flying me when I was poisoned?" She asked instead. Her voice came out weak, irritatingly timid.

"Yeah. Yeah, it was. I -- I was terrified. Had to use ice breath on you to induce hypothermia to give Alex's medicine time to work." Kara slumped in her chair. "I almost told you then when you said you remembered the flight."

"Why didn't you?"

"James was shaking his head ..."

"I didn't ask about James, Kara. I asked about you. Or do you not make decisions for yourself?" Irritation crept into her voice.

"That's the problem, Lena! Don't you get it?" Kara threw her hands in the air. "I didn't trust myself, all right? So yes, I did rely on others to make decisions, especially about the whole Supergirl identity. I can't afford to mess up. I can't afford to lose anyone else. I just can't."

Lena struggled to parse Kara's words. The pain ricocheted up like it always did before Alex or a nurse came and swapped IV bags for new ones. "What do you mean you didn't trust yourself?"

"Do you know what happened before you came to National City? The attack by my people? That was my Aunt." Kara said bitterly. "My Aunt and her husband wanted to -- Rao, it doesn't matter. I trusted her, and I was wrong. People got hurt. So many died. Alex had to kill my own Aunt because I couldn't do it. Nothing stopped her and Non. And then, and then..."

She shot to her feet and began to pace. "You're not the only one who can make kryptonite, okay? Max Lord did it first but he made red."

"Red? What does--"

"It was horrible. I -- I got infected and it shut off my inhibitions, it made every bad thought, every intrusive nightmare, come to life. I acted it all out, and people got hurt. I almost killed Cat Grant. Alex and J'onn used every Kryptonite they had to capture me."

Lena blinked. She didn't remember reading that in the papers, but then she'd been very distracted by shit in Metropolis at the time. "Were you in control?"

"I don't know." Kara dropped back into her chair and put her head in her hands. "It haunts me to this day. I hear the word synthesized Kryptonite and I start to have flashbacks. I can't let that happen again."

"That's why you acted that way during the worldkillers crisis." Lena didn't ask it as a question.

Kara's shoulders slumped. "I had to be in control. That way no one could get hurt. No one would die. And that was out of my control. But I was trapped back in the Red-K nightmare, and I didn't realize it at first. I -- i was wrong. I shouldn't have acted out my trauma on you. I'm sorry for that too. It hit home how bad I fucked up in the elevator when we were on our way to comfort Sam."

No wonder Kara had looked so upset when she said she'd never trust Supergirl again. She sighed and rubbed her fingers against the IV line. "I tend toward dramatics and can be terribly petty," she said finally. "You tried to talk to me as Supergirl to fix it, and I refused to listen. So as Sam likes to remind me, two wrongs don't fix anything. I'm sorry too."

Kara tentatively touched Lena's hand. "Thank you for this conversation. How are you feeling? Are you in pain again?"

"Alex mentioned internal bleeding once and you're hovering again?" Lena grumbled.

Kara winced. "I just want you to be well."

Lena sighed. "I know, Kara. And yes, I'm in pain. How about you get your sister, and read more of your book out loud?"

She wasn't sure what started that activity, but listening to Kara read soothed her far more than she'd like to admit.

"Okay." Kara shot to her feet. A breeze whipped Lena's hair into her face, Kara vanishing.

Still not used to it, but she was getting closer at least.

***

Two weeks and four days after she woke in Alex's medical ward, Lena was examined by Alex and a Doctor Starr. Part of that exam required her to sit in a wheelchair, which hurt far more than Lena wanted to admit.

Alex's checked her reflexes with her little hammer, while Starr listened to Lena's lungs.

It was irritating, but she was slowly accepting this was her reality now.

At least, the odd Kryptonian container had been used only once since she first saw it. She had a stress induced bout of hemolysis, which didn't surprise her. She knows she's prone to anemia. Kara's frantic reaction had Alex banning her from the room for two whole days.

It should have brought relief, but Lena missed Kara by day two.

As the doctors conferred, a startling thought hits Lena. "Alex, has Kara ever had a loved one in a condition as bad as mine?"

Alex turned and crossed her arms. "When I got sick from Pestilence, I'm told Kara was uncharacteristically erratic. But I was only sick a day or so. So I guess, no, not for this long."

"Hmmm." Lena turned the thought over in her head. "I think I know how to calm her down."

"Oh?" Alex had adopted a neutral tone since Lena's high-on-pain-meds confession. "And what wonderful idea does my patient have today?"

"Take me around wherever we are. Let her see me outside this room." She attempted a smile. "Yes, I'm in a pain, don't ask. Just let her see visible progress."

"I'd advise against..." Dr. Starr started to say but Alex held up her hand.

"No, she's right. Kara needs to see progress. And you are progressing, it's just not really that visible right now." Alex stepped closer and leaned over Lena. "But I need full honesty. Are you positive you want to do this?"

Lena nodded. "Yes. If it helps Kara, then yes."

"I'm not asking about Kara. Will this help you?"

Lena tilted her head puzzled. "I suggested it to aid Kara not myself?"

"Oh my god." Alex threw up her hands. "Do you see what I'm working with here?" She said to the other doctor. "They're both idiots."

Lena sniffed a trifle offended by that statement.

"I mean, yes, you have a pertinent point." Dr. Starr chuckled. "Maybe just indulge her?"

"Not you too. Go right the report." Alex flicked her wrist at the other doctor. "And you," she pointed to Lena. "Tell me immediately if your pain increases. Or else."

Lena knows an empty threat when she sees one. She gives a half-shrug. "Sure. Now shall we?" She waves her good arm toward the door.

Alex grumbled under her breath and pushed her through the door. A certain satisfaction warmed Lena's heart. She'd won against Alex, which was not an easy feat.

The hallways outside the medical room were all a dull grey. The austere architecture painted this place as the DEO. Ah, so that was why she was under Alex's care.

"Lena?! Alex!" Kara skidded to a halt near the door to the control room. Lena can hear the voices of agents and machinery beyond it. "Oh gosh, should... should you be up? Are you okay, Lena? Do you feel any pain? Oh Rao, Alex, what if she's in pain?"

"Kara..." Alex started to say, irritation in her voice, but Lena cut her off.

"Kara, listen to me." Lena held up her hand. "I suggested this. Needed some fresh air. I'm fine. Honest." Yes, her pain has increased a bit, but honestly, she needed out of the medical room.

Plus, this served a dual purpose of showing Alex that perhaps she could go home to rest and do outpatient or whatever happens next for recovery.

Kara wrapped her hands around Lena's, holding it gingerly like she's glass. "Are... are you sure?" She looked so pathetic, that Lena relented.

"Kara, darling," Lena said, gently, "If we're going to get through this, I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"

Kara nodded. "Anything."

"Then trust me when I say I'm okay. Don't assume what I need. Always ask. Can you do that for me?"

"Yeah. Yeah. I can do that." A hint of relief coated Kara's voice.

Lena realized an important fact about Kara that day. When dealing with a situation Kara couldn't control, Kara needed tasks to do. Even simple ones worked.

She tested this hypothesis the next three days. Her conclusions confirmed her hypothesis correct. Kara truly did a lot better with tasks.

If there was one thing Lena excelled at, it was crafting a list of tasks. Whether she got them all done in a day? That was another story.

On the fourth day, Alex stopped in for the usual check-up. "So, you've really figured my sister out, huh?"

Lena studied Alex carefully, uncertain if the question was in good faith or not. "I'm reconciling all parts of her in my head. I can't say that means I have her figured out."

"No, I mean, you solved it." Alex gestured to the building beyond the medical ward. "She has calmed down by a million percent. I no longer feel the need to kick her off the planet twenty times a day."

Lena couldn't help but chuckle at the image of Alex's boot knocking Kara into orbit. "That annoying, huh?"

"God, yes. I get it, I do. You really scared us. All of us. Even Andrea Rojas has been in my business. And now Sam demands to know when she can visit." Alex scribbled her vitals onto the chart by her bed. "So now Kara is dealing with them. Using your phrases too. 'Don't assume, ask Lena.' I can actually do my duties for once."

"About Andrea and Sam..." Lena leaned back in the bed, fatigued by the act of sitting up. Which was incredibly annoying, but fine, that was her life now. "It's been a few weeks. How are you handling those businesses? I only spoke with Jess once."

"I'm not giving your phone back yet," Alex scolded. "I can't trust you with it. You'll try to solve world hunger or something."

"I was merely answering my emails and..."

"Nope, no work. You can't heal if you're working." Alex capped the marker and stuck it to the board.

Lena rolled her eyes. "Alex, I am dying of boredom. Answering emails won't kill me."

"You weren't though. You were heads deep in programming, and then wondering why your pain was so bad, you couldn't move for a whole day." Alex shook her head. "Can't trust you. And I'd like to."

The way she said those last few words had a seriousness that contrasted her slightly playful, scolding tone from earlier.

"How do I build up that trust then?"

"Prove to me you're serious about this." Again that sense the conversation had a double meaning. Something more than just her health. "I need to see you acknowledge your limits."

Lena frowned. "This conversation isn't just about me, is it?"

Alex put her hands on her hips, oddly similar to Supergirl, except Alex held far more authority in the stance. "Perceptive. Yes. I asked Kara about your confession. It wasn't easy. She finally told me everything. You put her in Kryptonite, Lena."

Lena looked at her hands. "I know," she said, softly, "I remember. I had hoped it wouldn't come to that. It's why I programmed in the sun burst."

"Which is great that you did that, but Lena, can I trust you to never trap Kara in Kryptonite again?"

Lena clenched her fists. "Yes." She met Alex's gaze, resolutely. "I love Kara, Alex. I recognize I fucked up. I lashed out exactly how Lex wanted. Played into his hands again. So as a big fuck you to my brother, I'm going to stick by Kara's side, and do what I can to aid her."

Alex studied her silently for a long moment. "Okay."

Lena raised an eyebrow. "Just okay?"

"Yes, just okay. Geesh, want a rambling speech, ask my sister." Alex walked to the door but paused, her hand on the doorknob. She looked back at Lena. "You're good for her, Lena. Kara has never been as happy than when she's with you. Please don't fuck this up."

"I thought you didn't do rambling speeches?" Lena smirked at Alex's raised middle finger.

"Oh, before I forget, you feel up to start physical therapy?"

"Is this where I prove to you I will honor my limits?" Lena asked dryly.

"You could say that. So a yes?" When she nodded, Alex smiled. "Great."

After the door shut, Lena sat in the semi-darkness and wondered if she could trust Kara and Alex. Could she trust any of them?

She raised her blankets and looked at her legs. They tingled now, but moving them caused pain bursts at the base of her spine. She didn't trust Lilian to help her with this. She did trust Sam, but after ghosting her and not answering her calls for months?

She dropped the blanket and laid down. She needed to trust them, and that scared her far more than any promise to a prickly sister of a Superhero. Trust was not something she did well. It tended to backfire on her, and yet, what else could she do?

Trusting no one but an AI had gotten her exactly nowhere. Other than more heartbreak and stuck in the medical ward, disabled from waist down for who knew how long. She truly did want to get better, but was she hiding from the world by half-assing this recovery?

Kara didn't know the extent of her treachery, or how she'd used the DEO to test the mind-control she'd uncovered from the Martian. Yes, that test had helped Andrea, but it also showed that her programming had a troublesome flaw. One she never quite ironed out. Hope's calculations had been her last ditch effort.

It led her to the same question that had haunted her since she woke up here: why were they helping her? Only her own paranoia answered that question, which wasn't helpful.

She closed her eyes and let the darkness of pain pull her out to sea.

***

When she next opened her eyes, the light was muted even further.

A person snored softly in the chair next to her bed. She turned her head to see Kara slumped there in jeans and a purple button-down shirt. Her blond hair spilled in loose ringlets around her face, and a book perched in her lap.

It was the book she'd been reading out loud to Lena: Poseidon's Wake, a fascinating science fiction romp about aliens, human's hubris, what constituted sentience, and sentient elephants.

On the table just behind Kara's chair, a vase with flowers sat with a card in front of it. She picked it up, the paper rough against her skin. Inside and decorating every page was kind 'get well soon' words from Nia, Brainy, Kelly, and all of Kara's friends.

The people she'd deceived in her single-minded quest of revenge. Her stomach twisted with nausea. The card slipped from her fingers to fall onto her stomach. A small card sat taped to the vase, and that one just read, "From Sam and Ruby."

She sucked in a sharp breath and winced at the pain in her left side.

Kara flinched and sat upright, her eyes blinking sleepily. "Lena?" She focused on her bed and smiled in relief. "Hey, how are you feeling?"

The question bubbled out of her before she could stop herself. "Why is everyone helping me?"

"What do you mean?" Kara reached up to fiddle with her glasses, but she wasn't wearing them so the gesture became tucking hair behind her ear instead.

"I deceived all of you. I hurt you." Lena's voice turned bitter. "Alex said she wants to trust me. That I'm good for you. I knew Kryptonite hurt you and I did it anyway. Why don't they all hate me? Why am I here?"

Kara shrugged. "The cage dropped as soon as you left. Then came your lovely sun bomb thing. I saw the code you used. You programmed that. So that means you never meant to hurt me. And I think you needed to get that all out. I -- I'm sorry it took me so long to understand. So, don't worry, it's okay."

"Okay? Just okay?" Lena couldn't believe her ears. "Kara, I need you to be honest. Why am I your 'exception' to your rules? Why is Alex giving me the shovel talk? What are we to each other?"

Kara sighed. Her fingers drummed against her knee. She took a deep breath and seemed to come to a decision. "Because I love you. I didn't realize how much until our fight. Until I almost lost you." She briefly closes her eyes. "I nearly lost myself to rage. Dunked myself in the ocean to try to calm down. And I couldn't let you die without telling you my last secret."

"Last secret? I -- I know you consider us friends..." Lena had heard Kara say 'love you' before, but this moment felt charged in a way the others did not.

She smiled, sadly. "It's not friendship love. Lena, I love you. Everything about you. I want to be with you in whatever way you'll have me. And if you don't want me around? Say the word and I'll vanish. Well, maybe still save you when needed but only in a professional way I guess."

"Be with me?" God, she was being a parrot again, but the words from Kara's mouth felt unreal. "You love me? And yet deceived me for years?"

Kara slumped in her chair and pulled at a thread on the cuff of her sleeve. "I'm sorry, Lena. I really am."

"Yes, you've said that many times," Lena said. She sighed and picked at her blanket.

For a long moment, she struggled against an absurd urge to cry. Fatigue lined her body and soul, and truthfully? She didn't want to fight Kara or enact revenge any more. Her retaliation hadn't helped her feel better; she'd felt worse instead.

No, maybe she should try the harder road. Talking. God, what would Lillian think of her now? She was going to discuss her feelings instead of of manipulating the universe.

"Did you ever trust me?" Seemed a good place to start.

"Yeah!" Kara nodded. "In most things, and I wanted to trust you about Supergirl. I just." She leaned her head back with a growl of frustration. "At first the DEO pressured me to tell no one, especially you. But then it became about me wanting to be just Kara with you."

"The whole not trusting yourself come into play there?"

Kara nodded. "I let others convince me that not telling you was good. That if I told you, I'd be selfish and ruin a good thing for you."

"Wait, did someone actually advise that?" Lena wrinkled her nose. "Because that's shit advice."

Kara winced. "Mon-el did."

"I see. From now on if someone says lying to me is better for me and honesty is selfishness, just punch them for me, okay?"

Kara blinked at her before bursting into laughter. "Oh Rao, okay, sure, I can definitely do that."

"Great." She imagined Kara punching Mon-el, and it definitely brought more satisfaction than anything she did the past few months. "Do you trust yourself now?"

"I..." Kara hunched down in her chair. "I don't know." She breathed out roughly and a piece of ice formed on her knee. She flicked it to the floor. "When I -- I found you? I lost myself in rage. I killed Rama Khan and his allies. I don't really regret it, but... can I trust myself? Because if you're hurt, I -- I probably should be restrained."

Just as she suspected, guilt threaded through Kara's voice. Lena shifted to the good side, her pain ever present a minor ache from the pain meds. "Will it help to know I trust you?"

Her own words surprised herself. And yet, it was true.

She did trust Kara.

Kara looked up and smiled faintly. "It does actually. I wasn't sure you ever would again."

"Kara, even when I was angry and hurting, I still trusted you with my life. My heart?" She ran a hand through her hair. It needed washing again, which meant asking the evening nurse for help, something she dreaded. "That I couldn't trust you with. But!" She held up a finger to stop Kara's words. She shut her mouth. "I think I'm ready to try. I know this won't be easy. We're both headstrong, but when I'm working with you, I'm a better person. I'd like to find that again."

Kara smiled, tears shining in her eyes. "You feel like home to me. I feel I'm a better person with you too. Even if I'm a bit dramatic about injuries." She rubs her hands on her jeans. "I just, I don't know. I was so worried."

"I know." Lena reached out and touched her wrist. "You've never had someone you love taking this long to recover. A rather intense introduction to mortality, eh?"

"You died for twenty seconds, Lena," Kara whispered.

"Are you focused on that or on the fact I'm alive?"

Kara tilted her head and stared at Lena. "What do you mean?"

Lena waved her hand impatiently, then winced. Her side ached at the movement. "If you focus on that fact and not on the present moment of me, recovering, then you become trapped in the past. You can't move forward, can't plan, and your actions become only reactions. Never a conscious, informed act."

"Oh." Kara tapped her fingers against her leg. "You know, that's a good point. Death has made you wise."

Lena shrugged. "Maybe. I need the reminder myself sometimes."

For a moment, both listened to the drip of the IV.

"I didn't have these powers on Krypton," Kara said suddenly, "I was just a normal kid, well, as normal as the first thirteen year old inducted into the Science Guild could be." A slight smile tinged her lips, but it faded into melancholy.

"You were a scientist?" It surprised her a little.

Kara nodded. "Bred to be so."

"Wait, I'm sorry, bred?"

Kara smiled. "The birth matrix is how we reproduced. It was very rare to have a natural birth like Kal's parents. Usually parents like to edit the child's genes. I was modeled to be a scientist like most of the El family."

Lena hummed thoughtfully. "I'd love to hear more about Krypton, Kara. If you'd like to share." She definitely had questions, though she' wasn't sure how best to ask.

"Thank you." Kara reached out to grasp her hand. "No one has every really said that to me?"

"Seriously?" Lena frowned. "Then consider the offer standing. Whatever you wish to share, I will listen."

"And the same for you. I want to hear what you have to say. Your thoughts. Hopes, dreams, random ideas, anything."

Lena smiles, but one last question still haunts her. "One last question. You've said 'just Kara' a lot. You've always been just Kara to me. Did you think I'd treat you differently if I knew?"

Kara winced visibly. "Yeah? Everyone does. I mean, look at Winn as an example. I wasn't just Kara to him anymore, and he became obsessed with superhero stuff. James knew thanks to Kal. Nia treats me as her superhero mentor. It's just over and over people failed to see me. They saw the cape, and either wanted to be like the cape --"

"James," Lena murmured, thinking of his guardian stunts.

"Or helping the cape. I wasn't just Kara, and I could be that with you, and it felt so good. Like coming home. It's why I can't stay away. I want to make this right, Lena." She yanked the thread free of the cuff. "So, uh, that's why I'll help you with your Myriad plan if you want."

"What?" Lena stared at Kara. "You don't know what it is yet."

Kara shrugged. "So? It's you. I want to help you no matter what. If I have to hang up the cape and go undercover to do it, then fine."

None of Kara's words made any sense to Lena. Her head ached again, and a faint scent of peaches wafted from the pain meds. She tried not to think of her legs.

"The project is dead," Lena said, flatly. "You might as well take Myriad back. It won't happen any time soon. Especially not with this." She waves a hand weakly toward her legs. "I can't feel them yet."

Kara reached over and grasped Lena's hand. The warmth sent a shiver down Lena's spine. "Then I'll help you recover. Whatever you need."

"Kara..." Lena sighs. "What if I hurt you again?"

"I hurt you first," Kara said. She winced, "I mean, not to make a contest of it. But yeah, we hurt each other. So that's a thing we did. But here we are, both of us alive despite it all. And yeah, we might hurt one another again, but I think you're worth it. You're beautiful, Lena, outside and inside. That hasn't changed. I want to work on us if you're game."

Lena recalled her words at the Fortress, said in anguish, "You don't get to tell me who I am anymore." But that had been a lie. She'd wanted so bad for things to be real with Kara. To be loved by Kara. To not have it all snatched away.

She'd wanted to fix it all, but it had not occurred to her she could just talk it through with Kara.

For several long minutes, she quietly breathed and sorted her thoughts. The pain simmered annoyingly, but she wasn't ready to sleep again. Not yet.

"This isn't easy for me," Lena said, carefully. She winced at the pain along her side, but she wanted to get this out. "I wanted to fix the pain. To somehow stop others from hurting one another."

"With your project?"

Lena sighed. "It doesn't matter. Hope was lost and she's needed to run the calculations. And would it have stopped the pain? I don't know. I didn't have time for proper tests. It wasn't ready, but Leviathan kept accelerated my timeline."

"So you sought to end all pain?" Kara tiled her head. "Isn't that kind of... mind control?"

Nausea swirled in Lena's stomach. Those words reminded her of Lex's journals, of his experiments, of his experiments on her. God, Lex really had played her, hadn't he? He knew she'd read his journals, knew she'd turn on Kara for her lies. "It's for the best," she whispered, "that it failed. Lex manipulating me by driving a wedge between us." She fiddles with the strings on the blanket's edge. "He has a habit of snatching away all the good in my life. He tried to destroy what we had. Like a fool I fell for it."

"No, well, maybe for a little while. But we're still here, and we're being honest." She lifted Lena's hand and gently kissed her knuckles. "I understand you might not believe me now, but I'll prove it."

Lena sighed. She wasn't sure what to say to that. The medicine dulled her thoughts, drew back the pain, but now fatigue corded through her body. "You already are. And I want to work on us too." "So where do we go from here?" Kara asked.

Where did they go from here indeed? She knew this was a stupid idea, that she shouldn't allow it, but with the Fortress fight, the assassin, almost dying, surgery, long recovery, and now this?

Lena weakly tugged on Kara's hand. "Ask me later. Right now... can -- can you hold me? I don't want to be alone." Her words came out small and shaky. This asking for things scared her as much as it thrilled her.

"Of course." Kara graced her with one of her winning smiles. She gently moved Lena just enough for her to slip onto the bed next to her. Her arms wrapped around Lena, and warmth embraced Lena from head to toe.

She buried her face in Kara's shirt, and breathed in her vanilla scent.

The anger and pain that had fueled her for months no longer simmered in her gut. Part of her feared giving Kara another chance, but at the same time, her traitorous heart shouted in relief at being in Kara's arms. The hurt hadn't full gone away, but its edges had softened.

"You've always been her exception," Alex had said.

Maybe starting tonight Kara could be her exception. Instead of more revenge plots or running, she'd stay and work on whatever this was between them. No matter how hard it became. Maybe someday soon she can say the words out loud, that she truly did love Kara.

Because even in the fires of hardship and pain, a rock could still become a gemstone.

Epilogue incoming

[vidavalor]

Hello lovely! I'm wondering if you have any thoughts about Maggie in Final1 5? Isn't it weird that she wants to go back to talk to Az and Crowley while Nina's working? Something about it feels off to me.

Hello right back. 💕 There's chamomile mint tea and shortbread since we're on a Maggie theme, if you'd like some. Maggie's behavior from that scene on is super fucking weird, I agree.

Before the milk run-- when Maggie becomes the only involved character whom we lose track of a bit during The Final 15-- versus how she behaves when she returns is so strange as to be something that I consider maybe additional proof that things are not at all what they seem to be in The Final 15.

On Maggie and Crowley's weird Final 15 behavior, a possible meaning to all the allusions to robbery in S2, and what Maggie and Nina might be able to tell us about what happened at the end of S2.

TW: brief mentions of show's non-consensual possession/rape analogy.

Think for a moment about how truly weird Maggie's request for her and Nina to go back to the bookshop in that moment actually is...

It's only been a matter of minutes since Maggie and Nina were basically hostages in the bookshop who were almost killed by Michael and Saraqael. Crowley saved their lives in getting them out of the shop maybe, what? It's been a minute since I rewatched that bit of it but it couldn't have been more than 15 minutes prior?

The beings in the shop but for Maggie and Nina are supernatural and so left magically without using the door but while we the audience know that these people are no longer in the shop because we were watching it, Maggie and Nina do not know that. When Maggie suggests to Nina that they go talk to Crowley and Aziraphale, they have no way of knowing if the beings that just tried to kill them are still in the shop. They didn't even see Aziraphale leave with Whoever Derek Jacobi Is Playing yet because Nina was all "where's the other one?" to Crowley when they arrived back in the shop.

Maggie is literally like: Nina, I know you opened the business you own late and are the only one working right now and have a line of 20 people waiting for their morning, pre-work coffee but what if-- just hear me out-- we just made them wait an indefinite amount of time to voluntarily go back into the place where we nearly died a matter of minutes ago that could still be full of the people who wanted us dead and we did this for no other purpose than just to tell off my beloved adopted godfather and his partner, who just risked harm to save both our lives? And to maybe then also stick our noses into their love lives in return or something?

I mean... WHAT?!?! lol

Consider, even, how even more weird that is when Maggie, just *prior* to having gone to the mini-mart, had never been more on the same page with Nina and never more understanding?

She sacrificed her own want to go sleep behind the counter of her shop to offer to help Nina. It's a big moment of change in their relationship and shows a lot of growth for Maggie. She's gone from someone who is caring but has a tendency to only think about how things make her feel to seeing things from Nina's perspective. She's matured through the season into being someone more ready to be a partner to Nina. Maggie offering to help Nina with her morning rush-- and Nina accepting the help-- is the sweet, romantic moment showing that these two are heading in a positive direction, both individually and together.

When Maggie gets back with the milk, though? After she's been out of our sight for a few minutes? She's behaving very differently.

During S2, Maggie is shown to be a pretty guileless character. She might have the occasional judgemental moment but she's not deceptive or tricky and she really wouldn't hurt a fly. When Maggie comes back from the milk run, though, her insistence on Nina dropping everything and going with her in that moment is not just weird behavior but manipulative in a way that could not be more out of character for Maggie.

Nina has been in an abusive relationship where she was afraid of displeasing Lindsay. Maggie is aware of this, as it's been the subject of multiple conversations between them throughout the season. So, when Maggie gets so bizarrely insistent on Nina dropping her work-- her livelihood, her purpose, her job-- to meet Maggie's demands in that moment? When this isn't an emergency of any kind and isn't at all time-sensitive and there is no objective reason why Nina should be halting her job to do what Maggie wants in this moment? Maggie is being controlling in a Lindsay-like way. She keeps at it, knowing that Nina will give in and agree to go with her because Nina is used to doing that with her partner.

Nina hesitates and isn't sure whether or not to go with Maggie for a moment and I don't really blame her? This is the complete opposite behavior to Maggie before she left for the mini-mart. Maggie is suddenly acting quite a lot like her polar opposite-- the Lucifer-and-Heaven-paralleling Lindsay.

Maggie is also literally on Nina's shoulder like a devil the whole time in the scene in which she's convincing her to step away from the shop and go across the street with her to the other shop for a chat and...

...listen to what we just said there...

...it's a parallel to the thing that Whoever Derek Jacobi Is Playing is doing with Aziraphale, is it not?

So, what happened on the milk run?

Who did Maggie run into at the mini-mart that we couldn't see in the ending of S2 without it giving the game away? I wouldn't be surprised if, on this mirror-happy show, on the other side of learning in S3 that it was The Devil with the coffee in the bookshop in The Final 15, we also had a scene that showed that, while on her milk run, Maggie had a run-in with Sister Teresa's killer.

Did Hastur possess Maggie as part of Satan's plan? Was the idea to use Maggie and Nina to further trip Crowley and Aziraphale towards disaster to get Aziraphale? If so, it kind of half-worked. I'm not convinced that anything Maggie and Nina said to Crowley really mattered-- I think they weren't telling him anything he didn't already know or feel and that it's largely misdirection for the audience. What was effective, though, was the impression Aziraphale got upon seeing them leave as he was coming in.

Maggie and Nina being back in there at this weird time and then rushing out with smiles and comments like that they were "just leaving" and they were sure Crowley and Aziraphale had "a lot to discuss" seem to have led Aziraphale to assume that Crowley had asked them to come back and to the conclusion that he must have done so to tell them of his intent to ask Aziraphale to marry him. It's Maggie and Nina leaving the shop that reinforce to Aziraphale the idea that, when Crowley stands up afterwards, takes off his glasses, and says he supposes he has "something to say", that Crowley is only trying to communicate a proposal and not a plan.

It's what helps-- big time-- to lead Aziraphale to not listen for a shred of coded language for the entire scene. Neither he nor Crowley are listening for that with one another, which is why neither of them can truly understand what the other is saying, but Aziraphale's part of that is really fucked to Hell by the presence of Maggie and Nina in the shop when he came back. That's all pretty suspicious since Maggie was out of our sight for a few moments and came back fixated on the idea that she and Nina needed to go to the bookshop right that very moment and that it couldn't wait.

The Final 15 is a dark parallel to The Baby Swap plot and Maggie and Nina are full of shadows of Sisters Mary and Teresa to a point that the final shots of both of them in the series are mirror images of the final shots of their S1 characters. Nina looking through glass at Crowley departing is the last shot of Sister Mary both in 2008 and 2019, while Maggie's last shot?

To me, it's one of the most eerie moments in the entire series because of how much it visually resembles Sister Teresa's death.

Basically two minutes after we hear about The Second Coming... in the same season where Maggie and Nina's partial-vavoom gives way to a (possessed?) Gabriel saying: the dead will leave their graves and walk the Earth once more... we are shown Crowley and Aziraphale's apparent adopted goddaughter unresponsive on the counter of her shop.

Is Maggie dead?

Is Maggie asleep, like we were led to believe she wanted to do earlier in the episode? Maybe. Is she comatose/unconscious? Maybe. It's just that, best I can tell, she does not take a breath during the shot which I feel had to be intentional on the part of Maggie Service, and she's in the same position as we last saw Sister Teresa in S1...

Then, there's the robbery theme and how Maggie and Nina foreshadow so much of the end of S2 back in this scene here:

In Good Omens, the shop is the character. Maggie is, symbolically, the records she sells. The show also explains that Maggie's shop used to be a part of the bookshop. Now, there are three characters, not two, who are A.Z. Fell & Co.: Aziraphale, Crowley and Maggie. At the same time, Aziraphale is also The Small Back Room. The shops are intertwined as the characters are, essentially, family in the story. The fate of one is the fate of the other, which makes what Maggie and Nina foreshadow when talking about Maggie's shop while trapped together in Nina's not just the fate of Maggie's shop in S2 but also of the bookshop.

Maggie says that if she can't close the door to her shop, someone could walk in and take records. Maggie is the records she sells so, symbolically, this means someone could take Maggie. We got a bit of a preview of that when Shax appeared to get into her mind during the attack on the bookshop and Maggie also became the one who unintentionally "let the robbers in."

These robbers, Maggie frets... they could empty her till-- take all her money on a literal level... take her mind, or maybe even her life, on another. (Not to mention the now chill-inducing use of money-related words and coins with regards to the paralleling Crowley...) These robbers could take forcible ownership of Maggie's shop-- so, of Maggie. Maggie's shop was born of the bookshop... so, they could take forcible ownership of the bookshop, too.

Not just the physical bookshop, though that, too. The symbolic bookshop. Which is not only Aziraphale but Crowley and Aziraphale.

But, if The Small Back Room was originally part of the bookshop, then the bookshop really isn't just Crowley and Aziraphale-- it's Crowley, Aziraphale and Maggie.

If the robbers come for the bookshop, they've also come for The Small Back Room because it is all born of the same, symbolic shop.

Is that what they did?

Is that why Maggie is last shown to us non-responsive in her shop?

Now, Nina's even more foreshadowing reply:

Nina said that, if she owned a record shop, she'd be more concerned about "someone breaking in and leaving more records behind."

What are records? They're the literal records in the musical and old film sense that Maggie sells, yes, and also Maggie herself. They're also books, like what Aziraphale sells, and Aziraphale himself. But they're also a third thing that's very much of note in S2.

They're also the life's work of a scrivener, like what Muriel does.

Nina foreshadows someone breaking in and leaving "more records behind"... which is exactly what happens in The Final 15.

Elspeth's graverobbing. Bildad stealing Job and Sitis' wine and food. The 1810 Clerkenwell Diamond Robbery. Aziraphale having the missing Shakespeare Robin Hood play in the box in 2.06. The robbery-based fantasy Aziraphale was telling Crowley in Lockdown: ...the other night, when a couple of young lads broke into the back and tried to steal the cash(cache)box!

The Final 15 is a robbery.

The last two episodes see the shop attacked during The Meeting Ball and into the next morning. Aziraphale is robbed blind of his entire life. Characters are taken hostage. Signals for help are tried and fail. The cop, it turns out, was a stooge for the robbers. Whoever Derek Jacobi Is Playing broke in through the open door and robbed the place blind, as Maggie foreshadowed. As Nina foreshadowed he would, what did the robber leave behind?

More records. Muriel.

To rob, as we know, is to steal. It's to plunder or strip a place from someone through force and/or violence. That is why it was once, in addition to being descriptive of physical goods stolen from a person, also a word that was used for rape, for which non-consensual possession has been analogous since the show's first episode. That is why some of us think that the music goes insane on the look to Crowley in the scene below. Satan is robbing Crowley-- forcing him to identify him as The Metatron to Aziraphale and the angels and to let Aziraphale go alone with him.

Satan attacked Crowley in front of Aziraphale and, while Aziraphale pretended he didn't see it, he did, which is why he led "The Metatron" straight out the door in an effort to get him away from Crowley. Because, speaking of characters behaving very weirdly... anyone have a better explanation for why guard dog Crowley sat in that chair like he couldn't get out of it and encouraged Aziraphale to go alone with a guy who once tried to kill them? It just doesn't make any sense unless his words are not really his own and there's only one character we've seen do that to him.

And if Crowley's not the only one behaving out of character, then what else happened to Maggie at the mini-mart but something similar?

What happened in The Final 15? Satan robbed the bookshop.

He and The Metatron don't give a toss about the shop itself and plan to destroy it alongside everything else once Armageddon gets rocking. They're there to get Crowley and Aziraphale out of the way for Armageddon by dividing and conquering. Just because we've yet to see blood doesn't mean this wasn't robbery by force.

Satan took hostages at the start-- letting the ones go he didn't care about go and keeping the ones most likely to influence the shop's owner: Crowley and Muriel.

Satan and The Metatron sacrificed Muriel to their plan, not caring if Muriel explodes along with the shop when they kick off Armageddon a matter of *checks watch* basically any minute now after S2. We think Muriel is better off in the shop at the end of S2 but I'm not totally sure they are. I think it actually might be one of the most dangerous places to be in right now. The bookshop didn't burn down this time-- it was burned as safe space in every possible way. It's a crime scene.

The Metatron and Satan are here for revenge. The Metatron is letting Satan have Aziraphale to get Crowley and Aziraphale out of the way for Armageddon. There is no real job offer-- it's all Satan tempting Aziraphale into falling. Satan's revenge on Crowley and Aziraphale is to force Crowley to help him take Aziraphale right out from under his nose. That's the start of it, anyway.

Besides Armageddon and daring to have a relationship and a sense of self outside of the demonic collective of Hell what is Satan really pissed at Crowley and Aziraphale about?

His kid. Adam. Crowley and Aziraphale helping Adam against him.

If Satan has been lying in wait, still very, very angry at Crowley and Aziraphale for turning his son against him and if he's now here for revenge, then who else besides Aziraphale is then most in peril here?

Yes, my Job-and-Sitis-paralleling poppet... your big, cross duck and your kids are most imperiled here and S2 showed us that your kids are not just humanity writ large but, specifically, Maggie. The Small Back Room is of the bookshop that is you and Crowley. Maggie is your Adam. Will Satan come after your daughter? It's a concept posed in your paralleling/foreshadowing story earlier in the season... actually, it was also the entire plot of that paralleling story earlier in the season as well...

I feel like not going with Ennon and Keziah's theories on Satan's behavior is probably the best way to form a Good Omens theory 😂 so I'll stick with the idea that Satan very much would dare leave a revenge body count of Crowley and Aziraphale's adopted kids, as the Job minisode proved he'd do even with the spawn of "God's favorite human", let alone anybody else.

As, speaking of foreshadowing lines, this is really even more S2 than it was about S1:

Satan will even have a whole pseudo-philosophical chat about it with you first, amused that he's standing in a place called Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death and ordering a coffee while the plan is likely for this place, the women making him the coffee, and everyone on this street and on most of the planet to be dead by tomorrow.

Maggie is the only character who actually asked for coffee using that exact word in S2.

[inkdrinkerworld]

Hello again I’m the one addicted to your dealer!remus writing, you have such a good way of writing his character and I love it! Anyways I hope you’re feeling better I’m currently poorly as well and it sucks. If you’re feeling up to it I would love more of your writing. Maybe a dealer!remus who meets fem reader at a ren faire and she’s like a siren or fairy or something? Idk I trust you

Also if you don’t have a 🐡 or 🫧 anon I would love to be one or both of those since I have a feeling you might be seeing more of me 🥰

I hope this is okay! I’ve never been to a ren faire but I’d love to go one day though! Of course you can be both!

“You’re a nymph.” A man in pirate costume says as he helps you climb up the stairs to the stalls.

You’re in a sheer purple skirt that has vines hanging down to your thighs, there’s a slit somewhere that shows off your skin and your green blouse has sleeves that flow down your arms and behind you.

The chains in your waist clink as the crystals hanging on them knock against each other with each step.

“And you’re a pirate,” you take a glance at his eyes and flash him a smile when you notice how red his eyes are. “A very high pirate.”

The pirate man smiles, a silver scar splitting his lip making him look handsome. His sandy brown hair also works with his outfit, making it look like he’s spent years at sea with the sun and salt water to bleach his hair.

“They do like their influences.” He says making you laugh. “What about nymphs?”

You give a demure shrug, “We do live amongst them.” The pirate man’s hand shifts to your shoulder, adjusting some of the leaves and foliage there.

You know in your bones this man is a flirt, especially when he flashes you an easy smile when you look up at him.

“Is this your first ren faire?” You ask you walk ahead of him, smiling when you hear his boots clicking as he follows behind you.

“Second, but my friends seem to have abandoned me.”

You glance over your shoulder, finding the pirate man tucking a roll on behind his ear. You never would have imagined a simple action like that would be so attractive. “I can keep you company for the time being then. Will you drink tap beer?”

When he nods you smile and order two glasses.

“Where are your friends? Or are you a veteran of the ren faire?” You ask as you wait for the beer, leaning on the counter as you look at the man before you.

He has this soft beauty to him and his pirate get up makes it rogue-ish but also there’s flashes of the softness of it all underneath it all.

You smile as the pirate man rushes to pay, and hands you your glass first. “It’s my fifth year, but my friends are about somewhere.” You take a sip of your beer. “To be honest, I snuck away to save myself from being tie breaker to a game of darts.”

Your new friend raises an eyebrow and you spy another scar slicing through the skin there. “What’s so bad about darts?”

Your tone turns bashful and you look up at him through your eyelashes, “I have terrible aim. What’s missing from this outfit is a pair of glasses that irritate my eyes much less than the contacts I’m currently wearing.”

The pirate man falters for a moment your gaze soft yet intense as you look up at him. “I see. What would you rather be doing then?”

You smile, “My favourite parts are the jousting tournaments and the petting zoo. Also spending loads on trinkets.”

The man nods, about to say something in reply when a pair of pirates, one lanky with black hair and one burly rush up to him.

“Remus you can’t just wander off! We’ve been looking for you for ages.”

You laugh at the way the pirate man, Remus, flushes. Pink looks good on him.

He looks back and smiles at you and it’s even more handsome the second time; especially when it seems intimate and shared just between the two of you.

“I was here getting something to drink with the pretty nymph.” He gestures to you and you give his friends a wave and introduce yourself.

Remus tucks away the sound of your name in every nook in his mind. It suits you entirely.

The black haired one smirks and the burly one gives you a dimpled smile hello.

“How chivalrous, did he bore you to death with the fact that he’s about to be jousting and the historical reasons behind it?” The lanky one asked, clearly teasing his friend.

“No he did not, but now I’m even more excited to look at the tournament.” There’s a wicked grin on the black haired boy’s face.

Remus turns to you, “Does that mean you’ll toss me a ring of flowers?” He’s a flirt in all the ways, and by god you’d probably pass away if he looks at you any more intensely.

“Maybe I will, Remus.” You leave then, giving him a wave and a smile as you walk off towards the tents that sell all the odds and ends.

The black haired man turns to him, “You better hope you win, Moony. How embarrassing would it be if you let the pretty girl down.”

Remus rolls his shoulders back as he drains his beer, no pressure then, he thinks to himself. Maybe he’ll even get your number if he wins.

[malfiora]

I'm rewriting Jason's resurrection and reconciliation with the fam for my own sanity:

Jason dies tragically and horrifically at age 15

A year later, Superboy Prime punches through universes, collapsing two realities onto each other: one where Jason dies, the other in which he survives. Jason comes back to life but is semi-conscious. Talia finds him and takes him to the League

Jason regains full consciousness after a dip in the Lazarus. For two years, Jason trains and slowly regains his memories. Once he's 18, he decides to return to Gotham, despite Talia's wishes

Quickly becomes clear that Gotham hasn't changed much, which disappoints Jason. He decides to put his League training to use and control crime as a harm reduction tactic, and he goes back and forth on contacting Bruce, especially after he hears rumors of a new Robin

Joker pops up with a new scheme, and this is the last straw. Jason concocts a plan to kidnap and finally kill Joker and confront Batman about all the ways he's failed him and Gotham. When Batman refuses to kill Joker, Jason feints like he's going to kill Tim to "save him the trouble" since Batman clearly cares so little for his sidekicks. ("Hey, kid, at least I'll make it painless.") This gets a reaction from Batman, who incapacitates Jason and rescues Robin. Jason retreats to lick his wounds and reconsider everything

Jason takes time to ruminate on all of this. He's still hurt that his death meant nothing in the grand scheme of things but thinks about Batman's reaction to Tim being in danger and has to wonder if that's how he acted when Jason was in that warehouse

Out of morbid curiosity and a little bit of fanboyishness, Tim monitors Jason. Jason knows this and eventually confronts him. He feels bad for scaring Tim but has to maintain his edge so he tries not to be too scary. At some point, Tim speaks his mind and tells Jason that he has no idea what things were like while he was dead. "Batman was a mess, he almost killed people. That's why I became Robin. I had to put him back together, so you don't get to act like you know everything that happened the past 3 years because you been back a couple months." Jason takes this in. They part ways. (Jason: "Don't die." Tim: "Don't change.")

The Chemo incident happens. Jason rushes to Blüdhaven to make sure Dick is alive and okay, thus revealing he's alive to the Titans. After the dust settles, he and Dick talk privately so that Dick can react properly. (Dick: "No, Batman didn't tell me." Jason: "Yeah, he has a habit of doing that.")

Jason gets to ask if Tim's claim of Batman being a mess is founded. It is. He asks Dick if it's worth doing things the same way. "It is." That doesn't help.

Eventually Jason and Bruce have their equivalent of a heart to heart. Basically they both go, "I love you even if I think you're wrong."

Jason forms the Outlaws, but the moment he gets the distress call from the fam, he comes rushing back to help. He's offended that Bruce is surprised (Tim is hopeful, Dick isn't remotely shocked)

When Dick "dies," Jay comes back to take his place as Eldest Son. He sticks around through the end of the Robin War

Other important events that definitely happen but just don't fit neatly into a timeline:

Barbara and Jason team up on a mission shortly after Bruce tells Barbara that Jason is back. She's happy and immediately falls into big sister/mother hen mode and chides him for not seeing her sooner and makes him promise to stop by the clocktower regardless of whatever is happening between him and Bruce. She promises to help him upgrade his tech if he does. (Barbara has always been more lenient with killers and believes wholly in second chances.)

Cass stops Jason from killing someone who "deserves it," resulting in them fighting. Cass is better trained but she refuses to kill Jason, who won't stop. Eventually, they call a ceasefire and talk a bit. "All life has meaning," Cass says. Jason scoffs. "Even the Joker's?" "All life," she insists. Jason quietly disagrees but he respects Cass's determination. This starts a back and forth of him testing her anytime they're grouped together. ("Even this lowlife, Cass?" or "She's worth your own life?" or "They wouldn't spare you, why bother?") Each and every time she sticks to her principles.

Jay and Steph grab food together after a patrol one night and bond over being the family outcasts (i.e. the ones Bruce doesn't implicitly trust). Jason vows to make Steph his Robin if he ever becomes Batman. She laughs but is secretly touched

***I can never decide what to do with Damian. On the one hand, it's hilarious if Jason knows about him and keeps quiet about it. On the other, I don't see why Jason wouldn't tell Bruce about Damian's existence. Maybe once he's on speaking terms with Bruce again, he does tell him about Damian, which then prompts Jason to encourage Talia to let Damian meet Bruce. This is accelerated by Talia discovering Ra's' plan for Damian and wanting to get Damian away from the League

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"The Test." Part Two. Sugar Daddy AU. Poly!Ghostface X FEM! AFAB! Sugar Baby Reader.

Part one here! Hey, hey, hey! Here it is part two! Picking up RIGHT where part one left off! So this is basically all porn, so happy to be finishing this behemoth! So I might add onto this in the future if people want it, there is still the rest of this three day weekend to go over! Feedback very much encouraged on this one! Thanks for reading and enjoy!

---

Rating. Explicit. Length. 7.6K. Billy Loomis/Stu Mach/Sugar Baby FEM! AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Age Gap. Sugar Daddy/Sugar Baby Relationship. Sex Work. Restrained Reader. Tit Slapping. Nipple Play. Pain Play. Knife Play. Blood Play. Vaginal Fingering. Edging. Orgasm Denial. Vaginal Sex. Anal Sex. Blow Job. Throat Fucking. Extreme Kink. Double Penetration. Multiple Cream Pies. Dirty Talk. Praise. Degredation. Aftercare.

---

Billy felt a thrill run through him. This was unbelievably exciting, so far, this is everything he’d been wanting, all he’d been hoping for. He and Stu both looked at eacdoh other, even though he couldn’t see the eyes of his long term best friend, he knew he felt the same. Giddy, alight, ready to really dive in. A deep breath to compose and really ready himself. 

You wait, but you aren’t left questioning for long, the hand that isn’t holding the knife comes into view, he palms the now obvious clothed erection so close to your face, so easy to see with how your head is currently tilted. “I think we are going to put that mouth of yours to work.” 

The robe is hauled up, and his belt is open, he isn’t in a rush but also clearly he wants to get inside you after all this build up, zipper comes down, then he is exposed, thick and hard, hanging right there, close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him. 

You open your mouth and try to appear somewhat reluctant about it, a valiant attempt to mask the strong desire to have him in your waiting mouth, you manage it well, to not show the excess of saliva that pools or the want in your eyes from the prospect of getting him inside. You want to please them, play your part of the unwilling victim. Your eyes are locked on the bead of pre-cum at this tip, you want to taste it.

“Mmm, can’t you at least try to look a little happy about it?” The question makes you scoff, you fight back the urge to roll your eyes and instead, while keeping your mouth open, you quirk up at the sides. A nearly comical open-mouthed smile forms from the action that in response makes you feel this wash of an emotion that is surely a cousin of humiliation, it also gets minor praise from him, “Better.”

It hits your ears right before, he shoves his cock into the orifice with such brutality it makes even you, the experienced paid slut for hire, gag. It isn’t the hardest you’ve ever gagged, yet there is still a particular kind of force behind it, your body rocking away before making yourself roll forward, taking him deeper, to the root until your lips wrapped around the base. 

He holds, staring down at you, the bulge of himself buried in your throat apparent and crystal clear, if he reached down and squeezed he could feel the pressure of his fingers through the walls of your neck for sure. As it stands at this moment, he doesn’t do that, the knife is still pressed to your throat after all. The view is spectacular, combined with the sensation, it is enough to make his breath stutter, and you can hear it from behind the mask. 

Slowly, he pulls out before bucking his hips forward again with a quiet curse, “Fuck.”

That one exclamation does absolutely everything for you, the cadence of it, you are able to hear the heavier breathing, both sides of that word almost bracketed by a moan. He starts to get into a sporadic rhythm, it is hard to keep track of when he is going to jam himself in or retreat, but you are trying to anticipate his needs, stay on top of it and please him as best as you can, you are doing this to save your life, right?

While you are distracted trying to work with him, move your head, take him as he pushes forward and pull back when he does so you can sneak in breaths whenever he isn’t lodged in your throat, you are assaulted with another sensation leaving you floundering to contend with. 

What sensation is that? The light touch of leather gloved fingertips on the tops of your thighs, they move, patterns being traced that you can’t keep track of before they slip between your thighs and then part them, spreading your legs, exposing yourself. You can feel drool slipping past your lips, running down your face, gravity helping pull the wetness on its way, you still keep up, but barely as finally fingers touch you where you are soaking and aching. The touch is gentle in comparison to how brutal your mouth is getting fucked, one hand palms you carefully, fingers press but don’t penetrate, they rub but not where you wished they would. The first hand shifts, spreads your lips open and then the second joins, thumb dips slightly into your hole collecting slickness before tracing up, circling around your already swollen clit, and you stiffen, moaning around the intrusion between your lips. 

“God, that feels good.” The cock is forced deeper into your throat, “Again.” 

The pressure increases and the circles get smaller, the feeling becoming more intense, and you moan again, louder, whimper a little at the jolt of pleasure that overtakes, and this is how it goes. One between your thighs, touching and rubbing your clit, the other fucking your mouth with abandon until you feel lightheaded from the lack of proper oxygen, trying to breathe while blowing and getting pleasured like this was proving to be impossible. You swallow thickly, trying to manage the excess of spit you were producing, and it was as if they planned it ahead, the timing of it is perfect. Right when you swallow, the first one pushes his hips forward, the head of his dick breaching the tightness of your throat mid-swallow, and the one between your legs? He slips two fingers into your leaking hole, his thumb pressing on your clit all the while. You gag and your walls clench around his fingers, the drag of the leather of his gloves feels much better than it should, his thumb is swirling around and around your clit, your hips buck, wanting to get more of the sensations he was foisting upon you.  

It becomes a blur of trying not to choke on spit or the dick in your mouth as you are catapulted to the edge with alarming speed. The push and pull of the entire act, the heightened emotions from the scenario at hand, all of it, has you near cumming, your body betrays you, tightening, getting more tense and trembling slightly, almost, so fucking close and right before you can tip over, before that first wonderful spasm can start, the fingers are ripped from your hole, leaving you dangling. Your hole is grasping, clitoris throbbing, both silently calling out for something to push you over and finding nothing. Your hips squirm and you whine around the dick in your mouth, if you were able to pout around the thick shaft, you would have.  

“Stop hogging her mouth and let me have a turn.” The voice cuts through the lustful haze, it sounds playful but with an edge that mirrors the knife being held to your throat. 

“Fine.” He grunts before pulling out of you, your eyes take a second to adjust, managing to catch the sight of the wet leash of your saliva still connecting him and you break as he moves back, the blade lifts off of you as you suck down a series of deep breaths. You don’t have time to try and regain some sense of yourself as you are spun on the smooth, polished table-top with ease. Now you are reversed, confronted with the man who was just fingering you, glove still wet as he hauls his robe up and starts opening his pants. 

You wish that your hands weren’t tied and pinned under you right now, you wanted to reach out and tug him close to you, wanted to taste him the moment that second cock was revealed. Patience was apparently wearing thin, pointer finger and thumb at the base of his shaft, near neatly trimmed coarse hair, he guides himself into your open and waiting mouth. 

The moan of satisfaction was so arousing, you swear to God above you feel yourself get wetter. 

“Fucking shit-” He gasps as he thrusts experimentally and the other one hums in response, “Right?” 

There is less than five thrusts into your mouth before you feel a hand between your legs again, two fingers thrust unceremoniously into your hole, you clench, body tenses, you had backed off from the edge, but you were still incredibly sensitive. His thumb presses to your clit but doesn’t rub, the fingers fuck in and out, the pressure combined with the lack of movement of his thumb is killing you viciously, it isn’t enough, you want movement, more friction. However, you are drenched, the wetness is a comfort and a curse, makes for fluid and smooth work, but it also dulls the feeling slightly. The butter soft leather is lovely, sure, but it isn’t what you need right now. His fingers curl, he finds what he wants and he abuses it liberally, he curls into the firmer, rougher tissue causing you to moan, your eyes squeeze shut. His thumb doesn’t move a single centimetre, he drags you to the edge with his middle and ring finger working at a steady pace, up, up, up and there you are, so fucking close you can almost taste it and he stops. Doesn’t even take his fingers out because of the risk he might accidentally trigger it, he just holds, you are throbbing around him and he waits for the edge to recede before he starts again. 

You groan, much more focused on the intrusion in your cunt than the one in your mouth, you had fallen into a good rhythm with that, mostly letting him do what he wanted, take the lead, do what he wished the same way his partner in crime was.

Surviving the next two edges was equal parts blissful and terrible. He worked them out of you quickly, you, of course, let him without putting up a fight, just moaning mournfully around a mouthful of cock.

You wonder if you can get away with it, with grinding your hips up without him protesting, could instead put forth the effort to rub your clitoris on him instead of waiting for him to rub it that last pass needed to make you cum. If you timed it right you could make it happen, push yourself over, steal that much coveted orgasm out right from under him, because who knows if they had plans to let you cum tonight at all. If you do that, make yourself cum using him before he is ready for you to? Who knows what he will do. 

Should you risk it? You swallow around the cock shoving its way into you, inching further and further down your throat, once more your head spinning with want, so fucking close, you are nearly there, his fingers feel incredible. You are buzzing with pleasure, you could always blame it on the lack of proper oxygen, so with that thought you do something stupid.

You move. 

Hips squirm, arching up and then coming back down, the slip of him, of the firm pressure sliding up your clitoral hood and then back down fully over your clit makes you cry out, walls gripping a bit tighter, and that is as far as you get. That knife is put against your hip, your eyes are watering slightly with the effort and severity of the throat fuck, a sharp inhale through your nose, shoulders shuddering as you jump from feeling the cold steel against heated flesh. 

You feel your pussy fighting it, trying to go over the edge, his thumb was barely touching you now, had eased way up, so the contact was extremely minimal, his fingers inside you still and straight, not even curled, not pressed into the spot you needed and slowly, agonizingly, you feel the orgasm slip from your grasp. You didn’t time it correctly and you missed your chance. 

His voice slices through the air as easily as his blade would be able to do your skin, “Try it again. See what happens.” 

An invitation. You hesitate, obviously, fearful of hurting yourself. He pushes, “I mean it, if you want to cum that fucking badly you’d do it, hm? Trade a little bit of pain for some pleasure.” 

You make a sound of question that makes the thrusting into your mouth falter, he pulls out over halfway, just the head of his dick resting between your lips. He joins in, encouraging what the man threatening you between your legs, was suggesting, “Yeah, I want to see it, unless you want to wait for a cock in the other end of you-” He laughs as he slides back in fully, deeply, you gag and he pulls back out almost all the way, “-you aren’t cumming any other way. And you should see how cruel he can be, the stamina on him? He’d be content to fuck with you like that for hours.” 

Your eyes widen in disbelief, hours? He could and would edge you like this for hours? You had barely made it halfway to ten, no way could you make it through hours of that particular brand of torment. You whimper, partly from the situation, partly because those fingers inside your wet walls stir, slow, counterclockwise, stretching you, and you decide fuck it, you can’t hold out. You rock your hips, conveying your consent and they seem pleased by this, “Good. C’mon, put on a show like you did earlier in bed, yeah? Show us how bad you wanna get off.” 

The reminder of their voyeuristic tendencies makes your cunt clench again. 

The cock pulls out of your mouth and slaps your cheek wetly, “Hey, don’t forget about me.” He inserts himself back into your mouth, just the head, and you give a small nod. You lick and suck at the head of his cock as his gloved hand proceeds to slowly stroke his shaft. 

He praises you, “Good girl.” 

Hearing that in that voice? Christ, you wouldn’t take long. The fingers inside curl again, his thumb closer again, and you get to work. Your feet are up on the table, knees bent, you roll your hips, arch up and down, squirm and writhe, rubbing yourself to your hopeful end on his fingers, using gravity to help, pleasing yourself both inside and out. You are very, very aware of the knife, it is to your hip, over the bone, and you find with every movement, there is a small spike of fear, wondering if this will be the pass he presses it the few extra ounces of pressure needed to make that first cut. 

Suck, lick, tongue swirling around the tip, flick, gasp, moan appreciatively and closer and closer you get to the edge. “God, you are such a fucking slut, you just couldn’t get away fast enough before, so confident, wanting to run off down the beach for help and look at you now.”

He sounded a mix of joyful, condescending and mocking all in one, “I’m not doing a damn thing, this is all you, I mean Christ look at you! Slobbering all over my buddies dick and fucking yourself on my fingers.”

He exhales amused, “This isn’t even enough to deter you-”, he taps the knife on your hip and it makes your legs jerk, your cunt grasps at his fingers and he laughs, shocked and delighted, “Oh! See? I think it’s more than that, you actually fucking like it.”

You try to shake your head, try to protest that isn’t true but the one whose cock you are currently worshipping isn’t having it, he smacks your left breast, the pain is sharp, he pinches your nipple next and says harshly, “Get off that high horse of yours sweetheart, you are just as fucked as we are but don’t worry we like it!”

“Yeah, we do, we like to take good care of our toys.” He hums, you hadn’t stopped moving your hips, hadn’t stopped trying to satisfy yourself, your movements are getting sloppier, messier. “Oh, look at you, getting close again, hm?”

You nod, your mouth is uncoordinated, but he doesn’t seem to mind, in fact he is seemingly loving watching you losing your mind, stroking himself as you slurp at the head of his dick, his body language telling you his immense enjoyment.

So consumed with pleasure you had almost forgotten about the knife, as if he could sense this, he chose that moment to remind you. He pressed harder and the skin breaks, you cry out, eyes squeeze shut and your hips stutter, pausing midair, two slaps ring out, one on your chest again, the other on your inner thigh with the back of his hand before the knife is replaced over the fresh wound. You hiss at the rush of pain, “Show us you want it! Keep. Fucking. Going.” 

You did want it, you did want to cum, you needed it so badly, and his tone left no room for argument. You keep going, you rock with renewed vigor, his thumb is slipping over your clit, fingers pushing into that sweet spot again and again, as you move, you find yourself almost sawing the knife into your hip, the cut isn’t deep, but it is getting wider.

You can’t look, but you feel it, hot blood spilling out, running down over your hip, the curve of your ass, your inner thigh, gloved fingers pick some of it up in the process of your pursuit of pleasure, wet crimson adding to the sweat of your tense body, to the mess of your slick pouring from your cunt, creating the most obscenely erotic lube the pair had ever seen.

They knew they would both have to fuck you, bloodlust feeding into sexual lust, merging, twisting, combining.

The cock is pulled from between your lips, no longer stroking himself, he just wants to watch, wants to hear you. With your mouth unoccupied, it hangs open as you allow yourself to pant and moan through it, vocally express yourself. Even with the pain, it doesn’t hurt or hinder, no, it’s helping, the sharp stinging and burning cut of the blade assists and you are hanging on by a thread that is threatening to snap at any second. A quiet and breathless chant is leaving you, “Please, please, please, m’ so fucking close-”

“Nothing stopping you, certainly not us.” 

Your eyes flick down to the man currently two fingers deep, that mask’s hollow empty eyes are staring back at you makes your breath catch, one more, you know it, you think they both do, one more rise and fall of your hips, one more grind, one more cut, and you’ll be there. Your whole body is trembling with the effort, so fucking near you think you might go insane if he stops you from seeing it through again, “Do it.” 

He doesn’t need to tell you twice, hips fall, fingers press inward harder with him helping, thumb slips over your clit and the band inside snaps, your whole cunt spasms and you cum. A bleeding, sweating, shaking, gasping mess, you cum, walls like a vice around his fingers, throbbing and completely alive. You feel indescribably amazing, barely holding on, vision whiting out, you have no words, unable to begin to convey how strong your orgasm was. It’s the kind of climax that leaves you speechless, gun to your head, or knife to your throat, you don’t think you’d be able to adequately describe it in a way that would save your pathetic life. You are left feeling different afterwards, floating and ears ringing, body uncontrollable, from so tense, too loose as can be. 

When the pleasure did finally stop, when every bit of sensation had been wrung out of your body and you were lying flat back on the table, legs dangling once more, chest heaving, struggling to catch your breath.

It isn’t verbally communicated, or maybe it is, you aren’t sure, you are still kind of out of it, you register fingers slipping out, but not much else, your ears are still fucking ringing. You are repositioned, put on your stomach, one leg brought up, knee on the table, the robe flipped up, covering your still bound hands pressed into your lower back. You try to roll your wrists in their restrained state, and yup, just like you thought they’d be, totally asleep. Your cheek is to the table-top, eyes wanting to slip closed, your pussy and ass are totally exposed like this, hands spread you open and you hear a happy sigh, “Oh come look at this!” 

The other one walks around the table to join his friend, his thumb presses to the base of the anal plug you slipped in after your bath, “When did you get this inside yourself?” His tone sounded pleasantly surprised and very pleased.

“She’s a sneaky, filthy little thing. Didn’t I tell you?” The one whose cock you just had in your mouth pre-orgasm asked and the other responded, “You did, I swear I’ll never doubt you again, now go get the lube.” 

You hear him step away, the other continues to prod at the anal plug buried in your ass for a moment before his fingers hook around the base and he slowly starts to remove  it. You hiss slightly at the pull, you had lubed it very well, but that was a long while ago now, he pulls harder and it pops out with relative ease. Breathing a sigh of relief, you hear the heavy steel plug set on the table further down with a minor clank, as well as more footsteps, signalling the return of his friend. 

“Here you go.” 

“Thank you, so-” He takes the lube and you hear the click of the lid open as if for emphasis, “-she’s an admirable cocksucker, isn’t she?”

“Oh yeah, very good, she’s got a nice throat, can take a good pounding.” He sounded gleeful, a sound of agreement rings out before it’s added onto, “You were fucking into it pretty hard for a minute there.” 

So true, he gave it to you rough, your throat will feel a bit raw tomorrow for sure.

“But we still have two other holes to try out, and she was nice enough to start prepping one for us, it’d be rude not to take advantage. Hold her open for me.” 

You feel hands on your ass, spreading you open, and then feel the cold lube pouring down over your tightest hole and in short order, two fingers rubbing around the rim, spreading the cool slippery substance around. You remained relaxed, you weren’t a stranger to anal, you’d done some prep earlier, it wouldn’t take much to get you ready to go. 

“You have a preference?” One asks, and the other responds, “Who says we can’t try both?”

“Elaborate.” One finger begins to slide in, the material of the leather is smooth but still provides some drag, he sinks in to the last knuckle before pulling out, more lube is heaped on before reinserting. 

“Start in her cunt, get a good feel for it, then end in her ass, obviously.” It is said so easily, like it’s unbelievably simple.

“Sure, you are gonna be able to wait me out?” He teases and the other laughs, “Ha! Who says I have to? Once you are in the back, I’ll slide in the front. A whore like her? She can take a dick in each hole, no problem.”

“You are so right! Stupid of me to think otherwise. Too bad we don’t have a third friend for her mouth, could make her airtight.” That thought makes you shiver, fuck.

“Maybe something for the future.” He muses. 

The conversation turns quiet save for the occasional comment from them, or moan from you, as he continues to lube you up and finger your ass open, before you know it you have a second and a third finger buried in you, he was twisting and scissoring them, stretching you wider and wider until he deemed you ready to go. You were excited, very into this and leaking even more, you can’t help it, anal even after all this time, is a major turn on. You had been rocking back into him for a while, moving with him, encouraging him with your deepened breathing and pitched moans, biting your tongue to hold back your begging for more. 

His hands grip your hips and pulls you back towards him, you feel how sticky his fingers are with lube, you feel more alert, recovered from the monstrous orgasm you experienced earlier and ready for more. His hands lift momentarily to slick his cock up, you can hear the wetness of it, your fluttering stomach flat to the table, and his hands are back on you, gripping your hips tighter. You feel it, the hot velvety brush of his cock against you, bumping over your clit, he allows that for a moment, a few passes that makes your breath stutter. You feel next, a hand between you and him, gripping him, “Let me help.”

He assists in dragging the blunt and fat head up through your folds, spreading your ample wetness, adding on further to the slickness already coating him.

“Ready?” It's said quietly, so quietly you aren't sure if you are even meant to hear it, was it meant for you or for him? 

A small hum and a confirmation, asking low, “Stop teasing me.” 

“You're no fun.” It's said light, teasing, ignoring his friend's explicit ask, uttered in such a way it has you questioning just how deep their relationship goes, the true nature of it. 

“Shut up.” The response comes, fond, and with what sounds like a grin. 

He's lined up and he pushes forward, he fills you completely, the hand guiding his shaft into you falls away. You know who is who, now. The one who is buried balls deep in you is Billy, not a single doubt in your mind. The one who was in your mouth first, who threatened you with the knife, who spilled your blood, who edged you into oblivion, made you cum so hard you saw stars and spent ample time fingering your ass open and now was inside you, stretching the walls of your pussy so well, was Billy. He pauses, and Stu, you realize now, asks, “How does she feel?”

Billy sighs, “She's soaked-” He pulls out halfway before thrusting in again, “-and somehow so, so fucking tight.”

He began a slow rhythm, fucking you in earnest, his own breathing behind the mask picking up, that makes more heat flare inside,“You know something feels off.” 

He fucks harder, as if barrelling into your pussy with more strength will reveal the answer he is looking for. His hands are on you as he stills, they start to wander, feeling you, legs, ass, lower back before curling down and his fingers press over your hip and you cry out from him pressing so hard on the cut from earlier. “Oh, that’s what it is! She’s not bleeding anymore.” 

He sounds disappointed.

A beat before Stu responds, “We can fix that.” 

You hear the sound of the previously abandoned blade on the wooden table-top getting pulled up, that distinct schink sound as it is drawn up, “You just focus on fucking her.” 

He comes around the front of you, facing you, looking down and brandishing that knife, he gives a small wave with the steel as if to say, “Hi.” 

Even with his face covered with that mask, you are sure of the look on his face, the playful shit eating grin, eyes alight with mischief.

Billy starts fucking you once more, you moan helpless to resist, brows furrow as the haze of pleasure descends once more and Stu steps closer, the hand not holding the knife reaches down and he cradles your chin. His thumb traces your lips before pressing to your bottom lip, you can smell the leftover juices from when he was fingering you earlier still clinging to the leather. 

“Where should I cut you? Where should I cut you?” He is musing it as if to himself, you know he isn’t asking you. 

You have no say in this. 

He is humming, you can almost feel his eyes moving over your body, currently being rocked from the force of Billy’s thrusts. His hand moves, slips down your throat before tracing your collar bones and then going over your shoulder, strong fingers follow the line of your spine all the way up to the nape of your neck, to where your hair starts. He nods, small, nearly imperceptible and he brings the knife down. The cut isn’t deep, however it is quick, precise, he cuts slightly above where his fingers were pressing, you hiss and clench around Billy’s shaft, making him groan. Honestly, it’s a smart place. Your hair can hide any scar that comes from this easily, he presses harder, squeezes and makes more blood spill and it only has one place to go, down your back. It makes it look much worse than it actually is, the pain isn’t actually the bad, the pleasure is far outweighing it at. 

“How’s that?” Stu asks, and Billy responds easily, “Much fucking better.” 

Billy’s hand reaches up, his fingers smear the blood down your back, his hand lifts only to come back down hard, smacking right on your ass as his hips drive into you the hardest they have all night. Stu’s hand is cradling the back of your neck, pressing down on that wound in time with Billy’s thrusts and the chorus of moans it draws from you are pitched and loud, caught between heaven and hell, pain and pleasure. You inhale through your teeth, musing faintly how thankful you are that all the houses lining the beach are spaced so far apart, some of the moans they have you making would be cause for concern for nearly anyone who overheard your current lustful activities. 

Billy pulls you back as he fucks forward, he tugs you a bit closer, adjusts you slightly and you tense all over. Billy found that same spot he had been practically bullying earlier and you gasped, the pair shared a look over your taut body, shared acknowledgement that he'd locked onto it again. Billy didn't falter, he fucked harder all while staring at Stu, who's fingers were dragging down over your back, smudging and smearing more of your blood as your eyes go hazy and unfocused, consumed with feeling and the slow build of another orgasm.

You push back to meet him and in the process cause Stu to press on the still fresh wound, but just like earlier the pain falls more to the background. 

“Look at this brainless mess, she's on autopilot.” Stu laughed and Billy’s breathing sounds more strained as he asked, “Yeah? Looking cock drunk?”

“Not a thought behind her eyes, all she's focused on is cumming on your cock.” His fingers tangled in your hair near your scalp, he tugs, you wince and Stu asks, “Isn’t that right?” 

You are panting, a nod, the only concern is how your blood is singing, the feeling of intense fire under your skin and keeping this whole experience going, getting as much enjoyment from it as you possibly can. 

“Awe, you're speechless! Is his cock that good? That you have no words?” Considering how close he is already getting you just from his thick shaft splitting you wide and annihilating your cunt for a few short minutes? Yes, he is that good. 

“Not gonna lie-” Billy sighed, the sound again sounds so much better from behind that mask, you clench around him, he pauses briefly, grinding deeply into you before resuming fucking in and out, “-wouldn’t say I’m one for getting pussy drunk but fuck man-” He breaks off in a groan and picks up the pace just a little.

“-this feels fucking in-cred-ible, right?” 

You nod again, agreeing with him wholeheartedly, frantic and dumb as you creep closer to the edge, moaning wordlessly, your walls grasping desperately at his shaft telling on how fantastic this is feeling for you, and when you are roughly fifteen seconds from another brain breaking orgasm, Billy pulls out. You begin making sounds of protest, trying to get yourself together to string together some words to complain, but they are already hard at work again. 

“Help me move her.” Hands are on your biceps, pulling you up and you are being repositioned. You are struggling and putting up a bit of a fight again, they are working you into the configuration they want, you seriously wonder if they talked about it prior or if their non-verbal communication is that strong. Here is how it ends up.

Billy is sitting on the edge of the table, you are in his lap, legs spread wide and hooked over his strong thighs, his hands holding your upper arms so firmly you can't get away. Stu gets on his knees briefly to help Billy lube up extra before he assists lining him up again. You feel the slick tip pressed to your asshole and Stu rises, but his eyes stay locked on where you are about to be joined, he watches intently as the grip loosens and gravity aids in helping you impale yourself on Billy. 

Your hands clenched into fists, you groan as he bounces you up and down a few times, gritting out, “C'mon, open up-” until suddenly he slowly slips inside your tightest hole, once the head pops in he joins you, the mixing sound of pleasure from him and effort from you as you take more and more until at the halfway point he starts to bounce you more vigorously. 

“Was worried it might not fit.” Billy breathed out, and you laugh just as breathlessly, “Me too.”

He is thrusting into you very shallowly, making you take more in small increments as Stu is stroking himself to the picture you both made until finally, fucking finally, he is totally buried in you. 

He is merciful enough to let you take a moment to breathe and get accustomed to him fully inside your ass, but it is only a moment. His hands adjust slightly but remain on your arms, he tugs you up with them and buck his hips up from below to fuck up into you, causing you to choke out, “God-” 

It didn't feel bad at all, but it is an intense sensation, he is very girthy, thank God he put so much effort into the prep earlier or that’d be a different story. Stu could only watch Billy for a minute more before he needed to get in on the action, you had your lips on him far too long ago, he is dying to get inside you again. 

In short order Stu is stepping forward and with the combined height of the table and you on Billy's lap it makes your leaking pussy at the perfect level for him to fuck you too. One hand on your hip and he is nearly flush to you, Billy had stopped moving to allow Stu to get inside of you, and you are confronted with just how imposing they both are when you are in this position, pressed between them, white masks with hollow eyes watching your every move.

The hand that isn't on your hip grips the base of his shaft, the tip drags up through your drenched folds only once before he is nudging up against your grasping hole, his hips press forward with no small amount of force and he eases into you with a harsh inhale through his teeth. “Jesus fucking Christ.” 

Stu isn't quite as thick as Billy, but he is longer, which makes this position easier, to be honest the excess length is what makes this position possible, period. He manages to get about two thirds into you comfortably, his head tipping forward, his breathing laboured behind the mask as he starts to begin a rhythm in earnest. “You are so, soooo much tighter like this-”

The first thing said tonight that didn't fit the true narrative of the role play but no one complains, you are all rather lost in the weeds at the moment, consumed with lust and the only real God that mattered in this house, that of course being the moment, the now, worshipping at the altar of the flesh. 

“Can feel you so easily.” Stu huffs out to Billy, he grinds his hips, his shaft rubbing against Billy’s through the thin wall separating your two holes.

So you weren’t lying to Stu earlier, your stance on threesomes being very pro, especially after this experience, but the threesomes you engaged in were different; they were usually with another woman, another sugar baby or the partner of some client. Sure you’ve had things in both holes at the same time, however never anything as filling as this, nothing close to having a dick in both your pussy and ass at the same time. Now that Stu has a good handle on working himself in and out of your cunt, Billy starts moving again with a throaty groan, responding to Stu's earlier statement, “Can feel you too, man.”

You have never felt more full or more helpless, you couldn’t do much of anything, truly a pliant fuck doll pulled one way and another, pulled up and dropped back down, thrust and ground into. What bliss, having your holes stretched to the limit and lost in the feelings being forced on your body. 

The two men weren't so much as concerned with fucking in and out in that feverish and devastating way you were experiencing earlier, the kind where they pull out almost completely before slamming back in, the current action could be described as more of a firm grind. You quickly come to realize the rutting movements are just as much them seeking pleasure in each other as they are in you, gaining friction from each other as well as the gripping, well lubed and rippling walls of your holes.

The shared moaning and panting between the pair is getting louder, more intense, the dirty talk is fractured and not flowing in as elegant a manner, no full sentences, just short and degrading praise huffed out before breaking out. 

“-her holes are so fuckin’ hungry-” “-leakin’ like a faucet all over us-” “-just listen to her-” “-think she knows how loud she’s being?”

Shit, were you? Tuning in a bit more, you realize that yes you are moaning loudly and pathetically, helpless to stop it from how it all feels. Instead of feeling embarrassment or shame over this fact, you moan.

You aren't sure cumming from this is possible, it feels fucking incredible, but not necessarily in a way that could build towards an orgasm, it feels too overstimulating for that. Furthermore, you feel a strange mix of limp and tense as together they use you, mind blanking out with every jolt of overwhelming pleasure. You are more than aware this isn’t about you, this is about them, their mutual enjoyment, you are a prop for their fantasy and yet, you don’t feel objectified, or bothered, in fact, you find yourself loving every single moment. It feels good to be part of what they have, be privy to this level of closeness, it feels startlingly intimate. You had no idea how much more intimate it was about to get. 

Stu instigates it, his hand is off your hip and coming up, it pushes the bottom of his mask up, exposing the lower half of his face and he reaches out to do the same to Billy, he catches him off guard, you hear the question of, “What are you doi-”

Which is promptly cut off by Stu jerking forward over your shoulder, his mouth capturing Billy’s in a kiss, your eyes go wide as you look up and to the right to watch the frankly filthy looking tongue kiss the pair is engaged in. Billy doesn’t fight it, he moans into it and fucks into you harder. 

It doesn’t last much longer after that. 

Billy cums first, hips stuttering unevenly, choked sounds of pleasure expressed against Stu’s mouth, you think you can make out a curse or two, but you aren’t sure as he gives a few more shallow thrusts as he milks the last vestiges of his orgasm. You are seated fully in Billy’s lap as his chest heaves, slowly trying to recover, his currently still hard cock plugging your ass enough to keep the cum deep inside, something you sure would no longer be the case when he pulled out. 

Stu on the other hand was chasing his orgasm much more aggressively, now without having to try and contend with Billy’s movements he could fully focus on getting his. Stu’s hand is resting on the back of Billy’s neck, he had broken their kiss, lips an inch from his best friend’s, panting out as he ruts into you, “Fuck, fffuck, M’ so close-”

“Do it, come on, fill her up.” The encouragement seems to be what makes it happen, you feel him still, throbbing, the rush of warm as he shudders from the sheer force of how intense it feels. 

The come down takes a good minute, the only sounds are your collective harsh breathing, but when you all catch up they start to move. First things first, the masks come off, Stu face is revealed to you as he fully removes it, tossing it onto the table near the long discarded knife. He grins down at you, hair looking a little sweaty, cheeks a bit flush but eyes as playfully mischievous as ever, he says a soft, “Hey.”

You laugh softly, returning it, “Hey yourself.” Before you lean up and press a kiss to his lips, he returns it for a moment before you feel still gloved fingers trace your jaw, turning your head. Once he has and you are looking at him, you realize Billy had taken his own mask off, his smile has a soft but still smug quality to it as he also repeats the greeting before kissing you for the first time. 

You melt into it, the realization that Billy had fucked every hole you had, cut you, hurt you, caused you to bleed and cum all before you ever kissed running over your brain like liquid fire. Your body responds automatically, clenching on them both, twin small groans pulled from them both as you squeeze their slowly softening dicks still buried in you. The kiss breaks and Billy asks, “When was the last time you came?”

A small laugh as you admit with a shrug, “Just the once, earlier on your fingers.”

He tsks, “Shit, well that’s no good at all Stu, hmm?” Stu nods in agreement, “Not good at all.”

“What’re we gonna do about that?” He asks with a hum and Stu offers, “How about we get her cleaned up, get all the cum and blood off her and then get her off real slow, comfortably?”

Billy’s nose runs up the side of your neck and you sigh out at the feeling and the thought, being freshly clean and in soft bedsheets as they focus on you, devote themselves to getting you off again hard as fuck, “Sounds good.”

“Yeah? Then that’s what we will do, the least we can do to show our appreciation for how good you did tonight.” Stu kissed your forehead and you ask, “Mmm, yeah, I did good?”

“Oh my God, the best.” Billy gushed, he slowly pulled out of you, causing you to gush in turn, Stu pulled out too and the amount of cum that spilled forth was impressive. They finally untied your hands, you rolled your wrists and open and closed your hands, trying to will the feeling back into them, the robe was used to mop up the cum you leaked out onto the table and floor. The robe was caked in now dried blood, it looked totally wrecked, you doubt it could be cleaned but oh well, the sacrifices we make in the pursuit of kink and pleasure, some casualties are meant to be expected. 

You are way too unsteady on your legs to walk, they are constantly trembling, Stu was carrying you upstairs, Billy carrying the ruined robe, knife and masks as he trailed behind. 

Soon the bath was running, you were sitting in the tub as Billy and Stu got out of their costumes, the Ghostface garb was being stripped away and finally he asked the burning question, “So what did you think? Did it live up to the hype?”

Billy scoffed, a fond roll of his eyes, “Is that why you were so quiet on the way up here? Worried what I would say?” 

Stu brushed him off, “Pfft no. Obviously not.” 

He hummed unconvinced, finished taking off his boots he walked over to Stu who was still unlacing, leaning down he kissed him on the forehead and said, “Stu, it was so fucking amazing it makes me wonder why we waited so long.” 

Stu grinned and pushed his friend’s shoulder playfully, “Shut up, yes you do.” He glanced over his shoulder to you reclining in the tub, enjoying the hot water slowly filling the porcelain, relaxing in your now second bath of the night. He finally admitted that Billy was right, that they needed the right person to make this as good as it was, he admits this by saying simply, “We were waiting on her.”

[monarchthefirst]

Sacrificial Lamb Whump.

Whumpee has finally resigned themselves to doing what has to be done. Whether this means severe punishment or death to even a religious institutional balance or to save a nation, they finally accept it, despite their innocence. The stoic, stubborn, proud mask of the past few years has vanished and they are now meek and silent, being marched through the crowded streets to their doom. Their friends and comrades follow, silently weeping or brooding at the unfairness of it all, enraged that they cannot by law intervene. And that they have to watch their friend suffer until it is over.

If the act doesn’t result in death—some ideas:

Wings getting cut off ceremonially. (I love this one).

Ceremonial scourging/branding.

Magical torture.

Losing a limb, organ, or other sense/body part.

Being forced to do something humiliating in front of everyone. Multiple ways that could go. (Being forced to strip naked for the sacrifice, having their ‘sins’ read out loud, etc etc)

Being forced to now ‘bless’ each and every person in line with their blood, marking it on their foreheads as they queue for hours and hours. Whumpee is exhausted and swaying on their feet. Often they nearly collapse and the priests on either side drag them to their feet to finish the task.

Finally, when all is said and done, Whumpee’s friends—who have been counting the seconds down to midnight or whatever and impatiently pushing against the guards for that final moment—- are finally able to rush on the platform to their comrade’s aid and catch them as they fall one last time. Whumpee, usually so strong and dependable, collapses helplessly against them, shaking violently, tears of pain and exhaustion and humiliation streaming down their face. Everything hurts. The slightest movement causes them to cry out and struggle weakly. The friends are desperate, begging whumpee to stay with them, promising that it’s going to be alright.

They stay there, holding whumpee, trying to think of a way to move them to safety, while the cold-hearted clerics move about the platform doing ritual cleansing and completely ignoring them. The sacrifice is done. Whumpee doesn’t matter to them anymore.

Any other ideas/add-ons/inspiration would be greatly appreciated. I’m on a huge writers block rn.

[pallysuune]

Summery: Sevatar takes solace in his Raven when his psyker headaches grow to be too much. Literally.

Pairing: Sevatar/Rushal

Warnings: Smut, rough sex, blood, typical Sevatar and Rushal stuff.

A/N: I love these two toxic boys. Don't judge me.

Rushal knows the headaches are getting to be too bad when Sevatar grabs him and slams him too hard against the wall, forcing his mouth to slot over his. He doesn't blame him for the violence, never. Half their relationship is violence. It's what they're both made for, something they'll never get away from. But Sevatar has eased toward him with time, and so these moments stand out all the more. How Sevatar pressed against him like he's trying to drown in him. Like he needs him to survive.

It's just a balm, he knows. A salve. An attempt to drive away the pain that splits apart his mind from the inside out. He can't actually save Sevatar from what is slowly killing him, though he wished he could. This is the best he could do.

He relaxes pliantly under Sevatar's hands as the Captain kisses him, tongue stealing into his mouth, tracing the scars along the inside of his cheek, caressing the stump of his tongue. Rushal lets out a low sound, more a rumble in the air between them than an actual noise. Sevatar's fingers dig hard into his shoulders.

Hands scramble at his tunic. His own find purchase in Sevatar's shirt. Neither of them have much regard for the fabric in moments like this. The sound of it ripping is drowned out by a deeper groan from the Raven as Sevatar's hand palms him roughly through his pants.

The metallic scent of blood registers in his mind slowly. There's something wet on his lips. He rears his head back. Sevatar is looking up at him, tension at the corner of his eyes. His nose is bleeding. The red stands out starkly against his skin.

Rushal raises a hand toward his face.

“Leave it,” Sevatar barks, pushing forward to kiss him again. Desperate, barely contained. He rakes red welts across Rushal's chest, nails catching on scars. Small beads of blood rise to the surface of his skin in their wake. Rushal hisses, but doesn't try to stop him.

In a whirlwind of motion, the rest of his clothes are torn away, and he's turned to face the wall, pressed up against it by a heavy forearm against the back of his neck. He splays his hands across the cold plasteel and closes his eyes. Spit-slick fingers press to - and into - his ass. He lets a shapeless groan slip past his lips, his eyes slipping closed.

Sevatar does not allow him long, but Rushal doesn't mind. The burn as Sevatar finally pulls his fingers out and sheaths himself in him is familiar, almost welcome. A hand grips his hip, nails digging in roughly, leaving crescent shapes in his skin. The other arm is still laying across the back of his neck. Sevatar holds him in place and fucks him roughly.

And fuck, it feels good.

He's unbearably hard himself. He slips a hand down, curling his fingers around his length. Sevatar does not stop him. He's growling like something wild behind him, lost in it all, his only anchor the feeling of Rushal's body beneath his.

Rushal fucks his palm in the same rhythm as the buck of Sevatar's hips. He feels something hot drip onto his back. It rolls down his back slowly. Blood from Sevatar's nose. The feeling of it slowly running down the taut muscles of his back sends a shiver rushing up his spine.

It isn't long until Sevatar slams his hips against his ass, burying himself in him as he comes, cock pulsing as he fills him. He growls, feral and dark, before slowly relaxing. He slumps, his forehead resting against Rushal's back. He can feel the tickle of Sevatar's hair against his skin.

He has the honor of hearing words no one else likely ever would from the Captain as Sevatar whispers against him.

“I'm sorry.”

If the act itself was reminiscent of the darker time directly after his torture, that feeling is broken by just those two words. Rushal reaches back, tapping Sevatar's hips lightly. He gets the hint and draws back, slipping out of Rushal.

The Raven doesn't bother to finish himself. It isn't about him at the moment. Instead, he takes a ripped piece of his shirt and unceremoniously cleans himself up, grabbing another and moving to where Sevatar has slumped down onto his bed, sitting casually across it with his back propped against the wall. Using the same soiled rag, Rushal cleans him, before tossing it away. With the second, clean tatter of cloth, he leans close and gently wipes the blood from Sevatar's face. Already, the flow has become sluggish. It will stop soon enough.

Sevatar's closed eyes flickered slightly open when Rushal cleans his face, looking over at him with a grimace, before closing again. The corners of his eyes are still pinched from pain, but it seems to be fading.

With them both cleaned up, Rushal pulls Sevatar down to the bed. It takes a moment for them both to arrange themselves comfortably, in a tangle of muscular limbs and heavy bodies.

The door is locked. It is just the two of them in the darkness of Sevatar's quarters. Safe in a way neither wants to think of too hard. It takes a long time for Sevatar to finally sleep. Rushal knows from experience he won't sleep long. He can only hope the headache has eased the rest of the way by the time he wakes up.

[detectivekirigirislays]

absence makes the heart grow fonder - la brava, gentle criminal: correlations to bkdk

was gonna post a thread ab this on twt but i dont get much interaction there so i'll post here😭 (excuse my inactivity from posting)

here's why i think this line of la brava and gentle criminal (LB & GC) fit the current relationship of BKDK, and other parallels of both couples ---> an analysis !!

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder"

this is a line both simultaneously said by a canon couple in the series, LB and GC. the line is spoken when the flashback talks about how GC's first wish is to see LB after all the time they've been separated from one another, whilst on LB's end, this line refers to her desire of being by GC's side and how the idea alone already makes her happier than ever.

LB's quirk gives GC a power boost simply out of all her pure love and admiration for him, and in return, he utilizes this power and gains his strength all thanks to LB being by his side.

now, how does the line correlate to bkdk, esp bkg, exactly? well for one: izuku's absence made bkg continuously yearn and await his arrival, even putting his life out on the line if it meant izuku would come back to save them and fulfill his part.

-- it isn't that he is only awaiting for izuku simply for their assigned missions, but because he yearns for him so much that he's willing to put his life out on the line for him, that his last thoughts are all about him and his last words are dedicated to him, that the idea of izuku being by his side was a comforting idea for him, similar to how LB was already content with just being by GC's side no matter what. later on, bkg even somewhat confirms his yearning for competing and being by izuku's side in ch424, where he reveals he had a thought of being by his heels for the rest of their lives.

when bkg revives, he comes back searching for the first person he's been long awaiting to reunite with: izuku. when they lay eyes on each other, they are both finally relieved, content, thankful that they get to be by each other's side in the war. they're in sync, with bkg getting a crazy power boost and izuku understanding him even without any words being spoken as they execute their plan flawlessly.

LB and GC's reunion after so long ended with tears, and bkg and izuku's reunion post-war in the hospital also ended in tears.

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder" --> bkg's personality shift from losing his life for the first time and the possibility of losing the chance to be with izuku, his concern for izuku as he always rushes to him despite his concerning health conditions, dedicating 6-7 yrs of his life leading a proj to bring izuku back as a hero, why? because izuku's absence makes his heart grow fonder for him, it makes the heart yearn deeply for him to return, because just like izuku's devastation losing katsuki, katsuki is just as devastated losing someone so important by his side, as after all, he held onto the idealization that they'd be competing for the rest of their lives, right?

Congrats to bakugo katsuki and la brava for being the ultimate yearners of the show: my hero academia! 😻

[seekers-who-are-lovers]

Aahh! Finally, Bunshun released the short story about Yukiya’s two mothers, Fuyuki, and Azusa. Plus, the prologue of the fourth book, “The Empty Coffin,” where Yukiya embarks to study in Keisoin Academy and there he meets his classmates.

The short story, however, includes the incident where Yukiya and Yukichi got lost in the woods and a mysterious large bird saved them. It is here! (This is roughly Google-translated, but it is a start!)

Fuyuki was a cold-hearted, bitter, mean, but, above all, a loving woman.

She loved her son and trusted Azusa.

“If it were Azusa, she wouldn't do anything bad to my child, would she?”

It took a long time. Still, Azusa felt that Fuyuki’s real voice finally reached her.

Please take care of my child.

"Yes, that's right, Fuyuki-sama. Yukiya is our son.” Azusa said out loud as she walked.

"So please, Fuyuki-sama. Please protect Yukiya and Yukichi. Please let them go home safely.”

The moment she said that, she felt like the trees were swaying even though there was no wind.

One could see that the moon on the top of the tree was distorted in a strange way.

After a moment, the outline of the moon, which was pale and hazy, became clear and began to emit a sparkling light. With the big full moon on its back, a black silhouette was floating.

Azusa gasped as she fixed her eyes for a while.

It was an incredibly large shadow of a bird.

Even in the main residence of the North Family, where famous horses were gathered from all over the world, she had never seen anything with such a huge body. Azusa couldn't decide whether it was the same kind of species, it slowly approached her.

It landed leisurely in front of Azusa, who was standing up.

The moment it descended, Azusa's hair flew up under the wings.

When she saw it up close, it was still a ridiculously large crow.

She thought it was three times more than an ordinary Yatagarasu.

The black iron-like beak was sharp, and it should be scary, but strangely, it didn't feel like that.

The eyes directed at Azusa sparkled like crystals, and its feathers, even in the faint moonlight, gleamed with a hard, purplish-blue luster. Even without considering its size, there was something otherworldly about it, as if the very air around it was different.

Azusa, who was staring in astonishment, noticed that the crow was holding something in its beak.

What could it be? It looked like a basket.

Then, the large crow, having caught Azusa's gaze, gently placed it at her feet.

"Is this child your son?"

Unexpectedly, a high, clear voice like that of a young boy echoed.

Looking closer, she saw that her sons were sleeping inside a basket woven from wisteria vines adorned with flowers.

"Yukiya! Yukichi!”

She rushed over and clung to the basket as if to devour it.

Yukiya, who was covered in mud, was hugging his brother. Yukichi's eyelids were red and swollen, but neither of them seemed to be injured anywhere in sight.

“Don't worry. They're just sleeping for a bit, but they'll wake up soon. I'm sorry,” the large crow said clearly, tilting its head. “Because I hastily mended the barrier, they got caught in the gaps.”

Azusa was stunned because she didn't understand what the Yatagarasu meant, so he repeated it.

“It means that these children were stuck in a place where they couldn't get out on their own. It's my fault, so please don't scold them.”

Azusa nodded in a daze.

"Are you … Yamagami-sama's servant?"

"...Well, something like that."

"Thank you for helping my sons."

“It was originally my fault. When these children grow up, there may come a time when we meet again. They are good children. Raise them with care.”

After saying that, the big karasu rolled his wings and flew away. Once again, the moon distorted. In the blink of an eye, as if it were an illusion, the great crow melted into the sky and disappeared.

It is up to us to patch everything. I am crying. The story of Fuyuki, Azusa and Yukimasa is heartbreaking. Fuyuki, like Yukiya, hated her side of the family and the nobles. Oryo, her mother, was a former courtesan at the pleasure district it took long enough for her to be accepted in the family until she produced three children with Lord Genya. Every motivation here is politics.

Yukimasa, like we all know, was an opportunist, who took advantage of Fuyuki’s feelings. What Yukiya feels toward his father is justified and yet he has grown up rational enough to see how his stepmother and brothers treat him and love him as if he is their own full flesh and blood.

[fllowered]

hello Aminah, do you know if someone upload mx photoshoot makings from vlive+??

hi angel ! ❣️ i downloaded all of monsta x's vlive+ content and uploaded a majority of them to my drive here. these are only the behind the scenes photoshoot videos. i will try and upload ALL the vlive+ content when i have the chance to. i hope this was helpful ! have a nice day <3

[puppyeared]

renaissance dogys

characters belong to @canisalbus

[s0fter-sin]

the 141 recovering brainwashed!soap but he’s just a shell of his former self; never speaking, never moving without orders. he never even blinks; just stares straight ahead with his unnatural green eyes.

empty.

but ghost can't accept that.

price and gaz can't stand watching ghost torture himself day after day; visiting soap in his cell for hours at a time, trying anything he can think of to bring back his sergeant.

he shows him pictures of the 141 but soap thinks he's being given targets and moves to eliminate them before ghost stops him. he brings him his journal, tries to trigger his innermost thoughts and feelings he never shared with any of them, but after he reads it, soap summarises it like he's giving a mission briefing. impersonal.

cold.

it's late when ghost finally calls it; low and defeated after another long day of being stared at with eyes that don't see him. he isn't thinking when he pulls his mask off and harshly scrubs over his face, grinding his palm into his eye.

"don't worry, johnny; we're still fixin' each other's problems," he promises, little more than a whisper as he tries to summon the energy to leave johnny behind. again.

he pushes himself to his feet, his hand on the door handle when-

"what's my problem?"

ghost freezes, something like grief - something achingly closer to hope - chilling him. he slowly turns and though soap is still starring ahead, there's a faint light in his altered green eyes.

"the mask," he forces out. "take it off."

he knows there's no way to remove the mask - the muzzle - from his sergeant's face. it's too high-tech, even for them; the biometric scanner too advanced for any bypass they know of.

it's just another way he's failed him; bringing him home still bound in their enemy's chains.

soap- jolts; a sharp, almost painful looking flinch jerking his body.

"show my face?" and his voice has changed; no longer the monotone delivery that's haunted ghost's every waking moment.

it's smaller. uncertain. recollection of a memory half-destroyed.

"yes, johnny," he breathes.

soap moves unprompted for the first time since they found him; running his finger along the edge of the muzzle where his skin bulges from the pressure, half-visible scars hidden beneath the harsh metal.

"ugly," he murmurs.

ghost immediately shakes his head, almost stumbling back to the table; haphazardly throwing his mask on it. "quite the opposite," he insists.

it doesn't matter if he has no lower jaw left at all; johnny could never be ugly in his eyes.

agonisingly slowly, soap's eyes shift to the mask. he takes in the balaclava and hard shell skull like for all the times he's looked at it since his rescue, he never truly saw it. his lids fall in less of a blink and more stage curtains closing; slow, heavy, requiring effort and no small amount of strength to open once more

"good... to see you again..." he trails off, his hand shifting up to the top of his shaved head; nails digging unforgivingly into his scalp

"simon," ghost finishes for him; that horrid grieving hope tearing at his heart

soap's fingers flex and a drop of blood trails down his forehead, over the ridge of his nose to catch on the muzzle. "s-simon..."

his nails dig deeper, the drop falling to the table just to be followed by more and ghost aches to stop him but he's terrified to interrupt him. terrified to lose him now when he's so close to something.

soap's bloodied nails scratch down the crown of his head, following the line of his stolen mohawk until they come to rest on the back of the muzzle and ghost's heart drops.

they can’t get it off.

they can't get it off and he doesn't know how to explain that to soap; doesn't know if he can stomach watching soap pull at the monstrosity holding him captive, the inevitable bloodbath as the edges cut into his skin.

"show my face," soap repeats.

"johnny..." ghost begins weakly, reaching out to him but he doesn't know how, doesn't know if he even should-

the muzzle clatters onto the table.

the biometrics they couldn't bypass, the fingerprint they needed that they were so sure belonged to makarov.

it belonged to soap.

how cruel to torture him with freedom he didn't understand he could take; didn't even understand he could want.

just the kind of sick game makarov loves.

ghost doesn't know what's louder; his heart pounding in his ears or the long, uninhibited breath soap takes.

his eyes fall shut as he leans his head back with it, the blood still dripping down his face as he straightens through his exhale. his lower jaw is a mess of scars where he fought against the previous iterations of the muzzle, the corners of his lips cut through and cracked.

but the green in his eyes is duller; that light sparking brighter as blue struggles to break through the glow.

ghost's never seen anything so beautiful.

"good to see you again, johnny."

[biblically-accurate-dca]

@vanweek2024 day 4 - food

peep the vanny