#maybe a future addition to the wall?

[randomshyperson]

Five Times You Go Through Wanda Maximoff's Window - [HS Challenge]

Summary: A clumsy spider and a grumpy witch are roommates in Avengers Tower. And it takes you five missed windows to finally get things right. [Prompt]

Warning: None, fluff and funny, spider!reader and emo!wanda, avengers being a family, happy ending | Words: 2.937k

A/N-> This was such a funny one to write because I always wanted to try the Five Times Prompt! I hope you guys liked it.

General Masterlist | Wattpad | AO3 | Holiday Season Masterlist

-&-

The first time you missed a window in Avengers Tower, you still didn't know the place properly. 

You had just come out of a fight and your costume was still smoldering. You stumbled between one window and another and thought you had counted the floors correctly when you balanced yourself inside, and almost fell out again when something pushed you.

Your spidey sense acted immediately, of course. It was a disastrous situation, to be honest. You jumped like a frightened animal away from the magical energy of the witch, the true owner of that room and window, while instinctively hitting her right in the face with your webs.

Wanda yelled angrily, and you, hanging from the wall, only had time to fall straight to the floor before she hit you in the chest this time.

Of course, the confusion attracted the attention of the other Avengers - Vision, and Steve appeared just before Nat, the men confused by the whole thing, but the widow, as soon as she saw the younger witch trying to untangle the webs from her face, burst into laughter.

You were blushing a lot when you went to apologize.

"I'm really sorry Wanda, I thought it was my room."

"It's fine." She retorted between her teeth, and it didn't look like it was fine at all. You rubbed your shoulder, the magical blow left your skin sore and Wanda sighed. "Sorry about the hit. I thought it was an intruder."

Natasha interrupted the whole thing with another chuckle, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes that threatened to return every time she looked at Wanda's grumpy expression over the webs. "You two are clearly an example of attention. You've just earned some extra training."

You and Wanda grumbled in unison. Of course, Natasha was just tormenting you and the training was going to happen anyway, because Wanda escaped as many of them as she could and was already getting sloppy, and you well, in the routine of neighborhood friend and university, it was difficult to attend all the Avenger commitments.

Wanda had no trouble hitting you in training, and you almost thought she was doing it with a certain satisfaction. You couldn't blame her, she would certainly have got away with it if it hadn't been for your disastrous encounter earlier.

You just hoped that future interactions between you would be friendlier from then on.

-&-

The second time you missed a window in the Tower, your intention was not to be late.

This was because Natasha had asked - or politely threatened - you to organize your spider routine, if that was possible, and be present at the introduction of the New Avengers.

Well, that was rather unfair. In addition to your full-time job as a New York superhero, you also had college and your job as a Daily Bugle Photographer, so it should be understandable that delays would occur. But maybe that was your fault, for missing three birthdays in a row, and not even making it to Captain America's shield ceremony last month after Steve retired and assigned the job to Sam Wilson.

In any case, you tried to get to the tower for Kate Bishop's introduction to the team and ended up in the wrong room again. 

Only this time it was worse, as you ended up bumping into the owner of the bedroom who certainly wasn't expecting to see anyone.

Wanda didn't fall to the floor with the impact only because you acted quickly and held her by the waist, turning your bodies so that the entire collision was on your back. Half the items in your backpack made a cracking sound behind you, but you didn't have a chance to check.

You were still grunting in pain when she pushed you away, and the action caused her towel to fall to the floor.

"I-I..."

"Don't look, you pervert!" She demanded infuriatedly, her face as red as yours. You turned away immediately, but the bedroom mirror allowed you to see her bending down to pick up the towel and you thought it best to close your eyes tightly.

"I swear to God I didn't mean to-"

"Zip it." She cut in, holding the towel tight against her body. "Out." She ordered, and you didn't need to be told twice.

You stumbled out with your eyes closed until you found the door, and Wanda had to look away and bite her lip to hide her smile for all the times you hit your head on something before leaving.

You didn't find her again until half an hour later when you had already met Kate Bishop and discovered that she would probably be a friend. She was a very funny girl, and your close age made it easy to get friendly with her. 

She had just commented that it was amazing to have another Avenger going to NYU, and how you could go to classes together and have coffee when Wanda reappeared in the room and dropped something in your lap.

You stared wide-eyed at the red spider's underwear, clutching the item as if you expected it to disappear.

"You forgot it in my room." Said the witch with an indecipherable expression, but with eyes sparkling with mischief. Of course, she left out the part about the item falling out of your backpack during the disastrous encounter earlier, and that was enough for Sam to chuckle knowingly with Clint and Natasha from the kitchen counter when they whistled at the comment.

You turned as red as the colored garment. "I dropped it in her room." You tried to clarify in embarrassment, but Clint added.

"Oh, yes, that happens." He taunted, and you huffed in embarrassment as you got up to find your backpack and remove that outfit from their sight. 

You only missed Wanda's satisfied look when Kate didn't invite you to take her to university again and the subject was forgotten.

-&-

The third time was intentional.

The Avengers were going through a very difficult time since the whole Winter Soldier thing became public, and even with Steve retired, Mr. Stark still wanted closure on the murder of his parents with Mr. Barnes. 

It wasn't your business, but at the same time, it was because the Avengers were one big family and anything that happened to one had an impact on the whole team.

The atmosphere was rather miserable because it seemed that everyone was going through heartbreaking situations at the moment. Natasha and the Red Room, Bucky, Tony and Steve's drama, and Kate with her mother's arrest. Then there was Vision and the Space Stone that had been giving him nightmares, and well, Wanda, who was celebrating her first birthday alone since the death of her twin brother.

So the third time was intentional, because you had cupcakes in your backpack that were a bit of a mess, and you only came in after knocking.

Wanda still had to get used to the image of you hanging at that height.

"Hi." She greeted, not hiding her own discontent about that day. You continued to sit on the edge.

"Hey." You said with a small smile, twirling your bag in front of you. " I won't be bothering you, I just came to bring you something."

She grimaced, biting her lip. She wanted to say that you're rarely a nuisance, but instead, she remained silent.

You take out a closed box from your backpack, a little crumpled, but the contents are safe. There are several colorful, well-filled cupcakes from your favorite place in the center. All with little birthday decorations.

"I didn't know your favorite flavor, so I brought you one of each. If you're allergic to anything, we can throw it away." 

Wanda doesn't take the box held out to her. "Hm, I don't... celebrate today." She says clumsily, looking away. You swallow dry, nodding.

"I didn't think so, but I wanted to... I don't even know what I wanted. I'm sorry, that was stupid of me. I'll take these away and leave you alone."

But Wanda grabbed you before you could leave the room, and instead of pulling away, she hugged you. Quickly, as a thank you, but it warmed your cheeks.

"That was sweet of you, okay? Thank you." She murmured just as embarrassed, busying herself with grabbing the box of cupcakes because she didn't know what to do with her hands.

You smiled. "No problem, Wanda." You say, and before you lose your nerve, you add. "To be honest, the cupcakes are just an excuse. I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to tell you that I'm here if you need a friend. I know how hard days like these are, and being alone is sometimes not a choice, it's the only option. I wanted you to know that there are people with whom you can share this pain. Or if you don't want to talk about it, these cupcakes."

The next hug is longer and makes you wish you'd missed the window more often, even if this time it was on purpose. Maybe when all the drama has passed, and Wanda trusts you to become friends, the window will stay open for you.

For now, she lets you stay to watch sitcoms with her and grimaces when you stumble out the window to answer a spider's call. 

It's stupidly dangerous, she texts you that afternoon.

You respond with spider and web emojis.

-&-

The fourth time, you were bleeding.

Almost unconscious, and struggling to crawl through the windows. Fearing that the exhaustion and injuries would be enough for your powers to fail, and inevitably cause you to fall from the tower. 

Perhaps it would have been better to take the front door.

You felt yourself losing consciousness, and your right hand detached from the glass. Before gravity could do its job, a familiar prickling sensation covered your entire body and you were pulled into Wanda Maximoff's room.

"What happened?"

She looked worried, almost desperate to be honest. Your appearance was probably not the best. Well, who could blame you? You've just guaranteed New York's safety for a while longer after one of the most intense fights in months. Why do villains dressed as animals always land such hard punches?

You try to smile at Wanda, to make a "You should have seen the other guy" joke, even though Rhino wasn't badly hurt and the victory was more thanks to your new electric friend and his tricks that knocked the big guy out, than to you. Maybe you're losing your grip.

Wanda didn't laugh, her powers put you against the soft cushions and the next thing that left your mouth was a grunt of pain when she touched your ribs.

"I'm gonna call Bruce-"

"No, I'm fine." You tried to move, but your body hated the idea. So did Wanda, because her magic became harder to ignore. "Please, Wands, I shouldn't be out there."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

And you have to ignore the pain to keep talking and try to look casual about it with a shrug that makes you wince. "I was still recovering from the last fight. I thought I could handle it."

"You're unbelievable." She grumbles, seeming to remember beyond her own busy routine, the image of your bandaged arm after the last villain you encountered. Clearly, it had been against the advice of the rest of the team that you had joined another fight, and obviously, the consequence of your stubbornness was swinging yourself utterly wrecked into her window at dawn. "You need an x-ray."

You groan but are unable to resist her magical efforts that force you to your feet and drag you into Bruce's lab.

The whole thing becomes a blur in your injured head. But you know that you've been given a hard time by at least half the team, until the medication kicks in and you feel better enough to realize that you're already lying on a bed, with Wanda Maximoff beside you.

"Sorry about the scare." You mumble, and you don't need to clarify any further for her to understand exactly what you mean. You know you'll probably have to work harder than that to remove your nearly dead figure from her memory, but that's a start.

Wanda doesn't take her eyes off the book but sighs. "It's okay." 

You know that's not true. So you try to be honest with her.

"Today is one year since Aunt May died." You say quietly, just loud enough for the two of you in the Avengers' infirmary room to hear. Wanda immediately raises uncertain eyes. It's your turn to sigh and look away. "I just... couldn't keep myself from doing anything. When Miles' suit warned me about Rhino, it was the perfect distraction."

Wanda absorbs your words for a few seconds until she puts the book aside. She leaves the armchair and approaches the bed to sit down next to you. 

"Next time, ask me to distract you." She says, one of her hands going up to your face and caressing some of your bandages. "We could watch a movie, or go out to eat. Or even..."

But she doesn't finish, her cheeks suddenly reddening. You give her a lopsided smile. "What?"

"I don't know, anything you want." Says the witch, turning her face away. 

Mentally thanking Bruce for the painkillers that allow you to move, you sit up properly to lean toward her. "All right, I have a suggestion." You whisper, and it's the first kiss between you as you break the distance.

Wanda's lips are soft against yours, shy as she never is. Only with this kind of thing, of course. The goth girl who won't let anyone give her a bad look and has a punk attitude all the time, but can't keep her gaze if you wink at her from across the room. And always blushes when you text her that she looks pretty when she's concentrating on the Avengers meetings.

She's the one who separates, although just as breathlessly, she warns: "I'm still mad at you."

You bite back a smile, absorbing for a second the image of her swollen lips and flushed face. "Well, I suppose I should distract you from your anger then." 

She snorts good-naturedly at the statement, but you kiss her before she can comment. The two of you keep smiling throughout.

-&-

The fifth time, it's a new window.

Well, actually it's a whole new place because Wanda Maximoff has left Avengers Tower and moved to suburban New Jersey. And you were late.

The whole team had already helped with the move and left after an afternoon snack at Wanda's new house. For the first time in a long time, New York had no villain after Spidey, and you were stuck in university bureaucracy.

You apologized dozens of times by text message for not being able to help with the move, and in fact, the whole team laughed at the situation. It was just bad luck that you missed such a fun afternoon.

It was late evening when you arrived on the dark balcony. Through the windows, the lower floor was empty and perhaps you had strange habits because you didn't even consider just ringing the bell. One tug of the webs and you were at the second-floor window, tapping on the glass for Wanda to let you in.

"We have a door, you know." It was the first thing she said. And you smiled, slightly distracted by the figure fresh out of the shower, still with damp hair.

"We?"

She scrunched her nose, her hands working to remove your backpack and jacket. "It's just semantics." She retorts, but you keep smiling. You let the jacket fall into the backpack on the floor before sliding your hands around her waist. 

"Oh, of course. For a second I thought you had found a roommate." 

She rolls her eyes bemusedly. "You know the invitation still stands."

You smile, your anxious fingers drawing patterns across the exposed skin at her waist. "Well, Captain Rogers' influence is making me a bit old-fashioned but before I move I'd like to do a few things first."

"Hm, is that right? Like what?"

Shrugging as if your heart wasn't racing in your chest, you retort. "Like... marrying you, for example."

Wanda hesitates, surprised more than anything. She looks at you as if she's trying to decide if it was a joke, but you don't feel her magic in your mind. 

"Do you really mean that?" She asks almost unsurely, and you sigh before letting go. You duck down to pick up your backpack again and reveal the real reason for the extra half hour of your journey from the university.

A little velvet box hidden in the front pocket. 

"I was saving it for our anniversary, but I don't think there's such a thing as the right moment. Every day I'm ready to marry you, and I don't need a dinner party for that." You declare nervously and swallow dryly when you meet your girlfriend's watery eyes. "B-but I can totally ask you next week-"

She breaks into a tearful laugh, pulling you close again. "Shut up, you fool."  She says practically against your lips before kissing you hard.

It's only later in the evening, after you've laughed and kissed and lost yourselves in hours of pleasure exploring each other's bodies, for the first time holding hands with golden rings on your fingers, that you, still breathless with Wanda almost asleep against your chest, ask:

"That means yes, right?"

She uses magic to throw a pillow in your face.

[dyns33]

Only wastelands

I will try to do this Cooper Howard x reader in three parts, but I like the Ghoul so much, I might want to write more

People said Y/N’s neighborhood was lucky.

After a draw, they were selected to join a Vault shelter for free, if something dramatic happened one day, allowing them to survive.

Y/N had received the news with mixed feelings. She didn't want to die from a nuclear bomb, but she also didn't want to think about the possibility of a nuclear bomb falling on their heads.

There was no reason for this to happen anyway.

China and the United States had resumed peace negotiations. The war was going to end and everything would be wonderful. The vaults would then be of no use.

That day, she was washing dishes in her small kitchen. She lived alone, having left her parents who were in another state to settle near Lors Angeles.

Of course, she had first dreamed of Hollywood, and then she had been reasonable, finding a normal job, to live a normal life.

First there was the light. For a moment, she blinked, wondering if she had fainted. And looking out the window, she first saw the smoke in the distance.

Her neighbors were out, she could see them in the street which also looked towards the city center, and no doubt they were talking, but Y/N heard nothing, all her attention fixed on the smoke.

It was just smoke. She watched without being able to move as the cloud grew, before the shock wave reached her house, destroying the windows and shaking the walls.

Screams were then heard, in addition to the sirens. Falling to the ground in shock, Y/N almost didn't get up, but one of the neighbors, instead of thinking selfishly, ran to see if she was still there, helping her to get up and taking her with her to the vault.

Everything happened very quickly after that.

Y/N vaguely remembered those smiling doctors, who explained to them that everything would be fine, doing several exams before putting what they called a pipboy on them, giving them a ridiculous blue and yellow jumpsuit.

"You are now the inhabitants of Vault 8. What has just happened is a tragedy, and we are going to need you to ensure the future of humanity."

They were taken to a large room, with human-sized tubes. The doctors explained that they would be put to sleep, kept in the cold, safe, and awakened only on the day when it would be possible to go out and repopulate the Earth without it being dangerous.

No one could have known that they were not safe at all.

When Y/N opened her eyes, she had a hard time understanding what was happening. There was no light in the vault, except for the one in her crate which had just opened automatically.

Most of the boxes in front of her were open and empty. Then turning around, she discovered decomposing corpses in those that had remained closed.

Her cries of terror brought no one to come, because there was no one in the shelter, just as there were no resources, no water, no food, nothing. Because no one was supposed to survive here.

For two days, Y/N cried, not knowing what to do.

Then she decided she didn't want to die, not like that anyway, and she tried her luck outside. She didn't know how long she had slept, or what she would find, but she had to try.

Her pipboy quickly told her that the air was breathable, despite the presence of radiation in certain places. But that wasn't the most important thing for her, seeing the desert surrounding the vault.

The bombs had destroyed everything, leaving only ruins and sand. Not being stupid, Y/N moved forward cautiously, trying to stay as covered as possible, even if it was difficult with her outfit.

On her way, she encountered two-headed cows, giant cockroaches, and other horrible creatures. No humans though, and she didn't know if that was a good thing.

With war, she knew that men could be much worse than beasts. Maybe they were all dead, from the explosions or all killing each other, or maybe they were still in the other vaults.

But life always found a way, even for assholes, and Y/N was attacked by three men while she was sleeping. Real savages, who talked more about eating her than anything else, laughingly ignoring her pleas.

“Now, that’s no way to treat a woman.” someone then said, stopping them as they were about to cut open her stomach.

"We found the bitch before you, pal ! Go get your lunch somewhere else !"

"Oh, but I think I found my meal. Mistreating a lady."

“You fucking ghoul !”

Too busy trying to get away, Y/N hadn't really looked at the man who had just arrived and was shooting at her attackers. Then, still too busy recovering from her misery, she took a while to raise her head, ready to thank her savior.

He didn't really seem surprised by her terror, although he grimaced as he watched her crawl away from him. She had to put her hand over her mouth to stop screaming.

It was impossible to tell if he had been burned or peeled, but the cowboy no longer had a nose, and his skin was in a catastrophic state.

As she stared at him with wide eyes, he watched her too, his attention settling on her pipboy.

"Ah. A vaultie. I understand the screams better. Never seen a ghoul before, sweetie ? Barely coming out of your little hole ?"

"… Sorry."

"No problem, sugar. You haven't insulted me or thrown things at me yet, it's quite polite."

At first, the ghoul was not very friendly. Yes, he had saved her, but he didn't want her to follow him into the wastelands. He didn't need a burden, and even less if it was a little rich girl.

But Y/N insisted, explaining to him what had happened to her, and the man looked at her with what looked like pity, muttering that she had ended up in one of the "bad vaults".

"I don't understand. What year is it ? Why is it only me who survived ? You… Sorry, what happened to you ?"

"Hey, honey. It's been over 200 years since everything blew up, thanks to Vault Tech. I imagine you and your friends were meant to serve as a pantry or an organ bank but like all their equipment, there's had a problem, and you were very lucky not to die like the others, and since you were there when everything happened, you should be able to guess why I am like this."

The Ghoul was gentleman enough to let her cry without comment.

The world was dead, and all because of money and power. Those who had sworn to protect them had killed them all. Nothing remained but an infertile, polluted, radioactive land, where the few survivors fought between factions instead of trying to find a real solution.

"Please… Don't leave me here…"

"You know, people didn't really like guys like me. It's not a good idea, sweetheart."

“They don’t like cowboys ?”

The question made him laugh. Maybe that was why he let her follow him. Or maybe because he wasn't as bad as he wanted to make out. Surely he felt lonely too, and it was nice to have someone who had lived in the same era as him , and who didn't judge him on his appearance.

Y/N didn’t understand ghoulophibia at all. Yes, they were scary, but that was no reason to mistreat these poor people.

"Okay, we judged on lots of things before, skin color, clothes, religion, but… Now, it's as if we were pointing at a cancer patient and shouting 'Look, he's sick Insult him !”

“It’s more complicated than that, sugar.” sighed the Ghoul, taking out a sort of hynalator to swallow its contents.

He explained radioactivity and the risks for him of becoming feral when they arrived in their first city. A chance for her to stay safe with people, their paths separating quietly.

But after three fights and an attack by Deathclaws, she preferred to stay with him.

So he taught her how to survive, use weapons, hide, follow a trail, earn caps. When asked why caps and not something else, he made a noise, saying he had no fucking idea, but men still wanted something to make business instead of helping each others for free.

After several months, he gave her a name. Cooper. Cooper Howard. He groaned when she asked him if he had anything to do with the old actor who did the Vault Tech commercial.

“Thanks for the bad memories, sweetie. An autograph ?”

“No thanks, never was a fan.”

"Ouch. Not even now, with my new look ? Do you think the cameras would like me ?"

“Let’s say that you will need less makeup for certain types of films, and a bag for others.”

Cooper laughed again, smiling at her with his slightly yellow teeth. It was obvious that it had been a long time since he had laughed like that with anyone.

He told her about his daughter after a year together in the wastelands. Handing her a photo, Y/N could see him as he was before, holding the little girl in his arms. They looked happy.

As she was about to give it back to him, he told her to keep it. It was the most important thing to him, so Y/N could keep the picture safe, and she would know that he would always come for her.

She muttered that she didn't doubt it anyway, putting the photo in her bag.

It was even longer later, when she had proclaimed herself the accountant of their small group, that Y/N noticed an inconsistency between the caps earned and the number of vials Cooper had.

“You should have five more vials.”

“Sugar, leave it.”

"No, really, I counted three times. I know the price by heart, you had fifty caps on your way to town, you should have fifteen vials. Is there a problem ? Has the price changed ? You… You Are you feeling well ?”

"I'm fine, sweetie. Sleep."

“But Coop…”

“Y/N, sleep.”

In the end, the price hadn't changed, Cooper was fine, but since they met, he had been spending his caps on non-irradiated water and food. For Y/N.

This discovery was a shock to her, who often watched him drink from puddles or eat human remains.

He didn't want her to do this. For her to become like him. When teaching her how to shoot, he added that it was just in case, because she wouldn't need to fight while he was there.

And now they were arguing about food, and he was ordering her to promise that she would continue to take what he gave her without question.

"You don't drink that dirty shit. You hear me, sugar ? Can you promise me ? You'll never drink that."

"… All right."

Their relationship was complicated. Cooper had probably told her everything, and yet he kept a distance. He didn't like her touching him, patting his shoulder or snuggling up to him to sleep.

Maybe he was afraid of making her sick. Maybe he thought she would rot on contact with him, and not just her skin.

Y/N really liked him anyway. They were both over 200 years old, even though she had been frozen during that time. They had spent a lot of time together. And even if she was still a little dizzy by his lack of nose, it wasn't the most important thing in a man.

It would have been two years when the raiders attacked. Far too many, so Cooper yelled at Y/N to run, to hide far away. He would come get her later.

Several days passed, and nothing. She was good at hiding, he had shown her, so it was possible that Cooper hadn't found her because she had become too good.

So she returned to the town where he came from, to at least find some informations. People did not easily forget the passage of The Ghoul.

But she didn't have to ask. She saw him in the bar, drinking and chatting with several guys.

Silent, discreet as a shadow, she came close enough to hear, thinking that he was in the middle of an business, and that she could surprise him when he finished with a beautiful reunion.

“You really don’t know where she is, Ghoul ?”

"Nah. Look guys, I know she was a real lil puppy that followed me everywhere, but I finally got rid of her, so I don't really care where she is. Not my problem. It was fun at first, but good riddance.”

She had seen the bomb fall, she had seen the bodies of her neighbors, but Y/N had never felt so bad as in that moment. She could feel her heart breaking in her chest, as Cooper and the others laughed together, mocking her.

Once, he had said that she should never trust anyone. It was an important rule to survive. But Y/N never believed that rule would include him.

With her bag and her weapon, she ran into the night, alone in the middle of the wasteland for the first time since she left her vault, and completely unaware of what she was going to do.

Only one thing was certain, she would never see Cooper Howard again.

[suzayaaa]

ೃ⁀➷ LEAVE, NOW ☆.｡.:*

𓆩⟡𓆪 pairing: jeno x fem!reader

𓆩⟡𓆪 word count: 1.6k

𓆩⟡𓆪 themes: angst, breakup

𓆩⟡𓆪 warnings: cursing, cheating

𓆩⟡𓆪 suza’s note: can i just say i’m proud of this one…

𓆩⟡𓆪 requested by some of you!

𓆩⟡𓆪 this is an additional part 2 of jeno’s texts in “when will you leave me?” post, but it also works as a separate oneshot if you don’t want to read the texts.

It hurt.

Your heart, your mind, your body. No part of you was able to keep itself strong, to have any kind of energy to be. You were tied to your bed, sinking into the cold sheets with each move like a lifeless animal on its last breath. The breath that hurt so much, grabbing your sore heart and squeezing it violently as you shut your eyes with tears down your cheeks because no matter where you looked, Jeno was there.

The sheets you were lying in wore the scent of his musky cologne. Most of the pictures on your wall were with him, of him, or the moments spent with him. Hell, even the wrinkled t-shirt you were wearing was his. But the worst of all, you only had him in your mind.

No matter where you went and what you did, he followed you like a spell that had to be undone by a witch to let go. In a way, he did put a spell on you—the moment that caused all of this replayed in your head like a broken record, mocking you ruthlessly until you begged on your knees to stop this madness.

The words you’d never imagined to hear, the situation you’d never imagined to happen.

It was a pretty day. Clouds formed what you could call a shadow of blinding sunlight dodging the skyscrapers to reach and lit up your face. A perfect day to surprise Jeno.

You did most of it almost automatically, like a routine. A takeout from his favorite restaurant in one hand and a bag filled with your clothes and skincare products in the other; everything needed for a sleepover.

After three years of calling yourself boyfriend and girlfriend, you were bound to have some sort of security in your relationship and maybe even further and more serious plans for the future. Jeno had suggested first to add your fingerprint to the doorlock of his apartment. You didn’t mind not having it before, but the offer made you smile. It sounded like the next, although tiny, step in your relationship.

You unlocked the door and entered quietly, hoping he wouldn’t be anywhere near the entrance. Just as you were about to put the bags down and take your shoes off, you heard two familiar male voices, but the words were more distant than ever.

“Wait, so you cheated?” Mark asked, voice cracking slightly.

The silence was excruciatingly long. Your heart froze, bruising with each second passing.

“We talked, then she kissed me.” Another pause, shorter, yet more damaging. “It was good… I felt something I never felt with her.”

Her.

He couldn’t even say your name properly.

You were a fool. A stupid, hopeless, desperate fool.

You were now just her, yet you still waited and hoped for him to reach out to you, explain himself, and apologize.

You damned yourself over and over and over again. You were the one who got hurt. Why did you want him back if he stabbed you right in the heart and twisted the knife inside?

Why did you want a cheater back?

Those words wouldn’t leave your mind even for a moment, trapping you in a self-pitying bubble that was too strong and too painful to break through.

You checked the time on your phone. It was still early afternoon, but time wanted to torture you, slowing down and rolling at its own distorted pace to make sure you took a hit with every thought that crossed your mind. Your phone was dry. The only notifications were a daily reminder from a mobile game you haven’t played for a good week and a text from Jaemin you were not ready to deal with yet. Swiping your fingers on both, your eyes clung to the lockscreen for a moment. Just yesterday you would smile looking at it; you and Jeno, beaming to the camera in a cat cafe. He was always so sweet, then he decided to ruin you in the worst way possible. You opened settings, quickly changing the photo to something that would sting your soul a little less. Now it was an old photo of your family dog that never liked you that much to begin with, but dislike was still better than betrayal.

The doorbell sound rang in your ears, forcing you to get up from your bed. You dragged your feet on the cold floor and made your way to the door. Your hand reached for the handle, opening it slowly, not expecting anyone. The sight knocked you down more than any bullet ever could.

Na Jaemin with a firm frown and behind him, the reason for it all.

Lee Jeno.

You wondered if this was how you’d looked like when you’d found out. Eyes glued to the floor, hunched back, arms limp, head down… Did you also look so lost, like the ground was sweeping from under your feet brutally slowly, letting you fall and bruise your body, letting your body take the damage for your mind? Did you also crumble to the ground, looking for any steady thing to hold onto, because hope wasn’t one of those things anymore?

You’d thought you would feel if you saw him. You imagined yourself over a hundred times screaming your lungs out at him, ripping the skin away from his bones, ending his world just like he ended yours.

You should’ve been mad. You should’ve grabbed him by his hoodie and torn him apart to pieces. You should’ve made his heart bleed slowly and painfully, blood dripping on the floor one by one, drip, drip, drip until he was drowning in it. You should’ve ripped your throat yelling every insult you could think of into his face.

You were static. No screams, no cries, no choked-up laughs. You just looked at him, trying to meet his eyes for once. You wanted to get into his arms, cry into his chest, silently blame him for all the pain he had caused. You wanted to understand, but you have never wanted his pain. You have never wanted him to be the same wreck you were now, because nothing hurt more than seeing someone you love being hurt.

“I’m sorry for bringing him,” Jaemin glared at his friend, “but I think he needs to explain himself. It’s better for both of you if you do it immediately.”

Jaemin bowed his head to you, eyes softening in a mix of pity and compassion when he looked at you. He didn’t say anything more, opting to leave you both alone with no choice but to face the inevitable.

“I’m sor-”

“Take your things please.”

Serenity was the look on his face when his eyes met yours. It was clear, clearer than the day you’d found out, that he already knew and expected.

“You won’t even let me explain?”

“Get inside and take your things.”

You didn’t want to let him talk. If you did, your mind would listen to your heart and you would let him stay a little longer.

You watched him get past you into your apartment, muscle memory leading him to your bedroom. You followed him, but stayed at the door. He was quick to start shuffling around your room, taking any belongings of his he could see.

Jeno had always been careful. Those little details you forgot about, like leaving your jewelry in your bathroom after showering or losing your phone somewhere in the sheets every time the alarm went off, Jeno had never missed out on. He almost knew you better than you knew yourself. He knew how to wound you and he still did it, even adding salt to it, making sure the suffering was obvious.

You watched him throw his clothes into the bag he’d once left at your place, arms crossed and a sour frown on your dried face. His back was facing you, thankfully, because you wouldn’t be able to say the things you wanted to his face without shattering your soul entirely.

“I thought I knew you,” you started. Jeno halted his movements, but didn’t turn around, “I thought you were…” the one? No. You wouldn’t say it to him now, he didn’t deserve to know. Choking the tears inside, you continued, fists turning into stone, knuckles white, hiccups turning into venom on your tongue, “You were so casual saying it… You don’t even regret it, do you? You don’t fucking care. You never did.”

Jeno’s voice was hoarse, barely audible even in the uncomfortable silence. “I did.”

A scoff and a single laughter. “No. If you did, you would think about me at that moment. You would think about hurting me, you would care about me, but you didn’t. You don’t care… You know what? Nevermind. Leave, Jaemin will take your shit.”

The bag dropped on the floor with a thud. No words were said anymore, nothing needed to be said; it was over. You met Jeno’s eyes for the last time, stone cold, as if you were a burden or a meaningless obstacle on his way. His shoulder was harsh when he bumped into you, and for a short moment when he’d reached for the door, you hoped.

Maybe a simple sorry would do, maybe it would only crush you more. You wouldn’t know, you let his actions speak instead of words.

The door slam was your goodbye.

Tears flooded your already swollen face, your whole body shaking uncontrollably, sinking into the floor. At that moment, a memory echoed in your mind. A piece of conversation with Jeno you would’ve never thought about, but now, when it was all you could hear, a bitter smile barely creeping up to your face, realizing you always knew.

“When will you leave me?”

“I won’t, baby.”

“Don’t lie, everybody leaves. Some just do it later than others.”

[florencemtrash]

Flame, Shadow, Beast : Beast II

Azriel x Reader x Eris

Summary: Years after Eris frees you from his father’s prison, you’ve managed to find a new love, new friends, and build a life for yourself in Autumn. But when a certain Shadowsinger stumbles upon your home, dragging in painful memories of betrayal and longing, you’ll have to face the things you left in the past and make choices about the future you want.

Warnings: Angst and allusions to torture and death.

Flame, Shadow, Beast: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

You sat on Eris’s bed, your gorgeous dress crumbled beside you with the crown resting on top of the heap. It silently mocked you as you wrapped his robe closer around your body, burying your face in his scent. You shut your eyes and looked away from the door where Bryaxis was currently pacing on the other side.

Eris, Halvor, and Aurelia had been gone for two hours. Locked away in his official chambers discussing the matter of your bond with Azriel. 

“My Lady-” 

“Don’t call me that, Myrah.” The blademaiden had similarly tossed aside her glittering gown of silk and metal, choosing instead thin armor of bronze and soft leather. It was better suited for her slick style of fighting. She didn’t say anything as she climbed onto the sheets behind you and began to brush the tangles out of your damp hair.

“He won’t send you away.” She finally said after your hair had been brushed, oiled, and braided.

The bond fluttered as if in disappointment. You shoved it deeper, willing it to disappear entirely. 

“He may not have a choice.” 

Autumn couldn’t risk another war. Prythian couldn’t risk another war. But if Azriel dared to invoke the Blood Duel, no matter the outcome more blood would be shed.

No, he wouldn’t do that. You thought to yourself. Would he?

You’d heard of males doing worse things for less and Azriel was no male to be trifled with. And… He was in pain. 

As much as you tried to ignore it, and as much as he tried to shield you from it, Azriel was hurting. You felt muted waves of it through the bond like washes of tide against the shoreline.

If only you hadn’t chosen tonight to wear the crown or the dress or to subtly declare yourself the future Lady of Autumn. If only you’d had them leave sooner or… maybe this had all been a mistake. Maybe all the time you’d spent in Autumn had been a mistake, even if you were happy. Maybe… 

You looked around the room. The bedposts soared into the sky, disappearing into a ceiling that had been painted to look like the forest canopy. Colors of the sunset swirled down like wind. The roaring fire spread its molten heat across the warm wood furniture. Everyone spoke of the cruel beauty of the Forest House, its opulence and the disloyalty it housed within amber-encrusted walls. But you had only ever felt safe here. You’d fallen in love with all its old-fashioned peculiarities and the tales that had written themselves into the wood without anyone ever knowing. 

There in the corner was a dresser with burned handprints crawling up the sides- courtesy of Eris sneaking into the room to visit his mother after he’d just learned to walk. There above the vanity were two magnificent elk horns, altered to look like wings in flight. Lucien had found them shed by the river when Eris had first taken him hunting. Little trinkets you’d bought for him littered the room alongside the additions Myrah, Halvor, and Aurelia had gifted him over the years. Your own belongings filled the spaces previously left cold and empty, just like you spent most nights filling the empty spaces in his bed.

You set your jaw.

“Myrah,” She looked at you with wide eyes, “I think it’s time I got dressed.” 

“Eris specifically said not to let you out of his room. It could be dangerous.” Myrah said with a half-concealed smirk, walking beside you as you made your way towards Eris’s office. 

The Forest House was impenetrable… but a Shadowsinger could get into places others couldn’t. You felt the bond within you, daring to follow the string to wherever Azriel lay on the other side. The smallest tug and Azriel was stirring. You pulled away almost immediately. He wasn’t anywhere near the Forest House.

“He also said you were to be my blademaiden. Remind me of what that entails.” You said, refusing to slow down.

“To protect you with my life. To follow your orders… To care for you as my best friend.” 

You blinked and shot her a look. “The last part isn’t in your oath.”

She shrugged, “It’s not in my oath as a blademaiden… doesn’t mean I don’t have personal oaths I adhere to.” 

You squeezed her hand and she squeezed back harder.

Whatever conversations had been going on when you burst through the door died immediately. Halvor and Samson - third in command and Autumn’s spymaster - bowed when you entered, looking like a storm on a mission to render the room to splinters. Aurelia dipped her head, eyes shifting between Eris and you with a hint of sadness. It shaved away at your confidence.

“I need to speak with Eris. May we have the room?” You said, phrasing it more as a command and less of a question. 

Halvor nodded, making his way out with Samson and Myrah in tow. Aurelia lingered behind, squeezing Eris’s shoulder before waltzing out.

“What have you been discussing?” You said once the door had shut and you felt Eris’s magic wall up the sound in the room.

“I think you already know.” Eris said, standing up behind his desk and rubbing away the pressure building behind his eyes. He still wore his clothes from dinner and although he’d taken off his crown, a greater weight seemed to have fallen onto his shoulders. 

Eris swallowed. He had a letter crumpled up in his hand, half-written and blotted with ink spills. It began to smolder and burn.

“We weren’t sure-I wasn’t sure…” his voice trailed off, “I wasn’t sure if you’d already made up your mind.”

“About?” “About going to him. About being with him.” The words sounded strangled, like they were beasts that had fought against being spoken out loud. “He is your mate.”

“I don’t care.” 

Eris closed his eyes, “Y/n, I’m not-” “I said I don’t care.” 

He refused to look into your eyes, hands splaying out on the table as he fought back the fear in his chest. He didn’t want you to go. He’d given more of himself to you than he’d ever dared to before, and you had protected that trust with a fierceness he’d never seen. But this was something wholly out of his control. Something that had been dictated by the Mother. Who was he to stand between you and your mate? “What if… If you choose me, what if you come to regret it? What if I can’t give you what a mating bond can?” He said softly, as if he’d already given up on the hope that you’d stay. It lit a fire in your soul.

“I don’t care what the powers-that-be say about us.” You said, storming around the desk, “I don’t care if some force decided I am his equal or that we would make strong children together.” 

The bond was a sacred thing, more precious than anything land, gold, or blood could buy. But it was no guarantee of happiness. No guarantee of love. You would know, because you’d already found your happiness and love elsewhere.

You rushed forward, taking Eris’s face in your hands and feeling immediate relief when he didn’t move away. He leaned into your touch, turning his head to kiss the palms of your hands with reverence.

“I choose you, Eris. This hasn’t changed anything. Not for me.” You said with conviction.

“It hasn’t changed anything for me either.” Eris sighed in relief and touched his forehead against yours, your breaths mixing sweetly in the space between you two. 

“I would choose you.” He whispered fiercely, “Every. Single. Time. I would go to war for you, my love. Come hell or high water.” 

“I know,” You smiled, gently kissing on the lips and sighing when his warm hands traveled up the skin of your back, holding you to him, “I would do the same for you. But let us hope it doesn’t come to that.” 

Eris showed you the letter, the corners singed and flaking, and you smoothed it out on the mahogany table. Rhysand had been quick to request another meeting. Tension and worry were scratched into the curves of his flowery handwriting as he explained the situation in diplomatic terms: 

He was sorry for not attending the dinner. The Inner Circle had been unaware of the mating bond until it was too late. Azriel would behave himself and only come if called. The decision was yours. Whatever you chose, they wanted to continue being Autumn’s allies for the good of Prythian and to have you in their lives as friends, not enemies. It was delicate. Hopeful. A letter from someone who wanted peace as much as you did. Peace for his family. Peace for his son. 

The letter placed you in a position where you could wait for the tidal wave to settle. But just like the last time, this was not an issue you could ignore forever. An ax would always linger over your head, swaying dangerously close to your neck until you spoke with Azriel. So although you didn’t agree to another visit with the Inner Circle, you did allow Azriel to come to Autumn again.

You stood by the border, whispers of frost bitten wind snaking through the white gaps in the trees and reaching for your ankles. 

Samson and twelve of his best males and females stood behind you, archers at the ready and swordsmen with their hands gripping their hilts. They were more for Eris’s comfort than your own, and you would have your privacy when it mattered most.

Azriel emerged from the blizzard beyond like an ink stain on porcelain paper, bleeding into existence with his shadows swarming around him. He hadn’t been sleeping - you could tell from the faint bruises beneath his eyes. Somehow the imperfection made him more handsome, more mysterious. But you hadn’t had eyes for him in a long time.

“Come on.” You said, tilting your head towards the river that rushed and danced in the distance. You walked in silence, Azriel trailing behind like the shadow that he was and matching your shorter footsteps. He didn’t want to alarm you by overtaking you. Still, it was even more unnerving to know he was behind you without hearing or seeing him. You could only feel that bond tying you together, pulling you towards the male who walked ten paces behind.

You glanced back and he stopped, teeth clenching tightly as he looked at you. You were beautiful, shining in the burning forest like a flame. You’d always been beautiful and he had known this, but he hadn’t fully recognized it until it was far, far too late.

“Will you be slinking behind me the whole time like a kicked dog or will you walk beside me?” There was a biting humor in your voice that eased the tension in his shoulders. He walked beside you until you finally led him to the river. Any concerns that he might take this opportunity to survey the Autumn Court disappeared. He had his eyes on you the entire time like you were the only thing left in the world.

You sat down on the slick rock, dipping your bare feet into one of the clear streams that branched off from the river beyond, tumbling over boulders and stones with crisp clarity. Azriel took the cue to lower to the ground as well, his knee barely brushing against yours as he settled his magnificent wings on the cool stone.

“I’m sorry about Elain.” You said after a while of staring at the water. 

Azriel winced.

Maybe it was the wrong thing to say. It was no secret that five years after the Autumn Court war ended, Elain had quietly moved to the Sun Palace and mated Lucien. You’d met her briefly when he’d visited Eris, and as much as you wished you could resent her, she’d been lovely and kind, and kept good on her promise not to say anything about you to her family. You understood why Azriel had loved her… why he’d chosen her.

“I didn’t… I didn’t continue things with her after you were gone.” He said, choosing his words with care. His voice was rougher than usual, the sound rumbling out from his chest like the rolling of thunder. “It never felt right… I never felt right. I suppose I understand why now.”

He looked at you hopefully, hazel eyes wide and uncertain as he gently sent his thoughts down the bond. You shivered, feeling echoes of his love and longing for you along with the shame and guilt that accompanied it. 

He hated himself for the decisions he’d made. He had thought that Elain was meant for him - three sisters for three brothers. It seemed so simple, so obvious. So with each year that the mating bond hadn’t fallen into place, dark voices had whispered in his mind that he wasn’t truly a member of his family. Always an outsider. Always alone. It was why he’d traded you for Elain. A choice born out of a desperate desire to be loved and accepted. It was the worst mistake he had made in his life. 

“Azriel. I can’t.” You said, shaking your head and breaking eye contact.

“Can’t, or won’t.” He hadn’t touched you yet, but you saw his scarred hands flex out of the corner of his eyes, inching ever closer to where yours rested in your lap.

“Both.” 

You thought back to the first days you’d spent in the caves: Your wounds fresh and bleeding, the itching and pulsing of your burned flesh somehow getting worse as they healed, the desperation that came from existing in complete and total darkness. The only sounds you’d heard being the crunch and moans of the other poor souls that Beron sent down. 

It still hurt to think about and you didn’t believe it would ever go away.

“I learned something the day you left me.” 

“Y/n. Please-” He whispered, begging. His hands reached out for yours, and you let him.

You smiled sadly, tracing the scars that marred his hands. All the terrible past things that still clung to him. Things he could never forget. 

“Please.” He didn’t even know what he was begging for. He knew he didn’t deserve your forgiveness. He didn’t deserve the right to call you his mate. But… he could hope.

You traced over the scars once more, then let go of his hands.

“I learned I was never part of your family. Not truly. I was the one you were willing to sacrifice, not the one you’d burn down the world for.” 

Azriel swallowed thickly, pulling back on the shadows that had escaped his control and had begun to curl around your arms and your legs. 

He shook his head, “That’s not true. You have always been a part of this family. You will always be a part of this family.” 

You stayed silent.

“Is there… is there any chance at all for me to fix this?” Azriel asked. His hands now rested in between his knees, clasped so tightly together the pale skin of his scars blended into nothing. “To convince you to come back.” 

“No. No, I don’t think so.” 

He closed his eyes and deflated. A tear streaked down his cheek, dripping onto his lap. 

“I won’t leave him, Azriel. I won’t. Not for anyone. Not even for you.” “I know.” He whispered.

“I don’t… I don’t hate you. I never did. And I’m glad that Elain is alright. It probably was the right decision to make. I don’t know if Beron would have let Elain live. Not even as his prisoner.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say that just to spare my feelings or to try and make things better.” 

“That’s not why I’m saying it.” 

Azriel stood up, furiously wiping away his tears and burying the feelings deep. He buried the bond even deeper and for the first time since the bond had snapped into place for you, you felt silence. 

You looked at him sadly. He hadn’t changed since the last time you saw him. He still loved deeply and hurt deeply too. 

You stood by his side, watched the river wind its way through the woods.

“It’s a beautiful place.” Azriel said softly, “I can see why you love it. And I… I understand why you love him. I do. I just wish it was me.” He swallowed thickly.

“You’ll find someone else, Azriel. I know you will.” You said, offering him a small, sad smile. 

He didn’t return it. Just looked at you for as long as he could, drinking in the sight of you. 

The next time he saw you he’d be calling you High Lady of Autumn. You’d be bound to this place and its magic, and he would never see you like this again. Gone were the days when you’d collapse on his office couch, chatting his ear off to help him forget the terrible things he’d done, or the days where you’d perch by the window in silence just to remind him he wasn’t alone. Gone were the nights where he’d gather you in his arms and shoot off into the sky to count the stars and find peace. He wanted those days back. He would have done anything to get those days back.

“No. I won’t.” Azriel said quietly and then said nothing more.

You took the cue and led him through the woods, tracing a path between the trees no one from outside the Autumn Court would be able to recognize. 

Samson bowed when you reached him, signaling his warriors to fall back. You would have your privacy.

When Azriel stepped over the threshold back into the Winter Court, you felt the magic in the air change, sealing the Shadowsinger out of your home. He pressed his hand against it, momentary panic freezing his lungs as he saw that you remained on the other side. 

You breathed in deeply, steeling yourself for the words you were about to speak.

“Azriel, I will say this once, and only once. If you so much as lay a finger on Eris or my home, I will never forgive you. I won’t hesitate to protect what’s mine.” 

“I know.” He said. The small smile he gave was full of heartache. He wished he’d done so many things differently, then maybe he would have been so lucky to hear you threaten someone to protect him. It was a terrible fate to be on this side of things.

“If… if anything happens - anything at all - know that I will always be here to help you. Promise me that you know.” “I know.” You said sadly. “I hope you find someone, Az. I really do. But that person will not be me.” 

He nodded. 

You didn’t look away, not as he held up both hands and pressed his forehead against the barrier. It was his own silent way of saying goodbye. Then, just as he had appeared, his shadows swallowed him whole, carrying him away to the Night Court where you hoped he would find a life that would make him forget all about this pain.

“Goodbye, Az.” You whispered.

But he was already gone.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

Might write some Azriel x Reader oneshots to make myself feel better after wrecking my own heart.

Sorry for this chapter, everyone. But Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate. Lol.

Love,

Florence B.

Taglist: @nightless @mmb-09 @thesnugglingduck @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kemillyfreitas @logankemaek @the-sweet-psycho @a-frog-with-a-laptop @flameandshadowx @applerubyy @esposadomd @imma-too-many-fandoms @bubybubsters @kalulakunundrum @chasing-autumns-chill @brujitafantomatico @emptyporsche @cat-or-kitten @sourapplex @saltedcoffeescotch @djdjdhdheh

[pickingupmymercedes]

Your future was Ferrari - Part 2/?

Part 1 here

summary: She was finally making her dreams come true, but as the old saying goes "when it rains, it pours" and maybe the nudge Charles gave her might get her somewhere she would never find on her own.

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Ferrari!Reader!

warnings: alusion to mature content.

wordcount: +2K

a/n: Bit of a more internal debate chapter here, but it kind had to be done. Also, would you guys mind if I put explicit description of mature content on this fic? I skipped it on the first one but was thinking that it may be needed for the next ones

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

The crisp January air of Maranello was a welcome change from the desert heat of Abu Dhabi. Three whirlwind months had passed since that unforgettable night, and now, amidst the intricate tapestry of Ferrari's world, everything was beginning to feel like home—the rhythmic pulse of machinery, fervent debates over car performance, and the rich aroma of freshly brewed espresso.

One tempestuous afternoon, while engrossed in finalizing a critical report, a summons arrived from Fred’s secretary. Your heart thudded against your ribs like a frantic drumbeat as you made your way to his office. Upon entering, you were greeted not only by Fred's imposing presence but also by Charles, whose eyes sparkled with an enigmatic glint.

"Ah, y/n! Glad you could join us," boomed Fred, gesturing to the empty chair opposite him. Charles flashed you a friendly grin.

As you settled into the plush leather chair, a tidal wave of nerves began to recede. The meeting commenced with a comprehensive review of your contributions and insights into Ferrari’s new car. Then, Fred dropped a bombshell that sent shockwaves through your core.

"We've been impressed with your work, y/n" he began, his voice serious. "I already knew of your great technical understanding and a quick-thinking, and Charles here, has been particularly vocal about his…" he paused, glancing at Charles with a smile, "enthusiasm for your skills."

A blush crept up your neck. Charles cleared his throat.

A blush surged across your cheeks, painting them a vivid shade of crimson. Charles, leaning in with a playful smirk, chimed in, "As you know, we’re an engineer short at trackside. The demands are intense—the relentless travel, the grueling 24-race season—but the experience is unparalleled. We believe you'd be the perfect addition to my side of the garage."

Your mind whirred at breakneck speed. The prospect of working trackside with Charles, under the revered banner of Ferrari, was intoxicating. You couldn’t deny the thrill of being closer to the action, the adrenaline rush of race weekends. Yet, a nagging voice of caution whispered reminders of the relentless schedule and unyielding scrutiny.

"It's a lot to consider," you admitted, looking between the two men.

Charles leaned back, a playful smile on his lips. "Think of it, y/n! You’ve always wanted that, even back at Alpha. Although, you would have to face the brunt of Fred's coffee breath during briefings" he joked, earning a chuckle from Fred.

"Alright," you announced, a grin splitting your face, "I'm in!"

The joy in Charles' eyes mirrored your own. He bumped your fist with a whoop. But as you left Fred's office, Charles stopped you in the hallway, his smile fading slightly.

"Hey," he began hesitantly, "about Abu Dhabi… I got a little carried away that night. What happened between you and Lewis? I never saw you after…"

The question sent a jolt through you. Your stomach lurched. How could you tell him the truth? Shame burned in your throat as you fumbled with your thoughts. "Oh, you know" you resorted to lies, forcing a casual smile "Fan stuff. Autographs and all that."

A flicker of disappointment crossed Charles' face. "Ah, right" he mumbled. "Well, see you in Bahrain then, it’ll be nice to have you in the pit wall!"

You plastered another smile on your face. Packing for Bahrain. Excitement bubbled beneath the guilt gnawing at your conscience. You were going trackside.

The shrill ring of your phone pierced the quiet of the dawn. It was an unusual wake-up call at 6:00 AM, especially on a Wednesday mid-winter break. Squinting at the screen, you saw your dad's name and answered with a groggy, "Hello?"

The familiar booming voice filled your ear. "Y/n! Did you hear the news? Lewis to Ferrari! Can you believe it?"

You forced a laugh. "Dad, there have been rumors about Lewis to Ferrari for years. Remember that time they photoshopped him in a red suit?"

"This feels different, though! There are articles everywhere, even F1 is buzzing about it." Your dad's excitement was palpable through the phone as a wave of nausea washed over you.

You mumbled an agreement, hanging up before he could pick up on the tremor in your voice. The news hung heavy in the air, a dark cloud amidst the usual pre-season jitters.

As you went about your day, the rumors intensified. Mentions on social media turned into breaking news alerts. By lunchtime, a tense hush had fallen over everyone at Maranello. An unexpected staff meeting announcement sent a jolt through everyone.

As you walked towards the assembly hall, a colleague whispered, "Did you hear? Brackley's having a meeting too."

Dread gnawed at your insides. You knew what this meant.

The hall was packed, a sea of expectant faces illuminated by the harsh fluorescent lights. Fred stood at the center; his face uncharacteristically serious. The silence in the room was deafening.

"Everyone," he began, his voice carrying an air of gravitas, "as you may be aware, there have been a lot of speculations circulating today. Speculations that have become… well, reality."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. You could hear the collective intake of breath from the crowd.

“Lewis Hamilton is joining Scuderia Ferrari for the 2025 season.” A triumphant glint briefly played in his eyes, but before anyone could respond the team principle continued “But, that’s not for another year. In 2024 we have Charles here and Carlos, who have given us amazing years”

The hall erupted in a cacophony of comments and stunned silence. You felt the floor tilt beneath your feet. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drum solo threatening to burst out of your chest. Lewis Hamilton at Ferrari. Your secret, your shame, was about to collide spectacularly with your professional life. You were frozen, a lone island of stillness amidst the storm.

The conversations faded into a distant hum. You gripped the edge of a chair, trying to anchor yourself amidst the emotional turmoil. You had hidden that night from everyone, from yourself even. And now you would have to possibly work alongside him.

The desert sun beat down on the Losail International Circuit in Qatar, baking the asphalt and testing the limits of both man and machine. For you, it was the third day of your first official trackside deployment with Ferrari, and a whirlwind of emotions churned within you. The initial media frenzy surrounding Lewis' arrival had subsided, replaced by the usual pre-season buzz: championship predictions, car evaluations, and the ever-present debate about the second-fastest team.

You'd managed to navigate the past two days with a semblance of normalcy. Charles appreciated your input during pit stops and strategy discussions, and Fred's reassuring pat on the back after a successful test session confirmed he hadn't made the wrong choice in calling you in. Yet, a constant undercurrent of tension ran beneath the surface. The ghost of Abu Dhabi loomed large every time you passed the Mercedes garage.

On the morning of the third day, an urge for a pre-dawn run propelled you out of bed and straight to the hotel gym. As you hopped onto a treadmill, lost in the rhythm of your steps, a familiar voice jolted you back to reality.

"Well. Look who it is." There he was, Lewis Hamilton, a smirk playing on his lips. He looked effortlessly cool in a sleek tracksuit, his dark braids damp from a workout. Your heart stuttered in your chest.

"Uh, hi." you stammered, desperately trying to appear nonchalant. You cranked up the treadmill's speed, hoping to appear absorbed in your workout.

Lewis chuckled, amusement dancing in his eyes. Briefly, he lingered by the treadmill before heading out, leaving you feeling exposed and flustered.

The rest of the day unfolded in a blur of data analysis and strategy meetings. By the time everyone else had left, you found yourself volunteering to stay back and finalize some reports. The solitude, however, was short-lived. As you gathered your belongings, a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness of the paddock.

"Still here, I see?" Lewis' voice sent shivers down your spine.

He motioned towards a secluded corner of the pitlane, and you hesitantly followed.

"Glad to see you're part of Ferrari. You failed to mention that" he began, his tone casual.

Feigning ignorance, you played along. "I don't think we've met." A single eyebrow of his arched up in a silent challenge.

"Babe," he drawled, his voice laced with amusement, "I've kissed every inch of your skin that night. We've been introduced alright."

Your cheeks burned crimson. His laughter did little to ease your mortification.

"You left pretty early the next morning," he continued, a hint of curiosity in his voice. "Didn't even leave a message. Quite the enigma" He reached into his pocket; his phone poised. "How about we change that?"

Panic surged through you as his intentions became clear. Just as you were about to stammer a response, he intervened with a disarming smile

“Relax” he reassured, his tone softening. “What happened between us was a one-off thing, if you want it to be just that. But, since we’re gonna work together next year we could find ways, I get you’d want discretion though. I won’t deny it, I had fun that night”

Just as you looked at him deciding if you bought into his sudden innocence, a voice cut through the tension.

"Y/n? Are you still here?" It was Marco, a data analyst from your department, Lewis’ face etched with confusion. Seizing the opportunity, you called out, "Yeah! Just finishing up here! Coming!"

With a fleeting glance at Lewis, who seemed momentarily taken aback, you practically sprinted towards your colleague, your heart pounding a frantic escape rhythm.

You couldn't allow yourself to be alone with Lewis, not after that. Not when the truth could come spilling out like a dam bursting. Not when he was offering you something you didn’t even know could be within your reach, something you had never even thought of being a possibility.

With each step away from the empty paddock, you faced a choice: to embrace the unknown allure Lewis offered or to just forget that anything had ever happened. The impending collision of your professional and personal worlds loomed large, leaving you to wonder: would Lewis Hamilton be worth having your world come crashing down?

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[httpswritings]

The Great War — Katie McCabe x Reader

Additional info: Story inspired Taylor Swift’s The Great War. I’m in my Katie era, but I’m also planning on writing about other players, especially Alexia, which I have like four ideas to write about. We’ll see. I also have a draft of Ruesha x Katie inspired in Moth to a flame by The Weeknd, but I’m doubting about posting it or not. Maybe in the future I’ll write a Caitlin x Katie fic, but I don't have a clear vision of them yet to properly write about them.

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, throwing up and therapy, sensitive topics overall, avoid reading if you find them triggering. Angsty Katie.

Word count: 1691

Right after Katie ended her relationship with Caitlin Foord, she met Y/N. After some time, they got into a relationship together. They enjoyed every single second of the magical connection they seemed to have. With the passing of time, Katie became more and more anxious about her relationship with Y/N. She doubted she could be what Y/N deserved, even though her girlfriend took her time every day to remind Katie that she's never been as happy in a relationship as she was with her.

«My knuckles were bruised like violets

Sucker punching walls, cursed you as I sleep-talked»

Two heartbreaks in such a little time, with both her Ireland National Team's member Ruesha and girlfriend of seven years, and her Arsenal's teammate Caitlin Foord, who was her girlfriend during half a year, made the Irishwoman insecure about her ability to love, to trust, to have a happy fairytale ending. Katie knew these thoughts would damage her relationship with Y/N, but she couldn't help but to spend most of her day tracking every single detail that built her relationship to the obsessive point where she felt absolutely sick of herself.

«Spineless in my tomb of silence

Tore your banners down, took the battle underground»

When she reached her limit, she told Y/N about what was going on. Y/N responded well and helped Katie, and it started well. Really well. But after some time, Katie fell back into a cycle of doubt and anxiety, and those sensations kept growing when she noticed any change in Y/N's mood, as she took it too personally. This made her re-experience in her mind those moments of stress while she was with Ruesha or Caitlin.

«And maybe it was ego swinging

Maybe it was her

Flashes of the battle come back to me in a blur»

Y/N tried to understand her, she tried and tried but eventually, she reached her limit.

“I want to help you. I really do. But I can't continue like this. I'm not Ruesha, nor I am Caitlin. I am aware that being in a new relationship it's difficult for you, so maybe we should take things a bit slower. I don't mean to take a break, but maybe I should go back to my flat. We will move on slower than we did before, but I do think it's the only way to work it out.”

«All that bloodshed, crimson clover

Sweet dream was over»

“Yeah, maybe you're right´”, that was Katie's only response. Y/N limited herself to sigh. That night, Katie slept alone in her bed. Her body reacting to the cold sheets and crying herself to sleep.

«My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War»

Sweet morning messages from Y/N, “Good morning, baby. Do good at training today! Love you ;)”

Surprise visits from Y/N, lovely gifts, usually handmade ones, brought Katie to tears as she felt endlessly loved.

«Always remember

Tears on the letter

I vowed not to cry anymore

If we survived the Great War»

Katie prayed for things to get back as they were during the first months of the relationship. The feeling of her not being a good girlfriend to Y/N haunted her even in her sleep.

«You drew up some good faith treaties

I drew curtains closed, drank my poison all alone»

Y/N suggested going to a therapist together, but Katie was unsure about that. She thought that if she couldn't quite open to her girlfriend about her feelings and thoughts, she wouldn't be able to talk about what was bothering her to a therapist. Such a huge contrast between the two parts of the relationship that drew them even more apart.

«You said I have to trust more freely

But diesel is desire, you were playing with fire

And maybe it's the past that's talkin'

Screamin' from the crypt

Tellin' me to punish you for things you never did

So I justified it»

“No, I'm sorry, but I'm not doing this. I feel uncomfortable talking to a stranger about our issues.”

“I know, baby, I was just suggesting it. Let me explain you why. We are aware of having some problems in our relationship, but we don't really know how to get through it. We've tried and things keep getting worse. Maybe talking to someone who's out of our relationship can make this whole situation clearer for the both of us.”

«All that bloodshed, crimson clover

The bombs were close and

My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War

Always remember

The burning embers

I vowed not to fight anymore

If we survived the Great War»

Katie took some weeks to meditate Y/N´s idea. She was terrified of being judged by the therapist they would talk to. Even more scared of Y/N realizing she didn't do any good to her. Eventually, she agreed.

“Maybe she's right. People attend therapy sessions. It's normal, Katie. It's normal”, she said to herself.

«It turned into something bigger

Somewhere in the haze, got a sense I'd been betrayed»

Katie was not new to getting help from a therapist. She was very open about her mental health in different areas of her life, whether that included football or not. The first time she attended a therapy session was when she was a teenager. It went well, so did the first sessions with Anna, Katie's and Y/N´s psychologist.

Making progress is not a linear process, and making mistakes is a part of the success. Mistakes are a victory in themselves, it means that you're still trying. One day, Katie had an individual session with Anna. Anna felt it was Katie's time to open about her two past relationships; a young adult romance that lasted for more than half a decade and a short but intense romance of one year after a breakup.

It was a slow conversation filled with many pauses from Katie.

“Are you gonna tell Y/N what I'm telling you?”

“No, Katie. This stays between me and you”, said Anna.

As Katie told her her experiences in love, she broke down.

The wall she had built, in order to avoid being hurt and judged, collapsed in that therapy room.

“Don't be afraid to cry. You have nothing to prove to me nor to Y/N. This is about you and your healing process. Y/N will help you and accompany you, but it's crucial for you to work on yourself, especially being a public figure.”

«Your finger on my hair pin triggers»

As Katie arrived home, she unlocked her phone and asked Y/N to come over.

“I've asked Anna, and she told me it was a good initiative and a great way of gaining some independence in our relationship, leaving her out of it for a while. Don't feel obliged to!”

“I am exhausted, baby. Work was something else today, and I’m a little bit irritated because of it, lol. Maybe another time? Love you.”

As Katie was about to spiral, she remembered Anna's advice. She breathed deeply. Y/N was setting her boundaries. She trusted Katie enough to tell her the truth and not to make any excuses. She felt tired from work. Y/N is not mad at her. She didn't do anything wrong. Everything’s okay.

«Soldier down on that icy ground

Looked up at me with honor and truth

Broken and blue, so I called off the troops»

The next day Katie woke up to a text from Y/N.

“Good morning, princess. I had a great sleep, what about you? How did you sleep? I’m up to seeing you today if you feel like it. Love you.”

Still slightly asleep, she smiled.

“I can't wait to see you today, beautiful girl. I had a good sleep, too. Good to have the bed all to myself ;))”

She frowned after sending the text with that joke at the end.

“Breath, Katie, let these useless thoughts pass. Both you and Y/N feel comfortable teasing each other”, said Katie to herself.

“Ha, ha, really funny. We both know you missed having me snoring next to you.”

“How do you know?!?!”

«That was the night I nearly lost you

I really thought I lost you»

As Katie was preparing herself to go out with Y/N to have lunch, she remembered the night where Y/N left her house.

She doesn't freak out to the thought of it, but instead she does an exercise of introspection. She sees herself in her mind, almost throwing up, completely emotionally depending on her girlfriend while pushing her away and bottling up her feelings.

«We can plant a memory garden

Say a solemn prayer, place a poppy in my hair

There's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair

And we will never go back

To that bloodshed, crimson clover

The worst was over»

Now she looks at herself in the mirror. She sees herself, Katie, as the woman who knows that she's loved, and she's deserving of being it. The woman who respects her girlfriend’s boundaries and doesn't freak out at the tiniest change that she perceives. The woman who's going to take her girlfriend out to have a good time having lunch, not worrying about anything but what order she's going to have.

«My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War

Always remember

We're burned for better

I vowed I would always be yours

'Cause we survived the Great War

I would always be yours

'Cause we survived the Great War

I vowed I would always be yours»

As they arrived home back from the restaurant, Y/N walked towards Katie.

“I’m so proud of you, baby. You did this. You are doing it every day. I’m so excited to see where our relationship leads us to.”

As Katie sobbed, she softly laughed, “It’s nice to cry sometimes. God, I feel so relieved. I’m so proud of myself, too, of us! Thank you for being there for me, Y/N, thank you. I can't wait to spend the rest of my life as your girlfriend.”

“Even when you'll wake up to my snoring?”

“Especially when I'll wake up to your snoring.”

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Hii! I love your writing. 🙌🏻 May I have a sub! Larissa dom! tall! Reader request where they have an argument in Larissa’s office about something but they end up having a heated..🫢. Larissa tries to take the lead and act tough, but eventually fails because Reader overpowers her, but actually Larissa secretly enjoys it. I hope it’s not too much, it’s alright if you’re not doing it, don’t feel pressured. :))) have a nice day!

I Don’t Go Down Easy ~Sub!Mommy!Larissa Weems xFem Dom!Daddy!Reader

Summary— Reader and Larissa get into a heated argument. Reader suspects that Larissa’s a little pent up, so she takes the lead… But Larissa isn’t going down without a fight. Anon Response— Hey Heyy @misswittylistyc !! Thank you for the request! I love this idea so much. Sub!Larissa could always use more content… Hope you Enjoy! Have a nice day as well!!

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!!, smut, eating out, implied smut, kissing, marking, dom/sub relationships, fights for dominance, mommy kink, daddy kink, semi-public sex, implied future smut, swearing, etc.

Enjoy (;

“Im ridiculous…?? Larissa, you never take care of yourself!!” You exclaimed with a jarring tone, throwing your arms up flamboyantly, letting them land square on your hips.

Larissa huffed, as she paced the room, her face screwed in a distasteful look.

“Oh please…!! You barely get 6 hours of sleep a night—!” She sneered back.

You two had been at it for at least twenty minutes. Anyone and everyone in the near vicinity of the halls or rooms close to Larissa’s office had vacated. Your heated argument was seaping through you two and the walls of Nevermore.

And it had all started because you had come into Larissa’s office and found her working still far too late…

You gritted your teeth and let groaned in frustration, fisting your hand together, so much so so that your knuckles were white.

“God you’re incorrigible!! You can’t even see your own hypocrisy—!” You yelled.

“Well maybe I would if you weren’t being such a dick about it?!!!” Larissa shrieked.

This made you stop in your tracks. You unclenched your fists as your eyes widened. You realized how harsh you’d been...

Because Larissa rarely swore… Really the only time was when you two were intimate. Never anywhere else… So her addition of the curse in her verbiage made you rethink the whole situation…

Larissa took your silent response as even more of an insult. She had now wandered towards the door, so that you were in the middle of the room, in between her and her desk. Larissa stood tall and looked down at you, trying her hardest to act intimidating. She craned over you.

“So that’s what yore going to do…?? Go silent on me?!” Larissa spat in a mocking and dominating tone.

But this time, her words sparked a different fire in you. Instead of anger, lust was bursting through your veins, causing you to smirk and tilt your head upward at the tall principal.

Larissa looked a little confused at your reaction, quirking her brows and wondering what your game was.

“What..??” She spat yet again.

You gave the woman a small, mocking pout, clasping your hands together behind your back, and slowly starting to stalk towards the blonde.

“Is someone pent up…??” You taunted the woman.

This made Larissa scoff and roll her eyes. Yet at the same time, she started to back up as you approached her.

“What? No, that’s absolutely ridiculous!” Larissa squeaked, trying to sound intimidating but desperately failing.

You backed the tall blonde up all the way against her office door, when she then heard the click of you locking the door, wearing a grin the entire time. Larissa’s breath hitched. You were flush against the woman. Your closeness made Larissa gulp and blush lightly.

But just as you thought she was given in, a new gust of confidence took the blonde principal over. She suddenly lengthened herself and towered over you, even though she was the one trapped in between you and the office door.

“You think this is going to work…?? What are you going to…?? Seduce me…?” Larissa jeered.

You said nothing, staring up at the woman and looking her directly in the eye, not faltering. You simply dropped to your knees and began to roll up her dress.

Larissa went silent and her breath was bated as she watched you on your knees, rolling up her dress, removing her knickers, and spreading her legs for access. When you finally got to the woman’s glistening cunt, you looked up at her with a Cheshire Cat like grin, before leaning forward and licking her entire cunt from bottom to top in one fell swoop.

Larissa threw her head back and waves of pleasure hit her like a brick. Her legs immediately threatened to buckle, but she was quick to widen her arms and hold onto the wall to keep herself from collapsing.

Once you had pulled away and Larissa had come back to reality, her eyes met your gaze and they flashed with challenge.

“Is this your way of apologizing…? You gonna eat mommy out…?” Larissa taunted.

You shook your head with a chuckle, ignoring her taunts, because you knew she would be putty in your hands in about five seconds.

“Keep your eyes on mine…” you growled in your sultry, lustful tone that always sent Larissa into a frenzy.

Larissa’s eyes widened and she bit her lip. She was about to challenge you again, but then your tongue slid its way into her fluttering cunt and the woman was a goner.

Her legs began to bend and threatened to buckle, so you were swift to place your hands on each of her thighs to keep her propped up. Larissa’s hands were still outstretched against the walls and clinging on tight, as she let out her first desperate groan of the night.

You began to pick up the pace and really started to fuck the blonde’s cunt as like you knew would destroy her… As your tongue took turns lapping away at her folds and fucking her hole, your brought your thumb up to her clit and put tight circular pressure on her bundle of nerves.

“Ohhh f-fuck Y/N…” Larissa whimpered with a groan at the end, tilting her head back and screwing her eyes shut tight.

You quickly pulled away, stopping all administrations with a smirk. Larissa’s head shot back and her shocked gaze furiously found yours. As she saw your smirk, she realized you had her right where you wanted her.

“I said…” you growled, licking a stripe off her cunt, making Larissa’s knees wobble and her lip tremble, before counting, “Keep your gaze on mine…”

“Sorry yes Daddy…”

Larissa gulped and she immediately nodded vigorously. You chuckled and nodded in response, burying your face in her cunt once more, quickly returning to your destructive pace.

As Larissa quickly approached her high, all the while you stared her down with a wicked grin, one of the blonde’s hands jolted to your hair, pushing your head closer to her cunt as her hips grinded against your face. You let this act slip, because of how desperately gone the woman was by now.

You, thank fuck, let Larissa cum when she got to the edge, riding out her high as she came hard. Larissa was panting and by the end of her climax, her legs did in deed gone out on her, so she fell to the floor still trapped between you and the door.

You moved away from her cunt, now at eye level with the fucked out woman. You smirked and leaned in, pressing your cum splattered lips against Larissa’s. Larissa groaned as she happily licked all of her cum off your lips and from your mouth, her hands lunging forward to pull you impossibly closer.

The kiss was bruising, dizzying, but neither of you wanted to pull away. Alas, you both eventually needed to breath, so you had to detach momentarily, also giving Larissa some time to catch her breath.

“Poor mommy’s out of breath, just from Daddy’s tongue, huh…?” You teased the woman lightly.

“Shut up…” Larissa grumbled, crossing her arms defensively, “Didn’t enjoy it that much…”

Now this made you flat out laugh out loud.

“Ha!” You laughed with a smile, “Yes you did…”

Larissa blushed and looked away.

“Ok fine I did…” she muttered, before looking back at you with that same needy look, “fuck me properly, Daddy…?” She whimpered, already squirming where she sat.

You smirked once more and nodded.

“Of course, baby… Come on, let’s go to the bedroom” you said in your sultry, knee wobbling tone, making Larissa already start to ride the waves of pleasure again.

~~~

Larissa Weems Masterlist

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blind Offer 3

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a leak causes you to evacuate your apartment, your landlord offers a vacant unit that’s too good to be true. (short!plus!reader)

Character: Steve Rogers, additional characters to come

Note: I've been feeling a bit off lately so thank you all for distracting me. This is one of my Corrupt-A-Wish requests but I won’t reveal which one right away because it’ll be part of the plot!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like I love turning intended one shots into series. Take care. 💖

After closing, you’re due for an opening shift. The abrupt shift in your schedule leaves you little off-time but right on the other side, you have a much needed day off. You’re relieved not to be left to think too much in the unfamiliar house and hopeful that by the time your time off comes, your apartment will be ready for your return.

That morning, you’re running on coffee and the promise of the cinnamon bun you bought on your way in. You work through the price changes in the digital imaging section. The cameras are the biggest pain as you have to unlock the cases to replace the old tags.

You get to the Sony section and end up on your knees, fighting the glass door as it rolls off the track. The podcast buzzing in your ear fades as your frustration gets the best of you. You lean back, your shoulder brushing against an unexpected presence behind you.

You wince and pop your earbud out, craning to look over your shoulder at the man browsing cameras past you. His eyes meet yours with a twinkle as he points to the case, “you know much about these?”

You shake your head, “sorry.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smirks, the expression made devious by the trim of dark blond across his lip. He squats down beside you, “nah? I was looking for a starter camera but I need something with strong range.”

You nod and force a smile, “um, well, these are pretty basic, I think. They don’t have any extra lenses,” you look around, searching for one of the DI salesmen, “I could find someone–”

“I’m asking for your help, honeybun,” he coos, “what’s the zoom on these things?”

You feel heat speck on your forehead and cheeks. You’re not the best with customers. It’s easy enough if they know what they’re looking for but you’re useless with telling them what they need. You turn back and grab one of the small boxes. You turn it over and read the specs.

“Uh… 30x zoom…” you say, “I guess that’s pretty good.”

“Hmm,” he clicks his tongue, “I’m looking for something stronger. Stronger’s always better, isn’t it, sugarpie?”

His strange pet names put you off. Some old ladies will call you hon and some old men will call you young lady, but he’s a lot younger and not as endearing. You put the camera back and look along the row.

“Yeah, I think maybe you need to look at the bigger cameras,” you point over the case, “they’re along that wall–”

“You like it bigger?” He intones with a snicker, “you a size queen?”

You recoil, taken aback by his suggestion. Ew. You shake your head and turn back to the case, “sorry, sir, I don’t know anything about cameras. I’ll see if I can get a salesman over here.” You grab the wire of your headset and hit the button, “can I get someone over to DI?”

You let go of the button as the earpiece crackles. The man doesn’t move, “you know, I don’t mind a little extra. Especially in the trunk.”

You ignore him as you peel away the fresh stickers and press them to the front of the shelves. The heat of his lingering figure has you unable to get your fingernail under the corner of a label. You want to run and hide in the warehouse. You’re just too nervous to tell him to go away, Gwen would write you up.

“Hey,” Jamie appears from the other end of the aisle, “looking for a camera, sir?”

The man behind you doesn’t stand right away. When he does, he reaches close to you, gripping the top of the case to push himself up to his feet. You turn and mouth a thank you to Jamie as he gives a long look at the man behind you.

“Sure am,” the customer brushes by you closely. You watch the back of his head, shaved close around the sides, the top pieces longer and slicked back neatly. He walks with a certain lean to his step, his shoulders squared, his gait confident but casual. He gives you the ick.

You focus on your sheet of price changes. He’s not your problem anymore. You just hope you can through that section before he finds what he’s looking for. You somehow suspect he’s in no hurry to leave.

🖤

You get back to the townhouse just after five. It’s later than you usually get in but you’re just happy to be done. You haven’t been able to shake that feeling that’s followed you all day. Ever since that man approached you in the store, you’ve felt as if you’re being watched.

You walk the block and a half from the nearest stop and turn onto the quiet street of newly built townhouses. Despite the sighting of a neighbour, it still feels derelict. You check the number beside the door as you head up the walk to the doorstep. As you do, you hear a whistle.

You stop and turn back as you hear footsteps approaching. It’s only then you notice the white van parked along the far curb. A man runs over in a blue uniform with a box under his thick arm. Burly and broad, you almost cower as he waves and approaches.

“You live here?” he asks as his eyes flick up to the iron numbers mounted besides the door, “number four?”

“Um, I’m… crashing here, yeah,” you swallow, “it’s actually not my place–”

“I got a package,” he shifts the parcel and reads the label. 

You can just see his features beneath the shadow of his cap brim, long lashes, square jaw, a touch of stubble and a thick mustache across his lip. You hate that those are making a comeback. You shiver as it reminds you of the man in the store, but this man has darker hair, a curl poking out from his hate.

“For Steve Rogers?”

“Yeah, erm, that’s my landlord. This is his place,” you point over your shoulder with the thumb.

“Right, well, it doesn’t need a signature, so if you could pass it off to him.”

“I don’t know–”

“I don’t really feel like driving back out here tomorrow. This isn’t my route,” he says tersely.

You snap your mouth shut. Wow, okay. You shrug and reach out to take the box.

“Sure, I can get it to him. Sorry.”

“Thanks,” he hands it over and looks back and forth down the street, “quiet neighbourhood, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess… just finished development so–”

“Fancy places. Expensive,” he continues on, “your landlord must really like you.”

You frown and hug the package, “uh, he’s nice. Anyway, I’m sure you got other deliveries to make.”

He scoffs as you turn away. You’re succinctly aware of him as you move your body to block the code as you punch it in. 

“Too good for the delivery boy,” he mutters darkly, “have a good day, miss fancy pants.”

“Have a good day,” you squeak and push your way into the townhouse, spinning to shut the door.

You twist the latch as you lean on the door. You slowly lean over and peek past the curtain. The delivery man smirks at the barrier between you before turning and strolling back the way he came. You shudder and turn to put the box down. You really thought for a moment he might try to follow you inside.

You shake out your nerves. It’s just been a really weird day. Well, few days.

You pull out your phone and text Steve to let him know he got a package. You put your cell on the counter as you enter the kitchen. You planned on ordering food to celebrate your coming day off but it’s too much trouble dealing with another stranger.

You go through the fridge and cupboards and settle on the bag of hand rolled tortellini with the jar of alfredo. You’re no expert chef but you can follow instructions. It’s a quick enough dinner. You eat it at the table against the wall, a video playing on your phone. 

A notification pops up at the top of the screen, Steve saying thanks. You don’t bother replying but another flips up in quick succession. ‘How is everything?’

You finish your pasta before you reply. You rinse your dishes and leave them in the rack. You take the phone upstairs, typing as you climb.

‘Doing fine. Everything’s well. Thanks for checking in.’

Easy and to the point. You don’t want to have some stunted text chat with your landlord, you don’t even want to talk to your friends, you’ve been dying all week to try the bathtub.

You turn on the faucet and the water spills out, steam quickly rising as you adjust the temperature. You go to the counter and search your pouch for your body scrub. You pause as you find it empty. Weird.

You look around. Your toothbrush is in the cup and your toothpaste and mouthwash on the small shelf that holds it. Where is everything else? You check the drawer, your face creams and cleanser are all there. Even your deodorant and body lotion. 

You peek at the tub and see your jar of scrub already sitting on the sharp edge brim. You don’t remember putting all that away. Why would you? You’re not going to be here forever. You don’t know, you were so tired that morning, you can’t even remember brewing your coffee.

You blow out the tension. Stop worrying. It’s fine. It’s little things that you’re overthinking. As usual. 

You undress and leave your clothes on the counter. You approach the tub and lower yourself down with a sigh. Oh yeah, this is living. The tub is nice and big, you don’t feel crammed in like your own place. You better enjoy it while it lasts.

🖤

The bedroom becomes a haven in the large house. You go downstairs in search of snacks, planning to veg out a bit before you inevitably fall asleep watching Youtube commentary videos. You find some trail mix with M&Ms mixed in it but are disappointed to discover a dearth of carbonated beverages in the fridge. You opt for the tropical twist juice in the sleek glass bottle.

You retreat with your meagre haul and create a nest in the bed. You grab your phone and flip past the several notifications waiting on the home screen. You scroll through Youtube until you land on something suitably dramatic. You pull down the taskbar and flick away several notifs.

Steve’s message is the last. It kinda creeps you out but the time stamp assures you it’s merely a coincidence. ‘I bought some snacks. Hope you found them. Wasn’t sure what you liked.’

You resist clicking on the bubble and swipe it away with the rest. You don’t want to leave him on read and you don’t think he’d appreciate your response. Granola and coconut water aren’t much of a snack.

You shimmy down under the covers and prop up your phone on the bedside table. You lean into the pillow and lazily munch, Your mind wanders away from the petty online drama. Work, your apartment, several strange encounters… hopefully life calms down soon. You mind your business, you don’t need the trouble. You prefer to be a witness, not an active participant.

You drain the last of the juice as the mix of almonds, peanuts, and cranberries leaves your mouth dry. You get up to brush your teeth as you listen through the open door to the edited clips from TikTok. As you come back to bed, you feel the day catch up to you.

You yawn and shut off the light. Ugh, you’re so suddenly tired. It’s not unusual to be wiped after clopening but damn, you’ve never felt this heavy. You pull the blanket up to your chin and your phone screen blurs in your eyes. You let the low drone ease you down to sleep.

It’s as if no time passes at all. No dreams, no awareness, just a thick void that makes your head hurt. You wake with a start.

Your phone gleams from beside you but Youtube is no longer open. The light is on, blaring in your vision as you sit up. Jeez, you must be totally zonked. You probably got up to go pee and don’t even remember.

You reach for your phone and check the time. It’s just after midnight. An hour or two since you passed out. The blanket falls away from your shoulders and you look down at the cold wash across your chest. The straps of your tank top droop down your arms as the fabric is wrinkled below your tits as they hang out. 

You fix your top, it’s not unusual. You’ve woken up more times than you count with your shirt all twisted. It’s why you never had roommates. You shove the blanket further down, your shorts are askew as well, caught in the crease of thigh and pelvis. You fish around to tug the loose opening free and find it damp. Ugh, you’re sweating from your little cocoon of body warmth.

You push yourself towards the edge and pause. You feel oddly sensitive, almost raw. You rise and stretch, reaching down to check yourself. You’re wet. Like really wet. You must’ve had some wild dreams but you can’t remember any of them. 

You take your cell to the bathroom with you and relieve yourself. You pull up your cycle tracking app. Ah, first day of ovulation. Horny time.

You come back to the bedroom and burrow back under the blankets. As you wiggle down, you feel something roll against you. You put your phone beside your pillow and snake your hand around to grab the tiny cylinder. You raise the small bullet vibrator and frown. Wasn’t that in your beauty bag?

You place it on the night table and take your phone. Well, you seem to be pretty absent-minded lately. First your toiletries, now this. You’ll have to do a sweep of the house tomorrow and make sure you have everything together. You won’t be there much longer.

Still, you’re unsettled by the momentary lapse in consciousness, but your lingering grogginess keeps you from panicking. You’ll just put on another video. It should distract you enough to calm you down.

[hanlimz]

synopsis: you always have room for yang jungwon. pairing: jungwon x gn!reader genre/warnings: best friends to lovers!!! / self-indulgent fluff! ig maybe angst if you squint, won compares himself to others, reader talks abt being in pain but it's not real (?), mayhaps this fic is a bit incoherent T_T i wrote this in one sitting that ended at 3am so quality may be a little iffy (sorry :,( , mayb i'll rewrite in the future!) wc: 1.4k a/n: cass write for someone that isn't yang jungwon challenge : FAILED ! nah but fr tho, this pic has a Grip on me n i was possessed to write. but in all srsness, i Am working on other non-won centric fics n they should be out.......soon (?)

[8:36PM] through the lens of your grandfather's old polaroid camera, the sun seems to cradle jungwon's face in her array of rich oranges and deep reds. she places her bright lips on the crown of his head and bathes him in a warm, summer light; her golden fingers reach down to smooth out a few stray strands of his hair while moving slowly to caress the sharp angles of his silhouette. however, the glow he radiates almost manages to outshine her as the peach hues of the sky only serve to accentuate his natural beauty. his cheeks are full and round after a (near) five course meal at your grandparents' cottage, his lips are a delicate pink that matches the swath of tulips outside of your old elementary school, and his eyes sparkle in a manner that mirrors the ocean behind him. and, in mere seconds, you decide that this vacation is one of the best ideas you've ever had.

two hearts healing together as one, each enveloping the other in blanket after blanket of pure, unadulterated adoration. with a gleeful flicker in his gaze that you weren't able to place, jungwon had agreed to accompany you—biking around your hometown while reliving old memories and chronicling stories of youthful grandeur. the tranquility had grown steadily, like the dawn of a new day or the promise of a new beginning, and the certainty of his presence came to be all-consuming and ever-existing.

perhaps, you dare to let yourself believe, jungwon had become your sun. since the fifth grade, he has been the one constant in your life. he was the young boy who led you on a tour of your new school after packing up and leaving the place you called home, and he was the kind stranger who helped you catch up on the topics you missed out on. jungwon was the hesitant acquaintance turned best friend, and he is the one person you want to be with after oblivion plagues the earth. but, drawing too close is dangerous—his heat could scorch your skin while his love turns you to ash. for a moment, you ponder that particular track of thought and allow the train to run its course. perhaps, you correct yourself, jungwon has always been your sun.

"[y/n]!" he calls, beckoning you forth from the daydream you found yourself trapped in, "did you get the picture?" no matter the timbre, his voice is melodic, hypnotizing—it is the perfect addition to the evening's quiet sonata. he sings alongside the croaking frogs and the chirping crickets, welcoming the moon as it takes its place in the night sky.

you reply, trying to push down the sudden panic rising in your throat, "not yet, won—stay just like that!"

the camera clicks as it snaps a photo of the masterpiece before your eyes. upon hearing the sound, jungwon leaps from his position on the rocks and bounds over to watch the film develop. with a gentle tug, he pulls the picture from your grasp; jungwon shakes it and blows on it before resigning himself to the painful reality of waiting. the nerves that were crashing like angry waves against the walls of your stomach become a tsunami as he settles with his shoulder brushing against yours. his touch hurts—his presence, though ineffably beautiful, singes the hairs on your arms and ignites a column of blue flame around your heart. a tumultuous contradiction begins to swell inside of you; the peace jungwon imbues in you fights tooth and nail with the doubt your brain conjures up.

don't get too close.

don't let his fire catch.

don't let yourself be caught.

as the colors turn vibrant and jungwon's form becomes clearer, you attempt to hold everything in—every thought, every feeling, every wish, every dream. but, the walls you've kept up for so long start to break and something is forced to give. unable to will your mouth shut any longer, words spill out before you can shove them back down. "you're gorgeous—i mean, it's gorgeous! the picture, that is. i really love you—no, wait. i really love the way you look in the photo ... the sun was really pretty, the sky was perfect, everything was—"

jungwon's laughter stuns you to silence; he clutches his belly while doubling over at your jumbled mess of a confession. his eyes are closed, and you're almost positive his voice will be hoarse tomorrow with the volume at which he's expressing his amusement. the blue flame has been reduced to embers, but another influx of agony washes over you, cutting deeper than before.

"jungwon ..." you say, voice thick with impending tears, "this isn't f—"

a soft hand is pressed to your cheek. the gesture is tender and loving, conveying more than words ever could. his expression is firm, and all traces of humor have dissipated in an attempt to communicate his true feelings with you. "i love you, too," jungwon replies, rubbing his thumb over the apex of your cheekbone. "i love you, too."

"you do?" you ask, fear prickling like thousands of tiny needles under your skin.

"of course, i do." his answer makes everything seem so simple.

"no—but, i'm saying that i love you, love you. i love you in the sense that i want to spend every waking minute next to you, but i don't want to fuck anything up or make anything weird. i love you so much that my future plans always include you—no matter the way, shape, or form. the house i want to live in always has a room for you—i always have room for you." raw emotion overtakes the usual tone of your voice as the reality of this beachside argument about love and clarity and blurred lines sets in. you want him to understand. you need him to understand.

jungwon pauses for a moment. he takes a step closer to your body; the sweet aromas of blood oranges and limes permeate the air shared between the two of you while hints of vanilla and spice mingle with the citrus. never in the eight years that you've known him has jungwon ever been this forward, but as he gazes at you with two umber oceans—you can't bring yourself to care. "i get it. i swear i get [y/n]—and, i'm saying that i love you, love you, too," he giggles, diffusing the tension in the blink of an eye. "i think i always have, [y/n], but deep down, i'm still just that little fifth grade scaredy cat.

our friendship is one of the most important things in the world to me. i honestly think losing you would kill me. and, i know, i'm not the greatest with words if i'm not reading them from a script. i'm nothing special. i'm not good at things right away like heeseung, and i'm not a romantic like jay or jake. i don't have sunghoon's allure or sunoo's charm or riki's magnetism. i'm just me—good enough to be your friend, but not good enough be anything more."

the anger and hurt have been washed away by the soothing rays of jungwon's light, and you speak softly, "isn't that for me to decide?"

he reluctantly agrees, shuffling his feet as though he wants to pull away. rocks clack against one another, and the cacophony of noise foretells a future in which you let him walk away. so, your body moves on its own, and your hand shoots out to grab jungwon's wrist. surprise is evident in his stare as his eyes flick between your face and where the two of you are connected. with a newfound sense of courage, you pull him infinitely closer to you while relishing in the way his frame seems to fit perfectly against yours.

"you're good enough for me, yang jungwon," you declare. "you've always been good enough for me, and you always will be."

as high tide begins to roll in with the moon, a gentle quietude falls upon the beach. the polaroid photo has long since been forgotten, lost to the rocky shore and the sands of time. the sun has disappeared and her palette of colors has faded along with her, but you are still warm. jungwon cards his fingers through your hair while you find solace in the constant beat of his heart; fire still licks at your skin, cinders still smolder in the pit of your stomach, but there is no room for pain in his arms.

jungwon is your sun, and this time—you let yourself burn.

[hockybish]

The New Baby

I Hughes!sister au I

Lola Clementine Hughes was born on the last day of 2004, a little over one year and three months after her older brother Luke. She was the cutest little baby in the nursery with her big eyes and dark hair, she very much looked like her brothers.

The day after she was born, her brothers were anxiously waiting to meet her. A family member brought them to the hospital to the first meeting.

The boys had just been lectured by their father that they needed to be quiet because she had little ears with sensitive hearing. Jack had been held back out of the room a few minutes longer than Quinn had been because he was just too excited bouncing off the walls to meet the little girl. But once he had gotten into the room all of the warnings he had been given went straight out the window.

"I want to hold her! It's my turn!" Jack excitedly shouted entering the room where his mother and sister were in.

"Jack what did we just get done talking about? Lower your voice please." Jim followed his second child into the room. He held onto the very sleepy little Luke who most likely moments from falling asleep.

"Sorry dad." Jack gave his father the cheeky little grin that he was know to give when he was in trouble. Turning his stride into a run, he went over to Quinn sitting in the recliner to check out the newest addition to his family.

"Why is she so ugly?" The three year old future hockey superstar scrunched his face in disgust peering over the armrest of chair to get a glimpse of the small creature his brother was holding.

The new baby was all wrinkly and absolutely not cute what so ever like everyone had been telling him. Jack didn't get why everyone was so in love with her. He didn't recall Luke being that wrinkly or gross looking when he first met him.

"She's not ugly. She's a cute baby. You were an ugly one." Quinn quipped back at his brother, standing up for his baby.

Since he had only been a one year old at the time Jack had been born, he couldn't quite go off of memory at what Jack had looked like, but looking at the multitude of pictures that his parents had taken, he could easily come to the conclusion that his sister was ten times cuter.

"Mommy. Quinn called me ugly." Jack stuck out his lower lip and pouted.

"That's cuz you are." Quinn quipped back.

"Jack are you tattling again?" Ellen gave Jack a stern look. The tattling was issue and they were working on it.

"No!" "Yes!" The brothers said at the same time contradicting each other.

"Baa!" Luke pointed at Lola. Jim nodded and placed him next to Quinn in the chair. He was quickly reminded to be gentle when he patted the tuft of soft dark hair that sat on top of Lola's head.

After a few more minutes of Quinn holding the baby, Jack asked again if he could have his turn of holding the baby.

"She's looking at me!" Jack beamed when the newborn blinked herself awake. Maybe having a sister wasn't going to be too bad. And maybe Quinn was right, she was kind a cute.

"She likes me." He spoke too soon when Lola scrunched her little face and let out a very loud cry. The loud noise made the two older boys jump and Luke to have tears in his own eyes. Ellen was quick to take the baby back and comfort her.

"She doesn't like you. You made her cry." The eldest Hughes child crossed his arms, trying to show how displeased he was that Jack upset her.

"Quinn no. She's just a little hungry. See? She's already happier now." Their mother started to feed Lola with a bottle.

Jack couldn't help but feel bad because this was the fist but surely not the last time he was going to make his baby sister cry.

Age Guide: Quinn = 5, Jack= 3 , Luke = 1

[abibliophobiaa]

Beyond - s.h. x f!reader

Chapter Four: All By Myself

a/n: here’s chapter four of my purely self-indulgent fun, which shouldn’t be taken very seriously, if at all fic. haha. wanted to play around with one of my favorite tropes, so here we are with modern day!rich!fake husband!steve harrington x afab!reader. 

warnings/tags: hugely unedited (6k words); mention of pet loss; mentions of alcohol; parent loss, both parties; r has a sister and father; smut in later chapters, so 18+, minors dni; additional tags to be added.

masterlist

- 

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end. Movies, your favorite songs, vacations, the “wedded bliss” away in the Maldives with your husband. 

Since then, time seems to move faster than you can keep track of. Days slip into weeks, and before long you’re starting clinical rotations and the endless piles of schoolwork you’re certain your professors enjoy assigning every week. 

The desk in your bedroom becomes a host for countless textbooks and notebooks, full to the brim with diagrams you copied, definitions, scribbled up notes. 

Mornings are spent there, afternoons too. It’s fine, and it works, because most days Steve’s gone anyway. The company is working on some new property development. Another hotel on some private island, millions of dollars worth of work, but something has gone awry and Steve’s needed at all hours of the day. 

At least that’s what he reassures you when you perk up at the kitchen island, trying to catch him before he leaves. When you huff out a sigh as he slips his sunglasses on and says to not wait up. 

You never do. 

By the time you’re done with your own rotations, your feet are aching and sleep—albeit often disrupted sleep these days, sleeping in an unfamiliar home still—is the only thing on your mind. That and another massage like the one you had back on your honeymoon, where every inch of your body had been tended to. 

In the time since returning from your honeymoon, you’ve also begun adding things here and there to the penthouse. Pops of color in the form of new couch cushions in a pastel blue, new curtains to cover the ample windows at night. In the halls and on various surfaces you’ve already put some of your new wedding photos up, giving the illusion of a happily married couple for anyone who may pay a visit. 

You’re scheduled for a get together with Steve’s cousin, Theobald Cletus, and his wife, Cami, next weekend. A thought that has you slightly panicked solely because it’s thanks to Steve’s cousin you’re married anyway. Deciding not to dawdle on thoughts of the future, you cast a glance at the oven light in the kitchen, glowing red neon stark against your white walls. Another Saturday by your lonesome, with Steve off to work until who knows when. 

With a huff, you walk over to throw your bowl of cereal into the sink, letting the water run for a moment before shutting it and ripping a paper towel to wipe your hands with. Knowing you’re to pick up your client’s dogs in thirty minutes, you set to work cleaning up the place for when Steve gets home. Not that it takes long, given Steve's words on your honeymoon proved true. 

He’s often not home for most hours of the day and therefore there’s hardly ever any mess, and the few nights you’ve spent time together since you married, it’s usually food ordered to the suite or dinners with his coworkers. Dinners where you sit at his side, nodding and smiling along as they talk about things you don’t really understand, fake fawning over a husband who you don’t understand most of the time. 

There were moments, small ones, that week spent in the Maldives where you thought maybe an attraction ran both ways. And now, his conversation isn’t frequent. You text here and there throughout the day. Questions as to if you’re okay, if your clinicals were running late, if you wanted him to grab you a coffee on his way home. Or on the nights when he stayed at the office until nighttime, you texted him to ask what he might want to eat, if he needed a coffee delivery, if he needed anything. But that’s the extent of it. 

It’s almost as if a wall has fallen down since you touched back down in the city. A wall that divides the two of you, stark as the hall that separates your bedrooms. Neither of you seems keen on pushing those barriers, the parameters of your relationship unspoken and yet written in the sands. 

Pushing the thoughts to the side, you toss the paper towel you use to wipe the counters down into the garbage and shoot Steve a quick message that you’ll be leaving for a bit to walk around the neighborhood. 

He responds quickly. Be safe. 

At least you know he cares enough to worry for your safety. The thought has your lip twitching upward, typing back a simple, Ball and chain, remember? You have three more years of me. 

He doesn’t respond. You don’t expect him to. It’s been more or less that way for a couple weeks now. Broken conversation, fleeting glances, lowered expectations. Wedded bliss is a dream—a dream you don’t allow yourself. Can’t afford to. 

Not now, not as you grab your crossbody bag and shove your phone into the pocket on your leggings, and take to the elevator. 

Your dog walking business, if you could call it that as you only had three clients so far, started on a whim. Over the span of a few weeks, and your constant walks through the main floor of your building on your way to meet Hopper, your husband’s personal driver, you bumped into Mrs. Lowell often. The older woman, likely in her sixties by your estimation, waved every morning as she walked her golden retriever, Mimsy, around the neighborhood. 

It just so happened that one morning you stumbled upon her in the main floor of your apartment building, cradling her ankle as workers scrambled to call the medical concierge on standby. As any good neighbor would, you brought her flowers when you heard she’d arrived home from the hospital. Long stems in varying pretty shades that brought tears to her eyes. She’d requested you come inside, Mimsy leaping up as you entered, clearly adoring endless affection. 

Talking turned into offering to walk her dog as she got better, and conversation about how you were recently married, still getting accustomed to your new life, and juggling school—but that you were looking to help if she needed it. Luckily, she offered to pay, and after a few days, asked if it would be okay to pass your number out to those who might also use a little assistance. 

It brought your grand total of dogs to be walked to  a measly three; however, people in this neighborhood, you found, were willing to pay generously for said services. With the three clients you’ve secured already, you were able to send your father nearly all of what you’d been earning at your restaurant previously. A few more clients, and you’d be able to cover a good portion of his mortgage, if only to help him while searching for a new job position. 

That morning, you were to walk Mimsy, Luca and Jacque. Mimsy, your chipper new golden retriever friend, and Luca and Jacque, two excitable Boston Terriers. The new morning routine gives you a new appreciation for your neighborhood. 

Even if Hopper trails by in his car on the sidewalk, in the event you need him. You never do, and you remind him as such, but he’s been there nevertheless. 

Hopper’s lovely. Over the course of the weeks since you’ve been back from your honeymoon, you’ve become fast friends with the man. From what you’ve learned, he’s been recently married as well to his wonderful wife, Joyce. He talks about her fondly, all bashful smiles hidden behind the mustache that spills over his top lip. 

However, as much as he talks about Joyce, he talks about his daughter, El, all the more. El, his teenager who he’d adopted a few years ago now. Spoke of her like she was a literal sunshine incarnate. He’d also mentioned his step sons, Will and Jonathan. Jonathan, who you remembered, had been your head photographer at your wedding and responsible for all the gorgeous shots now littered through your home that made Steve and you look like a couple deeply in love. Magic, he was literal magic. 

All that in mind, you’d suggested you all get together for dinner—even despite Hopper’s protests that “Mr. Harrington is always busy.” Knowing that, you’d still all managed to get together at your home for dinner one night, minus Jonathan. He apparently had gone on some trip to California with one of his good friends named Argyle, if you’d remembered correctly. But the rest of the Hopper-Byers family arrived for dinner and you watched, with a sinking feeling in your gut, as Steve charmed both of the teenagers. Wondered what it was about him that made people gravitate toward him, and if he even noticed he carried that around with him everywhere. 

You supposed it made sense, given the burgeoning attraction you held toward the man who spoke to children with a kindness that shocked you, and yet spared you fleeting glances at the door before he left each morning. 

Sighing, you stroll down the busy city streets, waving to neighbors in passing, thanking Hopper when he eventually leaves your side long enough to stop and get himself coffee. Or at least you assume it’s just for him, until he pulls out a second drink from his car when you take a moment to stop on a bench, numerous pairs of eyes peering up at you, expectant for a treat. 

“Oh, how did you know what I usually order?” You grasp the cup in your free hand, curling the rest of the leashes around your other forearm. 

“I didn’t,” he says gruffly, coming to settle down beside you on your bench in the middle of the park you wander into most mornings now. “Your husband sent me the order.”

“My husband,” you say, taking a slow sip. “He’s just…so thoughtful sometimes.”

The lie slips out easily, smiling when Jacque hops up onto the bench beside you, nudging your elbow with his snout. You hold out your bare palm, showing him there are no secret treats on your person, and exhale loudly. 

“He thought you might have a long day ahead of you. Think of it as a…gesture. I’m sure he feels bad about spending so much time away now that you two just got back.”

“Oh, I'm sure of it.”

“But he’s a good kid. A good man now. I’ve known him for a few years now, and he means well.”

You take another sip of your drink, nodding. “I know.” A deep exhale falls from your lips, left hand raising in the air. Both your rings sparkle in the early morning light, still heavy around the base of your knuckle. “I married him.”

“That you did.” Hopper chuckles, nodding to your new, furry friends around town. “I think it’s about time we get back home. These three look ready to call it in.” 

And he’s right. Hopper is always right. In a new home, so far from your own father, Hopper’s been nothing short of spectacular. A constant support, even on the days when your clinicals have drained you dry. Even when you want nothing more than to go home and curl up in your pajamas and eat ice cream out of a carton. There with a kind word, a gruff response, a joke. 

So it comes as a surprise to you when you’re walking out of your late evening class, and see your husband waiting on the curb with the car windows rolled down. 

Your friend Daniel, chatting idly beside you, pauses, taking in your husband’s expensive car, before shifting his gaze back to you. Amber, another friend from class, does a double take as well, before settling on the rings on your left hand. 

“Mrs. Harrington. Good j—” Your elbow nudges her ribs. Hard. “Ow!”

“Danny, Amber…this is my husband, Steve.” 

Steve waves. Or rather, unfurls the fingers on his left hand from around the steering wheel, head dipping slightly in introduction. “Sorry to be rude, but we actually have somewhere to be. It was nice meeting you both.”

They wave as you hike your bag up further over your shoulders, opening the door on the passenger side. Your cellphone clatters into his center console when you drop down, his body jerking from the sound, before he seemingly remembers you have an audience. 

It never occurs to you he might touch you, since he hasn’t in weeks, and you can’t really hide as you flinch when he kisses you. A small brush on the corner of your lips, but it jolts you all the same. His lips tug downward as you both wave and pull away from the parking lot, his fingers moving to lower the dial on the music playing from the car speakers. 

“Don’t think it sends a ‘we’re happily married’ message if you do that every time I kiss you,” he says numbly, left hand curling tighter around the steering wheel. 

“Wasn’t expecting it,” you say, shrugging. 

“I’m your husband. Husbands kiss their wives hello.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, training your gaze ahead. “Where’s Hopper?”

“Something came up and he couldn’t make it.” 

“And the ‘somewhere we have to be?’” you ask softly. 

“I’m meeting with someone over video chat tonight. Different time zones.”

“Work meeting.” At his nod, you lean further into your seat. “How was—”

“I’m picking you up the rest of the week.”

Nose wrinkling, you turn to look at him. “You realize today is my only day in class? I have clinicals at the animal hospital every other day.”

He dips his head, though you don’t think he really knows your schedule. “That’s fine. I’m still picking you up.”

“Okay…”

“Danny seemed nice.”

“If this is because you’re jealous, Steve, it’s really not an issue.” Raising your left hand in the air for emphasis, you give your fingers a little wiggle. “I’m married. To you. Till death do us part, or the end of three years in our case.”

The remainder of your trip is spent in silence. Some love song seeps from his Spotify playlist, a crooning voice you recognize, as it’s the same singer for your choice of first dance as a married couple. It’s only been weeks, and yet your wedding, now nearly two months old, feels like a long distant memory. Steve’s dark tuxedo, your flowing gown, endless dancing, twirling feet, lingering kisses. 

Eyes trailing up your husband’s forearm, you sigh, moving to unbuckle yourself when he pulls up and the valet accepts the car keys from him. His hand lingers against your lower back as you walk through the main entrance together, greeting workers as you pass, calls of “Hello Mr. and Mrs. Harrington” meeting your ears. 

That hand, the warmth of his palm drops when you enter the private elevator taking you up to your home, and you’re left with the quiet and the four walls of that silver chamber. Your eyes meet your distorted reflection, catch on the downturn of your lips. 

You want things to change. Need them to, especially if you’ll be married to this man for the next three years, but questions of how rattle around in your brain. Thoughts come up empty as the doors open and you’re home once more, Steve moving to enter the kitchen, and you drop down against the couch in the living room. 

“Maybe we could, I don’t know, watch a movie or something before your meeting?” you suggest airily, grasping the remote from your coffee table, head turned over your shoulder to watch as Steve grabs a bottle of water from the fridge. 

Steve pauses near the island, fingers moving to rub along the hair lining his jaw. He rolls his neck slowly, shoulders audibly cracking, smiling softly. “I’m actually about to head into the gym, and then I have that meeting. Do you mind ordering from that Italian place we got from the other night?”

“Do you want what you usually get?”

Chicken Marsala. He’s gotten it the past three times you ordered. You usually opt for the Penne Alla Vodka, the place you found near your new home fantastic for dinners. You’d know, because it’s often where his work friends eat as well, during those dinners where you’re Steve’s doting wife, arm around his, leaning in close, trying to stay afloat. 

“That would be great,” he says softly, moving out from behind the island. He enters the living area and comes up behind you, giving your shoulder a quick squeeze. You hear the gentle fumble of his pocket, and you know he’s handing you his credit card before you even have a moment to protest. “Here.”

“I’ve got it tonight,” you tell him, glancing up his forearm, locking your eyes with his hazel ones. “I’ve been…working a little here and there.”

“You know you don’t have to do that.”

“But I want to, there’s a difference.” 

You haven’t told him everything about your small business. Haven’t mentioned why most of your pay received from it disappears as quickly as you have it. Him paying for school is one thing; you’re not willing to tell him about your father’s situation, about the fact you’ve been supporting Caroline for a few years now, pushing yourself to work endless hours if only to scrape by so she doesn’t have to some day when she’s older. If there’s one thing you know about your new husband, it’s his desire to go above and beyond for those around him. Highly affluent, but you wouldn’t know it from the way he holds himself. Humble, kind, and caring. Doesn’t matter if your relationship is…barely existent, the truth is the truth that even you can’t deny. He’d offer to help your family and you can’t accept that. 

Hopper’s words ring true: at his core, in every fiber of his being, Steve Harrington is a good man. 

And as much as the strain on your relationship burdens you, life has looked up since you married. A reality that plagues your heart. Because, no, money didn’t make you happy. But having it, the suddenness of your new wealth—it has lightened the weight on your shoulders, given you a chance to breathe, to merely exist without worrying how you’ll manage to cover rent, student loans, Caroline’s necessities, your father’s struggles. 

“Just let me take care of it tonight?” Steve pleads, giving your shoulder another squeeze. “And…if I finish my meeting early, we can rent a movie.”

“Really?” 

He frowns. It’s a subtle downturn of his lips, and yet it’s there all the same. “I hate the way you just said that. I know I’ve been busy. It’s just—I’m just—”

“It’s fine,” you pat his hand gently, giving him a small smile. “Go. Get to your workout and your meeting. I’ll look for a potential movie…if you can make it.”

He nods and slips from the room, leaving you to pick up where you left off on a rewatch of Gilmore Girls. You’re a few episodes in, head propped up in your hand, elbow resting on the armrest of the couch when Steve slips into the living room. 

The sun has long set, the moon bright through the floor to ceiling windows of your home. You catch the freshly washed hair on his head, the thin white tee stretched over the broad expanse of his chest, and swallow at the gray sweats hanging low on his waist as he pads across the plush carpet. 

There’s little time to ogle your husband, as his phone pings and he tells you the doorman said the food arrived. Once Steve’s retrieved it, the two of you eat in comfortable silence, starting a movie you’d managed to find on one of his streaming services. Bellies full, he only manages to make it a half hour into the movie before he’s curling on his side on the couch opposite of yours and falling asleep. 

You can’t even be mad, because he tried. You’ll give him that. 

This time. 

-

You’re mad. And, quite frankly, upset at Steve Harrington. 

It’s pouring in the city. Endless rain droplets splattering across busy streets. Dark clouds flash with lightning up above, the rumble of thunder echoing soon thereafter. People move in and out of puddles on sidewalks, bodies bumping, shoulders brushing, buzzing like the traffic on gridlocked roads. 

Ironic, given the state of the day. 

Ironic, given your mood. 

Your heart aches. Every inch of your body is still reeling over your day of clinicals—over what you witnessed for the first time. Pain of loss first hand, up close and personal, shaking you to your very core. 

You’d been texting Steve. Short quips here and there throughout the day. More mindful than he has been in the past few weeks. Motivated by the silly jealousy he’d felt over Danny, you’re not sure, but if it prompted him to try harder you weren’t going to complain. 

But now he was late. And not even by a few minutes, but an hour. 

Steve. They’re not going to let me stay here much longer to keep dry. The practice closes soon. Am I just taking a train home?

No response. 

None. 

Unanswered like your last few messages. 

Steve?

Dearest Husband?

EARTH TO DINGUS.

Nothing. 

One of the veterinary technicians calls your name where you stand near the front door, her voice high and tight over the light music streaming from a speaker in the distance. Head turning, you tuck your phone into your pocket, walking back down the hall from whence you came, fingers tapping along the countertop. 

“We’re heading out soon,” Valerie says, putting away the last of her things in her pocketbook. “Are you sure you have a ride?” 

“Yeah.” But there’s no vibration of a text in your pocket. A fact that makes your stomach sink further in your belly. “My husband will be here any minute. I’m sure of it.”

Only he’s not. You watch as the veterinarians and technicians leave. As the lights flicker off in the building. As they all wave you goodbye as you sit outside on that bench, clothes plastered to your skin, rain chilling you to the bone. 

There’s no text. No explanation. Only the silence of a message unanswered. Frustrated, and increasingly tired, you thumb at the rings on your hand. Watch as the diamonds twirl around and around, as droplets of rain slash against your scrubs, your backpack, and likely your books as well. 

Then finally, a car pulls up on the sidewalk. Blacked out windows, dark vehicle, and an older man behind the wheel, rolling down the window and waving your way. 

Hopper. 

Not…Steve. 

“Sorry, Mrs. Harrington,” he says, and it’s only then you realize you must have outwardly expressed your disappointment. “Traffic was endless today.”

“I just…” Your voice trails off as you clamber into the passenger seat, eyes locked on the road ahead, drops of rain gliding down the windshield capturing your attention. Staving off the hurt bubbling in your chest. “Today wasn’t a good day. And you’re always a welcomed sight, but I—”

“You don’t have to explain, kid.”

Uncertainty wells, and disappointment grows. It’s hard to pinpoint why. There’s no presently romantic nature to your relationship, but you can’t help but to recall those moments before your wedding, when you’d been overcome with fear and anticipation of what you were about to do. Can’t help but remember his hands within your own, the gentle cadence of his voice, the way his fingers had dragged along the back of your palm. How he’d held your gaze as you walked down the aisle, and never once strayed until you were both ready. Now it’s the realization that he’d told you he’d be there. And, in a sense, you wanted him to be. Wanted to see him, if for nothing at all than to be present. A solid form in a day that has felt like being swept up in a storm and tossed out into unknown territory. Yet you’re left, sitting in a vehicle with a man who you love and adore, and the stone that sinks to the pit of your stomach over the fact that Steve had told you one thing, and done another. 

Said he’d be there and wasn’t. 

That part—that’s the part that hurts the most. 

-

Steve’s neck deep in another issue with work when you come barreling in, scrubs soaked, stethoscope swinging around your neck, eyes reddened and puffy. He’s about to say something from where he sits at the kitchen island when you open the refrigerator door and pull out a bottle of wine left to chill, tossing your things on the counter before pulling a glass out of the cabinet. 

He winces as you slam it down onto the counter, pouring yourself a glass of rosé. “Those are the nice glasses we got from our party!” he complains, watching as you down the first glass and pour a second. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing. Long day,” you mumble, flipping through mail. You pause in the middle of ripping an envelope open, eyes darting to his laptop, and then to his face. “Guess you’ve been busy.” 

“I’m always busy.”

“I know.” 

The way you say it. The coldness in your tone. He doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t like it. Hates the bite that’s there behind your words. Hates how you won’t even look at him at this moment. And it’s in that he knows something is wrong. 

“What’s wrong?” he tries again, shutting the laptop. 

Your head shakes slowly and he watches as you maneuver around him, making your way toward the hallway leading to your bedroom. A chair squeals along the tile as he follows you, shoulder thumping the corner in his hastiness, fingers curling around your shoulder just as your fingers touch the door handle of your bedroom and start to turn. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, Harrington.”

Harrington. 

It’s not said in your normal, teasing tone. No—there’s only hurt there. A wobbly attempt. 

“Something is wrong, and I can’t fix it if you don’t talk to me.”

“Steve…just stop.”

“No, you’re angry and I want to know why.”

“I told you, I had a long day.” Lie. Or not. Regardless, it’s not the full truth, and it grates on his nerves. “I just want to go to bed.”

He groans. “Then why won’t you look at me?” 

Your eyes flicker in the darkness. Sorrow settles across your features. Brows furrow in the middle of your forehead, lips downturn, shoulders slouch. A low exhale spills from your lips, fingers brushing along one of the many new photo frames lining the walls. He follows the line of your forearm and glances at the picture displayed there; he’s holding you close, arm around your waist, forehead against yours. Your dress trails behind you, bouquet behind your back, the bend of your spine elegant and striking. Beautiful. And happy. 

You don’t look happy right now, though. 

“Do you know what time my clinicals end?” 

The question catches him off guard. “Five thirty. Unless you text me that you’re running late.”

“What time is it now?” 

He looks down at his watch and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Seven thirty. Look, I’m sorry okay? I had a meeting that ran late so I sent Hopper. I don’t see the problem here.”

An empty laugh falls from you, the heel of your palm pressing to your forehead. “I have to study.” 

“We’re not done here.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” 

“I think there is—”

“I have to study, Steve.”

“Fine,” he says, dipping his head. He turns to walk back down the hall, glancing over his shoulder when the creak of your bedroom door greets his ears. “Guess we’re already fighting like an old married couple. I didn’t sign up for this.”

“You’re an asshole, Steve Harrington.” 

Your bedroom door slams, and he flinches, because he knows your words are true. He regrets what he said as soon as you disappear from his sight, and the sound of you crying drowns out the hard beat of his racing heart. 

Guilt seeps into his veins as a half hour passes. Then another. And another. All of which is spent with him sitting in your kitchen contemplating what he can do to rectify the situation. Sighing, he calls his mother and asks for her suggestions. Her resounding laugh on the other end makes him feel like an even bigger idiot, but he’s left with the idea of a “grand gesture” apology. Something to make up for the fact he had, in fact, been an asshole. 

It’s been quite some time since he’s made a home cooked meal, though he knows you tend to shop a bit here and there as of late. Luckily, there are enough things around the kitchen to make your penne dish, and he sets to work. Turns on the radio as he gets everything together and starts. Hums along to Al Green when the song switches and one of his begins. 

Before long, the smell of sauce filters throughout the home, seemingly coaxing you from your hiding. He pauses when he hears you. Hears the soft sounds of your slippers hitting the tile, reddened eyes coming up to meet him where he’s cooking away at the stovetop. 

Whirling around, his fingers slide along the apron around his waist—your waist—muttering, “I’m sorry I’m using your apron. I just—”

“You cook?” 

He chuckles, nervously kneading the back of his neck with a palm. “I used to. Before…my dad. When I had a little more free time.”

“Oh.”

“I made your favorite,” he says, trying to not be too overly chipper. Seemingly to prove his point, he lifts the cover to the pot. You lean in closer, shoulder barely touching his. Shudder as he lifts a hand and brushes at the curve of your shoulder. “I’m sorry. I was an asshole and you’re right and I’m sorry. I’ve just been under a lot of pressure with the company and—”

“It’s fine,” you say softly, shrugging. “I know what our marriage is and isn’t.”

And he hates that too. The fact you only look at him with disdain at present, hoodie you must have pulled on too big on your frame, shoulders slouching, sadness in your eyes. Hates that he’s to blame for putting it there. Placing the cover back on the pot, he turns fully to you. Grasps your palm in his, tests the weight of it against his skin. Watches your face for any reaction. 

When you don’t flinch or pull away he says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think and I should have texted you. You’re still my friend and I’m sorry that I just assumed that would be okay.”

You nod slowly. Exhale shakily, brushing at your eyes. “I just…today was really hard. And I don’t know—I know it’s silly but…”

You wanted him there. He knows exactly what you’re trying to say, because he’s often felt it too. The awareness of your presence, even when he can’t spend time with you or offer you more than a fleeting look to keep you at a distance and protect his heart, is still a comfort he can’t quite place. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, looping an arm around your shoulders. Your face presses into his chest, one of your arms coming to curl around his waist. “I’m really sorry.”

“I watched a family say goodbye to their best friend today,” you mumble out against his skin, and the brokenness in your voice as you try to keep the tears at bay has him holding you tighter. “Fifteen years and all those memories. They held him as he crossed the rainbow bridge and I just—”

“Shhh.” His palm comes up to slide along the middle of your back as you start to cry into him. “And I was an asshole,” he adds, chest tightening in his sorrow over seeing you hurt this way. Over the top of your head, he wipes at his burning eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to do that today, and I’m sorry I pushed you. 

You pull back a little in his arms. Back of your hands wiping your tears away, you inhale deeply, then exhale the same. “I can’t live the next three years like this. Like two people who just…exist in the same space together but don’t interact.”

“I know,” he agrees. 

“Something needs to change.”

“I know.” You’re back against his chest, both arms now snug around his waist, keeping him close. “I’m open to any suggestions, because…I think at the very least we need to be friends.”

“You are my friend, Steve. I just wish you were more present.”

“I will be,” he promises, cradling the back of your head with a broad palm. 

“Okay…then I think we have weekly nights in. Like this, where one of us cooks,” you suggest against his shirt, voice muffled by fabric. 

“Done.”

“Phone and laptop need to be away completely on those days.”

“…Done.” He can do that. “And on other days?”

“If you can be off the phone at a certain time, maybe we could actually, I don’t know, spend some nights together? Even if it’s just watching Gilmore Girls or a movie with me.” 

He snorts, knowing you’ve been rewatching the show lately on the nights you’re not holed up studying. “I’ll tell the office after I pick up my wife from school I’m off for the evening. Anything else?”

“No.” You shake your head, slipping free from his grasp. “I think that’s a good start. And I think you groveling by making me my favorite dinner is another good start.”

He barks out a laugh at that and languishes in the smile that tips your lips upward, knowing he, to some degree, put it there. “I called my mom and everything.”

“Oh no! You were scared I was going to murder you in your sleep,” you chuckle, lifting the cover to the pot and taking a deep breath. 

“Can you blame me?” 

“Guess not,” you tease, hopping up onto the countertop. “Hey, Steve?” 

He steps closer to where you’re sitting, his thigh brushing against your bare kneecap. Your fingers reach for his left hand, dragging it to rest it against your lap, thumb running along his wedding ring. He’s not sure why, but the very act itself has him a little breathless, eyes trailing where your thumb brushes against the metal. Then higher, toward your face, the way your eyelashes gently kiss the tops of your cheeks as you glance down to where the two of you are connected. 

“I also think we need to…do things like this more.” Your palm squeezes around him for emphasis. “Define the parameters of touch, so it’s not so jarring when we’re out in the real world and trying to look like a real couple. Kind of like how it was in front of Amber and Danny the other day. If people are going to believe us, we can’t have more of those situations popping up.”

“Okay…” He takes another step closer. “What might that look like to you? I want whatever you feel comfortable with.”

“When we’re out in public in front of your coworkers, I wouldn’t mind if you…I don’t know? Hold me against you. Maybe a kiss on the forehead. A peck. I feel like those are good starts.” 

“I can do that,” he says, giving your hand another squeeze for reassurance. “In front of friends, like your classmates, what I did the other day was fine?”

“Yeah,” you say, eyes meeting his hazel ones. “What about when we’re home?”

“I think at the very least a hug when we’re both home,” he suggests. “Friends hug, don’t they?”

“They do.” You nod. 

He cards his fingers through his hair, sighing deeply. “Again, I’m really sorry. I know I’ve been…distant since we got home, and I understand that the next three years won’t work if I keep doing that. You don’t deserve that, and I never, ever intended to make you cry.”

You glance down at your intertwined hands, and Steve feels the breath in his lungs hitch, until you tip your head up again and murmur, “Can I cash in on another hug? For practice, naturally.”

He’s already slipping between the space you’ve made for him with your thighs, drawing you flush against him, cradling the back of your head. Hopes you can feel the breadth and depth of his words through touch. 

“For practice.”

He can feel you smile against his shoulder and suddenly his chest tightens with a feeling he has no name for. Just knows it sparks something warm, like sweet honey, in his blood. 

“But do it again and you might not see the morning.”

“I don’t doubt it.” 

There, in that kitchen, with dinner simmering and his arms around you, Steve exhales. Because he’s given a new start, a turning page on a hard day in your short marriage. A new start.

And he doesn’t know why, but something shifts. 

The mere thought terrifies him. 

-

-

[emidealia]

a piece advice for the new year tarot pick a a card

Choose a pile that speaks to you. If it doesn't resonate take it as a lesson in learning to give no shits and move on. Have yourselves a cosmic evening!

pile number I

You are full of passion, you seem to be really into art, theatre, music or maybe a sort of science you view or pursue as art. Everything you need is already within you. Stop questioning your abilities or talent, you deserve the world!!! Make the move toward your dreams, i’m hearing you may need to start publishing your work or accepting new exciting oppurtunities coming your way. Growth you desire will come in form of group work, work shops or simply putting your talent out there. You don’t need any more solitude to work. Just do the thing. No need for the why or what if. It’s time. You already know, because it has been on your mind many times and the thought thrills you. Fall into the mystery. Trust. Spirit guides and the universe have your back. You are always protected and guided! Open the door, you needn't know what awaits you. Leap of faith! Love you!

pile number II

First of all you’re not broken, but you are searching for unnecessary validation to bring you happiness or rather you have deemed happiness impossible and have given up already. A lot of confusion. And also you seem to have harsh walls up. Advice to you would be to start focusing on you. Because when you have such a negative way of thinking about others and you start to be overly protective, even mean, you are wasting all your energy outward. You need to start finding your way back. Main message is about changing your outlook on life. It’s time to flow with life, start to treat your mind kinder. I’m hearing you do have male figures in your life you respect and who support you. In addition you are surrounded by loving, sincere people, making it safe for you to heal and soften. Healing will happen anyway. Release the bs and be ready for a new beginning. Happiness can come only from inside, you are worth it and able to achieve it. I believe in your beautiful future!

pile number III

SUCH PASSION YOU HAVE. Answer the call!! It’s time to trust life, even though it may seem extreme it’s the right path. I’m talking about stepping into your power, leading people, getting a promotion or an oppurtunity that is entirely up your alley. A birth of success, dreams realizing and manifestations coming true. It is the right time to celebrate and be grateful. This is a time for clarity and a fresh start. Your heart is healing. You did it!

[rogersideup]

Here's my nice to be kneaded headcanon: Reader always brings him treats so Steve feels bad he's not returning something. Since he's now helping out some days a week, he starts doodling little things on post it notes and leaves it in the bakery for her to find. The first few times it's employees that find them and everyone's confused who it's from, till reader puts them all together and it's the spots she took Steve when she showed him the town. She saves them all and it looking forward to what's next on Steve's list to draw.

Nice to be Kneaded:

More fun stuff!

*Had to change up the request a bit as to not interfere with a future plotline that’s already been written.

Hidden Treasure

Can be read as a one shot, or in conjunction with Nice to be Kneaded.

Series masterlist More Fun Stuff masterlist

Nomad Steve x Baker Reader

word count: 1,664

"Hey, look at this really cool thing we found!" One of your employees, Sabrina, told you enthusiastically while quickly approaching you at your spot on the desk.

You ripped your eyes away from the product order invoice on the desktop screen to take interest in her excitement.

"What is it?" You asked, as she handed it to you.

In your hand, she placed a yellow sticky note that was drawn on with a ball point pen. An immediate smile tugged at your lips when you recognized it. It was one of the espresso machines in the lobby.

On the sticky note was a drawing of the machine itself, sitting on the counter accompanying a fresh latte. The detail was sickeningly impressive considering it was on a 3 x 3 yellow square, and drawn on with a 75¢ ball point pen.

"I was doing a quick run to wipe down all the tables after morning rush and found that stuck to the small table by the espresso bar!" Sabrina enthused. "Isn't it incredible?!"

"It's amazing" You agreed with a smile.

"I wonder who did it." She pondered as you handed it back to her.

"Maybe a customer during morning rush" You shrugged, smile still invasive. "Have you guys found any more of them or was it just this one?"

"Nope, this is the first and only one." Sabrina noted. "Maybe they'll come back and leave more."

"Well whoever it is deserves a coffee and a cookie if we catch them." You noted.

"This work of art must be cherished forever" She noted, grabbing the roll of tape and tearing off a piece. She taped the sticky note masterpiece to the wall right next to the computer. "This is the new, official, Nice to be Kneaded art museum."

That post-it stayed on the wall for two days before Steve came back into the bakery to help out with the bulk supply delivery. That's when he caught a glimpse of his drawing taped to the wall, and knew he needed to leave more for you and your employees to find around the bakery.

Day by day, week by week, the scrap paper and pen art museum on the back office wall became quite an impressive display. So much so that you eventually became ignorant to the new additions on the daily because they started to blend in with the rest. But every once in a while, you'd catch your team talking about the most recent little pieces of art so you'd go to inspect the entirety of the collection.

One particularly quiet night in the bakery, you had texted Steven to see if he wanted to hang out with you. It wasn't usually a night he'd come by, but you missed his little antics and his stupidly handsome face.

Without question, he was walking through the door of the bakery 20 minutes later. His golden hair was still slightly soggy from the shower he was taking when you grabbed his attention, and he was dressed casually and comfortably as he always was.

"Hey there, honey!" You smiled big, happy to see your best friend.

"Hello, hello!" He greeted you with a smile just as big as yours, and gave you a big hug.

One thing about Steven was that he was of the same mentality of a Great Dane, he was a lot bigger and stronger than he was aware of, yet he thought he was a lap dog. Even his gentlest of hugs engulfed your entire body, and squeezed you comfortably tight.

"Thanks for coming! It was getting real quiet and lonely in here without you."

"You know I'd never miss a chance to spend time with you." He playfully exclaimed. “Need help with anything?”

“Nothing other than curing my boredom” You shrugged.

His eyes looked over to the wall of sticky notes he had drawn on, completely unbeknownst to you and your entire staff. “What’s all of this?” He questioned, interested to hear your take on the drawings.

“Oh, that’s our art museum” You smiled. “Some unknown person has been leaving these drawings around the store for us to find.”

“Oh really?” Steve cocked his head to the side, fighting a smile.

“Yeah, it’s really fun. We all love it so much” You smiled. “It’s like finding hidden treasure, then when we find them we add them to the wall.”

“Do you have a favorite one?” He asked.

He watched your eyes scan them all over, before your pointed to one of the post-it’s. “That one, but they’re all amazing. I’m going to save them forever.”

His eyes followed your finger to the drawing he did last week of the outside of the bakery, and he could agree that it was one of his favorites too.

You could see the inside of the bakery through the windows on the front, and shining through the reflective glass was the big neon sign that read ‘Nice to be Kneaded’. There were many days where pulling into the parking lot of your cozy bakery filled him with immense comfort, and that drawing made him feel just the same way.

“I like this one” Steve pointed to the drawing he did two days ago of the back of a kid up on his tippy toes, peaking into the case full to the brim with treats.

“Awwwww that one is so cute!” You cooed.

Conversation strayed but Steve’s mind stayed fixed on the little drawings. Much like every other aspect of his life, he didn’t want to lie or keep secrets from you, but he did want to make it fun.

So, he started making it increasingly more obvious that it was him every day he spent in the bakery just to clue you in.

If you were baking cookies, he would draw the cookies.

You cleaned the glass of the bake case? Surprise. The next drawing would be of the case full of pastry with little sparkling shimmers on the glass to show it was completely finger print free.

Oh and that cake you were decorating right in front of his face? Yeah. That was tonight’s drawing.

He got every last detail, down to the different piping tips you used for the princess style, the tiny pearled beads you carefully placed at every joint and peak, and the writing on top in your beautiful handwriting that he honestly struggled to recreate.

Steve really thought this would be the one that pushed it over the edge and helped you put the pieces together, but when he walked in the next day, you said nothing about it.

Even when you looked at it and taped it up in its respective spot, you still didn’t solve the little riddles he was leaving you.

Well, that was true until about an hour later when you walked over to the computer to confirm order details on the cake you were about to start. Making sure you got all the flavors, colors, and theming right was very important to you.

He watched your eyes go from the computer screen, to the drawing you just attached to the wall, back to the computer, back to the drawing.

“Oh my gosh…” You caught his attention. “I just realized this is the cake I made yesterday!” You said happily.

“Wait… don’t you think that’s a little odd?” Steve asked, trying to push you along further into the clue.

“Why would it be?” You questioned.

“Well, if you decorated that cake last night when only you were here, then put it in the fridge for pick up early in the morning, how would the artist have even seen the cake?” Steve continued.

“Wait, you’re so right. That customer picked up at opening.” You agreed. “Oh gosh, and the day before that was a picture of the bake case, I just cleaned it the night before…”

“See, now that’s really odd.” He egged you on.

“Who the hell could this be?” You thought out loud. “Do I have a stalker.”

“Well let’s think rationally about this mystery guy. Can you think of anyone who would’ve seen you clean the bake case and decorate that cake?” Steve asked.

He watched you think for a second. “Other than us two I have no idea… You were here too. Did you see anything weird?”

“Not at all.” Steve couldn’t even hold in the laugh he was desperately trying to conceal. “So if it was just you and I…”

Before he could even finish his sentence, you remembered one very important detail about Steven.

He was an artist.

Steve could literally see the moment it clicked in your head, your face snapped into something between joy and annoyance. But you were smiling with big pink cheeks, so he really didn’t care.

“Steven!” You laughed joyfully, voice raising a few notches.

“What?!” He questioned gigging with you.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was you!” You screeched, reaching forward and very gently play hitting his arm.

“I was seeing how long it would take you to figure it out!”

“Meanie!”

“…and you said it was making you and all your employees happy!” Steve continued explaining. “Leaving drawings around the store to make you guys happy is the least I could do in exchange for how happy you and the bakery make me.”

You cheeks only deepened their blush as his explanation sunk into your mind and heart. “Honey, you already do so much for us and they don’t even know you’re here helping out. You’re appreciated by everyone regardless, and what you do here goes a long way.”

“Yeah, but, I really like making the drawings” he admitted shyly.

“We all love them too. Thanks for all you do for me, Steven.” You said sincerely.

“No, thank you.” He said humbly, his cheeks were blushed pink just like yours.

“Okay, now I just have to get these all in a picture frame…” Thought.

He laughed. “Stop it! They’re literally just post it notes!”

“One man’s post-it is another man’s masterpiece!”

[agent-calivide]

IEYTD 3 Theory

I fully plan on making a full blown theory video compiling all of my evidence, HOWEVER, I am also an impatient bitch who wants to be able to say "I called it" in case this ends up taking a month to make or something like that- so enjoy a new textwall :)

MAJOR IEYTD 3 SPOILERS

In the latest game, you can find seven coins known as phantom coins that are left by a mysterious person known only as the Phantom. Six of them are hidden in each level and then one additional one you find in your main hub that you unlock after beating the game. Getting all the coins reveals a note left by the phantom that reads: “It seems you’re as good as they say, Phoenix. They used to say I was good, too. But I made a choice. And before they get you killed, I hope you realize you have the same choice: to die or to live.”

At the bottom there's a code that reads “I Expect You To Live” when deciphered. There's also notably a line from the Handler where he comments on how the person who gets those coins where they need to be has to be even stealthier than Phoenix, which is impressive since Phoenix is the top agent currently.

But it wasn’t always that way. Phoenix has only recently risen to Agency Fame, there was an agent that was number one before them, and we know who it is. At the end of every level in IEYTD 3, we open in a board room of sorts, looking down at our office in the Babadag EOD base, and to the side of us there’s a wall of portraits, all of various important figureheads of the EOD. The director, the our handler, doctor Prism, etcetera, but one of them is missing. Snoop around, and you find a portrait of a young, brunette woman, V. Vitti, reveled to be Valeri Vitti if you play with subtitles on, and she is labeled as the lead field agent. The previous number one.

Between the fact that she was taken off the wall and hidden, it didn’t take long to conclude that VV was the Phantom, supported by the fact that the star icon that’s associated with the phantom looks like two interlocking V’s. Valeri Vitti.

Now we know who the phantom is, but that doesn’t really do much for us story wise other than maybe the promise of facing our predecessor in a future game, how does a character that’s never been mentioned even in passing until now really pack a narrative punch? Except, the phantom has been there, even if she was never mentioned.

In the first game, in operation Winter Break, we see a portrait of a young brunette woman in Zor’s office. The very same woman who’s in a group photo with all of the other figureheads, V. Vitti. I’ve seen a lot of people conclude that this means that either Vitti is Zor, or she’s working with Zor, but I don’t personally buy it.

When it comes to her being Zor, it doesn’t really make sense. Zor is shown to be very protective of their identity, not only using voice modulators any time they talk to Phoenix, but also using the neutral terms “they/them” according to the devs in the official discord. As far as I know, this has not changed, even if Schell uses “he” on occasion while talking about the game in interviews. Functionally, when talking about the context of the games and what we’ve been presented, we aren’t supposed to know anything about Zor. Race, gender, age, it’s all up in the air, a nebulous void of information. And we’re supposed to think this person? Who has hidden their identity to the point of having a completely blank file with nothing but “confidential” slapped all over it also has a massive portrait of themselves in their office? Not only that, but in their office that’s primed to go off with traps in case an agent gets in? It seems reckless at best, and honestly really out of character to me.

Zor having an egotistical display of themselves in their office is more like something Juniper would do. Zor isn’t one to lavish themselves in attention and make themselves the focus of anything. They only come out of the shadows when things get serious. Phoenix interrupting the peacekeeper, finding their hidden lab where they ran the kinesium experiments that could foil their entire plot, getting to Operation K-Boom and working with Prism to thwart their other major scheme. They wouldn’t just have their whole identity on display and risk losing their anonymity. But you know what it does look like? A photo of a loved one on your desk. It’s quite common in offices, be it corporate or cubical, to have photos of your loved ones to get you through the day, to remember what you’re doing it for while you’re making a thousand spreadsheets and wanting to bash your head into your desk. It’s a way to have a piece of yourself and what you care about at work.

So Zor knows the Phantom but isn’t her, why would they not be working together in that case? After all, the Phantom seems just on keen on getting Phoenix off the field as Zor, isn’t that a good sign that they have the same goals?

Not exactly.

Zor shows such contempt for Phoenix, they want that agent dead, and they want it to be as soon as possible. They don’t want Phoenix off the field by any means necessary, even if that’s a comfy retirement, they want them gone. Out of the picture, they celebrate when Phoenix dies. If you look at the coroner report, there’s a note in the corner from Zor that says they understand if people want to take time to celebrate. Zor, the person who has crummy escape pods for their workers that frequently lead to their Operatives getting killed, has little qualms about dropping their scientists into fiery infernos over who knows how minor of an infraction, has their workers in the mines do inhumanly long shifts and simply won’t let them leave, and in some cases outright lies to their workers and leaves them abandoned at work sites like Ollie in the underwater lab, gives permission for their workers to party, if for a short while, in the event of the death of the Phoenix.

That goes beyond some minor or even major inconvenience, Zor puts their basic fundamentals aside to allow everyone a window of celebration in the even of Phoenix’s death. There is no way they’d leave a note saying they expect Phoenix to put themselves first and take care of themselves, to put themselves before the EOD. Nor would any of their top operatives or moles, everyone at Zoraxis despises Phoenix, and it’s Phoenix in specific. None of these people want Phoenix to go have a peaceful life in the country side, they want to mount the agents head on a wall like a trophy.

But someone who would?

A former agent who was in Phoenix’s exact shoes.

Throughout IEYTD 3, you can flip between Public Radio and Agency Radio. The public radio is mostly just the game soundtrack with a few little advertisements that tell you more about the world, but the Agency radio is much more interesting. Through it, we get updates on the EOD’s world, we hear a handler give run-downs to all of the agents about what’s going on with the Kinesium experiments, what’s going on with Prism, rules about staying a football field away from other agents, things like that. But one of the first things we hear from this agency broadcast is that Agent Phoenix is not just a secret agent. They’re a famous secret agent. One so big that the amount of agents joining the EOD is staggering, and they’ll run out of kinesium for their TK chips at this rate.

A funny little side tangent for sure, but consider: What’s keeping former agents off of those radio waves? Nothing, in fact, we see that the station is compromised in a note left BY the Phantom, and the last phantom coin you get is by entering a code left on your desk by them with said note. So who’s to say Vitti didn’t have access to an agency radio, heard everything that was going on with the Phoenix, and chose to step in. To let them know that there is another option. That Phoenix doesn’t have to keep risking their life for an agency that treats them like a number and a trophy rather than a person. But she didn't want her identity potentially outed, so she quickly took her photo off the wall and tucked it into a hiding space in hopes of Phoenix not finding it.

But Zor does know Vitti. After all, her portrait is in their office. Which leads to my next point, we hear in Operation: Squeaky Clean from the first game that Zor’s not doing these things because they’re just a bad person who wants to watch the world burn. They specifically want vengeance on the agency, but vengeance for what? Sure, it could just be the agency constantly getting in the way of their plans, but what made them start in the first place? What drove them to decide that they wanted to go down this route of villainy? Surely there’s gotta be something other than just “they want to rule the world”, Zor basically already ruled it at the beginning of the series. They’re a corporate billionaire that was able to get away with filling popsicles with enough lead to kill a person instantly, and they didn’t get anything more than a slap on the wrist? They could have done anything they wanted at that point, why make a giant death laser in outer space, they coulda spent that money doing literally anything else?

But who do they aim it at? Not the heads of state. Not a symbol of peace. Not even a test run in the ocean. Their first ever laser strike is aimed at an EOD base. An EOD base with the man that at some point was the lead support agent, someone who knew Vitti personally, Reginald Crane. Our Handler. That wasn’t a random shot, nor was it a scheme to take over the world. It was a personal attack on the Enhanced Operatives Division.

So, jump a few pet sharks with me as I spin a story for you. The EOD is established and has dozens, hundreds of competent agents even, and they’re able to stop international global crisis and villainous organizations by working underground. As time goes on, one agent stands out from the rest, Valari Vitti, an agent so good at sneaking in without a trace, she quickly climbs the ranks and becomes the lead field agent at the EOD.

But people are more than just their work, as is Vitti. She could be a friend, a sister, or, and this is my personal theory, someone’s lover. Their wife. Sure, working at the EOD is dangerous, but that’s just part of it, and if her partner knew, say they too worked at the EOD or Vitti was simply able to open up about her work, then there’d be no secrets. A needed relief from the stress of agency things. No need for a double life, she’d be able to be herself around them.

But as she keeps progressing up the ranks, she realizes things can’t go on like this forever. She can’t keep going to this dangerous job, there are risks! How long until she was hurt? Maimed? Killed!? She can’t keep doing this. It’s not viable, she likely will die if she doesn’t make this decision for herself and leave.

So. She does. She doesn’t resign, doesn’t go through the process of making an official exit, she just disappears. If she simply resigned, her photo wouldn’t still be up, and it sure as heck wouldn’t be tucked away in the pot of a random snake plant. The EOD could have found her a replacement, some sort of backup, anyone who’s worked in business has watched a coworker die and get replaced in chillingly short time, something the EOD doesn’t seem to be above. They can’t afford to be above it, agents die every day.

So there’s no reason for Vitti’s portrait to still be in that frame if she died. But if she simply vanished, then that could explain why she’s still up there on that wall. The EOD didn’t replace her, because they may have still been looking for her. We know that when an agent vanishes, the EOD sends people to try and recover them. The site of the PeaceKeeper is checked for Phoenix’s body, we know it is thanks to Reginald’s recording at the end of IEYTD 2. The EOD always will try to find an agent or what remains of them.

Over time, perhaps they gave up. Went to close the case but never got around to it because the EOD is always busy.

But Vitti’s spouse never forgot. They sure as hell never forgave either. Their wife was gone without a trace, and they had nothing left of her but her photos and an EOD lighter that they keep in a safe in their office. They knew they had to get revenge, they had to make the people that took their loved one suffer. So, they went to work. They established a business and gave themselves the fake name Zor and called the business Zoraxis.

They hunker down, and simply plot and scheme for a while. They claw their way up the social and economic ladder. They cut every corner, take every shortcut, and they hoard as much money as they possibly can and establish themselves as a cruel, immoral person that doesn’t care about the health or safety of their workers on the way up. As time goes on, they start their second half of their plan: Creating an entire establishment with the main goal of taking down the EOD.

They take in anyone who will help with their goals, the more deranged the better. A scientist who loves to burn things and wants to create a super laser? Give her the money and tell her to fire her first shot at the building their late wife used to work at. An unhinged fashion designer obsessed with maiming and death? Wonderful, you can deal with all the pains in my side that get in the way. Anything to finally bring down the people who cost them everything.

But the Death Engine didn’t work. Not only did some random pest destroy it, it didn’t even take down one of the people they wanted dead the most, the lead Support Agent. Maybe Zor particularly hates the man who was supposed to be watching Vitti, keeping her safe. And now?

Not only is he alive, but he’s taken on a new agent who’s taking Vitti’s place? Some random nobody who’s been a pest, who should have died ages ago, not only was getting in their way, but was also apparently good enough to replace their lost loved one without so much as a passing glance? No. They were going to take down the EOD one way or another. The EOD’s a secret organization from even the government, maybe if they take hostile control then they’ll be able to take them down. Sure, the EOD survived a laser, but there’s no way they’ll survive nukes, right? Surely, surely that will get them their revenge-

But no. That agent comes back. They come back and ruin everything. By the time Operation K-Boom happens, not only has the Phoenix ruined several of their most complicated plans that were years in the making, but they had solidly taken the position of their late wife. They took the only thing she had left. A legacy. How dare that pesky Phoenix think they can just step in and replace the one they hold dearly so carelessly? So thoughtlessly? They. Had. To. Die.

Of course, it doesn’t work. Phoenix wins, and Zor is back to the drawing board. The only major thing that gets in the way of this is why wouldn’t Vitti tell her partner that she was leaving the EOD? Going into hiding? Well, the IEYTD franchise isn’t a stranger to having agents split off. In Operation Fifth Class, we see Phoenix try to rescue a woman known as Anna Ulanova. Anna says a few things to the agent, but the last thing we hear is her saying she’d try to come find them, but she had a suspicion that they wouldn’t leave their life. They wouldn’t quit fieldwork.

So we’ve seen cases where there’s an agent and someone who’s not quite in the circle but is aware of what’s going on splitting off because the agent can’t stop putting work first. In the same vein, we’ve seen other relationships fall apart due to someone being unable to stop putting work first.

Leading up to the third game, Schell games released a bunch of ciphers and puzzles that lead to minor lore drops. One of them was shawnsdesk, a collection of files made by Shawn in HR about various characters from the franchise. Most of them were important characters. Solaris, Fabricator, Juniper, Zor, but there were two that were notable.

Shawn in HR, and Sam in accounting. Shawn’s is, of course, mostly just him inflating his own ego and talking about how good he is at making files on all of the people at the EOD, but Sam is where it gets interesting.

We have heard nothing about Sam at this point, and looking over the file, it’s messy. Full of snide insults, catty remarks, Shawn filling this report with resentment, but over what? A bad breakup. Sam telling Shawn that he can’t be with him because Shawn won’t stop putting work first. Why would Schell show us this now, during this window of time where everyone's clawing for more lore and content of the third game? Why show a random lover's quarrel in the middle of all of this story relevant content? I suspect that it's because Shawn and Sam's story is lore relevant, it's just not their lore we're meant to be focused on.

This series has a running theme of two people getting along, maybe even being in love or romantically inclined, and then it falling apart because someone can’t stop putting work first. Phoenix and Anna, Sam and Shawn, and now, or rather long in the past, Vitti and Zor. Maybe, the two were in a rough patch, or had gotten into arguments about Vitti's dangerous work. Maybe she was sick of feeling this upset resentment for her partner and decided she didn’t just want to quit the EOD and try to fix things with Zor. She wanted out. She wanted to start over. Completely over. She wanted to live.

[nightswatchdisbandmentera]

With Aegon's dream as well, I think he also used the dream to justify a conquest as some sort of heroic quest in his mind when his want for power was definitely part of it as well.

Yea. Imo what makes the prophecy such a cool addition to the books is that we now have something that seemingly gives the Targaryens a "divine" mandate of sorts. With this prophecy, they now have a noble calling. Fate dictates that they serve a higher purpose, them and their dragons. It instils in them a sense of noblesse oblige I'd imagine. They're the heroes, and as heroes they have a duty to the realm. But just because they're chosen ones doesn't mean they're the only ones. Far from it. Even now, with two Targaryens being central to the conflict, there still exists one Bran Stark whose magic is decidedly NOT Valyrian, but he is just as central to this story if not more so. Even Jon Snow, the last of the Targaryen heirs, uses First Men magic. Not to mention that there are so many people (i.e., the Night's Watch) who have no magical destiny, but they see a duty to the realm just the same. Don't they matter too?

Aegon's actions, or lack thereof, speak to a certain human fallacy in placing any one person as the supreme hero in this story. Because it's not until Alyssane that the Targaryens even paid attention to the Watch, an entity whose entire existence is to stop the Others/Winter. Why didn't Aegon himself do anything? Why didn't he leave instructions for his future descendants to help the Watch either? Did he think that the three conquerors and their dragons would be enough? But that would be so silly because there's no record that they held any extensive tours of the north/the Wall to try and understand what threat they were facing. The winter that brings the Others is magical, and there's the chance that dragons will have a very hard time even flying to begin with. So imagine not strengthening the front line to hold until you get there? Who knows how long the dragons would take to even get to the Wall in the first place.

We really don't know anything so it's all just speculation atp. But regardless, his actions do come off as being rather egoistic. The Watch is the first line of defense. And if the Wall falls, Winterfell is the next front line. Why didn't they even bother to strengthen Winterfell? Maybe I've read too many Wuxia stories but it's always kind of funny how a good emperor is often characterized as one who fully and wholeheartedly supports the general in charge of his front line with troops, money, and other resources. That general in this case is the Lord of Winterfell/Warden of the North. Why he did nothing to bring the Starks into the fold before Rhaegar and Lyanna is beyond me; but to Jace's credit, he did try. But imagine. Aegon didn't look north to Winterfell, but instead looked south to Dorne. You have to laugh.

Aegon reminds me of Azor Ahai tbh - or what we're told of him. It's the story of one singular hero who sacrifices someone else and gets to go down in history as the guy who defeated the enemy. Except it's so diametrically opposed to actual Westerosi legends of who ended the Long Night: legends of the last hero and the NW tell stories of a team effort, with no singular person being exalted as the one responsible for the Others' defeat. Even with the last hero, the children of the forest are the key to success.

But at the end of the day, Aegon's legacy as the conqueror will have good and bad in it. Did he have a huge ego? Sure. Did his silly chair do way more harm than good in the long run? Definitely. BUT, hundreds of years later, it's his descendant who is emboldened as a king of a united realm to go north and do his duty. Stannis is acting as the Protector of the Realm, the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, legacies left by Aegon. Jon Snow, the last of Aegon's heirs in Westeros, wants to save all men. All of Aegon's kingdom. And I'm not saying that Jon wouldn't want to save humanity if the kingdoms were split up, but it's a lot easier to conceptualize duty when you have one unified people to think about. And it will be Daenerys, Aegon the Conqueror come again, who understands that a queen belongs to all people. Which may not have landed as much had Aegon not conquered and united Westeros under one king to begin with.

[bodycountgame]

Hello! I was a big fan of the series a while a go and it is lovely to see that you are back. I'm terribly sorry that other anons put you through a lot with the voting aspect of the game. Absolutely no one deserves death threats for a story that they are bringing to us for free. However, I am not going to lie, I always feel a bit worried when a fandom majority vote is what has long lasting effects on character life/death. It was ok when it was everyone voting with an equal effect. Now there will be a wealth gap to vote. Only people that pay can contribute. And at least where I'm from wealth looks a certain kind of way.

Since you have characters that are in a minority it feels... Bad. Maybe I'm projecting how racist and transphobic my home country is on the vote for this game. I also don't want you to feel like this is an attack on you because that is not my intent at all! I love the diversity in the love interests and it was what brought me to the game initially. I am worried that if you do a majority vote on Patreon that characters that aren't white/cis will face a harsher vote. Trans lives are in danger and I was not surprised when a nonbinary character died first. I was part of the fandom and people treated them very grossly (it actually made me step away for a bit as well). There were many options but the vocally out and proud person got the boot first. What I'm saying is I trust you more than your Patreon supporters. If the people can't all vote as one, due to the actions of some terrible people, then maybe we shouldn't vote at all

anon, i totally understand your concerns because i absolutely shared them. to be completely honest with you, i had totally misjudged which characters i thought were popular or not and watching the three non binary cast members struggle through that first vote felt Bad. my personal disappointment about ellis being the character to receive the least votes in the vote contributed in no small part to the twist in chapter 3 and their revised arc (which was Not planned when i set out writing body count hahaha). howeverrrrrr, i did learn a lot from the process.

my main motivator behind making the vote patreon exclusive was that the voters would be genuinely invested in the game and that the polling would be much harder to game or manipulate. selfishly, i also think it will reduce a certain amount of the absolute barrage of wild anons from the first time around haha!

in addition to that, though, i think its important that i reaffirm what i have said from the start: i am acutely aware that in interactive fiction in general and particularly on tumblr there is a strong preference for white male characters, and i am not here to write some kind of gross POC/women/nb slasher. as much as i want the audience to have a say in the direction the story takes, i ultimately have final say on what happens in the story that i am writing.

the main way that i intend to have oversight of the voting process is by who appears on the polls in the first place; the first poll was the last time the whole cast will be available for a vote at the same time. since ellis, one of three NB cast members, was the first character to die, i've said that neither of the other NB cast members will appear on future polls. if it's women and POC suffering in the next vote, then i'll be applying similar logic. if that means we get towards the end and we need a white boy only poll then so be it!

that said, if people cannot behave then i will simply take away their toys. although i consider the voting mechanic to be one of the things that makes body count unique and fun, i'm absolutely not above doing away with it if there are Shenanigans that spoil it, ya know?

anyway, i hope that assuages some of your concerns! sorry for another giant wall of text wow i simply cannot answer a question concisely atm