#these have all lived rent free in my head for ages now and I keep bouncing from one idea to the next

[bi-writes]

ok simon and his mail order bride live rent-free in my head now and, like, what i wanna know is what their anniversaries look like? not just their one year anniversary, but also their fifth or tenth? how does it change as they settle into that deep comfortability that comes with being with someone a long time? -391780

this piece i still consider canon mail-order bride, but i see it almost as an extra than a continuation of the current story since it is very much in the future of that timeline. <3

mail-order bride

it's difficult to see the potential of something so mangled. sometimes things are so worn out and so used that they don't reflect what their purpose was. instead of function, they see flaw. instead of value, they see waste.

sometimes you wonder if that's what they saw in you. sometimes you wonder if that's why you were given to him.

that's what they made him. simon was a tortured dog they let loose. they saw value, but only what was left, and perhaps they thought something like you might help them squeeze just that little bit more out of him. one more year. one more op.

the sunlight wakes you up. you forgot to pull the blinds, but when you see simon sleeping peacefully next to you, it's worth it to be up so early. you know as soon as you move, he will wake, so you keep still for just a few more minutes.

today marks ten. he doesn't look much older. he seems to have stopped aging ever since you asked him to put in his papers.

like always, as soon as you sit up, simon blinks awake. he's bleary, but conscious, and when your eyes meet, you smile at him. he lifts his big hand and rubs your back gently. you don't speak any words so early in the morning, but you don't have to. there isn't much to say when the love of your life loves you, and you love them back.

you push the blankets off, giggling when you reveal the black and orange balls of fur that blink up at you. they almost seem irritated that you interrupted their sleep, snuggled in the heat that simon radiated. they'll just have to deal with it.

you drag your hand down simon's leg wordlessly. you hear his deep breaths from behind, and you reach into your bedside table to press a little balm into your hand before spreading the ointment across his knee and under it. you work it into the muscles nice and slow; any faster, and simon will hitch his breath in pain, and you'll have to start over.

you kiss his knee before laying back down, settling into his side, and you lift up your left hand, wiggling your fingers knowingly at him before looking up towards his face. he smiles down at you sleepily, raising his hand to cup your fingers.

"still love me?" you ask softly, and simon pretends to think about.

"mmm..." he rumbles. "still love ya."

"but do you still like me?"

"more everyday."

the first few years were spent trying to play catch-up. fancy dinners, expensive gifts, handwritten letters that could've been novels to try and stuff the love you have for each other all in one night. they were all wonderful; you think about those nights all the time, and you cherish the gifts he's given you like they are a part of you, but today feels different.

today might not be just another day, but it's just as special as yesterday. and the day before that. and the day before that.

when it's time to really wake up, you let simon guide you. he walks easy, barely a limp, and he sits you down at your vanity to help you do your hair as you add your serums and moisturizers. he's good with that brush, running it through gently, parting your hair the way you like so he can tie it up. he'd braid your hair if you asked him to (he said it wasn't unlike all the knots he knows how to tie--and he meant it, no one dutch braids like him), but you know your show came out last night, and you want to watch them with the scones you have proofing in the fridge.

he makes the coffee and tea while you set the scones in the oven. you fill the cat's bowls while he cleans out the water fountain. it's wordless, the morning routine, but you like the times when you brush by him. when your arm runs against his. when your hands bump going for the same cabinet. when he leans down as he passes you, kissing along your jaw before he keeps walking.

bliss. fucking bliss.

he's waiting for you in the living room once you pull the scones out of the oven. your coffee sits on the table on its coaster, in your favorite mug, and he's under your blanket as he flips through the tv. he already knows what you'll want to watch, and you bite back your smile when you notice him typing it into the search bar because he didn't see it when he scrolled past (you keep telling him to wear his glasses, but he'll never listen).

you take a seat next to him, thumbing at his cheek, and he takes a scone off the plate before biting into it. he smiles when he tastes chocolate, looking at you knowingly, and you reach for his hand as you settle against his chest.

you used to be mangled, too. a mess. pretty on the outside, dying on the inside. all fried wires, a traumatized animal, learned behavior of relieve and appease that kept you out of trouble and out of sight.

you have never seen simon this way. and simon has never seen you this way. no hopeless potential. no wasted space. no diminishing value.

i matter because you matter. you matter because i matter.

hidden, not broken. disguised, not incomplete. you did not have jagged edges, only armor that you tried to put up to protect yourself.

you tip your head back to look up at him, and when he cups your jaw to stare back at you, you're relieved by what you see in his eyes.

ten years. it will be nothing like forever. it will be nothing like your next life, nor like the life after that. it's comforting to know what home looks like. maybe you will recognize it the way you recognized it in this life.

no, that can't be it.

you recognized it because it had already happened. in some other time, in some other place, you were sitting where you sit now, looking at simon the way you look at him now.

you knew who he was before you even met him, and you will know who he is when you meet him again.

[ryewwww]

⚠️: coercion, dark!price, vulnerable!reader, age gap, fem!reader,

Sick and twisted, but thinking about growing up dirt poor, living in a camper with your mom until she abandoned you at 18.

She was a workaholic, went to the city to work which was about a 2 hour drive away from the small town you reside in. Your mom claimed she couldn’t afford the price of rent in the city and raising a teen, which you understood.

But when she abandoned you, it was clear that wasn’t the case. You were just a burden to her.

But what can you do?

Life goes on.

And right now, you were facing a bigger problem. In this tiny town, you were having trouble finding a job. Your mom had blind sided you and rent was due in a few days. You only had $100 to your name.

You landlords were keen on getting you kicked from their land because they found tenants that will pay more. So you packed your life away in a carry on suit-case, and got out of there.

You sat in a McDonald’s for the free wifi while searching for resources that could help you. But nothing was provided by the town, it all was located in the city. Just when you started to feel hopeless, John Price entered the picture.

He noticed the suitcase and that combined with the glum look on your pretty face, made him get off his ass to come talk to you.

“Looks like you’ve got yourself in a shit situation here.”

Your head snaps from your phone, meeting the eyes of this middle aged man. “Yeah, I do I suppose.”

“Mind if I take a seat?��

You do mind but you were meek. So you nodded.

He takes a seat, “you new to town? Not many people come down here to visit, unless you’re lost.”

“No, I grew up here. I’m just trying to figure out my living situation.” You laugh awkwardly and all Price can think about is how you made it too fucking easy.

“Sorry to hear that, bun. If you need a place to crash, I have an old rv I want to get rid of. You could have it for $1000.”

“I don’t have that much money. It’s hard, nobody’s hiring around here.”

“I live on a farm. I could always use a hand. Work for me for a couple of days, and the rv is yours.”

“Really?”

He nods.

You go back to his farm too easily, Price could only wonder if your parents ever taught you about stranger danger.

He pulls into the long driveway and you see the older rv parked in the grass. He lets you check it out and the inside was well kept. There was nothing wrong with it mechanically either so, you could take this rv to the city where you’d have a greater chance of becoming something.

You were so excited and grateful for this opportunity, it almost made Price feel bad about doing this. You were so naive to his true intentions. His intentions on keeping you on this farm, fucking a few kids into you, putting a band around your ring finger, maybe letting his buddy get a taste of you too.

He’d do shit in the most twisted ways too. Like cutting some crucial wires in your rv so now it won’t start. When he “takes a look,” he says the wildlife around must’ve chewed through it. You ask how much it would cost to repair and he gives a number you can’t even fathom.

But he knows someone who could do it. And he’ll pay for it, as long as he gets something in return. When you ask what he wants, his hand cups your chin.

“I want you to put this pretty little mouth to work.”

And you do.

He keeps fucking shit up in your rv while you’re busy combing the horses hair or feeding the chickens. When you come back, your generator isn’t working and it’s freezing.

“How much will it cost to fix the generator?” You ask softly, looking over his shoulders while he “attempted” to fix it.

He stands, “we can talk about it inside.” The “talk” ends up with you warming his bed, his hands on your waist guiding you to ride him faster.

Things kept breaking in your rv and you kept getting quieter because of it. John could see the hope that once lit up your eyes was withering away. So he decided to call his mechanic just to get a little spark from you.

Too bad for you, when mechanic!Simon lays his eyes on you, he gives Price a knowing look.

You weren’t going any fucking where.

Another unedited blurb. If you want more, let me know :)))

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

logan howlett blurb 18+

hi hi im sorry guys this isnt awesome but i love my wolverine and maybe ill make a part two or perhaps something cool like that if ya like it! also just general warning for smut and some kinky age gap stuff! also. reader is fem and a mutant! word count: 1030 edit: you can now read a full version of this blurb here!

You are absolutely enthralled with him. It’s actually sort of pathetic how your fingers twitch at the sight of him, at how the mention of his name or god forbid the sound of his voice makes your head snap up, attention deficit disorders be damned!

Funnily enough, you had no damn interest in Xavier’s stupid mutant school, because to you, you’re not an outsider because of your mutant abilities (that don’t have much of a physical apparition, at least one that you can’t hide) but because there’s never been much of a place for you to fit in.

But, you were behind on rent and of course, you fucking hate your job, so why not? You’d be able to be slightly less of a freak, and you’d get free room and board in the process! (Where Charles gets all of his money, you do not know.)

And because you’re a little older, Charles doesn’t force you to sit in a class room to learn about basic arithmetic and grammar lessons, so you really only do some training around three times a day, you have your own room (with a dusty box under the other bed, you also suspect your room used to be the ‘sex’ room) and you have the weekends off.

So for a twenty something year old with few ambitions, the social skills of a Martian with autism, and a huge crush on every older emotionally unavailable man you meet, it’s a pretty good set-up.

You’re waiting for time to pass in the garden, just reading a rather interesting book that Charles had recommended after he noticed you needed something to pass time before you started making bad decisions.

You hear his heavy footsteps on the gravel before you see him. Your heart beats faster, but you will yourself, do everything in your power not to glance up at him. And you let out a breath as you succeed, keeping your head down.

“In your natural habitat, are you, spitfire?” Your head darts up to him—There’s no way he isn’t talking to you, you know you’re the only one in this garden. And you can see his lips twitch up and you want to crawl out of your skin!

“My-My natural habitat?” You laugh, closing the book you’re reading because your attention is locked to him now.

“Yeah, seems like it.” He saunters on up to you and sits on the bench next to you.

And let’s make something very clear—

Logan Howlett does not sit.

This man poses, as if there’s always some invisible camera capturing every frame of movement, from the way his legs spread out, to the way his chest lifts when he inhales.

Fuck, you think you might die if you can’t suck him off right now.

“And what exactly is my uh.. habitat?” You question.

He takes out his lighter and a cigar, placing the cigar in his mouth as he gestures to the space around the two of you, lighter in hand.

“A garden.” He says, matter of facility, as his voice is muffled only the slightest bit by the cigar.

And you just sort of look at him before asking,

“Oh, you enjoy being boiled down to your mutations, Claws?” You question, and as he goes to light the cigar, he smirks.

“Alright, you gotta admit though, it is cliché!”

You are absolutely in agreement, there is zero doubt you are as much of a walking, breathing, real life living, stereotype.

“It is not!” And the pair of you give each other this look, like you’re both shocked at how whiney that statement is!

“Uh-huh, sure, Spitfire.” It sounds almost like he’s purring at you.

When he lights his cigar, he’s sort of eying you for your reaction, whatever you might say.

“You know, smoking is not only bad for you, it’s awful for the environment.”

“You’re probably the most cliché little freak around here.” Which.. honestly..? Shouldn’t possibly turn you on as much as it does.

You just stare at him for a minute, and he smirks.

“Cat got your tongue?’

And maybe it’s stupid and maybe it’s immature but your hand just comes over to fiddle with the pointed part of his hair.

“We’ll you certainly look the part.” He just looks at you, and honestly? The way he’s looking at you, it’s like he’s proud of you for teasing him.

“Aw, there’s my little spitfire,” He teases, just to see how red you get. And red you are— it’s embarrassing. And here’s the kicker—You are young. Exceptionally young, and what’s insane about that? How horny it makes both you and Logan.

The idea of fucking your innocent cunt, tight and all his, drives him genuinely mad. And you are, quite literally, a whore for the idea of riding this older man’s dick. You know he’s big—sometimes you see the outerline of it when he walks away from you all huffy and puffy.

“You’re a tease, Claws.” You respond, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Says you,” he raises and eyebrow, leaning closer to you now, “You’re the one laying around in the sun, looking like that.”

“Looking like this?” You scoff. You’re wearing a muscle tee and a pair of ripped jeans, but the gaps are huge and he can see your thighs. He wants to devour you, and you would let him if he only asked.

And let’s be clear—he is fucking you with his eyes. There’s no way to go around it.

“I think you’re just.. horny.” You tease, and he just growls. Seriously, this man who is undressing you with his eyes, growls, because he does want you and he is horny!

“I think you’re onto something.” He purrs, and you want to just.. god. You don’t know how to express the pit of desire that grows in you. “I would fuck you until you couldn’t think, right here among your pretty flowers. Would you like that, baby?” he asks, his hand finding your thigh.

But you just cough on the smoke from his cigar, before frowning.

“You really shouldn’t smoke.”

"Aw, I'll make it up to you," he smirks, "Promise, spitfire."

[14dayswithyou]

Hello hello Saiiii!!!

I have a book recommendation for Conan <3

I had a few Conan related questions, feel free to skip any that you think may contain spoilers-

1) After thinking about it long, I wanted to ask, At what age did Conan marry his wife? Can we get some vague hints about his early life…or his life with his wife?

2) Does Conan have an Irish accent?

3) Does he have distant/ close family members?

4) Apart from Elanor and Angel has Conan had any one on one interactions with the other cast members? If he has what does he think of them?

5) Has Conan ever dyed his hair in the past? If he ever decides to dye his hair now what color will it be?

6) I SWEAR this is the last one ;-; — His favorite song/ song that makes him sentimental.

Thank you in advance!!!

Have a great day/ evening Sai💜

⌞♥⌝ CONAAAAN!! I can answer most of these since they aren't spoilers :3

Conan met and married his late wife in his early twenties. He wasn't all that interested in the idea of marriage at the time, but his wife was the only woman that he truly cared for — and she was extremely enthusiastic about the prospect of having a family of her own — so he was willing to settle down for her. Seeing her happy made him happy.

In my mind, Conan does have a noticeable Irish accent, though he doesn't really use any Irish slang(?) when he talks.

He does have family living outside of Corland Bay!! Though Conan isn't really that close with any of them, he doesn't try to keep in contact with them either.

In my head and in my heart Conan and Jae have interacted more than a few times. I like to think that Jae applied to do volunteer work at the library (and secretly hoped he did a good enough job for Conan to hire + actually pay him), but unfortunately, it's not canon T_T So outside of Elanor and Angel, Conan has never interacted with the other characters. (Unless you want to count Violet renting out a book and Conan saying "thank you" or something sjsdgsj)

Conan has never dyed his hair. However, he has used those obnoxious glitter sprays at Alice's behest!!

The "hehe haha" part of me wants to say that Conan listens to Divorced Dad music (like "Lips Of An Angel" or "How You Remind Me"), but canonically, he'd probably listen to the mainstream pop songs that his daughter plays on the radio.

As for a song that makes him sentimental, Conan probably heard "I'll Still Have Me" by Cyn playing from the TV once and had to hide in the pantry for a quick Sob Session ghjsdj

[dreamingofaizawa]

Violent Tendencies - Violent Woman

Sheriff! John Price x AFAB! Fem! Reader

~Small Town AU~ (John’s POV)

***This work contains explicit content. If you are not 18 years of age or older, GIT ON GIT***

Warnings: descriptions of violence, blood, penetrative sex (p in v), blood kink, marking/biting, no prep, unprotected sex (no wrap, no tap ppl), cream pie, possessive/obsessive John Price

Word Count: 2.8k

Author’s Note: Yeah nobody talk to me I’m in a bad way (fucking gnawing at the bars of my enclosure rn I need him) this was living rent free in my head. It’s from John’s pov so bare with me, it’s a little different from the usual pov

Series Masterlist

Part One Here - Part Three Here

Enjoy~

***

He knows he’ll probably die before he gets the chance to kiss you. Before he gets the chance to tell you how beautiful you look, bleeding from your lip with a crazed look in your eyes, a bruise forming on your collarbone. Beaming with the adrenaline rush. You’re rage incarnate, 0 to 100 in a split second, the slightest aggravation and you’re swinging to kill.

He's only known you all of 60 glorious seconds but he knows this already:

He loves you. He’ll always love you, the little red storm you are. All blood and teeth and violent fervor. His volatile counterpart, lighting for his thunder.

When you don’t hit the damn bag you’ve been sharing the past nine months, he knows what comes next. You’re sad when he looks at you, finally realizing you haven’t started swinging.

“Time’s up, Price. I’m out tomorrow morning.” He tries not to let it get to him, even when his heart feels like it’s being squeezed into dust. He may never see you again.

“About damn time, Tempest.” Your sneer is always lovely to see, but it falls short today. You hate that damn nickname. He thinks maybe you’re going to miss it.

“Knew you were sick of me.” He laughs, but it’s not all humor. If he could keep you in here with him he would, store you away kicking and screaming.

“Damn right. You’re like the fuckin’ plague.”

“Oh fuck you, Price.” Please do. Then you’re swinging in earnest, knuckles tearing on the canvas and bleeding down the bag. You were never really phased by the pain. He thinks maybe you enjoy it.

The next day you don't even come to give him a proper goodbye. It's for the best really, if you did he might not have let you leave.

He never thought he’d see the day you took a verbal assault without making the other person bleed, but here you are, getting torn to shreds by Graves. The man is more annoying than anything he’s ever had to deal with before, constantly drunk and constantly being kicked out of the town’s bar. He can’t count how many calls he’s gotten about this guy not liking his cut-off.

He catches you when you stumble back into him, and he can see it in your eyes when you look up at him. The rage. The violence. That crazed look the first time he’d met you blow for blow. It’s all simmering under your skin, swirling in your eyes behind a mist separating you from the situation.

You’ve changed over the last ten years.

“Sheriff Price? What are you doing here?” You sound so different now, the bite in your words reduced to nothing, the sharpness of your tongue gone completely. You look so timid when he tugs his leather jacket tight around your shoulders, and he revels in the way you melt into it, even if it's nothing like how he remembers you. Briefly, he wonders if you’ve gotten smaller, but then realizes he probably just got bigger. Still, you’ve lost your muscle mass, gotten softer around the edges. There’s a plushness to you that makes you look docile. He knows you’re anything but.

He takes you home after picking up the breakfast he always does for the boys at the station. You sleep like the dead for the entirety of the fifteen minutes it takes for the food to be ready, don’t even stir when he hops in and makes the five minute drive to the station. Simon spots you in the passenger seat of his truck when he drops off the food, and even though he says nothing, Johnny manages to follow his line of sight.

“You kidnap the lass, Price?” Kyle slaps him up the backside of his head. John glances at your sleeping form, framed in his passenger seat. You look so perfect there.

“Tempest.” Simon freezes mid-bite. Johnny is silent, for once in his life. Kyle chuckles, low and amused. Nothing is said after that. They all know about Tempest, the spitfire from his juvie days he can’t get his mind off of. They know what he’s told them, know about the fights and the bag and the way he’d dream about her. He’s never told them who his Tempest is, though.

It’s hard for them to come to terms with the fact that John’s Tempest is you. The little apparition that works overnights at Kate’s diner, nothing but small tired smiles and soft words. You can’t possibly be the same girl that put John Price on his ass with a broken nose and a black eye. They don’t believe it until Graves is tossed into one of the cells in the station, concussed, broken arm in a cast, bleeding and bruised on just about every inch of exposed skin.

“Damn. Who the hell did that?” Kyle’s dumbfounded, truly. Graves isn’t nearly as big as the three of them, but he’s not small by any means. Even the bar fights he gets into don’t bang him up more than a bruise on the face. It looks like he’s been beaten half to death. Simon laughs through his words when he tells them you took a bat to the guy. Then you walk in with John, completely untouched even though your emotions are running high, and you threaten to pop Grave’s arm out of place. Suddenly it all makes sense, and suddenly there’s no way you’re not the Tempest John Price has been in love with for ten long years.

Watching you run around to lock down your house like a damn bunker is something he never really expected from you, even after so many years apart. He’s struggling with the concept that you’ve changed so much, no longer so confrontational, even though you haven’t really changed at all in some aspects. You’re two different people, so far removed from the past you share. Though he can’t complain when he’s the local law enforcement. His younger self would hate what he's become, always running from the law back then.

He never imagined you’d have nightmares, either, even when he knows he has them too sometimes. It’s the stress getting to you. You may be a rolling red maelstrom but you’re still human.

You’re crying in your sleep with the bad dreams that haunt you. Quiet, high-pitched whines and a few small tears, and he can’t help the way he reaches for you. He wants to hold you so badly, and when his palm meets your cheek he swears the nightmare stops dead in its tracks the way you calm at his touch. You cling to him when he pulls away, your body reflexively following his hand and your whines coming back full force. You grab him when he returns, practically dragging him with the way you grip his arm, and it’s so easy to follow you into your bed when you roll onto your back and refuse to let him go.

There’s a piece of him that wants you to wake up and sock him in the face for crawling into your bed while you’re asleep.

The rest of him drowns in the elation that he’s holding you tight to his chest, happy to die now that he’s actually held you in his arms. When you wake you’re confused, but you take his explanation at face value. Hearing you apologize really throws him for a loop.

“No reason to be sorry, sweetheart. It’s been a long day for you.” He doesn’t bother fighting the urge to check you for any injuries, sitting you up and gently turning your face to get a good look at you. If there were any small injuries you sustained, the bruises would be showing by now, but there’s nothing on you. He catches the way you roll your shoulder. You might have strained it a little in the scuffle, not having used those muscles in so long. You sure handed the man's as to him, though.

“Graves had to fuckin’ clue what he was walking into. Fucked him up real good, didn’t you?” The tiniest smile works its way onto your face, a little red flash in your pupils. There she is.

“I broke his arm.”

“Hell yeah you did. Split his eyebrow, even gave him a mild concussion.” There’s a satisfaction that falls over your features, content about the whole thing.

“It's been years since I’ve let loose like that.” Maybe, but you’ve still got it. Even after all these years, the fury came out to play your favorite game.

“Wish I was there to see it, darlin. Woulda made my day.” He’d kill to watch it all happen, to see you rampage and make the bastard in the middle of your warpath bleed. The things he’d give to see you tear through an opponent, all your red bubbling to the surface.

Fuck, he misses all that red. The way your eyes went bloodshot, the blood leaking from your knuckles, from your lips, the vermillion fog that curled at your feet when you walked into the courtyard to tear the bag to shreds. He’d never seen something so pretty in his life.

“I bet you wanted to hit him yourself.” He won’t lie, it was incredibly tempting. But he had other things to focus on, like your safety. The gunshot set his nerves on fire, and not even the prickle of fury at the sight of Graves could cut through the fear that you were dying behind the door. He barely relaxed when you said you were fine. He needed to see you.

“Seeing you threaten to pop his shoulder was just as satisfying.” The way you lean into his palm when he cradles your jaw makes his heart leap into his throat. His Tempest, his little storm of fury and madness, falling into his hold like she belonged there.

“You didn’t let me, though.” That, too, was tempting.

“Gotta keep you out of trouble with the law, darlin. I’m the Sheriff, after all.” The legalities really aren’t worth it, nor is the paperwork. He did love reigning you in, though. Part of him hopes he’s the only one capable of that feat.

“That’s too bad. I wanted to hear him scream.” That red he misses is there in your eyes again. So gentle in his palm, but oh so violent, the brutality softened but set in stone. You’ve changed, sure, you both have. But at your core, you’re still the woman he fell in love with.

“I knew my Tempest was still in there.” Your eyes blow wide at the name, and he can see the spark that lights in your veins. The way your chest caves with your shuddering exhale, how your fingers curl into fists in your lap, how your gaze turns unfocused then snaps back to him with blown pupils. You blink, breathe through the rush.

“Your Tempest?” There’s hope in the question, vulnerability foreign to hear from you but there’s no mistaking it. Just like there’s no mistaking that you belong to him.

“Mine.” Then your hands yank him by his jacket, and your lips are on his, and his hands are all over you. You’re soft, hips and waist plush beneath your work uniform you haven’t had time to change out of. Not that it really matters when he’s yanking your shirt off your body. You’re undressing him, too, his jacket tossed to the floor while you paw at his chest. He laughs at your whine when he backs off the bed, shucking his belt and pants and you’re naked before he can even blink.

“Fuck you’re gorgeous, Tempest. Gorgeous, violent little thing.” Your nails claw into his shoulders when you yank him back to you, shoving him down and straddling him with speed and power he hasn’t felt from you in too damn long. Your breath is hot over his lips when you lean down and hold yourself over him.

“Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop.” The notion has him laughing.

“I’d have no trouble stopping you if I wanted to, Tempest. But I’ve been wanting this since the day you broke my nose.” Any hesitation is gone, and when you sink down on his painfully hard cock, he thinks he sees the gates of hell open up to swallow him whole. There’s lava in his veins when you still yourself, thighs flush with his and you’re trembling in his lap as you adjust to him. He can feel you leaking all over him, cunt absolutely drenched.

“Come on, sweetheart. Don’t bail on me now.” Your breathing is staggered, shaky with every inhale.

“Just give me a damn minute, would you? Fuck you’re- ah!” A moan is punched from your lungs when he bucks his hips up into you, planting his feet into the mattress and locking his arms around your waist. You can handle it. He knows you can, knows you’ll love the aggression and the roughness.

“Take it, Tempest. Fuckin’ take it.” The sting of your claws in his back has his dick throbbing, the sound of your moans being ripped from your lungs is almost enough to send him hurdling into oblivion. Mine. Finally mine. It’s too easy to flip you over onto your back and pin you by the neck, leaning back to watch your body tremble and jolt with every one of his thrusts. Your hands find his wrist, clawing hard enough to draw blood and he hisses at the sting as you scratch his skin. The red looks brilliant on you, where it drips down to your chest and tints your skin.

He doesn’t try to fight the temptation, just buries himself so deep your eyes roll back in your head while he leans down and licks up the drops of crimson, biting down into your shoulder and groaning into your skin when your hands claw at his back. Copper overwhelms him, the smell, the taste, and he kisses you again so you can taste it, too. You twitch in his hold, body arching off the bed while you come undone, and he can feel your pussy squeezing his cock so tight he gasps into your mouth before rutting into you and letting his own release wash over him. You hold him tight when he collapses on top of you. It’s the best orgasm he’s ever had in his life, skin buzzing, sweat trickling down his neck, and you still trembling beneath him, cunt still pulsing in the aftershocks while your eyes glaze over.

It’s a long few minutes before either of you can move again, breaths evening out and sweat cooling over your bodies. It takes too much effort to lean back and look at you, but when you meet each other’s gaze he groans at the clench he feels around his sensitive cock. You’ve got blood on your lips from the kiss, and from the way you look at him he knows he does, too.

“I should have kissed you the day we met. Never wanted anything so bad till I broke your nose and fell in love with you, bloody and grinning like a maniac.” He groans again, the timbre vibrating through the damn walls, when he feels his dick fill, hot and heavy. You can feel it too, your eyes fluttering while you pull in a hiccuping breath.

“You’ve always been mine, haven’t you Tempest?” Blearily, you nod, moan when he ruts into you again.

The sun has long set by the time the two of you get cleaned up. He fucks you again in the shower, leaving bites and bruises along your shoulders and neck that’ll remain for days. He’s making up for lost time. That’s what he tells you, when you comment on his desperate need to fuck you stupid. Sheets are thrown in the wash while you find something to eat, digging around your kitchen for a small meal. He can’t resist the urge to hold you anymore, doesn’t bother keeping his hands to himself, looping an arm around your waist and digging his fingers into the plush of your hip. He loves the way you mold into him.

“Pretty woman you are. Shoulda claimed you a long fuckin time ago.” The fond grin that stretches across your face has his heart pounding against his ribcage.

“It’s crazy to think I would’ve let you.”

“Yeah? You’d have let me keep you?” Goosebumps erupt across the flesh of your neck when he leans in and presses a kiss to your shoulder. His eyes track you as you tilt your head, exposing more of your skin to his lips. He’ll be damned if he looks a gift horse in the mouth, peppering kisses over you like he always wanted. A dream come true, really.

“I’d have let you do a great many things, John Price."

He’s hell-bent on finding out just what you mean by that.

[possessiveandobsessive]

Another Lucanis Obsessed Post

It's only a problem if we call it that...

**Spoilers for late game events in Dragon Age: The Veilguard. If you havent finished and care about being spoiled, stay away!**

Something I think about a lot is Lucanis's reaction to Rook being pulled into the fade after they kill Ghilan'nain. This kind of scene is definitely making it into my current work, but I need to get it out of my brain.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Lucanis is riding a magnificent high for all of a minute. He just killed one of his two targets. A GOD. Finally, he completed the contract that slipped through his fingers so narrowly last time. He has this blissful, thrill of adrenaline singing through his veins. And then, it's all gone in an instant.

The hot blood that had been rushing through his limbs following his vistory turns to ice at once when he realizes: she is gone. The woman who had believed in him from the start. The one person who never once had looked at him with disgust or fear. The woman who had only just broken through the last of his walls and now held his heart. Lucanis can see her smile, can see her head thrown back in laughter at some silly comment he made. And then he watches as all that fades out of his view. She was GONE, and she took his heart, his soul with her. He never got the chance to tell her...

Lucanis can faintly hear a raw, primal, and broken wail. It sounds distant at first, before he realizes it's coming from him. The agonized scream tears from his chest violently without him even realizing. An enraged chant fills his mind and blinds him to his surroundings. His vision fills with only a blinding purple light and all he can hear, all he can think is, "GONE. TAKEN. GONE. LOST. OURS. OUR ROOK IS GONE. MUST GET HER, MUST SAVE HER, MUST HAVE HIS BLOOD. GONE. GONE...."

The chanting, screaming really, continues over and over. Each word caused pain anew to cut through him like a blade. He had already lost everything, become a monster, and now he was losing the one thing that kept him tethered to this reality. She was the one thing that made him feel human. Rook trusted him even when he couldn't yet trust himself. And the elven god of lies and betrayal had just stolen her from him.

Lucanis was dimly aware of shouts directed at him and hands pulling at his arms and shoulders. The team must be trying to stop him from completely destroying, leveling, everything in his immediate vicinity. All he knew now was this pain fueled rampage. Their pain fueled rampage. Spite and he are currently of one mind. They always are when it comes to Rook.

Suddenly, he feels a wave of magic wash over his body. Lucanis shudders as his bones seem to turn to liquid and his body begins to feel as of it weighed thousands of pounds. His eyes were closing against his will, and he could hear Spite's screams grow more desperate as they both were pulled under into a deep nothing. The last conscious thought Lucanis had was of her face, terrified and screaming his name as she disappeared in a flash of light.

I will find you Rook, NOTHING CAN KEEP YOU FROM US....

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

You're welcome for the devastation! If it lives in my head rent free then it also gets to live in yours 🥲 Look forward to a more fleshed out version of this scene later in my current work in process: The Spirit of Determination.

[sublimati0ns]

Hi !! Have you read the KOSS fic "Crawling Back To You"?

Yes!! It’s in my KOSS bookmarks / recs, even!! It was the very first KOSS—and Transformers as a whole—fic I’ve ever read, right after I started watching Prime back in January, and it definitely changed the trajectory of my life x’D As well as set the bar perhaps a touch too high in terms of what I now crave when I want to read these two///

Transformatron is an incredibly skilled writer and their handling of Starscream is spot-on, IMO—their vision of him aligns so well with mine. I really appreciate how they maintained his abrasive, misanthropic, and Machiavellian traits at the same time as giving him gradual, earnest character growth! It’s something I so rarely see in any fandom, which I suppose is due in part to how society / SNS often enforces the idea that there is a “correct” way to be a good person, a “correct” way to be healthy 🤔 This just isn’t true—and redemption, growth, and healthiness can look very different in survivors of complex trauma (like Starscream), especially.

And on that note, the way Transformatron incorporated Megatron’s abuse and how it affected Starscream into the story without being sanctimonious towards the reader, or black-and-white about abuse dynamics… Ahhh!! So good!! I found it to be such a genuine depiction of rape and battery (as well as non-judgmental of their use in fiction), and I loved the grace they gave Starscream in particular, making him sympathetic without it being apologia.

Like yes!! It was wrong for him to have to endure such wretched hardship, and he deserves to be able to heal in a safe place and connect with people who actually care about him… But he very much is also a bad person who did a lot of bad things, and many of them cannot be blamed on Megatron LMAO These things can and should coexist! And I adore Crawling Back To You for acknowledging that, and working to build up developments in Starscream’s relationships with the other characters to the payoff hits hard and feels justified.

(And I’m foregoing a smooth transition here but I need to yell about like *shaking the author’s hand* Starscream as this hyper-resilient guy who will keep bouncing back and moving forward and NOT DWELL no matter what—powered by a near-delusional kind of stubborn optimism that he needs only himself and he will win eventually—and the only way to get him to reassess and change this path is to leave him no other option but to rely on someone else… and that someone else has to make it so worth his while that despite his post-traumatic neurotic paranoia, he’s locked out of the default option of betraying them in return.)

Transformatron has such a way with words too—amazing descriptions, vocabulary, cadence, dialogue, shaking up the sentence structure, pacing, etc…! It very much appeals to me, as someone who’s enjoyed literary fiction since my age was in the single digits 😭 It’s such a treat to find fic with an elevated level of polish, and the well-structured plot (balancing Starscream’s growth, KOSS slowburn, rebuilding Cybertron, and the threat of Unicron) brings it even higher///

It probably comes as no surprise that I am a HUGE longfic enthusiast—seriously, the higher up in the hundred-thousands the word count is the better—and so, all factors combined, finding Crawling Back To You felt like winning the lottery LMFAO I read and re-read it three times in the span of that first week, and I hadn’t even finished Prime yet.

Now that I have, though, I would say my personal interpretation of Knock Out as a character diverges quite a bit from Transformatron’s, even if our Starscreams are very similar 🤔 But their vision of KO is plausible to me, and it’s one I enjoy reading, so this isn’t a negative so much as it’s just something I realised and find worth noting ahaha. I eagerly await the next chapter, and 100% plan to draw fanart once the rainy season stops beating my ass ♥️

Ending my rant with two quotes that live in my head rent free:

“Eesh,” said Ramjet, as Knock Out and Starscream scowled at each other like pit fighters before a match. “Y’know what? I’m not interested anymore. You guys suck, and you deserve each other. Best not inflict yourself on any other mechs. See you tomorrow, Scream.” And with that, he shut the door of his hab-suite and hit the lock button, the diodes outside washing red. Knock Out gaped after him – then turned his infuriated faceplate to Starscream.

—Ramjet to KOSS, Chapter 25

“We should follow his advice,” he said instead, “and only subject ourselves to each other.”

—Starscream to Knock Out, shortly after

[youngpettyqueen]

Miles calling Julian 'Jules' one (1) time is probably a writing fuck up and yet it lives rent free in my head 24/7 and its gotten to the point where I do need to write a super niche fic about my hyper specific headcanons about how that comes about that maybe 2 other people would read

I have visions of a Rascals-esque episode where Julian gets de-aged due to a time anomaly or some fuckshit but unlike Rascals Julian is just fully a 5 year old. no memories of his adulthood or anything. pre-augmentations, pre-enhancements, pre-everything little Jules Bashir is now on the station and they've gotta deal with it. and I mean, who better to care for Jules than Miles and Keiko- who are both very good parents, and also they've dealt with this sort of thing before

this entire thing is self-indulgent on every level because I want an excuse to get into my really specific headcanons with Julian and disability. like we know I hc Julian as being audhd. but as a kid, as Jules, I think he was non-verbal. I also think he had dyspraxia. he doesnt name anything when he talks about what he was like pre-augmentations, he keeps it vague, and leaning into that I think Miles would only have a vague idea of what to expect when interacting with Jules, and he finds himself completely unprepared for what Jules is actually like. and also trans Julian supremacy and I dont think he really tells people he's trans so Miles is also not expecting Jules to be a 5 year old girl

I imagine Miles is maybe expecting Jules to be very similar to Julian and to be very chatty and extroverted, but more awkward, and maybe just not understanding a lot of things. instead, Jules doesnt speak beyond a few words and vocalizations. she moves constantly, but its mostly fidgeting and stimming- she doesnt like to walk, and shes very clumsy and bumps into things and falls down a lot. Miles and Keiko spend most of the time carrying her around on their hips, like they would Molly. she doesnt like being around lots of people, and is very easily overwhelmed. they figure out very quickly that shes a very good hider, because she scares the absolute shit out of them when she takes off and it takes a solid 3 hours to find her

they do figure things out pretty quickly. she gets overwhelmed by noise easily, so Miles has some headphones replicated for her- smaller versions of the ones he has for ear protection. Jules communicates mostly through body language, pointing at things and smacking things and grunting a lot, but they cant figure out what she means. Keiko roots through her old school supplies and gets Jadzia to turn a PADD into a communication device. Jules absolutely fucking LOOOOVES the PADD and they make a strap for it so that she can carry it everywhere. turns out shes very inquisitive- shes constantly using the PADD to ask 'whats that? what's that? what's that?' about basically everything

the thing they have the hardest time with is that things dont stick easily for Jules. Miles and Keiko are answering the same questions over and over, but she just cant retain a lot of what shes taught. she gets things mixed up a lot, and is confused easily. she cant read at all and has a hard time figuring out what pictures are depicting. the PADD is very helpful, but also very basic with visuals, because Jules just cant comprehend words or more complex visuals. she gets frustrated really easily and cries, and its really hard to calm her down. she has a lot of sensory issues and cant communicate exactly what upsets her about how things feel, leading to a lot of trial and error, and several thrown utensils and spilled plates and bowls

still, Miles and Keiko handle it all. Jules feels safest with Miles and clings to him a lot. he does a lot of his work during this time with Jules in one arm, her headphones on, big curious eyes watching him work. but, in the evenings, when Jules is tired, she curls up close to Keiko on the couch, and Keiko strokes her short hair, while Jules runs her hands over the soft material of Keiko's skirt. Jules and Molly get along- they dont play together, but Molly will read little stories to Jules, and makes silly voices that make Jules laugh. Jules is so gentle with Kirayoshi- she won't hold him, but she gently strokes his hair, and hums at him, and Keiko recognizes the lullaby shes trying to echo

sure, she isnt the easiest child. but at the end of the day, accommodating her isnt the hardest thing Miles and Keiko have ever done. Miles thinks back to how Julian described himself as a kid, thinks about the fuss his parents made about how they couldnt deal with the guilt and heartbreak of watching their child fall behind. he thinks of after that, Julian quietly wondering if maybe his parents were just trying to make things easier for him. maybe they did have good intentions. he's wondered the same thing himself. maybe in their own way, they thought they were doing the right thing

he's thinking about this while he's holding Jules, curled up against him and asleep. he's barely slept these last few days, he's about at wit's end trying to handle all of this, he misses his Julian and he wants him back. but when he looks at Jules, theres no resentment. he isnt even annoyed. she drives him up a wall, but shes a kid- thats her job in life. as for the cognitive piece, well. they can figure all that out if they need to. he laughs at himself a bit- thinking ahead about Jules' future already, those dad instincts kicking in. doesnt hurt to be prepared, he tells himself. just in case

it occurs to him, as he's dozing off himself, that genetic enhancement and DNA re-sequencing dont cross his mind. not once. and when he looks at Jules with tired eyes, feels the peaceful rise and fall of her back under his hand, he finds that he cant imagine himself doing it. cant imagine taking this child in, and telling people how to cut and paste and re-arrange her DNA. he cant imagine wanting to make her into anything but the child she already is. he cant imagine thinking that she was so difficult, so far behind, that she had to be changed into an entirely different person. he loves Julian, he wouldnt change Julian for anything, but he finds himself loving Jules, too. he wouldnt change her, either. not a single thing

Keiko sees the anger behind his eyes when they put Jules to bed for the night. she asks him about it after they shut the door. Miles stands at the door for a moment, thinking about that little kid inside that he cant save from what's to come. and he just tells Keiko- "Richard and Amsha Bashir can go to hell."

[iamnmbr3]

Canonically how do you think postwar drarry's romance and dynamics would be?how much things change btwn them?they become cute and fluffy or they keep fighting? how they behave together and how they start meeting when there's no reason for them to meet, chain of new events or accidentally?(do not write fanfic or anything but simply your assumption of absolute canon drarry)

As usual you come into my inbox with yet another delightful and interesting question. I tend to think if Harry and Draco actually got together postwar their relationship would be pretty good. (Of course everyone is free to write/headcanon whatever they want and you can make pretty much any type of AU scenario work if you tweak the circumstances just right). I love a good toxic, twisted dark 'enemies to enemies who are also lovers' twisted romance but that just isn't drarry in canon.

Both characters tend to shy away from true cruelty - despite being placed in some very trying circumstances that encourage the opposite from them - and even when they are enemies on opposite sides of the war they can't seem to bring themselves to hate or hurt each other. I think they are genuinely extremely compatible - emotionally and intellectually as well as in terms of having some pretty important life experiences in common despite their radically different upbringings. They also have complimentary interests, senses of humor, personalities and magic (ding ding ding wand compatibility!). Not to mention they've both been fascinated by each other since day one.

So all that is to say, when they finally get together (which definitely takes some work given they were on opposite sides of the war and enemies before that and all that happened between them wouldn't just vanish overnight) it works surprisingly well. I think they might banter/bicker playfully because they both enjoy each other's wit but they wouldn't actually truly argue or fight. They did enough of that. But I do see them having a much softer, gentler version of their original dynamic. I think they enjoy each other's sass (now with proper boundaries so no one is actually getting upset).

As for how they meet again. Let's be real. This is drarry. They always, always find each other. These 2 cannot stay away from each other. Harry definitely testifies for Draco so he doesn't go to jail. And Draco probably contacts him at some point to thank him. Maybe they start writing letters back and fourth. Or if they go to 8th year together they are immediately pulled back into each other's orbit the same as they always were - except now Draco's trying to make amends and Harry can't stop watching him (maybe at first he thinks he's up to something or maybe not) and is strangely insistent on helping him. Or maybe they meet later, out in the working world. They both have lived rent free in each other's heads since the age of 11. After the war neither would forget the other. They find each other.

Awkward conversations and apologies and possibly some left over hostility (because let's be real - Draco tends to lash out when he's feeling vulnerable and Harry tends to meet fire with fire) turn into easier conversations and a growing sense of that nameless thing that always lay between them that neither has ever acknowledged and realization that what they miss most about Quidditch is playing against each other (and a Seekers game that turns into friendly bickering) and a growing appreciation for each other and increasing sharing of confidences (because so few others really understand what facing Voldemort was like - how he moved, how he reacted, how he killed) and somehow it doesn't feel as vulnerable or isolating talking about it with someone else who just understands and isn't going to act like a shocked and pitying outsider. Not to mention that they both have to come to terms with how fit each thinks the other is. And well. One thing leads to another. The path doesn't run smooth. Harry worries what his friends will think and Draco worries about it even more. But in the end things are alright and they are happy.

[demigoddessqueens]

Hello!! Miguel is living in my brain rent free atm. May I request a story with him? with a reader who is a little younger than him and is shy and nervous and thinks pffftttt I have NO chance with him but he is always more gentle with them because he senses their anxiety and they eventually get together uwu

But please ignore this if I’ve missed you saying that requests are closed heh thank you!

Aww!! It’s a whole “grumpy x sunshine ☀️” 🥹

When he first met you, he was intrigued. A decent fighter, can hold your own, but also very to yourself

Randomly compliments to your skills here and there get you flustered, which amuses the oh so not arrogant leader

becomes a whole thing where he randomly compliments you just to get a reaction out of you

He’s ABSOLUTELY not a huge people person (what gave that away 🤪) but it’s cute to see you interacting with the others, or the rare times Miguel gets to talk to you

He does note the age differences between you both because “roasting” can also be a love language, be it between you two or the rest of the Society just watching how you two act (like a soap opera)

This whole “dancing around” goes on for days, weeks, months until he eavesdrops on you talking to Lyla prior to an anomaly you had to take care of

“I know I have this assignment, but are you sure this is for me, Lyla? I mean, I know Miguel has more experience to him, and asks a lot of us, but—I just don’t want to be a disappointment to him.”

Insecurities do eat away at Miguel sometimes because of his past, but hearing you put it into words sinks into his mind and heart, replaying over in his head.

on the DL, he follows you as you head out to get to work, telling himself he’s just “keeping an eye out”

not as stealthy as he thinks (you have Spidey sense and he canonically doesn’t) you figure out he’s been tracking you

“Oh no—did Lyla tell you I was out? I swear k can handle this one Miguel, you don’t have to babysit me—!”

A man of few words, Miguel pulls you in for a tight hug before you feel his chest reverberating as he speaks

“I heard what you were saying earlier, talking to Lyla, and you’re not annoying. I know you can do this, and I trust you. Just wanted a chance to say that…”

Melting into his touch just a little bit, you let his words sink in and enjoy this little moment for now

“—is that all you want to say?”

once you gets together, you’re his favorite person. The best person! Stress melts away when you hold him

[ralibo14]

TPN Brainrots part 1:

Another TPN manga panel redraw, but this time everyone goes down with me (because it's sad).

Also part one of my 'wonderful' tpn theories and head canons. It'll be long😅. There will be manga spoilers so please, read at your own risk😊.

First character I go through is... Ray.

He is one of the most complicated characters I ever saw (all tpn characters are, tbh). I always thought that people who have photographic memory are so lucky. Ray showed me that it's both a blessing and the curse.

Like in the picture above. You can clearly see that the first 2 kid waving at his direction. It's strange to know that there was a time when the Trio were one of the young kids and not the older ones. My first head canon is that Ray tried to save more kids, not just Emma and Norman when he was younger. When the blond haired boy leaves (first panel) he looks like he is about to cry (also the Trio is around 4 or 6) but when the other kids get 'adopted' Ray keeps his head low most of the frames (I'm convinced that when the second kid left he was already working as Isabella's spy.)

Ray coloration explained:

Purple eyes are self explanatory to me. I started draw him with purple eyes as soon as I found out he is Isabella's son. Purple in the hair and freckles? Well... I'm still very, very convinced that Leslie didn't die (at least not when he left the House). I always think about his situation, like what Norman got into with Lambda. The Ratri-clan is big but they need outsiders, to be soldiers, scientists, etc. And since girls from the Houses can only become Sisters and Moms... maybe some boys can become scientists and soldiers. (I can't believe I'm writing this but think about Andrew🤢... he was 100% not Ratri yet he could become an adult). So by this logic I believe Leslie could grow up too and (because I'm a sucker for happiness) he met Isabella again at some point.

Ray turning away:

On the second frame he is not looking at the girl who is leaving, but to the opposite direction. Why? Notice something else? Yes, Norman is missing too. Gilda has her winter jumper on so I figure Norman got sick again. Ray priorities his friends safety over everything else.

Also notice how Emma and Norman slowly get into the middle of the frame while Mom/Isabella get out of it? Pretty strong metaphor. It's the perfect example of 'Blood related family ≠ real family'. And while I'm a RayEmma shipper (obviously aged up version) I would never forget about Norman. He is as important to Ray as Emma. This Trio sticks together no matter what.

(older manga colouring ⬇️)

Now onto the hearth breaking stuff:

Ray's relationship with Isabella:

This deleted scene with Ray and Ayshe lives rent free in my head. Like there are two people with similar family situations and the one who lived int the middle of nowhere with a demon parent thinks positively about their parent, while the other, who grew up in a comfortable home like space with a human parent, thinks the opposite.

"But to me, she was always a monster"– Ray.

Like ufff... This sentence hits real hard. And it's low-key true from Ray perspective. He studied and read all the books in the House, not because he was interested, but because he had to. Norman is a genius, Emma learns real fast, Ray does everything he can to always get max points on his tests. But he also secretly planning his friends excape. Collects scraps of technology to build the device which makes them able to excape, plans his own 💀 carefully, so no one else will get hurt and on a top of that he is 'spying' for Isabella. Sacrifices people he wanted to protect. I can't imagine that inside panic when he didn't get max scores to that one test. I'm sure he was happy because Norman and Emma got their regular scores, but deep down he felt like he failed.

My head canon here is that Ray always gets nightmares if he is alone or in an unsafe place. And 'thanks' to his perfect memory his nightmares build up from actual memories (like we see that in the Seven Wall Arc). Also he doesn't get sick often but when he does... it's like a memory fuelled fever dream, with hallucinations and etc.

Ray's healing journey starts after the Jailbreak Arc. As soon as Mom is not around anymore, he ever so slowly starts to let down his guard and starts to show more and more emotions. His relationship with Yuugo/Mister is like a greatest archivment in his case. The playful, sarcastic 'arguments' and the way he openly said his opinion on things in front of Yuugo and Lucas. Shows how much he changed and opened up.

Isabella on the other hand... her change of heart and feelings were a mistery almost to the very end. To be honest I hated her most of the time, until the Back to Grace Field Arc. (Older manga colouring again⬇️😅)

Two things in this page which are very important.

1: Ray's guard is up again in no time, when he sees Isabella, while her emotionless mask is cracking. This is the first time we get a little inside of how she really feels about Ray.

2: Flashback of the two most important things that connects them. The song and the way they were forced to sacrifice others to stay alive.

The lullaby is very important, because it's calming and feels very intimate (like a normal parent-child relationship should be).

You also can't convince me otherwise that Ray didn't hummed this lullaby at least once in the B06-32 shelter to help the youngest kids fall asleep.

And now... onto the last picture. Their goodbye.

Saddest part ever! Never forgiving for this decision.

Ray and Isabella were never allowed to talk even two short sentences with each other without any consequences. In the House they had to play their assigned roles. Then they didn't see each other for almost 2 years. Finally they had to save half of the team from getting unalived... And they moment they would have time the last twist happens... leaving us with a sad ending.

Epilogue and Human World Arc...does little to compensate. Although I can't get over the fact that Yuugo's, Conny's and Isabella's 'ghosts' helped Ray found Emma in the Human World.

Speaking of finding Emma. My last head canon for Ray is the following;

When they found out that Emma lost all of her memories from the Demon World. Ray couldn't help himself but whisper a "I wish this happened to me". And everyone looks at him with an understanding smile thinking he blames himself for this... But in reality he really just selfishly thought (only for seconds) that he could forget everything happened on the other side.

Okay. That's all. Sorry for the supper long post and I'm forever thankful if you read through my brainrots 🥰😘. Also let me know if I should cover more characters like this. I'll obviously do Emma and Norman but if there any other characters you want to see please let me know🥰🤩💖.

[sitp-recs]

top 5 rare pairs? :)

Hi lovely, thank you so much! As you know I love babbling about these, kind feel bad that I didn’t include any femslash but I wanted to keep this short and include some sneaky recs as always :D hope that’s ok, would love to see your picks too!

1. HARRY/TEDDY MY BELOVED, sometimes I feel like I love them as much as Drarry as my adoration for Teddy Lupin (and Harry’s too, I’m sure) goes beyond this life, and the next. as always a big shoutout to @lqtraintracks for single-handedly seducing me into this ship back in 2012, thank you for your service 🫡

2. Harry/Ron, things like this fic by @writcraft and this post suggest that friends to lovers might be in fact the ultimate trope. it took me so long to get into the idea of them as a romantic ship, and even longer to start reading it because I’m picky af, but after I did they started living rent free in my head and there’s no way back. rip liv 🤡

3. Harry/Ron/Draco because I really wanted to include a triad, also a bit picky about them but @tackytigerfic’s foundational Aim For My Heart punched me in the solar plexus with feelings (ugh!!!), and I can’t really resist the pull now that @dronarryfest exists. I’ll take this chance to also mention my love for Dron which has superb fics like this and this, a really fun and refreshing ship with its own brand of humor and angst.

4. Harry/Sirius, look I’m a simple woman with simple fandom needs and age gap covers most of them lol I don’t read it very often but I ache for the angst potential of those hotdirtywrong vibes & delicious want x guilt moral dilemma that our Sirry champion @lqtraintracks explores so well. orrr we can go the hot & sweet route and still get ruined by tender wall sex, how dare you @maesterchill

5. Draco/Albus Severus is on this list solely bc of birdsofshore’s invaluable contribution including my all-time favorite pwp, and also my pal @sweet-s0rr0w who gifted me this breathtaking T-rated gem, how lucky am I!!!

Bonus: special mention to Sirius/Draco which I hadn’t considered before being slapped in the face by this gem by @ruinsplume and this gem by one @citrusses you might have heard of her 😌

ask me my top 5/10 anything!

[libraryofgage]

PJO Steddie Seven

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six

PJO show is living rent free in my head everyone. I love that funky little fantasy show

Anyway, welcome to part 7, where we learn more about some of the kids' powers, get a peek into Steve's growing troubles with his powers, and Steddie get a fun little development too

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

Oh! And a meme, another meme for you at the end lol

---------

While the kids have no problem adjusting to Camp Half-Blood and making friends (several of the other campers have asked El to freeze them if only because they think it's funny), Steve runs into a few bumps. He's not used to relaxing. He's not used to letting his guard down and having the children out of sight for so long. And he's definitely not used to his powers feeling beyond his control whenever Eddie is around, which is...well, always.

Don't get Steve wrong. He likes being around Eddie. In fact, he looks forward to it. Steve hasn't smiled or laughed this much or been around someone his own age in a while. It's new and kind of weird and just a little scary.

But it doesn't at all help with his growing nervous energy. He keeps waiting for a shoe to drop, quickly followed by another. It never does, and Steve fully realizes what a problem this is when Eddie is in his room one day and casually says, "Your clouds are different."

Steve blinks, looking over at Eddie in one of the chairs. He has a guitar in his lap, idly strumming as Steve's phone plays music for them. Steve had just been nodding off, feeling relaxed and sleepy when Eddie spoke. "What do you mean?" he asks.

"They changed again." Eddie says, frowning slightly as he points at the clouds drifting along the ceiling. They're a slate color now, not exactly brewing up a storm but looking ready to start pouring down on them. They aren't gloomy, though. It's more like...like the tension you feel when a natural disaster is about to strike and the clouds are the only warning you'll get of its arrival. "They were starting to turn white, but they're grey again."

"Oh," Steve says, flopping back on the bed with a sigh. "They're supposed to reflect my mood."

He hears the chair shift and steps coming closer to the bed before Eddie sprawls across the mattress next to him. "What's got you so grey, sweetheart?" he asks. Their hands aren't touching, but Steve can feel that now-familiar buzz at his fingertips, the little arches of lightning begging to reach out if he'd only let them.

Steve curls his fingers into a fist, refusing to succumb to the urge. He considers lying, just brushing off the question, but then he makes the mistake of looking at Eddie. He looks right into Eddie's brown eyes, and his resolve crumbles. His fist uncurls, their fingertips brush, and he allows a harmless spark to pass between them. "I'm just on edge," he says, looking back at the ceiling and watching the clouds. "Restless, I guess."

"You're used to fighting monsters and moving across the country, Stevie," Eddie says, sliding his hand closer to Steve's so their fingers are tangled together and a current begins to pass between them. "Being all...still is getting to you."

"Yeah, no shit," Steve says with a quiet snort. "Can't do anything about it."

"Well...there is Capture the Flag next week," Eddie points out, shifting closer, like their hands aren't enough. Now their arms and shoulders are pressed together, and Steve inexplicably feels some of that nervous energy disappear, like Eddie is taking it from him. "It can be an all-out bloodbath, you know."

Steve huffs softly, getting a wry smile. "I'm not sure anyone's gonna want to be on my team," he says. The other campers avoid him. Despite his best efforts, his attack on the patrol campers spread fast and mean, and everyone is a little wary. "So, unless I can be on a team by myself, it probably isn't gonna happen."

A few beats of silence pass, and Steve is about to assume he's somehow fucked up the conversation when Eddie says, "You wouldn't be alone. There's me. And the kids. And I could get the Hermes Cabin to partner with you. Plus, you know, you're a Zeus kid, Stevie. You ask to be in charge and nobody's gonna argue."

He...hadn't thought of that. Steve frowns slightly, letting the idea turn in his mind. It would be a challenge, of course, especially if all the other cabins decide to team up. But...a challenge means pushing himself, reaching limits he's never come close to, letting go completely and losing himself in the battle, whether he wins or not.

The clouds above them start to roll, broiling with the energy of a storm that's all thunder and lightning, and excitement surges through Steve. He doesn't even realize he's letting it get the better of him until Eddie yelps and jerks his hand away.

Steve blinks, jerking up and reaching out to Eddie but stopping halfway. "I'm sorry," he says, frowning slightly as he watches Eddie look at his hand. "I'm really sorry. Are you hurt?"

"No, no, it was more...," Eddie trails off, and then he gets an obnoxious grin and looks up at Steve. "It was more the shock of it."

A beat passes before Steve groans, grabs his pillow, and whacks Eddie in the face with it. Eddie dramatically falls back on the bed, lamenting Steve's cruelty and superior fighting skills as Steve laughs. When Eddie finally stops hamming it up, he pushes the pillow away and says, "So, I'd guess you're excited?"

Steve rolls his eyes, his cheeks hurting from smiling. "I...have an idea already, yeah," he says, looking at Eddie and leaning closer. "Wanna hear it?"

"Hell yeah," Eddie says, his eyes lighting up as Steve lays it all out.

And so begins a week of planning.

It's a week (most of which was spent convincing the Hermes Cabin to join his team and agree to just sit back and guard the flag) that leaves Steve buzzing with energy on the day of Capture the Flag. Eagerness makes his limbs tingle and his body beg to pace as he looks over the demigods in front of him. It's just the Hermes Cabin, Eddie, and the kids, meaning they're facing off against the rest of the camp.

He can't blame the Hermes kids for looking like they've already been defeated. The only reason they're still hanging around, Steve is sure, is because he and the kids promised to do all of their chores for two months if they lose.

Steve takes a deep breath, rolls his shoulders back, and consciously lets go of the Mist around him. He's used to holding it close, using it to cover himself and make him look, well, weaker, that he has to purposefully send it off. He knows the moment it's completely abandoned him; the demigods all stand straighter, only the kids and Eddie dare to meet his eyes, and the snakes poking through the hole in El's beanie start tasting the air with interest.

"You've put your faith in me," Steve says, his volume normal but his voice still booming in the otherwise silent clearing. "You probably think we're fucked, but you'd be wrong. So, listen up. I will be offense. Eddie, Will, and El will be extraction. And you, with the strength of numbers, will be defense. Guard this flag with your life, and we will win. If any of the enemy manages to slip past me, hold steady. You are the final line of defense. Your job is the most important, and I expect you to give it your all."

The hesitant expressions have become impassioned, if not a bit confused by the fact. Steve grins at them, feeling the air crackle between his teeth as his excitement grows. He exhales sparks, his fingers buzzing and his skin close to bursting.

Steve doesn't often pray to Zeus. He's never felt a need to, and several goddesses have made themselves better known to him. But now, as excited for the fight as he is, Steve thinks to Zeus, If you've never watched me before, then watch me now.

He puts on his Blue-Team helmet, the distant horn ringing in his ears as the lightning floods through him, and heads into battle.

-------------

Eddie's role is simple: keep El and Will from getting hurt. He'd be offended at the simplicity if he weren't already plenty aware of his inability to fight well. He's built for defense and retreat, which is why he's got his shield at the ready and is preparing himself to jerk the kids back at the slightest hint of danger.

They're crouching behind some dense bushes, Will and El peeking through the gaps at some Red-Team campers, the first line of defense for the red flag. "So, what's the plan?" Eddie whispers, shifting slightly as he looks between the two kids. Thunder rumbles, and it takes every shred of Eddie's self-control to not look at the gathering storm clouds above them.

"Will makes them daydream," El whispers back, her beanie squirming as though the snakes can feel their imminent freedom. "If that does not work, I will turn them to stone."

Eddie slowly nods, glancing at Will as he cups his hands to his mouth and whispers unintelligible words into them. "And, uh, how is making them daydream supposed to help with distractions?" he asks.

"They are very strong daydreams," El replies.

Will finishes whispering, and a purple dust-like swirling mist is nestled in his palms. He nods to El, waiting for her to carefully make a larger opening in the leaves before gently blowing the mist from his hands. Eddie watches as it twists and curls around the Red-Team campers, slipping under their sleeves and floating to their ears and eyes. The mist settles there, a thin and nearly imperceptible film that Eddie wouldn't know to see if he hadn't watched Will make it.

A few seconds pass as the campers slowly relax, their grips on their weapons loosening until a few swords fall to the ground. El waits a few more seconds before picking up a sizeable pebble and throwing it at a tree across from them. Despite making a loud thud when it hits and falls to the ground, none of the campers blink or move an inch. The only movement Eddie can see is a slight sway and the occasional twitch of fingers, like their body is trying to follow through on movements they make in their daydreams.

"Metal," Eddie whispers, keeping pace with El and Will as they move out from behind the bush. If everything is this easy, they'll get back in time to see Steve fighting. Eddie would love if he could see Steve fighting again. "How did you do that?"

Will flushes slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's not a lot, really," he says, his voice quiet and a little embarrassed. "I mean, I just use dream-speak to give the daydreams specific emotions and then send it over."

"Dream-speak?"

"You know how you can't read in dreams? And if you try to remember exact conversations, you can only get snippets or a word or two? That's dream-speak," Will explains. He thinks for a few seconds before adding, "It's, um, supposed to feel intangible."

"How long does it last?"

"Usually," El says, her voice soft as she pauses and gestures for Eddie and Will to follow, "around twenty minutes. But it depends on the person." She leads them to large boulder, all of them ducking behind it in time for some Red-Team campers to walk by.

"Holy shit," one of them says, looking in the distance at the gathering storm clouds as she slows down. "Man, I am fucking glad we're not fighting that Zeus kid."

"No kidding," the other mumbles. "He's a monster."

Eddie has heard plenty of people call Steve a monster in the past week. Most of them say it with awe in their voices, unable to find any other word to describe the sheer power they saw from Steve. But others, like the one here, say it like Steve is a monster for them to defeat for the glory of it.

He clenches his jaw, grip on his shield straps tightening some. Before he can do anything, El reaches up to her beanie, and Will slaps a hand over Eddie's eyes. He hears the hiss of a writhing mass of snakes, aborted shouts, and then nothing. When Will takes his hand away, the two campers are statues, shock and terror contorting their expressions. El, with her beanie back in place, considers them for a moment before turning. "We should keep moving."

Eddie doesn't argue, but he does hold up a fist to El, grinning when she slowly bumps it with her own. She then turns to Will, her expression expectant, and she flashes her own tiny smile that matches Will's when their fists gently bump together.

Of every game Eddie has participated in, this game of Capture the Flag is by far his most relaxed. Will and El seem to have plenty of experience sneaking around and launching sneak-attacks. The closest Eddie gets to seeing any kind of action is when a Red-Team camper happens to stumble across them on their way back from the bathroom. Even then, before Eddie can raise his shield to block their sword, El slides in front of him and rips off her beanie.

"Thanks," he says, keeping his gaze away until the beanie is back on.

"You are welcome," El replies, staying quiet for a few seconds before adding, "Steve would be sad if you got hurt."

With that statement dropped on him, she continues leading the way to the Red-Team base. By the time they reach it, several Red-Team campers have been deployed to support the other campers fighting Steve. Between those, the ones stationed on the other side of the forest, and the campers they've disposed of, only twenty remain to guard the flag.

"I'm surprised the Athena kids aren't more prepared for you," Eddie whispers, glancing at El. She's the kind of secret weapon everyone knows about and prepares for, but he hasn't seen any of that so far.

El glances at Eddie, considering her response for a few moments before looking at Will. When he nods, she says, "I have not told Steve, but the Head Camper for Athena approached me two days ago. She offered me a personally-designed weapon if I did not use my powers during the game."

"El agreed," Will says, picking up the explanation with ease, "and promised not to use her powers to steal the flag."

"I am not stealing the flag," El finishes, a proud smile tugging at her lips, "I am capturing it."

"You're a little devil, you know that?" Eddie asks, grinning brightly.

"No. I am a little gorgon."

-----

They leave a garden of statues in their wake, and El takes a few moments to sigh and say it's not as good as her mother's before they leave with the Red-Team flag carefully hidden under Will's shirt. As they approach the border between the team territories, the sounds of battle grow. Swords clash, fighters shout, and lightning cracks between them all.

"We can take the long way," Eddie offers, his tone reluctant as he glances in the direction of the fight. They're close enough that a few trees are singed on the edges from lightning strikes, and Eddie holds his shield tighter. Letting the kids get anywhere near that fight isn't protecting them, and he should direct them in a wide circle around it.

But something is calling him, urging him closer to the fight in a way he's never felt before. He's not an Ares kid---Eddie has no desire to enter a blood bath---but he gets the feeling that Steve is going to need him soon.

"El and I can make it by ourselves," Will offers. "It's only a few feet away, and the game ends once we cross, right?"

Eddie nods, frowning before taking a deep breath. "No, it's okay," he says, waving for the kids to keep moving. "We'll try to head straight through and end the game sooner."

It's a choice he was expecting to regret, but doesn't get the chance. Nobody notices them, even when they get close enough to see a swarm of Red-Team campers surrounding Steve. None of them glance in their direction, too distracted by the fight to spare any attention to three insignificant campers sneaking by. Thunder rumbles endlessly above them, a deafening soundtrack that's only broken by cracks of lightning striking the ground and knocking campers back a few feet.

"Steve is having fun," El observes, sounding happy for him as they approach the Blue-Team border.

"He's never really let go, huh?" Eddie asks, getting a quick peek at Steve through the swarm. He lost his helmet at some point, leaving his feral expression and static-raised hair in full view, and arches of lightning jump across his body, occasionally reaching out to strike any Red-Team campers that get too close.

"No," Will says, his voice soft as they approach the border. The moment Will steps over, the horn sounds in the distance, and Eddie waits for the fighting to stop.

But it doesn't. Nobody in the swarm seems to realize the game is over. They continue to attack Steve, and Steve continues to fight against them, the air churning and sparking and ready to burst. A few seconds pass before Eddie realizes they won't stop until only one side is left standing. He gets it. Kind of. Steve carries the air of royalty; a challenge. If you can beat the son of Zeus, a literal Prince of Olympus, the glory of that achievement is untold. And it seems his fellow campers have fallen prey to that glory, utterly lost to it

Eddie feels that urge to join Steve surge through him again. He swallows around a sudden lump of nerves in his throat, searching for any other peek at Steve he can get as he says, "You guys go ahead. I'll help Steve. We'll catch up."

He doesn't bother waiting for El or Will to answer. He just rushes into the battle, something he never expected himself to do. Somehow, he doesn't meet any resistance. Lightning strikes the ground around him, pushing Red-Team campers back and urging him on, and Eddie wonders if Steve knows he's coming.

When he finally reaches the center of the battle, he sees Steve swing his bat against someone's side, the nails dragging painfully before he kicks the person back. Steve has lost his chest plate as well, and the only armor he has left are the wrist guards. There are slashes in his clothes and the edges are burnt. Eddie is almost distracted by the sight until he sees a daughter of Ares rush Steve from behind, her sword raised to bring down on his back.

In a move of unprecedented grace (seriously, Eddie will look back on that moment and never understand how he managed to not trip over himself), Eddie springs into the battle. He rushes at Steve, sliding behind him, twisting, and raising his shield in one smooth movement. The sword comes down on his shield, sending vibrations down his arm but otherwise causing no harm to him or Steve. Eddie pushes back as hard as he can, sending the daughter of Ares sprawling before pressing his back to Steve's.

"Thanks," Steve says, his words crackling and sparking against Eddie's ear. He thinks it's just a phantom sensation at first, but Eddie soon realizes lightning is literally arching between them, jumping across their shoulders and through their hair and buzzing down Eddie's chest.

He licks his lips, electric ozone lingering on his tongue, and Eddie is fascinated by the taste. "No problem," he says, his body following Steve without thinking. It's easy when he can feel the bolts of lightning between them start to shift, telling him which way Steve is going so he can keep up. "You know the game is over, right?"

"This is the most fun I've had in years," Steve replies, his tone implying that should explain everything.

And, yeah, it kind of does. He sounds genuinely happy and thrilled, his voice teeming with eagerness that's punctuated by the sound of his bat hitting a Red-Team camper in the head hard enough to make their helmet ring.

Eddie knows Steve would stop if he asked. Eddie knows he could talk Steve down from this lightning-fueled battle high. Eddie decides that wouldn't be nearly as fun.

"Okay," he says, pressing closer to Steve's back and blocking an arrow headed straight for Steve's shoulder. "Have fun, sweetheart."

Eddie didn't know it was possible, but Steve's power surges again, like it was just simmering under his skin, waiting for permission. And Eddie gave it. Bolts strike from the clouds above while arches jump across Steve and Eddie, running down their arms and leaping at Red-Team campers who get too close. They don't stop; the lightning continues to jump from camper to camper, electrocuting whoever it touches, and Eddie realizes he should have been electrocuted, too.

He blocks another sword, lightning crackling along the edges of his shield and shooting off sparks when its hit, and looks at the white-blue arches running along his arm. Without thinking, Eddie touches one, a gentle buzzing spreading through his hand as the arch transfers and jumps around his palm. It tickles more than anything else, and Eddie would think it's harmless if a Red-Team spear didn't get close enough for the lightning to jump and shock the camper unconscious.

It's not that the lightning jumping between him and Steve is harmless, Eddie realizes, it's just that it won't hurt him. He feels like some of the lightning has settled in his chest, crackling and warm and soothing. Eddie glances over his shoulder, taking in Steve's breathless smile and the way light splashes across his face with each bolt that hits the ground and the sparks that jump from his bat.

That feeling he got when he first saw Steve, the breathlessness and awestruck realization that the whole prophecy was just him, hits Eddie all over again. He lingers in it for a few seconds, letting it wash over him and settle in his limbs, before getting yanked out by a particularly close lightning bolt that makes his ears ring.

Right. A fight. That he's part of.

Eddie forces himself to focus on defending Steve's back. He blocks arrows and swords and shields and, once, a battle axe that makes his shield groan. That one pisses him off some. This shield was a gift from Hermes, a gift that showed surprising knowledge of Eddie's interests, and he'll be damned if it breaks. As though fueled by his anger, the lightning on his shield crackles and shoots down the battle axe, converging on the camper until she drops the axe with a yelp.

He doesn't get to linger on that too long; another arrow comes straight at Steve again, and Eddie is far more occupied by blocking it. And so it continues. Steve fights, lightning strikes, and Eddie defends him the entire time, giving Steve the space and security to just let go and release all the energy that had been building since he arrived at camp.

It's over sooner than he expects. One moment, Eddie's arm is buzzing from a particularly strong hit to his shield, and the next, the field is silent. Thunder still rumbles above them, lightning still crackles around them, and Eddie's heartbeat is pounding in his ears. Campers are scattered around them, all breathing but most knocked out for a while. Eddie takes a deep breath, feeling the air spark harmlessly in his lungs, and slowly lets it out.

He rolls his shoulder and retracts his shield, placing it around his neck again before turning around. "You good?" he asks, looking Steve over for any obvious injuries. His clothes are even more singed, the hem of his shirt blackened, and his hair is sticking up wildly but still somehow perfect. Steve's tense, his muscles strained as he pants, looking around them before his gaze finally lands on Eddie. He's still gripping his bat tightly, his knuckles white, and Eddie is about to gently pull it away when Steve just drops it.

Eddie blinks, frowning slightly as he starts to ask Steve if he's okay. And then he can't speak at all, because Steve's hands are cupping his cheeks and Steve's chest is pressed against his own, and Steve's lips are thoroughly occupying his. Lightning shoots through Eddie, jumping down his throat as Steve's tongue licks past his lips.

It doesn't hurt, though. Nothing from Steve could actually hurt him; instead, it makes his fingers tingle and his lips buzz and his heart jackrabbit against his ribs. Eddie is filled with an inescapable energy, and there's only one way to expel it.

So, he kisses Steve back. Eddie wraps an arm around Steve's waist to tug him closer and pushes a hand into Steve's hair, finally feeling the soft strands tangling between his fingers. He tilts his head and lets Steve have the quiet groan that slips from him when tiny bolts jump from Steve's molars to Eddie's tongue.

Eddie is breathless and floating and completely under Steve's spell and...and...and he's confused. Because Steve yanks himself away, a panicked noise in the back of his throat as he takes a step back. His chest is still heaving, but Eddie knows it's for a different reason now. Steve starts to say something, his lips swollen and red and begging Eddie to kiss him again, but no words come out.

And then he does something Eddie never expected Steve to do. He runs. He panics so badly that he runs back toward the Blue-Team base, leaving Eddie in the middle of the Red-Team carnage with a floaty brain and a stupid smile.

Maybe, if it had been anyone else, Eddie would be panicking, too. He'd be worried about the person actually liking him, worried about what the kiss meant, worried about any number of things, really. But it's Steve. Eddie knows Steve. He knows Steve's laugh and his walk and his lightning and now his kiss.

There are only two possible reasons for Steve running away: either he panicked because the kiss was too sudden, too heat-of-the-moment, or he panicked because of the literal lightning he sent through Eddie. Both are easily addressed, easy to soothe Steve down from freaking out about so they can get to kissing again.

Eddie's smile widens some, and he takes one last look at the campers around him before carefully making his way past them, figuring he should tell Chiron they'll be needing ambrosia and nectar.

-------

Tag List

@mugloversonly, @mentallyundone, @hairdryerducks-blog, @carriethesaint, @lunabyrd, @weekend-dreamer7, @farfaras, @littlelady03, @my-tears-are-becoming-a-sea20, @mogami13, @a-little-unsteddie, @itsall-taken, @queenie-ofthe-void, @tinyplanet95, @littlebluejane, @hangoversandhandgrenades, @rabbitwhoeatsstars, @bisexualdisastersworld, @steddieinthesun,

@paintgonewrong, @sadcanadianwinter, @deehellcat, @blanketlicker, @angrydonutdestiny, @booksareportal, @fallingchemicaldiscos, @am-i-obssed-probably, @anne-bennett-cosplayer

@estrellami-1, @fandomcartographer, @steddie-as-they-go, @cris-wants-a-word, @potato-of-the-lord, @plasticcrotches, @enigmahaze, @melodymeddler, @lololol-1234, @sageclipse, @steddiehyperfixation, @livelaughlexa, @genderless-spoon

For those who made it this far, a meme:

[cloveroctobers]

DANTE TORRES | PAGE TWO — memory game

A/N: you’ve had to have known after that recent episode (12) that id be inspired to write more. Shoutout to the snow day that gave me a chance to write this! There’s been some debates about how some people feel like this episode “still”didn’t add any depth to Dante’s character but I guess you’re entitled to your wrong opinion…they just don’t see him like I do! 😉 It’s neither here or there but I feel like with the crumbs that they do feed us in centered episodes, it gives you a chance to understand these characters bit by bit. I’m all here for subtle details! We have two weeks apparently until the next episode?!!! Which is an Atwater focused one so why not write a little something in the mean time?

S/N: I’m going to attempt to not make this as long but there’ll be some important scenes to see I think! Also we got a canon age for Dante and it’s apparently twenty-five? I always knew he was younger than the rest but I still thought at least thirty or pushing thirty! + I’ve also decided to go down the rabbit hole of watching Chicago PD from the beginning, finishing up season two soon, wish me luck lol!

WARNINGS: more angst, yearning, a little crossover with another show since I’m currently watching it lol, language, how childhood trauma plays into your adulthood, + mini flashback scene that leads to something! —without me giving too much away.

<- read the first piece to the sequel here.

ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ

The days started to blur into one since settling into a place that felt like quicksand. She tries not to sink, finding outlets that are supposed to provide coping mechanisms. Seraphina’s been trying therapy, had to after being abducted and the whole talking to a stranger thing helps but the cold sweats and nightmares are a force of their own.

It doesn’t help that chief deputy Reid has found use for her. Tracking her down to her parents’ new place of residence, something else she doesn’t need right now and it’s reminiscent to his imposing ways back at the place she’s now renting out. Seraphina can feel herself dissociating as Charlie Reid is talking to her, ears ringing, the weight of everything comes toppling back on top of her and his presence is no relief.

“Did you get that?” He questions her on the stoop of her parents’ brick home.

Her arms are folded, backside pressed against the railing as she slowly rises her head, “I get that you have a funny way of timing.”

The wavy haired man lets out a slow sigh, peeking at the closed shut door, wondering if there was anyone inside trying to listen in on this conversation, “I…understand that you’re dealing with a lot right now but I also understand that you’ve got free time since you decided to pitch in for the care of your father, Mr. Coty.”

The short haired woman lets out a scoff of disbelief, “You mean taking on a job in the east coast, just to give it up, live on some savings all while trying to help my mother tend to my stubborn and mean sickly father? I don’t think you know what free time is, Mr. Reid.”

He nods, understanding how bad it sounds, off-putting even, “Right. I just mean this could be a way to keep your mind off everything.”

Seraphina begins to chew on her bottom lip in irritation, knowing that this man didn’t care much about her well being, eyes closing as she focuses on her breathing more than her irritability, another reminder that she needed to make a run and pick up more feminine care, “Sorry but no…you came here for personal gain and if I remember correctly, not that long ago, you were introducing yourself to me and throwing clues. So I suggest you tell me what your purpose of being here is because I really don’t have the patience to play the guessing game.”

Reid goes quiet at this, taking in the appearance of the younger woman across from him. He could appreciate that she wanted him to get right to the point and stop throwing hints. He’s backed off for a while, giving the IU the chance to do what they do but that didn’t mean he stopped having eyes on all of their cases.

Seraphina Coty happened to be included in Reid’s spark of interest.

There was a specific case that was brewing and Reid wanted to get ahead of it before it would eventually be brought to intelligence. He also found immediate connections involving this case, which brought him out to Kansas City instead of Jersey city.

“What’s your history with Quantico?”

Reid’s eyes are hard on Seraphina and although she was mainly a case file to him, he had a feeling that he was just about to learn that she was much more than that. She’s good, almost trained to not show emotion on her face but her shoulders are more tense now at the mention of the academy, than when she first stepped out onto the stoop.

“I think you already know.” Her voice is hoarse against the wind, exhausted, “What does that have to do with anything?”

The Chief Deputy blinks, “Are you kidding? Trying out for the FBI, that could have led you to great heights.”

“Yeah no thanks, being more screwed up isn’t the path I wanted.” Her voice is much stronger with this statement, “I quit after five weeks because I didn’t like the weight, the power, or the intent of guns. Still don’t. I fired it and had a whole panic attack in front of the class. I enrolled for forensic science not to kill or cause harm to anyone. That’s not me but that part, was mandatory.”

Reid hums as he takes in this perspective.

The man attempts to be genuine but it feels anything but that. Seraphina learned pretty quickly that people like this always have a motive but nonetheless she let him continue his play, “…I won’t ask you to kill or harm anyone but I will—am asking for your help.”

Ironically enough, this felt more like a demand.

“What exactly do you think I can help you with?” Seraphina frowns, tightening her crossed arms, “Shouldn’t you have a team that handles whatever you’re getting at?”

“You’re my best bet.”

“In what world?”

“Well mine of course,” he says with a crooked dimpled smile before hardening his stare and throwing this at her, “Do you know a Peter Sutherland?”

Seraphina keeps her mouth shut but she inhales.

“What about a Francisco Jenkins?” Reid fires off, “See…one of the most interesting things about you is, you like to stay clear from crimes—well for the most part—in the present but somehow your past will always have ties to it.”

Seraphina feels her nostrils flare.

It was clear he was trying to get underneath her skin but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“The only one that is the most clean is your current boyfriend, Manny Castillo. How long do you think that is going to last before you go back to what you know?” Reid quizzes but it felt more like he was taunting her.

Seraphina tightens her stare at the beady eyed man on the stoop with her, “I think this conversation is over.”

“I’d have to disagree,” Chief deputy responds as he moves with her, “I think it’s just part of your story and you have to see how it plays out.”

“Is being vastly vague and metaphoric your way of guilt tripping people?” Seraphina frowns in confusion before declaring, “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Sure, if you say so,” the man shrugs, “I believe we all know what’s wrong and what’s right. Yet there are always things in between that can cloud your judgement: you and Jenkins, then you and Torres.”

“What’re you saying?”

Reid spits it out, “You were once involved with Francisco Jenkins and he was murdered about a year ago.”

Seraphina chokes on her saliva then, grabbing at her throat and coughed to catch her breath, Reid offers to clutch at her shoulder but she smacks his hand away. Once she fights to gain her breathing back she wheezes, “Shit, not Cisco. There’s no way you think I had something to do with that? We were in the same class and we haven’t spoken in years.”

“You dated didn’t you?” Reid keeps on dumping, trying to get more out of her but he already knows that she’s clean but he’s her connect.

“What?” Seraphina snaps, “We went on a date once, that obviously didn’t go anywhere. He’s a—was a nice guy.”

“Because you’re too caught up on Torres, who you’ll do anything for.”

He’s not wrong!

“What does any of this have to do with the murder of Cisco?”

“Not much, really.” Reid eases off some, “He and Peter Sutherland remained good friends. Sutherland used to work for the White House but got into some trouble, yadda yadda. He’s now involved with some secret organization. Want to know what else I found interesting?”

Seraphina tilts her head to the side after learning information about people who were in her life for a mere second before turning into scrolling faces on a social media app, “I’m sure you’re gonna tell me.”

“When you were sixteen, you had a kleptomaniac habit that started to develop after your mother OD’d.” Reid says as if he’s delivering more detail in the personal life section from a Wikipedia page of Seraphina’s life, “Even hung out with some jewelry thieves but you didn’t have anything on you, let’s call it right time, wrong place it seems. Yet you were the only one out of the crew that had a well known fancy father, a superintendent that had the power to make anything go away.”

Seraphina feels her body run hot and her heart seems to go into over drive. The wheels are turning but she hopes the exhaustion internally and externally overshadows what she’s really feeling.

“You like to solve crimes, put the puzzles together in a lab. It’s no different than me and Torres’ world.” He reasons, “And since you’ll do anything for the people you love…like cover up a illegal relationship that Torres was involved in, get pills for your sober mother so she can cope with the thought of your declining father…or end up with some jewels of your own that somehow end up with a certain lawyer that’s collecting rent on your property, I think those are also things that can go away, if you assist on this case.”

Seraphina rests her elbows back against the railing now, trying to weigh out her options. The last two were not true but it was clear that Reid had a way of making things appear a certain way. It was obvious that he had the power to destroy everything that Seraphina worked so hard for but it had to be on his terms. Never in a million years would she sell Dante out, especially when she had no desire to have any ties with law enforcement, somehow she was still connected.

Mainly to the science of it but that can only get you so far.

“I’m going to leave you with some files that are in my car but they’ll go more into depth,” Reid is checking his phone as if he had someplace else to ruin, “Here’s a brief run down: a crew of thieves that go by the sanguine forsaken, TSF for short, have been using blood diamonds from Sierra Leone to fund not only weapons but to also smuggle into the states. And they’re making their way into Chicago.”

Seraphina shakes her head, “That goes beyond my pay.”

“You’ll be compensated when you comply.”

“It’s not just about pay…this is manipulation and not what I do. I used to work on crime scenes and bodies. Now I just analyze, research, and experiment.”

“You keep saying you like to play it safe but you’ve haven’t known that for a while, have you?” Reid probes making her break eye contact, “I’m not trying to be your enemy here, I just want you to know what you’re made of and it’s not a shell. I’ll get those files for you and we’ll be in touch.”

That was final and not a choice.

Seraphina takes a moment after slamming the front door shut behind her. The files burn against her fingertips as she holds them to her side. Her back is against the door, head raised high up towards the ceiling as she tries to mentally prepare herself for what she just got tossed into.

“Stupid question I know…but is everything okay sweetie?” It’s the voice of her mother to the left of her that brings Seraphina back down.

She turns to the woman, who stands fidgeting with her fingers, hoping that her words didn’t set off her child. Growing up, normally the two didn’t have the time to butt heads mainly since Mr. Coty had enough energy to provide that. There was a time where Seraphina was comfortable saying that she preferred and loved one parent over the other, as a child, you don’t understand what damage that does to the adult.

However it takes two.

Seraphina takes a moment to respond and even move but when she does, her gaze is focused on her mother’s hands. Those same hands that tucked her in many nights, those same hands that tended and provided tender care to her hair as she sat on a pillow on the floor, and once those same hands that guided her until she lost control and could no longer provide that.

When her dark eyes flick to meet her mother’s, there’s a small smile by her mom’s plump lips. She appears much fragile now over the years, Seraphina wouldn’t dare call her weak like her father often did because despite it all, she still knew how to love her parents. It’s almost like staring into a mirror, how she favors her mother much more now that she’s older when many used to tell her it was the opposite.

“You were just…out there for a while with that man.” She says, almost as if she’s stepping on eggshells.

Seraphina’s not in attack mode, although she feels that if she didn’t have a therapy session this morning via online, this moment maybe different. She’s gently shaking her head, reaching a finger to twirl the end of a faltering coil from her birth giver’s fro, giving it shape, before resting a hand on top of her mother’s shaky ones, “Everything’s fine mom, just work stuff unfortunately. You doing okay? Need me to grab anything for dinner?”

And just like that her troubles are tucked away at the sake of making sure things run the way that they should.

After a quick run out to the store, she grabs some essentials and last minute ingredients for her mom’s vegan dish, Seraphina finds that she can’t bring herself to put her car into drive just yet. She moved through the store almost on autopilot, grabbing mostly what she needed and a few things that she didn’t. Self-checkout normally was her best friend but since her mind was gone, she almost left her things at checkout even after a worker came to assist twice.

Letting her hands drop from the keys in the ignition, she pulls out her phone, fingers halting over a number that she said she would call later tonight instead of through constant texts, she chooses another number instead.

“Hello?” Which sounds more of like a, “y’ellow,” to be honest.

Seraphina clears her throat, “You still don’t know how to pronounce your H’s do you, Atwater?”

He scoffs, “There you go, already startin’ something on my line.”

A small smile appears on her lips as she sniffs, running a finger back and forth over her brows. There’s a heat that washes over her frame again, a wave of tears building in her throat, and she doesn’t have to say anything because the man on the other line can already sense something is wrong. Calling each other out of the blue like this was not the norm and although they were friends through a mutual person, they usually got to see each other through work related moments or random times around the city.

They didn’t even have a proper goodbye before Seraphina took off.

Kevin didn’t want to ask how she was because he already knew and assumed so he goes with this instead, “Tell me what’s on your mind, girl. I’m listening.”

So she does.

Seraphina hates that she’s troubling the man with this, even threw a few apologies in there but he didn’t want to hear any of that. She barely mentions her father but she didn’t need to as she says that this chief deputy had a weaseling way of getting what he wants at the worst time and that’s possibly something the IU should keep in mind. This Atwater could sense after learning about Kim’s promotion and how she felt about it but that didn’t stop Kevin from making note of Seraphina’s words.

“And you don’t want Voight in on this…or even Dante?” Kevin says Dante’s name, almost quietly, which makes Seraphina think he’s at the district.

Seraphina sighs, “We’re taking one step at a time to rebuild our relationship. I don’t need to bother him with this—

Kevin’s ready to argue against that, also aware that this woman right here could never be a bother to Dante Torres.

She doesn’t leave room for him to interrupt, “And the last thing I want is Voight getting in on this right now when it’s not really anything yet. I know it’ll eventually get to you guys anyway just based on what Reid said. I just feel like I needed to tell someone who would get it.”

“And if something goes south.” Kevin pointed out which makes Seraphina suck air through her teeth, “Which it won’t. I got you, alright? You called me, so you can trust me. And I guess I’ll have to take the heat if Torres is on my ass once he finds out.”

Seraphina is so sure, “He won’t.”

Kevin snickers at that, “Do I need to remind you of his birthday party back in June?”

Instantly she’s rolling her eyes at the way Dante acted but ultimately she knew it was because he cared. Getting involved would just lead to more scars that she didn’t need. He was right on that part. He had nothing but good intentions, they fought for each other and knew that they always would. However they were their own people and would always do what they felt was right whether the other liked it or not. Just look at Dante and his whole profession of working with and for the law! Seraphina made the decision to back off after it all got to be too much, she knew her limits yet somehow Dante felt like he had to keep facing his.

The woman knew that as soon as she was officially brought into this case, she would have to leave Kansas City and go back to Chicago. Whereas Kansas City felt like quicksand, gradually tugging at her toes the longer she stayed here, Chicago felt like she was being drowned again. The city she was born and raised in also felt as if she was being pulled under but she would go back if it meant she could help.

Again…there really wasn’t a choice here.

“Thanks for having my back, Kev.” Seraphina finally says after more talking.

He blows a raspberry and jokes, “Just be lucky that I like you.”

Seraphina laughs a little and it feels good to be able to.

There’s another voice that can be heard in the background.

A woman’s.

“Yo, Atwater. Get a look at this.”

Seraphina tilts her head to the side in question and decides to tease herself, “Uh oh, better get back to your work wife.”

She’s learned little of their newest team member, Kiana, just based off of what Dante’s mentioned over check-in’s. She’s never met Kiana or heard her speak but Seraphina pinpointed that Kevin must still be working and she already knows what Kim and Platt sound like.

“It ain’t even like that sis but hold on, check this out.”

Before Seraphina can get a, “what?” Out she’s met with the dial tone, which makes her roll her eyes at the man’s childish ways, although she feels a little at ease telling someone about what was on her plate.

When she gets back to her parents, it’s walls back up but she makes her presence known as she takes on a role moving around the home. Her father is only awake for maybe twenty-twenty-five minutes, to put little food and liquid’s down as much as he can stomach before it’s time again for his daily dose. And just like that the mother and daughter are watching his steady but shallow breathing as he rests in one of the rooms that now contains a hospital bed.

Mrs. Coty keeps busy, also tucking herself away in one of the many rooms of the older 1950’s home, picking up the bead painting hobby with neo-soul softly playing in the background upstairs, although Seraphina knows this hobby is to stop her mother’s hands from shaking so much, she leaves her to it, deciding to clean up the kitchen. This also keeps her busy, transferring the coconut rice bowl into containers and leaving them on the counter just in case someone wanted leftovers. Seraphina’s scrubbing at the dishes with such intensity that it would scratch anyone’s skin off if she kept the same motion to her body.

She’s using more than enough force that’s she panting, scrubbing at a scorched spot at the bottom of the pot, that she’s got a trinkle of sweat falling down the back of her neck. It isn’t until she picks up on the buzzing of her phone on the dining table that she stops her assault.

Immediately she thinks it’s Manny, not knowing what time it is and over the years it feels as if she lost the concept of it. When she gets to her phone, her hands are partially dried as she picks it up and placed the phone on speaker.

“Hi.” She greets, shaking her hands about, in hopes of drying them faster.

There’s shuffling on the other line, “Hey, Nina. Do you mind if I come see you?”

Resting her hands down on the table, she leans towards the phone, eyes shifting as she picks up on Dante’s tone. It’s normally gentle, slightly accented, comforting, and it’s still all of those things but there’s a hint of something else.

Fear?

“What’s wrong?” She asks, knowing that something is up but not because he wanted to see her again.

He hesitates at first but gives a little, “I’ll tell you when I get to you. Is it okay, though? That I stop by? If it’s too much, I won’t.”

Seraphina closes her eyes and shakes her head. She put up boundaries when she took her exit once before but they knew hiding from each other wasn’t the way to go either. There was too much history, too much love to just put everything to the side for good.

“I’ll send you the address.” Seraphina decides, “Drive safe.”

And she hears the acceleration of his car pick up before they bid their farewells. The hours drag on as Seraphina feels like she’s a ghost in a home that doesn’t belong to her but it holds two parts of her. Her parents are of course the first to go down completely for the night and she lets her mom know that Dante should be here around midnight or after.

Mrs. Coty only provides a smile as Seraphina is the one almost tucking her in for the night. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if she could take the spot where her father once lay but she simply placed a kiss to the woman’s forehead, closing their bedroom door with a soft click before going into her own night time routine, all while talking to Manny out in Philly.

He’s as lively as ever and things seem so well on the other side. He doesn’t apologize for his good nature and Seraphina appreciates that normalcy, he’s aware that she prefers to hear the good over the damper, to let her know that there’s still life out there to grab. Of course he isn’t insensitive, always checking in on how things are going and if she needed anything but she’s not the type of person that wants people to fuss over her. If Manny pushed then she tended to shut down but not without biting back. It was something he had to learn about her and navigate not through but with.

Butting heads for the first time was scary to witness on Manny’s part but he wasn’t going to back down by any means. He’s used to disagreements and duked them out in the professional world as well. He wasn’t ready to let go, not when he felt like this relationship was worth it, sure it was still fresh and a lot was going on her end but he was determined to stick beside Seraphina.

Seraphina expressed to her therapist, Dr. Tamsin, that she felt like their relationship wouldn’t last (since any other never did) and it would be her fault, she was prepared for it despite her therapist telling her that self-sabotage was also a weight that she needed to let go of in order to find true happiness.

Her eyes are closed but her mind won’t let her sleep and the ding from her phone makes her rise. It’s 12:48am when she reads the message, giving it a thumbs up not even a second later, she’s slipping her feet into some slippers and pushing off from the bed. Leaving the room that’s adjacent to the stairs that leads to the first floor where her father lay, she pauses in the hallway, along with her breathing as she listens to the consistent beeping of the monitor, before continuing to the left through the living room and towards the front door.

Seraphina doesn’t pause here, unlocking the door to meet Dante’s light green hue’s. The expressions on each other’s faces hold a mixture of emotions and it’s not long before Seraphina is the first to lift her arms. The buzzed haired man charges at her, wrapping her up in his embrace so quickly that her back hits the coat closet door behind her. She holds onto him, arms around the back of his neck, as Dante bunches up the back of her sweatshirt, pulling her as tight as he can to his frame.

She gets off her tippy toes, their arms rearranging so she hugging him around his waist, his arm goes across her shoulders, while her head rests against his chest and the weight of him finally brings her reassurance. It’s bittersweet really, how this is the one weight that her body will always welcome.

They’re back up in the room, she’s under the covers but Dante is lying on top of them with a blanket. They switch from staring up at the ceiling and one staring at the profile of each other’s face. They’re shoulder to shoulder, he’s examining her hand and her nails look much better than what he remembers but just the thought of what happened makes his insides burn deep.

“What’s got you so upset that you took a five hour plus drive to see me?” Seraphina whispers, her gaze slowly blinking up at the view of the bubbly ceiling.

Dante gives a long tired sigh but finds a way to let it out, “I went undercover at my old juvi center. It was tough because I thought I was over it but…I guess I’m not.”

That gets Seraphina to bring her dark eyes to his and his focus is back on her hand.

“Well…it’s not something you can just get over. Stuff like that is heavy and it takes time,” Seraphina tells him, “I didn’t get to see you often in there but of what little I did…I knew you weren’t okay.”

Dante is nodding, his touch is warm against her surprisingly cool hand, “I had to survive and I didn’t need you or mi ma worrying more than you two already were. I did things in there that I’m not proud of and I saw things…my roommate…experienced the same thing I saw in there today. I did nothing then to protect him but I made sure I did something now.”

Seraphina is still staring at him, Dante’s jaw is clenched with tension and she can’t help but to use her free hand to caress the bone. His eyes close at her touch and he exhales.

“You don’t have to say it if you’re not ready,” her tone is hushed although her heartbeat should be loudest thing in the room, “But you also don’t have to carry it by yourself.”

Dante’s replies, “The same goes for you.”

Which makes her breathing hitch. Their eyes locked in and it’s filled with such an intensity it feels as if Seraphina’s heart might just burst. Did he know about Reid being here?

He says nothing more as he stares at her.

“I thought I buried everything as best as I could, try to forget it all as a way of moving forward but there’s a piece of me that can’t be fixed.” He admits, “I’m stuck between who I am, who I was, and who I’m supposed to be.”

This she could relate to in many ways.

They’ve been lost since their youth was ripped out of their hands but that didn’t mean they didn’t try.

At this point in life, there were times where it still didn’t feel fulfilling enough.

“That’s okay too you know? You’re the one who told me that I don’t have to have all the answers right now and life isn’t meant to be planned out all in one day.” She sends him a small smile, “There is no guideline. I know our childhood still hurts, I know but we’re not there anymore. We don’t have to be. You made it through what most people never could and that is something to be proud of.”

There’s a lump in Dante’s throat as he listens to his voice of reason. His best reason. His forehead goes to rest against her’s and he knows her words hold truth but there’s a darkness that wants to win and likes to slip out every now and then. Being in church didn’t help this time around and that was painful to acknowledge, especially since it provided the strength for Dante to get through juvi.

“I’ve been losing my mind without you,” He informs Seraphina, his eyes flicking open so that she sees that he means it, “Just so you know…I’m as proud of you as you are of me. Even when you dyed your hair hot pink when we were what? Sixteen?”

Seraphina groans, earning a laugh out of Dante, which is a good sign. “What is this? A walk down memory lane?”

“What’s wrong with that?” Dante braces himself as she lightly shoves him, “I said I was proud of you, for doing what you wanted and standing by it.”

“And pissing off my dad?”

Dante can’t help but to smirk, “That too.”

The short haired woman rolls her eyes, and moves to rest on her back. She remembers one of the times when she showed up to the detention center on her own, thoughts of smuggling a teen Dante his favorite drink and some ice but remembered how they confiscated momma Catalina bringing in a cupcake for his sixteenth birthday. Seraphina remembers touching his shoulder in greeting before she plopped down on the bench across from him.

“No fucking way,” Dante is all grins, the type of grin that meets his eyes, bringing out that signature dimple at the top of his cheek as they settle on Seraphina.

He wasn’t expecting her today and assumed it was another lawyer and already knew his ma had to work overtime. This was a pleasant surprise, seeing his best friend sitting across from him in the most vibrant shades of hot pink you can imagine.

The teen shakes her head back and forth, lightly curled hair bouncing with her as she did so, “I did it, Tay.”

She ignores the ring around his right eye because the smile on his face is much more joyous. The last time she was here he had a much different tone, hint: he was being an asshole that day so she wouldn’t say anything else that brought that side of him out. The dark haired curly haired boy looks around, resting his elbows on the table before reaching out to pinch at her hair, tugging on it lightly, which makes her scowl and slap his hand away.

“Stop that.”

He rubs his fingers together to see if any of the dye came off, “My bad. Had to make sure you’re not pranking me.”

“Who me?” She crosses her ankles over the other, straightening her posture before clasping her hands on the table, “Never.”

Dante gives her a blank stare, “Yeah, whatever. That’s a good look for you, Nina.”

“Thank you, baby.”

It slips out but Seraphina doesn’t dwell on it as she pulls out an envelope to slide over to Dante. Whose heart may or may not have skipped a beat at the term of endearment. “What?” She inquires, finally meeting his light eyes and taking her own off the ink that decorated his arm.

“N-nothing!” He quickly shakes his head although now Seraphina thinks he’s acting a little weird, “What’s this?”

“Open it and see, genius.”

“Shut up.”

She uses the tip of her finger to push the tip of her nose back and sticks her tongue out, making him mock her back before they fall into laughter. Dante makes quick work of opening the envelope, eyes peeking over at Seraphina who has a grin of her own on her lips.

Inside the folded up paper is aluminum foil.

Dante is confused as he holds it for her to see, “Um…?”

“It’s ice.” She snickers while Dante gives her a look of annoyance, “To put on your teeth.”

“Oh you’re so lame.” Dante can’t help but to snort out a laugh, surprised this was even allowed in but still appreciated the sentiment.

Despite the fact that Seraphina thinks it’s the most hilarious thing, just picturing Dante posing with the new grillz in his mouth. He’s ready for her to knock it off. To cut her laughter out, he reaches across the table to yank on her arm—not enough to hurt—pulling her towards the table so he can pluck at her hair, “Cut it, lava girl. You think you’re gonna help my street cred with this?”

“It’s a start.” She smiles at him from over the table.

He doesn’t argue with her even with the bullshit that’s going on in this place…because she’s so damn cute and he can’t help but to love her.

Their gaze is back on each other’s once again, forehead to forehead just breathing each other in. There’s a tension in this room again and the weight is tipping the longer they stay like this. So the only thing Dante can think of is to nuzzle his nose against Seraphina’s, not fighting hard against the urge of his actions. Her eyes are closed and her heart is drumming so fast as if Sheila E was the one with the sticks. She knows what’s about to happen before Dante even does it, just by the way they had a far off glint in their eyes at seperate memories that still brought them to this very moment.

Love.

His lips connect with her’s, his hand going to her cheek to keep her in place. The kiss is slow, tentative and challenging a boundary that was supposed to be in place but anything short of familiar. The seconds stretched on yet the kiss only deepened, Seraphina feels herself completely falling into his frame, her hand going to his wrist, her thigh tossed over his hip, inviting him on top of her.

There’s this unspoken understanding, a quiet moment of support that’s poured into this kiss. He tries to use his elbow to support his weight but Seraphina is open to take it all as his tongue slips into her mouth. Her hands are caressing his back, squeezing as their tongues do a dance that would be too much for PDA. A free hand goes to his buzzed hair, the hair prickling her fingers as their lips pull apart with a pop.

Their chests are heaving but Dante doesn’t stop there, his face burying into her neck to suck on the skin there. There were times like these when Seraphina was thankful that her mother was not a light sleeper. Her nails scrape at his back as he continues his assault on her neck and right now she doesn’t fight against this wrong.

“I love you,” she breathed out making Dante pull back to show her his pretty eyes that have significantly darkened.

It rolls off his tongue with ease as they’re nose to nose, his finger running over her full bottom lip, “I love you more than you know.”

She’s shaking her head now, “Not possible.”

His head tilts followed by a frown, “What?”

She lifts up some, nipping at his lip, “Show me.”

And his lips are back on Seraphina’s, erupting a moan that he echoes at this sensation and just the way she sounds. She shouldn’t threaten him with a good time.

They both exhale.

ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ꫂ ၴႅၴ

-> Turn to page three here.

[lilicuzi]

Hey so ya know how I made a oc for slay the princess, she lives in my head rent free!

I have drawings! the rest are less clean though.

we have princess, servant, revolution and your own creation

TW blood &gore (under cut)

ok so some changes have been made but I got cutscenes!!! and a better idea of story

First off servant kinda.. there are 4 scenes of my repressed girl, the first one is of when you get her to speak to you and the other 3 are the three ways you die in the chapter. now that I've written my ideas I have more fitting themes and motifs for her in general, so one difference is that her floor is bloody and covered in feathers something I want to connect between servant and YOC is mess there are feathers on the floor and they grow the further her route is. when it comes to the servant normally she will be cleaning the basement that is coated in your feathers and her blood, the longer your around the less feathers there are, of course she's loathing you being around all the while but the princess is mainly dragging her rope around whipping down counters with the feathers and dropping them in the sink.

now the second one is when you give her the knife I already touched on that in the first post but this is the route to the revolution, I imagine you get stubborn or broken, as to get this path you make her FEEL what she's repressed out of fear of you, all the anger and resentment and bitterness. Either by coaxing her to fight you until she snaps so you hand her the knife to kill each other or what I've depicted giving her the knife and letting her kill you straight up without fighting back, which while that seems smitten like I think YOC is more of smitten instead so I think here we will use broken and his empathy/good emotional maturity.

damn this is gonna be long, anyways the way I ordered it isn't the best so I'll keep describing the servant killing you scenes which are the 3rd row( 2nd row might be last). we have the chapter 2 death / give the shifting mound the servant which contains letting her clean all the feathers before she let's go of the repression, here you gave kept shaking the soda bottle by just existing and probably talking more without helping the growing bitterness, this is the last time she speaks to you in a blunt voice as the next scene would be her smiling as "everything goes dark and you die". basically once she's cleaned everything and you haven't done anything she's strong enough to push you into the sink as she's done increasingly harder labour's throughout the chapter, moving faster, growing more and more muscular she also ages a bit or she's tired but she has wrinkles on her eyes and hands. that's the one of the differences from being a prince's as well as her sleeves and hair, now she can easily just shove you into the sink like all the other feathers and strangles you before you can fight back.

the last one of the servant is the route to YOC I'm not spelling your own creation each time. here you clean with her try to talk it out, all the blood is gone but your just leaving more feathers, here you get on the floor to clean but maybe you get smitten if you put her on the counter and clean the floor yourself and opportunist if your in this together once you've noticed how upset she is and then insist it's your duty. no matter how much you clean you just leave more feathers but she doesn't mind anymore she walks on the counters and goes into the sink which had made a mountain of feathers you've picked up but there's still somehow more on the floor than when you began. you join her in the sink slowly crushed under weightless feathers or suffocate when the black lines replace the air everything goes dark and you die. (I did not think about how to get her until I was writing I just thought what would smitten do when drawing yourself on the floor)

I have started to design the cabin in these two while the servant has counters and mess these are very different looking, just like chapter 3! we have the revolution which is a balcony where instead of a counter/basket with a pristine blade you have her crown which is missing gems but otherwise dainty and pretty. like the tower/HEA the pillars are marble and white while the floor looks like the counter tops as this place is clean somwhere bettween castle and manor, down the balcony are stairs into a doll house/cabin? it's split open and furnished as the farther you go in the more stuff this cabin now has but since it's slanted to the middle you can't reach any of it. while for YOC I drew stairs!! kinda they are more of a feathery slope but still it works there's no light in here just feathered walls and floors. she seems happy her hands reach out to you which you can see thanks to her bioluminessence.

the revolution is a different design than originally she has a uniform like a general, much older than before she's like 50 and holding the tip of your blade like a toy, she's grown and has earned her life back she still has the same ideals as before but now she can speak it you are the royalty being addressed by her executioner. she has the knife she's in your shoes and not taking anything personal anymore after all you helped her but she still has a goal and you still take and react and she hates your nature so now you may die. here however this is where you argue she was a princess once, she is flaunting her power over you and she is the one with those crystals on her coat, you just have a bend of wire on your head. she stabs herself and then you in response to that in the end, there's no place for people like us in a world to be saved.

your own creation, I think it's self explanatory she is your art and reflects back you, she's naked other than a feather cloak, she has the eyes of an owl and the talons too, she glows in the dark because your eyes are only on her now. she acts oddly always wanting your next move just smiling as your hands run over to make a red painting, all you've done was place her anger into mania its all just catharsis to her she is unfeeling and overwhelmed but yearning for anything which I'd turned into excitement as she watches herself fall apart. you can't fix her she needs something that isn't you. by the time the shifting mound takes her, she is nothing all the guts and light and flesh are on the floor and she can finally breathe a breath that isn't suffocating feathers.

and I almost forgot about the chapter 1 princess! we have what I described last time, when you steal her crown though your hand I'd twirling it like it's nothing since that seems like an appropriate amount of sass. but I think I've covered everything and I'm tired, I struggled a lot with my mouths honestly and I probably could've made everything detailed but I've worked on this for a while and want to draw something else now so I might have rushed it at the end but hope the people who likes the last post likes this one! bye!

[hollow-lime-green]

I have been meaning to ask you this for a while. It's about FIYM, of course, because the series lives rent free in my head. How did falling in love go for Satoru? We know what his initial impression was, but I'm really curious about what did him in. Was it fast? Was he aware it was happening? I really want to know, but if you'd rather keep it a mystery until later chapters, don't mind me.

Ah I'd love to answer this question! <3 I don't think it's a spoiler.

The answer to all of these things is sort of yes and sort of no. In FIYM, Satoru fell in love with Suguru almost immediately, but took a while to realize that that's what was happening. Suguru is his first in a lot of ways, so he has literally nothing to compare the experience to. Suguru is:

One of two people he perceives as on a comparable power level (Yuki being the other)

The first person to meet him without knowing the clans, and therefore sidestep the status difference

His first real gay awakening, as he wouldn't have really interacted as equals with other boys his age except Naoya (who is super homophobic - we'll get to that)

In their first year, Satoru is dealing with a confusing mix of budding feelings: mutual respect, romantic love, and concern about Suguru's powers. Because he's never felt these things before, especially together, he doesn't realize what they are, only that he has never felt so much for anyone else, ever.

Satoru knows (thinks) that what he feels is unusual and wrong. That colors a lot of their early interactions because Satoru doesn't want to be 'caught' with these feelings that he doesn't even fully understand. Now, this is a mix of internalized homophobia but also Gojo clan asceticism (which is an hc, not in text, but I think it's a good way to contrast them with Zen'ins and it fits Satoru's more direct ties to Buddhism and enlightenment).

Satoru feels so much for Suguru that he decides that Suguru can't possibly feel the same, because if he did, then how is he hiding it so well when Satoru is struggling so hard to hide his own feelings? (Answer: They're both very stupid.)

His first big inflection points would be:

Suguru's proof of powers (centipede curse flashback Ch 13 2sorcs) - woah wait this guy is really strong

Suguru telling him to fuck off when they first met (this is actually our very first scene - Ch1 Domains) - woah this guy isn't part of clan society and isn't afraid of me

The extended homoeroticism of physical training and wound care inherent to battle shonens (more specifically the first time he got to patch Suguru up - Ch 6 Domains) - woah this guy is hot oh no why do i like touching male bodies oh fuck oh f-

So it was extremely fast, and Satoru was extremely aware that something was happening. But the process of him recognizing the feeling, coming to terms with it, and allowing himself to have it has been glacially slow. I'm sure his decision to flee to Canada will really help things move along. :)