#they believe anything without a pin of logic to them

[dancingbirdie]

I Promised You (Chapter 2)

Here it is! The second/final part to this fic request I received. I worked SO hard on this, and I'm super proud of how it turned out. I hope you all enjoy!

I'm thinking about doing a possible epilogue with a dash of smut and domestic bliss but it's just a thought at this point. Let me know if you'd be interested in something like that!

Rating: G

Pairing: Astarion x GN!reader

Word Count: 4.5K

Warnings/Tags: mentions of unconsciousness, cheeky banter, domestic life, FLUFF, angst, post-events of BG3, potentially problematic levels of self-sacrifice by reader.

***

The three of you agreed it would be best to wait until the next morning before you attempted the spell. It irked you, having to wait yet another night, but you recognized the soundness in the logic. A good night’s rest and complete sobriety were more prudent, especially attempting something as audacious as this. 

You knew you wouldn’t be able to rest without the aid of a sleep potion, so you downed a bottle in one swallow before forcing yourself to crawl into bed. Not long after, Astarion joined you in the four-poster you shared, lying on his back and staring vaguely at the canopied silks above you. You turned on your side toward him, trying to gauge his expression. 

“If it doesn’t work —” he began, breaking the silence. 

“It will,” you affirmed in an ironclad tone. 

Astarion nodded absently, his train of thought undeterred. 

“But if it doesn’t… I want you to know that it won’t be the end of the world,” he finished, turning his head to look at you. 

You stared at him dubiously, quirking a brow. 

“I’m serious,” he insisted. “I know you. I know how hard you push yourself. And I know that if this somehow doesn’t work, you’re going to blame yourself for it. If you’re even still here to know if it doesn’t work. Gods,” he grimaced, turning to stare up at the ceiling again. “I still can’t believe the two of you have convinced me of this.”

“I appreciate your assurances, darling, but they’re not needed. I know this is going to work… I can feel it in my bones,” you smiled, reaching for his hand over the covers. Your fingers intertwined easily. He lifted them to plant a kiss on each knuckle. 

“Nevertheless, I wanted it known. I don’t want you crawling on your hands and knees begging for forgiveness if it fails. The very idea that you’re even willing to try this for me is more than enough.”

“I love you,” you murmured, squeezing his hand. Your eyelids began to droop. You could feel the beginnings of the sleep potion taking effect. 

“And I love you, my darling,” Astarion returned, sidling closer and wrapping you in his arms. 

You fell asleep to the sensation of him kissing the crown of your head. 

***

You roused from sleep to the chiming of the first morning bells, your senses on high alert. 

It was morning. It was time. 

You peered over your shoulder to see Astarion still lying beside you, his eyes closed in meditation. You reached a hand behind you to poke him, gently, in the side. 

He scoffed but kept his eyes closed. “Keep those jabby little fingers to yourself, pup.”

“Just seeing how alert you are” you teased. 

“Don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours. I’m perfectly aware of my surroundings,” he quipped. 

“Good, good… That means you’ll be expecting this!” you laughed as, all at once, you half-jumped, half-clambered on top of him, pinning him to the bed. 

He hadn’t been expecting it, if his annoyed cries of outrage were anything to go by. 

“Unhand me, you little beast,” he cried as he attempted to pin your arms to your sides. “Have you gone completely mad?” 

You giggled as he wrestled you into compliance, grinning mischievously as you sat atop him. 

Seeing your expression, he huffed and rolled his eyes. 

“Honestly,” he chided. “Can’t you ever just behave?”

“Where would the fun be in that?” you smirked, leaning forward to capture his lips with yours. 

He squawked in surprise at your suddenness before leaning in to kiss you deeper. 

After a few moments of heated embrace, you broke from the kiss, both of your breathing a bit ragged. 

“Gale will be here soon,” you murmured. “We best get dressed.”

“Bah. Don’t mention him when I’ve got you straddling my lap like this,” Astarion grumbled. 

You laughed but wiggled your way off of him anyway. He growled his disapproval. 

“It’s almost time,” you whispered excitedly, darting across the bedroom to fish some clothes out of the dresser. 

Astarion turned to recline on his side, head propped up in one hand, watching you from his vantage point on the bed. Piddling about the room as you were, you failed to notice the look of sincere worry splayed across his features. 

“Yes,” he murmured. “Almost time.” 

***

Gale arrived shortly after the two of you had dressed and descended the stairs to wait in the den. Per usual, all the curtains in the cottage were closed, preventing any sunlight from creeping into the rooms. Or any prying eyes from peering in. Not being blessed with dark vision as you and Astarion were, Gale muttered a string of curses as he stumbled into an overgrown houseplant you had been nursing, nearly invisible in the gloom. Astarion suppressed a laugh while you murmured a series of apologies and began moving hurriedly about the room, lighting candles to help the wizard see a bit better. 

Anticipation skittered across your skin and through your body as you helped Gale prepare for what was to come. You conjured a cot, gathered some medical supplies, and laid out some blankets for when you inevitably passed out. Meanwhile, Gale set to work on warding the room to prevent any collateral damage to the cottage or neighboring houses should the spell go awry. You tried to avoid glancing at Astarion, who was perched in his reading nook, one leg bouncing with nervous energy. You hoped that if you just carried on, business as usual, it would make him less inclined to call the whole thing off. And, too, he despised being coddled in front of an audience, even if it was your old companion Gale. 

Finally, finally, all the preparation was complete. You turned slowly to survey the room. Formerly the den, it now resembled a half-hospital ward, half-wizard’s keep with all the furniture shoved aside to one corner, a cot and medical supplies positioned in another, and a sizable runic circle drawn in chalk in the center of the room. You had everything you needed. Now, it was just time for the spell. 

“Do you feel ready?” Gale asked carefully, observing you taking in the room. 

You turned to him and smiled. 

“Yes. I’m ready,” you answered. Confidence bloomed in your chest as you walked forward to take your place in the very center of the runes. Then you turned to Astarion. 

“How about you, darling? Ready?” you asked, reaching out for his hands. 

You could see the anxiety in his eyes, rounded as they were, but he nodded once and rose with preternatural grace to walk forward and take your hands. You both stood stock-still, facing one another. 

Despite being on solid ground, in the comfort of your house, it suddenly felt like you were on the precipice of something incomprehensible. This home, this room where you had shared so many wonderful memories, was now a liminal space. Whatever was to happen, neither of you would be the same afterward. It was a heady feeling, the awareness that you were about to walk headfirst into cataclysmic change. 

“I love you,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Whatever happens. I love you.”

“And I love you,” you returned, smiling broadly. “Whatever happens.”

With a final reassuring squeeze, you slipped your hands from his. Closing your eyes, you rested your palms on your diaphragm and began to take a few deep, concentrating breaths. Centering yourself for what was to come. 

When you opened your eyes again, you felt ready. Calm. Assured. 

“Let’s begin,” you intoned. Both Gale and Astarion nodded wordlessly. 

With your eyes locked on Astarion, you reached into the well of magic within your body, drawing up power slowly, methodically. You began channeling it through your fingers. Almost as though they were doing it on their own accord, your hands lifted to begin performing the spell’s gesticulations, your wrists twisting and fingers curling with perfect precision.

Then, in a low but strong murmur, you began to recite the required incantation in Celestial. It was a lengthy script that you had spent months memorizing and practicing in order to pronounce the words flawlessly. The words poured from your lips in lilting, seamless tones as you continued to shift your hands and maintain your gaze on Astarion standing before you. 

After a few moments, the candles you had lit around the room snuffed out in unnatural synchrony. The runes encircling the two of you began to emit brilliant white light. While they touched you as well, the rays seemed to direct themselves intentionally toward Astarion, bending so that every bit of him was illuminated from head to toe. The light left him unharmed, however, washing over his skin like a gentle caress. The effect left him looking like a veritable angel. You committed the sight to memory, glorious as it was. 

It carried on like that for some time, uninterrupted, but you reckoned you were nearly halfway through the spell when you felt a sudden shifting within you. The sensation of your magic changed. What had once felt like open channels coursing through your body was now beginning to feel more constricted. Like something was compressing your power. 

Sweat began to bead on your forehead, and your bones began to ache as though your entire body were being drained of all its energy. Distantly, you realized that one of your knees was also beginning to buckle. But you couldn’t stop now. You knew from your training with Gale that if you paused, if you faltered in the incantation or hand movements even once, the spell would be ruined. And there would be no second chances. 

Refusing to be deterred, you pushed with all of your might against that fatigue, willing yourself to maintain your focus on the spell. On Astarion. On the look in his beautiful eyes. Was it just your imagination, or were they starting to look a bit different?

Just as you began to feel your second knee buckle, a strong pair of hands braced around your shoulders. Holding you up, providing you support. You couldn’t break to look behind you, but you didn’t have to. You knew it was Gale. Your kind, long-suffering companion. Your closest friend. You trusted him. You knew he wouldn’t let you falter. 

Sustained by his added support, you managed to utter the last remaining lines of the incantation. Your arms were heavy and growing lethargic, but you willed your hands to finish the final movements. You could feel you were on the verge of unconsciousness. Your magic was screaming in your veins to relent, but you bullishly forced your body into compliance. 

You will not fail, you chanted in your mind. You promised Astarion this would work. 

Finally, finally, the last syllable fell from your lips. As the room descended into hushed silence, you felt your magic give one last, desperate surge before abandoning you completely. The shock of it caused you to lose all remaining strength, catching Gale by surprise as you slumped gracelessly to the floor. 

You lay there with eyes wide open, but you could barely take in your surroundings. Everything appeared to be covered in dark, gauzy film. You could hear rustling around you, above you. Then a pair of hands were grasping your face. You couldn’t make out the words they were saying to you. 

In your last few seconds of consciousness, you could have sworn you saw a pair of startling blue eyes peering down at you, concerned. 

Funny, you thought in a delirious stupor, none of your friends had blue eyes. 

***

“Vital signs all look to be in safe ranges. Their magic is completely depleted, but that will resolve itself over a few days of rest.”

Astarion listened to Gale’s explanation, but his eyes never wavered from your face. It was so foreign, seeing you like this, wan-faced and unconscious. Of course, he had seen you injured before, but no wounds had ever rendered you so still and lifeless. It felt utterly unnatural for you to be this motionless, when you were usually such a tumbleweed of frenetic energy. The anxious, nonsensical part of him was itching to shake you awake, will you into consciousness by sheer brute force. 

“Astarion, did you hear me?” Gale’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Yes.”

“They’re going to be completely fine.”

“Yes.” Astarion replied absently, eyes never leaving your face. 

“Astarion.”

“What?” he hissed, finally lifting his gaze to the wizard. His voice had as much bite to it as a rattlesnake prepared to strike. 

“The spell worked,” Gale smiled. 

“I– I know,” Astarion replied, peering back down at you. “My fangs are gone, I think.” 

He paused, swallowing thickly, before continuing. “I can’t feel them anymore. It just feels like regular canines now.”

“Don’t you want to take a look?” Gale asked cautiously. 

Astarion’s eyes flitted up to meet the wizard’s gaze and then back down to your sleeping form. 

“We don’t have mirrors in the house,” he replied in a timid sort of tone, sidestepping the question. 

“I can conjure one. Here–” Gale paused, then began murmuring a few phrases in a language unknown to Astarion. 

After a moment, an ornate, floor-length standing mirror shimmered into existence in the center of the room. Astarion flinched, staring at it, caught between two diametrically opposed urges to flee from the room and sprint toward the mirror. How was it that both feelings could exist simultaneously in his body, a distant part of him wondered. 

“Go on,” Gale encouraged. “See for yourself.”

Astarion glanced down at you one last time before releasing a shaky breath and moving from the side of your cot to the center of the room. He approached the mirror at an angle, so that he couldn’t yet see his reflection. If he had one. 

He knew he should just charge up to the blasted thing and see for himself whether it was true, that the spell had completely worked. But something about the mirror just felt more real, more meaningful, than the notable absence of fangs in his mouth. And that made it a thousand times more intimidating. Seeing his reflection for the first time in over 200 years? It was something he had only dreamed about for decades and decades. Astarion didn’t know how he would bear it, if he stepped in front of that mirror and saw nothing but the back of the room reflected. 

He knew Gale was watching him surreptitiously as he tried to maintain his composure. He really did not want to break down completely in front of the wizard, no matter how good a friend he had been to you both over the years. 

Finally, clenching his eyes shut and with a grumbled “Fuck it, just look” to himself, Astarion sidestepped to stand fully in front of the mirror. He opened his eyes. 

And then he was watching himself open his eyes. 

His beautiful, cerulean blue eyes.  

The jaw of the face he saw in the mirror dropped, mouth opening in shock. His jaw. His face. It was his mouth he was watching as it opened. 

He could scarcely believe what he was seeing. Slowly, he raised one hand to his hair. The mirror image tracked his movements. He watched himself as he threaded his fingers through his curls. His silver, perfectly coiled locks. He marveled at how they laid so carelessly posh on his head, giving him a tidy yet windswept sort of look. 

His other hand lifted to touch his jaw. His eyes tracked his fingers’ movements in the mirror as they traced the sharp cut of his jawline. When he turned his head, he noticed the puncture marks on his neck were nowhere to be found. Not that he had ever seen them, of course, but he had felt them. Those warped indents left over from Cazador’s brutal transformation process. Many of his unfortunate victims over the years had commented on how barbaric the scars appeared against the otherwise perfect skin of his neck. But looking at himself now, nothing remained on either side of his neck than spotless, alabaster skin. 

His eyes darted wildly about his reflection then, barely able to comprehend everything he was seeing. His unblemished, pale skin. His full lips. His refined patrician nose. His sharp cheekbones. His delicately pointed elven ears. His perfectly defined brows. The thick, dark lashes that surrounded his eyes. Blue eyes. The broadness of his shoulders. His trim waist. His lean yet muscular legs. The way his physique alluded to a subtle but powerful amount of strength. 

He was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. And he could see it for himself now, for the first time in centuries. He could see it all for himself, those things his former lovers had praised him for. The things you complimented him on. The features he caught you ogling time and time again.

And then, he felt something truly remarkable inside his body. A sensation long since forgotten but now returned to him in full force, as though it had never left. His heart was beating in his chest. Pounding, in fact. Almost as though it would blast a hole right through his ribcage. 

It was overwhelming, exhilarating, and stupefying all at the same time. And suddenly, like a swift punch to the gut, the magnitude of it all wrenched the very breath from his lungs. He crashed to his knees, watching his reflection as he slumped before the mirror. 

A strangled cry clawed up and out of his throat as his mind twisted itself in knots, trying to accommodate this reality alongside everything else he had known and experienced before. He felt altogether too much and nothing at all. Tears poured from his open eyes as uncontained sobs wracked his body.  

Amid his emotional outburst, Astarion registered a gentle hand against his upper back. A solid presence against his side. Gale. Dear, sweet Gale. 

Distantly, he realized the wizard’s hand did not feel like a searing heat against him anymore. In fact, he felt no warmer than Astarion felt. Like their body temperatures were near equal. Before, that had only ever happened when his spawn siblings or Cazador had touched him. But now, he was as warm as any other living being.

Living. Being.

Before he could seriously reconsider it, Astarion crushed Gale in an embrace as he continued to weep, the need for companionship and solace a sudden ache within him. The wizard held him with all the comfort and compassion a friend could offer, rubbing his back in soothing circles and murmuring words of assurance. 

Finally, after some time, Astarion peeled himself away from Gale’s embrace. He dried his eyes on the cuff of his shirt and attempted to restore some remaining ounce of his dignity. Gale sat quietly next to him, affording him some companionable silence to gather himself. 

“Ahem,” Astarion coughed, attempting an air of normalcy. “Th-thank you, Gale.”

“Think nothing of it, my friend,” Gale responded with a gentle smile. “Truly, I am so happy for you.”

Astarion nodded, peering about the room, his eyes landing on the mirror once more. 

“It still doesn’t feel real,” he murmured, watching himself speak the words.

“Well, you could always take the test one step further and walk outside,” the wizard suggested. 

“No,” Astarion shook his head, glancing back at you, asleep in the cot. “I want to wait until they wake up. Do it together.”

Gale nodded in understanding. Peaceful silence permeated the room once more. 

“Gale?” Astarion asked after a few moments. 

“Hmm?”

“If you tell anyone I wept on you like a newborn babe, I’ll fucking kill you.”

A hearty guffaw erupted from Gale’s mouth at Astarion’s words. 

***

Consciousness rose up in you slowly, as if emerging from a deep body of water. You felt around the sheets blindly, realizing you were back in your bed. Strange, given the last thing you remembered was slumping to the floor before Gale’s feet. 

Had the whole thing been a dream? Your mind reeled at the thought. 

Then you hesitantly reached down, reached inward, for your magic. The result was immediate and evidence enough: your well of magic was not nearly as expansive as it had been before. What had once felt like a reservoir the size of a lake now felt akin to a pond. Still potent, but a much smaller resource. 

That’s okay, you reasoned to yourself. It will all be worth it, if it worked. 

You refocused your attention to your surroundings, peering around the room for any sign of Astarion. You had no idea how much time had passed. It could have been hours or days later for all you could gather. 

After a few moments, you heard the door creak. Your eyes darted over to the sound of the noise, and you watched as Astarion cautiously entered from the hallway. At the sight of you awake, he paused in the doorway to look at you. 

His eyes met yours. Blue eyes. Dark, cerulean irises. 

Then he gave you a broad smile. No fangs. Perfectly normal, elven teeth. 

Suddenly you found yourself unable to see anything as your vision blurred behind a rush of tears. It worked. 

It really, truly worked.

Your arms outstretched, you beckoned to him, childlike, wanting nothing more than to feel him close to you. Astarion huffed a laugh as he crawled into bed with you, pulling you into a warm embrace. 

Laying your head against his chest, you began to weep anew as you heard his heart beating against your ear for the first time. A reliable, strong thump-thump, thump-thump. It was, without a doubt, the loveliest sound you thought you had ever heard. Astarion said nothing, just held you as you cried tears of pure joy, of relief, into his shirt. 

After some time had passed, you finally detached yourself from his chest, putting enough distance between yourselves that you could truly take in his changed features. You noted the absence of the puncture wounds on his neck. You stared unabashedly at his gorgeous eyes. Tentatively, you reached a hand out to part his lips with a finger. He chuckled as he surmised your intentions before opening his mouth slightly to allow you to see his perfectly normal-looking canine teeth. 

“Have you gone outside yet?” you whispered in a scratchy tone, your voice rusty from lack of use. 

“Not yet. I was waiting for you, darling,” he smiled. 

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Oh, about a day and a half, I’d say,” he replied. “Your snoring has been absolutely egregious, by the way,” he continued, a wicked little smirk gracing his mouth. 

You smacked him lightly on the arm. “How dare you!” you cried with mock outrage. “I cure you of vampirism and this is the thanks I get?”

“You cured my vampirism, not my cheeky personality, darling,” he teased, but then grew more serious. “Speaking of which, how are you feeling?”

You squeezed his arm in assurance. “I feel fine. Still a bit weak, but I should fare better after some food and a little fresh air.”

“And your magic?” he eyed you carefully. 

You paused, biting your lip. 

“Don’t sugarcoat it, darling,” he warned. 

“I think it took a lot from me. Permanently, that is. My well of magic feels much smaller, but it’s still enough to defend myself with, if the need ever arises.”

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. The look on his face was one of utter guilt. 

“Don’t be. Astarion, look at me,” you beseeched him, clutching his face in your hands. “I would do nothing differently. I’d give it up all over again for this. To see you cured. This is a gift.” 

He let loose a halfhearted laugh. “I think it should be me saying that last bit rather than you, my dear.”

“Are you kidding? Think of all the blood I’m saving myself now that you’re finally cured,” you quipped, winking at him. 

A true, hearty laugh bubbled past his lips. “Leave it to you to say something so crass during such a serious moment.”

“But you love me,” you cooed, leaning in for a kiss. 

“Always, my darling,” he returned, pulling you closer to him as his mouth descended upon yours. 

***

The first morning rays were peaking over the horizon when you cracked open the cottage door to peer outside. Your gaze wandered across the rolling hills beyond the main thoroughfare, catching glimpses of the herdsmen and farmers who were out beginning their days’ work. They were the only other folks up and moving about at this time of day. 

You took in the cloudless sky, painted with beautiful pastel smatterings of oranges, pinks and blues. The air was pleasantly misty as a gentle breeze washed across your face, bringing with it the subtle scent of chimney smoke from neighboring houses. 

It was, by all accounts, an incredibly mundane morning. At least for everyone else besides you and the pale elf lingering behind you on the doorstep. 

“Are you ready?” you asked, looking back at Astarion. 

His gaze was trained on the sunlight beginning to peak over the hills. He nodded absently, allowing you to take his hand in yours as the two of you began strolling down the road. 

His fingers were tense as they interlaced with yours. You could tell his body was priming itself to flee at the first sign of discomfort. It was knee-jerk survivalist behavior. You knew it would subside after today, which is why you remained a silent, comforting anchor of support by his side. 

As you continued to walk, the two of you took in the comforting signs of life around you. The smell of fresh bread baking in someone’s oven. The bleating of a family’s goat. The quiet clucking of hens in their coop. The laundry hung out to dry. You watched as Astarion took it all in, his eyes wide with wonder at being able to see this side of living once again. He hadn’t been able to witness it since the tadpoles in your brains had been destroyed. 

By the time the sun had fully risen above the horizon, you and Astarion had made it out of the little town. You were walking along a well-trod path through the hillside when the morning light swept across your skin. You felt Astarion flinch at the sensation, his fingers squeezing yours in a vice-like grip. You paused your walking, turning to face him instead. 

He was gorgeous, half of his face limned in the gentle warmth of the sun. His eyes filled with such hope and happiness it threatened to rend your heart in two. You watched as he looked at you and then down at his hands, flipping them over, studying them in the light. Noting how they didn’t burn or blister. 

“See? It’s real. You’re cured,” you whispered, smiling up at him. His blue eyes met yours. 

“A whole lifetime of this,” he murmured, returning your grin. “Of you. Of the sun. Of living,” he emphasized, taking your hand and placing it over his heart. It was beating like mad beneath your palm. 

“Here’s to all of it then, darling,” you replied before capturing his lips with yours.

***

TAGLIST: @call-me-nyxx, @tenderlyuniquepatrol, @arioneway, @twistedcutie3, @bloopthebat, @my-bunny-prince, @starlight-ipomoea, @iceice-baeby, @moonmaiden1996, @dark-star-exe, @campfull-of-weirdos, @yokaimoon, @im-just-a-simp-le-whore

[februarybluues]

enemies with benefits. || 1. - p.u.n.k boy!

warnings: swearing, fighting, you and hobie hating each other, reader gets slightly injured but nothing that bad, horrible british (i'm very sorry🙏 )

part 2 - wounded.

You were bold, abrasive, honest, and never afraid to fight for what was right. He was the exact same - if not even worse. Logically, it was obvious for people to assume you’d be best friends. But, they couldn’t be further from the truth.

You heard a lot about Hobie. Mostly from Gwen and Miles rambling about ‘how awesome he was’. They told you about his cool style, his badass attitude, how caring he was, and pretty much everything there was to know about him. When they said he was a great guy, you almost believed them. But, your opinion quickly changed when you met him for the first time.

Miguel had called you to see him immediately, without giving any context as to why. Logically, you were confused and quite frankly, a bit scared. Did something happen? Were you in trouble? Needless to say you rushed over to him as quickly as you could.

“Y/n. New mission for you. There’s an anomaly that’s broken free and it’s jumping from dimension to dimension, wreaking havoc. I need you to stop it from corrupting anything, alright?” his face remained stoic as he spoke in a low, orderly tone. You smiled. It was no secret to anyone that you loved to fight. Whether it be fighting a villain as spider-woman, or fighting a sexist scum as y/n. You loved to make the world a better place. And you looked sick as you did it.

“Got it. Just send me the location and consider it done.” you responded, eagerly. Miguel cleared his throat, which caught your attention. “No, no, no. This is way more dangerous than your usual anomaly. You can’t do this on your own. Which is why I've assigned Hobart to be your partner.” You looked at him, confused. “Hobart? Who the fuck is that?” Without missing a beat, you heard the sound of rustling behind you. “M’right here.” you turned around, only to be met with a cocky smile, and a thick english accent. You quickly examined him. He was your stereotypical punk; tight jeans, combat boots, a sleeveless vest that was littered in pins and patches, and a guitar on his back. Everything about him screamed asshole. It was then that you realised he matched Gwen and Miles’ descriptions. There was no denying it, you were looking at the infamous Hobie Brown.

“You must be Hobie.” you held your hand out to him for a handshake. But he pressed a kiss to it instead. “The one and only.” he winked at you. You pulled your hand back, rolling your eyes at him. ‘Great.’ you thought to yourself. ‘He’s one of those people. A selfish, self-absorbed, cocky flirt.’ your head already jumped to conclusions, despite not knowing him for more than five minutes. You hadn’t realised you had been staring at him until he spoke up again. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.” you scoffed at him, turning to talk to Miguel instead. “You can’t be serious. You know I work alone. I always work alone. I can handle this by myself.” Miguel shook his head, not wanting to hear your complaints. “I know. But, this is a job for two people. And, I firmly believe that you guys will work together greatly.” As much as you wanted to fight alone, you knew Miguel was right. You sighed. Hobie opened his mouth to speak again, but you cut him off before he could spew another snarky comment. “If you-” “Shut up with your elitist bullshit. All of you punks are the same.” You turned around yet again to look at his face. He immediately perked up with slight anger. You were testing his patience. “Aye. I’m no elitist! I don’t believe in’at crap! I don’t believe in labels!” your smile got smaller, but it stayed there nonetheless. “Yeah well I don't believe that you’re as cool as they say you are. Bet you’re just all bark and no bite.” his lips quirked up into a slight smile, completely disregarding what you had to say. “They? Who’s they?” his eyebrow raised, which made you notice his abundance of piercings. You'd be lying if you said they didn’t suit him. “Miles and Gwen.” you answered, the tone of your voice was slightly annoyed. He lit up slightly at the mention of their names. “You know Gwendy ‘n Miles?” “So what if I do?” His eyes grew wide, you could see the cogs whirring in his head as he put the pieces together. “Wait. A’you tha’ badass that kicked the teeth in o’that group o’knobheads?” Ah. So, gwen and Miles must’ve talked about you as much as they did him. Fucking hell his accent was almost incomprehensible. “So what if I am?” you crossed your arms at him. He scoffed. “And here I thought you’d be nicer.” you rolled your eyes and focused your attention on the portal you opened up. “Come on, we can finish this up later - after we’ve beat this bastard.” You spoke, pointing inside the portal. For a split second you both shared a smile. “Right behind you, mate.” And with that, you walked into the portal, mockingly mumbling his accent as you did so. “mate.” 

You landed in the alternate earth with grace, quickly scanning the area to make sure no one was there. And then Hobie arrived. His chest bashed against your back, which caused you to almost fall forward. “Whoops. Sorry about tha’'.' he smiled, but he wasn’t sorry. His voice was laced with a teasing venom. You turned your head to look at him. “You did that on purpose, prick.” you scowled at him, and his smirk got wider; cockier. “Yeah, I did.” he admitted. You couldn’t believe him. “We don’t have time for this. Let’s just get this over with.” you put your mask on and looked around for the anomaly, swinging your webs from building to building as you flew around. It was then that you spotted it; a big, scaly monster. Its skin resembled that of tar; sticky and black. Accompanied by a menacingly sharp smile, its fangs were almost as big as you were. Your eyes widened with subtle fear as you watched it engulf its surroundings. You signalled Hobie over to you, careful as to not make any noise. He followed, his once-teasing demeanour gone without a trace. He was much more focused on taking down the anomaly now. “Fuckin’ ‘ell. That’s a big one.” he stated, looking at it before attempting to jump at it. but, you grabbed onto his arm to prevent him from doing so. “Are you crazy?” you whispered. “You can’t just spring into battle without a plan!” he groaned impatiently, you quickly shushed him as to not catch the creature’s attention. “Right then, what’s your plan then, missy?” he crouched down next to you, looking down at the enemy from the rooftop. The spikes on his mask shimmered from the sunlight, almost distracting you. Almost.

You snapped back to reality and shared your plan with him. He listened intently to everything you had to say - for debatably the first time ever. He had no snarky comments to share. You almost thanked him for his maturity. Once you finished telling him, it was time to initiate the plan. “Lead the way.” he said as he watched you walk towards the edge of the rooftop. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for what was to come. Without any delay, you jumped forward, latching your web onto the nearest building and springing into the creature's field of view. Once it saw you, it instantly began to attack; sending a few of its tentacle-like arms(?) in your direction. You dodged each of its attacks, cutting off one of the arms in the process with a powerful kick. Hobie remained on the rooftop, waiting for your signal. He watched as you fought. Soon finding himself lost in his thoughts. You fought the creature with expertise, swiftly gliding through the air as you dodged each attack flawlessly. He was in awe. He had underestimated how strong you were. But, there’s no way he was admiring you, right? He was just caught off-guard. Definitely. Which meant, it was his turn to show off. He wanted to impress you. And soon enough, his time came. You gave him the signal and he quickly sprung into action. He pulled the guitar from his back, holding it from the neck as if it were a weapon. 

The two of you worked together to take the anomaly down. Although you hated to admit it, you made a great team. Miguel knew that, which is why he put you together in the first place. But, before you managed to successfully beat the monster, you got distracted. You watched as hobie ripped tentacle after tentacle from it and didn’t notice the one that was flying right at you. It lashed you right in the chest, making you grunt in pain as you fell backwards. Hobie must’ve seen this happening because before you made contact with the rough concrete, a familiar web enveloped you, lifting you back up. “Careful, love. Wouldn’t want ya ruinin’ that pretty face o’yours.” You ripped his web off of you, and smiled through your mask. - grateful that he couldn’t see it. “I didn’t need your help!” you yelled at him, jumping back into battle. He laughed, which annoyed you even more. Successfully fuelling the energy you needed to knock the anomaly out. You delivered the final blow; kicking it right in its eye, which was apparently its weak spot. “Whew..” you let out, landing on your feet as you looked at it. Hobie landed next to you, placing his arm on your shoulder. “Nice one,” he said. He sounded sincere. You nodded before going back to work, informing Miguel that you had successfully taken it down. Hobie’s hand stayed on your shoulder, tightly but not enough to hurt. 

Although he was an asshole, he was starting to grow on you.

“How ‘bout we get some dinner - on you, aye? it’s the least you could do considering i saved y’life.”

“Get a grip, Hobie.”

Nevermind.

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

Pretty As A Picture - Chapter 7

Marvel

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Theme: Soulmates - Feeling the connection as soon as you see each other.

Summary: When Bucky fell from the train, their soulmate was told he was gone. When Steve Rogers disappeared into the ice, their soulmate was again told one of her soulmates were gone. But she didn't believe it. Couldn't believe it. Committed to a mental health institute, she dies of a broken heart. That's at least what the hidden S.H.I.E.LD files say, but if that's the case than why is there a photo of her. A photo that shows her side by side two redhaired Avengers.

Warnings will be per chapter.

For this fic reader will be British, but let your imagination replace if needed.

Chapter Summary: Bucky's sick of the back and forth and is determined to find you, but can Nat track you? Who's at the door?

Chapter warning: Brief mention of blood.

“Buck, where are you going?”

“I’m going to get our girl.”

“We need a plan, she could be anywhere.”

“Well, you make your plan Stevie, I’m going to get our girl.”

“Your girl?” Maria asked.

“She’s their soulmate” Sam said in a hushed tone.

Bucky made his way to the door and the stride in his step didn’t go unnoticed, he was determined and had flipped into mission mode.

“Barnes wait.” Called Nat.

“I’m way passed waiting Romanoff.”

“Just hang on. If you give me two minutes I can cut your search time.”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Are you questioning my skillset?”

“No but I know my soul sister, you’ll start at the base and work from there following any tracks. I know how she’ll handle this, we’ll find her quicker if we work together. From those field pictures none of those hostiles are bleeding out enough to account for all that blood, we’ve got to find her quick.”

Bucky was torn, he nodded his head but still turned to leave the room.

“Buck?”

“I’ll get my gear on, you’ve got three minutes.”

Nat didn’t even acknowledge him as she went to work. They knew you then but she knew you now.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, bring up full mapping of the base up to a two hundred mile radius, highlight all unmonitored routes, sewers, cargo trains, any roads without traffic cameras.”

The AI responded quickly showing various routes away from the mission.

“Now delete any routes with S.H.I.E.L.D safe houses.”

“Agent Romanoff may I ask the logic behind that decision?” Vision enquired.

Clint answered, not wanting Natasha’s concentration to be pulled away from the task at hand.

“It’s a covert mission, where she’s been screwed over by the organisation she’s doing a mission for with bad intel, we’ve taught her well enough to not then use that organisations safe houses.”

“Understandable.” Vision replied.

Steve moved to stand at the side of Natasha.

“Who would she trust in this scenario?”

“Me, Clint, British intelligence but only certain branches and teams, a couple of others. F.R.I.D.A.Y highlight all British safe houses, ours, Wakandan, any used by Delta Task Force. Take off any routes that don’t have at least one of them. Remove any that don’t have accessible and walkable sewer lines.”

Nat’s eyes scanned the map as Bucky re entered the room.

“Anything?” he asked.

“Six possibles.” Steve replied.

“So we split into six teams and we go and find the old men’s soulmate.” Tony started.

“Hang on. I’m not done.” Spoke Nat.

“I said three minutes.”

“And you have been two” Nat replied, not taking her eyes from the screen. “Exclude any that don’t have pay phones on the route.”

The map quickly went from six possible routes to three.

“Now pin any that are off the hook.”

And with Nat’s last command the route went down to one, the off the hook phones showing the path you were taking. Tony was next to speak.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, calculate the travel distance on foot, by car, train and anything else she could travel by, against the time each phone was used, and check if any calls were made.”

“No calls boss, the route taken and the time between each indicates she’s on foot and slow moving.”

“She’ll be heading to somewhere safe, somewhere she feels safe or towards someone she trusts.” added Clint.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, how long since the last phone was taken off the receiver?” Asked Steve.

“Seventeen hours Captain Rogers.”

Steve couldn’t help himself and glared at Maria, who avoided his gaze. Seventeen hours unaccounted for, you could be anywhere or unconscious in a ditch.

“Three teams, we start at the last dropped phone, on foot, unless you can fly then low air cover. Sam and Nat you take south, Wanda, Vision west, Rhodey, Tony east. Eyes out for any movement of British intelligence. SBS were running training in Florida last week, if she’s got an alert to them they maybe headed there too. Buck and I well we’ll take whatever path he wants to.” Steve instructed turning to Bucky.

Bucky went to speak but was cut off by an alarm sounding.

“Boss there’s a caller at gate 3a”

“Well now’s not the time for visitors F.R.I.D.A.Y” Steve snapped as he turned to leave the room.

“Wait!” Shouted Nat as she started to move the screens “3a.”

Realisation washed over the room as they realised the gate and the reason its importance gave it an alarm. Gate 3a was hidden and only the Avengers and a select few knew about it.

“Who is it? Come on, I taught you better than that.” He quipped at his AI.

“I can’t detect them boss, they’re blocking the scanner somehow.”

The security cameras around the compound came to the front of the projectors and with it came a gasp from Natasha.

Leaning against the gate in the late evening darkness, covered in blood and dirt, exhausted and barely upright was her sestra. Her soul sister. You.

And you weren’t alone. Your left arm was looped around the waist of someone, their head flopped on your shoulder and you were wincing in pain as you tried to keep them upright. As you pulled them upwards again the team and soul family caught sight of who it was.

There in your arms was Pietro Maximoff.

Enjoy this fic? Fancy a cuppa? My Ko-Fi.

[stromuprisahat]

Beware! Potential growth's peaking out!

Siege and Storm- Chapter 11

LOL

Alina doesn't know anything the Darkling himself didn't tell her.

Forget artist!

Modern!Alina would be a member of doomsday cult!

Just... what does she built her hypotheses on? Baghra's words about Aleksander and her own fatalism?!

Frodo, halfway to Mordor:

Yeah, I shouldn't talk much about the Ring. Sam doesn't want to go to Mount Doom already. What if he turns around and bails on me? I'd have to abandon my quest alongside him...

For a person certain the world's about to end, unless she "stops" the Darkling, Alina sure lacks determination.

No, you only wanted her to inform her rapist about Darkles' plans... I'm sure that would result into heartfelt apology and her promotion from a cocksleeve to respected member of household.

Alina, repeat after me: There's nothing wrong with becoming flushed, when an attractive man touches your bare skin, especially on parts not used for casual contact. It doesn't make you a wanton whore or fallen peasant girl, and it doesn't mean you're provoking further intimacies.

Gods! I so wish to shake her or at least watch her overcome her prudish upbringing.

Thought 1- Genya might be in trouble.

Thought 2- ... and what about poor lonely Alina?!

Subtle, but I'd more appreciate spiralling due to Genya's possible fate. Alina believes the Darkling to be heartless monster and theoretically understands mechanics of offence and punishment. Yet Genya's situations is a possiblity, Alina's feelings regarding herself certainty.

Alina's sense of duty's quite something. Especially for a lowly peasant. Instead of learning, she's learning new excuses she can use to get away with bare minimum.

I don't think actually poor person with no real status (lineage AND money) would attempt such thing. She constantly treats her "betters" as nuisances, equals at best. While not perhaps actively insulting, she's hardly behaving properly. Exactly in a way that cannot be ascribed to her origin.

Perhaps Nikolai should try acting like a Royal Prince towards her sometime. Remind her of their priorities, instead of tactfully insinuating she's forgetting to be discreet about her preferences of company.

Darling, uniforms have their purpose. And it's not only to make people hate you. Sure, a lovely LITTLE pin will make it obvious, who belongs to your retinue...

I didn't want uniforms.

The uniform in itself distinguishes members of the military from civilians, but also from one another (infantry, artillery, navy, and later air force).

I've read "they" and immediately went back, because that didn't sound like Alina at all. It seems too little sleep might conjure caring heroine, yet not even that's enough for the rest of the brain to believe it.

Oh dear, how shall Tolya cope?!

Look! A place for character development! Now's the time to set up for realization the Darkling was right to require his subordinates' obedience. Yes, that incudes you, Alina...

It's shocking to see Alina act as the voice of reason. If only her perception remained at all times.

Surprisingly sound logic on Alina's part.

Sleeping under the same roof as potential assassins?!

What's the point of all these parallels or at least similar situations offering them, if Alina won't connect the dots and change her worldview?

Why should I admire Alina's courage to accept and offer protection to possible traitors without granting the same courtesy to Aleksander?

Because she's the MC? Because she's the Sun Summoner, therefore a greater target?

Yeah, and Sasha's The Black General, the most powerful Grisha alive AND a living amplifier...

She ain't completely stupid! I'm officially rooting for THIS Alina to stick around!

[riansdiary]

the thing that scares me more than anything in the world is what if all of these success stories "i manifested a boyfriend!" and "i manifested weight loss" are just pure coincidence and could be explained in a logical way, and what if law of assumption is fake and neville goddard tried to sell a product that he never even believed in? i hope you don't take this as harm on you, i don't mean to harm you i just lately see these basic "success stories" and think to myself what if this is all a lie? we have zero proof that are hard cold and factual only "succes stories" of people behind anon mask.

I'm sorry but I have picture proofs of things I have consciously manifested on purpose, you can simply go to my success stories post and you'll see them. It's on my Masterlist.

First, the law of assumption is as real as the law of gravity. I've heard this since a long time ago. Coincidences? How can I coincidentally manifest money out of nowhere and it's not from family. It's from a cryptocurrency app we use and it gets converted to money. I manifested to get paid to exist and that's what I got.

The written success stories I understand but there are tons of success stories on Youtube. You can start by watching Hyler's success stories. How can she or we exactly get what we wanted, a series of things if it's just a coincidence? If you don't believe in the law yet then I don't recommend Tumblr. Go to YouTube and search for success stories from using the law of assumption.

I manifested my boyfriend without even seeing him. How can that be a coincidence? I couldn't see him in person or attract him coincidentally. He didn't know I existed before but now he's my boyfriend.

One of my favorite ones is me making the ends of my hair wavier or curlier when I had pin straight hair since I was a young child. I have picture proof of that as well. How can I coincidentally look like someone I'm wanting to look like? I also have picture proof for this.

I want you to go and watch success stories with proof so you can see it for yourself. We simply shift to the version of us who has that thing and it's suddenly there.

Don't be scared of it. I really don't recommend you seeking or reading success stories here on Tumblr especially those without picture proof if you don't really believe in it yet. You will not lose anything if you try it though right?

I was never scared because I've seen it work for me countless times in my life. Find success stories that have proof and are more believable to you. If the law of assumption is fake then how am I getting anything I want and it materializing?

Would we be here telling you all this if it's just a lie? There would be millions of us lying to you if that is true and if we are, what are we getting from this? Why would I go and waste my time writing helpful posts and posting success stories if we're all lying to you? Personally, I'm not that type of person who would want to deceive someone. I was raised well and I would never waste my time studying something that is a lie or is not true. I was scared like you before when I started learning about this but I have seen it work for me so I wasn't scared anymore.

I simply saw it being true in my life and actually working when I tried it and so I started studying it. I started with my cravings that I didn't tell no one to get for me. I just got every exact snack or drink I wanted hours or days later so I believed it. Neville Goddard only learned this from Abdullah and he saw it work right in front of his eyes like me so he started learning about it. He has seen success stories from his mentor himself so that's why he believed in it.

I like to form questions with my words so maybe it'll make more sense if you know what I mean. I hope this helped you understand us better.

[lover-of-skellies]

Don’t know if you’re still doing this but has anyone asked about inks smoochability?

It's been a year since I've done anything with the smoochability ratings, but hey. There were a few skeletons I hadn't done this for, and Ink was one of them, so I figured I might as well :P

All my logic is under the cut if you wanna look at it, but at the end of the day, Ink gets a smoochability rating of 9. He's one of the safer options, surprisingly enough, so if you'd like to smooch him, go right on ahead. Just be prepared; he could end up accidentally nipping or throwing up ink on you if you get him too excited

1) Is Ink's mouth dangerous at all? I don't believe it would be. His teeth are flat and standard, though I've seen some depictions of him that had little fangs, too. There are no parasites in there, no mysterious diseases/viruses you could catch, and a kiss wouldn't kill you; in fact, the worst thing that could happen would be Ink getting too excited and throwing up ink in your mouth and on you in general. While that's incredibly gross to think about, that's more of a health hazard than a danger factor, since if you kiss him, you'll at least leave without having any blood drawn. So, 2 points for safety

2) Would he bite? Not intentionally. While he IS like adhd incarnate and while he DOES do things that are a bit impulsive (see: everything involving taunting Error), I would assume he knows that biting people is bad. There is a chance that he might bite accidentally if startled, but for the most part, no, I don't see him being a biter. 2 points for not munching on anyone's lips

3) Are there any health hazards to the smoocher? Uhhhh yeah. It's the fact that if he gets too excited, he vomits ink. That in and of itself is gross, but not overly harmful. Then again though, there are different types of ink that exist, and we don't know what specific type he vomits. The impact that accidentally swallowing it might have on a human person could vary, depending on what exactly the type is. Worst case scenario, it's toxic and you need your stomach pumped asap to get it out, and best case scenario, it's yuckydisgusting and only makes you slightly sick for a short amount of time. The hazard level is up for debate here, but I'll still give him at least 1 point since death is not a guaranteed outcome

4) Does he have a sympathetic backstory? Sort of?? I know he was from an incomplete AU and was sorta. Left alone in the vast nothingness, until creators' feelings started raining down on him and he started experimenting with them. It'd really suck to be the only vaguely self aware person from your home, and then be alone eventually, surrounded by nothingness, so that does give me at least a little sympathy. So,, 1 point. It's very unfortunate, but it's not sad enough that I feel like crying over it

5) Does he deserve a smooch? Ehhhh, this one is up for debate. Personally, I'd say no, since from what I know and remember of his canon story, he never really did anything that would make him deserving of a smooch. 1 point, since maybe under the right circumstances he'd be deserving, but as is, I'm not really feeling it

6) Is Ink cute or cool? In a way, yeah, he could be considered cute and cool. He's cute in the "small guy with 0 thoughts behind those eyes" sense, and then he's cool design-wise. His first design was interesting and unique, but it had a lot going on, and then his updated design has less going on visually, but it's still pretty interesting and unique. If I was shown a silhouette of him, I'd be able to identify who he was, so. 2 points

When we add up all of our points and take everything into consideration, Ink is a 9 out of 12 :P he's a safer option, but even then, he could still unintentionally give you a nasty surprise. This is the part where I'd add in a scenario to kinda lay out how it'd go, but like. It's hot here. I'm feeling lazy, and thinking is Hard right now. I have a first kiss master list in my pinned post, which could be something to consider checking out if you're curious at all!

[goatcheesecak3]

YOU SHOULD WRITE FOR ADAM MORE. PLEASE. OR DEAN, YOU ARE SUCH AN AMAZING WRITER FOR BOTH OF THEM

AAAAAA SUNNY I LOVE YOU💕💕💕💕

Here's some dating dean hcs because I have MANY thoughts on this man

His love language is acts of service. He tends to view most relationships as transactional, he will rarely do things for others without expecting something in return, so you know how big of a deal it is that he does things for you without ever expecting anything back. When you're with Dean you can forget about carrying your own bag, paying for your own food or even rolling your own cigarettes. Dean wants to do it all for you, to show you how much you mean to him.

Your relationship is fast paced and intense. Dean doesn't ever feel casual emotions, he can't just love you, he's hopelessly, irretrievably in love with you. It's borderline obsessive, he's never felt unbending loyalty to anyone but himself before, but when it comes to you, he would do absolutely anything for you, and he makes sure you know that.

With the epic highs, come the epic lows too. Arguments with Dean are heated, frenzied and unpredictable. Dean loves you so much that it's almost painful for him, and he finds it hard to believe that anyone could ever love another person so ferociously, let alone you loving him with that same intensity. Most of your arguments stem from this issue, he's terrified that one day you'll turn around and tell him you don't love him, so sometimes he starts a fight just as a way to get it over with and give you an out.

The arguments become less frequent when Dean finally begins to understand that love isn't just something you feel, but something you do. No matter how strongly he feels love for you, he knows the feeling alone isn't enough to maintain a relationship; he has to improve himself, he has to compromise, instead of just worrying that he isn't good enough for you, he has to do everything he can to be good enough for you.

He thinks you're the smartest person he's ever met. The way you articulate your thoughts, the way you remain rational and logical without letting your emotions get the best of you (something which he struggles with) are traits that he really admires. He could listen to you talk for hours, just in awe.

You're the only person he cries in front of. Dean's been through a lot, and late at night sometimes he just has to let himself feel. He's beyond thankful that he doesn't have to go through that alone anymore, every "Shhh, sweetheart it's okay", every night you've stayed up, rubbing his back and holding him while he cries, helps him more than you can ever imagine.

He loves just goofing off with you. Skipping lectures to go plinking (shooting cans and beer bottles etc), watching horror movies and trying to make eachother jump, or just observing the rich kids from a distance and laughing at their ridiculous designer clothes.

Kisses are his favourite thing EVER. He's not one to shy away from pda either, he pretty much always wants to make out with you.

He's a big spoon for life, he thinks you're the most adorable thing he's ever seen and he loves just holding you tight and protecting you as you go to sleep.

He's willing to change for you, he no longer just coasts through life seeking cheap thrills. With you, he found purpose, and despite all his flaws, he's gradually getting better.

A/n I'm half asleep while writing this so ignore any grammatical errors etc, I cannot brain right now.

Requests are open! Check my pinned post for details

Check my pinned post to find my masterlist too :^)

Replies and reblogs are greatly appreciated :^))))

[k-dokja]

Contentment.

Warren thought Eli decided to be honest about his feelings because he had come to terms with his situation. It’s a comfortable thought, even when he doesn’t know heads or tails about Eli’s feelings for you. Long as his friend can move forward and be happy, Warren is pleased with the situation.

Eli smiles a lot around you. Not feigned smile, painted on his face to pacify those around him. You give Eli genuine smiles, the ones which warm those around him with everything he has in his body. All of it is love, enough love that Warren believes one day Eli will combust from his affection for you.

He doesn't know if that's a good or a bad thing.

It happens often. Days when you come by after classes with Eli, you're always ready to have fun with Yena for however long you have before whatever obligation takes you away. You settle into the routine with an easy rhythm that Warren doesn't even notice when you've become a part of their everyday life.

Unlike Sally, he has minimal apprehension about it. Whatever grievance he has, he has with Eli. You're only an innocent bystander in this. A strange, curious specimen, but not one he should be on alert about. Even when he's like this, standing at the sideline to watch you talking with Sally while playing with Yena, he watches with no malcontent.

From his time spent at the sideline, he has noticed a lot of things about you. He knows you're pretty, he won't deny that. Prettier when you stand next to Eli, with your eyes sparkling and your easy smile. He sees how you smile at Eli, and he sees how Eli smiles back.

He feels glad for the good coming in Eli's life. And yet...

“You’re happy with her,” Warren says, voice keeping low and out of your and Sally's ear reach. The two of you have taken up space in the kitchen while Warren and Eli loiter close by. Eli takes up the couch, but Warren finds it more comfortable standing. Electric fans buzz softly in the background to drown out the conversations between the two sides of the floor.

Warren can't hear much of what you're talking about with Sally, and it gives him the courage to talk to Eli without fear of being overheard.

They shouldn't be having this conversation here, not when you're this close, but he doesn't know when he would manage to pin Eli down for this conversation. “You haven’t been this happy since—”

“I know.”

Eli's glance at him is a warning. Warren knows what it means. He's treading hazardous territory, but it's not easy for him to understand. “Have you talked properly with her?” Warren clears his throat, quieter than before, “I mean, we’re kids now so it might be fine for her to have fun when we’re older—”

“I don’t.”

“What?”

“I don’t see a future with her,” Eli smiles and it's infinitely sadder than anything Warren has ever seen on his face, “she has everything she wants, there’s not a thing I can provide for her.”

You notice them watching and send Eli a look. Whatever Warren sees before vanishes, replaced by an expression of contentment when Eli waves back at you. Pacified by his response, you return your attention to Sally. Eli reclines in his seat, a sigh heaved out when the front he puts on melts away.

“Then why are you...”

“But, I can make her happy, at least for now,” Eli looks at him, Warren feels his throat lodged with melancholy, “and that makes me happy, I think that’s enough.”

He can't understand it. No. Warren doesn't want to understand it. There is no logic or sense to Eli's behaviour, but applying the norm to Eli would be a stupid thing to do. “Are you an idiot?”

“Warren,” Eli says. “You know it’s the truth, I don’t want to be greedy and hope to have someone like her forever. Even if we’re nothing more than passing fancy for her, I’m content with however long she decides to spend with us.”

“Dude...” Warren mutters. His frown is a storm meeting a tempest. “Don’t you want better?”

Eli casts his eyes downwards, his answer is a touch too predictable, "Do you think we can do better? Be honest."

Warren's fists clench. His thumb aches with the pressure. He doesn't have an answer that isn't a lie. Eli takes his silence as an answer. It drags on for long enough that Warren no longer feels fit to speak up. Eli doesn't mind.

"As long as I have you guys and Yena, it's enough. As for her..." When Eli says your name, there is a smile on his lips again. It's happiness and sadness. It's maddening and infuriating. Warren doesn't like it. "I don't want to ask anything more from her, I'll have her for however long she has me."

Warren croaks, "That’s depressing."

Eli's soft laughter sounds like a sigh, "And it's nothing new."

[mooestriovermind]

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Anons and DMs are always open! If you do want to directly message me, I highly recommend adding me on

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I may occasionally edit this pinned post with new / remembered information to better express myself.

Beginning of bio for short attention span havers:

Names: Amaranth / Amy (please ask before using Amy)

My age, as of my birthday in 2023: 23 years old

My preferred pronouns: she/they/it

My preferred honorifics: Ma'am, Miss - Ask before using any others

Sexuality/Romance/Etc: Demisexual/Asexual, Panromantic, Poly

Likes, in no particular order:

TTRPGs, TCGs, Video Games, Writing, Art, Music, Theatre, Movies, TV Shows, Animation, Cooking / Baking, Computer Science, Psychology, Hypnosis, Learning, All forms of life, Defiance in the face of injustice, Kindness, Empathy, Therapy, Anything that pisses off my mother, Webcomics (yes including that one), Generally pretty much every form of telling stories available to me

TTRPGs that I play / have played or at least read some:

DnD 5e, Pathfinder 2e, Masks, Dungeon World, Thirsty Sword Lesbians

Favorite Foods/Drinks, in no particular order:

Takis, Raspberries, Blackberries, Crispy ginger beef, Broccoli with cheese, shrimp fried rice, Monkey bread, Catfish, Homemade kombucha, Dr. Pepper, Water, Sourdough bread

I will probably immediately like you in some capacity if you meet one of the following criterion:

Goth, Punk, current or former "Scene" girl, Woman (bonus points if your hair is short), Witch/etc, GNC, Using "She/Her, They/Them, She/They, or Fae/Faer" pronouns, Nice to me

Disclaimer:

I hold the stance that to believe every single cishet man to be a chaser or bigoted is bigoted in itself, so don't discount yourself if you are both a cisgender man and only into women, you still have a chance, even if I may be biased against you.

Dislikes, in no particular order:

Purposeful lack of empathy, Executive tasks, Purposeful ghosting, The USA, Law enforcement, Any form of purposeful bigotry, Gatekeeping, Calling anything/anyone "cringy," Myself, "cancelling" someone/something without significant evidence and reason to do so, deciding that something/someone is unequivocally good or bad, rejecting the idea that people change, Logical fallacies, the word "Lazy," Conflict, Rejection, Purposeful lack of honesty (especially in a relationship), excessive vegetables/greens, cucumbers, tomatoes, excessive onions, non-crunchy asparagus.

I'm just here looking for friends that enjoy similar things to what I also like to partake in, be they horny or not.

- - - - - - - -

Frequently used tags and what they mean:

#hypnosis, #cw hypnosis, #hypnok1nk

typically used as a trio when tagging hypnosis themed art, or any mention of hypnosis in an ask response or any post in general

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always used for posts that are just rambles, or off topic

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will always be attached to posts that feature my voice in an audible format, whether directly attached or on the audio hosting website that I typically use

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Art that I have created. Will usually include #digital art, as pretty much all art that I make is in Clip Studio Paint

#ask response

A response to an ask. Exactly what you think it means.

#brainwashing

Explicit mention of some form of conditioning, classical or operant, usually paired with #hypnosis, #cw hypnosis, and #hypnok1nk.

#maestri sub tag

Woag me? A bottom? Surprising right? Wrong. This tag is for all of my posts (after a certain point where I started using the tag, I'm not going to find all my older subby posts and tag them) in which I am being a complete and utter subby little bottom. Please don't make fun of me too much.

- - - - - - - -

If you read all of my pinned post, congratulations! I will probably like you a lot more because you are emotionally invested in me and learning as much as you can about me.

:>

[bi-bard]

Freedom - Walt Deville Imagine (The Invitation)

Title: Freedom

Pairing: Walt Deville X Reader

Word Count: 1,145 words

Warning(s): mention of violence/potential violence

Summary: A hunter meets a vampire. The unstoppable force meets the unbreakable object, allowing for the ultimate battle between logic and desire.

Author's Note: Here's that longer plotline I mentioned on my last imagine.

Part of this was inspired by a gorgeous monologue written by Ross McGregor and performed by Christopher Tester. You can find it here! It was truly the last thing that I needed to help me tie this whole plotline together, so go check it out. It's fucking beautiful work.

PART TWO HERE

PART THREE HERE

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

"I know what you are."

I froze on the landing of the stairs, looking up at the top of the other staircase.

Walt stood on the top step; one eyebrow slightly raised. He tilted his head at me. Like he expected me to spill every secret to him just because he looked at me.

I knew in my heart what he was referring to. If someone gets a job on your estate with some ulterior motive, you will probably notice at some point.

I was a hunter.

I had been for a long time.

My hunting partner had sent me on this job, insisting that I was the best choice to go undercover and figure out the truth about what was happening in the manor.

I was meant to run under the radar, take care of the vamp, and run for the hills.

I had been there for weeks.

I was convinced I knew who it was. I believed it was Mr. Fields. He was constantly tense and seemed to be always overly cautious. I can admit when I'm wrong, but I didn't think I was at the time.

All I had to do after that was find the time to take care of him.

Which was proving ridiculously difficult.

That's the only reason that I had been there as long as I had.

I never meant for Walt to even notice me.

But once he had, I couldn't just avoid him. It would've given away that there was something about me to focus on.

We talked. A lot.

I had confessed more to him than I ever meant to. I had managed to tell him so much about myself without saying I was a hunter. I shouldn't have said as much as I did, but he seemed so interested and so... kind.

And now he was standing at the top of the stairs, staring down at me like he was daring me to do something. Run, fight, anything at all.

"What do you mean," I finally asked. I needed confirmation.

"A hunter."

There it was.

Nevertheless, I scoffed. "I don't know what you're talking about, Walt."

"You don't?"

"Not at all."

"I don't believe you," he started walking down the steps. "Hunters... they always get just a little too confident."

When he made it down most of the stairs, I took off, going to run down the rest of the staircase. The one night I didn't have a weapon. I had no intention of fighting. He was right behind me, dragging me away from the steps and shoving me to the wall, pinning my wrists with his hands. I flinched a bit, having narrowly avoided hitting the things on and by the wall.

Walt offered a sickeningly sweet smile.

I caught sight of the fangs in the dim light around us. I had been so convinced that it was Mr. Fields. I was such an idiot.

"You hide it well," Walt said quietly. He was so calm that it made me entirely uneasy. "Many hunters have shown up on my doorstep... you've been the most impressive."

I tried to kick him, or just move my leg some way. It didn't work.

"Shh, shh, shh," he chuckled a bit. I felt his claws dig into my skin slightly. "Stop moving."

I calmed down, realizing the risk right now.

"I could kill you now," he muttered, his lips finding my neck. "Hunters were always the most satisfying... but I have no interest in that now."

He pulled away again. I don't know what he was looking for as his eyes scanned every part of my face.

"You are... something very, very different... so clever and so brave and so... tempting..."

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine. I froze. His lips were slow, attempting to guide mine to move with them. I almost did. My eyes started to flutter close, longing starting to stop my logical thought.

He pulled away as he moved from holding my wrists to gently holding my hands. Vulnerable. Open for me to take action. Shove, fight, hit.

But I didn't. I couldn't.

He lifted one of my hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to my palm before turning it over to kiss the back. He held it there for a while. It was like he wanted to stop time and hold onto this moment.

"Leave him," Walt said softly. I blinked at him, suddenly snapping back into focus. "Stay here... with me."

I didn't answer. I wanted to quickly decline. To kill him and go home to my normal life. Achieve what my partner wanted of me.

Walt's eyes were closed as another kiss was pressed to my hand.

"He craves your usefulness," he continued. "Your obedience. I... I just want you. You've captured my mind and my heart. I long for you. Stay with me. Please."

"I...," still speechless. How long had it been since I was last speechless? Had that ever happened?

"Imagine it," Walt moved back, guiding me away from the wall.

He stepped behind me when we reached the middle of the landing. His arms wrapped around me, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.

"All of this... ours," he muttered. "You would have your own room for your research and your weapons. Every decision would be yours. At last, your choice. You would be loved, taken care of. Nothing earned, everything offered. And then, when the time is right, you will be joined to me forever. We'll dance through midnights and love for centuries. Unstoppable."

I felt like his words were circling my mind, burrowing into whatever part they could find until they had overwhelmed me. I had never heard something like that before. Not directed at me anyway.

"Let me provide everything that man could never," Walt gently kissed my neck, humming against the skin. "Let me adore you."

I took a deep breath. "My life... my work... all my own?"

"All I ask is your love and commitment."

It wasn't the only factor that I was considering, but I needed to know. Locking myself in this house would have driven me mad. Being able to work... to continue my purpose in this world... that's what I needed. I couldn't prove his love false, but I could do just that with his actions.

I turned around in his arms.

He grinned at me.

I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his. His hold on my sides tightened and he pulled me closer. I touched the sides of his face, grinning into the kiss. I had never had a moment feel more complete. I felt at peace. Free.

I leaned back, resting my forehead against his. "Yes... I'll stay."

His grin grew into a wide smile.

Thus was the beginning of my eternity. And what a brilliant eternity it would be.

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

Navigation Guide

What I Write For

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[ophelyia]

MERCURY

My thinking

Mercury in Pisces

You, your thoughts, and your ways of communicating tend to be idealistic, psychic, intuitive, imaginative, sympathetic, diplomatic, extremely sensitive, compassionate, and visionary. On the negative side you can be lazy, impractical, day-dreamy, over-sensitive, procrastinating, indifferent and absent-minded. You may lack a strong desire to work or to push yourself into doing anything that takes a lot of strength, organization, patience, and responsibility. You would rather be a poet or musician than a scientist or a mechanic. Formal book learning may not be your area of strength, yet you can absorb knowledge in the most remarkable ways if you are interested in the subject area. You are sensitive to your environment and thus you should be careful of which environments you hang around in. Your nerves and your mental health require you to periodically rest away from the noise of the work-a-day world. Take some time to be alone with yourself to regroup. But not too much time, as you have a tendency to get carried away with yourself and your problems. Healing using visualization techniques or healing through the laying on of hands may appeal to you. You may have great interest and talent in art, music, drama or poetry. Your imagination can be quite highly developed. Because you tend to think in terms of mental abstractions, translating your thoughts and impressions into concrete, everyday language may be difficult for you at times and consequently you may appear less intelligent or at least less quick-witted and verbal than others. You dislike being pinned down to facts and you follow your instinct rather than logic. You are intuitive and able to sense what others' thoughts and feelings are, even before they say anything to you. Sometimes you get so immersed in your own world of thought and imagination that you overlook things in your immediate, tangible environment. You are extremely open-minded and believe that anything is possible. Intangible or spiritual forces seem just as real to you as anything in the concrete world and you often form an opinion about a person or situation without much factual knowledge of them, and your impressions are usually correct. Keeping your mind positively occupied is important, as day-dreaming tends to go off in strange directions.

[kimium]

It's time for another Saw AU ask!!!!!!!!!!

If the NRC staff found out what their alumni are up to...do you think they would turn a blind eye or turn their former students in? (Or, Secret Third Option: would they offer a helping hand?) Please explain, in as much detail as you like, for each staff member!

Hi friend! Thank you for this ask! It's funny you send this to me because a couple months ago I was thinking about this exact topic! I'm excited to answer this!

For anyone who doesn't know, me and @m34gs have created a Sort of Saw Franchise AU for Twisted Wonderland. See the link if you want to read our work!

Let's get started with my answers!

Crowley - Help them out/Blind Eye

I'll start with the one that is the hardest to pin down: Crowley. Even though he's consistently in every chapter I believe we haven't seen his true personality. I firmly think he's putting on a facade. There has to be a secret with him and I hope we'll eventually find it out in canon.

This means for my assessment of Crowley in this AU is a bit incomplete. While I cannot see him turning the dorms in, I'm undecided of he'd "help the students out" or "turn a blind eye". I suppose given what we've seen of Crowley in canon, I could lean more towards "turn a blind eye", but I can also see him helping everyone out.

Trein - Turn them in

Without question Trein would turn his former students into the authorities, no questions asked. He's not the kind to condone murder and isn't going to believe the dorm's logic (ends justify the means). I also think if Trein moved to turn them in the dorms wouldn't do anything against him. In this AU he's Yuu's adoptive father. Killing him would only cause Yuu to be devastated. Plus, if they ever found out they killed Trein, Yuu would never forgive them. No one can risk that.

Crewel - Blind Eye

You may think I'd say Crewel would help them, but it's so much work. All the work for the traps is exhausting and tedious. Crewel may be a workaholic (I think he's a professor and maintains his presence in the fashion world at the same time.) Also, it's garish work and Crewel is not into watching people die slowly and painfully.

Though I think that doesn't mean he wouldn't help out a little. He'd 100% be fine covering and providing alibis for the dorms (mostly Pomefiore). I also think he wouldn't mind procuring items (such as deadly potion materials) for anyone's traps.

Vargas - Help Out

At first, I thought Vargas would be the same as Crewel, but I changed my mind. He's 100% helping out. I think what makes him ultimately decide to help is I can see him with a hunter mentality. It's a cruel world out there and if survival of the fittest means your actions are judged in a life and death situation?" That's not Vargas's fault people dig their own graves. That's karma.

So, he's more than willing to help build or haul materials for traps. He'd be right there chasing down any victim and aiding in the kidnapping. (See: Camp Vargas event where he took out the students one by one to create a high tension challenge.)

If you want to know which dorms he usually ends up helping, I'd say it's Ignihyde and Scarabia. They're the dorms with the least amount of people and would appreciate the physical labour. Especially Idia who remains hidden in his room. Vargas helping can ease some of the burden on Ortho.

Sam - Help Out

Similar to Crewel, I think Sam mostly turns a blind eye but helps out in small ways. He's more than willing to sell items to the students or lead them to the direction of a great deal. With his "friends from the other side" he'd also be valuable in collecting information where most people cannot go. Speaking of information, his shop hears everything and you bet anything said in his shop has been heard and recorded.

If you want to know what dorm he helps out the most he helps all but especially Octavinelle (for selling items).

I hope you like my answers, friend! Let me know what you think!!

[misty-caligula]

A short disclaimer about Lott’s mental state:

For those who do not think that Lottie is actually being visited by some kind of forest god, but is in fact mentally ill, I just want to be very very clear:

Being psychotic in its’ various forms, whether schizophrenic, bipolar, borderline or whatever, is NOT the same thing as being “a dangerous person”. Being delusional, having hallucinations, these things do not say anything at all about you as a person, about your moral compass, or your value as a human. Psychotic people are not more dangerous that people who aren’t, in fact people with significant mental illnesses are generally only a real danger to themselves, and are much less likely to hurt those around them than people who don’t. (Not to mention at far far greater risk of harm FROM others due to stigma)

Lottie’s losing her grip on what’s real, and that’s a difficult thing to go through, but her PERSONALITY is the same. She still wants to protect those around her, she’s still guided by what is, in the end, a feeling of responsibility and care. Whether or not her feelings are particularly appropriate is open to discussion, but all the women are flawed in their mindsets, and Lottie’s no different. But when it comes down to it, think of psychosis as similar to entering another dimension. The rules are different, the scenery changes, but YOU are the same, and you will still act in ways that seem rational and logical and consistent to you as the person who understands the new rules. It won’t make you evil, it won’t make you violent, it won’t make you a bad person, it’ll mostly just make you confused and scared.

What makes Lottie’s mental state dangerous is that she’s surrounded by people who do not understand what’s happening to her. In the teen timeline they think she’s in contact with the spirit of the forest, in the adult timeline they ... well... let’s put a pin in that and see how it pans out, because there’s options there and I don’t want to get lost in the weeds.

Point is, if Lottie was in the cabin and was having a psychotic experience and believed that something malevolent would hurt her friends, but they all recognised that she wasn’t seeing clearly, then she would try very hard to protect them and they would accomodate her. They’d probably try to make her comfortable, to assuage her fears, maybe they’d try to play along to help her. They’d probably feel sorry for her. Whether they’d be up to the task of helping her or not is... hard to say, but she wouldn’t be a danger to them.

But Lott’s mental state is being mistaken for some genuine spiritual connection to a god. And when people start doing what she says, following along and coming up with their own interpretations of her reality, adding their own assumptions, and then feeding it back to her, to get scrambled once again? That’s a recipe for disaster, because pretty soon NOBODY is thinking clearly, and all it takes is ONE angry person in the mix, one violent urge unchecked, one ... unexpected drug-fueled party... and you just do not know what people will do with that, there’s no telling where it can lead.

And we can see this happen in the woods, more often than not Lottie doesn’t really have a strong grasp on what she should do next. She’s kind of dropping in and out. Sometimes she’s the antler queen, leading by example, but other times she’s confused and scared and out of her depth, just going with the flow. But those around her are building a better structure with the materials she’s providing them, and often they’re stepping up to act with certainty (think Mari insisting the she can get food without a gun, Travis grabbing the skull off the wall without a moment’s hesitation) and this is reinforcing to her and to them that she’s right, and that they’re justified in their actions because she’s right. It’s a feedback loop based on absolutely nothing that’s started to overwhelm them.

But again, Lott having delusions and hallucinations is NOT inherently dangerous or bad or anything of the sort. It simply is the way that millions of people IRL live. And I feel it absolutely needs to be explicitly talked about before people start throwing around judgements and assumptions about her - and the many real people she’s representing - based on bias and misunderstanding and stigmatism.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

Hii!!

Idk why, I kinda see Santino not wanting to stay still/get enough rest while having his wound stitched. So, John has to constantly tell him to try and relax and take rest and literally keep him in bed. Otherwise, his stitches could get torn. Because well, we know how stubborn Santino can be, his stitches probably got torn a little. And then he gets moody again, and John has to deal with him even more. But of course, Santino loves the comfort John gives him during all that. So, yeah, that was something I just thought of :3. What do you think about this? :)

Salut! Oh boy, this took a while, but it was so fun!! Santino definitely would be hard to contain, and so stressed about being unable to do anything. So here's a ficlet! :3

TW: blood, gunshot wound, crying, self-deprecation, suggestive of smut ;)

●・○・●・○・●

"No, you're not going out. You're hurt."

"It isn't a question, I have to." Santino was looking up at John with his moodiest glower. But even as flustered as he was, he wasn't able to get much color into his cheeks. He'd had a fair bit of blood loss after being shot by a rival clan. John didn't fully follow the logic of why he was shot - something about a retaliation for a life the Camorra had taken, which was in retaliation for a previous murder...it was exhausting just to try to untangle the chains of retribution. So instead, he'd just shot them dead on the spot. Nice and simple.

"I know this is stressful. But I will take care of everything. If they can't manage without you, that's too bad."

He gave a frazzled sigh and pushed himself up on one shoulder, attempting to rise. "It is too bad, it's no good at all. This damn bullet couldn't have come at a worse time. I - mmm..." But his words were lost in John's kiss. He whined into his boyfriend's mouth, which just spurred John into a primal enough mindset to shove Santino back against the pillows, straddling his waist and pinning down his shoulder with one hand. Even in this surge of dominance, he was gentle with Santino, making sure not to disturb the bullet wound.

"Stay down," he panted, both of them suddenly a little breathless.

"Well, when you put it like that...maybe I want you down here with me." Santino locked a hand onto the back of his hair and brought their lips crashing together again, his precious outing forgotten for the moment.

But it was not forgotten entirely. It was late in the night when John woke up to find Santino's side of the bed empty.

"Santino?" There was no answer. It was probably too much to hope that he had just gotten up for a trip to the restroom.

He bolted out of bed and down the hall towards Santino's study. Sure enough, he was sitting at his desk, writing with shaky hands that occasionally stopped to clutch at his side in obvious pain.

"What are you doing, love?"

Santino jumped, and looked up to see him. "Cazzo! [Fuck!] - don't scare me like that."

"I'm sorry. But you shouldn't be up."

"I had work to do," he said with a glare that broke off into a wince. This time, when his fingers brushed over his side, they came away covered in blood. He looked down at his hand and went pale. "What...John..."

"Okay, hey, easy." John was already on his knees next to him, lifting up his shirt to see what happened. "You tore your stitches. How did this happen?"

He tsked. "I don't know...I reached up to get a ledger from the top shelf, maybe that would do it..."

"Yeah. It's okay, we'll fix it."

"So irritating! I can't even lift my arms without falling apart, I can't do anything. I can't believe I let this happen to me, I'm so stupid." He was shaking even worse now. John took his hand despite the blood.

"No you're not. You don't need to do anything right now. Only rest. Let's go clean you up, okay?"

For a second, Santino frowned so deeply that John thought he might cry. So he wrapped around him in a tight hug. "I'm sorry you're hurt, love."

"This is bullshit. I just wanted to work...just get back on track so my schedule wouldn't be thrown off..."

He felt the shoulder of his shirt grow damp where Santino's eyes were squeezed shut against it, and kissed Santino's head in response. "I know. Come on, let's go clean you up before you lose any more blood."

So, for the next half hour, they sat in the bathroom, John gently cleaning and restitching his side while Santino sipped a juice that John had poured for him to replenish his blood. "An apple juice, seriously John? Like I'm a kid getting my blood drawn?" But John had insisted. And it worked pretty well. By the time John helped him back into the bedroom, he wasn't shaking anymore.

"I guess you'll say I can't work tomorrow either?" he asked.

"No."

Wrapped in his arms, Santino sighed. "You're going to be the death of me."

"I'm going to keep you alive. Just the way I like you."

"...Thank you for putting up with me, John."

"Nothing to put up with. I'm so lucky to be next to you."

Santino caressed his cheek and spoke softly, already on the verge of sleep. "Why did I ever get up in the first place? Everything I love is right here."

[toungeandteeth]

11/28/2023

I wonder how capable I ever was about keeping her out of my mind. I long for something I don't know if it exists. If I indulge, I create the mindscape of a reality altered by a longing. Desire is a cruel act.

Even a moment glance at her face, and again, I'm smitten all over again, my chest doing a curl, my mind swirling the silent pond into ripples once again. The echoing ghost of the itch in my fingers. Ringing, like the sound her voice had, like the laugh from the other side of the room, I always managed to carve out, like the frying of my nerves, knowing I was not acting logically. That I was a fumbling, pathetic mess of a person, and trying to hold it inside; but it was liquid, it was vicious and without reason, spilling out of my arms and sloshing into crevasses. I haven't deleted the playlist I had, with Her in the veins of each lyric. I know Passing Papers like a tattoo I'll never get etched out of me yet. Songs I listened to while fixated on the meaning behind souls, songs I used as an explanation. I don't know if this longing will ever become something different. I don't know if this longing was ever meant to be anything different. How could I gently give it back to the universe after I coped with believing the connection was a sure sign of it?

Perhaps I am still positioned with the thought that she could be in a less-than-perfect situation, a world giving her hands to feed upon rotten fruit and act as if it's satiating. How could She, be with arms not perfect for her frame, that clank as they walk and pinch her skin and blister her knees. How could she claim love for something not For her soul? The universe is playing sick tricks by letting the hands of the unwashed come hold her skin and force my eyes with acknowledgment to be focused. And how selfish can I act like that's a slot I deserve, like my brittle hands are perfect for it as if my skin isn't aware of how she's far, far too beautiful for me? She will always be too beautiful for me. I have her image ingrained in my skull and a longing so entire.

I crave the thoughts in her mind like they're the nectar of dreams and will satiate even the sickest, coldest of days. 

Devotion. What a word that runs inside my skin, neurons revolving around the world, skipping to the tips of my body and wrapping around into my being. 

There have been months since the moments we've had and upcoming upon years without properly acknowledging each other's existence. I still have her text messages available on my phone, and her Instagram is blocked but not unfounded. I know how I could reach out to hear her voice with a touch. Is this a sign of my being? I've gone days, weeks, and months without thinking of her. And the entirety of the hand wrap still controls the direction I can face at times of weakness, and I open that playlist again, where I wonder how her face looks again, and I let the pain sting just a bit more.

And now, my playlists surround a completely different life. The songs that have her name written within the words are gathering dust. I know the way bony fingers feel in mine. Thighs of different types under my hands. Smiles blossomed from me, me taking a hook and catching the sides of them and making them smile harder. Hands I use to pin chests against the walls, grab the collars of shirts, curl onto the belt loops, hold a body. To hold a body. To grasp onto a mind so gently, softly, entirely, the care within similarity that there's love within the spaces we radiate inside. I'm expanding my mind with each day and letting the crust the past put onto me slowly peel itself off. I don't want to wonder how she's doing; maybe I must.

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

See this is why I can't stand default liberals.

Fact is looking at things HONESTLY what do we see?

A man that has not been charged with anything. And you can say "OH WELL HE'S BEEN INDICTED". Ok? You can Indict a ham sandwich. What's your point?

Fact is States rights matter yes. But they do NOT supercede the US Federal Constitution. Especially not for a Federal Election. ESPECIALLY not when the person in question has not been charged with anything. And now SCOTUS has more or less decided to take the case as we knew they would. And it's very likely that end up being the case that the 14th does NOT in fact include the President.

Because let's be honest for a moment. Dems do NOT know what it would mean if they could just take Trump off the ballot for no reason without charge. That precedent? That would mean that Rep run states could take off Joe Biden. Why? Well because he has sold us out to China and other foreign nations, and has accepted bribes from other countries, in order to keep getting money through his son.

If you ask me, that might as well be considered insurrection. AND that's not also including letting wave after wave of people swarm this country ILLEGALLY, and then using our tax dollars to give them housing, food, and an allowance. When we can't even take care of our own homeless or poor. Hell that's more than insurrection. That's TREASON. So all red states or states that are purple but headed by Red politicians should strip Biden off the ballot. Oh would that bother you? Why?

No one has any proof at all that Trump was associated with the rather small scale riot. Other than, "I believe that he did it because I hate him". Trump would have never allowed it for 2 reasons.

It would make him look bad and make him look weak

Them doing what they did means they were not paying attention to him. And given that he loves attention, my guess is that he is pissed people ignored him.

This ALSO not counting the fact that he explicitly said be peaceful and ALSO ALSO said that the Reps are the party of law and order. That is not a "Go raid the capital". And unarmed no less.

Fact is and remains. This is not a states rights issue. And states rights DO NOT come before the Constitution. Because if they did, then California could ban free speech, implement slavery, and ban guns. But because we are FOUNDED on those documents, they can't just ignore them. What's more, again, this is in regards to a federal election. Not a local election. Meaning if any state strips a candidate off at all, they are actually in violation of the law. And could be considered meddling in elections. The POINT of the 14th amendment was not for the president. It was to ensure that no issues arose for state electorates. Because those are NOT federally elected. They are locally elected.

And even supposing that a local politician DID get pinned with this, they'd have to be found guilty by a court of doing so before they could even be removed. If not, then it would stand to reason any opposition at any point could accuse the other side of having "Committed Insurrection" and then the courts, who'd side with the ruling party, could just go, "Yup". And have the other party removed. Making their state effectively a fascist regime under monopoly rule. And you think that's all well and good......right up until infiltrators come in and flip the script. Then you're the ones that'll get f*cked in the end.

Think logically about sh*t. Because when you don't you end up shooting yourself in the foot, and then you blame everyone else BUT yourself. And it's frankly pathetic.