#they can have their melodramatics... as a treat

[ronanxing]

don't go

[sketchypeppers]

extra ordinary

[numberone-wifeguy]

05/03/24

[writinglittlebeasts]

'Remember that time I died for thirty seconds?' Those words-- hell, the simple implication of those words in a pointed silence --got Raleigh anything. 'Remember that time your husband decided he didn't want a son who lived to saddle him with hospital bills? Remember when you abandoned me to mourn your marriage when half of my bones were broken and I couldn't fend for myself?' Raleigh shot her a look when he mentioned staying the night at Ruby Morrison's house or taking a ride out to Portland for the weekend. Once for an unfortunate In Mary's Name concert where the designated driver had slipped Raleigh his drink tickets and left him to stumble around the venue utterly pissed until he found himself on the sidewalk outside with his head crushed between his knees and a street hotdog cooling in a rank puddle on the concrete between his shoes.

When he'd caught her at the refrigerator in the dead of night and said 'I'm bringing a boy home,' she could see the old rejoinder before it ever reached his lips. She was so good about that one that he later wondered if he'd even needed to think it-- 'you need to be okay with that because you owe me'. His mother had pulled him close to her body and told him that she trusted him to make good decisions. He couldn't really do anything but cry into her shoulder, after that.

Werewolves, though? The specter of child neglect past may not be enough to ease that particular rock of the boat.

[sunsburns]

kiss of life (iii.)

pairing: luke castellan x aphrodite!daughter reader

masterlist

summary: you have never doubted aphrodite when it comes to soulmates, she's the goddess of love, she knows what she's doing and you're getting pretty sick of people telling you she's made a mistake with your soulmate, specifically. you refuse to believe that she could be wrong, but luke castellan is making it really hard for you to have hope.

—or: you and luke are off on your quest you're totally not having second thoughts about choosing him, he's your soulmate after all... right?

word count: 3.2k

warnings: filler chapter (sorry gang), reader's pov, reader is lowkey unreliable and is hiding something, pre-tlt, luke's character is kinda inconsistent but whatever, angsty fight with luke and reader, low-key happy ending

a/n: everyone might've moved on but i'm still here 😔… gang i think i’m coming back to my active era (no one cheered) anyways there’s so much i wanna write for this series so enjoy this little filler!

You'd always been a fan of bad ideas, but choosing Luke Castellan as your companion for the duration of your quest had to be your worst one yet. You felt a pang of doubt, questioning your choice, especially after witnessing the outcome of his quest—a failure that seemed impossible to shake off from the whispers of other campers. A failure your siblings wouldn't let you forget.

"I was there when he came back. I know what happened," you muttered, frustration creeping into your voice as you stuffed clothes into your bag.

Your siblings meant the world to you. You cherished the bond you shared—the familial camaraderie that bound your cabin together. As the eldest, you revelled in guiding and nurturing them, relishing the role of guardian and friend within your cabin's close-knit circle. Yet, like any family, they can sometimes be suffocatingly overbearing.

Alexis, your brother, ever ready to smack a reality check, had been the first to warn you against choosing Luke Castellan, and now he spearheaded a group of your siblings, all urging you to reconsider with reason.

"But that's just it. You don't know. Not really. None of us do." Alexis told you, reclining against the shared vanity in your cabin. The absence of the younger kids, off with Chiron for a lesson on constellations, offered you some peace of mind, sparing them from witnessing the escalating intervention.

As Silena sifted through the clothes strewn across your bed, her soft humming filled the room, a stark contrast to the weighty silence that hung over the conversation. "No one but Chiron and Mr. D knows what happened on that quest. He refuses to talk about it." she mused.

"There's not a lot of glory in that." Alexis shrugged, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

"He's been so weird and different since he returned," Silena added, "I remember he used to smile. It was such an attractive smile. And he used to talk... He barely ever talks anymore."

Alexis snorted, "That's called depression, Silena."

"It's just so sad." She frowned and sat on your bed, her gaze distant, "Pretty people don't deserve to be depressed."

"Amen to that."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at their melodramatic exchange, a fleeting smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you focused on folding another pair of pants. 

"He still talks." You said.

"But it's not the same," Alexis countered, his expression grave. Deep down, you knew he was right.

"And the way he's treated you," Silena scoffed, "constantly icing you out..."

"Avoiding you for months..." Alexis added, stepping closer to you with a solemn expression. "Refusing to even talk to you."

When he tried to put his hand on your shoulder, you couldn't help but shrug it off, not wanting his sympathy.

Their reminders, well-intentioned though they may be, served only to deepen the wound already festering within you. Like a knife twisted in your back, the memories of Luke's avoidance and unanswered questions pierced your thoughts with relentless precision. You vividly recalled the disappointment etched across his face in the infirmary, a silent testament to his dismay upon discovering your role in his fate. The weight of his unspoken words hung heavily in the air, a haunting reminder of the rift that had formed between you before it even started.

Your siblings were very careful with their next words: "Do you think that maybe... just this once... Aphrodite got it wrong?"

With a heavy heart, you stormed out of the cabin, your mind reeling with conflicting emotions. You swore up and down to Alexis and Silena that you were fine, that you only needed air. The need for clarity drove you to seek solace in the quiet embrace of nature, the gentle flicker of a breeze offering a touch of comfort amidst the turmoil raging within.

Throughout your life, your unwavering loyalty to your mother, Aphrodite, and the Gods has been a source of solace and guidance. You found comfort in the subtle manifestations of them, from the celestial dance of stars to the gentle caress of sunlight filtering through the trees. Even in the casual interactions of everyday life, you sought traces of your mother's hand guiding your path.

As you gazed into the dancing flames, the remnants of fruit smouldering in their fiery embrace in a tin can, you found yourself caught between hope and despair during your offering for your mother. Silena's words echoed in your mind, a harsh truth you were reluctant to confront. Maybe you didn't have a soulmate. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe you're unlovable.

Yet, amidst the cloud of doubt, a flicker of defiance ignited within you. The mere thought that Aphrodite could be mistaken in matters of love seemed impossible to you. You had witnessed firsthand the intricate tapestry of fate woven by her hand, guiding souls to their destined counterparts with unfailing precision. 

The yearning for that connection, that soul-deep bond, burned within you like a beacon in the darkness of uncertainty. It was a desire as old as time itself, the longing to find solace and belonging in the embrace of another.

As the flames dwindled to embers, their dying glow casting flickering shadows upon the ground, your prayers went unanswered. 

The weight of your impending quest pressed upon you like a heavy cloak. Questions tumbled over one another in a relentless cascade, each one a dagger aimed at the heart of your resolve. Where would you need to go? Would you need to defend yourself? Would monsters come after you? Should you choose someone else? Could it be that Luke was nothing to you but a mistaken thread tethered into your life?

Your shoes stepped over twigs and dry leaves on the ground until you stepped out of the forest. Passing by the armoury, you forced a smile upon your lips. You forced yourself to be excited for your first quest rather than dread it. It was a rare privilege bestowed upon a child of Aphrodite, you should honour it.

As you approached the heart of camp again, the familiar clang of sword meeting dummy rumbled through the night air. The rhythmic sound, though commonplace in the realm of demigod training, carried an ominous weight under the cover of darkness. You would have assumed that all campers were asleep.

Luke Castellan, a boy who had become synonymous with the darker days since his return from his quest, stood amidst the training grounds, his silhouette illuminated by the pale moonlight. The sight of him, bathed in the ghostly shine, was haunting. With each precise strike of his sword, a muted testament to the rage that plagued his restless spirit, he seemed to exude an aura of both determination and despair.

No wonder you were so exhausted.  

You dared not meet his gaze, instead keeping your head bowed as you navigated the familiar path through the training grounds. Every fibre of your being screamed for you to move faster, yet the pull of his presence was undeniable. Despite your best efforts to remain unseen, Luke's voice cut through the night, calling out your name with a sense of urgency that sent a shiver down your spine.

Shit.

With a sinking heart, you felt his hand land on your shoulder, stopping your escape. You couldn't avoid him now. Turning to face him, you were met with a sight that mirrored the restlessness within your own soul. His features, etched with lines of weariness and frustration, betrayed the weight of the burdens he carried.

You were distracted by the way he was looking at you. Brows furrowed, his lips turned and pulled into that permanent frown that had you wondering if he had ever smiled since he came back. Yet, despite the weight of his solemn expression, there was a flicker of something in his eyes – a glint of warmth, of familiarity, that almost stirred a faint glimmer of hope within you.

Almost. 

"You're making a mistake." He insisted. "You need to choose someone else for your quest."

You tried not to seem too disappointed. "I can't pick anyone else." You protested, and he raised his brows at you, doubtful. "The Oracle told me to choose you."

"She told you to-?" A scoff escaped him, "The Oracle doesn't tell you who to choose. She doesn't say anything about who you should bring-"

"Luke-"

"The Oracle tells you what your quest is, then a weird riddle about something that will happen on your quest that will put you on edge the entire time."

Luke had stepped closer to you as he spoke as if his words would've sunk into your head clearer if you could hear them better. He spoke to you a lot that way, hoping you'd cling to every word he had to say; good and bad. Mostly bad.

The Oracle's cryptic words lingered in your mind. She had not revealed much about your quest, offering no subtle hints or insights into Eros' whereabouts to make your life easier. Instead, her assurance that success hinged on bringing Luke Castellan along had left you grappling with uncertainty. "He has all the answers you seek," she had urged, her words echoing with a weight that you struggled to comprehend.

"It has to be you."

"What else did she say?"

You hesitated. "That's it," you replied, your words falling short.

"That's it?" He didn't believe you.

"Just a few hints of where Eros might be, I guess." The lie slipped from your lips effortlessly. 

He caught it quickly but never urged you to admit it. Luke remained silent, his expression unreadable as he mulled over your words. 

You sort of wished he fought you over it.

You wished he'd do anything with you. At least try to.

"If you don't want to come with me, that's fine," you conceded, "I'm leaving tomorrow morning, with or without you."

"Really? You'll just leave?"

The bitterness in his tone was unmistakable. Yet, despite the resentment that coloured his words, there was a flicker of something in his eyes – a glimmer of regret, perhaps, or maybe resignation. It only annoyed you further.

Luke Castellan was possibly the most confusing person you've ever met. He didn't want to join you on your quest, but you couldn't leave without him either? What's his fucking deal?

He intrigued and frustrated you, like some curse had been placed upon you, and you wanted to understand every part of him while he wanted nothing to do with you. Perhaps Aphrodite was being cruel when she chose him as your soulmate, but you weren't any better when you put him in the position of joining you on your quest.

"I don't know you." You admitted the words hanging heavy in the air between you. "You've made a really good effort to make sure that I don't know anything about you. I did my part. I picked you. If you don't want to come, that's... fine."

It pained you to say it. You did not want to go alone, but you weren't going to force someone to accompany you who clearly didn't want to be there. However, the uncertainty of what lay beyond the safety of the camp walls loomed large in your mind. You haven't left the protection of the camp in years, you weren't sure of what was out there other than the stories the summer campers would tell you, of their close calls and near misses. 

Luke Castellan was the perfect example of what leaving camp does to someone.

Despite the weight of your decision, you held your head high as you turned on your heels. You doubted Luke had anything more to say; he was a man of few words, after all.

You left him there, just as he left you by the docks for months. And then you lied to yourself, clung to the belief that your mother, Aphrodite, would safeguard your journey and that your brother, Eros, awaited your rescue.

And so, the next morning, after bidding your tearful goodbyes to your siblings and friends and earning a proud pat on the back from Chiron, you swallowed your pride and left.

The Oracle's words were etched into the very fabric of your being, a relentless mantra that monopolized your thoughts as you trudged toward the top of the hill and left the safety of campgrounds. Each step forward was a testament to your determination, each footfall a declaration of your unwavering commitment to the quest ahead.

As you climbed, you couldn't help but imagine the faces of campers upon your return. You pictured the awe in their eyes, the pride in their voices, and most of all, the look on Luke's face when he realized the extent of your lone success, his disbelief mingling with a begrudging respect.

"Hey-"

The sound of your name startled you out of your thoughts. You were trudging through the grass when you spotted a body sitting under a pine tree, shaded from the sun by its leaves.

Luke looked up at you, frowning, "Took you long enough."

His dishevelled dark curls fell over his eyes, a stark contrast against the vibrant greenery surrounding him. With a resigned sigh, he rose to his feet, his movements fluid yet tinged with an air of impatience Luke picked up a bag by his side, tossing it over his shoulder. It wasn't until he emerged from the tree's shade that you noticed the subtle changes in his attire. Gone was the signature orange camp shirt, replaced instead by a more subdued navy tee that hugged his frame. His old cargo pants remained the same, but different nonetheless.

Eyeing his bag, you could spot smaller daggers strapped to the sides, prepared for anything. It took you a few seconds to process why he was there. You squint at the sun as he steps out from under the tree. "You came."

He huffed, "Obviously."

You let out a breathless chuckle, maybe one of relief since honestly, despite everything you'd been trying to convince yourself of, you were terrified to leave on your own. 

"Why?" you asked, your voice betraying a hint of uncertainty as you adjusted the straps of your own bag. The question hung in the air, unanswered. Of course. You almost rolled your eyes as Luke began to descend the other side of the hill. With a fleeting glance over his shoulder, he wordlessly beckoned you to join him by tilting his head to the side impatiently.

You grinned then, wide and bright. "I know I said I didn't care if you came or not, but I'm glad you're here."

He showed no sign of acknowledgment of your sentiment, his gaze fixed ahead as he continued to walk once you joined his side.

As the minutes stretched on in silence, broken only by the rhythmic crunch of leaves underfoot, you found yourself lost in thought. It was only when the distant hum of passing cars reached your ears, their blurred forms darting through the forest's fringe, that you were jolted back to the present.

Drawing to a halt near the forest's edge, you felt the weight of uncertainty settle upon you. With a hesitant pause, you turned to face Luke, the question that had been gnawing at your mind poised on the tip of your tongue.

"Why'd you stop?" He asked.

"I just..." Your voice wavered, uncertainty lacing your words as you struggled to articulate your thoughts. You worried that if you said the wrong thing he'd leave you stranded right there and return to camp while the two of you were still walking distance from it. It annoyed you a little; how much you had to walk on eggshells with him.

You couldn't help but wonder how different things might have been if you hadn't chosen him. You were being stupid when you picked him, you decided. You already regret it. Maybe Luke was right, the Oracle was just trying to get into your head.

"What made you change your mind? About coming on the quest?" you finally managed to voice, your eyes meeting his in search of answers.

He looked at you, brown eyes flitting over your expression, before licking his lips and simply stating: "If you break an arm, so do I."

That had been the closest Luke Castellan had ever been to admitting he had a soulmate.

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[snailsrneat]

Yandere Vil Schoenheit Headcanons

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

TW: Kidnapping, Stalking, Posioning

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

I think if anyone got literally any of the overblot boys as their yandere they'd be pretty fucked.

Mostly because the overblot boys hold a lot of power and have tons of magic.

Vil, specifically, however is one of the few who won't ever use his magic on you.

No instead he'll just use potions on you (:

When you two first met, it wasn't exactly love first sight, more like first word.

Cause when he saw you, he wasn't impressed.

'This is the prefect everyone's been so obsessed over? Really?'

He honestly thought that you'd be more impressive, more magnificent and elegant if you will.

His first impression of you however immediately changed when you had begun barking orders at fellow freshman in an attempt to defeat him.

Never once has he seen a freshman, one as weak you, calling the shots amongst the student body.

Something must be different with you. And he had to figure out what.

From then onward he recruits Rook to spy on you and learn what your day-to-day patterns are like.

In the process Rook also listens in and learns all your secrets. All of which he reports to Vil.

The Vil learns about you the more he falls in love with you.

He obsesses over every single detail of you, from little moles in unseen places to the formation of stress wrinkles crowding over your forehead.

Every minute detail that he can find, he wants pepper with kisses and tell you just how weak in the knees you make him.

A part if him feels silly for getting weak for someone as mediocre as you, but the other half of him wants to steal you away and lock you in his bedroom so you never have to be troubled by those horrible boys you call "Friends".

In fact...that's a fantastic idea! Why hasn't he thought of this before? That way he can watch you up close.

No longer will he need Rook to do all his stalking, not when you're already here and so close.

When he kidnaps you he does it under the guise of you try a new tea blend he was given. But, unfortunately for you, the tea just so happens to be spiked.

"Oh no! I'm so sorry dear, I didn't think one of my own fans would try to spike my tea! Here let me help you get to the infirmary~"

He's an actor so he's very good at being melodramatic.

Instead of waking up in the infirmary, you wake up his bedroom, with your arms chained to the bed posts and dressed in expensive satin pajamas.

When Vil comes into the room and notices your struggling, he chides you for bruising you beautiful skin.

He doesn't release you from the chains, but he does his best to keep you comfortable.

"Only the best for you, darling. You shouldn't worry yourself with such needless things. What you should be thinking of is me, and only me. Understand?"

If you ever try to escape, don't.

I'm warning you, if Vil catches you trying to escape it'll be worse than just staying chained to his bed all day.

It's even more terrible if you've been getting "closer" with him recently, because now he knows that he shouldn't trust you fully. Ever.

If he catches you, he'll no longer allow you to be comfortable.

Instead of that nice comfortable bed, you sleep in a dog cage in the corner of his room.

And the days have started to blur together now, he started poisoning your food to make sure you don't do anything.

Most days your too tired to anything, let alone fight back or come up with escape plans.

If he has to start treating you like a baby he doesn't mind, he likes making you depend entirely on him.

"You know you did this to yourself, right? Trying to escape was a foolish endeavor and you must face the consequences of your actions..aw, you're crying darling. Don't cry, it'll give you wrinkles. Don't worry my love, this hurts me more than it hurts you. Now drink this."

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

[breathingmelancholy]

Summary: You treat Astarion's wounds after a battle and he decides to test if his hand is still performing the way it should. 

Astarion x Female reader; Astarion x Tav

Warnings: 18+. Explicit, Smut, Light dom/sub. PIV sex, Male masturbation.

Word count: 4477 words. (Yeah, I think I got carried away.)

Author's note: Please, be kind. This is my first time doing this in a long time. And english is not my native language.

You sigh. "Okay, look. You're being melodramatic," you say. "I promise I've patched you up."

"Oh really?" Astarion drawls in response. "Prove it."

This game of flirting-without-flirting-but-it-kinda-is-flirting that you and Astarion have going on can be exhausting. But it's like a dance you know every step of by now, and you know exactly how to keep him going.

"Hmm. Try to use your hand. Let's see if it still works." You teased. "Promise it's fine. You won't have any problems... Performing." She had an almost devious smile upon her lips.

"I hate you." Astarion's words don't carry any venom- he's too amused for that.

"You know you love it, though," He return with a little grin. Astarion's grin remains, but it's more sheepish now.

Oh yeah. You could keep this going for as long as you need to.

"Do I?" You teased. "And what is that, exactly?" Your eyes met his, a smirk on your lips. You rested your hands on your own lap, after finishing patching him up.

Astarion leans forward. "Hmm. Do you really need me to spell it out for you?" he asks, as he leans in closer.

It's only half flirting- you both know that- but it's enough to keep the sparks flying.

"I have no idea what you are speaking about." But your eyes said otherwise. "Use your words, love." There it was, the half smile. She breathed in slowly.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." He's still leaning in towards you- it's no wonder you can feel the heat when he's so close.

"Unless you're suddenly hard of hearing," he says, before leaning in even closer, so that you could practically count his eyelashes.

"Would you like me to really spell it out for you then?" he purrs.

"Yes." You dared him, leaning in as well. "How about that?" You raised one hand, touching a lock of his hair, tucking it in behind his ear.

"Oh, you like it rough?" Astarion's voice remains low, almost a whisper as his breath brushes across the shell of your ear. He reaches a hand up, wrapping his fingers around your wrist, and traces his thumb just below the outside of it.

"Is this what you wanted me to spell out, hm?" It's not a question- it's a statement, and he's a predator about to go in for the kill.

"Yes. You look so handsome begging for it." You teased, well aware that would snap him. You know how much he likes that. He teased you and you did as well, but nothing has happened until now. Maybe it was time to change that.

His fingers clamp down on your wrist, tightening around it enough to make his grip almost painful.

"Begging?" He hisses between clenched teeth, leaning even closer to you. You're only an inch away from him now.

"It is you who will be begging. For mercy." He whispers in your ear before leaning back just enough to see your face again. He waits, watching you, waiting for you to admit it.

"Try me." You teased, but didn't give in. Your smile was flirtatious, malicious. But there wasn't a hint of doubt as you leaned in, so close so he could feel your breath.

His grip tightens upon your wrist as you lean in towards him. Just as the breath catches in your throat from your faces being so close, he tugs slightly on the wrist he has a grip on, drawing you just closer enough to his face that your noses are almost touching.

He doesn't wait. The hand that was holding onto your wrist shifts, reaching up to cradle the side of your head, as his other hand moves from your other wrist to fall upon your shoulder.

His breath was hot upon your cheek.

Your lips were almost touching him, yet they haven't met. You wanted him to give in. Hands free, you rested one hand on his shoulder, the other one rested on his leg. Your gaze was firm, teasing, daring him.

"I could kiss you right now," he promises softly. His hands tighten around you, and with him being so close, you can feel everything. Even the movement of his ribs with each breath he draws in.

His breath catches for a moment as your hand rests upon his leg. How long had he been wanting this? How long had you been wanting this?

"Shall I?" He leans in slightly, just enough for you to feel his breath on your lip, teasingly close, but not quite touching.

"Do it." You dared, leaning in ever closer, close enough to brush your lips against his slightly.

This is what he was waiting for.

Astarion lets out a low noise at the touch of your lips upon his. A moan, a shiver. The hand upon your head pulls you in by the back of your scalp, angling your face just so that he can meet your lips head-on.

It isn't soft, this kiss. It's hot, and it's hungry, and it's almost animalistic in its ferocity.

But you weren't shy. If anything, you were daring. As your body leaned in to correspond his kiss, you leaned in enough so you could place yourself at his lap. "Is this what you want?" You whispered between his kiss. Your hands were now in his head, caressing the white locks of hair.

His arms wrap around you. "More than anything," he promises. His hands trail up and down your back, pulling you into him. His lips trail down your mouth and back up again, seeking out your neck.

He pulls your body on top of him, letting you rest on his lap as he continues to kiss her.

"You feel so good." he mumbles. He seems completely lost in this moment, so focused on you that it's as though you're the only thing that matters to him, the only thing that exists.

Brushing your hair away from one side of her neck, you gave him full access to it. With a soft moan, you sighed, feeling his hard body against yours. "You havent seen anything yet."

His hands trail from your back up to your shoulders, then from there down to your hips, holding you snugly against him. His teeth graze your neck, causing you to shiver.

His body shuddered in anticipation. Yes, you liked the pace at which things were going. Closing your eyes, you were at his mercy and his desires. It was clear that you would accept everything he proposed at that moment.

The kisses continue, but now they are even more wild than before. Now, instead of a slow, teasing pace, his kisses are rough. He seems to have given into his own lust and desire for you, like he can't get enough.

He kisses his way from your neck to your mouth again. The moment your lips touch, he is kissing you just as rough as before, his tongue slipping into your mouth and dueling against yours. You teased him and it was clear that you wanted him as much as he wanted you. Your body on top of his, your hands ran from his shoulders to the hem of his shirt, reaching inside, touching his pale bare skin.Your fingers trail across his skin, and he whimpers.

Astarion seems lost in this moment, like he has no thoughts or concerns beyond getting as close to you as possible. His kisses become desperate, hungry, as he pulls you down on top of him. His lips press against yours, his chest rising and falling with each breath he takes.

You were able to feel every inch of his body beneath yours. Gods, he was driving you crazy with his touch. His touch contrasted with yours, your body was heating up, but you shivered in response. Lips against his, you slowly moved your hips onto his lap, teasing him.

The moment you move you feel his breath hitch.

He whimpers.

He needs this, and he desperately wants you to give it to him. He moves his hands from your shoulder to your waist, and pulls you onto his lap, holding you on top of him as he wraps his arms around your shoulders, kissing you roughly with a hunger that seems completely untamed at this point.

You gave in and now your touch was as hungry as his. You wanted him and it was clear. You were his to do with as he pleased. Her hands rose from his stomach to his chest, bringing up his shirt. "I want to feel you." You moaned softly.

His breath hitches. Your words are like music to his ears.

And as your hands reach underneath his shirt, and begin to explore the muscles beneath, you can feel them tense. Your fingertips trail across his body, and he shivers again.

"Touch me," he begs, "Please touch me."

You removed his shirt, revealing his naked body. You touched his skin gently, the tips of your nails gently tracing his chest, teasing him. He was beautiful, especially now. "I told you I'd make you beg." You teased, a mischievous smile on your lips. Moving your body, your hand on his chest applied gentle downward pressure, motioning for his back to meet the floor. With each leg around his hips, you brought your lips to his again.

If your kisses are rough, this has now become all the more passionate. His tongue is battling against yours, and you feel his lips upon yours so strongly that it's almost as if your mouths are fused together.

The way your hand presses upon his chest causes him to let out a tiny moan of delight, his entire body tensing as your fingers trail over him.

"Is this what you want?" he whispers urgently.

"More than anything." You admitted, a smile on your lips. Your lips trailed kisses down your body, now onto his neck. Your lips were warm against his cold skin, as were your fingers that subtly traced the contours of his arms.

His neck is sensitive, the way your fingers trail down it causing him to flinch and whimper. He's almost like your plaything at this point, and he seems to absolutely love being it.

His body arches slightly with your touch, and he shivers with each movement you make. With your lips now on his neck, he whispers breathlessly.

"I need you..."

Your kisses got lower and lower on his body. Your lips were on his chest and then his stomach. Your gaze never left his. "What do you need from me, love? I want to hear you say it." You said softly, a smile on your lips.

His breath catches in his throat, his body arching as all sensation seems to be focused on his stomach, where you're kissing him.

You can see the muscles in his abs tense.

"I need you." he says, his voice a hoarse murmur. "I just- please- do anything you want with me."

You moved your hands lower, finding the buttons on his pants. "Is this what you want?" You mumbled, gently biting your lip. You never grew tired of teasing him. Observing his reactions leave you ecstatic, amazed. It was clear the effect you had on him.

His breath catches at your whisper. The buttons being undone causes him to hiss in pleasure. His body feels like it's trembling.

"Please..." he begs.

Oh, how he loves this. This teasing, this playing, the way your words and actions seem like they go hand in hand with each response from him.

Moving your body up enough so that your lips could meet his, you slid your hand inside his pants, touching him hard cock. Your gaze fixed on his, you moaned softly when you felt wrapped your fingers around him.

His entire body seemed to clench with the sensation of your touch. This was definitely something he was enjoying, your teasing, the way you seem to be able to drive him wild with one word or one touch.

His lips press against yours as he whimpers, the way his body tenses up at your touch just sending him into ecstasy.

With your fingers wrapped around erection, your started slow up and down movements. You were attentive to his body's reactions, delighting in each time his body trembled in response to your touch. You had a mischievous smile on your lips and it didn't take long for you to kiss him again, your tongue asking for permission to enter his mouth again.

He lets your tongue into his mouth gladly- he's more than willing to give you everything you want, it seems. He can't get enough of you, not your kisses, not your touch, not anything you decide to do next.

His breaths come quickly and rough now. You can feel his body trembling against yours. You can feel the sweat and heat on his body as he starts to really get into the moment.

You savor every response his body shows. Your tongue entered his mouth and you tasted him on you. It was ecstatic. Keeping up your movements, you quickened the pace of your hands gradually. "Do you like it rough?" You teased him, asking him the same question he had just asked minutes ago. But now the roles were reversed.

Astarion whimpers in response, his body tensing again with it.

"You know very well that I do," he whines to you through gritted teeth. Your touch is driving him wild, he can't believe he's let you have this much control over him. He starts to moan softly, his fingers digging into your skin.

You cracked a smile in response. Following his request, your pace is now a little faster, more rougher. You were skilled with your hands. And you wanted more of him every moment. Your lips brushed against his, hearing him moan was like a sweet melody you couldn't get enough of. Resting your forehead on his, your gaze roamed his body.

Every sound he makes, every moan, sends your heart racing. And with your pace being faster this time, this rough time, it's getting worse. The sound of his breath catching in his throat is pure ecstasy, and you can't get enough of it- nor can he get enough of you.

You start to moan back. You can't help it, but the sound of your own moans only makes things hotter.

Your free hand now went down to your own blouse, unbuttoning its buttons. Your gaze in his, you made this process slow, teasing and tempting him. The smile never left your lips and you moaned softly in response to him. You kept a rougher pace, just enough to make him crave more.

He lets out a moan as you continue to unbutton your own clothes, your hand now wandering lower.

Your tease is driving him absolutely wild. Your hands seem to be getting him closer, and closer to the edge.

His own moans grow louder, and his breathing becomes quicker. He pulls you closer, his fingers digging in tighter and tighter.

You undid the buttons on your own blouse, leaving your breasts exposed for him. Your pace was now gradually slowing down, painfully slow. You wanted to leave him wanting for more. A mischievous smile on your lips, you were amused by his desire. You wanted to push him over the edge.

Every moment he seems more and more desperate for some kind of release, and he seems to be getting closer to that edge.

The way you're handling him, it's like you want to see him break. You want to see how far you can push him. You can feel your own arousal growing with every moan he lets out in response to your teasing touch.

It felt like your body was trembling, thirsty for his touch. With her free hand, she brought one of his hands to one of her breasts and nodded softly, giving him permission to touch her in return. His every touch released sparks of electricity that coursed through her body. "I want you. In me." You pleaded in a sigh.

Astarion is almost speechless as you bring his hand to your chest. Your soft nods, the way your body trembles, they have him so desperate that he can't even get the words out properly.

Your pleading gets a guttural moan out of his lungs. His fingertips trail across you softly, his thumb dancing along that spot that sends shivers down your spine.

"Oh... please, please, I need you" he moaned back, his desperation rising with every word.

He wouldn't have to ask twice. You placed yourself on his lap again and your lips sought his. Her hands removed the rest of her blouse and moved to his cheeks, cupping his face. You still had your pants on, but not for long.

You lay on top of him in a way that puts you above him, which seems to increase your power and dominance. Your hands explore every inch of him as you kiss his mouth, your lips on his as you remove your pants.

His hands trail from your chest down to your waist and down again, exploring every inch of your body. You can hear him moaning from every touch, and even his breathing has become more and more frantic over the fact that you've taken so much control of the situation.

You removed the rest of your clothes and his in a tortuous pace. You saw him flinch at your touch, your body on top of his. Pressing your hips against him, you moved slowly, testing how long it would take for him to give in. Moaning against his lips, you smiled softly. The roles had quickly reversed and now he was the one asking for the mercy of her touch.

His moans are a low rumble in his chest. The way you're teasing him- slowly working him up to that very edge- is the perfect mixture of torture and pleasure.

He's the one begging for more now, and it's an incredible power dynamic shift. He's at your mercy now, and he's more than willing to fall right into it- and fall into you.

“Who knew…” You sighed, surprised. You were able to feel him hard beneath your and he was able to feel how aroused he made you. With your lips on his, your hands explored his body again, shuddering. That was hot. It made her want to reverse roles again, giving up control to him.

He's still letting you explore, too curious and too far gone to do much else to keep you from your touch. All he can manage is soft whispers in your ear, begging and pleading for you to keep going.

"Let's see how you do being the top now." You sighed, satisfied. This time, you were at his mercy. "Let's see if you can keep your word." You challenged him. The whole power dynamic change made you more and more excited. You were shuddering at his touch, moving subtly on his lap.

"I can do this... I will do this." he hisses back to you, his hands already traveling up your body again.

Your challenge was one that would surely be answered. His breaths are already starting to quicken, and he's already pushing against you, trying to push you down onto the bed.

"Just... lay down, okay? You're driving me crazy like this," he explains, a deep shiver flowing down his spine.

You smiled, agreeing with his request. Laying down next to him, your eyes followed every movement he made. You had given him permission and space to take control this time. You were his to toy now.

The control he takes of the situation is a thing of beauty. He's careful not to overstep any boundary, but he clearly knows just what to do to keep you on your toes, and on the edge.

Those same hands that were roaming over your body before, are now holding you down gently, but firmly, as he begins to explore your body again. Your moans rise higher, and he gives you a cheeky smirk as he sees the response that he's getting out of you.

You moaned in response to his touch, so light it made him question how loud you could be if he took it rougher. Even though you let him dominate you, you didn't stop teasing him. Your nails ran down his naked body, making him flinch. You explored every inch of him, moaning at his ear to just tease him further.

His moans rise higher as you tease him, and the way your nails trail down his body sends shivers down his spine. Your touch does not go unappreciated, and he starts to moan back- every part of him feels sensitive when you touch him.

Your whispers are like a lullaby to him. His entire body is so tense, so ready to break- but he seems to be enjoying the way you're driving him wild.

"I want you to dominate me." She whispered between moans. Parting her legs, she wrapped them around his waist. Her breath was fresh and sweet, touching his skin. You were warm to the touch and you made sure to teach him where you liked to be touched by him.

He lets out a shiver at the touch of your breath, your words giving him the push he needs to start being a bit rougher.

His hands go from holding yours to grabbing your thighs and holding your legs spread wide, keeping you in place. Your body is so warm, as you wrap your legs around his waist tightly.

His hips are now moving against you, pushing himself deep into you. His tongue is tracing your mouth passionately.

As his hips crashed into yours, you allowed a louder moan to leave your lips. Your legs were clenching around him, but he kept you in place. — F-fu.. — You couldn't even finish your sentence, intoxicated by his touch. Your lips pressing against his, you allowed him access to fall deeper into you. You brought your right hand to your clit, gently stimulating it.

He lets out a deep moan as your words are cut off. His lips meet yours again with renewed passion, as he gives you a gentle bite- nothing too hard, just enough to keep you on your toes.

His hips are moving faster and faster, as he starts to become more and more desperate for release.

You smiled, clearly amused. You felt the air leaving your lungs as you reached your edge, holding yourself to him. Bringing his body to yours, you trembled, incapable of forming words, just moan his name. "Astarion..."

The sound of your voice brings his breath to stop momentarily- he loves hearing you moaning his name. Seeing his control over your body makes every move he makes that much more powerful.

Knowing this, he now begins to stimulate you, removing your hand so he can touch you himself. His thumb moved skillfully over your clit, driving you crazy.

His hips slow only for a moment as you moan out his name, before he speeds up again- you're on the edge, ready to fall off, and he's the one with his finger on the trigger.

You whined, begging for your sweet release. Your gaze met his and your kept you eyes on him as he rocked his body against yours. "Please... I want to..." You begged.

He slowed his pace, to a somewhat rhytmn. Leaning in, he whispered in your ear.

"What you want?" He teased, his hot breath touching your skin. "Use your, darling. Beg."

"Oh, for gods sake - f-fuck me. I want cum on your cock. Please, please." As you beg and moan, he speeds up again, his lips biting your neck as he does so. Your eyes looked at him with the same hungry look as his, and the moment he senses it, he's there- pressing himself deep within you - you can feel him twitch inside you, and you feel a wave of heat rush up his body.

You moaned loader as your whole body trembled, reaching that edge. You clenched, feeling him take every sense out of you. "Gods." You whispered, out of breath. Closing your eyes, you rested your forehead on his. You were numb after all this and the rest of the camp probably heard you in his tent. But you didnt care anymore, all you wanted was to be his.

You are his. That much has been made clear. He pulls you closer to him at your words, his eyes fluttering shut as he lets out a sigh of contentment. His lips are pressed to yours, as he's already beginning to slow down to catch his breath.

His hands are still holding you firmly in place, refusing to let you go, his breath panting against your neck.

You kept kissing him, several pecks on his lips. But this time, you were both tired, out of breath. You sighed in relief. Even after crashing, his touch still had a effect on your body. His breath touched your skin, warm and inviting. You catched you breath slowly as your hands traced up against the skin of his arms, resting on his neck.

Your fingers caress across his skin slowly, your breaths becoming lighter as the moments go on.

The effects of the crash are still lingering, your body still shivers as he continues to rest against you. Your chest is against his. Everything feels too good, too right for this moment to be over yet- the heat of his body against yours, the softness of his skin- it's the perfect blend of the two of you, and it's the perfect way to keep each other's warmth.

Resting your forehead in his, you smiled, your eyes closed. "That was..." You sighed. Amazing, you tought. You didnt have enough to express it."You're... Gods."

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to him. Your bodies are pressed against each other, your breathing slowing down enough that it's not as heavy as before.

As you sigh and lay your forehead against his, he lets out a little grin.

"You're just as amazing," he replies, his words already getting softer at this point. "And I'm not sure I could ever find the words to do you justice. God, you're..."

You smiled and shut him with a slow kiss. Between the kiss, you whispered. "Let's definitely do this again. I've never felt this way before. " You were talking about the way he made your body feel, but he could sense it was more than just that. You smiled, softly. It seems like both of you lacked words to describe each other. So you didnt. You just hold him tight with tenderness.

[pretty-red-garnet]

Pumpkins and Candy

Daryl Dixon x fem! Reader • Commonwealth • Fluff

Happy Halloween!

It was Halloween in the Commonwealth. Your eyes danced between all the different venders handing out treats, each one sweeter than the last. The day was warm, the sun cascading over the large street festival. People crowded the streets, kids in costumes followed by their parents.

You never imagined you'd be celebrating Halloween after the end of the world.

You moved your gaze to instead look at Daryl, sweetly playing and talking with RJ. You begin to smile without even meaning to. The sight was unbelievably adorable, you'd even say domestic. Daryl smiling and tossing an apple on a string for little RJ to catch.

Daryl with the kids was always something you'd watched with great adoration. It seemed kids were just drawn to him, and he never minded. He was so good with them. In fact, it was watching Daryl with little Jude that made you realize you were in love with the man.

It was after Rick died, after you'd known him for about a year. Daryl was gone more often than not then, but he always made sure to be there for his niece and nephew. Always hugging and holding them tight first thing when he arrived back to Alexandria for trading.

Judith was young, and jumped into his arms so fast he almost fell back. He smiled so brightly, so genuinely. Your heart fell to your stomach so fast it made you sick. You were down bad, and it wasn't going away any time soon.

     And now that you and him were neighbors in the same shitty building, you were closer than ever. Having dinner together most nights when he was too tired to cook, watching the kids when he was busy, spending most of your free time together. You were both pretty much attached at the hip. You'd even call him your best friend. He was the one person you knew you could count on for anything.

     "You are so smitten," Carol says, breaking you out of your stupor with a startle. You roll your eyes and giggle a little, although it sounds more awkward and tense than you intended.

     "Am not." Her elbow meets your ribs and she grins at you.

     "Smitten as a kitten." You purse your lips at her to stop your smirk, although it breaks through.

     "You're ridiculous," you say, crossing your arms and turning away from her slightly to return your eyes to Daryl. "Aren't you supposed to be handing out cookies or something? Or do you get paid to bother me?"

     Carol laughs and shakes her head. She watches as you— not so discretely— gawk at Daryl. She lets out a deep sigh.

     "Why don't you just tell him?" She asks.

     "Tell him what?" You retort, playing dumb and not meeting her gaze.

     "That you're in love with him!"

     "Shhh!" Your eyes glance around almost comically, making sure no one hears the woman. "I am not!"

"If you weren't, you wouldn't care if anyone heard." She rises an eyebrow, making you scowl and scoff at her. Carol was the type of person that can always read others. She was always watching, she knew how everyone thought. It was pretty scary.

"I didn't want Daryl to hear!"

"Didn't want me to hear what?" Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Daryl stands beside you, watching you with a curious expression. Your mouth opens, then closes. You struggle to come out with a response, mind totally blank.

"Uh," you mumble. "Nothing." Daryl furrows his brows, regarding you with a look somewhere between concerned and straight up confused.

"I guess the secret is out, Y/N," Carol says, melodramatically with a shrug. "You should just tell him."

Your face blanches, your mouth continues to gasp like a fish. Daryl looks even more confused now, looking between you and Carol.

"That you're cooking Daryl's favorite meal tonight!" Carol says, excitedly. You let out a breath. While now you have to make dinner instead of relaxing at home like you'd planned, at least it was a save. Somewhat.

"You don't gotta do that," Daryl says, looking at you with that adorably concerned expression he always has when someone tries doing anything for him. His brow pinched and teeth biting the inside of his cheek.

"She wants to, Daryl," Carol says, placing her hands on her hips. You look from Daryl to Carol, feeling strange and helpless that Carol was speaking on your behalf with you right there. It was a little nice though, since the near-revelation of your romantic feelings for Daryl was still making your mind swim.

"It was supposed to be a surprise," you finally stumble out, awkwardly and with a stutter. "Sorry to spoil it."

"Don't gotta be sorry, I shouldn't have listened in," he says with a shrug and a little half smile that made your heart pound. "We'll go to yours tonight then?"

     "Actually!" Carol buts in again. "I'll take Judith and RJ trick or treating. It could be just you two tonight." Carol's smile is a weird combination of scary and Betty Crocker. She's setting up a date.

     "You sure?" Daryl asks, only to be met with Carol's enthusiastic nod. "Alright, sure. I better get back to the kids." Daryl steps away and once he's out of sight, you immediately wack Carol on the shoulder.

     "What?!" Carol yelps. "You should be thanking me."

     "Thanking you?" You ask, incredulously. "That was so embarrassing."

     "I got you a date, Y/N. Yes, thank me."

Hours later, and dinner is done. Your apartment is warm and humid from the stove, but the delicious smell of seared meat makes the heat bearable. Your stir fry of squirrel meat and rice sit on the counter, awaiting Daryl's visit. You aren't quite sure if the stir fry was Daryl's favorite meal, but he did mention he liked it best of your cooking.

He's a little late. He was supposed to come by yours right after the Halloween masquerade party, but he still hasn't shown. You sit at your table, picking at your fingernails and tapping your foot. Your eyes keep glancing over at your clock on the wall and you sigh at every passing minute.

You know your destress is a little dramatic. You usually wouldn't be this anxious, but Carol's label of a 'date' rattling around in your brain made tonight feel different. Besides, Daryl is a busy man.

He worked all day, he could be tired. Maybe he forgot? Although it did seem out of character for Daryl to just not show up, he wasn't the type to stand people up.

Your worry is quickly cut short by three quick knocks at the door. You smile and quickly make your way to the door, swinging it open.

"Hey," you greet, moving aside for him to enter.

"Hey," he answers, pointing at the little bucket of candy you have beside your door propped up by two pumpkins. There's a little 'take one' sign that you hand painted accompanying it. "I know I ain't a kid, can I have one anyway?"

"Sure, obey the sign," you say, teasingly smiling at him. He scoffs a little, digging his hand in the bowl and pulling out two candies. You gasp, placing a hand on your chest and looking at Daryl with a dramatic expression on your face. "How could you?"

A smirk takes over Daryl's face before he covers it with another scoff, shaking his head. He pushes you aside to enter your warm apartment, immediately pulling at the neck of his long sleeved shirt.

"Ones for you, dumbass," Daryl says before he smacks your shoulder with a candy. You take it immediately to unwrap it and pop it into your mouth. It was your favorite candy that the little shop in the middle of town makes, and it warms your heart that Daryl remembered which is your favorite.

     "Come on, dinners ready." Daryl follows you into the kitchen.

     "Already?" He asks, grabbing his plate that you already made.

     "You're late, Dixon." Daryl grimaces a little, a quiet groan leaving his lips.

     "Sorry, shit went down at the party." You smile and wave your hand in a dismissing manner.

"I'm just teasing you." You and Daryl sit down at your small, round kitchen table. You both eat quietly, Daryl scarfing down his meal like a man starved. Luckily, most are out on the town celebrating Halloween, so the building is quieter than usual. Celebrating. That truly is surreal.

"What're you thinking 'bout?" Daryl asks, having seen the thoughtful look on your face.

"I just never thought I'd ever see Halloween again I guess." You shrug and smile lightly. "I used to love it when I was a kid. Was my favorite."

"Never celebrated it," Daryl mumbles, almost embarrassed. Your eyebrows fly up in surprise.

"No? Not even trick or treating?"

"Nah, no one gave candy. Lotta assholes in my neighborhood," Daryl answers, piling the last bit of rice and meat on his fork. You don't answer and Daryl looks up, shrugging when he sees your saddened expression. "S'fine. Can eat all of Jude and RJ's candy now."

"You've at least carved pumpkins, right?" Daryl looks down, not wanting to sadden you even further with his answer you assume.

You knew Daryl didn't have the best childhood, that his dad was a dick. But you looked back so fondly at Halloween, and it upsets you that Daryl didn't. It made your chest hurt that he didn't have happy memories of dressing up, or getting candy and rushing home to see the goods.

     You look down to your lap for a moment, before getting an idea. You shoot up out of your chair, ignoring Daryl's inquiring gaze. You rush out of your front door and stoop to the ground, grabbing the candy bucket up from the pumpkins and dropping it to the ground. You hoist up the two—rather large— pumpkins before lugging them to the kitchen table, making sure the kick the door shut first.

     Daryl is now awkwardly standing at your table, already having placed your dishes in the sink. He still has that cute, confused look on his face, but when he sees the pumpkins, it dawns on him and his lips quirk up in a smile. You smile back, a huge and bright grin that makes Daryl's face light up even more.

     You're about to grab the knives before another thought hits you, and you jog out of the kitchen to the front door once again. You scoop up the candy bucket, flipping off the light outside your door and bringing that too to the kitchen.

     "Ain't that for the kids?" Daryl asks, jutting his chin towards the candy. He leans against the counter with a teasing twinkle in his eye as he watches you set everything up.

     "Kids are brats anyway, and I paid for it so I can do whatever I want." Daryl laughs at that, just a huff of air escaping his chest. Basically cracking up for Daryl.

     Not five minutes later, both of you are sitting at the table forearm deep in pumpkin guts. The table rattles and shakes with the vigorous scraping of the pumpkin, an attempt to thin the inside of the thick walls.

     Daryl's tongue is sticking out of his mouth in concentration, and you resort by not looking at him because if you do, you're sure you'll pass out from the flip flopping of your stomach. He keeps glancing at you and your pumpkin, his eyes narrow and focused, to confirm he's doing the right thing.

Once both pumpkins are empty and clean, you get a baking sheet ready and begin to separate the pumpkin guts from the seeds. You place them all evenly and sprinkle a good amount of salt on them. All the while, Daryl watches.

     "You like baked pumpkin seeds?"

     "Never had 'em," Daryl responses with a shrug. You pop them in the oven and grab two knives, handing one to Daryl.

     "Now the fun part."

     It doesn't take long for both pumpkins to be carved up, even with the occasional pauses for bites of candy. Daryl is rougher with his knife than you, sticking the knife in and dragging the blade harshly. He does this with great intensity and focus, however, leaning back and moving the pumpkin to look at it from all angles.

     You, on the other hand, are much lighter handed. Precisely moving your knife around the orange vegetable to make it perfect. Your hands trained and careful from years of carving.

     You and Daryl place your carving tools down around the same time. You turn your pumpkin around to show it off, a big grin covering your face. Daryl smiles lightly looking at your jack o lantern, a large toothy grin with big eyes. It looks almost perfect, directly in the middle of the pumpkin with clean cuts. Daryl suddenly looks embarrassed.

     "Mine ain't good," he says lowly, scratching a nonexistent itch at the back of his scalp.

     "I'm sure it's perfect! Turn it around," you assure, persuading him to show you his carved pumpkin. He glances at you for a moment, biting his lip before he concedes and turns his pumpkin around.

     Daryl's jack o lantern isn't as cleanly done. His doesn't look happy like yours, lips placed in a snarl that is a little crooked on one side. The eyes are off center and one is a little bigger than the other. Despite the quirks, it's perfect in your eyes. Almost as adorable as Daryl's bashful expression.

     "It's so cute!" You exclaim, and Daryl shrugs, looking down at his hands tangling together. "I think it's perfect."

     "Whatever you say," Daryl says, a huff of air escapes his lips. He finally looks up from his hands and sees your face, smirking when he does. You frown.

"What?" You ask, self consciously. Daryl shakes his head, smiling even larger at your expression.

"You got a little somethin'," Daryl says, motioning with his finger at his own face. You touch your face briefly, trying to feel what he was motioning to. Before you could get whatever it was off your face, Daryl's fingers replace yours.

     His fingers, calloused by years of hard labor, are surprisingly gentle at getting the mess of your cheek. He wipes off the sticky residue, showing you the stringy pumpkin guts before chucking it at the table. But even after, his fingers slowly and hesitantly return to your cheek, softly caressing the flushed skin.

     It's like he was drawn to you and he can't help it. Two magnets pulled together against either of your wills. You're positive you can't pull away, even if you wanted to. Both stuck in this position, with Daryl slouched in his chair to lean towards you, and you ridged and stick staring at his face.

His face, which you've carefully studied plenty of times, had never seemed so soft. The rugged scar down the center of his eye and cheek at great contrast to his loving expression. He's nibbling at the inside of his cheek, and his eyes cast nervously from your eyes to his hand, which seems to be moving on its own accord.

Before long, you're kissing him. You don't really know who kissed who, just that one second Daryl was staring at you with those pretty blue eyes of his, and the next your lips were on his.

The kitchen table digs into your ribs because of the angle, both you and Daryl leaning forward in your chairs to get to each other. You don't mind, the discomfort barely even registering in your brain. All you can think of is Daryl, and his hand still resting on your cheek and how his lips are chapped, but somehow still soft. How you've been thinking about this for so long, and you can't believe that Daryl is actually kissing you right now.

Unable to take the uncomfortable angle any longer, you stand just slightly without removing your lips from Daryl's. You shuffle closer to him, leaning down and raising your knee to rest on the chair between Daryl's legs. Daryl leans back to accommodate you, and his hand drops from your cheek to grab your waist, pulling your body even closer to his. Your hands meet his shoulders to steady yourself, and you kiss him harder.

     Daryl's fingers tremble, but they slowly slide under your shirt. Your quiet groan is muffled by Daryl's lips, but he heard— or felt— anyway, telling from the smile that curves his lips. You only part for hurried pants of air, before he chases your mouth again. It's a game of push and pull that neither of you want to ever end. It might've never ended, only if you never put those pumpkin seeds in the oven.

     The loud, shrill noise from the oven beeping is a great difference from the quiet passion that was just taking place. You and Daryl startle away from each other. Your hands are still on his shoulders and his fingers still squeeze at your hips, but you're both looking towards the interrupting oven.

     You slowly turn your gaze back to Daryl. He's still looking at the oven, with a anxious look on his flushed face. His hair is messy from your wandering fingers, and his eyebrows are low from what you could only assume is embarrassment. You smile and tap his cheek, and Daryl turns to look at you with uneasy eyes.

     "Ready for those pumpkin seeds?" You ask, smoothing down his hair. His face relaxes at the sweet gesture, like he thought you'd be upset or something for kissing. Daryl can be silly sometimes.

     He nods and returns your smile, and you can't help but place one more hesitant and quick peck to his mouth. He chases you when you pull away, and you giggle. You allow yourself to card your fingers through his wavy hair one last time before you pull away from him completely.

     You pull out your roasted pumpkin seeds and lay the sheet down on the cooling rack. You admire the perfectly done seeds and look back at Daryl to share the feeling. His ears and cheeks are still red, and he has a small bashful grin on his face. Your lips quirk up on their own accord.

     Maybe Daryl didn't have great memories of Halloween to look back on, but you hope you gave him at least one he won't forget.

[forwntrx]

GIRLS LIKE GIRLS ┊͙˚. 14. TALK?

𑁍┊let's stop for now (written portion)

"jenn?" you had just gotten home. you kicked off your wet heels and slopped onto your living room's couch. the rain had gotten you good, soaking you, and making you run inside for dear life. the dorms were almost dead quiet, aside from a hum of pop music coming from the bedrooms'. most likely ning. jimin had said she wouldn't be back until later, something about a sleepover, and you had no idea where or what minjeong was doing. the thought of your bandmate caused the stress to comeback to your shoulders.

you hated this feeling.

usually, you could bounce back from anything.

thousands of hate comments, death threats, insensitive remarks about your weight and style. none of that mattered to you, not like how minjeong's absence did.

"yes?" yunjin's voice was far away. you glanced at your phone screen. she had set up her phone for you. it was a sweet thing she did whenever you two facetimed, so you could always see her no matter what she was doing.

for the past thirty minutes, she had been cooking in her kitchen, and you swore you could smell the spices through the screen. chaewon had popped her head in for a moment, waved, and stole a treat while yunjin wasn't looking. melodramatically, yunjin had complained, proceeded to chase after her, and you couldn't help but laugh.

yunjin's company was nice, but you couldn't help but feel wrong. until you figured out this minjeong stuff, this (whatever it was) couldn't happen.

"can i talk to you about something?"

"oh shit! yes! wait! fuck! is this serious?" yunjin cursed. she dropped both of the pans she was holding. the pans shrieked across the screen so loud that you had to recoil.

you grimaced. "sorry."

"no worries! i saved them!" yunjin showed you the unharmed dessert, an array of cinnamon-dripped rolls. you had to stop your mouth from overfilling with saliva. your stomach wanted to run across seoul and devour everything she had made. but you reminded yourself of what was important right now. cinnamon rolls could wait. hell, everything could.

you took a deep breath. yunjin wasn't a hard person to understand, for the most part what you saw was what you got. that's one of the things you loved about her. she was effortlessly herself. but because of that, you knew how she would respond.

"what's up? are you oaky?" yunjin interrupted your thoughts.

"i'm fine..i.." you took a deep breath. her smile was wide, and bright, and terrified you. you didn't want to be the one to take away her smile.

"listen, yunjin. i love our friendship and i would never want to do anything to harm it, y'know? i'm going through a lot with my bandmate right now and i don't want you to be in the middle of it.."

yunjin's smile fell. she tried her best to hide it. she wasn't stupid. you guys had mutual friends. it was a matter-of-time before you confirmed what she had already known.

"she kissed you, right?"

oh. you hadn't expected that from her. you swallowed. you remembered it well. the moment had been replaying in your head over and over. the softness of her lips. the longing. the sweetness. but also the need for something more. the fear, and then, everything sweet between you two that turned bitter.

"yeah." you're not a liar, and you won't cover your ass.

yunjin is quiet on the other side of the line. you can't tell if she's thinking, seething, or upset. you hoped it was something else entirely.

"do you...have feelings for her?"

you sighed.

"i don't know." you really didn't. everything was new. you had never really kissed anyone or thought about the idea of a relationship. you also knew that even if you liked someone that you were an idol first. you had a reputation to uphold.

"okay." yunjin nodded her head, "i'm not upset with you. i had heard about it from ryujin but i wasn't sure if it was true. and i'm glad you care about me enough to let me know what's going on, but right now i'm thinking you don't know me that well.."

you titled your head. "what?"

"mhm, if you knew me you would know i already told misi that we were meant to be." yunjin said.

you shook your head. "seriously?"

"when have i ever lied to you?"

you laughed. her stuffed animal. a bird. she was unbelievable.

yunjin continued. "in the end, it'll be me and you. you know how i know that?"

you couldn't help but grin. she was so unpredictable, but in the best way.

"how, jenn?"

"i went to a fucking psychic."

you rolled your eyes. "i was expecting an actual deep-ass answer, not bullshit."

yunjin shrugged. "it's true! the cards said it~ can't argue with fate!"

you want to laugh again, but you're distracted by the sound of the front door creaking open. you dart your head backwards expecting jimin or aeri, and almost jump.

minjeong is standing right there. you stared. she was completely drenched from the rain. her clothes stuck to her body, and she was shivering. her eyes weren't on you, but on the umbrella she was failing to close up.

you looked away quickly and back down onto your phone.

yunjin is still on the line. "yn? everything okay?"

"yeah, let me call you back. okay?'

"yeah. see you." yunjin was disappointed. you could hear it in her voice.

you ended the call quickly. at the same time, minjeong looked up to you. she regarded you with a blink before throwing her umbrella down and attempted to walk past you.

god, she could be so annoying sometimes. you were used to the lack of communication and the blank stares, but the passive aggressiveness was something you would not deal with.

you grabbed her hand before she could get away. she stopped and looked back at your hand in hers. you expect her to pull away. run away like she always did. but this time, she staid.

"you kiss me. avoid me. then act like an ass." you accused. you could hear the music playing stop. whoever was upstairs was trying to listen now.

minjeong's eyes sharpened on you. "what do you want to hear yn? that i've been in love with your for years, resigned to the fact you would never like me back, found out you actually did like someone and it just wasn't and would never be me, and now can't stand to see you with anyone else? well, there it is. are you happy?"

you don't even know what to say.

minjeong searched your eyes for any type of response.

"do you even know what the word communication means, minjeong?" you finally said.

minjeong took a long sigh. "no, and i'm working on it.. i'm sorry."

you shook your head. "give me time, okay?"

minjeong nodded her time. "as much as you need." she said softly.

you didn't even fully realize what was happening until now. minjeong was in love with you. yunjin was...yunjin. and you were clueless, hopeless, and had no idea what to do. where was jimin when you needed her?

𑁍┊masterlist －previous — next

ngl winter might be a little unlikeable rn, but it'll get better LMFAOO

her communication will be MUCH better from this point on

hii guysss

yunjin best girl of the chapter?!

𑁍┊ a/n: yeah,, the written portion is a little unedited other than my eyes. i have a brain frying migraine and i promised to get this out for the weekend so i'm sorry for any errors!!!

𑁍┊ taglist: open :) @runawaymazola @wintersgff @winieter @luvjanexx @justme-idle @sewiouslyz @lcv3lies @yerisdumbass @nasyu-kookies @kchwnsgf @jeindall777 @dr-wholehearted @thoughtfulqueenlady @yunalvrrr @juhyunsthirdwife @haerinfangs @awkwardtoafault @idk-idc-rn @unforgiven-000-hotline @dream-chasers-things @pandafuriosa60 @1r3n31ty @lazysmushi @multiliker

[heich0e]

trick or treat!!! (suna)

(un)happy halloween

"Please?"

If anyone were to objectively bear witness to the situation you presently find yourself in without any context, they'd likely be moved by the earnest way that Rintarou appeals to you. By the sincerity in his supplication.

He's kneeling at the edge of your shared bed with a towel wrapped around his neck from the shower he'd taken not long prior, whose ends dangle over his bare chest as he leans towards you with wide, beseeching eyes.

You, in contrast, are seated at the head of the bed, the book you'd been reading left abandoned in your lap, with an expression of indignant fury pinching your features.

"Are you out of your mind?" you ask him bluntly, the sharpness of your tone so starkly different to his own that you might think the two of you are having separate conversations entirely.

"Baby," Rintarou tries again, mumbling the pet name through pursed lips as he creeps closer over the mattress. You draw your legs up to your chest instinctively, knocking your novel haplessly to the floor in the process—a necessary victim of circumstance.

"Don't you dare," you warn him as he inches nearer, digging your heels down into the mattress and scooting yourself as far back as you can without sending yourself toppling down to your bedroom floor just like your book.

He's got you cornered now, a hand on either side of your lap, wedged into the little corner where your headboard and your bedside table meet. He's so close you can smell the soap that still clings to him. So close you can feel the heat that radiates from his bare skin.

"I would do it for you, you know," he murmurs, dipping down towards you so you can see the unfairly wispy lashes that frame his eyes as they flutter. "If you asked."

"But I'm not asking," you point out to him firmly, shimmying yourself down the mattress onto your back in a relatively futile effort to escape. All that does is leave you pinned underneath him which is, decidedly, no better a fate. Your voice is a bit more strained when you force out another sullen, "And I would never ask that."

Rintarou lifts his hand and brushes his thumb against your cheek, and you're furious at the way it makes your heart race. He watches you carefully, his eyes tracing every line of your face before inevitably travelling back to meet your gaze like coming home. "You might like it."

"I won't," your voice is nowhere near as firm as it had been a few moments prior—a waver in your resolve making itself regrettably known.

Suna dips down and presses a featherlight kiss to your cheek, in the exact place his thumb had been stroking a moment prior. Then he kisses you again, a little lower, just above the edge of your jaw. Then again at the corner of your mouth, a hairsbreadth shy of your lips.

Your stomach is in knots.

"Rintarou."

You take his face in your hand, squishing your fingers into his cheeks until his lips pucker from the pressure. He peers at you guilelessly—his intrepid journey interrupted rudely by your unexpected grip. You force him to look at you, eye to eye, nose to nose.

You take a deep breath to steel your resolve.

"I am not letting you fuck me with a mask on."

Suna's already exaggerated pout deepens.

"Why not?" he complains, his tone veering dangerously towards the territory of a whine.

"First of all," you shift a little bit as you speak, sitting up underneath him—he lets you move, sitting up with you too, and when you drop your hand from his face he rubs at the edges of his mouth where your fingers had been pressing melodramatically. "You didn't even get the right mask."

Suna's eyes slide away guiltily. "They were all sold out of the ghostface ones."

You snort indignantly. "Well, I'm not about to let you fuck me dressed up like one of those little robots from Star Wars!"

Suna's gaze snaps back to you immediately. "Storm troopers aren't robots," he remarks pointedly.

You're sure your ensuing expression tells him everything he needs to know about how interesting you find that bit of lore.

Suna sighs, flopping down on his back atop your bed in defeat. You stifle a laugh at the crestfallen look on his face, instead focusing on the way his damp hair fans out against the pillow. You stand from your bed, heading towards the drawer on the other side of the room where you keep your hairdryer, plugging it into the wall as you prepare to dry his hair for him.

Suddenly, you feel the warmth of his body pressed against your back—having moved so silently behind you that you almost flinch when you realize he's there. Your gaze flickers up to the mirror in front of you, and you watch as his arms wind themselves around your waist, his flushing face tucking itself into the crook of your neck. He holds you tightly, and you feel that same twisting in the pit of your stomach from earlier—though this time you don't resent it quite so much.

Rintarou turns his face to drag his lips softly against the column of your throat. You have no choice but to watch, standing in front of the mirror in his hold—but strangely you don't feel inclined to look away. In the reflection, you see his eyes flicker up to meet yours, his lips pausing against the shell of your ear.

You listen to him breathe for a moment, and wonder if it's his thundering pulse you feel in your chest or your own.

You bite your lip as his part.

"So," he says softly, and his whisper almost makes you shiver because of how near he is to you. "If it was the right mask, would you be into it?"

[immaturityofthomasastruc]

About representation of child abuse in ML

I’m sorry if this isn’t the proper way to send it I chose it because I can actually divide paragraphs here. I am also assuming none of the abuse submissions are reblogged because of the subject.  I was neglected as a child(parents often forgot to feed me, didn’t care about my hygiene and I couldn’t go to the doctor when I should have) and emotionally abused after coming out as trans as a young teen(constantly being pressured to stop being trans, treating me as stupid and melodramatic for being trans at all, showing open disgust if I did something “too manly” etc.). I was a bully for two years in middle school before realizing the weight of what I was doing. I had to put in a lot of effort to improve, especially since guilt was feeding into already-existing self-hatred. When I first saw Miraculous Ladybug on TV I didn’t expect child abuse to come up at all since it’s a hard topic even for adults and Miraculous didn’t seem like the show to tackle a complicated topic. Looking back they shouldn’t have tried because they end up giving incredibly bad messages. As you point out Chloe is treated as irredeemable and sent off with her abusive parent as punishment while Andre is never treated as the neglectful parent he is. While children can be abusive to their parents Andre is the mayor of Paris while Chloe is a kid, he holds a lot of power here that he refuses to use at all. He also doesn’t try to get Chloe psychological help which would be the correct course of action seeing her mother despite the fact it wouldn’t even make a dent in his pocket. It would be better to either have Chloe’s redemption fail while highlighting how her parents affect her behaviour but don’t justify it or have a straightforward redemption arc, maybe one where she doesn’t get forgiven but still improves to show kids there’s a way out. “I will always be like this because of abuse” is an easy thought to fall into and ML accidentally ends up teaching it to kids, Jesus. The other thing that really bugs me is the treatment Gabriel gets, it seems to me that the show tries to use his love for his wife and son as a redeeming quality but I am not sure on how good an idea that is. It’s better than if he were to hate Adrien but loving Adrien doesn’t excuse any of the things he does. In my experience most abusive parents do love their children, they really think they are doing the best for their kids. The kicker comes in when they end up harming their children in some way but refuse to acknowledge it. If your parents always end up doing more harm than good and refuse to stop, then love alone can’t save it. I don’t think that point was there as Gabriel’s love was portrayed as a good thing because this show doesn’t do nuance. Also the plot Gabriel abusing Adrien should mainly be about how Adrien feels. Of course it will affect other characters but Adrien is the one getting abused by Gabriel. Gabriel is also an incredibly controlling parent who takes away Adrien’s agency and the show never really addresses that. Adrien is a bystander in a story-arc about him getting abused. He never learns that Gabriel is Hawk Moth(writers seem to think we forgot Chat Blanc and even then that episode was more about “Ooo hero gets akumatized”), we never learn his thoughts about the whole situation and Gabriel completely gets his way in the end, leading to a happy ending. Adrien’s contribution to the finale is giving up the agency he had left. This really left a sour taste in my mouth. If you’re not going to deal with how abuse affects Adrien, why write it in at all?

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

First of all, I’d like to thank you for being able to step forward and talk about your history with your parents. I’m very sorry that you had to go through that.

Second of all, you make a good point with how much the show empasizes Gabriel’s love for his family supposedly justifying his terrible actions, with or without the mask. It doesn’t help that, like you said, he doesn’t even get to confront Gabriel about their relationship himself, and ends the season believing all the delusions Gabriel had about him being a good father. 

Hell, even the movie does a better job at pointing out how much Gabriel has hurt his son over the show itself, and I’m pretty sure that’s why so many people prefer that version of Gabriel over this one. 

[deepouterspacecandy]

The Wolf and the Fox

I’m feeling rather sentimental lately, so I just wanted to pop in here real quick and say that kindness matters. Kindness for yourself, and for others. If your art, whether that be writing or something else entirely, helps you navigate this world—it matters, too. I hope you feel safe today, online, and in real life. This piece and all my work, really, is 18+ only. This one isn’t hot and heavy by any means, but there’s some violence and sexual themes sprinkled about. If you enjoy it, maybe I’ll chip away at another chapter. Otherwise, thank you so much for spending some of your precious time with my words and my mushy heart. Be well.

“This rivalry—whatever it is—ends now,” Isaac barks, pinning you both with a vicious scowl.

Abby crosses her stubborn arms across her chest, a snarl curled on her smug lips. You’re struggling to control the urge to roll your eyes with such intensity that they detach from your skull and land on the floor.

“Not a word from either of you?” Isaac says as his glaring frustration builds. He points irritably at the chairs across from his desk. “Sit down. Now.”

“But I have training in twenty minutes,” Abby explains, her meek manner only apparent when she is around the boss.

“I don’t give a damn—sit!”

Isaac raises his voice, making her flinch, and a sense of gratification fills you. It quickly dissipates when he directs it towards you.

“Did I stutter?” he shouts, kicking at the legs of your chair for emphasis.

As Abby turns her head, a smirk spreads across her face, igniting a fiery determination within you to bring her haughtiness crashing down by any means necessary.

“If it weren’t for him, I’d drop your ass right here,” you mumble.

She opens her mouth to retort, Isaac’s hands slamming down on the desk, causing both of you to jump.

“Consider yourselves lucky I haven’t tossed you both in the stockades. I need you to get your act together before the next raid. Otherwise, I would not hesitate. You embarrass me.”

Abby pinches the bridge of her nose, blowing out a heavy breath.

“Well, I’d hate to be the reason she ships off in a pissy mood,” you say, throwing your hands up in mock surrender. “Now you only have about a hundred other people to accost before she leaves.”

“Fuck you,” Abby says.

“Enough!”

Isaac leans back in his worn leather chair, and the metallic creak breaks the sudden silence of the room. The weight of his authority is suffocating, leaving your mouth dry, while Abby’s hands twitch anxiously beside you.

His finger jabs in her direction first.

“I expect more from you,” he says. “This ends here. Do you understand me, Abigail? I will not tolerate this petty behaviour.”

The verbal lashing doesn’t bring you any delight; instead, it serves as a painful reminder of her superiority over you and the respect the WLF has for her. Respect you’d happily offer if she didn’t treat you like a floating piece of swamp trash.

“You,” he says, his fury focused solely on your shrinking form. “I had high hopes for you. I’m now questioning my judgement and that does not please me. Are you trying to make me look like a fool?”

“No, sir.”

“Come again?”

“No, sir,” you say with conviction, dipping your chin in submission. “It won’t happen again.”

“Delightful,” he growls, his hands steepled in front of him. Sarcasm oozes out of his mouth like venom. “Tomorrow presents the perfect opportunity for you to address your troubles, as I’ve scheduled you both to ship out.”

Abby keeps quiet, but her head drops back with melodramatic flair. Your eyes involuntarily roll in response, unable to contain your annoyance this time. Isaac doesn’t ignore the barbs before him.

“With bells on, do I make myself clear?” he orders.

He gestures for you to leave the room, instructing Abby to stay behind for a mission briefing.

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

In the gym, you can feel the tension and stress melt away as you push yourself to your physical limits. Amidst the clanging of iron plates and the rhythmic flow of blood in your muscles, your restless mind finally finds peace.

In an act of defiance, you increase the weight on the barbell, determined to spite Abby even if she isn’t there to see it. With the image of her smug face behind your eyelids, you push yourself through six strong reps, feeling your arms shake on the seventh.

Vascular hands appear above you, hovering just below the bar.

“Spot someone else,” you huff, adjusting your legs and arching your back.

“Seven is good. Eight is better,” Abby says, standing her ground. “Again.”

As the vibration in your arms intensifies, your frustration towards her swells.

“Use it,” she advises, leaning in closer for better guidance. “Let that anger drive you. Again.”

You’re considering quitting and giving her a piece of your mind. You picture yourself ripping into her and leaving without a second glance. Her body remains rooted in place, an unspoken challenge for you to make a move.

It’s the heaviest load you’ve ever pushed, and you can feel every ounce of weight straining your muscles. A guttural whimper escapes you as you force the weight up. Only at the end of your final rep does Abby touch the bar, leaving you to swipe the sweat from your forehead.

“Not bad,” she says.

You hoist yourself up and off the bench, returning the dumbbells you previously worked. It’s late, and the gym is empty save for the gargantuan pain in your ass following you around like a sullen shadow.

“You’re just going to ignore me now?” she asks, leaning flippantly against the squat rack.

“That was the plan, yeah,” you mumble, attempting to restore order to the chaotic pile of free weights, likely abandoned by a soldier with an inflated sense of self.

“Your plan is total crap, but okay.”

Trying to maintain your composure, you shake your head at her arrogance, staying focused on the task at hand.

“Look, we should try to get along,” Abby says. “I don’t want this affecting what goes down out there. People depend on us.”

“Okay, Isaac,” you say, slinging your gym bag over your shoulder with a scoff. “I’ve wasted enough time with this. See you at zero six hundred.”

Her voice echoes behind you as you push through the gym doors and into the dim, vacant hallway.

“Don’t be late!”

If your arms weren’t so sore, you might consider the idea of flipping her off through the window.

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

The rift between the two of you didn’t happen overnight. It resulted from a multitude of minor incidents and one miscommunication that was blown way out of proportion. As Abby trudges ahead of you on foot, swearing up a storm under her breath, you’re reminded of this.

“You’re being too loud,” you say, breaking into a slow jog, trying to catch up with her massive steps.

Even as you approach a full sprint, your footsteps are blades of grass in the wind compared to hers. As she spins on her heel to glare at you, you can’t help but feel a pang of embarrassment at how out of breath you are, desperately trying to keep up with her.

“Cardio wouldn’t kill you,” Abby says, waving a dismissive hand in the air before striding off. “I might, though.”

You contemplate staying put, observing how far she goes before she finally notices your absence. It’s likely that she’d travel two states over before she bothered to look back.

“Duly noted. Since we’re on the topic of what wouldn’t kill us, how about you practice walking like an adult human?” you quip. “Instead of a full-grown safari animal. Are you trying to get us assassinated?”

“Just you,” she says.

You’d love nothing more than to fling a sticky ball of mud at the back of her head and leave her sputtering. Unfortunately, you are miles from home and stranded without the vehicle you left the stadium in.

“Screw this,” you exclaim, raising your hands in annoyance before veering off from her direction and choosing to follow your own path.

“Where the hell are you going?”

“Away from you.”

It’s incredibly reckless and potentially life-threatening, but common sense is the last thing on your mind. Before the WLF came along, you had already endured years of living outside the safety of the city walls. Currently, Abby’s actions are hindering concentration, and you’d rather deal with Isaac’s rage than spend another hour bickering with his golden soldier.

“You’re going the wrong way!” she shouts, her voice reverberating off the crumbling apartments.

Sudden, gurgled screams in the distance paralyze you. The racket seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, growing louder with each passing moment, turning your skin to ice.

“Oh, fuck!”

Chaos erupts as a group of decomposing Runners break through the glass doors of the building next to you, hell bent on tearing you apart. The sheer intensity of their shrieks overwhelm your senses as you fumble for your gun.

When Abby clutches your arm, it jolts you back to the present moment.

“Watch my six!”

With a swift yank, she hurls you behind her, rapid gunfire ringing out and adding to the deafening commotion all around you. As you empty your clip, the acrid smell of gun smoke fills the air. A runner emerges, and the lethal tip of your knife slides into his skull, dropping him like a sack of bricks. Your wrists ache as you slash your knife across any infected that break Abby’s barrier until you’re stunned by a pustular crawler who drags you to the ground.

Just as you think it’s all over for you; Abby fearlessly straddles the festering monster and snaps its neck.

With ease, she throws the corpse aside and pulls you up. Your wobbly knees collapse beneath you, expeditiously forged by gelatin and nothing more. Disorientation prevents you from formulating any brilliant escape plan.

You’re not sure how the two of you ended up barricaded inside an eighth-floor condo, but somehow you made the trek unscathed.

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

Spirals of peeling paint adorn the large, cracked walls, and you wonder how long the inhabitants survived when the pandemic struck. Despite the layer of mold and dust that coats every piece of overturned furniture, the scent of old leather wafts from the neatly aligned suitcases by the door.

You try to investigate who might’ve called this place home, but the clues are bleak. Empty picture frames rest on the fireplace mantel, with broken glass scattered about like grains of sand on a long-forgotten beach.

Abby disappears down the hall as you lose yourself in the moth-bitten curtains fluttering hauntingly against several fractures in the towering panoramic windows. It’s so quiet in this suite that you doubt anything is still lingering, even in the darkest shadows.

“Let me take a look at that,” Abby says as she flips over the loveseat, laying her jacket over its musty cushions. “Cop-a-squat.”

As you continue to stare at her, she fidgets, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. She clears her throat, gesturing at your ankle.

“You’re limping. Let me see.”

The adrenaline was pumping so hard during the fight that you didn’t even notice that you had rolled it at some point.

“It’s fine,” you dismiss. “We should check for scratches first.”

The snail’s pace you’ve adopted reflects your reluctance and Abby blows out a harsh breath.

“I’m clean, and that can wait—you don’t want that to swell up,” she says. “Come here.”

“Maybe I’ll turn when you’re busy playing doctor. Then what?”

You’re only half joking, but the way her mouth quirks up into a soft smile eases your mind. You can count on one hand how many of those you’ve witnessed on her. It’s a fleeting thought that you swallow down with the lump in your throat, but Abby is exceptionally pretty.

Yeah, you definitely caught Cordyceps.

“I decide who bites me and when,” she says, patting the sofa to hurry you along.

You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks as her comment sinks in. Her inquisitive gaze dissects your response, and her modest smile transforms into a full-bodied grin.

“That was too easy,” she teases. “An unsullied girl, huh?”

Plunking down in front of her, you watch as she kneels to inspect your injury with a light hand. A dull throb blooms along your foot as she presses and maneuvers it. You do your best to suppress any wincing, but the moment she rotates the joint, pain shoots up your calf.

She pulls a medical kit from her backpack and makes quick work of treating your ankle.

“You are way off track,” you say, trying to scrape your dignity off the stale carpet. “Your train is taking a dirt road—that’s how off track you are.”

“Got it,” she smirks, wrapping the tensor bandage snug.

“And who says unsullied? A gravedigger from the fifteen hundreds—Jesus,” you say. “I didn’t realize you were a whole two centuries old.”

When she looks up at you through her lashes and giggles, the sound is more infectious than spores. You chomp on your lower lip to keep from smiling, but your cheeks sting from suppression.

“I read a lot,” she says with a shrug. “Is that such a bad thing?”

Abby’s rugged hands linger as she rests your foot casually on her lap. The weight of her touch is more comforting than you’re willing to admit.

“I’m personally more concerned about your pale complexion and aversion to sunlight,” you say, wiggling your toes to keep the pins and needles at bay. “Does Owen know you’re a vampire?”

She rakes her teeth over her bottom lip.

“Is this where you finally confess you have the hots for him?” she asks. “You’re off the hook now that he’s no longer my problem.”

It’s as if the God of thunder himself dropped you in an ice bath. As soon as Abby mentions the flat-out conspiracy theory, it extinguishes the glee building between your ribs, leaving you deflated.

“I never had feelings for him,” you say, pulling your foot from her grasp.

“That’s not what he said.”

“Yeah, well, your boyfriend is a fucking jerk and a liar. But that’s obviously no surprise to you, given how everything shook out with Mel.”

As Abby’s heavy gulp echoes through the hollow room, you stand up just in time to avoid registering the pained look on her face. Although you may not be her biggest fan, it never brings you joy to see someone sad, never mind take part in it.

You attempt to distance yourself from the resurfacing memory of Manny’s party. The night Owen’s unrequited alcohol-infused advances made a mess of everything. Until that deceitful night, he had been a loyal friend to you, and it still unsettles you to remember the needless drama his cowardice brought about.

“His story checked out.”

“Oh, did it?” you chuckle humourlessly. “Supreme investigative journalism went on right under my nose, and I had no idea!”

“Why can’t you just admit it? It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“You know what, Abby? You’re dead wrong. But I don’t have to explain shit to you. I’m going to sleep.”  

With a purposeful shake, you rid her jacket of any dust before throwing it back to her. Driven by your determination to rise with the sun and get the long, miserable journey home over with, you stagger down the hall into the nearest bedroom.

Why did the damn Humvee have to malfunction and leave you deserted today of all days? If you didn’t get your butt handed to you on a silver platter, you would blame Isaac.

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

You are roused from sleep by a faint, repetitive thudding noise coming from somewhere inside the apartment. You blink against fatigue, the sky momentarily captivating you with its mesmerizing gradient of rich purple and blue. The shabby blinds filter the light, creating a lattice-like pattern of warm orange strokes on the walls.

It dawns on you that this dwelling must have been opulent in a previous time.

You stretch your weary muscles and track the sound until the subtle drumming leads you to the balcony. As the first light of dawn breaks, you find Abby poring over a tattered book, her heels absentmindedly knocking against the broken balcony ledge. Her long hair is golden and untamed, cascading down her bare back in wild ropes.

Your voice cracks from disuse as you mumble, “That’s one way to flag our team down.”

Engrossed in her book, she fumbles around for her damp shirt, the fabric slung over a nearby chair. Your etiquette kicks in and you hand it to her, averting your eyes.

“There’s laundry detergent on the counter,” she explains, dog earing her page to in favour of dressing herself. “It’s ancient but it smells better than I did, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Would you come inside already? That looks like it’s about to collapse. Aren’t you afraid of heights?” you ask.

Backward, she crab-walks through the sliding glass doors, her movements awkward and unsteady. As she hops up, the aroma of freshly fallen rain clings to her clothes.

“It’s not so bad when I’m distracted,” she says, thumbing at the abandoned novel. “How did you know?”

“Heard it through the grapevine,” you lie, gnawing at the corner of your chapped lip.

Following your team’s impressive escape through a high-rise complex, Isaac was the one who brought it to your attention. He thought that your fearless leadership would blend seamlessly with her fierce leadership, creating a formidable force. Abby could be the anchor that helped you find strength in your most terrifying moments, while you could be the guiding light that helped her find courage in hers.

Despite its initial promise, Isaac’s lack of realism is well-known.

“What are you afraid of?” she asks.

In this world, there is an abundance of things, enough to fill a scroll ten miles wide.

“People, mostly.”

She purses her lips, a frown pulling her feathered brows together.

“I guess I didn’t help much with that.”

“Yeah well, you don’t owe me anything.”

Her expression contorts as if she’s itching to argue against that statement. You divert her attention from the process by prioritizing the task ahead.

“We should go,” you say. “While it’s still quiet out there.”

She nods, pitching the book into a prehistoric pile of ashes in the fireplace.

It elicits a flabbergasted squeak from you, and she’s beguiled.

“What?” Abby chuckles.

“Now you won’t know how it ends,” you say.

“Nah, I’ve read this ending a million times,” she says, staring after the discarded book. “It’s nothing new.”

You would retrieve it for her if it didn’t threaten to leave your hands and all your gear covered in soot. Maybe her assumption is flawed.

“You’re just a rainbow of positivity in the morning,” you razz, and she snorts at your proclamation. “No, really. I’m floating on air over here.”

“You’re funny,” she says, and the sincerity of her tone takes you by surprise. “I didn’t let those monsters turn you into a zombie. That’s got to count for something, right?”

You suppose it does.

She takes extra care not to appear intrusive as she reaches over to lift the backpack from your shoulder.

“I’ve got it,” she says. “I’ll carry the heavy stuff today.”

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

As you settle back into the FOB, Isaac has you on light duty work assignments. It has helped you heal over the past four weeks, and as you’re easing back into your gym routines, you’re feeling strong. You find yourself in uncharted territory though, as this is the longest you’ve gone without joining a supply run—but lending a hand to the cooks in the kitchen is surprisingly fulfilling.

Avoiding Abby in the past has made it easy to continue to do so, even unintentionally. The only connection you’ve had with her since returning to base was through the stack of blueberry pancakes you whipped up for her team, which ultimately got passed on to her by someone else.

Since the mention of her name no longer brings you emotional pain, you’re satisfied with where things are. That is until Abby unabashedly leans over the cafeteria counter and whistles at you, attempting to grab your attention from across the kitchen.  

“Hi pancake girl,” she smirks.

“Pancake girl?” you groan, drying your hands on your apron. “I’m officially banning you from assigning nicknames. I’m still recovering from unsullied.”

Abby’s mischievous expression brightens up the poorly lit mess hall before she quickly commits to a truly theatrical act of sulking—bottom lip jutted out like a little kid.

“Oh man, I hate being punished—for how long?” she pouts.

The line of people behind her seems to multiply, and you try your hardest to juggle multiple tasks, but it becomes incredibly difficult with her playful gaze fixed on you.

“The rest of your natural born life feels appropriate,” you say, sliding a jug of juice across the counter for a group of soldiers. “Or at least until you come up with something better.”

“I can work with that,” Abby says, shuffling aside to make space for the growing queue of hungry civilians. “Your pancakes were a hit, though. My squad won’t shut up about them—and I love blueberries even though they stain the shit out of my hands.”  

Amidst the busy kitchen rush, a fellow crew member steps in to lend a hand, giving you a chance to take a breather. You chug a glass of water before giving Abby your full attention.

“I think it’s time we teach you about some ground-breaking eating tools.”

“Is that right?” she grins.

“Definitely,” you say, grabbing a roll of cutlery from the cart behind you. “For example, this here is a fork and knife combo. Rather brilliant in preventing blueberry stains instead of eating your pancakes like a toddler.”

Abby’s chin dips as she snickers, her spirited mood doing a fantastic job of lifting yours.

“What about that spoon thingy—where does that fit in?” she asks.

“Well, when you bless me with another horrid nickname, I can use this tiny shovel to dig through the floor and escape.”

The sound of Abby’s laughter is magnetic, drawing in everyone around her. She effortlessly embodies effective leadership, and it’s something about her you respect.

“It’s not usually this easy to make me laugh,” Abby says.

“I’m just that good,” you retort. “Unless you’re drinking on the job or something. Are you a day drunk, by any chance?”

She can barely contain her fascination as she shakes her head and looks up. The chow hall fades into a blur as soon as your eyes meet.

“No, I think it’s all you,” she murmurs, her fingers toying with the cuff of her sleeve. “Come on a run with me, okay?”

The clamour of clattering dishes and trays makes it difficult to hear her.

“I didn’t catch that. Come where?”

“A run with me,” she says, pronouncing each word like she’s teaching you to speak for the first time.  

“They haven’t cleared me yet.”

“Not that kind of run,” Abby says, pushing herself back from the counter, brows jumping. “Meet me at the track later, yeah?”

Trying to bridge the growing distance between you, you shout, “How about no!” as she continues to walk backwards, awaiting your response.

Disregarding your answer, she calls out the exact time she expects you to join her, overpowering everything else with her radiant grin.

“But I hate cardio!”

“Don’t leave me hanging, lazy girl,” she chimes, shouldering through the doors until all that’s left of her is a whirl of confused flutters between your ribs.

Her sprightly tone gives that moniker a whole new meaning, making it the most tolerable by far.

By the time your shift lets up, the halls are serene, as most of the residents have retreated to their quarters for the night. By helping to prep the food for the next few days, you’ve lightened the load for tomorrow’s workforce.

Cardio with Abby is bound to leave you needing a rest day.

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

The stark contrast between the bustling stadium and the peaceful calm that descends after everyone wraps up their day never ceases to leave you in awe. You’ve spent countless hours in the nosebleeds, admiring the arena you call home.

While cutting through the gardens, the sweet, floral scent that fills the air enchants you. A basket of cherries precariously perches on the edge of an overturned crate, beckoning you to indulge in their juicy goodness.

After popping one into your mouth, you sneakily pilfer a few more for later.

Pushing through the gates with your hip, Abby catches your eye immediately.

Clad in a pair of sweatpants and a baggy tank top, she jogs along the opposite end of the track. Her hair is in a wavy, swinging ponytail, and she looks like a completely different person from where you’re standing.

Despite your instinct to sprint and catch up, your legs remain rooted to the spot, inexplicably frozen. It is surprising to see such grace in someone who’s composed of mostly muscle and grit. The idea of how you might look while running enters your consciousness, a thought that never occurred to you before this moment. You walk just fine. Surely you can run without humiliating yourself.

“You made it,” Abby pants. “I was beginning to think you bailed on me.”

“I should’ve,” you tease. “I could be cozied up on my couch, watching the same movie over and over.”

“Which one?”

“The Breakfast Club,” you say with a half-hearted shrug. It may not be to everyone’s taste, but there’s an elusive charm that entices you to keep picking it up from the library. “It’s my comfort flick right now, I guess.”

Abby flashes a self-assured smile and nudges you forward with her elbow, urging you to get a move on. After a few minutes of walking side by side, you work up the nerve to inquire about the source of inexplicable happiness etched on her cheeks.

“I found that one, actually,” Abby explains, her shoulder brushing against yours as she drifts into your lane. “The Breakfast Club.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“The thing made it through a hellish trip all the way from Eastern Montana. I thought it might be the only thing that made it back for a bit there.”

“That bad, huh? Sounds brutal,” you say, your attention drawn to the laces on her left sneaker, as they slowly loosen. “Well, good thing the movie survived.”

“Ha-ha,” she drones. “You’re just hilarious.”

You appreciate her lightheartedness as she shrugs off the playful jabs, and you contemplate teasing her about her lack of spatial awareness as she keeps unintentionally bumping into you. As you notice her shoelace giving way and dragging on the ground, you swiftly extend your hand to her chest, signalling her to stop.

Without thinking, you crouch down in front of her to retie it, noticing her panting heavily above you at the ministration. Fumbling your first attempt, she chooses not to mention it and instead adjusts herself to make it more comfortable for you.

With one shoe firmly secured by a double knot, you see that her other shoelace is gradually unraveling. You fix that one, too.

“Don’t need anyone rolling their ankle,” you say.

You spring to your feet, causing her face and neck to turn a rosy shade that appears too vibrant for moderate exercise. You’re too preoccupied warding off the heat that is climbing up your own neck in tingly vines to tease her about it.

She softly whispers her gratitude.

Without ever picking up your speed beyond a steady stroll, you continue to complete laps on the track, the repetitive motion becoming almost meditative. She eagerly shares details about the book she’s immersed in, and you hang on to her every word, intrigued by her perceptive theories.

“Wait, did you invite me here just to talk about books?” you ask. “Because I have to admit, I don’t totally hate it.”

“I’m not boring you to death?”

“Not at all,” you say. A crisp breeze dances across your arms, and you to hug yourself to fight the chill. “It’s fun to read books through your eyes.”

“Hold up.”

She jogs toward the bleachers and returns with her bomber jacket in hand.

She clings onto it for a while, long enough for you to question if she intended to wear it herself. Abby clears her throat and clumsily extends her coat and her generosity to you.

“I don’t mind the cold,” she says. “For you—if you want.”

“Oh, so I get to choose now.”

“Yeah, but can you please wear it? The rejection is killing me a bit.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips. Even when she’s just messing around, she reveals delicate parts of herself that help you understand her more. With the garment draped over your frame, you jog ahead and give her a spin.

“Ay! Watch that ankle!”

“Oh, I’m back, baby,” you boast, darting back and forth to show off your agility.

She watches as you frolic around, and you swear the dorky smile on her face only slips when she catches herself doing it.

You stop in front of her, tracing the nametag stitched neatly below the collar.

Anderson.

“It looks way better on you. How is that even fair?”

 “It’s all this running we’ve been doing—I’m the superior athlete now,” you jest. “You might as well quit while you’re ahead, Anderson.”

“Think you can back that up?” she asks, her competitive edge shaking to the surface.  

She points at a couple of lamp posts across the field and starts the countdown. With a sudden burst of energy, you take off like a bullet before she’s ready, provoking her to hurl fake threats after you as she closes in on your head start.

Your uncontrollable laughter is hindering your ability to run as the thunder of her approaching steps grows louder. You cut her off before she can pass, interrupting her momentum and taking the win by a hair’s breadth.

“Not cool,” she huffs, folding over at the finish line. Catching her breath, she steadies her hands on her knees. “Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, right?”

“You’re just jealous I outsmarted you. All those muscles and for what?” you taunt.

Abby puffs out her chest in a defiant gleam of rebellion.

As you blindly try to free the rogue strands of hair that have become entangled with your lashes, you feel an annoying tickling sensation on your sweat-slicked face.

“Oh, come on,” you gripe.

“You’re ridiculous,” Abby says, drawing nearer. “Let me get it.”

With a slight tilt of her head, she patiently waits for you to acknowledge her offer.    

“Close your eyes for me,” she says.

You oblige, and suddenly, your heart pounds in your chest as her fingertip skims the sensitive skin between your eyelid and your brow. She meticulously brushes your hair back, tucking what she can behind your ears. A warm hum settles inside you as her touch makes your scalp tingle.

“Why are you being so nice?” you ask.

“It’s what you deserve,” Abby murmurs without missing a beat. “I’m sorry I wasn’t before.”

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Could I get a Hc for how the M6 would react to an Mc that has regeneration like an axolotl due to it being the fools body?

Like during the ending of the route or during a fight post route Mc loses a finger or an arm and as their recovering they notice it growing back and like a few weeks or a month later it's like they never lost it to begin with. Due to how they view themselves and the fools body making them look like how they ses themselves.

Similarly to how Lucio lost his arm so long ago his metal arm is just a part of him so when he took the fools body it come with the metal arm.

(Let me know if it's not a good Hc idea and I'll change it for a different one.)

The Arcana HCs: When MC can regenerate their limbs

Julian

His first thought is "I have to keep them away from Valdemar"

His second thought is more along the lines of a very intrigued medical scholar. He's dying to figure out exactly how this works - how does your body know what to form and where??

His third thought definitely bears his younger sister's influence, because it's the sleep-deprived, melodramatic theatre kid version of "twinsies!!!"

Yes, twinsies! Because now you're one of the only other people in the world who knows what it's like to have crazy regenerative abilities! (though, he gave his up, but still -)

Will chart the growth of the limb and regularly ask you if you got any new injuries that day (obviously he hopes the answer is no, but if it's yes he has multiple reasons to want to know now)

Occasionally thinks himself into an anxiety spiral worrying that he's treating you too much like a medical phenomenon and not enough like his beloved partner. A round of smooches will take care of that

Asra

Honestly? They're more relieved, than anything

He is uncomfortably aware of the level of responsibility he has for yoinking you back to this plane of existence and knowing that you have this safety net for physical injuries is very reassuring

That said, they're still very curious about just how far it goes (not that they'd ever try to find out)

May or may not add "lizard" to his list of pet names for you, because lizards are also cute and known for losing limbs and then regenerating them for self preservation reasons

May or may not study just enough of the magic involved to suggest trying to grow said limb to be ... different than the previous one. You could grow an arm of neon tentacles!

May or may not regularly use body paint to turn your slowly regenerating limb into some kind of illusion, like a large, funky looking hamster hanging onto your shoulder (with your permission)

They love you regardless of how many limbs you have

Nadia

To say that she is intrigued is an understatement. She is borderline obsessed with your slowly reappearing limb

Much of that has to do with her desire to provide for you and the duty she's given herself of making sure that you are taken care of

Plenty of that has to do with what an excellent excuse it is to initiate touch and general affection

But a good portion of that is because, while she can tell you're a unique case, it's the kind of ability that would do so much good if she could find a way to recreate it even a little bit

She's not going to ask you to do anything unreasonable, but she might suggest allowing lead researchers in the medical field to chart your progress and study it in case they find anything

On another note, she does love to make you feel and look your best. If you've lost an arm and your outfit has gloves, you'd best believe she's ordering a mini one for your tiny hand

Pulls out old baby jewelry to try on it while it's small

Muriel

He's not going to lie, he does find it just a little disturbing

He's not going to go as far as saying that it's unnatural (he knows of plenty of creatures who can do the same thing) but it's definitely not a normal thing for humans to do

It's far outweighed by his gratitude that you're able to heal from such difficult injuries to this extent. He likes your limbs :)

He's also terrified of accidentally ruining whatever unforeseen magical force is allowing your body to manifest itself back together

You're clearly already very good at losing limbs! He doesn't want to make you lose another one! What if it's like one of those budding flowers that's really sensitive to touch?

He doesn't want to find that out the hard way! What's he going to do if he reaches for your mini-hand and the rest of your mini-arm comes with it? Stick it back on??

The above freakout is happening on the inside. On the outside, he's avoiding that area of your body and being very protective of it

Portia

It goes without saying that she thinks this is pretty cool

First off, you lost a limb, which is badass by default, and now you're completely regrowing it on accident - that's amazing!

She does casually mention that she is curious about just how far your body can regenerate itself at one point, but that's just idle wondering unless it's something you want to look into too

Fascinated by your mini-limb while it's growing back

Comes up with a whole list of pet names for it (squishy, tiny, silly, mr peach, miss millie, The Growth ...) but she mostly sticks to referring to it as your baby

"Good morning MC! And good morning squishy! How's your baby growing?" (all this is said while she hands you your preferred morning beverage and rubs the affected limb like it's a belly)

Overall she's so adaptable that she kind of ... forgets that it's weird. At least, until someone else sees it for the first time

Then she'll tell them it's because her shrink ray missed

Lucio

Seriously?

No no no no no -- SERIOUSLY?!?!?

He's been living with a prosthetic limb (albeit a really cool one) for TWENTY YEARS NOW, and you just randomly start growing yours back just like that? JUST LIKE THAT?! NO!!!

He's not mad because he thinks you don't deserve it! You do deserve it! You saved the world without having to make a life full of criminal oopsies first, and you did it while you rehabilitated him!!

He's mad because even if he doesn't deserve it more than you do, he wants it more than you do! WHY DIDN'T THE ARCANA OFFER HIM HIS ARM BACK, HUH?!

(This is a very good point at which to tell him that you think the metal arm is attractive. He will quickly switch gears into crooning and flirting at you and rarely bring it up again)

He does often comment on its growth patterns, and has definitely made an innuendo or two about it for funsies

[cherryjuiceblues]

For the sleepover!!

What about something like reader helping Harry paint his nails and vice versa? Just random kisses, accidentally spilling nail polish and taking hours to choose colours🥺🥺

✰ boyfriend!harry no warnings.

“You’re killing me, darling,” Harry calls from the living room. “Just wanna get pampered, what’s taking you so long?” You laugh to yourself at his melodramatics, as you finish gathering all the things you need to pamper him properly.

“I’m coming!” You call back, voice playfully annoyed.

Harry is sitting cross-legged on the sofa with his head resting on the back whilst he waits for you. When you plonk yourself down next to him, he rolls his head in your direction and flashes you smile. “Finally.” He wiggles his fingers that rest on his knees.

“Come on then, Mr. Impatient. Turn to me.” You bring your legs up too and you sit facing him, mirroring one another. Harry leans in quickly and captures your mouth in a sweet kiss. When he pulls back with an exaggerated mwah!, you can’t help but let out a giggle. Holding his hands you ask, “What colours do you want?” gesturing to the makeup bag full of nail polishes sat between you.

As he tries to decide, you focus on cleaning up his cuticles—a process that Harry begrudgingly lets you do (“Do you really need to bother?” to which you sigh and say, “Do you want me to do your nails or not?”). “I’m not good at picking,” he mumbles, free hand rummaging and making the glass clink together.

“Well you have ten fingers,” you point out. “So lots of opportunity.”

He frowns, “Hey, don’t make fun of me. This is a hard choice…” he pauses when he finds a soft shade of green. “I think this would look really pretty on you.”

You hum, agreeing. “I do like that colour.”

Suddenly he sits up straighter. “Can I paint yours, actually? I wanna put this on you,” he asks, eyes apologetic as you stop your ministrations on his cuticles.

“What’s the rush? I can do yours first, if you like.”

“I’ll mess them up,” Harry admits sheepishly.

So you end up treating your own nails first, cleaning them up whilst Harry sets the green polish aside and continues trying to pick colours for himself. His painting process isn’t as professional as yours, he’ll admit—having to clean up mistakes on nearly every nail. But he refrains from commenting on it, and you find his concentration rather endearing; the way he’s taking so much care over it, holding your hand daintily in his large palm. The seafoam green dries pretty on your nails—you think about the way it matches Harry’s eyes.

And when he’s finished, he sits back looking ever so proud, it makes you lean over and sponge your lips to his. Harry melts into you for a moment but then parts with a gasp—

“—Careful baby, I put my heart and soul into this paintjob!” Despite having nearly let a green drip stain your knee during his process.

You smile, pushing another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I know. Thank you, I love them.”

“My turn now?” Harry can’t hide his excitement. He’s chosen a tender lilac that you already know will look so delicate on his nails.

You nod. “You only want one colour?” Harry considers it for a moment, and then picks up the green he’s just used on you.

“Maybe I’ll have this on my middle and ring fingers.” You smile, nodding again, and Harry captures your mouth in his as you both grin against each other. There’s nothing particular about this moment that has your hearts all mushy—maybe just the complete solace with one another.

“Okay,” you pull away slowly, “hands to yourself now, H, this is a serious operation.”

Harry gives you a small salute before you pull his hand into your own, unscrewing the polish and starting to paint the lilac onto his thumb. He watches you with his face resting in his other hand, wide-eyed and smitten; his turn now to admire the concentration on your face and your much-less-messy application.

Once you’ve finished with one hand and silently ask for his other, Harry leans in, muttering. “Kiss first.” You sigh but kiss him easily, careful to keep ahold of his freshly painted hand so he doesn’t thread it into your hair (he’s done it before).

And maybe you get lost in kisses for longer than anticipated but Harry is sure to have his other hand painted like the spoiled princess you claim him to be.

sleepover tag!

[tritoch]

wild to me to see posts like "wow everything in the tempest is named after shakespeare...emet you melodramatic bitch you sure loved theater". because the prospero-emet thing gets played up so hard in the english script and you can carry it so far!

like prospero is an asshole magician who, after being deposed by his brother as duke of milan, settles himself and his daughter on a remote island, enslaves the local spirits using his magic, and bitterly plots to reclaim his past glories. he rules through violence and deceit, and only survives and is reconciled when his plots reach their fruition and his brother is taken to his remote island and plots ensue and everyone decides he was totally right all along and they were huge dicks to him and they're sooooo sorry and he gets to go back and be duke again wow! and it's okay because he's like "i was only doing mean magic to get my rightful spot back and now i'm giving it up because magic is evil. :)"

the tempest is what emet wants his life to be. prospero is not a villain in the text of the tempest. he is barely treated as antagonistic by the text and framing of the play itself. all his abuses, his neglect and control of his daughter, his enslavement of caliban and ariel (local spirits/monsters/people of the island), his deception and plots against his brother, his abuse of magical powers (not awesome, from the pov of the contemporary audience), all that ultimately gets swept aside in the rightness of his return to milan and the warm feeling of the world being set to rights. prospero can't undo the years he spent on the island but they are ultimately a blip in his life before he returns to the rightful state of affairs. his abuse and enslavement of caliban, easily the worst thing he does in the play, is totally set aside when caliban goes "wow now i see how truly benevolent my master is. i love him and see the ways of christian good and i'm so, so appreciative he chose not to kill or beat me even though he totally could have and would have been in the right. he's so just and intelligent." everyone loves and forgives him and they all agree both his management of the island and his ultimate return are so good and so wise and so right.

emet comparing himself to the tempest (or being compared to it, depending on how you want to read the diegetic status of the place names) is absolute wishcasting. it is an attempt to manifest the happy ending he will never, ever get because his sins cannot and would not be forgiven in the way he wants. he wants to imagine himself as the righteous returned duke whose crimes, including the enslavement, abuse, and exploitation of those he saw as his rightful inferiors, were totally worth it, i promise. and if emet is prospero, the warrior of light is his caliban.

[arcadiabaytornado]

I saw this dialogue and almost needed to be sedated.

Joyce never stands up for Chloe when David is involved. The most we see her do is in "Before The Storm," where if David searches Chloe’s room after she isn't honest with Joyce about her feelings, Joyce will tell David that he needs to apologize to Chloe...and then Joyce will scold Chloe if she doesn't accept an apology from the man who searched her room hoping to find something to bust her with. 

So, considering that’s the most Joyce has ever done to side with Chloe, it makes me so upset that she can easily stand up for Max. She makes excuses if David slaps her daughter, but if he gets in Max’s face, he needs to be put in his place because he’s going to far.

Imagine being Chloe in this scene. Your Mother will never put you before a man. You begrudgingly accepted this years ago and understand that you must fight your own battles. Then, your childhood friend, whom your Mother hasn't even heard from in five years, comes back, and your stepfather treats her like he treats you. Suddenly, your mother gets onto him and makes it clear that she won't let him treat her that way. She'll only let him treat you like that.

If I was Chloe Price I would have a caused a SCENE that would that have rivaled the climax to a melodramatic drama. This scene just...ugh it makes me so mad. She makes so clear that Max is her favorite child. And that has to be crushing to Chloe who's entire thing is that she has abandonment issues.