#this group who have been through so much. who have experienced things the hells have only seen as

[everythingisconfetti]

Like yes, it's hilarious that Pike, a level 20 cleric of Sarenrae, describes herself as a baker. but also- the fact that she can do that. that life has become such that if all she wants to do is make cookies and decorate her house with knick knacks and paintings of her friends- she can. Because god, have they earned it. It's in Pike's baking. In Percy's clocktower. In Vex, teaching her children to hunt for the sport of it, not because they need it to survive. It's in Whitestone, flourishing, alive.

So really- can Percy be blamed, for demanding Delilah isn't given the chance to return, with his young daughter right there? And Vex, Pike- their willingness to help, to even give a maybe, in the face of all that maybe could mean? To hold the weight of the past and of everything they have built since and still say yes, we'll try?

There's guilt there, yes, and a feeling of responsibility, but it's also looking at these people who just love their friend so much. And it's knowing what it's like to lose someone you love like that, the lengths you'll go- the lengths they have gone- to fix that. So they look at Imogen, at all the Hells, and they look at Laudna, in all she represents, in all she might be, and they say okay. We'll try. What an incredibly selfless choice.

[fandomxpreferences]

Guess You Really Did It This Time (Part 2 of Heartbroke Bitch)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Ex!Rafe Cameron x Female!Reader

TW:ANGST, honestly I think thats it?

Summary: Rafe confronts you after you sleep over at his house, but it goes so much worse than he imagined.

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: This was supposed to end fluffy, but It wasnt realistic so it'll be a three parter (maybe 4? who knows.)

You blink a few times as your vision adjusts to the blinding sun rays pouring through the curtains directly into your eyes. Your throat is hoarse as you groan; this is the worst comedown you've experienced so far. 

It takes a second for you to place your surroundings, and the events of last night come rushing back when you do. The bed is empty and you hear the shower running, a hushed "thank you" falling from your mouth. 

You take the opportunity gratefully, hastily ripping off Rafe's sweatshirt and squeezing back into your dress. Your phone and bag are on the nightstand, and you grab them before turning the handle to his room as quietly as you can. 

You've never been so happy to be familiar with the layout of Tannyhill as you creep down the stairs and toward the front door. 

You freeze when you register Rose staring at you with a knowing look. Your hand lifts with a short wave and you let yourself out before she can start asking questions. 

You pull out your phone and call JJ, aware that he's the least likely to judge you. He is your best friend after all.

It only rings once before the blonde's voice rings out and you breathe a sigh of relief. 

"Well, well, well. If it's not the woman, the myth, the le-"

You cut him off, not in the mood as you fight a violent case of the spins and try to keep from dry heaving. 

"Shut it, JJ. Can you come get me? I'm at -"

This time he cuts you off and your eyebrows pinch together. 

"Yeah, I know where you are Y/N/N. Give me five."

With that he hangs up, leaving you with more questions than you originally had. Number one being how the hell does he know where you are?

You don't even have your shoes but you can't bring yourself to care as you bolt down the yard and start your trek into town. 

You know JJ will find you and the last thing you want is to be caught waiting by Rafe. 

A few short minutes later you hear the dirt bike and stop in your tracks. You turn so your body is facing JJ and you give him a disheartened look. 

"You have to be fucking kidding. JJ I'm wearing a dress and I'm three seconds from puking!" You complain and he gives a boyish smile while reaching into his backpack. 

"That's why I brought these," he answers while offering you a pair of his sweatpants. You take them hesitantly and slip them on as he continues. 

"As for puking, at least you don't have to worry about it getting in a car." 

You groan as you kick a leg over his bike, careful to keep your bare feet away from the hot exhaust and wrap your arms around his torso. 

"I literally hate you."

He chuckles as he revs the engine and twists to look back at you. 

"Love you too."

Back at Tannyhill, Rafe's heart drops when he comes out of the bathroom to an empty bed. His hoodie is crumpled on the floor and he sighs. 

He gets dressed quickly and bolts down the stairs, praying you're just getting something to eat the way you normally would. 

When he finds the kitchen empty, his eyes flutter shut as familiar loneliness overtakes him. His thoughts are interrupted by Rose clearing her throat. 

"She left a little while ago. Before you ask; no she didn't say anything." 

He nods while grabbing his keys and your shoes before racing toward his truck. He already knows where you'll be. 

The ride back has you clutching your pearls, literally and figuratively, as you barely keep consciousness. 

Your headache has escalated to a migraine by the time you reach the chateau and you're pretty sure you could drink one of the Great Lakes all on your own. 

You ignore the rest of the group teasing as you stumble inside, rummaging for some painkillers. You find them quickly and pour a handful into your mouth, not caring enough to check the dosage. 

It can't be any more dangerous than what you've been doing anyway. You don't even bother with a cup, and JJ tsks behind you as you put your head in the sink and gulp water straight from the faucet. 

"This is the most chaotic thing I've ever seen, and that's saying something. You're like a feral dehydrated animal."

Your only response is a middle finger as you pass him, clambering your way into the guest room you've claimed as yours. 

Your familial situation is pretty similar to JJ's, without the violence, and up until the breakup you'd stayed with Rafe. 

Now all your belongings are littered around the chateau. You grab a shirt and change quickly, paying no mind to your best friend, before plopping down on top of the comforter.

"How'd you know I was at Rafes?"

Jj rubs the back of his neck as you look up at him expectantly, already knowing you won't like the answer. 

"He texted Sarah a picture of you sleeping on him when she asked him if he'd heard from you."

You take in his words and scoff in disbelief. 

"Of course he did."

You collapse onto your front with your head buried into a pillow, craving relief from the ache in your body. JJ sits next to you and rubs your neck to ease your migraine, and you let out a content moan. 

It's not even an hour before you hear a car pull up outside and you release a whine. You already know who it is, and you're decidedly not in the mood to deal with it. 

JJ feels you tense under his large hand and sighs. 

"Want me to get rid of him?"

You shake your head as you sit up and run a hand down your face. 

"He'll just keep coming back. Might as well rip off the Bandaid." 

He kisses the top of your head and stands, sending a sharp glare at your ex when he passes him in the hallway. 

Rafe assumes that JJ left the room you're in and knocks on the door frame before stepping past the threshold. 

His eyes take in the mess before landing on your tired figure. You look like hell with sunken bloodshot eyes and clammy skin. 

He holds your shoes up to show you he brought them back before dropping them in the pile of other heels on the ground. 

His brows furrow as he turns to you, taken aback at your sudden collection of designer items. 

"You didn't have any of this when we were together. Where'd the sudden influx of Louboutin and high-end fashion come from?"

You stare at him blankly for a second before shrugging. 

"Does it matter?"

He runs a hand through his hair, a telltale sign of his stress, as he takes in your defensive tone. 

"I'm just curious."

He doesn't like the way your lips curl up into a vicious smile as if you take pleasure in the answer you're about to give. 

"Gifts from my male suitors."

You don't give him time to respond before brushing past him and walking straight out of the chateau. He heaves an irritated breath when you let the screen door slam in his face and wrenches it back open.

He follows hot on your tail as the rest of the group watches the impending WWE smackdown.

"Come on, baby. I just want to talk." 

You let out a loud laugh while continuing on your path and he hates how indifferent you're acting. 

"You can talk all you want, but no promise I'll listen. And don't call me that." 

You pretend not to notice your friends wince at your snarky reply in your peripheral as they try - and fail- to act like they aren't eavesdropping. 

"So that's it? You don't want anything to do with me? What the hell was all that last night, then?" He shouts and you stop abruptly, causing him to slam into your back. 

"A lapse in judgment."

He scoffs and you close your eyes, trying desperately not to let him get a rise out of you. 

"Seems like you've been having a lot of those lately."

At that, you whip around on your heel, your hair smacking him in the face with the ferocity of your movement. He's got an arrogant smirk painted on his lips and your eyes narrow. 

"I wasn't doing anything you weren't! If memory serves me, you're the one that walked out! Not me!"

Your voice is shrill as you scream in his face, tears starting to pour as you shove him back. All the pent-up hurt and rage are finally rearing their ugly heads, and it only makes you angrier. JJ moves to intervene, but John B stops him with a hand on his forearm. 

"No, let them get this out. She's only going to continue on her bender if they don't resolve this."

JJ looks to Sarah for help but she only nods, agreeing with her boyfriend. The blonde sits back down with a huff, clearly unhappy at the situation unfolding in front of him. 

Rafe shakes his head with flared nostrils, and it brings you a tinge of happiness to see him as upset as you. His chest is heaving as crimson crawls up his neck and cheeks. 

"Because I was scared, not because I don't love you!" 

As soon as the words leave his mouth, his eyes go wide and your mouth drops open in shock. You vaguely register Sarah gasp off to the side, and if you looked, you're sure you would find JJ with his jaw clenched hard enough to break teeth. 

"Oh fuck off Rafe, what is that supposed to mean? You toss me aside like trash and then come back a month later to confess your love? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Your voice is significantly quieter now, your face scrunched up into a deep scowl. 

"Y/N, even if you tell me to fuck off and never speak to me again, I need you to know the truth. The past month has been miserable and I hate what I did to you. I'm not judging you for how you handled it, I have no right."

You interrupt him with a scoff and stick a hip out. 

"No, you don't."

He gives you a pointed look before continuing and you take a deep breath. 

"I didn't leave because I don't love you, or because you're a pogue, or whatever else you might believe. I left because I do love you, though I didn't realize it at the time. Y/N, I'm fucked up. Like, something isn't right in my head. I didn't want to keep hurting you over and over, so I thought I'd let you move on and be happy with someone else."

You mull over his words and run a hand through your messy hair. 

"I know." 

Confusion washes over him and you rub your temples. 

"I know you're fucked up, Rafe. I know everything, we were together for a year. But that doesn't mean you get to make the choice for me. I know you don't believe you're worthy of love, I get it. I've been in love with you since Midsummers, but I'm not going to stand here and beg you to let me in."

You wipe aggressively at the tears that are now rapidly cascading down your cheeks and off your face, ready to be done with this. 

"I'm not asking you to do that. If anything, I'm begging for you to let me in. Please, I can't stand the thought of you out here putting yourself in harm's way. I haven't been with anyone else, and I don't want to be."

The rest of the group might as well have popcorn as their eyes dart back and forth between the two of you, unable to look away. 

"No, Rafe. You're lying. I saw you that night with Missy!" 

Everyone's head turns to look back at Rafe to gauge his reaction to your outburst. 

"Yikes, not looking good for him." John B remarks and Sarah kicks his leg. 

"Shut up, maybe there's an explanation." 

John B is about to argue when Kie glares at them. 

"Shut the fuck up, I can't hear!" 

Rafe shakes his head, his hands coming up to cover his mouth before they drop back down to his sides. He takes a step closer and his heart plummets when you immediately move backward. 

"No, I know what you think you saw. Nothing happened, I swear. We went back to my place and she slapped me because I moaned your name!" 

"Oh shit." JJ snickers and the rest of the group sends him daggers as he raises his hands defensively. 

"That's nice, Rafe. It doesn't change the fact you brought a woman home to the bed we shared less than a week later with the intent of fucking her." 

He tilts his head back and stares at the sky, growing more frustrated by the second. 

"I didn't though! You actually fucked god knows how many dudes!" 

It's a low blow and he knows it, he can see you shutting down by the way your face drops and your shoulders tense. 

"Yeah, I did. At least I got shit out of it. Besides, I brought them back here or went to theirs. I never would have brought them someplace that still smelled like you! That space was sacred Rafe, and you defiled it. My fucking clothes were still there." 

Rafe's lip quivers as the gravity of the situation crushes him. He doesn't know how to fix it this time. 

"How do I fix this, Y/N? Please, just tell me and I'll do it." 

You sniffle as you shake your head, another tear falling into the dirt below. 

"No, Rafe. I think you should leave." 

You look away as he drops to his knees in front of you, literally pleading with you as he cries freely now. 

"Y/N, please. Please, I know I fucked up. Please." 

You stifle a sob as John B and JJ pull him to his feet and drag him away. You watch as he fights against the two men, too focused on you to care about being pushed around. He screams out as he thrashes, his voice breaking from the sheer volume and pain. 

"Baby, please! Y/N, don't do this. I'll fix it, okay? I promise I'll fix it! I'll be better for you!"

You collapse into Kie and Sarah when their arms wrap around you, every emotion you've repressed suffocating you at once. 

Sarah presses your face into her shoulder, her own tears falling as she keeps you pointed away from her hysterical brother. 

Rafe is all but carried back to his truck against his will, and JJ pins him against the door. 

"Rafe," He begins, but he's cut off by a particularly hard shove from the man. He leans his weight forward, using it as leverage, and puts his arm across Rafe's throat to still his movements.

"Look, man! I know you're upset, but so is she. You need to get the fuck out of here, okay? I'm trying to be nice about this, but you're testing my very thin patience." 

Rafe finally admits defeat and slumps down as he watches your knees hit the ground, heavy sobs wracking your body. This is exactly what he was trying to avoid, he never wants to be the source of your pain. 

John B watches as the older Cameron drives away, releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding. Maybe now you'll start to cope in healthier ways. 

Rafe cries the entire way home, memories of your relationship flashing like movie scenes every time he blinks. He's going to fix this if its the last thing he does. He just needs a game plan.

Taglist for those who requested part 2!

@brooklynscherry-z @joselyn001 @writtenwordslover @craftyalmondghostflap @malfoytargaryen

[yazthebookish]

Hello my loves❤️!!

I've said that I do not intend to discuss anything HOFAS-related since I haven't read the book and I only know a few details I specifically asked.

But I read the beautiful, beautiful Bryce, Nesta, and Azriel Walmart chapter and I need to just gush about something. It's not the whole chapter but just small parts of it mostly relating to Azriel.

Disclaimer: I have no interest in engaging in ship discourse (annoy me and it's an immediate block) nor do I want someone to change my opinion because it will not be changed. I stick by what I read and interpret in these books and am quite happy and content with it 😉

⚠️ Bryce, Nesta, and Azriel Bonus Chapter Spoilers Ahead! ⚠️

And with each mile onward, she could hear Azriel humming softly to himself. The rolling, wild melody of "Stone Mother" flowed off his lips, and she could have sworn even the shadows danced at the sound.

Do you realize that the entire time Bryce was playing the songs on her phone, she made no comments on Azriel's shadows but towards the end when her phone's battery died and Azriel started humming to himself, then she made a note of the shadows dancing at his sound.

They did not dance to her songs, they dance to Azriel's humming and I find that so endearing!!

It proves my point again at the instances we get descriptions of Azriel's shadows singing are with positive connotations. Their dancing is not written to be nefarious or odd.

Pray tell, in the entire series when Az's shadows are described to be dancing, which scenarios triggered those actions? Mostly when it comes to Gwyn because if you search in every book you won't find a description of them dancing around someone except Gwyn. This is a point I've been making since ACOSF came out and I'll highlight them below:

• These excerpts are from Azriel's bonus chapter

"How was the party?" Her breath curled in front of her mouth, and one of his shadows darted out to dance with it before twirling back to him. Like it heard some silent music.

Gwyn wasn't singing here, they were reacting to some silent music... which we can suspect as much is the mating bond? A bond Sarah described in ACOSF as music between souls?

Azriel entered the warmth of the stairwell, and as he descended, he could have sworn a faint, beautiful singing followed him. Could have sworn his shadows sang in answer.

His shadows sang in answer. We don't know for sure if Gwyn was singing or it was something else but I'll bet on the latter since she was training and one of his shadows earlier darted out to dance with her breath as if it heard some silent music. It still reaffirms to me that it can hear the music between souls, the mating bond.

• This is from ACOSF (pg. 623) and keep in mind this is post-Solstice/Azriel's bonus chapter

Azriel clapped his hands, and all the females straightened. "You'll work in groups of three."

Gwyn asked Az, her teal eyes bright,

"What do we get if we finish the course?"

Az's shadows danced around him. "Since there's no chance in hell any of you will finish the course, we didn't bother to get a prize."

One of the things I absolutely love when it comes to SJM's romances is she creates a common ground for the couple and gives them some things to bond and connect to.

In this instance, it's not only about Azriel's shadows but the fact that he also is fond of music. He doesn't express his fondness through dancing like Nesta, he hums to the tune. He sings.

Who else adores music and sings? Gwyn.

Who made Azriel admit that he sings? Gwyn.

These are not a coincidental connections.

And the author is a big fan of music so I think it's such a beautiful connection to create between two characters that have had such a dark and tragic past and are still processing the trauma they experienced.

The chapter did not give us much in terms of ships or who is Azriel into, but it did elaborate more on Azriel's fondness for music. It did elaborate on the genuine reactions of his shadows which were sometimes always framed in a negative way.

It also kind of proved my cute headcanon about whenever Azriel sings, his shadows dance around him.

I honestly can't wait for his book!! But first we have to tackle HOFAS so look forward to my reading updates in a few days!

[biceratops7]

… let’s talk about “Arrival”

So I was fully intending on making a more general but thorough peruse through the new Good Omens title sequence, because my FUCK aren’t those always a gold mine. But then I thought to myself, “hey wait a minute, I can be even more unhinged and on brand.”

Something I’ve seen nobody talk about yet is that the movie that the procession is marching into is The Arrival, which is a 90’s movie that draws a pretty straightforward parallel. But I think if it doubles as a reference to 2016’s Arrival, THAT has some much more interesting implications. Either way this reference is doing some heavy lifting.

For those who haven’t seen the movie (or that one philosophy tube video about it lol), the basic plot is that a group of aliens later named heptopods arrive on earth scattered across the world, and just kind of invite humanity to check them out. Each country hires a team of linguists who are all tasked with figuring out what the visitors are here for. But the thing is, it’s only about aliens on the surface level. This is really about communicating, cooperation, and how language holds the power to alter your very fabric of reality.

Spoilers for the movie:

Two major revelations occur towards the end of the movie. The first is that an element of fluid time is revealed. Throughout the movie, the main American linguist has been having flashbacks to a daughter that passed away of an illness. But since the heptopod language has no regard for chronological order, we learn that these are actually flash-forwards when she becomes nearly fluent. In other words, learning heptopod, having a genuine curiosity and even compassion for these vastly different beings. has given her the ability to perceive reality in ways thought previously impossible.

Even before noticing the Arrival reference, I’ve been side eyeing these “flashbacks”, but this and the image above confirmed it for me. Any instance of the word “becoming” when talking about the past indicates some sort of fluid time nonsense. The past is fixed unless something ✨happens✨. I don’t think these are simply memories, I think something rather cosmic instead is afoot.

But it’s more than just “there’s probably time travel in this” though. Simply having Aziraphale as a companion has changed Crowley. It’s given him an ability that he’s not meant to be capable of as a demon. He already had it in him to be good and have mutual relationships based in trust and kindness, I’m sure all demons can if given the right nurture… but Crowley is experiencing love. In the show, something tangible to the senses and distinctly angelic. I’m very much hoping that that whole element of things is going to somehow be a driving factor in what’s occurring over all, and possibly involved in time going screwy.

The other element of Arrival’s ending that’s of import, is the heavy emphasis on the importance of cooperation. First of all, we learn at some point that not every country has the same message to decipher, they each have one piece of a whole. Some of the countries begin using games to communicate with their heptopods, and this poses a problem because it causes messages to be more easily interpreted as hostile. For example, the phrase “we brought a tool” can be easily misconstrued as “we have a weapon.” Eventually, the world gets impatient and scared, and a war is imminent. What finally leads to everyone putting down arms and cooperating, is the American linguist sending a message to the Chinese linguist saying “in war, there are no victors, only widows.”

Something noteworthy about this particular march is that the procession never splits like it does at the end of the first season’s. Not only are both angelic and demonic figures marching into the light atop a mountain as a United front, but this actually seems to be a theme this season. Heaven and Hell aren’t working together as far as we know, but they are at least working towards the same goal, which for some reason is getting Gabriel’s ass. There is also a heavy emphasis on mending broken relationships, with Crowley and Azirphale trying to fix a (probably) lesbian couple literally being the B plot.

Now this is where we bring in what’s actually on the movie screen, which is that damn box. So at this point we know basically nothing about it accept for it probably being a Mcguffin. But we DO have the imagery of three feathers, a black one, a white one, and a bluish grey one, falling into it… and it sure as fuck looks like a moving box. So back to arrival, what actually was the message? The heptopods told the linguist that they’re here to help humanity (via giving them a tool or new tech I think?) because in 3,000 years, they will need humanity’s help. So with this and the world eventually being inspired to stand down and share their pieces of the message, it’s this over arching theme of setting aside fear of the other and cooperating indefinitely for the benefit of the whole. The black feather, the white feather… and then something that is somehow both yet entirely unique.

I think… somehow, someway, this season may culminate in Heaven and Hell reconciling. Whether it be against a common enemy, for a shared goal, or in love, there seems to be many clues both symbolic and literal that show them learning to be one again. Learning to understand eachother’s language and see new ways of being neither before could fathom.

[amhrosina]

Bad Dreams (Hold Me Closer) - Frank Castle x f!Reader x Matt Murdock

A/N: The first time I posted this, it somehow deleted every person I tagged AND half of my fic lmfao anyways lets try this again?? Also, is this not the most SUBMISSIVE gif of Matt Murdock ever??? A big thank you to my lovely beta reader @wheredidiputmyfish <333

Find the rest of my poly!Frank/Reader/Matt fics here!

Summary: When Frank is haunted by his worst nightmare, you and Matt must help him through it, even if that means having some fun in the shower to cope.

(Warnings: pretty much every smut warning applies, p in v, oral (male receiving), hand jobs, lots of things happening with cum??, facials (!!!!!!!), delayed gratification, denied orgasms, choking, also angsty as hell at the beginning, Frank and Matt are boyfriends!!!!, this is so self-indulgent, i had to ask a mutual to make sure it wasn't too dirty, probs forgot some lmfao)

Frank Castle was a brave man – he was dauntless, and intense, and extraordinarily unafraid, and it was because of this bravery, because he was exceptional as a Marine, a protector, that he had never experienced the fear that was now eating him alive. It was a confusing situation for Frank, to say the least, who was willing to bet he’d experienced more danger than most of the population.  

Each time he’d been deployed, he’d expected it. Fear was a natural response to being sent halfway across the world on dangerous, top-secret missions. He saw it in his military brothers’ eyes, felt it oozing off his wife and kids every time he had to say goodbye, but it never visited him, and he was glad of it.  

When Maria and his kids were killed, fear was a luxury only time could’ve afforded him. It had happened quickly, so fast that even Frank hadn’t been able to assess how dire the situation was before losing consciousness, and when he awoke days later to a group of sympathetic nurses who broke the news of his dead wife and dead kids, fear was nowhere to be found. A rageful vengeance overwhelmed him, and it would be years before it subsided long enough for him to grieve. 

Frank Castle was a brave man, until he met you – until he met Matt and fell in love with the both of you. He wasn’t the same man he’d been when he fought for his country, and he certainly wasn’t the same man he’d been when he lost his family. He was entirely too aware of the world’s horrors now, and the thought of either you or Matt experiencing them made his stomach turn. 

He tried to hide it – the fear that overwhelmed his senses so thoroughly that it paralyzed him – and he would’ve gotten away with it if it weren’t for Matt’s keen hearing. Or so he thought.  

- 

A firm, warm hand on your shoulder brought you out of your slumber. The gentle caress of Matt’s touch was a welcome feeling, but when you fluttered your eyes awake and took in the darkness surrounding you, you blinked at him in confusion. It was hours before any of you had to be up for the day, and the furrow in his brow made it clear he wasn’t waking you out of carnal desire.  

“Matty, what's-” 

He shushed you, nodding toward the sleeping figure on your other side.  

“His heart rate.” Matt swallowed thickly, furrowing his brow further, “It’s pounding. I’ve never- He's never-” 

Matt shook his head, panting. You eyed Frank’s sleeping form, which had twisted itself in the sheets so thoroughly that it looked claustrophobic. His breath stuttered out of him at an erratic pace, and you moved toward him before your sleep addled brain could warn you against it. 

It was risky, you realized, to wake an ex-Marine so abruptly, especially at a time like this, no matter how much time had passed since his official discharge. This thought rang through your mind like a bell as Frank flipped you on your back and brought his hand to your throat, squeezing hard enough to maintain control, but not so hard that you couldn’t breathe. A warning, mostly sleep induced, but a warning, nonetheless. Matt was instantly beside you, trying to pry Frank’s hands away from your neck. 

“Hang on, Matt.” You murmured, searching Frank’s face for recognition. You knew Matt could easily shove Frank off the bed, but you wanted to try a gentler approach first. 

The man who stared down at you wasn’t the man you’d fallen in love with, and the murderous glare on his face was enough to bring tears to your eyes. 

“Sweetheart.” Matt warned, though he had stopped trying to pull Frank away from you. 

“Frankie, baby.” You cooed, “It’s me, honey. It’s me and Matty.” 

His grip on your throat tightened slightly, the only indication that your plea was heard. Matt looked like he was going to be sick. 

“Frankie.” You tried again as a tear slid down your temple. “You’re safe, baby, and you’re loved. We love you. Wake up, honey.” 

Frank blinked, furrowing his brow. He glanced around the room, taking in your alarmed expression, the tenseness radiating from Matt, and the hand that he still had wrapped around your throat. The tightness around your neck eased, and Matt visibly relaxed as you breathed a sigh of relief.  

“Fra-” 

He threw himself backwards, off the bed and onto the hard floor, the thump of his rough landing echoing across the room. Frank barreled backwards as if his dreams had followed him into the real world, and if it weren’t for Matt’s agility, he might have crawled directly through the bedroom door. 

Matt sank to the floor, grasping at Frank’s shaking hands. Frank leaned against the door, eyes shifting back and forth as panic overtook his body. You couldn’t hear like Matt could, but you’d be willing to bet Frank’s heart was thundering in his chest. You inched closer to them, unsure if crowding Frank was the best thing to do. 

“Breathe, honey.” Matt murmured, pressing a chaste kiss to Frank’s fingers. He cradled Frank’s hands to his chest, pressing until he was sure Frank could feel his steady heartbeat. “Breathe.” Matt’s voice left no room for argument. He wasn’t requesting – he was demanding.  

Frank obliged, focusing on the rise and fall of Matt’s chest as he finally caught his breath. He reached a hand toward you, beckoning you closer until he could grasp your hand, squeezing it as his heart rate slowly returned to normal.  

The room dissolved into silence, and you waited for Matt to indicate something, anything about Frank’s inner turmoil. He still cradled Frank’s hand into his chest, and a sorrowful expression rested on his face.  

“Honey?” Matt whispered, barely loud enough to register, almost as if he was afraid of scaring Frank. “Are you okay?”  

Frank pulled his arms back into himself, wrapping them around his midsection as he hunched forward. A self-soothe if you’d ever seen one. 

“Hey, don’t do that.” You shook your head at him, grabbing his hands. “Don’t shut us out.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Matt asked, placing a tentative hand on Frank’s thigh. 

“I’m-” he started, and you held your breath as he searched for the right words. “It’s not- I'm fine.”  

You studied the positions everyone had ended up in. Frank was in a hunched sitting position, leaning against the closed bedroom door. You were on his left, squeezing his hands into your chest. Matt was on Frank’s right, rubbing soothing circles into Frank’s leg. You arched an eyebrow at Frank. He was clearly not fine. 

“I’m fine.” He insisted, urging you to drop it. “It was just a bad dream.” 

You let out a slow breath, weighing the risk of what you were about to say in your head. “You attacked me in your sleep when I touched you, Frank. You’re not fine.” 

Your tone was gentle. You hadn’t wanted to impose more guilt onto Frank, only to point out the lie for what it was, but Frank’s face crumpled at your statement all the same.  

“Fuck, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” His eyes welled with tears, and he angled your chin as he assessed the damage done to your throat. You didn’t think he had choked you hard enough to bruise. In fact, you were certain he had choked you harder during one of many games played with Matt. You tried to salvage the conversation before the guilt ate him alive.  

“I’m okay, Frankie. You didn’t hurt me. See? I’m fine.” Frank ran a finger down the column of your throat. “But you’re not fine, baby.” 

You shifted yourself closer to his figure, wishing he could see the tenderness that ached in your chest for him. Matt spoke before you could gather your thoughts into a coherent sentence. 

“It’s okay to be afraid, honey, but don’t be afraid of us.” 

You nodded along silently, trusting Matt to navigate through the minefield that was Frank’s psyche.  

“It’s not-” Frank shook his head, swallowing thickly, “I’m not afraid of you.” 

“You’re afraid of something. I can taste it in the air around you.”  

“I’m afraid of losing you.” 

You didn’t speak, didn’t move as he laid himself bare for the both of you to see. Matt tilted his head, bobbing his chin in a slight nod – an encouraging gesture for Frank to keep talking.  

“I can’t,” he paused, shuttering, “I can’t do that again. I lost Maria and I lost my kids, and I thought my life was over. I had nothing else to lose, so I didn’t have anything to be afraid of. But then you two showed up, and made me care, and now I have something so precious to lose, and I can’t do that again.” 

Tears pricked the back of your eyes. “You won’t lose us, Frankie. We’re not going anywhere.” 

“You don’t know that.” He shook his head, refusing to lift his gaze from the floor. 

“I know that we’re here now, and that we love you.” Tears blurred your vision, and this time you let them fall. “And the rest of it is up to fate or the universe or whatever.” 

Matt cleared his throat, and for the first time since he’d awoken, a small smile formed on Frank’s lips.  

“Or God,” you chuckled, “or whatever.” 

Matt nodded at your amendment, shifting closer to Frank. “You can’t be afraid to live, Frank. Don’t torture yourself over things you can’t control.”  

“I wasn’t afraid until I met both of you.” He shrugged. 

“I know.” Matt bobbed his chin. “I see you, remember?” 

“That’s sort of funny, coming from a-” 

“Frank!” You yelped, but Matt’s face had morphed into a feline grin. You rolled your eyes, biting your lip so you wouldn’t laugh at Frank’s awful excuse of a joke.  

“Someone’s feeling better.” 

“I’m feeling sweaty.” Frank corrected, rising to his feet. “I need a shower. Care to join me?” 

—-----

A heavy fog hung over the bathroom as the steam from the piping hot shower coated every available surface. Frank had thrown off his clothes and jumped into the large walk-in space quickly, and you’d be willing to bet it was so he could process all the emotions he’d just experienced without any interruptions. 

You and Matt hung back for a few minutes, whispering your concerns under hurried breaths. 

“Do you think he’s okay?” You asked, pulling your shirt over your head. 

“I think he’s been feeling these things for a while and hoped we wouldn’t notice.” Matt wrapped his arms around you, pulling your back against his chest. He sighed and rested his chin on your shoulder. 

“Do you think he’ll-” The thought was difficult to put into words. You didn’t like verbalizing something so terrible. “Do you think he’ll leave if he can’t move past the fear?” 

“No.” Matt’s voice held a resounding firmness that eased the tension in your shoulders. “He wouldn’t leave us, sweetheart. He loves us too much for that.” You couldn’t decide who Matt was trying to convince more – himself or you. 

Warmth encompassed you when you stepped into the shower, sending a wave of goosebumps up your spine. Your nipples perked at the heat – something Frank immediately registered. A lusty glaze overtook his stoic expression. You sent him a coy smile in return. You’d do anything he asked you to do, if only to give him the control he desperately clung to. 

Matt followed behind you, shuffling against your back as you nuzzled into Frank’s chest. Water sprayed over Frank’s shoulder, soaking the three of you while you held each other close. Frank placed a hand at the base of both of your necks, and a fuzzy feeling blanketed the anxiety you had been feeling minutes before.  

You looked over his features. His eternally furrowed brow, the big nose that you and Matt adored even though he hated it, the hard cut of his jawline. He was so pretty, and you loved him, you loved him, you loved him. He looked down, meeting your wandering gaze.  

“When you look at me like that, baby,” he hummed, tugging you against his increasingly hard length, “It drives me fucking crazy.” 

You hazily blinked at him, smiling. “I’ve spent my entire life looking for you. Both of you.”  

A softness that was only reserved for you and Matt crossed Frank’s face, and for a moment, the only things you cared about in the entire world were the two men enveloping you in their arms. You lifted your chin toward Frank, ghosting a kiss over his lips before nestling your cheek against his broad chest.  

Frank looked from you to Matt, who had situated himself behind you, focusing on the way your body vibrated against his chest every time you spoke. A cocky smirk was plastered on his face, daring Frank to do something about it, and Frank was never one to back down from a dare. 

He surged forward, careful not to knock you off balance, and pressed his lips to Matt’s in a bruising kiss. Matt met him with equal force, shoving his tongue into Frank’s mouth and whimpering, whimpering, when Frank wrapped his hand around the column of his throat. You tried to ignore the pounding of your core as they kissed over you and could only let out a soft whine when one of Matt’s hands snuck around your waist and began rubbing tight circles around your clit.  

Frank broke away from the kiss, wide-eyed and panting. You leaned your head back onto Matt’s shoulder, gasping when you saw how achingly hard Frank was. You moved before you were fully aware of what you were doing. 

You barely felt the thump of your knees hitting the shower floor, barely registered the curse that came out of Frank’s mouth as you wrapped your mouth around his cock. Matt’s stunted groan merged with Frank’s when you turned your head and did the same thing to Matt.  

“Did you like seeing us kiss, Kitten? Is that what has you so needy for our cocks?” Frank cooed. You stroked both of them off as you met his gaze. Heat flooded your core at his tone, and you would’ve been embarrassed at how incredibly turned on you were if Matt hadn’t uttered his next words so pathetically. 

“I want to taste him, too.”  

You paused your movements, smiling up at Frank, whose cock twitched in your hand.  

“Come taste him, Matty.” You stroked Matt’s cock one last time before tugging on his hand, “You want him to taste you, right Frankie? Can Matty taste you?”  

Frank bit his lip in an attempt to smother the moan that crawled out of his throat at your question. A stunted groan lodged itself in Frank’s chest as Matt dropped to his knees, mouth already open and ready to be fucked. The first lick up the underside of Frank’s cock weakened his knees. He didn’t think he deserved this kind of treatment, but Matt was eager to please, and began sucking him off so perfectly that Frank swore he saw stars behind his eyelids. 

You and Matt took turns, licking and sucking and kissing Frank’s achingly hard cock, and Frank, the poor bastard, quickly became putty in your hands. He was convinced that if he died in this exact position, with you and Matt so desperate for his cum, he’d die a happy man.  

He couldn’t help it. He started thrusting into Matt's mouth, and the first time Matt swallowed around Frank’s cock, which was lodged so deeply down his throat that he definitely wasn’t breathing, Frank almost fell to his knees. It was a wonder he lasted as long as he did.  

“Fuck, ‘m gonna come. ‘M gonna come. Shit. Fu-” 

Matt pulled away from Frank’s cock, opening his mouth and sticking his tongue out. A mirror image of you, sitting pretty and ready to be soaked, and that image was enough to bring Frank Castle to his fucking knees. He fell against the shower wall, groaning loudly as he came all over the two perfect faces in front of him.  

Then, he promptly blacked out. The only thing he could focus on was the twitching of his cock every time another rope of cum shot out of it. The entire world faded around him, and when he finally re-entered his body and opened his eyes, the sight of Matt’s tongue down your throat almost sent him into cardiac arrest.  

“Tastes so good, baby.” You mumbled against Matt’s lips, though the comment was clearly for Frank’s benefit. Matt groaned in agreement. Frank’s cock twitched with desire. 

“Please,” Frank begged, palming his sensitive cock, “Please, don’t stop.”  

You and Matt obliged him. Matt swung you around, pressing your spine into the shower wall and hiking your leg around his waist. His lips didn’t leave yours as he slid the tip of his cock through your folds, testing your readiness. And shit, you were so ready. 

A steady ache had been building in your core since you’d stepped into the shower earlier, so much so that your inner thighs were coated in your slickness. Matt’s groan as he thrusted in, and in, and in, was downright sinful, tugging at the fire brewing in your gut. You stretched around him, gasping when he nudged against the soft tissue connected to every nerve ending in your body.  

“Shit, sweetheart. You’re so tight.” Matt grunted, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back into you. The sight of Matt sliding in and out of your wet cunt was met with a wicked groan from Frank, who sidled closer to your panting figure. You latched a hand onto his shoulder and squeezed. Your orgasm was fast approaching, and it was going to be a big one. Frank’s lustful gaze was enough to make anyone crazy, but combined with Matt’s rough pounding against your core, you were pretty sure the Earth was about to shift beneath your feet. 

“Like what you see, Frank?” Matt teased, smirking as you squeezed around him. 

“Shut the fuck up, Red.” Frank grunted, stroking himself at the same rhythm that Matt was grinding into you.  

“You’re both so pretty.” You breathed, whining as Matt quickened his pace. “Oh, shi-” 

“Don’t come yet, sweetheart. Not until I say so.” Matt was trading off between whispering in your ear and sucking on the spot right below it. His hand made a slow ascent to your neck, wrapping around the column of your throat and lightly squeezing. If he was trying to get you to hold off on coming, he was doing a shitty job of it. “Can you wait, pretty girl? Hmmm?” 

You groaned, looking to Frank for help, but his slack jaw and stuttering breaths told you that you were on your own. He was captivated by the sight of Matt slamming in and out of your wet cunt and only shushed you when you tried to get his help. 

“Fuck, Matty.” You whined, tears forming in the corners of your eyes.  

“Beg for it, and maybe we’ll let you come, Kitten.” 

“Oh, shit. Please, please, please, can I come? Please, can I? Haven’t I been a good girl tonight? Please let me come.” 

Tears sprung free, streaming down your face. You held your breath, focusing on everything but the fact that Matt was deep inside you. Matt’s smirk slipped as you squeezed around him again, and you gasped when he hit the spot in you that would normally send you into the stratosphere.  

“It’s up to Frank, baby.” he muttered, gritting his teeth as you squeezed around him again. It was his kryptonite, and you knew it. Two could play that game, Mr. Murdock.  

You shuttered as Frank rubbed his thumb over your lips, contemplating how long you might last like this, how pretty you’d look coming on Matty’s cock. You were on the brink of sobbing, begging for any kind of relief when he lowered his hand and pressed it against the hand Matt still had wrapped around your throat.  

“You wanna come, pretty girl?” Frank cooed. His breath shuttered against your cheek, and you realized just how close he was to coming as well.  

“Yes!” you cried, panting through the pleasure-born tears, “Yes, please.”  

“All you had to do was ask, Kitten.” He smirked, gripping your throat tighter. “Come, sweet girl. Be a good girl. Come around Red’s cock.” 

The tiny thread of control you had left snapped at his words, sending a steady stream of fire throughout your entire body. You squeezed your eyes shut, rocking against Matt’s body as your orgasm pulsed through you. Warmth filled your cunt, and you vaguely registered Matt coming deep inside you, vaguely heard Frank curse as he came for the second time. You weren’t entirely sure you were breathing by the end of it. The tightness around your throat loosened, and you felt the pad of Frank’s thumbs wiping the tears that had gathered on your cheeks. 

You gasped in air, sagging against Frank, who pulled you off your feet and into his arms. He held you close to his chest and stepped out of the long-forgotten shower, forgoing drying off completely as he laid you down on the end of the bed.  

“You okay, sweetheart?” Matt followed close behind, though he had made the wise decision to grab a towel before exiting the bathroom.  

“Mmmm.” You mumbled, snuggling into the soft sheets. The bedroom held a dim glow, lit only by the early morning light. If you strained your ears, you could hear the beginnings of the workday in New York City. Taxis, subway trains, bodega gates – New York was waking up. 

As if it were waiting for the perfect time to make itself known, your stomach grumbled loudly, earning you the soft chuckles of your favorite boys. Frank pulled the towel from Matt’s hips, earning him a swift smack on the chest, and hurriedly dried himself.  

“I’m hungry.” You mumbled, matter-of-factly.  

“We can tell.” Frank grinned, pulling you to your feet. You reached for a fresh towel, drying yourself before pulling on one of Frank’s old T-shirts. 

“I’ll make the bacon if you make the eggs. And Matty, you just sit there and look pretty. Deal?” You asked, padding toward the bedroom door. 

“Deal.” Frank smiled and followed you into the kitchen, tugging Matt behind him. 

Tag List:

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[kimberellaroo]

I have a theory on why Crowley might not have told Aziraphale what he experienced in heaven, both during the hellfire execution I S1 and the files he saw about Gabriel and the second coming in S2.

Crowley is protective of Aziraphale, we know that he keeps coming to the rescue and bailing him out of trouble. We also know he's said that Aziraphale is just enough of a bastard to be likeable and we've seen him all gleeful when Aziraphale does something a little bit bad. But I'm pretty certain that his protective streak also extends to protecting Aziraphale's innocence a little from just how bad Heaven is.

Aziraphale has had a long run of either getting off scot-free, getting away with lying to God, and at worst receiving a "sternly worded note", basically just a reprimand. He knows Crowley goes through a lot worse in Hell, but that is hell of course. They're the bad guys. His attempts to protect Crowley are protecting Crowley from hell. Crowley also is very aware that hell are cruel so we can leave that aside for now.

The situation with heaven is more like this:

Imagine you have a group of friends that you trust, you've been close forever, maybe since childhood, practically family. They can be a bit bitchy to outsiders, but you're part of the group. As far as you know, they love you. Then one day while you're not there, your partner hears what these friends actually say about you behind your back and it's horrifically cruel. Things your partner knows will hurt you pretty bad. Your partner has to try to work out how to let you know that these aren't good friends, that you should cut ties with them, without wanting to repeat the hurtful things that could devastate you. Also if you believe your friends more than your partner, if you decided your partner was just trying to drive a wedge between you and your friends or isolate you, there's a risk you fight with your partner and break up about it.

Crowley is this partner. I think that he's trying to say "trust me, heaven is toxic" hoping that Aziraphale trusts him enough to believe it without having to go into detail. Meanwhile Aziraphale doesn't have the context to properly believe how bad it is, and Crowley isn't giving it to him. It's not the best way to go about it, even though Crowley means well.

I also think that as the demon, as the person who has gone through torture and abuse, part of Crowley is determined to carry the burden of this knowledge alone to protect Aziraphale from any of that. He's had practice after all, that means he's tougher right? He may think he's better able to handle it.

Because of all this, while Aziraphale obviously knows heaven punished "him" (body swapped Crowley) after the failed Armageddon, he may believe that heaven treated it like an unpleasant duty that they had to do, because he never saw and wasn't told about how much smug pleasure Gabriel took in doing it, and how he would have encouraged others to humiliate him (Eric the demon in the deleted scene). Did Crowley even tell him that it was meant to be an execution and not a lecture? There was nothing said about it on the park bench afterwards. Aziraphale knows execution was what Hell had planned for Crowley, but as we've already established, Hell is cruel. He may believe that Heaven only smites demons and sometimes humans (because angels don't seem to really understand humans), never their own angels. As far as we've seen, Crowley and Aziraphale have never had a serious talk about how and why Crowley was cast from Heaven, how that took place, who was involved in the casting out. It could be that Crowley has protected him from that info too. It could be that Aziraphale forgets a little that demons were once angels too, or again, thinks it was done as an unpleasant duty.

Of course Crowley's determination not to share the hurtful information backfires spectacularly in a number of ways:

Aziraphale does not have the information and context needed to see the real danger towards himself and treats Crowley like he's overreacting. Crowley hasn't shared the tools that allow Aziraphale to protect himself.

Not knowing all this means that Aziraphale forces Crowley into contact with an abuser, even if it's one with a personality change. That puts a lot more pressure on an already burdened Crowley.

I think that Crowley trying to bear the burden himself starts to weigh on him. His efforts to protect Aziraphale from heaven are unappreciated by Aziraphale because Aziraphale is clueless that he's even doing it. When he finds Aziraphale has been sheltering Gabriel I think part of his reaction is to how ungrateful Aziraphale seems to be, as well as the feeling taken for granted and that Aziraphale doesn't trust him enough that he's gone back to that metaphorical cruel friend. He explodes, and then is exhausted by it all. Aziraphale demanding an apology dance from him and being smug about it makes it worse, but I think he does it to keep the peace because he doesn't want to leave Aziraphale to deal with the threat of Gabriel and Heaven alone.

I know all this kind of makes Aziraphale sound like a bit of jerk while Crowley is all self-sacrificing, but if Aziraphale's jerkier actions are from genuine ignorance and Crowley's self-sacrificing is misguided thinking he knows what's best for Aziraphale, it kind of evens out. Neither of them are seeing what they have as an equal partnership at this point. Both of them are trying to protect the other from the other's ex-employers and think they are right. We've already established that crappy communication skills form the basis for a lot of their problems. It's not healthy at all and there's definitely ways they could deal with it better, but they are both messy flawed people acting according to feelings.

[writing-the-stars]

Forgotten

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Fem!Reader, Elena Gilbert x Fem!Reader (Platonic)

Summary: After seemingly being forgotten by your childhood friends, you seek comfort in a mysterious stranger

Warnings: Angst (Because I’m an Angsty Bitch Who Needs Angst to Survive), Hurt/Comfort, Elena (Because I Know How Most of Y’all Feel About Her). Let Me Know If I Forgot Something

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: Hey guys! I’m finally getting around to showing some love to Elijah. I’m debating on whether or not I should turn this into a series or not. Let me know if that is something you all might be interested in! As always, thank you guys so much for reading!!! Please feel free to leave a comment or send in an ask. I love interacting with you all. Have a wonderful day!!!

Masterlist | TVDU Masterlist

4:30 p.m.

An hour and a half past the time Elena was supposed to come home for your girls' day. A despondent feeling washes over you as you finally accept the fact that Elena has blown you off once again. You can’t even say you’re surprised as this behavior has become expected of her as of late. Your heart is just broken. 

Ever since the Salvatore brothers moved into town, it’s been made clear you are no longer a priority in her life. Hell, you’re no longer even a priority in the group’s life— your presence slowly being diminished as they whisper in secret behind your back, conveniently have plans or forget to show up to your scheduled hangouts, or just not invite you to theirs at all. It kills you to watch the people you’ve grown up with— Elena since diapers—  push you out of their lives. The four of you experienced your entire lives together, witnessing and supporting each other through every milestone— first kisses, first relationships, first school dance, first heartbreaks, first times of the month. Seeing how all of those memories— your lifelong friendships— can be so effortlessly rendered worthless with the arrival of two boys tears through your heart, leaving you with the ragged pieces. 

Unbeknownst to you, however, the gang’s intentions were never to hurt you. Instead, they have been trying so laboriously to do the opposite. You, by some miracle, have been one of the few residents of Mystic Falls who has not been affected by the supernatural presence that thrives there. You have remained blissfully unaware of the vampires, witches, and werewolves that coexist with you in the small Virginian town. As far as your friends are concerned, that is exactly how they will keep you safe, even if it’s unknowingly the catalyst of your emotional anguish. 

Hot tears dampening the rounded apples of your cheeks, you gather your things, tired of looking foolish and desperate in front of the people you have shared your life with. You are done fighting for your previous place in their lives which they have clearly refilled. 

Storming out of Elena’s home, you are surprised to see a tall gentleman— arm raised as if he were about to knock— rather than the neighborhood you spent the majority of your childhood riding your bike around. Instinctively, you take a step back, placing distance between you and the stranger at Elena’s door.

“My apologies, I did not mean to startle you,” the tall brunet speaks— his voice calm and carefully crafted.

You take in the man’s appearance, noticing the tailored suit hugging his frame and your heart begins to race as you start imagining the worse. Surely a man with such obvious distinction did not happen to stumble across the Gilbert residence, he has to have been brought here. Given the recent calamities that have intercepted your best friend’s life, your mind can’t help but conjure the possibilities of trouble Elena or Jeremy could have gotten themselves into. You wonder if you will have to tell Jenna and what would you say given the outcome of the situation.

“Are you alright?” the gentleman at the door inquires, interrupting your racing thoughts and bringing you back to the present moment. You blink, realizing you never answered the man, and begin to laugh— your nervous tick. 

“Yes, I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting anyone to be at the door.”

You clear your throat, “Has something happened? Is everything okay?” He tilts his head, eyes narrowing, a visual indicator of his analysis of your words. “That’s what I came here to find out. I had an engagement scheduled with Elena,” he reveals, hoping you could provide him with the reason behind her absence.

A dry laugh escapes your lips— your annoyance with the brunette pushing through the growing concern you had for her seconds before. “Well, join the club. She was supposed to meet me here at 3. If you really want to find her, look for Damon and Stefan Salvatore. Wherever they are, she is,” you tell the well-dressed gentleman— your disdain for the two brothers made quite evident through the bitterness soaking your voice. 

He smiles down at you, beginning to see why you’re the only friend of the doppelgänger he had yet to formally meet, "I guess it’s safe to assume you're not a fan of the Salvatores." You roll your eyes at his massive understatement— your irritation beginning to reach its breaking point. “Don’t even get me started,” you state, knowing you could rant about your semi-undeserved hatred for the two brothers for hours. 

Stewing in your vexation, you miss the way the Original Vampire studies you. He has seen you from afar, of course, when he was gathering the information he needed to procure Elena. But now that he is seeing you up close, there is a curiosity about you— an otherness that separates you from the rest of the group. You seem leaden, burdened by the weight of the world. He wonders how someone so young could be so harrowed— the vampire being out of touch with the trials of tribulations of mortal existence. 

“Well, if you don’t mind, I would be happy to listen,” he offers, his intrigue winning him over. Your eyes widen as you look him over, shocked by his proposition. You can’t remember the last time anyone offered to listen to you talk. Silently, you question the man, wondering why he would waste any of his time listening to you, but the rational part of you is overruled by the intense desire to finally have somebody’s attention— even if it is a stranger’s. 

Walking over to the swing that hangs off the Gilberts’ porch, you begin opening up to Elena’s mysterious visitor and it feels orgasmic to finally have someone listen to you— to acknowledge you and be attentive. For you to not feel discarded, but seen for all you are. That feeling is so intoxicating that you end up sharing far more with the gentleman than you had ever intended— far more than he had expected. You tell him everything— how your mother died when you were 3 and your dad is hardly ever home because of his job as a truck driver, how you spent most of your childhood with the Gilberts because there was no one else around to care for you, how you grew up inseparable from Elena and eventually the rest of the gang. You enlighten him on your hatred for the Salvatores because one by one they robbed you of the only family you ever really had without even possessing the bonds you had built with them. You share with him how you once again feel abandoned by the people you love and how devastated you are by their betrayal. You tell him how you can’t even begin to comprehend how everything you all have been through together can just suddenly not matter, how it feels like they’re telling you that you don’t matter. You tell him so much that you run out of things to say— only able to sob out all of the pent-up emotions that had been brewing inside of you for months. 

And through it all, the vampire stays by your side, intently listening to every word that spills from your lips. When speaking became too much, he pulled you into his side, letting you cry onto him. The more he listened to you, the deeper his affinity for you grew. He saw the young woman broken by the sway of the universe, the lost little girl longing for her place in the world. He saw that flicker of hope for the good of humanity and how quickly it was being snuffed out. As he watched you cry, he knew he had to protect it— protect you. He understood the decisions your friends were making knowing the true cause of them, but that didn’t mean he liked the results. 

You break away from the warmth of the man’s comforting embrace suddenly aware of the embarrassing predicament you have placed yourself in. With a flush to your cheeks, you apologize to the kind stranger for your unhampered display of emotions, but he swiftly dismisses it, reassuring you he was more than happy to provide you some solace.

You smile at the man, marveling at his beauty and compassion. He is so gentle with you— a complete stranger. His warmth and affection towards you is something you know you will be chasing for the rest of your life. He is magnificent and angelic. 

As you look him over, your revere for the man twists into horror as you take note of the stain your running makeup left behind— permanently marring the expensive fabric of his suit. “I am so sorry,” you sincerely apologize, guilt eating at you for the damage you’ve caused. “I’ll help you pay for it. Shifts at the Grill don’t pay much, but I’m sure if I take on enough extra ones, I will eventually have enough money to pay you,” you offer, trying to find a solution to the mess you created, knowing full well you will probably never earn enough to cover even a fraction of the cost of the suit. The Original smiles down at you, amused by your concern over his suit— such a trivial matter.

“I own plenty of suits. Please, don’t worry about this one.”

You stare back at him incredulously, once again baffled by the gentleman’s generosity. You want to protest against his easy forgiveness and kindness, but the arrival of a vintage red Porsche Coupe steals your attention. Elena emerges from the vehicle— confusion coloring her expression. 

“Y/N, what are you doing in here?” the brunette inquires as she ascends the steps to her porch. A scoff escapes your lips as another piece of your heart is ripped to shreds by her negligence of your friendship. 

“Elijah,” the brunette questions, noticing the vampire standing behind you for the first time, “What’s going on?”

“Well, we’ve been sitting here waiting for you because apparently you couldn’t be bothered to show up to any of the events you planned. Remember our Girls Day of Fun?” you question your childhood friend— your anger with her behavior as of late reaching its boiling point. 

Elena’s eyes widen in realization before her face quickly contorts into one of guilt, feeling mortified she’s forgotten about your plans once again. 

"Y/N, I am so sorry. I—"

"Let me guess, you were too busy hanging out with Damon and Stefan to remember that you had plans with your best friend. Which, might I remind you, was set in place to make up for all the other times you abandoned me," you say, cutting her off, venom lacing your voice.

The brunette visible winces at the sting of your words, but you are far too gone in your outrage to care about her wounded feelings. After all, it’s not like she hasn’t been killing yours this entire time. “Y/N, please, you have to understand-” Elena begins, but you are quick to cut her off. “No, Elena, I don’t have to understand. You can not possibly have one valid reason for why you consistently keep blowing me off. You are supposed to be my best friend. I have known you since we were in diapers, so I can not even begin to comprehend why you, and everyone else for that matter, have been pushing me off for the freaking Salvatore brothers. I have been here for you way longer than they have and I have helped you through more than they possibly ever could. I expect this from Caroline, but from you, Elena..." you trail off, the lump swelling in your throat. “I just don’t understand why I’m being replaced,” you finally breathe out, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. 

The Original Vampire inches closer to you, feeling an impulsive need to shelter you from the source of your anguish. He remains quiet, however, understanding the importance of you two having this conversation. But his presence remains nearby waiting to swoop in whenever he is needed. 

Elena’s eyes mirror the same tears decorating your cheeks as she encloses her arms around you. The doppelgänger hates that her actions have been hurting you, but with a supernatural development seemingly emerging every five minutes, it has been hard for her to ensure your safety and spend time with you. “I’m not replacing you. You’re still my best friend. It’s just… things are complicated,” she tells you, hoping that you’ll understand the inexpedient dilemma she’s been placed in. 

Unfortunately, you can’t understand what you don’t know and you find yourself wondering about the possible meaning behind her vague words. But exhausted from the emotionally taxing day, you let the subject drop, opting to accept her cryptic explanation. You want nothing more than to go home and curl into bed. Elijah, whose presence you had completely forgotten in the midst of your confrontation, seems to sense your desire as he places a comforting hand on your shoulder and offers to escort you home. 

Over your shoulder, Elena throws a glare at the Original, not liking the idea of leaving you alone with the vampire. But since Elijah has given her his word that he would not harm her friends, she allows you to leave with him, telling you that she will check on you in the morning. Nodding, you accept the distinguished gentleman’s outstretched hand and allow him to accompany you home. 

Upon your arrival, you turn towards the man who has acted as more of a friend to you in the past hour than your friends have in months and envelop him in a hug of your own. The Mikaelson is caught off guard by the sudden contact but is quick to wrap you in his arms— pleased to be having such an affectionate moment with the girl who has quickly whittled a place for her in his heart. 

“Thank you. So much. For everything. And I’m so sorry you had to see that,” you thank Elijah for his abundant kindness to you, pulling out of the comfort of his embrace. 

“I would happily do it again,” he informs you— a smile lighting up your features. 

“Bye, Elijah,” you part, entering your house and leaving a shocked Mikaelson in your wake. He hadn’t realized you caught his name. 

"Goodbye, Y/N," he whispers, smiling down at his new favorite suit jacket.

Part 2

Taglist: @catmikaelson20​

If you want to be a part of my taglist, please submit an ask and I will happily add you!

[nonbinarypirat]

I promised to do a break down on Azz's and Clara's relationship specifically since the initial post was so long (Iruma's relationships within the love trio) so here it is! This is long compared to my initial post breakdown of the relationships since I am just focusing on these two. And I wanted to do these two right since so many people think Azz doesn't like or appreciate Clara.

As we know, in the beginning the two of them mostly revolved around Iruma. Azz was very much annoyed with Clara's personality, there wasn't much to tie Clara to Asmodeus besides playing, and as they mention in the manga, more than likely they would have never met and/or become friends without Iruma. Iruma was very much needed for the initial start of their relationship. However, that doesn't mean that by this point in the story we don't see they both care deeply for each other outside of just getting along for the sake of having Iruma.

Similarly to Iruma, Clara has enabled Azz to experience more playfulness and childlike fun than he ever experienced previously. Clara is not just some afterthought within the love trio. She is necessary for the two of them to open up more emotionally. Especially Azz. Asmodeus in general is a very closed off person by nature, stemmed from a fairly isolated childhood of no one wanting to interact with him. We see this when the soulmates are first seperated because they have to join other clubs. Azz basically never interacted with the other members unless he had to. It's hard for him to open up and let his excitable, lovely side shine through. Clara is one of the people that inspired that in him because even with just Iruma, Asmodeus wouldn't know how to just let himself be playful. Sure, the first time him and Clara played together was because Iruma asked him to, but that was more than likely the first time he has ever done this.

Additionally, Clara gives Azz an extra challenge. She's not easy to understand and is someone he feel like he must compete with for Iruma's affections (of course that has changed drastically in the latest volumes and chapters). Asmodeus is used to being the best, outshining anyone and anything in his path. He's a young genius. But that means he didn't have something to push him to grow. Clara is someone who is so widely different from him that it causes him to have to strive towards understanding her. When they have to work together for the hell dance, Azz realizes that yeah, she thinks about the world in an entirely interesting way compared to him. And he can learn from this new perspective. Azz has really grown to care about Clara because he knows she can open up sides of him no one else can.

Clara on the other hand learns about more structure then she ever had before. Clara has been on a character development of realizing that yes, unadulterated chaos can be great. But it can also just cause trouble for yourself and for others. She can rely on Azz to shut down some of her more outlandish ideas, not because of meaness but because the situation doesn't call for it (though he'll shut it down in the sassiest way possible of course). She lives beyond the comprehension of most people and that's what makes her so wonderful. But she can go overboard and doesn't tend to second guess things. With characters like this, you need somone/something to stop them before something ends up being a giant mess.

And Clara felt the same as Azz too about the way he thinks. To Clara, he also makes zero sense. That's why she also needs to strive to understand him and be more considerate of his feelings. She understands that emotions and care doesn't come easy to Asmodeus. And she gives him room to express them however he can and gives him the encouragement he needs. She truly is the best at understanding the emotions that Azz and Iruma are experiencing. Her role as the emotional challenger/instigator pushes Azz to understand why he is feeling that way.

Like I said, Clara is very much needed in the group. I'll fight anyone who thinks she isn't. Because without Clara's brazen approach to feelings, these two boys wouldn't push themselves. Like, sure she group in her toy box because she could see something is wrong with iuma, but it was as much for Azz as it was for him. Because she would also know when he's feeling down about something too. I saw someone call her their safe place on twitter and its true. She's someone they can go to when they just need to talk to someone or vent to. And like a trained big sister, she will pet their hair and listen.

I really hope we get to see just these two interact more as the story progresses as well as Clara Iruma solo time. Because I care about the love trio so much, they are basically free therapy for me. Oh and in case you were wondering, yes I am obessed with Azz wanting to take a picture of Clara in her cute swimsuit. He's so in love with his soulmates it's so cute. I know he has the best icloud service and still has to backup his photos often from how many pictures of Iruma and Clara he owns.

[bonkhrnyjail]

sweet plum | chapter three

masterlist | pinterest board

pairing: pedro pascal x fem!reader (plus size)

rating: mature (will become explicit in future chapters)

warnings: depictions of anxiety, drinking, nicotine use

summary: it's the final day of filming, and you go out to celebrate with your fellow cast and crew members

a/n: thank you guys for the love on the first two chapters! i honestly wasn't anticipating much of a response on here so it's been a sweet surprise. i have imposter syndrome up the fucking wazoo and this is the first creative project i have ever stuck with for more than a few months, and i think it's partially because of the kind comments i've received from people (and also because i'm fucking horny and delusional for this old man). anyways, hope you enjoy chapter three. xoxo.

You and a few of the other makeup artists and hair stylists are standing a few hundred feet away, watching as Pedro and Bella repeatedly break character on top of a magnificent hill. The roar of laughter from the distance still manages to reach your ears, Pedro doubled over with hands bracing on his knees to keep from toppling over completely.

You know your period is coming, but the emotions you’ve been experiencing today are something else entirely. You awoke this morning and immediately started to tear up, knowing today was the last full day you’d spend with everyone, the crew who's become more like family to you than anything else. You’re just so proud of everyone. Filming this show was grueling, the labor not only physical but emotional too.

Fucking hell, you’re tearing up again just thinking about it. 

“Awww, honey bun,” one of the girls pulled you into a side hug, squeezing into your hip with her resting hand. “I get it, I felt this way after my first long project too.” 

You hate crying in front of people, but you’re so exhausted from holding it in since the morning, it all just pours out.

“I just love all of you guys so much, I don’t want it to end. It’s been such an honor to do this job and to become friends with all of you," you sniffle, frantically wiping at your eyes to clear the streams of tears from your puffy cheeks. "And Pedro, he’s been such a dream to work with. Such a genuine, kind guy, I just love working with him-”

“Baby, we know.” one of the few guys in your group teases and everyone erupts with laughter.

“Wha— Why are you guys laughing?" you whine. "Did I miss something?”

Are they onto you?

You think that you’ve done an incredible job hiding your colossal, debilitating crush on your extremely attractive, kind, witty, charming client. Of course you’ve experienced work crushes before, most of the actors you’d worked with are incredibly easy on the eyes.

But with Pedro, things were different. The amount of time that you’ve spent together during this project and the way your relationship developed, you didn’t stand a god damned chance. The way he talks, listens, looking you deep in your eyes and transfixing you with his soft baritone, even in the most casual of conversations. He makes you feel like you’re the only person in the room. You barely survived some of those interactions, walking away with jello legs and a pounding chest, enough to make you a little short of breath.

“Oh, come on, kid, don’t play dumb,” another one chimes in, “We know you two have the hots for each other.”

Wait.

Each other?

The girl next to you squeezes your hip again.

“We’ve been placing bets to see which one of you would slip up first. It’s hard to watch. You guys are so, so oblivious.” 

EACH OTHER?

Your chest starts pounding hard as your breath kicks out from underneath you. You can feel the pinkish-red hue spread hot over your round cheeks, only masked by the makeup you had put on that morning.

“You guys,” you manage through slightly labored breathing, “He doesn’t… it’s not… he wouldn’t…”

“See, I told you guys, it's gone completely over her head.”

Everyone is chiming in at this point, fits of laughter erupting from either side of you.

You honestly can’t believe the implication. You, crushing on him, sure. Who wouldn’t? But him, crushing on you? This has to be some kind of joke.

It’s not that you lack confidence. You rate yourself. You’re sexy, funny, talented, kinky, a great cook and even better at cleaning, not that those last two are things that should define you in any way. You're versatile, you can go out dancing or cuddle up on the couch and have a great night either way. And as much as you’re high strung about your work, you make up for it by being fun in your personal life. Yes, you have some moderate anxiety issues, but once you feel comfortable around people you’re a pretty damn good time. As for your looks, you truly like your appearance, you feel at home in your body and love to flaunt your curves.

But you’re also realistic.

Being a bigger girl means things will always be a bit different for you. You have to watch your back, fatphobia is so rampant and completely acceptable according to society, especially in LA. You’ve been denied entry to clubs simply because of your size. You've barely dated and haven't hooked up with anyone since your big breakup, over two years ago now. But you're not an idiot, and you know if you did, it’s a whole different ball game when you’re plus size.

You’ve helped a few of your fat friends make Tinder profiles, constantly having to answer questions like 'Does this picture look like me?' 'Is this catfishy?' 'Should I put a disclaimer in my bio?'

It’s never due to lack of confidence on their part, it’s due to lack of trust in other people to not be fucking vile. It’s exhausting, constantly trying to protect and defend yourself from hatred towards your own body, a body that you've come to love so dearly.

Now, with that being said, Pedro Pascal does not strike you as the type to go after someone like you. Not because he’s a shitty person, but because he’s basically an A-list fucking celebrity who can likely pull any woman he wants. In your experience, most of the older men who have shown interest in you were simply fetishizing your body. You're absolutely certain Pedro would never do that though, his respect for women is so innate, you can’t even conjure an image in your head of him treating you that way.

But the truth is, as fucked up as it is, if men can have their pick of the bunch, most of them will go for a thin woman. Social conditioning is a bitch.

Not to mention, he’s quite a bit older than you. You're closer in age to Bella than you are to Pedro. It's not something that bothers you, you've always gone for people older than you, but you don’t know how he feels in that regard.

If you're being honest, you never even allowed yourself to entertain the thought of him returning your feelings. But now here you are, and for some reason the concept scares you utterly shitless.

You want to bolt in the other direction, get in your car, and drive until you see nothing but fields. Canada is pretty good for that, you can drive in any direction and end up somewhere with no houses or buildings for miles. You love to sing in the car and drive for hours with no destination in mind. Horrible for the planet, yes, but you have a hybrid so you cut yourself a bit of slack. It’s better than driving your quiet, elderly neighbors up the wall with your obnoxious belting. 

What if he did feel the same way about you? Then what?

First of all, he’s famous, incredibly famous. He’s a goddamn heartthrob. You’ve seen the TikTok edits that Bella saves on their phone to taunt Pedro with. People want him, bad, and you don’t think they’d appreciate him having a woman in his life. You aren’t sure you can handle an influx of cyberbullying from teenage girls with unhealthy parasocial relationships and too much time on their hands.

Secondly, there is of course the unexpected nature of you being his pick, decades younger than him and certainly curvier than most would anticipate.

And of course, your job. What would this do to your reputation? You don't want to be the girl who is known for this kind of thing, You don’t even know if this kind of thing is allowed due to the nature of your working relationship. Would you ever be allowed to work with him again? 

You can feel your breaths starting to get shorter and shorter as your internal dialogue continues to obsessively ramble.

“I have to run back to the trailer, y'all just... text me if you need me, 'kay?”

You briskly walk toward the direction of the massive white vehicles, grateful to be able to drop the act and let the panic you feel seep into your facial expression. You walk into the trailer and slump down into the chair, managing an unfortunate attempt at the breathing techniques your therapist taught you.

As your body finally begins to settle back into a healthy rhythm, you hear voices getting louder and louder. 

Shit, they’re breaking for lunch.

Without thinking, you bolt out the door with your bag and hide behind the trailer furthest from the incoming crowd of people.

You just need to calm down.

As you settle, you take some more deep breaths, your head flat against the white metal of the trailer, cooling the heat of your scalp. It helps, and you get lost in the sensation, the breathing steadying you back into your body. 

Suddenly you hear your name being called in a gravelly voice, slightly steeped in a southern twang.

“Don’t come back here, I’m infected!” you blurt.

Stupid, yes, but it’ll buy you a second to come up with an excuse as to why you’re hiding. Digging through your bag to find your phone, you suddenly see the vape your friend left with you months ago.

Perfect.

You pull it out along with your phone and quickly open Instagram to make it look like you’ve been casually scrolling this whole time. You take a quick pull from the cartridge and try to catch as much of the vapor in your mouth, trying to protect your lungs and throat so you don’t start immediately hacking. 

You exhale just as Pedro turns the corner.

“What are you doing back here? For some reason you’re never where I expect you to be.” he quips, his feet in a wide stance and arms crossed, illuminating his broad shoulders.

“Oh, it’s super embarrassing,” you flash the vape in your left hand. “My friend got me addicted to this stupid thing. I’m trying to quit but... clearly not going so well.”

He snatches it out of your hand before you can protest, studying it like it's an ancient artifact.

“What exactly is this?”

“You’ve never seen an ElfBar before?”

He looks at you, dumbfounded and a little peeved.

“Here,” you step forward and use your hand to guide his, lining up the vape with his lips. “Inhale.” 

That was a little more seductive than you intended.

He obeys, taking a much bigger hit than he probably should. A panic washes over his eyes just before he starts coughing and hacking, the mist flying out of his open mouth.

“What the fuck is that? It tastes horrible!” he starts making noises of disgust amidst his hacking.

You can’t help yourself from laughing at his excessive dramatics.

“It’s essentially flavored nicotine. I like it though, I feel like it tastes like Froot Loops.”

He attempts to gasp but chokes halfway through, his lungs still traumatized by the vapor.

“How dare you insult Froot Loops like that!” he booms, his face absolutely flabbergasted by the suggestion. 

Your hands are on your knees now, completely doubled over and barely able to manage a breath. His bellowing laughter fills the space, bouncing off of the trailer walls and waltzing with your high pitched cackles. Unable to hold himself up, he places a hand on your shoulder, and you both lose your footing.

You trip backward, back hitting the trailer hard as he stumbles into you. 

Your bodies collide for a moment, his face so close that you can feel his breath tickling your cheek. The laughter between you quickly subsides as your consciousnesses adjust to the proximity you share. You feel that familiar flush prickle your face as he places a hand on the surface behind you, pushing himself off.

You meet his gaze, gentle and sweet, eyes softly nestled in crinkled skin. Your breaths start to deepen and your lips part slightly, unconsciously, as you maintain the eye contact intensifying dangerously between you. His gaze wanders to your mouth and you draw in a sharp inhale, an image of his lips on yours flashing through your head.

Your body jolts when reality catches up to you. He quickly steps back, raises a hand to scratch his head as his eyes dart around. There’s a moment of thick, heavy silence between you, you hastily fussing with your fingernails as he continues to mess with his hair.

You can’t think of a single word in the English language to save your life right now.

“Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to—” he fumbles through the words before you cut him off.

“No! No, it’s ok. It was an accident! Don’t worry, I’m ok—”

“Good!” He continues stammering, an undertone of panic lacing his tone. “Ok, good, I really didn’t mean to—”

“Why are you kids hiding back here?” a familiar accent cracks through the tension, a wave of relief crashing through your body.

Bella. Thank fuck.

“I... got P to try my vape!” you tease. “He’s… not a fan.”

You start to walk toward Bella, hoping that Pedro will follow you back to the more crowded area, desperate to get anywhere that keeps you from being alone with him

“Listen, If I’m gonna have nicotine, I’m just gonna stick to a good old-fashioned cigarette.” he states, still clearly trying to shake the Joel from his voice. He follows behind you, back to the open field where everyone is gathered.

Your hands are visibly shaking, so you hold them behind your back to hide them from the crowd. Beads of sweat start to prickle the back of your neck, the reality of what just happened hitting you like a ton of bricks.

You feel a strong hand rest on the small of your back and you jump. Hard.

“You ok?” a deep whisper floats toward your ear.

Why does he always have to be so fucking thoughtful?

“Never better!” you blurt, flashing a toothy, gaudy smile.

You’re a good liar, but not that good.

The two of you immerse yourselves in the swarm, pulled in different directions by little clusters of people that demand your presence. You desperately fight the urge to look back at him, but accept that the further you are from him right now, the better.

.   .   .   .   .

“And that's a wrap everybody!” Craig shouts towards the crowd of people behind him.

Cheers erupt, the crew hugging and high-fiving each other, little sounds of glee coming from every which way. In the distance, you see Pedro pull Bella in for a tight squeeze, their feet hovering off the ground as he spins them around in a circle. Arms and bodies push tightly against you as you get eaten alive by a clumsy group hug.

“I love you guys so much,” escapes you as you’re squeezed harder and harder, struggling to manage a full inhale. You’re going to miss this, miss them, so much. You can’t believe how fast these months flew by.

The group slowly starts migrating towards the trailers scattered in the faraway field. You hear chatter about dinner plans, possible parties, future projects and people excited to go home to their families and pets. 

“Are you excited to go home?” The girl next to you inquires, her hand gripping yours fiercely.

“I mean, I miss my bed. And my bathtub. And kitchen. But honestly, I’m more sad to leave than anything else.”

It’s true, you miss your shitty little apartment. The AC doesn’t work half the time, the sink drains painfully slowly, and you swear you’ve heard scratching on the walls in your sleep. Staying in the pristine room you were put up in these past months has been far more luxurious than what you're used to, but it isn’t yours. You miss your posters, your record player, your stuffed animals, though you brought your most precious one with you to Canada. Just the thought of cozying up on your creaky mattress makes you feel warm inside, dissipating some of the discomfort you feel knowing this experience is over.

You sneak quietly into Pedro’s trailer and begin packing up your things. You snap a quick picture of your station, your hand in the frame making the heart symbol with your fingers that the kpop stars do.

The door creak open and you swing your head around to find Pedro standing in the doorway, hair tousled by the wind.

“Hey you!” he inches closer to you, opening his arms for a hug.

You throw your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes so you can rest your head on his shoulder. His arms find their way to your lower back, bunching the fabric of you shirt as he squeezes you tight.

“I’m so proud of you,” you gush, your hands unclasping from behind him and sliding off of his shoulders. “You were, you are, amazing. I can’t wait to see the final product.”

He reaches for your hand and gives it a little squeeze.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, you know. My hair could never be this gray without your magic.”

“Give it a few years,” you tease. “Next season you won’t need me at all.”

He lets out that laugh, the bellowing boom filling the space with its warmth and magic. Nothing butters you up more than that sound, a smile stretching across your face to make way for your giggles.

“So... a couple of us are going out for dinner and drinks after this, and you’re coming,” he orders, grabbing his shirt from the pile of folded clothes in the empty swiveling chair.

He begins to unbutton his flannel to reveal a white undershirt, slightly damp and sticking to his skin. Despite your straining efforts, your gaze follows his hands as they move lower… and lower… and lower…

“Whaddya' say?” he breaks your trance with the question.

Your vision goes fuzzy trying to focus solely on his face as he removes the shirt entirely.

His arms.

“U-uh, y-yeah. Sure. Yes. Where?” you stumble.

“I’m not exactly sure yet, but I’ll call you when I find out. We might be going out after, so I’m going to try to dress nice. You can if you want, too, but no pressure.”

He pulls his black t-shirt over his head, messing up his hair in the process.

You instinctively reach up to fix the bird’s nest he just created, running your fingers through to calm the frizz.

“God, what am I gonna do without you, Plum?” he grins sweetly, a soft chuckle wisping past his rosy lips.

Your stomach flutters as you press the pads of your toes into your shoes. Anything to keep you grounded.

“I have no idea. You’re pretty hopeless when it comes to that hair of yours,” you jab, using the palm of your hands to pat down the remaining flyaway curls.

He reaches a hand up to try and wrestle with your hair. You quickly duck, avoiding his touch.

“Hey! Never touch the hair man! You know better!”

As much as you'd love to feel his fingers raked through your hair, you’d be damned if he ruined your fresh blowout.

“But it’s too perfect, it’s begging to be messed with.”

He tries for it again but you manage another successful dodge.

“Enough! I’m outta' here!” you sass, grabbing your bags and head towards the door. “See you later?”

You pause in the doorway, looking back at him.

“See you later,” he winks.

.   .   .   .   .

You’re sitting at the far right end of the table, wedged in the corner awkwardly with your ankles crossed under your chair. Most of the actors are sat by each other, so it felt natural to join the crew on the other side. Only one other hairstylists showed, you aren't entirely sure what happened to everyone else, but you heard they would meet up with your group later on. Fingers crossed.

The black dress you chose for the evening tightly hugs your curves, flaring at the thigh and hemmed just above the knee. You’re wearing a sensible two-inch heel and some Dr. Scholls inserts, with the hope that there will be dancing and booze in the later hours of the evening. You stand out from the rest of the group, a bit overdressed compared to the others, except for Pedro.

He’s wearing a black button down, two buttons on the top undone, and a pair of pleated green slacks that cling to his figure in all the right places. His belt is sizable but not gaudy, and a gold band is fitted perfectly to his right ring finger.

Despite your desperate efforts not to, you've repeatedly gazed across the table to him, your prolonged gawking completely overriding your willpower.

His hands, god his hands, the veins prominent as he uses his knife to carefully cut into his steak. You know his grip is strong, you’ve been subject to many an affectionate hand squeeze. The thought of him running his thick fingers through your hair makes you white-knuckle your silverware.

The scrape of your knife jerks you back to reality, and you quickly join the conversation happening to your right. One of the guys tells an animated story about an ex-boyfriend that leaves the rest of you erupting in laughter.

Through your lingering giggles, you instinctively find yourself turning your head to sneak a glance at the handsome man across from you.

Only this time, you meet his gaze.

He’s not exactly smiling with his lips, but his eyes are, soft and crinkled along the outer corners. Your chest starts to flutter, but in the same instant, you feel the tension in your body melt, as he continues to stare back at you with a remarkable gentleness. A grin slowly takes over his face, his teeth catching the low lighting of the restaurant, and like a puppet, your lips mimic his.

“Pedro?” Bella questions in a whisper, lightly tapping his shoulder. “Merle is trying to get your attention.”

You jerk your head the other way, so violently that you know you’ll feel it tomorrow.

You can barely hear the conversation across the table, your burning desire to know if anyone witnessed the interaction impossible to soothe. You try to immerse yourself back into your group when a slight wave of dizziness washes over you, so you choose instead listen quietly, fidgeting with your phone in your hand.

A few minutes later, you feel a quick buzz against your palm, a notification from Pedro appearing on your screen. He’s never texted you before, always insistent on just calling you instead. You tuck your hands under the table as inconspicuously as you can.

P: We r going to a club after this. Want 2 come?

Of course he texts like that. 

You hold in a chuckle and glance towards him. He smiles, throwing two thumbs up eagerly with a wiggle of his brow, clearly urging you to say yes.

You: I thought you didn’t like to text?

P: Didn’t want to yell across the table. Come party?

He attaches a bitmoji, an animation of him with a confetti cannon. Your eyes roll on instinct as you stifle your laughter.

You: I’ll come, but only if you take a shot with me.

He replies with a thumbs up.

.   .   .   .   .

After dinner, a celebratory cake, and a sea of hugs, approximately half of the group you started with hikes down a few blocks to a small, underground club. Pedro is a few feet behind you, out of your sightline as you hold hands with two of your favorite coworkers. The three of you try to skip in unison but fail miserably, the rhythm of your legs too disjointed to end with you all staying upright.

The bouncer lets you in one by one as you make your way down the steep metal stairs and into the bustling room. The lighting is mostly purple and blue, spotlights swirling around the shadowy, dancing bodies in the center. You mosey over to the bar and within a few seconds, Pedro slides in right beside you.

“What’s your shot of choice?” you shout over the blaring music.

He leans in, brushing your hair to the side so he can speak directly into your ear.

“You choose. I’m not picky.”

His breath tickles the skin on your neck, sending goosebumps down your spine with an inaudible gasp. Your focus flickers, thoughts of his mouth tasting your skin, mustache grazing as he trails lower... and lower...

No.

You snap out of it as you greet the bartender.

“Can we get four shots of Patrón?”

“Hey, you said one shot.” Pedro whines.

“You drink however much you want,” you place a hand on his chest, the atmosphere of the club creating a placebo effect of tipsiness. “I’ll drink whatever’s left.”

The bartender pours the tequila haphazardly into the shot glasses, already fixed with lime wedges, and slides them over to you.

“OK, grab one and lock arms with me.” you shout.

He obeys, linking his left arm with your right.

“Now, cheers me. Don’t break eye contact or it’s 10 years of bad sex,” you exclaim through a hearty grin.

“Can’t risk that,” he winks.

God, you want him.

Your glasses clink and you throw the shots back with your arms still snaked around each other. The smooth burn coats your throat as it settles in your stomach. You pull away, biting into the lime wedge asa you place your glass down gently on the countertop.

His skin is glimmering in this light, the purple and blue dancing along the dew decorating his hairline. The curve of his nose is especially highlighted by the beams, resembling that of a ancient sculpture.

“Another?” you grab the remaining two glasses and hold one up to him inquisitively.

“Not yet. Later, or I’ll pay for it in the morning.”

You hold both glasses up to your open mouth and pour, the sting burning all the way down your esophagus and warming your tummy. You leave the limes untouched.

“More for me,” you smile.

A hand grabs you by the waist and tugs at your dress.

“You have to dance with me to this song!” one of your friends from the makeup team shouts in your ear, much louder than she needs to.

Pedro grabs the shot glasses out of your hands, mouthing his words with a smile.

"Go."

You try to wave as you’re being dragged in the direction of the dance floor. The crowd swallows you entirely and he disappears from your eyesight. 

“Everytime We Touch” by Cascada is booming through the subwoofers and rippling the floor. The bass flows through you and somehow intensifies the heat spreading in your midsection. You start to move your body to the beat, flipping your hair to one side and running your fingers through it. You close your eyes and let the music turn you into a vessel of rhythm.

.   .   .   .   .

You’re drunk. About thirty minutes ago, a few friends bought more shots, clumsily pouring them in your mouth as you continued dancing. It’s only been an hour and a half, and you’re already five shots deep.

Your inhibition is nowhere to be found.

As you’re twirling and bouncing around the dance floor, the crowd cracks open slightly, allowing you a slivered view of the bar. Pedro is there, leaning against the counter and watching you intently. He waves diffidently when your eyes meet his.

“Be right back,” you turn, shouting to the group, squeezing the hand of the girl nearest to you. 

You manage to escape the sea of bodies relatively unscathed, although you're certain your hair is absolutely fucked. You plop down carelessly on the barstool next to Pedro, raking your fingers through your mane to hopefully tame whatever the hell is going on up there.

Pedro turns to the bartender.

“Can we get some water over here?” He motions towards you with his thumb.

The bartender slides a water bottle down the bar and Pedro catches it impressively.

“God, you read my mind.” you manage, still a bit breathless.

“Who said this is for you?”

He opens the bottle, his massive hand flexing, a thick vein prominent on the top. Your eyes wander to his tattoo, barely visible in the violet light. You're transfixed for a moment, your head crooking slightly to try and study it more closely, the dizziness that tequila inevitably sparks beginning to set in.

He chuckles at your ogling, handing over the water with a cracked-open lid. 

“You were staring at me,” you blurt, any semblance of a conscience you once had completely dissolved by the amount of alcohol in your bloodstream. “I saw you.”

His eyebrow cocks.

“I could say the same thing about you at dinner earlier."

Your stomach drops at the confession, but for some reason causes you to burst with unbridled laughter.

He giggles along with you, his shoulders bouncing as his dimple slowly appears.

“You’re just really fun to watch out there. You dance very freely. And your dress-”

“What about my dress?” you jut, cutting him off with a drunken, flirty shove on the shoulder.

“It looks really nice on you. Fits you... just right.” 

He doesn’t break eye contact as he says it, his voice gentle and tinged with desire. You can feel your heartbeat in your fingertips as your ears color in red. You can sense the wide, awestruck grin plastered across your lips, too inebriated to do anything about it. Your eyes soften as you melt into the moment, Pedro looking down at you with gaze that can only be described as one of pure admiration.

He reaches up a hand and smoothes down your flyaway hairs.

“I’m helping, I promise.”

You lock your eyes on a spot on a stain in the wood floor, suddenly overcome with a giddy shyness.

“Well, you… you look pretty spiffy yourself. I like your…”

Don’t say chest. Don’t say chest.

“... shirt… buttons.”

Shirt buttons?

He booms with laughter, hard enough that he doubles over, placing a hand on your thigh to keep from toppling over completely.

You throb at the touch, the core of it pulsing between your legs.

“I’ll have to wear this one more often,” he teases, his hand unmoving.

With every second that passes, the sensation of his palm pressing into your skin starts to burn, the throb morphing into a panging need under your skirt. You bite your lip hard, bearing through the searing ache.

You have to get out of here before you do something you’ll regret.

“I-I’m gonna go dance again. You wanna come?” you spring from the barstool. holding out a hand, beckoning him to follow you into the mass of sweaty bodies behind you.

“I’ll watch, you go. Have fun.” he smiles, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

You turn away with a stifled grin, his words echoing in your head as the crowd swallows you whole.

. . . . .

chapter four

[utilitycaster]

Could you elaborate on that Orym-grief post? I find it interesting and I love ur character meta

Sure! The main thesis, is, well, the post: Orym has a healthy attitude towards his own grief and deals with it well, but isn't good at handling how the party feels. And, secondary to that, the fandom tends to flip this around in their perception of Orym.

Orym is very aware he is grieving and that this will be a life-long thing. He misses Will and Derrig very much and their absence is a hole in his life. He also has built a life around it. It's a process, certainly, but a process he trusts. He allows himself to feel his feelings (the gravesite sequence in Zephrah), but he also very much wants to live out his life (the feeling of failure when he died, his general enjoyment of things). He's a relatively subdued and quiet person, but he clearly finds a lot of joy in life.

The thing about grief is that it's a unique sort of pain, because there's really nothing to be done about it, and it is, typically, something that will always be there. The process is to find a way to live with that absence and make space for it while also making space for new things. It's an important lesson! It's also not how you should deal with other problems, because it's not really solution focused (or rather, the solution is "it is what it is, and it really hurts, and eventually, time will make it hurt somewhat less though it will flare up in specific situations.") For more on this: Caduceus covers very similar territory; his understanding of grief is incredibly strong, and his understanding of other problems often falters.

With grief, the answer for the living is ultimately "keep going," and that's the thing with Orym: he sure does keep going. But I think it leads him to push past things without stopping to unpack and solve them, because in his case (a guy with a great mother, a happy upbringing, a career he enjoyed, and a loving marriage, who then experienced a devastating loss) the answer really was "yeah, it really hurts that my husband and his father, who was essentially the only father figure I had, were senselessly murdered in an attack on my home. But let's put one foot in front of the other."

However, this is not actually great advice for much of Bells Hells. Several of them genuinely have conditions that lead to a complete loss of control and self that could harm or kill others, and they are at varying levels of dealing with it, potential to the peril of others. Orym notes that Fearne's impulses might put the party at risk, but he never does anything to address it other than say "hey, we need to work together." He even skirts around it himself! I think it's valid for him to approach Fearne to have a backup plan about Imogen potentially joining the Vanguard, but he says his piece and then goes and does that in private instead of fully hashing out why she'd say this in front of the people who were murdered by them, which means the root causes are never addressed. A lot of this party needs to be told both "hey, your feelings here are really valid and you should express your anger" and "hey, get your fucking shit together once you've done that." Orym tends to treat them either like they're grieving (a gentle "hey, we need to keep going, we need to get back"), or treat this like a group endeavor without delving into the individual.

I really suspect the reason we are having such a massive blow up right now is in part because this party has, for so long, been told "hey, your shit? It could ruin it for the rest of us, and we're a team," and Ashton very much went against this. I would not, frankly, be surprised if Imogen (for example) is angry not just only Ashton, but also generally, that she pushed down her stuff and maybe didn't make more efforts to contact her mother and work through that.

Essentially, Orym is really good at smoothing things over just enough to keep everything on task, but eventually, if the gear is broken, no amount of grease can keep it from jamming, and that's what just happened here with Ashton. This is what only repeated quick fixes and no preventative maintenance looks like.

(As for why the fandom thinks the opposite? I personally blame that most putrid - in several senses - belief, that conflict is always to be avoided, mixed in with a longstanding really toxic and genre/medium-ignorant attitude towards death and grieving. I think this goes hand and hand with the really pervasive attitude early on that Bells Hells were so open and honest instead of the truth: it was just a pleasant veneer.)

[namwool]

genuine question: if corporal punishment was a common thing in ancient times, doesn't that justify qjl's treatment of sj too? slavery was normal at the time, after all

It physically pains me to answer this question. But yes.

While I dislike QJL's greatly to the point that it makes me want to strangle him, chop off his dick, shove it down his throat and make him shit his own balls, the historical context is important to understand why he was 'entitled' to abuse SJ.

We, modern people, who live differently from our great-great-great ancestors, in different times with different values, one in which we're taught that beating someone is wrong, is different from the beliefs of people from thousands of years ago.

Take for instance ancient Egypt, the Roman Empire etc. Owning slaves back then was the norm. If you were to ask a civilian of those empires, they wouldn't dwell too much on the morality of owning slaves. They wouldn't see anything wrong with it. Because it easied their work.

And if one group defeated another, it was a normal practice to enslave the defeated.

Back then, abuse and slavery were considered to be as natural as breathing. Just like slavery was prominent, so was domestic abuse.

Does this make it ok? No.

My parents lived through a period of time were corporeal punishments were a must-have in schools. Whenever they recount their times, telling me how school operated back them, I am always left speechless and horrified.

In my mind, the only one allowed to lift a hand on me is my mother. And that's it.

However, I have noticed the inconsistent views my parents have about teachers hitting students.

When they talk about their school years, recounting how severe and strict their teachers were, they dont view it as sever as I see it.

And that's where the conflicting views lie.

If a teacher ever lifted a hand on me, my mom would have brought hell on earth, but, at the same time, she doesn't think her teachers had been wrong when using a stick to strike the student's palm for not doing homework.

YQY and SJ himself, despite having experienced slavery, dont address it as much. Which is a clear indicator that they too believe it to be normal. Not even SY, someone who came from the 'modern' world, seems to be affect by the concept of slavery. Let's remember that while exploring SJ's memories he said something along the lines of seeing a live action of a murder, not once addressing the severe abuse SJ suffered at the hands of QJL.

Am I saying that slavery and abuse are normal?

Fuck no.

No one deserves to be beaten up. Shen Jiu didn't deserve the beatings, nor did Luo Binghe, nor anyone else.

Slavery is a disgusting practice, which deserves to be punished accordingly. Slavery ruined many people's livelihood, and caused generational trauma. And we see that with Shen Jiu as well, whose personal trauma ended up affecting LBH as well.

However, if people are going to excuse LBH's inhumane behavior, torture and savage dismemberment of SJ, turning him into a limbless state, I might as well excuse SJ's abuse toward LBH, while totally ignoring QJL's existance.

[petrichor-idyllic]

Hi Petri, I would want to request a Minho x fem! reader where they know each other since before the mazes, when where just some simple tests in wckd, they were really close but were sent out to different mazes, reader's maze was in the edge of a river (who was the maze btw) and she manages to get out and get to the safe haven, and she have this glimpses of her past, dreams of things that happened, memories, but to her they're just stupid dreams, that's until she sees Minho again and everything seems to click cause she knows she knows him, and he has this feeling she's familiar too and then te friendship they had transition to love. (I saw your post about oc's and tried my best to be kinda of creative with this request, hope it went well 😅)

Ooo, I really like the idea of a water-based Maze. I can imagine little floating shacks held up by sticks and a rowing boat needed to traverse the Maze- definitely a good idea.

Also, I'm a sucker for the dream trope in this universe.

LIFE BEFORE DROWNING

MASTERLIST | MINHO MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: See above. Movie based fic because of the different Mazes.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, awkward teenagers, mention of Newt's suicide attempt, I've made up a monster for your Maze that is the equivalent of the Grievers, some mild suggestive themes, WICKED being WCKD because movie.

After hearing the experiences of other WCKD Subjects, you're starting to realise that your Maze was a little weird.

There was a Maze full of boys, one full of girls, another with mixed, some with monsters, some without- all nearly impossible to solve.

And yours was full of water.

For a few years, your life was like waking up and forgetting there's not ground beneath your feet, walking off your little wooden platform, and nearly drowning. You disliked the water.

It meant you also has to explore your Maze in a poorly constructed boat and had to deal with a half-metal half-serpent monster that roamed your Maze.

It was terrifying.

But that's not the only thing that strikes you as different to the others.

You remember things. Well, kind of.

Whilst you were in your Maze, you used to have memories- well, dreams -of your life before the Maze.

And most of them consisted of the same boy.

Asian. Dark-haired. Well-built. Taller than you. Handsome. Sarcastic. Passionate. And he cared about you, clearly.

You had dreams of playing card games together, sneaking around a lab, exchanging glances and pulling faces at each other whilst men in lab coats probe you, and staying up late in a cafeteria area when you weren't meant to.

It was all simple and meaningless- none of it ever held any significance. But it meant a lot to you. You didn't understand it, but it feels like you know this boy and that your friends with him.

You used to tell your friends in the Maze about it, and none of then experienced anything similar. So, you're really on your own with this one.

Though, one of your friends- your best friend, actually; a girl called Emmy, said something that stuck with you. And maybe even made you think it's true.

"Maybe WCKD couldn't take away the people we loved the most, no matter how hard they tried."

That doesn't matter, though. The survival rate of the Maze and WCKD in general is low.

But you're not in the Maze, anymore.

You were one of the first groups to be taken away from WCKD and put in the Safe Haven. You pretty much went straight from the Maze to paradise.

It was about sixish months later that the Gladers showed up. They'd been through hell and back, so Vince told everyone to give them space apart from the few people they actually knew.

You didn't really care for new arrivals. There has been a few since you got there, so it kind of became normal. But since Vince is back now, you doubt you'll get anymore.

Because of your simple lack of care, and the assumption the guy in your dreams is dead, it took you an embarrassingly long time to actually notice Minho.

A couple of weeks into the Gladers arrival, you stopped dead in your tracks, causing Emmy to walk straight into the back of you and drop soil absolutely everywhere.

"Bro? What the hell?" Emmy hisses. You don't respond, staring straight ahead. "(Y/N)?"

"It's him," you say.

"What?" She follows your line of sight, her gaze landing on the boy.

"The boy from my dream-memories - that's him."

"Holy shit. Are you sure?"

Minho is sitting at one of the dining tables with Gally, Thomas and Frypan, whilst you stand there like a deer in the headlights.

"Uh, dude," Thomas says to Minho as he takes a swig of the alcohol that Gally's made. Some things never change and the Gladers have got into the habit of finishing their jobs as soon as possible and day drinking to cope. "That girl is totally staring at you."

"Huh?" Minho looks at his friend, who points at you.

And then he looks at you.

"Oh, fuck, he's looking." You immediately avert your gaze. "Shit, Emmy, move. Go, go." You awkwardly push your friend away.

"My soil-"

"We can get more damn soil!" And with that, you flee.

Well, that was probably the most embarrassing thing you've done. That you can remember, at least.

Minho's blood ran cold, however.

You met his eyes for only a couple of seconds and it felt like he'd known you his whole life. You feel... familiar.

Minho didn't experience the same constant dreams you did- mainly because he's plagued by nightmares of Grievers and that day he found Newt out there. But he's had a couple. He can't remember them very well, but the parts he does remember have your face in it.

You go on acting a bit weird. Every chance you have to look at Minho, you take it.

Which also goes on for a couple of weeks.

"Haven't spoken to him, then?"

"'Course I haven't," you grumble to Emmy as you do your work in the garden. "And I'm not going to."

"What? Why not?"

"Because how would I go about that? 'Hey, dude, you don't know me but I've been having dreams about you for as long as I can remember- wanna be pals?'"

She chuckles, shaking her head. "I mean, why not?"

"What?"

"Why not go and say that to him? I mean, people have probably experienced weirder things 'causea WCKD- and those bastards from Group A had it the worst. I'm sure he'll understand."

"We don't know him," you groan, throwing your head back.

"But you do-"

"No, I don't." You sigh. "Maybe- maybe I used to, but I don't now. This is dumb." You pick up the empty water bucket and start walking backwards. "I'm not gonna speak to him- there's no point-! Shit!"

You back up into someone, the bucket clattering to the floor and the slight splash of water left in spilling out.

"Shit, sorry-" you turn around, meeting Minho's eyes. You blink, steeping back to lengthen the short distance between you. "Uh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... I-I wasn't looking-"

"It's cool. All good," he holds his hands up.

Little did you know, Minho was actually on his way over to talk to you.

You let out a breath of relief, giving him an awkward smiles. "So, who aren't you going to talk to?"

He grins at you, playfully, and you look to Emmy for help. Who simply shrugs.

"Uh, nobody- doesn't matter."

"Alright," he clicks his tongue, "you guys are from a Maze, right? That weird, like, river one?"

"You been asking people about us?" Emmy pipes up and you glare at her.

"Just heard a couple of things," he puts his hands in his pockets, rocking in his heels. He looks at the bucket on the floor. "You need water?"

"Uh, yeah, we use it for the watering can. I was just about to get some more."

"Ah, it's fine," he bends over and picks it up, "I'll get it for ya."

"Oh, uh, don't you have a job to do?"

"I'm already done, besides, can't have a pretty girl wasting her energy, can I?" He smirks at you before turning and walking away, leaving you flustered.

You turn to Emmy, who is grinning from ear to ear.

"Don't."

Minho returns and insists on helping you out on the gardens. Emmy feigns illness to give you some alone time.

That you don't want.

Though, Minho is a shit gardener.

"It's obvious you didn't work with plants in your Maze," you chuckle.

"Really? I thought I was impressing you," he says sarcastically, and you roll your eyes. "I was a Runner, if you're interested."

"A Runner?" You lean on a plant support beam as Minho picks at some vegetables.

"Yeah, exactly what it says in the tin- I ran the Maze. Day in, day out. I was Keeper- uh, Leader of the Runners."

"Wow, musta been pretty good at it."

"I wasn't half bad," he chuckles. "What did you do? You have a job in your Maze?"

You shake your head. "Everyone kinda did a bit of everything. We worked on rotation since groups had to go out in boats, exploring the Maze was hard- so we all took it in turns. Fresh eyes also meant someone could spot something we didn't. Everyone was on the same field in my home."

"You didn't have a Leader?"

"Well, we all just respected the first guy that got there, but I wouldn't say he was in charge."

"So, you had guys and girls in your Maze?"

"Mhm, you didn't? Oh, shit yeah, you're Group A." You recall Emmy saying.

"Mhm- just dudes."

"Must've sucked. I can't imagine being stuck with just a buncha guys- gross."

He barks a laugh, standing up and shaking his had. "We had one girl- she was only there for a couple of days. But I'm pretty sure we did gross her out the brief time she was there."

"What was she like?"

"Total bitch-"

"Hey," you snap, "watch your mouth, man, you shouldn't talk about women like that."

He holds his hands up again. "Sorry. I just mean..." He trails off, the memory clearly becoming painful. "She betrayed us. Told WCKD our location and had me- well she- I was... shuck it."

"You don't have to tell me about it," you reassure him, "shit happens; I'm not entitled to know about it."

"No, uh," he hesitates. "It's weird, I wanna tell you. Kinda feels like I know you."

"We've never spoken before-" you try to brush off the comment, not wanting this awkward conversation. You figured once you came here, awkward conversations and relationship drama would be over.

"That's not what I mean," he sighs. "I know it's forward, but there are a lot of people I wish I woulda told klunk to before I lost 'em. So, I'm just sayin' it. You feel familiar. Like I know you before I lost my memories. You feel it too, right?"

You pause, but nod. "Yeah, I know you."

"Then we should be friends, right? If we know each other?"

You smile, feeling butterflies in your stomach. "Yeah, I'd like that."

And from then on, you became friends with Minho.

You eat with him, stay up late talking to him, get introduced to the Gladers, drink with them, and just generally have fun with him and his friends. Even Emmy joins in- and you're pretty sure she has a thing for Frypan.

But the problem is that you have a thing for Minho. He's effortlessly attractive, and he's funny and attentive. He makes it known he cares about you and likes making you laugh.

And it's starting to make your heart skip a beat, especially when he jokingly flirts with you. It did start off as a dumb inside joke, but now you're starting to hope it's genuine.

Your friendship grows closers and your wants grow bigger.

"What the hell are you doing?" You shout as you watch the Gladers splash water at each other and frolic in the ocean under the moonlight. They've all stripped down into their underwear in what was originally a dare from Emmy, but now they're enjoying it.

"Come on!" Minho shouts, standing up straight as he waves you towards him. You swallow as you watch salt water dribble down his abs.

Yanno, if he wasn't so fine, this crush would be less of a problem.

"The water feels shuckin' great! Aha! Oi! Gally! Stop it! You goddamn slinthead!" He shouts as he gets attacked.

"C'mon, (Y/N), it'll be fun." Emmy giggles, kicking her shoes off and walking towards the water.

Then she freezes. Just before her toes hit the water.

Due to the nature of your Maze, most people got attacked by the fresh-water monster you called the Serpent. You only had the one, but it's shadow lurked under the boat and it's full form was never seen because of it's size.

Either you got bit when it jumped out the water and it dragged you with it until you drowned, or it injected you with venom. It wouldn't kill you, but it left you seething with agony for days.

You got biten twice. Emmy three times.

You don't like big bodies of water now- especially when you can't see the bottom.

"Emmy?" You step towards your friend, putting your hand on her shoulder.

"I-I can't- what if something's in there?"

"There's nothing in there; we're safe here. But you don't have to go in. I'm not."

"C-can we get a drink?"

"Sure," you give her a soft smile. "Hey, guys!" You shout, getting the boys' attention. "We're calling it a night- see you tomorrow."

They group hollars their goodbyes and you both leave to have a couple of drinks before bed.

You watch Emmy sleep, hands in your pockets as she lightly snores in her pocket.

"Hey," Minho makes you jump and you immediately shush him. "Hey," he repeats, in a whisper this time. "You okay? You kinda ran off before."

He's fully clothed now, but his hair's still damp.

"Yeah," you clear your throat, "just... Maze shit, you know?"

He raises his head up a bit. "Dare I ask?"

You sigh, nodding for him to follow you. He does as you sit on once of the benches on the sand.

He gingerly sits next to you.

"You ever wonder why Emmy and I don't really talk to anyone else?"

"Kinda, just figured you didn't like many people."

"It's because we're the only two people that survived our Maze." He shifts slightly, his jaw tensing. "You had your Grievers, we had our Serpent. It was Lovecraftian big, and we had to get through the last part of our Maze on foot because getting the boats over the circular doorframes was taking too long. It was a bloodbath- let that thing pick us off one by one until me and Emmy were the last men standing. She doesn't like- we don't like water anymore." You pause.

"I always think the Serpent is going to dive out and drag me under or tear me shreds." You look at him. "I know it's dumb and we're safe here but I-" your voice breaks. "I can't- I lost everyone, I can't-"

"Hey, hey," he throws his arm around you, pulling you into a hug. "It's okay, I get it. You know, whenever anyone's building anything around here with those tools we stole from WCKD, I can't be anywhere near it. It sounds exactly like the noises the Grievers used to make- I don't know how Gally works with that klunk all day."

"We're fucked up, huh?" You chuckle between sniffs and he grins at you.

"Yeah, we are. Thanks WCKD."

You both chuckle. But you stop when your eyes land on his lips, flickering up to his eyes and his lips again.

"What do you think we used to be? Before the Maze?" You mumble.

He smiles faintly. "What do you mean?"

Maybe it's the buzz from the alcohol from your drinking game that's making you so bold, or maybe it's how close he is. It doesn't matter- you're drunk in some sense.

"Well, we know each other, do you reckon we were just friends or..?"

He tilts his head. "Why? What did you want us to be?"

"I used to have dreams about you- in the Maze. All the time. Emmy used to tease me about my 'old boyfriend'," you smile fondly, "it was so dumb, but... I don't know."

"Do you wonder if she was right?"

You don't speak, just giving a simple nod. "Do you want her to be?"

"Do you?"

You lock eyes with him. His eyelids are heavy and his body is now completely facing you. "Shuck it," he mumbles, leaning in a kissing you.

You gasp into his lips for a second, and it feels like something bursts in your chest.

You kiss him back immediately, fire sparking along your skin and the world feeling lighter. You run your fingers through his hair, his pulling you closer by your waist.

He pulls away, sucking in air. He goes to speak but as his eyes flicker open, it's like something overwhelms him and he kisses you again, deeper this time. His tongue brushes over your lower lip and he pulls on the belt straps of your jeans.

You hum into his mouth, egging him on further. But he suddenly breaks away.

"I gotta stop," he mumbles, pretty much into you, "or I'm gonna get carried away."

You snicker, the thought making more butterflies form in your stomach.

"Yanno," he continues, breathing laboured. "It doesn't really matter what we used to be- it matters what we are now."

"And?" You raise your eyebrow. "What do you want that to be?"

He grins. "Haven't I made that obvious?" He says before he kisses you again.

Yo yo, I really liked this one, and I got to be creative with making my own WCKD creation.

I hope you enjoyed :))

[bengiyo]

She Loves to Cook, and She Loves to Eat 2 Eps 13-16 Stray Thoughts

Last week, so much happened. Kasuga and Nomoto finally expressed how they feel to each other and have begun dating. Also, since Kasuga's aunt gave her dad her address, Kasuga has decided to move and asked Nomoto to move with her. Nagumo admitted her anxieties around food, and had become Kasuga's confidant. Kasuga and Nomoto also discussed how out they want to be.

Episode 13

I absolutely love opening on Yako and Nagumo being given the update on the relationship progress. It's what they deserve.

Hell yes! Assemble the whole squad for the house party! Is Sayama coming too??

A curry party with naan and lassi actually sounds incredible. I need to host one.

I don't have a lot of friends who also enjoy cooking together, so it's rare I get to work with others except my uncle or mom in the kitchen.

I love that Nagumo wants to participate and try things!

Ladies, please! You are a couple now!

Nagumo having some ice cream feels like a small but important bit of progress.

I like them sending the leftovers with Nagumo so she can try the naan and the curry.

This party was a total success. Few social experiences are better than successfully blending friend groups.

I'm enjoying this show leaning into the transition from friends to a couple.

Episode 14

I want to unpack the sales pitch of beer and marshmallows. Please discuss this in the notes. I think I prefer kick drums and red wine.

First a curry party and now a marshmallow party. This show is a treat.

I really hope that Nagumo actually finds help when she goes to the hospital. Pacing this so that we see her enjoying her time around meals with people so this can be a way for her to participate more has been a good choice.

I love, love, love Kasuga admitting she doesn't have much experience with dating and wanting to talk it through with a friend first. It's hard being queer sometimes because sometimes you just don't get a lot of dating experience in your teens.

Hey, a decent doctor. I am relieved that he gave Nagumo a name for what she may potentially be experiencing, and proposed finding solutions together based on his medical experience and knowledge. I remember being relieved when they finally diagnosed me with my own issues, because now we could treat it.

Unexpected Yako and Nagumo outing! Let's fucking go!!

This show is so kind. I love this because I find that I have decent neighbors almost everywhere I go. My neighbor's kids and my other neighbors' grandkids always run up to tell me about their days when I get home, and we often share kitchen gizmos. Just last week I helped one of the kids with some of their math homework after helping remove junk from his grandmother's shed. Their grandma made me this really nice brownie as a reward.

Yako is awesome. I'm so happy Nagumo stumbled into a group of friends to support her.

Episode 15

Yes! I want to see a strawberry picking date! The festival is coming up in another month and a half here!

I like this work lunch. Even though our pair is together, I am glad we're still checking in with Sayama's experience in the dating pool with men.

How are they going to look for a new place to live when it seems like it's always dark when they get home? This conversation about the physical, emotional, and financial realities of moving was necessary.

This is super cool. I kinda love that they allow folks to experience a part of how their food is made.

Ladybugs are a good sign! They prey on other insect pests.

Oh no. Nomoto is starting to worry that she's not being sensitive to Kasuga's wants.

Episode 16

Hell yes! We're talking it out! It actually can be really difficult when two accommodating people are together.

Looking for housing has gotta be difficult in a city that doesn't provide an overabundance of parking like the US. Trying to find a place that's in walking distance to a station that also has parking is probably going to be impossible.

Yako is right, as usual, but now I'm nervous about this big talk.

Every time there's a personal note from @furritsubs I brace for impact.

"I want you to be selfish in front of me." Thank you for inventing romance, lesbians.

I was touched by Kasuga talking about holding back on saying what she wants because she's never been prioritized.

Fantastic week. This felt so great after all the anticipation of the big ask around Valentine's Day. I'm so happy that Yako and Nagumo are friends, that Nagumo is starting treatment, and our ladies are navigating their relationship together with open communication. Super excited about the potential move next week, and maybe their first kiss.

[hippolotamus]

So this is 39...

I was gonna do one of those X amount of things I've learned by age whatever, but 39 is a lot of things and tbh I'm not sure if I’ve learned that many (as some of you would undoubtedly agree). So, in true Hippo fashion, please accept this list of random assorted things I've picked up like shiny trinkets/facts I've come to accept through the years.

Believe it or not you're worth the effort, love and care you try to give everyone else but don't think you deserve.

Usually the more I've tried to fit in and be like everyone else, the more unhappy I've been. Let your freak flag fly and see who sticks around in your blanket fort.

Legos, coloring, stuffies, swing sets, daydreaming and other ‘childish pursuits’ are not, in fact, just for kids.

when given the opportunity, a solo car concert is a solid choice

If you're constantly putting yourself in boxes for the benefit of someone else... honestly, what's the point?

Find at least one person you can drop the mask with and be fully, authentically you.

Groups break up, accidents and weather happen... just go to the concert/show/exhibit if you wanna instead of waiting for ‘next time’.

nobody has their shit figured out (especially anyone acting like they do). we are literally all out here just wingin' it.

Some of the best life advice comes from fictional characters

Nobody cares. Nobody is thinking about you the way you're thinking about you. - Alexis Rose

Life isn't meant to be lived in moderation. We only get one chance at this... What's the point of living if you're just going to keep yourself locked away from ever experiencing life? - Avi Mulvaney

Make sure you’re following your heart - Carla Price

You’re gonna be okay, kid - Christopher Diaz

just because you didn’t die, doesn’t mean you’re actually living

even if you think you’re ‘too young’ for something, i assure you you’re not

i love you isn't reserved for family and/or romantic partners.

Platonic soulmates are a thing and they do exist

Dates with yourself are 100% necessary and sometimes the best ones

there is zero deadline or requirement to find a romantic partner, get married, have kids, buy a house, etc...

Sexual and Romantic preferences are fluid. It's OK if you change your mind or didn't 'figure it out' until your 20s, 30s, 40s or beyond.

You're complete as you are. Without the degree, the partner, the [current arbitrary standard]

Cliche as hell but life doesn’t end because you didn’t get the job/house/partner. Odds are good it’s the best thing that could have happened and you’ll be delighted it did.

Blood may be thicker than water but Found Family, the Family We Choose, is often the best family

Shared genetics doesn't demand your unwavering loyalty

I'm human and I fuck up. I make the wrong choice, say the wrong thing, don’t say anything or say too much. Way more than I want to, and often in the name of trying to keep the peace.

Do you write, paint, draw, some other variety of art? Congratulations 🥳 you’re an author/artist. A real one. Yes, you!

As such (and I will die on this hill) you don’t owe anything to anyone. Not the fic, the next chapter, the snippet, the gif set, etc. Your works are not the price of membership to fandom.

Missing someone and being glad they’re not in your life anymore aren’t mutually exclusive concepts.

You’re more than enough, but not too much. Never too much. I promise.

headpats & forehead kisses 💞🦛

[autumnaaltonen]

(listen, listen my two brain cells are working hard!).

Alucard with a sort of muscular s/o who has scars and stretch marks due to hunting/missions. She's seems intimidating/doesn't talk much and always takes things too seriously even with sarcasm. But secretly she just socially awkward and shy. Who's insecure about her body and how her muscles/scars making her look scary.

Maybe one day Alucard complements her for her work during a mission ((or one day she wears a dress for an event)) and catches her blushing cuz she nvr gotten a complement before.

Hehehehe, yesssss

Alucard With a Muscular, Scarred and Socially Awkward S/O

As an individual, you were one of the more experienced monster hunters out of all the other human Hellsing soldiers, you’ve got your fair share of kills from every variety of freak, be it vampires, ghouls or werewolves. However, while this fact should make you the most popular member on the team, it was unfortunately quite the opposite.

Spending so much time on your own on solo missions, even prior to Hellsing, has put you a little on the stiff side. You can tell when a vamp was about to slash a filed hand at you from a single twitch of the finger, or when a ghoul was capable of running rather than just stumbling based on the pattern of their steps.

But social ques like friendly greetings, sarcasm and self-deprecating humour have become lost to you over time, and it’s painfully noticeable to both yourself and to everyone around you. You were stoic silent, not in ignorance, but fearful of the mystery that has become your fellow human. Jokes fly above your head, and playful jabs make you question the people you surround yourself with, but you keep rationalising at the end of the day that it’s all in your head, and that your glaring is not going to make you any new friends. You felt like a wolf in a pack of sheep.

To add wood to the fire, you’ve also garnered a number of physical mementos from your work, like nasty scars from close calls with a mouth or a claw, moles and freckles from waiting in the sun before nightfall called upon your kill, and stretch marks from the various changes your body has gone through during your physically intensive work

So, you were a tad intimidating to most. But Alucard has always been different. He’s the King of weird and intimidating, so when he took notice of your insecurities despite your gifts, he just couldn’t have it.

“Do not waste your mortal life fretting over polished gold. We may not shine in the sun, but just as the moon dazzles at night, our aptitude is best performed in darkness.”

The both of you hit it off fairly quickly, to say the least. With Alucard by your side, your social anxiety is somewhat pattered down, as there is no way in hell that you could seem like a weirdo with him walking next to you.

Alucard makes you feel seen at the most unlikely of moments, laughing proudly while watching you kill on missions, competing with you on who could take down the most ghouls in one night, or checking on you every once in a while to make sure you were stocked on ammunition.

He even begins to give you words of affirmation and compliments that frazzled and dazed you every time.

“Even I could learn to fear the fury of your gaze, dear.”

“What an alluring sight you are, out of breath and blood-sated.”

“Careful now, if you keep fighting like that, I may just have to keep you.”

Alucard made you feel special and one of a kind, and for once in the best ways. And when he slowly starts pushing on your walls, and words become actions, you wonder why you ever second-guessed yourself.

But then there came the dreaded occasion of the UK Special Forces Division Ball, an annual celebration for the Queen’s most gifted soldiers, and of course Hellsing was hosting as usual, being the most indispensable military group of the time. To make matters worse, Sir Integra had chosen you to deliver this year’s welcoming speech, saying you were “the most exemplary standard for whom a solider of the Crown should strive to be.” And as his human friend, Integra also expected you to accompany Alucard throughout the night to balance out his attitude. Alucard agreed to your accompaniment without issue, even looking forward to not having to be forced into speaking with arrogant and imperious higher-ups.

Fuck that. Fuck this. YOU HAVE TO WHERE A DRESS!?  

You aren’t a ‘pick me’ by any means, but you cannot recall the last time you were anywhere near a pair of heels and lip-gloss, and that terrifies you. What the dress showed off your shoulders and arms? If you put on make-up, would you end up like the Matchmaker after Mulan threw tea on her? With your muscles and scars, what if you looked like a frou-frou G.I. Jane?

You don’t think you’ve ever had a near panic attack over such a trivial matter before, but it wasn’t trivial to you! For once, you were not even worrying about what others would think of you. Instead, all you could imagine is the fact that Alucard would see. Handsome, beautiful Alucard…he came from a background of Medieval opulence and royal refinery, a King who wore robes of ruby-dyed wool and a crown of glittering jewels, who had dazzling women at his beck and call to serve him in any way he asked.

You knew there was only one thing you could do: call upon your commanding officers. It took a lot of self-reassurance and determination, but it all pays off when you see the smiles on Sir Integra and Seras’ faces, both absolutely game to doll you up for your big moment. Sir Integra is a master-class in fashion, having three separate closets for her suits, gowns and decorative weapons. Seras is a social woman fresh out of police college, and was no stranger to what cosmetics looked best when clubbing or going to a fancy-shmancy gala.

You imagined that they would cover you up with a shawl, or cover your scars with concealer, but to your horror they instead slipped you into a sleeveless and tight woven gown and black heels that accentuated all your muscles and curves, as well as applied very basic cosmetics to just your face to make you pop.

Maybe this was a terrible idea.

But they don’t take ‘no’ for an answer, and shove you out of your room and down the hallways into the ballroom, practically throwing you through the doors…and directly into Alucard’s back. Turns out he had been waiting by the entrance for quite some time, making a bit of a scary scene for all the other guests who needed to walk past him towards the dance floor. He was looking for someone, and everyone hoped to God it was for a good reason.

You were able to brace your hands in front of you after being thrown into your good friend’s back, knowing that even someone with your strength could not stumble him. When he turns around, prepared to scold whoever dared try to shove him, you brace for the impact of a bullying laugh or a disappointed frown, wrapping your arms around yourself like a protective shield and looking down at his boots.

But you feel his gloved fingers wrap themselves around your hands firmly, removing them from around your sides and resting them atop his chest. He then puts a finger under your chin, tipping your head up to look at him.

“I was starting to wonder when my second-half would appear. Though I see you kept me waiting for good reason, now you have become even more dazzling than the moon.”

You gape for a moment, taking his words. “Your second-half?” you question.

“Of course, why do you think I asked my master to keep you by my side tonight? A King requires his fair beauty on his arm.”

The sincerity of his words and the admiration on his face nearly brings tears to your eyes, settling yourself against him in relief as he pulls you closer. Gone are all the nerves that have been biting at you all day, and you feel prepared to take on the world (or at least deliver a greeting address) with Alucard in your ring.

[avastrasposts]

Some end of year mush for my readers

Below is a longer message that’s more personal so I’ll hide that below the cut for anyone who’s not interested. But before I get to that I just wanted to send a message to all of those who have read my fics this past year. You’re often a bit more anonymous to me than the people I count as friends, but that’s only because I don’t know you yet (seriously, come yell in my inbox, that’s how all friendships here start!).

But I see you all, whether you’re liking your way through 300k+ words of The Pilot and his Girl or just randomly reblogging something short I wrote back in March, I see and appreciate you all. I love hearing what you think about what you’ve read, but if you’re more comfortable just reblogging or liking, that’s more than fine. But I do really notice and appreciate all of you who read and react what I publish. I hope my stories bring a little bit of entertainment and distraction from whatever else your life is. The responses you’ve all given me, it really means the world. Love you all ❤

/M

So to the more personal message.

I want to send a little message out (who am I kidding, I’m unable to keep things short) at the end of the year and tell you all what a difference some things make. But first, to be honest, I haven’t had a very difficult year, I’m ridiculously privileged, and I try to remember and appreciate that. I count my blessings because life hasn’t always been this easy. But I think it makes me notice the difference small actions make, how one act of kindness really creates ripple effects. 

I know others have had very real struggles in 2023 and have overcome, or are still struggling with, real issues and this year has given me the opportunity to see how much of a difference a small online community can make. I appreciate and love everyone of you who has had the guts to open up when things are tough and ask for help, who opened their (digital) arms and inboxes and wanted to help, genuinely help, those who were struggling, by sending a friendly message, by understanding and responding, offering to help, to let them know that they’re not alone. And to let us all have a safe space online where we can be as weird and sad and irrational and deluded (and horny) as we want. 

I know all fandoms have drama but the amount of nice people I’ve met on Tumblr this year by far outweighs any drama. For 99.9% of us, Pedro should be so lucky to have us as his fans! I feel like the goodness that he seems to spread, is emulated among those who go slightly feral (in the best possible way) for him. 

I’ve been fortunate enough to have made a small group of friends this year in the fandom, and these past few months with you guys (you know who you are), have been the best. You’ve made me laugh and cry (and stress out over how the hell I’m supposed to read all of your amazing fics!). I’m constantly amazed by how supportive and kind you are, how, by pure chance, we all stumbled into each other's paths at just the right time and how we now just seem to fit together. Whether it’s about how we’re going to survive the release of Gladiator 2 (seriously, we’re going to need a phone chain or something for welfare checks….) or how to handle any number of just “life” things that we all have to combat. You lot are always there with sage advice, supportive words and encouragement in a way I’ve never experienced with a group of friends before. Seriously, you’re all the best and I’m so happy to be your friend. 

And here's my our sweet Pedro just because this man somehow inspired me to write so many words this year...