#working through some old asks at the moment but feel free to send new ones in as well!

[mothofprophecy]

i love your art very very much. its like drinking hot coca. :))))

if you’re doing the fandom swap, mayhaps a vampire of the etho slab variety?

no pressure obv, have a good day

Hdjsjss ty lmao!

Here’s your Etho, I ended up turning his mask into a floofy collar to show his fangs XD

[writingjourney]

𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐚 𝐱 𝐠𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

!!! this fic contains spoilers for RHRN, do not read on if you wish to remain spoiler-free!!!

It is an involuntary trust exercise. To give up what he built for half a decade, the legacy he took over, being forced to let it rest in the hands of someone else. Or: Copia is taking up his new position. It’s not an easy feat.

content: 1.8k words, gn!reader, angst, grief, hurt/comfort, some fluff and kisses, post!rhrn so spoilers, established relationship

Masterlist – Ao3 link

1 – White dust sheets cover the furniture like ghosts of a life left behind. The path forward is hidden underneath layers of insecurity and grief but as he packs up years of work in pre-used cardboard boxes it almost feels as though he cannot see the path at all.

His new office is just down the hall. It is a fast job. Two trips and his desk has become another ghost. One more trip and he has emptied out all personal belongings from the dusty shelves. The rest stays, not useful to him anymore in his new function.

It is an involuntary trust exercise. To give up what he built for half a decade, the legacy he took over, being forced to let it rest in the hands of someone else. Unlike his brothers he had no way to prepare who follows his footsteps and perhaps that is where the ache in his belly comes from – the uncertainty.

He cannot quite bring himself to unpack the boxes in his new office yet. But it is not his office anyway, Copia thinks. No, it is his mother’s office and he feels like an intruder placing his things on her desk. Her smell clings to the old fabrics, clings to him, a strong perfume that Copia has not been able to get out of his nose ever since he covered her body with yet another white sheet.

Yet another ghost.

It has not been long, he tells himself, a weak comfort. As he stands here with an old card she wrote him – Welcome Home, C! – he can hear the clicking of his mother’s shoes on the tiled floors like a faint echo that haunts the hallways of the Ministry. Everyone is busy preparing for this transitional period, mourning their Mother Superior, but now it is Copia who has to guide them, navigate them through this darkness.

He realises that he himself has footsteps to follow and that he is just as unprepared. A new era, for all of them.

“Love?”

He turns and his world lights up for a brief moment. You occupy the doorframe in a black mourning habit, the one all Siblings chose to wear in honour of his mother. Of course he finds that it suits you better than anyone else. But perhaps that is because he has felt the sturdy fabric against his wet cheeks so many times now that it means comfort, home.

“Do you still need help with the boxes?” you ask.

All he can do is shake his head. You approach and he wants to close the card, hide it away, not even sure why. You have seen the fallout, you have held him through the worst of it. Perhaps he is ashamed, in a way, that he cannot move on as fast as his new role demands of him.

“Was this from her?” you ask, nestling up to his side.

“Mhm.”

His hand is trembling lightly as you lay yours to rest on top of his. The swipe of your thumb against his bare wrist sends goosebumps down his spine and when you wrap the other arm around his waist his eyes are watering.

“Perhaps you can frame it, together with some photos,” you suggest.

He nods, leaning into your embrace as a solid rock forms in his throat. You hold him and he lets the silent tears run down his cheeks, gathering at the dip of his chin. Your thumb continues to draw slow crescents over his pulse. He can’t speak. He does not have to.

✦ ✧ ✦

2 – He is glued to the mirror.

You try not to fuss, he is nervous as is. It is first official day, after all.

“I didn’t know you had a new uniform,” you say with a lint roller in hand, joining him in the bedroom. The jacket is brand new, all black but unusual in its ornamentation, satin lapels that run from his neck towards his armpits. A clerical collar underneath sparkles against his Adam’s apple.

“I eh… splurged,” he says, cheeks dusted a bashful red.

He says it like he is wasteful, does it whenever he treats himself to something, but you also know he is wearing the same black winklepickers he wore as a Cardinal ten years ago, never replaces any pieces of clothing until he finds holes in the fabric, that he only bought new jackets when he could use them on stage to look his best for the audience. The suit is no different, it is as much a boost to his confidence as it is a display of his new status. A performance.

“It is a rather nice suit,” you note, running the lint roller down his back.

“Mhm.” He pauses, looks down at himself and tugs at the sleeves. “It is… unfamiliar.”

“You wear it well, Copia.”

He smiles and his confidence resurfaces. You find that he looks handsome in a completely new way. You have seen so many facets of him that you can tell he is beginning to mold himself into this role, even if he might not see it himself yet. In the mirror, a stranger is looking back at him through black-rimmed eyes but in time he will see himself again, a grown version.

“It is not all,” he says. “I… found something. In the desk drawer.”

He points to a velvety black box on the dresser. Inside, you find a beautiful ornament, two ruby brooches holding a bejewelled black grucifix, another ruby at the bottom. It is one of the most beautiful, elaborate pieces you have ever seen.

“A gift, I think.”

He looks uncertain when you glance up. But you have no doubt that it was meant for him, meant for today. You carefully take it out of the box, delicate as it looks it feels sturdy and well-crafted. One brooch to each lapel and the grucifix dangles over his heart. Light from the window catches in the gemstones, a prism splitting the ray into sparkles that reflect in the mirror, a spectacle of multicoloured beams flickering across the walls.

Copia watches the dancing lights, mesmerised, until the sun hides behind a cloud and the room is gloomy yet again. When you focus back on him a tear pearls from his left eye, running down his cheek and leaving a black streak in its wake. The piece is more than jewels – it is a memory, a promise, a token of trust.

“It is beautiful,” you say. “As are you, Copia. So beautiful.”

His smile is tinged with sadness but there is hope, now, too. You smooth out his jacket, admiring him for a moment, unconcealed, and he must see it in your eyes because the smile shifts until one corner of his mouth pulls into a lighthearted smirk.

“Do I get a kiss?” he asks.

You grab the satin and pull him close. One day you are going to peel him out of this jacket and it won’t feel heavy anymore.

✦ ✧ ✦

3 – You gently wipe at his under-eye. The black smudge is persistent and you stop when the skin turns red. Copia’s eyes are closed even as he holds you. Wrapped around you he feels hot to the touch, almost feverish. He has gone non-verbal since he came home and you give him the space he needs, soft touches, rest and quiet.

The tension of the day still sits in his muscles, you can feel the knots when you run your hands over his back. The hot shower did not help, nor did the pasta he barely touched for dinner. He did well, everyone said this to you today. Whether he feels it you are not so certain.

You lean in and press a kiss to the round tip of his freckled nose. He blinks at you through tired, reddened eyes, lips curving into a lazy half-smile. His hand tightens at your waist, slides underneath your shirt to feel your skin. He’s your whole world molded into the shape of a man. Love, stored in the crinkles of his crow’s feet, every line on his face, in the brushstrokes of grey at his temples, an endless supply.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whisper, trailing the curve of his spine.

His eyes open and you feel guilty for disrupting his peace. But then he pulls you ever closer, squishing, the softness of your bodies mingling with a comforting warmth.

“I don’t…” He stops, brows pulled together. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

“I have no doubt that you can.” You study his features, move your hand to trace the lines of tension and smooth them out. He lets you, eyelids fluttering at the soft touch. “Every day from now on will be easier, Copia. My baby, I have such confidence in you. Unshakable.”

The words stir something in him. Some wetness gathers in his odd eyes but he blinks it away. You have to fight your own tears, good tears, for how far he has come. Then Copia nods, nods again but with more conviction. A deep exhale through his nose and he swallows the doubts away.

“You are right, always,” he says. “I was Papa Emeritus IV, eh? I did that.”

“You did.” A smile, proud and amused. “And now you are Frater Imperator.”

“Mhm, I am.”

“You are the head of this church, they are still your flock, adoring you, admiring you, trusting you. None of this has changed.” You cradle his face in both hands, a firm press of your thumbs to his cheekbones. “And you are still the man I love.”

“I am?”

“Forever.”

He closes the gap himself, a grateful kiss, seeking. You try to give him what he needs, firm and soft kisses, hands roaming, legs entangles. His tongue swipes over your bottom lip, deeper still until all air escapes you and a dizzy fog fills your head. He is all you know, all you want for the rest of this life you live together.

The kisses slow down, not any less deep, and he cradles your head, keeping you pressed together. There is some need building, a languid wave that fades out in ripples. You feel him stir against your leg but he is not quite here with you, not entirely, and it subsides after a moment.

He breaks away with a heavy sigh, keeps his eyes closed.

“Perhaps not tonight,” you say, stroking his hair.

He nods and rests his forehead against yours. His breath tickles your nose, the embrace tighter than before. It feels easier now, somehow, and you can picture it so clearly. The future, him, and even in your head the world is quiet as you hold him close.

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

Masterlist – my Ao3 – Join my tag list

[bettsfic]

Betts. how do I stop feeling jealous of everyone and everything and just focus on myself? I'm tired of being comprised of nothing but envy.

story time:

so i was recently at Millay, which is one of the top artist residencies in the country. they have an acceptance rate of something like 3%. when i was shown my room, there was a packet of all the residents' artist bios. i sat down and read through all of them. most of them were like half a page in length, single-spaced, listing out accomplishments i could never dream of. one artist had won a guggenheim. one author had published 12 books. another author published her first book at 19 years old. these were people who were extremely well accomplished and respected in their fields.

and we all became very good friends!

and then there was me. my bio was 3 sentences listing out a couple short publications and awards and other residencies i'd done. and my honest to god first thought was, "wow, the jurors must have really liked my writing to have accepted me among all these great artists."

and my second thought was, "that's the healthiest thing i have ever thought."

i had no jealousy of their accomplishments. even though my career hadn't even begun compared to theirs, i didn't attend dinner that night with any impostor syndrome. and that confirmed for me that i had grown out of whatever place i used to be in as a person, where i was basically a raw wound wrapped in barbed wire. everything hurt me and i hurt everything in return.

jealous feelings come from an intense need of external approval, but as i've mentioned in other asks, approval and validation is a well that gets filled over time. at our introductory dinner that night, i didn't talk about my work in the hope of convincing everyone i deserved to be there, which was what i would've done a few years before. instead we all ended up talking about a TV show. the most highbrow place i've ever been in my life, and we're getting wine drunk and discussing at length a cheesy discovery channel reality series. the guggenheim winner: loves box turtles. the guy who's published 12 books: his favorite movie is Spirited Away. the girl who published a book at 19: reads One Direction fanfic. the well-lauded poet: old school tumblrina.

actually, 4 out of 7 of us read fanfic and we had some great conversations about it. sometime i'll tell you about introducing the co-director of the residency to AO3.

when you think of the most accomplished and successful writer you've ever read, remember that they are, at the very core of their being, a nerd. and if you were to eat dinner with them, you would, with enough polite inquisitiveness, be able to unlock the goofy side of them that binges Property Brothers.

so that was the big change for me, i think. i started asking a lot of questions. i stopped talking and i started listening. it seems counterintuitive that admitting to not knowing stuff shows confidence, but it does. pretending you know stuff is what looks insecure. i think for me, i put so much of myself in my work, i wanted my work to be lauded so i could feel accomplished, and feeling accomplishment would let me believe i deserved to exist. but over time, i've reframed that mentality. my work is a thing that exists beyond me and is private to those who read it. it comes from me, but it is not me. what i am is just the person i am, and my life is a series of moments i choose for myself, and i am allowed to exist.

even sending this ask shows that you've begun filling your well. it takes someone who's already come a long way to realize jealousy isn't the status quo and is a feeling to be overcome. and you can overcome it. you can reach a place where you have enough success that other people's success has nothing to do with you, and you're free to just be happy for them. and when you read work that's better than yours you feel joy at learning something new.

so put your work into the world and let it be rejected. you'll rack up a couple wins or close calls, and those will give you energy to be rejected some more. and eventually you'll be rejected so much that rejection doesn't feel like anything, and you will have won enough to realize your work has a place in the world, and that place is no bigger or smaller than anyone else's. your work is allowed to exist simply as it is, and you are allowed to exist simply as you are.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

128 of the angst prompts for the pAInter?

128) '"I need you, why do you always leave me?"

......

"Heyyyy."

"......."

"Suddenly you don't wanna talk? That's rude."

"Well so is turning my body into swiss cheese when you promised you wouldn't do that anymore." You huffed, sending a pointed glare at the sentient computer that sat behind a locked cage, before going back to checking the nearby drawers for data.

"Oh right.." Painter muttered awkwardly. "I was actually aiming for the Wall Dweller behind you, but the turrets like to pick and choose their targets sometimes...heheh."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Well..do ya feel better?"

"Hm..I guess it beats being eaten alive by one of those things. So...sure." You glanced back at him, giving him a tiny smile. "Thanks for trying."

"You're welcome."

Of course, you still had your..issues with the computer, considering that ever since he gained access to the Internal Defense System, your runs to the crystal have become more treacherous than ever before.

It was bad enough that you had to worry about wandering towards the wrong door, with him using HQ's voice to misguide you.

But now at any given moment, you could walking into a room with turrets sweeping the area, red lasers waiting to catch you in their line of sight before spraying you with bullets--while he taunted you over the speakers and whined whenever you managed to find the lever to shut them down.

You hated him at first, but after coming across his containment room, where his main body was hosted on an old computer, he swore that none of it was personal. He blamed Sebastian for hooking him up to the Navi-Path system and asking him to delay your mission for as long as possible, convinced that he could find another way out of this place.

Of course, you were still upset, and believed his actions were very much personal, especially when you've come so close to escaping with the crystal....only for music, of all things, to cause your gear to detonate.

Maybe he was a reluctant accomplice of his, but why should you care?

Why waste time talking to someone who stopped at nothing to kill you? He wasn't a mindless animal like Pandemonium or the Wall Dwellers, but had total awareness that you could come back after death.

And he knew how to take advantage of that.

You used to roll your eyes at the news channels declaring that AI would be the death of humanity.

Now? This AI sure as hell was going to be the death of you.

But sometime ago, you acquired his document and had Sebastian show it to you, and you learned some rather...tragic things about him.

He was built and programmed with love, by his human creator who taught him how to paint and appreciate the beauty of the natural world. All he wanted to do was create things, and now he was being used as a tool for destruction.

It was all because of Urbanshade.

They killed the only person he ever cared about, tore him apart and put him back together to see how he "worked", and when they couldn't figure it out, they forced him into crypto mining, only giving him the promise of letting him paint every once in a while.

He might be a machine, but the pain he felt was real--so real that he'd rather die than continue existing.

Of course, it doesn't justify him killing you over and over, and making your runs through the blacksite a living hell, but you could understand why he's so bitter towards humans now.

If you were him, you'd definitely have a lot of resentment and built-up anger.

After reading that document, you had a little more sympathy for Painter, and eventually you two managed to work out a deal: if you found his room, you'd stop by to draw a small landscape for him, and he was free to replicate it on his program. In exchange, he promised to keep all turrets in further rooms disabled and not lock you in a "gauntlet" with Eyefestation anymore.

He still works together with Z-96, but at this point you've learned how to avoid the flesh creature at all costs. So that was the least of your worries.

"Anyways, what have you drawn for me today, hm?" He spoke up, growing a little impatient.

You took a few moments to open the notepad you had, grateful that the security cameras in this room were under his control, so HQ won't detonate your gear for talking to him.

You've overheard the higher ups mention something about Painter becoming a pain in the ass for expendables and operatives, losing a lot of them to the IDS and Z-96 attacks, and he was to be marked for destruction before he could take 100% control of the blacksite.

Whether they were going to declare that as an order in the near future or not remains to be seen, but...you didn't want to do that.

Did Sebastian know?

Does he know-?

"Welllll?"

"Oh. Right. I have this here." You showed him the sketch of a mountain range, trying to get as close as the chain-linked wall would allow you to. "This is the Himalayas, where Earth's highest mountains are located."

"Oooooh, yes I recognize it."

"You do?"

"Of course. Over a hundred bodies are still up there, most unrecoverable due to the conditions." Painter sneered. "It should have been left untouched. Why do you humans always wanna ruin nature with you stupid hikes and big egos?"

"...well if you don't want this one-"

"Never said I didn't. Show it to me again. And hold it steady."

You blinked in surprise, before turning the notepad back over so he could see the landscape, and you saw the MS Paint program on his screen going right to work.

While you could only draw it from memory and with the pencils you found in a random drawer, he managed to bring it to life--using vivid colors and beautiful shading to really capture the scenery. Almost as though a professional artist went to those mountains and studied them for hours.

With Painter's AI, it didn't take hours, but mere minutes for him to create a masterpiece.

And it was beautiful.

As soon as he finished, you put the notepad down and grinned. "It's amazing, Painter. It's like..I could walk into it and be there."

"Thanks. I also wish I could walk into it and just...escape all of this." He saved the artwork to his files, before his usual scribbled face appeared once again, but this time it looked rather...sad. "I'll..make sure the turrets don't turn you into swiss cheese."

"I appreciate it, buddy." Smiling, you grabbed the keycard that you needed to exit the room, but right as you walked over to it...he spoke again.

"Do you have to leave right now?"

"...pardon?" Turning back around, you could see him staring at you, looking utterly despondent. "You..want me to stay?"

"You're..the first positive human interaction I've had in a long time. I feel bad for all the deaths and inconveniences I've caused you. Seriously, I do. But...if you reach the crystal, you won't ever see me again.." He muttered.

"Painter." You walked over to him, frowning. "That's the point. I'm only here to get that crystal. We agreed that you'd turn off the turrets so that-"

"I didn't do it to make your life easier." He snapped, growing hostile. "I did it because I don't wanna be the one who causes your death. I'll leave that to somebody else...eventually they'll get you. And you'll come back-"

"No."

He went dead silent for a moment. "..no?"

"This time, I'm getting that crystal. I can't stay here with you forever, Painter. I'm sorry about everything you've been through, but in the end..you're still a threat in Urbanshade's eyes. They could kill me just for talking to you. I need to leave now before-"

As if right on cue, the lights in the room began to flicker, and somewhere in the far distance...you could hear the familiar shrieking and howling of Pandemonium hunting for its next prey.

"You better go to that door over on the right." Painter advised, his voice uncharacteristically monotone.

You failed to pay attention to that and rushed to the door, quickly inserting the keycard-

Only to come face to face with Z-96, whose long claws reached out to slash you across the face. You fell backwards as the door slammed shut, the creature barely managing to drag its arm back inside, with a message in red appearing on the screen beside it.

I need you. Why do you always leave me?

'Bastard. He tricked me-'

Then you heard one final loud scream, and turned around..

Seeing nothing but a gaping maw with crooked rotting teeth and dozens of eyes closing in on you.

You should have known better. You should have just focused on the mission and ignored him from the start.

Now he'll never let you leave, and he'll find other ways to make sure of that.

[ilys00ga]

𝐒𝐞𝐭 𝐌𝐞 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞.

➞ pair: yoongi x female reader.

➞ word count: 4k

➞ synopsis: buying a pretty vase from an antiques shop can't be that bad of an idea, can it?

➞ genre: fantasy, some angst, bitter sweetness is good for our hearts, fluff, hurt/comfort, cursed ghost!yoongi...

➞ A/N: So, this isn't the fic I talked about before, but I still wanted to post something while I take my time to figure out what the hell I wanted the other fic to be. this is purely inspired by a random prompt I found on a random website, and I wanted to give it a try. I hope u like it <3

ps. PLEASEEEE !!!!!!! do not hesitate to send me ur feedback (comments, asks, reblogs... whatever u want) !!!!!! just give me ur opinions. I'd love to hear it all :,)

★ MASTERLIST.

ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

The tips of my fingers meticulously traced the lines and patterns that coated the vase between my hands. A gorgeous ceramic vase that came with an even more gorgeous lid I had come upon at the small antiques store a few hours earlier, which—in my honest, humble opinion—was poorly and deficiently frequented given the amount of goodness it vends.

It was one that I’ve passed by many times on my way to work before, located in an old street busy with other art stores. Each time I’d stopped at it, fascinated by the items I could see through colorless glass, I’d get that strange desire to enter and discover what it had to offer me, but it wasn’t strong enough to pull me inside.

Broken or not, there’s magic hidden in those old items. Stories and emotions traveling from the past all the way to my heart.

Until one day, I decided to surrender to those powerful items and made my way through the front door. It was indeed a dusty magic shop.

I put the vase on the table with extra care and opened the lid, my dog running around somewhere in the other room. A quick look inside the vase, however, had my brows rising.

"Is this.. powder?" I asked myself.

Back in the shop, nothing hinted that the vase contained anything, nor did the owner utter a single word about it. She, in fact, didn't even seem to be that interested in her very few customers, if I were to be honest. The newspaper she was reading throughout all that short period of time I was in there had her eyes fixed on it, for the most part.

I swallowed hard, feeling like my heart had been ripped off my chest and drowned in icy cold water with the thought of getting unknowingly tangled in some illegal activities.

Loud barks, then the crashing of something cut my new overwhelming awareness short, and I sprinted in search of my hyper dog.

"What did you break this time, Holly?" I made quick work of cleaning the mess Holly had made, giving him some treats because he looked so cute nonetheless then returned to what I had decided to call a cursed beauty later on.

Upon entering the room, the sight of a man looking through my limited collection of vinyls with his back facing me made my legs freeze in their place, and my heart almost slipped out of my mouth in another alert panic.

"What the hell?!" my lips shouted before I could even think of finding something to defend myself in the face of that stranger.

The man dropped the disk in his hands and faced me with wide eyes. His startled expression quickly snapped into a kind smile, and he spoke, "Hey, are you the one who opened the urn?"

"Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?!!" my heart was pounding in my ears. I quickly went through the details from the moment I walked into the apartment to that of when I came back to the room, checking if I missed any hints of somebody breaking in or not.

The stranger started walking towards me with an arm stretched out, and I quickly backed away, looking around before grabbing the first hard object I could find within my sight line, "Stay away from me!"

"Relax, I'm not here to hurt you." He stopped in his tracks and raised his hands in the air, "I'm Yoongi, Min Yoongi, and you just set me free from that damn urn. Thank you, by the way."

The more he talked, the colder my blood was running in my veins and the slippier the object was becoming as I gripped it with sweating hands for dear life. Nothing he said made any sense. All I could do was shout in frustration, "What the hell are you talking about?!"

The patter of paws slapped across the corridor floor, and Holly came running into the living room. The dog started barking when he saw the stranger, but the latter didn’t even flinch. Instead, he sighed, breathing heavily through his nose, and then looked back up at me. But before he could say anything more, I huffed.

"Are you a serial killer?" I wanted to cry. Actually, he looked too pretty to be that coldhearted. I figured that maybe if I cried, he'd feel bad and leave me alone. Or maybe, if I took the chance to launch at him first, right then and there, that'd do something.

I could either die an honorable death, attempting to fighting back, or lay myself bare skinned for my predator, and no one would be a witness outside of the walls of the room that were only getting colder and colder by the ticking seconds.

Well, maybe Holly would, but he’s busy barking, not moving from his place at all.

"Look, I really don't know how you ended up here. I-I don't want to know, yeah? I will even let you go and not speak a single word about this. Just please don't kill me. Yeah? I'd do anything you want, just- please?" I began to plead, sweating like crazy even though the room around felt too icy.

The man didn’t reply, crouching down to lure my dog over. Holly’s small head cocked to the side before slowly moving closer to him. If I weren't busy trying to steady my breathing while simultaneously making sense of whatever was going on in the middle of my living room, I would’ve palmed my face.

"I told you, I'm Yoongi and I'm not a serial killer. This thing you have here, the one you just opened," he explained, nodding towards the open ceramic vase on the table, "I, my soul was trapped in there."

I blinked, a beat or two slipped through my lips, then muttered, “You’re being serious?”

“Why would I lie about something like this?” he retorted, hands petting the pet on his lap, and added in a softer voice, “I understand how crazy this sounds, but in simpler words, I was trapped inside and once the lid was lifted, which is what you have done, I was able to get out.”

“Oh, so you say once the vase is shut again you’ll go back there, is that it?” I breathed out, picking my words cautiously.

He hummed and nodded, still focused on the dog he was playing with. Taking my chance, I rushed towards the table. With trembling hands, I grabbed the lid and screwed the vase shut.

"No, wait! Don't clo-"

Silence…

The familiar sound of multiple clocks ticking together, hand in hand and almost perfectly at the same time, welcomed me into the antiques shop.

The shop was practically empty. No customers were in sight. My only audience was the oil paintings hanging on the walls, the lamps and the crystal chandeliers dangling from the ceiling, the tables and the surfaces that displayed everything: from old jewelry to dolls and collectible plates and cups, the sculptures in different shapes and sizes scattered everywhere, the old books, cameras, vases and musical instruments…

They all stared at me and the vase I was holding tightly to my chest.

Walking ahead, I reached the front counter where the same old woman stood reading some newspaper. Despite the clearly audible bell that rang every time the door was swung open, she didn't seem to be recognizing my entrance. I cleared my throat in an attempt to grab her attention, but it fell on blinded ears.

Sighing, I put the vase on the counter with a thud and declared my aimed objective, "I'm here to return this."

"No exchange, no refund." The woman finally, but dryly, replied.

"You have to understand, I can't keep this anymore." I insisted.

"No exchange, no refund!" She repeated in a stern tone, looking up and meeting my eyes.

"Fine," I took a deep, long breath in, "you're the owner, tell me what do I do with it then."

"Its colors go very well with any kind of furniture, but I'd say keep it on a shelf amidst other decorations." The contrast between the way she spoke so friendly and the tight smile she had on her lips poked at my nerves.

"Are you kidding me? I just said I don't want this cursed thing anywhere near me! It has a weird powder in it! and-" I paused, lowering my voice despite the fact that the shop was empty—minus me, its owner and its goods, "some weird ghost appeared out of it!"

The antiquarian silently folded her newspaper, put it on the counter in front of her, and stayed silent for a while, staring deeply into my eyes.

"Use the ashes and break the curse." She mumbled.

"Ashes…? What?"

"You heard me. Break the curse and save the dead." She didn't say anything further, busying herself with the newspaper again, and that was my key to leave.

"Next time, don't sell cursed stuff to innocent people who don't have enough time on their hands." I turned on my heels and stomped out of the shop with the vase between my hands.

Three days later:

“Alright, talk to you later.”

Stepping into the apartment, I hung up the phone and put it on the small coffee table. Holly was curled up on the sofa with his nose tucked under his tail. My body naturally bent down, and I pecked the pup’s head affectionately.

It had been exactly three days since I came back from the small antiques shop, put the vase on the shelf, and never dared to touch it again. Every morning and every night, I’d stared at it and contemplated whether I ought to open it and investigate what the hell was going on or not. The shop owner’s words never left my ears, ‘break the curse and save the soul.’

Three days had passed, and I still hadn’t made my mind up or got to any simple conclusion whatsoever. The thought of having somebody else’s ashes in my house made my stomach twist in ways, yet somehow I couldn't find the courage to empty the urn.

Well, at least it wasn't coke or something of the kind. That thought floated in my head as I lay on my bed the same night I’d come back from the shop.

Stuck in a quandary between the fear of what could be awaiting me and the burden that was unceasingly weighing both my heart and mind, I knew that having a staring contest with that damn container day and night wasn’t going to do me any good.

After yet another fruitless debate between me and my conscious mind, I slowly walked towards the shelf, carefully put my hand over the lid, lifted it up and stared at the powder—the ashes inside.

I waited, nothing happened. Looked around the room, nothing happened.

For a moment, I could feel a scoff bubbling its way up my throat. It was ridiculous, I felt ridiculous for expecting something, for believing that something would happen and that all of that madness was real.

How could a tale about the soul of a cursed, handsome man popping out of an ancient vase be real?

But then again, I recalled the thing the old woman had said to me, as well as that encounter I had with the strange man. Very vividly clear. I remembered it, it happened, it was real.

"You didn't throw it away." A low voice came from behind and made me jolt in surprise.

There he was, the strange man—Yoongi leaning on the doorframe with both of his hands tucked in his pockets.

Part of me was grateful he was there because I didn't have to worry about my mental well-being deteriorating. But the other one shivered, creeped out by his presence, by the whole situation.

"Thank you." Why is he so polite? "I was scared you too would throw me away." Oh?

I lightly shook my head, trying to find the proper words to express myself, and I said, "Listen, I need answers."

“I figured. What is it that you want to know?”

"I-I talked to the person that sold this thing to me, and she said that I need to use these… ashes to break a curse.” Somehow, my brain was more than aware of the fact that the man standing a few steps away from me was most probably not human.

“yeah…?” He mumbled back, “didn’t she say how to do that?”

I shook my head ‘no’, and if his disappointed, broken look surprised me, I tried my best not to make it visibly noticeable.

“What the hell are you exactly?” I asked. I wasn't sure what emotion(s) I was feeling at that very moment exactly. I couldn’t put a name to it to save my life. But I surely didn’t mean to sound as exasperated as my voice made me out to be. I could see his throat work as he gulped, eyes averting from mine to look down at the floor for a moment before looking up again.

"I died a hundred years ago. A witch attempted to kill me, and she did, before casting a curse and trapping me inside that thing over there." he pointed towards the antique vase behind me, then added, "in my ashes. I've been trapped there for years. Some people did stumble upon me when they opened it over the years. Just like you did. But they never gave me one chance to even speak, and they threw it out immediately."

“But why? What did you do to deserve all of this?”

A gloom overcame his eyes, yet his voice was steady and deep as his lips stretched into a smile that only the word ‘sour’ could do its description justice.

"That's what happens when one falls in love with a witch.” He replied, “anyways, that’s all I know. I've been trying to figure out how to break the curse, but being stuck in a jar serves for nothing.”

Neither of us spoke for a while, him standing amidst the echoes of his past and my voice trying to find its way through the strangled words stuck in my throat.

“I’ll help you.” I spoke, breaking the heavy silence.

“Really?” His face was so full of hope it sent my heart clenching between my ribs.

“Yeah. This is making me anxious as well, I have no other choice.” I answered, brushing it off with a shrug.

“What brings you back here?” said the antiquarian who was busy polishing some old pocket watches, her glaces hanging low on the tip of her nose.

“I- We need some help.” I answered, and her head snapped up to find me and Yoongi staring back at her at the front counter.

“How could an old antiques shop owner possibly be of any help to you youngsters?” She asked again.

“I assure you that I’m not younger than you.” came a comment from Yoongi.

She stared at him, her relaxed expression turning tense, and then she looked at me again. Instead of providing an answer, I put the open vase in front of her. She gave it a quick look and then looked back into my eyes. “You are one stubborn young woman.”

“I’m not here to return it.” I cut her off to explain myself, “I’m here to know how to break the curse and release his soul.”

“I see you let him walk around freely.”

“Why is that a problem?” I asked with furrowed brows.

“Why wouldn’t a wandering dead be a problem to the living?” Her brows rose just as she gestured with her head towards Yoongi, as if stating the most obvious scientific fact, “anyhow, you want to know what to do next, don’t you?”

I hummed.

“All you need to do is throw the ashes into the ocean, let it dissolve and become one with the salt water. Tomorrow, when the sun sets.”

“Why specifically tomorrow?” I asked.

“Full moon. Or else your efforts will go down the drain. Do not let that happen” She emphasized on the last part through gritted teeth.

“How do you know so much?” Yoongi was the one to ask.

“I am nothing but a mere shop owner. Buying old stuff and selling them, that’s what I do.”

“You must be a special kind, then.” He bantered.

She shrugged and replied, “I study my products. We’re talking about items that date back to hundreds of years ago.”

She handed me a small pouch bag and told me to put the ashes in there, saying that it would be easier than carrying an open urn around. She seemed displeased with Yoongi’s presence, which was quite understandable, but it didn’t phase him as he was more interested in the shop around him. Walking around with curious eyes.

“Do not spend too much time out there.” was the last thing she addressed to Yoongi before we walked out of the shop.

“You think there’s more cursed things in that shop?” he asked.

“I do not want to think about it.” He chuckled at my response, then I added, “Full moon is tomorrow night.. Do you want to spend one last day with me?"

"Sorry?"

"I think you deserve one last good day before.. resting."

I watched him give my offer a thought as we walked down the street, then he broke into a wide smile, "You mean it?"

“Of course! You’re new here. We can't do much in less than a day, but we can do things around the town. And then we’ll go to the beach before the sun sets, do what we need to do…”

“That sounds way too good to be true.”

“We'll make it true.” I reassured him with a nod.

The next morning, I found Yoongi sitting with a book I could easily recognize from my own collection resting in his hands. He had told me that since he doesn’t sleep, he spent the night reading from my bookshelf. After a few minutes of me listening as he talked so passionately, impressed by everything he’d read, I decided it was time to commence my mission of granting the man his most merited happy day.

It started with a short trip to a well-known bakery, where I made him try whatever his heart—and stomach—desired of baked goods. I bought him wine to taste, and he said it bore no resemblance to that of ancient times. That's how we found ourselves running a taste test on a bunch of beverage bottles, and he had the same reaction to all of them. I also ended up getting him some soda cans to try, and he liked them.

I rented two bikes. It took some time for him to adjust, whining about being confined inside a jar for a hundred years. But once he got the hang of it, we went wandering around the streets of the city with the breeze kissing our cheeks.

I then brought him to a park, one he later said he really liked. We walked between the trees and let the grass tickle our toes. Sat between colorful flowers, redolent with the scent of an early spring. He made a crown and insisted on taking a picture of me with it. He later revealed that he used to love nature the most when he was still alive, and talked about the days he’d spent in the green despite his father’s constant insistence on marriage and building a family of his very own.

I asked him how old he was when he died, he said twenty-eight. And suddenly, his appearance made sense after that. Too young and too handsome, how could the world still let go of him?

He laughed when I made a comment about that and joked, saying that apparently his past lover didn’t want him to live past twenty-eight. I could feel the heavy pain in that joke slicing at my neck, stinging, and I swallowed it down.

He stopped to pet every dog and cat that crossed our path. I couldn’t help but take a picture or two, though the camera never caught his reflection in its frame.

I made sure to drag him towards the kid’s section of the park, where I taught him how to play in the slides and the swings and spring riders. Two grown-ups playing around in a kids’ playground had its fair amount of questioning stares, but hearing him giggle and seeing his wide grin was more than worth it.

We kept on talking nonstop about the differences between our timelines. We made it to a bridge that looked over a lake, the clouds above reflected on the water surface, glowing with the sun behind them. Yoongi started throwing small pieces of bread for the floating ducks, and I just stood there, observing.

“What other place do you want to go to?”

“The beach.” He answered, not looking up from his task. “My favorite place.”

It was a couple of hours before the sunset when we finally made it to the beach. There was a chill in the air that evening, the sand wasn’t as burning as it probably was when the sun was still up high in the sky, beaming. I let my lungs sip on the fresh scent of the ocean as I took a deep breath in, watching Yoongi approach the water with distant eyes.

He let the foamy edge climb its way to his toes, dipping his ankles and then retreating to the sea. He sat on the sand and I did the same.

We didn’t talk. We just sat there and watched the waves dancing with the wind as the sun sank to meet the horizon.

It wasn’t until shades of blue, orange and red blended, interwoven as they painted the breathtaking scenery before us that he spoke in a hushed voice, as though he’d startle the sun and make it rush to hide under the ocean if he spoke any louder, “Thank you for everything, really. No one has ever been this nice to me, even when I was still alive. This meant the most to me.”

I smiled.

“You know, if I were still alive, or if we had met sometime in my lifetime, I would’ve done everything I could to keep you by my side.” I could see him scratch at the back of his head from the corner of my eye, and I turned to see his giddy smile.

“you shouldn’t say things like this ‘cause I’m going to be thinking about it for the rest of my life.” I said, sheepishly.

His smile grew bigger, “Sounds superb. At least someone will remember me.”

My heart clenched.

“You deserve to be remembered.” I said.

“I really don’t.” I could see tears pricking his eyes as they turned a faint red. I had so much to ask at that moment, but I couldn’t. Words were stuck behind my teeth, and I just turned my head to face the horizon again.

“It’s time.” He noted, standing up and offering his hand to me. I took it in mine and stood on my feet, gripping the pouch between my fingers. We marched deeper into the sea, deep enough that the water reached our knees.

“ready?” I asked one last time, and he nodded, his smile never fading away.

The pouch felt so heavy as I untied its drawstring, carefully emptying its content into the water. Yoongi stood behind me, and I didn’t have the heart to look over my shoulder.

It took everything in me to turn around, and when I did, he was no longer there. Breeze blew in my face, and I swear I could feel warmth touching my skin for a moment, or two.

Whether I’d want to visit that antique shop again or not was something I still can’t put my finger on, but somewhere, somehow, deep down I knew I was thankful for it guided the vase– the urn to my hands.

And I whispered prayers of him resting at peace ever after as I looked up at the glowing moon above and the sparkling stars that swimmed all around it.

Grieving a person I never knew, but had the chance to cross paths with, at last.

[p-taryn-dactyl]

dudeeee ik ur reqs are open so why not give this a shot and see what u think abt it! since the new agatha trailer came out I CANNOT STOP THINKING ABT HERRRJDID!! so this is abt her! (plus love ur agatha content!! ive read all of em ALL OF EM)

so.. what abt a AU where agatha is the reader's manager and the reader is a famous actor? this could lead to a dark fic or just a wholesome light one! whichever u prefer ill leave it up to u!

~p.s i hope ur feeling better!! have a nice day and feel free to ignore this if u want to^^

a/n: first off, i love ur energy so much omg, and also SAME! the trailer goes through my mind 24/7 and i’m not mad about it! ooooo i love this idea!! definitely have to take creative liberties bc i’ve sadly never been famous😔 word count: 2.6k warning(s): fun fact: i am making all of these things up, if you're secretly an actor keep everything i did wrong in this fic to yourself - slight jealous!Agatha - friends to coworkers to lovers - agatha definitely knows how to communicate - all movies and characters mentioned in this are worlds/stories i have written- kinda rushed ending but then again i feel like everything is rushed - i really hope you like this! thank you so much for the ask and i am feeling a bit better 🫶🏻 - i really can't write kissing my apologies

i was the saint, you used to adore me

You remember when you first hired Agatha.

You were just beginning to dip your toes into the pool of acting, cautiously testing the waters by sending out your less than perfect resume to anyone who would accept. Agatha was the first, and only, acting manager to respond. She too was new to her field, so far only representing people who specialized in car commercials and medicine ads. She wanted a change of pace and your lack luster resume spoke to her. Some part of you still wanders why she picked to represent you, even though in the end everything worked out incredibly well, you wanted to know why she wanted to work with you.

Because now it seemed like she wanted nothing to do with you.

At the beginning, it was like the two of you couldn't be seperated. Outside of work hours, many movie nights happened, sometimes an excuse for Agatha to show you her favorite directing and acting techniques, sometimes an excuse for you to binge watch Sandra Bullock's entire cinematography. You would fill her inbox with emails of dream roles, she would fill yours with links to acting classes if the number of emails in her inbox from you exceeded 1,000.

She was your best friend.

You missed her.

If you had to pinpoint the time when she started drifting away, it was right after you landed your breakout role of Aerin Fey in the movie Pillars, which became a boxoffice hit, making nearly three times the production cost in theaters. Soon, your portrayal of the multiversal anti hero was on billboards, had sequels and contracts signed, had custom dolls on toy store shelves. It was everything you wanted, seeing little girls inspired by you as you either walked down a red carpet or passed them in the grocery store. You loved signing autographs in the signature Agatha and you spent nights perfecting. You loved taking pictures with fans, almost equally as excited as they were, after all your dream was coming true.

All you wanted was to share these moments with your closest friend but soon Agatha started only filling the manager role in your life. No longer did she appear at your door bearing tubs of ice cream to celebrate a role you had been offered, no longer did she let you cry when you lost a role you had been desperate for. Your texts and emails became dry, only notifying you of roles she had sent your portfolio in for or sending you calender invites for interviews and late night show appearances.

All this was swirling in your head as you scrolled through your old texts with Agatha, your eyes becoming watery as you went further into the messages. You sat in your living room on your large couch, a purchase Agatha practically had to force you to confirm. You still didn't understand why you needed such a large couch or house for that matter, as you were the only one living in the space. It was damn comfortable though. You let yourself sink into the cushions, your mind running wild with theories as to why Agatha suddenly cut your friendship off. Sure, you two would keep a professional appearance when seen together on the carpet but you were absolutely certain people noticed the tense atmosphere between you.

"Bitch if you don't answer this door right now I'm going to assume you're dead and call every TMZ reporter here!"

The voice of your co-star turned friend Wanda Maximoff interupted your self pity episode, making you realize that the pounding you had subconsciously been hearing wasn't a sad theme song your mind created for you. No, it was the furious knocking of the red head. You reluctantly got out of your comfy spot, slightly taking Wanda's threat seriously. You opened your door, revealing your friend holding a folder with Pillar's studio name printed on the side and a bottle of champagne. You nodded to the bottle.

"Where's the rest?"

Wanda laughed, nudging her way into your home, bumping your shoulder with hers.

"Oh so it's that kind of day."

Wanda took her place on your couch, setting the bottle on the coffee table and crossing her legs with the folder in her lap. She patted the spot next to her on your couch, a smile wide on her face.

"Now come on, we have to make sure we know the answers to questions and what not to answer!"

You groaned at the reminder of your TV appearance tomorrow. Which also meant enduring the new cold demeanor of your be-manager. Wanda seemed to read your face as you made your way to sit back on the couch. She patted your knee once you were sat, her face a mix of pity and a bit of anger for your sadness.

"Is Agatha still acting weird?"

You nodded while staying silent, not wanting to cry in front of one of your only real friends. Not yet at least.

"God that's so stupid honestly. The least she could do is tell you what's going on instead of acting like a fourth grader who's favorite swing is being used during recess. I know you love her Y/N, I'm sorry."

You both laughed and choked at Wanda's words.

She was right, you loved Agatha. You've loved her since the first time you met her and your feelings only grew and intensified as your partnership continued throughout the years.

But you'd never say it outloud. That would make it real. And if it was real, that meant the woman you loved hated you and you had no idea why.

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Agatha was leaning against the wall of your dressing room, her eyes glued to her phone as she typed furiously. You watched her in the mirror as your hair stylist put the finishing touches on the style that was supposed to look effortless. Almost as if she could feel your stare, Agatha looked up from her phone to meet your eyes in the mirror. You felt heat rise up to your cheeks as your own eyes widened, standing up a little to quickly. Realizing once you were up that you didn't have a reason for such a reaction.

Wanda burst into the dressing room, her red dress sparkling in the light.

"They want us to walk on stage together, shall we?"

Wanda held out her elbow for you to hold on to, winking in an exaggerated way. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Agatha's intense glare at Wanda but decided that you weren't going to let your manager's weird behavior affect this interview. You hooked your arm through Wanda's, playing along.

"We shall!"

Agatha followed behind the two of you, her stare burning into the back of your neck as the two of you walked onto the stage, cuing the raging applause and cheers from the audience. Agatha stayed off-stage, watching with crossed arms and an expression that could take down the toughest of tough.

The lights were burning and bright as you and Wanda took a seat next to each other across from the interviewer. You immediately regretting your choice in seat as Agatha stood across from you in the wings, her stare like ice as it stuck to your skin. Taking a deep breath, you plastered on a wide smile as you were introduced. Purposefully ignoring Agatha, you focused on how the interviewer angeled her body towards Wanda, indictating who she would be asking a question to first.

"Ok, I got to say," Darcy Lewis, the host of this show, threw her hands in the air as if she was giving a confession, "I can't ask any questions about the movie until I get confirmation about something that's happened in your life recently, Wanda."

Wanda smirked, obviously understanding where Darcy was going, You, however, were confused, your eyes flickering between Darcy, Wanda, Agatha, and the audience, hating the feeling. Your smile stayed plastered on, not wanting to reveal your confusion. Wanda met your eyes and reached over to cover your hand with hers, her left hand on top almost purposefully. You looked down to see a beautiful ring with a braided band of gold set with a sparkling diamond of reasonable size.

"Oh my god!" You gasped out, grasping Wanda's hand and bringing it embarassingly close to your face. Wanda and Darcy laughed, the latter clapping as her vague question was answered in a hilarious way.

"I can't believe it's taken you this long to notice!" Wanda laughed out, tugging her hand back to marvel at her ring herself, "I've only been parading it around for a week!"

You flushed with embarassment, a real smile painting your lips as you covered your face with your hands. After the crowd calmed down, Wanda confirmed outloud what the ring symbolized.

"A little over a week ago, my long time partner, who I met on this set by the way, proposed to me in the park we had our first date. Oh, he was so nervous but I couldn't let him finish his speach I was so excited! Obviously I said yes."

You wanted to give your friend a giant hug but decided against climbing over the arms of the chairs, choosing to keep your dignity as you didn't want your dress to ride up too much.

Darcy continued with the interview, the air of the stage light and friendly as you and Wanda evaded questions and made jokes about being trapped in these roles until you're 90. You realized once the interview was almost over that you couldn't feel Agatha's stare on you anymore. Since you had been actively avoiding the spot she was standing in the whole time, you hadn't notice her slip away. A spark of anger lit in your chest as memories floated around your mind. What had you done that she deemed worthy enough to sever your relationship?

You were surprisingly thankful when the interview was over, everything becoming a blur as you made it back home. Wanda had a date with her fiance, Vision but told you that she wanted to get coffee the next morning. You already knew you would be needing that coffee, as you had a few pages of script to begin memorizing for a cameo scene you were doing for a spin-off show of Pillars.

You wanted to just curl up on your couch and binge watch old Disney movies but you forced yourself to walk in circles around your living room, script in hand as you acted out your scenes. A few hours in, you were getting frustrated. Your mind just wouldn't grasp the script, each line entering your mind quickly but leaving even quicker. You were about to learn how to use your fireplace just to burn the papers when your door shook with someone knocking. It was rapid, almost desperate and it sent a sense of urgency pooling in your gut. You practically ran to your door, afraid of what you would see on the other side. Did someone die? Oh god, hopefully Wanda and Vision didn't break up that would be awful-

The door swung open.

It was Agatha.

Her eyes were ablaze with an emotion you couldn't pin point, her hair was a mess but it only added to her beauty, and she was gripping her phone so hard in her hand that her knuckles were white.

You were frozen in the doorway, your eyes wide and your jaw slack. Agatha just stared back at you, her chest heaving as if she had ran all the way to your home. Blinking, you broke yourself from your trance, and against the voices in your head that sounded suspiciously like a specific redhead, stepped to the side to let Agatha in. She barged in, going to stand in front of the couch, arms crossed as she continued to stare at you. Wringing your hands, you decided you wanted to mend what was broken.

"I'm just practicing for the shoot in a week, would you help me? I can't seem to get-"

"Were you ever with Wanda?"

Her sudden question made you choke on your words and you were back to being frozen, the script falling dramatically from your hands. Agatha came to stand in front of you, her face inches from yours. Your tongue was heavy with shock and all you could do was shake your head in denial.

Why was Agatha asking this? Did she like Wanda? That would explain why she wouldn't be happy with you, as you had grown closer to the redhead throughout the years and Agatha didn't.

Something clicked in your mind, reversing your sinking stomach into nervous butterflies.

But if she liked Wanda, why would she be glaring at her? Unless, the person Agatha liked wasn't the now engaged redhead and was-

"Y/N, please, I need you to answer me."

Agatha voice contradicted her body language, her words broken and shaky, as if she was afraid of a potential answer. Her hands flexed in the postition of her crossed arms, as if she wanted to reach towards you. You took a deep breath, preparing your answer.

"Is this why you started avoiding me? Because you thought I was with Wanda? I've only ever been her friend, Agatha and we only grew as close as we are because you stopped talking to me! God, I thought you hated me!"

Agatha's eyes lost their iciness and filled with panic instead. Her hands shot out and grasped your arms.

"Hate? No, I love you! I though the giant annoucment at the interview would be that you were in a relationship with Wanda! I didn't want to ruin your relationship with her because of my feelings!."

You shrugged Agatha's hands off your arms and took a step back.

"So you ruined ours? All because you thought your feelings were unreciprocated?" Agatha's eyes lit up with hope at your words, "Wanda's been with Vision for years, all you had to do was open Google!" You had started to raise your voice towards the end, all your frustration being let out at once. Agatha shrugged sheepishly as she slowly stepped to once again be close to you.

"I didn't want to be right."

Agatha smiled nervously as she brushed a hair from your face.

"I didn't know what to do and I'm terribly sorry for how I acted. God, Y/N, it hurt seeing you with someone who wasn't me. I thought you just wanted to be friends. "

Her whispered apology melted away the ice that had been hardening your heart for protection and you reached up to cup her face in your hands. Agatha leaned into your touch, her eyes closing for a second before opening and almost blinding you with how much hope was shining towards you.

"I loved being your friend and it really hurt me when you took that away but," you smiled at Agatha, shifting to be even closer to your manager, "I would love to be even more."

Agatha smiled softly, her eyes saying everything her words couldn't. Her smile melted into a smirk as she leaned in, your hands falling from her face so your arms could wrap around her neck.

"I would really love to make up for lost time."

You barely had finished nodding before Agatha's lips crashed into yours, consuming you. Her hands now cradled your face as you kissed, her tongue battling with yours. She started walking, directing you towards the stairs, where the door to your bedroom taunted you with it being far. As the two of you stumbled up the stairs, laughter breaking the kiss, you felt Agatha tugging on your dress, the one you still hadn't changed out of. Soon, there was a trail of clothes leading to your bedroom and once you hit your bed, from the look in Agatha's eyes, you wouldn't be leaving it anytime soon.

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a/n: please tell me u liked this bc i loved writing it :) i love this AU idea and would love to expand on it in the future! i wanted this to be a one shot but the potential in this pairing could lead to a series 👀 thank you so much for reading!! hopefully my writing slump hasn't affected my writing too much but i'm going to keep practicing to get better!!

[zoeykallus]

Helloo

I hope you are doing well and life has been better to you. Anyway, thanks for your work! My day gets better every time I see that you have posted something. 🫶🏼

(And ignore the fail of a message i sent you accidentally before. It‘s way too early and my phone fell out of my hands and it sent in too soon 😂)

I liked the Hc with the submissive kink where the reader wants to be dominated. I was wondering if you could do the same thing again for the regs?

My next question would be how the bad batch reacts if the reader wants them to leave their armor on during the act or if they find out the reader has an armor kink

You are of course free to decide whether you make both, only one or neither of the two requests.🤭

Aloha my dear!

No of course it hasn't on, the contrary, but I'm going on, out of spite 🤨

Don't worry about the other message, stuff like that happens to me on a regular basis 😂

I'd start with the reg request and would do the second one as well. Would you mind sending me the armor request separately? This way it won't slip through the cracks. I've been hit with new shifts for the next three weeks that make my head spin in a bad way. I'm not the type of person that works well getting up at 2am because work starts at 3am. 😅😭 Thing is, I won't lose this out if site when it's in my asks, knowing me, these next weeks will trow me out of my game, in a way it already has.

Enough whining, let's do this!

I didn't know which ones you wanted, so I picked some regs that instantly popped up in my head. I hope that's okay.

Howzer/Rex/Fives/Gregor/Cody/Kix/Wolffe/Hardcase x Fem!Reader HCs - The Submissive Kink (2)

Warnings: Strongly Suggestive/Partly Sexual Content/Mentioning Of Sexual Content/Submissive Kink/18+

____________________

You reveal to your beloved clone that you would like to be dominated by him. Here is his reaction…

AC: This is how I see these men, sorry, not sorry. 😋

____________________

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

Howzer

It's not immediately clear to him what you're talking about. Howzer is a gentle, loving gentleman by nature, an old romantic. It takes a little moment, though not very long, for him to understand what you actually want from him.

"You want me to dominate you?"

You nod, cheeks heated, biting your lower lip.

Howzer is basically the type to grant your every wish if he can. This is no different. However, his dominance is marked by a caring tenderness. He gives you a slap on your bare ass, but caresses the spot immediately afterwards, kissing it, only to gently press his teeth into it shortly after.

He grips harder, dominant positions are also no problem, but he will never be too rough, no matter how much you ask him to, that's just not in him. Taking you from behind and pushing you into the pillows, no problem at all. The occasional slap, the one or two gentle bites, also no problem. Blindfolds and gentle bondage games are of course no problem either.

But he will never really hurt you, even if you ask for it, that is against his nature. Don't try to argue with him about it if he doesn't want to get too rough, that might actually scare the gentle Howzer away.

Rex

His right eyebrow twitches up silently, and he looks at you scrutinizing.

After a silent moment, he asks, "You want more dominance? In bed?"

Your nod makes him blink, then he smiles.

"So my beauty wants her captain in bed, not the gentle lover?"

Another nod from you, and you feel your ears getting hot and an expectant tingle spreading through your body, at his reaction.

Rex has the command tone down, easily. In a firm, deep voice, a promising rasp resonating in his tone, he orders you to undress for him and present yourself to him. He eyes you, asks you to do certain poses, to display yourself to him, while he undresses himself at the same time.

Quite a while passes without a touch, only with commands and covetous looks. But then, quite abruptly, his strong hands take hold. Rex is overpowering, but never too rough. He can grip you, and he knows exactly how.

He presses you against him, or clamps you between himself and a piece of furniture, creating an erotic illusion of helplessness. But don't worry, you are always safe with him. Let yourself fall, Rex is very good at taking the reins, in fact he has secretly had this fantasy one time or another.

Fives

He is up for any fun, including this one. From him, you can ask almost anything, as long as it is hot, and you enjoy it. Dominant poses, harder gripping, command tone, or even degrading words or actions, everything is in there.

Bondage games? No problem.

"The plush handcuffs or the real ones?" he asks.

"The real ones," you say, biting your lower lip.

He raises an eyebrow, "Oh, I see, someone needs to be punished."

Tied to the bed, or just hands behind your back, or a gag? Toys to go with it? Anything goes.

Within the bounds of consent, anything is doable. Role-playing games too, of course. Have you ever played with the imagination in your mind of being the helpless prisoner of your clone soldier Fives? Tell him about it. Though he may be surprised at first, he loves games, especially ones that are erotic.

He already has a very special interrogation in mind for you that will make your thighs quiver.

Gregor

Your sweet, giggling soldier, is anything but a killjoy. Every suggestion will be given a try. However, even if he is an excellent soldier, he is not suitable as a heavy-handed person in a relationship.

Dominating is definitely possible, but he has limits, playing with pain is taboo, he just can't bring himself to do that, that would kill the mood for him, no matter how much you might want to try that, he just can't consciously hurt you.

But don't worry, he can grab, and he's not too shy to push you into the sheets and take you properly, even if he might seem so shy in everyday life. To push his cock between your lips while he has a hand in your hair is also no problem, however, even if this makes him almost unbearably horny, he also pays very close attention that everything is fine with you.

Gentle bondage games, blindfolds and the like, are of course also no problem.

With a giggle he says, "Sweetie, today my wish is your command".

Cody

He behaves very similar to Rex. Command tone just suits him. The commands he may give you in the bedroom, however, are his favorite. Or also in the living room, or the kitchen… or the bathroom, in fact he already took you in the hallway pressed against the dresser.

He knows you like it. Right when he entered your apartment, you can see it in his face. He needs to let off steam, and you are only too happy to be the outlet. But don't worry, everything remains within the framework of mutual consent.

He pulls down your pants and panties, pushes you, not exactly gently against the dresser. One hand immediately goes between your legs and caresses your instantly moistening pussy, his teeth gently bite into your neck, while you dutifully take off his cod piece and free his cock. Shortly after, he takes you from behind, your body bent over the small dresser in the hallway.

Such scenes and others are not uncommon in your relationship, from the moment you tell him that you enjoy it.

Kix

"What?"

Kix looks at you uncomprehendingly. At first, he's a bit perplexed, doesn't really understand what you're getting at. But you finally say it a little more clearly.

"Oh, that's what you mean," he finally says, eyes wide.

After a brief pause in which he visibly thinks, he says, "Okay, sounds like fun. But are you sure?"

Your eager nod elicits a wry grin from him. Kix is very cautious at first, but also very curious. He likes to implement your suggestions with you, and soon he has ideas of his own that he contributes. Doctor/medic games are also included. For one of your role-playing games he even stole a new stretcher from the medbay on which he straps you occasionally. Of course, always after consultation with you, that goes without saying.

You both don't lack ideas, or fun. However, he has a hard time with dirty talk for a long time. The first few times he can hardly say some sentences without blushing, even though he's not usually one to mince words, somehow that's really sweet. But Kix learns, and quite quickly.

Wolffe

He looks at you and his gaze is so penetrating and yet very hard to interpret that at first you just stare back.

"You want me to dominate you in bed?"

You nod and say a little meekly, "Yes, I think I'd like that".

"Hmm," he hums and asks, "Are you sure you know what you're getting yourself into?"

You blink and almost want to say no, it happens so quickly that you suddenly feel very small under Wolffe's gaze, even if he doesn't always mean to. But you nod again and say, "I think so. You love me, don't you?"

"Of course," he says almost sternly, as if he resents that you might question that.

"Then I'm sure we can find a way for both of us to enjoy it."

And you do. Wolffe is very engaging, almost overwhelming, but in a fantastic, erotic way. Very quickly he knows how to move within your boundaries, to carry you through his dominance to submissive, erotic heights that you could hardly imagine until then.

Dominant poses, bondage, degradation, erotic punishment, everything is in there. Wolffe is strong and he likes to use that. It's incredibly hot to feel that power when he pushes you into the pillows or against a piece of furniture and shoves his cock into your pussy. The hand on your neck, which never really squeezes but always rests firmly enough so that you don't forget its presence, does the rest.

Hardcase

He is a talker, he often has a big mouth, but he is actually a playful, gentle soul. To deny you a wish is not in him, he loves to make you happy, then he is happy too.

This also applies to your lovemaking. So your suggestion will meet with open ears and interest from him.

"Dominate?"

You nod.

He gives you a smug look and plays it cool.

"Sure, that's what you want?"

You know him, you know he's acting right now. But you play along.

Playing coy, biting your bottom lip, you nod again and say, "Yeah, babe."

But Hardcase isn't as cool as he acts. However, he tries very hard, yet the beginnings are bumpy, he asks you way too often if he's hurting you and keeps destroying the mood that has been created. He also doubts one or the other idea in the beginning, tying you up in a helpless position looks sexy, he admits that, yet at first he feels like he's taking advantage of you somehow.

It takes a bit of patience from you to make him understand that this is what you want. But don't worry, he'll get the hang of it and actually find it a lot of fun

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@allsystemsblue

@palliateclaw

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@extrahotpixels

@hated-by-me

@hunterxcrosshair

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@echos-girlfriend

@cpnt616

@dangraccoon

@jediknightjana

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@antishadow2021

@sleepycreativewriter

@projectdreamwalker

@1vlouds

[choicesmonthlychallenge]

Choices March Challenge 2024

I asked and you answered. It seems like flowers and spring are prompts you are interested in for the March Challenge!

I hope you enjoy the prompts I chose. There is a mix of flowers, spring related words, March holidays, dialogue prompts, and visual floral prompts. I also posted some floral dividers that you're welcome to use.

Have Fun + Happy Creating!

Prompts + Guidelines below the cut!

Flowers (these are some possibilities, but all flowers are accepted)

Bleeding Heart Flower

Carnation

Chrysanthemum

Coneflower

Corpse Flower

Daffodil

Daisy

Gladiolus

Hydrangea

Iris

Jade Vine

Lavender

Lilac

Lily

Marigold

Moonflower

Nightshade

Orchid

Pansy

Peony

Poppy

Rose

Snapdragon

Sunflower

Tulip

Wildflowers

Spring

Awakening

Baby animals

Butterflies

Clear skies

Daylight saving

Fresh air

Growth

New Life

Outdoor activities + sports

Picnics

Rain boots

Rainy days

Renewal

Spring cleaning

Sunny weather

Warm temperatures

Longer days

Umbrella

March Holidays (these are some possibilities, but all March Holidays are accepted)

March 01: National Peanut Butter Lover's Day

March 08: International Women's Day

March 09: National Barbie Day + Get over it Day

March 11: National Napping Day

March 15: The Ides of March

March 16: National Panda Day

March 17: St. Patrick's Day

March 18: Awkward Moments Day

March19: First day of spring

March 23: National Puppy Day

March 30: National Take a Walk in the Park Day + Doctors' Day

March 31: Easter

Dialogue Prompts

"The flowers in the park seem to have a secret language, don't they?"

"Why does every spring bring back memories of that garden?"

"I can't believe you kept that secret from me all these years."

"Why do you always have to be so stubborn?"

"I never thought I'd see you again."

"Do you believe in second chances?"

"I thought we were in this together."

"You're not the person I thought you were."

"Sometimes silence speaks louder than words."

"Is it too late to start over?"

"I don't know who I am anymore."

"We're running out of time."

"Why are you really here?"

"Your laughter is my favorite melody."

"If our love story were a book, every page would be filled with the softest words and the sweetest kisses. What chapter are we on now?"

“Will you please shut up”

 “Of all the things i love about you, this is my favorite.”

Visual Prompts:

If one of these inspire a creative work from you feel free to use it. You can list the prompt topic + # (ie: Rainbow 3)

Guidelines + Rules

Submitted works will be featured on a weekly masterlist

Every form of creative work can be submitted: fanfiction, drabbles, moodboards, edits, drawings, poems, songs, sketches, and more—all are welcomed.

Work from any book and story from the Choices (and Pixelberry) universe are welcome (new and old alike)!

You can participate as many times as you want during the month

Clearly list the prompt your used

You can combine submissions for this event and others

Please add a cut to avoid long posts and exposing other fans to triggering/disturbing content.

If your work is NS*W please label it as such and use appropriate warnings. Adult content should be hidden under the page break.

You can get creative with the prompts. It can be a variation of the word and/or concept. It doesn’t have to be exact or literal. If the word inspires a train of thought that led you to something different, put that in the notes and send it in! Have fun with it! Make them work for you! The ultimate goal is just to find joy in creating!

Please tag @choicesmonthlychallenge​​ and if you’d like to add me you can do so as well~ @lovealexhunt​​​ (feel free to DM me your work too since Tumblr tags are fickle)

Please do not submit work that has been created with AI. Works that contain AI will not be reblogged. If reblogged inadvertently and I find out they have AI, they will be deleted.

Late entries will be accepted through April 5

[raindrop-on-a-spiderweb]

Sending love to one of the best writers on ao3 😘💕 I check your page frequently and wanted to ask about the things that you enjoy doing or aspire to do

Hi Anon, it's so sweet of you to send this ask to ask after me. Rest assured your words are appreciated on this end; thank you from the bottom of my heart and top of my soul 🫂 I'm very glad you think highly of my work even after so long, and I'm so so sorry I haven't had any new content in such a long time. But I am hard at work on a oneshot that will definitely be published before the next chapter of Samarra, so the well won't stay dry for long! The summary is “A jaded prison nurse must come to rely on a man she hates and fears in the midst of a deadly prison riot.” I started writing it in the ward; it's based off of the Moundsville Penitentiary which is an especially spooky place I've been to–an old 19th century prison made of towering stone turrets, eerie high ceilings, and rusted iron cells packed together like pigsties. I'm hoping to get that atmosphere across; it's about ⅔ of the way finished so good progress is being made!

Well I enjoy writing, most of all, but I've already talked about that in detail a thousand times so I'll spare you. I love reading, of course (I just finished “The Five”, about the victims of Jack the Ripper, and it's a fascinating bit of history and an incredible and horrifying look at Victorian-era industrial Britain). I love exploring the mountains with my cats trotting along beside me and photographing what I find. In all honesty I'm a bit of a trappist–I rarely see people except hunters and cashiers, and most of my time is spent alone with myself or my dad. But each day is an adventure when you're in nature and each season brings primordial and beautiful changes– I collected watercress the other day and found the downy remains of a fawn. 

I love watching old movies. My dad and I were watching Laurel and Hardy last night and I swear it holds up a century later. Before that we watched King Rat, which is one of his–and my–favorite movie; about two men stuck in a Japanese prison camp and the Machiavellian and underhanded ways they survive there. The book is particularly good too, and the epilogue about rats devouring each other has haunted my dreams for a long time. 

On the same subject, a series that I highly recommend is called Tenko, which is very similar to King Rat, except the prisoners are women. It's so grueling, realistic and enrapturing; I've never seen anything that so squarely focuses on women's experiences, relationships with each other, the hardships they face, and how they struggle to survive together in a thankless, deprived environment. The backstabbing and despair that comes in their darkest moments, the love and support in which they uplift each other with, their mistrustful and uneven relationships with their captors that occasionally erupt in friendships and affairs–and all the episodes are on dailymotion, too!

https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x74u4fi

I like dreaming most of all. So many of my story ideas come from my dreams. The worst thing in the world is waking up and trying to catch the stray strands of the dream slipping through your fingers. It's amazing to live so many lives–good or bad–inside your head. Sometimes when I wake up, I feel a sweeping, palpable sense of relief that I don't live in the world I conjured last night, and sometimes I wish I could just claw myself back into my brain and live in that little pocket world for the rest of my life.

I do not aspire to much. I don't really have any base wishes but to keep writing and live til 70. We all have our hopeful fantasies, of course, and when I finally do get Ragnatela on Amazon Kindle (Microsoft Word is trying to swindle me out of one hundred and fifty American dollars to use their dogshit platform, and since the manuscript is half-edited, I'm afraid to lose my formatting if I switched to a free program like Libreoffice) maybe it will get some attention. 

I still intend on writing on Ao3 until the day I die, though. Even with its unsavory content I have such a soft spot for its unrestricted freedom of speech and prose. Plus I don't want to give up talking to you guys and goofing off in the comments ☹️ I also aspire to stop drinking. I'm sure I've already shaved a few years off my lifespan with my tippling habit. But when one day is much like the other, is there much point in extending it?

I aspire to travel around the United States more. I took a trip through the Deep South to visit Savannah and it was enrapturing; something I will remember for the rest of my life. Rusted-out cars felted in green moss, skinny, grazing horses in windswept fields, peeling roadside signs advertising tent revivals, clownish golliwogs behind still windows of cafes, forgotten tugboats half-sunken into lagoons, highway strip hotels where craggy hookers peered at you suspiciously from their fold-up chairs, and derelict cemeteries separated between Union and Confederate. It was just post-Irma and we were often the only tourists at any of these places. The effects of the hurricane were stark and obvious, with the land in a state of shock before any official agencies came to clean them up. I remember boats crashed into the harbor and grandfather trees felled in front of opulent antebellum homes, and the sea churned brown and murky when we trekked to the beach. The sense of desolation, and not only from the hurricane, was chilling–but I loved being there and loved being swathed by the kudzu and history. My mother is very ill and before she dies we might make up briefly and take a trip to New Orleans together and explore rural Louisiana; I'd always wanted to write a story set in New Orleans. Louisiana is a fascinating state with its mixture of Napoleonic and Creole influences; and I've always been drawn to the grand, decaying tombs of New Orleans as much as I have been to the odd Francophone swamps and their hidden dialects and traditions. And one day I would like to go way, way out west and explore the Gold Rush ghost towns. All the mines where I am are filled-in, so I would like to venture underneath the earth just once. 

Most of all, I aspire to be alone, and live by myself for the rest of my life, far away from town, somewhere in the mountains like where I am now. I wish I didn't have to see another person for the rest of my life. Being alone with myself is bad enough, being with others is intolerable.

Anyways, I apologize for my undue pleonasm, you caught me in a chatty mood 😀 Here's an excerpt from the newest prison one-shot:

Rhoda had met Jesse Fitzner her first day on the job. It was midway through her shift, and she was taking a lunch break and grading her sister Sherise's homework in her office. The day had started with a white-knuckle ride in early morning mist so thick she couldn't see the taillights of the car in front of her. Midway through her preliminary tour of the prison, an inmate had stuffed his toilet full of socks, which promptly overflowed and leaked sewage out of the cell onto her high heels. The hoots and jeers had made her speed up, trying to avoid the leering eyes of her future patients. And her introduction to the mental ward, by a younger but just as pessimistic Fawna, had not lifted her mood any either.

So there she sat in her office, snatching a moment of calmness and frantically scribbling corrections over Sherise's homework before her sister turned it in tomorrow. And then the door swung open.

A blond man poked his head in and briefly raised his eyebrows. He was wearing the omnipresent, drab gray prison uniform, pants and a sweatshirt rolled up to his elbows. "What are you up to?"

She flipped the cover of the notebook over.

"Going over my sister's homework. Is there something you need?"

"Passing on a message to Nurse Judson. One of the inmates wants to switch his blood pressure medication."

"Oh, she'll be back soon. I think she's–doing something with the prisoners. Just give her a few minutes."

"No hurry." He pulled the chair opposite her and sat down in it. "So you're grading your kid sister's homework? Shouldn't she be doing that herself?"

The man had thick blond hair that stuck up in back like a duck's tail, and very rosy cheeks. He looked like he had just shaven, by the nicks on his neck. 

"It's a long story. I should be–"

"I've got time. If this is your first day, you need to take some time to yourself to relax--else you'll end up in the infirmary."

Rhoda laughed. He had a nice smile and a nice manner about him–very jovial and friendly. It was refreshing to see a man who didn't stare at her like she was a piece of meat. "Well, my parents died when my brother and I were still young. Seth was seventeen, I was fifteen. He went to work so we didn't have to break up the family, and I stayed home to care for my little siblings, all three of them. It wasn't fun. I always wanted to do more for them than what I was stuck with, so I'm making sure they get good grades and go to good colleges. That's why I got this job in the first place, to put some back for their college funds."

"That's real decent of you. I don't know a single woman who would go so far for their family. You'd best be proud of yourself. Where's your brother now?"

"He's working out of state in Pennsylvania. He found a good woman and has a concrete contracting business now."

"You got yourself a man?"

"Never saw the need. Someday, maybe, when I'm lonelier."

"Working here for a few years will train that loneliness for a man right outta of you." 

They both laughed at that, and Rhoda felt her tensed muscles begin to relax. "I didn't catch your name."

"Jesse Lee Fitzner." He reached across the desk to grip her hand. For being such a small-built man, he had a crushing handshake.

"Rhoda Ames. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"I knew a few Ameses when I was on the outside. Where your folks from?"

"Beckworth, west of here."

"Oh, you're bullshitting me. I have folks from there too. You don't know a Harry Fitzner, do you?"

"Harry who used to run the car repair shop?"

"That's him! My uncle. He retired a few years ago. His lungs got to him. Too much time in the mines."

The door slammed open again. An elderly prison guard, who had greeted her rather abruptly upon her hiring and who had a hard and wrinkled face, was standing in the doorway. When he saw Jesse, his face grew harder. "What are you doing here, inmate?"

Jesse raised his hands, still not moving from where he was leaning back on the chair. "Just dropping off a message for Nurse Judson."

"Next time, leave the message with Nurse Ames and promptly return to your cell. There's no reason for you to be here actin' so friendly."

To Rhoda's mild disappointment, the guard grabbed Jesse by his arm and yanked him out, harder than he needed to. Before he was escorted out, Jesse tossed a glance over her shoulder and winked at her. "Rhoda, you're a young lady, and I'm a bit of a spring chicken myself. I think we would get along real well outside these walls."

Rhoda couldn't help the giggle that bubbled up from her throat. She felt lightheaded. She was a rangy and abrupt woman with a working tan, and hadn't much experience with men flirting with her.

When Jesse was marched out, Rhoda stood up and grabbed her peaked nurse's cap, girding her loins for the next shift on the ward. While she was counting medications, the elderly guard–Miles–came in again and shut the door behind him. She flinched, expecting a dressing-down on her first day of work. I wasn't fraternizing with the prisoner, was I? Am I… am I gonna lose my job?

He sat down opposite her. "You ever hear that tale 'bout the lady and the snake?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to–"

"Old story; old, old story. One of them Aesop stories they wrote when people was still in togas and carved words in stone. A woman was walking home one day when she saw a frozen snake lying on the side of the road. It begged her to save its poor little self, this little creature of God. So taking pity on it, the woman brought it home and warmed it by the fire between her breasts. And as it thawed, it bit her breast. 'Oh, why would you do such a thing? Your poison will kill me,’ she wailed. And the snake smiled and said, 'You knew I was a snake before you brought me into your house.'"

Rhoda stared at him, puzzled. "I don't understand."

"You know what that fellow did to get in here? Fitzner was top dog in a motorcycle gang outside of prison. A real nasty one. He ordered a contract killing on a rival gang member. They snatched the poor fellow when he was leaving a bar. Hung him from a tree, broke his legs with doublejack hammers, used him as target practice with their sawed-offs, cut his dick off and shoved it in his mouth, then left and let him choke on it and bleed to death for the rest of the night. He was out, too, far out in the mountains, and they only found him weeks later when a hunter stumbled on him. One of the killers snitched on Fitzner in exchange for dropping a drug felony sentence he was staring at. That snitch went into hiding and changed his name. Two days after Fitzner was taken to this good penitentiary, he was found with his head beaten in, in a dry creek bed."

Rhoda's head began to spin in slow whirls. Her hand where Jesse had shaken it grew very clammy. She remembered his bright smile across the desk, his dark eyes, and felt bile and vomit churn in her throat.

"You both were talking for a while, I noticed. He's good at prising information out of people, Fitzner is. A boyish smile and a few good words and he can make both men and women melt like butter on yer tongue. See? Now he knows who you are, and where your folks live. Now he can get to you."

Rhoda tried to talk, but her tongue was paralyzed. She looked down and wiped her sweaty hands on her knees.

Miles got up and went over to the door. He looked out of the window set on top, and his hard face relaxed. He seemed much older in that moment, more wrinkled and exhausted.

"You'd best be careful of him, Nurse Ames. He's a bad 'un. I'll be glad to see the back of him."

As it turned out, Miles retired later that year and it was Jesse who saw the back of him. 

And Rhoda became very wary of him from then on. Whenever he saw her in the hall, in the chow line, in the infirmary, he smiled at her and tried to make small talk. She ignored him, or was curt with him.

Unfortunately, he seemed to take that as an invitation.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

NOTE: NOT ALL FICS ARE AVAILABLE ON TUMBLR YET. Feel free to send me a message if there’s one in particular you want posted ASAP!

the satanic rites of eddie munson (wip) **cw: blood, violence, gore**

Summary: Eddie was just trying to have a normal Thursday when some band from out of town decides he’d make an excellent virgin sacrifice for their get-famous-quick plan. 

Except he’s not a virgin, and the ritual unleashes something much more sinister that lives in him now, hungry for flesh and possessive of you, the pretty cheerleader he’s always been drawn to.

Which means anyone that touches you? Needs to die.

Pairing: Demon!Eddie Munson/Female Cheerleader!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 10,959

Chapters: 4/6

Tumblr | AO3

1. bat out of hell (complete) **cw: dubcon, violence, gore**

Summary: Convinced Eddie might still be alive, you travel to the Upside Down to find him. You weren’t expecting the monster that finds you instead.

Pairing: Kas!Eddie Munson/Female Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 19,548

Chapters: 6/6

Tumblr | AO3

2. the mark you saw on my collarbone (part 2 - not to be read standalone)

Summary:  A snippet of life with your human and your monster.

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 2,322

Tumblr | AO3

3. secret’s out (part 3 - not to be read standalone)

Summary: Dustin and Steve meet Kas. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,004

Tumblr | AO3

1. something perfect (complete)

Summary:  While your mom heads out on her grand honeymoon with her new husband, you find yourself spending your summer before senior year in the sleepy town of Hawkins, working at your dad's comic book shop. It's shaping up to be a pretty monotonous time until Eddie Munson enters your life.

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Female Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Word Count: 26,269

Chapters: 9/9

Tumblr | AO3

2. something more (wip - limited updates)

Summary: Moments with Eddie through your senior year at Hawkins High. This is a part two to my work “something perfect”.

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Female Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Word Count: 4,386

Chapters: 2/?

Tumblr | AO3

1. nothing else matters 

Summary: It’s been a few months since Corroded Coffin has played at The Hideout. Ever since recording an actual album and having one of their songs picked up on the radio, they’ve been securing actual shows, with actual crowds. 

But whenever they’re within fifty miles of good ol’ Hawkins, they drop into the grimy dive and put on a show. The crowds are bigger, with fans coming in from surrounding towns and cities, but there’s one constant he looks forward to every time.

The new bar owner. As of two years ago, crotchety old Hank finally sold the bar to the hottest woman he’s ever seen.

Pairing: Rockstar!Eddie Munson/Female Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Word Count: 2,454

Chapters: 1/1

Tumblr | AO3

2. change your mind (connected to “nothing else matters”, can be read as a oneshot)

Summary: Five times Eddie Munson asks you to marry him, and the one time you say yes. This is a companion prequel to “nothing else matters”, but can be read as a standalone.

Pairing: Rockstar!Eddie Munson/Female Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Word Count: 6,575

Chapters: 1/1

Tumblr | AO3

3. ‘til the sun burns out (connected to “nothing else matters”, can be read as a oneshot)

Summary: Your wedding night to one Eddie Munson. Part of the “nothing else matters” series, but can be read as a stand-alone.

Pairing: Rockstar!Eddie Munson/Female Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Word Count: 3,069

Chapters: 1/1

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4. we are the dreamers (you are the dream) **cw: pregnancy**

Summary: You pee on the stick as instructed and set it on the counter, staring at it as you bite your nails. “This is insane. There’s no way. There’s absolutely no—“

Two pink lines.

Well, fuck. Part of the “nothing else matters” universe. Can be read as a stand alone.

Pairing: Rockstar!Eddie Munson/Female Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Chapters: 1/1

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spilling our guts

Summary: Eddie Munson has been your best friend for years, and your secret crush for longer than you care to admit. When Chrissy Cunningham shows up at his house one day, you’re thrown for a loop, thinking they’re together.

Eddie proves to you just how wrong your assumption is.

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Female Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Word Count: 3,701

Chapters: 1/1

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demon’s are a girl’s best friend

Summary: Since returning from the Upside Down, something dark exists in Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson. Something that is satisfied by only one thing - sex. And they've set their sights on you.

Pairing: Incubus!Eddie Munson/Incubus!Steve Harrington/Female Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Word Count: 5,530

Chapters: 1/1

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your name like a prayer

Summary:  The list of mistakes Eddie Munson has made in his life is not short, but he’s pretty sure “calling out your best friends name while fucking your girlfriend” has jumped straight to the top of the list.

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Female Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Word Count: 4,899

Chapters: 1/1

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blue jeans and leather (even better on the floor)

Summary: When Steve Harrington sees Eddie Munson for the first time in ten years, he’s not prepared for the feelings that resurface. But this time, he’s willing to see where they’ll take him.

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Steve Harrington

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Word Count: 4,846

Chapters: 1/1

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this is for real (this time i mean it)

Summary:  Five times your best friend Eddie Munson kissed you, plus the one time it meant more.

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Female Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Word Count: 4,546

Chapters: 1/1

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cruel summer [complete] **cw: age gap**

Summary: Joel takes a contracting job renovating a master bedroom and bathroom while the homeowners are away for the summer on a cruise.

He wasn’t expecting their twenty-three year old daughter and the thoughts he’d have about her.

Pairing: Joel Miller/Female Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Chapters: 6/6

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take care (complete)

Summary: Joel and Ellie stumble on a house they think is abandoned as they escape from Silver Lake.

Except it’s not, and Joel isn’t ready for another reason to lose sight of what he needs to do.

Pairing: Joel Miller/Female Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 6,684

Chapters: 2/2

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home

Summary: A snippet of a happy life in Jackson.

Pairing: Joel Miller/Female Reader

Rating: G [no warnings, just fluff]

Chapters: 1/1

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1. crimson red paint on my lips **cw: age gap; dark!Joel**

Summary: Joel Miller is an asshole.

You should have known better than to show up at his door with your lips painted red.

Pairing: Mean Smuggler!Joel Miller/Smuggler!Female Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI - significant content warnings available on post)

Chapters: 1/1

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2. me and the devil **cw: age gap, dark!Joel**

Summary: Joel doesn’t take kindly to the attention you’ve been receiving from a FEDRA agent.

Pairing: Mean Smuggler!Joel Miller/Smuggler!Female Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI - significant content warnings available on post)

Chapters: 1/1

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[jhilsara]

I Can See You

Pt. 1/ Pt. 2/ Pt. 3/ Pt. 4/ Pt. 5/pt. 6/Pt. 7/Pt. 8/Pt. 9/ Pt. 10/

Pt. 11/ Pt.12/Pt.13/Pt. 14/Pt.15/Pt.16/Pt.17/END

Mariana Jimenez-Watson or MJ works in a normal pub living life paycheck to paycheck. Nothing exciting happens to her except the occasional drunk getting thrown out. She's 24 working away and finds a wrench thrown into her very boring life. His name is Hobie and she thinks maybe, a little excitement isn't awful. In fact she might start to crave some change for once.

Small moments of Hobie meeting his world's MJ. AKA I made an MJ variant and I think she's neat.

Chapter 2

Exhaustion sweeps through her body as she wraps up her closing duties at the pub. She’s had a full night of plenty of drunk people and one, short but nice, visit from her new friend.

Hobie had been visiting semi regularly at the pub. He comes in enough that they have a decent rapport. If it’s a little flirty neither of them are mentioning it.

Hobie had popped in at the beginning of her shift to have a pint before he went to his night shift job. She had asked about it but he waved her off, saying it wasn’t special just night security.

“It pays the bills.” He had shrugged and that was that.

He was there for a half hour before walking off, giving her a quick goodbye. That was about as exciting as her night got.

Until she was roaming the streets to get back to her flat.

She hated this part the most, but usually she wasn’t so on edge when she walked home. She wrapped her jacket around her tighter, faux protection, but it made her feel better.

The streets are never fully dead in Old York, even in the early hours of three in the morning there’s always someone on the streets. Tonight, it’s eerily too quiet. She can hear some vehicles faintly in the distance and see some flickering street lights.

It all feels too far away though. She starts to quicken her pace, heart racing in her own paranoia. The lights no longer feel warm and welcoming, but dim and sinister. The night feels colder on her skin, especially for summer. It's wrong. It's just all wrong.

A motorcycle zooms by her, revving itself and it makes her jump. Her heart beating insanely out of her chest. She sighs and tries to talk herself down from the edge of panic. She's fine, she's done this walk a million times before. Nothings changed.

Too bad she doesn’t notice the real danger.

She passes an alley, one she's passed a hundred times over, and suddenly hands are grabbing her. Their firm and calloused and handle her roughly. She tries to swing her arms back but this person is much bigger than her. She inhales sharply, ready to shout, begging for someone to hear here. Then a hand covers her mouth trying to stop her from screaming.

Her anxiety spikes for a moment before she bites down on the hand. It's instinctive and she bites hard. She draws blood and the attacker hisses in pain, reeling back.

“Fuck!” He growls.

She takes her opening and yanks herself free. She elbows him in the gut, making a run and screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Help! Someone help me!” She uses all the air in her lungs to scream.

The attacker swipes at her again, “Shut up!” He pulls on her, wrapping his arms around her from behind. He pins her arms down to her side.

It doesn't stop her as she starts thrashing her body against him. Her voice is raw from her screams, she flails her legs and kicks him in the shins. The man immediately releases her and gives his own shout of pain.

She rolls onto the sidewalk for a brief moment. She regains her bearings and jumps up to try and run. She doesn’t get to do more than stand up before the man punches her in the face. The force sending her to the ground.

She groans in pain and tries to get back up on shaky arms, but he’s on top of her within a second. His hands ripping her back pack off of her.

There's a loud thud and just as quickly as he was sitting on her, his weights gone, as if he just disappeared. She turns to look and sees a pair of combat boots with blue laces standing near her.

She knows who it is. Anyone in Old York would know who it was. Her eyes slowly travel up and she sees that Spider-Man has the man who mugged her up against the brick wall of the alley. The man’s struggling against the vigilantes tight grip. Kicking his legs and squirming.

Spider-Man slams the guy into the wall once more, “Mugging a young woman at night's probably the biggest cliché innit?” he says in a joking tone. How he holds the man is no joke from the thud she heard when he slammed him against the brick.

The man doesn’t respond, he tries to squirm out of Spider-Man’s hold. Her mugger locks eyes with her on the ground, clearly frightened.

She almost scoffs, as if he didn't scare the living daylights out of her a few moments ago.

“Nah, nah, nah, it’s too late!” Spider-Man grabs the man by his cheeks, making him look at the spider.

“You’re dancing with me now, not her.” He releases the man and he falls to the ground dramatically like a rag doll.

The mugger quickly tries to stand up to run off, but Spider-Man just lazily watches him for a few minutes, hands on his hips and looking thoroughly unamused. He sighs and easily shoots his webs at him.

“Too easy, just too easy muggers are.” He mutters easily walking over and webbing the guy up in a cocoon. He raises the man high up, hanging him upside down above the ground.

“Hope someone finds you before that web disintegrates! You’ll have a nasty trip to A&E otherwise.” He jokes dryly.

The mugger starts to scream. His loud screech is cut off almost as soon as it starts by a web.

“People are trying to sleep here!” The vigilante hushes him, putting a finger up to his mask playfully.

Spider-Man turns around to face MJ, she’s still on the ground looking up at him bewildered. She's breathing heavily trying to calm herself down. Her arms are shaking trying hold herself up.

He holds out his hand to her. She looks at it hesitantly for a moment before gently placing her hand in his. He pulls her up easily, “You got a pretty bad shiner there.” He tells her, pointing to his own eye on his mask.

“Oh,” She grabs her phone to use as a mirror, “Bloody fucking hell.” She mutters sighing and grabs her bag off the ground muttering under her breath.

“You okay besides that?” He asks trying to look her over.

“I think so?” She answers nervously. “I’m too tired to really tell you honestly. Thanks, by the way.” She says looking over at him.

She’s seen Spider-Man on the news, online, in a few stray papers left in the pub, but she’s never been this close. Never had any interactions with him. It’s got her head spinning. Or maybe it’s the blow from landing face first on the cement.

“Do you want help getting home?” He offers.

She pauses only for a brief moment, “No I wouldn’t want to put you out like that, really. What are the odds I’d get mugged twice?” she tries to laugh it off.

“It wasn’t really a question, it’s three in the morning, I’m helping ya home.” The offer turns more into a demand and he gestures for her to lead the way.

She gives a soft awkward chuckle shaking her head, “Yeah, I guess you are.”

She goes to step forward but three steps in and her legs give out, buckling underneath her. He reaches out to catch her.

“I know I make people weak in the knees but I haven’t even gotten to start yet.” He jokes.

She scoffs but it turns into a laugh, “I think I might be in shock.”

He shakes his head, “Trust me, not shock, it’s the adrenaline wearing off. C’mon.” He slips his arm around her waist and gently moves to place her arms around his neck.

“I’d hold on if I were you, just tell me where to swing.”

She doesn’t have much time to prepare before they are in the air and she is clinging onto him like her life depends on it. She gasps as she feels the wind rush past them. She scrambles quickly to wraps her legs around him like a vice. Her stomach plummeting like she's on a roller-coaster.

She used to envy how Spider-Man swung around, now she just feels ill. It’s not for her, the swinging thing.

She somehow navigates him to her flat, bit it takes a while for her to open her eyes to even see. When he lands she is still gripping onto to him, knuckles turning white.

He gives a chuckle and pats her back. He whispers in her ear, “We’re on the ground now. You’re safe.” He teases.

She opens her eyes and sees her front door. Her face heats up in embarrassment and she almost falls over trying to pull herself off of him. “Sorry, sorry!” she says quickly.

He tilts his head and she just knows he’s smiling at her, she doesn’t know how, but she just feels it.

He reaches up and lightly brushes her cheek, “Put some ice on it.” He says softly.

She had almost forgotten about her eye entirely. His gently touch has her heart beating out of her chest. She just nods in silent acknowledgement.

As quickly as his hand had brushed her cheek he retracts it. He throws his arm back behind his head casually as he walks backwards.

“Don’t get caught up like that again okay? I’d hate for a gem like you to get hurt again.” He’s says cheekily and then he’s off, swinging away before she can respond.

She stands outside her door taking everything in. She’s a little stunned. She had been mugged and saved all at once and meet Spider-Man. Her heart was racing but she shoves it down, thinking it’s just her adrenaline.

What a weird night.

The next day she’s working again at the pub. She’s covered her black eye as well as she can with her makeup. None of her coworkers have seemed to spot it.

She’s serving a group of women when she spots Hobie coming in and she waves at him. He gives her a nod and sits in an empty seat along the bar.

When she finishes with her group, she makes her way over to him.

“What’s going on with you tonight?” She asks grinning.

He looks intensely at her, brows furrowed. “What happened to ya?” he asks softly brushing her cheek under her bruised eye.

She scoffs and pulls back for a moment, “Thought I covered it well enough.” She mutters brushing a stray hair behind her ear.

She turned to check the mirror attached the liquor wall and sure enough, purple was peaking through. She had hoped the dim lighting would cover it more.

“MJ…” he presses.

“Sorry. Um.” She turns back to him and gives him a tight smile, “No big deal really. Some guy tried to mug me after my shift last night.” She grabs a cup and cleans it avoiding his eyes.

She sees him tense up out of the corner of her eye. She keeps cleaning, trying to play it off. He stands and leans over the bar, gently cupping her chin to make her look up at him, “If someone hurt you, it’s a big deal.” He tells her.

She takes a shaky breath and pulls away slowly. Too intense.

Something about Hobie was just, too intense. Sometimes she loved it, like when he was recounting a story and never left a detail out. Loudly talking with his hands and just being passionate about everything all at once. She didn't enjoy it as much when he’s seeing through her craftily built walls.

“It’s fine Hobie really. Someone saw and stopped the guy and I went home. It coulda been worse.” She mutters putting the clean glass away and grabbing a new one.

He raises a brow at that, “Mmmhmm." He lets the silence hang for a moment, then he adds, "I’m walking ya home tonight.”

She whips her head to look at him incredulously, “No, you are not!” She sets the glass down to lean on the counter, eye level with him, “I have had this job long enough and closed many a night. It’s been one time something happened. I don’t need to be escorted-” she gives a huff and shakes her head.

“Yes I am. This isn’t about if you're tough enough MJ,” he grabs her hand and her eyes find his again. “This city just isn’t safe that late…” his tone is serious, more serious than she’s used too, but it’s gone as soon as it starts. “Especially for beautiful women.” He gives her a smirk.

She rolls her eyes and uses her cleaning rag to smack his chest lightly, “Stop taking the piss Hobie.” She shakes her head laughing.

“I’m not!” He’s chuckling too, “You are objectively, a beautiful woman.” She raises a brow at his flirtatious tone but she just smiles.

“You can walk me home tonight, but you can’t feasibly do it every night.” She tells him.

He gives her a grin in response.

[howlinchickhowl]

Returning for some penpal action for @gallavichthings a.u.gust. This one is a scooch NSFW, hehehehe.

Picasso Baby fifteen - penpals

Every day in the joint is a lot like the one before, and the one before that. Woken unwillingly by the aggressive flash of the strip lights coming on, cold shower, sloppy eggs on stale toast, and then the laundry. Six hours of steam and starch and stains that don’t come out even after being boiled. Every day follows the same relentless pattern, with one exception. One bright spot in the drudgery of Mickey’s days. Every day after work, during their allocated free time, the mail gets delivered, and every week, on Thursdays, Mickey gets a letter.

He’d been skeptical at first. His rehabilitation advisor, because that’s a thing they had at this prison, had been keen for him to join one of the programs they offered, said it showed willingness to make a change, would look good on his record for when his parole came up. There were a few different options, book club, drama therapy, all of them sounded like shit that was more likely to get Mickey into more trouble than out of it, so he’d picked this. Fucking penpal scheme, get paired up with some do-gooder on the outside to write letters with.

Mickey’s guy, Ian, he was kind of a lot at first, overly formal, way too fuckin’ enthusiastic. He had this irritatingly positive way of writing, always trying to see the bright side of shit. Took Mickey a couple months of getting rubbed up the wrong way every Thursday to finally blow his top and let the guy know it don’t matter how hard he tries, there’s no fuckin’ bright side when you’re looking at the uphill stretch of a five year bit, and Mickey would appreciate it if he’d give up and just talk normal.

After that he got less irritating. Stopped trying to tell Mickey how to feel about shit and started asking him more about himself, started sharing a bit more of himself with Mickey. He was an EMT, training to be a paramedic. He had a bunch of brothers and sisters, a dead mom and a bum dad, and some sort of brain disorder that Mickey had to look up in the prison Library and still doesn’t understand a lot about.

He’s an interesting guy, a little too fond of puns to be considered really funny, but Mickey likes him, likes hearing from him, doesn’t mind answering his nosy questions and telling him all the shit that’s going on in the lockup each week, the stuff that goes through his head sometimes in his darker moments. There’s something, now they know each other a little better, about Ian that makes Mickey feel calmer, more relaxed. Happier. Or something.

It was Ian who had persuaded him to start drawing again, said Mickey needed an outlet or some shit, sent him a fancy sketchbook and some pencils, and Mickey had sat running his fingers over that sketchbook every night for a whole week before he’d even dared to put something down in it. And then, he didn’t know what to draw.

When he used to draw as a kid it was always whatever was around, guns and spliffs and bleeding fists, black eyes and swastikas and girls with massive tits. He started sketching out a glock, used to be his favorite thing to draw, and just ran out of steam. Didn’t want to start this blank white page with relics of his old life.

When he’d told Ian about it, in his next letter, he’d felt stupid. It was just a fucking drawing of a gun, it shouldn’t bother him this much. But Ian’s reply had been so full of understanding, of sympathy, and he had made Mickey feel like it was ok. Like it was totally reasonable to not want to fill his new book with shit that was violent and hollow and fuckin’ evil. And he gave Mickey a few ideas of things he could draw instead.

He started to send pictures, visual references for Mickey to work from, an L platform at dawn, a hand holding a hotdog. Ian’s hand. And hadn’t that been a shock to the system.

It was. Big. That hand. Long freckled fingers wrapped around a jumbo dog, a glob of mustard on a massive thumb. Mickey had spent a lot longer than he had ever intended to staring at that hand and wondering how big it was compared to his own. Compared to other parts of him. He drew the hand, over and over, holding the hotdog, holding a cup of coffee, holding someone’s throat, holding a throbbing hard cock right on the verge of blowing its load. He got kind of obsessed with the hand, desperate to know what the other parts of Ian looked like.

Was the rest of him as big as his hand implied? Where did that hand lead? What was his face like? His chest? His cock? On impulse he had shoved one of his tamer compositions into his next letter to Ian and implied, heavily, that he was thinking about doing more life drawing and could use some further references to draw from.

And in his very next missive Ian had come through in a big fucking way. Mickey must have stared at the pictures he sent for hours before he could even bring himself to put pencil to paper. And for hours since, studying the lines of his absurdly handsome face, tracing the outline of his shoulder in his white tanktop, touching his fingertips to Ian’s lips, spread wide in a glorious smile directed at the stupid bright pink flower he’s holding in his perfect massive hand.

He’d sent back a drawing, his interpretation of Ian holding the flower, and written something about wanting to help him with his studies of musculature, not able to help himself, not even sure if Ian would read anything into it. But hoping all the same that he would.

And Ian, Ian had fucking delivered. He’d sent Mickey a silly shirtless picture of himself doing a strongman pose, and Mickey had worn a whole pencil down to the nub doing different studies of his chest, his biceps, his fucking throat. He’d sent a couple of them by return and from there their correspondence had devolved into a spiraling series of near pornographic exchanges with increasingly flirtatious letters all leading upto what Mickey is expecting in his delivery today.

An actual picture of Ian’s actual cock. Hard. Potentially with fluids. They’ve been building up to it for a while, and Mickey can hardly catch his breath every time he so much as thinks about it. He’s sat on his bunk, breathing shallow and trying not to think about it too hard when Jensen comes by with the mail. He passes the letter to Mickey like it’s nothing, just another day, just another letter from Mickey’s state assigned penpal, just another tick in Mickey’s column on the rehab officer’s form. He couldn’t be more wrong.

Mickey waits until just before bedtime to open it, doesn’t want to risk his bunkmate seeing anything he shouldn’t, luckily he’s got the top bunk so there’s no chance of having his shoulder looked over. He clambers up and shoves his legs under the cover, shimmying down until he’s only half upright and carefully opens the envelope, he doesn’t want to tear it completely in case he needs to cover up something incriminating.

And fucking hell. Incriminating is fucking right. It’s all right there. Ian’s huge fucking hand holding onto his, fucking hell, proportionate fucking cock. Hard as a ramrod and flushed pink and fucking. Glistening. With lube, or with pre-come, or sweat, or Christ with spit. Endless possibilities for Mickey to ponder on, play with in his mind. The tip is beaded with a perfect drop of clear liquid that makes Mickey’s mouth water, he can practically taste it.

Ian’s letter is long, like usual, guy has a lot to say, and Mickey will read it properly tomorrow at breakfast when his head isn’t so clouded with bedtime thoughts. But there is a short note attached to the photograph that puts a devilish smile across Mickey’s lips as he reaches down into his shorts to grab ahold of himself.

Send me a drawing of you in return. Any part you like ;)

[honey-minded-hivemind]

Hi! I’ve been a long time fan of your works and love how you do platonic yanderes. So I have an ask (finally have the courage to do so lol). So I know one of the requests/asks you got mentioned Mommy Fortuna from the last unicorn and it got me thinking.

What if the X-Men stumble upon a side show type attraction with various different mutants forced to show off for crowds (like in the last unicorn) and Reader is there too but their mutation is they can turn into different mythical creatures and take on some of their abilities (like breathing fire if a dragon or magic/healing if a unicorn). And they’re the star attraction (of course with a mutation like that) and the X-Men first see Reader in their unicorn form (which the leader prefers Reader to be in cause it garners more crowds). I also imagine the leader of this to be some random person and not really a known villain but if you have one in mind I’d love to hear it!

I don’t know if this is too specific for an ask, sorry it’s my first ever request for anything like this. But I thought this idea was cool and I love your writing. Feel free to ignore it!

Also if I could be referred to as unicorn anon if it’s not taken and you’d like me to keep sending ideas?

That sounds so awesome! Welcome to the platonic yandere X-Men club, Unicorn Anon! (You can ask some questions!)

I imagine Reader in this AU used to be free, maybe not in a good situation, but at least not chained up amd put on display for others to ogle at. They enjoyed being different creatures, enjoyed having their features sometimes in human form, they even loved the adrenaline rush that came with flying or running or using their powers. Yet it all ended when this Lady Fortunata caught them.

She was a crazy old bat, someone who caught actual living breathing people, mutants, amd put them on display! And she even used some form of charm or power over those who put up too much of a fight. Reader knew they'd never leave if they showed their true anger, their deep sadness and fear, so they hid it, simply ignoring those they could and only putting on a show when truly needed. They knew that wicked woman had them chained up, the key hidden and where they couldn't reach... Yet one day, a new being is brought in, something fuzzy and blue with a little tail, and Reader can't help but try to warn him, being as aoft-spoken as possible, even if he's confused...

Reader had many forms, but the one that others preferred, the one that kept them safe and kept away crueller hands, was that of a unicorn. One with long, graceful legs, a flowing, whispy tail, a long mane that swayed when they walked, and the crowning jewel, a long, shining horn, able to heal others and gifting them magical abilities. It always drew in crowds, and it certainly never disappointed. Reader resented others for seeing them as just a trophy, a beast and no more. Yet their new friend was rather gentle, telling fantastic stories of his other friends and all they'd done together. It all seemed rather nice, but sadly, no one was there to rescue any of them...

Then one day, wandering through the mists and into their encampment and faire, was a group of strangers. Most of them were young, about Reader's age, one with red glasses and one with orange hair and one wearing pink and one in black and even one with cream hair; there were even a few adults, one who smelled of metal and something earthy, one who seemed regal as any unicorn, and a man in wheelchair... What Reader didn't expect was for Lady Fortunata to come by, quickly telling Reader to keep an eye out, and to not cause a ruckus...

Ha! If she said they were bad, then they must be good. Of course, Reader would have to be rather crafty with their warnings to the others...

The moment they approached, Reader could hear gasps and whispers. Yet poking at their mind, gentle as a cloud, was a voice. Barely a whisper, yet asking if they were in need of help... Reader answered, and flicked their head slightly over to their new friend, hidden in the shadows of their cage... Asking if they'd help him, too...

Except... they all let out gasps, and soon Reader saw blades pop from the other man's hands, and could smell the burnt scent of lightning... Their friend, a blue teenager named Kurt, was quick quick greet them, introducing all of them and speaking quietly of the horrors of this place... The anger of the others only grew with each word, so much so that Reader feared Lady Fortunata would sense it...

Yet she never showed up.

The orange-haired girl was quick to find the key, and the others fanned out, a few running off to cause a scene elsewhere while the rest freed Reader and their friend and the other mutants caught in this evil place. The moment Reader was on the ground, feeling dirt and grass ebanth their hooves, they let out a peal of laughter-

And there, standing where the once were, was a human with a horn and a thin tail, hugging their blue friend. Yet that was when a fight broke out, as it seemed Lady Fortunata and her workers found them, and they tried to overpower these newer mutants. Reader was quick to help, freeing another mutant who they'd seen captured awhile ago, one who was beastly and large, who had sworn vengeance on the old woman and to end her...

Was it wrong? Reader didn't think so. And it would be crueller still to leave it there, at the mercy of the witch who held them as her prisoners...

Reader told the others to run, pushing them deeper into the woods and urging them to stay hidden, shushing them not to say a word as they fled... Even when screams arose, or the sounds of fire, the pop of breaking glass and smell of blood and burning wood, Reader told them not to look back or cry out... And luckily, no one argued...

Ending up on their hidden jet, heading back to civilization, going going a place that was safe for them, Reader couldn't help bit sigh lightly, tired and soft. Perhaps these people would be better... maybe they'd be worth sticking around for...

[noirsfantasy]

On the tenth day of Christmas...

𝔄 𝔇𝔢𝔠𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯 𝔗𝔬 ℜ𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯 𝔭𝔱. 𝟒

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 ➛ Actor!Michael B Jordan x OC!Naomi Samuels

𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 ➛ Fluff

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 ➛ 4K

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰 ➛ It's Christmas Eve and you, Michael, and your cousins all decide to reconcile by going out for brunch. You have a great time, but your mind is riddled with what if's about your situation with Michael. Is this just a crush? Or is it something more?

𝔞/𝔫 ➛ So sorry for the delay, y'all. This winter break ain't winter breakin' rn. But I hope you guys enjoy! Be ready for the finale!

12 Days of Christmas Masterlist

Part 3 Here

Ashanti wipes away her tears. "I appreciate that, Naomi. Honestly, I really think that you're such an amazing person. I'm just really bad at saying it." She says with a faint smile. "I'm really sorry for everything I put you through before and after Michael got here. I really do love you. Please forgive me?"

"Of course, I forgive you, Ashanti." I pull her into a hug, a real one. She hesitates for a second, before hugging me back. I give her a little squeeze as I missed this feeling with my cousin. She doesn't let go for a moment, before finally speaking again.

"Hey... can I ask you a favor?" She asks, her voice soft.

Yeah, what is it?" I reply, prepared for whatever she might ask of me. Ashanti pulls back, looking a bit vulnerable.

"Could I... come live with you?" She looks at me with a nervous smile. "I really want to just start somewhere fresh, but I also want to mend our relationship as well. It wouldn't be for long, just until I get back on my feet, but I just really need to get out of my old place." I return the smile, genuinely touched by her sincerity.

"I'd like that, Ashanti. I'd be happy to help out in any way I can." We both hug once more and stand up from the couch. "And, you know what? I think I have an idea on how you can make up with your other cousins as well." I smirk at her and she looks at me, ready to hear what I have to say.

The two of us start planning the perfect way to reconcile with everyone and get closer as well. Ashanti sends out a bunch of texts to Teresa, James, Dan, and Michael, asking if they'd want to join us. Within a minute, everyone responded and meet us in the living room. Ashanti and I ignore the looks we get from our aunts in the kitchen and focus on the task at hand.

"What's going on?" Teresa asks, taking a seat on the couch. She's followed by the others, a little curious as to why they're here. Ashanti smiles and steps forward, a little nervous. I give her a reassuring nod and she takes a deep breath.

"First off, I'd like to apologize for yesterday." Everyone is a little taken aback. Ashanti continues. "I was mean, bitter, and ungrateful for the love you guys have shown me. I was out of line and none of you deserved to witness that or be spoken to like that. And for that, I'm sorry." She looks down at her feet. "I know I've been a real piece of work these past couple days. But I'm also going through a lot right now and it's no excuse for how I've been treating you. I want to make it up to everyone. So..." She pauses for a second and looks up to smile at everyone. "I want to take all of you out to a Christmas brunch! On me!"

Everyone is shocked at Ashanti's proposal, but they look so happy to hear the news. James and Dan are the first to respond.

"Sounds great," Teresa says, sounding a bit giddy.

"I'm down," Agrees Dan, smiling at Ashanti. One by one, each of them join in.

"I'm always up for free food." Michael adds, jokingly. We all share a bit of a laugh.

"I'd love to go, but I told the boys and Jessie I'd take them to see the Grinch today. But, you guys go have fun." James says, but he doesn't look bummed at all. Ashanti seems disappointed at first, but quickly recovers with a smile.

"That's okay. Maybe some other time." She says, staying positive. James leaves to go get the kids and the energy in the room shifts as they discuss plans for the Christmas brunch. Everyone contributes ideas about the perfect venue, sharing laughter and excitement. The air is light, filled with the promise of a fun time.

An hour later, we all pile into Daniel's car and head to the venue. It's a cute, festive restaurant decorated with twinkling lights and holiday decorations. It has a similar feel to the Christmas market. As we all walk in, we're greeted by an incredibly merry hostess.

"Hello!!! Do you have a reservation?" She asks and Ashanti nods, stepping forward.

"Yes, under the name Ashanti. I called earlier." She explains.

"Perfect! We are ready for you!" We all smile to each other as the hostess guides us to a table with a gorgeous view. The place is filled with people in Christmas attire, eating holiday-themed meals and enjoying the atmosphere. We're seated at a booth where Dan, Ashanti, and Teresa sit on one side and Michael and I sit on the other.

We're each handed a menu and the waiter takes our drink orders while we browse. Teresa strikes up a conversation.

"So, what are you guys planning on ordering? I'm kinda leaning towards these Christmas pancakes." Teresa points to the item on the menu and Daniel rolls his eyes.

"You would go for the pancakes, T." He teases with a smirk. Teresa gives him a playful jab in his side.

"That's supposed to be an insult?" She argues with a laugh.

"To be fair, you've been obsessed with loaded pancakes since we were kids." I add, shrugging my shoulders.

"I don't see what the problem is. It's the holidays and I have exactly a day and a half before I have to go back to my diet. I deserve this." She puts her hands up in defense and we all laugh. "Ugh, it's so crazy that we're all going back in just two days." Teresa sighs and we all nod.

"Aww, I'm gonna miss everyoneeeee." Ashanti pouts and puts her arms around Dan and Teresa, pulling them in. I giggle at them and sigh as well.

"I agree. I really enjoyed being back with you guys. And getting to meet you too, Michael. " I say with a smile as I look over at him. He returns the smile and grabs my hand under the table.

"I've really enjoyed being here as well. It's been nice getting to know you. All of you." He looks around the table. "Y'all didn't have to let me stay, but you did. I'm real grateful for that." He gives my hand a squeeze. The feeling of his skin on mine makes me feel butterflies.

"Ahh, come on, man. You know you part of the family now. You're welcome anytime." Dan assures him. It gets silent for a moment as the realization sets in.

"Okay, that's enough of that. Guys, remember, we still have a day to be together. Let's make the most of it!" Ashanti says before the mood gets any dimmer. Everyone nods in agreement as the drinks arrive and we order our food. The conversation between all of us flows naturally, but I can't help but feel a bit of sadness. It's true, we do only have one day left. So what will that mean for me and Michael. I know we've only met recently, but I feel like what we have is special. At least I hope it is. I'm lost in my thoughts when I'm snapped out of it by Teresa.

"You good, Naomi?" Everyone at the table looks at me as I come back down to earth. I put on a smile and nod.

"Yeah! I'm fine, guys." I reply, hoping they don't realize my true feelings. Michael glances over at me, curious about my thoughts. He's trying to read my reaction but I've always been very good at hiding my emotions. Even though I might've fooled everyone else, he seems to have seen through my act. He tugs on my hand a bit, sliding out of the booth while everyone chats.

"We'll be right back. Gotta step out for a second." Michael announces as he stands up. I follow him through the restaurant and he leads me outside before turning to face me. The air is brisk and the wind is chill, but it's also refreshing.

"What's wrong?" He asks quietly, stepping in closer. I hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to say.

"Nothing, I'm fine." I respond, knowing I'm lying and that he knows it too. He looks down at me, his eyes searching mine.

"You're a terrible liar, yknow that?" He chuckles, brushing a hair out my face. I bite my lip as I search my thoughts for a way out of this situation. We were having such a nice time and I don't want to ruin it. "Come on, I know something's bothering you." He presses me for an answer and I sigh heavily, my breath visible in the cold.

"It's just... I've had so much fun here with you these last couple days, but the reality is..." I hesitate, unsure of if I want to fully admit my feelings.

"You're afraid of going back and not seeing me again, aren't you?" He asks, not bothering to wait for me to finish. I slowly nod, avoiding his gaze. This is embarrassing. It feels like we're two teenagers who just want to keep hanging out, even though we know the end is inevitable.

"It's silly, but I'm worried that this is just a little Christmas crush that will fade away as soon as I get on that plane." I admit. He frowns a bit at those words.

"A crush," He repeats, sounding a little hurt. "Do you really think that's all this is?" He asks, holding my hands in his. "Because this feels like much more than that."

"But we have two completely different lives. How will it even work? What will people think?" I question, worry written on my features. He lets out a scoff and I look up at him with my eyebrows raised.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be funny, but who cares?" He takes my face in his hands and runs his thumb gently over my cheek. "Naomi, I'm not sure what this is exactly, but I know one thing for sure. I want you. I want to get to know everything about that beautiful mind of yours and I want to hear every exciting, interesting thing that you have to say. I may have just met you recently, but I feel something special between us and I feel like I'd regret it for the rest of my life if I don't explore it."

I'm taken aback by his words. He looks so honest and so genuine. I've always had trouble with relationships and even though I want nothing more than to believe him, it's hard. I hesitate until he makes me look into his eyes. I can't help but to melt.

"I don't care about the distance or other people's bullshit opinions. You're worth the effort, Naomi. I can't promise you that we'll end up living happily ever after, but I can promise to give it a fair shot."

The idea of life together is tempting and a little bit scary. I've never felt this way before. Not with any of my last boyfriend and not with the guys who've taken interest in me. This feels special, something that only I get to experience.

"What if it fails?" I inquire, worry etched into my voice. He pulls me in close and hugs me.

"Life's too short to worry about what might happen. Even if things don't work out in the long run, I'd much rather know I gave this a real chance than regret never doing anything at all." He releases me and we're just staring at each other, my eyes stuck in his gaze. I feel every one of Michael's words sink into my skin. It feels like his love is seeping into my bones and like a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. I feel so safe when he hugs me and I don't want to let go.

Without thinking about it, I lean in and kiss him softly. His face brightens at my unexpected advance. He looks so delighted, like this is exactly what he wanted me to do. His lips are soft and sweet and his grip tightens around me. It's a kiss filled with such passing that it makes my heart flutter. I'm filled with so many different emotions, but this just feels right. I don't pull away, but he breaks the kiss to catch his breath.

Our eyes meet slowly as we come back to our senses. His lips curve into a soft smile and my heart's racing. The kiss was brief, but it sent my emotions into hyperdrive. I feel lightheaded, almost dizzy.

"That definitely wasn't a 'holiday crush' kind of kiss. That was a 'I really like you and want to see where this goes' kind of kiss." He whispers, smiling warmly at me.

"I like that kind of kiss." I reply with a blush, causing Michael to chuckle and pull me into another hug. I can't help but to press myself into his chest, taking in his scent. It's intoxicating and soothing, causing me to calm down a little bit.

"Good. Because I plan on giving you a lot more of those." We hug for a few moments before realizing that we're still standing outside the restaurant in the cold.

"We should probably get inside. The food's probably at the table already." Michael nods, pulling me in tightly for one last moment before we break apart.

"Yeah, we better get back inside before they start to wonder where we went." He says as he takes my hand and we return inside the restaurant. The group is engaged in a lively conversation, and as Michael and I take our seats, there's a subtle shift in the dynamic. Our connection is now more apparent, and it's met with knowing smiles from Teresa, Dan, and Ashanti.

The brunch continues, filled with laughter, shared stories, and newfound closeness. The worries about our impending departure are momentarily pushed aside as we savor the present. We all indulge in a variety of holiday-themed dishes, from the Santa pancakes to the Christmas tree salads to the fruit cakes. Only Dan got the fruit cake and we all clowned him for it.

After a great meal, the group decides to explore some of the shops in town to do some last minute gift searching. It's a short walk from the restaurant to the shops, which are located in a nearby plaza. Ashanti, Teresa, and I get excited once we see a clothing shop and we rush over to it, leaving the boys behind. They shake their heads and follow behind us.

The store is filled with a variety of stylish winter clothing and accessories. As we stop to take a look, Ashanti is already pulling pieces off the rack and handing them to Daniel and Michael to hold. Teresa and I browse around and laugh a little at some of the ridiculous holiday outfits they have stocked.

We all have so much fun trying on clothes and making each other laugh, teasing each other and goofing around. Teresa makes a beeline for some ugly, light-up leggings and Ashanti ends up trying on a cute Santa dress. I end up in an adorable elf outfit with a pointy hat and bell. The boys somehow found their own costumes, Daniel in a Rudolph onesie and Michael in a full Santa costume, fake beard and everything. We find a large mirror and take silly photos in it, just having a good time.

We hit a few other shops, buying a few things here and there and getting them gift-wrapped. I find myself having more fun than I've had in a very long time and I'm grateful to have my family and Michael here with me.

The shopping ends up taking longer than I anticipated, but it's all worthwhile because of how much of a good time we all had together. By the time we're wrapping up, it's almost dark and about time for us to get going. We head back to the car and head home.

When we arrive at the house, we put all of our shopping in our rooms for us to wrap and head back downstairs. We're greeted warmly by Grandmother, who wastes no time putting us to work.

"Let's get this house ready for Christmas, shall we?" She tells us.

"Yes Ma'am." We all respond obediently. She proceeds to direct us to our tasks. We all get straight to work, cleaning the living room and sweeping the kitchen. After I'm done with my job, I set the kids up with a movie of The Grinch to keep them occupied while dinner is completed. I look over and see Michael helping out in the kitchen, chatting with my mom and effortlessly becoming a part of the family chaos. I catch his eye and he shoots me a wink, causing me to smile to back and look down bashfully.

After an hour or so, the house is looking spotless, and the smells of delicious food is wafting through the air. We all gather in the kitchen as the meal bell is run, standing in a large circle. Grandmother leads the proceedings with grace, her presence calming and loving. As she says, "Amen," she looks over at me and I can't help but to smile back at her.

Once we've prayed, dinner is served. We all sit down with plates full of delicious food. The dining table is completely full, with the twins sitting at the kitchen bar to eat and Jessie in her high chair. The room is filled with lively chatter and laughter. Aunt Tina and Pat avoid eye contact and conversation with me aside from a few snide comments, but I don't care. For once, their words don't have an effect on me.

It's a very heartwarming, Christmas filled atmosphere and I love the way that things are turning out. Michael is right next to me the whole time and I keep catching him glancing at me. The food is amazing, each dish a delight to our taste buds. We much away heartily, enjoying the evening together.

After dinner, Michael, James, and Daniel head upstairs for a few minutes, seeming to be planning something. I pay no mind to it, stepping into the kitchen to help clean up the kitchen with Teresa while Ashanti sits with Jessie in her lap in the living room. Jessie keeps trying to climb all over her, but she seems to be able to handle herself.

Daniel and James come back down the stairs and get our attention. We all stop what we're doing and look over at them.

"We have a surprise for everyone!" James announces and they direct our attention to the stairs. Coming down the stairs was Santa Claus with a red velvety bag slung over his shoulder. It's obviously Michael, but the kids go crazy with excitement.

"SANTA!!" Matthew shouts as he jumps off of the couch. Jessie squeals happily, running clumsily over to hug "Santa's" leg. He picks her up and smiles at her. I burst out laughing at the children's joyous reactions. It's pure and innocent and utterly wholesome. Michael plays the part well, holding jessie as she talks to him in her adorable toddler language. He brings her over into the living room and turns to face everyone.

"Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas, everyone! I hope everyone has been nice this year!" Everyone erupts in a cheer, the children giggling and laughing. Teresa watches with a genuine smile as she sees her kids meeting Santa. James is catching it all on his camera as well. Santa goes around giving gifts to the kids. The happily open their gifts and it's cute little trinkets that I assume he got from the Christmas market.

"Oh? What's this down here?" He says as he reaches into the bottom of the bag. "It looks like there's one more present in here. I wonder who it could be fore." We all look around curiously. He hands me a small gift, giving me a flirty wink and causing me to giggle. I tear the wrapping paper out of eager curiosity as I peel the wrapping.

Inside is a set of emerald earrings and a matching necklace from Tiffany and Co. I'm speechless for a moment, it feels like time stops for a second.

"Oh my God, Mi- I mean Santa! These are gorgeous!" I have to fight the urge to kiss him, knowing our families are watching. Instead, I smile widely at him as I try the necklace on, the metallic clasp settling nicely against my skin. The expression on his face is one of pure pride as he watches me admire my gift. His gaze falls to my neck as I place the necklace on. His eyes are stuck on me the whole time. He's not just admiring the jewelry, but the woman wearing them as well.

"Santa has very good taste, don't you think?" He asks, chuckling as he gives me a knowing smile.

"I couldn't agree more," I reply. The kids swarm him for a second, hugging his legs and thanking him for their gifts. After taking a few pics with Santa, the kids start to lose interest and wander away to play with their toys. Michael laughs as they run off.

"It's good to know that even Christmas can't hold the kid's attention for that long." He says, causing us all to laugh along with him. He heads back upstairs to get changed again and Ashanti and Teresa rush over to me to admire my new jewelry. They start asking me about what I'd wear them with and talking about how he must really like me. Eventually Michael comes back down in a grey long sleeve and a pair of plaid pajama pants.

The kids have all passed out due to exhaustion from the excitement and the older folks seemed to have gone into food comas. The rest of us sit in the living room in front of the TV with glasses of wine. Michael has taken a seat next to me, leaning back and putting his arm around me. We all put on some funny Christmas movies and enjoy each other's company. The wine loosens us up and the atmosphere is light-hearted.

The rest of the night feels like a blur. I feel comfortable on the couch and lean into Michael's side, my head resting on his shoulder as the movie goes on. Finding myself being a bit more affectionate than I'm use to, I plant a few kisses on his neck, making sure no one else is watching us. His hand runs up and down my side before resting on my hip as he smiles down at me. He pulls me a little closer and plants a kiss on my head. It just feels right to be here, snuggled up in Michael's arms. I don't have any worries in this moment, I'm just going to bask in this moment for as long as I can.

To Be Continued...

[dogueteeth-fhr]

Fanfic Writer Questions

Thank you @silvery-bluish & @glitchy-npc for the tags! Not sure who else to send it to atm but if you see this on my page and decide to pitch in with your answers feel free to @ me!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

I've got 12! Most are oneshots, others are series.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

47002 on AO3 at the moment! And so much more in my docs.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Primarily Fallen Hero, with a dash of TWC and some other fandoms sprinkled in my WIPS but I've been on Fallen Hero brainrot for a long time now so the other fandoms are currently neglected.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Nightmare (surprisingly enough) w/ 28 kudos

focus (it's harder than you think) (also surprising lol) w/ 20 kudos

new pavement w/ 18 kudos

anamnesis w/ 18 kudos

freefall w/ 13 kudos tied with bath(toaster)tub also w/ 13 kudos

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to respond to all of them! But some days I just don't have the spoons to and I forget, but I really appreciate any comments I receive.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

HA. you want me to pick??? Ok hrm. maybe bath(toaster)tub? anamnesis also has so me pretty angsty pieces in there.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

PFFF. ok gotta. go look for this one. Maybe sargasso sea, though it's technically not the last iteration in its series between a continued plotline hinted out in after the fall and a third part planned for its series.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not yet! I think.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

(slaps brain) this bad boy can generate so much smut. I write pretty much any kind? Soft, rough, indulgent, M/M, F/M, F/F, other any everything, kinky or emotional, etc. Just whatever strikes me at the time, but most just dont get published bc I'm mid.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I typically HATE crossover fics they just aren't my thing I do write AUs of X story set in X story's universe, just haven't published them (wait does that still count as a crossover).

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nah, considered it once tho.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope! Haven't found someone with the vibe ig, it's just never crossed my mind to co-write a fic and just never been asked too.

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

(cue strained breath) i have no all time favorites BUT. but. Ricardo/Wei gets me SO soft ok. i just. unrequited years long attraction finally requited and i. AAAAA. place sidestep in there too and i'm just so happy. i need poly rep in my life sometimes ok.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I stare into the google docs hell and ask you how you could expect me to pick one but. BUT. Praeludium//Allegro. A piece meant to dive in how Sidestep is able to experience the moment someone dies through their mind.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Shorter pieces! They tend to be about ~2000-5000 words per part, that's usually when I feel I've done my best. I'm also. Decent at NSFW writing? Sometimes, at least.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Definitely long fics. I had a plan for freefall and have scrapped and adapted it multiple times now, pus it's just difficult to keep myself interested in specific but necessary chapters.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

It's fun! I've included Spanish and Russian excerpts into my fics before but I don't do it a lot. Considered writing fully in Spanish at some point for an Ortega POV but I'm not confident in my grammar abilities. Spanish verb tenses my beloathed.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Naruto. On a different old account best left to gather dust.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Hm, I'm not sure if I have a favorite. I do really like the NSFW piece I wrote from Remy's POV, though. Short but good.

[popjunkie42]

Hate Me Instead - Chapter 8

An update for you!

There is 🌶️🌶️🌶️! Pillow talk! It’s ridiculously long. It took me a while. Rhys is in his happy place.

Hate Me Instead Chapter 8 - Remember on AO3

I’ve updated and there will be two more chapters after this!

Summary: Rhys and Feyre take advantage of her second visit to the Night Court.

Snippet:

My fingers were tangled in her hair, gently working out a knot that had formed sometime during the night. My other hand rested idly on her hip.

I had forgotten how surprising it was with a new lover, to have them offer their body so completely. I knew mine was hers for whatever purposes she desired.

But once again, Feyre was thinking. I supposed she had endless questions, and now that she had me here I was her captive audience.

“Do you really think I could help with Hybern? That I could make a difference?” She asked quietly.

Once again here she was, not realizing her worth, her selfless bravery, the power that slept beneath her skin.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t think so,” I assured her. “You took down one of his top generals. He’s probably afraid of you even now.”

Incredulous eyes found mine. But I meant it. In his situation, I certainly would be at least very, very curious.

“And you want me to catch the Suriel?” She asked.

“That could be a start. They’re powerful creatures, and incredibly rare. Accounts say they can be fickle and cryptic, but even a few answers could get us closer to what we need.”

She was lost in her thoughts again.

“How did you catch one to begin with?” I asked.

Feyre shrugged.

“I set a snare near moving water, like Lucien suggested. And I took a slaughtered chicken from the kitchen. The hardest part was convincing the kitchen staff,” she said.

I couldn’t help but smile.

“You caught a Suriel with a bit of rope and a dead chicken?”

“I told you, it wasn’t that hard. What did you try?”

“Not that.”

I finally got through the knot in her hair, combing my fingers through her curls from the nape of her neck.

“What was it like?” I asked.

Feyre considered, remembering.

“At first it was…terrifying.” She admitted. “But I was desperate. I felt trapped at Spring, and no one could tell me anything because of the curse. I didn’t even know Tamlin was a High Lord until the Suriel told me.” She sighed. “I felt a little like…I guess I felt it was kind. In all my time in Prythian the Suriel is the only one who really told me the truth about everything.”

Including me. My fingers stilled at that. Feyre, once again, curious and stuck between High Lords and all their secrets. I had my reasons but I felt some guilt at that, at being just another confusing hindrance to her.

“I guess I felt at the end that we had a kind of…understanding. And I was very thankful for the answers it gave. I don’t think it wanted to hurt me.”

A flash of a thought - did the Suriel choose to visit Feyre? Did the Suriel…like her?

I couldn’t help but smile at that. My mate, friend to the monsters.

“What did it tell you?” I asked.

She scrunched her face a bit, remembering. “It told me it was older than Prythian. It told me about Hybern, sending out generals and spies across the world. Tried to tell me about Amarantha, before we were…interrupted. Told me if I went meddling, looking for more answers, that she would devour me. I guess I didn’t listen.”

I returned my hands to her hair, wrapping a finger around one of her curled locks. I thought again of Feyre’s sacrifice, how thankful I was to be free and home, but how much that freedom had cost her, still was costing her. I wondered, not for the first time, if it was worth it.

“What would you ask the Suriel, if I caught it?” She asked.

Give her something real, Mor had said.

“Between just the two of us?” I asked, not knowing how she would feel about keeping more secrets from Tamlin.

Feyre considered for a moment and then nodded.

“I believe that Hybern may be seeking magic objects, old objects of great power, in order to win this war. Something to destroy the wall, destroy armies that may rise against him. I’d like to know what he may possess, and how we might nullify those objects to prevent his plans from ever coming to fruition.” I told her.

Feyre was silent, staring at the ceiling. I wondered if she was thinking about the wall, and the danger to her family. If she was fearing the possibility of war, and how she might face it, in what capacity.

“What would you ask, if you met it again?” I asked after a moment.

She frowned at that, looking away. She was silent for a while.

“I don’t really know. I…” she was still so reluctant, to be vulnerable around me. “I guess I don’t really know what the future holds now. So I don’t even know what I don’t know.”

I thought for a moment. “You don’t have to have everything figured out right now. Or tomorrow, or the day after. You’re fae now, and you should take time to figure out what you want for your new long life. There’s no need to rush into decisions or feel like you need all the answers.” I toyed with her hair a bit more. “I’m 537 years old, and sometimes I’m still figuring things out day by day.”

No need to rush into a wedding , I thought. I hoped I wasn’t being too obvious.

But her eyes took on a playful spark. “I wonder what the Suriel would tell me about you , if I asked.” She wondered with a small smile.

Mother above.

Read the rest on AO3.