#but it will give us the glimpse and hope that it will and yet knowledge it probably won’t | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

websterss · 1 year

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐌𝐄 — 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓: Heyy! Could I request an Anthony lockwood x reader where lockwood gets injured on his side on a mission so at home reader helps him take care of it but he has to take his shirt off. Basically full of fluff

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): A lil bit angsty with some fluff

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2,881

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader

𝐀/𝐍: Hope you enjoy it! :) I added angst cause I couldn’t help myself. Anthony Lockwood screams angst lol.

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

“Can you stand at all?” Lucy gave a once over to the boy pressed up against a stone. Lockwood grimaced as he felt an ache course up through his rib cage. He faintly nodded a yes to lessen Lucy’s worry over him.

“I think I can manage.” He smirked to mask the pain he was in. “Though I could use a hand.” He reached up, eyes falling onto George. The curly haired boy met his hand and helped him onto his feet again. A muffled grunt didn’t go over their heads. One silent glance of communication was enough to agree to head on home. A home where you currently waited for the trio in.

“Y/n is not going to be pleased about this.” George grimaced.

“So don’t tell her.” Anthony scowled with a grimace.

In a series of cases you would accompany them. The trio originally being a quartet, but after a case with a type two and a torn ligament. Lockwood thought best to keep you under house arrest, much to your chagrin, though you happily obliged to his wishes. Staying home at least until your foot is fully healed. That meant you weren’t allowed to apply pressure to your injury, thus preventing you from doing normal human things. You did your best to offer your knowledge and help out in terms of research, but you would much rather be out there in the field, another thing Lockwood was firm about, no forms of physicality. You hated being homebound, stuck staring at the small four walls of every room in the house, though you knew as much that Lockwood would have a cow if he so much saw you anywhere else but within the apartment. The bloke nearly panicked one day after you stepped foot outside to fetch the mail. Now you wondered how he would react once he knew about your rendezvous scales up and down the staircases. Your foot was far from healing at this point though you obliged. Wanting to keep the peace.

What seemed like a never ending wait, quickly vanished as the familiar twist of the doorknob got your attention from the living room. You hastily pushed yourself up to stand, hobbling towards the entryway. Your smile greeting your tired friends. Lucy reciprocates your smile, whereas George brushes past you with a curt nod, and Anthony…well he has yet to meet your eyes. You glance over at Lucy in hopes of an explanation, but she only further replies with. “It was our most difficult case yet. I’d give him some time.” You place your hand over hers that fell onto your shoulder in passing up towards her room. Your hand lingering on your shoulder. Tucking your neck in, as you subconsciously tether on your good foot. All your weight applied to your left side.

“Anthony.” Your voice rings out but it’s a faint mutter. Loud enough to dance in and out of his ears. You didn’t dare raise an octave. Too scared to break the silence with so much as a raise of your voice. “Ant-“

“Please.” He begs, shaking his head. Not in the mood to be lectured or frowned upon, he wouldn’t be able to bear it, seeing a frown on your soft features. He already got a glimpse of your worry stricken facade. He didn’t want to add on to your concerns. He didn’t need you to strain yourself over the horrible ache in his right side, not when you had your own injuries to worry about. His breathing becomes labored, his jaw clenches. The visible vein popping against his forehead makes your smile downcast.

“You’re hurt, Anthony.” You point out the obvious. You sigh, closing your eyes for what you knew was about to be a stubborn battle that was about to commence.

“It’s nothing.” His voice shakes, making his brave exterior falter. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Show me.” You gesture to the side he holds.

“I’m fine. No need to get over dramatic on me.” He straightens out with a smirk. His arms open wide for emphasis. “You have your injuries. I have my own. Goodnight, Y/n.” You roll your eyes, letting him brush past you slowly, then watch him ascend onto the second level. You wait a second then follow after him. Your slow thudded steps are not missed by him. He stops as he reaches the last step. Watching you hold the railing to support your climb. “What the bloody hell are you doing?”

“Wondering if you enjoy pissing me off.” You retort. You land on the deck with a huff. “Wow, that does not get easier.”

“Have you been practicing?” The realization hits him hard. His jaw drops, as two and two come together. You climb with ease, quite possibly faster than he could with his injuries.

“It was either I sit around all day. Or ascend the stairs. What do you think?” You pat his chest. Walking ahead and into his room. You turn back around to face the brute still gaping at you in the middle of the hallway. “Now show me!” You gesture for him to enter. He hesitates, but obliges. Coming into his room, and shutting the door behind him. He glanced up at you, waiting patiently for him to let you tend to his injuries.

“You really ought to just head on to bed. I’ll be fine.” He suggests, rather than fall vulnerable under your now narrowed annoyed eyes.

“And you really ought to know when to shut up.” You motion with your head to his bed. He averts his gaze, looking anywhere that isn’t your hard glare. He knows you mean well, but feeling the full blunt force he received when he fell against his ribcage. He didn’t want to imagine what his side appeared as if it’s caused him this much pain already. He didn’t want to burden you. See you in such pain. Your nurturing and caring stature is something he adores. You always look after others when you should apply such tendencies to your own self. You put others needs before your own, and right now, he knew after showing you how bad he was suffering, how much he was hiding, your mind would linger on this moment for a long time, until your mind occupied something new to dwell and overthink about. It’s why he’s so hesitant to even sit on the edge of his own bed.

“When will you stop being so stubborn and ask for help?” You walk over to the corner of the room, collecting a small aid kit, you recommended Anthony keep, in times of need, and situations as such. He had the tendency to gain a few cuts and bruises here and there. Overworking himself, and hardly gaining any sleep.

“Why bother? You see right through me every time.” The corner of his lips lifts. Eyeing you carefully as you set the box beside him. You roll your eyes, bringing a vacant chair over in front of him to help you clean up his wounds. You scoot until your knees brush. You sigh once more, meeting his eyes that have yet to leave yours.

“You’re right. I do see through every bullshit attempt of feigning okay.” You nod. “Though I wish more than anything that you’d tell me instead. That you’d use your words instead of having to see pain written over your face. I wish you’d tell me, Ant.” Your eyes begin to water. As do his. He holds your gaze, letting his walls tear down to allow you a second of entry.

He nods knowing that he definitely lacks verbal communication. He nods because he knows how this all affects you. He nods because you're the only person who truly sees him. Who doesn’t push him, but encourages him to find his voice and let his guard down around you. A tear falls down his cheek. “It hurts.” He finally allows himself to admit.

You hastily nod, swallowing down the ache in your throat. You sniffle as you try to gain your composure. “Where?”

“It’s my side…” He grits his teeth. “I fell on my side.” He closes his eyes as you go to lift the bottom shirt. His hand quickly stops you from pulling the shirt upwards. “No, no, no. I don’t want you to see. If it hurts this much then it can’t be far from looking bad.”

“Anthony please.” You plead. “I need to see so that I can help you. Make sure you don’t have a broken rib or worse!”

He thinks about it before giving in. His grip on your hand lessens up. You meet his gaze for a brief second then slowly go to lift the hem of his shirt. You lift and lift until his mid section is revealed to you. Your audible gasp has him thinking the worst. You reach out to touch him but stop. “I-I need you to remove your shirt.” You clear your throat. Tears brimming your eyes again. Your teary eyes lift to meet his now concerned ones. “Can you remove it?” You don’t even need his answer, his injuries do look as bad as he says he feels. A firm shake of his head is all you need to help slide down his blazer past his shoulders. Once carefully removed. His shaky hands fumble with unbuttoning the buttons. You take over and start from the top to the bottom. Once you reach the last button, you halt your movements. The overly confident person you are diminishing in a heart heart. Your cheeks grow warm as you overthink about the compromising position you just put yourself in. A shirtless Anthony was not something you thought you’d encounter.

You undo the button and push the shirt open. His chest, now revealed and his bruising and cut now more visible. Your breathing comes out shaky as you go to grab a cloth and disinfectant spray. Your eyes fleet back to his chest, shamefully letting your eyes take in his build. Anthony was a sight that was always sure. Despite the bags under his eyes, and overconfidence, you can see past it all and gawk at his attractiveness. His ego was now surely boosted as his eyes crinkled mischievously. A smirk prominent on his lips as he watched you try and subtly avert your eyes elsewhere, like towards his injuries, but your gaze flickering between his own eyes and open chest has him finding this whole predicament amusing.

“You’re bashful.” He teased, reaching forward to poke fun at your cheeks.

“I am not.” You scoffed at his accusation. You denied him, reluctant to let him see that he was winning and you were losing, very very badly.

“You know if you wanted to rid me of my shirt, you only needed to ask.” His laugh broke the barrier, the evident grimace now apparent as he grunted about the pain he felt. He had to make a mental note to not shake of laughter, at least until he got better and his side wasn’t currently sore.

“Keep laughing, see where that gets you.” You chuckled, yet the familiar twinkle in his eyes was now reflecting back at him. “Besides…who says I wanted to see you shirtless?” Your eyes fail you as you chance a look at his chest again, then to his knowing stare. You let your head fall wanting to avoid confronting him and your clear feelings for him. Though the slight lift of your chin by his own hand has you thinking that the feelings you hide might not be all so invisible to a certain someone.

“I say.” His face inches closer, the warmth of his breath closer to your lips than you wanted. The smallest flicker down to your lips then up to your e/c irises does not escape you. Your breath hitches when he lets his head lean against yours. Heads now pressed together. His hand still lingers under your chin, never retracting or falling back down to his side. “I am so utterly grateful for you, Y/n. I don't know what my life would be like if you hadn’t walked into my life.”

“I didn’t exactly walk though now did I?” Your smile widens. Eyes crinkling at the corners as you pulled back to look at him. “More like fell.” You laugh, reminiscing over your first encounter with each other. Another one of your cases gone wrong, you fell backwards when Anthony had opened the door your back was pressed against. Two strangers meeting under a ghostly scenario. What more could perfectly describe your bond with one another?

“You were scared that day.” He remembered. You nodded.

“I was…It was my first case. I was on my own till you showed up.” Your stomach flutters under his gaze. You fiddle with the cloth in your hands. “I’m glad you did though. You saved me that day.” You let out a breathy laugh. His eyes never faltered, never fleeting. His gaze was intense, wanting to remember every little detail about you. This life you all lived, nothing was ever truly promised, you and him weren’t so easily promised. Tomorrow could come, but there’d be the chance that you wouldn’t. He was so afraid of losing you. Losing the team, and ending up alone like how he was after his parents died. He was trying to hold onto you all until he couldn’t anymore.

“No.” He denied it. “You saved me.” He adjusted himself into a better sitting position. Straightening up. You gave the faintest smile. Looking away in hopes to lessen your flustered state. You saved him, and he saved you.

“You okay? I bandaged up the wound as best as I could, but you’ll need another clean up tomorrow.”

He looked down to observe your masterful work of art. He nodded reassuringly that he was okay. “Nothing a few pain meds can’t fix.” He joked, but saw you hesitate. “I’m okay. The pain isn’t as bad anymore.”

“Sure?”

“I promise. You’ve cured me.” He beamed.

“I wouldn’t go as far as that but I do try my best.” You began gathering the mess you made and all the opened wrappers.

“No, you are the best doctor anyone could ever ask for.” He placed his hand over yours stopping you from cleaning up after yourself. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me everytime I bandage you up Lockwood.” You reminded him. You’d help him any day given, no questions asked. “I want to help.”

“Thank you for everything you do for us.” For me, he wanted to say. You rolled your eyes and gathered up all the trash. You moved the chair back to stand and was stopped by Anthony’s grip on your wrist again. “You okay?” Your brows furrowed, looking down at him. He strained himself, using your arm for support to stand up to his feet. His breath shuddered as he stood silent for a second. “Anthony you okay?” He nodded in response. Then he grew flustered himself. You opened your mouth to speak again but clamped it shut when he leaned forward. His lips pressing a soft gentle kiss against your cheek. Your eyes widened in surprise, and your breath hitched in the back of your throat. Your dilated pupils met his own that were widened in shock of what he had just done. Your grip on all the trash loosened causing all the scraps to fall and float towards the bottom. “Oh I uh-” You scrambled, bending down to collect all the trash. Anthony raised a hand to rub the back of his neck subconsciously. He did not expect you to react this way.

“Sorry here let me-”

“No it’s okay I got it-” You waved him away. Though as you rose to your full height and he lowered closer to the ground, your heads budded against each other. You both groaned, touching the areas that collided.

“I’m so sorry-” He began, grimacing as the pain in his side returned.

“It’s fine!” You reassured him, rubbing your aching headache.

“No really. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I caught you off guard and I-” He was then cut off by your own lips. You pulled back in haste. Eyes widened in shock. You reacted impulsively and your mind said to kiss him, so you shut him up. “Oh…” He was the speechless one this time.

“Sorry-” You began. He held onto your shoulders, shaking his head to reassure you.

“No, it's fine. I just didn’t expect it.” You nodded in response this time.

“I’m gonna go now…” You answered lamely, gesturing with your thumb to the door. “Let you get some rest.” You took a step away only to be stopped once more. The tug on your forearm causing you to turn back around to face him.

“Stay.” The four lettered word caused your heart to skip a beat.

“Stay?”

“I want you to stay.” He muttered softly.

“You want me to stay?” You breathed out softly.

“I do. Please stay…If you want to of course!”

“I do.” You nodded surely.

“Okay.” His smile grew, tugging your arm to lead you closer to him.

“Okay.” You breathed out a laugh as you continued to let him tug you closer.

#anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood x fem!reader #anthony lockwood imagines #anthony lockwood oneshot #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood and co #lockwood and co x reader #my gif #writings by juls

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abbyromanoff · 10 months

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Hi! I want to request Sugar mommy! Agatha x R

$TING

PAIRINGS: Agatha Harkness x reader

WORD COUNT: 2,970

WARNINGS: sugar mommy/sugar baby relationship, hook ups, punishment, praise, degrading, guided masturbation, mommy (A), pure smut, edging, orgasm denials, body writing, open relationship (kinda), jealousy, fingering, spit kink, clothed sex, voyeriusm, exhibition, small age kink, think that’s all :)

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!

The sun blared through the large windows of your apartment as the expresso machine brewed your morning energy. There were a few dishes left in the sink that you forgot to attend to earlier on, along with clothes scattered all over the place. Not all of them were yours, they belonged to the woman that had decided to stay the night, much to your dismay.

You met her at a bar the night before and hit it off. You could still feel her wandering hands that left you on edge. It wasn’t exactly her fault, she did have good skills when it came to pleasure, but she wasn’t her. She wasn’t Agatha.

You wanted more than what you had with the older peer, but the two of you often made the excuse that you were too busy for a relationship. You were a full-time college student with a high GPA that you intended to keep, while Agatha was head CEO of a market-developing company. You didn’t really understand what she did, only that the money piling into her wallet, as a result, became yours quickly after.

“Good morning.” The woman, who you lacked the knowledge of her name, spoke. You whipped your head around, giving her a small, tight-lipped smile that she returned.

“How’d you sleep?” She stood behind you now, placing her arms on either side of your waist and resting her head on your shoulder. You tensed up when feeling her lips on your neck and her hands rubbing circular directions on your skin.

“Mm, pretty well. What about you?” It was clear she saw this as much more than a hook-up, and you weren’t ready to let down another person. You stepped away, trying to subtly address your thoughts.

“I slept fine, yeah.” She hummed in response and watched as you traveled over to the door where the clothes were ripped to shreds in the night of lust. You could nearly feel her gawking at your ass as you bent over, gathering the pieces in your hand and returning to your spot in front of her.

“Well, I have to head out soon so here, I believe these are yours.” It felt like hours before she left, writing down her number on a pad of paper and kissing you graciously at the door. She turned around after giving you a wink, bumping into an individual and sending a quick rush of apologies that were left unheard.

You gulped fearfully when they appeared at your doorstep, a small bag in hand as they glared down at you. She watched the woman leave while shooting you a glance, hoping to catch your eye.

“What are you doing here, Agatha?” You demanded. You tried to seem annoyed, yet you still left your door wide open for her to follow you. She chuckled at the use of her real name while removing the suit jacket she kept on.

“Hm, I thought we were past full-name basis by now, are we not?” You rolled your eyes, not the best choice. You knew she had nothing but vexation for brats, but that was the fun in it.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, baby.” You were finally able to get a better glimpse at the item held in her right hand, it was a shopping bag, one of luxury. She wasn’t one to be seen in low-quality stores that you often found yourself a regular at.

“What’s in there?” She placed it on the counter which you stood next to, her body leaning against the fridge that she helped afford.

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” You let out an irritated sigh with no intent to show your hidden excitement. You loved when she bought you something new, it made you feel seen. She could spend her money on anyone or anything yet she decided to get you new gifts daily, that was how she showed her love.

“Well? Do you like it?” She surmised when catching the small gasp that escaped you. You had pulled out a purple lingerie set, her favorite color on you. It was a one-piece that left very little to the imagination.

“I love it! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Your act seemed to have started its process of fading away as you surged yourself forward into her grasp. She kissed the top of your forehead that was situated on her chest as her fingers sifted through your hair softly.

“You’re very welcome, my dear. How about you try it on for Mommy, yeah? Give me a little show?” You nodded and waltzed into your room where you discarded the little amount of clothing left that clung to your body. You wanted it to be a surprise, which is why you forced the older lady to remain on the other side of the closed door.

“You almost done in there?” She was impatient and she didn’t care, she knew it spurred you on every time.

“Come in.” She quickly opened the entryway and the sight that greeted her was one to make anyone foam at the mouth. The lace fit you perfectly, showing every curve and mend to your body.

“Oh, sweetness…” She was at a loss for words when admiring your effortless beauty. There was no such thing as perfect, yet here you stood, your body on display as if you were a walking goddess. You stalked closer to her, placing your hands on her chest as you gazed up at her, innocence painting your eyes.

“You like it, Mommy?” She groaned deeply and lifted you by the backs of your thighs, letting your legs wrap around her waist and arms venturing to her shoulders. Your breasts were right in front of her face, and it took all of her not to press her lips against them.

“You look so beautiful. My beautiful little girl.” Your cheeks reddened at her praise as you were lowered onto the bed that sat beneath you. You expected a touch, a kiss, something more than just her watchful eyes.

“You know, I was going to come here today, give you your gift and touch you a little bit, make you cum as a reward for being so, so good. But when I got here, I found out someone else was touching my property. She was chasing your attention so badly, but you didn’t want her, did you?” You shook your head at her remark, nervously fiddling with your fingertips. She noticed, gripping your wrist tightly in her hand as her nostrils flared, her jaw clenching as you noticed a small vein on her forehead that looked as if it was going to pop.

“No, because you know you’re mine. Tell me, did she make you cum?” Another shake of your head was received. “Mm, I bet she didn’t. You can’t cum without Mommy’s help, how pathetic.” She faked a pout, cooing at you in a gentle manner that almost made you believe she felt bad. But there was no remorse, she wanted you to suffer.

“I’m sorry, Mommy…” You tested your luck, praying that’d she show you at least a small amount of mercy. Her hand finally let go of your wrist as it came up to cup your cheek, her thumb rubbing the skin softly in false comfort. There was a small part of you that expected it when she drew back, only to slap the same area she had just been touching.

Tears brink at your eyelids from the harsh contact before she was gripping your chin and forcing your lips to part. She leaned down, almost convincing you that she was going to kiss you with passion like usual. But instead, you felt a wad of spit fall onto your tongue. It nearly made you moan with how dirty she was making you feel.

“Don’t swallow until I say so, baby.” She directed, knowing she was able to boss you around however she pleased and you’d always obey.

“That’s a good little slut.” The feeling of her saliva going down your throat was one you never imagined. It felt magical, and the noises you let out were pornographic. Of course, you did it all with permission when she finally granted you the chance to swallow.

“Please, Mommy-” Your pleas were cut short with another slap to your cheek, this one seeming to pain you even more than before.

“Did I say you could speak?” You were going to apologize, but her predatorial gaze stopped such words from releasing.

“Now shut the fuck up and listen to what Mommy has to say.” Her hair tickled your face as she leaned close to your ear, her voice coming in a low and hot whisper.

“Touch yourself, baby.”She guided your palm down your body where they stopped at the tops of your thigh. Your breath quickened the closer you got to your heat, your clit already throbbing under the confinement.

“Since you think anyone is allowed to touch this pussy, why don’t you add to the list, hm?” You squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment as you were guided in pulling the panties to the side, gathering your slick on your fingers as you dragged them along your folds.

“Does it taste good?” She inquired when bringing your singular digit to your mouth where you subconsciously wrapped your lips around it. You nodded slowly, repeating your actions but this time letting her soak in your flavor. She had fucked you enough times to be able to memorize the taste of your sweet nectar, yet she could still never get enough. It was her fuel, her gas pedal.

“You think you can fuck yourself without my help? Or do you need Mommy to do everything for you?” Before you could gather a response, she was already answering for you.

“Well, you didn’t seem to need my help last night when you let that bimbo fuck what’s mine, I don’t see why you can’t do the same now.” You were ready to beg, but with one glare you were quickly shut up. She led the desk chair on the other side of your room over to where you sat, placing it right in front of you where she’d watch you as if you were the TV. One leg crossed over the other, her tie mindlessly being toyed with by her palm.

You knew this was your only option, she’d sit there all night and wait for you to move if you didn’t. The thought was what led you to continue your movements from earlier, this time without her guidance. You were only provided with her watchful eyes that were so easy to get lost in.

“No wonder no woman ever wanted you, you can’t even fuck yourself properly.” The derogatory remarks only led you to venture further, your neglected clit finally getting the attention it begged for as you rubbed small circles.

“M-mommy-” You whimpered, hips bucking into nothing while your arm struggled to hold you up. Your head was thrown back as you followed every move you recalled her creating while teasing your desperate and leaky cunt.

“Moan for me, sweetness. That’s it, such a dirty little girl.” She watched your face contort into pleasure the faster you went, your other hand teasing your breasts and pinching your nipples. You had already been edged by your denial from the night before and now it felt closer than ever.

First, you penetrated your hole with one digit, then a second, and then a third when it wasn’t enough. Nothing you did was sufficient, nothing flourished the bliss pleasure you felt when Agatha was the one creating it.

“Aww, is it not enough? But you’re already stretching yourself out so much, I wouldn’t want you to be in pain.” That was a lie. You knew she loved seeing you in any form of pain as long as she was the one inflicting it, your tears were what spurred her on the most. She adored seeing you cry out for her to stop, knowing you deep down were begging for more.

“No, Mommy, please, I can handle it.” You bit your lip, the words just barely being able to escape with broken-up moans.

“Only big girls can make their own decisions, and you’re far too little for that. Now, slow down, angel, wouldn’t want you getting too ahead of yourself.” You wanted to quicken your pace, but you feared the consequences too broadly. Sure, you were a grown adult, but you were just a sweet baby who needs protecting in her eyes. Anything she said goes, and if you didn’t follow that, there were lists of cruel punishments she’d choose from and not one of them was for your enjoyment, it was for hers.

“‘M sorry, I’m only yours, Mommy- ugh!” She hummed as you fought for her endorsement, yet she gave no indication of any. You were getting closer, your thrusts meeting halfway with your hips that had a mind of their own. You were merely brushing over that sweet spot inside of you that had your toes curling and free hand gripping the sheets. Your palm was rubbing against your clit every time you moved, everything was so overwhelming yet so divine.

“What are you- what are you doing?” You saw her stalking towards you with a sharpie in hand, she must’ve gotten it from the desk. Her knees hit the floor with a thud as she gripped your open thighs, spreading them even further apart. She didn’t tell you to stop, so you assumed that was your permission to continue.

“Mommy just wants to doll you up a bit more, alright?” You nodded without hesitation. You could always trust her, there was no doubt about that.

You could feel the tip of the sharpie pressing onto your skin, leaving lines of ink as she wrote. You didn’t know what she was spelling out, you even tried to follow the letters with your mind but found yourself unable to focus.

“Don’t move, wouldn’t want me to mess up this gorgeous body.” Your movements faltered for a moment as you knew you wouldn’t be able to hold back if they didn’t. She stopped, and with one look you knew exactly what she wished of you.

“But-”

“No but’s, baby, do as Mommy told you.” You insisted on instead torturing your clit once more, already missing the feeling of being full but wanting to please her as best you could. She didn’t tell you anything she wrote, nor did she utter a word until she stood.

“I can’t hold it anymore, feels too good.” You brainlessly shuddered. As badly as you wanted to cum, you wouldn’t be able to unless you had her permission, she completely ruined you for anyone else including you.

“Shh, let me take a photo. I’m sure my colleagues will love this.” She knew of your shared infatuation with some of her lower coworkers, and you were exceedingly surprised when she wasn’t enraged. In fact, it only brought more teasing your way, something you were forced to get used to with her.

“Oh, don’t you look adorable?” She spoke, staring at her phone that now held the lewd picture of you. She was already planning on sending them whether you liked it or not, it was just a matter of time before they’d struggle to look you in the eyes whenever you stopped by her office.

“Oh, shit! I’m gonna-”

“No, you’re not.” She was quick to demand, grabbing her purse from off the hair and settling her phone in her pocket.

“You won’t be cumming until I say so, got it?” It took you a moment too long before you mustered out a nod while tears streamed down your face. She was patient, though, and when you finally did so, she grinned happily.

“Good girl. I need to head into the office, I sent three hundred to your account, go neaten up and get yourself some food before I come back later.” She started to walk out the door to your bedroom while ignoring your whines of protest, only to stop mid-way and turn to face you once more.

“Oh, and if you cum, I’ll know.” Her eyes set place in the corner of a wall as a smirk took over her. You followed her eyesight, finding a blinking red dot that was situated on what looked to be a camera. Your eyes widened as you went to look back at her, only to see that she was gone.

You then took sight of the mirror that wasn’t so far from your bed. Standing on shaky legs, you walked over to stand in front of it, and that’s when you noticed all of the degrading words printed onto your skin.

‘Slut’, ‘Cum here’ with an arrow pointing to your weeping hole. ‘Breeding whore’, ‘Mommy’s toy’, and lastly, ‘A.H’s property’. You didn’t know how exactly you were to get these off, but you couldn’t deny the deep arousal it caused. The lingerie piece was kept on as she requested, and you truly felt as though you looked exemplary. There was no doubt in your mind that Agatha would be receiving many photos throughout the day, only fueling to the large fire that was your punishment.

Suddenly, you heard a ping from your phone that you left on the nightstand. You grabbed it quickly, expecting to see a text from the woman in mind but smiling smugly when seeing her coworker's contact appear. It was Wanda, one of the sweetest and seemingly wholesome people you’ve ever met.

‘Hey, just thought I’d let you know you looked absolutely stunning in that photo. Maybe you could stop by my house sometime so I can show you just how beautiful I think you are.’

#agatha harkness smut #agatha harkness #agatha harkness fluff #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x reader smut #agatha harkness x reader fluff #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness x female reader #Agatha Harkness x reader angst #Agatha Harkness angst #Agatha Harkness x reader fic #Agatha Harkness x female reader smut #Agatha Harkness x fem!reader #Agatha Harkness x fem!reader smut #Agatha Harkness x fem!reader angst #Agatha Harkness x fem!reader fluff #Agatha Harkness x female reader fluff #Agatha Harkness x female reader angst

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mayullla · 1 year

Note

Hello! I love ur work, and was wondering if I could ask for dottore (?) with 🌹🍁 ??

if you can’t that’s ok =) take your time!

Note: I am gonna assume (?) means that I could pick if it is yandere or platonic yandere and reader? well either way hope you like it!

Title: Unfair Trade

Character(s): Il Dottore (Genshin Impact) Summary: You trapped yourself in your mind after you and the traveler had been lured into a trap made by Dottore. Why you were stuck in your own conscious Il Dottore and the Grand Sage talked about their little deal. Warnings/tags: Dendro archon!reader, fem!reader, yandere themes, possessive behavior, manipulation, power imbalance, 3.2 archon quest scenario, drabble, this is related to a really old brainrot I had before (here)

[ - A little present~! Event - Closed - ]

"Now that I have done my part of the deal, it is only fair that you, too, hold your end of the deal."

"Yes! Yes!!" Azar spoke in a hurried tone. There was greed in his voice of a hopeful future that he could not wait to come. The price was cheap for what it was. Something that he would gladly give.

"You may take the pitiful dendro archon. With our new archon who will rule Sumeru with wisdom and knowledge giving away that weak archon is but a far small price to pay. In fact, I feel as if this deal is not even fair." Azar spoke to the expelled scholar of the academia once he would have looked down on such a man now he spoke with respect.

Yet he could not help but furrow his eyebrows. Why did this man even want you... "Considering how much you have helped us, we would gladly give you anything else you want?"

"An archon is still an archon while she is weaker compared to others. She is still an existence above many beings." Dottore smiled at the grand sage, appearing more satisfied with the trade than anything. "I do not need anything she alone is enough for me."

"Suit yourself. I must go now, I have another scheduled appointment that I must go to. I apologize. Stay for a while if you wish, and I will have someone bring in more tea if you want." No longer willing to push the subject matter. Azar stood up about to call someone to come in.

"There is no need to worry. I too also need to go soon. The Tsaritsa had called me, and I must prepare to leave for Snezhnaya soon." Waving his hand, he let the Grand Sage leave as he too left the room, heading higher and higher up the stairs of the building.

"If only our own archon was wise in wisdom and knowledge, would we never have to resort to this."

"Trust me, I know your sufferings. I only provided you a way the rest you have worked hard for the benefit of Sumeru." Dottore could only laugh at such useless talks, both knowing well they have their own goals and motivations, yet spewing lies and deceit.

Reaching the place only the higher-ups could enter.

Dottore looked at the person with the orb, sleeping soundly as if, once upon a time, a few days ago, she wasn't trying to rebel with the traveler to rescue her land.

"I still remember the emotions in your eyes when you saw me. Standing in front of the academia with the traveler, it was only proper to cheer for the hero and their own archon." Il Dottore smiled when he got a clear glimpse of your peaceful sleeping face nothing like the face you gave him when you found out and realized what he has done to your people. "Your expression that time is still something I relished every time I remember it."

"How unfortunate." There was a small movement on his lips that looked like a frown of displeasure and dissatisfaction but quickly curled into a smile again. "I was so close to having you back then, yet you soon left as soon as you realized that the traveler was far away and safe. It was a shame back then, but I wouldn't put it past you to do something like that. And even now, you have avoided most of my trap with something like this.”

"It is quite disappointing, I must say. But no matter, it was all pure entertainment. After all, no matter where your contious was, your body was always here in this little orb."

He circled around your orb. His mask looked in your direction. The sounds of his shoes tapping the floor echoed within the quiet wide place where it is just you and him.

"Would you push me away again after Sumeru had abandoned you like this?" Dottore asked mockingly, "The sages were so thrilled by this chance of a fake god that they were so quick to make a deal that once they have their man-made god they will give you as payment."

"All the Tsaritsa wants is the dendro gnosis. She doesn't care much for how we attain it, so I am sure she would let me keep you from myself. After all, I have already done many things for our Tsaritsa's sake." Stopping his body turned towards you as he raised his hands a little as if showing you something that he was proud of. He knew that he was talking to deaf ears and that you couldn't even hear him. But that didn't stop him. He had you, and now you belonged to him.

"It is, after all, only a matter of time dear. We shall see how long you can hide in this darkness that you have created, this barrier to keep me out. I will slowly take away those walls that guard your consciousness." His grin could not go down no matter what as he looked at you curled up in a ball within the orb.

"Those sages are foolish to give you away from a man-made archon. But that doesn't matter in the end so long as you are mine. It is only a matter of time, dendro archon. Soon, your consciousness will be mine, and I will make sure that it will be locked away from the world with only myself in your thoughts."

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spookychick78 · 1 year

Photo

OG Michael Myers One Shot

Okay so hear me out. Michael Myers X Vampire but make it sexy.

Warnings: SMUT 18+, knife play, blood play, choking, biting, rough sex etc.

Word Count: 3,536

Something seemed off in his home that night. He stood in the foyer, knife in hand as he listened. There was no audible sound to give away the other presence that had hidden itself there, no shaky breath, no heartbeat. Yet, in the silence he knew he wasn't alone. He could feel it. His eyes moved up the stairs as he tilted his head. Though their stealth thus far was impressive, whoever it was couldn't hide forever. This was his home and he knew it better than any trespasser could hope to. Nowhere they chose to hide would keep them safe for long if he decided to come looking, but Michael wasn't one to play games. Unless of course, they were his own. He made the rules, especially here. He would wait, he could be patient. They'd reveal themselves sooner or later be it out of desperation, false sense of security, or just plain boredom. He wouldn't give them a choice. He would make them come to him. Yeah, he would win this game. After all, he always did.

Just as a contented smirk started to pull at his hidden lips, movement came from the shadows beside him. He slowly turned his head to see a woman step out of the darkness. She had an arrogance about her he didn't quite understand. The knife in his hand nor the mask on his face did little to scare away the cocky smile that spread across her face as she studied him.

"Hello Michael," she said softly.

He narrowed his eyes at her under his mask. The air about her suggested she thought she had the upper hand. How silly. He lunged forward and his hand went for her throat, but she caught his fist in her palm before he even had the chance to unravel his fingers. He strained against her, waiting for her arm to break from the pressure he applied, but she stayed unmoving. His strength didn't seem to phase her, she was as still as ever.

"So eager to end our game already?" She asked calmly as her hand gripped tighter around his own, "I thought you liked to play."

He wouldn't give in. He gritted his teeth to hold back the pained groan that threatened to escape his lips, anymore pressure and he was sure she would break bones. Still, he held firm in his stance and pushed back against her. He wasn't unaware of the ice cold feel of her skin either, it left quite a sting. She let out a quiet laugh at his unmatched determination. She knew this would be fun.

"I've been watching you, Michael," she whispered as she craned her neck up to get a glimpse of his eyes through that pale mask, "for quite some time."

Her gaze was so fixed on his eyes it almost made him uncomfortable. No one had ever dared look as long as she was, that is if they ever got close enough. Her wanton curiosity both infuriated and intrigued him at the same time. What knowledge had she gained whilst watching him and more importantly, why had she been watching him? She could tell he was growing curious, which was exactly what she wanted. She let her grip loosen and he took his opportunity to force her across the room into the wall. She had decided to let him win a little, she knew him well enough to know it was something he needed to keep his interest. She felt the tip of his knife at her naval, almost begging to break skin, but he kept it from entering. His other hand gripped her throat dangerously tight, but it mattered not. He could squeeze harder if he wanted to, she had no use for breath.

"Don't be shy," she said as her hands rested over his tight grip on the knife's handle, "do it."

He felt her force the knife forward slowly. Her skin tore around it's sharp tip as she granted it entry. He didn't like that she had taken such control over the situation so he took it back and swiftly. He plunged his knife into her as deep as it could go and what should have been a cry of agony sounded like an expression of pleasure. He tilted his head as he watched her smile when he twisted the blade within her.

"We're not so different, you and I," she started calmly as though the knife in her had no effect, "death means nothing to us and yet, it is the very nature of our existence."

He was growing incredibly frustrated at her elaborate way of aligning herself with him. He pulled his knife out only to plunge it back in again, harder this time. That only seemed to make her laugh.

"You don't seem to understand," she said before she quickly ripped the knife from his hand, "we are not meant to die."

His hand around her throat tightened enough to break bones, but not hers. She grabbed his wrist and without words, requested he release his grip. Naturally, he denied her so she resorted to force. He couldn't fathom that she had the strength to, but she was able to pry his hand from her neck and easily.

"You like death, Michael?" She asked as she brought the blade to her throat, "Then let me introduce her to you."

She dragged the knife sideways slowly along her skin and her blood turned the parts of her visible to him red. For the first time in his life, Michael watched in disbelief. Her throat was open before him and yet she was somehow still alive, looking back at him with a smile. What blew his mind further was that he could tell it wasn't that it didn't hurt her, it did and she liked it. She returned the knife that was now coated in her blood to him.

"You see, we are the same. Only your heart still beats, whereas mine," she said as she took his hand and placed it over her heart.

There was nothing. No unsteady beat to relish in, no quickened breath, just cold skin underneath his palm.

"You defy death in a different way, but we are both death's deliverers," she said as she brought his hand up to her open mouth.

Michael watched with unbridled curiosity as her gums retracted and her incisors grew exponentially. She kept her mouth agape and invited him to explore, just as he had hoped she would. He let his fingers brush over each of them, admiring just how sharp they really were. Just before he pulled away, he cut himself on one. She hummed with pleasure as she tasted his blood on her tongue. He noticed her eyes had changed, they now had an eerie orange glow. His favorite color. She was somehow paler than before, almost ghostly. He could really admire those fangs now that she was smiling again at his taste. She made quite a pretty picture with all that blood still dripping down her. The embodiment of death. Michael didn't realize he was capable of feeling desire, but something about that animalistic hunger in her eyes that his own blood had awakened made him want to explore her further, test her limits. She had no need for a weapon, her own body was that in of itself. He was beyond fascinated, which pleased her. She had him right where she wanted him.

"I've watched you kill and be killed. I've watched you die over and over and yet, your heart keeps beating, your blood keeps pumping. You hunger as I do. I kill to survive, but you," she flashed that eerie smile again as she let out a low laugh, "you don't need blood to live, you simply want it. Well, I want to understand you, Michael, but more than anything, I want to taste an immortal. I want to taste you."

She still held his hand in hers and he could tell the blood that steadily dripped from his finger was driving her to madness. He saw control within his grasp again and he wasn't going to let it go. He pulled his hand away from her and dismay began to spread over her face until he brought it back to her mouth. He ran his finger over her lips, coating them in his blood. She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth with her teeth and her eyes rolled back as she tasted him again. Her hands went up to hold his once more and he allowed her to.

"May I?" She asked softly.

He gave her nothing, but his silence was her green light. She dragged her tongue from his palm to the tip of his index finger, leaving no trace of blood behind. She then took it in her mouth. He felt her open the wound further with one of her teeth before she began to drink. He watched her body relax entirely once she tasted him again, more than before. He tasted different, just as she had expected, sweeter. The small amount he had allotted her satisfied her more than any other she had tasted before. Each drop was bliss and he could see it all over her. That pull he felt was strange, but euphoric all at once. It made him feel light, almost weightless. It gave him a rush unlike any other he had felt before and he let his head fall back as the feeling washed over him. Her eyes flickered open to see his neck was exposed to her. It was becoming incredibly difficult to control her hunger, he simply tasted too good. Then again, she wasn't sure she had to control herself. After all, that was why she sought him out. There was no risk of him dying. He was an endless supply of bliss for her, she just needed him to want her as much as she wanted him.

He could feel her growing needier as she sucked harder than before. He looked back down at her and saw she was watching him. Those orange eyes were filled with lust as they stayed glued to his neck. He smirked behind his mask before he pulled his finger away from her. She hissed at the sudden emptiness he left behind and her brow furrowed. He quickly grabbed her by the throat and pushed her back against the wall. It was his turn to explore her.

She laughed again, "You can't break me, Michael."

He pressed his body against hers with enough force to probably crush any normal being. She was so cold, he could feel her icy skin through his boiler suit, but it brought relief to his increasingly raised body heat. She was bringing sensations to the surface he had never felt before and he knew she was more than aware. She could feel it.

"Is that what you want?" She whispered up at him, "would you like to break me, Michael?"

He responded by squeezing her throat as tight as he could. He wanted to more than she knew and he could tell he wasn't alone in his desire. It felt fitting that he would give himself to death, or perhaps it was death who would give herself to him. The thought was enough to make his breath falter. He wanted those teeth in him again and he wanted her against the wall where she belonged with her cold legs wrapped around him.

"Then break me," she said in an almost hypnotizing tone.

With his other hand he ripped his mask off so he could press his lips to hers. It was almost like kissing stone. She was so cold and firm. Unbreakable. If he was going to have a lover, she would have to be, because Michael knew nothing of self control. At least not when it came to killing, he could only imagine sex would be no different. She didn't ask for his self control, she didn't need it. She was perfectly matched to him, made for him. He wasn't quite sure how such a thing had landed in his grasp, but he wasn't about to let it slip. She was his now, whether she had asked to be or not. She was his to do with just as he pleased. She may have been physically unbreakable, but Michael would find other ways to break her, it was what he was good at and she would love every second of it. One thing was already very much in his control. She had given him that leash to hold without even realizing it.

He felt her clamoring to pull his boiler suit back as her lips wandered from his own and down to his neck. He knew what she was doing, he could feel those sharp teeth grazing his exposed skin and he allowed her to continue until he felt her self control slip. Just before she could sink into him he shoved her back against the wall to remind her that his blood was his to give when, and only when, he chose to. He was in control and he had every intention to make her beg. That was her leash and he held that power in his hands as he always did. She lunged forward again and he only pushed her back harder, so hard the wooden walls of the Myers' house behind her broke. She didn't even flinch, instead she smiled in amusement. It only added to his enthusiasm about the situation. He freed his arms from his boiler suit and promptly tore her blood soaked dress from her body. He watched, amused as she took care of the rest of her clothing. Her body was unlike any other he had seen. Flawless, in his eyes and probably anyone else's if they saw. Though, other eyes were no longer a concern, he would be her only admirer. He noticed the stab wound he had dealt her was missing as if it had never happened. She really would be his plaything.

Once she had discarded the last of the cloth covering her, she was on him again. Her lips met his with more force than before. She was intent on showing him just how strong she really was and he was intent on finding out. He felt her nip at his bottom lip as she kissed him and heard her moan when the smallest bit of blood met her tongue. He lifted her up so she could wrap her now bare legs around him and once he was sure she wouldn't fall, he tangled his fingers in her hair. He yanked her head back so her neck was exposed to him this time. He let his lips brush over her icy skin, then his teeth. He was gentle at first as he peppered kisses along her jugular, then he began to experiment. He nipped at her and relished in those pained hisses she let out, though he knew she liked it. If she liked his blade cutting her skin, surely she would enjoy his teeth just the same and he wanted to taste her just as she had him. He bit down and her blood quickly spilled for him. Once he'd had a taste, he pulled back so he could admire the way it poured over her pale skin and the way his bite mark disappeared just so he could leave another in it's place. Despite his tight grip on her hair, she forced her head back down so she could look at him once more. Though it was dark she could make out some of his features. He had dark, curly brown hair, a strong jaw and very serious brows atop dark eyes, but despite his intensity, he had an almost angelic appearance in the shadows. Though, she knew he was no angel. She saw that well enough in his eyes. She saw what he wanted to do to her and it made her body tremble with anticipation. She felt his hands gripping her bare waist so tightly it would have torn mortal flesh. He didn't want to wait any longer, he wanted to claim her as his own, body and, if she had one, soul. She slid her legs down and once her feet found the floor below her, she pushed him to the ground. The floorboards bent around him from the force and he went to push himself up, but before he could she was on top of him. He knew that smirk on her face was because she knew this wasn't how things were going to go, at least not for long. He grabbed hold of her thighs and stopped her from taking him. She could do as she pleased other than that. That was something he would give to her when he felt she deserved it. She met his lips again, sloppily this time as she kissed down his body and let her nails drag on his skin above her head as she got lower and lower. He stifled the groans that we're building within him as he felt her cold lips press against the lowest possible part of his naval. She was careful not to give him what he wanted, that was her leash to hold, at least that's what she thought. As if he'd read her mind, he put a stop to that right away. He wasn't one to be teased. He sat up and grabbed her by her throat to put her on the ground. He not only loved that he could hear the sound of the house being utterly destroyed each time he threw her, but that she could take it. He pinned her underneath him where she belonged and threw her legs around his waist so he could align himself with her. He didn't waste another second to drive himself into her. He felt her nails dig into his back as he took what he wanted. He was surprised to find it came naturally to him, he knew exactly what he wanted to do and how he was going to do it. His hand returned to her throat to bring her up to him so she could take what she wanted. He needed her to now, he wanted that rush from before combined with the feeling of how tight she was around him. He wanted her to drink from him and as much as she wanted. He knew she understood, he watched her tongue glide over her sharp fangs before she latched onto his neck. That rush washed over him instantly and he picked up his pace while he held her head in place. He was unable to control the moans that fell from his lips as she drank from him and deeply. She was glad he held her in place because she could barely hold herself up. Each time he pushed into her he hit a spot that made her head spin. He may have been inexperienced, but he was bringing her closer and closer to her climax with every move he made. Her fingers reached down in desperation, she was almost there, she just needed friction on that other sweet spot he had yet to discover. He caught her hand and quickly replaced it with his own, but allowed her to show him what she wanted. He caught on fast and soon enough she could barely focus on drinking him anymore. Though he tasted so good, what he was doing to her was somehow even better. She unlatched her teeth from him and her head fell back as her orgasm washed over her. He watched her face contort in an almost pained expression as her body grew tighter around him. Though he wanted her to continue feeding off of him, watching her face was equally as intoxicating. Watching what he was doing to her, what he was making her feel, it was enough to send him spiraling. Pleasure more intense than any he had ever felt took over, but he didn't stop. She held onto him tight enough to draw blood with her finger nails as he spilled into her. He buried his face in her neck as he rode out his orgasm, letting himself be more vocal than he ever had been in all his life. The sound of him falling apart brought her to the edge once again, which only made him continue. He felt her go limp in his arms as her body reveled in the pleasure he had brought her once again. He removed his face from her neck to look at her. She had her eyes closed and her neck was still craned back as she whispered his name to herself. He wondered if maybe that was all she could take, if maybe he had found her breaking point after all. He started to slow his pace, which only made a smile spread across her face again.

"Did you think we were finished?" She asked cockily.

When she lifted her head to meet his gaze, he smirked. He hadn't broken her yet, so he'd just have to keep trying.

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marinawolf · 1 year

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Lena has her theories. Like a good scientist, she devises “scientific” experiments to collect data…it’s just convenient this is more exhilarating than outright asking the question to the appropriate person: is Kara Danvers a boob or an ass girl?

Let it be known, this popped into my mind because of your reblog of Supergirl daydreaming about Lena in the throes of passion (likely by Kara’s own doing 😉💋)

okay first, we have to admit that the creator of that post blessed us all. second, this was hilarious to write. I had so much fun. here you go:

It's for Science (Supercorp)

by marinawolf

Lena Luthor, the scientific genius and CEO of L-Corp and Catco, found herself embroiled in a daring experiment. The subject? Her best friend and secret crush, Kara Danvers. Lena was determined to discover one crucial piece of information: was Kara a boob or an ass girl?

Of course, Lena couldn't just outright ask Kara about her preferences. No, that would be far too direct and potentially awkward. Instead, she decided to employ her scientific mind to devise a series of "experiments" to collect data and draw her conclusions.

It all started innocently enough. Lena strategically chose her outfits, opting for outfits that accentuated her assets. She made sure to occasionally drop something in front of Kara, bending down slowly to retrieve the item. Lena even went so far as to discreetly unbutton the top of her shirt, providing a subtle glimpse of cleavage whenever she was around Kara. For science, of course.

But Kara, being Kara, was oblivious to Lena's attempts. Lena had, however, garnered the attention of many others in her office, who were captivated by her attempts, much to her dismay. However, Lena was determined to provoke a reaction from her friend, and she wasn't about to give up.

One day, during a lunch break at CatCo, Lena brought in an array of donuts. She strategically placed a tray of donuts right in front of Kara, leaning over Kara's desk, giving her a full view down her unbuttoned shirt. Lena's heart raced as she watched Kara's eyes widen with delight at the sight of the delicious treats.

Lena waited with bated breath, hoping for a telling reaction.

To Lena's dismay, Kara simply reached for a chocolate-covered donut without a second thought. Lena tried to hide her disappointment.

Later, at the DEO, after Lena had "dropped" her pen in front of Kara, Alex sidled up to her, sipping a coffee.

"Why are you bending down like a stripper in front of my sister? That's like the third time tonight."

Lena flushed her mind suddenly unable to formulate an explanation.

"Don't worry," Alex continued, laughing, "She notices. The first time, she actually walked into a glass wall. Luckily it was reinforced, so it didn't shatter"

Lena's heart leapt but still, she wasn't convinced. She hadn't seen Kara react at all, and as a scientist, she needed to see her results first hand to believe it.

But she refused to give up. She couldn't let a few failed experiments deter her from her quest for knowledge. It was for science, and she was committed to science.

It was during a cozy movie night at Lena's penthouse that she decided to execute her most daring experiment yet. As they settled onto the couch, Lena discreetly unbuttoned her shirt, exposing a tantalizing hint of cleavage. She observed Kara out of the corner of her eye, trying to gauge her reaction without being too obvious.

To her delight, Lena noticed Kara stealing glances her way throughout the movie. The sight of Kara's eyes lingering on her filled Lena's heart with a mixture of excitement and nervous anticipation. Perhaps her experiment was indeed yielding results.

As the movie progressed, Lena's heart raced, waiting for the perfect opportunity to reveal itself. She couldn't concentrate on the film, her mind consumed by the thrilling prospect of finally getting an answer to her burning question.

Just when Lena thought she couldn't wait any longer, Kara's hand brushed against hers in the darkness of the room. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through Lena's veins, and she turned to look at Kara, their eyes locking in an intense gaze.

Without a moment's hesitation, Kara leaned in and pressed her lips against Lena's, kissing her with a desperate longing that took Lena by surprise. The intensity of the moment left them breathless as they finally broke apart, their foreheads resting against each other.

"I've been dying to do that all week," Kara admitted, her voice filled with a mix of desire and relief.

Lena's heart fluttered, her experiment having unexpectedly led her to this extraordinary outcome.

But still, she didn't know: Was Kara a boob or an ass girl?

Months later, as Lena lay in bed, her arms wrapped around a sleepy Kara, she finally asked the question.

And Kara's response made her heart flutter.

"I'm a you girl."

#supercorp #kara danvers #lena luthor #supergirl #supercorp fanfic #fanfic #kara zor el #kara x lena #supercorp first kiss #archive of our own #kara danvers x lena luthor #kara zor el x lena luthor #supercorp fluff #alex danvers #Lena is a scientist #it's for science

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cats-obsessions · 7 months

Text

Dark Urge/Gortash

Just a Drabble I cant get out of my head- Durge is able to recover more of his memories along his travels back to Baldurs Gate, and Orin doesn’t bother telling Gortash that her kin has returned.

“Hello, Lordling”

The Dark Urge, Son of Bhaal, Nox leans back against the old, mahogany desk in his dear friend, Gortash’s office where he’s been waiting, ever patiently, for the tyrant to arrive.

It’s luxurious to a point Nox had once found gaudy, but the room gives him a warm feeling in his chest now. Some parts of his memories echo through his empty brain as mere feelings and impressions. Some remain vivid, yet the bulk of what he could access shows glimpses of his life only in the months before Orin’s attack, but he knows they go deeper. Flashes of late night scheming, shared heists, interrogations, pools of blood, carefully plotted assassinations, then, the smell of avernus clinging to their skin amidst a first kiss. All of it went back to him- Gortash, not Bhaal. Not his fathers wishes or the Urge or even the temple. Everything in Nox’s empty brain was bringing him here.

He let his companions greet the new archduke on their own, but he watched from the shadows, the disappointment in Gortash’s eyes betraying the tyrant, but this was a meeting better had in privacy. The very same newly coronated archduke stands in front of him now for the first time in only the gods know how long.

“Fuck off,” Gortash grumbles, a tight frown on his face. The large double doors of the office swing closed behind him. As their eyes meet, Nox can see the extent of exhaustion that permeates the tyrant’s being. Circles much darker than usual shroud his near-black eyes. His hair had grown in the past two months, resting on his collarbones in disarray. Even the way he breathes sings of discontent.

Nox tilts his head, unmoving from his spot on the lord’s desk “Not the welcome home I was hoping for. I can understand your anger, but-”

“-Orin” the duke hisses sharply, “I have better things to do than this. As do you. Make yourself useful for once.”

Orin. Something in Nox’s chest sinks with the realization, “She’s been mocking you with my face? Gods- I’m going to kill that inbred little bitch the second I see her” he growls.

That earned a raised eyebrow from Enver, but the duke keeps wary eyes trained on his assassin “I’m not playing your games this time” he sighs.

“I assure you, Enver, I am not here to play games.”

Nox watches as Gortash moves across the room to his liquor cabinet against the wall, fine wood gilded in gold. The duke’s eyes stay trained on him, even as he begins to pour a glass of fine, amber whiskey. “Yes, yes, you will slash me in two, bathe in my blood, and what was it-” Gortash pauses to take a long, slow sip, sighing once again “-wear my intestines as a scarf? No matter- all the same, uncouth drabble with you.”

“Not until the end. And not like that. I won’t kill you until- unless we are the last two living in all the realm. First you, then me.” Nox clenches his fingers, his jaw tightening and untightening as he feels the images of Enver’s death set in behind his eyes. The Urge whispers for him to take the Banite now, but he knows better. He takes a slow, deep breath, reaching instinctively to the band around his wrist. He focuses on the feelings to ground himself for a moment before continuing. “I believe that was the promise I made you before- Well, things are hazy- a lobotomy does that to you.”

Enver stops, his glass half raised to his lips as his eyes widen. Nox can nearly see his thoughts, debates. He’s questioning if Orin could have such knowledge, if Orin could keep calm this long in a conversation, if Orin could push down her Urge. Nox gives a lopsided smile as he continues. “I don’t remember everything, but I remember you. I came back for you- to stand by you. As we are meant to be.”

It only takes a few seconds for Gortash to cross the room, his glass crashing into the golden tray below it, well abandoned; and Nox smiles, allowing his shirt collar to be grasped tightly in the duke’s hands. Gortash crowds his space, leering at him. There’s venom in his expression, but just below that lies hope.

“Prove it or die.”

How many times had Orin tried this? How many times did she dangle Nox in front of Enver? Did she pretend to return to him just like this? Or simply take his form to berate the tyrant lord? The thought makes the teifling’s blood boil. But he will save that rage for later.

Nox huffs out a chuckle, “If I were Orin, I would have my fucking dagger, and this goddamn tadpole wouldn’t be in my head, Enver.”

His words are enough, and Gortash yanks the collar of his shirt forward until they are pressed against each other, their lips colliding in a rough, forceful kiss that dissolves into desperation. For Nox, it’s familiar and new all at once as if he were acting out a scene he had only seen in a play; he knew Enver’s taste, his smell, the way he was rough and gentle all at once. Yet, feeling it rather than seeing it through a haze of lost memories and confusion was enough to make his knees weak.

“You have a tadpole in your head. You gods damned idiot.” Enver smiled against his lips, words devoid of venom. His hands move up to cup Nox’s face, warm gold of Gortash’s gauntlets pressing against his cheeks. “I have missed you so, my dearest.”

“I missed you, too.” Nox chuckles, and his cheeks warm up as if the words were meant to stay inside his mind- as if he was supposed to be ashamed by such thoughts, but the way Enver pulls him closer makes him think perhaps it is okay not to be ashamed about some things. Perhaps, whatever lingering worry circles in his mind from before does not matter anymore.

#I am obsessed with them being so soft to each other and so terrible to everyone else #they’re evil your honor #durgetash #drabble #the dark urge #enver gortash #the dark urge x enver gortash #goretash #bg3 #fic #oc: Nox #someone posted what if lordling was durges affectionate term for gortash that Orin uses to mock his loss #and I’m obsessed #cats thoughts

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hydroelectricjaya · 7 months

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The Administration. I have some things to say about this monstrosity.

DR spoilers under the cut:

LOL that Zane was the one who was the most knowledgeable about the Administration and proceeded to inform the audience about this new entity. Did not see that coming.

First clue something was off - when the portal that Lloyd and Arin jumped through disappeared, it turned into bubbles.

Then we get a first glimpse of this bureaucratic hell in the cubical maze. The multi-generation line for a permit made my blood pressure spike. Too close. 😭 You don’t know bureaucratic hell until you’ve tried getting permits for a project that turns into a multi month long process, massive fees and tons of back and forth and revisions and (pulls out hair) could have been handled internally between departments. (I’m looking at you City of LA). Not to mention driving into downtown LA is an equally soul crushing experience. But I digress. . .

Lloyd and Arin get their mini Matrix adventure “following the white rabbit” (except it is following the white ninja - haha get it?) which leads them to Zane (and be honest, we all thought it was going to be Jay).

Zane then gives us the low down on the Administration. Extreme power paired with gross incompetence. Managers sound like department heads, and the top dog is the Administrator (who we have yet to meet). And it used to be in the realm of madness before the merge. Interesting.

They somehow knew he was attempting to open a monastery portal (did it connect to the Administration?), teleported directly into the monastery and took Zane. Wow, they have powerful tech and surveillance.

The three ninja figure out that the Administration has immense power, yet all of their paperwork is pointless busywork and doesn’t really do anything. Ooofff if that’s not a dig on modern government and large corporations.

“It is impossible to tell the difference between mass incompetence and intentional malice.”

I predict that will be the theme of the Administration: it will be impossible to tell if they’re that stupid or that evil. Unfortunately, that’s how most governments and large corporations are. And they will have an important role in season two. Why go through all the effort to introduce this new land merged with a Ninjago if it doesn’t show up again? Will the top leader, the Administrator, be linked to Raz’s master?

Then we finally see Jay and it looks like he has figured out how to climb the ladder of the Administration’s strict hierarchy. Good for him. Get that executive suite! Get close to the Administrator so when your memories come back you can help your ninja team.

I am excited to see more of the Administration and Jay’s shenanigans next season. I hope he is a total dick to the cubical wagies.

What are your thoughts on the Administration?

I’m looking forward to seeing how many references to The Office, Office Space, Dilbert, etc. Welcome to government work and corporate life. 😂😭

#ninjago #ninjago jay #ninjago dragons rising #the Administration #suit jay #has lit a fire under the jay fans #ninjago spoilers #spoilers #don’t get me started on bureaucratic hell #too close #too many stories

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hypnotherapy-blog-blog · 3 months

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The Black Bag - Part 1.

The Black Bag.

Rob Hadley

Introduction.

When I wrote The Black Bag I had it in mind that many of the people likely to read it would already have a knowledge of Tarot. However, that’s proved to have been a miscalculation. I have been pleased to see many readers have a curiosity about Tarot, but not much familiarity with it. As a result, I often suggest readers step into this journey with a Tarot deck at hand. It will help you see the cards mentioned, and to participate in a manner that gives you a deeper connection to the story. Each reader, does after all, have their own relationship to the cards. Indeed each card relates to each reader differently. As you make your way through these pages, perhaps you will have insights that will make the story unique for you.

My intent is for you to enjoy these pages, and maybe pick up a few ideas along the way. I don’t propose for an instant that any given card has set or established meanings. My own view is that context is everything. The cards tend to match up with your own particular situation and can have very different meanings at different times. I hope you’ll enjoy this journey. Feel free to reach out to me and let me know your own experiences.

My best wishes as you embark on this journey,

Rob Hadley

[email protected]

The Black Bag

By Rob Hadley

C.2024

It is fair to say that the one person you least expect to see following your mother’s funeral is your mother. Yet, as Grahame Bickerton stepped out of the small chapel and into the daylight and looked across the well tended gardens he was shocked to find himself staring at a figure in the distance that bore an unmistakeable resemblance to the very person he had just witnessed being extended that last of human dignities.

The coffin had slid silently away behind the curtain in the funeral home, and he’d been shocked to find himself craning to see the final glimpse as it moved irresistibly into the cremation chamber. And yet here, across this beautifully laid out garden there seemed to be someone that could be his very own mother sitting in mournful contemplation by one of the gravestones, their back to him.

Grahame felt a hand on his sleeve and turned. It was the only other person that had been at the service. An elderly woman with a cane, bent almost double, the result of some form of spinal deformity. The woman spoke to him gently, her eyes moist with tears.

“I will miss you mother,” she said. “I feel your loss.”

“You’re very kind,” said Grahame trying not to be too dismissive but wanting to pull away and see the woman in the distance more clearly. She’d got up and was walking away.

“I used to work with her you know, at the college. Geography,” she said. “She spoke of you regularly.”

“Geography?” replied Grahame, completely lost.

“I teach Geography at the college. We used to have tea together often,” she continued.

Grahame didn’t wish to be rude and turned and tried to catch sight of the person in the garden, but she was hurrying away.

“If I can help,” she said, “you can find me at the college.”

Grahame pulled away and started walking across the gardens leaving the old woman staring after him as he strode away.

“Poor man,” she said to herself leaning on her cane. “He’s obviously terribly upset.”

Grahame hurried across the lawns in the direction of the woman he had seen. Soon he stopped. The crows were rising from some trees by the seat the woman had been sitting on but was gone from view now. It was almost as if she’d never been there. He walked on, but after a few moments realised it was no good. He couldn’t see which way she’d gone.

“Christ,” he muttered, then thinking more clearly calmed himself.

“I have to get a grip,” he said to himself. “This is ridiculous, I’m a bloody engineer, dammit.”

With that Grahame dismissed the notion that anything out of the norm had happened. He was obviously overreacting.

+++

It was mid morning several weeks later when Grahame received the call from the car dealership. The fall sunlight cast the city in a flat light that lacked the warmth of the summer so recently ended. He stood looking out of his meagre office at the glass towers of the downtown core and the cranes that perched beside every spare inch of buildable space.

How very different those offices were from his own. From the office beside his he could hear his boss shouting down the phone at one of the project planners. The congestion on the road today was holding things up for everybody. He was well aware that they were pouring concrete on several projects today, and with those cement trucks stranded in the unexpected traffic chaos caused by this morning’s power outage there was sure to be hell to pay. As luck would have it none of his teams were pumping today, so while the atmosphere in the office would be toxic, it didn’t directly affect any of his people.

He’d been lucky, pacing himself lately. The recent death of his mother had forced him to scale back some of his work commitments. As the executor of the will there were assets to be disposed of, taxes to pay, and all the administrative chaos that accompanies the end of life. And that brought him back to the phone call. It had been the dealership he’d taken his mother’s old Town Car to. She’d loved that vehicle, but it had no business being on the road with gas prices the way they are today. Getting rid of it had been the only thing to do, and yet in spite of his having thoroughly cleaned the vehicle before leaving it at the second hand car lot, the manager had called and informed him that they’d found some old playing cards and some journals when the car was made ready for sale.

“We didn’t want to toss them out,” said the manager. “They may be something you want.”

The manager had sounded awkward. He was aware the car had been Grahame’s mother’s vehicle, being acquainted with old lady. He’d been servicing the car since he’d joined the dealership over a decade previously.

A phone slammed down in the cubicle beside his and Grahame winced. Did the workplace have to be so toxic, he wondered. Looking at his diary he could see he didn’t need to be here at present, and if he were to walk the dozen blocks to the car lot he could get away early and then slip home to work the rest of the day from there.

He placed a file into his brief case and made for the door. His boss was already on the phone to the next project manager, wringing his hands and looking intently at the screen of his laptop and chewing his lip, a nervous habit he’d nursed every day since Grahame had joined the company. He nodded as he made his way out of the building but went by unnoticed. As he walked out across the car park he felt the sun on his face and a sense of relief in his heart. It was good to be out of the cramped office space.

He loved the city, and being part of the construction trade he was enjoying the fruits of a building boom, but it wasn’t lost on him that he worked for a small consultancy firm, and the glass palaces of downtown were far from his reality. The firm he worked for may be part of the construction team, but he was under no illusions about the work. Twice in the last year his boss had been forced to ask his staff to wait a week for their wages, and if his suspicions were correct, it would happen again. In the hierarchy of the building trade, the company he was working for was not what anyone would describe as a highflyer.

He walked smartly across town, the sound of horns blaring a fitting backdrop to the stationary traffic. Another set of lights up ahead had blown out and a crew was struggling to get their vehicle to somewhere they could work on the switchgear.

Grahame tuned out the sound of the city. He thought of his mother, and that he’d only seen her three times in the year prior to her death. They’d had dinner back in April, and then he had driven out to the cottage in mid summer, and then Rose had told him she was going in for some tests. She seemed unworried about it at the time, and he hadn’t really thought much of it.

Deconstructing things later Grahame realised that Rose had suffered in silence for some time before having these tests run. Indeed by the time pancreatic cancer was diagnosed it was already far advanced. She had suffered briefly, and Grahame had visited, but soon after that last time she had succumbed, slid into a coma and within two weeks had died leaving a great chasm in Graham’s life. A chasm he promptly filled with his own guilt for not being a better son, and more available to his mother.

He was being too hard on himself, but that was nothing new.

+++

At the car dealership the manager had placed the collection of journals and other bits and pieces in a large envelope for Grahame to collect. He walked into reception and the young lady on the desk reached beneath her desk and passed it to him, recognising him from previous visits. Grahame thanked her and took the package, then decided he’d walk home through the park.

There was little point returning to the office today. He didn’t feel up to working, and the traffic chaos of the morning would soon be merging with the afternoon rush hour, as people tried to leave work early to beat the rush.

Taking a moment to sit in the sunshine he stopped at a park bench and opened the package. It contained three journals, all closely handwritten in his mothers handwriting, and one small black bag. He drew this out and inspected it. Inside he found some cards, but not the playing cards you’d expect an old lady to have should she find herself compelled to get into a game of gin rummy. These were altogether more colorful, and well used.

He inspected them and realised that these were tarot cards. He had no idea his mother had an interest in tarot. While not something he had any knowledge of, Grahame recognised some of the symbols on the cards as he rifled through them. He found the cards strangely puzzling, feeling rather like he’d discovered something secret. He slid the blag bag back into the envelope continued his journey home. They were a mystery he would examine further at a later date.

As he walked he lamented the fact that he had few of his mothers belongings, even though he was her sole heir. The reality was that his small modern apartment was hardly a suitable venue for an ancient armoire, or dining table for eight people.

When he emerged out of the far side of the park he was only a couple of blocks from his apartment. Walking to work today had been a good choice, even here the traffic was log jammed.

+++

The loss of his sole surviving parent had forced something of a pause in Graham’s life. It was a moment in which he was compelled to take stock and look at where he was.

He had recently ended a fruitless relationship of eighteen months. It had been a perfunctory affair, neither very passionate nor disastrous, but lacking in so many of the things he felt his life needed.

They’d found each other online, were both ‘self actualised professionals looking to share all life has to offer,’ according to their dating profiles, but were neither very self actualised (he still wasn’t sure what that meant) nor very willing to share very much. He’d decided he didn’t really trust the person he was dating, and realised she didn’t trust him either. They’d decided to ‘have a two week break’ two months ago and he hadn’t heard from her since.

Surprisingly he didn’t miss the woman either. It was as if the relationship had not really happened at all. And he felt no compulsion to reconnect.

If he were quite honest with himself it was much the same with his job. He’d been working as a project manager for several years, and it paid reasonably well. While his job didn’t excite him, it provided security enough for him to live in the city, pay a disturbingly high proportion of his income in rent, and to own a car that he could drive at barely 20 miles an hour anywhere he chose. And then pay a fortune for parking. Like the relationship, his job didn’t fill him with passion either.

Grahame was gradually coming to the conclusion that there were patterns emerging in his life that didn’t fill him with joyful expectation. In his mid thirties he had expected something more of life. Was this really it?

These were Grahame’s thoughts as he walked alongside the stationary traffic and glanced at the frustrated drivers in their little tin boxes. Just a few blocks from home Grahame watched an episode play out before him.

A driver in a Jeep was blowing his horn at a car in front. The yellow haired woman sat in a little pale blue convertible, studiously ignoring the increasingly insistent honking. Judging by the body language the young lady had not had a good day, sitting arms crossed and lips pursed determined to ignore the blaring of the horn behind.

“Hey lady,” came the voice. A tee shirt clad young man, physically toned and cocksure, leaned from his car window and called to her.

Finally having had enough, the young woman, her hair tightly curled up in a bun, turned in her seat and shouted back at the man, “For god’s sake! I have a boyfriend!”

She then turned and sat, arms folded defiantly in the stationary traffic, red faced and flustered now with her eyes locked on the licence plate before her. At that instant a gap opened in the lane beside her and the jeep bucked forward and pulled alongside her for a moment as vehicles shifted in the Tetris game of traffic flow.

“Lady, I just wanted to tell you,” said the man, a little more gently now, “You have a flat tire.”

Taken aback, the young woman checked behind her to see that the traffic was not moving, and then stepped out of her car to take a closer look. She wore a smart pencil skirt and lemon blouse, the picture of propriety. She came back a moment later and sat behind the wheel looking perplexed.

She seemed nonplussed for a moment, and then composing herself turned and politely addressed the man in the jeep.

“Can you help me fix it?” she called across the traffic lane.

The young man lit up a cigarette in a slow languid style, and then said, “Like you said, lady. You’ve got a boyfriend.”

The traffic shifted and the Jeep advanced progressing up the line of cars.

Grahame, abreast of the little convertible looked at the woman, and saw the tears welling up in her eyes. He guessed she’d maybe not fixed a tire before. And with so many cars around she would be stuck blocking traffic before long as the tire deflated. He knew that on any other day he would have gone with his old habits and just not got involved, but today was just a little different.

“Would you like a hand?” he asked softly.

“That would be so kind,” said the woman, relief spreading across her face. Suddenly she didn’t seem quite so prickly.

“Just pull in to one of the spaces up here,” said Graham. “I live a block up the road, I’ll help you change the tire. Just let me go up to my apartment and change out of my office clothes. I won’t be more than five minutes.”

“That’s so kind of you,” said the young woman. “You’re like a real knight in shining armour.”

“Well, not really. But I can change a tire. Give me five minutes and I’ll be back.”

With that he left her and hurried toward his apartment.

+++

Grahame hurried along the street, the sound of construction crowding in on him after the quiet of the park. That poor woman, he thought. Some men really could be thoughtless.

He hurried into his apartment, tossed the envelope carelessly onto the coffee table, as if by reflex turned on the kettle to boil water for a cup of tea and went to his bedroom. A moment later he’d got out of his work suit and pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater.

He turned and was about to hurry down to the street to help the woman change her tire, when he noticed the envelope had spilled its contents across the surface of the coffee table.

Not wanting to keep the woman downstairs waiting, he casually glanced at the table. Cards were slewed across the flat surface in an arc. It looked almost artistic. One card lay face up.

Grahame glanced at it, and then retrieved his keys and made for the door. As he stepped out of the elevator on the ground floor, the front door of the building opened and his neighbour, old Mrs. Willoughby entered the vestibule.

At that moment there was a terrible crashing sound from outside. Mrs. Willoughby turned and looked out at the street, a startled look of shock on her face.

Grahame rushed to the door and stared out to see what on earth had happened. Cars were stopped now, honking and people climbing from them and rushing back down the road. It took only a moment for Grahame to realise the sound had come from the building site on the next block, just by where he could see the woman’s car pulled over.

He hurried toward the car, and as he got closer realised this was the centre of the commotion. The woman was standing back, leaning against the siding at the edge of the construction site. He hurried to her side.

The little blue convertible was wrecked. It lay smashed beneath a series of scaffolding poles, looking as though it had been speared in some ghastly hunt.

White faced and shocked the woman stood back, shocked but unharmed, against the siding.

“Good god, what happened?” he said to her after he’d pushed his way through the crowd.

People were looking up, staring at a crane’s hook and some chain suspended seventy feet above the road. A man with a hard hat came barrelling out of the building site and rushed to the car. By-standers were already photographing the wrecked car, and posting them to social media on their phones.

“Was anyone hurt?” the workman was asking in panic, looking around wildly.

“Are you ok?” Grahame said, steadying the woman with a kindly hand.

“I’m ok,” she said rapidly. “I’m ok!”

She was white faced and shaking. Grahame turned to the assembled crowd and said, “Does anyone have some water?”

A bottle was developed and passed to the woman.

Grahame turned to the crowd and asked, “Who saw what happened?”

Several voices piped up. Grahame looked at the man in the hardhat and said, “Are you the foreman?”

He nodded nervously.

“Thank god no one was hurt,” he replied. “You’d better get these people’s statements. The police will be along soon. It’s going to make things a lot better if people are able to describe it.”

The foreman nodded and corralled the witnesses while Grahame turned back to the woman.

“You’re going to need a cup of tea, aren’t you,” he said gently. “Let’s get you out of here and calm things down.”

Grahame handed his card to the foreman, and one of the witnesses.

“When the cops show up can you let them know she’s at my place up the road,” said Grahame.

There was sympathetic nod and Grahame and the woman pressed their way through the crowd and made their way down the block to his apartment building.

+++

Grahame made the tea as his frightened guest sat in the open plan living room.

“You didn’t tell me your name,” said Graham, wanting to keep the woman talking.

“I’m Sunshine,” she said. “And that’s my mother’s car.”

“Oh, dear,” he said. “It’s a very nice little car. Well, it was. How did you come to be unharmed? I mean, it looks like a hell of a mess.”

Grahame poured the tea and placed a cup and saucer before Sunshine.

“I stepped out of the car to look at the tire, and that’s when it happened,” she said. “There was just this rush of air, and a terrible sound. Like bells ringing, and then those scaffolding poles all around me.”

“What a thing to happen,” Grahame said.

“I guess,” she replied beginning to calm down. “I could have been killed.”

She sipped the tea, her hand still trembling. That was when Sunshine started sobbing.

+++

The statement to the police, a visit from the foreman and an exchange of documents all took time and Sunshine seemed to go through the process in a daze. She was glad to be somewhere quiet and safe, and Grahame remained largely quiet in the background as the questions were asked and answered. It was a terribly unfortunate accident, but as the police officer pointed out, no one was hurt. The insurance companies would sort out the wrecked car which was now safely off the road. The construction company manager said the company would be up to their necks in investigations, but seemed co-operative, almost as upset by the whole situation as Sunshine was herself.

“That could have been my own daughter,” said the manager as Grahame had shown him out. It happened that he knew Grahame from the local planning department meetings that he’d sometimes have to attend for his company.

“Terrible thing,” he’d said. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it. Those clamps don’t just fail.”

“Thank heavens no one was hurt,” echoed Graham.

+++

At length the police officer left, and they found themselves alone in the quiet apartment. Noticing the journals and the tarot cards on the table, Sunshine asked, “What’s this?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just some things of my mother’s,” replied Graham.

“Don’t you see it?” said Sunshine, looking at the upturned card.

“What do you mean,” said Graham.

“You don’t think it looks like all those scaffolding poles that fell on my car?” said Sunshine as she picked up the card.

Grahame stared at the card. The Eight of Wands. He wondered what it meant.

“I suppose,” said Graham. “It’s really not my thing,” he added and then as an afterthought said, “I’m an engineer.”

Sunshine looked at the card once more, and then at Grahame trying to find the link between not being able to see the visual connection and being an engineer. She failed.

“I wonder what made you turn over this particular card then,” she said. “Probably something subconscious.”

“I didn’t pick that card. I mean, I just left some things on the table, they just fell like that, and then I came down to help you.”

“And that was before you heard the crash,” asked Sunshine with newly sparked curiosity.

“Yes,” replied Graham, noticing for the first time how the image in the card did look a little like the scaffolding poles.

“That’s quite the coincidence,” murmured Sunshine.

“Oh, I doubt it,” said Graham. “There’s probably no end of these cards look like falling scaffolding.”

His voice trailed off as he realised how he sounded. Sunshine picked up the cards and started shuffling them.

“So, your mother’s into tarot?” asked Sunshine.

“No. Well, yes,” stammered Graham.

“I see,” said Sunshine.

“I mean she died,” said Graham. “And these were among her things. I should sort them out. I don’t really know anything about the cards.”

Sunshine looked at the journals, and then asked, “Were you close?”

“Not as close as I wish we had been,” replied Graham.

“So, you never knew she was interested in Tarot?”

“Never had a clue,” confessed Graham.

Sunshine turned the cards over in her hands and then said, “You’re lucky then. This gives you a chance to get to know her through the cards.”

The words hung in the air.

“What do you mean,” asked Graham.

“Look at these cards,” she said. “You can see they’ve been well used. These are quite old. Well used. Your mother must have been adept at the cards. Can’t you see it? There’s a lot of her in these particular cards.”

An awkward silence fell between them as Grahame thought about this. It was true, the journals and these cards were like a voice reaching out across the abyss of death. They were a connection.

The silence was broken by the chirp of Sunshine’s cell phone.

She looked at the display and then said, “Mother. This might be a little awkward.”

___________________________________________

If you've enjoyed Part 1 of The Black Bag I ask that you follow my Tumblr and reblog it. To read Part 2 simply go to my Patreon HERE.

Many Thanks

#daily tarot #tarot readings #tarot reading #tarot cards #tarot #free tarot #tarot community #tarot deck #tarot spreads #tarot witch #tarotdaily #fiction #short story #serial fiction #druid

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blazingstar24 · 4 months

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Avalir vs Aeor: Remembrance and History

Do you ever think about how similar and yet so different the fates of Avalir and Aeor were? Well I sure do! (Went into this on my twitter but I have thoughts that a word limit/twt format cannot handle)

There is something so striking in the difference of Avalir’s final moments and Aeor’s. While we have yet to truly see Aeor’s, the small glimpses we have (Frida’s vision and the Cognouza arc) detail something far different from Avalir’s. Aeor’s death rattle was one of terror and bloodshed. There was in-fighting between factions, between people who had once trusted each other. Nine mages dipped out and chose to only “save” themselves and their ward.

Avalir’s final moment was one of unity at the end of all things. It was ships full of children not gold. It was Callum Seawright giving his life to connect the last piece of energy for Laerryn. It was Zerxus giving a rallying cry to his people to calm them. It was every member of the Ring of Brass giving everything to save the world. It was 5 friends who ensured that two children would have a chance to see their father again.

One city chose to band together at the end and another broke apart from the inside out.

And because of this, it is almost ironic in how history has remembered these two cities. Avalir had survivors. Aeor, as far as we know, did not. Save for 3 Aeormations, awoken long after their time. And depending on which theories one ascribes to, potentially Ludinus. And yet, Aeor is remembered. Aeor is the one that goes in history books. Aeor is the lesson taught. About the hubris of mortals, about the wrath of the gods. It is Aeor, with no one to speak of its history, whose story goes on. But Avalir’s story of hope at the end of the world? Is lost to time. Avalir who had people to tell its story, is forgotten.

Of course some of this is due to recency of events. Aeor fell during the latter half of the Calamity vs Avalir being the starting event. But even though Avalir’s history has not been remembered, one can believe that this was the price the Ring of Brass chose to pay to ensure that the people would live. In a way it is them choosing opposite of Vespin Chloras.

Vespin who stood to kill a god and yet could not make the sacrifice of being forgotten. He needed to be burned into the books of history. His story goes on, as not the truth, as again a lesson of hubris and wrath. But the Ring of Brass stood in the face of that very god and said okay we will let go of our dreams. And chose the future, chose: “It’s all on you smart girl” “Many more dreams to come”. History may forget Avalir, may never know what Avalir did for the world, but Avalir did survive that day. In those people they saved, in knowledge freely given to another.

Again versus Aeor and the mages who wanted to use the weapon as the Gods were literally on their doorstep. All those people in the bubbles, all the people who tried to stop the weapon? Their stories, their lives were not chosen over the mages’ desire to make a mark in history. Aeor couldn’t let go, Aeor is the Ring of Gold’s choices come true. Preserve the city not the people. Knowledge hoarded not given as seen by Cognouza.

Vespin said to pray they are forgotten and it is funny how those who willing struck their names, their stories from history are the ones who survived.

#critical role meta #cr spoilers #critical role #yeah I’m referring to the raven queen in my last sentence #aeor brainrot go brrrrr

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codenamesazanka · 3 months

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I think there are too many things about the AFO gave Decay theory that do not work out. It would cause more problems than it would solve, and although Horikoshi is no stranger to bad/lazy writing, the memory does feel like a red herring. Perhaps it is also notable that both the Tenko from the one-shot and the Sazanka concept character were (apparently) born with their Quirks.

(This is mostly me clinging to hope, though... But it feels like if this was all supposed to be AFO's doing, Shigaraki's character arc would have played out differently. I like your idea that even if AFO gave Tenko Decay, it doesn't matter anymore because Shigaraki has embraced the Quirk as his own, but that leads to another problem: if the reveal doesn't change anything, it doesn't have a point. It would just be there for shock value, and that would be some frighteningly bad writing.)

Yesssss, Tenko and Sazanka! Love them so much. Yeah, Oneshot Tenko says he has had 『the power to disintegration things he touches with both hands』 ever since he was born - doesn't know how or why, but that's his power; meanwhile Sazanka seems to have simply manifested the power to 『take away life with only a touch』 as his quirk (which is the freudian excuse for why he becomes a 'peacekeeping' vigilante who prowls the streets targeting people who has quirks "too chaotic for society"). I have also clung to these two as flimsy reassurances that Decay is Shigaraki/Tenko's original quirk, but gotta admit - doesn't mean much. Shigaraki Tomura Hero Academia is ultimately his own character with his own backstory.

It would be fun, though, if the memory is a red herring. Like, in-story, Deku himself thinks he's getting 'there', getting 'closer'...

...but to what? The root cause? the foundational trauma? The pain Shigaraki put a lid on? What exactly does Deku think he's getting closer to? More importantly, why? Is it because the memories are, for the most part, chronologically going backwards, and he hasn't cracked all of the Shell of Hatred yet? Is it because he sees black-hair child Tenko, and thinks he's reaching The Crying Child moment? But we readers know The Crying Child Full Of Sadness he saw back in 305 was after Suit Man Brings Tenko Home?

So maybe you're right, that that glimpse of the memory is for the readers. Make us wonder, because we already know all/nearly all the shit that went down with Shimura Tenko—because Deku probably shouldn't know what meaning that memory has? (Unless we get another flashback to explain that Deku had some hidden knowledge all along, somehow. That is also sadly very possible.)

Like I said before, AFO being revealed to have given 'Decay' to Tenko is something I'm not too opposed to in and of itself; what worries me is how the story will use it. And my worries are the same as yours - imo lazy writing, everything evil in the world is AFO's doing, and how it doesn't really do anything for Shigaraki's character beyond giving him one more tragic backstory element among many.

I've seen people argue that that's fine, it fits with what we know about Shigaraki already - he's just a pawn, he has no agency and never did, he's basically an overgrown Eri who needs to be saved and swaddled and then the Heroes can put on a concert in Tartarus 2.0 to make him smile. :D

As you've noticed, though, Shigaraki's character arc haven't quite played out like that. Those same people mentioned above might argue that nothing Shigaraki does is actually by his own choice, that he's been so manipulated that he doesn't know up from down and basically everything he is and does is trauma/engineered by AFO/brainwashed into him (except for conveniently, magically, the good things), he needs to understand he’s actually Shimura Tenko, the sweet kid who only cried and made people feel awkward but could carry on the pretense of peace, thank goodness he doesn’t get angry and make people feel threatened and have to change things - but in the story, Shigaraki hasn’t forgotten that he’s Shimura Tenko - he remembers, he acknowledges, and he only says he’s become Shigaraki Tomura.

He still hates being rejected and being denied. He hates being looked down on. He's declared he doesn't want to take up AFO's previous title of Emperor of Darkness, or even be like AFO, eventually breaking out of AFO's possession with his own indomitable will; he's been literally shouting about following his own dreams. He's gone and found his own followers, his friends, and part of the reason he destroys is because of those friends. He’s wrong in choosing destruction, and yeah, maybe he was spurred on by trauma, but he’s not wrong in his reasons - same as Toga, Dabi, the heteromorphs, who were also spurred on by trauma, who were wrong in choosing violence, but not wrong that they were failed by society and not wrong about being angry. Like them, Shigaraki has fought to be seen, to live. Shigaraki has fought so insistently and consistently to be himself.

But if so, and if we still get the ‘AFO gave Decay’ reveal and it doesn’t change anything, does it have a point?

It does, actually! Not for Shigaraki, but for Deku. Currently Deku still has the excuse of not knowing a single thing about Shigaraki, so he can still only care about saving Shimura Tenko. Readers don’t have that excuse, so they have to blame everything that went wrong all on AFO. What the ‘AFO gave Decay’ reveal can do, though, is to shut both of those down. AFO gave Tenko Decay… but Shigaraki doesn’t care anymore, he’s actively choosing to pursue the path regardless. AFO gave Tenko Decay, but it doesn’t change anything about how the house his father built was abusive and enabling. AFO gave Tenko Decay, but that was 15 fucking years ago, and in all that time, from the moment the massacre occurred to when All Might raided the bar, no Hero had ever arrived to save Tenko/Tomura from AFO’s clutches.

And Deku should have to reckon with that.

Let’s cope together. Thanks for the ask!

#ask #asked #answered #anon #anonymous #nalslastworkingbraincell

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oh-hell-help-me · 10 months

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July 21: National Be Someone Day

Luigi knew only a little bit of the Koopaling’s past.

It’s not that he didn’t make an effort to learn, but even mentioning their time before Bowser adopted them often led to these looks- expressions Luigi never wanted to see on their faces.

So, Luigi concentrated on learning everything about them- their likes, dislikes, plans for future occupations…

And sometimes this included spending time with them, including activities like shopping with Wendy, painting with Junior, knitting with Roy, and other things that can be done one on one.

The latest excursion was a day out with Ludwig, attending a tour through a museum of Koopa Kingdom instruments before spending the rest of their time in antique shops for possible records or sheet music.

It was great actually, and Ludwig seemed to appreciate the comradely over their shared knowledge of music theory.

And then they heard the sound of breaking glass.

For once, Luigi was only mildly alarmed- long since used to sudden sounds thanks to Iggy.

It was Ludwig’s reaction that scared him.

Because his confidant, put-together son was rapidly gasping for air yet utterly still even as a random patron provided background noise with apologies and whatever else that wasn’t important-

He reaches out to the Koopaling-

His bambino bolts into a nearby shelf blindly-

And Luigi’s fear starts to edge to panic.

Ludwig wasn’t responding to him, and he only tries to burrow into the wall behind him whenever he tries to reach out to comfort him.

Luigi felt lost, and the far look in the Koopaling’s eyes and sheer quietness gives him nothing to work with-

He hates how his hands are uselessly reaching for his bambino, and despises himself for giving into his nervous habit of humming.

After the first incident with King Boo, he’d thought he’d broken the habit- but apparently not since it’s not-

Not….

It took a minute, but Luigi could see Ludwig relax- just a little, but enough to tilt his head like he was listening-

Luigi continues to hum, just more steadily and to a tune he hoped was familiar enough to cling to.

Fives minutes pass, and Luigi is sure that Ludwig is not pressing against the wall, and is quick to give a patented glare to anyone who wandered too close.

(He is glad their spot is generally isolated- he doesn’t want to think what it could’ve been like in a stifling crowd.)

Seven minutes, he’s starting to take deeper breaths.

By ten minutes, Ludwig seems to be slowly blinking into awareness, his breathing nearly normal and Luigi wants to desperately hug him but-

He needs to make sure.

“Ludwig?” The flinch is barely there, but it’s enough to make him soften his voice even more. “Ludwig, can you hear me?”

And the Koopaling opens his mouth, visibly trying to say something, but ends up silent.

He settles for a nod.

And Luigi feels the tightness in his chest ease. It’s not gone, but any response is welcome at this point.

“Can I hold your hand?” He wants to just hug him, but Luigi felt it best to start small.

Ludwig shakes his head, pauses, nearly nods, and ends up making a grasping motion. Almost like what Junior does when-

Oh.

A hug it is then.

And Luigi is careful to wrap his arms around him, nearly sent stumbling backward when the Koopaling just burrows into his chest and shudders-

And Luigi realizes he’s crying.

After that, it was a bit of a blur of getting his bambino home and situated into the family nest- snagging Larry on the way to keep him company as he looks for Bowser.

(Rumors about the Koopa King’s husband ran that day from guards who happened to be around for the afternoon shift.)

(Some have passed down a warning- Luigi wasn’t known for violence, but the look in his eyes-)

(Some have kept information to themselves, especially as they overheard the intense conversation from the King’s office and swore they heard a roar that wasn’t from a Koopa-)

(Others had seen glimpses of the Royal Couple gathering their children and heading to the Family Nest Room.)

(But all of them knew that the look in the human’s eyes promised a dark violence, and they spent a week tiptoeing around before realizing it wasn’t going to be aimed at them.)

(They breathe a sigh of relief by the eventual peace that settled in after.)

#bowuigi #NATIONAL HOLIDAY #this holds a special place #I couldn’t write a more detailed scene without crying #so I went vague #and hopefully meaningful #it took six hours to settle for this

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velvet-brain · 9 months

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Kind of love

Sara Kujo X Reader

Sara hates you. You are a thorn in the Shogun's plan so it's her job to get rid of you and even when that takes its time, she isn't her right hand for nothing. She is relentless, like the hunting dog she was trained to be, and you can only go for so long.

Tw: Reader death, description of death, blood, heartbreak.

---

Angst :)

---

Sara pants heavily, the rain that falls on her feeling like static on her skin as she looks at your corpse.

She finally did it.

She finally killed you.

Your body lays face down on the mud, a pool of running blood being washed away by the rain into the soil. Through your chest there's a knife, her knife, it was a surprise attack, you knew her pattern with the bow so she had to get you off your rhythm.

She hadn't expected it to go so well.

Her hands shake, adrenaline finally leaving her body.

You were one of the biggest thorns in the Shogun's plan to take back the visions, all because they had taken your friend's vision. You had destroyed entire camps by yourself, you managed to give the rebels a spark of hope and to top it off, you had survived an encounter with her, multiple times.

Sara, who was supposed to be the best, was outdone by you, made to run in circles and flustered beyond belief by your stupid quips.

Your annoyance had even gone so far that her own soldiers began to call you her rival even more since you were using an electro vision which only infuriated her further.

But no more.

She takes deep breaths, the cold air feels like shards of glass in her throat.

With every success she achieves for her leader her chest fills with pride for a job well done, the knowledge that she is helping in a bigger cause, that she is worth something. But not now.

It doesn't feel right.

The sight of your body. stiff. cold. unmoving. isn't right.

Every time she saw you, you were doing something. Running away, making fun of her soldiers or swinging your weapon around, you were always moving, so filled with energy even when your group didn't achieve much.

The silence grates at her ears.

This… this can't be it.

You can't… you can't be dead already.

This doesn't feel right! Why doesn't she feel like she's won!?

She glares at your corpse hoping, against all odds, that you'll somehow get back up and say something stupid and annoying to her before slipping through her fingers like always.

Of course, that doesn't happen, you're dead after all.

Her eyes catch a glimpse of the bloody knife in her hands, the one that took your life, and she throws it away as if it had tried to bite her.

She bites her lip hard enough to draw blood as she feels something building in her chest.

This isn't right. You weren't done. The fight wasn't done. She didn't win, you're dead but she didn't win.

She used an underhanded trick and the whole duel lost its meaning, this doesn't prove anything so how dare you go and die!?

She grabs the collar of your clothes, knuckles turning white. "Get up!" She screams. "Get up and fight me!" Her words were lost to the storm.

"Why!? Why do I feel like this!?" She demands, but not even a whisper escapes your corpse. "Why did you die!?"

It feels stupid. It is stupid.

She killed you, simple as that, yet the idea of you dead doesn't even feel right.

You acted and fought as if you would live forever, your bright eyes always offering a challenge to her as your weapons would clash.

A sob escapes her lips, her vision begins to blur and her body shakes.

"Why!?" She rests her head on your chest and cries, even when your blood stains her hands or face. "Why did you leave!?"

She thought that seeing you dead at her feet would make her feel better, but all she feels is a whole lot of nothing.

Under a storm, the right hand woman of the Shogun cries and curses at the sky for the cold body of the only other person she had ever considered an equal.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #kujou sara #kujou sara x reader

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i-eat-boyz · 1 month

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This post made me notice throughout the movie Felix is the one who initiates most of the physical contact between them.

Reaching out to him, kissing Oliver's cheek, pulling him close. Just being in his space and closing their proximity physically.

All of Oliver's advances were usually hidden popping his tire to save him. Following him and watching him from dark and corners and shadows and approaching him when the time is right.

I feel as if this shows in a deeper level their roles in their dynamic.

Felix seeks a surface level acquaintance ship with those around him. That's what he was raised around not showing real or at least negative emotions. Getting to know someone truly and becoming friends is seeing the good and the bad and showing it to them in return. Oliver is (to our knowledge) his first glimpse at someone purposely sharing what he deems unsightly in the light. It gives him a sense of being chosen and trusted to see something he himself would never show anyone else. He responds to this in the movie by closing the distance between them more and more physically throughout the movie.

Oliver is more focused on the emotional aspect of their connection. Sharing his "dark past" creating a bond between them. Becoming (in his eyes) the closest person to Felix. Knowing him the best. He leers and lurks in the shadows taking any piece of Felix he can get. He does this still keeping his distance. He knows if he were to show how much he really wanted from him. To show Felix his "True Badness" he would lose him and scare him away. Yet his every attempt to bring them closer is leveraging those negative emotions that Felix is so afraid of. Sympathy, Agitation, Guilt. He packages them in a way that is palatable to Felix.

Felix takes his touches and proximity as a gift. Just by being near him is showing he cares. Letting them be seen together allowing him into his space and taking up his is a sign of affection in itself. You see it in the way he punishes Oliver when he is upset. He immediately puts distance. Sending him away and him out and going to the pub. By his silence at the breakfast table after the 'ventia incident' and him hiding in a corner away from everyone else. His refusal to speak in the car the way he made himself scarce at the birthday party. He takes his very absence as punishment and to Oliver it is.

Oliver cares about Felix (loves) enough to be afraid to scare him away. So he takes what he can takeand steal and hides away to himself in the shadows too scared to physically reach out and be rejected. That is also why I feel as if Oliver's ways of manipulating Ventia and Farleigh are so different. He isn't scared of losing them or reaching out and scaring them away with his intensity and darkness and True Badness. He doesn't care about them. So he uses what he cares about the least to tame them his body.

When his Greatest fear is realized and already happening (losing Felix) he is no longer afraid to reach out to show himself to Felix because what else does he have to lose Felix is already giving him the worst punishment. Sending him away destroying any hope of anything more or lasting between them. So he reached out and showed his true self the real Badness inside of him. He strips himself bare and It's worse than Oliver thought doesn't just reject him he's disgusted, he's afraid. Felix can't stand it chokes on it when it isn't this easy little piece of trauma he can peck at any longer it's something real and it's something dark.

#saltburn #oliver quick #felix catton #felix x oliver #saltburn posting #saltburn movie #cattonquick #farleigh start #venetia catton #felix cattons saviour complex #barry keoghan #jacob elordi #felix Catton is afraid of being seen and seing others in return #felix being the alter which oliver worships #foaming at the mouth

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starseneyes · 1 year

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Chenford REWIND- Lucy Chen / Tim Bradford - The Rookie - Season 2 Ep 10, 11, & 12

This feels like a lot to put into one Meta. But, since I'm chunking these out and taking requests, it makes sense to me. Yes, "Day of Death" is a defining Chenford episode. But I feel like you need the context of what lead up to it and the fallout on the other side to fully understand its impact and discuss it.

SPOILER ALERT: If you don't want to be spoiled, you don't want to read this. While I do write these as though I'm watching the episodes for the first time and try not to let fore-knowledge come into play, I will be spoiling these episodes in their entirety and everything that came before.

All squared away? Alright, lets dive in.

The Dark Side

"The single men in LA suck. Every time I go out on a date, and they find out that I'm a cop, they just get scared off." ... "Look, those aren't men. Those are boys, okay? Real men are not afraid of strong women."

Heck, yeah, they aren't! Lucy, honey, I get that it's tough out there for you, right now. But someday there will be a single man in LA who doesn't suck and isn't afraid of strong women. You'll see.

But right now, you're looking for anyone who isn't a total dud, and I get that.

"...dating a civilian is a bad idea." "I was told dating cops was a mistake. What am I supposed to do, join a nunnery? Sister Office Lucy Chen?"

I'm so glad I wasn't drinking anything the first time I heard this line because there would have been soda everywhere. My husband heard the line over my shoulder and cracked up, too.

And you might be thinking, "Why is she going into all this? Tim and Lucy are nowhere near ready for romance". Welp, I want to show Lucy's mentality in this episode and will explain once we get to 2x11 how it feeds into the situation and the mis-read from Tim.

"Look, no, I'm saying that right now end of shift means leaving the job behind when you go home. But in success, each one of you is gonna catch cases that kick your ass, that consume your every waking thought. And non-cops won't be able to identify. Worse, they're gonna resent you for caring more about the dead than the living."

It's an interesting thought, and for those of us in Season 5, there's a lot to consider, here. I mean, Lucy was cautioned against dating cops, but Isabel and Tim were Rookies and nobody gave him crap about it, from what we know.

Look, I'm not sorry Lucy and Nolan broke up. But, I do think Lucy should consider dating another cop down the line. *cough* Tim *cough*

"Caleb." "Lucy."

It's a chance meeting at the right time. Lucy is on the hunt for a non-mutant man in Los Angeles, and she ends up at the bar with someone who seems semi-safe.

After the conversation she just had with her friends, we can see she really wants to be with someone.

"I was in college when they found the first victims. It was all anyone talked about. That, and how could a woman be so barbaric." "I worked one of the scenes, fourth victim, Lisa Cruz. Homicide detectives warned me not to look at the body. Should've listened."

I love how they're speaking to one another so openly about the whole thing. There's an ease to how they're walking side-by-side that feels lived-in. Yes, he's still her TO, but this is a glimpse at the other side of him—the one that knows how to have a conversation without screaming or scheming.

"Caleb, from the bar last night... I hope this isn't weird, but you left with your perp before I had a chance to ask for your number."

Tim is giving this guy the side-eye. Look, we are nowhere near romance for this pair, but Tim has come to care about Lucy. He wouldn't call her a friend, yet, but they're definitely on their way.

And Lucy's picking up on Tim's hovering, but I don't think either of them could pick up on the why. My husband swooped in to offer his opinion that Tim picked up bad vibes, but wrote it off because it made him look jealous. I don't think he's far off.

I think Tim was being a little protective. Not necessarily because of romance (everything with Isabelle is very fresh at this point). But, while Lucy is still his "Boot", she is crossing that line more and more towards "friend". Tim cares about what happens with Lucy.

He's trying to watch out for her, but she doesn't want a chaperone. For goodness sake, she's a grown woman, right?

"We don't call them perps." "Right, sorry. Anyway, this is my number. If you ever feel like waiting in vain for a drink, give me a call."

Tim Bradford with the save!! He snatches that tiny piece of paper so fast the camera barely catches it. That's a super hero, my friends.

"You got a last name, Caleb?" "Yes sir. Wright with a W." "What do you do? If you say screenwriter, you're going in a cell."

Lucy's horrified. This might be the worst thing Tim has ever done, in her mind.

Remember, at this point everything with Tim is a test. Everything could be used as subterfuge, and she can't trust what's he's going to do with the information he's gathering.

"I manage a medical supply company downtown." "I'm sorry about him. Things are a little crazy right now." "No problem. It was nice meeting you. Officer."

Tim gives her a "can you believe that guy" look, but she has that same energy directed at him. Tim's surprised by that. He really thought she'd appreciate him looking out for her.

She holds out her hand for her piece of paper, and Tim hands it over as she mouths, "Oh my god".

"Ten bucks that isn't even his dog." "It's been an awful day. Can't I just enjoy a cute puppy?"

Tim's getting a look into how Lucy unwinds and relaxes. All day, she's been sneaking glimpses at Caleb's socials to get a feel for him, and it's helping distract her from the no-good day.

Tim of this era hasn't yet learned how to help Lucy talk through things. But he has learned that Lucy and distractions work well for moderating her panic.

Think of the episode with the nuclear bomb and how they spent the whole episode talking about how to sabotage her ex's wedding. Distraction helps her.

"If I can be wheels up in the next 10 minutes, I might beat the afternoon traffic which means I will be in bed in the next hour."

I love how conversational they're being here. You can already tell the lines of TO and friend are starting to blur.

"That's a mistake." "What? Why?" "Look, after working a hardcore assignment like this, you need to go blow off some steam after shift. You know, give your brain a different focus. It's the only way you have a fighting chance of actually sleeping."

This isn't a Tim Test. He's trying to give her advice. Keep this in mind, my friends. It'll come back.

"As my Training Officer, are you saying that I should go get a drink?" "A strong one. Maybe even with another human."

Tim is really trying to do the right thing, here. He snatched away Caleb's phone number earlier, but Lucy's been cyber-stalking him all day and she looks interested.

"Well, I am here to distract you."

I swear I didn't remember that line when I wrote the part above about Lucy needing a distraction.

And we all know that what started as a distracting night led to a nightmare for Lucy.

Before we move on, I want to talk a little bit about Season 2 Tim and Lucy. I know a lot of people love what DOD does for Chenford in terms of progression. But I argue it doesn't cause the shift, but only expedites it.

Look at Tim in this episode, for example. He's downright conversational and friendly with Lucy. Yes, he tells her to get her head in the game instead of looking at Caleb. Yes, he teases her about her first Decomp, but that's the extent of it.

He talks with her openly and honestly about Rosalind. He tries to protect her from Caleb when he thinks the guy's just an unworthy suitor. He tries to give her advice at the end that isn't attached to any "lesson" but simply sharing what he's learned.

Frankly, I think that's what Lucy expected in a TO—someone to talk her through and give her sage advice. And then she got Tim.

Tim doesn't hand out advice willy-nilly. He's a "show" guy, right? Same thing with how he teaches. He's not much of a "talker" with Lucy when it comes to her training. He's trying to get her to think for herself by putting her through her paces.

But this whole episode, he's talking to her. Heck, he's talking with her. Tim doesn't make friends with his Boots, but Lucy is becoming the exception. They aren't there, yet, but they're on their way.

If we look at this episode separated from DOD (if we can), you can see that Tim and Lucy are already moving towards friends. The events of DOD expedites it, I argue, but they would have eventually gotten there on their own. Tim and Lucy are inevitable.

Day of Death

"My day of death."

The pain of a tattoo. The hangover of whatever drugs he gave her. The inability to move her limbs or fight back. Trying to take note of her surroundings, of anything that might be helpful if she can get away.

And that horrible fear that she won't.

"Sergeant."

It takes Harper two seconds to clock the conversation between the men, and she's the first to jump on it. Why? We'll get to that next episode.

"Lucy did not come home last night. She's not responding to texts or calls." "Did she go out with that guy? The one she met at the bar. Caleb Wright with a W."

He remembers it clearly, but he's trying not to panic. After all, his first date with Rachel was *ahem* memorable. Maybe Lucy moves at that same pace?

"Lucy doesn't do one-night stands." "And she's never late."

Her friends know her well, and Grey's smart enough to run with it. Let's be real, there are scenarios where a Sergeant might not listen, might not take it seriously, might not actually do anything.

This is television, and we're not going to let Lucy Chen go quietly into that good night. But it hits me so hard that there are so many cases where alarm bells are rung and left unanswered.

"Why are you doing this?"

Lucy's trying to keep her head in the game. That's what Tim told her to do last episode, right? Keep your head in the game.

"It's for you. To force you to face the truth of your death. It's the gift of something we rarely get in life—clarity."

Fuck you. I'm sorry. Lucy's thinking it and it needed to be said.

"... we believe Caleb is Rosalind's protege, and he took Officer Chen."

The news slams into Tim. And nobody else in the room sees it or knows why. He doesn't even wait to be dismissed. He rushes out of the room, phone dialing before he makes it through the door.

Because this is too much for him to handle. Tim has tried to handle a lot of things on his own. He's famous for isolating himself and trying to pretend he's fine. But this time he calls his best friend. Because he can't do this alone.

"Lucy's been taken. I need you." "On my way."

"Lucy". Not "Chen". Because in his mind, Lucy is already becoming more than a Boot. No, we're not talking romance, here. We're talking friendship. Kinship. Someone he cares about.

Tim Bradford has a very short list, so the fact that his Rookie is close to making the list is significant. But I'm not one who thinks Tim's romantically interested in her all the way back in Season 2. This thing's grown organically over time, though I'd argue DOD gave it a push, as did certain other episodes covered in Future Metas.

"Look, I know I haven't known Lucy as long as the rest of you, but I do know that she's a fighter."

Hell, yeah, our queen is!

"She's gonna do everything she can to stay alive until we save her."

And she does. She fights like hell and does everything she can to survive. But she's weak. She's lethargic. She's drugged. And she's isolated. Utterly alone.

Imagine that moment of fighting your way out, hoping that there'll be someone to hear your voice, to come to your aid, to get the help you so desperately need... and there's no one.

How much of the fight can you keep alive when you realize how little chance you have of surviving?

"... I can't just sit here."

Here's more of a "show" guy. And there's nobody to show.

"I'm fine. Just blowing off steam."

What he told Lucy to do. What he thought would be safe. What he thought would be relaxing. What he thought would be distracting. What he thought would be fun.

He's not blowing off steam. He's a pressurized gasket ready to explode.

"I get it, but you gotta get your head in the game." "I don't need a pep talk." "Then why'd you call me? Clearly you need to get something off your chest."

Tim forgets the power of words, sometimes. We see it a lot through the season. Maybe it's because he never learned how to use them growing up.

FAST FORWARD: We're a ways away from Season 4 and Tim's backstory episodes that help illuminate just how bad it was for him. Tim's father didn't use words. He used his fists. His mother likely didn't use words, either. They didn't talk about what he went through. He never learned to express himself that way. It takes someone coaxing it out of him, and right now that's his best friend.

"She wanted to go home. Okay? Go to bed. I told her that she should focus on something else. She went out with Caleb because I told her to."

And he's carrying the weight of that guilt. It's too heavy for him to bear. Tim Bradford has carried too many weights, and this one is too much. Did he doom his Rookie to die?

"You couldn't have known."

Angela's whole attitude shifts (how could it not?) because Tim Bradford is expressing emotions with his best friend. And that is huge and this whole thing is horrible.

"But I should have. I'm a cop. I was standing this close to the guy, okay? Right across from him and I never saw him coming. But she did, though. She... Some part of her didn't feel right about this whole thing. She hesitated. And I pushed her right at him."

He's wrong. It has to be said that Lucy might not have gone out with Caleb that night, but it could have been another night. Tim only thinks this because of his own guilt, his own pain, his own frustrations with himself for not being Super Cop.

Lucy wanted to go out with this guy. Maybe she wouldn't have gone out that night without the push. But Caleb was a serial killer, and would've put her on his list sooner or later... and more women would have died in the meantime. It's not Tim's fault any more than it's Lucy's.

He thinks he failed Lucy, but this isn't a situation where you can predict every move. We're not going to victim-blame here. We're not going to point fingers.

Because minus the serial killer plot, this shit happens every day. Around the world, there are people whose drinks are spiked, people who are abducted, people who have their choice and consent ripped from them.

And it's not the victim's fault in any way. And it's not the fault of a friend who suggested they have a fun night out. It's no one's fault but the asshole who perpetrated the crime.

Getting off my soap box, here, now, to get back to the Meta. But watching Tim go through this reminds me of how I still struggle with blaming myself for a friend of mine OD'ing because I didn't reach out to them that night.

What if I'd reached out? What if I hadn't ignored their vague Facebook post thinking that I'd only be adding to their frustrations and that they needed the night to cool off? Would they still be here if I'd commented? Or sent them a message? I'm a state away, so I couldn't reasonably drive... but could I have done something that would have meant they'd still be here?

I know I can't blame myself. But there are some days I still struggle with it. Because she's gone. And I'll never ever know if I could have helped. Cognitively, I know it's not my fault. I couldn't have done anything, but there's that part of you that still thinks... you made the wrong call, and if you'd called it the other way, it might be different, now.

"If I get that away from you, it's going right in your brain."

She kept her head in the game. She's up against life and death, here, and she's at the disadvantage. But she's a fucking fighter. Look, we know that Lucy is tough. This is something else entirely. She's staring down the murderer who wants to hear her scream, who wants to soak up her agony, who wants to get her to crumble.

And Lucy Chen's standing up to that asshole with the ultimate, "Fuck You" by not giving in.

She must want to cry. She must want to scream. But Lucy Chen is a fighter, and she's not going down easy.

Lucy Leaves a Clue

It's a long shot. It's such a bloody long shot. But she has to try. Lucy truly believes that she will be found, long shot as it is.

And that hope can be a powerful thing. Caleb tried to wield it against her, but he's no match for her.

"Any last words?" "Yeah. You're gonna be dead long before I am."

Damn right, Lucy Chen. Damn right.

"Now, I am responsible for a life that is in jeopardy, and I will do whatever I have to to save her."

And he means it. Watch Jackson's surprise to see Tim Bradford slam a guy's head against the horn. Because Tim's unhinged, here. Someone he cares about has been taken, and he doesn't give a damn what happens to him or his career.

He'll let it all fall if it means Lucy survives.

FAST FORWARD: We talk a lot about how Tim makes sacrifices for Lucy where his career is concerned. And while in later seasons it becomes their thing, I think in this case he'd have done it for any of his few friends. We later see him risk it all for Angela when she's kidnapped, too. Tim has a separate code for his friends. And Lucy's falling more under it over time. Again not romantic... yet.

"There can be charges in here that lead us to Caleb."

Did you clock that brief smile? Before Jackson walks up, Tim thinks they're at a dead end. Lucy's lost. She's gone. And he'll never get to atone for his mistake.

Jackson brings a sliver of light and hope, and it's enough that Tim actually briefly grins. It's not over, yet.

"Stars shining bright above you..."

The song. Lucy's song to keep herself calm and regulate her breathing. Yes, not talking would have been better, but she needs this. She needs light and life and love. Something bright to pierce the darkness.

Her oxygen is running low, and she's having more trouble breathing, more trouble seeing a way out. The last thing she's going to give that bastard is the satisfaction of watching her scream.

And Melissa O'Neil is breaking my heart. Acting-wise, she is literally in a barrel. There's no one to react off of. There's no one feeding her lines.

It's just Lucy in a barrel, and it's up to the actress to make us feel. No cool camera angles. No sweeping score. Melissa O'Neil had to carry us through this and she did it masterfully.

Yes, the Writers decided to have her singing this song. The script, or a Director or Editor decided to strip the rest of the sound from the overlapping visuals (there's a lot of playing with sound and its impact in this episode that's jaw-droppingly beautiful).

But Melissa O'Neil is the one who has to make us believe it. And we do.

A Glint of Light

Tim's eyes scan the miles of land, looking for some sign of disturbance to clue him in on Lucy's location. But it's something that doesn't belong that grabs his attention—something that literally catches the light of the sun and draws Tim in. Her ring.

He picks it up, still uncertain, but following the clue. A few kicks and... a thunk.

"I've got her! I've got her!"

Tim starts digging in the ground with his bare hands, the grit getting under his fingernails, the dust getting into his lungs. He registers the others, but only barely. He has to get to Lucy.

The ground gives way enough to reach the lid. Tim's hands are all over it, Nyla on one side and Jackson on the other. When they can finally see her, Tim asks for help as they pull her out. But he hovers, staying close, being certain he is the one to make sure she's alive.

Because if she's dead, it's on him.

Look, we know Tim didn't do anything wrong. But Tim Bradford carries a lot of scars and blames himself for a lot of things he shouldn't. And if he can't get to her in time, if he pulls her out and she's truly gone... he can never atone for this.

She's not breathing. Tim blows into her mouth and starts pumping on her chest. The sound drains from the world... just the discordant notes sounding off and echoing like the dying hope of Lucy surviving.

Lucy gasps, and the sound returns to the world. Each person takes a breath of relief. But then the sound zeroes in only on two people—Lucy and Tim.

"You're so strong," he murmurs, soft enough for her to hear, but no one else. But she doesn't hear anything. It's too much. It's all too fucking much. The sobs she'd held in before finally spill out as Tim pulls her close, holding her tight.

He thought he'd lost her. And, again, there's no romance here. But she matters, damnit. She matters to Tim more than he thought she would when they first met. He presses a hand to her hair, pushing his face next to hers.

It screams "I'm here. I'm here." Because in his mind, he is the one who failed her and it had to be him to save her. He owed it to her. He was responsible for her. He fucked up.

And it almost cost her her life.

Again, I don't think that. But Tim does. He truly believes he's the one who failed her. And when you have very few people in your life who care about you (and Lucy has demonstrated many times that she does care about Tim), you don't want to do anything to lose that.

But Tim believes he almost lost Lucy because he wasn't good enough. It plays so much into his childhood trauma, his trauma with his ex-wife, and everything else. Tim thinks he failed.

She doesn't cling to him, no. Her hands shake and her body convulses from the pain. But she lets him hold her there, back in the air, out of her barrel.

Tim isn't her person, yet. But she cares about him, and she knows deep down that he cares about her. She even told Rachel about his good heart.

But her not holding him is completely appropriate to the moment. It's not about him. This is about her. Her trauma. Her survival. Lucy's breaking in this moment. She spent so much time keeping her head in the game, and now she's finally releasing all the anguish she refused to show Caleb.

And she is safe in Tim's arms to fall apart.

I knew from the Pilot that Eric Winter was a tour-de-force. But in this episode we see so many damn layers. And Tim's relief at holding her in his arms at the end instead of cradling her corpse is palpable.

The way this scene is shot and performed and the sound... it all puts us in the moment. We are right there with them, and it's one of my favorite scenes of the entire series.

Here in the barren waste of sand and silence... there's life.

"Hmm. What are you reading, Teen Rebel?"

She wakes up to see Tim there, waiting. He hasn't slept. He hasn't left. We know that. He's spent the past 24 hours feeling completely responsible for Lucy, and it's not easy to leave the side of the person who you pushed yourself to save.

And the first thing she says to him isn't about what she's survived, or even about him finding her. It's about the damn magazine. And it's perfect.

After what she's survived, Lucy needs something familiar. And Tim is pretty damn familiar in her life.

Before we get too much further... I want to call out the lengths Tim went to save Lucy.

FAST FORWARD: We haven't yet reached, "Some things matter more". But Tim's already showing that in action. He's a "show" guy, remember?

Tim was willing to do whatever it took to save her. He would put it all on the line, and that's because he cares about her. No, they're not ripping one another's clothes off. It's Season 2, she's his Boot, and he doesn't even acknowledge friendship with her, yet.

But she is becoming his friend. She's becoming one of the very few people that Tim Bradford will upend the world for.

"They actually have some really insightful political articles."

Watch how fast that man wheeled his little chair over to her side. It makes me giggle with glee.

"Oh, which BTS member is your soulmate. Gotta be Suga, right?" "Totally. What's a BTS?"

Lucy laughs. Probably her first good laugh in days. And it's with Tim. Hardass, Tim Test, never-lets-up Tim.

"Have you been here all night?" "No. Mmhm. No." "Mmhmm."

Because TO Tim can't show that he cares. Not yet. I mean, he's never felt this friendly toward a Boot, and he can't go soft on her when she still has so far to go before crossing the finish line.

Remember, Tim likes rules and staying within them—whether they're the rules set out for him by a superior or the ones he's created for himself. Counting Lucy a friend is outside the lines. But much as he might try to deny it, he's showing it.

He's used to giving his Rookies what he thinks they need, and with Lucy, it's most often tough love and some manipulative tests. For him to break through his own wall of separating personal life from professional life is too much. So, he lies.

But Lucy can see right through him. Strangely, she's always had that power.

"How did you find me?"

Nolan interrupts the moment. Damnit, Nolan! But we'll all get to that later... next episode.

There's a reason I wanted to do these three together. Look, this show is still basically a Procedural at its heart with some continuous story lines. But these three episodes feel more serial than a lot of the show, and because of that, I think the whole picture is required to ascertain its meaning.

"He is a she and she is going to sleep in my bed since I am clearly never going on a date, again."

We started this whole trilogy with Lucy considering a nunnery. And, again, I think this calls attention to what it's like to be a single woman in the world. Yes, assaults can happen to anyone.

But as a woman, I can tell you I never get anything to drink but water when I'm out with my friends. I never leave my drink unattended. And a male friend always walks me to my car. Theater kids go out a lot to bars (like, after every rehearsal), so there was a season in my life where this was a nightly ritual. Trying to stay safe out there.

So, if Lucy doesn't want to ever date again after her ordeal, I don't bloody blame her, and neither do her best friend, past fling, and future husband.

"You hungry?"

Sometimes I swear this man is part Jewish mother. If you Fast Forward in the series, you see he's always trying to feed this woman.

And, yes, I'm saying this from experience. There was an old saying that if you wanted a lot more food from my Great-Aunt Mary, you said you wanted a little. If you wanted a little, you said you wanted none. And if you wanted none, you hid your plate.

"Yeah. I'm starving. You know what I really wanna eat right now?" "Veggie burger and fries. Extra pickles."

Awwwww! Remember in 2x01 when she sent him food? "You shouldn't have done that." "Well, I wanted to. And eating well is crucial to a fast recovery."

He's using the lessons he learned from her as an act of love. Again, not romantic love. But love, nonetheless.

"You know me so well." "Too well."

Look at those smiles. Alright, y'all, I'll admit those smiles put butterflies in my stomach, too.

And the fact that the director chose to take us off of the wide shot so we only saw Tim and Lucy for these last few lines. Because this is about them.

Tim is caring about Lucy far more than he should. And he's growing aware of that. But the nature of this episode makes it impossible for him to shove it down entirely. He writes it off as concern and guilt, and doesn't realize he's been slowly letting Lucy into his circle of friends.

But if we talk about who really knows Lucy in this scene? It's Tim.

Jackson brought pretty flowers, which are nice, but will die. Nolan brought the most giant, pink bear. She's cute, but eventually she'll disappear from Lucy's life because her next boyfriend's not going to want to share the bed with a pink stuffy (unless he's into that... no judgment).

Tim. Brought. Her. Food. Yes, it'll be gone pretty quickly. But I can tell you after not being allowed to eat for both my deliveries of my three kids, I was famished. Lucy hasn't eaten in days, and she wants something filling and comforting. Tim brought her the exact order she wanted without her having to ask.

As much as he tries to separate professional and personal, Lucy's blurring those lines. To me, the Season 1 finale was really the start of that. And Tim bites back against that as much as he can in Season 2 (even treating Lucy like shit because she didn't report him for suicidal ideation).

But this trilogy of episodes breaks down that wall further. Yes, he's still her TO and he's still not going to think of her as a friend. But S2-3 is where that really comes together. They were already on their way, but with these events, he softens towards her in a way he never anticipated.

We get to see him soft throughout the series with "his people". But at this point, he's not yet ready to admit Lucy is one of them. It's outside his standard operating procedure for Rookies.

But, despite his protests, he's making a friend. The kind of friend that sticks. The kind of friend that doesn't leave. The kind of friend that loves with abandon.

And someday, someday, she might become more than that. But right now, he's not even ready to admit she's a friend... but, damn, our "show" guy really showed it.

I really want to call out the coloration and choices of this episode. When Lucy first wakes up on the table (with no establishing shot, so we're as clueless to how isolated she is, just as she is), everything i s tripped back. Melissa O'Neil's makeup is stripped down and we can see her pores.

The first time I watched that scene I thought, "Wow, they really stripped out all the color". There's something about the harshness of yellows, beiges, and browns on their own that evoke old Westerns. That sense of isolation, famine, and drought.

Lucy's world is often so vibrant that the stark shift helps us feel the anxiety with her. There's nothing bright or beautiful about this world. Only de-saturated hopelessness.

Now and Then

Lucy In The Mirror

Lucy's wounds have healed. Her wrists are free of the tie marks. Her face is free of the cuts and bruises. But the tattoo remains. She can hear the sound of the tattoo gun in her mind.

Yes, Lucy has many tattoos, but those were of her choosing. This was another violation—something inflicted upon her. Lucy tries covering up, but the foundation sticks to her shirt.

And, yes, there are makeups out there that can cover up tattoos. Being the daughter of a makeup artist, I know way too much about it and have seen mother in action covering an entire chest full of tattoos for a shoot. That's not the point.

The point of this scene is to remind us (and Lucy) that this can't be covered up. It's on her. It's permanent unless she has it burned off.

"When can she have it removed?" "Four weeks. Two days. Nine hours."

Her mind is on it all the time. She knows it down to the hour. Doesn't sound like someone who's healed to me. But, duh. That's the whole point of the episode.

"Hey, so what's your plan?" "For what?" "Officer Chen. I'm sure you've got some Alpha strategy to get her back on the horse, so, what is it?"

Let's be real. Tim would be Tim, but he wasn't going to be his harshest self on her first day back. He wouldn't be capable of it. But Nyla doesn't know that.

"So basically get her into as many fights as possible." "I'm gonna remind her that she's a cop, not a victim." "She knows that she's not a victim. Look, Chen doesn't need to fight. She needs to make peace with the voice inside of her head telling her she's never gonna be safe again."

I wish someone had asked Lucy. Looking at this situation, they're both coming at it from the wrong angle for Lucy. Tim's going for how he processes and Nyla's going for how she does. Neither of them asks Lucy what she needs.

Look, these are characters who are going to do what's in-character. For the scene and the arc, this has to go this way. But as a person who has had a lifetime of people thinking they know what I need and making it a thousand times worse, I have a personal response to this.

But in character? Both Tim and Nyla want what's best for Lucy and think they're the one to give it to her.

"Okay, I've been training Rookies a lot longer than you. I know what she needs." "That's ego talking. What happened to Chen is every woman's worst fear." "I'm aware of that." But you have never lived that fear."

That stops Tim. Because she's right. Part of Tim's arc in Season 1 and 2 with Lucy by his side is discovering his subconscious biases. She forces him to think beyond what he thinks he knows.

And here, he's facing that even without Lucy present. Because she's opening up his mind to seeing past his own limited perspective.

"It's clear that you have her best interests at heart. I am just asking you to consider whether she might be better served by someone who has been through what she has been through."

This is a lot for Nyla to offer. A woman's experiences are not owed to anyone. But she chooses to give him this insight into why she really believes she's the best person to help Lucy through.

And Tim's listening. He's really listening to what she's saying.

"And that someone's you." *nods* "Okay. I'll tell Grey to make the switch."

I love Eric Winter's choices on this. He's reacting not only to the information that Nyla just shared, knowing that she doesn't want apologies or empty words from him. He didn't do it. But he's sorry it happened. He's face to face with someone in uniform who, like Lucy, thought they were safe with someone when they weren't.

And he's thinking of Lucy. The last thing he wants to do is hurt her, to make this harder, to set her back.

Lucy At Roll Call

She pauses outside the room. Much as she wants to get back at it, this is a point-of-no-return morning. She doesn't want special treatment. She doesn't want weird glances. She doesn't want whispered words.

She doesn't want the damn applause.

"Congratulations you survived but you're branded by a serial killer and still processing the emotional trauma and we want you know that we are all talking about you, and looking at you, and thinking about you."

Damn it.

"Welcome back, Officer Chen. How're you feeling? Can't wait to get on the streets, sir, just get back to normal." "We're going to mix things up a bit. You're going to be riding with Harper this week."

What. The. Fuck!? Lucy just said that she wants to go back to normal. Riding with Nyla is not normal.

Lucy looks back to Tim for confirmation and he nods. But she's still confused. She's on-edge. She didn't expect to come back to work straight into a Tim Test, and that's what this feels like.

Everything that she wanted for transitioning back to work is going wrong.

"I'm not interested in chasing tame calls today."

Because Tim needs to process his way. Look, he in no way went through what Lucy did. Not at all. But he's still carrying his guilt and frustrating, and he needs to channel that into something he can do.

Tim is a man of action, and since he can't take action to help Lucy through her re-acclimation, he's going to do what he needs to do to distract him from worrying about her—his job.

"So why the switch?" "Tim felt you'd be better served riding with me." "Yeah, right. This has to be some kind of elaborate Tim Test that he roped you into." "Do I strike you as someone who could get roped into anything? Especially by Bradford?"

Note the switch from "Tim" to "Bradford". Nyla was trying to keep it conversational at the beginning, but the second Lucy calls out perceived pliability, Nyla snaps back to put Lucy in her place.

"Fair enough. So, I'll ask you again, why the switch?" "I convinced him that I would have more insight into what you were going through and could therefore be more helpful to your re-integration onto the streets."

Look how Lucy recoils. Much as Lucy loves talking things out, she doesn't want to talk about this. She doesn't want to have to think about what she's been through while she's out here. She wants normal.

"Did you go on a date with a serial killer, too?" "Uh, no." "Well, then I'm not sure how much help you'd be. But it's fine, 'cause I don't need any help. I've already worked through the trauma using both cognitive and exposure therapy combined with mindful breathing and Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing. So, it's, it's fine."

Of course, we know Lucy's far from fine. But this isn't what she wanted. She didn't want to have special treatment. She didn't want to be pulled from working with Tim. Frustrating as he is, he's familiar. That's normal.

And Lucy's gone through all the Psychological steps she thinks will help her be fine. It's her blind spot, truly. Because she seems to think there's a point where you're just "fine" and don't need to process anymore.

No, that trauma will come up, again, we know. But right now she doesn't want to face it. She's trying to pretend her way to being fine.

"Need backup for a felony car stop." "You sure?" "Hell, yeah."

Everyone's surprised to hear her voice. But she wants to get back at it. She doesn't want to feel different. It's bad enough what she has to deal with in her head. At the Station, she's a Rookie, yeah, but she's a cop.

And the more I look at this episode the more it feels like Lucy and Tim have traded spots for a day. Normally, Tim's the one who doesn't want to talk and would rather bury himself in the job. And Lucy's usually the one second-guessing.

But Tim second-guessed himself this morning and let Nyla have Lucy. And everyone wants Lucy to talk, but she'd rather get in the action.

"You want me to do the paperwork?" "Oh, nope."

Tim always has Lucy do the paperwork. She wants to do what's familiar, what's natural, what's practiced. "Please let me be normal".

"That was a nice job out there." "Thanks." "So you're just not gonna let me help you at all." "I don't need any help."

Look, we all know that she does, but not like this. Nyla wants so badly to help Lucy, but if Lucy isn't ready, trying to push her like this isn't going to change anything. It's going to push her further inward.

"Did you get the flowers we sent?" "And the basket. Thank you."

Lucy really has some lovely people in her life. And look at her genuine appreciation for Abigail, here. Baskets are one of Lucy's love languages, and she nailed it.

"What the hell is this? I let you run around with Harper for half the day and you start hugging people on duty?" "Don't listen to him. He's all bark."

Tim is being his grumpy-ass self and Lucy's smiling like the sunshine that she is. This is what she thought she'd have today. This rhythm to which she's already grown accustomed.

Yes, Tim gets under her skin and pisses her off. But she knows him. She's used to him. The Tim Tests come when she least expects it, but she knows to expect that.

While there are many mysteries left to this man, he's been her biggest constant during her Rookie year. And it's nice to get to talk to him.

"All bark? She is not buying what you're selling." "Because I don't hold her fate in my hands."

They're teasing. We're to the point in their relationship where they can tease one another, and you can see how comfortable Lucy is in this.

Apart from the action, this is the most comfortable we've seen her all episode.

"Heard you dodged some bullets." "Yeah, a few. What, are you keeping tabs on me?"

The discomfort is back. Because even Tim Fucking Bradford is acting different around her. There's a softness to him that she's never seen before directed at her. Yes, she's seen it... but not with those eyes directed her way.

"Look, if you need anything, you let me know."

Finally, someone asks what she needs. All day, people (including Tim) have been making assumptions about what she needs. But here Tim is truly putting her first and trying to see if there's anything he can really do.

"You got a time machine?" "I wish I did."

Because he'd go back and take back the decision that fed her to the lion. Yes, we all know it's not Tim's fault. But he still feels like it is. And this is what Lucy really wishes she had—not some remedy or quick fix... that it never happened.

"You're not gonna shower?" "Uh, I'm gonna do it a home."

Because she doesn't want the stares. She doesn't want the questions. She doesn't want the reminder.

She's wearing concealer under her shirt because she doesn't want to see the thing. And she's tired of the comments and special treatment. Lucy wants to go back to normal.

Now, we can already see from this episode that "normal" isn't really possible. Relationships have shifted. Lucy is not the same woman she was before. Yes, she'll open up parts of her that shut down over time, but she'll never be who she was before that night of carefree drinks gone wrong.

But that's what Lucy wants in this moment. Normalcy.

"Oh, but you're not going home."

The hell?! She was just abducted and now you won't let her go home? Sorry, but that was my gut reaction watching this.

"We have plans. Girls' Night." "Oh, I get it. You've seen that I'm find on the job, but you're still not convinced." "We just thought it would be fun." ... "It's... you guys have just never asked me out before."

Think of how happy Lucy was that she was getting invited to something normal!? And with these two bad-ass women!

Lucy spends so much of her time in the first two seasons with Jackson and Nolan that we rarely get to see her with the other women of the Station.

She was going to get to have a night out with two women she trusts—something safe. And she had just relaxed into that when they pulled this shit.

Look, I'm salty at these two. I love Nyla and Angela's my number three on the show. But this was a terrible idea. Nyla was critical of Tim throwing her into work, but she's throwing her into the dating pool.

And it's no wonder Lucy was triggered. She isn't ready to date, again. And that's fine. She should be able to get out there when she is ready.

But we all experience the world through out unique lenses and experiences. And a very real mistake we make is assuming because I need it this way, you do, too.

I have twin sons. When they were 9 months old, a friend handed down a toy to us. You throw a ball into the toy and it makes a noise. Ta-da! One child giggled uncontrollable. They other screamed and broke down in sobs.

Different people react differently. They need different coping mechanisms. They need different healing paths. When we try too hard to homogenize treatment, we miss the opportunity for true healing.

And part of the problem here is the utter lack of communication. Nyla has hinted to Tim what she went through, but she hasn't given Lucy any indication.

Now, Nyla doesn't owe Lucy her story. But she has chosen to help Lucy, and it would be a helluva lot easier to get through to Lucy if she communicated with her.

"Hey, Lucy had a bit of a moment last night when we were out."

Tim. Is. Pissed. Angela can tell that's all it took for him to be ready to go into Tim-Mode on someone's ass.

"It's not a big deal. She's fine." "What the hell is Harper doing?" "Helping. Don't get all 'Tim' on me. I just thought you should know." "Lucy's okay?" "She will be." "Alright. Thanks for letting me know."

Angela is the only one who knows about Tim's guilt. She's the only one who knows the weight he's been carrying, blaming himself for what happened to Lucy. She's the only one to know he has a growing soft spot for her.

So she does the right thing and gives him a heads-up.

And note how it's always "Lucy" when he's talking with Angela in these episodes. With Nolan, it's "Chen" because Nolan is not Tim's friend. But Angela's his best friend, and he can let his guard down a little when it comes to her.

Nyla Shares Her Tale

We already said that Nyla doesn't owe anyone her story. But by keeping it from Lucy, Lucy was pushing her away. She truly thought it was another outsider with outside opinions trying to force her to be okay.

Hearing Nyla's story, she is finally able to see her differently. There's a beat right after Lucy says, "I'm so sorry," where Melissa O'Neil shifts her gaze from cynical to sisterly—Lucy sees herself in Nyla.

For the first time since she's gotten out of that barrel, there's someone who isn't an outsider who truly wants to help.

"I shut down. I didn't even tell my husband. I kept telling myself that I would deal with it when I was ready." "But with every passing week it just got worse." "Maybe I pushed you too hard last night. But I know what it is like when you do not face things head-on."

Look how Lucy has shifted. Because Nyla can relate. Lucy was pushing so hard against her from the get-go that she missed the signs on this.

She was so focused on pushing everyone away and keeping everyone out that she missed that Nyla wasn't another outsider looking in with "expert" opinions on something they know nothing about. Nyla really does know.

"You and Chen are close, right?"

"I used to be inside her on the regular, so, yeah." I'm sorry. I had to. It was the first thing that popped into my head when I watched the scene.

"How's she doing? I mean, really doing?"

Because Tim is in his phase of needing to know how Lucy is, but not being the one "in the know". He's still her TO, and going directly to her for information is outside his code. But he can't help worrying. Lucy matters to him.

"She's good. Really. I think she'll be better once she gets that tattoo removed. Can you imagine that? Walking around every day branding by the worst thing that's ever happened to you? " "You think because it's physical, it's worse? Tragedies always leave scars. Only some of them you can see."

Again, this is about perspective. Some people are visual learners. Some are auditory. Some learn by doing.

I have a weird quirk of my brain that a memory is stronger for me if I can see a photo of it. Yes, I have other memories, but I can almost transport back to the moments in my photo albums since I've had decent memory. Visuals are important for me.

To Tim, it doesn't matter if it's visual or not. But Lucy might be different. Seeing that every day might mean more to her than it does to him. He's not considering that.

Seriously, as a former Communications student (two degrees in it), this episode is a masterclass in personal bias and intrapersonal vs interpersonal communication. In the moments of actual connection there's communication that's clear and concise.

Throughout the episode, everyone is making choices that are complicating matters. They're trying to do what's right, but they're doing it without clarity.

Nyla gets through to Lucy best when she talks to the woman in an open and honest manner. Same with Tim, later.

But, I'm skipping ahead...

A Punching Bag

Remember how I said Tim and Lucy have switched places this episode? In the same place where Lucy once offered Tim perspective (on his learning disability) and a gift (the book on tape), Tim will have his moment.

Lucy wipes her face without thinking, and Tim gets a glimpse of the tattoo. It flusters Lucy as she turns. She doesn't want to talk about it.

He's come down here for a reason. After spending all day asking others about her, he needs to see her for himself.

He wants to say something, too, but he's second-guessing. Ever since he pushed her toward a serial killer, he's been second-guessing where she's concerned.

"You got no quit in you, do you, Boot?" "No, sir. I get that from you." "I don't think so. You walked in the door this way. It's what makes you so aggravating."

He's teasing her. This is their rhythm. They've found it and they've earned it, and she's been stripped from it when she really wanted something familiar.

"I'm taking that as a compliment." "It was meant to be. You have a good night." "Yeah, you, too."

Tim turns to go, shoving his hands in his pockets. As he does, his fingers graze the ring... her ring. The ring he's been carrying around because it's tangible. It's something he can hold onto and remind himself that it's true—Lucy lived.

He turns around, no longer second-guessing. He has something to say, and he can only hope she hears him.

"You know, I got half a dozen scars. Bullet wounds, knife wounds, broken bottle. Then there's the ones you can't see, Isabel's addiction, a dad who would tune me up on the regular. And whether I like it or not, they're a part of me."

I can't remember him talking this openly about the trauma of Isabel's addiction before. But, he's in the Lucy role, today. He's talking things out while she's taking it out on a punching bag.

"I know what you're trying to do. And I appreciate it, but this is different. I was tattooed by a sadist who etched my day of death into my skin." "Okay, but you didn't die. Okay? You lived. And now he's the one in the ground."

Lucy sighs, because here's another outsider telling her what to do and how to feel.

"I'm not trying to tell you what to do with it. Okay? Burn it off, keep it, whatever gives you peace."

That's a little better. Lucy starts listening at that. Because, everyone's trying to push her in a direction, and he makes it clear that that's not his intention. He's not trying to push her to do or be anything.

"All I'm trying to do is give you some hard-won perspective."

If this was Pee Wee's Playhouse, we'd all have to scream because "Perspective" is the word of the day. Because each person's perspective has been an obstacle, today. Each person's perspective has been a roadblock.

But Tim's being very clear that he's offering only that—his Perspective. And, remember, Lucy cares very much what Tim thinks of her. She cares how he sees her. She doesn't want to let him down.

"You can choose to see that tattoo as your greatest failure. But I see it as proof that you're a survivor."

"You're so strong," he'd whispered when she started breathing, again. She might have been too overwhelmed at the moment to ever remember that, but we do. He recognized her strength and ability to survive right then.

This isn't lip-service. This is Tim Bradford being completely honest about how he sees Lucy.

"It wasn't your day of death, Officer Chen. It was the first day of the rest of your life. And no one can take that away from you."

There it is. No, this isn't going to "fix" the pain that Lucy's feeling. It's not going to make the trauma disappear. It's not going to erase the memories. But this mind-flip of that tattoo is powerful.

Because Caleb made her say aloud what that tattoo meant. He told her that it was for her, for her perspective, for her to own up to what he said it meant.

And here's Tim Bradford, a man who Lucy respects and trusts, helping her look at it from a different angle.

And isn't that what Tim does so well? Lucy even calls him out on it later in the show... He's the king at coming at things sideways and seeing another angle.

What he's saying is, "YOU, Lucy, get to decide how you look at that tattoo." She's spent so much time looking at it from Caleb's perspective that she didn't consider there was an alternative.

"Thanks." "Yeah. You're welcome."

Tim shoves his hands back in his pocket, and they both let the moment pass, easily. He said what he needed to say, and she heard him. Now, they can move forward.

"You riding with me tomorrow?" "Yes sir." "Good. Get in early. War bags need restocking." "Okay."

Tim pulls the ring from his pocket and tosses it to Lucy before she can register what it is. As she opens her hands, she sees it—her ring.

The ring she tossed off her hand in hopes that someone would find it. And Tim did. He found it. He found her.

"How did you find me?" Lucy asked from her hospital bed. Now, she has the answer.

Lucy looks up at Tim in awe and surprise. He smiles at the ring at her hand, and then back at her. He'd been carrying it around for a while because he didn't yet have Lucy back. Yes, she was at work, but not riding with him.

Tim once talked to Lucy about finding something tangible to focus on instead of the intangibility of nuclear disaster. Yes, he was being figurative, but I don't put it past him to take it literal. Lucy is back, but not back with him, yet.

Tomorrow, she'll be in his Shop. And now he doesn't need something tangible to hold onto to remind him that she is coming back, because she'll be there. By his side.

This is theirs. Tim told no one how he found her. She told no one that she'd dropped the ring. Only Tim and Lucy know this part of her story... of their story.

*phew* this one was emotionally exhausting. It took a week of work. But, I hope you enjoy it. It's heavier than most, but I think it's earned.

I would argue that Tim and Lucy are already on their way to friendship at the beginning of this trilogy, but the events that happen expedite it, and also solidify their trust of one another.

Tim respects the hell out of her. He knows what she's capable of, and now he's seen it for himself. Yes, he's going to be tough on her, again, when he's ready. And, yes, she's going to be pissed at him, when she's ready.

But only Tim and Lucy know who they are in the in-betweens. When the cameras aren't rolling on their chests and nobody else is listening in—like this ending scene. This is theirs.

And as they move forward in their relationship, there are all these touchstones, these pillars that shifted things that they can look back on as guide posts or stepping stones that at the time seemed small, but proved essential to their journey.

And, oh, I can't wait to see where it takes them next.

As always, thanks for reading.

#Chenford #Lucy Chen #Tim Bradford #Melissa O'Neil #Eric Winter #The Rookie #Meta #tw abuse #tw assault #tw rape

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