#fight the urge to say everything is doomed | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

websterss · 4 months

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𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐃𝐎 𝐔𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 — 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓: okay so i’ve thought about sending requests your way and my mind came up blank except for a reversed-roles kinda thing for lockwood & co, in which that scene from the last episode where lucy goes to george to save him from the crazy lady (forgot her name) with the bone mirror, instead it’s reader but she doesn’t handle it as well as lucy and pass out or something (your choice, i just want angst) and although lockwood has been shot in the shoulder, he doesn’t care. all he cares about is if reader is gonna be okay 👀 (i just want some good ol’ angst written by you so i can die a little bit inside but also thrive in reading your writing 🥺🫶🏼)

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): angst, some fluff at the end

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4,214

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader

𝐀/𝐍: Hope you enjoy it!

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

You didn’t quite know how you three had managed to end up locked in an underground cellar with Pamela. You couldn’t so much as put the fault onto George. He had put his sole faith and trust into their supposed friendship. He was too swayed by what he thought were good intentions, only to realize they were nothing but sick twisted purposes. Purposes that were going to put so many others at risk.

“Please!” George begged. “Lucy, don't he’ll kill you.”

“Don’t you dare look, and whatever happens this wasn’t your fault. This was my choice.”

“Lucy, don't you dare.” You groan after having been jostled and shoved to the ground as George had.

Lucy just turned to you, her features softening as she whispered with pure sincerity and concern in her voice. Her soft-as-the-sky eyes glowed in the darkness like twin lanterns and with a little sigh she replied, “…I have to.”

"No. You don't. We all get to make choices, and I'm making mine now." You walk up to her and hit her with the hilt of your rapier. You hold your breath as she falls unconscious. You're quick to drag her over to George where he remains on the ground. "S-Shield her eyes, and whatever happens...don't look." You nod firmly at George.

George didn’t hesitate, shielding Lucy from the horror unfolding before them, but couldn’t help looking back to you. He seemed both concerned and terrified at the same time. “Lockwood won't like this!"

"He'll get over it!" You take your place in front of the mirror. Eyes flickering back and forth between Pamela and the covered mirror.

The air around you feels thick and oppressive. You feel sick and dizzy as the sense of impending doom and horror fills your body with a paralyzing chill. You look at the mirror, at Pamela, and the thought of what is to come sears across your mind.

You take a deep breath. With shaking hands, you await her response. “Tell me everything you see, what you feel, and what you hear.” She yanks a pin out from her hair. Then points the recorder towards you. “Every detail.” She says as a final word, then yanks back the cloth. You turn around immediately, feeling a rush of air and suction claw on the back of your hair and shoulders. “Look, look, look. Damn you, look!” Pamela exclaims.

You gasp as you reach forward, grabbing the silver-glass jar, the skull, and hold it out behind you to look at the mirror in your place.

"If you can talk to it, tell me what it says.”

You groan, closing your eyes tightly, trying to fight off the urge to look into the horrid mirror. You growl as you yell back to the damned skull. "Talk...Take it all in and tell your master what you see." Lockwood and George, even Lucy had been astonished when you all discovered that you could also communicate and hear the type three ghost. Your heart plummets as you hear the skull begin to wail.

“No, no, no, this isn’t right! Something’s changed!” Your breath shudders upon the information he has given you. “They’re trapped!”

“What? What? What is he saying? Speak, girl Speak!” Pamela grips her recorder tighter.

“It says something is wrong!”

“More!”

“It’s a trap. We have to destroy it!” You begin to whimper as it all grows to be too much for you to handle. You hold your breath as glimpses of your past flash in your mind. Stills of your parents before your tenth birthday. Finding them ghost-locked after coming home from Fittes. Horrid wretched flashes and faces of previous visitors you and the boys were called on to take a job about. Being pinned by a type two. Your breath grows cold upon being nearly ghost-locked yourself. But the one vision that struck you the most, that made you lose your grip on making it through this was seeing yourself hold Anthony in your arms as his eyes were milky, his brown irises glazed over white and still. You could see yourself crying and begging him to come back to you. Your eyes shot upon with a startle. You could feel yourself loosen your hold on the jar before you took it down with you to the ground. All you could hear was a faint yell of your name before you slipped into the dark void that clouded your mind.

“Y/n!” George hadn’t even hesitated to get onto his feet to tackle down the stand holding the mirror.

“No!” Pamela cries out. George ran back over to where you lay unconscious. His hands were still tied behind his back but he still attempted to check for your pulse. He visibly relaxed as he came to feel your pulse thump against his skin.

“You’re alright, you’re alright now...Lockwood will come soon and it’ll all be over soon.” He flinched, looking over his shoulder as he heard shuffling to his right. Lucy groaned, clutching at her head as she pushed herself off the ground.

“Blood hell...” She complained, but one look at your unmoving body had her scooting closer to the two of you. She reached forward, brushing a few strands out from your face. Her palm resting against your cheek. “Is she...” She raised a brow at George. Thinking the worst of the worst. Your death at the hands of Pamela.

“No. She’s alright. Assumed the mirror struck her energy a bit. It was too much for her to handle.”

“Lockwood is gonna-”

“Kill us.”

“I was going to say put her on house arrest but sure let’s assume the worst reactions possible.

“Before we arrived. He practically begged her to run off and call DEPRAC. She was top priority...” Lucy muttered to herself thinking back on what Lockwood debriefed before they came to face Pamela.

“Top priority?” George questioned. “Y/n?”

“Before we left, he mentioned how the mirror came close to being our second priority. I asked him out of curiosity what the first priority was. He didn’t answer me.” Lucy looks down at you with a new sense of understanding. The bond you and Lockwood shared was one like no other. Two souls brought together by unfathomable circumstances. Orphaned from the same cause, the same path that lead your loved ones to be unalive. To halves that made a whole. Who understood what was put at risk every day you stepped out into London’s busy and haunted streets. You both knew the sacrifices that were the hardest to make, but you both took them on over Lucy and George having to. The little family you both found yourselves, you put your whole lives and trust into. You were everything to one another, and that was a risk in itself. “Lockwood is going to have our heads...” She breathed out in realization.

“I think he knows that already.”

“What?” George gestured behind her with a grimace. Lockwood was standing a few feet away, clutching his shoulder. His eyes rotated from Lucy and George and onto your unmoving form.

“Shit...” Lucy swallowed nervously as he let his rapier clatter to the floor.

“Is she?” Lockwood swallowed his words down, not having the stomach to contemplate whether you remained with them or if you had finally joined alongside your parents and his. Lockwood took a few more agonizing steps towards your motionless form, his expression looking both exhausted and afraid. His fingers reach out but fall back down to his sides. He was only thankful you couldn’t see him tremble, as he held back on the urge to break down crying.

“She’s okay...swear it.” Lucy nodded, a timid smile on her face as her eyes watered.

Lockwood's eyes began to water from the sight. For an agent, death would be nothing more than a common occurrence. However, this was a different scenario, as a few tears streamed down his face. Before he could take another step forward, George finally free from his zip ties, carefully lifted you in a gentle motion, trying to prop you upwards. Lockwood hurried forward then, hands trembling as he grabbed your shoulders and pulled you into a seating position. Your head lulling sideways at an uncomfortable angle. Lockwood's eyes darted all across your form, desperately hoping to find some kind of response from you.

"She took on the mirror...It was too much for her to handle. She fainted from it." George filled him in on what occurred.

Lockwood's breaths grew out of rhythm as he kept your body in place, trying to keep his hands from shaking. His fingers trembled at a furious pace as he placed his hand against your neck, needing to feel for himself for a pulse. To reassure him that you weren’t taken from him. It was a moment that felt like hours had passed. He spoke. “Did she look at it?” They could hear the panic in his voice.

"N-No. She used the skull." Anthony glanced over to where the type three ghost swirled around, displaying its very much livelihood. He wished the same for your state.

Lockwood's sigh of relief was palpable in the atmosphere. He withdrew his head from your shoulder and pressed his head gently against yours, his eyes closing shut. The only thing keeping him from losing it was the slight thump against his fingertips on your neck, it had his entire demeanor relaxing. Though it didn't calm his nerves. "She'll be alright," he promised George, who seemed to be on the verge of panic himself. "She'll be quite alright." He muttered softly as though the tiniest change in his tone would cause him to fall apart.

Lucy was at a crossroads, her instincts screaming at her how badly she wanted to rush into Lockwood's arms to comfort him at this moment, but she had her priorities straight. You had taken her place. This wasn’t out of the ordinary for you and it angered Lockwood because you never stopped putting yourself before others.

"She knocked me out and took my place. I wouldn't have let her if I knew-" Anthony retracted from you and looked over to Lucy, having her own breakdown.

Knowing of your bond, she knew what losing you would do to him. The last thing she wanted was to add any more stress to his plate and his already heavy heart. “I know. It’s alright Luce...” Lockwood gave her a firm nod. He then turned back to you. Lockwood was staring at what you referred to as your imperfections, a freckle here, a scar against your temple there, and the crease in your brows, to him they were what made you simply perfect in his eyes. He couldn’t help the frown on his lips, the frown on your own lips not sitting well with him. Had you fainted in pain? Were you still in pain? It didn’t shake him as badly as your closed eyes did. He wanted nothing more than to peer into them again. Find a home in them once more. He willed and hoped them to finally open so that he could see that you were alright.

He lied, your pulse hadn’t been enough, he needed to see you awaken for him to even function correctly. He needed his mind to think about anything else, something else so he asked.

“What marvelous object did she acquire this time...” He scoffed. “My first encounter with her was with the end of an umbrella.”

"The butt of her rapier," Lucy said. "Shit hurt..." She rubbed against the side of her temple.

“A rapier?” He breathed a small laugh. “I see you weren’t quite original this time...” A small smile appeared in Lockwood's eyes as he leaned forward again. His hand lowered to wrap around your fingers, all the while as he carefully placed your head upon his shoulder. His other hand brushed against your cheek, making note of your temperature. “Her hands are getting cold.”

"Is that bad?"

“Y/n. Can you hear me?” He lifted your head from his shoulder. “Her circulation is slowing. Our time frame for waking her up is shrinking.” It's always an internal struggle for him to remain composed, but he had to be strong for the lot of them.

"Where did Pamela go?" George began panicking. He grew weary seeing her hunched over the broken mirror.

“Leave her, George!" Lockwood let out his frustration at the situation. “She’s not our priority right now.”

“You stupid boy. You broke it!” Pamela whined.

Lockwood turned to look back at Pamela, who was whining about the broken mirror as Lucy’s attempts to bring you back to consciousness were becoming more futile. Lockwood’s patience was wearing thin, and Pamela’s words were doing nothing but adding fuel to the flames.

“We need to go! Now!” Lockwood urged the two of them. As he was already attempting to pick you up, especially with his bad shoulder still bleeding out. The exhaustion hadn’t yet reached him, his adrenaline running rampant.

Lockwood's words were cut short as he stumbled, dropping you to the ground. His bad shoulder had given way to the exhaustion that now began to consume him. He was losing his grip on everything. “Lucy...” he was pleading now.

“We’ve got her, let’s go!” Lucy assured his panic, and swung your arm over her shoulder, George taking your other arm.

“Don’t drop her…” Lockwood barked out, as he struggled to maintain a standing position. The exhaustion finally started to take hold of him as his knees buckled beneath him. With his body starting to tremble and lose its grasp, he let out a deep groan, his breath shallowing from the physical exertion.

"Go!" Lucy ordered out of frustration. She admired his concern and care about you but not when their lives were currently on the line and a crazy bitch was staring into the mirror she tried forcing them to look into.

He didn’t want to allow any room for arguing.

Anthony had fallen unconscious as the lift back up. His body lay next to yours as George, Lucy, and Kipps adjusted the both of you. The last thing Anthony recalls was lightly pressing his hand on top of yours before he succumbed to the exhaustion that ransacked his body. He felt as though a train drove right into him, though at least now he could say he’s faced down the barrel of a gun and lived to tell the tale. You’d find it humorous. You always thought highly of his jokes and gave him a laugh when most never bothered. He’d give anything to hear you bubble out of joy. See you double over from the loss of air in your chest. He’d give anything...everything.

After the paramedics patched him up and reduced him to an arm sling, he hung back as you lay on the gurney behind him. He twisted in his seat, keeping a watchful eye on you, waiting, willing the universe to spare him and have your fingers twitch, or have you shift around. He needed some peace of mind.

Though the universe was not kind, your body remained lifeless in a state of deep slumber. Lockwood’s heartbeat grew heavier the longer he waited on the back of the ambulance, his mind flooded with the worst-case scenarios. That this would be the last time, that that smile of yours that could charm anyone with ease would be lost. If he was to lose you, then he had nothing left. Nothing and no one. His hand continued to shake as he felt himself become more and more of a wreck. He couldn’t breathe...he wouldn't be able to breathe...and he knew he’d whole himself in his room if you didn’t-

“Will the Mrs live to see another day?”

Anthony looked over at Inspector Barnes. He gestured to your stilified state. He had hoped his joke would upturn the tension but if presumed he hadn’t after Lockwood scoffed and rolled his eyes, adverting his gaze away and back where they longed to remain, solely on you.

“What’d the paramedics say?” He asked again.

“She’s alright...Nothing we couldn’t figure out ourselves. The pressure from the mirror exhausted her to the point of fainting. She’s stable...she’s surpassed every checkup they ministered with flying colors...”

“Yet...” Barnes trailed off.

“They don’t have the slightest clue as to why she won’t wake up. They already tried to but...” Lockwood didn’t want to say it out loud, but speaking it into existence confirmed his worst fears, that even though your vitals were good, and your body reacted well to the fluids they gave you, something was seriously wrong, if not physically, then mentally and that scared him more than anything else. “I have this inclining...”

"Lockwood-" Barnes began.

“I know what you’re going to say. Have hope. Remain optimistic as we’ll continue to observe her, monitor her vitals, hell test her blood. But what good will that do when we’ve done it already…” He paused, the exhaustion growing with every passing moment. “What if she never wakes up?” Lockwood’s breath shudders.

“You both know of the risks–“ Barnes tries to reason.

“We’ve been in the business of risk exposure for years. We don’t expect ourselves to survive from the first encounter. But this–this feeling...” Lockwood’s voice was breaking. He couldn’t keep himself contained any longer. “I’m aware!” Lockwood snaps, his voice breaking, his eyes reddening. “All too aware, but if I’d known this would happen I’d…” His thoughts trail off, unsure of what to say anymore. His eyes kept darting back and forth between you and Barnes. He’d succumb to begging. He would. Just to see you move a little. Any kind of movement. Just one would be enough to quell his panic.

“Taken her place?” A small knowing smile reached Barnes's brows.

Lockwood couldn’t bring himself to deny it. He took a deep breath, as he spoke in a hushed and gentle tone “I would hand myself over to death without question. Any given day.” He didn’t hesitate. “I’d rather she lose me, than I her. So yes, I’d have taken her place.” Barnes's eyes slowly flickered past his shoulder with an easing smile. He looked down to the rubble.

“Over my dead body-” Anthony had never turned his head faster. He instantly froze. The relief that had started to wash over him at seeing you had given way to embarrassment. His own injury was forgotten. You sat up and your eyes landed on him. “Hand yourself over to death, or you mad- What the hell happened to your shoulder?”

“That would be my leave...” Barnes pointed to his left and swiftly left the two of you.

“My shoulder? Oh, it…I was shot.” He answered as simple as that, it contained no other details, nothing to ease your concern, which led you right into interrogating him.

“Shot?” You were taken aback by his nonchalant reply. “What do you mean, shot?” You exclaim.

“Nothing worth troubling yourself about. How do you feel?” There was an air of tension between the two of you, where everything had become so fragile. After everything that had happened, a simple statement or action would break the illusion. You were awake and animated, and giving him a piece of your mind. It didn’t feel real in the slightest.

“I…” A wave of exhaustion was still coursing through your body, a result of the exhausting ordeal that you had just undergone. The ordeal had exhausted your body so much that your brain shut down. But your physical exhaustion also masked the emotional exhaustion you were feeling. You felt out of your element; overwhelmed by everything that was now around you. Everything felt unfamiliar to you, as though you had been transported into an unknown dimension, one where your mind felt trapped. Anthony’s ghost locked body in your arms. “I don’t know...I couldn’t wake up.”

"I know- The paramedics tried everything and-"

It was impossible to say what you did and didn't remember. But from what you recall, the events of the evening were a blur. "The mirror..." You attempted to scoot closer to him. Your hands grazed against Anthony's hair. Your eyes caught sight of his shoulder, wrapped in bandages and the sling that secured it together. Was it bleeding? But it wasn’t your primary focus. You just needed to feel him. “There were so many faces, so many faces.” You breathe out a gasp. Your eyes watering. “I saw you...”

“Me?”

"You were ghost-locked. I had lost you..." Your breath hitched.

"It wasn't real. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. It wasn't real." Anthony reassured, pressing kisses against your temple.

"But what if it was...What if what the mirror showed me becomes true?"

He paused, taking a moment to contemplate your concerns. Anthony had already spent the evening playing out the worst-case scenarios, but to hear you state them verbally had somehow made them more palpable. However, a small part of him was curious whether you saw your future by the mirrors doing, or if it was just an illusion to break you mentally.

"Then I'll make sure that doesn't happen." He whispered. His voice was tinged with emotion. His hands reached for yours and intertwined his fingers with yours. A sign of his promise to you.

“You can’t promise that-”

Anthony looked down at your hands, his eyes flickering between them as he attempted to focus on anything other than the overwhelming amount of emotions swirling within him, the emotions threatening to consume him whole. So he focused instead on your hands being intertwined with his, and the sight warmed him in a pleasant way he hadn't felt in many months, as the thought of possibly losing you had him filled with dread.

He leaned over and kissed your knuckles. “Did you not hear my declaration of my love for you?”

“Oh, the one where you give yourself to death- Like hell!” You yank your hand out of his with a scoff.

“Hand myself over–” He corrected you. “I’d hand myself over to death.” He continued.

“I’m about to hand you a right hook.” You throw a playful punch to his bad shoulder, forgetting his injury and rippling with regret instantly. “Oh!”

“Ow.” He groaned. “What’s the big issue?” He laughed softly. “What’s wrong with giving up my life for yours?” He teased. “You know I’d die for you.”

"You don't have my permission." You mutter softly. Bringing a hand up to brush back his hair.

As your hand brushed back his hair, Anthony couldn’t help but smile at the small gesture. He grabbed the hand you used to brush back his hair and lightly kissed the back of your hand again. “If I wanted to I would give myself over to death this very instant. I’d do just about anything for you, you know.” He replied. His gaze was now fully on you. His eyes were a deep amber, shining like two gemstones.

"And that's what scares me the most." You hum.

“It shouldn’t.” He scoffed with a smile. “Besides, I thought you valued my loyalty.” He raised a brow playfully.

"Yes. When I'm not there to defend my word. That’s when I put my whole faith in your loyalty to me...but when death comes knocking. I don't want it." Your eyes soften.

He looked away briefly, then back at you with a teasing smile. “I wouldn’t give my life to save just anyone, you know.”

"Oh, I'm aware." You fight back an amused smile. He noticed it though, he caught the smile that you attempted to mask. You were never able to conceal much around him, and that was all right. He liked seeing your emotions on full display. You were your truest self when you let your guard down around him. It made you all the more adorable that way. “And you?” He asked. “Would you give yourself to death for me?” He teased, but you knew he was serious.

Your smile widened for a moment before you caught yourself, and answered without taking a beat. You would allow him to know your fears, for the fear of seeing him suffer on your behalf was the worst feeling one could endure. That was something you hated the thought of. You didn’t quite see yourself as the more vulnerable one out of the two of you. Deep down Anthony conquered his inner demons through you, shared his past, his troubles, and confessed his deepest fears to you. You’d help him without any hesitation. You would do anything for the bloke, even if that meant going as far as sacrificing your own life for the sake of him getting to keep his, you would do it, and you’d do it in a heartbeat no less.

“Any given day.” One glance into your eyes and Anthony knew. He knew you would keep that promise till death tethered on whose hand to take. When? Well, you’d never truly know for sure.

Content with your answer, he leans in and kisses your cheek softly. You relax into his touch, your lashes brushing down on top of your under-eyes. He pulls away with a stupid grin. His eyes filled with want and mischief, your favorite combination.

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

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rosemaze-reveries · 2 months

Text

― spider's web

dream witch (envoy) x you a blindfold & a yearning for the secrets behind it

⚠️ hypnosis

Something compels you to stumble to her across the grand hall.

Something pushes your legs to move on their own, weightless and desperate. The walls squeeze around you until she becomes the only light in your path, your only way forward. She is calling you, that’s all you know, and you fight your way to answer her.

୨୧

“Careful, my friend. You might see something you won’t be able to walk away from.”

The Envoy catches your hand before it can lift the strip of lace which sits over her eyes. You don’t notice the position you’re in until that resonant voice of hers snaps you back to focus, dispelling the haze that had been coiling around your mind.

Her face is just a breath away, rouge lips pulled into a pleasant smile. She’s resting against a propped elbow with her calves crossed and angled with poise. The ribbons sprouting from the back of her dress are draped over the edge of her chaise lounge, glittering like a serpent’s tail, though by now you’ve crumpled it with your knees. If the Envoy is bothered by the suffocating breach of her space — and of her dress — she masks it well.

She sees the light return to your eyes and drops her gloved fingers from your wrist. “There you are. That didn’t take too long now, did it?”

It’s then that your clarity settles in and curiosity takes its place. At some point, you’d crawled up onto this sofa with her, hiked over her hips with arms outstretched as if mesmerized by an idol. Between knitted brows and a couple of puzzled blinks, you finally pry yourself away, letting a more tactful distance bridge the gap between you.

“I’m sorry,” you tell her, mostly out of politeness. The Envoy is not a stranger to you, but neither is she someone you’d consider a friend, as she’s so fond of calling you. You’ve always held a degree of wariness around her. Yet sometimes you find yourself drawn to her. Like a force that both anchors and unravels you — in some encounters with her you see a beacon home, in others a herald of your coming end.

She laughs at your apology, in a way that’s pleasant and controlled, free of judgment but amused all the same. “Did you find what you were looking for, or did I stop you too soon?”

“I don’t know what I was doing,” you admit. “I didn’t think I’d still be here in the first place.”

“Looking for a way out, then?” she offers, lips curling upwards. Again, your eyes flick up to her blindfold. Behind that sheer fabric you swear you could see those emerald eyes glow. She brings her shoulders forward, her curiosity clearly piqued. “Or a deeper way in?”

A part of you begins to suspect she may have played a hand in your earlier lapse. Whenever you verge on losing yourself in her eyes, your inner voice warns you against fully letting go. Quickly, you tear your gaze away. “You wouldn’t have let me find the way out anyway.”

“This is your dream, my friend. The choice to wake up has always been yours.” Ever present smile stained on her face, the Envoy leans further into you, lithe fingers trailing your chest. “But there is something you still want from me.” You feel a sharp nail press into the skin above your heart. “It’s that hunger that traps you here — such is the story for everyone who sets foot in here. What is it?”

Your answer sits on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow them back. The truth, you think. You’ve watched others like you wander into this dream, lose themselves in her maze, doomed never to attain what they came to find. This is a place where none escape and none remain, as you’ve heard her say many times before. There is no doubt in your mind that she would only lead you down a path to ruin, but learning your truths might make the risk worth it.

At your hesitation, she takes hold of your wrist once more, guiding your hand back to her temple. Your fingers hover above the blindfold, one pluck away from everything you wish to know.

“I can let you in,” she urges. “But you must be certain you won’t regret locking the door behind you.”

“What will happen to me?” you say, breathless. You already know what your answer will be. The resistance you clung to so hard before cracks like ice beneath your feet, and with it you feel a heavy weight lift from your mind.

“You will pledge yourself to me. Follow me across the lightless border. Is that what you wish for?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, high on the feeling of truths at your fingertips. At once all of your inhibitions fall apart, shattered by the overwhelming desire to peek into her eyes. You slip your hands behind the back of her neck, lowering her onto you as your hair sprawls on the cushion beneath you. And finally, you pry away that strip of lace.

#identity v #idv imagines #idv x reader #yidhra x reader #idv dream witch #dream witch x reader #identity v x reader

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just-dino-maggie · 1 year

Note

Could write something abt Boldy's fight? I don't have any ideas but it was hot

Thank you so much for the request! I hope you like it! (Warning, a little spicy)

Matt has always been incredibly sweet to me. I needed someone who could be my safety blanket. Someone to show me how to be loved, purely and honestly. He took on that challenge as a boyfriend and as my best friend.

We exchange sweet kisses and we make love. Everything is always so perfect but sometimes I wish he would let loose, claim me.

Usually I go to every home game. I came here to be with him so watching him play is a dream whenever I can make it. Unfortunately I had some work to get done so I threw on his jersey and watched the Colorado game from home.

About 10 minutes into the game Bowen Byram cleared Matt. Luckily the hit didn’t look too bad but before I could blink they were dropping the gloves.

I’ve never seen Matt fight before. He was throwing around his body and throwing punches with an aggression I didn’t realize he had. It was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Now I’m turned on with no ability to be relieved until he gets home.

Three hours later Matt finally walks through the door. He’s in a suit and tie as usual. I’ve always thought he was so hot in a suit. “Hey baby” I say before pulling him down by his tie so that his lips meet mine.

“What’s all this for?” He asks sliding his hands down my sides. I’m wearing his jersey and some lacy underwear and that’s it.

I smirk wickedly, “No reason.” I bring my lips to his neck. Kissing and nipping where I can reach.

“Seriously,” he says. “You usually don’t jump me like this.”

I pull back and blush, “It’s embarrassing.” He gives me a look urging me to continue. “You just looked really hot today during the game.”

I had tried to be vague but I could see the recognition in his eyes. “Is this about the fight?” I nod unsure if I could get the words out. Now he’s smirking and I’m doomed. “Oh you like that?”

I don’t answer I just press a soft kiss on his lips. He responds in a way I’ve never seen before. He claims my mouth and picks me up before pushing me against the wall behind me. He’s kissing me so hard my brain can barely process it. He grinds into me and I moan, loudly.

He pulls back to look at me and I whine. I’ve never whined like that in my life. I’m in a cloud of lust and his eyes are filled with the same desire. “What do you want me to do?” I grind into him and he grabs my chin, “With your words.” He spits at me.

“Please fuck me,” I beg. And he does. He ruins me completely. I think we may have found a new perfect.

#matt boldy #minnesota wild #matt boldy imagine #matt boldy x reader #usntdp #nhl imagine #nhl smut #bowen byram #trevor zegras #jack hughes

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centralperkchenford · 4 months

Note

Chenford + based on the promo, a fic why Lucy is looking sad...

Obviously this is just speculation; there could be a million reasons why she’s sad. But honestly this could be a possibility! I hope you enjoy!

Chenford + Chenford + based on the promo, a fic why Lucy is looking sad...

I don't know what it's like To be fighting for my life But if you do I'll be fighting too

Lucy steps into Tim’s office, her nerves buzzing and her head pounding. He’s at his desk and he’s looking at something but she can tell he’s not really focused. His eyes are down but he’s tense. She is tense too and she knows she looks it, she feels like all the pressure of the last few days pressing down on her shoulders. She feels Aaron’s impending doom sitting on her chest. He had to be okay. He just had to make it or she’s not sure what she would do if she lost another friend.

And Tim.

There’s no way she can lose him because if she does if something happens to him. She won’t survive. He’s her safe place, her lifeline, her battle partner. The man she would do anything for. And who she knows would do anything for her, he would risk his life just to know she’s okay.

“Hey.” She says. He looks up and his face softens a bit when he sees her. He puts down the pen and stands up walking from behind his desk. He stands in front of her, in his long sleeve metro shirt. His face still bruised from the fight, Lucy has to resist the urge to touch his face.

“Hi.” He says. He does step forward a little bit and reaches out. She falls into his touch and he sighs.

“You heard about Aaron?” She asks. Tim licks his lips and nods. Grey had told them Celina had called and told him Aaron was bleeding internally. It sucked not knowing if he was going to be okay, it hurt her heart that they might lose another one. Another friend.

Tim must know what she’s thinking because he pulls on her arm to get her even closer to him. “Don’t think that way Lucy. Aaron will be okay.” He says. There’s a shakiness to his voice but he tries to steady it.

She nods. And then pauses for a few minutes. “I almost lost you. I can’t lose you Tim. I can’t lose the most important person in my life. I can’t lose you because—” She trails off her eyes darting down but Tim lifts her chin up with his finger.

“You won’t lose me Luce.” He says. It’s so soft and tender and sweet she almost melts into his arms. He pulls her in for a hug, and rests his chin on the top of her head. He rubs his hand up and down her back.

And god…

She loves him.

And she almost lost him.

“I love you.” She whispers. She feels him pause his movements and look down at her. His face is soft, softer than she’s every seen it. He cups her face, careful of the bruises and kisses her. It’s soft and gentle, much like their first real kiss. She smiles against it, happy that she can kiss Tim whenever she wants, however she wants.

They don’t have to hide their feelings anymore. They don’t have to skirt around each other. They know their feelings for each other, they know that they are it for each other and losing one another is not an option.

“I love you too.” He whispers against her lips. “I almost lost you too.” She looks up at him and he kisses her on the lips and then places them on her forehead. He leaves them there for a minute. And she just melts into him thinking about how they are both here. Alive and here with each other.

“It’s going to be okay Lucy.” He mutters. “Everything is going to be okay.”

“And if it’s not?” She asks. Tim sucks in a breath and kisses her again.

“Then we will get through it together.” He says. “Together is a better anyway.”

Lucy smiles into his chest, because yes together was better.

Tim was right they would get through this because they had a family and they each other. And with those two things she knows they will make it.

No matter what.

#chenford #the rookie #tim bradford #lucy chen #tim x lucy #chenford fanfic #chenford fic #anon answered #lucy x tim

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bingo6776 · 1 year

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Confrontation - 1/2

wednesday addams x reader

2.1k

summary: Wednesday has started to neglect your relationship to solve the mystery. You finally confront her about the relationship going from dreamy to doomed because of it.

You had been dating Wednesday Addams for slightly under a year, and you knew that dating Wednesday would come with its challenges, she wasn’t as experienced with relationships as the rest of her peers, and its not like that bothered her, but she understood, as you did, that there would be struggles.

The push and pull effect she had on her relationships, the hot and cold – in her case, it being the lukewarm and the burning frost.

But it also came with its highs, the psychic doesn’t seem like it, but she could be soft, and sweet when she wanted to be.

There was the time in the quad where you were only in your school shirt with no blazer. How you kept thinking you could fight off the cold with your abnormal body temperature, Wednesday would never know, you were shivering in your spot every time. Teeth chattering and everything. She would offer you her coat, albeit not making eye contact as she held it out to you, a silent demand that you take the piece of clothing more than an actual offer. Of course, Wednesday would say you were distracting her from whatever book she was pouring over, her already deathly cold skin practically being immune to the cold weather.

She would walk into the classes you shared together, and stare at whoever had tried to sit next to you in the class with a murderous look in her eye until they related and moved. The top record for the student being able to hold out is 4 seconds. If she let you sit close enough for you thighs to be touching, she would deny it, or blame it on the extremely spacious table being too small to have a comfortable amount of distance, ignoring the fact that there was multiple open seats she could have taken instead.

And, of course, she would deny it if she ordered her coffee too sweet for her likings and push it in your direction. She would never traipse all the way to Jericho before classes just to get you a drink. No way. Never.

Except on Mondays, and Fridays.

And the occasional Wednesday afternoon trip after fencing.

But otherwise, no never.

Yet, there were still challenges. For example, you were currently sitting on Wednesday’s bed, as you had been doing for the past 45 minutes, wearing the black sweater she loved seeing you in, waiting for her to get back from wherever the fuck she had disappeared to this time.

No, you hadn’t just walked in uninvited and expected to find her waiting at your beck and call.

Because you had been. Invited that is.

She had stopped you in the corridor a day or so before when you were on your way to your next class demanding you be at her room at 10pm on the dot, as Enid was going to be with her “disappointment of a gorgon boyfriend,” doing whatever “mindless adolescent activities” the couple filled their time with.

Wednesday had flashed you a small, barely there smile, before threatening to “skin your wolf and keep its fur” in her dorm if you were late.

Ironic.

As you watched the digital clock on Enid’s side of the dorm finally mark the fact that you had been patiently waiting for an hour, you thought fuck it, if Wednesday wanted to spend time with you that badly, which apparently she did not, she would have to come and find you for it.

Clenching and unclenching your jaw as you laced up your shoes, you fought to not let your wolf form rip out if its inner cage. It’s not entirely shocking your usually impeccable self-control always came under question with Wednesday, no matter the emotion: happy, sad, disappointed, anxious, angry.

And right now? You were homicidal, the urge to tear at something fuelling the fire in your veins. This was the third time this week alone – you had lost count of how many times it had been over the last few weeks, to be honest - that Wednesday had left you alone and waiting like a dumbass, to not even show.

Did you get an apology? No.

Did she try to make it up to you in some way? No.

An explanation? You practically scoffed at the idea.

Walking – definitely not stomping, you were a werewolf, not a sulking child – towards the door, you had barely been able to move more than a couple of steps until the oh so great Wednesday Addams herself walked in.

“Y/n? Is everything alright?”

She sounded confused. Confused. The absolute fucking audacity.

“Where have you been?” you gritted out between your clenched teeth, watching as her perfectly shaped brow quirked up slightly. “I’ve been sat around waiting for you for an hour, Wednesday. an hour.”

Tracking her every movement with your eyes, as she placed her bag on the floor and slid her jacket over the back of her desk chair. You literally saw the cogs turning in her brain, watching the moment of realisation dawn on her from the way her eyes awkwardly flicked to yours for a split second, going to the door, and then back to yours. There was a quick flash of worry that flashed across her features, her mouth opening slightly and her gaze softening slightly, it would have wiped away your anger if the flash of emotion hadn’t disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.

“I had forgotten about our meeting, there is a storm tonight, and I didn’t want any possible clues at the monsters activities to be washed away,” usually, you adored Wednesday’s voice, but tonight the monotone way she drawled out her words made you want to gauge your eyes out with a rusty spoon. She’d probably like that actually. “It will not happen again,” she held eye contact with you, expecting you to follow on with the script that you had both unofficially constructed for yourselves over the past few weeks.

It usually went like this:

Wednesday walking in on you lounging on her bed, prepared to wait until the early hours of the morning before you gave up on the girl showing up.

Her muttering a quick and meaningless “it won’t happen again,” you both knew it would.

You’d swallow up her obvious lie with an easy “oh, yeah no. totally. I understand,” following up with your questions about the investigation, getting one worded response. Until you turned to talking about your day, you’d get the usual ‘hmm’ every few sentences. Leading to the “so, do you want to hang out, still? Watch a horror movie, read together?”

And then the awaited dismissal, “Y/n, I appreciate you waiting for me, but it is late, and I have to review some events that occurred today. I shall see you for class tomorrow.”

And that was that. You’d walk out and wait until she stopped you again in a few days.

It wasn’t always like this, no, this was a recent development. You knew at times her obsessions may interfere with your relationship, that was okay, you didn’t need to be her number one priority all the time, you knew the raven was best at compartmentalising.

You just didn’t expect having to begrudgingly take the bare minimum for so long. You had hoped that eventually Wednesday would start acting like she wanted you again.

At this point you think you’d forgive her if she agreed to go on a walk around campus with you.

“No, we are not doing this again, Addams,” you saw the slight flinch at the use of her surname, instead of the plethora of loving nicknames you usually showered her with. “Listen, I understand that this is important to you, I do, more than anyone. I have dragged my ass into whatever decrepit house you asked me to, running from the literal monster that has killed umpteenth people in the woods because you can’t let this go. And that’s all fine and dandy. But I refuse, Wednesday,” you match her intense gaze with your own, you ignore the way you feel your claws digging into your clenched fists, actually relishing in the distraction the warm red liquid was seeping through your fingers gives you from the sweltering pain in your heart, “I refuse to be pushed aside time and time again until you finally deem me worthy of your time. Because this isn’t the first time, and we both know it won’t be the last until you solve the mystery. But are you really willing to lose everyone who loves and cares for you because of your god damn fucking obsession? I love you, and it feels like you barely acknowledge me anymore.”

You had a million things you wanted to say, but instead you just sighed dejectedly as she stared at you in silence, being the perfect image of indifference. Well, she would have been if it wasn’t for the thick layer of tears that covered her eyes, but no, like you had said, you weren’t going to push it all under the rug before it was unfixable simply because the Addams was emotionally constipated.

“If you truly understood, you would understand that there are sacrifices to be made,” her voice low, speaking slowly as if you were a dog who didn’t know how to ‘roll over’, “there are bigger things at play, I can’t lose an opportunity to know what is happening, it could bring me closer to finding out who the killer is.” She said this as if that solved everything, as if you were also meant to be focusing as heavily on the mystery as she was, as if, like her, you were meant to live and breathe it without thinking about anything else for a second.

Yeah, God forbid she thought of her girlfriend for longer than the two minutes it took to invite you over, only for her mind to be clouded over again when she left you stranded in the room, hoping Enid wouldn’t walk in and see your miserable figure in the room.

“There are more important things other than the monster, you know? There are trained professionals who can catch it, normie and outcast.” you wished you had left the room earlier.

“I am the one who is destined to solve the murders, I am the one who was in the drawing, I am the key to whatever is happening. I do not need you to be burdening me with this constant clinginess and desperation for my attention, this is what is important to me,” she had forced each and every word out of her throat, wishing she could ignore ethe way she saw your face contort as you fought of the tears at her words, as if every word cut you like a blazing dagger.

If Wednesday was being honest with herself, she was scared of the emotions that were waging a war within herself, the desire to know what monster has been leaving the masterfully carved bodies building in the morgue at an increasing rate, against the way she felt as if her very soul called out to you. To be held, and to be loved by you, to have your arms wrapped around her, to give herself a moments peace from the consistent inner monologue.

Wednesday had warned you that she would stomp all over your heart and leave you a bloody mess on the floor as she ripped your heart out from your body with a smile on her face at hearing your pained cries. She knew what she was, she wasn’t soft or sweet, she was cold and jagged, she was sour and cruel. Oh. how desperately Wednesday wishes she wasn’t, she wish she wants as she saw you hastily walk towards the door, barely holding back your sobs as you cried for the girl you loved.

The Addams has to force herself to stay where she was, her grip on her chair so tight her knuckles turned white, and the chair creaked.

Wednesday screwed her eyes shut as she fought her own wave of tears, her organs feeling s if they were tearing themselves apart repeatedly, the thumping in her ears overwhelming her, leaving her with an ache in her head. It was nothing compared to the hollowness in her own heart.

Once, she had told Bianca she cared more. But she wished she cared less at this very moment, she didn’t want to care that she had fucked up again, she didn’t want to care that she had reduced you to tears.

But she did.

And now she didn’t know what to do.

---

a part two will be coming shortly! if you want to throw any ideas my way for a Wednesday x fem/GN reader, or maybe a wenclair fic, id be more than happen to listen!

ao3: Im_Just_Gay

#wednesday addams x reader #reader #wednesday #wednesday addams #jenna ortega x reader #netflix #enid sinclair #addams family #the addams family #wednesday addams netflix #netflix wednesday #jenna ortega #angst #bad writer but yolo #vibes #relationship #sad #part two?

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liuhko · 1 year

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ᘡ ⭑ SYNOPSIS・ ymir fritz, deceased wife of the king stands still inside the paths. she’s known to the one who controls all eldian life, with the ability to even change their entire genetic code but there is another, not a shifter or the beginning of the titans; a being who rests so far in the clouds that you will never be able to reach them. they watch over all, finding entertainment in everything that happens in this sick world, allowing life to continue because they’re only human.

THIS WORK INCLUDES: idk girl…just read.

NOTE: this isn’t an xreader, just fun writing. this is based off of the song “they’re only human” from death note <3

“Look at how they crawl around upon the ground like little ants.” you couldn’t help but sigh at your view, staring at the large mirror that held the image of the residents inside the walls, or in this case; outside the walls. Commander Erwin and his scouts had gone outside the walls once more and they were returning with their heads hung low, bodies covered in blood, and wagons overflowing with the corpses of their former comrades.

“Yes, but how they fascinate.” As pathetic as they were, humans were fascinating creatures. They always saw a reason to continue and to keep pushing, in this case, it was Eren Jaeger who held this mindset. Even though he had just seen his comrades and friends slaughtered he looked encouraged, as if there was something worth fighting for. That same green-eyed boy ran to the dormitory and locked himself inside, shivering and shaking on the floor as tears ran down his face. His desperate cries were suppressed by the pillow he dug his face into. “It was fate…there was nothing I could do. It would’ve happened anyway.”

What a common thought, confusing fate with what is merely chance. “Your friends weren’t destined to die there, they were just too weak and happened to be around some Titans.” You scoffed at him and rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to reach through the mirror and grab the boy. You wanted nothing more than to tell him to stop spewing nonsense and go live a safe life, but the last time you reached through the mirror and interacted with humanity, a strand of your hair had fallen and morphed into Hallucigenia, which turned the wife of some king into a several-meter-high mutated monster called a titan, you were just having a bad hair day; it shouldn’t have been that serious.

Speaking of that unfortunate woman, she was currently busy building, as usual. Ymir Fritz was a woman you found particularly interesting for two reasons.

1. She was the first to be turned into a titan and was the catalyst for all the disaster humanity had been facing for a millennia.

2. She had been stuck for a bit over 2,000 years.

Stuck in a seemingly eternal prison where she rebuilt titans every hour of the day, forever. Not once had you ever seen her do anything but create those disgusting-looking creatures; she could’ve done anything else, but she didn’t. She just stayed there. Never had you ever seen anything this pitiful. She’s only human, standing still and doomed to live, pushing buckets of sand uphill. Only human after all, so she gives while they take, hoping someone will help break her fall. You found it sad, to say the least. You gave her the ability to see the future as an apology for essentially causing her demise, but she was just stuck, waiting for someone to free her.

“She’s too depressing…I’ll look at someone else.” You muttered, frowning as you watched the woman reconstruct yet another titan.

You walked to another mirror, one that showed the scouts inside Shiganshina. They were attempting to take the district back. They charged forward toward the Beast Titan, not once backing down. It was a shame that large rocks were being hurled at them. You watched intently as their bodies flew off their horses; heads were crushed, blood was splattered everywhere, and an odd little blonde man sat inside a mutated monkey costume. Laughing as he watched the massacre he caused, treating it as a friendly game of baseball. This whole thing seemed to be a bit unnecessary, these people didn’t need to die, but they did.

“Poor things, they will pray, curse, live, die.” And pray they did. Those who were still charging but were unlucky enough to witness the deaths around them began to realize that there was no escape. Some others cursed Erwin for leading them here. They stayed breathing for a few more moments, but soon they died. You shivered at the thought of a flying rock being the cause of your death. “It’s quite sad though,” you said to yourself. “They all died, never knowing their truth was another man’s lie.” The walls of Paradis Island were a lie, as was every history book within those walls. There were lively civilizations beyond the walls, but alas, the scouts were long gone and they’d never be able to know this fact.

Perhaps the future would be more interesting to watch? You turned around and faced the mirror which formerly stood behind you. In it, a very bleak image of Eren was shown. He had somehow ended up locked in a cell. Amused, you observed as he muttered to himself. You could read his mind clearly: “What have I become?” he thought. The moment you read this, you burst out laughing, the soil and mountains of the planet shaking in sync with your laughter. “He’s only human; he doesn’t see that who he is, is who he’ll always be; he’s only human, after all!” How silly of him to think humans are capable of change.

Ah, Eren and Ymir. The only reason you have yet to smite these two out of their misery is because of how dedicated they are. Eren to saving his loved ones, and Ymir to saving herself. They gave and they took 'til their silly hearts broke. Humanity was so interesting to you, especially these two. You stared into the mirror once more and saw Ymir looking down at the two sand buildings she had made. It wasn’t titans this time; it was Mikasa and Eren. You were intrigued by their love, and for as long as you had observed humanity you never understood why they did so many crazy things for love. It seemed as if Ymir was interested too.

You shook your head and began to walk away from the mirrors toward the exit but stopped momentarily; one of the mirrors had caught your eye. This one also showed the future; in it, Mikasa and Eren shared a kiss… “Humans never fail to amuse me.” You sighed and walked out of the mirror room. Not a thing you did could change these creatures. They’re only human, after all.

TAGS @vampurities @rinmine

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backtoyuta · 1 year

Text

NCT127: When you're a bad student

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

❁ [Taeil] is fighting the urge to be a helicopter boyfriend. Taeil has a healthy respect for your routine but can't hide his face when you said the lengthy assignment is due in 2 days and you've barely started. Taeil is the kind to buy you little sweet treats to encourage you to continue writing, or send you little texts here and there to let you know ~you can do it~. Will sit with you and do something quiet while you work because he knows you'll only leave your workspace and try to find him to distract yourself otherwise. Always thinks you look so cute in your mismatched slouchy outfits for class because you hate making the effort. Plants a little kiss on top of your head every time he walks by you working. When the assignment is submitted he will buy you your favourite food as a job well done, plenty of cuddles as he breathes out a sigh of relief on your behalf.

❁ [Johnny] Loves to joke about you being a lazy student, and is always amused watching you belly-ache over assignments you clearly do not want to do. Will give you the side eye when you whip out your phone to text or doom scroll and likes to take you out somewhere near by to work for a change of scenery. Despite loving to hear you laugh, he knows he's more distracting than he is helping so will exile himself on a mission for coffee while you work in the library. ~"It's for your own good!"~ he'll laugh. After giving you a chance to get in the zone, he'll return with your favourite coffee and read your work proudly over your shoulder. Johnny is the type to give you his hoodie so you can be comforted by some form of his presence and promises with a cheeky wink you can have the ~"real deal"~ after you've submitted your work.

❁ [Taeyong] Is the type to actually show sympathy and will let you bitch about classes, tutors, assignments and the people in your class to your hearts content. Will remind you to breathe with an amused glint his eye when you're done. Will try his very best to help with assignments; google some things here and there or find eloquent ways to make the word count longer. Very good at catering to your needs, will stay as a comforting presence or make himself scarce depending on what's more helpful for you. Wordlessly takes your glasses from your face, cleans the lenses and then places them back on gently because the smudges were bothering him. rubs your back comfortingly when you whine about how you wish you had started the work earlier. organises your notes and lets you have a little cry when it all gets a bit too stressful.

❁ [Yuta] Wants you to succeed in everything you do, but at the same time kind of loves this aesthetic on you. Finds your approach refreshing and likes how you don't pin all your worth on how well you do in classes. Is obsessed with your usual class look, the glasses and messy hairstyles with oversized shirts and sweats- you lowkey feel your worst and yet Yuta is stealing kisses and checking you out like no other. Likes walking you to your classes or meeting you after them, you'll always find him leaning back on the wall casually scrolling his phone and catch his smirk when he looks up and meets your eye. Kind of stays out of your business when it comes down to your work ethic and leaves you to it, but will always be there to comfort you if you were upset by a grade. Will hurriedly pack your bag for you and jog you to class if you're late.

❁ [Doyoung] Respects the way you like to do your work, but will be the first to say ~"I told you so"~ when time has slipped away from you too much. His tactic always includes giving you lots and lots of kisses while gently plying your phone out of your hand and putting it on do not disturb when you're a tad distracted. Gets very humoured when you do a ton of work without even clocking his antics and you make a big song about ~"Getting in the zone"~. Will point blank refuse to come over because he wants you to finish your assignment, but can't hide the smile when he opens his door to you with your backpack and books in hand and chastises you for exploiting loopholes. Is the type to help you with the assignment, but you might have to beg a little before he'll pull out his phone and do some googling. Flicks you on the forehead for leaving it until the last minute- again.

❁ [Jaehyun] Takes a lot of genuine interest in the subject you study, to a point where he enjoys it more than you do. Jaehyun kind of wishes he could partake in the student experience of finding nice places to study, going to socials and parties and fucking around in the library but he rarely sees you doing any of that either. ~"Shouldn't you be working on that thing?"~ he'll question you in good humour while you're lounging on your bed not doing the thing he mentioned. Laughs audibly when he sees your face drop and an ~"Oh shit, yeah"~ fall hurriedly from your lips. Loves telling his friends that you're a student and sharing your major, he thinks you're so smart even if you don't have that much faith in yourself. Will never say no to a college party, actually really enjoys hanging with your friends and sharing drinks from red solo cups with you even though you both know you should be studying.

❁ [Jungwoo] A bit of a clueless boyfriend really, he couldn't tell someone precisely what you're studying and never really quite recognises the urgency of an assignment due in 48 hours. Needs you to tell him how he can help you, but whatever you say he will do to the very best of his efforts. Loves checking you out in your uni varsity jacket and hoodie and laughs childishly when you tell him you got 69% on a test before giving you a boisterous high-five. Finds the bare minimum impressive, if you tell him something insignificant about your assignment he acts like you just blew his mind. Finds a kind of masochistic joy in watching you rush around for your class stuff when he reminded very nonchalantly of the time. Steals your glasses to wear and ruffles your hair when he walks by you with your head in your hands.

❁ [Mark] The most considerate, as always. Sticks out the all-nighters with you out of solidarity, and smiles at you encouragingly with his head resting on the table watching you work. Curates nice study playlists for you. Will talk about all the nice things you'll do once the assignment is over to try and encourage you to stick at it. Splashes out on delivery food and delivers it on a plate with a kiss on the cheek. Scared you to death when you said you'd be studying in the library and he caught you red-handed taking a nap. Likes to steal your varsity jacket but thinks you suit it more. Once spent ten minutes negotiating with you with a wet-wipe when he saw test answers scrawled on the inside of your arm and celebrated with you when you passed with the bare minimum because you did it honestly.

❁ [Haechan] The worst influence but with the promise of a good time. Both of you dying of laughter comparing your god-awful test scores while making a pact to try a bit harder next time. Invites you over with the sincere offer of a study date but procrastination gets the best of both of you with the help of his PS5. Wears matching sweat co-ords with you. Always sitting at the back of the lecture hall to not draw attention to your laughter and talking. Your notebook is full of his doodles and silly notes, as his is full of yours respectively. You guys are the favourite couple to invite to parties because good times and funny memories just follow you around. Genuinely contemplating cheating until you agreed to snap out of it. Instead, you spent three hours to develop a code so you could communicate during tests only for you to completely forget it when the time came. You only started to see true improvement in your grades when you put a healthy wager on who can get the best score by the end of term.

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chaotictiamat · 8 months

Text

CONSUMPTION

Summary: You were reborn. Free from your urges. However, the job was not done yet until Astarion could taste the same freedom you now had. One more fight, what is the worst that could happen?

Pairing: Astarion x f!Reader/Dark Urge

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Angst. There are no happy endings here. Grief.

Song Recommendation: Poison & Wine by the Civil Wars

A/N: It has been literally ages since I've written anything, but I had this idea floating around in my head and had to get it out there.

_________

Everything had been so right, almost perfect. They were right their at the cusp of that perfection. That happy ending all the bard songs sung about. The crescendo building to a triumphant chorus. Until it was not. Until the notes broke and smashed together into a cacophony of sound that tore and sundered everything apart.

She had failed. Failed the one person in the world who needed her most. Failed the one person who had embraced her broken mind and dark urges. Failed the one person who fought so hard to free her. He witnessed her rebirth. He relished in her freedom. He basked in her light. When her heart beat once more and her eyes flashed open, they had sought his red ones immediately.

Relief. Joy. Longing.

They both knew, they had one more monster to fell before total freedom. Well, two really, but the netherbrain was a distant thought. A footnote in their story. In that silent stare, covered in her own blood on Bhaal’s temple floor, they promised each other they would bring him the same freedom she now had.

A promise broken.

It was such a stupid mistake. The fight with Cazador and his minions had been drawn out with her heart beating harder every time she caught Astarion suspended in that awful glow. They were one fighter short, but the remaining team members rallied around her with each arrow she loosed. One by one the enemies died. Bodies lining the platform. Some flung off haphazardly into the pit below. They could all see the fear creeping into Cazador’s eyes. The slight crack in his gloating facade. They were a pack of wolves nipping at their wounded prey and she howled her delight. Triumphant. She did not see the remaining werewolf lunge at her until she felt the weight of the creature crash into her small body.

The breath was knocked from her lungs. Her head cracking against one of the large stone pillars that seemed to echo throughout the room. The pillar was cradling her, saving her, and dooming her at the same time. There was shouting as the beast was shoved by Lae’zel into the chasm at the same time Shadowheart landed a bolt on Cazador. She saw the vampire lord vanish as her vision blurred. She saw Astarion freed, his crimson eyes locked on hers. There was a…desperation to that stare.

Then her world went black. When she woke up. He was gone.

It had taken her a little bit to piece together the tapestry of her folly. She had been knocked unconscious in one moment of hubris. After, in the confusion of Shadowheart running over to her and trying to halt the bleeding calling on her low magical reserves, Astarion had confronted Cazador. He had a choice to make and one Lae’zel had agreed to assist with as they both stared at her bloody form on the floor. Just like at Bhaal’s temple. Only this time there was no Withers to restore. There were only seven thousand souls to damn.

Oh, there was an Astarion there. He had the same piercing eyes, the same white hair that curled around his ears just so, and the same laugh lines that had endeared him to her so long ago. Yet, it was not him. It was a cruel and constant reminder of the person she lost. There was no warmth behind those eyes. His voice whispered promises of immortality and caressed her soul with words of love.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it? To be mine? Forever?” He’d say as he’d pull her closer, the same comforting warmth as before. Her nose bombarded with his soothing familiar scent. But those words were brittle. Hollow. Always covered in a poison that was waiting to claim her. His eyes which once held a promise only wanted to devour now. Her. The world.

Everything.

She had placated him with promises of after. Once the brain was defeated. Once the parasites were gone. Then she would be his. He could be patient after all. When everything he wanted was almost in his grasp. He never even questioned that you would eventually acquiesce. It was a foregone conclusion.

That day had come so soon. Cheers reached her now from the remnants of the Elfsong Tavern. Their rooms had been surprisingly spared and a large crowd gathered below. Laughter. Singing. The sounds of a proper celebration, but in their room there was only the sound of her breathing lost in her thoughts. Until he was there. Somehow he looked flawless with the moonlight streaming in from the window. All pale blues on marble, his eyes were dark in this light but so very hungry. Her voice was tired, a mere whisper, anyone else might have missed it. “One more night, Astarion. Let me celebrate one more night with our friends and the city. Then…then you can make me yours.” She had seen the triumph flash in his eyes at her consent. The smirk that formed at his words, “I can give you that, my Little Love. The waiting will just heighten our passion.” He had pulled her to him then, into a searing kiss and for one brief moment, she gave in to that temptation. Pliant against his body, she molded herself to him. Putting everything she had into that kiss and imagining it was her Astarion. Hers. Forever. The thought evaporated quickly as she crashed back into reality as he nipped her inner lip with his fangs. Small droplets of blood formed which he licked up greedily as she gasped and he clasped her closer. She was drowning in his fire and he wanted her to burn.

He saved her then, pulling back enough to pepper a soft kiss across the corner of her mouth. A seduction. A promise. “I will plan everything to perfection.” He curled his fingers under her chin, her lip still bleeding from his bite and the blood mingling with his fingers. “It will be a most exquisite death.” He whispered the words across her skin causing goosebumps to form as he lapped the remaining blood from her mouth and slowly his fingers one by one. His eyes never leaving hers. He watched her tremble. Watched her shake. Sure on his claim before slipping out leaving her in the dark. As she requested. He was so considerate after all.

Her body was in motion as soon as he was gone. She pulled her pack up and slung it over her shoulder. It’s familiar weight brought a comfort to her she did not even know she needed. She had to slip out quickly before her friends noted her absence. Right now, they would assume she was indulging with Astarion. She only had a little bit of time to make this work, but there was one more place she needed to go first.

A graveyard.

She had found it by chance one day on one of the treks through the city. It could have been when they were looking for the hag or a murder victim. So many things that seemed so mundane now. But she had seen it, the name clear as day even under the vines. So here she was now.

Astarion Ancunin.

“Hello, my love.”

She collapsed. The weight of the world on her shoulders. The reality of all she lost. All she had, carved into the stone in front of her. She clutched the grass in her hands, feeling the blades and the earth, smelling the rich loamy scent of nature, and she cried. She wailed into the night like so many others around the city. Her grief was no different from their own. A shared grief in this moment for those they lost. And by the gods did she need it. Her tears fell onto the grass and stone as she remembered the little moments they had shared. The cocky grin of his before a perfectly timed shot. The challenge in his eyes for her to do better. The memory of hugging him in the shadow lands and feeling his arms wrap around her, tentative at first before pulling her closer. The shared bottles of wine and brandy before a fire curled up with Scratch. Their story. Unfinished.

The tears eventually dried. Spent. She looked up then at the sky. Clear and beautiful. Full of stars and she smiled. The first real smile since before they had entered Cazador’s manor. She pulled out a dagger. Plain. Simple. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t save you like I promised.” The words were said in time to her own carving. Chipping at the stone. Crossing out one death year. “But I promise you this. I will not forget you.” Little by little a new death year added. 498 DR. She plucked a nearby flower. Just a wildflower that had grown in this place. It’s white petals soft to the touch. It was a silly thought but she could almost hear the ghost of his voice as she laid it down on his grave. “Goodbye.”

Determination flashed in her eyes as she straightened up and trekked to a nearby shop. The Devil’s Fee was always open to anyone who could pay the price.

In the morning, a vampire lord stared at a fresh flower on an old grave. The sounds of a sleeping city slowly waking up began to reach him. None of their “friends” had seen her. Oh no, they all had assumed she was with him. Why wouldn’t she be? Her scent was easy enough to follow, ingrained in his memory as it was. He bent down and slowly picked up the flower, noted the fresh carving on the gravestone, and her lingering perfume. Seconds passed by like an eternity. “Run all you want, my pet. I already have almost everything…except you at my side.” Vermilion eyes seemed to glow then with his need, his hunger for his possession. The flower was crushed within his grasp, crumbling and drifting down in fragmented bits of petals and plant parts onto the grave.

“I will have everything.”

Fangs flashed in the morning light, the taste of her blood still fresh on his tongue and coursing through his veins.

“After all the hunt makes everything more…satisfying.”

#bg3 fanfiction #astarion x dark urge #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion fanfiction #astarion x tav

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anincompletelist · 7 months

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5 fics under 500 tag! :D

OKAY here we go - thank you to @happiness-of-the-pursuit for creating such a lovely idea and way to share the love! thank you to @inexplicablymine for tagging me to do the challenge, and thank you to @kiwiana-writes and @read-and-write- for including me in your recs! I appreciate ALL of you guys so much and I hope you're doing well! <3

as for the fics --

I've carried this song in my mind | @kiwiana-writes | T+ | 2k

Henry lays eyes on Alex Claremont-Diaz for the first time in Rio, and it sends such a shockwave of longing and terror into the universe that Arthur feels it.

Or, five times Arthur tries to get Alex and Henry together from beyond the grave, and one time two times his intervention isn’t needed.

Henry Fox, All-American Hero | @tintagel-or-cockleshells | T+ | 6k

Henry Fox, normal grad student enjoying the American life, indirectly foils an attempt on the President's life. Naturally, the world falls in love with him. Naturally, Henry wants things to go back to normal. And they will after this medal-and-dinner deal, right? Where the President's extremely hot son is hitting on him?

(I know I've already recc'd this next one but I can't NOT include it)

the rubble or our sins | weather_stained | E | 14k

As the Emperor's grandson, Henry despises the gladiator games and resents being forced to attend them — that is, until he sees Alexander fight.

It's a romance doomed from the very beginning, as Henry's family is already pressuring him into joining the army and finding a wife, but he falls hard for Alex nonetheless. Will Henry find a way to be with him, or will he spend the rest of his life looking back on their time together?

covered in you | @hypnostheory | E | 10k | part of this series

Alex blinks at him, tilting his head to the side. Sometimes Alex looks at him like he’s trying to figure out some strange riddle. “Can I ask you a personal question?” Henry switches to the other boot, nodding for Alex to continue. “Do you have a thing for leather?”

Henry blinks. “Erm, no?” He finishes working the leather conditioner in, letting it set. He wipes his hands off on his microfiber cloth, resisting the urge to smell the clean pine tar of the conditioner before he does. “I mean, doesn’t everyone like how leather smells?”

Alex stares at him for a few painful seconds. “Do you just like how it smells?”

never be so polite (you forget your power) | Standinginmoonlight | M | 6k

The one where Arthur Fox leaves letters for his children.

(and another because I couldn't narrow them down)

I'd hold you as the water rushes in | anonymous | M | 11k

“—lex. Alex.”

Fuck. Where had his mind gone? Alex snaps his eyes to Henry’s, forcing his attention back from where it had drifted. “I’m listening, I’m listening. What were you saying?”

Anyone else would probably be offended, or would just laugh at the clearly conflicting statements that had flown thoughtlessly out of his mouth. Instead, Henry’s brow crinkles, lips downturning as he scans Alex’s face. “Are you alright? You’ve been acting strange all night.”

Those blue eyes are much easier to deal with through FaceTime. Alex has to look away from them, less he caves and spills everything to Henry. He pastes a smile on, “Fantastic, Your Highness. All this bubbly is going to my head, the sugar’ll get me in the morning.”

Or, Alex drops on New Year's Eve

that's all for now! I was really surprised to find only a few fics with under 500 kudos in my bookmarks (which all deserve SO much more love) but I've saved all of the 5 under 500 posts I've seen floating around and I'm looking forward to reading them and hopefully collecting some more!

happy reading, and remember to be kind! :D

-- anincompletelist / sarah

#my fic recs #fic recs #rwrb fic recs #rwrb fics #red white and royal blue

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draguta · 1 year

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.a court of fate and fortune | three.

pairing: lucien vanserra x fem!reader

summary: | book two | lovers separated, powers that won't be controlled, a doomed wedding. with the threat of war looming over prythian, lucien, Y/N, tamlin, and rhysand's inner circle must scramble to find allies and prepare themselves for what is to come. but Y/N only has one aim; to find her way back to lucien, and protect him at all costs.

chapter warnings: n/a

chapter word count: 4369

🔮 series masterlist 🔮

please remember to reblog, like, and share a comment if you enjoy this series - it is always appreciated by writers to see their hard work valued.

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Ianthe

“Will it change?” Lucien finally said. He and Tamlin had been sat in the dining room for what seemed like hours in complete silence. Feyre had retired to bed long ago, but the two males had continued to nurse their wine, just as they once had done every single evening, until Feyre’s appearance in the Spring Court. The moment that Feyre had killed Andras everything had changed, some good and some bad, but all of it different nonetheless. How long ago that seemed now. The days when Tamlin and Lucien had been so close, and Lucien would have done anything for his High Lord, the friend that had saved his hide when he had fled his home and been exiled from the Autumn Court.

Tamlin looked to Lucien, raising an eyebrow in a silent command to explain. Lucien pursed his lips, and took a large swig of his wine; liquid courage.

“When you and Feyre are married, will it change?” He asked again slowly, refusing to look Tamlin in the eye, focusing on the wine that sloshed around in his glass as he turned it in his hand. “Or will she remain a prisoner in her own home?”

Lucien didn’t need to look at Tamlin to know the expression that he would be wearing - he knew Tamlin too well. His brow would be furrowed in annoyance, lips a thin line, white as he pressed them together between his teeth. His eyes would be flashing, and Lucien wouldn’t be surprised if those claws made yet another appearance.

He had seen them too many times over the past few months for his liking.

“What exactly are you asking me, Lucien?” Tamlin asked, voice tight and stern. Lucien sighed, finally looking up at his friend; the picture in front of him was the exact one that he had painted in his mind, right down to the little tick of his brow.

“I just think that Feyre deserves some…freedom,” he said quietly. “After everything she’s-”

“After everything she’s been through, she deserves safety,” Tamlin snapped. “She deserves to feel as if she doesn’t have to keep looking over her shoulder. We all do.”

“I was going to say after everything she’s done for us,” Lucien corrected, planting his glass firmly on the tabletop. “Do you not think that, perhaps, it might be worth actually listening to her?”

“She has only lived in Prythian for a short while,” Tamlin said dismissively. “She doesn’t know the dangers that these lands hold, especially now - I do.”

Lucien sighed again, fighting the urge to throw his head back in frustration; there was no talking to him these days. “I know that it’s dangerous, but she is more than capable of looking after herself, and if not her, then Silas could accompany her,” Lucien suggested. “Just, let her out for a ride or something every now and then. I’ll even go along with her myself-”

“I need you with me,” Tamlin said curtly. “And Silas has his own duties to attend to. She can remain here, where she is safe. And she can paint, and just be happy.”

“You really can’t see that she’s not happy?” Lucien countered, his voice raising slightly. “Tam, she hasn’t painted in months. I can hear her vomiting every night even from my room. Feyre has been through a lot.”

“We’ve all been through a lot,” Tamlin countered. “Or did you forget that I was Under the Mountain too?”

Lucien rolled his shoulder, the ghosts of the scars that had once been there echoing with a phantom pain, a reminder of twenty lashes against raw skin, struck by his very own High Lord - his friend. “I know that,” Lucien said quietly. “We all have demons to fight, but Feyre more than any of us, and now with Y/N gone, it’s just getting worse.”

“Y/N being gone is exactly why I’m keeping Feyre here,” Tamlin snarled, as if the mention of his sister had unleashed that anger within him. “She was taken from my very home, and now she is gone and I can’t get to her, can’t protect her. Not even from herself.”

Lucien rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. “You’re doing everything you can to find her-”

“And yet it’s not enough, because she’s still not here,” Tamlin snapped. “So, if I can keep Feyre here, where I know she will be safe, where I know that he can’t get to her, not when I’m here protecting her, then that is what I will do.”

“So, you intend to keep her locked away just like you did Y/N?” Lucien bit back, his grip around his glass tightening to the point of snow-white knuckles. “Should I expect to see a collar on her soon enough too? Or will simply throwing a box of paint into the room and locking the door be enough to keep her trapped?”

Tamlin’s nostrils flared with anger. “I did what was best for Y/N, you know that.”

“No,” Lucien growled. “You did what you thought was best for her, and now she’s gone. If you had just thought to consult with me, or quite literally anyone else in this damn court, then we would have all told you it was a ridiculous notion. Perhaps this time you might have learnt your lesson and will actually heed my warning about Feyre-”

Tamlin shot from his chair so fast that it knocked over his glass, red wine staining the white tablecloth in a pool that reminded him of his own blood that had seeped onto the stones when his eye had been stolen from him… He grimaced. Tamlin leaned forward on his fists, hints of claw piercing through the soft skin of his knuckles. Lucien had never seen the glare that Tamlin wore in that moment before, and the way that it made his blood run cold told him that he never wanted to be on the receiving end of it ever again.

“You do not tell me how to protect my own betrothed,” he snarled viciously, and his voice sounded almost unfamiliar, nothing like the friend that Lucien had used to share wine with on an evening before. This was a male haunted, a male doing his best to keep himself tied together; Lucien could see that now. “Do not push me on this, Lucien.”

But Lucien didn’t falter, instead rising from his own seat slowly, swirling the wine in his glass one last time before throwing back the contents, and turning to stride toward the door. He didn’t even turn to Tamlin as he said, “I hope that you are able to realise that being protected does not always equate to a good life, old friend, sooner rather than later.” He paused at the open doorway, turning back to his High Lord, chin held high. “If not for Feyre’s sake, then for your own.”

A resounding growl was the only response Lucien received.

You stood under the water, letting it wash away the toils of your day, of your training. Cassian had pushed your body to the brink, and your limbs ached with every movement. Azriel and Rhys had pushed your mind to the brink, and the weariness in my head seemed to weigh you down heavily. The odd little waterfall that sat in the centre of your washroom was your favourite part of your room; water that flowed from a little clutter of rocks on the wall above your head and flowed down over your body before pooling at your feet in the little basin, disappearing down a plug on the floor. You had never seen anything like it before, and Rhys had been quick to proudly inform you that the water came from a mountain stream nearby, and that the very few of these contraptions in existence all sat within the House of Wind. You hadn’t cared that much about the mechanical workings of the waterfall, but had relished in the feeling of it, of how clean it made you feel, of how warm it made you.

You leant against the wall of that little waterfall; you could hear Mor chattering away in your bedroom, babbling about the clothes that filled your wardrobe, but you were hardly listening. You were too exhausted, even if you knew she meant well. You closed your eyes, and drew in a deep breath.

It was then that you felt it, the ache in your heart. You winced, placing a hand over the space where your heart was on your chest. But it wasn’t an ache at all, it was a tug, and it wasn’t against your heart…it was against that bond, the strings that tied you to your mate.

Your mating bond.

An overwhelming wave of frustration and anger seemed to wash over you in the same way that the water did, followed closely by another tug, and you realised that whatever this was that you were feeling…it was what Lucien was feeling in that very moment. You let out a small sob - you could feel him, could feel his emotions as if you were two pieces of a whole, as if you were one. But he didn’t know that. He couldn’t feel you on the end of those strings, you were certain of it. If he could, you were sure you would know. That tug wouldn’t feel so vacant.

Your heartbeat thundered in your chest, only…that wasn’t your heartbeat. Yours beat out of sync under your palm. Yet you could hear it, reverberating around you. A heartbeat that belonged to someone else, that belonged to Lucien. The sound grew and grew, like drums beating in time with the very ticks of time that culminated his life. There was something else there, something interlaced with each beat, with each pounding of your own heart; a voice. It was as if the words were coming from your very own mind, a voice echoed in your head, ringing in your ears, like they were being spoken right into your ear.

‘I hope that you are able to realise that being protected does not always equate to a good life.’

A strangled cry, unlike any sound you had ever let out before, etched its way up your throat. Your knees buckled, and it took everything in your to keep yourself standing, pressed against the slick wall of the waterfall. Because that voice, it wasn’t your voice. It was his. It was Lucien.

You could hear him, almost as if he was right there beside you. You could feel him, could sense him.

But that feeling was gone as fast as it had come, and you had lost him again.

Lucien very rarely wanted for anything. He’d always lived a life of luxury, even if it was one that he didn’t necessarily feel that he needed or wanted, or even deserved. But there had never been anything he wanted that he couldn’t have. Any female that he set his sights on would, at some point, end up in his bed. Even Jesminda, who had been so against him at first, he had managed to work his magic on, and she had fallen so incredulously for him. When she had been killed, he had been broken, had mourned her, but he had known that he’d found the love that he had wanted - that he had needed - in her arms.

But this - this never-ending ache for Y/N - that was the one thing that he had been denied. And he hated it. Hated that he would, out of instinct, wake each morning and roll over in search of her, as if she had been there all along, only to find an empty and cold mattress in her wake.

He seemed to forget, sometimes, that she wasn’t there anymore. He would wander into the library and look up to that desk by the window where she used to reside so often, expecting to see her sitting there hunched over a book. He would go to breakfast or dinner, and would go to fill a plate of food for her only to remember that she wasn’t there. He would find himself talking away, telling stories of his day, and would turn only to find the chair beside him empty.

So when he let himself into his room that night and saw the figure of a female sat at the end of his bed, face shrouded by the darkness of the evening, he couldn’t fault himself for thinking that it was her.

“Lucien,” the female crooned, and as soon as he heard his name on her tongue, he knew that it wasn’t Y/N. No, that voice belonged to someone else, someone more malicious and cruel than she was. His name sounded like a sneer from her lips, not the tender way that Y/N would say it. Not like the prayer to only him that she had whispered as he had been buried inside her.

“I don’t remember inviting you in here, Ianthe,” Lucien said firmly, moving to the table in the corner of his room and unbuckling his baldric and sword from his waist. “What are you doing here?”

Ianthe sprung to her feet, wandering into the moonlight, a flick of her wrist bringing a faelight to the chandelier from the ceiling, lighting the room properly. She smiled at him, one that he had no doubt would have brought any other male to their knees before her, but it wouldn’t work on Lucien. He thinned his lips, rolling his eyes as he turned to remove his waistcoat.

“I was feeling lonely, down there in the temple,” she said, her voice low and sultry. She stepped forward toward him, gently batting his hands away from the buttons of his waistcoat and beginning to unfasten them herself, her teal eyes never leaving his, kohl-coated lashes batting gently against her cheeks. “I thought I might come to find you, for some company.”

Lucien sighed, gripping her wrist and pulling them away from her. “I thought I had made myself perfectly clear,” he said, irritated. “I’m not interested.”

“That was years ago,” she giggled, turning away from him and seemingly floating across the room, her robes whispering against the wooden floor as she went. Lucien rid himself of his waistcoat and rolled the sleeves of his shirt up, crossing his arms over his chest impatiently. She paused at the fireplace, her fingers dancing along the wood of the mantlepiece as she glanced over her shoulder with a coy smile. “I think we’ve grown quite a bit since then. Surely you can see as well as I can how strong of a match we are.”

“We aren’t a match at all,” Lucien gritted out. She paused, and Lucien’s entire body stiffened when she picked up the crystal rock, turning it over in her hand; the crystal that Y/N had gifted him for Winter Solstice, that sat on his mantlepiece at all times as a reminder of who he was fighting for, who he would ultimately do anything to get back to. “You need to go.”

Ianthe pouted her plump lips, batting her long lashes once more as she turned; Lucien almost let out a breath of relief when she put the crystal back in the same place she had found it. She took a confident step forward until she was standing directly in front of him, and Lucien did nothing but look down at her with a look of distaste.

“Are you sure, Lucien?” She asked, voice low as her long fingers pulled at the string on the front of her blue robes, the entire cloak brushing against her arms as it fell to a pool around her feet on the floor. But even with her naked form before him, his eyes never left her face, never trailed down. He had seen true female beauty, and he knew that the snake in front of him could never come close to it, not even when she prettied herself up; he could still see the scales. “Feyre and Tamlin have found their matches. Surely, you want the same thing for yourself.”

She stepped closer once more, pressing her hands against his chest. “We could be great together, you know?” She said, so focused on her unsubtle attempts at seduction that she didn’t even notice Lucien reach behind him, toward the baldric that he had left on the desk. “A coupling that could conquer courts, you and I.”

The hilt of one of Lucien’s daggers found its way to his hand, and he gripped it tightly, his jaw ticking as he pulled it up, close to her face, not close enough that it might harm her, but enough that it made her eyes widen and her mouth part in shock as she took a step back.

“I’m not going to tell you again, Ianthe,” he said as firmly as he could, brow low. “Leave. Now.”

She seemed to stumble over herself as she grabbed her clothes from the floor and fled his room, and as soon as he heard the door click shut behind her he slumped against the edge of the table, dagger falling from his hand to hit with a soft thud against the carpet, that same hand coming to pinch at his brow.

“Forgive me, Y/N,” he whispered. Because he had thought that devil-female, that she-witch, had been her. Had been the female he loved. And Y/N was far from that. She was ethereal and beautiful and perfect. Y/N was his entire soul.

Dinners with the Inner Circle were…interesting. At first you had barely interacted with any of them, and they had seemed all too willing to let me sit in your self-proclaimed pity. But as the weeks drew on, and you found yourself drowning in your loneliness, they had seemed to glint that you needed their company, even if they didn’t need yours.

“How is your training coming along?” Mor asked, reaching over to take a spoonful of potatoes onto her plate. She looked at you from under thick lashes, her red lips beaming brightly. Those lips reminded you too much of someone you would rather forget; someone with red hair and a preference for jewellery made of the males who had wronged her.

“She’s doing well,” Rhys interjected before you had a chance to answer. “We’re definitely making some headway, I think.”

“Hopefully I’ll have it controlled at least soon,” you agreed, taking a sip of your wine and leaning back in your chair. “And then I can start learning how to use it to my benefit.”

“And she’s a deft hand with a sword,” Cassian cut in, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “She’d make a pretty good warrior, if it weren’t for the attitude.”

She glowered at him. “You would have an attitude too if a great brute of a male made you run one-hundred lengths of the rooftop,” you muttered under your breath. Mor giggled, and even Azriel let out a low chuckle.

“Sounds like you’re running her ragged, brother,” Rhys laughed, popping a torn-off piece of bread into his mouth. His violet eyes drifted to you with an amused smile. “I’m surprised you let him. The you I know isn’t the type to let a male make her do anything without a little arguing first.”

You both smirked in unison, likely thinking back to the many squabbles you’d had Under the Mountain. You wondered if he was reminiscing about the same one as you were, the numerous times he kept catching you lingering outside Lucien’s door.

“Well, you were the one who told me that she needs to be in top shape,” Cassian reminded the Night Court High Lord, raising an eyebrow toward him. “Or did you forget?”

You narrowed your eyes, turning to Rhysand expectantly to ask him why, exactly, that was the case, but when you saw the way the colour had paled from his face, you knew that something was bothering him. He clenched his fist - his right hand - where you knew Feyre wore a tattoo in the same place as a marker of their bargain together. And you knew in an instant that he was feeling whatever it was she was feeling in that moment. The same way you had felt Lucien.

Because she was his mate, or so Rhys had told you. They had been made for each other, in body and soul. Yet she was to wed another, your brother, and Rhysand would remain here longing for her for the rest of his days. The closest he could get to her, without invoking the bargain that he had made with her, was through those feelings that encompassed her, the ones that he would feel through that bond each time. Her anger, her sadness, the small droplets of happiness sprinkled in between.

Until that afternoon, you hadn’t felt that with Lucien. You had tried, on more than one occasion - had closed your eyes and searched for any glimmer of emotion that might have been coming from him, from your own mate. But there had never been anything there. She had assumed it was because the bond still hadn’t snapped into place for him, and you had been left without anything to remind yourself of him, or of the love that you shared.

But that had changed that evening. You had felt him, and whether it happened again or not, you would cherish that moment for the remainder of your immortal days.

Whatever the feeling was that had eloped Rhysand in such a statue-esque state seemed to fade, but that didn’t stop him from slamming his fist against the table. You and Mor both flinched as he inhaled, lividly, through his nose, and proceeded to storm from the dining room, running a hand through his hair in frustration, barely sparing any of the rest of us a glance.

You didn’t even think, pushing out of your own chair, ignoring the slight shake of his head that Azriel sent you, and followed after the High Lord. You caught up with him further down the hallway, reaching out to grasp him on the arm and bring him to a stop. He spun, eyes wide, but he calmed when he saw that it was you.

“She had another nightmare,” he said quietly, almost as if it were taking everything in him just to say the words. “She had another nightmare, and he’s doing nothing.”

Of course. Tamlin never did anything to help her when she woke from a nightmare. You remembered from the nights that she would sneak into your room looking for comfort. He had his own demons haunting his sleep.

“She’ll be okay, Rhys,” you soothed. “It’s only a nightmare. She’s not in any danger.”

“She deserves better than that,” he countered, turning away from you, staring at the wall ahead. He paused for a moment, just staring, thinking, shoulders shaking with shuddering breaths. “It’s the wedding tomorrow.”

Your eyes widened. Had it really come so quickly? Had you really been in the Night Court for that long? Away from Lucien for that long? “What will you do?” You asked. Rhys drew in another shaking breath.

“Nothing,” he said finally. “I will do nothing. This is what she wanted. This is what will make her happy - he makes her happy. I won’t stand in the way of that. I just…I just wish I could be there to see her face, to know that this is the right decision for her. To know that she needs him, not me.”

“So then go,” you said slowly.

“No,” he scoffed, shaking his head and stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Tamlin wouldn’t let me get two feet close to that wedding. I’d probably have to winnow right to the altar to get close enough to actually see her.”

“And let me guess,” you said quietly, all-knowingly. “If you did go, you may not be able to stop yourself from stopping the wedding.”

He looked at you then - really looked at you. He took in every feature on your face, every freckle and speck of colour in your eyes, and it was as if he were seeing you for the first time. He grinned lazily. “You know,” he said, back to the picture of coolness that you had always known him to be, “you’re a lot wiser than you look.”

“Is it wisdom? Or is it more likely all the wine you fed me at dinner?” You chuckled. Rhys smirked knowingly, shrugging his shoulders.

“What can I say?” He chuckled. “Wine is, from my experience, the best way to mend a broken heart. And it would seem we’re both in need of that.”

You winced. He stared.

And stared. And stared.

And then, he reached his arm out toward you. “Are you lonely?” He asked slowly, and when you did nothing but blink, he seemed to take that as a confirmation. “Perhaps we could make each other less lonely.” It was just the same as it had been the last time. Because you knew that he was lonely, and he knew that you were too. You knew that he was seeking a distraction from the fact that the female he loved - his mate - was to be married to another male the following morning.

But everything was different now. You weren’t just a fool in love, you weren’t reeling from an endless stream of rejections. You were mated, even if he didn’t know that, even if your own damn mate didn’t know that yet. And the thought of falling into bed with anyone else made your stomach churn with nausea.

“I can’t,” you said almost apologetically. “You know I can’t, and you know that it wouldn’t make you feel any better even if I could. But, if you’re looking for company, I could certainly do with another drink, and maybe a chat, if you’re up for that instead?”

Rhys peered at you for a moment in wonder; clearly he wasn’t used to being turned down. But eventually he nodded his agreement, and you looped your arm through his, and allowed him to escort her back toward the sitting room as friends.

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Lucien Vanserra: | @luna-foxglove | @lumos-barnes |

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darklordofthesimp · 2 years

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The Beskar Beast II (Din Djarin x Reader)

CHAPTER 2

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

A Beauty and The Beast Retelling.

Summary:

The Beskar Beast of Nevarro had been a living legend that both protected and terrorized the planet for years. A creature of the night, shielded from the sun and his enemies by beskar armor, requiring a blood sacrifice every two years to keep his bloodlust sated. There were plenty of women on Nevarro, and the likelihood of being chosen was slim- though, you supposed you'd ruined your odds when you accepted the deal to take your sister's place as his offering.

After all, what better reason to die if not for love?

AN: Thank you all for leaving such kind comments, your feedback fuels my motivation!

Rated: 16+

Warnings: Threats of Violence.

You hadn’t known there were castles in Nevarro.

The behemoth structure before you had your heart leaping into your throat and to say it was huge would’ve been a severe understatement. How could no one have seen this place? It was not far enough out of the town to be unreachable. Though maybe it actually had been discovered and the poor person had never lived long enough to tell the tale.

The speeder slowed as it pulled through the gnarled gates and nausea racketed in your stomach as they slid shut behind you.

An impending sense of doom gripped you tightly by the neck.

The grounds were unkempt, but you suspected that once upon a time they had been beautiful. There were garden beds sectioned off and cobble-stone pathways that had been choked and devoid of life because of the Beast’s negligence.

You wouldn’t even get a pretty view before you died.

You weren’t even granted an entrance through the front door.

The soldiers gripped your biceps tightly, dragging you through a back entrance in grim silence. The door was reinforced steel and you immediately knew this was the dungeon by the lifeless interior and concrete flooring. Soon enough, the cells and cages came into view, furnished with the bare minimum to survive and a tattered stretcher. Murderers and rapists awaiting their trial in a jailhouse had better accommodation.

You swallowed heavily.

“You’re cowards,” you murmured to your handlers as one of them opened the nearest cage.

If you were going to die, there was no need to stand on formalities. Your body and mind were numb and it was like you existed on a different plane, one where you felt none of the panic that you should have.

“This is an honor,” the soldier waiting by the cell stated robotically, but the one holding your arm shook his head.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, guiding you through the doorway into your new home. You bit your tongue, fighting the urge to resist, the urge to run. If you disappeared before giving the Beast what he wanted they might go back for Kalea and everything would have been for nothing. But you couldn’t do this, you couldn’t wait here knowing that you’d be called for a needless execution. A violent death to appease a cursed creature. You didn’t deserve this, you weren’t a model citizen but you paid your taxes and you worked hard to build a life for yourself and your sister after your parents passed. This was not how the story was meant to end.

The soldier straightened suddenly and let go of your arms. His breath was shaky as he stepped away from your frozen body, maneuvering himself towards the exit. You could barely see him retreat in the darkness of the dungeon and neither of them said anything to inform you of what was happening.

“Wait-” You choked, scrambling forward. What had happened to the light? You couldn’t see, you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t think. “Wait! Please!”

There was no response other than the distant sound of a door closing.

Had they just left?

The light had gone out completely and there was no noise, nothing to indicate that you had company anymore. You couldn’t see anything other than where a crack in the wall shone a strip of light at your cell door… the door that was open.

You blinked.

The door was open.

Why would they leave the cell unlocked?

You took a careful step forward, heart drumming against your rib cage as if it were also screaming to be freed from it’s prison. It was clearly a trap, too good to be true. There was no way this had been an accident, especially not when the stakes were so high, not when you were delivering cargo to the Beskar Beast. There’s no room for error… and yet, right there in front of you, was a beautiful error.

You reached out slowly for the door, your hand crossing into that one, hopeful stream of light.

“I wouldn’t.”

You gasped as the glinting chest plate of the Beast appeared only an inch away from your fingertips.

Your mouth felt as though it had been stuffed with cotton.

With every inch of his frame slowly entering the light you stepped back into the darkness, seeking solace, seeking protection. But the Beast was a creature of the night, and how could you have known that he could see you better in the dark than you could see during the day?

Every atom in your body told you to run, and every nerve beneath your skin was on fire. This was it, he had come to kill you in this dingy dungeon. Your story would end here in a bloody tangle of limbs and screams.

For the first time since you had been taken, the severity of the situation had begun to hit you.

“Please,” you whispered. You didn’t know what you were asking, but as your back brushed against the cement wall behind you, you decided that it was a prayer. A plea for help from any divine intervention that was bored enough to help you.

As the monster took a slow step toward you, your body dumped adrenaline into your system. Your heart beat against your ribs and you could hear the blood rushing through your ears.

“You never let me say goodbye,” the words were nothing more than a murmur but you knew he had heard them. Every syllable was shaky and drunk off of your terror and he had listened to them all. “Even in death, there will be no peace.”

The Beast hesitated for a split second.

You closed your eyes tight as he gradually approached, you didn’t want to see how he would kill you. Hopefully, it would be a quick and painless death, something less horrible than what you had imagined.

You heard the monster come to a soft halt, his boots inches away from your curled figure. Gloved fingers gripped your chin and you jolted with a pathetic whimper. But the Beast didn’t let go, his touch so gentle that you thought you might already be dead.

“You will not die if you do what I ask.”

That raspy voice, composed of smoke and whispers, still surprised you. He was close and even though it was dark you couldn’t trust that you wouldn’t be forced to look at him. So you kept your eyes closed, praying that the monster couldn’t see the tears wetting your cheeks.

“Just kill me,” your sob was quiet, but it racked your body in a way that you couldn’t control. You had never felt so afraid, you’d never felt so vulnerable- making your own choices was the last thing you had control over and he wanted to take that. You would not make a deal with the god of death, you would not indebt yourself to the Beast of Nevarro.

“You don’t even know what I’m about to ask from you.”

There was a lilt to his tone, almost amusement but strangely similar to hope. You hated it, you hated that your life was entertainment to this creature.

“I don’t care!” You snapped, but the words were watery and you knew he saw through your bravery. The fingers gripping your chin tightened fractionally, and you weren’t sure whether your defiance had excited him or angered him. Both of those options spilled fear down the length of your spine like a cold chill.

“You sacrificed your life to me,” the reminder was spoken through gritted teeth, “you can either listen or I can tear your throat out right here. Make your choice.”

Your body trembled beneath his grip and the words you wanted to spit at him played on the tip of your tongue. Fat tears rolled onto his gloved fingers, wetting the material thoroughly as you bit your lip hard. His hold softened as you sniffled.

“I’ll do what you want but on two conditions,” you whispered, core tensing at the risk you were taking. It took a monstrous amount of audacity to make demands from the Beskar Beast, but you had nothing to lose.

There was a long pause before he spoke again, “I’m listening.”

He always was.

You opened your mouth but your courage shriveled as soon as you took a breath. The Beast let go of your face as if he were giving you room to breathe and speak, but you could feel the brush of his cape against your arm. He was so, so close.

“I want to know what you want from me.” Your first demand was barely a sentence, shaky and incoherent. There was a low hum of deliberation that you knew was only a courtesy, it was the devil letting you know that he understood this part of your terms. “And I want you to show me what you are.”

The silence that followed was long and heavy and you could feel your blood turn cold. What if you had pushed too hard? He’d let you make your silly demands knowing full well that he could have made you do whatever he wanted regardless.

“That’s it?” The Beast questioned, almost amused.

Your eyes shot open in surprise, blinking dumbly into the darkness.

“Yes?” You stuttered, the statement was more of a question than anything else. It was unnerving to know that he was right there, and yet you couldn’t see a single shadow of his figure.

“Deal.”

His voice came from directly in front of you and you bit your lip from making a noise, staring into the darkness with wide eyes. A hand gripped your bicep firmly and you startled, gasping as you instinctively tried to pull away. You were pulled to your feet smoothly and you forced your feet steady to hold you up. Crisp, white sparkles skittered across your eyes and you felt your body sway at the sharp movement.

The Beast did not move or drag you across the room like you thought he would have, instead it was as if he were waiting for you to get your bearings before moving.

“What’re you doing?” You breathed, tugging lightly on your arm in his hold.

“I can’t meet your demands down here,” he said roughly, guiding you towards the cell door with less grace than before. “I’ll show you to your room.”

Your eyes widened as the Beast approached the sliver of light, that one ray of hope that you had clung to so tightly earlier.

“My room?” You questioned, startled. “But, I thought…”

The both of you had come to an abrupt halt by the door and he whirled on you as you stumbled against his chest. You tried to straighten yourself, pressing your splayed hand against the beskar plate to create distance. The Beast’s fingers tightened against your arm as he watched you from above, his presence towering over you in a way you hadn’t truly acknowledged until now.

“You wanna stay in the dungeon?” He gestured to the cell with his free hand, voice breathless with frustration.

“No.” You said instantly, feeling scolded.

“Then follow me,” the words were softer. The Beast pushed a piece of heavy fabric into your hands, “it’s cold in the castle.”

You would have scoffed were you not in a literal life-or-death situation.

It was Nevarro, it was never cold, it was called a desert planet for a reason. But when the monster guided you out of the dungeon and into the long hallway, you realized that he had been right. He had let go of your arm as soon as there was enough light for you to see where you were going and you threw the sheet across your shoulders. You realized, the longer you inspected it, that it was one of the Beast’s capes. Your heart skipped a beat and the monster looked over his pauldron at you as if he had heard it. Maybe he had heard it.

Fear ran down your spine at the thought, how far did the “beastliness” go? Was he just a Mandalorian shrouded in rumors and legends because of his skill or was he truly a creature of myth?

When he audibly sighed, you prayed that it was the former.

“This castle is your home now,” the Beast said over his shoulder, barely turning his head to address you. “You can go anywhere you want, just not the West Wing.”

“What’s in the West Wing?” You asked softly, lifting your eyes to observe the grand carvings in the ceiling. A hand gripped your shoulder tightly and you jolted when you realized that the monster had stopped in front of a door. You were inches away from him, his hand stopping you from walking straight into his beskar.

The Beast watched you through that menacing helmet, his fingers hard on your body.

“The West Wing holds the kind of death that you were begging for.”

You stared at him with wide eyes, entranced by the darkness of the helmet. Your lips trembled at the words and you made the mental note to never enter any part of the castle that wasn’t the main hallway.

He pressed his fist against the button on the wall and the door hissed open, but his gaze never left yours. After what seemed like a lifetime of being frozen in his thrall, he finally inclined his head towards the room. He was telling you to go in.

Slowly, you crept past him into your quarters, never turning your back towards the Beast.

“The servants will tend to your needs,” the monster said, looming in the doorway like something out of a horror story.

You nodded your head but you suspected that it looked like you had just flinched.

“You will join me for dinner, we'll discuss your terms then.” The Beast added with a growl, stepping out of the doorway and back into the hall. “That’s not a request.”

The door slammed shut but you could still feel the heat of his gaze linger on your skin.

You had not truly been left alone since you’d been taken, and as you turned to the room you could feel your body tremble. The events of the day were starting to sink in and your body was coming down from the fear-fuelled high that came with the Beast’s presence. The room was large and dark and that same sense of impending doom came back to choke you.

You’d begun to weep before you’d even reached the bed.

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brightlight-dazzlingeyes · 9 months

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between the lines | chapter 08 (finale)

rúben dias x original female character [+18]

synopsis: isabella is a sports journalist covering the premier league. she has sworn to never get involved with a football player. that is, until she meets a handsome portuguese defender. warnings: incorrect journalism references; timeline of events are not faithful to real life; i have never been to england; mutual pining; romantic comedy; minors dni.

previous chapter | masterlist

Chapter 08 — Shooting and Finishing

Days went by smoothly. I tried to spend as much time as possible minding other people's business and concentrating on other people's drama. Hours daily doom scrolling social media. It worked as expected and I managed to stay distracted.

Until I got a promotion at work. Yesterday.

It was the most ordinary day possible at the office, the monotonous hum of the air conditioning filling the room as I sat at my desk, the low voices of my coworkers talking nonsense to each other, somebody somewhere in the office opening a snack thinking no one would notice… The usual.

And then my phone buzzed. I glanced down at the screen to see a text from my boss, Mr. Evans.

‘Can you meet me in the media room in five minutes?’

My heart pounded as I read the message. I always hated meetings with the boss, they were never ever good news. I headed towards the media room, my footsteps echoing in the otherwise silent corridor, my legs shaking.

When I entered, Mr. Evans was already sitting down, his expression a mix of anticipation and confidence. He gestured for me to take a seat, and I nervously obliged, my palms beginning to sweat.

"Isabella," he began, his voice steady, "I've been observing your dedication and hard work over the past months."

I nodded, my anxiety building with each passing second.

"I believe you're ready for a new challenge," he continued. "I want to offer you a promotion, a better role, with increased responsibilities."

My mind whirled, a thousand thoughts colliding. The promotion was everything I had hoped for, but it was also the very thing I had been avoiding. It meant stepping out of my comfort zone and facing the unknown.

I agreed anyway, and didn't even have to think twice. I just nodded and thanked him. I could feel my legs trembling beneath the table, as if they were on the verge of betraying me. My voice quivered as I responded, "I... I appreciate the offer, Mr. Evans."

He gave me an encouraging nod, his eyes unwavering. He could tell how nervous and like a kind and caring mentor Mr. Evans smiled, a reassuring gesture. "Isabella, fear is a natural part of growth. It means you're stepping into uncharted territory, and that's where true progress lies."

I couldn’t escape reality after that. No amount of idiotic insta posts could keep my thoughts away from the inevitable: I want Rúben. I want to talk to him everyday. I want him in my life. I want to be a part of his life.

So, even scared, even with my legs shaking and heart pounding and all of that. I called him.

‘I have an answer for you’, I wanted to say. Instead, I said:

“I just got a promotion!”

“Isa, congratulations! That 's amazing.” I could hear his smile through the phone, he did not question my phone call and sounded genuinely happy for him. The desire to hug him flooded me.

“Well, you see… I actually got scared when I first heard about it. It seems like a lot of responsibility.” I was twirling my hair fighting the urge to bite my nails.

“What? You think so?” He seemed so worried I almost laughed, but I had a point to make and he needed to know.

“I have commitment issues.” I say loud and clear.

He takes a moment to answer, unsure.

“Are you still talking about the job?”

I shake my head, uselessly, since he can't see me.

“I lost both of my parents when I was too young to know how to deal with it and I never had a serious relationship before.”

I can hear him sighing over the phone and I use the moment to take a deep breath and proceed. I decide to tell him all at once, before I have the chance to lose courage again.

“I realized something about myself this past week.” I continue. “I tend to focus too much on what’s right in front of me, instead of considering the whole picture. I worry too much about the small emergencies life throws at me and forget about what’s really important.”

“Am I a small emergency?” He interfered, confused.

“No, you’re the important part. You’re the house.”

I make gestures as if he could see me, trying to make him understand.

“The house?” Rúben laughs.

“Yeah… Shit, I kind of ruined the speech, there was a part about a house and leaks and…”

“Isa, are you home?” “Yes–” “Give me fifteen minutes.”

Twenty minutes later and he was towering over my front door wearing a hoodie and rosy cheeks, he looked like he came running to see me. I felt in the moment that I was allowed to hold him as hard as I’ve missed him, so I did.

Rúben held me back and I felt a soft kiss on my neck. He then held my face, making me look him in the eye.

“Is this your answer?” He searched for any sign of doubt in me, but there wasn't any.

“Yes. Yes, I’m not running away again, I promis–” and he kissed me. Before I could finish my sentence he closed the apartment door and still holding me tight, he guided me inside.

“I missed this so much.” His voice was rough, his lips still touching mine as he spoke, going in for another kiss. Rúben was hungry and I shared the same feeling. “I missed you.” He spoke, this time properly looking at me.

“I missed you too.” I told him with a smile, feeling so happy and grateful for his reaction.

He smiled even brighter at my words, looking suddenly relieved. His hands were firm in my waist then, pulling me as close as possible to him.

“Now come here, we have to make up for the lost time.”

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#football fanfic #between the lines #ruben dias #rúben dias #football fic #ruben dias fanfic #ruben dias fic #oc fanfiction

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diedinariptide · 11 months

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Prompt #512

Liv is caught in a timeloop, and cannot escape. Inspired by this prompt.

The sunlight mocked Liv in its warm glow, illuminating the room she had spent the night in. The heavy arm and calm breaths beside her told her what had happened last night wasn't a dream.

In her sleep, Rhea face looked so calm, free of the sneer that she had seen on it oh so many times before or from the creases that formed whenever she was thinking about something. One could even say she looked sweet if you looked at her in all the right angles.

That was the hardest part of it all, Liv thought. In a few days, she would be back in that ring with Rhea again, fighting for the tag team championship. And they would lose again, just like they did all the other times. And Rhea would turn on her, leaving her all alone. Again.

It was some sick twist of fate that Liv had to relive that nightmare over and over again. The first few loops felt more akin to bouts of deja vu, but now Liv knew better. She was in an endless cycle, doomed to repeat the last couple months for the rest of her eternity.

Sometimes Rhea also knew, and then Liv wasn't as alone. It all ended the same way, more or less. Waking up all alone, with nothing she did in the last loop muttering in the end.

So maybe that's why Liv threw caution to the wind. It wouldn't matter anyways, there was nothing left to lose. Rhea had been confused when she called her up to get a few glasses late last night, asking her what had gotten into her mind. Everything, Liv wanted to say. But also nothing.

Crossing the line had been spur of the moment. She could regret it later in another loop.

Liv's body still tingled from the way Rhea had touched her, holding onto her as if she would break by the slightest push. Under her fingers, Liv's world had shattered under the want that was finally set free. It tugged at her, urging her to stay oblivious of what was to come.

What was it she wanted? Liv had lost track of it.

A pair of lips on her shoulder brought Liv back to the land of the living, lips moving upwards from her neck to her jaw.

"G'morning," Rhea hummed, snuggling into her side.

This Rhea didn't know anything, and in that moment, Liv decided that was for the best.

"Good morning, handsome." Liv smiled through the kiss, still tasting like last night's indulgences. For a few more days, she would allow herself to take full advantage of this loop, filling her heart until it was time to break it again.

#livley #rhea ripley #liv morgan #rhea x liv #rhea ripley x liv morgan #wwe fanfiction #l4b #liv for brutality

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cygnustarth · 11 months

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“Maybe the poison drips through,” Kendall said to Shiv. Logan's dead but maybe the poison drips through. And I watch in abject horror, with a pit in my stomach and the visceral urge to vomit as the three siblings all spiraled down to become the worst part of Logan. Maybe the poison drips through. Ken flew all over the place with his crazy ideas only to have all of them crashing and burning in front of his eyes because he wanted people to look at him and say that he's outdone Logan, because Logan would prove that he's the best and this is what Logan would've done. Maybe the poison drips through. Shiv secretly teamed up with Matsson to screw her brothers over from the back door because Logan was ruthless and this is what Logan would've done. Maybe the poison drips through. Roman supported a right-wing fascist to be the president because he only cared about the ratings and the company and he would sell democracy, hell, even the whole country for it, that's what Logan would've done. Maybe the poison drips through.

Logan's dead but maybe the poison drips through. Maybe the poison already dripped through. Logan's dead and Kendall’s the CEO but Kendall is an empty husk of a man raised only for power and could not, would not live without it. Maybe the poison already dripped through. Logan's dead and nobody is going to dangle his approval in front of Shiv anymore to get her to dance but Shiv already destroyed her relationship with Tom. Tom was the one who filled her with the love and recognition she wants but it’s not enough and it will never be enough because she can't recognize love when it's not transactional. Maybe the poison already dripped through. Logan's dead and nobody is belittling and abusing Roman anymore but Roman is a lost little boy looking for love, the runt of Logan’s litter and Logan toughened him up by hurting him and making him hurt the people he loves: hurt his siblings and hurt Gerri. Maybe the poison already dripped through.

Logan's dead but maybe the poison drips through. Maybe the poison will keep on dripping through. Kendall shaped himself for his entire life to be his father's heir since Logan promised the empire to him when he was 7. Kendall verbally and physically abused Roman in the name of love, pushed Shiv out and said it was him protecting her, lied to his siblings to get his way. Kendall became a monster. Kendall became Logan. But it wasn’t enough. The crown was snatched from him anyway. So in the end, he was left staring at the sea, having lost everything: the company, his siblings, his kids, and maybe he should throw himself inside, there’s nothing left for him to live for anyway. Maybe the poison will keep on dripping through. Shiv manipulated and backstabbed Kendall to snatch the crown from him but in the end it wasn’t hers, it was Tom’s. In the end, she ended up exactly as her mother whom she resented, the wife of the CEO and mother of the CEO’s baby, trapped in a loveless marriage and doomed to repeat the cycle of neglect and abuse. Maybe the poison will keep on dripping through. Roman was in a bar all alone, staring at the glass of Martini. In the end, he can't have his dad, he can't have his siblings, he can't have Gerri, he can only have Gerri’s drink. Maybe the poison will keep on dripping through. Logan pitted his children against each other all their lives and his death opened their gates. Here’s a glass fighting cage. Here are three golden children, three broken mirrors, three fighting dogs. In the end, what else could they do but tear each other apart while everyone watches?

Logan's dead but the poison drips through. It dripped through already and it will keep on dripping through. And here's the sad story. Here's the tragedy. We keep watching this show holding on to redemption, hoping that the siblings would somehow find love, and love conquers all, or so we thought, so the kids will somehow be alright. But it’s too late. It’s too goddamn late. The poison has been dripping through all along. The ending has been written in ink long ago, in the childhood videos where the children stood together and Logan always walked away from them. The ending has been writ in stone in Logan's mausoleum with four empty reserved spots: for the three golden children and Connor, the actual eldest son who was always ignored, yet he could not escape the trio’s ending anyway.

#succession #succession spoilers #kendall roy #shiv roy #roman roy #logan roy #meta #guess who's late to the succession party

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choctalksalot · 1 year

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@tipsygnostalgy HELLO HI UH THIS IS AN INCOMPLETE VERSION. i snipped out some bits because im throwing down anxiety in.the ring even posting this. im frankly a little embarrassed i can't give everything tonight even what i have down as okay to upload is not my top form at all, im just really really excitedaaaa i'll probably reblog the lovers post with a complete version eventually, but for now this is the best thanks i can offer for the nigh lethal dose of dopamine you've shot into my skull.

apologies in advance for my verbosity it's chronic

im posting dirk's half first because i definitely talked too much on jake's. it's almost double the length. i think it's partially because ive chewed through dirk so much i can make it through a considerable amount of his sections without dissolving completely. and i'm impatient!

note: my interactions with philosophy are limited to the two month bonanza i spent when i was 14 which i barely remember due to my general memory issues because my philosophy teacher was shit at his job and i took matters into my own hands, and uh. dirkjake! and one character from one other fandom. yeah. i am a nerd who loves breaking shit down, i love information, and i love philosophy nonetheless but i am So unqualified to be doing any of this

entry 1:

can i scream? i'm screaming. out loud. in real life. holy two fucks and a half. what do i even say it's So Good. dirk could excuse his inadequacy with the minute comfort that the brother he idolizes is functionally perfect in a way he could never conceivably live up to be. everything is shattered when he meets a version of him who is on the same footing. Yes. i literally have a post typed up about it.

im copypasting a small segment here but it's so close to exactly what you said im almost unnerved. mostly excited tho i am SHAKING

the most devastating thing to know is that dave is just a guy. dave strider, 16 year old. human and flawed and still enough in ways dirk never could be. what he did for his team his friends the things dirk couldn't, he is made to serve and no matter how hard dirk tries he cannot live up to be the same because this is not his role.

words? words. that's so much many words.

this is not his class. he is doomed to be selfish, his thread is already in the tapestry and he falls right into the path no matter how much he fights it. what can be counted as him indirectly the plot was created at the service/detriment to himself (hal) and what is himself directly aiding his party is in fact orchestrated by other more helpful, more selfless people and he hates it so much.

YES IT'S EXACTLY THAT RIGHT THERE RIGHT RIGHT THERE dirk is so so So aware that he is selfish that he cannot help the people he cares about oh so deeply and the knowledge that dave on his own, after being hurt so much "more" than dirk direct abuse he was able to pull through, he was still enough. shit man !!!!!!!

funnily enough i think dirk might have been able to learned new skills to do with his classpect besides the passive narrative bend it has on everything he does to destroy. this is entirely theory but your classpect and your development with it helps you develop as a person. it's like a muscle if you think about it; the more you use it, the closer you get to its core, the more you learn to bend ithad he tried to use it (resisting the urge to say like dave did because that will stomp on the shattered pieces of my heart) i think he would have gotten a bit more control over his position in the narrative if it makes sense.

ironically, i think learning how to direct the destructice force his classpect gives him might have allowed him to get a hold on said narrative bending, and stop unintentionally wrecking shit. but doing Anything as a prince is the last thing dirk wants.

(god it's so tragic this theory is so tragic without it dirk was always doomed to the inevitable but with it he could have done better in his eyes nevermind that destruction of selves isn't always bad if you know how to direct it, see bgd @ aranea, but it literally requires him to take the path he's trying to hard to fight. you define how your classpect changes you. oh dirk.)

i think a lot about this if you can't tell

FUCK IM GETTING OFF TRACK. STOP OKAY CAN THE THEORIES FUCK.

[insert 2 paragraphs more of me screaming about the katana line hally lieu yeah]

entry 2:

HAL MY FAVOURITE KENTUCKY FRIED FUCKER HELLOOOO HELLO OOHOHOGO

god my old hyperfixation on deep learning models is coming back to bite me in the jungular. delightful slash gen

dirk does love his control mhmm mhmm god im gonna go dig up that picture my friend sent me once one sec

that's who he wants to be. so badly

he Hates not understanding shit prides himself on being the (im quite sure it's part of how he gauges his use. he has a very utilitarian view on it. being the one to pull the strings thus being useful by virtue of organizing their success. proceeds to eat gcatshit trying)

i think a part of why dirk insists so fucking much that hal is Not him and Not alive could be one of two 2 reasons, beyond the already tangled pumpkin patch of conflict.

1) not taking credit for hal's contributions. the fact that hal has served the team without dirk's direct orders + dirk's objective pride about being the puppetmaster, he wouldn't want this tied to him

i doubt this one honestly, it's incoherently explained on its own because it's really late but also it just there's a lot of holes in the logic here. the second one breaks my heart a little:

2) if he accepts hal to be sentient, he has to accept he has created a new conscious person. he cannot cling to any notion that he did help his friends, he created an intelligent AI and that tool he made in turn was used to aid and guide his friends. he is still in control here. he still helped, he built that bot and it helped.

right?

[cutoff point 2. im rushing. im so sorry ajsjaj]

entry 3:

killing me

"He likes emotion, he likes people, he just wants to be completely perfect when interacting with them so that he’ll never lose them." YES. YES. YES YES YES yes okay yes exactly Yes

this is one of the things i headbutt against in dirk fandom stuff a lot (even borzoi's take once i think correct me if im wrong) it's the fact that i think dirk likes people. he's been alone his whole life yet he delights in dialectics and dialogue, he's socially awkward and introverted but he's not socially averse. i am not gonna let myself run over the hills and far away with this tangent but i am hushdhsj AAAAA

what he doesn't like is feeling inadequate interacting with people. he doesn't like being inadequate in general he reflects on his flaws near constantly and the biting reminder of his alternate selves' sins in the back of his mind doesn't help, but with people he Cares About interacting with them he does not like not knowing what to do, he does not like being unable to navigate these situations. he likes being human and experiencing emotions and connection and he hates the fact that it requires error to the trials, he just wants to be entirely logical while still having a metaphorical right brain totally not a big thing to ask for ahshdhskjrh[explodes]

AHAAAAA SISYPHUS YYYES YES YRS EYSBEYDHHWHEHSHEHD FUCK YES oh man i am much more a theatrical literature person so this is ringing off bells in the wrong direction than intended but im reading reading reading chewing

"upon facing the question of the absurd in the fullest extent, one can either choose to kill themselves or make a ‘reply.’" hogh

two roads: become god, or kill yourself. jesus fuck that's a screwed up twitter thread if ive seen one. and of course he picks the secret third option: Both. absolute DiStri Moment™

fuckitweballkind that's joining my regular vocabulary holy shit your language is amazing

this feels like an extension of dirk's dilemma between subjective experience with objective control; coming to grapple with the unpredictability of his absurdist existence and his solution being to take control of the narrative entirely. i feel like there are a lot more dots i could connect here. i will sleep on this

[addition i feel is important even though it has minimal connection as of right Now:

roxykisser put out something about classpects and the ult self being the literal narrative very recently and how they tie into the narrative and it's That it's that. my take is partly influenced by past fandoms but it has always ruined me that in order to god tier, quite literally, you're killing the person you were before the embrace the narrative role. you the actor are giving up your freedom to the performance, and the closer you get to your classpect the more you embrace the narrative. in return, you gain more flexibility and control in said narrative, more ways to use your classpect. to become the ult self is to become the role. you kill the person, you become the role, but at the cost of your self, your mind may be driven by the consciousness of an amalgamation of every You, but your core is now your role.

im incorporating and altering this with my consumption]

really hope this is like at least mildly entertaining i have no idea what im doing but!!!! I Am So Abnormal About Everything i love this i love you i love love this so Much

#choc talks #A LOT.#about dirk #not gonna maintag any of this because i intend to keep this as down low as possible aksjsjas it's unpolished unfinished #everything everything this is everything to me GAH I LOVE YOUR MIND

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