#expressing emotion without saying much at all

[vingtetunmars]

A New Heartbeat

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel Miller never thought he'd get another chance at building a family—especially not at his age, especially not after everything.

Tags: Fluff, pregnancy fic, domestic fluff, birthday surprise, emotional feels, warm, age gap (reader is early 30s, Joel is 58-59), set between season 1 and 2, jackson!Joel Miller, soft joel miller. No physical description of reader. No use of Y/N.

A/N: Thank you @dedicatedfangirl2001 for inspiring me! So this is technically a continuation of this fic, but it can also be read as a stand alone. If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.

Word Count: 3.3k

masterlist

You didn’t think much of it at first.

Between the early mornings at the stables and the evenings spent passed out on the couch beside Joel, days had started to blur into each other. Your body always felt tired this time of year—mud season clinging to your boots, cold air snapping at your fingertips even under gloves. You’d chalked the nausea up to bad stew from the dining hall. But when your headache lingered past the usual, when the scent of hay and leather turned sour in your nose, it hit you.

You hadn’t had your period.

You stood in the feed room, half-empty bucket of oats dangling from your hand, the realization sitting heavy in your stomach. The math rolled around in your head, tumbling over itself. It had been… what? Over a month? Maybe more. You weren’t exactly counting days when every morning looked the same—Joel sipping black coffee, Ellie stealing bits of toast, and you rubbing sleep out of your eyes as you layered up for work.

But now, standing there, the silence of the stable around you, something clicked. You set the bucket down on the ground a little too quickly, pressing your palm to your stomach. No pain. No bloat. Just… a quiet sort of stillness.

The horses shuffled in their stalls. One of the younger colts let out a soft snort. You leaned your back against the wall, heart hammering in your chest.

You weren’t sure. But something deep in your bones told you—you already knew.

You didn’t tell anyone where you were going that morning.

Said you had errands to run—needed new gloves, maybe stop by the library. Joel didn’t press. He’d kissed your cheek, grumbled something about checking in with Tommy about a busted water heater, and told you he’d see you for dinner.

You walked to the clinic with your hands jammed deep into your jacket pockets. The cold bit at your cheeks, and every step felt heavier than the last. Not from dread exactly, but from the weight of maybe.

The clinic wasn’t much to look at. Two rooms, patched-together equipment, and a nurse named Carla who used to be a vet before the world ended. She was kind, though, and knew how to keep her mouth shut. You told her you wanted to rule something out. She just nodded, handed you a cup, and pointed toward the bathroom.

You stared at the strip of plastic on the counter like it held your whole future.

Five minutes. That’s all it took.

Carla didn’t say anything right away. She just looked down at the test in her hand, then back up at you, her expression soft.

“Well,” she said, “you’re pregnant.”

The room didn’t spin. It didn’t crash down on you, either. Instead, everything went still—like the moment before a horse takes off into a gallop. Heart pounding, lungs full of something sharp and sweet.

You were going to have a baby.

Joel’s baby.

Carla asked if you were okay. You nodded before you really even felt it, voice rough when you said, “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”

The walk back home was slower. Like you were afraid to jostle the news loose, or maybe afraid it still wasn’t real. But your hand drifted down to your stomach more than once, resting there in quiet awe.

Now, all that was left was telling him.

And with his birthday just a few days away, you couldn’t help but wonder how in the world you were going to tell him.

Joel didn’t like birthdays.

He never made a big deal out of them before the world ended, and now… well, now they just felt like reminders. Reminders of what he’d lost. Of how much older he was getting. Of how goddamn long he’d been carrying around all this weight.

He’d never forget waking up on that birthday—the one that split his life into a before and after. Many years later, the world had changed, but the ache hadn’t. Not really.

Still, this morning started like any other. The early light crept in through the crack in the curtains, soft and gray-blue. Beside him, you were curled under the blanket, one arm slung across his stomach, your face tucked against his shoulder. Warm. Familiar. Home.

He didn’t move at first. Just lay there, eyes on the ceiling, listening to the quiet. The muffled sound of someone in the street. A rooster off in the distance. You breathing slow and steady beside him.

You made it better—this day, this life. You had a way of pulling him back from the edge without even trying. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve that, to deserve you, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to take it for granted.

Your fingers twitched slightly against his chest. You were starting to stir.

He turned his head just enough to watch you, that soft haze of sleep still in your features. He found himself smiling, just a little. The lines in his face stayed, though. The ones that came from time and sorrow and holding it all in for too long.

You blinked up at him.

“Mornin’,” he murmured, voice low and rough.

“Happy birthday,” you whispered back, eyes warm and knowing.

He groaned, turning his face away slightly. “Don’t remind me.”

You gave a quiet laugh, but didn’t tease him for it. You never did. You just leaned up to press a kiss to his jaw, fingers brushing along his ribs, gentle and grounding.

“I’m makin’ you pancakes,” you added softly. “Don’t fight me on it.”

He huffed, but it wasn’t real. “‘Course you are.”

He didn’t need gifts. Didn’t want anyone making a fuss. But if the day started like this—your warmth, your voice, your lips on his skin—then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Even if he still carried the ghosts, this morning... it felt different. Like maybe something was waiting on the horizon, and he wasn’t sure what—but he trusted you’d tell him when the time was right.

You flipped the last pancake onto the plate, steam rising as you added a handful of thawed berries—ones you’d carefully saved from the last supply run. They weren’t exactly fresh, but they were sweet enough, and they made the stack look a little more festive.

Birthday pancakes.

Joel would pretend to grumble about it, but you knew he appreciated it. The small gestures. The quiet kind of love. You’d learned early on not to make a big deal of his birthday. Not out loud, anyway. But that didn’t mean you’d let it pass by like any other morning.

“Damn, something smells good,” Ellie mumbled as she shuffled into the kitchen, hair sticking up in five different directions, sleeves too long for her arms. She plopped down at the table, blinking slowly. “Is it somebody’s birthday or somethin’?”

You smirked as you slid a plate in front of her. “Could be.”

Joel followed behind her a second later, moving slower, like his body hadn’t quite forgiven him for being nearly sixty.

He rubbed at the back of his neck as he sat down across from her, eyes drifting to the plate you set in front of him.

Pancakes. Berries. A little dab of honey. No candles, no singing—just the kind of breakfast you didn’t make unless the day meant something.

He glanced at you, brow raised.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said.

“I wanted to,” you replied, brushing your hand over his shoulder as you passed. “Don’t argue with me on your birthday, Miller.”

Ellie shoveled a bite into her mouth. “Holy shit,” she mumbled. “Are these the blueberries?”

Joel chuckled under his breath, fork already in hand. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he took his first bite. You saw the tension ease in his shoulders, just a little. Maybe the day still carried shadows for him, but right now? With a warm plate in front of him and people who loved him on either side?

He was okay.

You sat down beside him, resting your hand on your lap, feeling the thrum of nerves underneath your skin.

A knock on the door broke through the calm.

Joel looked up, chewing his last bite with a quiet grunt. You stood up to answer it, already guessing who it was. Sure enough, when you opened the door, Tommy stood there with a crooked grin and two hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets.

“Mornin’, birthday boy,” he called past you, stepping inside without waiting for an invite. “You look real good for a hundred.”

Joel let out a groan, dragging a hand over his face. “You had to come by, didn’t you?”

“You think I’m missin’ the one day a year I get to remind you I’m younger and prettier?” Tommy grinned, clapping his brother on the back as he passed by.

“Debatable,” Ellie chimed in, still chewing. “And you missed the berries.”

Tommy’s eyes lit up. “Berries?”

“Yup,” you said with an apologetic shrug, walking back to the stove. “Saved 'em for Joel. There’s still pancakes, though.”

Tommy sniffed the air like a bloodhound. “You spoil this man.”

“Someone has to,” you quipped, already grabbing another plate.

You served him a healthy stack—no berries this time, just a bit of honey and some leftover butter—and slid into your seat again. Joel was watching you, his eyes soft beneath the usual weight. He hadn’t said much, but you could feel it in the way his hand drifted to your knee under the table. Just a gentle touch. A quiet thanks.

Tommy shoveled in a bite and made a loud, satisfied sound. “Hot damn. You better marry her before someone else do.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “You wanna lose a tooth today?”

You laughed, elbow resting on the table, chin in your hand. The teasing, the warmth, the way Ellie rolled her eyes and asked if she could have seconds—it all made the house feel full in a way you never took for granted.

Still, under it all, the secret sat in your chest like a fluttering heartbeat.

You’d give it a moment. Let them finish breakfast. Let Joel have this calm before you turned his world upside down.

In a good way, you hoped.

The house felt quieter once the door shut behind Ellie and Tommy. The laughter lingered in the walls for a moment, then faded, replaced by the gentle creak of wood and the soft clink of dishes as you rinsed them off.

Joel was still finishing the last of his coffee, sitting back in his chair, watching you. He looked more relaxed now—shoulders looser, lines around his mouth softened. Birthdays were hard for him, but this one… it hadn’t been bad.

You dried your hands on a dish towel, heart thudding steady but loud. You knew you couldn’t wait any longer.

“Hey,” you said softly, stepping toward him. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

His brow knit slightly, but he nodded, setting the mug down. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“No,” you breathed, sitting down across from him, your hands resting in your lap. “Not wrong. Just… big.”

Joel leaned forward, elbows on the table. You reached for his hand without thinking, grounding yourself in the warmth of his calloused fingers.

“I didn’t know how to bring this up earlier. Didn’t wanna spring it on you in front of everyone,” you started, voice quiet. “But I’ve been feelin’… off. The past few weeks.”

His expression shifted—concern flickering behind his eyes, guarded like always. “You sick?”

You shook your head, a nervous smile tugging at your lips. “No. I went to the clinic yesterday. Ran a test.” You swallowed, heart climbing to your throat. “Joel… I’m pregnant.”

The words hung in the air like dust caught in sunlight.

Joel blinked. Once. Twice. He didn’t say anything—just stared at you, eyes wide, unreadable. Then slowly, without a word, he stood up from the table and took a step back, hand resting on the edge of the counter like he needed something to hold onto.

“You’re… you’re sure sure?” he asked, voice hoarse. “I mean—are they sure?”

You gave a soft laugh, heart aching with affection. “Yeah. They’re sure. I’m late, the test was positive, and… I feel it. I know it.”

Joel let out a breath like he’d been holding it for years. His shoulders dropped as he sat back down, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“I just—I didn’t think—I mean, hell, at my age?” he muttered, almost to himself, eyes wide and almost dazed. “I didn’t think that was even possible anymore.”

You reached for his hand again, thumb brushing the top of his knuckles. “Well… apparently it is.”

He looked at you then—really looked at you. And something shifted in his face. Like the ground underneath him had tilted, but he was choosing to stay standing anyway.

“You’re… you’re okay with this?” he asked quietly.

You nodded. “I wouldn’t have told you today if I wasn’t. I know it’s gonna be a lot, but… yeah. I’m okay with it. More than okay.”

Joel’s eyes started to glisten, and he cleared his throat hard, blinking fast as he turned his face away for a second. When he looked back at you, his voice was thick.

“Thank you,” he said.

It broke something open in you.

“For what?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“For this. For you. For givin’ me a reason to think there’s still more life out there for me than just survivin’.”

He reached out, cupped your cheek with a rough hand, his thumb brushing just under your eye.

“I didn’t think I’d get a second chance,” he murmured. “Not with someone like you. Not like this.”

You leaned into his palm, smiling through the tears that started to slip down your cheeks.

“Well… surprise,” you whispered.

Joel gave a breath of a laugh, then leaned in and kissed you—slow, steady, reverent. The kind of kiss that said everything his words couldn’t. The kind of kiss that promised he would be here for all of it.

For you.

For the baby.

For the life you were building together, one quiet moment at a time.

Sunday dinner was loud in the best way.

Tommy and Joel had spent the afternoon repairing one of the water lines near the edge of town, and both were still rubbing their lower backs like old men. Maria was bouncing little Benji on her knee, spoon-feeding him mashed carrots between exaggerated airplane noises, while Ellie recounted an incident involving a runaway chicken and a pitchfork.

You’d always loved these nights—long tables, shared food, laughter that made the walls feel smaller in the best way. But tonight, your hands kept drifting to your lap, nerves curling in your stomach even though you’d done this a dozen times in your head.

Joel’s knee brushed yours beneath the table.

He glanced at you, gave a small nod.

It was time.

You reached for your glass and gently tapped your spoon against it. “Uh… can I say something real quick?”

The table quieted. Benji let out a soft squeak and tried to grab a carrot off Maria’s plate.

Joel cleared his throat. “We’ve got some news.”

Maria looked up first, brows raised. Ellie paused mid-chew.

You smiled nervously, heart thumping. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, no one said a word. Then—

“What?” Ellie blurted, voice cracking halfway through the word.

Joel chuckled low under his breath, his hand slipping onto your thigh, grounding. Ellie set her fork down slowly, blinking like she hadn’t quite heard you right.

“You mean like… an actual baby?” she asked, eyes wide. “Your baby?”

You nodded, leaning closer to Joel's side. “Yeah. Our baby.”

Ellie opened her mouth, closed it, then reached for her water like her brain needed a reboot. “Holy shit.”

“Language,” Joel murmured.

“I’m gonna be a big sister?” she asked softly, blinking hard. And then her face cracked into a smile—wide and kind of watery. “I’m gonna be a big sister.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair and let out a low whistle, grinning ear to ear. “Joel, buddy. You still got swimmers at your age?”

Joel groaned loudly. “Tommy, I swear—”

“I mean, damn! You’re nearly sixty and still makin’ babies? What’s in the water over at your place?”

You laughed, covering your mouth with your hand. Joel muttered something under his breath, but he was smiling, too, shaking his head as Tommy clapped him on the back.

Maria just laughed and leaned her cheek against Benji’s soft hair. “Honestly, I had a feeling.”

Joel looked at her sideways. “You did?”

“You turned down a glass of wine at dinner last week,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You. You never turn down wine.”

You shrugged with a grin. “Was trying to be subtle.”

“Well, I’m glad you told us now,” she said, smiling warmly. “Benji’s gonna need a little buddy to boss around.”

Benji cooed like he somehow approved.

Then Maria stood and crossed the space to pull you into a hug, tight and full of warmth. Ellie joined a second later, throwing her arms around both of you, mumbling something like “I’m not crying” even though she very much was.

Tommy wrapped an arm around Joel with a playful shake and muttered, “Old man,” while Joel just rolled his eyes and let it happen.

In the middle of it all—arms tangled, laughter echoing, and that familiar scent of home-cooked food still hanging in the air—you felt it.

Family.

Not perfect. Not always easy. But real. Rooted. Growing.

And you were bringing another piece into it.

Dinner had long passed. The dishes were done, the laughter faded into memory, and Ellie had gone back to her room with a final hug that lingered just a little longer than usual.

Now, the two of you were tucked beneath the soft quilt, the chill of Jackson’s night air kept at bay by Joel’s familiar warmth beside you. The house creaked gently, like it was settling in for the night too.

You lay on your side, facing him, his arm already around you. The bedside lamp was off, but the moonlight spilling through the window was enough to catch the faint lines on his face—the quiet, thoughtful ones that only ever appeared when he let his guard down.

He hadn’t said much since the others left. Not out of hesitation, but the way he always got when something mattered so much it felt sacred.

His fingers brushed your stomach lightly under your shirt. Slow. Careful.

There wasn’t much of a bump yet—just the slightest swell, barely there—but his touch was reverent, like he was afraid to miss even a second of it.

“That’s really ours in there,” he said quietly, more to himself than to you. “Whole little person. Just... growin’.”

Your hand covered his. “Yeah. They’re in there.”

He shifted closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then just above your temple.

“I keep thinkin’ I’ll wake up,” he murmured. “That this is some dream I’m gonna lose. But then I touch you, and it’s real.”

You turned your face to kiss the underside of his jaw, voice soft. “It’s real, Joel. You’re here. I’m here. We’re here.”

He nodded, throat tight. His palm stayed resting on your belly, like it anchored him.

“I ever tell you how much I love you?�� he asked, voice thick with quiet emotion.

You smiled. “You show me every day.”

“Gonna say it anyway,” he whispered, kissing you again. “I love you, darlin’. More than I got words for.”

The two of you fell asleep like that—his hand over the life you were building together, your fingers laced with his, hearts beating steady in the dark.

And for the first time in a long, long while, Joel Miller didn’t feel haunted by his past.

He felt ready for the future.

[nofilterwaterfilter]

also on the voice thing, we all know kris is one of the most autism coded characters to ever exist, but i really do love everything that both routes of chapter four when taken in conjunction told us about kris, being nonverbal, and how that's not painted as a bad thing?

it's pretty common i've seen for silent protagonists to be headcanoned as nonverbal autistic, but i think this is the first time i've seen it be explicitly canon, and also have it be pretty intrinsic to the narrative?

and like no, kris isn't entirely nonverbal, they do speak occasionally. but deltarune in general, and particularly ch4, paints a very strong picture of someone who (at least when they have control over their own voice) does not use words as their primary method of communication

like you can start with quiet people piss me off, or the fact that music is such an important avenue of self expression for them (made all the worse when they're not in control). noelle in ch1 asks if kris is okay when the player asks her the same background/lore questions we can ask everyone, because kris talking this much pings immediately as wrong to her. then there's everything we know about kris as a kid, and how yeah they had a bit of a mean sense of humor, but also pranks and fucking with people was a very good way for them to get attention without having to talk at all

noelle's story of the ferris wheel if you listen to all her and susie's dialogue in dess' room sticks out to me for this, and i really do love that anecdote. noelle mentions she and kris were pushed into riding the ferris wheel together as kids, she didn't really want to be there. and kris didn't say anything the whole time, for the first half they were just looking out the window. but then they decided to jump up and down and shake the entire capsule, and that's when they turned to noelle and smiled. susie goes "is that good or bad?" in response to that story and noelle says she doesn't know, but it's one of the things that gets kris' attention! and whether you believe that they were doing it to freak noelle out or because they also thought this was dumb and wanted to make it more fun for both of them (noelle isn't sure which it was either), that is how they communicate!

and when they do use words. this is the bit that makes me most emotional - noelle in weird route describes kris' voice as deadpan and mumbly. they don't like being loud, they don't talk very often, and they really struggle with inflection. all things that are normally criticisms when directed at autistic people, they're stuff autism moms use to justify their "i know my real child is in there somewhere" bullshit. but when noelle hears it again from soulless kris for the first time since the soul stuff started, she starts crying over how much she's missed hearing them talk. the soul (as we know from a variety of susie and noelle conversations) is louder, more charismatic, more confident and articulate, and it's not kris. so all those traits that are normally things autistic people get told to be more, are explicitly condemned by the narrative

and that's what makes kris being largely nonverbal such an excellent additional dimension to their story. because everything the soul does, at least in the normal routes, pretty much aligns with how people are expected to behave? kris under our control has a great social life, has friends, is likeable, isn't weird and hard to understand. and a crueler person, the kind autistic people have to deal with far too often, would say "well it's good we gave them a voice, they're not using theirs anyway"

but that's what makes it evil! it doesn't matter if kris is the kind of autistic that everyone hates, if there are things about them that don't fit in with society but that they either can't or don't want to change. their life and their voice, as infrequently heard as it is, is still theirs. and they deserve the freedom to use it however they want to

[juudesgirl]

The Space He Chose - Jude Bellingham (Part 1)

It had been almost four weeks since Jude ended it.

Y/N still remembered the exact moment — the way the light had faded behind him as the sun set through the Madrid skyline, the way he’d stood awkwardly in their apartment, hands in his pockets, voice low, like he was reading a pre-rehearsed script.

“I need to focus. On the game. On my career. I can’t give you the time you deserve. I don’t want to keep failing you, Y/N… I think this is the right thing.”

She hadn’t argued. Because what could she say to someone who had already made up his mind?

She’d nodded. Swallowed the lump in her throat. Packed quietly. Left the place that had once felt like home with just a suitcase and the aching echo of goodbye.

-

Now, back in Birmingham, Y/N walked through the city streets wrapped in her navy trench coat, scarf snug around her neck, trying to push the chill away — the one in the air and the one inside her chest.

She wasn’t meant to be out long. Just picking up a book from her favorite indie bookstore. A little corner of comfort she used to visit with Jude whenever he was home — before Madrid, before everything changed.

She was halfway to the till when she heard it.

“Y/N?”

She turned, heart immediately skipping.

Denise.

Her soft brown eyes sparkled the same way they always had. Next to her stood Mark, tall and composed as always, and Jobe, taller now but still carrying that mischief in his grin.

Y/N froze, breath caught between surprise and heartache.

Denise’s face lit up. “Oh my God! Look who it is!”

And before Y/N could even think, Denise had wrapped her in a warm, tight hug. The kind of hug that used to feel like home.

Mark smiled warmly. “What a lovely surprise. How’ve you been, love?”

Jobe grinned. “Didn’t expect to see you here. You’re back for a bit?”

Y/N offered a tight, polite smile, her fingers gripping her tote bag just a little harder.

“Just visiting some old places,” she said gently.

“Tell Jude we said hi,” Denise said cheerfully. “And please tell him to finally reply in the family group chat. We’ve been trying to get him to commit to a date for the next family dinner, and all he did was react to our message with a thumbs up emoji!”

Jobe laughed. “Seriously, when you’re with him, just grab his phone and type out a reply for him.”

Y/N’s smile faded slightly. The lump in her throat returned.

She took a breath. Now or never.

“I’m… I’m not with Jude anymore.”

Silence.

Denise’s expression faltered. Her brows lifted, a stunned softness taking over her face. Mark blinked, his hands slipping into his coat pockets. Jobe stopped fiddling with the book he was holding.

“What… what do you mean?” Denise asked softly, almost cautiously.

Y/N swallowed hard, feeling her heart hammer in her chest. “We broke up. About a month ago.”

Jobe looked between them all, utterly confused. “Wait, what? Are you serious?”

Y/N nodded slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah. It… wasn’t my choice.”

Denise’s lips parted, eyes glistening. “Oh, sweetheart… what happened?”

Y/N held their gaze for a moment, then looked down at her hands. She didn’t want to cry in this bookstore. Not again. Not in front of them.

“You’ll have to ask Jude,” she said quietly. “He… he said he needed to focus on football. That he didn’t have space for anything else. For me.”

Mark looked away for a moment, jaw tight. Denise’s hand instinctively reached for Y/N’s, squeezing it.

“I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye to you all,” Y/N said, voice thick with emotion. “You’ve been such a huge part of my life these past few years. And I love you all so much. Truly.”

Her voice cracked.

“I just didn’t expect my last time seeing you to be… like this.”

Denise blinked quickly, as if pushing tears back. “You don’t have to say goodbye, you know. You’re still family to us.”

“I know,” Y/N whispered, offering a sad smile. “But I think… I need to let go. Completely. And I think this is part of that.”

There was a long silence.

“I’m really glad I ran into you today,” she continued. “I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if I hadn’t had the chance to see you. To tell you in person. And to thank you. For everything. For letting me be part of your world. For treating me like one of your own.”

Her eyes welled.

“Please take care of each other. And Jude. Even if he pushes you away a bit — just remind him he’s not alone.”

She leaned in and hugged Denise tightly. Then Mark. Then Jobe.

And then she stepped back.

“Goodbye,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

And with that, Y/N turned and walked out into the cold grey afternoon, blinking back tears, her heart breaking quietly all over again.

[l4lenthusiast]

Buttons -Spencer Reid

GirlDad!Spencer Reid x mom!reader

Warnings: Forehead kiss (I think that's it?) No use of y/n

Word count: 662

A/n This was supposed to be a short blurb but I got carried away so first real short fic!!

"No, Lottie, not in your mouth!" You took the pink crayon from your daughter and sat her on your lap. Today you and Spencer decided that crafts could be a fun idea for your freshly two year old, clearly not thinking through all the things she would try to put in her mouth.

Spencer chuckled, putting a small basket on the living room floor with an assortment of buttons, glue sticks, and colorful paper.

"C'mere Lottie." He reached out for the pant leg of her snoopy overalls courtesy of Aunt Penelope on Lottie's second birthday last month. She was spoiled severely between gifts from the team, your family, not to forget you and Spencer, who definitely went a bit over board. Charlotte gurgled something between a "no" and a giggle when Spencer pulled her over.

"Crafts are beneficial for toddlers," Spencer started, laying out the items, giving Lottie her stuffed lamb. "they foster the development of fine motor skills, hand-eye coordination, and creativity." He continued, passing you a handful of buttons.

"Activities like painting, drawing, and using handheld supplies like buttons help refine dexterity and precision." He handed Lottie two buttons, one for her and one for her lamb.

"Crafts also encourage self-expression, allowing toddlers to communicate their emotions and ideas non-verbally." He finished laying out all of the craft supplies and adjusted the white bows in Lottie's pigtails you put in this morning without much of a struggle.

"Do you know what lambs say?" He asked her with interest. Lottie smiled at him before making a "baa" sound, which Spencer greatly praised.

"Okay Lottie," Spencer spoke softly, turning her around to face him. "Why don't you go sit with Mama, and then we can start. Okay?" She nodded her head, shaking her pigtails in the process, and reached out for you.

"Hi sweet girl!" You sat her on your lap and gave her her pink sippy cup half filled with apple juice from snack time earlier.

Spencer held out his hand with a selection of colored paper. "What color do you want?" He asked her, showing off the papers.

Charlotte thought and pointed at a few looking up at you for confirmation.

"There's pink Lottie!" You told her, pointing at the pink colored paper.

"Yes!" She cheered, clapping her hands together and looking at Spencer with a pleading face.

"May me?" She asked him, Spencer had been trying to teach her proper vocabulary by using "may" instead of "can."

He smiled at her, and without putting up a fight, he handed it to her, although it did take a lot to not correct her from "me" to "I."

Lottie sat on the floor next to you, starting to color and place buttons on her page, blabbering only a few words you or Spencer could understand.

"Lottie," Spencer tapped her knee lightly. "Are you done your picture?" He asked her, looking up at you with a smile.

"Need glue." She mumbled. You could tell she was getting tired. You checked your phone to read 12:54. You and Spencer usually try to get her in bed for her nap by 12:30. He gave you a knowing look and started to negotiate with your toddler.

"Okay angel, how about we glue your buttons down, then you go have a nap so your picture will be dry by the time you wake up?" He pulls her into his arms, and she rests her head on his shoulder in exhaustion.

Lottie nods against his shoulder, already half asleep. Spencer smiles at the sight and starts to rock her while picking up some of the leftover supplies.

"Here." You grabbed the crayons out of his hand. "Why don't you go put her up for a nap? I'll clean up." You told him, looking over his shoulder to see your daughter fast asleep.

He nodded back hesitantly and stood up to bring her to bed. He turned around and pressed a kiss on the top of your head, then continued walking towards the stairs to put sleepy Lottie to bed with her lamb still in her grasp.

[noirscript]

Inked Possession | part three

pairing: yandere artist x erotic book writer!reader description: At your first fan signing, you felt exposed enough—but when a reader dared to praise the man you wrote with too much longing in his voice, Eleazar reminded you exactly who that character was based on, and who your stories—and body—belong to. warning/s: Yandere behavior, possessiveness, explicit sexual content, obsession, emotional manipulation, jealousy, degradation (verbal), rough sex, public surveillance (implied stalking), power imbalance, noncon/dubcon undertones. note: i don't know when the next part will be posted, but i'll let you guys know. somehow. btw, whoever read this first was able to read the og draft with the og name. hahahahahha forgot to replace it before posting earlier. my bad. enjoy reading!

You told your publisher no the first three times.

You weren’t trying to be difficult, but the idea of being out there again—on display, in front of people whose faces you don’t know and whose eyes you can’t read—left something tight in your chest. You liked the quiet comfort of your work, the cocoon of anonymity that came with hiding behind stories. Signing books and smiling for photos in a public venue felt too much like exposure, like stripping without the safety of Lee’s rope.

But deadlines had come and gone, the pre-orders exceeded expectations, and your publisher, bless their persistent hearts, finally played the only card you couldn't ignore: contractual obligation.

So here you are.

A fanmeet. One city over. A sleek little bookstore with floor-to-ceiling windows, a table draped in velvet, and a line of readers curling out the door. The staff is kind. The readers are gentle. The girl with trembling hands and tears in her eyes says your writing got her through the worst year of her life. The college boy with a dog-eared copy quotes your own words back to you. It feels surreal to be seen like this—for something you created in solitude.

You should be happy. You should be proud. And you are. But still, under the polite smile and gracious thank-yous, you feel it.

A presence.

You don’t see him. Not yet. But it’s there. Like a shift in temperature, a heat against your spine that makes the hair on the back of your neck lift. You force yourself to stay calm, keep signing, keep nodding. Maybe it’s your nerves. Maybe it’s your paranoia.

But you know that weight. That gravity. You feel it every night before you fall asleep, curled into Lee’s chest. You feel it now, stronger than ever.

By the time the fan steps forward, you’ve already braced for it.

He’s young. Maybe mid-twenties. Glasses, nice smile, a little awkward in the way of people who read more than they speak. He’s not a threat—not at all. Just eager. His hands tremble as he holds out your book for you to sign.

“I… I’m sorry if I sound weird,” he says, voice high with nerves. “I just—your writing changed something in me. Especially the new one. The way you described… him. Your male lead. His hands, his mouth. It was so vivid. So real. Like I could feel every touch.”

You nod gently, offering the practiced, polite smile you’ve given to others. “Thank you. That means more than you know.”

He clears his throat, eyes darting between you and the edge of the table. “If I’m being honest, I… I wish he was real. That kind of love? That intensity? It’s rare. Obsessive, sure—but who wouldn’t want someone that devoted?”

You stiffen. Just slightly.

“Anyway,” he laughs, trying to brush off his own words. “Sorry. I just had to say it. You’re incredible.”

You thank him again. You sign. You don’t look up again until he’s gone. And when you do… Lee is standing near the entrance.

He isn’t in line. Isn’t smiling. Isn’t even trying to hide the storm in his expression. He’s watching you—no, watching everyone. No one else notices him. He’s good at that, at folding himself into shadows even when the light’s right on him. You know that look. It isn’t anger. Not yet. It’s the calm before it.

You spend the rest of the event on autopilot, your throat dry, fingers aching from the pen gripped too tight. The moment it’s over, the moment you’re in the car, Lee speaks.

“You liked that?”

You blink at him. “What?”

He turns to face you fully, eyes unreadable. “Hearing another man say he wanted to touch you the way I do. That he wants to be the man in your book.”

“He wasn’t being inappropriate, Lee. Just enthusiastic. That’s what fans do.”

“You wrote me, and he saw himself.”

“I can’t control how people interpret—”

“He wants you.”

You hesitate. “He admires the character.”

Lee leans in, voice low and too calm. “That character is me.”

You don’t argue. You won’t win. And truthfully, he's not wrong. Every word you wrote was pulled from your nights together. The tenderness. The fury. The pleasure laced with something darker. It was Lee—filtered just enough to fit fiction. But for Lee, fiction doesn’t mean not real.

He drives in silence, hands tight around the wheel, until you're home.

The studio is cold. Not from the air, but from the tension. You enter first. Lee follows without a word, locking the door behind him. You hear it—click—and something inside you stirs.

He doesn't touch you. Not right away. He circles slowly, gaze dragging across your body like he’s stripping you layer by layer with his mind. You stand still. Wait.

“You smiled at him,” he says finally, quiet but firm. “You laughed.”

“I smiled at everyone today.”

“You leaned in.”

“He was nervous. I was trying to make him comfortable.”

“He was imagining fucking you.”

You take a breath, trying to stay calm, but your pulse is already racing. “You’re reading too much into it. He didn’t say anything like that.”

“He didn’t have to.” Lee steps closer. “I saw it in his eyes. He wants to replace me. He wants to rewrite my role.”

His hands finally touch you, not with the familiar tenderness of homecoming, but with something rougher, more desperate. He grabs your wrist, not to hurt, but to anchor.

“You’re mine,” he says, dragging your hand to his chest, pressing it over his heart. “Every word you write, every scene, every sound—it's mine.”

You nod, unable to speak.

“Do you know what I felt, watching him look at you like that?”

You whisper, “Tell me.”

“I felt the edge,” he breathes, hand sliding to the back of your neck. “I felt it pulling me. Wanting to drag you into it with me so I could erase every trace of anyone else.”

Then he kisses you.

It’s not sweet. It’s not patient. It’s consuming.

He undresses you slowly but without ceremony, hands possessive, lips trailing over every inch of exposed skin like he’s reclaiming lost territory. Your bra slips from your shoulders. Your skirt falls. By the time he walks you back into the studio chair—his chair—you’re already shaking.

He sits first and pulls you onto his lap, straddling him. His hands grip your waist. He looks up at you, paint-speckled light catching the edge of his eyes.

“No ropes tonight,” he murmurs. “I don’t want you tied. I want you to stay because you know where you belong.”

You nod. “With you.”

His cock is hard beneath you, pressing against your bare folds as he lifts your hips and slides in—slow, deliberate, deep. You gasp, clinging to him, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Say it again,” he growls, already thrusting up into you with sharp, punishing rhythm. “Say who you belong to.”

“You, Lee—only you.”

He grips your hair, pulling your face to his. “Louder.”

“I belong to you!”

His pace quickens, desperate and unforgiving. You’re already close, already unraveling. You feel him everywhere—inside you, around you, beneath your skin.

“You smiled at him,” Lee whispers against your ear. “Now smile for me.”

You do. You smile as he ruins you. As he reminds you. As he marks you from the inside out.

He doesn’t stop when you come the first time. Or the second. He keeps going until your voice is hoarse and your body limp. When he finally finishes, it’s with a broken groan, arms wrapped tight around you as he spills into you. He holds you there, panting, sweating, possessive even in afterglow.

No one else gets to have this. No one else gets you.

He pulls you close, kisses your forehead, and whispers, “Write this down.”

You nod, already dazed.

“Next time someone thinks they can step into my story,” he murmurs, voice like silk soaked in blood, “I’ll show them what kind of ending they earn.”

TBC.

noirscript © 2025

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @yamekocatt @mel-vaz @vind1cta @greatwitchsongsinger @delusionalricebowl @nomi-candies @jsprien213 @kaii-nana33 @saturnalya @yandereaficionado @pinksaiyans @ivantillenthusiast @missybabes

← Previous | Next →

[destinysbounty]

On the topic of mergeswap AUs, most of the ninja could be shuffled around to different Merge scenarios with equally compelling results, but I maintain that by far the most *interesting* swap would be Lloyd-Zane. That is to say, Lloyd gets put in the coma pod while Zane is left alone in the monastery.

Out of all the post-Merge scenarios, I think Lloyd would most severely be fucked up by completely sleeping through it - he wakes up to find that not only is the world different, but his friends have spent *years* struggling to survive without his help. He's supposed to be their leader, their guide, the chosen savior of prophecy. It's his job to look out for them, isn't it? But he wasn't there. The world fell apart, his team is in shambles, and everyone has suffered innumerable traumas as a result...and he wasn't there for any of it. Knowing Lloyd, the self-imposed guilt would absolutely eat him alive. Also, once again he is chronologically displaced - before it was the age of his mind and body being mismatched, and now he is once again missing several years of his life.

(Also I think it's funny if we put Lloyd in Zane's pod specifically, especially if he's still the Conduit. Because that means he woke up, immediately jumped into the fight against Imperium, and then like 10 minutes later volunteered to take on life-changing god powers from some random talking dragon. All without any context for anything that is going on whatsoever.)

As for Zane...god, where do I even start.

So, putting Zane in the monastery is fascinating for a number of reasons.

Out of everyone on the team, the ones who consistently cope with isolation the worst are Cole and Zane. That's not to say the others enjoy it, per se, but they're all at least able to lock in and get shit done as needed, trauma be damned. But Cole is very community-oriented and comes a bit unglued in the absence of a community to rely on (DotD, s10), and Zane...oh boy.

Zane is usually the one to die, so he is rarely put in a position of grieving the others. His only instances of mourning the absenceof a loved one are:

His father, which happened off-screen so we don't know how he handled that initially (he seems to be okay in s3, but knowing Zane he probably just repressed the feeling and moved on)

Nya in Seabound, which he was so ill-equipped to deal with that he turned off his emotions entirely

Pixal in DR, where he was so unable to handle her absence that he straight up stapled a photo of her to a broom and started talking to it. Also with Kai getting lost in superhell, which we don't really see him grieving over but also we don't see much of that from anyone so uhhh I'm choosing to ignore that for now.

Picture it. Zane, alone in the monastery, with none of his friends around and no way of knowing what happened to them. All he can do is sit and hold vigil in the hopes that they will eventually come back (something something Echo Zane lighthouse parallels). I'm not saying Zane would start taping his friends' photos to random appliances by the end of week 1 and cry over his tenth ice sculpture of Pix by week 2, but uhhhh....actually no that's exactly what I'm saying. Provided he doesn't miraculously find a way to get himself killed while chilling in the monastery, I give him like 6 months before his sanity completely unravels.

Another reason for swapping Zane into Lloyd's spot is that whoever is in the monastery at the start of DR also gets to be the mentor to the new ninja. And that puts Zane in a *very* interesting position.

Zane is, on both a meta and narrative level, a support character. He's your medic, your backup, your HQ, and he can even be your damsel in distress. He's not really a leader by nature, and it is rare for him to take charge or assume a position of authority unless the situation demands it of him. He's generally content to sit back and let everyone else take charge - he let Cole take the lead during the prison break in s4, he's one of the only ones not to express pushback when Lloyd officially becomes the leader, etc.

It's actually a bit odd how rare it is for him to lead, bc it feels like everyone else has way more instances of flexing their leadership skills. Off the top of my head, i can think of exactly three occasions where Zane assumes a position of authority:

For about 10 mins in s5, which ends in him glitching out and talking backwards

In s14 when he became Captain Zane, but that was mostly for comedic effect, and authority goes back to Lloyd and Nya once the situation actually gets serious

In s11 when he became Ice Emperor, but he had to be magically corrupted, mind-wiped, AND gaslit in order for that to even happen.

(You could argue he took charge during the Snake Jaguar incident, but he didn’t take charge of the whole team and also it didn't end well.)

All this to say, Zane doesn't have a positive track record with being in charge. Probably even worse, now that he has all that Ice Emperor baggage to deal with.

So what do you do with a character like that? Naturally, you give him a gaggle of wide-eyed children to look after and tell him to teach them how to be ninja. Lloyd was already hesitant to be their master in canon, but Zane would be even worse.

Furthermore, Zane, uh...doesn't really have many friends outside of the ninja (aside from his falcon, who hasnt existed in the show for years). Cole has the Upply and the Finders, Nya is close to Ronin and became good friends with Bentho, Kai has Skylor and Wyldfyre, Lloyd had the resistance and Akita and now the next-gen kids, Jay started an entire cult in Prime Empire and also seems to be on good terms with Unagami, and even Wu is close to Faith...but who does Zane have outside of the team? Vex, maybe? Possibly Borg, even though that relationship isn't explored onscreen? Sally, who gets one whole episode spotlighting her and Zane before vanishing into obscurity?

This even continues in DR, too. Theres a new cast of characters to befriend and connect with, many of whom share a lot in common with Zane, but he doesn't really interact at length with anyone but his old friends and Frohickey.

True, a lot of that can be blamed on Zane's gradual narrative dehumanization depriving him of meaningful personal connections, but in-universe you could also attribute that to his self worth. Zane is so wrapped up in his belief that he exists to serve and protect, and he is so strongly devoted to the ninja that he can be a bit one-track-minded about it. He loves his family so much that he doesn't have time to care for anyone else in the same way. They are his world, his everything, his life's purpose...without them, he is nothing. Can you say "codependent"?

But now, he's alone in the monastery. He doesn't know if his friends are alive. All he can do is sit and pray and hope they come back to him. And after years of waiting, he crosses paths not with his family, but with two new kids. They want him to teach them to be ninja. But Zane is too afraid - afraid of leaving his post, afraid that being in charge will bring out his inner Ice Emperor...afraid of betraying his family by finding a new one.

He does agree to help them in the end, if only because he exists to protect and they need protection. But the whole time, he is afraid, and anxious, and painfully unsure of himself. But just as he teaches them how to be strong, how to fight, how to be brave and kind and selfless...they teach him how to believe in himself. How to reclaim his sense of identity. How to stand on his own without his friends, and how to make new ones. How to live for his loved ones, rather than dying for them.

(And yeah, okay, a small part of it this is definitely spite for the way he's been unilaterally snubbed by DR canon. I won't deny that)

Personally, if I were to write a mergeswap AU that's probably the direction I'd take. But then again, I might just be on some next-level copium and desperately trying to make Zane actually relevant to DR in some meager way

[hughjidiot]

No but for real, the lore drop for Ragatha in episode five explains so much about how and why she acts the way she does. Long ramble incoming.

The fact that Ragatha's mother was, at the very least, verbally and emotionally abusive, puts all of Ragatha's behavior in the Circus into perspective.

From the very first episode we see that Ragatha is a positive, upbeat person. When Pomni arrives, Ragatha immediately takes her under her wing to try and ease the transition into this new world. This continues into the next episodes: she tries to hype Pomni up for their adventures in the Candy Kingdom and Mildenhall Manor, and shows concern both times when she goes missing. This even extends to the other members of the Circus: she's on friendly terms with Kinger and Zooble, and stands up for Gangle against Jax's bullying. It's clear that Ragatha is making an effort to be completely unlike her mother: kind, caring, positive and supportive.

However, this insistence on being positive all the time comes with it's own issues. It's not that Ragatha isn't a kind and caring person, because she absolutely is. The problem is how that's all she's allowed herself to be seen as. As Gangle and Jax observed in episodes four and five respectively, Ragatha's constant positivity even in the face of their nightmarish circumstances makes her cheerfulness come of as performative and disingenuous, even if that isn't her intention. It makes it hard for others to gauge just how genuine Ragatha's positivity truly is.

Then there's her need for validation. We see this as early as episode two: when talking to Kinger when Pomni is still missing, Ragatha talks about how rough Pomni's first day was, then admits "I don't think she really likes me that much." Then in episode four, while under the effects of the stupid sauce, she admits that she doesn't want Jax to hate her, even after openly saying that she hates him. We can infer that Ragatha didn't get much love, if any, from her mother, and now she seeks that approval from others and thinks that just being unlike her mother is the way to do it.

The issue there is that she's approaching friendship as if it were something transactional: be nice to people, they'll be nice back, and everyone can be friends. Whereas genuine friendship is formed by opening up and forming a bond with others through commonalities and shared interests. Take Gangle and Pomni: they both like Ragatha well enough, but neither of them are really friends with her. Meanwhile, Gangle and Zooble are friends thanks to their shared interests in the arts and mutual dislike of Jax. And episode five has Pomni start to form a friendship with Jax when he starts showing a less abrasive side during the slower-paced adventures.

Speaking of episode five, there's Ragatha's reaction to Pomni and Jax's budding friendship. Her expression during the bar scene is one of shock and disbelief that Jax of all people - abrasive, loudmouth, bullying Jax - is able to start earning Pomni's friendship before she can, even after showing Pomni nothing but kindness and support. It flies in the face of everything she's trying to accomplish by being everything that her mother wasn't. The end of episode five shows the result of Ragatha's constant forced positivity: Jax and Pomni go off together, as do Gangle, Zooble and Kinger, leaving Ragatha alone without anyone to truly call a friend.

Still, her situation isn't completely hopeless. As stated, the others do like Ragatha well enough - even Jax doesn't completely hate her. Pomni even tried to reach out during episode five's softball game by telling Ragatha that it's okay to let her negative emotions out, showing that Pomni does care about her. The potential is there for Ragatha to grow out of her mindset of perpetual positivity, be more honest with her emotions and form a genuine friendship with Pomni and the other players.

Or maybe Gooseworx will punch us in the gut and have Ragatha snap and abstract from the despair of being alone and the realization that all of her positivity has amounted to nothing. Guess we'll just have to wait and see.

[houndofllove]

SAY YOU WILL — guilty pleasure

cw. explicit (18+). situationship. simon x f!reader.

i know this one took a while, thank you for waiting.

#04 crossed wires | masterlist | #06

Simon taps his foot on the floor a total of three times before he stops.

A nervous habit that he can’t break these days, his self control slowly waning. He’s already knocked on the door, now left waiting in the fluorescent light of your complex’s hallway wishing that someone would just dim the lights for a moment.

Beyond the door he can hear the shuffle of your slippers over the wooden floors, scuttling about from what he can only guess to be from sofa to table to kitchen on repeat, trying to clean up at the last minute.

He imagines you swiping crumbs off the pillows, putting plates in the sink that have been sitting around since last night. You’re always something of a whirlwind around him, energy bursting in flames like you’ve had nowhere else to put it since you met him. It’s strange that you like him so much when he’s more like water, itching to put out any flame it comes across.

Simon is grateful for the moment that your own panic gives him. A moment to collect himself. He imagines the things he’ll say when you open the door, if you ask about what he’s been doing. Nothing much. Missing you. Things that aren’t real answers.

When he considers that maybe nothing he says to you will ever be true, that he’ll always be covering up the festering welts of flesh sitting under his skin waiting to take him, he grips the bag of takeout so hard he hears the paper tear. 

“Simon!”

The door bursts open and you’re a beautiful fluster, giving a sheepish smile while he only has seconds to school his furrowed expression.

In front of him there’s something he can only see as a dream. You’re a softer version of yourself tonight, stripped down to the more intimate layers he’s yet to see of you. Because while he has seen you without makeup, in nothing but his own t-shirt, when it’s your own things, your own home and your own timings it all feels different. 

A pair of joggers sit low on your hips and the shirt you wear is so stretched out at the neck that it hangs off of one shoulder. In your hurry to get to the door on time a faint sheen of sweat covers your forehead, and your eyes have got this low, heavy but sparkling look in them which Simon recognises only appears when you’ve had a few drinks.

“Hey, love.” 

He leans down to kiss your cheek, slowly shuffling forward to close the door behind him as you tuck yourself into his body. Your face nuzzles into his chest, something akin to a puppy or kitten, and then your hands are reaching for the food in his hand, unbothered by the wrinkled and torn paper.

“You smell nice,” you giggle, and then when you take a step back to give him space to take his shoes off you look him up and down, biting your lip. “And look very handsome. Were you out before you called?”

Turning away to take the food to the table, Simon physically feels his lips turn, his brows creasing. Then the lump in his throat returns and he swallows hard before he musters up a vague response: “Yeah, kinda.”

“Well,” you start, your face hidden by the open cupboard as you reach up for plates. “Must not have been fun if you’re here with me.”

When your eye catches Simon’s it’s full of humour, your teeth showing from the cover of your lips, half a laugh already formed there. It nearly hurts him how infectious your laugh is; how even though just walking down the street felt like years of emotional torment you can easily pick up the pieces he wasn’t even aware he was leaving behind.

First you’ll start with your smile, which has him folding no matter what, and then he knows where the night will end. And it will feel good.

Already a little tipsy and his head slightly throbbing, the light from your cooker hood casts a strange halo of light around you as you get the food ready to dish up. Simon knows that it's fitting that you look like an angel tonight.

An angel. Him. Where does he stand? Does he even deserve to?

“Simon?” The concern on your face when he finally focuses is entirely undeserved. All of this is undeserved, but he takes it anyway. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. Repeats the phrase in some desperate attempt to soothe himself. 

“You look really pale.”

“I’m okay,” he insists, offering a small but flat smile, waving a hand. Unconvincing but he tries anyway.

“Don’t wait up then,” you say instead of pressing him further. “What do you want? Rice or noodles?”

Don’t wait up. Don’t wait. Don’t.

An hour later and the TV speakers roar with explosions, colours of brown and yellow and red splashing over where you sit curled into Simon's chest. Colours of war. Somehow, when Simon tilts his chin down to check that you’re still awake, the flutter of your eyelids suggesting that you’re more tired than you’ll let on, he sees that they look good on you. A dichotomy. The softness of your palms doesn’t hint at these things; they don’t even make space for the violence that has dictated his life. There is nowhere for the dirt to get trapped between the cracks.

But you look good. And maybe it means that he can stay, in all his filth and drowning guilt, without spreading it any further.

On the small chipped wooden table in front of the sofa the licked-clean plates sit in waiting to be taken to the sink, next to them the beer bottles now empty, condensation peeling at the corners of the labels. There’s one loosely in his grip too, his thumb brushing over the lifted slip again and again, slowly scraping it away as he fidgets uselessly as the movie drones on.

A war film—almost like you chose it on purpose. Historical events retold in modern movie sets with fake paint splattered over soldiers faces, events misconstrued for the sake of ease. Simon’s never been one to nitpick; he’s never even been the person to sit down for once and actually watch these kinds of things with his full attention to pick out the inaccuracies.

The scene changes, and when Simon sees it his breath hitches, a strangled sigh which he fails to keep down. Your head lifts up from his chest, eyes low as you peak up at him.

“You okay?”

His mouth goes dry. “Yeah.”

You poke your tongue into your cheek, trying to make out his expression and then eventually with an amused huff you laugh. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Oh, you so are.” Sitting up now, your hair scruffier than when you’d first laid down you stare at him with wild confusion. “What is it? Tell me.”

“It’s nothing,” he tries, but nothing about it successfully draws your attention back to the screen. He thinks he could say it now: risk the ending of this arrangement with a few simple words. There’s no way to predict or map out your answer, no use for military strategy when he doesn’t know you yet. Which direction you’ll take is a mystery. Simon himself can’t even understand what it is that’s bothering him more: his incredible fuck up or the fact no one in the movie is holiding a gun correctly or even wearing the right uniform.

Anxiety makes him stiffen and eventually he nods towards the TV. “It's–” He points a finger from where the rest hold the bottle, and then drops his hand. “He’s not holding it right.”

You swivel your head back to the screen where soldiers are moving through a forest. “Not holding what right?”

“The gun.”

You raise an eyebrow in amusement. “And you would know, because?”

Simon clears his throat awkwardly, scrambles for reasoning. “I’m interested in history.”

“Oh,” your mouth drops into a perfect ‘o’, one that Simon quickly wishes he could place his own over. Swallowing all your sounds. A good distraction, maybe even the best one. Or the easiest. “You’re one of those guys?”

He nods even though he doesn’t quite understand, watching as you look him up and down.

Then you lick your lips, something in your eyes growing brighter. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Before he can explain himself you're crawling onto his lap, the glass plucked from his grasp, discarded somewhere behind you. Your hands brace on his shoulders as you bracket the spread of his thighs with your own, your smile cunning. He doesn’t try to suppress the shudder, sinking further into the cushions instead, tipping his head back on the lip of the sofa.

You hum, your face the closest it's been to him all night. “I think that's really hot.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re into nerds?”

“I’m into you,” you laugh, tucking a stray hair behind your ear and finally dipping to connect your lips together. He sighs into it, something too soft for him, softer than what he could ever deserve but he lets himself take it anyways. That’s what his arrangement is between you anyway: for him to take and you to give for as long as you can keep the other happy. It doesn’t matter here if he’s a good man. If he deserves the comfort and passions of someone else. Pretending, ignoring, living. That is enough for now.

Snaking a hand around behind your back he trails his fingers up through your hair, tugging at the scalp gently. The moan you release into his mouth has him doing the same, swallowing it up greedily as you shift your hips trying to find some leverage–

“God.” Simon curses when you grind down onto his lap, cock already pushing at the zipper of his jeans as his hand keeps you pressed to his lips. The word is enough to set you off like a trigger, no sign of you holding back as your hands wander over his body. Up his chest, smoothing on his neck and back down, reaching at the hem of his sweater and shirt at the bottom. A desperate yank as you try to hike them up and off of him.

“Simon,” you gasp, as if you’ve just come up for air from under the water. Hungry for life. “Simon–”

His name said as a mantra is the only motivation he needs from then on. Hands on yours, a brief aching pause where your mouths part and you’re clawing his clothes off, then him doing the same to yours. It’s entirely messy, a tangle of limbs as you rush through it, trying to sneak kisses in between. You manage to get his jeans down to his shins, and Simon has you in nothing but your panties.

Bare, your fingers trail over the hot skin of his stomach, tracing over the rough ridges of scars and muscle. It has him tensing, his grip on you tight, a hot, tightening coil threatening to finish him off then and there.

“Wha’d ya want, love,” he says against your lips, stealing another desperate, biting kiss before you can murmur your reply.

“You,” you groan. “You, just you. Fuck–”

Simon releases the grip in your hair and moves to your chin instead, fingers pinched at either side of your cheek to keep you in place while his other hand snakes down your body, nails dragging down your skin until he slips down your underwear.

All he finds is slick. Your cunt pulsing at his touch, your hips already trying to grind down and find sweet relief.

“Yer so wet f’me already.” He looks down at where part of his hand is obscured by the flimsy fabric and then back up at where your eyes have gone darker. Your breath wet and hot and heavy as he holds you, controls you. “Y’like this? Like me touchin’ you?”

“Yeah, ah–” You whine when he sinks a finger into you and he watches in strange delight as your brows crease and eyes shut. “Yes.”

The way you rock against his hand is addictive, each brush and jolt moving over his hardness as you chase your high. He adds another finger while you’re kissing again, tactfully moving his thumb towards your clit as he feels you tightening around him.

“Oh,” you cry. “Oh, I’m–”

“Close, swee’eart. I know,” he coos.

Any response from you gets cut off when the orgasm pulls you under the water, gasping as your pussy grips around his fingers so tightly, Simon fighting against it to keep working you up, keeping you high off your feet for as long as possible.

His mouth swallows up all your noises. His fingers cup your cunt as you buck against his hand, the dregs of your release fading.

“Fuck,” you murmur, your forehead sweaty as you rest it against his, catching your breath, panting into his mouth. His hands smooth over your sides, fingertips dragging, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“You feeling okay?” He checks, meeting your heavy gaze halfway.

“Uh-huh,” you nod slowly, hands settling on his shoulders as he lifts his hips up, tugging his boxers down enough for his cock to free itself. There’s no words exchanged when you take him into the sweat-slick palm of your hand, stroking him patiently.

His hand finds your cheek, thumb tracing over the wrinkles at the corner of your eyes, ignoring the way he pulses into the warmth of you for the sight of your relaxed face.

“Si,” you whisper, your breath lingering over his skin.

“Yeah?”

Your wishes are easy to fulfil. Moving on instinct, lifting you until your back meets the couch cushions, hair in knots, bashful, turning your cheek to press into a pillow as Simon hovers over you. Hands planted at each side of your head, lips moving down to kiss your cheek as he fits inside. A sweet mewl. A throaty groan. Ankles digging into his sides, his hips, tightening and in turn forcing him to slow. Too caught up in the moment, trying to chase a meditative high.

He hears it better like this, when he’s laving over the dip of your collarbone, salt on his tongue, the way your breath comes short. The almost silent desperation of your desire. Please, he hears. Oh, please. Please. Moves again, changes the angle and feels the way your body grips onto that feeling for dear life. 

Louder now, sinking deeper into waters he’s dragged you into, one of your own itching fingers reaching down to where he connects, drawing quick circles over your clit until your back is bowing. He plummets down there with you, buried face in your neck as he spills over your stomach, fingers coated in his own spend as he tugs himself to completion.

The weight on his chest lifts as he keeps you beneath him, both gasping for breath, both searching for light. Oh, sighed by both of you. Then a small laugh from you which makes him untangle himself from the heat of your skin, looking down confusedly until the laughter catches him, and he’s chuckling lightly in the amber glow of your living room.

“That was good,” you nod happily, a finger between your teeth as you grin up at him.

“Yeah?”

“I’m not one to lie,” you huff, looking down at where he rests, spent at your mound, come splattered over your stomach. “Care for a shower?”

Simon presses another kiss, this time into the hollow at the base of your neck before getting off the sofa, knee popping as he does. His arms wrap around your body, and then he’s hauling you up, hands on the globe of your ass as he carries you into the bathroom.

Easy things. Carrying you. Giving into your desires. Taking the clothes off your body and washing the sweat off your skin. These things are as easy as lying right now. Things he’s happy to do.

[kewwchee]

Insecurity

E.W x reader, hurt/comfort, jealousy, fluff

Ellie, just out of curiosity, went through your following list one day. She found something that ignited jealousy and... a feeling of unworthiness inside of her.

Divider by @/cursed-carmine

It all started with her innocently checking your profile. Sometimes, she liked to look at your posts and old photos, admiring you while she missed your presence, like the obsessed girlfriend that she is.

Not that she didn't have a whole album in her gallery dedicated to photos of you that you'd be too embarrassed to show anyone; ranging from funny angles to photos of your half-naked sleeping form, and if you ever caught the latter in her phone she'd just say you looked so cute she couldn't resist.

While she was mindlessly scrolling through your "perfectly curated and aesthetically pleasing" profile (it's what you always told her you tried to achieve, yet she'd argue that you're very anesthetically pleasing even in sweatpants and a messy bun), she checked your following list, skimming over it without even reading all the usernames properly.

Ellie has never intended to come off as the controlling and jealous type. She didn't want to scare you off like that. Besides, your relationship was healthy, so she'd easily shut down the mere idea of doubting the trust built between you.

However, something caught her eye. A typical mirror selfie profile picture, with someone standing in the middle and flexing their muscles. After getting a better look, it she realized it's a woman in the photo.

That's when her mind began racing with so many possibilities. You two hadn't ever explicitly discussed what counted as cheating online because it never really rose as an issue.

She tapped the icon with her thumb, bracing herself for what was to come. Most of the creator's videos consisted of her flexing her muscles in nothing but a sports bra and sweatpants that had her boxers peeking out. There were also a few thirst traps here and there. Why the hell would you follow such an account that regularly posts content like that?

Her mind couldn't rest for the rest of the day. She had a plethora of questions she wanted to ask you. But she also needed to ask herself questions. Was she... jealous? Maybe hurt? Or... insecure? She turned the focus back onto you to avoid dwelling on whichever vulnerable emotion had her triggered at the moment.

The next few days, something definitely changed. You were sure of it. The thing is, Ellie didn't want to express her feelings to you yet, so you didn't have a real reason to confront her. Yet you couldn't shake away the feeling that lingered.

The signs grew more obvious as the days passed. Less affectionate touches, checking her body every single time she walked in front of a mirror, just staring with an expression you couldn't quite understand. Almost like a look of... dissatisfaction. She had a tendency to distance herself when she felt down.

To you, all of this came unannounced, which made it harder to pinpoint what she was feeling. Truth be told, she was feeling inadequate and afraid of losing you. Though, the lack of communication on both your ends wasn't helping at all. Because when there's no clear explanations from either of you, your minds get clouded with doubts.

Your last straw was when she clearly avoided most of your physical affection, very much unlike her usual clingy self, and you could swear you started hearing sniffling coming from the bathroom some nights.

What the hell is she doing to herself, and why the hell is she acting so different? That night, you were finally going to get your answers. Subsequently, she'll be doing the same.

"Baby..." Your voice barely above a whisper, though you knew that she still hasn't slept. You waited for her to shift around and face you, but that didn't happen. You'll be patient with her, though.

"Ellie, I need you to tell me what's wrong." As you spoke, your hand came up to her jaw to grab it, soft but firm enough to turn her head.

"Nothing. Just go to sleep."

You didn't like how she was avoiding you. She was barely making eye contact, her eyes glued to the ceiling instead.

Normally, you wouldn't push her, but you had to find out what made her change.

"Talk to me, please. I know something's bothering you, and you've been distant lately..."

She took a deep breath in, her eyes hesitantly meeting yours.

"I don't want you to stay with me out of pity. I'm sure you have options..."

You didn't know how to react. You cocked an eyebrow at her strange response. It was so unexpected and unlike her.

"Ellie, what's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm sure your type is someone who looks... better than me. Maybe taller, stronger..." her eyes began to tear up, which worried you even more.

"Babe, where the hell is all of this coming from?"

Your expression of worry evoked more emotions out of her. It quickly turned into a skeptical one, urging her to explain herself.

"I... I noticed you were following this girl and... I don't know it just... made me feel insecure, I guess."

She finally admitted it. The room fell silent. She began to regret her awkward response, though it did lift a heavy weight off of her chest nonetheless.

Instead of further interrogating her, you let go of her face to grab your phone. You unlocked it and gave it to her.

"Show me." A simple command in a gentle tone. She quickly pulled up your following list and pointed to the profile.

"Ohh, her."

Now she was curious to know your explanation.

"I barely know her, a friend of a friend. One of mine made us exchange socials on a night out. In fact," you quickly moved your finger on the screen, "I've had her posts muted because I'm not interested."

Her expression quickly changed. Relief, finally. But... this left her feeling stupid. She was insecure and doubtful of your trust. She felt like a fool through and through. Which is why unlike what you'd expected, she began sobbing.

"What... Baby, what's wrong? I promise you that's the truth," you urgently spoke while pulling her head to your chest. Even if you didn't understand her reactions, you still wanted to comfort your girlfriend and let her take her time.

"N-no, it's not that i dont believe you..." she quietly spoke between muffled sobs. She anxiously raised her head, and the glossy-eyed look she gave you broke your heart. It hurt seeing the person you cared about the most feeling sad.

So many scenarios played out in her mind, and she felt a wave of guilt wash over her.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry for overreacting. I just feel so stupid for not trusting you and making this a big deal. I don't know what's wrong with me." She buried her face in the crook of your neck, trying to hide her shame as she cried. You almost cried, too.

"Ellie... darling, look at me, please. " You waited for her to gather courage to do so, then you continued,

"You don't need to apologize for anything. Nothing's wrong with you, please don't talk like that about yourself. I only want you to be sure from now on that you're the only woman I see and love, okay?"

The way you tenderly reassured her and began stroking her hair brought her comfort. She was glad to know that you weren't repelled by her emotional reactions.

She wiped her tears as you continued to brush your fingers through her hair, and then she lay beside you again, this time getting spooned by you.

"You're so beautiful, Ellie. Everything about you is breathtaking. It's not just the way you look, I could name a hundred more things that make you so interesting and special. You're my beautiful and special girl. I mean it."

At that moment, she was on cloud nine. You always managed to make her life better and help her deal with any wounds that would resurface from her past.

[darlingxs-blog]

YOUU . will write about daemon uhh idk hc idkk uhhh how would it feel like to kiss him . he clearly seems to enjoy „scaring” the player and not acting completely subservient towards you, so I like to think giving him more freedom or egging him on to do his own choices would be a . Way to bond w him

(I wonder how the others would react to him, if theyre able to comprehend him at all)

UHH besides that . maybe possibly perchance teasing Daemon? Finding some way to make him feel all tingly physically and seeing his form get all staticy and fuzzy? i need to kiss him and his . blue mouth UHHUDNFFHGGGHGHHHH

HEHSHSB OHDHHE WHY ARE YOU SO SMART OHDHEB GOOD LAWD YESSSEEHDHD

We kissing Daemon right on his static ass lips trust 😼🙏

Unfortunately I've never flirted with nor teased anyone ever in my life (I have no dating experience leave me alone) so the teasing is definitely going to be some very erm low tier shiz nit okay thank you byebye

A bug...

He's a love bug. Shhh keep it to yourself.

The bugged out dresser freaked you out a little bit, it started glitching when you tried to talk to Deenah but were met with a corrupted voice and a messed up text box and no show of Deenah, at all.

But you know what they say right, third times a charm. You walk up to the glitching dresser and shoot the little 'love beams' as Skylar Specs likes to call them at that dresser that freaks you out a little if your being honest.

"I don't bite." A glitched out figure of what you can't even describe appears in your view and you can't lie. He's...kinda hot. "I think. Did I?"

Feeling oh so confident with yourself and your abilities to tug at your household object's hearts you decide to work a little charm- no, let's be honest here. The words slipped out before you could even register what you wanted to say "you can if you want" seriously, what the hell was going on in your brain sometimes. "I don't think I want to" his distorted voice snaps you out of your self depreciating thoughts and makes you feel a little upset...he could have been at least a little nicer.

"And why not?" You reply back to the glitched out figure, if you started digging your own grave, why not make it deeper?

The silent buzz of static fills the air around you two before "chomp chomp" again with his distorted voice "munch munch" how serious he sounds and since you can't really tell his emotions by his expression all you can do is try to force down a laughter that threatens to spill from your lips.

Though, before you can say anything in reply. He's gone.

__________time skip cause I fucking can_______

You wake up the next day, before even getting out of bed you slide the rose tinted glasses onto your face and the warmth of Betty and her soft body snuggled up with you sweeps your stress away. You gotta thank Skylar for showing you this absolutely fabulous woman the first day you got these damn dateviators.

"Mornin' honey." Betty's arms tighten around you while bringing you in closer and you laugh sweetly idc if your a man, your a femboy now at her antics. You know just how much she doesn't like the mornings. "C'mon darlin' you gotta let me go." And she does, with a lot of reluctance before sitting up and grabbing your wrist with a much softer grip than she had on you before.

"You're not gonna kiss me before you go?" A pretty pout is on her lips and you just can't resist giving them a quick peck- just so she'll feel better...and you just really wanted to kiss her.

She hums and falls back against the plush pillows on your mattress holding one of the many throw pillows to her chest before shutting her eyes softly to squeeze in just a couple more minutes of rest.

After a quick stretch that pops your arms you turn your head only to remember the glitchy dresser, Daemon likes when you suddenly remember he is there even if you can't see him physically or at least that's what you think.

You walk up to the dresser and without even having to think about it for too long Daemon appears in front of you in a blitz. He looks...angrier than usual. That's none of your business though.

One dateable by one you've slowly been 'realizing' them as the Kind yet Anonymous hacker but it and today was the day you wanted to see what Daemon would look like if he was well complete.

"Daemon, something on your mind?" Sympathy etches on your features and he has to force himself not to jab at you for getting way too soft way too quickly. Someone could take advantage of that. "'Fine. Just do it." His layered voice is sharp, he doesn't want to waste time it seems.

You've busted your ass off getting your specs points to the max and now it finally pays off with your large harem of lovers becoming human right in front of your very eyes, like you did with the ones before the process of Daemon becoming human is much more...anticlimactic really, but you can't lie. Even with the features that would seem odd for just an ordinary human he still is quite fine- "can I kiss you" "What?" You blink once, twice, thrice before he says it again "I want to kiss you" bitch YES PLEASE DHHEBD

"Well, If you want too..." suddenly feeling very bashful you turn your head away, out of all the things you thought he would have said when he finally became human you have not conjured up a single scenario where that was the very first thing he said.

A hand that seems to generate a buzz of static across your skin and deep into your blood stream turns your head back to face forward and lips are pressed against yours. Daemon's lips are flat and almost freezing yet you've never felt anything that made you melt so quickly.

A hum of static fills your mouth and dances on your tounge like pop rocks and yet you don't feel anything at all, all the while you feel his desperation he has with every nip at your skin with the mouths that don't exist.

With every second that passes with his lips locked with yours the buzzing gets more intense, it feels like a straight shock of electricity and yet you don't feel enough pain to pull away in fact it only brings you closer.

Unfortunately, with your mortal body comes with mortal lungs that do need air to survive so you pull away with a huff that you regret. You really didn't want to let him go.

He looks down at you and your flushed face, chuckling like he isn't just as red.

___________________________________________

I had to stop it right there cause it was getting cringey, unfortunately I don't know how to write Romance 😔 IM SORRY but like I'm happy with this lowkey, kinda, a little.

On everybody's soul we YES WE are cracking Daemon.

[wildflowersandvibranium]

Muscle Memory : Chapter Eight

Pairing: CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO LOVERS Restaurant Owner Bucky Barnes x Cardiac Surgeon Female Reader Alternate Universe

Summary: In a town that never forgets , she thought she could hide the bruises behind a perfect smile and life. But someone from her past sees too much—and remembers everything. sorry its so vague just don't want to give too much away!

Word Count: 2.9k+

Chapter Warnings: Angsty with fluff? Mentions of medical emergency , hospital scene , parental health crisis , emotional distress , panic/anxiety , grief themes , mentions of bruises / past Hurt

A/N: heyyy I personally love this chapter sm and have been waitingggg to write it and now its here! I’ve been posting updates back to back recently but I’m so excited for this series and have the time to do so , so why not! andddd I'm sorry not sorry for the cliff hanger hehe enjoy - flower <3

series masterlist or read on ao3!

<- previous chapter - next chapter ->

The sleek local hospital thrived in continuous rhythm , beeping monitors , the echo of squeaky sneakers on linoleum , and the subtle murmur of clipped medical terminology exchanged in quick passing down the long halls. 

In her dark blue scrubs and stark white lab coat , Y/N moved through the building with focus , her expression calm even when her body ached from two back-to-back surgeries and very minimal sleep. 

She’d become good at this. At compartmentalizing her aches and problems. At doing the job and leaving everything else—including bruises , heartbreak , and hollow silence from the night before last—at the door ready to setp into her role as head of Cardio. 

Her happy place.

She leaned her body against and over the counter of the closest nurse’s station , reviewing the post-op notes for the aortic valve replacement she and Peter had just completed together.

It went perfectly  , without mistake and fail.

Her hands were sterile clean , purple gloves peeled off , fingers twitching with the phantom pressure of clamps and sutures in her grasp. 

Behind her , her intern Peter buzzed breathless about restocking supplies then finally catching up with his attending.

“Dr. Y/N , you’re , like… a machine,” Peter muttered , half in awe looking at her , half in fatigue as he slowed his breathing from chasing her down the hallway. “You seriously don’t stop , or…b-breathe.”

“I’m cardio. If I stop so do people's hearts,” she answered simply , marking the last chart smiling handing it to a nurse whos name tag she looked over reading Brandy .

“Thank you Brandy” she quipped.

Peter gave her a sheepish half smile before scuttling off to grab more EKG strips and gloves after they ran out in OR 3. 

Y/N pressed her knuckles into the back of her neck rolling it with a little wince.

That’s when her phone rang loud.

Her eyes flicked to the time then to the contact ID.

“ Wands “

Y/N blinked at the name , confusion covering her face and furrowing her brows. Wanda rarely called her in the middle of the work day unless it was an emergency , or now wedding-related. 

She picked up seeing she did not currently have a surgery beckoning her name at the moment answering with a quick. “Hey, everything okay?”

“Y/N!” Wanda’s voice was rushed , she sounded like she was mid race “Oh my god, I’m so sorry to bother you while your at the hospital… but I—I really need to ask you something, and it’s kind of a complete and total bridal emergency.”

Y/N glanced at an empty storage closet heading in , switching Wanda to speaker. “What happened?”

“It’s Darcy,” Wanda groaned. “She went on an early morning run this morning—who does that before coffee—and tripped over a stupid freaking tree root. She broke her ankle , clean break all the way through.”

“Oh no. Is she okay?” 

“She’s fine. Just high on pain meds wobbling on crutches and furious about the timing,” Wanda said with a huff. “But now I have no maid of honor. I mean, I do… if you say yes to me.”

Y/N froze. “Me?”

“Yes , you , dummy,” Wanda said. “I didn’t ask you in the first place because I know you’re swamped with the hospital and moving and all , but please. Please, I need you. You know all the plans and everything about the day already , and everyone adores you. Plus , you’re walking with Bucky anyway since he’s my man of honor. It’s perfect!”

Y/N’s heart stuttered at that name. “Wait—what?”

“You’d be walking with Bucky. Is that okay?” Wanda’s voice softened. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t trust you both not to act like children on my special day.”

Y/N’s lips parted , a hundred feelings trying to surface at once. 

But there wasn’t time to process them.

Her pager buzzed, vibrating violently on her hip. A triple-page to the ER.

Code red - 911.

“I—I’ll do it , Wanda,” she blurted out , already moving to the ER. “I’ll text you after. I’m being paged to an emergency.”

“Thank you, thank you! I’ll—”

“Bye!” Y/N hung up on her mid-sentence.

Before she could put up her phone again , it began to buzz in her hand.

“ Bucky ;)  ”

She hesitated for a long pause but not stopping her steps , then for whatever reason she didn't even know herself she answered it , still jogging toward the main elevators.

“Hel-”

“Are you at the hospital?!” His voice was raw and breaking , loud enough that she had to hold the phone slightly away from her ear with a grimace.

Her stomach dropped to her knees at his tone. “Yes , Bucky of course I am , I’m literally on my way to the ER right now for an emergency , so can we—”

“It’s Ma!” he shouted , cutting her off again. “She’s the one you’re being paged for!”

Y/N stopped dead in her tracks. Then took off sprinting passing the elevators taking off down the stairs.

“W-what?”

“She collapsed at a bookstore, the one she loves on 22nd street. I—I got a call from first responders who got her. My number was in her wallet. She wasn’t waking up , they brought her in—” His voice broke. “They said she’s not responsive. Y/N , I don’t know what to do , I—”

“I’m coming. Stay on the phone Bucky i'm coming,” she said , already running as fast as she could. NOt caring about the stares she got from passing families and staff.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

The large ER bay doors slid open with a gust of cold , sterile wind.

Her eyes swept across the bouncing and full room searching till she saw him. Bucky.

Standing in the middle of controlled chaos like the eye of a storm that was anything but calm right now , panic written across every line and show of his face. 

He was clutching his phone to his chest hard enough to split the screen into a million pieces , looking down the hall toward a gurney being rushed past two trauma bays.

On it lay his mother Winifred Barnes.

She was pale and still. Unmoving. Oxygen mask over her face. Eyes closed.

Y/N didn’t hesitate to go to him.

She shoved and elbowed her way through the crowd and grabbed Bucky by the arm. “Hey , I’m here. I’m right here.”

His eyes locked on hers and immediately filled with tears gripping onto her. “Y/N—she just… she collapsed. I wasn’t there. I—I didn’t even—”

She wrapped both arms around him before he could fully collapse into himself.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, a hand coming up to his head raking her fingers in it , grounding him. “You did everything right , I'm here now.”

The paramedics called out vitals as they moved Winifred toward the cardio trauma room. 

Y/N turned to one of the nurses who was cleaning where they had Winniefred in the ER bay. “What’s her status Piper?”

“BP is crashing , CT confirmed complete LAD occlusion. We’re prepping the OR as we speak Im sorry Dr.,  but i gotta go”

“Thanks yes of course go-”

“Blockage?” Bucky whispered brokenly behind her , voice trembling.

Y/N spun turning to him , hands going on his shoulders. “It’s a heart attack , Bucky. A big one. But she’s here now , and I know this hospital, these people—we’re not going to waste a second they've got her.”

“But—what if it’s too late? What if—” he stutters out not breathing.

“Oh-Oh Okay. It’s okay your having a panic attack Bucky,” She acted quickly. “You're safe. Right here with me.”

She reached out and gently took his hand—it was clammy.

He didn’t pull away.

“Just copy me,” She whispered keeping her voice calm. She took a deep breath , in through her nose , slow and steady.

He tried. Too fast. Chest still fluttering rapidly.

“Okay , again. Slower this time.” She exaggerated itc, making her own breath loud.

In. Out.

He followed. Not perfect, but better.

She squeezed his hand. “You’re here. In the hospital with me , standing in a pretty gross ER." she let her lips twitch slightly.

He let out a short breath that was almost a laugh. Still shaking.

“You’re doing good,” He nodded.

His eyes finally met hers—and really met them. The tension in his body eased, just a little.

“I hate this,” he whispered.

“I know,” you said. “But , It’s not too late,” she said firmly cupping his cheek in one hand. “They’ll need to clear the blockage and place a stent. I’ve done this surgery myself a hundred times and the people working on her , I've trained.”

“But you’re not doing it this time,” he whispered, shaking his head. “So what if they mess up-?” He hiccuped.

Y/N’s heart cracked , he was so scared , right now he wasn't the built man who was standing before her. No , right now he was just a boy who’d seen too much grief, too much loss afraid to face more of it.

“I trust them with my life Bucky ,” she said , taking his hand rubbing over his knuckles. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

They moved to stood outside the OR prep hallway , just beyond the sterile double doors , where Winifred Barnes was being wheeled into her surgery.

Y/N hadn’t let go of Bucky’s hand once refusing to drop it.

Her grip had shifted , no longer urgent and needed , but a steady grounding tether. 

The same way he used to hold hers after she ran barefoot into his backyard , bruised and shaking.

Only now, he was the one who couldn’t stop shaking or trembling.

“She’ll be okay,” Y/N repeated , voice soft as they stood together pressed against the wall. 

The staff buzzed and swarmed around them , moving carts ,  monitors and medications with seamless precision in the OR. 

“Her vitals stabilized enough for surgery. The blockage they found is in the left anterior descending artery. But I'm hopeful they caught it fast enough. They’ll insert a catheter through the femoral artery and place a stent to open it.”

Bucky blinked at her like she was speaking a different language from another planet or world. “I don’t—I can’t follow all that.”

She turned toward him and gently touched his upper arm. “You don’t have to. That's medical nonsense. I’ll translate it into Bucky Barnes terms, okay?”

His lips twitched at that. Not quite a smile. But close.

“She had a heart attack,” Y/N continued calmly. “LIke i said earlier a pretty big one. But she’s in the best possible place right now. This team is the one I trust with my own patients everyday. They’re going to thread a tiny little wire into her heart and open up the artery that got blocked , which caused the heart attack. Once the artery opens again , blood will flow normally and her heart can start healing and getting stronger.”

“How does it know to go back to beating and healing again?”

“Muscle memory” Y/N smiled , squeezing his hand once.

Bucky’s eyes stayed locked on the OR doors. “How long?”

“Depending on how stable she stays and how fast they access and treat the blockage… anywhere from 30 minutes to a couple of hours.”

He gave a slow nod , his shoulders slumping under the weight of it all.

 “She was just going to the bookstore , ” he whispered. “Said she wanted to pick out a new book for Alpine because she “likes being read to during thunderstorms” She was just…fine.”

“I know.” Y/N swallowed the lump rising in her own throat. “That’s how it happens sometimes. There’s no warning no alert. But we’re not going to let her go , Bucky.”

He didn’t respond , just continued staring straight ahead. So she reached up and gently tucked a piece of longer fallen hair behind his ear , the way she used to when they were younger and he couldn’t sleep unless someone ran fingers through his hair. 

His shoulders eased a little at the touch, his eyes fluttering closed breathing out a shaky exhale.

“I’m staying with you.”

He looked at her. Really looked , eyes scanning her face for sincerity , searching for it. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

They ended up moving together to the small family waiting alcove near the OR corridor. 

It was a private little room with a soft muted blue couch , a few slightly worn and uncomfortable chairs , with a coffee machine that hadn’t worked properly in years. 

The overhead lights hummed too loudly , and the air conditioner made a clicking noise every time it kicked on.

But it was quiet. Safe.

Y/N sat down on the couch and gently pulled Bucky beside her wrapping her arms into his jacket and starting stroking his back

She slipped out her phone and sent a message redirecting her last surgery that day to the resident just below her .

They sat close , the space between them was warm with old familiarity and safety. 

She couldn't help but be reminded of their late-night study sessions at their shared off-campus apartment—awful coffee-stained old notebooks, half-melted pizza cold , and the curve of Bucky’s knee always brushing hers under their coffee table.

Except this time , there was no young laughter and love. No midnight music playing from her laptop speakers or Bucky's humming and her smile.

Only grief. And desperate waiting.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Another ten minutes passed.

Then twenty.

Then forty five.

Bucky didn’t speak the whole time since going to the family room. He just fidgeted—rubbing his thumb over the inside of his wrist , then clenching and unclenching his fists. 

His eyes never stayed still , flitting to the door , to the rug , to her, then back to the door again waiting for a doctor or nurse , or anyone to give him the news he needed.

“She’s tough, you know,” She tried to fill the silence. “Your mom , she once brought me soup when I had a cold from sleeping in the treehouse one night and wouldn’t leave until I finished all of it. She glared at me every time I tried to brush her off or say I wasn't hungry.”

A soft watery huff came from Bucky , barely audible but there.

“Yeah mom is a stubborn and stern one , once lectured a grown man at the grocery store for cutting in line in front of a teenager…She made him put all his stuff back,” Bucky added , voice hoarse. “Said the only way entitled jerks learn is through inconvenience.”

Y/N smiled gently. “Yep, that's Winifred Barnes.”

Bucky leaned forward , elbows on his knees , hands clasped tight between them dropping his head low. “I thought I lost her.”

“You didn’t.” She leaned over placing her forehead on his shoulder. “You didn’t.”

Another twenty minutes passed.

His hand found hers again.

And stayed there , neither pulling back.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

They both must have dozed off at some point while waiting. The exhaustion of the day , the anxiety and fear , the steady lull of the ticking wall clock all pulling them into something softer and restful.

Y/N’s head tilted to the side with an exhale , settling against Bucky’s shoulder.

His arm curved behind her body , on instinct , the way you hold something you don’t want to drop or lose.

His cheek rested lightly on top of her head , taking a risk , he lazily- sleepily kissed her temple with the softest brush of his lips , breathing evening out as she was already asleep.

For the first time in days—weeks, maybe—Y/N’s body was in no harm or pain , as he just held her.

They didn’t speak or wake when the other slightly shifted or stirred.

They didn’t need to just needed each other in this very moment.

The OR door hadn’t opened yet. The news hadn’t come.

But for now, in this sliver of peace between heartbeats and heartbreak.

They had each other-“Bucky?...Y/N?!...”

-end

If you want to be added/removed to series tag list message me or comment <3 (sometimes it can get lost in comments but im trying my best!)

Comments , Reblogs , Likes and Requests are always loved!

(although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience)

They let me know that you are enjoying what I'm publishing and gives me motivation to write more and more! :33

Taglist: @cupid4prez @valyriantarg@mgchaser@rosylnsworld@iyskgd@starstruckfirecat@vicmc624@sebastians-love@1000shipsnh@liaverse37@alex-cheraya@fallen-w1ngs@ozwriterchick@scorpio-echo@najdjjfjjdid@borkybawnes@greatmistakes@fallen-w1ngs @muchwita @ladymunson @peanutbutt3rcup @pigeonmama @purplefluffycows @indigoriverstar @shaylabarnes winterslove1917

[thisissirius]

my dear siri, I would love a fic based on “I’m worried about you” please and thank you

your wish is my command. for you to improve the mood :)

man this should be fifty thousand words longer but have some mack and robert emotions :D

Mack is pretty sure this is gonna bite him in the ass.  “Hasn’t changed much.” “Not sure it ever does,” Mack agrees.  Tommy Merrick looks over the houses, the pub, with a passive expression. He has a casual demeanour, but Mack’s known him long enough to detect the thrum of nervousness underneath. It’s a sight to see on someone pushing fifty. Haven’t you seen everything by then? “I was four the last time I was here.” Mack whistles. “Yeah, things have definitely changed, mate.” There’s a slam of a door and then Robert storms out of Vic’s house, face of thunder. Mack doesn’t know what his problem is–it’s not like he hasn’t left Mack in the middle of nowhere before. “Oi!” Mack winces. “Hi, Robert.” “Don’t ‘Hi Robert’ me, asshole. You left me by the side of the road and–Tommy?” Robert’s anger deflates as he sees the figure standing to Mack’s right. He looks confused and, Mack thinks, a little off-kilter.  “Hi Rob,” Tommy says, lips quirking into a smile. “Been a long time.” Robert just stares.  “Oi,” Mack says, nudging him. “Say something yeah?” That seems to propel Robert into movement, and he grabs Mack’s sleeve, hauls him away from Tommy far enough they can talk without being overheard.  “Where did you find him?” “I know him. He called me when he found out I was in Emmerdale–asked if I knew you.” Robert mutters something under his breath, peering over Mack’s shoulder at Tommy.  “Rob,” Mack says slowly, “He isn’t here to cause trouble.” “You do enough of that for me,” Robert says, half under his breath. He narrows his eyes. “Why is he here then?” Mack scratches at his neck. “Well I might have said something about John.”

Robert rubs at his face. “Why?”

“I’m worried about you,” Mack admits. “Since the roofie thing, the way you and he interact–I don’t like him either, but the way he looks at you, well, he’s bad news. We both know it. Figured you could use every person in your corner I can find.”

The expression on Robert’s face is one of shock, confusion. Mack wants to punch everyone who’s put it there, though that might also mean punching Aaron, which would be a shit show all around. “He doesn’t know me.”

“You spent four years living in his house,” Mack points out.

“Then stole half his money and ran off,” Rob admits, self-deprecating smile in place. 

Tommy snorts from where he’s sidled closer. “I don’t care about the money, Rob. Just that you’re doing well.”

“You’re about ten years too late,” Robert says. “Could have done with those well wishes in prison.”

Mack sighs. “Rob.”

“What? Just figured we should all be on the same page about the kind of person I am,” Robert says, and it doesn’t carry the anger Mack’s been told to get used to–just bitterness. 

“Murder, assault, almost going on the run,” Tommy lists off. At Robert’s expression, he sighs. “I’m sure there’s a ton of other things I’m forgetting, but I’m still not leaving.”

Robert opens his mouth to respond when he sees a couple of other people on the street, and even Vic’s poked her head out of the house. “Come on. I’ll take you back to the Mill. I’d rather catch up,” his expression twists, “without anyone else overhearing.”

Tommy seems only too willing, though he adds, “Ashamed of me?”

“Don’t be daft,” Robert says, too quickly to be a lie. “I don’t really have a lot of fans right now and I’d rather avoid you being told to leave me alone, or take me with you when you leave.”

A dark expression crosses Tommy’s face when he looks at Mack, who shrugs. “I told you.”

“Told him what?”

“I’ll tell you about it in the–Mill?”

Rob nods, though he looks between Mack and Tommy. Finally, he relents, narrowing his eyes at Mack. “We’re talking about this later,” he warns.

Mack shrugs. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

Rob mutters under his breath, probably cursing Mack’s father, which is fine. It’s not like Mack hasn’t done the same. 

“Who’s that, then?” 

Aaron’s drifted out of the pub, hands in his pockets, and nods at Tommy. 

“Rob’s brother.” At Aaron’s expression, Mack grins. “Yeah, another one. Thankfully, not a drop of Jack Sugden’s blood in him.”

Aaron doesn’t seem to know what to say. 

Mack leaves him to it. He pulls out his phone, bringing up Sandy’s number. Might as well see how she’s doing while he’s at it. 

<3<3

[t4lon]

this is an incredibly rambly post about "splitting" vs headmate creation, and the view of splitting as inherently maladaptive vs other forms as inherently neutral. this is not endorsement or encouragement to split on purpose, or a general statement on CDD system functionality in general, it's solely like. idk. just a breakdown of our experience

content warnings for. well. Intentional splitting (in the vaguely inaccurate CDD sense), mentions of sex, abuse, and self harm, and discussion of sadism in a sexual context

i want to preface this by saying we already struggle to differentiate intentional creation methods from intentional "splitting"; we have DID and frankly were under the impression that for people like us, these are kind of fundamentally the same thing

i no longer think this is true, because among people with CDDs, there seems to be this incredibly common notion that splitting is 100% bad, that it represents a regression in recovery, or that at the very least it is always a maladaptive coping mechanism that you would be better off discarding to use something else. i see this sentiment pretty consistently even from people who are extremely pro-endo- and willogenic and it has confused me and kind of settled me further into the alienation i feel from both endogenic and traumagenic communities

we split on purpose to cope with cognitive dissonance; additionally, we use heavy dissociation to relocate our memories, skillsets, and symptoms between ourselves as our circumstances change. it is of course important to keep in mind that our life is not perfect- there is always a possibility that our situation is so negatively impactful that the "maladaptive" methods we employ are simply all we have, but i think at this point i dont believe that, and i really can only make my point through a very personal example

i (this specific alter) have always struggled with healthy expressions of sexuality; my sexual behavior has always been heavily influenced by trauma, and i find it difficult to kindle any sort of pride or positive emotions about any of my sexual interests. a lot of sex was, for a very long time, a way to paradoxically punish myself for wanting to have it. relevant to this example, i leaned heavily into my masochism because my sadism scared me

i was like this my entire life. there was very little anyone could do to change my mind, because as much as i respected and was attracted to sadists/sadism, i simply could not internalize the idea that it may be scary but is not inherently evil for me to want to hurt other people consensually in a sexual context. i could rationally push myself to accept this notion for others, and i could live alongside and befriend them with this understanding, but i could not under any circumstances identify myself as a sadist- to do so would undermine my (deeply warped and unhealthy) self-image of someone who is Acted Upon during sex. so any attraction or desire i experienced surrounding the topic became incredibly distressing

this eventually resulted in an involuntary split, and an alter who ultimately ended up abusing me for several months as we struggled to come to terms with our collective feelings about sex

and then she split, again. whether or not it was truly intentional is frankly debatable, but it was something we had been thinking about for some time when it happened, and something we have done in the past. the result was two new alters, one holding not only her sadism, but also autistic and OCD traits that had previously been repressed or punished, in the form of A Special Boy Who I Love So So Much, and the other holding her religious inclinations, her gentleness/parental instinct, and ironically her temper, in the form of. well, the other guy's wife

now i share a mind and body with someone who i love deeply, and who is unashamedly sadistic, and not abusive. this level of proximity is unmatched; with him, i can functionally practice BEING sadistic in a healthy way without having to push through the cognitive wall of "that's not me. i dont want to be like that", and through this practice and trust in him i can slowly realize my own identity without being sent into a spiral of self hatred

so i do want to ask- what about that is more maladaptive than self harm with sex i don't want to have? what about that is more maladaptive than continuing to fake it until i make it, hating myself the entire time?

it is very hard to extend grace to yourself. it is very very hard for some people to make their internal voice any kinder, or to quell critical or anxious thoughts.

it is much easier to love and respect someone else.

For our system in particular, it is fundamentally easier, and frankly healthier, for us to acknowledge the things about ourselves that we don't like by learning to love each other in spite of (and later, because of) them. i was never going to get through the miles of social trauma and aversion to cringe and religious shame on my own, but because i love and trust and know and at times AM my headmates, i know that it's possible to exist peacefully in ways that frightened me

community and external support could probably also contribute to this, but in order for that to work i would have to overcome another hurdle- social phobia and general Autism Problems make it difficult for me to maintain consistent relationships with other people, and on top of that, i am an incredibly arrogant person who struggles to trust the judgment of others, especially when being provided validation or encouragement. i simply either dont trust that you mean it, or i dont trust that you actually know what you're talking about. i truly believe that this is never going to be fully solved; i think that this specific form of skepticism and distrust (note that i am NOT always right!) is genuinely partially wired into our mind. we need reason to believe you, and because you simply cannot be an expert in our mind nor do you have any true frame of reference for what we feel internally, we cannot trust you when you tell us it's okay to be/think/feel anything

and as far as ethical concerns wrt headmate creation for this purpose go, this is why i brought up our ability to intentionally dissociate to relocate memories and concepts. in a way that feels very similar to the process of splitting a new headmate, we can simply voluntarily trade traits that distress one member but are neutral or appealing to another. it's when no one can handle the trait that it gets "lost" and repressed, which we frankly DO consider maladaptive for our circumstances. but through this process we can functionally pause and continue the process of "headmate creation" indefinitely, forever.

tldr DID is confusing. plurality is confusing. i kind of have to just ignore what everyone calls healthy bc i think i tend to hurt myself to fit a mold on principle

[nosferatuix]

I love how you write Shoko. Too many people make her the normal one of sashisu, as if anyone who willingly hung around those two could possibly be normal, when she's kind of a freak(affectionate) who was a little too interested in cutting Yuji up and has a drinking and smoking problem and emotionally detached and avoidant. But some people go too far and make her a genuine idgafer when she IS a very caring person just stunted. aside from how she cares for her friends, she told Yuji he didn't kill anyone and accompanied Megumi to mourn Tsumiki and wanted to make her look good in the afterlife. I think you balance the sides of her character really well without making her too normal or too detached

thankyeww you have no idea how much this means to me. i used to think i was too particular/picky regarding shoko's characterization in fics because my interpretation of her character usually clashed with the general stance of a big chunk of the fandom. too many people really do try to water her character down to make her normal or nice to make sure we drill it in our heads that stsg were grade a assholes, but we see shoko willingly hanging out with two people who relentlessly bully someone she's very close with – she's an asshole too, she's just not annoying about it like the other two are! she has a serious problem with admitting to/expressing her feelings and does not display emotion in front of people she actually loves and cares about, sure – call it occupational deformation if you will because so do other sorcerers and especially because she's a bit desensitized to hurt/dead people – but she cares. this has been proven time and time again in almost every scene we see her, especially the ones you've mentioned. (i especially love the panel of her saying she doesn't believe in an afterlife but still goes above and beyond to fix someone up so that they'd look nice there if there is one. that's just so kind and it's simply for the sake of being kind because it's a kindness she shows to people she thinks won't/can't appreciate her kindness, because, well, she doesn't believe in an afterlife and she just thinks they're gone forever. i love her)

too many people give her shit or try to justify her saying she doesn't care what happens to satoru's body after he dies, claiming he didn't care for her because he called suguru his only friend so she doesn't owe him respect/care, but i think that's such a shallow interpretation!!! she totally had a moment where her mind went completely blank and yuta of all people had to remind her that they had to transfer him to satoru's body as soon as possible. i feel like scenes like this only proved that my understanding of her character was at least a tad bit correct in the sense that she's not a total idgafer at all, it's just that sorcerers aren't allowed to care like us normal people do. truth be told, i don't think we have ever seen any adult sorcerer actively looking like they care? idk i really like exploring shoko's characterization in this sense bc she feels very realistic to me. i'm glad i was able to balance these two approaches bc i really worked hard on making sure i don't mess it up lol

[secretlycursedd]

Okay, I've been thinking about this for a long time, so here's my (probably unpopular) take on Jack and Dean's relationship (With examples of Dean loving and caring for Jack).

Let me start by saying that I don't consider myself either a Dean girl or a Sam girl (If you think about it, I'm actually more of a Jack girl), so my opinion is unbiased and doesn't lean towards just one brother (I love them equally).

I think the main reason why people think Dean really hated Jack is because of the complexity of his character.

Dean's defense mechanism is aggression, so every time he is scared, upset, doesn't know what to do, he starts getting angry and aggressive, and obviously this is not a healthy coping mechanism, but no one said that Dean is obviously a positive character who only does good. No, this is a complex character with childhood trauma, a soldier's upbringing and a lot of problems and responsibilities on his shoulders, he will not waste time sorting out all his feelings and putting them on the shelves, he will act in a way that is best for the majority, but this doesn't mean that his actions are necessarily right or that his actions fully reflect his feelings to a particular situation. His main rule in life is literally "Shoot first, think later." And because of that, a lot of things he said to Jack or did to him were mean or evil, but that doesn't mean Dean actually hated him to the core.

For example, after Mary died, Dean literally told Castiel that he was dead to him, and then they didn't talk and Dean didn't even want to hear about taking a step towards Castiel and forgiving him, but for some reason I haven't seen people say that Dean hates Castiel. Because he doesn't, and the same thing is true with Jack.

"Oh but Dean was mad at Jack, all those horrible things he said" Because Jack killed his mom???? Like are you trying to tell me you wouldn't be mad at the person who killed your mom (even if he didn't do it on purpose)? Dean's reaction and behavior were completely justified, and I'm not saying the things he said or did were right or good, I'm saying they were realistic. Dean may have loved Jack and cared about him, but he always loved his mom more, and of course her death (which happened not for the first time) hit Dean harder than Jack needing support.

And it's precisely because of Dean's complexity and character that characters like Sam and Castiel seemed like great father figures to Jack, because they had the privilege of emotions and time, and it always had been that way.

Sam was always able to show weakness and express his emotions, precisely because Dean didn't have that luxury. Sam always had time to think things through and be more gentle because Dean, who was always on guard, had his back. And it's not that Sam loved Jack more, it's that he had the opportunity to approach Jack from a different angle, and Dean was the one who gave him that opportunity.

The funny thing is that Jack and Dean are mirrors of each other in some ways. I think a lot of people focused so much on how the show paralleled Sam and Jack that the parallels between Dean and Jack went unnoticed because they weren't so obvious, but that doesn't mean they weren't there.

Both Jack and Dean grew up without mothers, had abusive fathers, were forced to grow up way too early, and were both forced to grow up into a life of hunters and warriors, neither of them asking for it, but they had no choice.

Dean and Jack loved the same people (Sam and Castiel) and were willing to do anything to protect them, even sacrifice themselves, but they both forgot that they weren't the only ones who could love, and that all these people they were trying to protect loved them too, and that's what's problematic about their relationship. It's not about hate, it's because they're actually so similar, and to some extent it was difficult for both of them to see their own feelings reflected in each other.

For example, when Dean insisted on letting Jack die, he literally did it to save the only and most important person he had left (Sam), but Jack himself was willing to do it, not only to atone for his guilt for Mary's death, but also to save his family.

Dean and Jack did not hate each other, they just had people they loved more than each other, and to protect them they were both willing to do anything, which once again parallels them.

And in a world where everyone only remembers the bad between Jack and Dean, let's remember the good.

For example, how Dean worried about Jack when he was in pain and dying, and he tried to do everything to ease his pain and make everything better.

Overall, this entire episode (14x07) confirms everything I wrote above.

Like the parallels such as Jack saying he doesn't want to be special anymore and that before he dies he just wants to live his life, and that's literally Dean's entire arc in season 15, how he wanted to break free from God's control and live his own life. The way Jack himself says he's like Dean, and Dean gently denies it, even though we then literally get visual confirmation that they are similar. The way Dean wanted to give Jack a day filled with the things Dean loved, and how Jack ultimately wanted to go fishing because Dean told him he did it with John. Jack always saw Dean as his third father, and there's no arguing with that.

How Dean couldn't stand to see Jack die, but Jack needed him.

The fact that Jack's heaven included all three of the most important people in his life - Sam, Dean, and Castiel.

Also some of my favorite moments are how Dean constantly calls Jack "their kid" (which just goes to show that he always loved and accepted Jack).

And the fact that even Nick talks about Jack having three dads.

And one of my favorite moments, which even made me cry when I watched it for the first time, was when Dean baked Jack a birthday cake.

They were always a full-fledged family, Dean has always been as much of a father to Jack as Sam or Castiel, and Dean always took care of Jack, and I think their relationship is one of the best and most complex in the entire series. Yes, Jack was not the most important person in Dean's life, just as Dean was not the most important person for Jack, but they still loved each other and did so until the very end.

[fungusrice]

What are your thoughts on the idea of Stu/Sidney as a couple? Did you know that the actors that played them dated for 3 years in real life?

I'm sure this is something that would possibly trigger those who ship Stu and Billy, but I genuinely don't care about "shipping" or offended people, so I won't have issue sharing down on earth observations, so let's dive into it.

Whether people like it or not, Stu had a thing for women and for the female body. It is more than obvious, as we've received a lot of proofs -not just subtle hints- that he has been consuming girls, and had a very high sex-drive which he even joked about. Do we remember how he wanted to see breasts, and how it has been a returning subject? How proud he was when he said he was with Tatum last night? Or when Randy said that having sex is a big no-no in a horror movie, and Stu literally said that "then he'd be a dead man" with this expression?

Yes, this guy loves sex, and loves fucking women.

Now, about him and Sidney, this is not something I've been exploring that deep yet, however, I'd definitely want to dive deeper into this, because I think he might have been telling the truth and then we can try to figure out what Stu ways of "love" truly means.

You could see him making constantly mocking Randy whenever he tried to approach Sidney or talked about his chances, almost as if he'd try to disencourage him from even trying. He also called Sidney "baby" a couple of times (if my memory serves, but I'll double check those scenes that I certainly remember him addressing her in a sweet way). Of course, he is a highly energetic, very "clingy" person who is all about over exaggerated self-expression to get some attention -an another sad sign of how neglected and looked over he has been-, so it could mean anything.

However, let's be real, Stu was emotionally very unstable, and the lack of genuine love and attention he received (or should I straight up say he did NOT receive) definitely made him have a troublesome way of understanding relationships and "love" or "bonding".

It makes me feel like he used sex and invading others space as a form of "connection", because that was the only way he could "express himself", which was not much. Through the body.

Script time

In a script, Sidney actually asked Tatum about sex with Stu, to which she responded the following:

Sid pushes the cart out of the glass door with Tatum riding it. The GHOST MASKED FIGURE is nowhere to be found. Sidney: What do you think about when you're having sex? Tatum: With Stu, there's little time to stop and reflect. But sometimes before, to relax and get in the mood, I think about Grant Goodeve.

What could this indicate?

"There's little time to stop and reflect" This might hint that sex with Stu is intense, impulsive and rather physical than emotional. It's possibly fast-paced, perhaps even a bit wild. He likely jumps right into things with high energy (which'd be very fitting for Stu’s personality) without much cuddly foreplay or slow build-up, which Tatum has been missing.

But remember, Stu likely did not love Tatum.

There are multiple reasons why he possibly started to date her right after he got dumped (which he lied about to his friends and Tatum, acting as if he was the one dumping Casey, possibly to preserve himself from taunts and the humiliation that comes from getting replaced by someone "better"). Dating Tatum helped him get closer to Sidney.