#if you think about it. the first one is more reflective of their relationship in tos

[blueskittlesart]

I see you refer to Kris and Noelle as besties a lot. I haven't played the weird routes yet and I certainly don't know the normal route dialogue like the back of my hand, but I thought that Noelle and Kris were estranged family friends, not super close anymore, before the events of chapter 1. That view is specifically because of Noelle's private blog post about Kris from Spamton Sweepstakes (https://deltarune.com/kris_dreemurr_kris/). Noelle wrote, "Even then, with my eyes open, there were times when I wasn't even sure if we were friends." What do you think about this blog post?

well ok first of all when I called kris and noelle 'best friends' in my noelle post which im assuming is what this is about it was after about 3 paragraphs about how significantly they had drifted apart after dess's disappearance. I'd certainly not call them besties as things currently stand, but i think that BEFORE dess's disappearance and the player's takeover of kris they were at minimum the most consistent friend in each other's lives. the real point of that post was that i think they were probably significantly closer than noelle leads the player to believe based on her dialog alone, and that she is an unreliable narrator when it comes to she and kris's relationship. If I listed out every piece of evidence I can think of off the top of my head that she and kris were close this post would get insanely long, but literally just walking around her room in chapter 4 will paint you a pretty clear picture. she had a cactus named after them. and when she mentions that berdly renamed it kris gets pissed off about it in the flavor text afterwards.

as for that blog post, I kind of think taking that one line out of context does a disservice to the picture that is actually being painted here, because honestly I'd argue that the full text supports my point even more. full text of the post for context:

It's funny... there was a time when they were coming over almost every day. We'd play, and we'd play... then after a while, they would suddenly get very still, like they were remembering something. They'd go into the dining room to "get a snack," then after a few moments, I'd hear the piano. The first few times, I went into watch them play, but when they realized I was looking, they'd always shut the piano and come back. So over time, I just started staying on the couch in the living room. I'd lie there, listening to them play, sometimes for hours, sometimes even until I fell asleep. Even then, what were they thinking about me? Maybe they weren't thinking about me at all. They didn't have a piano at their house, so they probably just came over to use mine. Even then, with my eyes open, there were times when I wasn't even sure if we were friends. But when I closed my eyes, it felt like a concert just for me.

Yes, there's a level of removal going on here. Noelle doesn't quite understand kris's motivations and is struggling to contextualize their actions because of this. But I think it's important to remember that this blog post is recounting the memories of a young child, and written from the perspective of a teenager, so it would probably be a miracle if nothing got lost in translation. This is Noelle reflecting on a relationship which has very clearly changed drastically in recent years, and if there's one thing we know about noelle it's that she's avoidant as shit. It's nowhere near above her to recontextualize memories in her own head in order to make her previous relationship to kris feel less personal, so she won't have to feel as sad about losing a close friend. We literally watch her do this in real time in snowgrave--painting over and/or blocking out memories that scare and upset her in order to avoid reckoning with those feelings. I think she likely finds this easier to do with kris because kris seems to have been pretty introverted and kind of. weird in the ways they expressed affection towards her as a child (particularly the pranks she so often mentions) which makes it easier for her to spin their relationship as something obligational rather than true closeness. But because Kris was such a big part of her life for so long, her altered memories are still imperfect. In the same post where she says kris probably wasn't thinking about her at all she also mentions that kris was at her house every day and that she felt an intense personal connection to their music. And for what it's worth, there are at least two other pianos in town that kris easily could have used if all they wanted was to practice--one in the church's choir room and one in the hospital. They weren't at the holiday house purely to use that piano. more likely than not they really were playing for her.

[katanahime]

Tim and Damian both view Red Robin as Inferior to Robin

Regardless of how the rest of the Batfam sees it (and a lot of them don't view it this way), that is how the two of them see it.

You can see it in their words, you can see it in their actions, you can see it in how they respond to others' thoughts on matters.

More or less the way that it goes is this:

Damian views the hierarchy as proximity-to-Batman, or more particularly past being Batman itself, the likelihood being in that position leads to becoming Batman. He viewed Tim being pushed out to Red Robin as removing him from the direct running, and therefore inferior. (Tim doesn't actually care about this, but Damian doesn't necessarily know that and it informs his view of Tim sometimes as a threat.)

Damian for a while genuinely viewed the idea that people may change their minds and make Tim Robin again as a potential threat to his position, and I actually think the fact that Tim did end up returning but no one kept Damian away from it as well has done wonders for their relationship as well as their relative respect levels. (Although this may also be reflective of his somewhat changing opinions about what, exactly, he wants. Which may effect this overall view in the long run.)

It is, of course, also worthy of note that Damian knows that Nightwing became Batman before (like, he was there), so that also informs his view of where that "position" rests.

Tim views things as proximity to Batman & Robin. He views those positions as equals instead of a direct hierarchical dynamic. Robin is just as important as Batman, nearly everything else is inferior, with a couple of noteable exceptions.

One is probably Batgirl. As another symbolic legacy in the same vein. (And the way he treats Batgirl I think reflects this.)

The other is Dick Grayson. No, not Nightwing as a title by itself, Dick Grayson. Any identity Dick Grayson specifically is currently inhabiting or attached to. Dick is Tim's favorite hero and favorite person and nothing he is will ever be inferior, ever. But Nightwing by itself? If Dick wasn't the one there? Do you think Tim asking Dick to leave Nightwing to be Robin again when he first showed up was a joke? (I do think Tim's respect for Nightwing by itself has probably risen over time as Dick has really made a symbol out of it much more over time, but it's still very much rooted in that being Dick.)

And I think there are some fundamental misunderstandings of this. Not only in the fandom, but in-universe, which is what leads to some situations.

Regardless of how you feel about whether either or both of Tim or Damian should be Robin, what you do need to understand is that neither should be pushed out, and the result is always going to be severely damaging. It needs to be their own decision and not something that's forced or shoehorned. And that putting anyone in a position that basically reads as "other (less important, less real) Robin" just ain't it.

Currently I think Damian is the one that's closer to changing his mind, but that is, of course, in hands that aren't mine.

[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.

[romanczukowsky]

🌾The Burrow Breathed With Us

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader (Y/N)

Setting: The Burrow, pre-relationship, wedding night, slow burn → first time

Summary: The Burrow is bursting with life — laughter, chaos, and quiet, hidden glances. You’re just a family friend helping out, tying Fred’s crooked tie before the wedding. But between the soft brush of fingers and the heat in his gaze, something unspoken begins to take shape. When the music fades and his hand drifts higher on your thigh… the line between friends and lovers disappears — with one whispered promise and one slow, breathtaking night.

Author's Note: This story is soft, poetic smut — written with more emotion than filth, more touch than thrust.

The Burrow was living by its own rhythm today. The Weasley house had always felt just a little too small for the number of feet, voices, laughter, and love that passed through it—but today? Today, it seemed like the very walls were trying to breathe with us, swollen with emotion, with the scent of baking bread, the sharp calls of Molly’s voice echoing down the halls, and the frantic clatter of shoes running up and down the stairs.

Downstairs, George was muttering to himself about missing cufflinks, Percy was arguing with his reflection in the mirror, and Fleur was close to tears over... something delicate and dramatic. Even the family cat looked agitated, darting in and out of rooms like a living streak of fur and annoyance, as if to remind us all that chaos was the natural order of things.

And me? I stood at the top of the stairs, just outside Fred’s room, holding his tie like it was some sacred object—fragile, significant, electric in my hands. He was waiting for me, wearing that crooked, shameless grin that made it impossible to think clearly.

"Come on," he called, voice playful. "Save me before I accidentally strangle myself with this thing."

I stepped into his room, trying not to look too long. He was only in a dress shirt, half-buttoned, the collar loose, his freckled chest peeking through just enough to make me feel flushed. His hair, that wild, familiar mess of ginger, fell over his forehead like he hadn’t even tried to tame it. And his eyes—those endlessly mischievous eyes—held something softer in them today. Or maybe it was just the light. Or maybe it was me.

"You still haven’t learned how to tie a tie?" I asked, standing in front of him and beginning to thread the fabric through my fingers.

"Nope," he replied, his tone casual, but softer than usual. "But it gives me an excuse to have you stand this close to me, so..."

I stepped in. Too close, really, for just ‘helping’. My fingers brushed against the hollow of his throat—his skin still cool from a morning shower. He didn’t move. He just looked at me, eyes a little too steady, too open.

And I felt it—barely there, but undeniable. That moment. The shift.

The point where something unspoken passed between us like a breeze that raises the hairs on your neck. The place where teasing ended and tension began.

"You look good in white," I murmured before I could stop myself. The words just... slipped out.

Fred raised a brow, smiling lazily. "Does that mean I shouldn’t look even better on my own wedding day?"

I laughed—nervous, breathy. "It’s not your wedding, Weasley."

"For now."

I didn’t answer. What could I have said? That I’d been thinking about him for weeks? That every time I closed my eyes, I could feel the echo of his laughter like a ghost against my skin? That somewhere between the jokes and the late-night talks, he’d gone from my favorite friend to my quietest ache?

No. I didn’t say any of it.

I just tied his tie. And I left.

The ceremony had been beautiful, of course. Laughter threaded through the vows, people weeping into handkerchiefs, and a blush on the bride’s cheeks that made even the sun look shy. I stood off to the side during the final cheers, my hands clasped in front of me, but my eyes? My eyes were on Fred.

He had been smiling—grinning, really—like he meant it, like something inside him had bloomed and refused to close again. I watched the light kiss the edges of his hair, watched the way he leaned in to whisper something to George that made them both laugh too loudly. And yet, even through the celebration, he looked at me.

Not always. Just enough. Like he didn’t need to search the room because he already knew where I’d be.

By the time the sun had softened and the music began, we were sitting at a long wooden table strung with wildflowers and flickering candles. Fred beside me. Too close.

I had laughed at something he said, something stupid and charming in that Fred Weasley way. And then I felt it—his hand. Beneath the table. Resting lightly on my knee.

My breath caught.

At first, I thought it was a joke. A tease. But he didn’t move it away. His fingers just stayed there. Warm, casual. Then they curled ever so slightly, as if testing the boundary of skin and cloth.

“Y’know,” he said softly, just near my ear, “I keep imagining this day... but with you in white. Me in a better-fitting tie. And everyone here to watch us.”

I turned to him—eyes wide, heart in my throat. He wasn’t smiling now. Not fully. There was something else behind his gaze. Want.

And then his fingers started to move.

Not fast. Not demanding. Just… exploring. A single fingertip tracing idle circles against the inside of my thigh. Slow, lazy shapes that made the skin beneath my dress feel suddenly too aware. My lips parted, but I didn’t breathe. I couldn’t.

His touch drifted upward, half an inch, maybe less.

And then again.

Higher.

I swallowed, glancing around to see if anyone was watching. The table was loud with clinking glasses and spinning stories. But in my world, there was only him.

Fred’s thumb stroked the soft part of my inner thigh—tender, uncharted skin. I bit the inside of my cheek. My hand gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white. I could feel the heat blooming in my chest, spreading outward, rising to my cheeks.

I was blushing. Fiercely.

And I didn’t stop him.

His fingers slipped higher, brushing the edge of my underwear. So close to where I pulsed for him I thought I might lose my mind. Slowly, deliberately, his hand slipped just beneath the fabric, resting against the warm, bare skin of my inner thigh. The contrast between the coolness of the lace and the heat of my skin beneath made my breath hitch. His touch was featherlight at first, teasing the sensitive skin hidden from view, then growing firmer, more confident.

Every nerve in me awakened under his hand, a delicious shiver spreading through my body. His fingers traced slow, lazy patterns, exploring the secret places where only he was allowed to go. The warmth of his palm pressed gently, grounding me even as it set me aflame.

He paused there, as if asking a silent question. I tilted my hips, just barely—an invitation.

I felt his smile against my temple.

“Merlin,” he whispered, “you’re wet…”

I shivered.

“Fred,” I murmured. Just his name. But it carried every unanswered want, every imagined kiss, every second I’d lain awake wondering what his touch might feel like.

He didn’t wait this time. He leaned in, lips ghosting over my ear. “Come with me.”

I nodded, already standing, already following.

The hallway blurred behind us as Fred took my hand, weaving me through the dim, quiet upper floor of the Burrow. Laughter still floated from downstairs like a distant memory, but it no longer belonged to us. Not now.

He opened the door to his room with one smooth motion and let me step inside first.

It was exactly as I remembered—chaotic, warm, a little too full of mismatched things. A half-made bed, a crooked poster on the wall, a sweater tossed carelessly over a chair. But it felt safe. Like him.

Fred closed the door behind us. The soft click of the latch made my skin prickle.

Neither of us spoke.

I turned to face him and found him already watching me, his tie slightly askew from earlier—my knot, still clumsy but real. He reached up, loosened it slowly, and let it fall to the floor between us.

"You’re quiet," he said gently.

"I’m…" I tried to find the word. But my breath was shallow. My heart, wild. "Thinking too much."

He stepped forward and lifted a hand to my face, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

"Then don’t," he whispered. "Let me think for you."

His kiss came soft at first—his lips brushing mine like he was still waiting for permission. But I leaned in. And when I did, something in him shifted.

Fred deepened the kiss, his hands coming to my waist, then sliding up my back with a care that made me feel cherished, not just wanted. His mouth was warm, slow, tasting. Like he wasn’t in a rush. Like he meant to memorize me.

When we finally parted, I was trembling.

He looked down at me, brushing his nose lightly against mine. “You’re shaking.”

"I know," I breathed.

"Is it too much?"

I shook my head. “It’s not enough.”

Fred exhaled, a low, reverent sound, and guided me gently backward until the backs of my knees touched the edge of his bed. He kissed me again, slower this time, while his hands moved down—over my ribs, over my hips—before slipping beneath the hem of my dress. His palms were warm and steady on my thighs as he knelt in front of me.

His lips found the inside of my knee first.

Then a little higher.

Then higher still.

Each kiss a question. Each breath against my skin, an answer.

By the time his mouth reached the softest part of me, I was already undone.

He looked up once—eyes burning, waiting for any sign of hesitation. But I reached for him, fingers in his hair, and he took that as his yes.

His tongue was gentle, patient, tasting every inch of me like he had all the time in the world.

And in that moment, maybe he did.

I moaned, soft and aching, the sound escaping before I could even try to hold it back. Fred’s grip on my thighs tightened just slightly, keeping me open for him. My body arched into his mouth, my hips restless against the unbearable sweetness of him.

Every circle of his tongue. Every stroke of his fingers. Every breath between kisses made me feel like I was glowing from the inside out.

He wasn’t teasing. He was worshipping.

And when I finally shattered—quietly, breathlessly, his name spilling from my lips like prayer—he kissed the inside of my thigh once more, as if sealing it there forever.

When he rose, I pulled him to me. My arms around his neck. His forehead rested against mine.

“Y/N,” he whispered, and nothing in the world had ever sounded more tender.

I kissed him again. Slower now. Certain.

There was no going back.

And neither of us wanted to.

His lips found mine again, and this time the kiss was deeper. More grounded. There was no rush — only the thrum of his heartbeat echoing through mine, and the quiet, sacred space between each breath.

Fred laid me gently back on his bed, his body covering mine with a kind of reverence I hadn’t known I needed. The sheets were a little messy, the lamp on the nightstand flickered softly, casting gold shadows over his face. But none of that mattered. It was him.

He hovered above me, one hand braced beside my head, the other stroking a line from my shoulder, down the curve of my waist, and over my hip. I felt him against me, hard and patient, pressed to my thigh — and every inch of my skin came alive beneath him.

He looked down at me. Eyes soft. Serious.

“Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of this?” he whispered, his breath warm against my lips. “Of you?”

I cupped his face with both hands, trembling. “Then stop dreaming,” I breathed. “Take me.”

And he did.

Fred leaned in and kissed me again as he gently slid his hand between my thighs, easing them apart. His fingers moved with the same care he had shown me before — learning, exploring, preparing. I gasped softly as he found me, still trembling from what he'd already given me.

When he finally positioned himself, his breath hitched — just slightly. Our foreheads touched. My legs wrapped around him on instinct, drawing him in. Welcoming him.

He pressed into me slowly. Inch by inch. The stretch was real — tender, intense — but never too much. He paused once, kissing my cheek, as if asking with his body: Is this okay?

“Yes,” I breathed, wrapping my arms around his back. “Fred, please…”

That was all he needed.

He began to move — slow, grounding thrusts that rocked through me like tides. His hands were everywhere: cupping my cheek, cradling my hip, brushing down my arm. Every roll of his body against mine made me feel more open, more wanted, more known.

We barely spoke — just small, sacred sounds between kisses and gasps. The occasional broken whisper:

“God, you feel—”

“Don’t stop—”

“I’ve wanted this… wanted you…”

His rhythm built gradually, the tension coiling and tightening deep inside me. I met him with every motion, hips rising to meet his, breath catching with every deep, aching thrust. He filled me completely — not just physically, but emotionally. His presence, his touch, the way his fingers threaded through mine as he moved within me — it was all too much and somehow never enough.

He kissed my shoulder, my jaw, the corner of my mouth. His pace faltered — just slightly.

“Y/N,” he whispered. “I’m close—”

“So am I,” I gasped, wrapping myself tighter around him.

And when we finally tipped over the edge — together, shaking, mouths pressed in a silent cry — it felt like falling into something infinite. Something honest.

Afterward, he didn’t pull away. He stayed, his forehead resting against my collarbone, our breathing slow and tangled. His body heavy over mine in the most perfect way. I ran my fingers through his hair, and he kissed the center of my chest like he never wanted to leave.

“I don’t know what this means now,” I said quietly, barely trusting my voice.

Fred looked up, his lips still close to my skin.

“It means,” he said, “I’m completely yours, if you’ll have me.”

I smiled, heart pounding, lips brushing his.

“I already do.”

[zirconpetals]

Somebody make some kind of smart observation about their relationship or Spock's character arc based on this

[lochallthedoors]

You seem to be coming from a pretty optimistic place, though, with Council Skies. I guess it’s uplifting in the right places, and it’s melancholy in the right places. I think it’s quite an honest record. I don’t like to make the [songs] too autobiographical. I certainly wouldn’t draw attention to the parts of songs that are about me and my life. “Dead to the World” is very autobiographical. So are “Think of a Number,” “Council Skies” and “Trying To Find a World That’s Been and Gone.” -- noel interview, spin.com, may 25, 2023

noel interview in first and last gifs: radio x, 8 june 2023

bonus, liam when asked about the song: "It's all about me it always was and is"

[sebbyisland]

akanematic.mp4 (youtube link)

[chatdae]

love how the older skaters in the senior division give Yurio encouragement and that each time it pisses Yurio off. JJ is intentionally condescending so that makes sense, but with Viktor and Yuuri they're not even being condescending. Yurio's just dialed in on being a hater... and i love that for him <3

[potato-on-your-head]

you. you get it

characters going “we were lovers once”: eh, it’s okay i guess. it’s nice enough

characters going “we were friends once”: absolutely devastating. one hit knockout i’m gone

[enavstars]

(Naruto has specifically also called him "mom" multiple times)

Headcanons time!

After the war Obito is perfectly fine (like in canon as we all know, I'm not delusional at all obviously) and also Sasuke goes out to travel the world.

Obito is kept under house arrest at Kakashi’s for a few years until he's finally set completely free and so immediately marries Kakashi.

On the other hand, Kakashi suggests to Sasuke to stay at his house too whenever he comes back to visit the village since he doesn't have a place anymore (until he starts dating Naruto later). At first everything is awkward because Sasuke and Obito have a complicated relationship (with, you know, the massacre and all) and Kakashi also has other quiet intentions.

Kakashi actually hopes to use this opportunity to apologize to Sasuke for how he treated him. I mean, as much as I love them, Kakashi did treat Sasuke unfairly because he projected himself a little too much onto the boy, and now he just doesn't know how to approach the subject because of his poor social skills. When he finally apologizes, Sasuke does not get his point, getting confused because he believes that the fact that he cared is enough (I mean the boy doesn't really know how a healthy relationship with an (older) adult should look like). But Kakashi doesn't like that answer, so he gently explains how just that is simply not enough. This leads Sasuke to finally reflect on his life and decide to move forward, accepting Kakashi's apology.

Afterwards Kakashi talks to him about what can he do as a Hokage to honor the Uchiha clan (I'm still pissed that they tried to brush off a genocide so I'm fixing it). In the end they settle for a memorial and firing (and hopefully imprisoning) the other two council elders that supported it all.

Meanwhile, Sasuke and Obito's relationship also develops. Sasuke doesn't forgive Obito, and at the same time Obito is working on his own guilt and atonement, so evidently they don’t get along at first. Eventually, when Kakashi truly becomes one of Sasuke's most precious people/bonds, he starts tolerating Obito because he understands he's important to Kakashi. As time goes on Sasuke and Obito slowly manage to cool off their relationship and find some common grounds with everything they’ve been through. Together they eventually reflect on it, little by little, from the many tragedies that stained their lives to the manipulation they have both suffered; by the result of Konoha’s rotten system in one way or another. Although they have much to work on, especially with Obito, how he tried to pull Sasuke’s strings, and his part in the Uchiha massacre, Sasuke chooses to not give in to his hatred. He understands Obito in the end, and is able to move on. And on his part, Obito does make an effort to treat him much better than he used to.

In fact, one way he tries to make up for his mistakes is by telling Sasuke about the Uchiha clan's history and traditions, the stuff that Sasuke could never know before because he was too young, as he thinks that their legacy should be passed down to someone who truthfully honors the clan with their full chest.

Basically Sasuke deserves love so I gave him a father figure (Kakashi), because every other adult has treated him terribly and he desperately needs one. And Obito is now his annoying/weird uncle/stepfather.

I will of course make more comics because they're also very chaotic, being three people in a single house and yet amounting to:

- two war criminals, Uchiha

- two married men

- two moon-coded traumatized people

(worthy of an unhinged Venn Diagram)

[unreasonablerobin]

HI BARBIE

Damian Al Ghul x Girly!Reader

Synopsis: Damian and his... very girly girlfriend??

W.C: 4.3K

Tags: Fluff ♡

Something was different... everyone in the manor could tell that there was something different with Damian Al Ghul Wayne.

Considering he lived in a manor full of detectives, you really wouldn't think he'd have gotten away with his secret rendezvous.

7 months ago...

It all started with Alfred noticing new smells on his clothes as he did the laundry. At first, it seemed that Damian had simply switched to a new shampoo or maybe gotten a cologne. Then, the sharp scent of cologne started to come mixed with floral. Alfred did what any good butler would do. He ignored it. If his master wanted to indulge in wearing floral scents, he wouldn't shame him for it.

Alfred wasn't the only one who noticed the change in scent, though. Dick had been messing around with Damian in the training room. They always liked a good spar with each other. Everything was going as usual until... SNIFF

"Dude, are you wearing perfume?" Dick suddenly asked as he blocked a punch from his little brother. Damian's composure faltered for just a moment before he pulled himself together, grabbing Dick and tossing him over the shoulder. The poor vigilante was too distracted by his discovery to catch himself. He fell to the floor with a thud.

"Don't be ridiculous Grayson." The boy clicked his tongue as he began to walk out of the training room.

"It's one of those Britney Spears ones, Kori has a few," Dick said more to himself than Damian as the boy was choosing to ignore him the more words tumble out of his mouth. "Hold on don't tell, is it the pink one with the little green gems on it?"

Damian had to fight back the urge to inform him that the perfume he was thinking of was called Fantasy. He'd become quite the enthusiast simply from listening to you go on about all sorts of perfumes, and other products, sat at your vanity as he admired your reflection through the mirror.

"Why do you know so much about Britney Spears perfumes Grayson?" Damian retorted.

"Cause I have a very gorgeous girlfriend, Dams. I got her the perfume for her birthday, the bottle reminded me of her." He replied a lovesick grin already forming at the thought of his alien lover. The former assassin took the opportunity to sneak out of the training room as his older brother got lost in a train of hopeless romantic thoughts over his lover.

Once he made it back to his room he sharply inhaled. Yep, it smells like your perfume. Very clearly, like you'd jumped around spraying it before sneaking out this morning. He took a handful of his shirt and lifted it to his nose. Yep, also smells like your perfume and your setting spray. If he wanted to keep your relationship hidden from his lunatic families he'd need to do a better job of covering it, he thought to himself as he began to light any scented candles he could find. An attempt to cover your traces. One of them was a gift from you, so not entirely hiding your presence.

5 months ago...

The two of you were walking through the mall. Hands intertwined and a bundle of shopping bags in his other. He'd insisted on carrying them. No matter how ridiculous he looked. It was a funny sight. His cold hard expression paired with cute bags of clothes, makeup and a Sanrio plushie peeking out from one of them.

"Are you hungry, beloved?" Damian turned his head to face you. You pondered for a moment until your stomach decided for you by making a growling sound.

"Yes..." You said slightly embarrassed. A downturned smile spread on your face.

"Where would you like to go?" You were about to respond when your phone started ringing, a cheery pop song blared from your charm-adorned handbag.

"Sorry, one sec," you reached into the bag. Shoving all sorts of things around to get to your phone. "It's my mom, you pick I'll be back in a minute!" You stepped off to the side and answered the phone.

Damian huffed at the feeling of his empty hand as he began to scan the mall food court up ahead.

'Burger King, McDonalds, Stephanie and Cass, KFC...' He paused his train of thought. Oh shit, he didn't realise Stephanie and Cass would be here and walking towards you both, unaware of your presence.

"Mom, I promised I'd be back home for dinner. 6:30, I know," You laughed at her antics before saying your goodbyes and hanging up.

You didn't get the chance to turn around as your hand was being grabbed and you were getting dragged away.

"Damian?" you looked at the boy as he swerved between the crowds. "Is everything alright?" You watched as he occasionally looked behind the two of you. Taking a small glance back you spotted two girls you recognised from a photo he'd shown you.

"Hold on, is that Damian?" Stephanie stopped Cass in her tracks and pointed ahead. Cass looked up from her milkshake and saw the head of her little brother.

"We should go say hi! Wonder what he's doing in the mall?" Stephanie had taken Cass' arm and was pulling her towards Damian, both unaware that he wasn't alone and trying to get away from them.

Damian noticed the two getting closer and took a sharp left turn into a random clothing store. He used the clothing racks to hide from the persistent girls following them.

"Why's he gone in here?" Stephanie wondered out loud. "It's a women's clothing store." Cass shrugged her shoulders as her mind went to Dick's theory on Damian trying out more feminine things, and being ashamed of it, after the perfume incident. She thought the theory was ridiculous.

Cass looked around quickly to see if the shop was even worth spending time in, but nothing was to her taste. As she scanned the store she spotted what looked to her brother... and a girl? Sneaking into the dressing rooms.

'No, it couldn't be,' Cass thought to herself watching the figure of a boy that looked exactly like her brother disappear into a dressing room with a really pretty girl. 'Could it?'

You and Damian crammed into a little dressing room with all your shopping bags.

"So..." You began, turning to the mirror to fix any out of place hairs.

"We'll have to wait a while, they are unfortunately persistent."

"How long?"

"I do not know, beloved," He shoved your shopping bags into the corner. "Longer than you'd like, I'd imagine."

You stood in silence for a moment.

"I can think of a couple ways to pass the time..." You turned away to prevent yourself from laughing at Damian's flushed face.

3 months ago...

Damian and Jason had been giving each other a hand during patrol that night. Damian was chasing some low-life thugs and they managed to slip out of his grasp and dash all the way to Crime Alley. Thankfully Jason was there and helped him catch the guys. After dealing with them Damian stood up, a vibration surged through his pocket. He reached in about to immediately hit decline. Why would he answer the phone on patrol? That's what he thought until your face graced his peripheral. He quickly turned his back towards his brother. It was a photo of you and your closets friends. (Obviously the contact picture was only focused on you). It was taken on your birthday. You were all dolled up in makeup and a gorgeous outfit you'd insisted you needed his opinion on before going out. He was about to answer when, "Who's that?" Jason called out from behind.

'Oh Shit.' Damian thought to himself. There are so many excuses to use when your brother smells your girlfriend's perfume on you, so many ways to hide from your sisters when out on a date. How does one convince Red Hood that 'Beloved <3' isn't what it looks like? That its no one special on the other end of the line?

"No one," Damian tried his luck with lying anyways. "Mind your business!" He possessively clutched the phone to his chest. Hiding the caller ID and contact photo. That was only for him to see.

Jason stared at him through his helmet, "Uh-huh, sure," Damian could feel the bullshit look on Jason's face behind the helmet. "No one at all."

"No one for you to concern yourself with Todd, mind your business." Damian stuttered out sharply before disappearing into the night. Away from prying eyes.

Jason couldn't help but grin as he watched his brother run off, phone clutched in his hand like a lifeline.

"Idiot."

Damian had perched himself on top of an apartment building. He brought his phone in front of him and called his last missed call. You. He sat in the silence of dawn, only the buzz of his voice and the tires of some earlier commuters to be heard. Until he heard the sweet voice of his favourite person.

"Hello? Damian?" God, how did your voice sound so angelic this early in the morning, through a phone speaker?

"Good morning, beloved," He sighed contently, "Apologies for not picking up when you first called I was finishing up something." He felt at peace hearing your voice and the ruffle of your bedsheets. Even if it was only through a phone and not in person. It would do.

"Oh sorry!" You whisper yelled. The sun was only rising, your family were probably still asleep. "I didn't mean to bother, we can talk la-"

"Nonsense, you are certainly not bothering me, beloved. I'm more than happy to make time for you at any hour of the day or night." He cut you off. It was silent on your end of the line for a few moments. A couple of giggles and some sheet rustling could be heard. Damian could see it in his mind you going slightly rouge and hiding your face in the pastel duvet.

"It's just," you trailed off, "I had a stupid nightmare and I couldn't go back to sleep."

"If my presence is what you seek in order to feel safe than I will always be available." You smiled at that looking out the window by your bed.

"I will be there."

"What!?" You shot up in your bed, shrinking in on yourself when you realised how loud you were being.

"Damian, there's no need-"

"Yes there is very much need," You sighed at his persistence. "You require my comfort to fall back asleep, I know how much you enjoy your weekend sleep." You fell back k down into tour bed with a smile. He was so right. You loved your weekend lie ins.

"I am finished patrol so I will make my way to you."

"Okay, I'll see you in a few, my windows open," you bit your bottom lip for a moment, hesitation filling you, "I love you." There was silence on the other end of the line until the call ended. You looked at your phone in confusion worried you'd accidentally hit the red button or if Damian had decided he actually hated you. A shadow replacing the sunrise light that had been beaming onto you stopped your train of thought. You looked up to see Robin perched on your windowsill. Strategically, as to not damage your flower boxes.

"I love you too." He whispered before he crawled through the window, landing on your bed.

2 months ago...

Damian was sat in the back of the Batcave as Bruce and Tim discussed something about an ongoing case. He was cleaning one of his katanas. Deciding it was clean enough he picked it up and set it to the side. A small sound of metal hitting metal made the two detectives perk up. The sound came again as Damian picked up another blade to clean. Tim turned his head ever so slightly to glance at the boy and in the corner of his eyes, he spotted it. A small ring on his left hand. He gave a small glance to Bruce, who was still staring at the screen before him, but he could tell the scrunch of his face wasn't from the confusion of the case. Damian completely unaware of his brother's and father's change in demeanour continued to clean his blades. The metal ring subtly caught the light as he carefully rubbed the cloth against the sharp edge of the blade. A gentle smile graced his face as he stared at the ring. His mind wandered back to the day he gave you the promise ring. He knew you'd love it but he was still so nervous. He would rather die than let anyone know that though. Little whispers snapped him out of his thoughts. Looking up he spotted Tim leaning in towards Bruce muttering something.

"Can I say something?" Tim questioned in a hushed teasing tone.

"No, you can not." Bruce sternly replied, folding his arms across his chest.

"Oh come on," Tim looked from him to his brother out of the corner of his peripheral. "You can't not be curious about what's up with him?"

Bruce gave the young detective a quick glance before returning to the screen with CCTV footage playing.

"Of course I am, but it is none of our business." He said curtly. "Damian is very capable and I trust that he is independent and mature enough to do as he pleases."

Tim sighed in response to that. He'd have to lay off on the teasing for now, but just know that when he gets a moment alone with his little brother he will become the biggest pain in the ass.

Damian couldn't help but let his smile grow back after hearing his father's words. He spun the ring around his finger for a brief moment before setting his blades aside and exiting the cave.

1 month ago...

Another rare day where you manage to spend the day in Wayne Manor. Today was much easier than all the others. Dick was in his apartment with Kori'ander, Bruce and Tim were away on company business, the girls were all out, and Jason was god knows where. You didn't really care if they were in the Manor or on the other side of the world at this moment. You were sprawled on top of your boyfriend in his bed. Nothing could possibly ruin this day for you. Your head was rested on his chest, listening to his rhythmic heartbeat. His hand held yours and the other played with the ends of your hair. You both layed in the silence of the day as you quite literally watched paint dry. Over on his desk, which was supposed to be used for homework and not art or makeup, like it you had previously been using it for. Two small paintings lay drying; one of batcow and the other of a sunset. A huff of laughter from the chest beneath you made you look up.

"What?"

"There is paint on your face, beloved."

You shot up from his body and where about to run into the bathroom. Damian gently grabbed into your face. The red paint streaks where mostly dry now so he was easily able to rub them off. Even when your face was paint free, you both sat there, your face in his hands and his thumb caressing your skin.

"You are so beautiful, Habibti." You stared with a lovestruck look right back at his lovesick one. He leaned in a little closer.

"May I?" He asked, ever the gentleman. You nodded.

He brought his lips to yours not caring about the sticky sensation of your lip gloss. You sighed into the kiss and brought your hands up to rest of his. They slid down and held onto his wrists. Neither of you would get Iver this feeling. The butterflies, your lips on eachother, the fear that enters your body when you hear a knock of the door. Oh my god. You immediately pulled away.

"Master Damian," Alfred's muffled voice came through the door. "Would like some cookies? They are freshly baked."

"No thanks, Pennyworth." Damian quickly replied. There was an uncomfortable silence for a second before-

"Would your friend like some?" Both of your eyes bulged out and your jaws dropped.

"I won't tell, no need to fret!"

You looked to Damian nervously, who nodded his head, telling you that Alfred really meant what he said.

"Yes please!" You piped up. You could smell those cookies and my god, you wanted them so bad.

"Very well, I'll prepare them and some tea." Alfred laughed before heading back to the kitchen.

Present...

Yesterday had been another one of those rare days where nobody was in the manor, so you had come over and Damian persuaded you to stay the night.

You sleepy made your way into the bathroom attached to his room. Deciding it was time to get ready for the day. Your eyes scanned the counter top covered in skincare and makeup products left here overtime by you. You couldn't help but smile thinking of all the smalls ways you two had been intertwining your life's. You had things in his place, he had things in yours, he carried hair ties for you and you carried bandages for him. It was simple and sweet. It got you thinking about why he didn't want you to meet his family as you did your skincare. He'd met yours, plenty of time at that. He'd spent the night, he'd had dinner with them, hell you're mom bought him an Easter egg! You swore up and down to yourself he didn't have any problem with you or his family. Now picking up your primer you couldn't help but be confused. Why is he so desperate to hide you and your relationship? You shook the thoughts away when you spotted your frown in the mirror, now just focusing on getting ready.

An hour had passed and Damian was awake. He could hear you in the bathroom as he rolled over in the now cold bed.

"Babe, can you help me?" You softly called out as you nudged the bathroom door open. "I can't get my earing in." You informed with you hands at your ear.

He got up from his bed a maneuvered you back into the bathroom, where the lighting was good, shutting the door behind him.

"I can't get it through, it shouldn't be closed up though!" You handed him the earing and stood beside him under the ceiling light.

He tilted your head and began what would be an annoyingly long process of trying to perform the simple task of getting a piece of metal through a hole.

Alfred was in the middle of cooking breakfast and asked Dick to go wake his brother up. Unaware that you were still here. You usually snuck out earlier but you're phone was dead when you woke up so you never checked the time.

Dick trecked up the stairs, past Jason leaving his room and towards Damian's. He softly knocked on the door before swinging it open.

"Uh, Jason?"

"What?" Jason grumbled at the end of the hallway.

"Who's phone is that?" Dick asked pointing towards a phone that definitely wasn't his brother's. Unless he'd taken a sudden liking to charms and bows.

Jason sleepy stared at Dick until the image of Damian's phone with a picture of a girl and suspicious caller ID appeared in his head. Now he was sprinting towards his brother's room.

Jason and Dick stood in the doorway examining the unknown phone plugged in and rested on the nightstand. Jason gasped and pointed at a woman's bag, say on the floor, leaning against the desk leg. Dick dramatically took hold of Jason and put a finger to his lips. He then pointed to the bathroom door.

"Damian it's fine!"

"I don't want to hurt you!"

"It's not going to hurt, babe I promise!"

A girl? Babe!?

This had Dick and Jason turning to eachother, shock written all over their faces as they sprinted to the stairs.

Bruce, Tim, Stephanie and Cass were all sat at the dining table. Bruce was reading the newspaper, Tim was chugging a coffee, Stephanie was talking to Cass while they waited for the other three boys. Same as every morning. At least it was, until-

"Damian has a girlfriend!" Dick shouted like he was the final girl just after discovering who the killer was.

"She's upstairs!" Jason skidded into the kitchen behind him.

Alfred froze, as he watched Tim and Stephanie sprint faster than he'd ever seen before. Dick and Jason following right behind them. Cass subtly followed. She didn't want to be nosy but... she needed to know! Her suspicions were driving her crazy ever since the mall. Bruce sighed, folding up the newspaper and setting it down before heading up to Damian's room as he heard screaming.

You were mortified. Six people just barged into the room and saw you in your pyjamas; your underwear and one of Damian's shirts. You screamed and immediately bolted back into the bathroom. You were panicking. Damian didn't want you to meet his family and you just did it in the worst way possible. Half naked and screaming. What a way to meet the future in-laws. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as you slid to the floor. Atleast your hair and makeup look good.

"Drake, what the fuck!?" Damian yelled.

"Hold on, why am I the only one getting yelled at?" Tim retorted.

Stephanie nudged his shoulder. "You scared her stupid!"

"We barged in at the same time!"

"You're a guy!"

Damian stood there with a frustrated expression watching Tim and Stephanie bicker and the rest of his family pile in. Cass's small smile at him help him relax a little, but only a little. And just for a moment, cause then Dick and Jason piped up.

"So..." Dick began. "Who is she?"

"None of your business."

"That's what you told me when someone named 'beloved' called you on patrol." Jason chimed in with a teasing tone. Damian could only stare at more frustration than before. His cheeks began to flush and that just passed him off more. Stephanie wasn't helping with her "awww's in the background. Damian was about to scream for them to all get out, get physical with Tim if he needed to.

“Damian.”

Everyone turned towards the stern, deep voice in the doorway. Bruce stepped forward to his youngest son.

"Father," Damian started a tangent before Bruce even had a chance to say anything more. "Her name is Y/n. We have been dating for 8 months, and I love her. No matter your approval or disapproval I will continue to see her." Damian informed his father in a stern and determined tone.

“If it’s alright with you I would like to meet her. Properly.” He requested. “I believe the rest would also like to meet her.” Damian didn’t know how to respond. He thought his father would have a bigger reaction to lying and sneaking around with a girl. Especially considering the occupations of everyone present.

“Of course only if she’s alright with it as well.” Bruce added with a light smile.

"Allow me to check." Bruce ushered all of his children out of the young boy's room.

Once they’d all left he slid into the bathroom where you were still sat on the floor.

“Habitat,” he called out softly. “We don’t have to go down there if you don’t want to.” He knelt in front of you.

“No! I want to, I’d love to meet your family.” You countered quickly. “Only if that’s okay with you, I don’t want to overstep.”

“Whatever you want, beloved.” He said with a smile identical to his father’s.

You were now dressed and sat beside Damian at the Wayne dining table. All of the Wayne's were staring at you. It wasn't daggers or disgust. You'd figured it was curiosity.

"How the hell did you even meet?" Jason asked the first question.

"School." Damian answered coldly.

"No offence, but I didn't expect you to end up with someone so..." Dick trailed off as he swung is fork around as if it would conjure up the words he wad looking for.

"Girly?" You suggested. "I get it, you probably thought he'd end up with someone like yourselves."

Everyone at the table felt a bead of sweat drop from their foreheads.

"What?" Stephanie asked with a nervous laugh.

"She knows." They all snapped their necks to look at Damian and then their father at the head of the table.

He sighed, "Damian I trust that you thought about all this before giving us away?"

"Of course I did. Do not suggest that they are not trustworthy." Bruce and Damian had a bit of a stare off. While that was happening Stepahine had kicked Tim out of his chair beside you.

"You're hair is so gorgeous! What do you use?" She asked as she held a strand in her palm.

"Oh, I cannot think of the name! But there's some up in Damian's bathroom, I'll show it to you."

Dick leaned over the table, "I thought I was going crazy when I started smelling perfumes off him!" You laughed at his comment.

"What do you use? It smells similar to the one Kori uses."

You began to chat with the vigilantes about all sorts of things. Telling Cass and Stephanie about the products you use and where you shop, listening to stories about Dick and Kori. Jason chimed in with a few book recommendations and reviews after learning you like to read. Quickly you found yourself having conversations with all the Waynes like it was as easy as breathing. As you were laughing at some Internet joke you and Tim were discussing, you spotted a poute on your boyfriend's face. And it finally clicked.

Damian Al Ghul was jealous of his own family.

He kept your relationship a secret and avoided introducing you for so long because he didn't want them to steal your attention.

You couldn't help but smile at that.

A/N: First piece published!! I welcome back feedback with open arms. Please just don't take this opportunity to be rude. I'd love to know if I write ooc or if my grammars incorrect, ect.

Shout out to Damian Al Ghul my gatekeeping king🙏

[eyeheartboobiez]

nicknames that bruce + the batboys would call you

warnings: sexual themes in jason’s part, fem!reader a/n: just sumn slight. enjoy😁

⁎⁺˳ 𝒷𝓇𝓊𝒸𝑒 ミ

❀ bruce grew up wealthy so he would definitely call you something more on the classy side

❀ things like darling, angel, dear, my love, etc.

❀ he also has a habit of referring to you as “my wife” (because he’s possessive asf)

❀ “sorry guys, i really can’t stay for another drink. i’ve got to get back to my wife.”

❀ “you said these shoes were dior? oh, im sure my wife would love these.”

❀ on the flip side, he also really likes referring to himself as your husband (one might say he does it for the ego boost)

❀ like whenever you too are meeting someone for the first time, he'll introduce you first and then only introduce himself as "your husband"

❀ because why should someone care about him, a mega rich billionaire, when his lovely and radiant wife is standing right next to him?

⁎⁺˳ 𝒹𝒾𝒸𝓀 ミ

❀ dick would definitely be the type to call you something super lovey-dovey and over the top

❀ sugarplum, honey bunches, buttercup, (and if he really wants to get on your nerves,) shnookums

❀ he knows it’s lame, but he genuinely doesn’t care

❀ since his love language is acts of service, you tend to hear a lot of "let me get that for ya, honeybun"

❀ or something like “hey sugarplum! im on my way home from work, you want me to pick up anything?”

❀ or even "don't worry about dinner honeylove, lemme take care of things tonight."

❀ regardless of how annoying it is, you can't help but love his teasing nicknames for you

❀ like you two are that annoying couple that everyone loves can't stand seeing at the function (i know valentine's day hatesss to see yall coming)

❀ off topic but if the two of you had a kid together, i imagine him nicknaming your daughter ‘love bug’ (AWWW)

⁎⁺˳ 𝒿𝒶𝓈𝑜𝓃 ミ

❀ despite his thick exterior, jason’s a lover boy at heart

❀ he’d call you stuff like babe, doll, sweetheart, hon, y’know all that cheesy stuff

❀ most importantly though, this boy lovesss to call you mama

❀ like for example, he usually likes to greet you with a casual "hey mama, you doin okay?" followed by a quick peck on the check

❀ or if you're being goofy trying to get him to feel better, he'll probably say something like "c'mon mama, cut it out" as a smile inevitably blossoms on his face

❀ alongside this, he also has a weird kink thing for calling himself papa

❀ either “thatsss it sweetheart, come to papa” or “let papa bear handle it, ‘kay? you just sit down there and look pretty f’me.”

❀ you have absolutely no idea where he got it from because jason swears up and down that he's never done it until he got in a relationship with you

⁎⁺˳ 𝓉𝒾𝓂 ミ

❀ while tim is such a sweetheart, so his pet names for you would most definitely reflect that

❀ sweets, pretty, baby love, cutie; simple stuff like that

❀ also, let’s not forget that this boy is a certified LEWSER, so that also shows within you guys’ relationship

❀ he sometimes calls you pookie (he’s chronically online…)

❀ he'd probably be up texting you at 2am (because why wouldn’t be be up at that time) and is like “hey pooks u wanna check out this new italian place i found? i saw that they serve a few of ur faves”

❀ he also has a nasty habit of referring to you as dude or bro

❀ you'll often get random tiktoks from him throughout the day like "bro look this is totally us" or "me & u fr🥹"

❀ sure it's corny but the sentiment is sweet so you don't really mind

❀ a lot of people think the relationship you both have may be a bit odd, but neither of you care (and that's all that matters <3)

[psychotrenny]

It's incredibly foolish to disregard the dialectical relationship that exists between any materially existing entity/process and its fictionalised depictions; this includes even the most difficult and sensitive of topics like sexual violence and abuse. To say that the fictional depictions, whether actual published media or various informal play scenarios, have nothing to do with the real thing is absurd. They are obviously drawn from the image and ideas around it, and in turn can have varying forms of influence on how people conceptualise and respond to such things in reality. But at the same time the real and fictional are ultimately still separate and so it's equally absurd to talk about them as though they are one in the same

Like you can't take for granted that a piece of media depicting something automatically endorses it, or even that any "endorsement" exists in a context where it's materially meaningful. You can't take for granted that someone engaging in a sort of roleplay reflects any interest repeating those actions or affirming those values in real life; half the time the sense of moral transgression and personal aversion is part of the appeal. If you think that a fictional representation of a problem in any way exacerbates that issue in reality then you need to put in the work to demonstrate an actual throughline, a specific relationship between the material and ideal.

It's also very important to be aware of the limits; a discrete piece of fiction may reflect and in some limited ways reinforce social values but it's never going to "normalise" these values any more than the material structures that created them in the first place. A larger aggregate of media can have a larger effect, but only within the limits of the prevailing material conditions. While a causative relationship can't always be ruled out entirely, it's usually more constructive to view fiction through the lens of reflecting widely extant values rather than as bringing them into existence. The role of the ideal shouldn't be ignored but it shouldn't be irrationally inflated either, no matter how socially rewarding or emotionally satisfying indulging in that irrationality may be.

[syluses]

thinking of sylus comforting his wife reader!!

content: insecurity, comfort, fluff, soft sylus, slight possessiveness, suggestive content

sidenote: whaaaaat a fluffy drabble?? ( ᵒ̴̶̷̤◦ᵒ̴̶̷̤ ) yes ignore me yall it’s just about that time of the month u feel me 😞 taking preemptive measures to cope with pms which means writing small comfy lads drabbles :] dunno if anybody will fw this cuz it’s purely self indulgent LOL but yeah ♡ short n sweet (1.7k 🌝)

You haven’t left the full-body mirror for several minutes, now.

No, see- there’s just something about your reflection that’s keeping you rooted in place there.

Sylus has slipped in and out of the bedroom as he gathers his things to go, his black card the last accessory needed for the evening out- tucked safely in his pocket- but now, he settles into a lazy lean against the doorway.

Watching.

There’s a slight notch in his brow as he stands there, arms folded, and lets out a forbearing sigh.

“Sweetie: You look nothing short of captivating. You’re breathtaking,” he arches an inquisitive brow, “You know that.”

Wide-eyed, held prisoner by your own portrait staring back at you— no. You don’t.

You don’t know that, and fuck if that doesn’t gut him a little on the inside, but for all the efforts he’s made to remind you of your beauty (though, that’s putting it in gentler terms; he’s inculcated you, really. Drilled it in (and in more ways than one)), your insecurities are very much built with the intent to last.

Throughout much of your relationship, they have.

Sometimes they’re a quieter thing, manageable. Other times, they stick their foot in between you both and rear their despotic heads, bent on tearing you down- and if he’s left as ruin as well in the fallout, they don’t even care.

Those wheedling, rotten voices make compelling arguments sometimes, but they eventually lose out to the greater thing: your love for Sylus, and his for you.

…That’s not to say that the battle isn’t ever close, though...

Now is one of those times where it’s advancing on you, and fast.

Right now, stuffed in your glittering, cocktail dress, with its slip in the thigh and its low-cut cleavage a hair’s width from scandalous— it’s meant to be elegant, but you feel like a fool.

A whore, even. A cheap, low-end girl insinuating herself into a space where she doesn’t belong- a world full of class and finery you were truthfully never tailored for. You’re like a bull in a china shop or a sore thumb.

Your breasts are snug, your curves are embraced by the silk, and the makeup you’d spent over an hour perfecting- your done-up hair, too- is impressive even to the most critical part of your brain.

But still, your body- it’s….

Sylus, now propping off the doorframe, eyes tracking your every expression all the while, moves to slide up behind you when your gaze flutters to the floor no different than ash and remains there. Your chest heaving with the beginnings of a mini breakdown.

Whatever it is, whatever you are— you can’t bear to look. You don’t want to. You- You won’t.

You aren’t his graceful, sophisticated trophy wife- or even half the effortlessly beautiful model you’d seen depicted in the centerfold Sylus saw you originally fawning over, the one that spurred this rash purchase on in the first place- no, what you are is ridiculous.

Your glossy eyes flit up again.

It’s all awful. But like a bad car crash, you just can’t find it in you to really look away.

He brushes aside your hair with a lithe, broad hand, exposing your neck looped with fine gold and diamond (nothing you’re deserving of, either), and stoops down to kiss your shoulder. The ruby red eyes pinned to your crestfallen face never stray far from it though, even as you close your palm over the back of his while he clasps your waist, crooning in your ear with a heavy breath.

“Kitten, what’s troubling you?”

Like he doesn’t know.

“Everything,” you shake out, tears pricking at your lashline. All that keeps you from bursting out into waterworks like a child right this very moment is the knowing that your meticulously-applied mascara will wash down your cheeks in black rivulets, effectively ruining your foundation and eyeshadow in their paths.

“E-Everything’s troubling- just look at me.”

“I am looking at you,” he hums gently, breath warm agaisnt your skin where his chin is perched on you. “And I promise you, Sweetie, I’m not seeing the same thing that you are. Tell me,” he murmurs, pasting down another chaste, lingering kiss- to the exposed nape of your neck this time- for good measure, “Do I have any reason to lie to you?”

A muscle in your cheek jumps. Your lashes flutter down. “N-No…”

“You know,” he murmurs. “Loving you’s easier than you think.”

Hesitantly, you twine your little fingers around Sylus’s forearm, his wristwatch catching a blocky highlight from the dim, flax sheen of the light fixture behind you.

“You’re gorgeous. How perfect you are—“ he mumbles at your ear, voice low and velvety as ever, composed. And yet the undertone of desperation is there; woven like fine threads throughout- it’s like a broadcasting of his eagerness. “That’s all I can see,” he breathes. “But I want you to say it, though. What do you see?”

Your answer comes quick: the first of a few others of its kind. “A whore.”

In the full-body mirror, his brow quirks in subtle, slow motion. His lips draw back from the smooth column of your dazzling neck. “What?”

A whore? …That much is new to him.

“And I feel stupid- I… I feel gross in this dress. They’d think I’m some concubine hanging off your shoulder-“ the frantically spewed words and the growing tremble in your voice is the mark of a ramble, and yet you cut yourself short. Swallowing it down as you dip your head, eyes screwing shut.

He’d preach a whole sermon if he could for all the faith he has in you. Your self-consciousness and those silly, yet disastrous little things you hold near and dear to your heart— that dictate your life while you sit back and watch— would be dismantled as soon as he got behind the podium.

…But you just don’t hear a word he says, do you? You don’t hear to begin with.

Yes- Sylus has long understood that it’s not always as easy as that. That words can fall short. He’s always considered himself a man of action, but sometimes even then it’s hard to get through to you when you shyly evade his touch and weasel out of his arms before they can even wrap around you.

Stubborn woman.

Obstinate woman.

Make him break his neck while sticking it out for you, woman.

But oh he’d lift his hand to do anything for you, woman.

The day will come where he’s made you see it.

“Concubine,” he scoffs, laughing dryly. You don’t hear that often from him, that level of bitterness, but it’s there in bounds when he huffs in your ear and turns you around to look at him, lifting your jaw up in one graceful motion.

“Let me clear this up for you, Sweetie. When people see you, their first thought they have is not that you’re some… gaudy sidepiece. The opposite. And if there’s any lingering doubts in their mind,” he explains smoothly, taking your hand in his to kiss the back of it, holding your uncertain stare all the while. “This ring puts them all to rest.”

Scarlet pools ripple with warmth, an almost playful edge to them as he attempts to lighten your mood- but you don’t quite miss the flash of woundedness that passes through.

“Besides…”

Adoration, reverence, the resolve to make you understand these truths (that you’re beautiful; pure in his sight)- a little bit of exasperation and a little bit of vulnerability— they blur together on him like winded vanes of a pinwheel. Too fast to color, too fast to catalogue.

But evidently not fast enough to pass you by completely. And so as your heart squeezes painfully in your chest—

“Does your husband’s opinion not matter to you the most?”

You bluster, “It does,” doing your damage-control as you wrap your arm around his neck and pull him impossibly closer, a hand on his jaw to cradle it reassuringly. The flutter of something so briefly small in his eyes hauls you into reality, grounds you.

“It’s all I care about, Sylus,” you implore, “But don’t you understand that if they think poorly of me, it’ll just tie back to you in their heads? They’ll think lower of you if your wife isn’t—“

“Isn’t what?” He snips back, but leans into your touch.

You fall silent.

Eyes fiery, they search yours, his breath warm and minty against your parted, floundering lips. “What they want? Well, kitten, let me be perfectly honest with you,” he chuckles lowly, tone scraping the bottom of something undeniably possessive, “I don’t want any of them to want you…. It’s pretty reasonable that the idea of somebody craving what’s mine would upset me, no?”

Not providing him with an answer- frankly unable to- he again fills the space where you can’t.

“But I like you in this dress,” he states, gaze dropping down to rake over you in a few strained breaths. Your wine lipstick. Your décolletage and the jewels draped there, blinding, hanging over the valley of your breast.

…A hickey you did a half decent job at covering, he smugly supposes.

“Much more than like, even. So if they stare, what does it matter? Let them. Like I said,… they won’t be thinking anything poor of you-“ he offers a small, blithe chuckle, “the worst will be a jealous woman or two. Nothing worthy of ruining our night out, however.”

You take a moment to ponder all of his words. Not just this evening’s- but the countless that came before, too.

You weigh your options— stubbornly continue on in your self-sabotaging ways, thoroughly exhausting yourself and Sylus out in the process; or caving to his reassurances and choosing to believe them— and then weigh your eyes shut.

Slumping into his broad chest to let him hold you, you stand against the miniature insurrection happening inside you and go for the latter.

“You really don’t mind?”

A warm hand smooths down your back; the other, petting your hair in a featherlight hover to not ruin its style, pauses for a second. “Mind what?”

You huff. “You know. Me in this dress.” Earning a longsuffering sigh on his end.

“Why do you doubt yourself? I told you. You look breathtaking in it. You act like it’s such a problematic thing, Kitten, but I only know of one person who will want to have a word with you about it…”

“O-Oh yeah? Who?”

When your husband pulls back some just to stare at you, your hands resting on either of his broad shoulders as your heart hiccups in your chest, all that keeps you from erupting in another small bout of panic and dread is the daring little quirk of his brow— the barest of grins tugging at one end of his cupid-bow lips.

As an answer, he dips his head in and angles it just so to graze his mouth over yours, the tip of his bumped nose poking your cheek as he moors you to him by the small of your back and taunts,

“Perhaps you’ll just have to find out for yourself tonight, hm?”

Something’s in his pocket, you realize as he embraces you— semi-hard, just a little insistent against your tummy— and no, it is not his credit card.

[comikbook]

so you talk about your religious trauma and it’s a major theme in your art, and i was wondering what your current relationship with religion is? is in, do you practice any religion or consider yourself religious? if it isn’t too personal :)

im willing to answer !! i dont talk about it on most of my socials outright because people tend to misinterpret things intensely when it comes to this kind of topic, but ill give it a shot trying to write it out. In fact, I will give the whole story of my experience with religion. So its gonna be long.

there will be talk of psychosis, eating disorders, delusions, and self harm in this post. However I will not be graphic in my descriptions.

To start out I suppose for context, my parents are not catholic. my mom doesn’t talk about religion, and my dad doesnt follow anything in the real sense, but practices a lot of principals of buddhism. My nana was catholic, and my extended family vary in their religious beliefs.

That being said, (i think to my nana’s influence) when i started school i attended a small private catholic school which has since been shut down. fun fact ! if you’ve ever watched the Netflix doc “The Keepers” my school was only about 3 miles from where one of the nun’s bodies were found. The priest who was suspected to be the one to blame previously taught at the school i went to before moving to the one he is known for teaching at. Not really relevant, but i did always feel a bit uneasy there as a child so it was a weird thing to find out later.

Anyways, I attended this catholic school for 3 years. pre-k, kindergarden, and first grade. I would often ask to use the restroom and just wander around the halls or hide in the bathroom. I would get scolded for asking questions that were “inappropriate”. The one i remember most vividly was “If God created all of us, who created God ?” to one of the nuns, who became upset with me. We weren’t taught whar we should have been, and when I did move to public school i was far behind my peers in specifically science, math, and history, but I digress. This is my one class photo from our yearbook !

It is important to note that my first remembered instance of psychosis started when i attended this private school. My mom was picking me up one day, there was heavy traffic. She was trying to get over and was complaining no one would let her. I caught myself staring at my reflection in the front mirror of the car, and the clicking of the blinker kind of overwhelmed me. In the constant clicking I “decoded” a message that involved me being told to do something particularly violent. In my small brain in addition to my outside influences, I thought the person that sent this message to me was God. I was confused as to why, but I felt i did something wrong to deserve it. i quietly prayed in the back seat internally for forgiveness.

So I started to receive more messages from “God” commanding me to do something or another, typically vile in some way. i would hear this voice in my head frequently, until eventually it faded out and stopped. I dont remember when it stopped, i just remember i had this experience as a child and then when i was a little older i just didnt think about it anymore.

I do have gaps in my memory of my childhood, pretty big ones, for reasons im still struggling to understand to this day. So that makes things fuzzy. I do remember falling back into religion briefly in middle school, but eventually fell out of it again.

As i approached the end of highschool my mental health was tanking. Mostly with depression and anxiety, however this wouldnt be the worst it would get. In 2019 I was in college and things were getting increasingly worse. I was one of the few people that loved the isolation of the quarantine actually, i fear if not for that what was to come would have been way worse.

My symptoms of psychosis started to creep back into my life. I was already isolating before the quarantine, but got worse after it had started. I know i said i enjoyed it, and i did, but it also fed into some bad habits. Anyways I was becoming increasingly scared and paranoid, I was actively self harming, I was extremely depressed. I had plans to take my own life, a few of them actually. I started eating less. I didnt think much of it, I was just depressed, i have been depressed most of my life so this was just a particularly bad bout for me is what i thought.

That is, until one night where I had my first psychotic episode. It remains to be the worst and only very big episode i have had. I dealt with it mostly alone, never alerting my family of it. I was on the phone with one friend i had at the time, although they were not the kindest to me overall. Despite that they sat with me. This episode led to me standing in one place for over 2 hours too scared to move. When I finally did, it seemed to trigger a more violent outburst.

I wont go into too much detail but i left the experience cried out, bloodied, and heavily bruised. My legs were entirely black and blue for over a month following. After this episode I finally decided to try to get help, and I met with my psychiatrist for the first time. I was immediately put on several antidepressants which ended up being beneficial but in the beginning caused me to lose my appetite entirely. This is when i fell more and more into my eating disorder. With this though, I was still experiencing delusions and hallucinations and got put on my first antipsychotic.

It helped with my symptoms, and it helped me get back to a normal weight. Even tho at the time I was abusing my adderall I was still able to get my body (mostly) back to normal, at least physically. That being said, while my symptoms were lessened they were not gone, it just became less scary to me. Maybe it was because I was being desensitized, but thats something to ponder another time.

I started to become more and more infatuated with catholicism again from that original episode forward. I was obsessed and that voice of god returned to me. I started hearing clicking and chirping coming from the back of my right ear, which ive dubbed as a “chip” in my brain placed by god for me to receive his messages. I thought there was an evil inside of me that needed to be let out, which i did by participating in frequent bloodletting to force out the bad, and make my body create newer, cleaner, and holier blood. This was something i felt I had to keep up often so that this evil force wouldnt take over. I was eventually able to stop self harming, and have been clean for over 2 years now. It is hard and i still feel the need to “cleanse” myself, but i try my best to push it down.

Fast foreward to 2022 and I would start the first piece in my painting series. I still experienced symptoms but much less frequently ! I started to detail my experience thru art. I would finish the first piece in my series titled “Forgive Me Father” in 2023. Since then I have made many more.

So we finally get to today. I have waited to talk about my current relationship with religion until the end as I felt the context was necessary, and to be honest it is complicated. As you can tell, It has effected me greatly and has come and gone in my life.

I would say from where I am now, I am not religious. A better way to put it i suppose is i consciously make the choice to not be. Like I said its complicated.

I like to think of it as there is two of me in my body. One is paranoid, scared, and extremely delusional. This is the part that still believes god is communicating with them. This is the person that still prays for forgiveness and cries over the fear of being sent to hell for their sins, all approved and constructed by god himself. and then theres my rational side, which exists im sure solely because of my medication. This part is extremely self aware, can tell when i am being delusional or irrational, who knows this is something caused by my illness. They exist side by side, at the same time, always. They fight in my head for control but always exist simultaniously, think of it like a pie chart. one may be more prevelant but the other is still always there.

So in a way, there is a lot I do personally believe. That being said the reason I do believe is because of my schizophrenia. So I choose to navigate my life as someone who actively does not believe as an attempt to not let the delusion control me. do i think people who are religious are delusional ? I do not, but I know in my personal case what leads me to believe these things is an unwell mind.

I still have an intense fascination with catholicism and religion in general. I think its a beautiful thing, it moves me, but i must keep it at a distance to avoid hurting me. It is not something I can actively engage in outside of general interest because it would kill me, and despite my previous statements i would like to live at least a little longer haha.

With all that said, and I doubt anyone will read this whole thing, its been a rollercoaster of a ride. If anyone has questions about it, feel free to ask. Im an open book about this stuff online most days, and Im willing to offer any information about it.

[dmitriene]

cw: mommy kink, some emotional hurt because of simon's past, sex and comfort.

simon never had a normal relationship with his family, not in the form of conflicting misunderstandings, easy everyday quarrels, which often develop into more understanding relationships with age, no, simon's family was a nightmare, dysfunctional, with addicted father, violence and constant fear, the grin of the skull that was his dad, tormenting him, his mother and brother.

the strong mock the weak, and so he became a broken toy, instead of the carefree, fearful boy he was, until deciding to run away from everything that was happening to the army, immersing himself in the service completely, and letting that constant, hard work fill up the empty space that gradually devoured him from the inside, or, as it turned out, for the time being.

simon thought that he no longer missed his mother, that he had outgrown it, because he didn't even cry when he came to put flowers on her grave, and most memories, even the worst and the best, faded somewhere distant from his head, leaving a slight feeling as if it had never happened, until his heavy gaze caught yours from the other end of the pub that he and his teammates got out to for the weekend.

no, you don't remind him of her, and you don't even look like her at all, you're just a woman, and gorgeous as that, he can't deny it, simon doesn't remember the last time he felt interested in any form of intimate contact, but you look as if you caught your prey, with heavy eyelids and fluttering eyelashes, a little grin, knowing what you want, looking at him so hungry even at this distance, even though he wears his mask, and his cock twitches traitorously.

simon thinks about how to approach you, just come up and say hello, maybe put his hand on your rounded hip and dig his fingers in to make everything go faster, or he can order you something to drink, something suitable, but before he can get up from the too narrow table full of his now drunken friends, there's a glass of alcohol placed in front of him, exactly what he drank before, voiced as a gift from another customer, and you wink from the bar, before disappearing into the dancing crowd, throwing a bone to a puppy.

and he takes it between his canines and runs, drink forgotten, any conversation he had cut off, when he pushes with rough, broad shoulder through the crowd and looks around with an overly excited, ragged breaths, searching for you, by the crown of your head, by curve alone, by the sparkle of your eyes, but you find him first, press against the wall of his back, tracing his hip with one hand, tickling your fingernails over the pale skin where his shirt had slightly raised, making him flinch, turn around, squeeze your hand in his and let you pull him through.

— “dance” you purr, not insist, but simon knows better than argue, and he doesn't wants to, not when you let him snuggle up to you from behind, clench his fingers on your hips like he wanted, just like you let, before you start chasing the rhythm of the music with them, your rounded ass pressing against his crotch, firmly, deliberately, rolling and holding him here, trapped, despite all his arousal, the way his cock strains against the plushness of you, until it's too tight, too painful.

a whimper in your ear, followed by a huffed, scorching puff of breath, a terrible, stammered apology that you soothe by turning around and cupping his masked face, he's hot, not by the look, not only, but his skin is hot, you know there's a bright, cherry blossoming flush all across his cheeks, as his eyelashes, pale and wispy, catching the dim, colorful light and reflecting it, quiver at the contact, and he nuzzles in your palm, subtle, still unsure, but then you reach over to his neck, raking up the fabric that hides him from you, fingers trailing over the column of his throat, before your lips meet, messy and desperate.

too fucking sweet, you've never seen a man of his size acting so charming, he snuggles up, tries to kiss you a little more gently, as if afraid to hurt you, as if it wasn't you biting his lips while he kneads your hips and waist like a kitten, and unable to stand it, you pull him towards the restroom, where it's getting darker, less people, and more privacy in order to do the thing you attracted his attention for in the first place, what made your panties so wet that they stick to your throbbing pussy.

simon tries to suggest that you do it somewhere else, his or your apartment, the hotel room, he'll pay for anything, but you lure him deeper, into the toilet stall, onto the closed toilet lid, before rolling the hem of your tight dress, making a show of how wet you are, panties sodden, even prettier like that, barely concealing your puffy folds, making him growl, as you straddle his muscular lap, ready, all by yourself, unbuttoning his tented fly, while having time to kiss and scratch your nails against the nape of his neck, nimble fingers carding through his hair.

he grunts, he moans, gnaws against your throat and jaw like a starved creature, while you spur him on, bouncing on his lap, letting his fingers, calloused and rough because he can't control himself, bruise the supple skin of your hips and thighs, as he helps you up, and down, rippling gummy walls of your cunt swallowing the engorged girth of him down to the base, then up to the drooling tip, and down again, feeling every twitch, every webbed vein, listening to the wet, vulgar plaps and squelching that come from where you keep him snug, as your slick and his precum mix.

you're warm, you're kind, you're sexy, and simon's mind is a complete mess, he missed this so much, to be cradled close, to his hair being stroked, to being called a pretty, sweet baby you moan he is, and paired with his cock being stimulated, clutched in the wet, hot insides of your clenching pussy, his thoughts and words scatter, stutter on his tongue, choke in his throat, and you enjoy it, claw at his chest, tight shirt soaked with sweat, not concealing the impressive bulk of his body, the flex of sinew and tendon, before murmuring, keening, as your soppy walls flutter, and simon's vision erupts in fireworks

— “you gonna cum for mummy? gonna fill me up?”

simon's breath shudders out of his expanding chest in a a long moan, before twisting in a lump of following, loud sob that burned on it way out through his bobbing throat and fluttering eyes, clumping his sooty eyelashes, tingling down his cherry tinted cheeks, over the scars that you traced with your fingers just before, gathering down to his chin, passing his wobbling, chapped lips, and then he chants, “mommy mommy mommy”, head lolling down, trying to bump somewhere between the crook of your sweaty neck and shoulder, as he trembles, and his cock jerks inside of you, spilling rope after rope of vicious, milky seed, plugging your hole.

poor, poor man, you hush his cries tenderly when your shudders subside, ignoring the starting cramp in your thighs and the flutter of your hole as it's oozes cum, instead cupping the back of simon's head, tugging at his hair in a grip that is not too tight, more of grounding, and let him nuzzle in against your shoulder, quivering, sniffing, his stubble uneven and scratchy against your sensitive, bitten bruised skin, and still, you pat down his hair, to his nape, down his trembling back, cooing and telling that mommy's gonna make it all better.

and simon believes you, he does, so, so much, especially when he stops crying, showing his face back to you, red, wet, his crooked nose leaky, as he rubs there with the back of his hand embarrassedly, even the tips of his ears colored hectic, and you just cup his cheeks and place kisses upon every inch of warm skin, brushing his salty tears away, until he's calm, until he feels better, body sagging slowly where he sits, feeling so much more tired than he was, every muscle loose, but you will take care of him.

and he would let you, he would go, accept your help in getting cleaned with some wipes you got in your bag, fix his rumpled, halfway tugged off clothes, fix your dress with shaky fingers and stare as his cum drips down your thighs and into your ruined panties, before letting your hands entwine, clasped tight and comforting, as you lead him out the restroom and past the seemingly unmoving crowd to the exit, simon would text his friends later, let them know he's alright, but for now, he stands beside you as you order a taxi, because he would come home with you.

main masterlist. quidelines.