#maybe pig naps perhaps ...

[the-pea-and-the-sun]

i used to take my little dog naps almost every day an at some point i stopped an thats my problem i think i need naps in the sunshine again

[classicrocknlove]

~Jimmy Page Fanfiction~

Spread Your Wings

“I’m just looking for an angel with a broken wing…. But somehow, they always seem to fly, fly away…”

-

Chapter Twelve

(Explicit Content Below)

July 29th, 1973

Morning of Zeppelin’s Final Performance in New York City

-Shifting between Cyn’s and Jimmy’s POV-

-

Jimmy’s P.O.V.

I felt a stir against me, something feathering against my face.

I opened my eyes slowly, the sun seeping in through the window shutters, blinding me as I lifted the back of my hand to rub at my eyelids.

I looked down, and couldn’t help but smile at the sight before me.

Cyn. My dear, Cynthia.

She had her body splayed, completely sheathing mine as she laid on top of me. Her hair was strewn above her, appearing like a halo as some of the loose strands tickled my face.

Her small limbs clinging to me made me want to simultaneously embrace her, kiss her sweet lips, all the while pull her up onto my lap, wake her with a quickie, pull her up and down my length until she comes.

She makes me want to sulk and fuck her brains out concomitantly.

I looked over at the clock, half-past ten.

I was thankful we didn’t have a rehearsal today, opting for a bit of a break, needing to arrive just a bit early for a sound check later on.

I looked around the living room, peering down at the small coffee table in front of us.

There sat a glass of water that had perspired all over the worn wood, a plate of cookies placed neatly next to it.

I couldn’t hold back my grin as I looked between my hydration, my treat, and my Cynthia.

She was such a sugary little thing, so caring. I thought back to last night, how she came abound my side, soothed me and stayed with me while that damned terror passed.

It’s always the same fucking torment…

I couldn’t wrap my head around why I kept having these dreams, and they got worse when I indulged in all of my homeopathic remedies.

Fuck, these nights with Cynthia are the first nights I’ve actually slept longer than a few hours in a month.

The dreams began not long ago, harrowing me for the last few weeks. They consistently kept me up, invading my mind every time I fell into a slumber.

All I did, bloody constantly, was restlessly twist and turn on the plane, listen to Peter’s whingeing about my consumptions, the spacey naps, and the dreadful hangovers that developed afterward.

I couldn’t take this anymore. Coke to keep up, grass to slow down, pills to come down, nod off, smoothie with vitamins to fill up, play six - twelve fucking strings all while sweating like a pig, and repeat.

Home seemed like a fucking nirvana at this point, but it pained me to think that Plumpton was left vacant, and I’d be arriving home to a bleak barren.

Fucking Charlotte seemed more than bloody capable of moving on- and so was I.

But, Cynthia was soon going to be thousands of miles away, moving on to her to next quest.

This thought irked me to the core. Maybe she’d meet another guitar player, he’ll fall in love with her virtuousness, perhaps bring her along on tour with him?

Christ, Page, what a depressing, helpless little sod you sound.

These feelings were obstreperous in my mind, images of Cynthia flooding my brain like the River Thames over my sea wall in ‘69.

I couldn’t help but be fascinated by her. She wasn’t easy to crack, and I’d never admit how much I’ve loved this little cat and mouse jest we’d been engaging in.

I was going fucking manic. Beautiful girl, educated, so bloody innocent, her chaste behavior making me want to show her things that she never dare dream or speak of.

I know she’d be willing too, dispose of her impeccant righteousness, be a participant for my many fantasies, my kinks, that I have been envisioning of her, with her, as of late.

My mind hasn’t been able to focus on much else but remembering the precise chords for The Rain Song, drinking enough strawberry-banana-rum mixtures to satisfy, and shamelessly trailing Cynthia throughout this roller coaster of a finale to the tour.

Soon, I felt her move against me, guiding one of her legs up against mine and the friction sent a jolt through my bottom half.

Oh, Christ. I’m hard already.

She appeared so gorgeous, sensually ruffled, and so bloody tempting in the morning glow of the small living area.

My hand went to her cheek, then her golden mop, and she stirred at my touch, leaning into it. I smiled down at her as she peeled her eyes open.

Cynthia’s P.O.V.

I felt a light kneading upon my face, then my hair, waking me softly.

“Mmm…” I sleepily moaned at the feeling, muffled by Jimmy’s shirt half-shielding my face.

“Jimmy?…” I questioned, hoping that this was real, hoping my languid eyes weren’t playing tricks on me as I glanced up at his beaming face.

“Yeah, Cyn… here.” he whispers softly, stroking my cheek. “G’morning…” he leans down, placing a soft kiss on the tip of my nose.

“How do you feel?” I ask him, looking up at him through my eyelashes.

He bit his lip as he looked down at me. “Quite content with you, now, love.” He tells me, his English accent low and soft this morning.

A sheepish grin formed on my face as I yawned, stretching my limbs out.

I hadn’t thought about my moves of extension, making my minimal clothing hike up, with Jimmy watching intently.

My nightgown had pulled up at the bottom, exposing my lavender panties and protruding hip bones, and Jimmy groaned at the sight.

He pulled me up slightly, my body still between his long legs, limbs practically the same length as my body, and he brought his face to my cheek, planting soft kisses there.

He travelled down, taking in my scent, kissing my jaw and neck lightly, back to my lips, hands coming down to palm my back and hips.

I subconsciously opened my mouth to him, deepening the kiss and he moaned, exploring my mouth with his tongue.

He brought me up further, extending his legs down onto the small couch, flattening them, bringing me up to straddle him.

I gasped into our kiss as his hard bulge pierced through his jeans, the confines of the rough fabric and my cotton panties the only restriction between us.

He pulled away minutely, one hand lightly gripping my head, down to the back of my neck, then travelling into my hair. His other hand curiously grasping my hip.

“Mmm, yeah baby… there you are…” He whispers roughly in my ear as held me to him, bringing his lips back to mine.

His words made me tingle all over, sparks erupting down below, my center aching to be set free from the confines of my panties.

A strong, unruly course of desire seeped through me, a feeling previously unknown to me. This strong urge to please Jimmy, to hear him and his bodacious words made me feel out of control, the thoughts of potential racy actions fought to be set free.

Both of his hands moved down to my lower half, gripping my hips as he slightly guided me on his lap, moving me back and forth upon his hardened member.

The friction was delicious, his bulge rubbing against my swollen nub, and I couldn’t hold back my moans if I tried.

“Oh, Jimmy…” I gasped as I increased my speed and pressure against him, allowing my center to move against him with force, my mind no longer in control.

His touch never faltered, one hand guiding my waist and hip, one traveling to palm and grip my bottom.

Soon, his hands lifted me slightly, palms fastly dragging his jeans down just past his thighs, quickly resuming our hot and heavy moment.

“Yeah, Cyn… so sexy, love… keep on.” He encourages, his mouth proceeding his assaults, from my earlobe, to my neck, leaving small marks along the way. His words made me shudder, and I moaned at the way they sounded coming from his perfect mouth.

I thought about the way I’d have to cover these marks he was leaving behind on my neck and collarbone, almost wanting to stop him, thinking about how they signified territory for Jimmy, his possession of me.

My gut prickled with the thought, me belonging to Jimmy, and what that evidently meant for me.

This was, presumably, our last day and night together, and as much as it pained me, really bugged me that I was getting intimate with a famous rock and roller, a man who seemed to not be able to contain himself, and whom was leaving me too soon, I still did not want to halt this moment.

All of my sane thoughts blew away in the wake of Jimmy’s nibbles and kisses, the feeling of him holding our chests together tightly.

I was still rocking against him, his hands on my hips keeping us in a steady rhythm, and I could tell by his altered breaths, his shaky touches, that he was coming close to his release.

We were cheek to cheek, his breath in my ear, in my hair, cheekbones bumping each other’s as we moved synchronously.

“Ah God, Cyn… fuck,” he breathlessly purrs as he shifts to kiss me again, pushing his tongue in my mouth.

His movements became sloppy, still pulling me, and soon a sexy, loud groan emitted from deep in his throat, muttering my name as he held me to him rigidly.

He moved with a last couple of pulses, and was left heaving, breathing heavily into his hair, my arms loose around his back.

We stayed like that for what felt like forever, while our breathing returned back to normal, our hearts thumping in our chests.

I felt a wetness spread through his underwear beneath me. My mouth immediately became dry at the contact, my knowledge of his arousal now more than obvious.

He spoke, cutting through the thick, leftover sexual tension that had thickened the air.

“Christ, Cynthia…” he whispered, then “what are you doing to me?” He inquires sexily, but seriously, his thumb coming up to rub across my pouted bottom lip.

“I’ve never come like that… just from that.” He informs me, an astonished look on his face.

I smiled a closed mouth smile, slightly rubbing our noses together, brushing my lips against his. I suddenly felt very proud of myself, my confidence heightening, hoping he meant what he said.

He peers down between our connected bodies, looking down at his release that had soaked his underwear, a dark smudge against his black underpants.

“Look what you made me do, you little libertine, you.” He pronounces, chuckling, gripping my bottom and moving me forward to cover it.

My arms instinctively wrapped around his neck as I peered down at him, wondering what was next. I spoke before he could, already feeling shy and heady.

“How about you shower and I will do a load of laundry for you? Get you all… fresh again.” I say, awkwardly proposing the idea.

Oh God, I have no idea what the hell to do or what to say after being so intimate with someone.

Jack and I were rarely intimate, and when we were, he would get cold and distant after. He never held me or told me how I made him feel like Jimmy does.

Jimmy continued to hold me, agreeing to my proposition, placing sweet pecks upon my cheek and forehead, telling me how beautiful and sexy he thought I was.

My cheeks were beat-red and I was warm all-over again by the time we finally rose from the sofa.

I padded over to the bathroom, pulling my nightgown down that had shimmied up my thighs, and turned the shower water on for him. It took ages to warm up and I figured I’d get a headstart on it for him.

I laid a towel and washcloth out for him, making sure there was soap and shampoo readily available to soothe his gorgeous hair and creamy skin.

As I finished the preparation, I turned and Jimmy, without my knowledge, was standing there, watching me.

He had taken all of his clothes off, laying in a noticeable pile behind him, and he appeared before me stark-naked.

His white limbs, that surprisingly had a bit of a glow to them, surely due to any downtime they had to spend in the sunshine during their tour of the summer, were slender and toned.

His legs went on for miles, his arms the same, large hands and long fingers to pair, slim limbs shining for show.

My mouth fell open, hanging agape at the sight of him. I almost forgot how confident and in control he was of himself, last night’s vulnerable episode had me slightly skeptical of it all.

But here he was, standing before me, not a stitch of clothes on, and I suddenly fought for air as his stare left me breathless.

His member had clearly regained its ability, hardening in the moment, growing with each delectable second we shared our gaze.

He smirked as he approached me, reaching a slender arm out to familiarly stroke my cheek, line my jaw, down to my collarbone, thumb travelling down to rub at my erect nipple.

Before I had the chance to release a sound, he spoke.

“Care to join me?” He playfully asks, already knowing the answer.

I shyly laughed, probably louder than I should’ve, not knowing what else to say or do. I was completely bewitched by his presence, in the nude no less.

He hummed at my reaction, lightly nodding his head with understanding.

“Cyn, as much as I’d like to stay right here, rattle your little mind a bit more, I am in need of a cleanse.” He kisses my cheek and moves around me, tearing the shower curtain open.

I’m frozen in place for a moment, rubbing at my cheek where he placed his damp kiss, smiling and shaking my head at myself. This was like some kind of wonderful, fever dream… and it was fleeting before me.

I scurry out of the bathroom, closing the door, and freed the breath I had been holding since Jimmy’s nakedness had whisked it away.

I picked up his clothes from the wood floor, separating them, taking them over to the washer to be sanitized.

His underwear was still damp from his release. I shivered at the image of us on the couch, rutting against each other with such passion.

I made sure to place his clothes neatly into the washer, making sure there wasn’t anything in the pockets of his jeans.

I reached into each pocket, halting when I pulled out a small plastic bag from one of them, a white powder of some sort smearing the inside.

I furrowed my eyebrows, thinking of what it could be, not really wanting to know the answer. I had a tinge that it was some sort of drug paraphernalia- it certainly wasn’t sugar from powdered donuts.

But, if this was me, three years ago, without my experience or knowledge of rock-and-rollers, I’d have come to a conclusion that it was just some powdered icing from an innocent treat.

I hastily threw the bag in the trash, stuffing it down deep into the can, hoping Jimmy wouldn’t speak of it or notice.

It bothered me, an alarming feeling tinged in my stomach, the thought of Jimmy engaging with such hard drugs like cocaine.

Had he been on it while around me? Is he taking it consistently? Is he always high? Why would he need to take such a harmful drug? Is that why he’s so spaced out by the time he arrives here?

Multiple questions, some I surely will never receive the answer to, swirled in my mind, putting me in a daze while I started the washing machine.

I tried to rid my mind of my curiosities, tidying the apartment, folding blankets, making the bed, etc.

I changed into different clothes, hurrying to take my nightgown off before Jimmy was able to snag another peep show like yesterday.

It was another simmering day in New York, the sun casting hot beams through the windows of my apartment.

I tore on some jean shorts, the shortest ones I owned, and paired a red, shortened top with them, the heat encouraging my minimal attire- well the heat and Jimmy’s attention he will surely pay to me once he views me.

I love how he reacted to all of my get-ups, other than his dismay for my baggy pleated skirts and blouses, so I decided to opt for something more fitting with today’s trends.

Before long, I heard the shower water turn off, heard him rustling in the bathroom and I tried to busy myself, trying not to make it obvious that I was shamelessly, impatiently waiting for him.

I continued to tidy the room, hearing the bathroom door swing open and I spun around.

Jimmy strolled out of the bathroom, his hands finicky with the towel that hung loosely around his waist.

His hair was damp, curls appearing shorter and in tight ringlet form. His cream-colored skin was a beautiful contrast to the dark tresses upon his head.

His eyes met mine as he continued his footsteps into the bedroom area. A bashful smile formed on his face as he looked at me, and he walked over to my record player.

His eyes scanned the vast amount of vinyls that sat next to the machine, choosing the King’s A Date with Elvis album.

He placed the disc down delicately, his needle placement just-so, and “Baby, Let’s Play House” began playing through the speakers.

He mumbled something about this song being a massive influence to him as a young boy, one of the songs that encouraged his guitar playing, as he plopped himself down onto my bed, his towel falling open slightly.

He gestured for me to come and lay with him, and wrapped his arm around my body, holding me to him as Elvis’s voice sang along to the groove through the speakers. His constant gaze on me was raising my timidity by the second.

“You mustn’t wear these things around me…” he dangerously whispers into my ear… “you’re making me so hard, baby. I can’t control myself when I’m around you, love.” He purrs shamelessly as he kisses below my ear.

I began tingling all over by the time he got to rubbing my waist with his dominant playing hand, kissing me. His words always left me stunned, helpless in his arms. I would never admit just how much I love how he speaks to me. But, it was obvious he knew just the effect he had on me.

“Are you hungry?” I ask him, after moments of us breathlessly laying together, lightly murmuring about Elvis and my “ravishing” clothing choices.

“Starved…” he says softly.

My eyes light up with an idea.

“You want to go get a bite to eat? Unfortunately I’m out of groceries, and I know a place… you may like.” I tell him with a hopeful smile.

There was a boho bistro down the road that I had gone to with both Ellie and my parents a dozen times. They had delicious food and the place held an amazing vibe with its tapestries and gorgeous paintings that they had hung throughout the establishment- many focusing on horoscopes and such.

I remember Jimmy mentioning his interest in astrology briefly, and I figured this would be a perfect place for him and I to explore together.

I expected him to turn the proposal down, granted his fame and the attention he may draw. But, thankfully, he flashes his smile to me and nods.

“That sounds lovely, Cyn.”

I pulled my hairbrush from my nightstand, two small hair ties, and little bows to match. I planned on just brushing my hair out, get the tangles undone, but figured two small braids might suffice better in the heat.

Jimmy silently took the brush from my hand, combed through my hair for me while I sighed and leaned back into his touch.

I had never encountered a man like him. How could he be so manly, so seductive, so smooth, but also so sweet and saccharine, his gentle touch so caring upon my hair and body. His essence, his persona, is so beautifully bemusing.

I put my hair in the ponies, lightly twisting the strands, ending off with two little bows, Jimmy placing them neatly in my hair. He seemed to enjoy this little task, and for some reason, Jimmy sitting here, brushing my hair and helping with my accessories… unashamedly turned me on.

I raised up, threw my white Keds on, wiping some thick foundation on the marks Jimmy left behind on my neck earlier. I turned to Jimmy, whom was admiring me, smirking from his spot on the bed.

“Pretty little girl.” He breathed as he innocently peered at me, eyes travelling up and down.

~~~

Jimmy’s clothes finally finished washing, and we had to pull away from a ravenous makeout session on my bed, much to our displeasure.

Our stomachs grumbled, and I suggested to Jimmy that we take a cab to the restaurant, but he insisted on walking.

He wore just his long-sleeved psychedelic shirt, a very light cotton-linen fabric, making it bearable for the warm day among us.

The walk wasn’t a lengthy one, about fifteen minutes, and Jimmy claimed he really never got the chance to just relax, explore and enjoy in a city like Manhattan.

Bustling cities like this captivated him, but he did enjoy his quiet and serene life back in England.

He stated that if it wasn’t for me, he’d be holed-up in his hotel room right now, sleeping the day away until the concert.

His smile grew as we stepped into the café, recognizing much of the symbols and artwork that plastered the walls of the restaurant.

There wasn’t many people in the cafe at this time, which was shocking for a Sunday, but then again, it was the wee hours between breakfast and lunch.

As we approached a table, Jimmy pulled my chair out for me and I smiled up at him as I took my seat.

My eyes watched him sit and observe around the restaurant, and I did the same. He lightly stroked my hand as we sat and I shyly welcomed it, cheeks blushing. I loved this side of him. I wondered how long it will last today.

Suddenly, I viewed a sight across the restaurant that I could not believe.

“Oh no!” I exclaim in a hushed tone, covering my face with my hand, slightly turning to the side.

“What? What is it, love?” Jimmy asks, reaching further across the table, gripping my hand, suddenly very concerned.

“My parents are here!” I inform him with a hushed tone. My eyes widen as I look back over to where my mother and father sat. Jimmy follows my eyes, turning his head round to view the spectacle ready to implore in front of him.

Like we were in a slow-motion film, my mother’s eyes met mine and they travelled from me to Jimmy whom sat across from me, and her eyes nearly popped out of her head.

I was frozen in place as my mother rose fastly, her voice carrying across the expanse of the small area.

“Cynthia, is that you, dear? We didn’t know you’d be here!” She pronounces, rather loudly, scurrying over to our table, dragging my confused father across the restaurant with her.

Jimmy’s face remains still, his emotions remained neutral, a polite smile on his face, but there was a look in his eye I couldn’t quite decipher as my mother came to fuss over us.

I cringe as she reaches our table, and I readied myself for her denunciation of my appearance here with my rockstar beau holding my hand across the table.

-

A/N

I just want to thank all of my readers on here! Please comment if you are enjoying the story… I shamelessly read your comments over and over again, I love them so much and it really encourages me to continue writing!

SO THANK YOU!

Things are getting interesting, and the next couple of chapters will be coming quickly because I CAN’T HOLD BACK…

I’m SO excited for these next coming of events :p

Please let me know what you guys think so far… and what do you think will happen next??

Please do not hold back! I appreciate you all and thanks for reading!❤️

P.S.

HIS HAND in this pic… I’m genuinely going feral.

Link to Chapter Thirteen: https://www.tumblr.com/classicrocknlove/784100781969260544/spread-your-wings

[whydon-twego]

For your celebration prompt writing: i would absolutely love something about touch-starved (and maybe additionally emotionally repressed) Arthur. Angst with a hopeful/happy ending and perhaps also merthur would be peak but honestly do what you feel like with it. love your writing either way

Arthur knows he is doing the wrong thing.

Arthur knows that he would just like a gentle touch once in a while and a pat on the back and a voice saying "well done!"

Arthur knows that all this can never come from his father (except for things Arthur greatly despises doing, and what kind of man is Arthur if by now his line of thinking differs from the king's?) but he also knows that he could easily receive it from Merlin.

He would like to receive it from Merlin.

How many times did Merlin try to pat him on the back? To initiate a hug? Once he even tried to take his hand and Arthur found himself in a total panic, as he has never been in his life, not even in battle, and pushed him away.

Arthur is incapable of receiving affection. Morgana has always told him so. And even if she is not among the friendliest people on the face of the earth at least she can be herself with Gwen.

Why can't he?

Arthur watches Merlin walk back and forth across the room picking things up from the floor and complaining that Arthur is a pig and not a prince, that he should at least learn and keep the room tidy because it is one thing to be a manservant and another to be a slave.

Arthur nods and simply continues to stare at him.

It is strange how easy it is to be around Merlin.

It is strange how comfortable Arthur feels without the need to prove himself to be something he is not.

It is strange that he does not feel so at peace with himself even with Leon, with whom he has been squiring and is actually the person he has known the longest.

So why can't he accept a compliment? Why can't he accept a simple caress? Why can't he accept something he wants?

"Arthur, are you all right?"

Arthur looks up to find Merlin kneeling before him, the serious, contemplative face of someone who has probably tried to call him several times.

Arthur does not understand the question but nods anyway.

Merlin does not seem convinced.

It is with a certain kind of reverent shyness that Merlin raises a hand and shakes off Arthur's fringe, resting his cool palm on the other man's forehead.

Arthur leans heavily on that touch.

"Prat. You're burning up, that's why you're so quiet today, come on, I'll help you lie down."

Merlin passes an arm around his waist and helps him up and Arthur actually feels tired. Perhaps all those thoughts about Merlin stem from the fever and nothing more.

The fact that Merlin's arm around his waist makes him feel protected must surely be another symptom.

Finally, Arthur manages to lie down and Merlin is there with him, helping him undress and cover himself with blankets.

"You're an idiot. All you do is complain about irrelevant things but then you have to be stoic when you feel really bad" Merlin rolls his eyes and sighs but doesn't leave, remaining sitting on the edge of the bed looking at Arthur in that strange way that makes Arthur's guts twist and he can't decipher.

Then Merlin takes his hand (because Merlin is nothing if not persistent) and stays there, staring at him with a half-smile and intimating that he should sleep, that he will go to Gaius soon to get some medicine but that in the meantime he should try to bring his fever down with a nap.

Arthur, tired, nods and closes his eyes, Merlin's hand clasped between his and Merlin's smile etched in his mind.

Everything is already much better because Merlin is there with him.

Everything is already much better because Merlin is at his side.

Everything is already much better because Arthur is happy that Merlin is there with him, always.

A thought makes its way into Arthur's head and suddenly he opens his eyes again, bringing them to the figure of Merlin who is sitting next to him, stroking the back of his hand with his thumb and looking at him smiling, beautiful as the sun.

… Oh.

[hell-drabbles]

Satan and Sitri 1

Summary: Sitri angers you and so does Satan. Just to get them to shut up, you yanked Satan and bite him in the neck.

(Baaarely finished chapter 1 and am going into chapter 2 but uuuugh so many filler battles.)

“Is there any tea you would like, Solomon? Ah wait, I think I know what you’ll like.”

Always with the ‘Solomon’ this and ‘Solomon’ that. Sitri’s eyes shine and that smile of his was certainly gentle, but a part of you wanted him to stop and an even larger one wanted nothing more for him to spill his tears and have his lips wobble.

Grief. You wanted to see his grief, raw and proper. At least then you’ll know he’s finally got it through his head that Solomon is dead and gone, no matter the fact that he’s in your blood.

The problem, unfortunately, lies in the fact that you’re a human. A human who’s bloodline is tied to a very beloved Solomon. Anything you do, be it rage or sadness, the devils will look upon it with nostalgic fondness. Like you could do no wrong.

It’s grating. It’s annoying. Infuriating. Maybe that’s why you refuse to freely share your kindness here in Hell?

When you hear the cup clink on the red table, you don’t touch it nor even acknowledge it.

“Is something wrong, Solomon?”

Everything. All that Sitri’s doing is just, wrong to you. Like nothing truly belong to you. But you can’t say any of it out loud, because then you’ll be responding to a name that’s not yours.

“Ah, could it be that you want a different tea this time? I do recall that you like to experiment with new flavors.” Sitri took the cup back but you didn’t look up from your book. You’re not even registering the words, you just needed something to stare at that wasn’t Sitri. “Perhaps something calming will soothe the harsh beat of your heart?”

The chair besides you was pulled and Satan made himself comfy in it, depressing against it as though the weight of the war was finally lifted from him. It didn’t take him long to regain his energy and lean forward onto the table.

Satan turned towards you, a knowing grin on his face.

“You’re angry,” Satan whispered, like it was some kind of secret you’re keeping.

You’re not in the mood. So you didn’t say anything. You didn’t even lift your eyes. Satan kept wiggling his tongue, clearly wanting you to break and shove him back.

“Ah,” Sitri came back with a new pot of tea brewed, “Your Majesty Satan. Is there anything you’d like to have for a drink?”

Of course he’d say Satan’s proper name. Yours? Didn’t matter for shit.

“Hmm, let’s see,” Satan needs to be quiet. Everyone needs to be quiet, “Well, I’m craving–”

You tossed your book on the table and grabbed a fistful of Satan’s hair before yanking him back. He practically squealed like a pig and even started writhing like one when let your teeth sink into the pliant flesh of his neck.

Satan’s tongue rolled through your fingers when you clasped his mouth shut. You can feel the dumb smile under your palm but you didn’t care for it all that much.

Not when you can see Sitri just standing there, struck dumb with his steaming tray. When you saw him take his lip between his teeth, eyebrows furrowing with emotional conflict, you unlatched yourself from Satan and kicked him off his chair.

Satan tried to get up, but the rush of it all had him shaking. You took a cloth from Sitri’s pocket and wiped your lips.

“I’m going to bed,” you dropped the handkerchief onto Sitri’s shoes.

Hopefully this nap will reset your mood back to normal.

[freyito]

i am having a whole ass mental break i cant believe this is the stupid fucking world im living in all i wanted to do is write my silly little fanfics and go to college but noo no no no i am subhuman. i am subhuman because i was never comfortable with being a girl. a woman. i am subhuman because i am jewish. i am subhuman because not only am i transgender but i like men. i am subhuman because i grew up lower middle class and i only ever lived in a HOUSE. A HOUSE. 2 BEDS 2 BATH. TWO FLOORS. A HOUSE. AT 18. yet i will never ever be able to live in one again after i move out.

i had to listen to the SAME SHIT I HEARD IN SIXTH GRADE. in 2025. TWENTY SEVENTEEN. I WAS TWELVE. 12 YEARS OLD. i had to listen to a kid in my science class preach about trump. now i have to listen to millions of fucking idiots say the stupidest shit because a pig is in office AGAIN. i have to listen to my COUNTRY praise a horrible business man for lying his way to the top. i watch a man built like a raw chicken have a seat in the white house who ISNT EVEN A CITIZEN OF THE UNITED STATES, rather than a woman sit in the oval office. i have to watch old white men who have never even had to buy their wives or daughters pads or tampons choose what happens to my body. i have to watch the TOP exploit the bottom until the day they die.

i was told the world was becoming more accepting. I LIVED IN THAT "MORE ACCEPTING" WORLD FOR FIFTEEN YEARS. and suddenly it all goes to shit. my dad told me that he was better off than his parents, his parents were better off than their parents, and so forth. but my generation never will be.

i wanted to be an artist. i want to be a writer. ai is taking up all creative fields by storm and the top doesn't care because what is talent to them. what is talent to them. ai is eating at our world and draining it dry but who cares? what worth does talent have in the modern world? i damaged my wrists and hands because i wanted to be an artist. despite my horrible relationship with art i kept pushing forward until i developed carpal tunnel. now its uncomfortable to hold things. i cant even get the surgery to fix it because insurance won't cover it and i will NEVER make enough money to pay it out of pocket.

theres more. theres so much more. but i am at my limit. i can only say "hehe if x does y i'll write [character] smut" so many times. maybe i am just screaming into the void. maybe my followers of mutuals will see it. i dont know. i dont care. some of my followers may not be american. maybe all of them are. maybe some or maybe everyone can resonate with it. i have had to listen to this fucking idiot target my identity (and many others) for years. i had to listen to his mob of pigs do the same. i have to listen to them call even DISABLED people "woke". women's rights "woke". human rights 'woke". and i am constantly reminded that this was taught. they were doomed from the start.

im tired. im really tired. i get ideas for fics and i write them and i stop because my hands hurt so damn much and then i cant do anything but just watch videos or nap. because having my hands at any angle aside from flat on my legs or knees or armrests or bed or anywhere hurts. there's not much more i can do, and because of that im reminded of the goddamn state america is in and how it will only get worse. will i take a hiatus? i dont know. ive been clinging pathetically to my comfort characters like a damn dog because there's not much more i can do. i write when i can but its always so little. i have relatively bigger fics in the works if you care, so please be patient. im tired im stressed and im kind of facing the impending doom of my country and perhaps even my livelihood.

[confusedhomicidalrage]

VERY RANDOM FANFIC IDEA THAT MAKES NO SENSE BUT…

Lawrence gets turned into a bear (since they mentioned they like bears in one post) by like a witch or something and how the kids plus fipsy would react

I KNOW ITS STUPID BUT…

Most random fanfic request ever...I'm doing it

Trigger warning: My clear favoritism of Isaac

________________________________________

Isaac Chroner

Isaac would be so confused. What do you mean Lawrence got turned into a bear? He wouldn't even be scared, he would be puzzled as hell! He'd probably pray to he who walks behind the rows to turn Lawrence back, or ask for answers. He'd probably try poking Bear Lawrence with a stick or try to see if it's actually Lawrence and not some random Bear in his home. Once he's sure it is Lawrence, he would just try to find an explanation. How? Why? When? What? Who? And if he finds the witch, he'd sacrifice her to he who walks behind the rows immediately. Although probably not very fond of bears, he'd make an effort to not react with a frustrated sigh. He'd probably also try to get Lawrence to not walk around that much, in case they accidentally break something, that would be terrible. Maybe Isaac would even send them out to stay on the lawn, because in his mind, anything that isn't a cat or dog, or bird or hamster, or guinea pig or rabbit, should be outside and not be in the house. He's an asshole, and would probably try to feed Bear Lawrence "Bear food" too, or something. Little shit would probably also try to get Malachai to tend to Lawrence.

Malachai Boardman

He'd just stare at them for a few moments. What the hell. He would be so confused by how this happened and why, but would also be pissed at the witch. Malachai absolutely will try to take care of Bear Lawrence, and once they turn back, he'd start interrogating them, and then go out and hunt the witch down. But there's also a chance that Malachai would just threaten the witch like no tomorrow.

Eli Porter

At first, he would be horrified. Oh god, a bear! But when he discovers it's Lawrence, he'd be much more fascinated. Maybe he'd try to cuddle into Bear Lawrence's fluff, perhaps even nap in it. Eli doesn't entirely mind this, but he'd still please want human Lawrence back. Would totally try to feed Bear Lawrence things Bears should not eat as an "experiment". But he will definitely snuggle into Bear Lawrence no matter what, he might even try to push Bear Lawrence over and lay on top of him.

Joshua Porter

Would totally scream something in shock, maybe even fear. He would probably hide for a few minutes and call Maria so he could calm his nerves. Once he relaxes, he tries to find out how the hell Lawrence got turned into a bear. Maybe he'd try to take care of them like a pet, but would still be a bit scared. What if bear Lawrence decides to chomp chomp on his head?? So Joshua will probably be frightened the entire time and try not to interact with Bear Lawrence too much.

Abel

Growling. Lots of it. He'd start acting like a guard dog when a threat is near, he'd just bark and growl like crazy at Bear Lawrence, much to their sadness. But after a few minutes he'd start to "warm up", realizing it's his Mother. He'd probably still keep his distance, but would curl up next to them and feel safe enough to nap. Still barks at them when they touch him though, he doesn't trust bears.

Micah

HOLY SHIT, A BEAR! I feel like he would actually like bears, due to their fluffiness and just overall, so he'd immediately hug Bear Lawrence tightly and rub their fur. He would be giggling and squealing, nuzzling into Bear Lawrence so much you'd have to put on glasses and grab a magnifying glass to find Micah. Definitely will want to wash Bear Lawrence's fur too and play with their ears and tiny tail.

Sarah

Most definitely would scream at first, scared, maybe even tear up. I imagine she fears large animals quite a bit. But once Bear Lawrence shows they're very harmless and their Mama, Sarah will be less scared, but still anxious. One can never know if Bear Lawrence will ever act on "bear instincts" and try to harm her! She'll try to keep a bit of distance, but still play with Bear Lawrence, she wouldn't want to hurt her Mother's feelings!

Job

Oh my god a bear where did it come from what. Job would be confused, fascinated, excited, and so many other emojis. He would try to cautiously pet Bear Lawrence, maybe mess with their ears or even nose and boop it. Paw pads!? Show him! He'd definitely mess with Bear Lawrence's Bear paws, but not without being careful not to be too rough or sudden with his movements.

Josiah Nock

He would spend at least ten minutes trying to figure out what to do. Would even google "what do I do if my mom gets turned into a bear???" as if Google would puke out a good answer. Josiah would be so damn confused and concerned, would this affect Human Lawrence's health? He Will definitely try to keep the townsfolk from seeing this, he doesn't trust them! They set him on fire, what would they do to Lawrence of they saw them as a bear!? He'll attempt to cook food for Bear Lawrence, and will research what bears can eat, to be safe, so he doesn't accidentally hurt them.

Joseph

Very concerned. What do you mean a witch turned Lawrence into a bear? He'd try pinching himself to check if this is a dream. He would be very convinced he was hallucinating, but once he realizes this was actually Lawrence as a bear, he'd either 1) Keep his distance out if fear or 2) attempt to care for Bear Lawrence like a pet. He doesn't have much experience with animals, so he would be a bit shaky the whole time.

Mordecai

You're a fool to believe Mordecai would stop his affection. Bear Lawrence? Perfect! Better for snuggling. Will definitely press kisses on the boopable nose and paw pads. He would not even think about the possibility of getting his head ripped off by Bear Lawrence's sharp teeth, he just wants to cuddle the bear Mama! Oh, what's that? Bear Lawrence scratched him? No matter, he doesn't care.

Fips

Would just start Cursing incoherently in German and subconsciously pray to Satan and he who walks behind the rows at the same time. Then he would ask Google what the hell he should do. He never even saw a bear in real life, much less had his best friend get turned into one by a witch! After ten minutes of googling, he'd just hang out in the woods with Lawrence until he figures out how to turn them back into a human.

[exactlyimportantpatrol]

You gotta hear me out on this one. The Herta has kids. It sounds farfetched I know. But you gotta hear me out.

Disclaimer this only for fun and a headcanon. This may not be in the game.

The Herta Space Station was built to house curios that Herta had collected over the years. But what curio started it all? Madame Herta had used some of her own DNA and did the whole mad scientist thing and made a human without a man. Thus the Space Station was created to house such a curio. It would be funny to see the space station which is all metal and a few rough edges turn into a child's paradise. The water fountains (if there is one) dispense different kinds of milk (strawberry, banana, chocolate etc) and juices (orange, apple, etc.) and of course water. The floor and walls would be lined with foam. Herta's office would have a baby lock. Maybe an AI system specifically to watch over while Herta is away. A huge playroom I imagined that one of the labs used to be a playroom like with those plastic slides, foam pit, ball pit, twists and turns etc.

I think the kid could still be part of the Genius Society with Herta's genes coursing through their veins. Not to mention Herta's connection with Nous. So she could put a little word in or that Nous is interested himself.

I kinda think Herta would be strict but cool at the same time? If you get what I'm thinking. Like she's strict about certain things dress code, wasting food, nap time, no means no. Though all those things would mostly benefit herself. If the kid follows the proper dress code that Herta had a set then they won't look like they aren't a creation of hers. If they start to waste food Herta would probably give them the silent treatment. When the kid finally falls asleep for nap time then that's when Herta gets to work in peace. The cool thing about Herta is that she isn't around often. So the kid doesn't really need to fret. They can do whatever they want and they can disable the AI system from updating Herta. Why? Because they felt like it.

Would I think Herta would be a good parent?

NOPE. The Genius Society despite being an organization of geniuses are cold blooded. One of their own tried to kill other geniuses. Somehow, someway their ideals (sometimes) align with humanity. Mostly because it's the cold truth.

Herta would be there so to say. Like present but never really present in a consistent motion. The kid is nothing but an experiment. A lab rat. A guinea pig. Perhaps the only reason Herta isn't discarding them yet was because they were interesting to create. Not to mention the psychology side of things. Since there was no other DNA but Herta's which she could have modified to create them and gave them different traits just a tad bit different. The kid could start to think they were Herta or that they were an extension of Herta. Why? Because their genes are exactly the same. But if Herta was feeling generous she'd modify it. They'd feel nothing but a clone.

It doesn't help that the kid might develop things that Herta likes unknowingly. The kid would hate the things Herta hates unknowingly. A clone. A clone with a mind of its own.

Well that's all :). Thanks for reading and minding my crazy idea.

[project-sour-grapes]

Fitting in

"Misery loves company" is such a dumb phrase in its simplicity, but it's true. Another thought that pops while thinking about themes from the last post is that, by joining every other 30-something in the languishing lifestyle of "I'll just do my job and then go home and go one some crappy dates and then take a nap and watch Netflix," I become miserable. Not only that, but I pick up on the misery of the greater population who are also living this life. (Maybe it's the "the world is a mirror, not a window" thing, or maybe it's just my reticular activating system suddenly picking up on others in a similar state.)

It becomes especially apparent to me when I hear about how shitty people's relationships are. Like folks who have baby mamas/daddies and have an argument every other conversation. Or folks who can barely have an intelligible conversation with each other, because one of them is the "puts a finger under every word while they're reading" person, but who else will they go to Machu Picchu with in 3 weeks? Or there is the 50-year-old manager at Safeway, who clearly did not think 30 years ago that she would still be doing this shit. Or the pharmacist at that same Safeway, who treats every patient trying to fill their scrip like they're a burden. Or those same patients, who treat the pharmacist like she's just on obstacle in their way. It's not that these lives are that awful, and that my life is better. It clearly is fucking not. But when I think of joining people in this kind of mindset where you just accept the pros and cons of participating in this socially accepted misanthropy and treating life like a slog, I become miserable. And other people's misery becomes apparent to me. And you know, I don't think it's worth it to fit in in that way.

I have quirks and ways of seeing things that people make fun of or call me naive for. Maybe they are naive. I see how letting patients at the ER take me for a ride made me come off as stupid. The alternative though--treating everybody like they're suspicious, grumbling at strangers who I interpret at being in my way, and having a "fuck you, I got mine" attitude--is just miserable. It's average. It's a waste of life. I still may carry some misery for a while perhaps, because I'm mourning the death of my childhood expectation that life would be like Postman Pig and His Busy Neighbors. In that way, I'll be forever less naive. However, how do I get back to the mindset of wonder and excitement? There was something about that that seemed more magnetic. Or maybe it wasn't. People do seem to treat me a little better when I come off as less naive. But again, I don't want to join people in their misery. So what if they like me? I won't like myself. I won't want to get up in the morning. What kind of worldview makes me want to get up in the morning?

[ofdarknesseyes]

Toji lay in bed with his eyes closed for some time. He hears Suguru close the door and leave. But even then he doesn’t open his eyes. He was more tired than he realized when a long yawn escaped him he decided maybe it was nap time. He turns over onto his side and surprisingly falls asleep pretty easily as if it had been quite some time since he laid in such a comfortable and large bed. It was almost impossible not to drift off.

Though as comfortable as his new bed was and as nice as his private bedroom was, Toji still had killer instincts even in his sleep. So it was no surprise when he suddenly woke up with a start. Though just by watching him one wouldn’t realize it as he just simply slowly opens his eyes and even more calmly sits up to look around. Ah yes, he was at the Prickly Princess’s Palace! And damn was it suddenly infested in curses. He can’t exactly sense curse energy the same way sorcerers can but he can still tell they are there from all his training and experience. Speaking of the disgusting creatures, his curse spirit worm was curled up at the end of the bed. He’ll never get used to it just appearing sometimes. Couldn’t get rid of the damn thing even if he wanted to. At least it was useful.

Getting up from bed he finally goes about exploring his new room. Opening every door, closet, dresser, and window to see. The bathroom was huge compared to what he was used to. Damn, he could get used to this. Going back to shitty little apartments after this is going to suck. He hopes he dies before he ends up like that again. He was opening the shower door to inspect the shower just as there was a knock at the door. He snorts in amusement as he hears Suguru’s voice.

“Alright, coming.”

He walks over and holds his arm out to the worm on the bed. It instantly wraps around him. Just in case he needs his weapons. As hospitable as his host has been, one can never be too careful. Opening the door he flashes Suguru a grin, his green eyes once again seem to be eating Suguru up. As if inspecting every part of him down to the depths of his soul.

“Lead the way, Geto-Sama.”

The sorcerer killer wiggles his brows at him and waits to be led. Just as before, while they walk he seems indifferent about his surroundings but he was taking it all in, memorizing the layout and making mental notes of areas to perhaps explore later. The closer they get to wherever it was that Suguru was leading him, The stronger the scent of food becomes, thank fucking heavens he was getting food and this wasn’t just some test of sorts where Suguru throws Toji into a put of curses to prove his worth. Though he still wouldn’t put it past the damn kid to do something like that. He wouldn’t be surprised one bit.

“Smells good.”

He almost wants to just follow his nose. His stomach growled but at last, they reached the place. Toji looks a little shocked for a mere second at the display of food. He raises an eyebrow and glances at Suguru.

“Are there others joining us? If not... I am going to pig out, Your Highness if you don’t mind.”

He picks a random seat and starts piling food onto a dish, grabbing several bowls of udon. He had to try them all. Soon his cheeks were stuffed with food, the sound of him practically moaning between slurps. Though he wasn’t particularly being messy or disgusting. He ate calmly and seemed to be savoring it all.

Suguru did not admit fault. Admitting fault was admitting weakness was a thing of the past and a thing of a more naive boy. He was a man with a goal, thus he would never admit that acquiring the child killer Toji (last name unknown) had going to be... a challenge. It was already a challenge. Suguru did not come to this conclusion, to offer Toji the position, lightly. It came after much deliberation and concern for the future of his goals and of his family. Suguru really was treating him like a rabid dog; he viewed him as much of the same or else.

If it was not for his surprising strength, he would be just another cockroach. But if he was to be a father and a leader, he had to overcome great difficulty and conquer all hurtles in order to defeat jujutsu sorcery. Yes, yes, a test, and I will be stronger because of it. His thoughts ran clearly in his as if he was having a conversation with a clone of himself. It eased the tension in his head and made his headache go away... almost. Then he remembered he had to bring in food for the mongrel.

Suguru did eat when he could. He had to be healthy and in top physical condition, already having improved greatly since leaving school. He was still a slave to human conveniences and made a list of all the things he had to buy. Afterwards he placed a delivery order to three different restaurants for three kinds of udon bowls, an assortment of sushi, and rice bowls primarily eel. The address provided as of adjacent homes and once the bike-bound delivery boys entered proximity, Suguru had his curses ready to ambush the employees.

None were killed despite the desire to do so, but he didn't guarantee they weren't injured or traumatized. Either way his menial horde of flying curses delivered the food like a scene out of a science fiction movie. In one of the meeting rooms, the dishes were laid out with care much like a perfectionist would. Kitsune udon, nabeyaki udon, and curry udon bowls were in a row, followed by salmon and fatty tuna sashimi and sushi, and last but not least were four rice bowls, three of eel and one beef.

Suguru then helped himself, ordering a curse to take one of the eel bowls and kitsune udon for himself, to be delivered to his bedroom. The rest was left for the DOG. He was a picture of grace when he approached Toji's room but he felt anything but. He took a calming breath before knocking twice.

“ I have ordered plenty of food. I will escort you to the meeting room unless you would like all the food in the privacy of... your room. ”

[angelamajiki]

[ a father’s love ]

PARING: StepFather! Aizawa x StepDaughter! Reader

SYNOPSIS: Your stepfather took you in with open arms after the death of your mother. Depression gets the better of you and Shouta promises to take care of you. But just how far is he willing to go to see it through?

CW: yandere, pseudo-incest, mentions of stalkers, mentions of death, depression, mental health issues, pregnancy, noncon, somnophilia, bondage, daddy kink, praise kink, afab reader

AN: my first collab with the bnharem server!! the theme was roommates (i ran with the term loosely) read the other member’s takes here! mind the tags as usual and enjoy!! :)

The death of your mother shattered you. A freak accident with a villain attack had her crushed under rubble from a collapsed building. Your stepfather, Shouta, suggested that you move back home with him after her funeral. As tempting as the offer was, you were determined to make it through University and handle yourself like a big girl, an adult ready to take on the world. You had only moved out a few months before her death, independence calling to you after you received your college acceptance letter.

A few months and an eviction notice later, you crawled back to him, the only remnants of your family. Open arms enveloped you, bringing you solace and comfort in your dire time of need. You felt like a child, bundled up in his arms as you sobbed, screaming at the cruelty of the world. Depression hit you hard and deep, flunking you out of your classes and preventing the bills from being paid. You had no other alternative but to accept his offer.

“You time and space to grieve properly, kitty. The most logical thing to do is take a breather.”

Ah, kitty. He always knew that was your favorite nickname, calling you that ever since you were a little girl. He also always knew just what to say. Patting your thigh, he stood up and extended his hand to help you up as well.

“Let’s go step up your room. I'm sure you need a nap after that cry.”

He gave a wrinkly smile before disappearing down the hall.

Skeptical at first, you were unsure if it was the right move to return home. You needed time to figure out what you wanted, what you needed. A break from life would give you a chance to sort things out, right? And Shouta was more than prepared to use this opportunity to show you he would be all that you needed and more.

The man was nothing short of doting and generous. A shoulder to cry on, a good laugh, a friend, a father. He helped you piece your broken soul back together. Whenever he wasn’t patrolling, he was at home with you. When your depression seemed to drown you, Shouta was there to pull you out of the water. He made sure you ate, helped brush your hair when it was matted, and got you into clean clothes daily. It was the small things that he did for you that helped your demeanor change.

—

“Up and at ‘em, kitty. Breakfast is on the table.”

You grunted, burrowing deeper into your bedding. A chuckle reverberated in his throat as he rubbed your lower back soothingly.

“C’mon, I know you haven't been eating lately. Let's get some food in you. I made your favorite.”

—

But as time passed, his help could only do so much. Your mental health continued to dwindle, plummeting into the ground when her first anniversary passed.

—

Gentle strokes of a brush smoothed through your tangled hair. Shouta was kind enough to help you when your head got matted into a rat’s nest, being incredibly tender and gentle with you. Tears streamed down your face, broken hiccups and sobs bubbling from your chest. You were trying to hold it in, he could tell. A sweet kiss was placed on the back of your head as he enveloped you in a comforting embrace, letting his hands sip down to your hips to rub circles in.

“Let it out, kitty. I'm here for you.”

He was the only one that was.

—

The domestic dynamic the two of you fell into hardly felt like one of parent and child, but more as two lovers sharing a home they built together. The pair of you even adopted a new cat together in hopes of cheering you up. You can't say that you disliked it. It felt...nice to have your presence matter when it was a struggle even to be alive. Shouta always checked in on you; whether he sent you an update from work or shared a cat video. He really was the best father anyone could hope for, even when your depression got the worst of you.

Your depression started to manifest itself in many forms. Lately, you’d been having vicious nightmares, only to wake up with an unknown stickiness on your thighs. Recalling the night terrors was something that evaded you, but you knew you were being violated. Perhaps your body wet itself from the fear of the dream? It was the only logical answer you and Shouta could come up with. Depression sure had funny ways of physically manifesting itself. You thought that would be the end of it, putting the situation behind you.

It was until it started happening nightly. The nightmares only seemed to prolong themselves, worsening to the point where you could vividly dream of being assaulted. Your underwear was now soiled too, and it definitely wasn’t your doing. Fearing you had a stalker, Shouta installed brand new locks on your windows and doors, hoping to soothe you. He was a Pro-Hero, so he certainly had the means and know-how to protect you. It put you at some ease, but it continued to the point where your stepfather decided sleeping in the same room would help you feel safer.

It didn't.

The nightmares themselves only seemed to get worse, but Shouta was right there to comfort you as soon as you woke up shouting in a panic. He would take you into his arms and hold you until you fell back asleep. You felt like a child. But he didn't judge you.

After a month of strange behavior, the stress caused you to gain some weight. Visiting a doctor was your best bet to get an answer. He took you to your appointment, letting you hold onto his arm for comfort as his hand rested comfortably on your thigh. The two of you were mistaken for a couple by a nurse. What a strange, intimate relationship the pair of your tangled yourselves in.

The doctor ran some tests and had your blood drawn. The results were to be emailed to you in a few days. Shouta calmed your nerves with a tender kiss to the forehead, reassuring you that everything would work itself out.

The notification for the email came in a few days later while Shouta was at work and you were lounging in the living room. Patience was never your strong suit, so you took his laptop from the coffee table, only to open up to a camera feed. Coming from your room.

The blood in your veins ran cold as you looked into the memory drive of the feed. Maybe he set up a camera to see what was happening during your nightmares? That had to be it; how could you assume the worst of your sweet dad? The only saved footage to be found was him fucking himself deep inside of your sleeping body.

“I see the results are in.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of his voice. He always had a habit of sneaking up on you.

“What-” You couldn’t find the words to describe your anger. “What the fuck is this!”

Disgust. Rage. Dispair.

Your only family left had turned against you.

“You were upset at the loss of your family, kitty. So I decided to give you a new one.”

He couldn't possibly mean…

“You’re pregnant.”

Bile rose to your throat as you gagged at the mere thought of his words. Pregnant? With your father’s child? His betrayal cut you more profoundly than your mother’s death ever could have. But it couldn't have made more sense—his touches, his comfort, sleeping in your room, the nightmares that plagued you.

“You’re sick!”

You shouted, tears streaming down your face as you continued to pummel insults and nasty spats at him. You lost your voice by the end of your rant, panting and heaving while sweat beaded your brow. He just stood there, taking everything in with a grain of salt.

“I understand, kitty. I really do. I should have been straightforward with my intentions.” He confessed.

The capture weapon around his neck snagged you the second you moved on the couch.

“Let daddy make it up to you. I'll make everything better for my pretty little kitty.”

It secured you to the sofa, keeping your legs spread and your hands behind your torso. On his knees in front of you, Shouta was ready to serve his apology with his tongue. Panties and sweatpants were ripped at the seams before being tossed aside.

He caressed your thigh with a delicate touch, pressing his lips to the other side. A kiss was pressed to your clit before long slow strokes of a hot tongue lavished it in attention. He kneaded your thighs gently all the while, humming as he began to alternate between licking and suckling on your sensitive nub.

Your head thrashed about in your binds as you shouted in protest.

“S-Stop it right now! Get off of me, dad!”

In a desperate plea, you hoped that hearing you call him dad would force him back into reality. Instead, he groaned and took a breath.

“Call me that again, kitty.”

A hot mouth sealed over your wet cunt as he dove his tongue between your folds while sucking with his lips. The pleasure was undeniable; his tongue was too experienced to ignore how his ministrations made you feel. Toes flexing and curling, you cried out of a mix of frustration, disgust, and humiliation as he continued to work at your dripping hole. This pig was getting off on the fact that he was fucking his daughter. It made your soul shatter all over again, the one he worked so hard to rebuild.

You continued to sob, moans now added to the mix, as he worked a finger inside of you. He made a curling motion after plunging in knuckle deep. A pleasured shout broke between your cries.

“I'll take it that’s your sweet spot, pretty girl? Good to know.”

He continued to abuse that spot, slowing down just a touch with his tongue to drag out the ride to the peak. Can't have you coming too fast, now can we? Your moans and whimpers spurred him on even more as he wiggled another finger inside you.

Removing his mouth, he focused on stretching and loosening up your tense body. You were lax when sleeping, so sliding in was a pinch with his size. But now he has to deal with you thrashing and struggling against his bonds. Disgust and pleasure churned together in your gut, feeling the incoming orgasm approaching hard and fast. Shouta felt you clench around his fingers and added a third, using his thumb to swipe your clit back and forth. With a final cry, you came on his fingers with a shout as your body convulsed in the capture weapon. You found what little peace you could in your short-lived post-nut clarity, taking a moment to breathe and center yourself.

Your father gave you no such chance to do so, immediately springing his cock free and rubbing the tip against your clit to gather your wetness. A chuckle sounded in his throat as he watched you twitch even more from the stimulation that was starting to border on being painful.

“Relax, kitty. Being tense won't do you any good.”

He slowly nudged his cock into your hole, groaning as he took his time bottoming out inside you. Praise spilled from his lips as he let you adjust, feeling your pussy clench tight around him. Good girl, good kitty. He shushed your sobs, smoothing the tears off of your face with the pads of his thumb. Murmurs of good girl and taking me so well slipped your senses. The pace he set was slow and deep, letting you feel every agonizing inch of his rather impressive dick.

Your flowing tears were kissed away as he proceeded to thrust faster and deeper. The sound of skin slapping against one another filled the room, even above your now weakened crying and whimpers. Sweat beaded on your brow plastered your hair to your forehead. His breath was warm against your cheek, his moans of pleasure so close to your ear forced you to stay in the moment.

Shouta swallowed your cute noises with a kiss, cupping and stroking your cheek with his right hand while his left pinned your hips down into the cushions. He did his best to stop your tears, pushing the hair off of your sweaty face. A few minutes passed filled with kisses, cries, and deep thrusts before he maneuvered you to be seated in his lap. Back pressed into the cushions, he lazily thrust up into you, hands grabbing your now bouncing ass. His thumb made its way back to your clit as he rubbed it in small circles, grinning at your cries of pleasure that you couldn't hold back. Dark brown eyes fluttered shut as he groaned and moaned proudly, increasing the speed of his thrusts as he felt himself getting closer and closer.

He usually lasted longer while you were sleeping; he does have quite a bit of stamina from his hero work. But something about seeing your flushed, torn face, hearing your whimpers and cries, he can't help but cum rather quickly for his own record. The pleasure was manifesting itself within you again, a second orgasm hitting you like a speeding truck as you gasped and choked for air at its intensity. Shouta was soon to follow, grunting and moaning loudly as he filled your cunt with his spend. He rode out both your orgasms, relishing in the silence between the two of you. It was better than hearing your broken, choked up wails.

It was wrong; he knew that. Breaking your trust, violating you, sabotaging your personal life, he couldn't help but be selfish with you. But he always knew what was best for you, always knew how to take care of you when you couldn't.

Foreheads pressed together, he caught your sagging body against him in a warm hug, stroking your hair when you started to sob uncontrollably.

“Let it out, kitty. I'm here for you.”

[quillsareswords]

1:20

Damian Wayne x reader

SUMMARY: You're lucky you've memorized Robin's schedule: it might me the only saving grace you've got left.

WARNINGS: blood, near-death

Master List in bio

It's 1:20 on a Tuesday morning in early June.

Gotham never really gets hot, but the humidity suffocates anything that might think that's a relief. You didn't check the weather this evening. You probably should have.

It's 1:20 on a Tuesday morning. He's gonna be here. You've had mixed feelings about knowing his schedule this well in the past, but now it's the deciding factor of your fate.

It's 1:20. That means you've been bleeding like a stuck pig for ten straight minutes, even if it feels like it's been hours. Or seconds. You don't really know anymore. You're getting dizzy.

So you've leaned against the wall. Some little roof access point that stands tall above the gravel covering the rooftop. The brick digs into your shoulder, even through your jacket.

You're starting to think you've gotten it wrong. Or maybe he just didn't show today. Maybe you're out of luck this time.

It was dumb. Stupid to think that you could stop this. Stupid to think you would end any way other than alone.

It was on purpose, after all. Isolation, that is. You pushed and shoved everyone away with a friendly smile and kept them at arm's length, lest they wiggle their claws beneath your mask and expose you for every ugly thing you are.

You're a mole. An informant. Someone who plays every side all at once and somehow manages to stay neutral the whole time. You've been passing tips to the Bats for months now, means be damned. Trust was meager between you, but what little there is is mutual.

You'd hoped it'd be your saving grace. Hoped the side playing would leave you with at least one friend, even though it was the entire reason you're in this position in the first place. You had hoped your downfall would save you.

He appears before you two minutes late. 1:22 in the morning and he's late. He doesn't seem to have noticed you, a few feet away, surveying the street below him like it's his job (and it is), with his back to you.

"You're late, Birdy." Your voice comes quieter and rougher than it should, and the force it takes nearly sends you to the ground.

He spins around at the sound, hand already curled around the hilt of his sword by the time he faces you. He says your name lowly, like a warning, like always. His posture relaxes nonetheless. "You come with useful advice, I expect. The skirmish by the docks sounded quick, but Batman thinks–"

"I didn't know where else to go," you say suddenly, because you already know you aren't going to be conscious long enough for this conversation.

The effort gets you this time. Your knees, shaky as they've been, finally give out. You understand, and you forgive them; they carried you all the way here, after all. Your body turns on the way down, back of your jacket scraping terribly against the brick as your heels slide through the gravel. The noise you make is somewhere between a groan and a cry.

It rips the breath out of his lungs. Your name is in his mouth again as he drops to his knees beside you, gloved hands already pawing at the hand you have clamped around the knife still sheathed into your side.

"What happened?" he demands, and he's reaching for his pager with the other hand. "Who did this?"

You're too focused on the way your first name sounds in his voice. There's something nice about the way he spaces the syllables.

He says it again, all panic and worry, like he hasn't the time to mask it anymore.

You wonder for a moment if it has anything to do with his lingering stares and gruff get home safe's.

But then he's shaking your shoulder and you're wincing because it's bruised beneath the jacket.

"Stay awake, hey, stay with me. Batman is on his way. We'll fix this." There's a pause where he's sucking in a deep breath and you're trying to focus on his voice. "You're going to be fine."

You think it's a little funny. You managed to get all the way here, up a goddamn fire escape, but the moment you think he's got you, you lose all ability to keep yourself upright. You just want to sleep. You want to lay down and take a nice, long nap.

You hate to admit that it just might be because you trust him more than anyone else you know. You've only known him for a few months, but you're sure that you're safest with him. You're safe with him.

It shouldn't be much of a comfort, with Death staring you down like a lion on it's last meal. You won't need protecting if your decline doesn't level out soon. It's surprising what such little comfort feels like when you're staring Death down like a gazelle with an attitude problem.

You don't remember being moved. Or how you ended up in a medical bed with stiff, scratchy sheets and a nearly flat pillow. You do remember hearing Damian's voice, fading in and our with your consciousness. The words are all garbled and quiet, but you know the recall the sound.

Alfred is the first person you see. He's unfamiliar, but he introduces himself and offers you a warm smile and a glass of water. He brings you a bowl of soup and hands you a bottle of painkillers and another of antibiotics.

You fall asleep again, listening to some little body of water just outside the white room you're settled in.

When you wake up, it's to the sound of an argument. Batman and Robin. It's hushed, angry and patient whispers back and forth, but it's an argument all the same. You've heard them bicker enough over the last few months to recognize it.

You can't quite make it out. You hear your name a few times, something about time, something about healing, something about help. Batman finishes it.

Robin swings the squeaky door open a few moments later.

He stops halfway into the room when he sees you're awake.

You wiggle your way up the mattress to lean against the pillows behind you. "Birdy."

He sighs. "You nearly bleed out in my arms and that's how you greet me?"

He doesn't sound quite right. A little deflated, maybe. Relieved? As if he'd been holding his breath before he entered the room, and just remembered how to breathe when he caught your eye.

Course, you can't be sure he caught it at all, with those white lenses.

You cock a shoulder. "I'm sure you've seen worse. I'm sure I'll have worse."

His posture shifts as he crosses the room. He shakes his head. "That's not funny."

"It's kind of funny," you try, throwing the best carefree smile you can manage when everything beneath your skin is so sore. "I'm the one who was bleeding, that means I'm allowed to make all the jokes I want."

"That's an unhealthy coping mechanism."

"So is dressing up in red and yellow and calling yourself a bird."

His shoulders drop again. You think you might see a smile, but he turns his head away too quickly. "You should be more careful. I can't always be there to drag you out of every fire, you know."

You cross your arms, raising both knees to take some pressure off of your abdomen. He takes it as an invitation and makes himself comfortable in the chair beside the bed. He finds a comfortable position with a little too much familiarity. "I don't expect you to. I wouldn't have even been there if I wasn't getting information for you."

"For Batman–"

"Potato, pa-tot-oh."

He goes rigid again. "I never would have asked you to put yourself in danger like that."

It's defensive. Appalled, almost. Offended.

You don't know how to reply. That doesn't seem to matter though, because he's not done.

"And even if I had, I would have gone with you. I would have made sure you had backup, I would have– this never would have happened."

There's a certain distain in his tone that catches you off guard. A resentment, toward you or his partner you aren't totally sure.

He runs gloved fingers through slick black hair. Heaves a breath. Pushes himself to his feet. Falsely composed. "You may stay as long as you need. Alfred will take care of you."

"Where are you going?" It slips out before you can stop it. And perhaps you could play if off as a standard question—you are in an unfamiliar place, with unfamiliar people, aside from him—but it's much too quick. It sounds a little too much like don't leave me.

And you know he hears it too, because he turns back around so quickly you wonder if he even considered it. "Patrol. It's Wednesday night." And yet he makes to move to leave.

You nod. "Right. Yeah. You're, uh, what? You're over by the city museum tonight, aren't you?" You want to smack yourself. What are you doing, making small talk? He's got places to be, people to save.

"Yes." The top seal of his mask flexes when he raises an eyebrow.

You nod again. An awkward smile on your lips. "I, uh, I didn't know how to feel about knowing where you'd be most of the week, but I guess I'm glad I do. Saved my skin last night, didn't it?"

He drawls in a deep breath. "Suppose it did."

There's a long pause. You aren't sure if you're breathing, but you're sure he isn't. He looks tense, like he's torn between saying something and leaving, body angled not quite toward you.

"You can always come to me," he says suddenly. He must read something on your face, because he tumbles straight into the next sentence. "Last night, you said you didn't know who to go to. I'm telling you now, you can always come to me. I'll fix it, whatever it is."

His voice is tight. A little unsure, but not in the statement. Like a hiker on a rocky trail; unsure of his footing, but certain in his destination.

There's something else in his words. Something scrawled between the lines in thin, fragile letters. Something deeper than wounds and needing backup.

I'll fix it, whatever it is.

Your heart rate picks up, and the heart monitor reveals your secrets on the screen beside you. What it can't reveal is the way the poor organ soars, throwing itself to the clouds with reckless abandon, completely uncaring of the hard trip back down.

You still don't know how to reply. You'd like to say something witty. A little sarcastic, maybe a smidge mean. He's giving you a glimpse at his heart, beating bloody in his hands, and there's a large part of you that wants to poke it. Nothing too wounding, just enough that he never makes the mistake again.

But you can't help it. There's a much larger part of you that wails, who wants to snatch it from him to shield and cradle, because he obviously can't be trusted with it. Not if he's baring it to you.

The deciding party is the reminder of last night. Dragging yourself up a rusted fire escape, praying to anyone who might listen that he'd be there. That he'd help you. You remember thinking he wouldn't. You remember the thought hanging above you like gravediggers as you settled into a coffin: you pushed everyone away, you don't leave room for those who want to help you.

"Thank you," you attempt, and it comes barely above a whisper. You allow it to be tender. You let it embody the raw little piece of you that utters it; the piece that wants so desperately to let him in. The piece that knew he'd save you. The tender little sliver of soul who still believed you deserved to be trusted and supported. The one who still hopes for meaningful connections, even among your collection of throw-away contacts.

You can see the way he relaxes. The way he melts inside his skin, like he'd been expecting you to poke when you could have. Like it lifts a weight off of him, knowing that you'll trust him enough to come to him in the future.

"I'll be back in a few hours. You should sleep."

You roll your eyes. "Sleep in some weird ass white room I've never been in, surrounded by a bunch if people I barely know. Yeah, I'm sure I'll sleep like a baby."

He recognizes that you aren't entirely serious, but he also recognizes the orange pill bottles on the table beside you. "If Alfred has you on those, I trust you will—no matter where you are."

You chuckle, he offers you the tiniest smile, and then he's gone. Vanished into the rest of whatever strange building he whisked you into.

You should be worried about it. Not knowing where you are, exactly who you're with, who has access to you. But you aren't. And it might be the medication making you compliant, and you'll look back on this in a week and be horrified—or it could be that you've broken all your own rules and thrust all if your trust into the hands of a boy you've never seen without a mask.

[the-abdicated-flesh]

There is something familiar stealing about my darkened home. It hides itself in malformed shadows, but I have lived here too long to mistake the shapes intertwining lives have left on this place, and regardless, I’d recognize those footsteps anywhere.

Dread. Dread is picking through my things with slippery fingers, leaving a rotting oil behind; it’s attempt at subtlety. Emotions never truly leave you behind, they go traveling perhaps, take naps, take day jobs, but any experience had in the in the interconnecting web of cave systems hidden within your pulsing meats can be expected to return, someday.

Dread never seems to slink too far away. I think it likes the sense of anticipation, but I’ve never held eye contact long enough to be able to ask. A weak constitution maybe, but I prefer when I can see it's scalding intent from a long way off, and hopefully slip a wetsuit over my fragile skin and some plastic sheets over anything else of value.

Dread seen up close is little more than anxiety in a state-sponsored uniform, but Anxiety is nothing to be scoffed at, that fickle infestation, and focused anxiety over an event with a running countdown and no win condition outside survival is… unpleasant, to say the least.

Dread is not a fear garden, no great architect of professional desires, but they do seem to enjoy each other’s company, or perhaps simply their shared work ethic, familiarity gained working complementary shifts. I never seem to see one for long without the presence of the other.

For now I am safe, content… but Dread has teeth, dear heretic, and it is not a bite I can slip off easily. Implications sting as they rush into a stuttering bloodstream, and that venom eats skin like pigs eat slop and anything else unfortunate enough to find itself before a hog far removed from it’s last meal, leaving an irritated rash and wild thoughts, a racing heart, and a sense of lost time, lost chances. Altogether sensations I have, funnily enough, come to dread.

Sleep, I think, will ease the heat of that scraping wound, and a solvent of thorough Boredom kills Dread like a patient fire kills anything at all. Spite will come back to its resting place, somewhere between the set of my shoulders and the sharp edge of my teeth, as it always has, as I have come to encourage of it.

All emotions once had will return to their user, eventually, but sometimes they have errands to run, empires to topple. Perhaps even sleep. Three heartfelt cheers for the accomplishments of my absent Spite. And a warning snarl for that half-hidden Dread warbling the shapes of my shadows. My Spite will have eaten well, come next sunrise.

[mosaicofdreamsanddragons]

Present Smiles

Hello Monkie Kid fandom, I am back and on the Sandy is the original Sha Wujing (or at least a reincarnation that remembers being Sha Wujing) hype train.

Read on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31762732

Sandy liked to focus on the present. There was a lot he could do in the present. Right now he could focus on finding something interesting for MK, poor kid was clearly anxious about something.

Sandy suspected the spiders. It couldn’t be easy to face his fear every day like that.

Pigsy suspected Monkey king’s vacation was reopening old wounds and bringing old fears the surface again. It made Pigsy angry in a way he tried to hide, and so Sandy had lent him Mo for the day and taken the kids off to get them out of his hair.

He’d asked the kids what they wanted to do, and MK’s insistence of going to Flower Fruit Mountain coupled with Mei’s enthusiasm to see the place made it an easy choice.

His own reservations about going to Flower Fruit were unimportant compared to their delighted smiles. If MK was working so hard to face his fears, Wujing could to. And it’s not like his older brother was home anyways

And he could make the overly anxious MK happy by shuffling through the vast amount of stuff in the small house MK had led them too. Hadn’t it been bigger? Something here would surely help the kid calm down. A fun distraction would do more good than a tool right now, so he focused on showing only the most interesting knickknacks his older brother horded in his house.

Not that they did much good.

Maybe he should have taken one of Mo’s fellow therapy cats with them, one that specialized in anxiety.

At least MK had started playing a game now, even if he was approaching it with all the zeal of a lesson.

Then again, he seemed happy to play and confident enough to skip the tutorials. Sandy took out his tea and offered a cup to the bored Mei, but she turned it down in favor of watching MK skip the dialogues with disapproval.

“He’s going to regret that,” she whispered to Sandy, “I skipped the tutorials on Monkey Mash for years and totally didn’t know a basic move that made the game five times easier…”

“At least he’s having fun,” whispered back Sandy as MK entered the store and…

That gentle smile flat and lifeless on a screen, the voice mechanical and garbled not warm and real, closing his eyes when he was trying to instruct in wisdom frozen in place not moving and alive…

…that disappointed frown…

MK was right, Wukong had made this game.

Wukong’d clearly done his best but Wujing's heart ached to see their teacher so close but so so fake

Caught up in trying to mentally fix the wrongs with the stilled image he let MK’s enthusiastic reactions fade to the back of his mind. What would it take to fix the errors of the flat picture? The voice would lack the mechanical background and would take on a slightly pretentious tone when he tried to instruct them, like Tang’s did, chest lightly moving with each breath. But he couldn’t quite animate the pictures in his mind, not without it feeling oh so very wrong.

Perhaps he could start with a base? A living breathing person who he could then imagine the features of his teacher on. Tang would work, there was some resemblance there….

So wrapped up in his thoughts was he that he only barely caught Mei’s statement, “kinda looks like…”

“Tang? I know I thought the exact same thing,” he says with a grin, glad to be pulled from his memories.

“Ahhh, right” says Mei. He’d missed something here, but he didn’t let the nagging sense of some mistake bother him. Time to focus on the present.

The present was a bored Mei and an MK who grew increasingly more frustrated with the game he was playing.

Wujing was ignoring his form on the game, the anger in his 2D eyes who only existed to fight …

Why is that how everyone remembers me? Is this really how he remembers me? As that angry fighter?

Wujing wasn’t like his older brother. He didn’t hide himself away from his grief. No, Wujing got angry. So very angry, until he saw the consequences first hand for a familiar-but-not face. And he’d tried so hard to fix that, to let go of the anger, to be more than that.

Bajie, no this was Pigsy, on the ground hurt…again, no not again this was Pigsy not Bajie…and it had been his fault, his fault…and still he was so angry, so angry that this had happened. Longing to punch something, he’d turned to find a convenient tree or pole, only to catch sight of a too-familiar disappointed frown out of the corner of his eye…

…and the anger drained from him. He looked back to Pigsy. Right now, in the present, he needed to help his friend to a hospital. There would be time for anger later.

When he’d looked up again the frown and its owner had been gone, and when he’d come back to search for it all he’d found had been a cat pawing at a flyer for anger management therapy.

He shook his head and focused his attention on the present, which was entertaining Mei. For a few hours she was content to watch MK play and complain about his moves snarkily into Sandy’s ear (somethings run in the family Wujing supposed). But after that she grew restless.

Sandy proposed meditation and tea (he rather thought he’d earned it) but she was more interested in digging through the house for something to entertain herself in the piles and piles of Monkey King Merch and assorted trinkets. So he joined her, letting himself focus on the moment and her enthusiasm, her laughter at his finds, and not the past emotions burning under his skin.

“What is this!” she squealed holding aloft a plush green dragon.

“A seahorse?” he suggested. It did look a bit like a sea horse. He wondered if that was an intentional joke or if the creator had just sacrificed recognizability for cuteness.

“It’s adorable!” she said before tearing through the old chest for more. Soon adding a smiling pig with too big eyes, a Monkey whose head was all out of proportion, and a man with a red beard, mouth too big for his face.

He picked the plush version of his past up and realized the mouth had been stitched over. The difference between the smooth manufactured stitching and the later additions was painfully obvious. Two little curved lines had been added to either side of the mouth with a thread that didn’t quite match and stiches that were too large and uneven.

“Awww,” said Mei from behind him, “He’s smiling!”

“He is,” said Wujing softly, cradling the store made doll in his hand and tracing the his brother’s clumsy correction with his thumb and struggling to name the emotion that was rising inside him and stealing his ability to speak.

“Hey, um” said Mei, awkwardly patting his arm. “Would you like some tea?”

He glanced down at her blurry form, blinking himself back into the present, “That would be lovely, Mei.”

Mei did not, in fact, have a teapot to make tea from the leaves she’d found. In the time it took for her to find one (eventually he’d just left his sitting right on the table for her to “discover”), he probably should have checked what the leaves where. But he didn’t and now Mei was out like a light.

He tucked her in with the plushie version of her ancestor and glanced the other child under his watch. MK was still frantically playing away at the game battering his way through the 2D versions of the past. But as he watched he found himself more concerned with the boys own health then an anger and an old grief. Perhaps later he could convince MK to have some of the tea Mei had discovered, a nap might do him some good.

He filed that away as a plan for the future.

Right next to catching up with his older brother.

[hopelikethemoon]

First Words (Javier x Readr) {MTMF}

Tile: First Words Rating: PG Length: 2100 Warnings: Fluff Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set in 1993 after A Dance Owed.  Summary: Reader and Javier spend their last day in Laredo and it’s one of firsts.

@grapemama​ @seawhisperer​​​​​​​ @huliabitch​​​​​​​ @beccaplaying​​​​​​​ @thewallpapergoesorido​​​​​​​ @twomoonstwosuns​​​​​​​ @gooddaykate​​​​​​ @livasaurasrex​​​​​​​ @ham4arrow​​​​​​​ @plexflexico​​​​��​​ @readsalot73​​​​​​​ @hdlynn​ @lokiaddicted​​​​​​​ @randomness501​​​​​​​ @fioccodineveautunnale​​​​​​​  @roxypeanut​​​​​​​ @snivellusim​​​​​​​ @lukesrighthand​​​​​​​ @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts​​​​​​​ @awesomefandomsunited​​​​​​​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​​​​​​ @exrebelshocktrooper​​​​​​​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @ah-callie​​​​​​​ @swhiskeys​​​​​​​ @exrebelshocktrooper​​​​​​​ @u-wakatoshii​​ @space-floozy​​​​​​​ @cable-kenobi​​​​​​​ @cool-ultra-nerd​​​​ @himbopoes​​​​​​​ @findhimfives​​ @pedrosdoll​​​​​​​ @frietiemeloen​​​​​​​ @arrowswithwifi​​​​​​​  @cinewhore​​​​​​​ @random066​​​​​​​ @uncomicalhumour​​​​​​​ @heather-lynn​​​​​​​ @domino-oh-damn​​​​​​​ @cyarikaaa​​​​​​​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​​​​​​ @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl​​​​​​​ @yabby-girl​​​​​​​ @xqueenofthecraziesx​​​​​​ @punkass-potato​​ @coredrive​​​​​​​ @pascalesque​​​​​​​ @theduchessofkirkcaldy​​​​​​​ @queenquazar​​​​​​​ @sabinemorans​​​​​​​ @buckstaposition​​​​ @holkaskrosnou​​​​ @yespolkadotkitty​​​​​​​@seeking-a-great–perhaps @kochamcie​​​​​​​ @jaime1110​​​​​​​ @katlikeme​​

“She’s gonna say abuelo before she gets either of our names right.” Javier said lightly as he walked in from the back patio, sliding the screen door shut behind him. “Wrapped around his finger.”

“Josie’s fond of her Peña men.” You retorted, glancing up at him for a second before turning your attention back to the tomatillos you had boiling on the stove. “I can’t say I blame her, however—“ 

Javier arched a brow at you as he walked further into the kitchen, “However?”

“I can’t help but feel like I’m being a little set up here.” You told him, reaching for the spoon and giving the pot a stir. 

“I told you I’d help.” He ran his tongue over the front of his teeth as he gave you a look. “But I know you know how to make it.” 

“I do know how to make verde. It’s simple.” You retorted, setting the spoon back onto the stone holder on the counter. “But I’ve made this for the two of us, not your extended family.”

You knew Chucho and Javier were just trying to make you feel like part of the family — because you were, but at the same time they’d inadvertently set you up for failure. 

“Hey,” Javier said lowly, hooking his finger into the belt loop of your jeans as he drew you away from the boiling pot. “They’ll love it.” He assured you, smoothing his hand down your hip. “You made a good impression at the wedding.”

“I figured the only impression I made was — that poor girl Javier accidentally got knocked up.” You taunted, cocking your head to the side as you looked up at him. “I’ve never had to do the extended family thing.”

“Me neither.” Javier clicked his tongue against his teeth. 

You gave him a skeptical look, “You almost married a woman, Javier. You never met Lorraine’s grandparents? Her aunt? A weird uncle?”

He scratched at the back of his neck and glanced downwards, “Touché.” 

“That’s what I figured.” You grabbed the dish towel off the counter and swatted him in the thigh with it. “If you’re going to stay in here, get the blender out.”

You’d had a handful of serious relationships in your life, and every time they got remotely close to really serious you’d quickly found a reason to skirt out of it unscathed. 

Maybe you didn’t want to admit it aloud, but that was exactly what had happened with Lance too. Except it was paired with the sobering realization that you wanted Javier — who had seemed unattainable. 

Who never once gave you the impression that underneath his bachelor veneer, that he could be something like a family man. When you first met him you never would’ve imagined yourself standing in Texas in his father’s kitchen, making salsa verde because his tia was coming over to visit before you went home to Miami. 

“Baby, did you remember cilantro?” Javier questioned as he hauled out the blender and plugged it in on the counter by the microwave. 

“There are so many knives in this kitchen.” You shot him a look over your shoulder. “And don’t the neighbors have pigs?”

“Ouch.” He feigned injuring, clutching at his chest. “I might have to take my offer to take ownership of the verde off the table.”

“Ha. Ha.” You laughed humorlessly, shutting off the stovetop. 

Javier leaned against the counter opposite of you, arms folded across his chest as he watched you work. You could feel his eyes on you as you blended down the sauce in small increments, before pouring them into a bowl to cool. 

“You know, they all adored you.” He told you, once you shut off the blender. “Pretty sure they couldn’t figure out what you were doing with me, but that didn’t change that they adored you.” 

You smiled at him as you cleaned up the mess you had made, tucking the dirty dishes into the sink, “They’ve all made me feel so welcome. Doesn’t mean I’m not nervous.” 

You recognized that some of the kindness was probably pity. You weren’t stupid — you were fully aware of the optics of the situation. 

Javier had a history of burnt bridges; a history that his entire family and the whole goddamn town knew about. You and Josie probably looked pretty flammable to them. If only they knew you’d been made flame resistant from all the bridges you’d set alight while standing on them. 

They hadn’t seen him in Colombia after Josie was born. They hadn’t been there through the years that mattered. 

Chucho was probably the only one who actually believed that you’d still be around next Christmas.

“Just one more night, baby.” Javier reminded you as he crowded in close to you at the sink. “Then we’ll be in Miami.”

You sank back against him and sighed heavily, “I’m looking forward to it being just the three of us again.” You curled your fingers around his arm as he curled them around your waist. “I haven’t spoken to my own brother in years. You can imagine how navigating your extended family feels.”

“You do it so well,” He pressed a kiss to the crook of your neck. “Couldn’t even tell you were nervous.”

You elbowed him in the gut, making him swear as you twisted around in his hold. “Fuck off.” You taunted, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips before slipping away from him. “I’m gonna go see what Josie and Chucho are up to.” You gestured to the cooling dish. “Finish our verde.” 

Javier clicked his tongue against his teeth and nodded, “I’ll be out there in a bit.” He told you as you slid the back door open and stepped outside onto the patio. 

Laredo was a nice change of pace from Colombia. Wide open spaces and a little peace and quiet. You almost regretted that the three of you would be moving back into an apartment in a few days. 

You tried to picture what a younger Javier looked like working on the ranch alongside his father. You’d seen the pictures in frames on the walls, the old high school graduation picture stuck on the side of the fridge alongside the pictures of his cousins and their kids. 

It was hard to picture him without the mustache, the worry lines, and the weight of life on his shoulders. 

You shielded your eyes from the sun, looking across the yard towards one of the horse paddocks where Chucho had Josie. 

You couldn’t picture Javier as a younger man, but you could picture Josie growing up here. Christmases, birthdays, family reunions. Snapshots of life that you couldn’t relate to. 

All you wanted was for Josie to have a normal childhood. A happy childhood. Two parents who loved each other, a stable home life, extended family members who cared. You wanted her to have everything you didn’t have growing up. 

You never wanted her to worry. 

“How are you doing, chica?” Chucho called out as he started back across the yard towards the patio. “You get that verde finished?”

“Javier’s finishing it up.” You answered, hugging your sweater around your middle as you moved to sit down in one of the chairs around the stone fire pit. “How’s Miss Josie?”

“Having the time of her little life.” Chucho bounced her in his arms and she giggled and squealed. “Give it two years and I’ll have her out there on one of my best mares.” 

You laughed, holding your arms out to take her as she tried to squirm out of Chucho’s hold to get to you. You could tell she was tired — but she was trying to soldier through it. 

“She’ll never want to leave then!” You kissed the top of her head as she flopped against your chest. “You’re going to need a nap before dinner.” You brushed your fingers through her curly hair as she sighed dramatically. 

“Javier was a natural in the saddle,” Chucho recalled as he sank down into a chair across from you. He gestured out towards pasture. “Not even two and I had him in the saddle with me, going out to check on the fence line after a storm.”

“You could probably convince me to let her ride when she’s three.” You offered with a short laugh, rocking her in your arms. 

“Deal.” He chuckled, adjusting his hat on his head as he sank back in the chair. “You looking forward to the big move?”

You shrugged, “I’m looking forward to being settled. It’ll be good to see our friends again. To get back into a rhythm.” 

“Never thought I’d see Javier settled.” Chucho told you, shaking his head slowly. “But it’s a good look on him.” 

“He’s a really good father.” You smiled warmly, looking towards the back door, you could just barely see Javier through the glass as he moved across the kitchen. “I know the situation isn’t ideal—“

“No.” Chucho cut you off. “Things happen for a reason. They always do. There’s no such thing as ideal or not. The two of you are good together.”

“Yeah, we are.” You agreed, kissing the top of Josie’s head again. “It’s all just very new for me.” You admitted. “The wedding was a lot.”

“Would’ve gone better if Javier had given his old man a head’s up.”

You felt your cheeks warm, “I know.” 

“Everyone was real impressed with you.” Chucho told you, “Javier was worried.”

You frowned, “He was worried?”

“That they wouldn’t welcome you with open arms.” 

“Oh.” You had assumed he meant that Javier has been worried that you wouldn’t fit in. But he’d been worried for you. “I really appreciated being included. I mean, I did show up unannounced.”

He waved a hand, “You know what you need?”

“A stiff drink?” You laughed. 

“A joint.”

“Excuse me?”

Chucho gave you a look, “You didn’t strike me as a tight ass like Javier.”

“I’m not.” Your brows furrowed together. “Just so we’re clear — you mean a joint joint, right?”

“Is there any other kind?” He questioned as he stood up slowly. “Old age takes its toll on you and I’ve found a bit of marijuana helps take the edge off.”

“I would agree but,” You gestured to Josie. “I’m still breastfeeding her. As tempting as the offer is.” You glanced back towards the house, “Does Javi know?”

Chucho shook his head, “Let’s keep this between the two of us.”

You grinned, “Now I really do feel like part of the family.” 

The back door slid open and Javier stepped out onto the patio. “The verde is finished and the blender’s washed and put back up.”

“Look at that,” Chucho clicked his tongue against his teeth. “He cleans too.”

“Funny, pops.” Javier retorted as he strolled over to where you were sitting. “Real funny.”

Josie perked up the second she heard Javier’s voice, scrambling to get out of your arms. “Da-da!”

Javier stopped dead in his tracks, looking between you and Josie. “Did she just—?”

“Can you say it again?” You questioned, smoothing out her curls as you turned her in your arms so that she was reclining back against your chest and facing Javier. “Can you say daddy?”

Javier knelt down in front of you, grinning from ear-to-ear at Josie. “Come on, princesa. You know you want to say it.”

She clapped her hands together, rocking back against your chest. “D-d-d!” 

“Say daddy.” You kissed the top of her head. 

“Are you going to say daddy, JoJo?” Javier questioned, tapping his finger against her nose as he leaned in to kiss her cheeks. “Say daddy.” 

Josie let out a shrill squeal, “Dada!” 

You grinned down at him, “Javi!”

“Ha ha ha!” Josie cooed, tilting her head back against your chest to look up at you. “Da da da!”

Javier gave your knee a squeeze as he met your eyes, “Baby, you’re gonna have to pinch me.” He glanced back at his father then, “You hear that pops?”

“I sure did.” Chucho smiled at both of you. “You know, I think I’m gonna take the truck out and check on some work I sent the boys to sort out this week. I’ll be back before they show up.”

“You need any help?”

Chucho shook his head, “You stay right here, Javier.” He gave you a knowing look, before heading back in the house. 

“Are we sure she said daddy?” Javier questioned as he scooped her up, cradling her against his chest as she babbled nonsensically. 

“I am certain.” You assured him, your heart aching from just how happy you felt. The joy on Javier’s face made everything worth it. The nerves, the worry, the anxiety, the uncertainty. Those two people made it all worth it. 

This was the Javier that no one else saw. The Javier that was madly in love with the tiny baby girl that the two of you had brought into the world. The Javier that was looking forward to being a stay-at-home dad. 

“Now we’ve got to get you saying mommy.” Javier murmured to Josie as he bounced her in his arms. 

[granny-core]

🎄Christmas Eve in the granny-core household🎄

(Probably not of interst for anyone, but I'm having a Not Great day and want to think about something nice)

So for Norwegians, Christmas Eve is the most important day of the christmas celebration. For christmas, I usually go up north to my home town, to celebrate with my parents and sister.

For us, the day starts with a family breakfast, with lots of different kinds of homemade bread, spreads and toppings, and hot chocolate. There are candles everywhere, the house is decorated, and the kitchen fireplace is lit. Afterwards, my sister and I will usually hang out in the living room in our pajamas, and enjoy the contents of our christmas stockings, which is always a magazine or comic, a marzipan pig, and a tangerine, which somehow makes me just as excited every year 😹

Next we dress up nicely, and visit the cemetery to light a candle and leave a wreath at my other sister's grave. Visiting cemeteries on Christmas Eve seems to be a very important tradition to many Norwegians. Afterwards, we go home and relax with some christmas movies and cartoons on TV (the same ones are shown every year, and even though we don't really pay attention anymore, they still Have To Be On for the real christmas magic to kick in) while we wait for my mum's childhood bestie and his wife to come over for a glass of Brandy and some gingerbread cookies. They're only there for half an hour or so, but the guy's a comedian and well worth the wait.

After they leave, my sister and I drive to pick up my grandma while mom works on the dinner. It's always lutefisk (which I will spare you the details about if you're not already in the know. An older British guy once physically left the conversation because he believed my dad to be lying to his face about awful Norwegian food traditions while describing it. Yeah.) and an elaborate fruit salad that I really like.

After dinner, everyone just kind of take a nap in the living room while pretending to watch the church service on TV, before changing into Even More Formal clothing for the grand coffee, liqueur, cake, cake and more cake main event of the day. It's all about breathing in the atmosphere, listen to dad doing his dad jokes, opening the window to listen to the church bells, and showing grandma old photos of all the christmases we celebrated together at her house. I really, really hope she is well enough to join us this year.

Finally, it's time for presents. Like most Norwegians, we open them in the evening, making Christmas Eve a very long day for most children. When we were younger, someone dressed as Santa (or "Santa's American brother" that one time with the Samsonite suitcase, cigar and fur hat) would show up, but now that my sister and I are both in our twenties, someone has to kind of sneak into the conversation that "maybe... Perhaps we should take a... A look at the presents?" Which is my cue to put on a Santa hat and veeeery slowly and with great grandeur read the tags on the presents, making sure to pretend I can't properly read the names (like my grandpa would always do before he passed away in 2001), which always has my sister absolutely done with my bs by the third present.

After I'm done with my little show, we take turns to open the presents, making sure everyone gets to see everything. When it's all over, we change back into our pajamas, and watch a final movie in a big pile on the couch.

The End.

(So yeah, this was probably interesting for me only, but I'm sad and a little homesick and I miss it all)

[savanaclawserval]

Leona x Terra: Lazurite

Author’s Note: Another fic from Leona’s POV... this one is a prequel of sorts to another fic I wrote (though reading that one isn’t necessary to understand this one lol). Once again, I tried not to make Leona OOC but anyway. 🤡

---

“Leona? I have something for you.” 

He turned towards the voice, not expecting someone else to be awake at this time, only to see a familiar serval’s yellow eyes looking at him with an earnest expression. The stars dotting the deep, night sky glimmered through the massive window at the Savanaclaw dormitory’s walkway. Despite Leona’s usual love for sleep, he felt somewhat restless tonight, and was about to return to the comfort of his bed after a stroll. Just as he was about to head into his room though, he sensed a presence behind him. Leona gave his full attention to her, curious as to what she had for him that was so important that she couldn’t wait until the next day to give it to him. 

“Oh, a gift? What’s the special occasion?” He asked her, a teasing tone in his voice. 

“I wouldn’t call it a gift.” Terra replied, pausing, mulling over what to say next. “It’s… just something I’ve been working on. For you.” 

Leona watched her subtle, nervous fidgeting, her black ears twitching like they had a mind of their own. Her tail was down, swaying left and right behind her. Terra is a third year student now, but the way she acted around him still reminded him of the shy first year he encountered not too long ago. She quickly took out a plain-looking glass vial filled with a mysterious blue liquid from the pocket of her uniform blazer, holding it out to him like a love letter. 

“H-here! It’s a special potion I’ve developed. I know you nap often, so after you drink some and go to sleep, you’ll have pleasant dreams until you wake up. The effects should last around two to three days… ah, and don’t drink too much!” Terra explained to him, with the usual enthusiasm she has whenever it comes to potions. 

Leona plucked the bottle out of Terra’s hand, lifting it up towards the moonlight filtering in to examine it with mild suspicion. Despite how lax he usually is, he wasn’t a complete idiot. He was well aware of the borderline dangerous potion experiments she would do in her free time, and the trouble she got into because of it. It was yet another amusing facet of Terra that he didn’t anticipate she’d have. Leona did find her to be a rather bold one though, asking her own dorm leader to be a guinea pig. 

However, he had no desire to hurt her feelings, so he accepted it. 

“Thanks, I guess.” Leona replied, a bit more awkwardly than he’d like. “...Get back to your room now. It’s late.” 

He could see Terra muffling a pleased smile that had begun to form at the corners of her lips, her eyes sparkling more than before. “Let me know how it goes if you try it, alright?” Her brief excitement melted back into the shyness from earlier. “...Good night, Leona.” 

Leona watched Terra turn around and scurry back to her room, seemingly with an extra bounce in her steps. Maybe he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t find that somewhat endearing. Letting out a big yawn, he opened the door to his room, shutting it behind him. He trudged his way towards his bed, placing the strange potion on his bedside table before settling his head onto his pillow and pulling the sheets around him. His emerald gaze lingered on the bottle, the swirling lazurite blue making him think of the cool lagoon at the dorm’s lounge, and of the endless sky at Afterglow Savannah on a summer afternoon. 

His eyelids grew heavy, and a dreamless sleep, filled with the same numb darkness he had grown accustomed to, came to greet him like an old nemesis. 

---

Truth be told, Leona had forgotten about Terra’s potion for a few weeks, letting it sit on the table like it was a decoration. Yet, somehow, the shades of blue contained within were still as vibrant as when she first gave it to him. One afternoon, after suffering from an unusual bout of insomnia last night, Leona was doing some reading while sitting in bed, though the words seemed blurry at times due to his exhaustion. When his eyes drifted away from the page, he spotted the concoction again from the corner of his sight. Perhaps Leona had been thinking too much lately, especially about some unresolved emotions he refused to confront. An emotion so foreign, he wasn’t even sure if it was real, or at least, he’s convinced that it was an emotion that shouldn’t apply to him.

If anything, he definitely felt guilty keeping Terra waiting for the results of her little experiment. Leona sighed, tossing his book aside before picking up the bottle and uncapping it. 

He sniffed it; it was surprisingly scentless. Leona placed it to his lips at a slow pace, willing away whatever leftover hesitation he had, and took a sip, enough to taste, but not enough to fill his entire mouth. The flavor that coated his tongue was something he hadn’t experienced before. It was a light, refreshing sweetness, similar to drinking water from a natural spring. It also made his mind grow... fuzzy. Leona hastily placed the vial back onto the table and laid his head down on his pillow, closing his eyes… 

When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in Afterglow Savannah, standing in a massive field of tall grass. The afternoon sun was beaming down on him, but it was a soothing warmth. The sky, devoid of clouds, expanded into a vivid blue. Unsure of what to do, Leona’s fingers brushed against a blade of grass, and a white freesia bloomed out of it, seemingly from nowhere. Was this his doing? He stared at it, puzzled, and without thinking, he plucked the flower. He knew this was a dream… but everything felt a little too real. 

“Leona!” 

Hearing someone call his name, he looked up and spotted Terra waving at him, a sweet smile on her face as she waded her way through the dense grass towards him. When she finally reached him, she took his free hand and pressed it to her cheek, nuzzling against his touch. 

She, too, was a soothing warmth. 

Leona tucked the flower into her hair, silently admiring how the paleness of the petals contrasted against the darkness, allowing himself to express an affection that he had feared for the longest time. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling Terra close to him, just so he could know the feeling of holding her.

“If you’ll have me, I’ll be by your side, always.” Terra said.

Leona wanted to reply to her, but right when he opened his mouth, he felt himself being pulled out of his unconsciousness. He tightened his grip on her.

He desperately wanted to hang onto her, onto this dream of lazurite blue…

...He kept his eyes closed, even though he heard the sound of his room door opening. 

“Leona?” A pause. “Are you napping?”

Maybe, for once, he should be honest with himself. And with her.