#nobody ever seems to communicate this sort of thing

[slugchild]

not to divulge my deepest overthoughts on the internet again like it’s 2017 but

[mostly-imagines]

answering a question nobody asked: what are jason's love languages ranked?

giving:

5 ) gift giving is bottom tier for him. i just dont see how he could value that more than any of the above because of the way he grew up. like material things and money seem like something he’d reject more than anything to me. but he does still give you presents, of course. he’ll buy you flowers randomly and jewelry and little things he’d noticed you admiring. but i dont think he really does it as a method of expressing his love for you so much as just like a little nice thing to do for you. its not his preferred method of communication, at least.

4 ) a little lower on the list comes words of affirmation because i don’t think it comes as naturally to him. he’s a man of few words and those chosen are caked in sarcasm and dry in a way that attempts to push people away, even if he doesn’t mean to. i just think his words can be rough around the edges even if his meaning isn’t. when he can work through it though, his words are very gentle and genuine. not one for hyperbole but really truly means what he says. he hears that you’re insecure about how a dress looks on you and he’s telling you to ‘shut up, you look good.’ or you’re nervous and he’ll say “you’re fine, don’t worry about it.” to someone else’s ears it might sound dismissive but you know that not how he means it. there’s a lot of unsaid words with him that are more significant than whats coming out of his mouth. like i said though, only like level 10 acquaintances and you will ever know him well enough to decipher those secret meanings.

3 ) he tends to treat himself like a loner, pulling away from people like second nature, but after he met you he found himself wanting to be around you all the time. he’s not the best with words or romantic gestures so quality time is an easier way of reminding you he loves you. he likes just sitting with you and letting you ramble about your day—listening to your voice is a big part of his calming down process every night. but sitting in comfortable silence with you is probably his favorite. he doesn’t get that with a lot of people. silence—sure; comfortable—not so much. he loves the implied intimacy and trust of quietly cooking, napping together, or doing your own things in the same space.

2 ) physical touch is another big one for him. only unlockable after entering a relationship with him. he does it for a lot of reasons, common ones include: as a reminder that he’s there, to ease anxiety (yours or his own), as a sort of fidget, or if he’s feeling a little possessive. its honestly going to shock his family how much he initiates touch with you. he’ll shove them off of him when they try to hug him and is likely to throw hands if they get too touchy. so when they meet you for the first time and he’s squeezing your hand in his the whole night, shoulder to shoulder with you—they’re surprised, to say the least. as time goes on they start to notice that he looks borderline uncomfortable when he’s not touching you—like he doesn’t know what to do with his body. his favorite ways to touch you (non sexually) include: keeping you pressed back to his chest, having your leg hooked atop his when you’re sitting hanging out, hand on the back of your neck, and hands on your hips are a must.

1 ) jason's prime method of communication is through acts of service. he fully believes it’s his responsibility to take care of you and doing things for you comes very naturally to him anyways. he’s known to refuse to let you carry things, let you have the comfortable chair, give you the last of his snack, that kind of thing. he also wants to make your life easier as much as possible—he’ll insist on you telling him about things you need, especially things you aren’t able to do yourself. you never ever have to hire a guy to come look at anything broken in your apartment, jason’s got that shit under wraps. he’d honestly be a little hurt if you did. he’s got a wide array of skills under his belt, he can fix leaky pipes, install locks, build furniture, repair cars, you name it.

receiving:

5 ) he always appreciates getting gifts from you but it’s not necessarily his preferred way of receiving your love. gift giving and acts of service are bottom tier because they’re the only ones that he feels like are taking away from you. costing you money or energy, wasting it on him—he doesn’t want you to do that. he can’t feel loved by the gesture when he’s busy concerning himself with the idea that he’s putting you out for it. when you do give him gifts he likes it most when they’re little things, especially things that you made. make him a friendship bracelet, a simple painting, a fucking paper crane—he’ll love it. with things like that, it makes him really happy to see how excited you are to show him and that’s when he feels the love from you.

4 ) it’s always a little hit or miss with acts of service. he has a hard time accepting help, especially from you. he tends to feel like its his job to take care of you and if you have to help him, he’s doing something wrong. the best way to perform acts of service for him is through littler things. cooking his favorite dinner, checking up on how his stitches are healing, covering him up when its cold and he’s too busy/stubborn to go get a blanket. don’t make a whole thing about it, just do it and he’ll notice and he’ll be thinking about it for a while.

3 ) for the same reasons as mentioned earlier, he loves quality time with you. he prefers being on the receiving end of it though because he is a little insecure and absolutely loves when you go out of your way to spend time with him. tell him you want to be around him, tell him you miss him, tell him you’re happy he’s here. warning: he might cry.

2 ) you’ll notice this one because his breath will literally hitch. physical touch is one of the most prominent methods of affection in your relationship and he never gets used to it. the presence of just your head on his shoulder or your hand in his provides such a noticeable release of tension for him. he’s a huge huge fan of you tracing patterns anywhere on his skin, playing with his hair, and wrapping your arms around his middle so you can hold him close. climb on his lap unexpectedly and his heart will skip a few beats.

1 ) he won't ever admit it, but words of affirmation are his absolute biggest weakness. your boy has a praise kink, but i also think it's difficult for him to accept that so you have to be subtle about it and work up. it gets him really blushy and if you can manage to get him talking, he’s stammering. he can’t hold eye contact for shit when you call him pretty and it’s very amusing to you to see such a quick and drastic shift in his disposition. things that have straight up put him out of commission include: calling him “my pretty boy,” or “sweet boy,” “you always take such good care of me,” “you’re so strong,” “you’re the love of my life.” “i’m proud of you” will literally put him on his knees.

[inkskinned]

the problem is that being single is seen as the consolidation prize, and not the natural neutral state of being-a-person. at the end of the movie or the book or the poetry, there is a person waiting for you at the altar, and they love you. if the play is a comedy, everyone gets married. the metaphor is about how you are not-whole. the metaphor is about how everyone is going to be happily-ever-after. the metaphor is that romantic love is the most important resource on the planet, not just all-love. all-love is not a thing, that is a disappointment. the treasure is not the friends we made along the way. the treasure is the girl you landed.

the metaphor is that you cannot be alone, that means you are broken. are you getting over someone? that is acceptable, you can be getting over someone, but not for long. you must be single because you would rather not be single. you must be single and looking to not-be-single. you must want to date, eventually.

friendship and community are never seen as being equal-to or even-better than romantic connection. that person is your one! you need to find them. you need to hunt through the sand particles until you can shift out some kind of gem. this is regardless to your own experience of the beach and the sun. you need to be somewhere with someone.

if you are taking this time alone to heal, that is so sad. everyone gives you this little pitying look. the understanding is that you are not actually happier than you were before you were single. it is seen as a sort of pity - oh, you are choosing yourself, making yourself the priority? - that isn't quite right. you must mean that you are making yourself ready for the right person. you are just laying the bed better this time. open up your heart. you'll find them, we promise!

what do you mean you're really-truly genuinely-very happy? you are probably misremembering what it was like to be in a relationship. and besides, once you meet your person, that time will look grey and bland and wasted. your person is the only way for you to see in color. so what if you have taken this time - for the first time in your entire life - to actually-for-real do the fucking work. you can be proud of yourself, sure. but the way we need to know that you got better is that you get a partner. you're healed enough for the next bad part!

people don't choose to be single, they just say they're choosing to be single - they actually mean "nobody wants to date me." it doesn't matter how many people you have gently rejected or how many times you've talked it over carefully in therapy. what matters is that you are single, and by all accounts - that means you are something worth our pity. your successes and life all seem pale in the sunlight. sure, you have done amazing things and finally found your way in life. what matters is that there wasn't a person in the room with you while you did it.

you want to tell them - that's the whole thing. i didn't know how to be alone in the room. i didn't know how to handle the silence. every moment was so sharp, and i kept choosing the wrong way to close the door. i have spent my entire life in the empty well, living in the ricochet of someone else's cruelty. for once i have built myself a ladder. for once everything i taste is all mine, every bite of sunshine and laughter. i have learned how to sleep out in the open with my memories. recently, they have started to purr.

your father rolls his eyes. listen. this isn't about you. i just want a grandchild in my future.

[georgiapeach30513]

Two Good Reasons, Part 1

Summary: Andy was supposed to be in the past. There's where he should have stayed.

Pairings: Andy Barber

Rating: explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, mentions of teenage sex, unprotected sex, PIV sex, daddy kink, degradation, body issues, oral sex (M receiving), breeding kink, creampie, cheating? 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 4.3K

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

The woman in front of you babbles on a few more seconds before you look at your computer confused. You are in over your head, and don’t know where to begin. Maybe lying on your resume was a terrible idea, and you were better suited for the coffee shop. They didn’t let you choose what hours you wanted to work, and you needed that. At least at this office you are given that luxury.

You were underqualified, and a kept woman of sorts. “Ma’am,” you glance up at her quickly. She has kind eyes, and an upturned nose. She was just a bit younger than you, and you want to trust her, but there’s that prickling feeling inside of you that makes you not trust younger women. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

You shake your head no, ashamedly. “I’m a fast learner though.”

“So was I,” she takes a moment to look around the office. You are the only two around, so you’re not sure why she’s so concerned. “Listen, take your time. It’s not that hard, but unfortunately there is a layout to things. You’re here, and I kinda like you. Mr. Drysdale isn’t a terrible human, and you’re at the front desk. So all in all you’ll be fine.”

You thank her, and nod your head. How the hell did you wind up here? Not just in your situation but this stupid place. You knew nobody, and now you’re left wondering if that was the point. That you wouldn’t be able to reach out to someone for help. You had no inner circle. No one to just vent to. It’s how he liked it. And what did that cost you? You look down at your left hand, and get angry all over again. You were past feeling sorry for yourself. Past begging and pleading for a different outcome. He hit you where it hurt.

Now you’re doing what is right for everyone. You’re becoming independent. Nothing is going to stop you. You’re not going to rely on a man. Or allow one to make you feel less about yourself. You’re going to make them proud. You’re going to…

Shit.

Your head ducks down quickly as a tall man walks through the door. He gives a quick glance your way, but you miss the crooked smile. You wouldn’t look at him. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t acknowledge his existence.

He bustles past you, directly to Mr. Drysdale’s office, and you finally stand up. Moving to jump in front of him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Barber, you’ll have to schedule an appointment with him.”

“So you do remember me?” How could you ever forget one of the most perfect human beings you’d ever met. You’re everything. Every first you ever had was with him. Every plan that you could ever make was with Andy. Everything was Andy’s. And that’s when he was younger.

His hair was lighter then, and he didn’t have that full delicious beard. He definitely didn’t seem this tall, or broad. Or scrumptiously thick. He was just a boy then, but now he is everything you knew he would be. He walks like he has so much power. Still commanding a room, and even the breath that you breathe, he steals from you.

You exhale slowly, nodding your head. What do you even say to this man? Quick look at his hand. He doesn’t have a ring, and now you feel invasive. But he’s got his hand on display. “I don’t remember you this quiet,” he smiles again.

He’s just as beautiful as you remember. Years ago the two of you had named all your children. You’re sure you have it tucked away somewhere. You even had your wedding planned. You had everything until he moved off. Distance became more than just the miles away that you were between you. It became the lack of communication. Then no communication. And as much as it pained you, you knew that he was gone, and he was forever going to be the one that got away.

Living a few decades had done his body good. He was — immaculate. Much taller than you remember. But apart from his physical appearance he still has that ability to make your stomach feel like mush. Like everything in this world ceases to exist because Andy Barber is around. You’re not a child anymore, but he still feels like he can stop time. Because when the two of you are together it’s the way that it was meant to be.

”Doe? You okay, sweetheart?” he asks again. You are sure you look like the biggest dork, standing in front of him to block the way to Mr. Drysdale’s office.

“You remember?” That little nickname was your undoing. How Andy managed to come up with it, he never told you. But it’s so soft and shy, something you weren’t then.

“There’s nothing I don’t remember with you,” why did that sound so sensual? It has to all be in your brain because you’re lonely. And he’s Andy. “You look good,” okay, now he’s lying. You look like a hot mess. Your makeup is mostly smeared on. Your clothes are things you found at a thrift store. Your eyes are bloodshot from lack of sleep. And your weight fluctuates too often for you to keep up with. Depression can do that to a person.

“I look — nothing — you just — better.”

“You never could take a compliment,” he gives a wink, and takes one more step towards Mr. Drysdale’s office. “Is something wrong?”

“You need an appointment to meet with him.”

Andy looks down at you with a smile. You swear he’s taller than he used to be. You can almost feel the way his fingers would dig into your skin as you — stop it. You’re at work. And he’s Andy. “Ransom, get your ass out here.”

You hear a chair roll back, and are irritated that Andy is going to make it look like you aren’t doing your job. Mr. Drysdale opens the door, standing in the doorway with both hands on his hips and shrugs. “You’re about five minutes late.”

“Your secretary has been keeping me. For good reason though. Maybe you should let her know who the District Attorney is,” your jaw goes slack as you look at him. He did it. He really fucking did it. Next stop, judge. “Doe, care to join me for some coffee afterwards, and you and I can catch up?”

“I can’t,” it’s not a complete lie. You can’t just go and get coffee randomly. Things have to be planned out. You have people you have to call.

“She can’t,” Mr. Drysdale agrees, opening the door wider. “Stop trying to steal my office managers. He’s not hiring. He’ll lie to you, constantly. I pay better, and have better hours.”

“I’m the DA though, and you’re just the…”

“Shut up, and get in here. We’re not talking about it. But seriously, don’t listen to him. He’s a dangerous flirt,” Andy is definitely dangerous. And that terrifies you. He shakes his head with a smile, but you know the truth. Andy is poison to you. The best tasting poison. You’d find yourself falling without even trying. Because he was once your everything. And then you both grew up.

He darkens the doorway again, and you look back down at your computer. This is getting a bit ridiculous. You are trying to hold strong, and he is doing anything but that. He is a parasite sucking the life out of you until you fold to his desires. You’re not doing it. Losing Andy in the past was hell. Losing him now will be much more difficult. You’re an independent woman, goddammit.

“Doe?”

“You don’t have a meeting with Mr. Drysdale today. And tonight we’re closing early so people can enjoy the office party,” a party that was designed to celebrate another year of Andy being the DA. It was all very self gratifying for him. “Mr. Barber.”

“I don’t want you calling me that,” you glance up at him before returning back to your computer to just stare. You can’t even pretend to be working because you’re not. You’re just avoiding him and those looks, “Did I do something wrong?”

“Maybe calling me my childhood nickname? Nobody does that anymore, Mr. Barber,” he rolls his eyes before leaning over your desk. He’s too close. You can count the freckles that splay out over his nose, and smell his intoxicating cologne. The one you wish you knew what it was so you could be the girl that sprays a shirt and you can get a fill of him without having him. “Andy, what do you want?”

“For you to stop fighting my invitations to coffee. Or the office party. Or to dinner. Unless you have a perfectly good reason to tell me no,” he glances down at your left hand, and you feel sick. Would things be different a year ago? Would you still entertain Andy this long? The ego boost is working nice for your fragile self esteem.

But the way he looks at your left hand hungrily has you ready to actually vomit. This isn’t where you saw your life. Working in the Assistant District Attorney’s office while the DA barges in and compliments you, and asks you out on a daily basis. No. You were supposed to be keeping a house. And making sure your husband had dinner when he came home. And now you’re in fucking Newton and alone. Sort of.

Your tanline from your finger has since faded, and so should your conflicting feelings. Life wasn’t supposed to be so difficult. You know you sound like a child, but your dreams have been shattered so many times, and now here’s the first one waltzing back into your life asking for damn coffee. Or dinner. Or the office party. Next week will be something new.

“What if I just want to get drunk?” You had the means to go to the party. The means to do whatever you want. You didn’t have anyone relying on you tonight.

“Then I heavily suggest you let me make sure you get home safely and that nobody takes advantage of you.”

Do not allow this man to make that sound sweet. It’s not. It’s just basic human kindness. Stun him. Make him wonder and worry. Make him — want. Not just want, make him beg for the taste of you, “What if I want someone to take advantage of me?”

His eye brow cocks up, and his mouth turns up into a crooked smile. Andy’s knuckles bleach with how tight his fist is at the not so subtle suggestion. Good. You affected him as much as he’s been making you weak. “Any suggestions?”

There it is. The possessive Andy. The one that wants to let everyone know that you are his, and you are off limits. You want him to tell everyone that you belong to him. You want him to claim you in ways that the two of you feared when you were younger. You want him to own you. And you want him to leave you alone. One night. Just to prove to yourself you still got it, and then you want to live your life.

“Sweetheart, I won’t let anyone take advantage of you. You’re too precious for that.”

“And what if I want you to?” He growls. Actually growls. A rumble rolls up his chest, and he grits his teeth. His jaw pulses with desire. “Just one night.”

“There’s never been just one night between us,” you scoff. He’s making things difficult.

“You’ll just have to make it that way,” he wouldn’t want your baggage anyways. The two of you are adults now. You can’t be running around acting like teenagers and fucking everywhere you land. You have responsibilities and a job. A life. And…

“If you think you can say no to me after one night,” he challenges. Prick.

“It’s what it will have to be.”

He slams the two of your bodies against the door, and you shudder. Arching your back to bring your body closer to his, and his meaty hands slap over your ass. Sliding down the spheres before lifting you up, and you hungrily wrap your legs around his waist. Bringing him to your core, ripping your dress, but sighing at feeling his bulge next to you. Thankfully it was only ten dollars at GoodWill. Focus!

He grinds his hips into your aching body, and your vision blurs at the sensation. Head pointing up to the heavens while you offer up your sacrifice to Andy. Gasping for air, and his mouth traces down your neck. Tasting and nibbling your heated glaze, and your fingers make work of his button up shirt.

“You’re eager,” he rolls himself into your center, and you gasp at how hard he is. These slacks leave nothing to the imagination. You can see the perfect outline of him, and you need him naked now.

“Shut up, and fuck me,” removing your back off the door, he carries you down the hallway. Clawing at the back of your dress, and it’s fine, it’s already ripped. Tearing at the material with the need to only get you naked, so he can have you.

Andy drops your back onto the bed, untangling his arms so he can remove the rest of your dress. “Don’t worry, I’ve got some sweats for you,” you wish he would stop talking.

“Fuck me!”

Standing up, and off your body, you hate the loss of him, but enjoy him pulling and tugging on your underwear. Disposing of your bra, and he holds your legs open wide. Tilting his head to get a good look at your spread and weeping cunt. “Mmm, you look good enough to eat. Doe, you’re prettier than I remember.”

Why is he lying? Stop staring. It’s making you feel uncomfortable. You don’t have the body of a teenager anymore. Time is cruel, and the longer he stares, the more you want to just walk out of here. “Fuck,” his eyes roll in the back of his head when he enters a finger into your warmth. “Just as tight.”

Lying again. He probably says this about all his fuck buddies. You sit up in the bed and start jerking off every bit of clothing on his back. Making way to his pants, and you slowly undo his zipper. Peeling away his boxers, and you moan when his fat, thick, veiny cock bounces up in your face. “It’s yours. Go on, and take it,” Andy watches you with so much enthusiasm as you lick his precum off his slit.

Mewling at the musky taste that can only be described as Andy Barber. Your body liquifies and arousal pools in your core. You kiss down his shaft, keeping your eyes on him. There’s a lot of things that time can change. Your ability to suck a cock like a pro is one of them. Getting to the base of his length, your tongue twirls around the velvety steel, and you trace kisses over his sack. Keeping your eyes on him as you suck one into your mouth, and he lurches.

“You’re a goddess,” he groans, and you move over to the other. Massaging the testicle with your tongue before letting it fall out. Laying your tongue flat, you trace that delectable vein up his glorious dick before you reach his spongy head, and you swallow him. You try to swallow him whole, but come short. He somehow became bigger.

Wrapping both hands around his base, you bob on him. Gagging and slurping up the wetness before his hands grab both sides of your head, and you let your hands drop to your side, “Are you wanting me to fuck your mouth?”

Hollowing out your cheeks, you place your hands to grip onto his toned thighs. “You’re such a slut for me,” he says before his hips piston into you. Hitting the back of your throat like a man on a mission, and you let him take it. His pleasurable sounds are better than you remember. Maybe he’s just more comfortable. He’s older. More experienced. Not as timidly as the young man he was.

He halts his ministrations before pulling himself out of your throat, and you long to taste his cock again. His hands go under your armpits before he throws you up the bed. His wide body keeps your legs spread, and gripping his base, he runs it up and down your slit. Gathering up your juices. “Andy!”

“Shh, I’m enjoying seeing you spread open and begging for me to fuck you. Use your manners,” no. You can leave at any time. But you don’t want to. You want him to use you like his own personal sex doll. “Don’t be such a fucking brat. Say, please.”

“Please.”

“Is that all?” Oh, who is being the brat now? “Go on. Say it. My cock does want to sink into your warmth, and have you quaking and spread so wide. Keep you full and…”

“Please, fuck me, daddy,” the whine of your voice has him snapping his hips. Plunging into your needy cunt in one move, and you reel. Fingers gripping onto the bed sheets, and seeing stars with the depths that Andy reached. “You’re huge!” You gasp for air.

“So you’re saying when we were younger?”

“Not this — oh god — big!”

“I always loved it when you would go dumb on feeling me inside of you,” this cock is dangerous. It’s what all fantasies are made out of. Long, but not too long. But so fucking thick. Stretching you so wide that your toes curl. Back lifting off the bed because you can’t get enough of him. When was the last time you felt this satisfied by a human? The answer to that is depressing.

His movements are deliberate. They’re smooth like your body was made for him. He wouldn’t have to do anything, but just let you warm him. Keep him close to you forever. One night. Maybe a second night. No. Don’t fall for him. Don’t dream about his cock. He doesn’t need your mess of a life.

He pumps into you so slow, and you’re wrecked. This is better than you remember it. But you won’t allow your head to imagine that now is yours and Andy’s time. You won’t allow yourself to get worked up. You were teenage lovers that drifted apart, and you’re doing this one more time. That is all. Not more than that.

“Doe,” god, his voice. It tingles through your body, and you look up at him. He says your real name, smiling down at you. His voice dropped a few octaves with age, “Stay with me, baby. I know it feels good.”

“Don’t pre…”

“Aye! That happened one time. And it was our first time,” you can’t help but smile. You both were each other’s first, and it was less than stellar. It was raw, and unexpected. But you did it together. “You like this, huh?”

“That obvious?” He stabs into you with a quick hard thrust, and your mouth droops open. Fuck. He’s good. He’s too good. He’s too right. Does this ever have to end? Can he just stay seated inside of you forever? That’s not really the way you want to live life, but it’s a nice quick and fleeting thought.

It’s almost too slow and intimate. Like the way he’s fucking is more worshiping you and promising you another time tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day. And you’re fighting that with all the resistance you can muster. You need him to fuck you and fuck you so hard and deep that it has a lasting effects and you won’t need him again. Even though you know that’s a lie.

“Andy, I…” his expression is pained, like he knows what you’re asking. “Please, don’t make this difficult.”

“I don’t want to. I want to make you mine,” the sentiment is too good to be true, and you hit on his shoulders. Letting him fall to his back before you saddle on up. Grabbing the base of his cock, you sink down over him, and fuck him. Use him for your pleasure. Bucking on top of him like you were made to do this. Your hands press hard into his toned chest. He got so much better with age, and then you are just you. Just plain. Just a woman that nobody would want in the daylight.

Getting yourself off is easy since he’s being a vocal man. You’ll let your legs be rubbed raw if it means you get to take him fully and to the hilt. It’s gotta last. It just has to. If life were different and it was easier, you could make this happen. You should tell him. Let him know the truth that changed your world. “I’m not able get pregnant,” keep it simple and easy. He doesn’t need to know the details.

You don’t know how he did it, but he has you off his body. Pushing your front onto the bed, and keeping you on your knees when he crawls behind you. Hands tightly on your hips as he slides all the way home. The only sound in the room is wet skin slapping on each other and needy hungry moans. Reaching under your stomach he lifts your back to his front as he pounds into you.

“Then let me fuck you like I’m going to breed you,” you whimper out his name, and an arm wraps around your neck. Holding you tight against him and adding pressure to the soft column. Cutting off a bit of your airflow, and making you dizzy. “Let me fuck my seed so deep in your belly, and make you mine.”

The words are so sweet and still so vulgar. “Yes! For real this time,” a few too many accidents in the past led to pregnancy scares. You don’t want an accident. You want him in your belly. You need him there. “Fuck me harder!”

He fucks you so hard that you know your going to bruise. The way he grips onto your soft curves tells you how badly he wants to keep you with him. “Look at me. Doe! Look at me!”

With furrowed brows you turn your head to stare into his eyes. “We’re about to come, and you’re going to keep your eyes on me, okay?” You nod your head as your orgasm builds in your belly. Bubbling and frothing just below the surface like a hot deadly volcano. Rumbling below the surface as he ruts into you like his life depends on it.

“Don’t take your eyes off me. Swear it!”

“I swear it,” one more slap into you, and your volcano erupts. Walls clamping around his cock. Placing him in a vice grip as thick ribbons of cum spurt inside of you. So much cream that you feel bloated, and so satiated. “Thank you,” you whisper as your eyes start to get heavy.

“Only a short nap. We’re going again. And again.”

“But I said…”

“You said, just for tonight. Not just one time,” you didn’t care to argue. You revel in the feeling of him in your belly as he starts to pull out. “Can I look?”

“What?” How does something so filthy seem sweet now. He wants to see himself inside of you.

“I’ve always wanted to look at you leaking without fear,” giggling you nod your head, and roll to your back. Spreading your legs open wide, while Andy settles in between your thighs on his belly, watching so closely and with bated breath as pearls of his seed drip out of you. “Perfect,” he hums, and starts fingering it back inside of you. “If I make it stick, you’re mine.”

“You won’t,” he hears the pain in your voice as you respond, and crawls up your body. Placing the softest most tender kiss up your imperfect body. Showing you love you can no longer give yourself. He ends on your lips, and kisses you so passionately that it takes your breath away. He won’t. And you can’t ever be his.

Andy looks at his text message from Ransom, making sure this was your house. Suburbs. This didn’t strike him as your home. But Ransom assured him it was. He walks up the steps to your home, and stumbles back.

“Andy? Why are you here?” Scott Huffman asks. A little girl clings to his leg, and she looks up at him smiling. “Aubrey, please, baby, get off daddy’s leg,” Andy looks at the little girl oddly. She has your eyes. “Go check on Suede.”

“Bubba!” She screams, getting off her dad’s leg. And he steps back. This is wrong. This can’t be right.

“What are you doing here?” Scott asks again. He grimaces when a loud bang reverberates inside the house, and he looks at his watch annoyed. “God, she’s late. I should have known she would be. Andy?”

“Umm,” he holds onto your clutch that you left at his house. Looking at Scott confused. He says your name, and Scott looks at him accusatory. “She left her — here.”

“How do you know my wife?”

“I’ve got to go,” Andy says, shoving the clutch into Scott’s arm as he walks away. No wonder you said that he couldn’t have you. You pranced around Ransom’s office without a ring. You trapped him. No. That’s not really the word for it. You said you couldn’t get pregnant, probably because you had your tubes tied after two kids.

What the fuck? How could you lie to him like that? He knows things didn’t end the way they should have. But cheating on your husband is another thing. Scott wasn’t really in his department, but he is aware of the lawyer. Ruthless. Come to think of it, he didn’t wear a ring either. He didn’t want to be in whatever sick bullshit you and your husband were playing.

He wants you. Wanted. Wants. He doesn’t know. And it doesn’t matter what he wants. Because you’re going to come home and be the perfect wife to your husband and at least two kids. And he’s going home alone.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

@pandaxnienke @kmm-fluv @rogersbarber @theinheriteddutchess @buckybarnesisdaddy

[nothorses]

I think one of the ways that tranandrophobia seems to distinguish itself from the other forms of oppression it is connected to is in the way it attempts to convince you it is indistinguishable and that transmascs are always just collateral damage to everyone else's "real" problems.

One example is the very blatent tirf claim that transphobia on its own isn't real, that it is all misdirected transmisogyny, and that transmascs only experience oppression due to our association with transfemmes.

But there is also the insistence that anti abortion laws and similar things are targeted at cis women and therefore are "women's issues" - transmascs shouldn't complain about being excluded because it "isn't about us". Same with homophobia and butchphobia. Even the terf talking point that they are just protecting "little cis girls" from making irreversible mistakes pretends that actual the transmascs being harmed is just an accident and not the goal.

Trying to talk about transandrophobia is a constant stream of "It's just transphobia. It's just misogyny. No, you can't call your experiences misogyny because that isn't about you. You can't call yourself a lesbian or a butch or compare your oppression to lesbophobia. It isn't about you. Yes, terfs hurt you, but you aren't their main target. This isn't about you. Yes, you need abortions and experience medical misogyny, but you can't talk about it because this isn't about you. You were sexually assaulted because of misdirecred misogyny. Don't make it about you. You've never contributed to the history of gay men, or lesbians, or the trans community. It isn't about you. Those cross dressers weren't trans. Stop trying to make women's history about you. You can't reclaim cunt or faggot or dyke because those words aren't about you. I don't care how many times you've been called a tranny. That word isn't about you. Why must you make everything about you?"

Because sure, transmascs exist, and we might be impacted by everyone else's oppression, but it is always thought of as a theoretical consequence of what is really going on, if it is thought of at all. Transmascs are not considered to be oppressed in our own right.

This idea gives the lawmakers plausible deniability, allies an excuse to ignore us, and feeds into transmasc erasure. If we are never the actual target to begin with, then clearly, we can't be uniquely targeted. The law makers don't need to be held accountable for their transandrophobia because it isn't like they are trying to hurt transmascs, right? We need to let the real victims speak, the ones being targeted on purpose.

Nobody ever sees the way it all piles up, and even if they do, they think "well it's just an accident, right? If we fix the main problem, then this fringe issue will go away on its own" without ever considering that transandrophobia isn't as rare, fringe, or accidental as society wants it to appear and that actual effort needs to be put into dismantling it.

It isn't that they actually believe that transandrophobia isn't real. It's that they just don't believe it is about transmascs. Because even if we are the common denominator, we are still just collateral damage and could not possibly have anything of value to say. Because as collateral damage, our issues are never our own and thus never need to be discussed on our own terms.

100%. And I think this is exactly what this sort of cycle of erasure depends on.

We are erased, our problems are erased, and our oppression is erased, which means it's easy for people to ignore us, our problems, and our oppression. There's so little evidence, so few people talking about it, and they never really see or hear anyone name us in this violence, so surely, it isn't about us at all! It must be about the people they know about already, the problems they know about, and the ones who are always readily named in these conversations.

If we're speaking up, there's no reason to believe us; if anything, we come under scrutiny for trying to talk about these issues nobody else can see. We must be crazy, hysterical, whiny and overdramatic, or perhaps malicious. We're stealing attention, stealing space, and stealing help. We might be victims, but we are incidental and unworthy victims.

And ignoring us, our problems, and our oppression means we continue to be erased. Which makes it easier to ignore us, and erase us, and easier to perpetuate violence against us. And so on.

It's understandable, in a way, for people to ignore us; most people don't know about any of this in the first place, and when they do, they're not inclined to take any of it seriously. Even if they do see convincing evidence that our problems are real and worth talking about, it's easy for that to be a one-off that they eventually forget about. Everyone else is talking about everything else, so we sort of fade away.

It's not their fault; they're not trying to ignore us. They just haven't learned to recognize violence against us, and they just don't seek us out, and can they really be blamed for that? Can they really be blamed for the violence that continues because they and others don't see or try to stop it? We're so hard to find in the first place. You know, because we've been so thoroughly erased.

There are a lot of people who've been fighting this for a long time, and even more we don't-- and probably won't-- ever know about, who've been fighting for even longer. I think it's getting better; the organized backlash against us is, imo, a sign that our reach is getting stronger and wider. But it's a hard cycle to break.

[wistfulforstars]

Your Medicine, My Medicine

Summary: You know how to deal with Tech’s periods of hyperfixation. He’s yet to deal with yours.

Warnings: Here there be fluff! However, my blog is not for minors - Begone! Some vague allusions to sex, teasing, reader is tired, Tech is a bad influence, the squad is hopeless, reader is afab

Part 1? This one got away from me - it was only supposed to be a quick oneshot. I haven't decided if I'm going to do a spicy follow-up.

“Oh yes, go babysit this special squad of elite clones, it’s going to be so fun!” you muttered angrily to yourself, pouring over a sea of half baked statements, equipment requests, and unpaid expenses. 

A headache began to form behind your eyes as you continued to grumble, “The tall one won’t blow you up, the one with the toothpick definitely doesn’t have an attitude problem, and their sergeant absolutely knows how to fill out a mission report!”

You picked up one of said mission reports, a mostly blank page that just said NAL HUTTA. INFILTRATION. COMPLETE. scribbled across the top in Hunter’s untidy scrawl. You tossed it to the ground and thunked your head on the table, taking a moment to lay there. You needed a drink. You wondered, not for the first time that evening, where Crosshair could possibly be keeping his stash of premium Corellian whiskey.

It had been about a year since you’d joined Clone Force 99 as their Communications Officer, and every end-of-month report analysis had gone pretty much the same way. No matter how many times you’d asked your squad to be more organized, to add more detail, to consult you on expenditures, none of your instructions ever seemed to stick. Usually your superiors let it slide. This was CF99, the Bad Batch. Nobody really expected these troopers to be great at paperwork. 

But the squad had an inspection coming up. The first since you’d joined them. And they’d wracked up twice the expenses they were budgeted for, with all receipts buried in a massive pile or half singed from blaster fire. You were about to have some serious answering to do, and the only explanation you’d come up with so far was sorry sir, excuse my Shyriiwook, but how the fuck am I supposed to control these dipshits?

You had a feeling that wasn’t going to cut it.

Briefly, your mind wandered to Tech. If there was anyone on the ship who could help you sort through this mess, to see the patterns in the chaos, it was your resident genius. But he was unfortunately indisposed.

You would be lying if you didn’t say that Tech, even from the very beginning, had always been your favorite. You had clicked on an intellectual level immediately, way back on your first mission when you’d corrected him about a tradition practiced on that particular planet. Instead of being offended or taken aback by your knowledge, Tech had swiftly asked you for points of reference that he could pour into after the mission. He’d then thanked you for your input, and began deferring to you on matters within the realm of your purview. You didn’t know if you’d ever felt such a quick, simple appreciation for your talents before. It was…invigorating.

Tech listened, really, truly listened when you spoke, and always seemed incredibly flattered when you tried to return the favor. Conversation flowed naturally, often well into the night. He was polite and kind, and you’d almost go so far as to say chivalrous in his way, especially lately. Sure, all the boys usually treated you with an added layer of courtesy. You suspected it was because they didn’t quite know what to do with a woman on board. Wrecker seized heavy things from your grasp almost on instinct. Echo was so respectful it was almost disquieting. Hunter had procured extra blankets for your bunk and always made sure you had plenty to eat. And Crosshair…well, he had offered you a toothpick on occasion, but you weren’t sure if that was an attempt at bonding or if there was just something in your teeth.

Tech though…he’d started standing or sitting up perfectly straight when you entered rooms. He scolded the others for being too loud while you were trying to sleep. He was constantly finding something of yours to “fix” and then give back to you. And just a few days ago, he’d begun this little habit of offering you his hand when leaving or returning to the Marauder. As if you needed help going out the door. You’d practically squeaked in surprise when he looked up at you with earnest brown eyes, daring you to take his offered hand. Crosshair had laughed, but Tech hadn’t cared. He’d just continued to gaze at you patiently, handsome face mostly hidden by goggles and helmet. The air charged with electricity, and when you finally took hold of his hand, you could feel his warmth seeping through his glove. It felt like something between you shifted in that moment, like an invisible string had been spun and tied. You had to admit it was nice to feel cared for. It was sweet. He was sweet.

Too bad he wasn’t here.

The only problem with your… friendship with Tech is that it was sometimes unreliable. He would have these periods where he’d “go dark” as you put it. He’d get his head into a new project or concept and tune out the world for days at a time. Not sleeping, barely eating, and totally fixed on whatever new task had caught his attention. When you inquired about his well being, he would answer in vague, single syllable sentences, or worse, not at all. Being ignored didn’t feel great, but you always knew he’d come out of it tired yet pleased, and ready to show you what he’d been working on. 

However, it would be really nice if this weren’t one of those times. He’d gone under about two days ago, and hadn’t shown any signs of emerging since. You wished he was here to look through this pile with you, tell you how he’d tackle a conundrum like this, or hell, even just keep you company. His ability to focus and problem solve was one of your favorite things about him. It was no wonder he could get so much done by tuning out the world for a few days…

Suddenly, it hit you. Your head flew off the table, and you gazed down hopefully at the sea of papers, a wild look in your eye. Nevermind that you hadn’t slept yet. Nevermind that you were a little dehydrated. Nevermind that Echo still had you on concussion watch after your last mission.

That’s it! you thought. All I have to do is take a page out of Tech’s book, and this will be done in no time!

You lunged for your neglected datapad and got to work.

***********

Tech made his official appearance back into the world around 36 standard hours later, and he was very pleased with himself. He’d developed a prototype for new soundplugs for Hunter, and he couldn’t wait to force them upon his Sergeant. But first, he couldn’t deny his irrepressible urge to show you. You had always appreciated his experiments, and he always appreciated your insights.

Not to mention, he felt you were both… ah… growing closer. Tech had been interested in trying to initiate a more intimate bond with you for a few months now. Only after sufficient research into being a desirable partner and numerous mental exercises for practice did he feel comfortable moving on to the most logical next step: trying to see if you were interested in him in return. His test of trying to hold your hand to help you down from the Marauder had been a definite success. You’d met his attempts with brief shyness, amused puzzlement, and eventually (if he read your body language correctly), anticipation. That was most encouraging indeed. He focused hard for the next few days on getting through the development of his latest prototype, not because it wasn’t a fascinating project, but because he wanted to create more free time for himself. Free time he could use to observe, interact with, and, well, woo you.

His hesitance wasn’t only due to the fact that your affections were hard to read - though you did keep things with the squad painstakingly friendly and professional. Tech was fully aware that he wasn’t the most dynamic or exciting romantic choice amongst his brothers. Echo had a patience about him that he couldn’t hope to emulate, Wrecker was practically built out of fun and carried affection in every bulging muscle, and Hunter and Crosshair had a quality that the holonet had simply called ‘the bad boy thing.’ 

You were bright, achingly beautiful, and more endearing than you had any right to be. It was Tech’s opinion that one person should not be so utterly enthralling - it was simply unfair to the rest of the population. Particularly the occupants of this ship, who all adored you. You could rightly have any one of them you wanted. But yet, surrounded by such obvious choices to warm your bed and your heart, you chose to spend your time at his work table, chatting about nothing and everything. That alone gave him hope. Hope that perhaps, if he paid attention to his research and did not stick his proverbial foot in his proverbial mouth, you would grow to return even a fraction of the affection he felt for you. He could hardly wait so see how you’d been faring the last couple days.

Except every single one of his brothers were currently blocking his way.

“What possible reason would you four have for loitering outside the door?” Tech’s voice came out sharper than he meant it to. 

But none of them even looked back in his direction.

Echo turned to Hunter with a grin, “You lose, sarge. Tech came out of it first.”

Tech frowned, “While I appreciate being completely ignored when I ask a question-”

“The princess has picked up your little habit,” Crosshair tossed back at him through a toothpick. 

“My…habit?”

Wrecker finally spared him a glance, “Shortstuff hasn’t said a word since day before yesterday.” He rubbed the back of his neck, “She didn’t even want to raid the rations with me. I’m gettin’ worried.”

“Wait,” Tech said, alarmed. “You mean she hasn’t eaten?”

“Made her a sandwich yesterday,” Hunter replied, and Tech parsed through the gruff syllables to hear the concern in his voice. “She nibbled at it and kept right on with her paperwork.”

“D’you think she’s mad at us?” Wrecker fretted. “She yelled at us before about receipts.”

“And Hunter’s reports,” Crosshair sneered.

Hunter became defensive in turn, “I’ve told her before, command doesn’t care about reports, they care about results.”

“And that’s clearly made it through her thick skull, good job-”

“Boys, we really need to make sure she drinks something-”

“Should I pick her up, or-”

“How well did that idea work with Tech? He got so scared he tased you-”

“Wasn’t so bad, and I don’t think she has a taser-”

“Maybe if Crosshair hadn’t bought that new attachment-”

“Maybe if Hunter would learn to write the fucking alphabet and not scribble whatever he usually-”

Tech had heard enough. Clearly, something was very wrong with you, and he had missed it carrying on with his own experiments. He tried very hard not to let that thought consume him. You needed assistance, and his brothers were being anything but helpful. 

Using the controls he’d built into his vambrace, Tech commanded the door they were all lurking inside of to whoosh shut, nearly colliding with Hunter’s nose and snapping the end of Crosshair’s toothpick. All four of his brothers turned to glare at him. He stood tall, not bothering to hunch.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” he commanded, and he barely recognized the assertive tone in his voice.

Hunter, though, looked at him with a knowing glint in his eye. Echo sobered up. Crosshair smirked, the expression slightly undercut by his frayed stub of a toothpick. Only Wrecker seemed vaguely surprised.

“She said she was gonna go do her reports,” he shrugged. “We got an inspection comin’ up or something. Next thing we know, she’s got her nose stuck in her datapad and she won’t snap out of it.”

“Won’t sleep,” Crosshair grunted. “Tried to give her tea to help. She poured it out.”

“She took my spare soundplugs,” Hunter added.

“And you can only get grunts or single word answers from her, if she answers at all. ” Echo nodded in Tech’s direction. “It’s exactly how you get when you’re trying to focus. Like she’s channeling your methods or something.”

Tech crossed his arm, “She must be very worried about how the inspection will reflect on her. Did anyone tell her that half the time the officer doesn’t even bother to show up? And when they do, we pass on successful mission count alone?”

His brothers glanced at each other, silent. He sighed, “Perhaps, since these are, as you say, ‘my methods’ I can get her to snap out of it.”

Hunter brightened almost immediately, and if Tech weren’t so worried about you - had you really not slept all this time? - he would be a little wary of the snide glance his sergeant sent the rest of the squad.

“You know, Tech, that’s a great idea,” Hunter clapped him on the back. “In fact, since this is a delicate matter that you know so much about, would you mind if we left it to you?”

“That’s right,” Echo added, now also sporting a winning smile. “You’re the best man for the job, Tech. We’ve tried everything, it hasn’t worked. And we were about to go out for supplies anyway.”

Crosshair even joined in, toothpick miraculously replaced, “The town’s some distance away, so we won’t be back till after nightfall. Might have to spend the night out there. You can help miss perfect sort herself out while we’re gone.”

Tech glared at his brothers. How subtle did they think they were being?

Kind Wrecker hesitated, “Will she be alright though? Tech?”

He adjusted his goggles, clicking his teeth together, “I will do everything I can for her Wrecker.”

Crosshair snorted behind him, and Tech whirled on his squad, already heading towards the door, “Laugh all you want, but you and your discourtesy caused this, all of you! That woman has been much more help to us than we’ve ever been to her, and if you come back without copious signed and annotated receipts for everything you buy, you will not be setting foot back on this ship! Do you copy, troopers?”

Crosshair laughed his way out the door, but Hunter nodded sincerely before departing. Echo sent a salute Tech’s way with his scomp, before dragging Wrecker, who looked like he might start crying, out of the ship.

The door shut, and Tech locked it from his vambrace for good measure. Silence.

Finally, he headed down through the doorway to get a glimpse at your exhausted frame, folded nearly in two over your makeshift workstation. You didn’t stir as he approached, but perhaps that was because of the soundplugs in your ears. 

Your eyes, frantically scanning a shoddy piece of paperwork, were red and sunken. You mumbled nonsense to yourself in a voice with a slight tremor, and Tech could have sworn you had lost weight since he saw you last.

His mind ran through different possible reasons you might have ended up like this, and then twice as many tactical and complicated scenarios in which he could try and get you to stop and get some rest. But he found he was becoming too concerned for any of those. The diminished light in your eyes, the lack of luster in your hair, it was all instilling in him a less-than-dignified response akin to panic. Tech was a survivor of countless dangerous encounters, but none of them set him on edge quite in this way. 

Deciding to throw caution to the wind, he reached out carefully and laid a hand on your shoulder. No response. He frowned. 

“Meshla,” he spoke quietly yet firmly. “I am going to remove your soundplugs.”

He reached both hands out and plucked them from your ears, but aside from a waved hand and a mumbled, “I told you to go away, Hunter,” you didn’t react. Your eyes remained glued to the form.

Alright, he’d try not to be too offended by that. He, after all, was sometimes slightly confused when he came out of a hyperfixated state, and he was too knowledgeable of himself to not see how hypocritical he was being.

He leaned forward, and his mouth nearly touched the back of your ear, “It’s not Hunter,” he breathed. “It’s Tech.”

You jumped, startled, and whirled around to face him, “Tech! Oh…hi, Tech! W-when did you get, um, get…?”

“Just a little while ago,” he answered. “And imagine my surprise when I come out only to find you working yourself to death.”

At this, a little fire crept into your dull eyes, “Throwing stones in a glass ship, Tech?”

“Don’t start that,” he warned. “I am genetically engineered for more stamina, to require less nourishment, and with the capacity to-”

“Don’t start that,” you barked. “I can gauge for myself how much stamina I have and how much nourishment I require. Poor little nat-born me has months of paperwork to sort through-”

“Paperwork that does not technically need to get done,” he said, and he saw the way you furiously zeroed in on his raised pointer finger. “We will pass inspection regardless.”

But you weren’t giving up, “This is my job, Tech! It might not be a state-of-the-art invention or a new fucking discovery, but it’s mine, and I don’t appreciate you trivializing my role on this ship!”

With that, you turned back around sharply, and started tapping on your datapad so hard that Tech thought he might have to replace the screen. He stood there for a moment, assessing. Clearly, this required a little more than your usual style of interaction. You were tired, and more prone to anger than he’d ever seen you. He’d been attempting to appeal to your own sense of self preservation, but you might be needing a more emotional approach.

Fine, if you wanted to play hardball, he’d play. He smoothly invaded your space, your hunched shoulders to his front, and leaned over, placing his hands on the desk at either side of your body.

“Wrecker is in near tears with worry,” he began, low in his voice. “And I guarantee you Hunter’s having trouble getting to sleep with you up and moving all night.”

Your head jerked a little, but you didn’t answer. Tech covered the hand tapping at your datapad with his own, curling his fingers around yours. His other hand took the pad away, set it down as far as the desk would allow, and went up to stroke your hair. He could feel the tension in your shoulders loosen ever so slightly. 

He’d never touched you with such familiarity before, never felt such palpable intimacy. His heart sang as you allowed him to gently caress your hair with feather light touches. 

“I don’t think you’ve ever snapped at me like that before,” he said gently. “But then again, you’re usually well rested and well fed.”

“Not funny,” you huffed. You tried to wriggle out of his hold, reaching for your datapad.

Tech felt a surge of protective frustration in his chest. He’d never seen you this stubborn. You were taking your well-being far too lightly and he was officially tired of it, “It was not meant to be funny,” his voice was a little sharper, a little rougher. 

He seized the back of your chair, and pulled it out and around. Then he kneeled before your slumped form, and took both your hands in his own, “I can see now, that you do not understand how seeing you exhausted and neglected affects me. Allow me to correct that.”

“Tech-”

“I care for you,” he declared, words spilling from him recklessly. He had to get you to understand. “Acutely. Intensely. In a way that is often beyond my control. And I will do everything in my power, employ every skill at my disposal to avoid seeing you come to harm. Even if the one doing that harm is you.”

You blinked rapidly, surprise flooding your glazed eyes, “I-”

But he would not hear your excuses, your dismissals of his concern, “This is bad for your health, bad for my mental state, and ultimately, bad for the squad. I implore you to sleep, to-”

“Please listen-”

“No, mesh’la, there is no excuse-”

“I like you too!” you shouted, a shaking hand touching his lips to stop him from talking. 

Tech froze. Oh stars…he’d told you, hadn’t he? Kneeling on the dirty floor, both of you exhausted, in the middle of a disagreement. 

So much for his carefully curated plans to romance you.

You let out a slightly manic giggle, probably at the slack-jawed look of idiocy on his face. Your hand moved to cup his cheek, “Any ploy to win an argument, huh?”

Tech quickly laid his hand over yours, alarm rising in his chest “I assure you, cyar’ika, this was anything but a ploy. I did not intend-”

“I was teasing, Tech,” you laughed again. “Believe it or not, I’ve been thinking something was up for a couple weeks now.”

He cleared his throat, sheepish, “Ah, yes, well…I was trying to ascertain if you were remotely interested in pursuing an amendment to our current relationship.”

“You know, you could have just asked.”

He felt his cheeks heat up, “I was trying to present myself in the best possible light.”

“Oh, honey,” you smiled. “You do that every day. Though I won’t lie, helping me down from the ship was very cute.”

He sighed, relieved, “That is excellent news. The field of romantic attachments is completely foreign to me. I’ve been conducting research for weeks.”

“Oh? What kind of research?” your eyebrows rose.

“Standard romantic practices for humans,” he began listing off. “Romantic gestures in different cultures, sexual acts and techniques, common date ideas-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” the grin on your face grew wide with mischief. “What acts and techniques?”

“Sexual,” he affirmed with a wave of his hand. “And a lot of my research into romantic-”

You laid your fingers against his lips again, “Oh no, mister, you don’t get to just brush over that one. You looked into the best techniques for getting me into bed? Before you even told me you were interested? Overplanning much?”

“Actually,” he mumbled beneath your hand. “It wasn’t about getting you into bed, rather more about what to do with you once you were there.”

You giggled, rolling your eyes, “No matter how smart they are, pretty boys are all the same. Tech, that’s something we figure out together. Something we talk about and learn about as we go.”

Tech felt something very warm and light settle into his chest, “I understand what you’re saying,” he took your hand away from his mouth by the wrist, before examining it closely, reverently. He placed a brief kiss to your knuckles, and nodded to himself when he heard your little gasp. “But a woman like you, spectacular and brilliant as you are...you deserve the best in every regard. I have no experience to draw upon, so I decided to supplement that with knowledge. Carefully stored and memorized, of course”

He gazed up at your face, some of his nervousness from the past few weeks bubbling to the surface again. There was always a possibility that you wouldn’t be interested in a partner with no experience in the bedroom. But your eyes were shining, and that gave him hope.

“Tech,” you shook your head. “Did it ever occur to you that I might want to be the one giving you a memorable, enjoyable first time?”

He inhaled sharply, his heart hammering in his ears, “I will admit, it did not.”

You hummed, leaned forward, and reached for his face, drawing him up to your own, “Is this alright?” Your breath fanned over his lips, his chin. 

Tech found himself nodding, a little too frantically, and the next moment your lips were on his, and oh, this was very different from reading about kissing. His heart rate spiked, his hands twitched of their own accord, yearning to grab hold of you, and he was suddenly all too aware of his own body. His goggles fogged up. His cock tightened in his bodysuit. 

Then you grasped the nape of his neck and moaned into his mouth, and that was all it took to break his hesitancy. He grasped at your hips, and, utilizing a strength he didn’t usually have need for, he stood up with you in his arms. You wrapped your gorgeous legs around his waist and ground against his zipper. He gasped, and you took advantage, tongue darting inside, teeth nipping at his bottom lip. 

Tech sampled your mouth in turn, rubbing your hips with his thumbs, before slowing and gently pulling away. He stared at you, breathing hard. Your pupils were dilated with want, your lips swollen, and your fingers played with the little hairs at the back of his neck. You were completely and utterly perfect…

And you hadn’t slept in two days. 

You leaned in to kiss him again, but Tech rested his forehead against yours, still catching his breath, “This is not going any farther tonight, darling.”

He wished he had his recorder on. The pout you gave him was positively adorable, “Why?”

“Because you are tired beyond your limits, and I would be horribly remiss to have you exhaust yourself further by trying to perform for me in any way.” Not usually one for making himself feel strong or manly, Tech found he did like the weight of you in his arms, of your hands clinging to him. Depending on him. 

“And,” he interrupted before you tried to argue. “Even though you thwarted my long and meticulous plan to confess my feelings, I still reserve the right to woo you.”

You snorted a little, “Woo me?”

“Yes, mesh’la. I would like to spend some time with you in a romantic capacity before we run away with our urges.” He began walking you both back towards the bunks. 

“B-but! The boys are gone!”

“Which means we will not have to put up with Wrecker’s snoring,” he said simply. He plopped you into his bunk, but hesitated before he took off his first piece of armor, “I can take you back to your bed, if you prefer.”

But you just grinned and shook your head, “Don’t you dare. If I don’t get to break my three year dry spell, I better get to cuddle.”

He raised a brow, logging that bit of information away, but began stripping his armor and tossing it on the floor. He crawled into bed and felt his face warm at how you immediately attached yourself to his side, “I would like to take you out tomorrow.”

You yawned, the stress of everything finally catching up, “Yeah? Where would you like to go?”

“Anywhere,” he stroked your arm. “On a walk, to a nearby town if there is one. Maybe just to see the sunset.”

You hummed contentedly, “That sounds nice,” and you leaned up to kiss his cheek.

Tech, well he’d be lying if he didn’t admit to it…he melted, “How does a woman like you have a three year dry spell?”

You chuckled, “Break it for me and I’ll tell you all about the short string of losers, cheaters, and one particularly scary bounty hunter that had me swearing off men.”

“Hmm… I find myself more and more grateful that I decided to research this topic.”

He frowned, still unenthused by the idea of laying back and letting you do all the work. He would much rather be the one performing, excelling at pleasing you. Plans began to form in his head, of romance, seduction. He didn’t read through hundreds of articles for nothing, and he was determined that you would be pleased. 

“Tech,” you insisted, but your eyes were closed and your words were slurred. “I’m serious, we’re gonna… make your first time about you, whenever it happens. We’ll do whatever you want to do.”

He decided to try something small before bed. Just a taste of what he had in store for you. One article he’d read mentioned the best ways of initiating interest, and one of them was… talking to one’s partner. In a very particular way,  “But… what if what I want mesh’la… is to have you under me, limp, pliable, hoarse from screaming my name?”

You shivered at the deep voice he’d employed, and Tech waited, amused, as you struggled find words. This was more fun than he'd expected. He leaned in again, lips grazing your ear, "No more skipping meals. No more going without sleep."

"Tech-"

"Promise me," oh he delighted in the wicked, taut energy between you. He wanted to stoke it higher, hotter. "Promise me, and maybe tomorrow we can discuss all the ways you want to make my first time memorable."

Your breath hitched, and you let out a sweet little squeak, but you kept ahold of yourself enough to give a bit back to him, "Only if you promise too. That you'll start sleeping properly. I'll sleep next to you every night if you just come to bed."

Tech sucked in air through his teeth, heart pounding against his rib cage, "I will...try, mesh'la."

He kissed your ear, satisfied when he felt you quake again, "Then get some rest, darling. We're both going to need it."

"Thank you. So will I."

[dcdreamblog]

Hey so, a while back, I had a layover in Boston for a day (long story), and I swear, when I was heading to a motel for the night, I saw this guy running and swinging around across the rooftops, was laughing like crazy, looked like the Joker but yellow. Creeped me the hell out at least, is he some sort of villain or something?

It might creep you out more when I tell you that THAT guy is evidently on the side of the angels.

You ran into the creature called...the Creeper.

(A painting by a Gotham street artist depicting the antiheroic creature) Nobody know for certain what the Creeper is or where he comes from. He simply appeared soon after the beginning of the second heroic age and obviously made a very striking name for himself. Bright yellow skin, green hair, a rictus grin and a laugh that can chill a hardened criminal straight to the bone. But that's the thing, despite looking like something directly out of a horror show, the Creeper has always come down on the side of justice in the end. His first sighting was taking down the gangster known as 'Angel' Devlin and has been an intermittent scourge of the underworld ever since. He's been spotted most often in Gotham but also in New York and, as you saw, Boston where he seems to have made his modern home base.

We have more questions than answers about him. What we know for sure is that he displays superhuman strength, balance and agility along with a preternatural ability to heal from basically any wound. Eye witnesses have reported him having his skull blown apart by a double barrel shotgun from less than a foot away and the creature standing up laughing. That laughing serves as his trademark, along with a general feeling of mental unease that follows the creature wherever it goes. The Creeper never seems unsettled by anything, no matter how violent or gruesome, simply sweeping down upon the perpetrators and meting out violent justice but like other superheroes, never lethally so. He's also been spotted in the direct company of members of the Bat Family, meaning that the general superhero community must be both aware of and at least tolerating of his presence. Some people think he's a normal man taking vigilantism to a shivering extreme and that stories of his abilities are overblown. Some people thing he's some flavor of metahuman, perhaps putting on his mask of mental unbalance to unsettle criminals the same way the Batman uses fear against them but via a different vector. A popular theory claims the Creeper is a demon in the flesh, a mad spirit of violence seeking to spill the blood of the guilty like something out of an old moral fable. Despite their broad similarities, he also has nothing that we can tell to do with the Joker. The Joker even holds an open bounty on the creature for "stealing his bit" but if there were a heroic version of the Joker out there, as chilling as the thought may be, the Creeper would be it.

[trainsinanime]

So much of the talk about fanfic comments is bound up in ideas of rules and exchange and trades and so on. Lots of talk about how nobody comments anymore, but also just as lots of talk about receiving the wrong types of comments. I can sort of see why someone, especially someone who speaks English as a second language, might be intimidated by it. But at the core of it, it's really quite simple: Do you like that a fanfic exists? Does it make you happy? You can make the creator happy by leaving a comment that tells them so!

Every other consideration is kind of secondary and arguably misses the point entirely. For example there's the talk about people setting up private discord servers to discuss fanfic, and is that a good thing or a bad thing and do fans deserve spaces to discuss things away from their creators and… look, that's all too complicated. You do whatever you want. But if you love a fanfic, telling its author that you do will make them happy. And as elementary-school as it sounds, we all want to be happy together here in this world.

Can you comment on old fics? Yes. A multitude of polls have proven that there is no fanfic author ever who had a problem with that, and most of them don't even understand the question. Is that a thing on Instagram or something where leaving comments on old works hurts the algorithm or something? No clue. I only use Instagram to get ads for model trains. Over here in the fanfic world, the rule stands: If you like a work, any work, no matter how old or weird or how much the author apologises for it in the notes, if you let them know you like it, you'll make them happy.

Does it intimidate you? Do you think that surely this author of this great fic that rewired your brain already knows how good they are, and your little comment will seem insulting next to it? No, don't worry. Telling them that you like it will still make them happy.

What to comment? Fashions and opinions have changed on this over the years I've been in fandom, and today the general rule is to not include anything negative at all, neither about the work nor "I hate this fandom/pairing/trope except this time" and so on. Telling people to please update soon is right out. But at the end of the day, it's actually quite simple: Tell people that you liked their fic. If you can think of anything specific you like, mention that, if not, that's okay too.

(An aside: I also think fanfic writers could stand with being a bit more tolerant at times. Someone telling you they like your fic in not quite perfect terms is still someone telling you they like your fic.)

There are also people talking about how lack of comments will drive authors out of fandoms or fanfic writing in general, and how more comments may motivate them to write more. To tell you the truth, it's not quite as easy as that, fanfic writers stop writing for all sorts of reasons and many new ones start writing every day. I am not the biggest fan of talking about this in economic terms at all. We're a community. We'd like to make each other happy (which may take different forms depending on what sort of fanfic it is). A happy fanfic writer is its own reward.

The key here is: Don't overthink it. Don't think of reasons why you have to comment, don't think of reasons why you shouldn't be required to. Think about whether the author of the fic that you enjoyed would like to hear that you did so. The answer is always yes.

[whereserpentswalk]

The word superhero is rarely used in mainstream publications. They always call them something different, "unexplained aggressive phenomenon" or "exoterrorist". Anything that makes them sound not only like things the public should be afraid of, but like things that nobody would ever support. They don't just want you to fear the things protecting us, they want you to forget that they're here to save us. You only here "superhero" in manifestos, on message boards, when people talk about things they're not supposed to talk about.

Chicago, September 23rd, 1998. In an allyway behind a bar near a local college two young men pressure a girl into relations with them. They're young, rich business majors, feel invincible, the threat of violence writhing inside their eyes. But they aren't invincible tonight. A creature jumps out from the shadows, almost human but not quite, a cape flowing from its back sometimes looking more like a set of massive black wings, two white eyes glowing from a form of pure darkness. It leaps upon them, break their bones, makes them bleed, makes sure they can't hurt anyone, and then slips away back into the shadows. This is the forth time that year that creature has attacked someone before they could hurt someone. The newspapers report a monster mutilating two upstanding young men. The local community talks about a young woman who was saved.

Rural Iraq, June 8th, 2003. A village about to be struck by the United States airforce was defended by some sort of creature. Something fast and strong, able to rip apart planes with its hands. Emps flowed from its body, and missiles and bullets dropped from the air at its commands. Those who saw its body said it looked like weapons given flesh, like as if war machines reshaped themselves into something like a human but far more powerful. They say the only flesh they could see was an unbeating heart. And the voice they heard was of a presumed dead arms manufacturer, who wandered off in the desert filled with regret. This isn't the first place that's been protected. The US government considers this a major threat to democracy. The village considers this a gift from heaven.

Kansas, January 12th, 2017. An alt right rally infront of a synagogue is broken up by some sort of entity. They say it hovered above the crowd, it's body red, blue and gold, it's appearance like a combination between a golem and a humanoid alien. It's breath was like the winter wind, and it's eyes cried tears of fire and lightening, and no weapon could harm it nomatter how they tried. The neonazis became terrified when they realized they couldn't fight it. The creature could have killed them all within a few seconds but chose to spare their lives. It got the crowd to flee, assure that everyone was safe and unharmed, and then flew away at a speed like that of light. This new one is fast, and seems to have protected people in similar ways in almost every state. The government is working on weapons that might be able to harm it's body. The people from synagogue are happy to be safe and alive.

New York City, November 5th, 2024. The Ozburn corporation, one of the largest pharmaceutical companies in the world, is being attacked by some sort of creature. They say the thing attacking them is slender, human in some ways but closer to an arachnid or insect in others, it's body's true nature masked by red and black cloth. Security cameras and metal detectors rendered impotent as tools of violence by a substance like cobwebs, cops and security guards made harmless by inhuman strength. The creature found what it was looking for, and later that night the formulas for almost every drug the company makes is leaked online, their patents rendered useless, and treatments that once cost thousands made free. This isn't the first time the creature struck, it's gone on similar raids before, all before. The ceo of that company threw himself from his apartment after the incident, his belly peirced by two metal spikes, the media mourning his corpse. Meanwhile parents with sick children thank the creature for attacking such a company.

There was a man recently who investigated such phenomenon. He started out trying to stop these unnatural threats, but he's since become their defender. He walked into a church whose statues had started crying blood, and whose preists and nuns were seduced by an unknown god, and whose archbishops were made to fear the rain and thunder. The investigator walked into the church and found a vision, or perhaps a manifestation, of the great god Thor. And the god told him that the petty powers of mortal tyrants were not the greatest power within this cosmos, that divine justice would come for those who rule over humanity, and that this world can be saved.

[peppermint-whiskers]

So I recently watched this video about Sun basically burning out over time due to various factors, and this image has been burned into my brain for a while

And I couldn't stop thinking about it. So picture this:

Some time passes. The virus gets purged or whatever after that night, everyone gets fixed, yadda yadda. All that goodness. Staff decides that separating Sun and Moon would be a good idea (twice the hands, less risk of one corrupting the other, able to quarantine one if it gets infected, etc), and with the virus gone, everything will go back to normal. They still have a line of communication for easier transmission of data and instant communication, but they are largely separate now. Daycare operations will go as smoothly as before (up to interpretation how smoothly things went before, but I like to think they went pretty smooth considering they didn't shut down the daycare). To make sure, they run a test day

Except things don't go smooth. Everyone expected a happy reunion (the daycare attendants are back in working order, they used to be best friends before all this), but it isn't. Moon is still acting off. Instead of taking care of the kids or even paying attention to anyone, he only has eyes for Sun. And Sun?

He hates Moon—with a passion, it seems. Does not want to go near him, will not interact with the kids, reacts rather violently to the notion of anything touching or interacting with him. This is especially notable with Moon and the children

Staff take them down to parts and service. Try to see what's wrong. Nothing physically seems wrong, and they just updated software, so that can't be the problem either. They stick them in a room together while they try and figure it out (and sorta hoping the attendants will sort this out themselves if forced to interact with one another—they do not)

Finally, they resort to asking. Sun practically screams at them every time they try, so they try with Moon. And Moon conveys just one sentiment:

"It's nap time."

"Sunny needs his nap."

"Good night."

Nobody knows what this means. Sun needs a nap? Animatronics don't really sleep; they either power down or enter standby, and neither of those are akin to sleep. But Moon is insistent; he won't say much else besides that. Like Sun, he has a one track mind about all this

Somehow, during their quarantine, Moon gets a hold of Sun. Sun fights him—of course he does, he's been fighting Moon for a long time now—but Moon's music box starts playing, and he starts singing a soft lullaby, and no one can resist the siren song of sleep

Against precedent, Sun sleeps. Doesn't power down, doesn't enter standby—he sleeps. When it's clear he won't wake up, Moon stops singing and just lets his music box play. But the sleep is restless, so Moon requests something for the first time in a long time:

"Take us to the daycare. Don't wake him up."

Somehow, they manage it. Moon manages to set up a small nap area just for them, and once they're both comfortable, he stands vigil over Sun's sleep. The music box plays constantly. No one dares wake either of them up

Not after the last person tried

Management had gotten sick of the attendants growing idle and wiling the days away napping and doing nothing, but when they sent people to get the attendants back to work? Well, it wasn't exactly Moon they'd needed to watch out for

Who knew Sun could be just as vicious as Moon when awakened from this nap?

Moon's smug little "told you so" look somehow shines through that ever present smile. He certainly shows no remorse for any of this; just coaxes Sun back to sleep for his own good

"Shhh. It's okay."

"Take your nap."

"No more sun."

The Sun is burned out. It's the Moon's turn to keep him asleep, locked down until they're both ready to resume their duties

ANYWAY all this to say I love the idea of burned out Sun, of Moon making him take a nap to escape the reality they live in, and the both of them just chilling in the daycare with ominous music box tunes ^^ I rotate this scenario in my head every chance I get

[districtunrest]

wip whenever

tagged by @waywardangel-wilds & @thelettersfromnoone - thank you both!! 💕

wanted to share a scene from For Better or For Worse, where I revisit the AU of Haymitch's family surviving through the perspective of his girl (not Lenore Dove). as always, it's subject to change and may not even appear in the finished story - but I hope it does :)

🏓🧩🤖📻

The recreation room in the Community Home is one of her favorite places. It’s not until Haymitch is standing in it, looking around with mild curiosity, that Mollie realizes it’s sort of pathetic. 

The carpet is stained and matted, and most of the wallpaper peeled away well before the Dark Days, probably. The musty board games have too many pieces missing to play in full, and the jigsaw puzzles hardly fit together anymore. There’s an ancient table that used to be for a game with paddles and balls but those are long gone, too. 

Instead, Mollie and Haymitch roll marbles across it and try to catch them before they hit the ground. Some kids have gotten in trouble for doing other stuff underneath the table. But that won't be them today.

Another thing: the recreation room has a window with a broken lock. Mollie didn’t want to sign Haymitch in as a guest. It would invite questions, and she’d rather they just hang out than have to answer questions.

“Where is everybody?” Haymitch asks her, lazily rolling a marble her way.

She cups it with her hand and sends it back toward the far corner, where he has to lurch to catch it. Now he’s getting it.

“Lunch,” she answers. 

He gives her a disbelieving look. “You’re skipping lunch?”

She shakes her head. “I’m still in trouble, too. For spitting on Essie Lincon.”

He frowns, which looks worse with the split lip. He looks like he has more to say but doesn’t. 

Her hair tickles her ears; Mollie tosses her head out of habit but it’s not long enough to do anything. She’d cried in anger when the matron Darla shaved it off. She hadn’t even had lice this time. Mollie likes her hair short but it’s too short, and she swears to herself that nobody but her will cut it ever again once she gets out of here.

“My dad lived here for a time,” Haymitch says out of nowhere, not looking up from the marbles on the table. She thinks he thinks he’s being charitable. “He was an orphan, too.”

“I’m not an orphan,” she tells him. “My dad’s still around.”

He seems to agree that was a dumb thing for him to say. Still, he grumbles, “Same difference, if you’re here.”

Mollie tosses a marble onto the table and it bounces to him with a big clack. He’s right but she resents how he thinks he knows more than he does about it. 

They have ten minutes before lunch ends. Mollie takes him to the radio in the corner. The others might hear it and find them in here together. But she wants to show it to him.

Upbeat, electronic music blares from its tinny speakers when Mollie turns it on. They both startle, and she hurriedly dials down the volume. Nobody comes to yell at her.

“This is what they dance to in the city. It’s cool,” she assures him.

Haymitch is still making a face but he does listen for a few seconds. “Sounds like robots made it.”

Mollie ignores him, bobbing her head and swaying her shoulders in time to the song. He raises a brow at her but that only makes her double down. By the chorus, she’s jumping in place and waving her arms to the beat. It’s not how she'd dance at a festival but it feels right for this kind of music. More like how grownups on television dance at parties.

Something loosens in Haymitch and he starts to laugh. “No, no. Like this.” He bends his arms and keeps them in place as he moves them about at the shoulder, all while twisting at the waist in jerky quarter-turns. His eyes are wide and blank, ostensibly like that of a robot. 

Mollie bursts out laughing over the music, doubling over.

At this, Haymitch cringes to himself and covers his face. “Yeah, all right. Pretend you didn’t see that.”

But she’s already trying it out for herself. She mirrors his expression and adds bending herself at the hips as if on a hinge. 

“Beep, boop,” she adds in a buzzy monotone, which gets him cracking up again. 

She’s been doing a lot of things to make Haymitch laugh and smile. She imagines if her mom was around, she’d warn her against getting too carried away, trying to impress a boy. Mollie promises to keep that in mind.

For now, though, they dance like robots that can grin at each other and break their rigid form to laugh.

🏓🧩🤖📻

tagging @mollywog @ongreenergrasses @thetwinandpinleftbehind @atleastmymomlikesme @thefloatingwriter @kipperlillycopperkettle @districtfourmermaid and any other writer who'd like to!!

[green-fifteen]

In a world where people are aware of extra compatible partners by scenting pheromones (probably not a/b/o) Eddie Munson has a godawful sniffer. It's always been that way. So when he runs headlong into Steve Harrington in 1989, both of them working dead-end jobs at the mall, he's a little confused about why the guy wants to hang out so much.

Steve, convinced he's straight, is sort of speechless when he scents that weird guy from high school and gets a rush of blood to the head so bad he has to sit down. He's immediately nervous that Munson is going to ask him out but the guy just scowls at him and walks away. Maybe Steve's supposed to ask him out? But wait, he doesn't even want to date a man!

What follows is Steve sort of hovering at the record store, trailing Eddie in a not very subtle way. Nobody has ever smelled this good to him, so it's not like he can just walk away. What if this is Real True Love Shit? It's not that likely, especially since Eddie doesn't seem affected by him in return, but he has to check. Like when he watches Eddie's fingers making loops in his hair, he's checking to see if they're fingers he might like to hold. And when he stares for a full minute at the flap of his back pocket, he's considering what it might feel like to place a palm over the loose stitching there. Would it be different than a girl? Probably. Would it feel weird? He doesn't actually think so.

By the time Eddie realizes Harrington is a nutcase and gives in to his constant presence at work, they're already on their way to becoming friends. High school Eddie would be fuming but 23 year old Eddie doesn't mind the guy. He gets lost in space a lot and his cheeks go red like a schoolgirl at the drop of a hat, but as the self-proclaimed freak of Hawkins, Eddie can't really judge him for being a little weird. Besides. It's cute.

It takes Steve two weeks to accept that he likes men and another three days to fall in love. It's a record for him, actually. With his last girlfriend, he was imagining their vows on day eleven. He's probably always going to fall in love first so he tries not to mind that Eddie isn't interested in him. Maybe he's also not into guys? Maybe the scent thing only goes one way? Steve doesn't know. So, he asks.

Eddie is the king of avoiding things he doesn't want to talk about and his broken nose is one of them. When Steve says "Do I smell good to you?" Eddie just shrugs it off with a joke. Steve briefly looks upset and then snaps back to his usual charm a little too quickly. Eddie gets the feeling he's missing something.

Months pass. Maybe a year. They hang out at each other's places, they see movies, they have inside jokes. Robin says he should let Eddie know he's dating him at some point, but Steve is painfully aware that's not what this is. It actually becomes extremely painful when Eddie starts trying to find him a girlfriend. It seems he's noticed Steve has stopped dating. After he's had an angry, pitiful cry about it, he realizes he has to move on. The next time Eddie hands him the phone number of some girl, he dials it.

Eddie is relieved when Steve starts dating. No, really. He's glad that he skips movie nights sometimes to get know Stacey or Jennifer or whoever. Maybe now that he's off being heterosexual with someone else and not in Eddie's space all the time, he can finally convince himself to snap out of it. He doesn't just think it's a bad idea to fall in love with a straight boy, he knows it. Especially this straight boy, who Eddie is pretty sure he wants to keep around forever. It's time to get over it.

It continues for a long time, this stupid dance of non-communication. Long enough for Steve to have a serious relationship and then another. Long enough for him to wonder again about men. Is he into guys or is he just Eddie-sexual? He finds out quickly in the back room of the only gay bar he knows about. His name is Adam or something and he starts spending weekends at Steve's place in Hawkins.

Eddie learns he fucked up like this: He's bringing over a tape he forgot he borrowed and a man with an extremely tight ass is leaving at the same time. There are hickeys on his neck and exposed shoulders. Steve says, "This is Adam. Adam. Eddie." and later, after Eddie comes inside and Adam drives away, he says, "I've been seeing him for about a month. I need to know you're cool with that." Eddie drops what he's holding and sort of gapes at his best friend. His best friend who he was so in love with he was terrified to come out to him. His best friend who is avoiding looking at him as he fiddles with something in the kitchen, who is afraid he won't be cool with this. It's like a cosmic joke and he holds in a hysterical laugh because Steve looks extremely on edge as it is. Deciding to ignore the loud warning in his head that always goes off when he considers getting too close to Steve, he opens his arms to reassure him.

Eddie learns he double major extra fucked up like this: It's the first time he's ever hugged Steve Harrington. His nose is pressed directly over his pulse. When he takes a breath, he nearly dies because he swears his heart simply stops beating.

[venusgirltarot]

How Is Your Person Feeling About You? ࿐ྂ。

Disclaimer: This reading is for entertainment purposes only. Tarot readings are about possibilities based on your current energy. Energy is forever changing and nothing is set in stone. Always remember, you have your own free will to make whatever decision you feel is best.

If you would like a personal reading from me, you can get one here!

Pile 1 ࿐

Pile one, your person may be someone you knew years ago. A childhood friend or a short fling that just wasn’t right at the time. You’ve either found each other again or never left and have been friends this whole time. Your person feels like they never quite match up to you and I heard “your expectations” but I don’t think you have or have ever had expectations for them. You’ve always loved them as themselves but they don’t seem to realize that.

If you guys have been friends, they may have seen you in other relationships and compare themselves to your exes, always feeling like they don’t quite measure up. They also compare themselves to you, they feel like you always do things by the book and you’re very intelligent. Maybe they feel you’ve gone about things in the way society deems as “correct” or “ideal”. For example, going to college right after high school, getting good grades, holding a stable job, etc. or possibly have a good family and home life that they don’t have.

They may have taken the steps to turn themselves into the person they feel is deserving of you and your attention. Possibly becoming someone you don’t really recognize anymore. This could be because you don’t really recognize them but could also be because they’ve distanced themselves from you so you haven’t gotten the chance to know this new version of them because they haven’t given you that chance.

There’s a distance between the two of you that seems to he fueled by this stubbornness and refusal to let your guard down and just open up to each other. You may have been in or recently gotten out of a relationship that upset this person. They may have finally come to terms with their romantic feelings for you and we’re thinking about opening up to you when you got into this relationship and it made them distance themselves and possibly even have resentment for you and this relationship.

There’s a lack of communication that I really think the two of you could benefit from. I think a conversation could change everything for the two of you if you just have it a chance and opened up to each other.

During the reading I heard “always an angel never a god” from a boygenius song (I’m so sorry I can’t remember which) “never could quite measure up” “one step ahead of you” and I channeled the song “The Less I Know The Better” by Tame Impala

Pile 2 ࿐

You may have recently ended things with this person or cut ties and moved on. You felt your needs weren’t being met and the energy wasn’t being reciprocated so you “kept it moving” is what I heard and “nobody has time for that” as well 😭 you knew you were deserving of more so you decided to leave this connection behind and go find more and you made a good decision in doing that.

I kept hearing “Everything I Didn’t Say” by 5SOS when I was shuffling. It seems like your person understands that there’s more they could’ve done but at the same time, I don’t think they’re expressing that to you. They may have entered this connection with the idea that it would be “easy” or “low maintenance” so they could focus on their career and put you on the back burner and didn’t take any of your issues or needs seriously. They didn’t expect you to walk away but refuse to see that their lack of communication and refusal to contribute to it was the real downfall of the relationship.

They may have the idea that material things like clothes, flowers, dinners, etc. would’ve fixed it when emotional connection and vulnerability is what you really wanted. I heard “you didn’t ever really know me” there was a lack of any sort of connection in this relationship and this person’s failure to realize that just cements the fact that walking away is the best decision you could’ve made.

I think you would have fully supported them in pursuing their career had they communicated that with you but they failed to do that and continue to lack the communication and emotional maturity needed to maintain a stable and healthy relationship.

You have an amazing person coming in, pile 2. Someone that’s understand and appreciates you and your energy. Someone that doesn’t neglect you, your wants, or your needs. There’s someone coming in that is worth your time and energy but that is not this person and you did the right thing by walking away. Please don’t ever doubt that. I heard “stay true to yourself” and “keep it moving”

Pile 3 ࿐

Don’t hold yourself back, pile 3. You may have met this person recently at a group outing/event or work. I heard “that’s my man” while shuffling. This is oddly specific but Taylor Swift may have been playing in the background when you met this person. You may have been in a group of people but your full attention was on each other, even if you two didn’t notice the other staring. There were a lot of stolen glances between the two of you and very subtle flirting. Subtle enough that you’re still questioning whether or not they were flirting with you. They were. The feelings are very much mutual.

You may be rejecting yourself before this person gets the chance to. Shutting down the idea of the two of you as couple to save yourself from hurt because for some reason you’re so sure it won’t but what if it does? What if you talk to them and they tell you your feelings are mutual and you finally get to feel that love you see everyone else receiving but have never received yourself? Stop letting your fears and insecurities hold you back and take that chance.

You’re worthy of love and affection from not only yourself, but others as well. This person is not “too good” for you and it is possible that they could like you back because they do. I heard “like a lot” 😭 the feelings are most definitely mutual, stop doubting yourself. Stop thinking no one could ever have a crush on you because they can and they do because of course they would. You’re amazing, stop doubting that. Why are you fighting your own happiness? It’s here. The love you’ve been wanting and fantasizing about is here, fall into it and stop questioning yourself.

I don’t have to tell you what this person is feeling for you because your feelings are identical. What you feel for them they feel for you. You’re definitely mirroring each other. Don’t take anything too seriously and approach this connection in a light playful way and see where it goes.

I hope this reading has brought you some sort of peace, clarification, or happiness! Feedback is always appreciated :) have a good day or night. Sending you love and light!

[inkskinned]

before you know about women, you hear that you do not need to love the man, just that you need to love him through his manhood. which is to say you have seen the future painted in lamb's blood over your eyes - how your mother shoots you a look about your father's inability to cook right. how your aunt holds her wineglass and says i'm gonna kill em. men, right! how your best friend bickers with her boyfriend, how she says i can't help it. i come back to him.

you learn: men are gonna cheat. men aren't going to listen when you're talking, because you're nagging. men think emotions are stupid. they think your life is vapid and your hobbies are embarrassing. men will slam things, but that's because men are allowed to be angry. if you get loud, you're hysterical. if a man gets loud - well, men are animals, men are dogs, men can't control their hands or their eyes or their bodies. they're going to make a snide comment about you in the locker room, about your body, about how you're so fucking annoying. you're going to give him kids, and he will give you the money for the kids, and you're going to be running the house 24/7 - but he gets to relax after a long day, because his job is stressful. the man is on stage, and is a comedian, and says "women!"

and you are supposed to love that. you are supposed to love men through how horrible they are to you - because that's what women do. that's what good women do. wife material. your father even told you once - it'll make sense when you're older. it was like staring down a very lonely tunnel.

it feels like something's caught in your throat, but it's all you know, so. it's okay that you see sex as a necessary tool, a sort of okay-enough ritual to keep him happy, even though he doesn't seem to care about happiness as-applied-to you. it is relationship upkeep. it is kissing him and smiling even though he didn't brush his teeth. it is getting on your knees and looking up and holding back a sigh because he barely holds you as you panic through the night. it's not like the sex is bad and you do like feeling wanted. and besides! he's a man! like... they're another species. you'll never be able to actually communicate, right. he isn't listening.

you just don't get it. you don't feel that sense of i'm gonna climb him like a tree. mostly it just feels fucking exhausting. you play the part perfectly. you smile and nod and are "effortlessly" charming. and it's fine! it's alright! you even love him, if you're looking. you could have good life, and a good family, and perfectly happy.

in the late night you google: am i broken. you google i'm not attracted to my husband. you google i get turned on by books but not by him. you google how to get better in bed.

the first time he yells at you, it almost feels like blankness. like - of course this is happening. this is always how it was going to end up. men get angry, and they yell, and you sit there in silence.

you mention it to your friend - just the once - while you're drunk. she shrugs and says it's like that with me too, i just try to forget and move on. men are always gonna hear what they want to. pick your battles and say sorry even though he's in the wrong. you play solitaire online for a month. you go to your therapist appointment and preach about how you're both so in love.

after all, you have a future to want. nobody lied about it - how many instagram posts say marriage is hard. say real love takes work. say we fight like cats and dogs but the best part is that we always make up. how many of your friends say happy anniversary to the best and worst thing to ever happen to me. if you really loved him - loved yourself too - you'd accept that men are just different from you.

the first time she kisses you, it's on a dare at a party. something large and terrifying whips through your body. you wake up sweating from dreams where her mouth is encrusted with pearls and you pick them off one by one with your teeth. fuck. you sit at the computer and your almost-finished game of sim city. you think about your potential perfect life and your potential future family. you google am i gay quiz with your little hands shaking.

you delete each letter slowly. you don't need to love him. you just need to keep going.

[idontknowreallywhy]

(Explanation for this reposting spree here)

Composition (MIA Series Part 3)

Chapter 2 - Call

Virgil tries to reach his brother. Where words don’t seem to get through, perhaps there is another language he can use.

💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚

But other times were better.

Times when Virgil sat by his bedside and Scott would half open his eyes and they’d just look at each other for minutes on end. The unmistakeable blue would be clouded in sedation, the whites still tinged with red, the delicate skin around the edges puffy and still a patchwork of too many colours. He couldn’t really talk, the drugs keeping him from screaming and trying to run on a half healed femur were too strong. Yet occasionally he would frown a little before huffing a sudden urgent breath, a twitch of the fingers entwined with Virgil’s telling him Scott was trying to communicate something important.

“I love you too, Scotty.”

Virgil knew his brother was in there, still being held prisoner in the dark even while his body was here. So he’d hold his hand and stroke his hair and gaze back at him as if he could reach in with his eyes and guide his brother to the surface. Into the light.

One morning, while watching helplessly as Scott twitched and whimpered in the throes of yet another nightmare, Virgil had started singing to him. Ever so softly, barely more than a whisper with pitch, he sang the song their mother had written for them, hoping she could help him reach his brother. His voice felt thin and fragile in this alien environment, but he was sure the tension in his brother’s sleeping face eased a little so he kept at it.

Over time he became bolder and let his voice resonate around the cold, fabric-free environment. Clearly hospitals weren’t designed with acoustics in mind yet they were accidentally quite stunning. He sang Scotty all sorts of things, songs they listened to together, ones he knew Scott and his college friends liked, the guitar solo theme from big bro’s favourite film. But always circling back to Mom’s song. One evening he looked up to see his father framed by doctors and the doorway, tears running down his face and Virgil’s voice faltered. Dad had gestured for him to continue, so he did. The medics swarmed over the equipment around Scott’s bed, frowning and pointing at things, noting down numbers. Conclusions were drawn. Nods. One little smile in his direction but nobody spoke to Virgil. Overcome with tiredness he rested his head next to Scott’s, his nose just brushing his brother’s ear, and silently dared them all to try to move him. They didn’t.

Time passed. Virgil had no clear idea of how much. They reduced the dosage of the meds he was taking and nothing untoward seemed to happen. He overheard a discussion in the hallway about discharge and management at home and he vowed to himself that if they took his bed he’d just sleep in the chair. Or, when Dad needed the chair, on the floor. Possibly he vowed it more loudly than he intended because while they didn’t take his bed, another chair materialised.

There were changes with Scott’s drug regime too, sedation reduced, but his wakeful times remained silent outside of the harsh outbursts of raw terror as he awoke from a nightmare. Sometimes he clutched Virgil’s arm so hard it left vivid bruises. But those were nothing compared the bruises left on Virgil’s heart when he looked into his Scotty’s eyes and saw the horror there.

So he sang to his brother and gazed into his eyes because he didn’t know what else to do.

Then, one afternoon, when Virgil had thought he was finally sleeping, Scott started to hum along with him.

💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚

Previous chapter

Next chapter

[misshoneyimhome]

Idk why but I need some Willy angst…like you met at the end of last season and decided to officially start dating in the off season spending it all together in Europe but once you’re back in Toronto and the season starts you feel like he’s lost interest or is embarrassed by you because he doesn’t want you going out in public with him nor does he introduce you to the team and other WAGs. And Willy does it because he’s worried the public eye and comments will be horrible to you so he wants to keep you away from that and emulate the chiller lifestyle you got to have in Sweden but he can’t communicate his reasoning so you tell him you want to end things because you can’t love someone who doesn’t want to be seen with you and he breaks down, and it’s the first time you see him cry🥲

Well, to be fair we all need a little Willy angst once in a while 😉 I absolutely love the idea bb! And I hope you’ll enjoy reading it, just as much as I did writing it ❤️

➼｡ﾟ

Gonna give it to you, in capital letters | William Nylander

"We need to talk…"

A message nobody wants to get, and definitely not one William Nylander ever expected to receive. Especially not at this particular moment.

_

You’d met William last season, just before the playoffs, at a coffee shot downtown and quickly, you’d developed a connection of some sort.

Initially, it was a relaxed and easy-going friendship, kept low-key as you had recently ended a relationship, and casual due to William's hectic schedule.

Nevertheless, it was a strong friendship.

But then, gradually, things started to escalate a bit. You stood by William throughout the playoffs on the sideline, offering support, aa you both simply relished each other's company. Thus, what began as a casual friendship, involving late-night conversations and casual coffee meet-ups, gradually shifted towards something more intimate and physical.

As William faced the highs and lows of the games, dealing with intense stress on good and bad days, you remained a constant source of support for him. Usually, you were his go-to for random talks. However, one night, after a particularly tough loss, he felt a need for more, and made a move on you.

It was subtle, neither too eager nor forceful. He merely became a bit touchier and more sensual in his tone and behaviour, melting you completely under his touch.

Admittedly, William was undeniably attractive. Most people thought so, and you were no exception. However, despite the cheeky banter, friendly flirting, and shared laughter, you both maintained a platonic relationship until that fateful evening.

And it was nothing short of incredible.

The sex had been gentle and sensual at first, before you’d both been eager to explore each other further, and soon it had become rather heated and intense.

Yet, it also resulted in something more.

At first, you reckoned William probably just needed some physical release due to all the ups and downs of the matches. But as it turned out, he longed for much more than that. William seemed to want you around all the time, or at least to swing by late in the evening after games or when he returned from away matches.

It kind of felt like you were his dirty little secret, but honestly, you didn't dwell on it much. His schedule was all over the place, not your typical 9-to-5 routine, so you didn't read too much into it. Well, at least not in the beginning.

And just when you were thinking it might be a good idea to chat about what was going on between you two - not that you were necessarily in need to put a label on it, you just wanted to know if William was still keen on you - he completely surprised you by inviting you to join him in Europe during the off-season.

Initially, you were a bit taken aback and hesitant since you'd only been going out with him for a few months. But William was persistent, and since the idea sounded pretty intriguing, you thought, "Why not?" and decided to go with it.

And boy, were you glad you did.

Your time in Sweden was absolutely amazing. William showed you all around Stockholm, shared his favourite spots and eateries, introduced you to Sweden's hidden gems, and treated you like royalty.

He whisked you away for romantic dinners, really putting on his a-game in the dating department. And before long, he opened up about wanting you to be his. Which in casual-Swedish-27-year-old-guy speak, basically meant you were now dating seriously.

You were over the moon about your time in Scandinavia. You witnessed a different side to the easy-going forward, experienced his more tender side first hand, and had mind-blowing sex for weeks.

And then, just when you thought that was it, he took you to other European places. Places you'd never even heard of and couldn't quite pronounce, making you feel like you were in a fairy tale - so much so that you had to pinch yourself to believe it was all real.

However, despite the pinching, your fairy-tale had to come to an end at some point, and you had to return to reality and everyday life in Toronto.

But returning to Toronto turned out to be way different from what you had expected.

William, the guy you'd just spent over a month with every single day, suddenly kept his distance and limited your interactions to phone calls or late-night chats after training and games.

It felt odd.

You genuinely believed that during the off-season, you both had connected on a deeper, more intimate level, taking your relationship several steps further. But William's actions contradicted those feelings.

He didn't take you out for dinners anymore, nor did he seem interested in meeting up during the day or having you over if there was a chance someone else might be around.

Even when you mentioned being at the arena to support him during a home game, he just told you to head straight to his place instead of waiting for him while he finished showering.

It was like you were suddenly back to being his secret, hidden even from those closest to him: his teammates.

When you were alone, he talked about them incessantly, sharing every little detail about his teammates, the ones he was closest to, and those he felt played best with him. Yet, it felt like he didn't want them to know anything about you.

And before long, you'd had enough.

William was an incredible guy, and your feelings for him ran deep. But this situation was becoming uncomfortable and unpleasant. It felt somewhat absurd that he could be jovial and happy around you at any hour, but as soon as you weren't snug in his condo, you became a stranger to him. Or someone he'd call just to chat.

In a way, you felt ridiculed. And eventually, you decided to take the mature step, safeguarding yourself from potential heartache by ending it.

However, you wanted to handle it properly, so you texted him to arrange a meeting.

_

"Hey, can we meet up sometime soon? We need to talk…"

Across the city, William felt a pang in his heart as he read your text.

He had just finished today's workout and was about to head for a shower when he saw your message, causing him to gulp in an attempt to remain composed in the locker room.

However, his expression didn't go unnoticed by his teammates.

"Hey, everything okay, Willy?" Auston asked, a hint of concern in his eyes as he observed his Swedish teammate.

"Yeah…" William attempted to reply, but his tone lacked conviction, after reading your text multiple times.

"You're sure?"

And William knew he couldn't hide the truth from his closest friends.

"No… it's y/n…" He let out a deep sigh.

"Is she okay?" the team's captain, John Tavares, chimed in, wearing a slightly concerned, paternal expression.

"I don't know… she just sent me 'the text'…" he spoke softly, trying to conceal any hints of disappointment, though failing when he showed your message to the boys.

"Ooh… that's the worst…" Auston replied, attempting a light hearted comment to lighten the mood. "That can only mean one of two things: either she's dumping you… or she's knocked up."

However, despite Auston's attempt at humour, it did little to alleviate the situation. So instead, Tavares stepped in, offering his support.

"She probably just wants to talk about your relationship," he said, flashing a reassuring, warm smile. "Making sure you're still into each other, you know, communication."

William tried to reciprocate the kind smile and nodded lightly.

"Yeah, that's not exactly my greatest talent…"

"I know, so maybe this is your chance," the elder teammate suggested. And with those comforting words in mind, William agreed to meet you at his condo in 20 minutes. He then quickly wrapped up in the locker room and made his way out.

As William made his way back home, a strange sensation settled in his chest. He had never faced a situation where a girl might be pregnant despite using protection – at least not to his knowledge. Additionally, he couldn't quite comprehend why you suddenly wanted to end things with him.

And this was a new scenario for him. Typically, he would be the one ending things with girls, sending them the text about how things weren't working out. But now, finding himself potentially on the receiving end of a breakup, he couldn't quite wrap his head around it.

So, when you stood in front of him in his living room, tears threatening to spill, William felt another tug at his heart.

"Willy," you spoke softly, attempting to sound confident and self-assured, despite having rehearsed this moment multiple times, knowing you most likely wouldn't be able to remain composed. "I think we need to stop seeing each other…"

You felt the tears welling up but tried to hold them back by controlling your breathing.

"Y/n… I don't understand… I mean, why? I thought we were having a good time," William replied, matching your subdued tone.

"I think we both know why…" You silently hoped he would reach the same conclusion as you, but William's thoughts were far from aligning with yours.

In his mind, William ran through potential reasons you might have: Your schedule is too busy and unpredictable,' You’re away too often,' 'I’ve found someone else,' or 'I just don't have feelings for you.' 

However, your actual words were far from what he anticipated.

"I know you're embarrassed about me… and I just can't love someone who doesn't want to be seen with me or introduce me to their closest friends… you're keeping me as a secret, and I know I can't ignore my feelings for you, which only makes it even more hurtful… But I'm tired of feeling ridiculed by this… so, I can't be with you anymore…"

You’d given up on holding back your tears midway through your heartfelt speech, letting them stream down your cheeks as you spoke from the depths of your heart, despite the aching pain in your chest.

William was baffled. Embarrassed? You believed he was embarrassed about you.

His eyes widened, fixed directly on you as his mind scrambled to form comforting words, to assure you that this wasn't the truth. But the words seemed trapped, unable to escape his lips.

"And although it hurts like hell," you continued, briefly looking upwards, trying to gather your tears, and sniffled lightly. "I try to understand. I mean, we had a wonderful time during the off-season when you had plenty of time. But we were away from this normal, everyday life, and you didn't have all those girls around like you do here… so perhaps, you've just lost interest in me since coming back, which is okay – I mean, I can't change the way you feel… I just…" You took in a deep breath, gathering the courage to continue. "I just wish you'd told me, so I wouldn't look like a fool, like I do now…"

Silence enveloped the room after your heartfelt confession, your voice almost cracking near the end of your final words. 

But William's mind was in complete disarray. And your words cut deep within him as he realised the weight of his actions.

"Fuck…" he softly mumbled to himself, briefly looking down before meeting your gaze.

Your body seemed to fold into itself, arms wrapped around your chest in a stance of defeat and vulnerability. Your eyes held a soft yet sorrowful expression, and William could tell you were truly hurt.

And as he had admitted to Tavares, William wasn't the greatest at expressing his emotions. But now, he was beginning to realise the extent of the damage caused by his lack of communication. And this was his chance, as the captain had mentioned.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to find the necessary words.

"Y/n… I'm not… I'm not embarrassed about you," William's chest felt heavy, emotions stirring within him. "Shit…" He threw his arms up in frustration, finding it immensely difficult to speak. "It hurts like hell hearing you say that… Why would you think I'm embarrassed about you? Or that I've lost interest in you?"

His words came out sharper than he intended, emotions bubbling to the surface, as he couldn't contain his frustration, realising that he was the cause of your pain. 

"Because you don't want to be seen with me anywhere… you only want me around here, in hiding, and you never want me to meet any of your friends and teammates, Willy…" Your voice rose as you cried out, mirroring his frustrations.

"I'm just trying to protect you, y/n!" William almost shouted, surprising you with the intensity of his response. "I just… I want to keep you safe and away from all of that!"

"Protect me from what, Willy? Because from what I can see, you don't want to be seen with me or let anyone know that we're dating," you firmly shouted back, not entirely convinced by his defence.

"That's not at all how it is! You don't get what it's like."

"Then please explain to me what it's like!"

William took a deep breath, struggling to control his emotions from boiling over. You were pushing all the right buttons, and he knew you had every right to do so.

"People can be cruel, y/n… the media, people online… and I don't want you to experience that," he exhaled. "I'm NOT embarrassed about you, GOD, I can't believe you'd think that… I just – I want to shield you from all the awful things people say about me… and other players and their girlfriends… I fucking love being with you, and the last thing I want is for you to be scared away by those who post hurtful comments online or make up lies to stir up drama between us…"

Now, it was William feeling the tears welling up.

"But then why wouldn't you even introduce me to the team? You always talk so much about them, but for some reason, you don't want them to know about me! Don't you see how that makes me feel?"

William sensed himself becoming overwhelmed, realising the depth of the situation, and he couldn't hold back any longer. A tear escaped and trailed down his cheek, as he tried his best to explain. 

"I didn't want to drag you into my world, y/n! It can be messed up, and you deserve so much better…" His voice cracked, tears flowing uncontrollably.

And witnessing William cry evoked a wave of emotions within you.

You had never seen him even close to tears. In fact, you had never seen him display anger or hurt, nothing beyond hockey, and even that only extended to minimal frustrations. William was always known for his calm and composed demeanour, never letting his facade crack. Yet tonight, you had cracked him wide open, causing him to spill his thoughts and feelings.

"All I wanted was to keep everything easy going and wonderful between us… just like it was in Sweden. It was so perfect, and when I realised you were the one, I wanted to be with, I guess I just tried to do whatever I could to keep it that way… so you wouldn't leave me."

“Willy,” you softly breathed out. “Why didn’t you tell me all of this? That this was how you felt…”

Your question resonated with the right reason, prompting a timid smile to form on his lips as he let out a sigh.

"Because I'm not good at this… explaining everything and talking… feelings, y/n…" he softly admitted, your eyes locking in a heartfelt moment of deep honesty.

Relaxing your tense posture, a bit, you slowly moved towards him, flashing a soft smile.

“Willy, I want to be with you… I know I don’t fully understand your world, but it’s part of you, and… I want all of you, no matter what,” you reassured him, coming to stand so closely that your bodies gently touched.

William sniffled before managing to form proper sentences, briefly looking downwards as his hands found their way to rest on your hips.

“I’m sorry, y/n… I just thought it was better to keep you away from it, you know…”

“I know, those were your best intentions,” you softly smiled, gently resting your hands on his chest. “But Willy, if you really want me around, in your life, you have to let me in… for better AND for worse…” 

“I do, y/n… I do want you in my life… I just don’t want you to be scared away,” he timidly admitted.

“Don’t worry, babe. It takes more than that for me to leave,” you tried to ease the tension, and fortunately it seemed to work.

“Good…” William sighed in relief, his forehead gently meeting yours.

“Just promise me one thing,” you said, looking up at him again.

“Anything.”

“Next time if you have these kinds of thoughts, please just tell me… I can’t read your mind, and I NEED you to let me know what’s going on inside that pretty big brain of yours,” you chuckled lightly. “You have to use your words – in capital letters, please,” you emphasised, prompting a chuckle from William as well.

“I promise I’ll try to do better,” he replied with a smile, before leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on your soft lips.

It was a huge relief for him to finally get everything off his chest. Realising that this was mostly due to his not-so-well-thought-out plan, he now saw a great chance of having you in his life for much longer.

“By the way,” William suddenly added as your faces withdrew slightly. “The team does know about you… in fact, they know all about you.”

“What!?”

“Yeah, so really, you haven’t actually been that much of a secret…” he chuckled, seeing your baffled reaction. “But I guess that’s just one less thing for us to check off then.” 

“You’re really something special Nylander… did you know that?” you chuckled lightly.

“Yeah, and now I’m yours something special,” you merely replied, before pulling you in for a deeper and more heartfelt kiss this time.