#seriously this is a worthwhile fix

[chelseeebe]

falling.

a/n: wow man, i truly am awful but i’ve been very ill and very busy and have seriously neglected writing so have a lil something i wrote to ease back into it! it’s a continuation of seven minutes in heaven and on my knees (for you) but is very much fluff and lovely<3

18+ mdni. smut. mentions of r being drunk but mostly just love and fluff<3

everybody knew.

or at least now they did.

there’s not much room for secrets when you’re drunk and clambering all over him in front of a room full of your friends, was there?

eddie’s never seen you so.. loose. the bottle of wine had ignited something within you, clearly. your fingers twisting into his shirt, sticky, gloss-covered lips attached to his neck.

he’s grateful that your leg is slung over his lap, hiding the uncomfortable rising in his pants, made worse by your constant fidgeting and the soft whispers into his ear.

it wasn’t as if you two were much of a secret anymore anyway, robin, nancy and vickie had all figured it out that day he answered your door in his boxers. and now at least most people had caught on.

“i need you eds,” you whisper sultrily, not a care for his poor growing boner. there are only so many dead puppies you can think of before it stops working, by the way.

“we can’t..” trust, he had already surveyed the house and decided that sneaking off would be highly risky, too much chance for interruption to make it worthwhile.

“we can,” you beg, practically growling into his ear, “let’s go home,” fingertips now dancing down his shirt, dangerously nearing the waistband of his jeans.

he blinks, turning his head to face yours, noses bumping against each other, “it’s not even ten.. we can’t leave yet,” he wouldn’t have sex with you like this anyway, too much pinot grigio coursing through your veins to make it right.

you huff, nostrils flaring in your tiny tantrum, “you’re so mean,” jutting your bottom lip out.

eddie’s eyes dart around the room, catching a few stray looks, people confused about your position or why you were practically straddling him of all people. “people are looking at us..” and the thing is, no matter how many times you could tell him that you wanted him, no matter how many times you showed him that you wanted him, he wouldn’t believe it.

“i don’t care,” you scoff, connecting your lips hastily, a new feat compared to the sly neck kisses you’d been giving prior.

it had never been about hiding for you, more so about keeping things just for you two. nobody else needed an opinion or opportunity to ruin things, that was it. but now, the longer you continued to hang out and enjoy each other’s company outside of fucking, the more he felt himself falling.

now, eddie reckons he was probably in love with you from the second you’d dragged him into that closet but now he’s pretty certain he is. it’s different now, a level of consideration there that wasn’t ever apparent before.

it had been solidified for him a couple weekends ago during a game of spin the bottle, when it had landed on you and then subsequently jason. eddie’s heart stopped beating until you swerved his mouth, landing a small peck on his cheek in place of a real kiss.

that was different.

“please can we go,” you beg, fisting the soft material of his shirt, keeping your lips lingering over his.

he clears his throat, and really, you should know him by now. you should know that an ounce of attention from you would result in a stiffy he couldn’t shake. his eyes fall to his crotch, “i can’t.. i can’t get up,” cheeks flushing a ruby red.

your eyes join his, peering down between your leg and his stomach, a grin spreading across your devilish face, “i can fix that,” tilting his chin upwards with your painted nail, “if we go home.”

his forehead knocks against yours, giving up on this nonexistent fight with you, “fine, give me.. five,” hoping he somewhat hide his indiscretion from your friend’s prying eyes.

he does eventually, get off the chair, craftily readjusting his pants as you gather your bag. robin’s head perks up, brows raised at the sight of you leaving already, “i’m gonna walk her home.. too much to drink i think..” wrapping an arm around your shoulder, guiding you through the party and out onto the street.

the front yard is littered with drunks, paying no mind to you and your unsteady feet.

you’re so loud, giggling as eddie attempts to rein you in, a tight grip on your arm while you wobble over the sidewalk.

“hey,” you pout, stopping in your tracks. fuck, he just wanted to get home, as much as he adored whatever antics you were up to, he was freezing his balls off and you’re plastered.

“what?” he replies softly because no matter how annoyed he was, he’d never take it out on you.

your eyes are hazy, glossed over and barely able to focus on him but they’re full of love, “all i want to do is kiss you,” lopsided grin growing bigger.

eddie just smiles because there are no words he could ever jumble together to reply to that. not the way you deserved anyway.

“can i?”

how could he say no?

with your eyes round and glittering in the moonlight, lips pouted perfectly.

“of course you can,” he laughs, hooking his arm around your shoulder, pausing just before your lips meet his, revelling in the moment.

you press your lips to his, a little sloppy but full of love, tender and soft. you smile as you pull back, gripping onto his leather jacket, “we can go home now,” smiling into the night.

eddie feels a little sick. he hopes to god that he’s right about this, that you feel the same way he does. all signs point to yes but how’s he to know without your confirmation?

-

he’s abruptly awoken when the bathroom door slams shut, a collection of unpleasant sounds come from the other side.

he’s not surprised you’re sick, in fact, he’d left a your trash can to the side of the bed last night, just in case.

see, eddie’s not really an early riser but he doesn’t mind being woken up this early when he’s being woken up by you. vomit or no vomit.

you emerge from the bathroom with a colossal pout and a minty breath. sliding back into bed with a small groan. “did i wake you?” you ask, nestling back into his side.

“mhm,” he hums, appreciating the warmth you bring, “i don’t mind, you okay?” he asks, sliding an arm around your shoulders.

“i am now,” smiling slightly. your hand creeps down, making him jump as your cold fingers rest on his stomach.

he watches with tired eyes, hoping this is going where he thinks it may. your hands, despite feeling frozen, are always soft, he adored the tender way in which they met his skin.

you hum, body vibrating against the side of his body, “go brush your teeth,” poking him lightly in the ribs.

“yes ma’am,” eddie practically leaps out of bed, following your orders in hopes that you were implying what he thought. scrubbing his teeth with such ferocity that the toothpaste ends up everywhere.

he’d clean it up later, he thought. too excited to jump back into bed with you to care too much.

you’re already smirking in the low light, propped up slightly by the pillows, holding the blanket open for his return, “hurry up, it’s cold.”

oh he obliges, flying to the bed in record speed, hovering above your waiting body, boyish grin plastered across his face. perhaps one day he wouldn’t almost die every time you suggested sex or flashed him that look.

that day was not today.

your lips latch onto his, hands already finding his sweatpants, delicate fingers hooking into the waistband as you tug them down. he’s already hard, hasn’t been able to program that out of his brain just yet.

eddie’s tongue swipes across your bottom lip, sliding inside and it’s this moment where he’s grateful you made him get up to brush his teeth.

your hand, still a little cold, wraps around his cock, eliciting a gasp in response, pulling him from your lips. “fuck, your hands are cold,” eddie laughs in your face, quickly forgetting the icy temperature when you start pumping your fist.

“you want me to stop?” you ask, smirking devilishly.

“fuck no,” he chuckles, burying his face in your neck, sucking at the sensitive skin. this gets you fired up, squeezing the base of his cock gently.

your head tilts back, allowing him more room to nibble and lick at your bare neck. he struggles to get your shorts down, grunting into your chest when your hips buck upwards against him.

“jesus christ,” he mutters, emerging from the curve of your neck to gaze down at you, his absolute favourite position.

you don’t reply, instead, your tongue pokes out, licking your lips in anticipation. your legs wrap around his back, pulling him in tighter. personal space was an after thought, he thinks you’d climb inside of his skin if you could.

this position is still fairly new to him, looking down at you pressed between the mattress and his body. sometimes he’d be smushed against your chest as you attacked his neck and other times it was more hasty and rushed.

but this- this time, he’s focussed on your face, lingering inches above as his hair falls down against your cheeks.

sliding between your slick folds, nudging inside as his teeth bite down onto his bottom lip, struggling to contain the moan gathering in his throat. he’d been here enough times to know how to move without your bed hitting the wall, it had become an art.

slow, steady strokes, making sure he was moving exactly the way you’d taught him. appreciating the way in which your lips parted and the soft, melodic noises that tumbled out of them.

and yeah, you guys have had sex. plenty of times in fact.

but this felt different somehow, something more.

there’s a lot of that happening lately and eddie’s still unsure about how it makes him feel or if he’s supposed to feel a certain way.

you’re in his hoodie, under his body, moaning his name. that had to mean something, right?

eddie’s hips collide with yours, groaning when your legs tighten around his waist, everything about this feels overwhelmingly intimate. your forehead pressed to his, gazing through hooded eyelids, rolling slightly with every thrust.

“hmm,” you groan, full of rasp, “just like that eds,” manicured nails digging into his shoulder blades, pinching slightly but only spurring him on.

it’s still early, the rest of your house definitely still sleeping, forcing him to swallow his moans. you’re touching yourself, arm threaded between your bodies, circling your clit.

it drives him crazy every time, he assumes that most men wouldn’t appreciate it, a lack of confidence in their abilities or whatever. but eddie loves it, loves that you can make yourself feel good too.

your eyelids flit, breathy moans at every move of his hips, he knows what this means. has learned every tell of your body, the way your mouth falls open and your mind seems to shut off.

“fuck,” you gasp, tightening your grip on his shoulders. moving against him in the final throws, the tip of his cock nestling against the sweet spot.

this is where eddie loses it a little, thrusts becoming sloppy as your fingers work at your clit. he can feel every part of you, squeezing around him and the soft pants that dance into his ear.

his forehead dips, pressed against yours as his senses overcome him, throwing him over the metaphorical edge. “uh shit,” he garbles, spurting his release into your quivering cunt.

you squeak underneath him, mouth agape as your legs shake around his waist, eyes squeezing shut as you cum. it’s fucking magical every single time, it could probably bring him back to life if it really came down to it.

“oh my god,” he breathes, brushing the hair from your forehead, still lingering above as you float down to earth.

your eyes peek open, a smile inching onto your face, once again holding onto his cheeks as you press a solitary kiss to his lips. this was his favourite part of it all, the aftermath.

it usually meant cuddles and chats about nothing. when you were your truest self. eddie wanted to live here for eternity, gazing at the stars in your eyes, happily listening to whatever ramblings you came out with.

the morning is quiet bar you both trying to catch your breath, he can feel your racing heartbeat against his chest and almost wants to say it. to admit to everything he had been feeling.

but you beat him to it. “i love you,” you beam, grinning away to yourself, seemingly unaware of what bomb you had just dropped.

eddie chokes on his spit, coughing and sputtering as he climbs off of your body. lying back on the mattress as his chest heaves. oh my god, he thinks he might be sick.

his head was already spinning, only made worse by your declaration of love. his senses are heightened, looking over at you with bewildered eyes.

“what did you just say?” begging for clarification.

really, the only possible explanation was that this was a dream and he’s about to be rudely awoken and find himself in his own bed, having none of the last six months happen.

“i said,” you smile, pulling yourself into his side, “i love you,” wriggling as you pull your shorts up, intertwining your legs as you do.

“i thought you said that,” eddie laughs deliriously, still frozen in shock. he’s in utter disbelief, just staring at your face in hopes that he’s not cruelly torn out of this moment and it is real.

you tut, pouting slightly, “do you maybe wanna say it back?”

“i do,” he rushes, “i mean, of course i do- love you, i mean,” stumbling over his words, his heart is pounding out of his chest, “i love you too, is what i’m trying to say,” cringing at his severe lack of nonchalance.

even with your extensive training and advice, he’s truly still that weird little virgin boy, still head over heels for you. that’d never change,

“good,” you twinkle, nestling back into his side, arm thrown over his stomach, “you scared me for a minute there.”

he doesn’t understand how you weren’t already well aware that he infatuated with you, he had thought it had been plenty obvious. the man near enough started drooling when you’d touch him for christ’s sake.

“i thought you knew,” shrugging slightly, “i don’t exactly hide it.”

your shoulders shake as you laugh, slightly jittery and still exuberant from your session, “how was i supposed to know you weren’t faking it?”

eddie’s brows thread together, perplexed at your assumption, “you’re the first girl i’ve ever really liked.. let alone loved, i don’t even know how to fake it.”

“shut up,” shaking your head, “you used to like that girl..” clicking your fingers together, “the one with the hair.. whatever her name was.”

“what? you mean carly?”

carly was a friend, helping him pass his marketing class. he had maybe gotten the feeling that she liked him but nothing ever came of it. she wasn’t his type and besides, he’d had his eye on someone else anyway.

“carly! yeah.. you were obsessed i swear, i used to be so pissed off.”

woah. what?

“i didn’t like her.. not like that,” he didn’t, in fact, eddie’s always had a bit of a soft spot for you in reality, “you were pissed off?” he teases, pulling you in tighter.

he felt like he could now, like everything had been established and this was it. you were together. you loved each other.

you give him an over dramatic sigh, “yes i was pissed off,” settling your head on his chest, “i thought you liked her and not me,” he can feel your eyelids flutter shut against his skin, “i’m glad you didn’t though.”

eddie laughs, moving your body as he shakes. he can’t help himself. you were pissed off at the thought of him liking someone else. you. it’s almost nonsensical.

footsteps echo through the hall, stopping outside your door alongside a chorus of whispers. you groan quietly before they pound on the door, obviously eager to collect the gossip.

“what?” you call out, not moving from your position. maybe before you would’ve sprung apart, trying to cover up the obvious but now you embraced it.

robin, nancy and vickie pour into your room, sly smiles on their faces. it’s fairly obvious what had just gone down in here. his cheeks were still blood-red, your leg thrown over his, entangled in the blanket as one.

“so,” robin smiles, pursing her lips, “you have a good night?” alluding to your very public displays of affection.

“i had a fantastic night, thank you,” you grin, refusing to acknowledge the elephant in the room, eddie respected the fuck out of that.

“mm i’m sure,” robin quips, raising her brows before perching on the end of your bed, “you remember anything from last night?” she asks curiously, cocking her head to the side.

you bite down onto your lower lip before answering, “i may have been informed,” rolling your eyes slightly. the other two girls giggle in unison.

“so it’s official?” robin asks outright, not wasting any time. she’d never been one to beat around the bush, jury’s still out on whether it’s a pro or a con.

your shoulders shrug, eyes trailing to eddie, “i’d say so,” smiling knowingly.

they had no idea what had actually just occurred, ignorant to the declaration of love that had happened just moments before they burst in. he knows you’ll probably tell them the second he’s gone but for now he appreciates the secrecy of it all.

a moment only meant for the two of you.

robin grabs onto your ankle, shaking it as she roars excitedly, “i fuckin’ knew it,” beaming with a certain smugness.

your eyes roll back again, “have you got what you wanted now? can i sleep this hangover off without anymore interference?” your words are sharp but hold a tone of humour.

“yes yes, you can go back to being degenerate perverts now,” robin laughs, standing from the bed, vickie guides her girlfriend out of the room with a raise of the brows.

nancy lingers, “we’re going for breakfast in a little while, if you two wanna come,” flashing her tightlipped smile before following after robin and vickie.

the door clicks shut and eddie lets out a sly sigh of relief. they were his friends too, he just wasn’t a fan of being interrogated by them when he’s practically naked and still recovering from your confession of love.

“i’m sorry,” you apologise for their abruptness though it’s unneeded.

eddie just smiles, relishing this moment. you’re lying on his chest, his girlfriend, you love him and he loves you and that’s all there is to it.

“i love you, i really really love you.”

[nanasrkives]

navigation : midnight records! the starlight EP! the mha EP!

── .✦ "SNOW ANGELS" ─ Todoroki Shoto

and we're back!! writer's block really got me good but finally i'm locked in again here's a shoto fluff (omg hes so precious) content : fluff. major fluff. third-year!shoto. class 1-A being class 1-A. 850 words.

The world outside was peaceful, shrouded in the soft quietude characteristic of winter. Snowflakes fell from the sky, blanketing the U.A. grounds in a dense and unbroken layer. You stood in front of 3-A's dorms, wrapped in multiple layers of clothing, your gloved hand wrapped around Shoto's as you observed your classmates rush into the frost. Kirishima and Kaminari were earnestly trying to save their falling snow fort, Midoriya had been roped into helping Iida construct a regulation-approved snowman, while Bakugo—as might be predicted—was out for blood. Standing next to you, Shoto exhaled, his breath fogging in warm bursts, entirely unbothered by the chill. He was not the type to take part into your classmates' antics, but he had no issue with being here with you, inhaling the winter air together. "You've made a snow angel already, haven't you?" you asked abruptly, gazing up at him with a grin.

Shoto blinked, snowflakes falling and adhering to his red-and-white hair. "No. Should I?" Your eyes widened. "Wait, seriously? You have never made one?! We have to fix that." And before he could argue, you were already pulling him toward the untouched snow. Shoto looked for a moment, as if deciding whether or not this was a worthwhile use of his time. Then with a soft sigh, he slowly sat down next to you. "You look ridiculous," he grumbled, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. "You love that I look ridiculous." you gloated playfully. "That's true." You laughed and shifted, your mitten-covered hand touching his. Shoto paused before mirroring you—hesitantly moving his arms and legs. It was cute to see him struggle with something so simple yet alien to him. As you both sat up, you looked at what you had made. Shoto tilted his head slightly. "It kind of looks like a bird."

"It's an angel, babe." He hummed, incredulous. "If you say so." Before you could start complaining that all snow angels did not look like birds, a cold and wet feeling suddenly brushed against the side of your face. You were surprised. "Did you just—?" Shoto was already glancing away, as if he had done nothing wrong. "Todoroki Shoto, you just attacked me with snow?"

"Um. No." he denied Liar. You narrowed your eyes, as you scooped up a large chunk of snow, and forced it onto the part of his neck that was exposed. Shoto was startled—a strange surprised expression veiling his features, and you couldn't help but laugh. He gazed at you with betrayal, snow clinging to his scarf. "That was cruel," he whispered. "That was justice." you said as you wiggled your eybrows. Alright then— Your eyes widened. "Wait—Shoto, babe, let's talk about this—" It was too late. You let out a startled laugh as your back met the chill of the soft, fluffy snow that broke your fall. Shoto loomed above you, one hand beside your head, the other brushing snow off your shoulder as if he hadn't just tackled you like you weighed nothing. "What were you saying?" he said gently, his voice even, but in his heterochromatic eyes was a subtle, potentially lethal glimmer of amusement. You huffed, trying to wriggle out from beneath him. "That you're a menace, obviously." Shoto murmured as though he was pondering your words. Abruptly, without any notice, he grabbed some snow and pushed it down your scarf. You let out a sharp gasp as the cold feeling coursed down your spine. "Shoto!" you screamed, flailing as the cold dissolved against your skin. He blinked at you, completely unbothered. "You started it."

"You—!" Your word dissolved into laughter, picking up a clump of snow and hitting it on his shoulder. His eyes flicked to yours. Challenge accepted. Before you could get away, he pinned you again, tumbling both of you further into the snow. His hold was firm but gentle, pinning you beneath him as he reached up for another handful of snow— "Don't you dare," you threatened. And he dared. Another cold gust brushed your neck, instantly dissolving on your skin. You burst out laughing as you pushed back, trying to spin him around. You sat on his stomach, breathing heavily, with flushed cheeks from the cold. "You were saying?" you teased, throwing some snow in his face. Shoto glanced up at you, his normally expressionless face altered by a warm, concerned emotion. "Truce?" he suggested. You scoffed. "Oh, now you want a truce?" He hummed and bent upward, nose to nose with you, his breath warm in spite of the cold. "Should I go on?" Your heart skipped. "Fine. Truce." He smiled—gentle and subdued, yet warm enough to drive the cold away. He then softly kissed the end of your nose. And just like that, you completely forgot about the cold.

2025 © NANASRKIVES. / do not copy, repost, edit, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any platforms, including ai.

TAGLIST (OPEN) @cherrysurf @arwawawa2

[specialagentlokitty]

Patrick Jane x reader - never stay mad

I was wondering if u could write about reader being mad at Patrick jane. She won’t talk to him and he’s constantly trying to figure out what he did and then she tells him (you can pick). Thank you and if you can’t that is totally fine. I hope you are having a good day/night - Anon💜

Jane watched as you walked back to your desk, picking up the neatly wrapped back and you looked at him.

He grinned a little, waving across the room and watched as you set it back and walked away.

“Seriously? She loves presents..” he huffed.

“Yeah, when she isn’t mad at the person giving them Jane.” Grace laughed.

Jane huffed, walking for the hallway to where you had gone, and he checked his watch before jogging down the stairs.

If you were in the office you always took your lunch around the same time each day, and he knew exactly where to find you.

Heading to the nearby cafe, he walked in and stood next to you at the counter.

“Could she also have a tea and one of those little sandwiches you make please?”

You glanced at him, rolling your eyes at him.

Reaching into his pocket, you pulled out his wallet, taking his bank card you paid for everything and took his wallet over to a table.

You knew you weren’t going to get rid of him, so at least you could make the meal worthwhile and make it free while you were at it.

Sitting down, you waved the wallet in the air and he took it back, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he sat down in front of you.

Jane placed his chin on his hand, and he smiled softly at you.

“Come on darling, speak to me. Say something.”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“I know you can’t stay mad at me forever.”

He smiled softly, and you turned away from him, trying not to look at him.

Jane had one of those smiles that were infectious, if he smiled you just wanted to smile as well.

He held out his hand, wiggling his fingers and you huffed, giving your hand to him and he beamed brightly as he held it.

“See, you’re not angry enough to refuse holding my hand. You’ll always hold my hand, I know that. I just want to know why you’re angry with me darling, if I did something I can fix it if you tell me what.”

You let go of his hand when your food and drink arrived, and you focused on having lunch.

“Are you still coming for dinner later?”

Standing up, you picked up your cup and you finished your coffee.

Walking past you flicked his forehead.

“Come on (Y/N)! That’s not nice!” He called.

Heading back to the office, you waited for the moment the clock hit the right time, and you made your way home.

Of course, Jane was already there, sitting on your couch as he read from his book, waiting for you.

You tossed your stuff aside, walking over you dropped yourself down next to him and he shuffled about.

Laying down, he rested his head in your lap and looked up at you.

“Do you want me to cook something, or would you like takeout?”

You held up two fingers, and he chuckled.

“Come on, stop ignoring me. I love you.”

Jane reached up, running his fingers along your cheek.

“I love you.” He said quietly.

You looked down at him and you sighed heavily, you just couldn’t stay mad at him for all that long.

That grin, those eyes, that little mischievous look he held.

“You cheated on me…”

His eyes shot up and he quickly sat up, nearly head butting you.

“What?! I never!”

“In my dream…”

He blinked, looking at you and he gently turned your head so you could look at him.

“You’re angry with me… because I cheated on you… in a dream…?”

You nodded.

Jane laughed softly, leaning forward he placed his forehead against yours.

“I would never cheat on you, in real life of a dream…”

He leant forward, softly kissing you and you smiled, kissing him back.

You brought your hands up and placed them around his shoulders, running your hands through the back of his hair before you pulled away.

“So my wonderful girlfriend has been ignoring me over a dream?”

“Yeah…”

He laughed softly, and he placed his head on your shoulder, resting himself against you and you smiled and wrapped your arms around him.

“Well, it’s just as well I love you then isn’t it? Otherwise I would be walking out that door.”

“You wouldn’t, you couldn’t.”

He chuckled.

“I know, but seriously darling, you should’ve just told me.”

“I know…”

Leaning down, you kissed the top of his head and he smiled proudly to himself.

He knew it wouldn’t take one for you to open up to him, he also knew that you wouldn’t be able to stay mad at him either but sometimes it was just funny for him to annoy you when you were mad.

You would always hug him after, and he liked the moment, being wrapped in your arms

[delphi-shield]

a lover's guide to defusing time bombs // leon s. kennedy

Leon x afab!Reader Smut wc: 5,661 mdni - 18+

i'm having technical difficulties help why is this fic such a problem child. bout to give up and send it to the dumpster. shout out to tumblr support for fixing this yay my stupid smut is in the tags now. loosely proofread and edited. merry christmas xoxo

summary: Leon doesn’t love crowds. He hates them, actually, but he’s braving the annual Christmas parade for you. Ever vigilant, he scans for threats, ensures the giant clydesdales aren’t secretly agents of chaos, narrows his eyes to be absolutely positive that Santa isn’t concealing a weapon. You have got to find a way to make him relax.

content: afab!reader, mindless fluff, leon’s pov, vague depiction of an anxiety attack, discussions of leon’s mental health, established relationship, secular celebration of christmas, chestnuts roasting on an open fire (literally), leon’s dissociating through a lot of this, fingering (reader receiving), piv (reader receiving), doggy, a singular spank (reader receiving), use of toys (reader receiving), creampie, switchy leon & reader. the smut starts about halfway through if that’s what you’re here for.

Life with Leon can be divided up neatly into ‘Can't’ and ‘Won’t’.

He had crawled home to you at five in the afternoon, fresh off an assignment in Manhattan. He can’t tell you the details, all wrapped up in red tape, and he won’t let you get acquainted with the new ghosts that will haunt the darkened corners of your apartment. You're dozing so soundly in the living room. Prettiest thing he’s ever come home to, curled up under a blanket, colorful lights of the Christmas tree warming your skin. His hands are cold and battered when they brush against your forehead, smirch your warm skin with the grime that never washes off his skin.

He’s torn between waking you and letting you rest. He needs the rest himself, and it would be so easy to pick up your sleeping form and lay you back down against his chest, to drift off into a nap in the glow of the Christmas tree.

But he won’t break a promise to you, not if he doesn’t have to. He promised to take you to see the Christmas parade - and for once, he’s actually back in time to make good on his word.

Leon checks his watch. Back in time, but not by much. The parade starts in an hour. He rouses you, a strong hand gentle on your shoulder. It’s almost meditative, watching the way you wake. The way you take your time, curling into yourself like a cat before you finally unfurl, the slow blink of your eyes struggling to focus. You’re here. You’re safe. You don’t jolt awake the way that he does. You don’t jerk at his touch. You’re safe from the monsters that stalk him. For once, he’s kept something safe.

Leon came back from Spain a little different, but he can’t- and won’t - tell you jack about shit, as usual. He’s not sure if he’s changed for the better or the worse. There’s moments where the light is back in his eye, where all his jagged edges seem to soften. It’s the first time he’s ever come back from a ‘business trip’, as he likes to call them, and been able to say he’d done something good. Something worthwhile, beyond the nebulous concept of his servitude - something tangible. A life saved, not a country served.

The light’s dim today, but it shines when your eyes lock onto him. You light up, every ounce of weariness fleeing your body at the sight of him. You rocket forward. Your arms are tight and warm around his neck, and he rocks backward at the force of your affection. A laugh passes his lips, pressed into the top of your head along with a kiss.

“I could get used to that greeting,” he says when you part. Not all the way, of course. Your hand rests on his wrist, desperate for the contact. Like you think he might float away if you don’t keep him grounded.

“You better not,” you warn him, the seriousness in your tone as convincing as it is menacing - not at all.

He urges you to get up and get ready. You’re going to miss the parade. Probably missed most of the craft fair already, but he’s privately glad that you hadn’t gone without him. An ache opens up in his chest to think of you going alone.

“We don't have to go,” you assure him. It must be the fifth time you’ve tried to give him an out. You’re hopping on one foot, trying to stuff your feet into your warm boots, but he still recognizes the guilt in your eyes. He’s felt it many times himself, and he’s tired of seeing that part of himself reflected in your eyes. He won't make you feel like you’re stealing time away from him ever again.

“I promised.” He adjusts your scarf for you once you’ve stopped hopping. There was nothing wrong with the way you had it done. It’s just another excuse to touch you. He needs those. He needs reasons, real or invented. Touch has never been easy for him the way it has been for you.

Ushering you into the car is easy. You don’t put up any real resistance, other than babbling about how you don’t mind driving, honest, because he must be so tired. What he feels goes so far past tired that it wraps back around into restlessness, but he won’t tell you that. It seems like the sort of thing that would make you worry more, not less. Besides - he wants to watch you from the corner of his eye while he drives. He wants to see your head sway gently to the Christmas carols on the radio. He wants you to point out overdecorated houses and coo over Christmas decorations.

Leon needed this. He missed it, the peaceful quiet between the two of you. It doesn’t last terribly long. When you see how awful the parking situation is downtown, you burst into complaints. He doesn’t mind those either, the ghost of a smile glued to his lips while he drives circles around every parking lot in a four block radius.

He has to parallel park - something that makes you so nervous that you grip his arm while he wedges into the parking spot. Sure, he turns a three-point turn into something closer to a 36-point turn, but the important part is, he didn’t hit anyone. Besides - he kinda likes it when you cling to him like that.

He likes it more than the way you’re watching him, that’s for sure. You look like you’re waiting for him to fall apart. In fact, he’s not sure you’re even trying to hide your worry this time, got your heart bleeding on your sleeve for everyone to see. You take his hand clumsily, your movements big and ungainly in your mittens, and guide him through downtown.

It gets worse when you actually arrive at the parade route. The whole damn city must be out tonight. Families with gaggles of children, some sat on their father’s shoulders, carolers struggling to be heard over the noise of the crowd. Your hand squeezes his. He fights down his irritation. He knows it’s irrational. He doesn’t want to take it out on you.

It’s just a lot.

Leon likes to walk around with his head held high, pretending that he has no long-lasting quirks from his career. He can handle it. That’s the kind of man he is. He doesn't think less of you for how little you can carry in return. His shoulders are broad, he reminds you. He can carry what you can’t - hell, he feels useless when you don’t let him.

You can see it in the way his eyes never stop roving, the way his fingers curl near his hip – he knows you can. You’re more perceptive than he gives you credit for. Might wear your heart out for everyone to see, but you’re observant as all hell. He keeps a hand glued to the curve of your waist, keeps his head on a swivel for all threats, real and imagined.

He’s just being cautious, he tells himself. There’s nothing wrong with being aware of your surroundings. Especially not in a big crowd like this. His trained mind whirls. It throws him off-kilter. He’s not on the clock, but he’s acting like it. Big celebrations like this are perfect targets for terrorists looking to make a statement.

There’s a rolodex in his head filled to the brim with the kinds of intel that would make you never want to step outside again. He can’t tell you that - not just for the sake of national security, but for the sake of your peace of mind.

You say something - something about a vendor, your hand pointing across the street. His head moves first, humming acknowledgement he doesn’t mean, his eyes following slow to see what you’re looking at. No clue. You’re looking at him expectantly, arm tucked in the crook of his, so he just nods, agrees aimlessly.

Leon’s all wrapped up in his head, standing shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the crowd, staring down at himself from above. Float after float goes by - horses, a flock of sheep decked out in festive trimmings, shepherded by a gaggle of men and boys dressed in anachronist robes - and he’s pretty sure he saw an actual, honest-to-god reindeer, but the static spreading from his mind to his limbs turns everything around him into a nauseating blur.

“Hey.” You nudge him with an elbow, tucking your scarf below your chin. “C’mon.”

Your words seem so muffled. He’s starting to wonder if that action hero lifestyle is already catching up to him. He’s got to get his damned ears checked. You curl your hand around his bicep and urge him away from the crowd.

He’s too slow to think to protest. You had wanted to see the parade. He can’t take this away from you, not when you had been so excited. The guilt claws at his heart. He tugs your hand to pull you back toward the crowd, but you dig your heels in and give him this stern look that all but forces him to yield. You drag him down a quieter street, where vendors are packing their things up, the crowds having fled to watch the parade. 

If he could know your thoughts, he’d know you wished to press your thumb gently against the well of his eye and swipe away the darkness that hangs there, press a kiss to his bruised skin and watch his blush paint over the hurt. You press a hot chocolate into his hands instead. The warmth spreads through his gloves.

For a long moment, Leon just holds the drink in his hands. He rolls the paper cup back and forth, back and forth, walks with you as you pace the street. You pause to speak with a woman standing over an open grill.

The scent pulls him back to earth. He lifts the cup of hot chocolate to his face and inhales deeply. Sweet and chocolatey, Leon knows it’s probably Swiss Miss bought in bulk for the sole purpose of being handed out to parade-goers. He takes a sip, lets the cheap, watered down hot chocolate warm him. The noise of the parade is far away now, not just in his mind but in reality. The bells and the carols, the clop of hooves on cobblestone, it stays muted, but it doesn’t threaten to overwhelm him anymore.

His hand squeezes yours. You don’t stop speaking with the woman, but your eyes cut towards him, and your smile bright - a beacon that says welcome back.

For the first time, he realizes how cold his hands are. He slips the hand not holding the hot chocolate into the pocket of your jacket. He knows you’ve got a handwarmer in there. Lo and behold, he’s right. Your pocket may as well be heated.

Another scent stands out to him. His eyes focus on the dying embers still glowing faintly in the belly of the grill. An earthy, nutty smell drifts up to him. You’ve got something in your hands, he realizes - round little balls, their dark brown shells split and cracked, light golden interior peeking through.

You wave, say goodbye to the vendor, and tug him down the street - in the vague direction of the car, he realizes. Another stab of guilt. You’d wanted to see this parade so badly. He knows why you’re leaving.

“Try it,” you chirp, cheeks darkened by the cold air. You tip your hand towards his, drop one of the little nuts you're carrying into his hand. You smile so brightly, like you don’t realize that he’s ruined this for you. “It should be cool enough now.”

“What is it?” He asks, rolling it in his palm.

“A roasted chestnut. S’really good!” He looks over at you, fighting the urge to laugh. You’re already chewing the damn thing. He watches you slip the shell off of another chestnut.

“What are you, five? Close your mouth when you eat.” He bumps your shoulder with his, no heat behind his words.

He slips the shell off the chestnut, the way he had watched you do moments before. He pops it into his mouth and makes a noise of surprise. He’d expected it to be hard and crunchy, but it’s soft - buttery, almost. Sweet, in the same way as a sweet potato. He holds his hand out for another, and you drop it into his palm, chuckling triumphantly to yourself.

The walk back to his car is near silent, trading chestnuts and jabs back and forth. The restlessness that had filled his limbs earlier has melted into a sleepy, dull-edged tiredness that wears at his bones. He opens your door for you, guides you inside with a hand at the small of your back.

He wants to apologize. It’s all Leon can think about while he’s trying to get out of this goddamn parking spot. It takes him long enough. He’s crafting a script in his head. He knows exactly what he has to say.

But when you’re finally back on the road, he’s speechless. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, laden with the sweetness of the chestnuts and oily against his teeth. He can feel his heartbeat in his fingertips again, the road melting away as he guides you home by muscle memory alone.

“Thanks for coming with me.”

God, you’re an angel, breaking the silence like that. He glances over at you, the pounding of his heart quieting in his ears at the sight of your smile, your eyes soft and your hair messed. Your hat lays in your lap, your mittens peeled off and tossed to god-knows-where for him to find later on.

Leon nods. He feels like kicking himself. How the hell did he ever pull you? 

After a too-long silence, he says, “No problem. Sorry. For, uh –”

For making us leave. For ruining this. For not having my shit together.

You’re too nice to think any of those things about him. He knows that. That doesn’t mean Leon doesn’t think it about himself.

“Don’t worry about it. I had fun. Besides, I kinda wanted to spend time with you, anyway. Just you.”

He looks to you at a stoplight, tries to gauge if there’s any irritation hidden under your expression. You settle your hand on his knee. You smile blithely out the window, your eyes catching his in the reflection, crinkling at the corners when you smile wider. His heart pounds again - not panic, but a warm, comfortable squeeze.

He can’t believe he’s this lucky.

“We could watch a Christmas movie,” he offers. A small balm for the hurt he feels he’s caused.

You hum. Indifferent. You turn your head back to him as the light turns green, your hand sliding up to his thigh and squeezing. It sends a thrill through his gut, his breath catching. He wasn’t away that long, but it felt like forever without your touch.

“I was kinda thinking we could just hang out,” you say, your voice deceptively innocent. “I missed you.”

The car behind him honks. He wrests his thoughts out of the gutter, forces himself to actually drive. Your hand stays on his thigh, drifts even higher, your little laugh flushing all the blood out of his head.

“That’s, uh – yeah. Fantastic.”

The drive home is a blur. He tries to make conversation, honest to God, he does, but you’re so damn distracting. You know it, too. He can see that sadistic little twinkle in your eye. He’s lucky you’ve got enough mercy in you not to tease him while he drives. You’ve already got him wrapped around your finger, you have to know that by now.

Leon practically jumps out of the car. He should be embarrassed by the way you have him hopping around like some horny virgin. You slip out of the car with much more grace and press yourself to his side. His arm wraps around your waist, finds a way to tug you even closer while he fumbles with his keys.

The door is barely open, and you’re on him. He doesn't even have time to strip his jacket off before you press yourself against him. You urge his back against the door, shutting it with a thud. Your hands roam all over him, shucking his jacket off and letting it pool on the floor. Your lips press to his, trading the taste of hot chocolate and chestnuts. You move to his neck. His gasps are barely restrained. His pulse races under your touch. His head rocks back, smacks against the door and he groans. You chuckle, take his hand and pull him further into the apartment.

The backs of your knees hit the couch and he takes the invitation to tip you over the edge, his body covering yours without a moment of hesitation. Your lips are back on his skin, tongue laving a hot path wherever you can reach. Greedy. He shudders against the hands that grip his sides. 

"Not too tired?" You ask between kisses. Your teeth nip at the thin skin of his neck and his breath damn near stops. He should tell you to quit. It's not professional. He's gonna show up to his next briefing covered in hickeys and then everyone will know how good Kennedy is getting it at home. He's not sure he minds. He thinks he wants everyone to know just how fucking good he's got it.

"No way," he says, his voice lighter than he meant. He wanted to sound gravely, masculine - instead he sounds like he's about to cum his pants. Goddamn, the things you do to him.

"How do you want it?"

Oh, so it's up to him now? He wishes you'd take the choice from him. You press your hips up against him and, fuck, he wishes you'd take everything from him.

You pull back, your lips leaving his skin, and the chill settles over him again, the distance between you too much for him to handle. His hands grip your hips, slide under you and tug you into him so you can feel the way his cock fills out his jeans. It's hot and tight and goddammit, he wants to be in you - in a better kind of hot and tight rather than this denim prison that's fucking killing him.

You press your hand to his shoulder, force the distance. You level him with a look, like a school teacher discipling a naughty student. (Hot. Gonna have to keep that one in mind, if he ever works the nerve up to ask you to try some roleplay. He’ll bet you could really wreak havoc with a ruler, rap it across his knuckles -- better yet, his ass, let the sting spike over his skin. Make him indignant or obedient - he won't know what sort of mood he's in until he's there.)

You're waiting for an answer. That much is clear. No more love bites until he speaks up. You're a dead weight in his arms and he knows how to make you come to life again.

He sits back on his thighs, hands turning you. "Face in the cushions."

"You got the energy for that?"

You don't even mean to be a brat, he’s sure. It's not an honest challenge. You just sound genuinely surprised. He nods. He's got all the energy for the world if it means being with you.

That gets you moving at least. You squirm under him, limbs awkward and trapped between his thighs. He peels you out of your jeans and rolls his eyes when he sees you've got a second pair of pants underneath.

"It was cold out!" You protest, raising your hips to help him get the layers off.

"It's not that cold out. You got long johns on under these, too?"

"Keep this up and you won't find out."

That shuts him up.

His stomach lurches, arousal hot and tight from the way you're swinging your hips at him. He fumbles with his belt, unwraps himself and tosses the packaging off to the side, where it lands under the tree with the rest of the presents. His fingers tease along your slit, nudging the wet patch you've left along your panties. He wants to bury his nose in you, surround himself with your scent and your taste, shake his head and burrow as deep as he can get.

But when his fingers curl under the elastic of your waistband, you click your tongue. He stills, frozen by your directive.

"Can you ask nicely?"

He wants to scoff. Impatience and irritation are bubbling in his gut, but your demand makes his cock twitch and he could have sworn he felt his fucking balls draw up.

"Please." He drones, fingers tugging at your panties.

"You can do better than that."

"I could just leave you here."

He's not going to do that. You both know that’s an empty threat. Leon grips the fullness of your ass, squeezes it under his palm. His hand draws back quick, a sharp smack filling the room. He hears you muffle your squeal into the cushions. He sees your fingers clench, sees you drag the nearest pillow closer, hugging it to your chest. So easy.

"Ask." That's not a request. It's a demand. You're doing your best to sound tough, your face buried in the pillow, ass still wagging at him like a bitch in heat. He hums, weighs his options.

"Can I fuck your pussy?" He presses his chest to your back, lets you feel the weight of him. You've told him so many times how you like that- you like the feeling of him surrounding you. You like being trapped under his weight, the way he pins you down. His cock strains against your clothed pussy. He wraps an arm around your waist, skims his hand up your chest, in the valley between your tits. His thumb strokes over a peaked nipple, plucks it to a point, and pinches. "Please. I'll make you cum first."

If the way your back arches is any indication, that may just have been the selling point.

"Gonna cum inside?"

"We'll see."

That must be your final straw. He's pushed you too far. You turn your head, cheek cushioned cutely against the couch.

"You cum inside or not at all." Your voice is firm, dark. He wishes he hadn't been so adamant on pressing against you, because he knows you felt the way his cock kicked. He sees your lips twist into a smirk.

Leon's in no mood to wipe it off your face. His baby wanted him to stuff that pretty pussy, who was he to argue? Give him five minutes to recharge, he'll paint your back, too. Maybe your chest.

His lips press to the back of your shoulder. The fingers pinching your nipple relent. He strokes your breasts reverently instead.

"Okay," he agrees, breathless. "Inside."

Your eyes linger on him, watching to see how serious he is. He does his best to look honest. His fingers smooth over his harsh touches, the devotion pouring from his fingertips. You grab his wrist, bring his hand to your mouth and wet his fingers for him, drink it down.

He leans back just enough to squirm his hand underneath the soaked fabric of your panties, slick fingers parting your folds again and again, pressing deeper each pass.

The way you sigh makes his gut tighten and squirm. He dips his fingers in you, the first sliding in so smooth that he adds the second after the first pump. His mouth lathers the nape of your neck with kisses, his breath hot and terse against your skin. Try as you might to seem unaffected, he sees the way that your skin pricks. 

Leon sets a steady pace, works you up to three fingers. Gotta get you ready for him – though the way you moan and rock, you clearly needed this more than you let on.

"Vibrator's in the drawer." He knows a command when he hears one. Doesn't have to be told twice. His superiors always liked that about him, and you appreciate it too. He commits the way your voice quivers to memory, banks that one for his nights away. He leans back, opening the drawer of the side table. He doesn't even question it until it's on and humming in his hand.

"The side table, huh..?"

Leon’s voice wobbles with laughter. That's not where this little guy usually lived. His fingers resume their pace, pumping into you steadily. He presses the head of the vibrator just above your clit, watches the way that you squirm. He can't take much more of this, not when he sees your pretty, kiss swollen lips part and hears you moan like that.

“Got lonely without you,” you admit. Your voice drives him insane, heat pulsing through him with every pump of his heart. Got that airy, whiny quality to it, your thighs quivering like you aren't sure whether to squirm away or chase after all the sensation.

He crooks his fingers inside you, feels you squeeze him and pulse. His cock aches. You bury your face into the pillows to smother the way you moan his name. He needs another hand. He needs fist his hand in your hair and drag you up so he can hear you cry his name over and over.

Not now. Later. Focus, Leon. Your pussy's got him high, lost in the pull of your body. He keeps the vibrator firm to your body, doesn't let you run from the way he’s making you feel. Your back bows, chest pressing to the couch, and he chases you down, lips smattering you neck with sloppy kisses, nipping at your skin, encouraging you with sighed praises – “There you go, baby, just like that, let go, I got you, just let go, cum for me –” and the pride he feels when you shake under him, squeeze his fingers to hard he’s surprised he still has circulation, has him panting.

Goddamn. You’re dripping down his arm, pussy squelching so obscenely around his fingers. He lifts the vibrator away from your clit to give you a break, turns it down just enough to keep you wound up. Doesn’t want it to hurt - not this time.

"I have to be inside you," he groans. You whine, legs spreading wider. Your knee slips off the couch, and rather than put it back up, you brace your foot against the floor to stay spread for him.

"Yeah," you breathe out. Poor baby. That's all you can manage, isn't it?

He shoves his boxers down mid-thigh, fingers drawing out of you. He sits back and lifts his hand to his face, makes a show of licking your mess from his wrist and fingers. That little whine you let out drives him fucking crazy. His fingers curl, sticky with remnants of your juices and his spit, against your hip, leave a tacky wet splotch against your skin. He draws the head of his cock through the wetness of your pussy, slow and torturous. The glide is effortless. He hasn’t prayed in years, but thank god for your cunt.

His hips nudge, head teasing your messy hole, and – Jesus Christ – he just meant to tease you, but your pussy pulls him in, warm and wet around the tip of his cock.

He pulls out, his body and his brain screaming at him – traitor – for pulling away from you. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Blow his load then and there? Hell no. You’d never let him live it down.

You whine again, needy and insistent. The noise is  muffled and frustrated in the press of the pillow. He needs more hands. Wants to pull your hair, force your head up from that pillow so he can hear you properly - but he's got to keep hold of your hips. He presses the vibrator back to your clit, and it’s got you squirming away from him. Leon was trying to buy himself some time to calm down, but this isn’t helping. He’s got to be inside of you right now, or he’s going to explode - and he promised he’d do that inside of you.

He positions himself at your entrance again, almost frantic. The first rock of his hips is clumsy, has him sliding up through the cleft of your ass. He tries again, slides through your folds again, the weeping head of his cock nudging at your clit. The vibrations ripple through his cock, and the whimper he lets out is humiliating. He swears under his breath. He doesn't have the control to pretend that was on purpose. 

His hand drags from your hip to guide himself into you in a series of quick, jerky thrusts. Leon sighs, stairstepping, relief flooding his veins, when your walls finally take him. His pace evens out into something slow and steady. It's a struggle to remember to keep the vibrator where you like it, the way his brain is so fogged with the way you squeeze him. He leans back, hand on the globe of your ass, spreading you apart to watch the way you take him. So wet and messy, sloppy noises driving him crazy. This is the kind of shit that keeps him up at night, that has him fucking his fist and cumming on his stomach in some remote corner of the world, painfully far from you.

He tosses the vibrator aside, the way it skips and jitters against the floor lost to him in the chorus of your moans and the slap of his hips against your ass. Leon feels what little hold he has over himself slipping from his grasp. He can't control the way that his hips rut against you, the push of his cock against the velvet walls of your cunt. He could lose himself in you, spend all his days buried to the hilt in you, balls slapping, teeth wearing at your shoulder, burning memories of this moment into your skin.

His breath comes quick and hard, his forehead buried in the crook of your neck, his moans a litany of your name. He wants you, needs you, can't stop the way his pace has quickened to a frantic beat. His teeth find your earlobe, tugging insistently just to hear your moans sharpen into a keen.

You tighten and pulse around him, a gush of fluid slicking his cock, and he's not certain that he's still on this earth. Your voice breaks on his name and his vision blurs. His fingers find your clit in the haze of pleasure that clouds his mind. It’s a clumsy replacement for the vibrator, but they're his, warm, rough pads that press against you, send your head spinnin. Leon doesn't give you a chance to catch your breath. He wants you panting, breathless, boneless, wants you limp in the cushions below him while he pounds into you gooey cunt.

It doesn't take him long. You're whimpering and soft below him, trying fruitlessly to match his thrusts, your fingers clenching and unclenching against the pillow. He's lost in the haze of your body, and his orgasm almost takes him by surprise. He slows to a grind, rolling his hips deep into you again and again, the head of his cock pressing deep, his load spurting against your walls. His moan is broken, high-pitched - a whimper that will burn into your memory, your name sweet on his tongue.

Leon collapses against your back, his chest heaving. He tries to keep his weight off of you, but his limbs are too heavy. His hands slip down your sides, grasp your hips, and turn you, press your back to the couch.

"Good boy," you murmur. He huffs a laugh, kisses that teasing smile on your lips. You pat his shoulder limply.

Good, he thinks, still catching his breath. Got you all fucked out.

His hands slip back up your sides, craddling your ribs. His thumbs trace gentle arches across the curve of your ribs, his head nestled in the valley between your breasts. Your hand returns to his hair, much softer, petting him gently.

It feels like home. He's made it back. He won't leave, not for a while. He's not sure that he can. His eyes slip shut, the warm glow of the Christmas tree lights and the warm pull of your body lulling him into security. Dully, he remembers grab the vibrator from the floor and click it off. The silence that floods the apartment blankets over the both of you.

He doesn’t want to break the serenity of this moment. Your hair pet his hair, nearly lull him to sleep then and there. All his grand plans of round two, of making a mess of you, are slipping through his fingers in the warm glow of your apartment.

“You wanna open your presents now?” You ask him, voice heavy. Another swell of pride. It sounds like he’s worn you out. Maybe he could go for another round.

“It’s not Christmas yet.”

“I know,” you whine, “but I’m too excited.”

“I haven’t even wrapped yours yet.”

“Don’t care. Just open yours.”

He feels you squirm under him, trying to shuffle off of the couch. No doubt you want to fetch his gifts, force him to open them. Leon presses his full weight down onto you, pinning you under him.

“Nope.”

Your protests fall on deaf ears. He’s won’t give in, not this time. He already messed up the parade, he’s not messing up the gifts. He wiggles his fingers against your ribs, trying to silence your bargaining by making you squirm.

Your laugh fills the apartment. Leon smiles against your skin. That’s the sound that makes this place home.

[wordsbymae]

Honestly I wouldn’t mind if ya did a story that was just breeding kink baby fever pregnancy centered focused 🙈 No thoughts head empty just 🌽

But I do have to ask out of your ocs who’d actually make a great father vs shitty father vs meh father? And what are some of ya ocs parental habits for raising the babies?

Hi!! Honestly I wish I was sooooo much better at smut cause that's all I would write. I'm trying to get back into writing smut but I'm really not very good at it, but I'm practising! Also i promised a fic tonight but I'm tired and my writing is shit so I'll have a red hot crack go tomorrow after work.

Ok so I'll just do out of my yandere ocs, cause they are the ones everyone is more familiar with. TW: talks about domestic abuse

Great Father goes to the Farmer for sure. Look he's got traditional (aka outdated views) but that doesn't mean he would ever disown his children. He had a really horrible childhood and he always promised himself he would do a better job as a parent then his own ever did. He is very hands on, giving his children life skills and most importantly the belief that they can overcome what life throws at them. The farmer knows how hard life is, so he tries to instil good work ethic and most of all a be good to others way of thinking. Being a helping hand is important to him.

He may not like people that much, but being someone others can rely on made him feel as though he is wanted and worthwhile when he was always told by his parent's he was not. He would unfortunately believe in boy's things and girl's things. But that doesn't mean if a son of his wants to help mama sew or a girl of his wants to help him fix the truck he's going to go crazy. No, of course not, he believes that ALL life skills, whether others believe them to be men or women jobs, need to be taught to children. So he doesn't care about division of labour based on gender.

What makes him a bit weary is if his son wants to wear florals or pinks, or if his daughter ONLY wears masculine clothes, especially if they go into town. He's just not comfortable about it. However, over time I think he just wouldn't care anymore and would only fuss if they are wearing improper clothes to work on the farm with. Likewise he wouldn't disown his children if they came out as queer, he would most likely make really cringy jokes and ask embarrassing questions and then say something like "Oh, so I can't ask my child a genuine question? Is that not politically correct now?", but like sir, please the question was embarrassing.

But yeah, once he kinda understood it he would come to terms with it and actually would be funny. Like if someone in town asks him if he's proud of his kid for coming out hell say (absolutely seriously) "why the fuck should I be proud of them coming out of the house, why do kids these days need praise for every little thing they do!". like he wouldn't understand what the phase coming out even means. Anyway on to the next!

Meh Father goes to the Mad King. The man is all bark no bite. He pretty much only wants children as heirs and also to have levrage over the reader. He's not horrible by any means, he spoils his children when they deserve it, but he also makes them understand that nothing good in life is freely given and you have to take it. But unfortunately he also causes rivalries between his children. They are desperate for any attention/praise from him that they will try to out compete one another to gain it. Often resulting in arguments and injuries.

Reader (whether they wanted children or not) has to act overly motherly and affectionate to their children to counteract his actions. There is no favouritism or stern reminders of their places as heirs, just warm, welcoming love. Also his children aren't idiots, they can all tell that their parent's did not marry for love. At least on their mother's side.

They are torn between desperately wanting their father, the king, to show them true love not just cold approval and hating him for the emotional abuse he has put their mother through. It's actually kinda sad, because he was always desperate for the attention and love of his father and now he's caused the same thing between his own children.

There is moments of affection and love but the more he see's himself or god forbid his brother in his children, he begins to be very cold and distant. The man kinda forgot that a kid is 50/50 not just 100% their mother's. That's why his youngest is his favourite, although he would never tell anyone ever. His youngest is pretty much reader cloned, looks, personality, and everything. When he looks at them he is harshly reminded what he took away from reader the day he became king.

Bad Father goes to the Killer. This man would have absolutely no fucking clue what the fuck to do. And he would not care to try. Reader (who is usually gn but for the sake of this is afab) is heartbroken when they realise they are pregnant, and Killer has no idea why they won't stop crying. And why do they keep being sick all the time. A primal part of him likes the idea of caring and providing for his darling and their children, in fact he loves it.

When he figured out reader was pregnant, he started stocking up in furs, wood, meat and cloth. He made a crib from what he remembered his little brother's to be (omg lore drop). He likes to provide, but damn does he actually hate having a child. He leaves ALL baby stuff to reader, he pretty much refuses to look after or even pick up the baby. He gives reader all the resources they need and the Killer calls it a good job done. The poor kid(s) grow up very isolated and confused. Their mama loves them with everything they have but their pa won't even acknowledge them.

Resentment grows as they do. They of course don't really understand why they are here and why their mother/parent is with killer, because it's all they have ever known. They've known nothing other than this. I can see this going either two ways. One day the oldest snaps, they are sick and tired of listening to the screams of the their father's victims. Their mother/parent tries so hard to keep them from barging out of their small shack.

The eldest faces their father, who has grown grey over the years. However, he is still a scary and strong man, and the eldest falters slightly, it's enough for the Killer to smack their eldest to the ground telling them to go back inside. Reader sees this and just loses it. They have spent a good chunk of their life under Killer's thumb. They have seen so much death and violence they have become almost immune. But to see their child being struck by the man who killed all her friends all those years ago just causes absolute rage.

Reader picks up the old shotgun that they found hidden in the attic, they were always too scared to use it, especially when the kid(s) came. But now its time. Killer doesn't stand a chance.

OR the other way is that once the kid(s) reach maturity they follow in their father's footsteps unfortunately for reader and finally get their father's approval. I like the first idea better.

Hope you liked it! I should have my home invader story out tomorrow!

[itsmeemeg-fandomsandfics]

Like Nothing Matters - Chapter 2

“So…” Jayce attempted to fill the awkward silence as the pair walked through the crowded streets of Zaun. Ever the gentleman he had offered to carry Elvie’s bag for her, surprised that all of her belongings could fit into one measly messenger bag. “Have you lived in the undercity your whole life?”

“Mhm.” Elvie nodded, only half listening to the man beside her. “Born and raised. It’s not so bad, believe it or not.”  

Jayce raised an eyebrow, sidestepping a vendor shouting about glow-ink tattoos. “Not so bad? Guess that depends on your definition of 'bad.'”

Elvie chuckled, the sound soft but genuine as she gazed up at the tall man beside her. “You get used to it after a while. Besides, we’ve got our own kind of charm down here. I mean, there's a reason the brothels stay open, even the enforcers can’t say no to Babette and her charms.”

Like a child caught by his mother, Jayces face flushed a deep shade of red at the mention of the undercity brothels. Awkwardly he cleared his throat and readjusted the bag hanging off his shoulder. 

“I forgot topsiders could be such prudes.” Elvie snickered, hand covering her mouth to suppress the smirk that was pulling at the corners of her lips. Jayce was easy to mess with, more so than the average topside citizen she had come across. 

Jayce huffed, his face still glowing red. “I’m not a prude. I just… have standards.”

“Standards?” Elvie quirked an eyebrow, her voice dripping with mock seriousness. “Let me guess: polite conversation over tea, a strict bedtime, and absolutely no mention of anything worthwhile, right?”

Jayce groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can we please change the subject?”

“Sure, sure. What do you wanna talk about?” 

“How do you know Viktor?”

Sucking on her teeth, Elvie stopped in her tracks, her eyes fixed on the faint silhouette of Piltover’s skyline, barely visible through the smog that hung heavy over Zaun. The towering spires gleamed faintly in the polluted haze, a stark contrast to the rust and grime of the Undercity.

Her chest tightened as she stared upward. Viktor was there. He had been for years, living in that world of progress and prosperity. And yet, in all that time—nearly seven years—she hadn’t seen him. It killed her to think about it. 

“We grew up together, what more is there to it.” So much more, but she wasn't about to go spilling her entire history to the man before her. This was a chance to move forward and start anew, dredging up the past would hardly do any good.

Jayce- a few steps ahead turned to look at his companion, surprised to see she was several paces behind him. “Are you okay?” He asked. 

Before Elvie could answer, shouting from further down the street caught her attention. The hair on the back of her neck stood up straight as she turned towards the source of the noise. It dawned on her that this was not the usual kind of bickering one could expect while walking through the market, this was different, harsh- dangerous. 

The crowd around them had all but disappeared, the bustling energy of the main street giving way to a darker, eerie atmosphere. The faint hum of machinery echoed off the walls, and the flickering lights overhead cast jagged shadows across the alleyways. 

Bright green spray paint littered the rusted exteriors of abandoned shops. Creating crass illustrations of a bald man with a wide smile and spirals for eyes .The face seemed to leer at them, repeated in various sizes and angles, as though the figure were watching their every move.

“Keep your head down,” In two long strides Elvie had managed to catch up to Jayce and was tugging her bag off his shoulders. “And for the love of god lose the jacket.”

Jayce looked around, his unease showing on his face. “Where are we

She didn’t respond immediately, her eyes scanning their surroundings. “Nowhere you want to linger,” she muttered, her hand subtly shifting closer to the knife tucked into her belt. Elvie’s voice hardened as her gaze returned to Jayces figure, still clad in his pristine academy white. “I said loose the jacket, now.” 

Jayce blinked, confused. “What? Why?” Wordlessly he shuffled out of the academy jacket, a symbol of his status as a topsider. Awkwardly Jace shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unsure what to do with it now. 

“Because it screams Piltover,” Elvie snapped, nodding her head towards a nearby dumpster. “Now dump it.” 

Jayce glanced at the dumpster overflowing with trash, and then back at her. “You want me to just—throw it in there?”

Rolling her eyes Elvie bit back a sarcastic remark. “Yes, that's exactly what I want you to do. Unless you want to be jumped by Rourke or his goons? Now stay close and keep your eyes down.” 

Reluctantly Jayce tossed his jacket atop the pile of garbage, watching as the garment almost instantly sucked up the top layer of grime and staining it a disgusting shade of brown. “Happy?”

“Very.” Elvie replied flatley, already moving forward. 

The silence that followed them was suffocating. Every skittering of garbage down the street or hissing of an alley cat causing Elvie to grip her knife a little tighter. Every couple of steps she had to force herself to look back at her companion to ensure he was still following diligently behind her. 

Only once before had Elvie had the displeasure of finding herself in Rourke’s neighborhood- The Maw, years ago when she was much younger. The place was infamous, a part of the city even the most hardened of Zaun’s criminals avoided unless they were desperate. It was a part of the city where people had a tendency to go missing. 

She could still remember the terror that had filled her all those years ago walking the same empty streets. She had been desperate back then and had exhausted all other options before turning to Rourke for information.

A high pitched whistle grounded her back in reality.The shrill sound cut through the stale air of the Maw, snapping Elvie out of her reverie. Her muscles tensed, and her hand instinctively went to the blade at her side, eyes scanning the street ahead.

The sound was followed by the faint scrape of boots against metal. Someone was coming.

Her heart quickened as the figure stepped into view. A man, tall and stocky, with a scar running down the left side of his face, wearing a patched-up leather jacket. His gaze locked onto hers almost immediately, and Elvie felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. He wasn't alone—two more figures emerged from the shadows behind him, their movements deliberate and calculating.

“Well, well, well.” Rourke taunted, dropping his cigarette and grinding it beneath his boot. “I haven’t seen you round here in quite a while. Where's the cripple? The two of you were stuck like glue. He finally bite the bullet?”

“I don't want any trouble, Rourke, just makin' a delivery for the shop,” Elvie lied smoothly, pulling one of the bottles she had stolen from work before leaving. She held it out, shaking it slightly to catch the light, hoping it would distract them from her true intentions.

Rourke’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he took a step closer, inspecting her face with an intensity that sent a chill down her spine.

“Delivery, huh?” he repeated slowly, as if testing the words on his tongue. His gaze flicked down to the bottle, then back to her. "In The Maw?"

Before she could answer, one of the men behind him piped up, his voice sharp and inquisitive. "Who’s your friend?"

“A replacement, “ Forcing herself to breathe steady, Elvie answered. “Since Vik’s not around anymore.” 

“Sorry to hear that.” The shock Jayce had felt at the man's sincerity was quickly replaced with fear as Rourke turned to him with a sneer. “What's your name, friend?

“Jayce.” Jayce answered, throat tightening as he choked out his own name.

Rourke’s lips curled into a cruel smile. "Jayce, huh? You don’t look like someone who belongs here. You sure you’re in the right place?"

Elvie tensed, instinctively stepping closer to Jayce, but Rourke raised a hand, signaling for her to stay back. His eyes never left Jayce’s.

"Not many folks wander into The Maw without something to hide," Rourke continued, his voice dripping with malice. "So, tell me, Jayce... What's a Piltie doing in my turf?”

There was a flash of silver as Rourke’s right hand- Ziggy, lunged forward with his blade raised high. With a moment to spare Elvie jumped back as the knife sliced through the air where she had just been standing. Her shoulder slammed into the wall behind her but there was no time to be hindered by pain. Using the fact that she was much more nimble than the men surrounding her Evlie used the wall to launch herself towards Jayce, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him back the way they came. 

“Run!” She shouted.

Jayce did not need to be told twice. 

The men in pursuit howled with laughter as they chased the pair down the narrow streets. The sound of boots pounding against the cobblestones echoed through the alleyways, mixing with the frantic footsteps of the fleeing duo. Elvie, breathless, glanced over her shoulder at the group of rough-looking men gaining on them. They were getting closer, their cruel jeers carrying in the damp air.

Grabbing a trashcan next to a bar's backdoor, Elvie hurled it into the path of her pursuers with the hopes of at least slowing them down. The streets continued to twist before them, growing harder and harder to maneuver in. 

 A hand ghosted over the exposed skin of her shoulder threatening to pull her back and into the arms of danger. Instinct took over, within a split second the knife that had been tucked into her belt this whole time was slicing through the air. Rourke howled in pain as the blade made contact with flesh. For a split second the men pursuing them hesitated- startled by their bosses' cries. 

Using the hesitation to their advantage Evie grabbed Jayce once again, pulling him behind a corner he had failed to notice. Hopefully their pursuits had failed to notice it as well. She pressed her back against the rough stone wall in an attempt to hide within the shadows. Not once did she allow her grip on Jayce to loosen. 

“Don't move.” She whispered, voice barely audible as the thrumming of her heart threatened to give their hiding spot away. 

Wide eyed Jayce nodded, his chest heaving. The adrenaline that had gotten them this far had quickly disappeared, replaced with a heavy blanket of exhaustion. The heavy drumming of boots on the ground drew closer and Elvie could hear their pursuers bickering amongst themselves . 

“Spread out, I want that brats head.”

“Yes sir.”

“On it.

“Won't let you down boss.”

The goons shouted over each other, voices dangerously close. Elvie was sure that if she dared to peek around the corner she’d find herself nose to nose with Rourke once again. Shadows danced on the opposite wall, large and imposing as they darted past the pair's hiding spot before disappearing further down the road. 

Next to her Jayce shuffled, prematurely attempting to push himself out of the shadows to get the two back on track. Swiftly Elvie placed a palm on the man's chest pushing him back against the wall and silencing his protests with a glare. Not wanting to risk drawing attention back to the alley she hoped Jayce could understand what she was trying to convey- wait.

Minutes ticked by- uncomfortably long as they remained unmoving. The air seemed to grow more heavy and oppressive if that was even possible as Elvie and Jayce struggled to catch their breath. 

“I- I think we’re in the clear.” Whipping the sweat from her brow Elvie turned to Jayce, offering him a lopsided smile. “If we backtrack and cut through the fissures we should make it to the streetcars in twenty minutes, thirty tops.”

Jayce let out a shaky breath as he nodded. “They won't be waiting for us there?”

“No,” She sighed. “Too many enforcers. Rourke’s tough but he's not stupid.” 

Jayce looked at her for a moment, his face caught between doubt and trust, before giving a small nod. "Alright. Lead the way."

It didn't take much backtracking for the pair to find themselves on friendlier streets. The labyrinth of Rourkes territory makes way for wider streets bustling with dimly lit apartments on either side. The lack of green spray paint confirmed they were free of The Maws grasp. 

Slowing her pace Elvie looked back at Jayce who had been following no more than a step behind her. “Told you we’d make it.”

Awkwardly Jayce chuckled, his heart rate still elevated from their close call. “You're sure they won't come this far? 

“Positive.”

By the time they finally made it to the street cars night was beginning to creep along the horizon. Tired enforcers stood around chatting with each other. One had even decided to take his break early, seated on a stack of crates with his flask open and half empty.

“Last call to go up to the bridge.” A female enforcer shouted, unnecessarily so as they were the only ones around this late. Next to her Jace said something but Elvie had been too distracted to actually hear what he had said. How could she when the beginning of her new life was only a few steps ahead of her. 

Piltover's gilded gleam stretched before her, both beautiful and imposing. How many times had she stared up at the city, wishing she could claw her way up and join them. To breathe in air that didn't burn her lungs with every breath. To indulge in fancy foods and imported wines. All of it had felt like nothing more than a childhood dream and yet here she was. 

Despite the fact that they were still technically in Zaun, Elvie could already feel the difference around her. Piltover's influence lingered, blurring the lines between the city of progress and the harsh edges of the undercity. The streets were cleaner, the air less suffocating. She really was on the precipice of something great. 

“Ready to go?” Jayce reappeared out of nowhere, placing a warm hand on her shoulder. She jumped slightly at the touch, muscles still wound tight from the earlier confrontation. Turning to him Elvie gave a playful punch to Jayces shoulder.

“Scared the crap outta me there.”

“Sorry,” Jacye chuckled, hand dropping to his side. “We should get going, I’m sure Viktors wondering what's taking us so long.” 

The thought of Viktor waiting for them, for her all the way up in Piltover brought a smile to Elvies face. She could almost picture him now- features sharper from age, staring intensely at the clock while he tapped his cane impatiently on the floor. Had he missed her just as much as she missed him? Five years was a long time, surly over the years he had made new friends. Yet he had sent for her, with a proposal so grand it would change the world. 

Throwing one last glance at the platform before her, Elvie bid her home, her city farwell and stepped onto the street car. The doors hissed behind her as they closed, sealing the pair in with a soft metallic thud. Slowly the street car began its accent bringing Elvie one step closer to her new life. 

It was odd seeing the undercity from such a height. From the streetcar’s elevated tracks, Elvie looked down at Zaun stretching out beneath her, a labyrinth of metal and smoke, its disarray laid out like a tangled web. The city sprawled below in a chaotic mix of rusty rooftops, smoke billowing from forgotten vents, and twisting alleys that seemed to disappear into the depths of the earth. There was no neat order here—no carefully laid-out plans, only the wild, desperate surge of life clinging to the city’s bones.

“Saying goodbye?” Jayce asked, his voice soft yet teasing. 

Elvie scoffed with an equal playfulness, “More like good riddance.” 

Piltover was waiting for her, Viktor was waiting for her. The thought settled in her chest like a spark, warm and comforting. Elvie wasn’t just leaving Zaun behind—she was moving toward something new. A future she once believed was nothing more than a childish dream. The contrast between the girl she had been and the woman she was becoming wasn’t lost on her.

The streetcar continued on, widening the distance between her and Zaun. Zaun had been harsh, unforgiving, and yet it was hers. The struggle, the fight to survive—it had made her who she was. Piltover was a new chapter, a chance for her to be a part of something worth the city of progress. More importantly Viktor would be there with her every step of the way just like when they were children

With a steadying breath, Elvie tore her gaze away from the fleeting cityscape. Piltover was no longer just a distant dream—it was where she was going, where she was meant to be.

And she was ready.

[celaenaeiln]

Hello, love. I just wanted to say that I get on tumblr once in a blue moon and i came here from Chapter 10 of your react fic on ao3. And I love you??? I'm BINGING your Dick Grayson posts and I love them. Even if you didn't have screenshot proof, i would believe you 100%, but i LOVE that you put screenshots and pictures and references. Genuinely, the Best. I need to comment on the chapter with all of thoughts and squealing but it's like 3am for me XD, so I'll have to do it later. Thank you so much!!

(And I'm super tired and I haven't looked through everything of yours but i was wondering how exactly you felt about WFA and Dickie in that, particularly the most recent episodes wirh him and Bruce. Only if you'd like, i dont mind)

Link to fic

OMG BESTIE!!!! HI!!!!

GIRLIE YOU CAN LITERALLY LEAVE A DOT AND YOU'D HAVE ME KICKING AND SCREAMING ILYSM!!!! <333!!!

IM ALWAYS SUPER SUPER SUUUUUPPPPEEERRRRR HAPPY TO SEE YOU!!!!

HMU LATER I HAVE SO MUCH TO SCREAM WITH YOU ABOUT!!! omg LOVEEEE talking to you, you always get me hyped!!!

babe, i'll talk about everything with you, with utter joy! Omg sorry for the late response, you and anon especially, I genuinely just had no idea how I felt about wfa.

I thought about this for a long time but it wasn't until I got a third post on it that I realized what i thought about it and why.

I, personally, kinda hate it. But let me also start off by saying that because I hate it, I don't read it. I've seen some of it on tumblr and it's cute but also the thing is it's not really accurate and I'm alllll about not standing for mischaracterization just because there's already so much of it present in the batfam fandom, a serialization of this just makes the incorrect assumptions worse.

See, the thing about wfa is that it's the batfam set in a very idealized world. And because of how the perfect world is created, some of the characters personalities and actions have been altered. So their trauma and beliefs are kinda bashed away, but it's implied that their histories still follow canon comics.

And that's where it pisses me off. If wfa was pure crack and humor, I would love the heck out of it, but the irritating thing is it tries to stay accurate to the characterizations. But because it's set in such a perfect world, the character's personalities are distorted in some aspects but left alone in others.

So what's the problem with this? It causes the webtoon to be both correct in their characterizations and absolutely as far wrong as possible. If the webtoon was completely wrong with the portrayal of the characters, it would be easy to enjoy or critique the content and easy to at least be aware of what's true and what's not. But it's not like that. It's 50% absolutely correct and 50% horribly, couldn't-be-more wrong which just increases the amount of mischaracterizations that going on about the characters. If there's a problem it lasts for liek two seconds and they immediately fix it without exploring the character's thought process in any way that can be taken seriously. All their problems are treated like scratching at the newly healed skin of a wound. It's useless but a temporarily worthwhile distraction.

Of the pages I've seen, I also don't like it because while it's light hearted, it's not my style of humor. Everyone is literally just a big manchild. It's nice in a objective kind of way and it's entertaining in that it comes up with a lot of fantasy scenarios that are new but the character's personalities are bland and all kind of the same. They're all happy, sarcastic, and pouty.

If this was the masked singer style and wfa characters were drawn with no identifying features - just a blank circle for arms and some rectangles for body parts but had dialogue, you literally wouldn't be able to tell them apart.

So in summary I dislike it because while the super idealized world is nice, the character's personalities are altered only sometimes to make them act in a way they never would in canon while at the same time, picking and choosing what they like from canon relationships which causes the horrible mischaracterization and bland personalities. It's manchild humor and lame jokes. But it's very creative and I can appreciate it for that. So I dislike but I don't hate it. It just sort of irritates me.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Inside Man: Final Part

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~3.1k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: The gang is split into two. Sam and Cas continue to look for the cure for the Mark with the help of someone who will do anything to bring you back. You and Dean face off with Rowena but this time, you're going to show her that you're the most powerful witch there is, and damn her if she thinks she can beat you.

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

You and Dean walk into a nearby bar since Sam took the Impala to Wichita. You fix your bra when you walk in and smooth down the ends of your hair. Fucking makes you thirsty. You turn around and walk backward toward the bar counter, your eyes on Dean.

"Can you get pregnant while being soulless?"

"God, I hope not."

"You should have pulled out."

You smirk and turn back toward the bar. The place is busy with people who are playing pool, throwing darts, eating good food, and enjoying each other's company. You order a double for yourself while Dean orders a plate of nachos. It's amusing how hard he's trying to stay away from alcohol as if he doesn't already have anger issues. You down the drink in one gulp when you hear the obnoxious boys over at the pool table shout in victory over their win.

"Boom! Money. Now. Loser!" one of them shouts. "Give me your cash. Now. Right now."

"What's up with the Abercrombie rejects?" Dean asks the bartender when he passes.

"College kids 'slumming it'. His name is Ty. He always comes in here and does this shit."

"Slumming? What are you talking about? This is a nice joint, huh? You got those custom urinal pucks."

"Come on, bitches. Who's next? twenty bucks a game. Twenty bucks," the same man announces to the entire bar.

You and Dean look at each other and you smirk.

"I'd love nothing more than to show those dicks who's really boss."

"You know, for once, I agree with you."

Dean messes his hair to look spiker than it is while you pull down your shirt slightly to make your breasts stand out more. The bartender shakes his head but doesn't do anything to stop you from going over there.

"Yo! We'll play," Dean says in his douchebag voice.

Ty looks at you up and down before looking at Dean.

"Seriously?"

"What, I've seen enough to know how to play. I'm real good at holding the stick thingy," you say as if you're a dumb bitch who doesn't know shit.

"Dude, he's blitzed," Ty's friend says.

"No, no, no, I'm good. Let me play," Dean says.

"He's fine. Grab a stick," Ty says.

Dean is the one who plays a few rounds with Ty and his friends, bad you might add. He wants them to let their guard down. You play the dumb bitch who cheers for her husband while Ty and his friends rack in the money you're so willing to give them. After Dean loses the game, he looks at you and you smirk knowing he is about to hand them their asses.

"Okay, alright. Again?" Dean says.

"Sure. Make it a hundred this time."

Dean nods and you reach into his back pocket for his wallet. He doesn't stop you when you place three one hundred dollar bills onto the side of the table.

"Make it three hundred." Both men look at each other with wide eyes. "What do you say?"

"Give me your cash," Ty says to his friend.

He puts the cash down on top of yours and Dean tsks as he shakes his head.

"I think you're a little short there. Why don't you toss in the watch?"

"My dad gave me this watch," Ty says.

"I'm sure it's a very touching story. Got a little tear in my eye," you say with a fake pout. "Come on. Are we gonna play or not?"

"Fine," Ty takes off his watch and adds it to the pile, "but don't come crying to me when you've lost all your drug money." Ty smirks and leans in a bit toward you. "Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll make your time worthwhile."

It takes everything in you not to slap him. You want to see his face when Dean beats them.

"You're gonna regret saying that my friend," Dean chuckles and picks up the triangle to rack the balls.

This time, Dean doesn't let them get a shot in. He immediately "sobers up" and sinks in every single striped ball until all that's left is every single solid and the eight ball. If Ty was in a cartoon, smoke would be coming out of his ears.

"That one," Dean indicates to a corner pocket before shooting the eight ball into it.

"You hustled me," Ty says angrily.

"Well, you're pretty quick for a guy who's all hair gel and body spray." Dean picks up all the cash and Ty's father's watch. "Thanks, fellas." He looks at you. "I'll be right back."

Ty is about to go over to Dean to hurt him but his friend holds him back from doing so.

"Forget it, dude. He's an ass."

"Yeah, but my ass," you smirk and trail a finger across Ty's collarbone. "Don't beat yourself up too much, Ty. Now I don't have to cry about losing my drug money." Ty glares down at you. "Awh, don't worry, sweetheart, you definitely made my time worthwhile."

You walk away from the duo and head back to the bar. You're about to order another double when the front doors open. You look to see a very small redhead walk in. Rowena. She is definitely up to no good. The last time you saw her, you didn't have any magic. Oh yes, this will be so much fun. You side off the bar stool and hide behind one of the big wooden pillars by the bar. She doesn't seem to notice you as she walks over to the two men you just hustled. She clears everyone out of the bar but Ty and his friend. Dean comes out of the bathroom but you stop him when you see Rowena whisper something to the two men.

"Witch is here. Should you take this or shall I?"

"You already know the answer to that," he whispers back.

"I won't go easy."

"No one is saying you should."

Once Rowena is done doing her thing on the two men, she sits down at the bar and grabs someone's leftover glass of wine. You two walk into the main room and she smirks at you.

"Dean. Y/N."

"Rowena. What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" You smirk. "I'm sorry. Did I say 'nice girl'? I meant 'evil skank'."

"You say that like it's an insult," she smiles, "but nice girls, they're pathetic. Here's to evil skanks."

Ty and his friend come out of the shadows with blood streaking out of their eyes. They look like the girl Rowena spelled when you first encountered her. No matter. They won't have a chance to hurt you. Dean steps away to let you handle witch business, and you turn to Rowena with an amused smile.

"Is this meant to scare me?"

"It should considering you don't have any magic."

You look at your hands and red magic pours from your palms.

"Wanna rethink that?"

Rowena sets the glass of wine on the bar counter and stands up in fear. Ty runs at Dean but you thrust your outstretched hand at him without looking away from Rowena. Ty stops in his tracks and looks confused as to why he can't move. His friend charges at you but you thrust your other hand at him, causing him to stop in his tracks. Your magic shoots at them and encases their bodies. You pull your magic back, pulling the spell from their bodies. You move your hands toward Rowena, use the spell along with your magic, and blast her back. She topples over a table and some chairs, falling on her ass on the floor.

"Come here, boys," you say. Ty and his friend are compelled to listen to you. You stand in between them and place your hands on both of their shoulders. Your eyes shine red as do theirs so you know they're under your command. "Listen here, pets, she's your target now. Go fetch."

Both men run at Rowena quickly but she has tricks up her sleeves that prevent them from hurting her. She chants something in Latin and blasts them back into the bar counter. Both men hit their heads so hard that it severs your connection to them, and they pass out immediately. Dean takes another step back, fearful of what might happen between two powerful witches. Rowena takes off her coat to reveal symbols she has painted red on her skin. She rolls up her sleeves to reveal more symbols.

"You're no match for me," you laugh.

"We'll see about that."

She yells something in Irish this time and the symbols on her body start to glow purple. Purple magic shoots out of her body and into yours but it doesn't hurt. No, it sends you on a high like never before. You gasp and tilt your head abc as you absorb her power. When she's done, she looks confused as to why you're either not dead or on the floor crying.

"Not possible," she whispers.

"That," you moan. "I want more of that."

You blast her with her magic but instead of hurting her, you pull your magic back like what you did with Ty and his friend. Rowena's magic starts being pulled from her body and she gasps in pain. She can't stop it even if she wants to. You're too powerful for anyone to stop. She doubles over in pain the more you stay high. She chants something in Latin which forms a protective bubble around her, severing the connection. You stumble back into another wooden pillar and look at Dean with hooded eyes.

"Better do something now."

He marches over to her and pins her to the bar counter with a knife to her throat. She knows if she tries anything, he will kill her. The high you're on is already fading but the Mark on your collarbone burns with intensity. It's satisfied... for now.

"If you try anything, I will unleash all of Y/N onto you." Rowena looks at you and you wave with a smirk. "Do you understand me?"

"Fine. You win this one," she glares.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Saving my son."

"Your son?"

"Crowley," she rolls her eyes.

"You've got to be kidding me," you laugh.

"My son is a king, a God, or he would be if you didn't snap your fingers, and he comes running like a wee lapdog."

"Lady, your son is a coward at best," you roll your eyes.

"You two are a good influence on him. That's why you two need to die."

"How's that working out for you? You're no match for Y/N," Dean whispers lowly.

"Oh, I'll try again," she smirks.

"What, you think I'm just gonna let you walk out of here now?"

"I think you two are heroes." She looks at you. "You could have killed those men, but you didn't because they're innocent. Because you're the good girl and you want them to live."

"Really? That's what you think?" you smirk. Before Dean can stop you, you raise your hand and twist your wrist, causing both men's necks to snap. Rowena's eyes widen at their dead bodies. "They mean nothing to me, Rowena. You mean nothing to me." You walk closer to her and Dean and shove Dean to the side. You grip her neck and squeeze tightly, and she claws at your hand fearfully. "If you don't want to leave here in a body bag, I suggest you stay the hell away from me. I have no problem ending your sad and pathetic little life." You drop your words to a whisper and lean in closer. "You are nothing compared to me. Understand?"

You let go of her neck and she coughs violently. She does the smart thing and leaves while she still can. You look at Dean to see him looking at the two men you just killed. You roll your eyes and walk past him to get to the bar.

"Save me the waterworks, Dean. They were collateral damage."

Dean doesn't say a word as he picks up one of the men. He needs to get rid of them before the public comes back. When Dean comes back from burying two bodies, you're behind the bar fixing him a drink. You slide it on the counter and he takes it without a single word to you. He takes a sip and looks at you knowing that Mam snitched to the King. You look behind him to see Crowley standing there with an angry look on his face.

"Been waiting on you."

Dean turns to face Crowley.

"Squirrel. Witch."

"Bitch," you say. "Where's Mommy Dearest?"

"Would it make a difference?"

"Not really," you shrug. "So, are you two going to do this or are you just going to stare at each other like star-crossed lovers?"

Crowley wants to kill you and Dean for what you did to Rowena but after hearing what you had to say, that all changed. Turns out when Rowena went back to Hell to snitch, she banged herself up pretty good so it looks like you beat her ass. She wanted Crowley to kill you and Dean because she failed herself. By the end of this, you're behind the bar making drinks while Crowley and Dean sit on the other side drinking what you serve them.

"She wishes I did more to her," you laugh. "All I did was steal a little magic."

"So, she's a liar."

"What did you expect? She's the mother of a demon. She's not exactly sprouting white wings and a halo."

Crowley looks over and sees the Mark peeking out from your shirt.

"Mother says that Mark is just a curse and can be removed. Of course, she doesn't know how."

You slam the glass in your hand so hard onto the bar counter that it shatters. Blood trickles down your hand but you ignore it. Both men jump from shock and stare at you with wide eyes, Dean more so than Crowley.

"If you so much as search for a cure, I'm going to punish him," you point to Dean while looking at Crowley, "and he knows exactly what I'll do."

Dean and Crowley look at each other, and there is fear in Dean's eyes.

"Don't look for it."

Crowley takes a sip of his alcohol and decides to change the subject before someone dies.

"Mother says I've gone soft."

Dean relaxes knowing he's on safe ground now.

"You have. Yeah, maybe it's all the human blood that Sammy pumped into you, but the old Crowley would have come in here with hellhounds and demons, and he would have blown the roof off the joint. Now? You didn't want to fight. You wanted to talk. Maybe I've changed, too. Here I am playing Dr. Phil to the King of Hell. Never saw that coming," Dean scoffs.

"Maybe we're getting old."

"Never saw that coming, either. What is it, huh? Why are you letting Mommy Dearest tie you into knots?"

"Because we're family. Blood."

"That's not the same thing. A wise man once told me, 'Family don't end in blood.'," you chuckle at the memory of your father, "but doesn't start there, either. Family cares about you, not what you can do for them. Family's there through the good and bad. They got your back," Dean looks at you, "even when it hurts. That's family. Does that sound like your mother?"

"Take it from Dean to talk about family," you say. "He's sticking with me even after all I've done to try and prove him otherwise."

"I'm not giving up on you no matter what you say or do."

"You see?" You smirk. "Blind loyalty. Would your mother do that for you?"

Crowley leaves the bar soon after, and you and Dean leave the bar after him. It's time to go home anyway. You don't want to stay in your room for the rest of the night so you drop Dean off at home and take the car to be anywhere but here. Dean doesn't mind since Sam is back. He wants to talk to him without the fear of you overhearing them.

"What happened? Where's Cas?"

"Where's Y/N?"

"Out. I don't know when she'll be back so talk."

"Metatron knows more than what he was letting on. He has to know about the cure. Cas and I broke him out of Heaven."

"Broke him out? How?"

"Bobby. We needed someone on the inside and he's just as good as any to do it."

Dean nods in agreement. He wishes he could have been there to talk to Bobby but in a way, he's glad he wasn't.

"He's not going to talk," Dean sighs.

"He will now. He's human. Cas stole his Grace."

"Wow, a human Metatron. I would have loved to see that. Don't tell Y/N that or she will kill him."

"I know. We were going to kill him but he knows where Cas' grace is. He said he'd take him to it. What about you? What did you two do?"

"Went to a bar. Played some pool. Got ambushed by Crowley's mother. Rowena."

"Are you kidding me?" Sam gasps.

"I wish. Y/N killed two innocent people and almost killed Rowena. Crowley came, we talked, and now we're all best friends," Dean says sarcastically. "To be honest, I don't know if there is anything left of her to save."

"We're not giving up, Dean. We'll find this cure. You'll get her back." Dean nods but doesn't say anything about it. "I have something for you. I already read ours." Sam takes out the two envelopes from his jacket pocket One sealed. One opened. "Bobby wrote one for us and one for Y/N."

Dean takes the letters and stares at your name written in Bobby's scrawly handwriting.

"Don't give this to her."

"I know. Cas told me not to."

"No, I mean it, Sam. She'll burn it."

"I know," Sam says softly. "Put it away until she's ready to read it. I'm going to take a shower and go to bed."

Sam leaves Dean alone in the war room. He opens his letter with shaky hands and begins reading it.

Sam and Dean, So... this is weird, huh? Look, I just wanted to say that I know what you two are trying to do for each other. Cas told me everything. I'm not asking you to stop because it breaks my heart to know my daughter is a shell of who she used to be. I know about my grandbabies and I want you two to do whatever it takes to protect them. My daughter loves them with all her heart and I don't want to see them in Heaven a moment before they're supposed to be here. I'm not there to tell you what to do or to guide you, but I know you two will make the right choice. Sam, you're a good man. One of the best. I'm damn proud of you, son. I was content up here but getting the call from you has made me the happiest I've been in forever, no matter what it costs. Dean, I can't imagine what you're going through right now. I'm damn proud of you, too. I wish I could have heard your voice but I know you've got your hands full at the moment. When you feel like giving up, just remember that it won't last forever. You'll get Y/N back and your children. Anyway, I can't wait to hear what you three have done in your life when you finally do get to Heaven. Make it a long one. Stay safe, keep fighting, and kick it in the ass. Bobby

Dean lets the letter flutter to the table as tears stream down his face.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[claratompson]

Five rains p.2

It was raining again outside.

Shoshanna didn't bother to take an umbrella. She loved the rain and didn't care if it got wet or not.

On this rainy autumn day, she decided to go to a cafe on her day off, drink coffee and spend time reading a book.

It was the kind of cafe that German officers wouldn't go to. That's what she thought, right up until Sturmbannfuhrer Hellstrom's voice interrupted her: "Hello, Emmanuel."

The girl slowly raised her gaze to him and, with a semblance of a welcoming smile on her face, answered: "Good afternoon, Hellstrom."

The Major pointed to the seat opposite Shoshanna and asked: "Do you mind if I sit down?"

"Of course, sit down." The girl replied dispassionately. Her whole gaze was fixed on the book. After the evening when Sturmbannfuhrer Hellstrom had escorted her home, Shoshanna had already reproached herself for saying too much. She even hoped the Major wasn't taking her words seriously.

The waiter approached the Major and took his order. Hellstrom took a cup of coffee and a croc-madame, then turned to Emmanuelle: "And you, Mademoiselle Mimieux, would you like something?"

"No, no, thank you," she said evasively.

As soon as the waiter left, Dieter asked the girl, " How's the movie theater going, Emmanuel?"

Shoshanna looked up at him coldly and answered: "Quite well, thank you."

"How's your German?" he asked again.

"Bad, but I'm trying." she answered honestly.

"I can help you with German if you want."- studying the girl with his eyes, he suggested.

"That's very kind of you, Hellstrom, but no, thank you. I can handle it myself." She didn't even look up at him.

"Well, Emmanuel, as you wish. If you need help with German, you can always contact me. " he replied as if he was trying to get her attention so that she would look at him. After that meeting in the restaurant, the major had an incredible change. He was surprised at the sudden interest in Emmanuelle, but he didn't give it up. The girl was quite nice and intelligent, as it seemed to him. A thin blonde with green-blue eyes. He thought it would be perfect for him. Why not get carried away with such a copy, and at the same time, wipe the nose of this upstart Zoller, who believes that if he is considered a hero of the Reich, then now the whole world is at his feet.

"May I ask what you're reading, Emmanuel?" - he asked.

"I think you will find this book boring. It's an Outsider by Albert Camus, " she said evasively.

"What do you think? Worthwhile?" The major asked with interest, trying to start a conversation.

"Quite, I like it." - honestly answered the girl.

"I wanted to ask you something, Emmanuel."

At this point, the girl stiffened, looking up at the Major with a slightly frightened look.

Only Dieter wanted to ask how Private Zoller had interrupted him.

"Sturmbannfuhrer Hellstrom!" the private greeted the major, standing in a crouch, and then turned to Emmanuel.

"Emmanuel, hello. It's good to see you, " he said with a painfully irritating, happy and naive smile on his face.

Shoshanna thought to herself: ("Can't I spend my day off in peace and quiet?! Who knew that both of these idiots would descend on this place.")

"Hello, Zoller." she barely politely replied, and then immediately returned her gaze to Dieter, watching as his expression changed from studying to annoyed.

"You know, Emmanuel, I've been looking for you all day. I thought you would be at the cinema, but your employee Marcel explained that you have a day off and here I am." Hiding, perhaps, a semblance of awkwardness, the private said.

The girl looked up at him with her stern gaze and replied, "And why were you looking for me?"

"This Wednesday there will be a small event in honor of General Stolz's birthday. And I wanted to invite you to come with me. What do you say, Emmanuel?" The private asked hopefully.

Shoshanna was about to answer "no," but the Sturmbannfuhrer beat her to it.: "I'll answer for her, Frederick. The thing is, I'm ahead of you. Mademoiselle Mimieux has just agreed to accompany me this evening."

Emmanuelle looked at Major Hellstrom in disbelief. The major looked at her, hinting with his eyes to play along with him: "I... yes. The major is right. I'm already going to the party with him. So that's it."

The disappointment on Private Zoller's face was too obvious to miss.: "Oh, come on. It looks like you beat me to it, Sturmbannfuhrer Hellstrom. Well, then, I think I'll go. Good day to both of you. Goodbye."

The private left the cafe as quickly as he appeared in it. Shoshanna had no idea what had just happened or why the Sturmbannfuhrer had done it, but he had indeed managed to get rid of Zoller's company. For which she was grateful to the major.

Shoshanna realized that if she stayed here with him for even a few more minutes, her day off would end at least not the way she had planned.

After putting the book in her bag and not finishing her cold coffee, Shoshanna got up from the table with the words: "Thank you, Hellstrom, for the conversation. It's time for me to go. Have a nice day."

The Sturmbannfuhrer struck her with his behavior again, getting up from the table and taking her hand: "By the way, I was talking seriously about the evening."

Shoshanna asked: "What?"

"That's exactly the question I wanted to ask you, Emmanuel, before Zoller interrupted me. I wanted to invite you to this evening," he said.

The girl was still trying to get out of this ridiculous situation without sacrifice: "Thank you, but can I refuse?" she asked honestly, already looking straight into his eyes.

"You can, but I thought you would be pleased with my offer." - the major did not hide that he expected a positive response.

"It was a pleasure, Hellstrom, but I don't want to go with you," she replied without thinking about the consequences.

The girl's answer hurt him, to be honest.

"Am I so disgusting to you that you don't want to spend one evening with me?" The major replied without hiding his irritation.

Shoshanna hurried to correct the situation, hoping that their conversation would not end with him putting a Walther to her temple: "You don't disgust me, you don't have to think like that. Don't be mad at me. I just don't go where I don't belong. That's it."

The major seemed to soften his gaze after the girl's words: "Promise to at least think about my offer, otherwise I'll have to tell Zoller and then you'll definitely have to go, but only with a more annoying person than me."

Shoshanna smiled a little at the major's comment, realizing that she wasn't the only one who didn't share Zoller's universal admiration.

"Okay, I promise to think about it." - She replied.

"I'm not as scary as it might seem. Don't be afraid of me, Emmanuel." - he said, closing the distance between them.

"I'm not afraid," she said firmly, looking into his eyes.

Dieter, once again, appreciated her straightforwardness and honesty, which he liked about her.

They stared into each other's eyes until they were distracted by the waiter who brought the major's order.

"Please, Sturmbannfuhrer Hellstrom, your coffee and croc-madam."

The major thanked the waiter and, taking Emmanuelle by the hand, kissed her hand with the words: "Then see you later, Emmanuel. I hope that you will decide to come with me."

The girl said nothing and quickly left the cafe.

[gabapentinblues]

journal pt 2

too tired to sh. dont even want to know how many calories i consumed today. definitely a lot. my pmdd is making me miserable my boobs hurt so bad and i want to die.

im so tired of everything. laying in bed at barely 7pm, still light out, going to go to sleep i dont care. my vertigo is so bad, being awake is miserable. dont really have anyone to talk to rn and i dont want to talk to anyone anyway. i just want to stop existing and going to sleep is the closest i can get to that.

im absolutely ruining my lungs with the vape that i bought and i dont even care. maybe i'll try to go without it for a day. maybe i wont be a total crash out tomorrow. im so useless. i do nothing with my time, not the things i enjoy, nothing productive, nothing worthwhile, nothing at all.

im ready for my day to end i think. i just feel like im screaming into an empty void. all of my journal entries read the same, its just me saying i want to die over and over and i dont think it will ever change.

i cant overstate how serious i am that i dont see a future for myself at all. i dont see things getting better, i dont see a way out, i dont believe in myself, i thought i was getting somewhere but it's all been for nothing, it doesnt matter that im here and i wish it wouldn't matter that im gone.

theres no easy way for me to disappear, no good way for me to end it. i wish i could just end it all and become part of the cosmic dust and have no awareness of anything, this world is so pointless. there's nothing i enjoy theres nothing i care about. maybe one day the strangers i live with will notice how empty i am inside.

this feels like the only thing that i have. confessing this all into the ether, im so incredibly depressed and it feels like there's nothing that will help me. worse yet i want to challenge anyone who tries. i want to pick fights and push people away bc i know that ultimately i could get anyone and everyone to give up on me,

ive given up on myself. im looking for a job but i dont think that will fix anything. i think i'll still be the same. just a prolonging of things and slight relief of the guilt i feel for the way i exist now. im worth nothing. im accomplishing nothing, contributing nothing, improving nothing, my presence has no value. i dont know why anyone would say that it does,

i dont know when i'll ever grow up and stop typing these long tirades on the internet for no one to read. i guess if anyone ever find them they'll know how long i held on for, so much longer than i wanted to. everyday i wake up and all i can do is wait for the next time i get to sleep. my friends try to check on me and i just want to push them away.

im ungrateful and unworthy. i want to make an attempt at ending my life so badly. i want for no one to expect anything of me ever again. i want to become morbidly overweight and just eat myself and drink myself to death until my body completely fails on me. thats all i am is a failure. a miserable failure of a person with nothing good to offer.

i feel like no one takes me seriously, and i guess why should they im never going to do anything anyway. im never going to end my life because im too pathetic i have too many people selfishly keeping me here. i'll never be able to do it, all i can do is start self harming again, thats the only thing i really have

and i will start self harming again, ive decided i dont care about scars i dont care about upsetting people i dont care about anyone seeing im just going to do it, i tried to recover and i just dont care anymore. i dont care about anything. i wish i had stayed in my apartment and decided to rot away and die in debt there,

im in so much debt and my life is completely worthless. theres no way i'll ever be able to pay it back, im a failure and a disappointment and it haunts me.

my body is so deeply uncomfortable i dont want to be in it, i want to die, i want to walk into traffic. i want to buy a gun and go to the lobby of the clinic i owe money to and shoot myself in the head, thats what they want from me. they want me dead, they never cared about helping me.

i feel so hopeless reaching out to people feels pointless i just want to push everyone away. i think everyone will get tired of me. eventually they will have to. eventually i'll get tired of living like this, something will have to change.

i just want death to come to me, i want to make myself sick or get in an accident and not have to think about any of it anymore.

[isuckatbeinghappyallthetime]

‘Every father dreams the day his children fall deeply in love.’

‘Now that I am with my love, everything is clear, like life was empty before.’

‘Everyone is half til they meet their soulmate.’

‘You're young, when you mature then you'll be thinking differently about it.’

‘Everyone waits for their perfect love story.’

‘I need nothing else except you.’

‘Just wait for the right person.’

‘You’ll go out when you're older and you’ll see.’

‘The way you talk about them I don't believe your aro.’ 

‘You're not aro.’

‘..your friend?... sure..’

‘You’ll feel the spark! Happens to everyone at some point, then you just..know’

‘Have you tried a vibrator?’

‘Maybe you just want to feel special.’

maybe I just need a reason to be so alone, to feel so hopeless. 

maybe if it's not the aroace part, then the reason no one likes me is because of my personality, my clothes, my humor, the drugs I do, my body, or my face. then it's something more fundamental, the way my voice sounds? my laugh? How I carry my weight when I walk? 

maybe I'm just that person you see when you have to. that person that’s no one's best friend, just there. someone no one could ever seriously consider dating. Maybe I'm alone because no one likes me and not because I'm aroace. 

but I believe my feelings sometimes. Most times I can't trust my feelings. But lately, I believe them, I think I love differently, I think I love platonically very hard. Maybe that's the spark? Maybe I misunderstood, but how could I ever be sure? I can't feel what they feel. but I think it's different.

I think I want to be friends, I want to see them every day more than anyone else. 

But when I imagine dating them? Like dating them? I feel wrong. Like that's not how it's supposed to look. 

So it's different in a way. Maybe that's what being aro is like. Maybe I belong to something. and maybe I'm just convincing myself this so I can be a part of a community so I can feel included. feel like I need reassurance i’m worthwhile. 

That i’m not just a fuck up.

That having no romantic prospects or successful relationships, limited sexual experiences, no ability to find love, doesn't drink or dress cute, not skinny. I'm not just broken, I'm not just destined for a pitiful life. Even if I never find love I'm not just a failure to find happiness.

Maybe I am exaggerating but with how much love and romance is, well, romanticized, I feel like there must be something wrong.

Maybe I need to just wait. Keep dreaming someone out there will just fall in love with me and fix me, I'll find The Spark and I do the whole romance thing. Maybe I will be happy. 

or maybe I need sleep. 

[granulesofsand]

🗝️🏷️ RAMCOA, fakeclaiming

While I was reading about Satanic Panic (which is not the same as even SRA, though that was what it was built on) I was having such an awful time staying grounded despite taking in approximately zero new information. I was reflecting on that, wondering whether there was a truth to the pages that my brain was trying to hold out of reach.

It’s just that it says Satanic Ritual Abuse. An article about cats will do that if it mentions SRA. I don’t know if that’s an association our brain made for us or if that came free with the programming, but it takes like three times the effort to absorb not counting switching and memory snatching. Like rain on wax.

Layfolk’s Satanic Panic vs SRA below cut

Satanic Panic was a moral panic. Satanic Ritual Abuse is extreme abuse in the context of countercultural religious ceremonies (the religion was important here, because political reasoning gave way to the Mind Control category, such as Monarch and MKUltra).

Therapists had different rules then, kinda like how we decided maybe we needed OSHA by fucking up enough. Journalists were expected to be more neutral and less for entertainment than currently, but they were also doing their own thing. The culture was very prominently Christian.

So the first publications were with therapists who had poor boundaries, with clients who had experienced some form of what we would now (and possible then) recognize as mistreatment. The overlay script, the lens through which they interpreted these disclosures, was basically Evangelicalism.

Many people shared this lens, and concerns grew as more cases were recognized and adapted into marketable media. People, as per usual, were also stressed tf out about something (jobs declining, divorce, women existing too much). They wanted an enemy and a solution, and they had it.

So here we go, people are talking about Satanic cults in every town, sacrifices out of natural deaths, predictions that never came true by any taken count. How deep does it go? Everywhere, all the evil in the world. How do we fix it? Jesus, of course.

That is Satanic Panic. SRA cases that turned up nothing worthwhile or too little too late are used as evidence that such abuse not only didn’t happen that time, but never has and never will happen any time.

But we do have cases of RA, usually presented in the form of plain regular abuse because the ideological accompaniment isn’t illegal most places. When people prosecute, they rarely bring the extent of the issue into the courtroom because they won’t be taken seriously. People are now more afraid to be seen backing a conspiracy theory than backing an abuser. It’s damn near a moral panic about a moral panic.

It boils down to whether we believe the victim or the accused, because we want to uphold the whole innocent until proven guilty. We forget we can do both. If a client, friend, or peer comes out with RA disclosures, the proper response is to console them. This isn’t court, they aren’t pressing charges, we are not responsible for proving it either which way. Tend to people.

[quirkwizard]

To me dark night’s quirk on paper wasn’t a terrible idea, basically taking the strength of overhaul and the versatility of creation would make a pretty strong quirk but still requiring physical contact with the users hands, but the overmodification blew it all out of the water by not only amplifying the effect of alchemy and removing the touch limitation but also granting all might level strength. If instead it acted more like labrava’s love and he received a purely physical boost and alchemy can’t affect living targets, by having those two abilities vs a midoriya who can’t risk injuring himself before fighting all for one and thus only using one for all at 45% with the other quirks would at least have been more reasonable than what we got.

Hey Wiz! How are you doing? I hope you're doing well. So I know how ridiculous Alchemy is, especially given how busted it was due to Overmodification but if you took the bustedness away and added some more limitations (i.e. the size, duration of the change, the type of alteration etc) could the premise of the quirk work?

So a while back you “fixed” Stars and Stripes quirk by making suggestions for replacements, would you be willing to do the same thing for the “Dark Might” alchemy quirk, for the sake of your sanity assume he still has the quirk enhancer girl.

No, it can't work. I'm not entertaining this idea any further… then again, if I got this many questions on it, I'm going to have to explain my stance on it. As much as I don't like to talk about non-canon material, I guess I have to talk about evil All Might.

"Alchemy" is such a horrifically designed power that it boggles the mind. On premise alone, it achieves more then any other Quirk in the series is capable of. Being able to transmute anything into anything else is such a varied and powerful concept that it can work as the foundation for it's own power system. And if we're doing comparisons, Dark Might is basically Father from FMA. I don't even think it's that far of a comparison. A single application of this would be a Quirk to itself and a pretty strong one at that. There isn't any limits on what he can turn something into, like being able to turn something into kinetic energy or being able to make complex drones, nor is there any range or target limit, as he can change the appearance of himself or others with it. That's barely scratching the potential of what this could be capable of doing and that's before the modification nonsense.

And what is the cost for all this power? Nothing. The most absurd power in the whole series, and it requires nothing to function. You cannot justify this power in the setting. Shoot, I think it would be worst then "New Order" in terms of how badly it screws up the power system. My only solace is that the movies are so non-canon it hurts, and thus I can ignore it. Just like I can ignore Dark Might. Seriously, if your defense is that it mixes two of the most powerful Quirks in the setting, then you have made a poor justification for your power. To fix this, you'd have to rework it from the ground up into an entirely new idea. And I get that the writers were in a corner with this movie. Izuku and the team have gotten so absurdly strong that it's hard to introduce a worthwhile threat to the series. But could they have at least tried a little bit harder with it? Maybe something that's actually interesting and adds layers to the character. Then again, with a concept like "All Might's Evil Wizard Twin", there's only so much you can do.

[ecargmura]

Twilight Out Of Focus Episode 9 Review - The Ideal High School Life

Shion is a character who is trying to live his idealized high school life: finding a cool boyfriend, finding a club worthwhile to join and having friends. However, this is all just idealized. Shion’s desired high school life isn’t what he had expected and reality hits him a lot differently than he expects. Yes, he has a hot boyfriend, but he’s not exactly in love with him and Rei isn’t exactly in love with him either. They’re just dating for superficial reasons after all.

However, what makes Shion so compelling is the fact he’s someone who’s trying to find something and someone to love. While he found Rei, the mutual feelings aren’t there yet, but he likes him enough that he’s putting up with him. Shion is also trying to find something to love, like a passion. Realizing that he’s surrounded by people passionate about filmmaking makes him realize how self-centered he has been. He’s always going about what he wants but never really sees outside of his boundaries. His argument with Kirito was a good wakeup call to that. While Shion is a hard worker at whatever he does, the fact that he doesn’t pour enough attachment into things is a flaw of his and that’s the reason why he decided to go gung-ho about the filming and eventually realized how great film club and filmmaking is. Heck, Shion even realizes that he just needs to take a step forward in order to make friends and to associate himself with others.

Shion and Rei are dating, but they’re still in the ‘getting to know each other’ stages. Rei is blunt, but he’s surprisingly a lot nicer than he was in the previous episode. He may not be the ideal boyfriend Shion desired, but he’s still someone who looks out for him in his own way. Compared to Rei who almost ghosted him last episode, Rei is surprisingly a lot more attentive than Shion realized. It’s apparently when Rei found Shion moping in the laundry room, took him to his room, and had a heart-to-heart moment with him; Rei even repeated a line Shion said in his introduction, showing off that Shion did leave an impression on him. Heck, Shion’s willingness to date him caused Jin to make a list and Rei is actually following through with it. I guess Shion is fixing him slowly; I can’t believe it’s working. Rei is also a gentleman, surprisingly. While Shion wants to do naughty things, Rei doesn’t indulge in it and even tells Shion to sleep on his bed as he works. See? Rei’s not so bad…

I also like Shion and Kirito’s friendship portrayed in this episode. They’re total opposites but they get along well. Kirito is understanding of Shion’s endeavors of finding a boyfriend and he respects him well enough that he gets upset when Shion gives a flimsy, flippant excuse of trying to concede his spot in the filming crew to him. Kirito was actually a good sport about not being in the film crew and was more upset that Shion was downgrading himself a lot. He asked Shion to join the film club not only because he thought it’d be fun to hang out together, but also because he knew Shion will take it seriously. That’s why he felt disrespected by Shion. Kirito’s a good guy. He understands Shion’s worth a lot more than the boy does himself.

It’s nice to see all of the characters make an appearance in this episode. The third years made small appearances in a flashback. Ichikawa’s group makes an appearance again. Hisashi makes an appearance for the first time in a while. Speaking of which, my only gripe of this episode is the fact that the timeline for the Evening Monologue duo is actually a little jumbled. The order of the stories is Twilight Out of Focus —> Afterimages in Slow Motion —> Twilight Out of Focus: Overlap —> Evening Monologues. Why I say this is because after the Ichikawa group films the BL movie, they do more projects afterwards. The music video Kirito mentioned was one of those projects. It feels like wasted opportunity to not show off the events of Overlap first before showing off the Evening Monologues, but I get the anime’s direction. They probably want to save the last two episodes for Hisamao.

To be honest, I can’t wait for next week’s episode because it’s showing Rei’s perspective on their relationship. Did Shion really fix him? Find out next week. All in all, what are your thoughts on this episode?

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #517

I... went to bed entirely too late last night. Like... to the tune of 6am kind of late. And then I woke up at around 11am.

...Sorry about that.

…I spent almost all day in the aether today, as well. Sitting before a place where I can write, pouring out my imagination in some of the most wholesome ways I can think of. And it's beautiful, but... it's also exhausting for reasons I understand, but can't quite explain. Not here, anyway.

...And... no. I can't put the results of any of my mind's wanderings today in this space. Mostly because it would not be helpful.

I can show you the sushi I got, though!! Check it out!!

I figured if I'm in my brain doing brain things, I should probably have some fish; get them ol' omega-3 fatty acids so that my body has the resources it needs to make new neural connections and all that.

...Hey, Sephiroth? Do you like sushi? If you do, what are your favorite kinds? My favorites are salmon eggs, mackerel, scallop, and yellowtail with scallion! It's all very yummy! And... if you've never tried sushi, you know what? I know a place!!! It's got all-you-can-eat sushi, so that you can try just a little bit of everything! We could totally go there!! And they even have stuff besides sushi if you don't like sushi!

I'll... I'll be waiting, okay? Forever, I know. But still. Still...

…

I'm not entirely sure what I'm looking for. Relief from this uncertainty, perhaps. But I don't think there's anything that can grant me that, not really. But... retreating into my own mind does take the edge off the pain a little, dulls it, makes it a little easier to bear. I'm not really sure what else to do.

Can't stay up all night this time, though. Got a doctor's appointment in the morning and all that. Unfortunately, tomorrow is Tuesday, which means Eggcellent is closed. I'm thinking about switching my “various appointments” day to Wednesdays, just so that I'll be able to stop at Eggcellent afterwards.

...Speaking of which. I have to get my weekly appointments for physical therapy and all that set up, anyhow. I... haven't done that yet. Haven't been back to physical therapy in... jeez, a while now. Guess I'll chain my “adulting” tasks tomorrow so I can get the things done. I don't really wanna; I'd much rather just have a body that Actually Fucking Works, but ah... with my genetics being what they are, that's... probably not in the cards.

...Oh well.

Oh. Speaking of things that don't work (like my respiratory system at night, apparently), I figured out that I had the headgear on wrong for my new CPAP mask. So I fixed that, and now, with the forces holding it to my face being more appropriately distributed, the mask doesn't leak nearly as badly as before. And I can still sleep on my stomach. My upper spine seems a little crunchier than before (seriously, when I move in certain ways, I could be mistaken for a bowl of Rice Krispies in milk... or perhaps even for a wet packet of Pop Rocks), but... the ribs and shoulder haven't been hurting nearly as much lately. It's probably something I oughta tell my physical therapist next time I see him; he might have some ideas.

Oh. Right. Rice Krispies. They are a puffed rice breakfast cereal in my world. You pour milk over them and then they make crackling noises as the moisture of the milk weakens the integrity of the starch bonds, which then releases the air trapped inside of the puffed rice with a tiny “pop”.

And Pop Rocks... they're a kind of candy in my world. Sweet and sour sugar, crystallized around high-pressure carbon dioxide. Saliva dissolves the sugar, releasing the carbon dioxide with a “pop”. It's an interesting sensation, but... not one I'd pursue. Worthwhile to try nonetheless, though.

...There's all kinds of various and sundry things I'd like to show you if I could. All of the best miracles are contained within the mundane, if only you open your eyes to look.

J and I tried to go to an open mic thing that was supposedly going to be held at the recreation center in our tiny suburb. But... I guess the person who arranged it didn't go through the proper channels, and so someone else was in the space. That someone else said that the person who arranged it was dejected by the lack of people who came last time, and so was, apparently, going around, taking down the signs he put up. J and I had hoped to catch him, so he went around looking for him while I stood watch at a sign he hadn't taken down yet. We did find him, and as it turns out, he lives only a couple doors down from us!

Sadly, it seems like, since some other folks went through the proper channels to reserve the room every Monday, this person's dream to have an open mic is on hiatus, until those other folks go away, I guess sometime in June. They're practicing for a play, I guess. I'm not sure if this open mic will come to fruition, but... I really hope it does.

Hey Sephiroth...? If you went to an open mic, what songs would you sing? Would any of the ones I've shown you make the cut...? I wonder.

In any case. I breathed a couple more wishes to life for you today. Here:

...And here were today's tunes as I wove them together:

And its response, with different lyrics:

I oughta get started on a decent translation for those. Though I think I might have kept my translations of them lying around somewheres. The ones available on the internet... kinda stink. But maybe you don't need it translated; you know Japanese, doncha?

...What language do you speak, anyway? I don't imagine it's actually like any language in my world. Or is it? I wonder. You'll hafta tell me sometime.

Well. I guess that's it for today. I really ought to be getting myself to bed. As much as I really don't want to. I'd really rather dive back into the aether. But... well. I'll have plenty of time for that tomorrow, after my appointment.

I love you so much. I hope you know. I hope you can feel it. And... I hope it moves you.

Please stay safe out there, okay? I don't really wanna keep going if you're not around to look towards as I do it.

I'll write again soon.

Your friend, Lumine

[kismetconstellations]

@sockdooe, You are not being stupid. I want to establish that right away. You're not stupid. You are understandably cautious because this fandom has a deserved reputation for being one of the worst in recorded history due to its rampant toxicity and K/L shippers, especially, having a penchant for harassing any and everyone with differing opinions.

I am so sorry that this environment has been so hostile toward you. You didn't and still don't deserve that. Fandoms are supposed to be fun, occasionally self-indulgent, places of escapism. Not overwhelm participants with intense anxiety because they're expecting to be attacked for expressing love for a certain character or ship, or even a dissenting opinion.

One of my dearest friends shared a post with me, the other day, that I find very apt for our ongoing predicament as Shiro fans.

"Sometimes you see discourse ™ so mindbogglingly dumb you just have to be like, 'That’s the kids talking. That’s the same as when two toddlers are having an intense conversation and it’s totally detached from reality, but they’re very serious about it. That’s not for me that’s for the kids'."

It can be fun, or sometimes even feel imperative, given how often they rile me up, to challenge these hate-fueled, mindbogglingly dumb, detached from reality takes. But, we don't have to engage with them. We always have the option to remind ourselves, "That's the kids talking. That's not for me, that's for the kids."

You are not "stupid" for taking precautions to protect yourself from vitriolic subsets of this fandom. And, yes, anyone cheerfully looking to spread hatred for Shiro while tacking on, "I still love him/I don't hate him, but", as a preemptive shield from criticism, is provably vitriolic. You have to have nothing worthwhile going on in your life and an unquenchable need to start petty drama in order to sit around and invent reasons to hate a gay, disabled, neurodivergent trauma survivor who epitomizes selfless heroism and who has chosen to remain gentle in spite of everything that he's been through.

"Lance was more warm to the mice than Shiro to Keith."

What's that? Sorry, child, I can't hear you over Shiro canonically drawing Keith into an embrace in full view of everyone after learning that Keith shares the blood of the species that made Shiro's life a living Hell for a year.

There is a saying, "You don't choose the favorite character. The favorite character chooses you." While I do find it invariably tends to ring true, it is interesting how people with certain personality types gravitate toward specific characters, and then latch onto them with a fierceness that can only come from intense personal projection.

I'm not knocking anyone for this. I project at least a bit onto my favorite characters, as well, as I'm certain most people do. It comes with the "self-indulgent escapism" territory.

It just sucks that L/K-shipping fans of either character have chosen to make their intense projection onto these characters into everyone else's problem. Particularly Shiro and Allura, and I imagine even Pidge (given that I've seen more than a few fics bashing her for supposedly being mean to Lance) fans.

No, making K/L canon would not have "fixed" the inept writing, inherent ableism and ageism, and deplorable treatment of trauma survivors that tacitly endorses them martyring themselves. All that would have accomplished is setting a precedent that targeted harassment and attempted extortion works. The showrunners absolutely did the right thing in not caving to the demands of a horde of entitled brats who actively attacked them for two years, lobbing accusations of pedophilia at a father. Which could have completely ruined his life and resulted in his children being taken from him had anyone taken these preposterous claims over a harmless ship between two legal adults in a cartoon seriously.

I'd like to consider it a form of serendipity that we crossed paths with each other in this cesspit of a fanbase. ❤ As I informed another blogger, a few days ago, finding another Shiro fan who doesn't simply view him as "hot bara Daddy Dom I want to imagine banging my self-insert of choice", will always be a breath of fresh air.

(Sidenote: I thought baras were supposed to be hairy, as well as tall and ripped. Shiro is a bit too hairless to qualify, no? And, Coran is a Daddy Dom.

Shiro is a Bottom/Submissive through and through.

(o˘◡˘o) )

The "Space Dad" thing, by itself, is kind of cute, and I do love that Josh Keaton derived such joy from it, bless his heart. But, when fans take it seriously and start holding Shiro to the standards of an actual father when canon never presents him as one, that's when it drives me nuts and I start to hate it. In much the same way Lance and Keith fans simultaneously lionizing and woobifying their favorites at the expense of everyone else has done a great job of putting me off of them.

Keith, Pidge, Lance, and Hunk have their own fathers. Coran is Allura's surrogate father. No one on Team Voltron sees Shiro as their dad.

Headcanons that Shiro and Adam adopted and raised Keith are just that. Headcanons. If you find something enjoyable in them, or want to adopt Shiro as the ideal father to your character of choice, that is perfectly fine, so long as you remember that you're working within an alternate universe that has nothing in the show's canon to support it.

Shiro was always a mentor, leader, and/or older brother to the Paladins. He's twenty-five years-old. Not fifty. And, I guarantee if he had tried to pull rank on any of these kids, they would one-thousand percent have fired back with, "You're not my dad!"

The only character who arguably views Shiro as a father is the Atlas; based on Shiro being the sole person she has a connection with, and her modeling her mecha form after his physique.