#(this is already so incredibly long... yeah.)

[deathofacupid]

★ gym days with biker!sukuna :p › more for this dynamic here !

"wait, wait," you say, tugging on the crisp black fabric of his compression shirt, which is a sharp contrast to your own soft, pink one. "i want a pre-workout pic."

he responds with a low grunt. you don't have to ask him twice, especially when you're already pulling that signature glossy pout. besides, he won't admit it, but he secretly likes being posted on your social media.

he knows you're his, but now everyone who follows you knows it too. it just gives him a sense of satisfaction, a sweet, private satisfaction that he'd never confess to.

for the most part, you just follow him around, admiring how good your boyfriend looks as he practically bench-presses the weight of a car. or something close to it, anyway. he doesn't mind your presence, not one bit.

you look incredibly gorgeous swinging your legs as you sit idly on the machine. the fabric you're wearing hugs your curves in an addicting way, tight against your supple form. you're not entirely focused on him, though, as you swipe through your photo gallery, deciding which capture of you two is the cuter one.

your long, studded acrylics tap against your screen as you hum, "i wish you had, like, an account, so i could tag you and stuff."

sukuna doesn't mention that he does have an account, but it's strictly for sending death threats to perverts in your comment section. yeah, he leaves that bit out.

he's nowhere near tired, but he can't wait to go home and decompress with you, to feel your nails rake softly against his back. you probably couldn't hurt him if you tried, but you're incredibly gentle with sukuna, holding him softly, loving him softly.

"ooh, 'kuna, can i spot for you?"

he certainly doesn't need a spot, but he's a man of ego. and to impress you, he'll do anything. a small smile touches his lips. "sure, petal."

[lovelivision]

ʚɞ mdni 。gojo wants that cookie so effing bad 。based on this req i got a while ago :>

Maybe it was your mistake to send Gojo a picture wearing the sheer material that’ll be under your wedding dress while getting ready, but how could you have predicted his reaction?  You’re still in front of the floor length mirror and looking at your phone when he’s barging into your suite. Apparently he’d made it past all the many frantic bridesmaids, locking himself in the room with you.

“Satoru! You can’t come in here,” you chastise him, shocked by his ability to get to you so fast.

He’s approaching you quickly and then stopping right in front of you, eyes trailing your whole body, appreciating the view only to be snapped from his reverie by your hushed tone, “Satoru, you need to leave.”

“Leave?” he asks like he’s simultaneously surprised and offended by the idea, “how could I possibly leave after getting a photo of you dressed like this?”

Your arms fold over your chest, “You have no self-restraint.”

“Which you were aware of, so this is technically your fault,” he grabs your hips, pulling you into him.

Hands coming up to rest on his chest, he’s almost completely dressed for the day, missing only the final touches. Apparently having dropped it all to come running to you, if you knew his reaction would be so over the top you wouldn’t have sent the damn photo.

His hands are being greedy, grabbing at you all over. Moving low to grope your ass, thighs, before trailing back up and cupping your tits, dragging his thumbs over your nipples. Your knees nearly buckle from under you.

“This is not my fault,” you whine at him, “we will have our whole honeymoon – after the wedding – for this, you need to wait.”

“Don’t wanna,” he leans in to press kisses along your neck, sucking lightly with each of them, “you look so pretty, I don’t wanna leave without touching you all over.”

Completely shameless in how he grinds his erection into you, working you up with his hands. Slotting his mouth over yours to kiss you deep, consuming, tongue licking at yours. You can feel the way he shudders when you moan into him, fingers digging into you and pulling you impossibly closer.

Lips parting with a lewd pop, his breath tickling your skin, “My pretty, pretty bride,” he’s very quickly growing delirious and you didn’t even have to do anything, “I love you.”

“Satoru… you should leave now…” you breathe out, not completely convincing anymore.

“Mhm, yeah, sure,” Words distracted as he pulls down the front of your dress, ogling your tits, “but first… could you sit on it?”

“Wha– ah!–” his mouth is around your nipple before you can finish your thought, wicked tongue flicking at it.

Detaching from you with a small chuckle, “I’ll leave if you sit on my dick,” his eyes pleading with you, “please?”

“There’s no way just sitting on it is enough to satisfy you,” you accuse – accurately,  you may add.

He’s already leading you to the chair in the corner, “I promise not to be greedy.”

You don’t believe him for even a single second, he doesn’t even believe his own lie. But you’re also growing incredibly weak for him, pussy aching to be filled.

“We really shouldn’t…” you watch as he sits in the chair, “…there are people outside and I’m already in my makeup and my hair and we might be late– are you even listening to me?”

“Of course I’m listening,” he dismisses, shamelessly pulling out his hard cock, “I won’t fuck you silly or anything, plus it’s our wedding. What are they gonna do… have it without us?”

He looks from you to his cock, waiting for you to get on top of him. Seemingly taking too long for him because he’s asking, “Do you need my help, sweetie?”

Not giving you a chance to answer and bunching the material at your waist, low whistle leaving him at the panties you’re wearing. He doesn’t even bother taking them off, simply pushing them to the side and pulling you onto him.

“Don’t cum on any of the clothes,” you warn him, moving to straddle his thighs, hovering over his aching erection.

“Wasn’t planning to,” he smiles, muttering out, “you can just keep my cum inside you for the ceremony.”

Biting back at him, “Absolutely not.”

“We’ll see,” paying your protests no mind, eyes locked on where you’re dripping onto the tip of him, impatiently waiting for you to just sit down.

“Satoru,” you call to him, “look at me.”

His gaze reluctantly pulls away and meets with yours, he already looks fucked and nothing has even happened yet. You want to see the face he makes when you take him, sitting down so slowly. Cunt fluttering around his cock at how dazed and happy he looks, the moan he lets out debauched. You barely remember to stifle down your own sounds, feeling like he’s splitting you open so perfectly.

“You– hnn– you need to be quieter.”

“You should be louder,” he huffs, “I like hearing your moans– hah– always turn me on so much– fuck– you’re so– hnn– so hot.”

Gojo’s going to lose his damn mind, already horny from the photo you sent and now feeling like he’s melting under you. Ignoring his words from earlier and instead choosing to be greedy, hands gripping your hips tight and slamming you down onto his dick while he fucks up. Stuffing you so completely full very suddenly, delighting in the shocked whimpers that tumble from your lips.

His head drops back on the chair as he gazes lustfully at you, so cute how you’re shaking on top of him. Trying to breathe through how good it feels but unable to stop the way you whine with every breath out. It’s turning him on too much, cock swelling inside you, twitching pitifully.

Using his hold on you to grind you down into him, shivering under you at how fucking good it feels. Not even trying to stop the noises he’s making, not really caring if anyone hears how he’s fucking his pretty little bride. The idea of people knowing he’s just been balls deep inside you while you’re both promising each other forever arousing him more than it probably should.

“Can’t wait to– hnn– to see you in your actual dress too,” hands doting on you while his cock sits so deep inside you it’s hitting your cervix, “gonna let me fuck you in that too, sweetie?”

“Uh huh,” stupidly nodding at him in response, his dick filling you so well that you’re seeing stars. Hole pulsing lovingly around him, thinking only with your cunt now.

Grin on his face full of sinful intentions, “Mm, I thought so.” He’s already so pathetically close and maybe he’d feel a little bad about it if you didn’t look and feel so fucking good on top of him, “Now, you’re gonna take my cum and leave it inside, right?”

[khorneschosen]

I need you to do me a favor and go ahead and put our argument bit by bit into a AI chatbot and then just ask it to analyze the argument.

Because you're really not thinking about this and it kind of fucking shows. You guys use AI chat box for everything and yet when it comes to argumentation like this you seem perfectly fine with putting your really shit opinions forward.

And also yeah I can have my mind changed just not by you, Because unfortunately you are you and you don't make good arguments. I know normally it's a tactic you guys like to do to just say that oh you have a bad argument but you kind of leave it undefined so they're just sort of left questioning their own rhetoric rather than your judgment but in my case I'm being honest with you. You are actually bad at this. You are not convincing.

As I pointed out already they have AK-47s They have boxes of ammunition they have explosives and on and on and on and on. We necessarily recognize the fact that they have AK-47s right This war isn't being fought with rocks on one side and guns on the other.

And the drones I'm talking about are incredibly small cheaply made and yet able to hold a little bit of thermite or explosive also very small very concealable very smuggable and they probably could use it through the tunnels that they have connecting Palestine to Egypt.

So I'm just I'm wondering how much of the necessary context do you have when you constantly aren't thinking over the things that already are true and imply a whole lot more.

So the question is why don't they have drones why aren't they using drones still stands It's a good question and I'm just wondering if you ever ask yourself that. Why aren't they using drones?

They have the technology they have the ability to use them why don't they use them? It's not a matter of they can't get them it's a matter of they aren't using them.

I'm asking you to think about it why aren't they They saw how effective they were with Ukraine and Russia why didn't they go we need to get some drones so that we can be more effective against armor or more effective against vehicles or be able to take out whole squads of soldiers with very little effort on our own side. Did a plastic explosives bit of a drone fly in boom. No like that but the Israelis haven't had time or really the training to be able to do anti-drone maneuvers Right now it would be really fucking great to use drones against them.

So why aren't they. And what then you have to ask is the end game plan here. What's the big plan, what is hamasa's win that they're all trying to work towards They didn't start this war not thinking about how they would win it They had to have a plan so what was it.

What was the plan? I keep asking the advocates of Palestine what was the plan and none of you have been able to give me an answer and I find it really concerning that I can't get that answer so I ask one more time.

What is the plan what's the wind state of this current conflict? How are they planning to win? They started the war, the question stands fully.

That's a loaded question by the way It's a rhetorical trick What's more it's overly day because Arab citizens may refer to Arab citizens of any nation we're not talking about Arab citizens we're talking about Palestinians.

Furthermore we're not talking about Jews either we're talking about Israelis.

Which again I don't like that you keep using Jews instead of Israeli and I don't even like the fact that you're using the word Arab when you mean to say Palestinian.

It reads like anti-Semitism it ethically charges the entire discussion you see. For example if I were to defend and do defend the bombing of Dresden you might say why do Jewish civilian deaths matter but not Aryan.

See how that reads? You see how that very heavily implies something extremely problematic?

Or do you not care if you are being anti-semitic so long as you are pro Palestine. It's not a question by the way it just seems to be the case.

And I kind of being good faith with you here because you're really bad at this So much so that I'm even considering answering your question. And I'm almost curious to try even though again it's a loaded question It's an invalid form of questioning It's a logical fallacy. So the answer is there is no equivalence in it but when civilians die in war zones the context matters.

Were they deliberately killed or kidnapped or tortured or raped for its own sake on a strategic level where there is no means of redressing this within one's own army and it is tacitly supported and encouraged by all the members of said military.

Because that's what Hamas did. That's what October 7th is It's a worse form of war crime. And if there are degrees of evil in war the biggest one must be the willingness to choose evil.

What's more as the government of Palestine and the protectors of it the failure of their operation on October 7th, it is their duty to protect the civilians which and every example and every case in this war they have never taken any steps to remove their own civilians from harm's way. If anything they have pushed them straight to the front line with themselves.

And furthermore on top of everything have started this war.

So if we are going to count the dead and consider each one of them as a horrific tragedy, then default goes not to who pulled the trigger but who started the war and who has run it as such. And that is hamas.

So the answer to your question is they both matter but the blood of those deaths aren't on the Israelis it is on Hamas.

Again I didn't have to answer your question I could have merely pointed out it was bad faith and moved on but I've done the hard job of explaining myself. And opening myself up to critique.

It's why I've never cared that people operate in bad faith because even bad faith can be answered in its own terms. If you know how the trick works.

I’m seeing a lot of people claim that the remaining hostages, by virtue of being IDF members are not hostages but prisoners of war. Which, fine, you can make that argument. But if that was the case, under the Third Geneva Convention, prisoners of war have very specific rights, including not being held in close confinement, not being tortured, getting adequate food and water, being given access to medical treatment, being allowed contact with the outside world and their loved ones, and of course visitation by the International Red Cross.

Not a single one of these conditions has been met. They aren’t prisoners of war. They’re hostages. And the International Red Cross doesn’t care about Jews.

[bonniesbluee]

Fire fighter art who gets hard seeing his wife slide down the pole when he’s giving her a tour of the station

visiting the fire station . . .

"is it like the movies?" you squeal while basically skipping towards the station. he had to hold your hand or you would for sure get out of his sight one way or another. you gasp, making him sigh. "do you think they'll like the cookies i baked?"

he nods, bringing you closer. "god, you're acting like a little girl in a roller coaster park." he whispers, kissing your forehead while his arm wraps around your shoulders to keep your still. "stay by my side, yeah?" he mumbles, knowing how his friends are once they see a pretty girl.

"yeah yeah." you brush him off, resting your head against his chest. he was in navy pants and shirt, a sight you gladly welcomed since somehow the navy color made him extra hot.

he shifts his arm to your waist, giving your cheek a little peck before he walks in the station with you. and just like he expected, everyone gives you and him a double look. he's closed off, only one guy from his crew knew about you. "woah woah, donaldson with a girlfriend?" they begin to hoot and holler, surrounding both of you. you're bashing in the attention, giggling like a child, all in the while art is already looking annoyed.

"no dude," one of them nods towards your hand. they all gasp, like school girls gossiping. "wife?! no way you hid such a beautiful girl, that's your wife, all this time!" one of them teases, patting him on the shoulder while checking you out.

art shrugs the hand off, keeping his arm wrapped around you. "i brought cookies!" you announce, opening the box in your hands to reveal an assortment of chocolate chip, banana and oatmeal cookies. that thankfully takes the attention off you, and art takes advantage of that to pull you away as the guys fight over the cookies. "c'mon." he pulls your along a hallway, dragging you to his bed.

"no way this is were you sleep." you pout, staring at the bed that's clearly no more comfortable than the one you both share. "you know when i take two day shifts? that's where i sleep." he smiles at your concerned expression. his fingers working to brush hair off your face.

"that's horrible!" you whine, looking up at him before hugging him tightly. "baby calm down," he purrs, hugging you tighter. "after a long day of work i dont even feel how shitty the bed is." he whispers against the top of your head while rubbing the nape of your neck.

"want to slide down the pole?" he changes the topic. knowing how much that will cheer you up. "really?" you gasp, nodding enthusiastically. "okay lets go-" you're already dragging him to the pole, that was the first thing you noticed after all. "okay um," you looked down, before looking up at him.

he starts sliding down slowly. "you slide down like this." he grins, looking up at you from the floor, his hand on his hips as he nods. "your turn, baby."

"you're going to catch me right?" you ask nervously while getting into position. he chuckles, nodding as he gets ready incase you accidentally fall. the others notice, turning their heads to look at what you're doing. "okay okay," gulping, you slide down smoothly, landing on his arms.

everything about it was so...so incredibly attractive. the way you did it so smoothly giggling in the way. but he knows that ever if you didnt he would still find it attractive. he's glad his pants are thick, restraining the boner he instantly got. "how did i do?" you giggle, kissing him softly before getting off him.

"i think we should go home now," he mumbles, keeping you infront of him so nobody even notices the slight tent forming. "like, now."

[delizzie]

Old love warmed up

Description: After years of not seeing each other, Emily and Y/N meet again. The feelings of the past come up, and Emily has to make a decision. Leaving her old life or leaving the chance of being with Y/N, again. 

Tags: wlw, ex!bau!reader, older!Emily, hurt/comfort, supportive!team, happy ending(?) 

Spoiler warning for season 18.

Emily, like most people, hated funerals. She had been to too many, and these were the worst ones, when someone close to her died. She couldn’t imagine how JJ and the boys must feel, and she was angry with herself for thinking how lucky she was to be single. 

She had already lost too many people. 

“I can’t believe he actually came,” JJ appeared next to her, causing Emily to snap out of her thoughts, and glance at Spencer, who's standing in the corner. 

“Of course he did. I had no doubt about it,” she said with a small smile. Although she was uneasy, she tried to contain herself. This wasn’t about her. 

“Yeah, it’s incredible how far they come from. Spence, Y/N, the old…” 

“Y/N?” Emily’s heart pounded at the name, she tried to remain uninterested, but with little success. 

“They worked together for a while before Y/N joined.” the blonde replied confusedly. 

“Yeah, really. I totally forgot it.” Emily replied.

“Who is Y/N?” Tara appeared next to them, and they both flinched “Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

“It’s okay.” Emily began “Y/N was a member of the team for a while, and before that she worked at the same police station as Will.”

“Oh, I see.” Tara nodded, but Emily’s feigned calm didn’t convince her. 

It wasn’t long before a familiar figure suddenly appeared. She exchanged a few words with everyone as she made her way further inside. Emily swallowed hard, trying to hide the confusion she felt as she watched the woman walking towards them. 

Y/N was beautiful as ever. She was wearing an elegant black outfit, and although the years had left their marks on her skin, she was still very pretty.

“Hello!” she walked up to the three women, first turning to JJ “I’m so sorry!” she whispered as she hugged the woman tightly, her voice full of emotion. After the hug ended she looked at Tara “I’m Y/N Y/L/N.” she extended her hand. 

Emily watched the three women talk for a bit, a little awkwardly, and then suddenly Y/N looked at her. 

“Hi, Emily.” she said with a small smile. Her body moved a little, as if she wanted to hug her, but in the end she didn’t “It’s good to see you again. I wish it wasn’t under these circumstances.”

“Yes, I agree. It’s good to see you.” Emily replied with a small nod. 

The ceremony was touching and difficult, like a funeral usually is. As everyone started to leave, Tara and Rossi also walked out. 

“Rossi, who is this Y/N exactly?” she asked curiously. 

“Y/N was a member of the team for three years, and before that she was a detective. She’s smart, good with words, and she always had good insights. Then she had an accident on one of the cases, and she left not long after that. She stayed in America for a while, then she moved to Austria.” Rossi told them as they walked out with the crowd. 

“Austria? That’s far away. It’s nice of her to fly here for the funeral.” Tara said, surprised and a little touched “Is it just me, or are she and Emily a little weird together? Emily’s been so awkward since she’s been here.” 

Rossi smiled. 

“No wonder you’re a good profiler. Well, you didn’t know this from me, because there’s really nothing concrete, but the fact is that Emily and Y/N had a strange relationship back then. They never acted suspiciously during the cases, but often if one of them wasn’t home on their day off, the other one wasn’t either, they came together and waited in the yard until the other one arrived up, so that it wouldn’t be seen that they came together. If sometimes we had to share rooms, they almost always immediately reported that they were sleeping together, and things like that.”

“They were together?” Tara’s eyes widened, her voice rose a little, and Rossi chided her. 

“Nobody knows for sure. There was never a kiss, a handhold, not even a suspicious touch. The fact is, they suddenly stopped going to work together, and didn’t want to sleep in the same room. Then there was that accident, and not long after that Y/N handed in her resignation.”

“I see. Well, it’s a strange case for sure. Emily never talked about it?”

“No. After Y/N left us, Emily didn’t bring up her name. I think Morgan asked her once what was going on between them, but Emily brushed it off with some obvious answer, and we didn’t push it any further.”

Tara and Rossi weren't the only ones talking. Maybe it was coincidence, maybe it was fate, but somehow Emily and Y/N ended up next to each other on the way to the parking lot. There was an awkward silence for a while, before Y/N spoke up. 

“I like your hair. It looks good. It's so…bossy, but in a good way.” she said with a small smile, and the mood lightened a bit. 

“Thank you.” Emily replied in a gentle voice “You're in great shape too. Is the Austrian air that good for you?”

“That, and all the hiking. There are so many beautiful places there, it's unbelievable. Also, I have a small garden, and there's always something to do. It's not big, but it's enough for me. The best thing about it is the fresh, home-grown strawberries.” Y/N said with a calm smile, then took out her phone to show a few pictures. 

“Wow, what places. Your house is really nice too. It looks really cozy.”  Emily sincerely wanted to see how Y/N was living. It had been so long since what had happened between them had happened, but it was still vivid in her memory. 

“You can visit me sometimes, boss.” she shoved her phone in her pocket cheekily. 

“Absolutely.” 

They had already made it out of the crowd and it was just the two of them. They were talking while leaning against Y/N’s rented car. 

“Don’t you miss the life you had here sometimes?” Emily asked, her gaze searching for the other woman’s. 

“Honestly? No.” Y/N sighed as she played with her keys “I miss you guys a lot. I think about you a lot, I look at our old pictures, but not knowing where I have to fly to tomorrow, constantly being afraid of when I’ll be shot or taken hostage, having my whole life uncertain, I definitely don't miss that.” she looked up with a sad look, her mouth still smiling faintly “My life may not be very exciting now, but I had to leave.”

“I know, and no one ever blamed you for that. You did what was best for you.” Emily snapped, her hand reaching out to grab Y/N, who didn’t pull away. 

“So, what about you? Don’t you sometimes feel like it’s all too much? That it would be good to change, or maybe retire?” Y/N asked. 

“Oh, I do a lot. Only then I realize that if I leave I would be alone. No work, no friends, and no one waiting at home. It’s better for me this way.” Emily explained, a deceptive smile on her face. 

“You don’t have a relationship?” Y/N looked surprised. 

“With a job like this? And anyway, I’m too picky.” she rolled her eyes cheekily “And you?” 

“No, nobody.”

Emily also looked surprised, but only for a moment. Then a smile of relief took over.

“Maybe you did the right thing by leaving,” Emily said. “You’ve made a nice little life.”

“Even if I don’t help people too much with this job?” Y/N asked, a hint of guilt in her voice. 

“Don’t say that. You definitely catch a lot of bad people at the police station there,” Emily encouraged. 

“I don’t work at the police station anymore. I became a private investigator a year ago. Most of my cases are about finding missing relatives and catching cheating spouses,” she said with a small smile. 

“Oh, that’s important too. Cheaters need to be caught.” Emily giggled. 

When there was silence again, Emily broke it.

“You said you think about us a lot. Do you think about me too?”  she asked hopefully “Because I think about you.” she added shyly. 

“Too many times.” she sighed cheerfully “I have a neighbor who makes wines. He has a very delicious, slightly sour wine. When we drank together last time I immediately thought how much you would like it.” 

“Sure.” Emily smiled. 

“I’m going now. I’m staying at the hotel next to my old apartment. I’ll stay for two more days, then I’ll fly home.” Y/N said, then got in the car “If you think, come visit me.”

Emily hadn't visited her in the past two days, but Y/N was the only thing on her mind. She nervously ran her fingers through her hair as she hunched over her papers in her office. Her feet were tapping madly, she had been tense to the point of snapping in the past two days, and the team noticed it too. 

“Can I come in?” Rossi knocked on the door, and without waiting for an answer, he was already inside. 

Emily dropped the pen in her hand, which clattered loudly on the table, then sighed. 

“Have a seat. How can I help you?”

“I'd rather ask that.” he said “What's wrong, Emily? We've barely been able to talk to you these past few days, you're completely tense.”

“Why should I deny it, Y/N's arrival upset me a little.” she tucked a strand behind her ear “I thought I was over it, but it seems I'm not.”

“I kind of thought that was the case. Why don’t you talk to her?” the man leaned forward. “Why don’t you try to fix the past?”

“Because her life is in another country, Rossi. She made it clear that she’s not coming back. She has a nice life there, and I might even envy her a little bit.” Emily bit her lip. “Maybe we shouldn’t bother the past.”

“Maybe.” the man shrugged. 

“You know, JJ reached out to me this morning.” she picked up the pen to turn it between her fingers. 

“And what did she say?”

“Look, Emily, I don’t want to talk into your business…” JJ began as they walked into the building together that morning. 

“Then don’t.” Emily snapped, which she immediately regretted. JJ had already enough on her plate. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

 “It’s okay, just please listen to me,” the blonde said, then stopped. Emily took another step, then she stopped too. 

“Sure.”

“Do what you want, just take some advice.” she looked at him with tired eyes “Life is very short, and we have so little time for each other. If there’s one thing you should never miss, it’s the time you can spend with the people who are important to you, wherever that may be.” she said in a choked voice, fiddling with her necklace. 

Emily’s heart almost broke for her. 

“Okay, I’ll definitely take it.”

“I don’t know what to do. It was so long ago. It would take so much effort, but would it be worth it?” Emily asked. 

“Only you can know that, Emily. How much is happiness worth to you?”

While Emily was reeling from her emotions, Y/N wasn't idle either. She visited old friends she hadn't seen in a while, and took care of a few things. She would be lying if she said she wasn't expecting Emily's visit, but she wouldn't admit how disappointed she was when Emily didn't show up on the day of her departure. She even asked at the hotel reception if someone had been looking for her when she wasn't there, but the answer was no. 

Y/N was loading her bags into the car in the hotel parking lot when she heard hurried footsteps behind her. The past doesn't pass without a trace, so she calmly, but immediately turned around, her hand already searching for an object that could be used as a weapon, but as soon as she saw who it was, she sighed. 

"Emily?" she asked with a small smile. Although it was at the last minute, she was glad that she had finally visited her. 

"Y/N, it's good that you're still here." she sighed in relief. 

“Unfortunately, you’re late. My plane leaves in three hours, I don’t have much time.” 

“You left something here.” she snapped. 

“Did I? What is it ?” Y/N looked around in confusion. Her luggage was in the car, her coat too. She looked at Emily, and then she noticed that she had a bag under her arm. 

“Me.”

Y/N suddenly laughed. Emily always had a good sense of humor, but when she continued to stare hopefully, Y/N paled. 

“Emily, what are you talking about?”

“When I saw you, I thought I had gone back in time, because I felt the same way I did then. I tell myself that it’s over, that it was a long time ago, but every year I write a letter for your birthday, which I then don’t send.”  she took a stack of envelopes out of her bag, then put them back in. “I know exactly when you left, and every year I take a good hard look at myself drunk, and wonder what my life would be like if we had made different decisions.”

“Emily…” Y/N’s voice caught in her throat, her heart pounding. 

“I love my team, my job, I love helping others, but I’ve been doing it for so long. I’m not getting any younger, and it’s time to put myself first.” she stepped closer. 

“So?” Y/N asked in disbelief, because she understood what the woman was referring to, but she didn’t want to believe it. 

“Y/N, I think it would be worth giving ourselves another chance.” she said with a small smile, her hands nervously gripping the strap of her bag. 

“But how? Would you come to Austria with me?”  Y/N couldn’t believe they were here, but Emily’s unwavering face told her she wasn’t kidding. “Emily, this isn’t how it works. You can’t just leave your life here like this.”

“My life is the team, but their life isn’t me. So much has happened lately, and it’s made me realize I need to act.” she trailed off, her eyes searching for the other woman. “I don’t want to wake up one day and realize I don’t have a chance.”

Y/N’s face softened, a hot feeling ran through her body. 

“But Emily, this isn’t how it works. We haven’t seen each other in so many years. What if we’re too different now?” she asked, starting to think she was crazy for even considering such an absurd idea. 

“That’s exactly why we have no time to waste. We’ve wasted too many years on pride and fear.” she said, then smiled “By the way, the plane is flying back, but I don’t think it will be necessary.”

Y/N shook her head, folding her hands. 

“Okay, theoretically, if you really came with me, what would you do there?” she asked with a small smile. 

“Well, you worked for the local police, too. I guess there would be a place for me there. Or maybe I could partner with you. I’ll be the undercover agent for your investigations.” she mused with a half smile on her face “I’m a trained spy after all.”

“And that would be enough for you? To find car thieves and grocery store robbers?”

“I don’t care, I just want to be with you.”

“And how would you manage there? It’s a completely different culture.”

“Ich denke, es wird mir gut gehen.” she said cheekily, to which Y/N ​​rolled her eyes and smiled.

“Emily, why is this worth it to you? Leaving your good life here, moving to the other side of the world for what? To play house with me? Am I worth this much?” she asked uncertainly. 

“More than that. This is what I want, to drink wine with you, to garden together, to hike in the mountains, to wake up and go to bed next to you.” Emily’s eyes showed genuine longing. 

Y/N wanted to make more excuses, but she couldn’t, and deep down she didn’t want to. The idea of ​​sharing the life she had built with Emily was more than a dream. 

“You don’t have a plane ticket,” she finally whispered. 

Emily laughed, then stepped closer. They were now within arm’s reach of each other. Y/N lowered her arms and held them out, which Emily accepted. They stood hand in hand, but only for a few moments. 

“I can’t go with you right now…”

“Then what’s this bag?”

“It’s symbolic. It’s my travel stuff, it’s always in the car. So I’m saying…”

“With the letters in it?”

“No, I’ve only been carrying them with me for the last few days. I’ve reread them all.”

“Can I read them too?”

“No, but can I finally tell you what I want?”

“Why not? If you wrote them to me, why can't I...”

“Y/N!”

“Okay, sorry.” she chuckled. “Talk.”

“So, I can’t go with you right now, but in a week I’ll be standing at your door with my stuff, all the paperwork in progress, and ready to start the rest of our lives together.”  Emily let out a sigh. “What do you say? Are you willing to accept a fifty-something, sometimes grumpy, but in great shape, and incredibly funny ex into your life?”

Y/N had always liked to wonder what her life would have been like if she had done things differently in the past. What if she hadn’t studied to be a cop? What if she hadn’t applied for the job on the team? What if she hadn’t left the states? For years, she had wasted too much time dwelling on the past, but lately that had changed.

“This is yours.” she placed a glass of red wine on the table right in front of Emily. “We deserve it after today’s drive.” she smiled, then sat down in the other chair, her own glass in hand.

Emily glanced at her, then took the glass.

“Yeah, we do. Let’s just say when you said you had some strawberries, I didn’t think you meant that much.”  she chuckled as she used her free hand to remove the clip from her hair that held it together.

"Well, if I had told you how much work there was, you might not have come with me." 

"No way." she reached across the table and took her hand. "It was the best decision I’ve ever made."

Their hands clasped on the table, one holding the glass to their lips as they looked out over the small estate. The only sounds in the background were the chirping of birds, and the mountains around them, the sun just barely visible behind it, flooding the view with a beautiful golden glow.

[devinescribe]

After School Project

[Damian Wayne x Reader]

So... school age[16] year old Damian is like... the most thirsted over guy in school. And here we have a neurodivergent reader who catches his attention. Before anyone comes for me I'm also neurodivergent:3 so yeah. Also, there's nothing wrong with being neurodivergent or acting differently than other neurodivergent people:3 enjoyyy

Arabic Translations(I'm not fluent google and apple translate helping me😭)

Ya Rayyal : oh man

Min sijak : are you serious?

Yallah : hurry/come on

'ant qublat eazima : you’re a great kisser

Damian Wayne was everything every girl in school wanted. Rich, hot, incredibly strong? Yeah, they were all swooning, head over heels for the young vigilante.

Except for you. I mean… at least you didn’t think you liked him in that way.

You were generally a nervous person, so for your heart to race a bit faster when he was around, or for your cheeks to flush when he spoke to you or complimented your intelligence was normal right? Wasn’t it like… just what happened to everyone?

He was just a guy. What you found more interesting was the subtle competition you two had going with each other in class. Well, he didn't even know about it, but you kept track of how many questions you both answered. He would smirk at you and made it a habit because he knew you two would be the only ones answering questions. It made your heart do flips, and your stomach do somersaults.

He was incredibly smart, which made you sigh in relief when you were paired up with him for the partner project.

You heard some girl behind you whine and whisper about how you didn't deserve to have Damian as your partner. You rolled your eyes, you weren’t great at detecting tone, but you could tell they were actually upset about this. Taking a deep breath and turning around, you were about to respond before Damian stood up, standing by your desk and speaking for you. It made you pout. You could defend yourself.

"Don't act like I'm your fucking boyfriend. At least she's smart and can get through a presentation without giggling every five seconds. Acting ditzy is the stupidest shit... but then again I don't think you're acting."

You blushed and snickered as he defended you. It was kind of nice to not have to defend yourself, even if you were just pouting over it.

The project was a simple poetry project. At least to everyone else it was. You had been published for your poetry before, so this, to you, was not just a small project, but something to have to prove yourself through.

"...Would you like to only work on this in class, study blocks, or after school in a neutral place? Of course you can suggest any other place you'd want to do it or any time, I'm kind open to just about anything-" you blabbered, not looking at Damian, sort of spacing out as you spoke.

He smirked, "How about my place? Alfred can just pick us both up. Y'know, if you're up for it."

You thought about it for a moment. This was less likely to interrupt your daily routine, it was an addition to it, which was easy to schedule around.

Which he had already thought of, which is why he suggested it. He also knew that you burnt out when waiting to meet up, which is why he suggested tonight instead of another day. It was a Friday.

"How long will I be there?" You mumbled aloud to yourself, not really expecting an answer.

"Oh my brothers and dad will not let you leave quickly. And Alfred will not let you leave before he feeds you... might as well stay over. We have plenty of spare rooms," he joked.

You look confused.

"I do not think it is appropriate for me to intrude on your family's home for such a long time. It would also not be appropriate for me to stay in your house overnight as-"

...

He stared, forgetting you took everything too seriously. Yeah, that's right, he noticed. He was a Robin after all! He wouldn't be a good detective if he wasn't observant.

"Hey. I was joking," he said quietly. Not rudely, even if there was a bit of an edge that he usually spoke with.

You blushed and tilted your head down.

"Oh. Um... sorry," you whispered, looking at the paper the teacher had just given out.

"The topic we have to write our poems about... is love?" You said, staring the paper down like you could change the words printed in ink.

"Ya rayyal...Min sijak?" He muttered under his breath in Arabic.

——

After school, you stood about two feet from Damian, personal bubbles were serious, waiting to head to his house after school.

His older brother, Tim, who was about two years older, came over to you both.

"Oh? Dami, bringing home a girl? Oh Dick is gonna love this," the boy snickered, teasing his younger brother.

You stared blankly.

"If you are implying I am going to 'make a pass' at Damian, you are mistaken. And if you are implying he would try something, I'd like to make you aware I refuse to be anywhere that people wouldn't be in the house. We are simply paired for a school project," you said, staring at the space behind Tim, but not at him.

He stared.

"So... no. Not what I was implying but... good to know... and good to know you're autistic."

...

"Tim what the fuck-"

"Game recognizes game. Chill. Still, Dick is gonna love this."

"Don't tell Grayson a word-"

...

"Too late."

——

The ride to the Wayne manor is chaotic as the two boys fight amongst themselves. Cuss words in both English and Arabic fly through the air.

Soon, the limousine pulls into the driveway and you are eager to get the hell out of that car. You stand outside, staring at the huge manor in front of you.

It was beautiful, the windows and architecture giving you a vintage feel, but you could guess the inside probably didn't match the outside.

Tim and Damian are still bickering as Alfred leads you inside, both boys trailing behind.

“The house looks lovely…” you whisper to yourself.

Alfred responds, “Why thank you Miss L/N. I assure you both Master Bruce and I take that compliment in high regard.”

You gave a shy smile, “Call me Y/N please…”

When you walk in, the first thing you notice is a big Doberman on the couch, and two boys, obviously older than you, one by maybe three to five years, and the other by a maybe 6.

"Ohhhh this is so great Dickie, look he really did bring home a girl," laughs the one with a white streak in his hair.

"Oh my god, you're so cute! You have great taste Dami. Not in a weird way y'know. So how'd you meet?" Dick rambles.

"We are not dating."

"Fuck off Grayson."

The phrases are said at the same time, making the three other boys laugh.

"So, what's your name?" Tim asks, suddenly realizing he had never asked through the whole ride, too busy arguing with Damian about what he had said, as Damian sits to pet the dog. His dog.

"Uhm... Y/N..." you mumble, looking down.

"Well, I'm Dick, and that's Jason. We're Dami's older brothers," Dick smiled, obviously very friendly.

"How old are you even?" Jason asked, leaning back, trying to guess. He could not care less, but any time he could tease Damian was a good time.

"16..."

The boys nodded. You felt a little uncomfortable, not because of them, but just the new situation. The dog, who had been laying peacefully with Damian, came over to you, and whined, placing a paw on your leg.

You smile brightly and kneel down, petting the dog.

"Oh wowww... Damian, you... you're letting her just... pet Titus?" Tim teases.

"Shut the hell up."

——

After the chaos, you and Damian sat in the living room working on the project. The project was as follows:

Each student is paired up with one other person. Each student must write their own poem with the topic given to them by the instructor.

After each student has written their poem, they must make on poem together. The poems can be in any style.

You groan and crumple up another piece of paper, throwing it in the recycling.

"You good?" Damian asked, looking up from his blank paper.

You shook your head.

"You struggling with this?"

You nodded.

"You going nonverbal?"

You nodded again.

"Let's go get a snack."

You followed the boy through the hall to the kitchen. He looked through some stuff before realizing, he didn't know what you liked at all. He grabbed the small whiteboard off the fridge, and gave it to you.

"If you're gonna be nonverbal, we still need a way to communicate. This okay with you?" He asked, handing you a new expo marker.

You nodded.

"What do you want as a snack? Or a drink?" He asked, showing you the cabinets and fridge.

You scribbled down for a moment.

'May the I please just have a water. I'm not too hungry. Plus I don't want to take snacks that were not purchased for me if that makes sense.'

Damian scoffed.

"I don't give a damn. Are you hungry, yes or no?" He asked, annoyed.

You began to write more excuses about how you felt bad, when he put a glass of water and a pack of mini Oreos in front of you.

His eyes said 'eat it or perish.'

"Yallah yallah, we got a project to finish," he ushered, taking his own snacks back to the living room.

You followed closely.

"I like when you say things in Arabic."

The sentence was so quiet, he wouldn't have heard it if he wasn't a Robin with a trained ear.

"Thanks..." he mumbled before adding, "Want to tell me why you went nonverbal? Just... like if it's my behavior or something... I can fix it?"

That made you blush. He actually cared about what you thought? He actually wanted to know if he was making you uncomfortable? He wanted to change his behavior if it did? What was this feeling…

You shake your head, sitting with your snack and drink, "Wasn't you. It's the assignment."

He looked at you in confusion.

"You're a great poet what on-"

"But I've never... experienced love... how... do I write about it if I’ve never even been kissed?" you mumbled.

"But all your poems are about love aren't they?" Damian asked, knowing you had shared your poetry in class before.

"Well... yes and no? I... I write about... what I think it would feel like... but I mostly write about how empty hearted I feel knowing I probably won't have my first kiss or anything before 18 like everyone else.... Everyone is falling in love and I'm falling behind..." you explain, looking at him for the first time.

Your e/c eyes meet his emerald eyes, and he's shocked.... In a good way.

"Guess we're falling behind together then," he shrugged, laying across the sofa, his head resting on Titus's back.

"Oh please every girl wants you you don't get it-"

"Every girl except the most interesting and smartest one. She doesn't," he said sighing.

“Okay that’s one person. I’ve never been liked by anyone, any guy I’ve liked never likes me back. No one has ever liked me… maybe they have but just… not like that,” you whispered, looking away.

“Well you’re wrong. You’re looking at him right now,” he said, rolling his eyes.

You tilt your head and look at him, confusion written all over your face.

Suddenly a wicked idea came into Damian's head.

"Well... why don't you fake kiss me? Then you can see what it feels like," Damian said with a sly grin.

"...Fake kissing? How do you fake a kiss?" You question, rolling your eyes. "Plus if it's fake then... it doesn't really get the love aspect in does it? It's just a physical thing that makes-"

You're cut off by a kiss on your lips, your eyes widening.

Although... you don't mind it. You kiss back hesitantly.

Then he pulls away and grins at you like... like that was his plan all along.

" 'Ant qublat eazima,” he mutters.

And now this man, who just so rudely cut your train of thought off (yes that is what you were most upset about) with a kiss, who has been insisting to his brothers he didn’t like you in that way, was blushing.

He had the nerve to blush after that.

“I…you…” you were strapped for words, unable to create a single thought.

“Um… in case that didn’t make it obvious… I like you. You’re pretty, you’re smart… you don’t treat me different because of who I am… and… and I guess you said you also like when I spoke Arabic which is a plus for me in any case-“

And you decided to have your revenge.

You pressed a kiss to his lips, shutting him up. It was quick, more like a peck, but it did shut him up.

“I was wondering what the feelings I had were…” you say with a blush, looking away.

“Well… now we can go back to writing our poetry… and now you have a point of reference… of course you can always ask for more inspiration-“ he smirked.

“Damian Al’Ghul,” you hissed, using his other last name.

He straightened up and nodded wordlessly.

“That was hot… I-i mean yeah Uhuh sorry.”

You sigh softly and shake your head with a smile, “You’re silly, Damian… and it case what I did wasn’t obvious… I like you too…”

[threegoldfish]

Marc's gaze remains firmly focused on the other as words are spoken to him - explanations made, followed by an apology. And while a part of Marc acknowledges it, said apology - that Harrow admits to having taken a step too far here---

---What actually causes him to pause, to swallow, is the mentioning of Steven again. The way it's brought up that he's struggling, that he's panicking on the regular, and that he could end up being sedated if he were to panic like that again under circumstances that won't be to his favor...

Shit. Fuck. Marc whips his head to the side and hisses out a breath, lips turned into a displeased dowards-C-shape, nostrils flaring as he inhales, exhales. Usually so very much collected when it comes to his own emotions, he can already feel those stupid tears coming back in because of it all; He's already feeling incredibly vulnerable and sliced-open like a damn frog in biology class, but to hear what Harrow says about Steven, and to know that, yeah, Steven is indeed struggling and suffering because of this, is having panic attacks, doesn't know what's going on---

"...That's why I didn't want him to come out in the first place." pressed from between clenched teeth, Marc closes his eyes as he brings a hand up to his forehead, then rubs his palm along his features - stressed, very much so. A huff, a groan, and the very same hand is slapped onto the desk with force - the noise of it echoing through the room - before Marc pulls it away again, both hands wedged under an armpit again as he tries to keep himself under control.

"Sorry, sorry--- sorry! Shit, shit, fuck--- that's... fuck, that's what I wanted to avoid. Fuck, that's why I didn't--- because I knew he'd suffer, I knew he'd be scared and traumatized; He has no idea what's going on, he's not supposed to be here, and I had it all under control! ---I had it under control for so damn long, I know how to handle him, but then he just... he just appeared, he just---"

Marc stands. He's filled with anger manifesting in excess energy, making him pace around the chair, toward a window, back to that chair. He could punch a wall, that's how anxious he feels... and he huffs out another noise, arms hanging by his sides again, fingers curling into tight fists as he keeps pacing.

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

"---I didn't want him to know of this, because he's--- he's already thinking he's sleep-walking, and he--- he shouldn't have to deal with this! He was supposed to stay inside my mind---" Hands begin to gesture, to point at his head, then at his surroundings, with Marc's gaze finally finding its way back to Harrow as he tries to deal with it all, the pressure that finally lets go of him. Days of trying to keep everything a secret, of trying to keep Steven within himself, followed by him witnessing that Steven is already out there, by seeing him suffer so much, crying and sobbing and hurting... god, it had done so much to Marc and now here he is, and he doesn't know how to even handle all of this!

His precious Steven, the best thing that could've ever happened to him, is forced to endure the shit that Marc has caused in the first place...!

"---But then he broke free, and now here we are, and he--- he went through that bullshit in the infirmary and he cried so much, and all I wanted... shit, all I wanted..."

Stopping, finally, now standing somewhere next to the desk, Marc sniffles - moves a hand, wipes a tear, then places both palms in front of his features. Hiding, wanting to disappear, feeling so guilty and ashamed and like he's the worst human being the world has ever seen.

"...I fucked up, and I wanted to keep him safe, and... I couldn't. I couldn't, he... he got out without me knowing, and he had to endure that bitch of a nurse, and he was so scared, and all of it is my fault --- all of it, all of it... my fault, my fault, my fault---"

Yes, Marc is crying, his voice weakening the more he speaks.

He's never wanted any of this to happen.

"...All I had wanted was to live my life as a Marine, to keep Steven safe, and now here I am..."

Arthur’s face didn’t change, watching the man across the desk. His pen didn’t move, even though there were a dozen things he wanted to note; the immediate decision of distrust, the reaction to medication as if it had too much heavy bias behind it. It likely did, Marc had made it clear that he didn’t like hospitals or care much for them; Arthur understood. 

His face didn’t change, however. “No,” he answered. “That’s not it.” 

His voice was low and gentle, not defensive or argumentative. “I don’t think you’re schizophrenic. I don’t think you’re broken. And I don’t want to take Steven away from you.” He didn’t want to take Steven away at all; integration would be something they could discuss later, but for now… 

“Marc, I’m sorry. I said it too soon — you’re right. This is a big thing. You trusted me with something that clearly means a lot to you, and I jumped ahead. I didn’t mean it like that, and I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He kept one hand raised, not defensive, but rather showing that he hadn’t meant to be a threat. Showing that he still wasn’t, with any luck. 

“I want to be clear. I’m not trying to medicate Steven out of you - I’m only trying to suggest. I have met with Steven only a few times, and I have noticed that these… panic attacks seem to be common. Frequent. Steven is in a very vulnerable position - you know that as well as I do. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He’s scared. And if something triggers him again…” Arthur shifted his jaw. “They would have sedated him, if I hadn’t been here. And I don’t want that for him.” 

He stared at Marc, the gentle kindness still in his eyes; looking over him carefully, quietly. 

“I just thought that if there was something that could take the edge off for Steven, then it was worth asking. I was only bringing it up to you, because you know best. If you tell me no, it’s a no - I will never make you take anything that you don’t want to take. But I wanted to ask for his sake.” 

He left it there, just watching the man; sitting back in his chair again, gently. “We won’t put you on medication. Nothing at all, not unless you say you want something. Alright?” 

[krispdreemurr]

ok we're into the "ill post things behind read mores" phase of the spoiler policy. starting with some more coherent(?) thoughts on the whole thing

as you may have guessed from the two posts I couldn't resist making before the embargo ended, I am like... captivated by the whole carol and kris situation in the worst way. apologies to the Carol truthers who i doubted, but I don't think anyone called Kris being manipulated by her into trying to kidnap their mom and a cop, so,

it's just like. so. i had truly thought our presence in Kris' life was the worst thing, but it turns out we're the much more manageable source of overwhelming control.

(sidenote: hey remember all the reasons we already knew spamton triggered Kris? well now consider that spamton was being given phone calls by a mysterious entity w unknown orders and then when it got sick of him he was left to die,)

my current theory on what's up with all the Existentially Dubious Kris things and such btw is that to make room for the soul Kris' dark world self was deliberately killed or deleted or something, leaving a living body and mind that would need an external motivating force. kris can't go to the dark world without us because they don't exist there any more without us to form a dark self. this of course puts them in a worrying situation regarding the prophecy and someone possibly needing to die

but speaking of the prophecy and its ending um. susie. dear God Susie. emotional fucking Heart of the game. her being confronted with the horror aspects of deltarune over and over and every time being like Fuck You I Have My Friends was just beautiful. her relationship with notGerson was incredible. the healing arc and the piano arc and how those intersected in her learning it's ok for her to try and improve and get better even if someone else is better already... (did like Everyone pick the "if Susie plays too" option btw bc I haven't seen anyone say anything else fjkgkgk)

and god of course the Kris and Susie friendship. everything in church. them saving each other again and again tower climbing. the Susie award. kris leaping in against notnotGerson. sitting by the lake together after a long night. wuah

i also did warm up a lot to ralsei, yeah. it turning out that he was so smiley and benign and overprotective because he wanted every moment before the horror to be Nice for the two made him a lot more understandable to me. he's just fucking going through it. im glad kris hugs him willingly

the secrets this time... well. ch3 being "not applicable, but" because you do the whole weird route again but in video game form was pretty fucking ominous. the fact that freedom is now being even more strongly tied to the capacity to break things and do violence isn't ideal. i liked Susie coming in at the end and if Kris says they didn't have fun she's just like "so stop playing?" message to all weird route players: you don't gotta.

(and having seen the ch4 weird scenes I. may not. gotta)

also both the egg rooms were worrying in different ways. kris art therapy moments real

i'm just... so excited to see where things go from here. we already fought a fucking titan and won, what is even left to escalate. is kris going to be okay. is Susie gonna be okay.

and thank God I have only a year to wait!!!

[midnightidk10]

A Discussion about Ace and Arophobia, Puritan Culture, and Allo Culture

trigger and content warning:

Acephobia, Arophobia, puritan culture, conservatism, hypersexuality, discussion of sex, discussion of romance, proshipping, long-ass post

A reminder that this is a discussion and should be kept civil. I will bring up a recent discussion I had online, but I will not talk about the person I had a discussion with, bring them down, or reveal them by name. Everyone in the notes, please do the same.

Me seeing a pattern due to that conversation doesn’t mean I am making a callout. I would like to thank that person, if they ever see this, for giving me something to think about more deeply.

I am on the asexual, and possibly aromantic, spectrum. I’m not ashamed of it. Despite that, I’m fairly sex-positive, love raunchy jokes, and have interacted with suggestive content.

During my time in a specific fandom, of which I will not name, I have noticed something. About shipping. There is a very popular ship that has attracted a large audience to a game that I once considered a more niche interest.

For the sake of clarity, we will call this ship BlueGold.

Despite the popularity of this ship, it is incredibly controversial. Many hate the ship. It has earned a few titles from this crowd, including:

proship

abusive relationship

toxic relationship

You might be thinking that these are harsh labels. And to an extent, I agree. I am a huge shipper of Bluegold. Though, I am not afraid to admit that it is certainly flawed and unhealthy. People have received death threats simply because they ship it.

I would like to note something about the ship. The ship is between two fictional characters that have never been portrayed using real people in official material. I am not huge on shipping, and I would like to say something about why I ship Bluegold in the first place.

FIREWORKS.

Bluegold may not be the healthiest relationship, but it is an interesting relationship. It has chemistry. So why are we afraid of pyrotechnics when we only want beakers that make blue foam and magic tricks?

Because of the shift right.

People believe that ships must be healthy. In real life, yeah, I agree. But we’ve already established that these characters don’t exist. We just moved out of an era where sex was seen as something that could be casual and consensual. Where people could do anything they wanted with their body, because it’s their body.

But now? People see sex as something dirty. They treat it as such. They treat it as something that should never be shared with the public. Something that shouldn’t be portrayed in media. And shipping has received the same treatment. It should not be portrayed unless it is clean. Unless it is pure.

And we shouldn’t ignore the other warning signs. People also tend to hate LGBTQ+ ships. Because of conservatism. The shift right. If they are not healthy and up to par with the standard, straight ships tend to get a pass while LGBTQ+ ships are fought over. Ships between immortal characters are often fought over because of a thousand year age-difference, even if the characters knew of each other’s existence when they were both adults.

But what about the latter? People who seem to embrace a ship because they like it? People who embrace sexual things, things that were once seen as taboo? Things that are not right, but left?

There’s a problem with them too. We aren’t done.

Hypersexuality. The word “puritan” is no longer justifiable. It is thrown around, used on anyone who ever discusses sex in a negative light, no matter the context. And VERY often used in fandom.

When people say that a character is hypersexual, and it doesn’t line up with the canon portrayal, they are seen as a puritan. That does not mean that they aren’t. It’s an issue that saying “hey why are treating this character like a sex demon in spaces that we shouldn’t and being completely serious about it” is treated like a bad thing.

This can be described as allonormativity. People who DO feel romantic and sexual attraction believe that it is wrong or weird to portray a character as possibly not liking, or even caring about those things. Not all characters will have sex discussed in the media they are in and sometimes it can be difficult to pinpoint whether or not they have a certain opinion on it.

To say that we should respect people who portray a character as liking sex and romance, loving sex or romance, or being hypersexual or hyperromantic, then turn around and decide that anyone who does not portray a character like that is a puritan, is an issue.

It is ace and arophobic.

Aroace people are often targets for this behavior. They portray a character as being aroace, and they’re the bad guy. Because it is so normalized in our society to like sex and have sexual feelings, we forget that not everyone does, and lash out at them. We fight so hard for people to be able to portray sex and romance, that we forget that people who don’t want to see it are also valid in that belief. There is a difference between “I do not want to see sex” and “I do not want to see sex in media.”

Some people just don’t feel those feelings. They can’t help it. Just like how you can’t help that you can.

I would like to reveal what I was talking about at the beginning of this post. The fandom and ship that sparked this idea in my head.

The Cookie Run Kingdom fandom. Shadownilla.

I have recently been accused of being a puritan in a discussion I had recently. That I came off as “weird” because I pointed out that people tend to portray Pure Vanilla Cookie as either a child or a sex demon. (Give it up for woobification!)

When I said that, I did not mean that he could never be portrayed as some guy who likes sex. I meant that people do not know where to set the line. He is an adult with adult feelings. He has been around for, likely, a few millennia, and refers to himself as old. I meant that people hypersexualize him. They take these kinds of portrayals and bring them into spaces that they shouldn’t, such as spaces with minors, spaces that don’t allow NSFW, and serious discussions.

And when someone points it out, they are seen as the bad guy. Even though that person could be sex-positive. Even when that person is a leftist. When that person does not agree with the idea that sex should never be portrayed.

Because of allo culture.

[dragonmasterhiccup]

His smile widened as she gave him another peck, that warm feeling returning to his chest.

I love you, his heart wanted to say. I've known her for two days, his head reminded him. But he was certain that these feelings he had were very quickly growing into ones of love.

"I'll be right here," he replied, his eyes following her as she left, until she disappeared around a corner.

Still smiling, he sunk back down into the tub, fully submerging beneath the water. The merman relaxed, soaking in as much water as he could before having dinner with his human girlfriend's parents.

🐟

Phlegma thought that after being at sea for so long, Hiccup was probably tired of seafood.

A good mutton stew and fresh bread was exactly what the boy needed, get some meat on his bones. He was too skinny.

As soon as Astrid brought him in, the smell of dinner hit Hiccup's nose. "What...what is that? It smells incredible!"

"Have you never had mutton before, lad?" Phlegma raised a brow, serving out bowls full of stew. "Might want to get used to it, it's a staple around these parts."

"Oh! Yeah, yeah of course, I just, I haven't had it prepared quite like this," Hiccup said quickly, trying to cover up the fact that he had no idea what mutton was, aside from being used as part of an insult.

A chair had already been removed from the table, setting aside a place reserved for him. As his cart, with him sitting inside, was pushed up to the table, he thanked Astrid before turning to her parents. "Thank you both for having me. I hope you didn't go to any trouble."

He was glad Astrid would be sitting beside him. After his previous encounters with both of her parents, he wasn't quite sure what to expect.

All he knew was that he was determined to make a good impression.

After a long training session, all Astrid wanted to do was cool off on the beach. Maybe a tiny swim, even though the ocean was so cold at this time of year. She pushed through the brush and staggered down to the shore.

Only to find a boy lounging in the shallows.

“Oh!” She dropped her axe in the sand. From his bare torso, she assumed he was naked. “Sorry! I didn’t know someone else would be…here…” as the apologies flowed, she realized from the waist down, he had green scales and a pair of fins.

No wonder she hadn’t recognized him.

“No way…” she inched closer. “A real mermaid! In the flesh! Are the stories true?” She stamped down her overwhelming curiosity for a moment to give him a stern point. “Don’t try anything fishy, mermaid. I’m very capable of protecting myself, got it?”

((I saw the prompt and went feral, hope you don’t mind))

[X]

Hiccup started, the water around him splashing as he sat up straight in surprise, before he moved a little further back, his cheeks flushed.

"No, sorry, I, I shouldn't--" Ducking his head, the merman awkwardly held up a hand, "Usually no one comes here..."

But his movements only caused his tail to briefly break the surface, emerald scales glittering in the sun for a moment before dipping below the water again.

Firmly, he responded, "Merman. I am a merman. And no, don't worry, I, I wasn't going to try anything...I know you'd probably kill me if I did..."

Clearing his throat, he ran a hand through his hair, which had partially dried in his time sitting in the shallow water. "What, what stories are you referring to?"

He knew, or at least had a gut feeling about what she was asking, but he wanted to hear it from her. She appeared wary, but not fearful. Maybe these humans didn't have the same fears of his kind like the others?

[houndofllove]

Previous

Kate likes her coffee strong.

Way too strong. To the point where even the smell of it as you brew her first pot of the day is as overwhelming as it is concerning. There's the cigarettes: an indulgence which she only treats herself to once a day, twice if there's something incredibly pressing on her plate.

But the coffee is always there. You've watched her hands reach over her desk for the carafe before she's even finished the first half of her mug; how her face sours and her mood turns after taking a sip post-meeting, the drink turned cold and bitter.

The day you realised this—before making her coffee became your job—you'd stared at her through the glass panelling of her office, staring holes with brows so furrowed the exterior could shatter. The silky brown liquid going from the pot to her mug then–

As she went to take a sip, her eyes locked onto yours.

What is it?

You shook your head, embarrassed, but let your gaze linger anyways.

Then, raising a single brow the action said all that was necessary: Back to work.

Despite being her secretary, for the first month of working for her you weren't her coffee girl. There was always someone else from the team (they had a rota, you'd realised) taking it upon themselves, or someone from the cafe who owed her a favour would take the five floors up and deliver a steaming cup in the morning.

(The most important thing to know, again, is that everyone respects Kate. Everyone owes her something.)

Yet between the one and two month mark—when you'd recognised just how much coffee she drinks, how many cigarettes she smokes, how she tends to forget about her meals—you decided as her secretary, there was a duty for you to watch out for her too.

So you started making the coffee in the morning, first thing before you even sat down at your desk. Two pots brewed, one for her, one for the rest of the team to share and bicker over (because there's only enough for three cups, and when there's seven of them all sleep deprived, yeah).

And when someone else, a week later, said they could do it instead you'd turned them down.

"I'll do it."

"Why?"

"Isn't this what secretaries do?" You'd joked, lip curled. "I don't mind, honestly. Saves you the time."

Then a week turns into a month and it becomes a ritual for you. One that means that smell of coffee is stuck to you like a second skin; not overly obvious like a spray of perfume. But it lingers even after you scrub your hands throughout the day, as you take your loofa over and under your nails in the evening.

It's something hard to complain about. There's very obviously worse things to smell like and even worse things going on in the world that you really shouldn't care so much—yet. All it does is remind you of her.

When you wake up, dragging a face over your hand and scratching your nose, the smell is there; when you go to sleep, or when you're rubbing your eyes or cooking your dinner. She's there. Around you.

You can't stop smelling like you can stop seeing. You can't close your eyes and hope that her presence will go away—and well, even if you did, now you've started seeing those brilliant eyes of hers in your dreams too.

You're already flustered around her half the time, a ball of anxiety at worst and swooning over her small praises at best, but it just gets worse. How can you look her in the eye knowing she's in your dreams? That a simple smell makes you think of her while you're in the shower, scrubbing but all the same hoping that it won't ever go away.

Feelings that develop dangerously quickly the longer you sit behind that desk, doing work for her, watching her being pulled in every direction all day long. An urge to care for her—protect her.

(She's the last person that needs protecting, you try to rationalise, she doesn't need you.)

You imagine yourself helping her anyways. A silly, girlish indulgence that leaves heat in your cheeks and your tummy tingling.

"I can help you," whispered in her ear, your fingers already melting into her back, smoothing over the tense muscles. "Just let me."

Instead, you start arriving half an hour earlier to get ahead of her for the day, hot wisps already floating up from her mug on her desk. Top ups pre-prepared for as soon as she calls.

And then, your newest attempts: once the clock hits five pm, when you're due to leave for the day but Kate is still stuck in her office, ailing over her computer, taking calls, striking up last minute meetings, you switch things around.

The next top-up pot is decaf instead, given to her before you leave with a small, sheepish smile on your face as someone on the phone drones on to her about politics and war. Food for her is already ordered, the security guard at the front already well aware.

("Could you?"

"I'm not so sure."

"I ordered an extra two bao buns, you're welcome to have them."

"Well, alright then.")

Proud of yourself, you leave for the night feeling lighter, like you've done her some good. A sweet, simple ritual to help ease her a bit.

Then two weeks later, while you're delivering the usual decaf pot, she stops you before you can leave.

"You're giving me decaf." Her tone is so strong yet husky and your knees nearly buckle beneath you.

You turn shyly, biting your lower lip. "Yes, ma'am."

"And you keep ordering me food."

"Yes, ma'am."

Hey eyebrows raise in a way that you can't tell whether it's surprise or annoyance. Your heart pounds against your ribcage, and if you could feel it just a little more you swear you would leave her office with an aching chest.

"Should I expect anything else from you?"

"No, ma'am," you reply, somewhat dejected.

Then she huffs, shuffling papers around her desk, adjusting the angle of her laptop.

"That's a shame."

Oh.

That makes the small blaze within you roar, heat in your cheeks as you stare at her with parted lips. Something tingling in your stomach as she gives you a small smile. Your mind runs so quickly, picking left and right for some kind of answer that you're blurting out before you can think:

"I can do anything you want."

That has Kate looking at you with her full attention, her expression shifting, something of a smirk written over all her features. You gulp.

"Anything?"

"Ye- yes, yes ma'am."

How you're still standing right now is beyond your comprehension.

She laughs then and your mind completely blanks. It's minor, a chuckle and accompanied by her curled lip, leaning back in that big leather chair of hers, exuding authority.

"You tell that to everyone, sweetheart?"

The embarrassment comes too quickly, leaving you a gaping, stuttering mess. "I– no, ma'am."

"Good." Girl, you think. Good girl good girl good girl. Your core pathetically starts weeping at the thought, at the image of Kate pushing and pulling you in every direction she wants. Kneeling at her feet and eating her–

"Off you go," she says, and then she looks down at her watch and back up at you as if to emphasise a point. "You should already be home by now."

You stare at her for a moment too long, still frozen and reeling from the past two minutes stood in front of her. Under her heavy, watchful stare and brilliant tongue.

"Yes, ma'am," you manage amidst the chaos in your head. "Good night."

"Good night."

[more-sonorous]

clippers (javey)

a continuation of my two trans canon era davey oneshots! part one here, part two here! the plot of this is based off of a poll i put out, which pretty much ended up fifty fifty so i tried to include both answers!

without further ado, the gays.

HAPPY PRIDE!

.....

It had honestly been an accident. A total and complete accident– Jack was wandering a different route and ended up stumbling across the Jacobs family on the way to Shabbat service at the synagogue. All five of them at once, and poor David amongst them, looking more miserable than Jack had ever seen him before.

He felt uncomfortable, like he was breaching Davey’s privacy, seeing him so tense and miserable, masquerading as someone else with a skirt and a bow. It was then, during that chance meeting (which Jack awkwardly and desperately tried to make brief), that Jack noticed how long Davey’s hair was getting. Shaggy curls that looked soft as hell and reached just beneath his jaw, framing his face. Didn’t look like Davey, and Jack guessed by the tension in his best friend’s shoulders that it didn’t feel like Davey, either.

Jack Kelly was not going to let that discomfort continue.

The very next day, when the sun was just barely peeking above the smoggy city sky, Jack met David and Les on their way to the circulation square. Jack didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed it before– the hunch in Davey’s shoulders, the way he kept awkwardly running those elegant hands of his through the mop of too-long curls– but now that he had made the connection, the discomfort was clear as day. Thankfully, Jack Kelly was nothing if not desperate to solve other people’s problems.

“Dave! Les! How are my favorite Jacobs’ boys?” He crowed, jogging up to his lanky friends and dropping a heavy hand on his shoulder as a means of greeting.

“Jack.” Davey responded, rather tightly, and gave Jack’s elbow a squeeze. “We’re well.”

“Yeah! We got fried eggs for breakfast! I could run a whole mile!” Incredibly chipper (as always), nine year old Les beamed up at Jack. Jack’s eyebrows jumped when he noticed that one of Les’s top teeth was missing. “And my tooth fell out while we was eating dinner!”

“Were eating dinner.” David corrected, gently, running a hand through Les’s tightly cropped head of dark curls. “While we were eating dinner.”

Les scoffed and batted his brother’s hands away, in a manner that made Jack’s chest ache for something he might’ve had long ago. “Ain’t that what I said? Jack?”

“Yeah, pretty sure he said whatever you said, Dave.” Jack grinned easily, stuffing his hands into his pockets and thoroughly enjoying the agitation creeping onto Davey’s sharp, lovely features. He had the furious scrunch of the other boy’s nose memorized to a science– playful agitation. 

“You are a horrible influence, Jack Kelly.”

“Nah, we just don’t speak the Queen’s English around these parts, is all. We leave that up to you, right, Lessy?” Jack earned a gap-toothed, dimpled smile from the kid– stupidly precious with his round face and dimples– and couldn’t resist the urge to mess up Les’s already untamed hair. “Hey, you said you could run a mile, right?”

Big, brown eyes seemed to light up with excitement. “Yep!”

Jack crouched to meet Les’s eyes, producing a perfectly shimmery copper penny from his back pocket. He flipped it between two fingers before holding the prize out to Les. “How fast can you get to the circulation center? If you can get there in less than five, I’ll give you a whole penny. Run ahead a’ me and Dave, and time yourself. Okay, Shortstack?” 

“You got it, Jack– I’m gonna win that penny, by the way!” Little Les called over his shoulder, already off like a rocket.

“Sure you are, kiddo!” Shouted Jack in response, easily standing to his full height and tucking his hands right into his pockets. Now he was alone with Dave, putting the plan he’d spent the night formulating into action as he wheeled around to face his best friend. “Dave, I was thinking–”

“You’ve got lipstick on your neck.” Davey responded very dryly, eyebrows raised to create an expression of either disappointment or disgust. 

Jack’s stomach jolted, suddenly feeling inexplicably guilty about the evidence of a morning spent with his girl. Dave always got weird when Jack tried to chat about his courtship with Kath. He was probably upset and wanting a girl of his own, or something, but Jack wasn’t gonna put words in the guy’s mouth. He tried to avoid the subject since it was seemingly sensitive, and he hated the judgemental and unhappy expression on Davey’s face. Quickly, he rubbed at his neck, which only earned him an eye roll from the other boy.

“No, you goof. Other side– no– ugh, just let me.” With pursed lips, Davey whipped a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and stepped impossibly close, sort of roughly rubbing the handkerchief against the very place Kath had sensually kissed just an hour or two ago. His hand was cold against Jack’s skin, and for some reason, Jack’s words died in his throat as he stared at the other boy. Davey’s expression was tight. Almost pained.

Typically, Jack was excellent with people. He could read emotions better than he could read words, knowing how a person was feeling just by glancing. Davey was, by far, the hardest individual to decipher. A real closed off guy. For some reason, he had Jack all jittery with his lipstick cleaning.

“There. Done.” As quickly as he started, he stopped, stepping away and shoving his own hands into his pockets. He did not look nearly as relaxed and casual as Jack when he performed this gesture, posture ramrod straight.

“Thanks, Dave.”

Another tight expression, and then: “Of course. The boys would poke fun at you for hours if you waltzed into the circulation yard looking like that. Now– why did you spend a whole penny to get me alone?”

“Oh, right. ‘Cause you need a haircut.” He grinned, suddenly remembering his plan (which he was awfully excited to carry out.

He did not earn the reaction he was expecting– Davey seemed to deflate, shoulders hunching and eye contact dropping within seconds. Davey didn’t do eye contact a lot (he did it mostly with Jack, which Jack was awful proud of), but when Jack lost it like this, he knew there was a problem afoot. “N-not that your hair looks bad like this, Dave. Y’look great. Y’always look great, Davey, but, uh, it just looks longer than I know ya like it.” 

“It is longer than I like it. That’s the problem.” He jammed the toe of his spit-shined black boot into a crack in the sidewalk, the two of them pressing closer towards the wall of a nearby building to avoid bustling passerby. “My Ima refuses to let me cut it again, since she’s convinced we’ll go back to school in the spring. Says I can’t go with short hair.”

“But… you don’t like it long, right?”

“I hate it long.” He mumbled quietly– it was very rare for Davey to offer such insight into his emotions, and Jack was eating up every last crumb. He stepped closer, just to hear Davey’s quiet voice. Davey’s subtle body heat was also welcome amidst the late autumn chill. “Ima used to make me keep it all the way down to my ass. It was a nightmare to care for.” 

Honestly, Jack couldn’t picture that. “Down to your ass?”

“Yeah, and it’s curly. Took me hours to care for every day.” Beautifully green eyes rolled miserably at bad memories, and Jack failed to create a mental image of Davey with long, raven-black curls.

Jack couldn’t picture Davey as anything but a boy, quite truthfully, and that was how it should be. Davey was a boy, after all, damn what his Ima and Aba might think about the situation. He felt himself frown, wishing he could march right up to Esther Jacobs and ask her why she couldn’t just love Davey for Davey. Jack did it perfectly easily– after all, Davey wasn’t hard to love. “Bet she lost her shit when you first cut it, huh?”

“It was horrible. She threw a fit like I’d never seen before. I guess because she loved my hair. It was the only thing I had that Sarah didn’t. Perfect, long, hair. But that’s gone now. Or, it was. Now Ima’s forcing me to grow it out, and she won’t let me near a pair of clippers.”

“Yeah… would be a real shame if I walked you home today and spent dinner laughin’ about a mishap with Racetrack and a big wad of chewin’ gum…”

“What?” 

“You remember, don’t’cha? How Racer’s gum ended up all tangled in your hair, so’s I had to cut all the gum out. I’ll tell Mrs. Esther I’m real sorry about the mishap, but I didn’t want a pal of mine going home with ruined hair. So I cut it nice and short to get all the nasty stuff outta it, and that’s the end of the story.” Jack could scarcely contain his own excitement, and he bit down on his lip to hide his growing smile as Davey’s big green eyes seemed to brighten considerably.

“So you cut my hair, and not me. I didn’t get near it with the shears.”

“Exactly. You didn’t have no part in it, and ya certainly didn’t want your hair cut, but I insisted.” 

“Oh, Jack…” Then, Davey was smiling cheek to cheek, brighter than the summer sun. Jack felt like he was flying, heart thumping like a battering ram against the confines of his chest. “You’re the best.”

He tried to shrug the stupidly complicated feelings off, sending his best cocky smirk Dave’s way. “So I’ve been told.”

That’s how they found themselves in the Lodge’s bathroom. Jack was an inch away from losing his mind, because Davey was sitting here shirtless in front of him with soaking wet hair. He had his wrappings or- maybe bindings, Jack couldn’t remember the word– tied tight around anatomy that Jack probably shouldn’t see, but even the gentle slope of his freckled shoulders was driving Jack crazy. Davey didn’t have the right to be this attractive. Constellations of freckles, pale skin, dark hair– Jack was kicking himself for thinking the guy was so fucking gorgeous. It was messed up. Those thoughts should’ve been saved for Kath alone. 

But he had the Lodge’s haircutting scissors in one hand and a strand of wet, dark hair in his other, and he was desperately trying to focus on anything but Davey’s excited face in the mirror. 

“You’ve done this before?” He asked, right as Jack chopped the majority of the long curl off.

Jack glanced up at their reflections before giving a distracted nod. “Yeah. Yeah, me and Mush take turns playin’ barber. Normally I just buzz or trim, but I’ll– I’ll do ya right, Dave.”

“Of course. I trust you.” Davey said, oh-so-casually, and Jack wanted to melt.

Instead, he cleared his throat and got to work, trying to banish any ridiculously unacceptable thoughts from the recesses of his mind. More and more curls dropped onto the towel around Dave’s shoulders, and Jack stared fixedly at the hair and not at the shoulders, or pale lower stomach that was just barely in his vision, or the way Davey’s thighs looked in his trousers. Something was wrong with him today. He was so caught in his head that he scarcely heard Davey speak up, rather meekly.

“Um, Jack?”

Blinking himself out of a stupor, Jack reminded himself to speak aloud. “Huh?”

“Is it, uh… is it supposed to be this short?”

Jack glanced up, and realized with budding horror, that he had cut the left side of Davey’s hair far too short. A little bit more and he could’ve nearly had a buzz. Shit. There was no way Jack was going to be responsible for fucking up Davey’s good looks with a shitty cut. He had to improvise.

“Uh… yeah. It’s… it’s just somethin’ new I’m tryin’. You gotta trust the process, man.”

Davey pursed his lips together, said ‘alright’ very quietly, and Jack thanked God he hadn’t gotten to the front of Davey’s head yet. His curls were still perfectly untouched, damp and hanging over his forehead. The back and right side had also been spared, so Jack had plenty of hair to correct with. 

He trimmed down the other side and the back until it was all just about even and much neater, leaving a lovely crop of short curls atop Davey’s head. Jack was careful, more careful than he’d ever been with a haircut, constantly glancing back and forth between the mirror and the dark hair in his hands. He worked diligently and slowly and made sure not a hair on Dave’s head was harmed, and thankfully, the cut turned out great. Jack let out a breath he hadn’t even known he’d been holding as he brushed Dave’s shoulders off (his skin was warm and unfairly soft) and gave him a gentle pat.

“There. You’re all done.”

Davey stood and pushed a hand through his newly cut hair, joy practically radiating off of him. He was smiling uncontrollably, green eyes bright and cheeks rosy, and Jack wanted to die. He thought Davey was incredibly handsome, and he definitely should not have been thinking such a thing. 

“Gosh, Jack, this… this is amazing. You did an amazing job. I love it.”

“Yeah?” He asked, feeling uncharacteristically bashful as he brushed his hands off on his thighs. 

Then, Davey directed the full force of that smile at him. “Yes. Absolutely. You– you’re the best friend I could’ve ever asked for, Jack.”

“Wh– and– and you’re my best pal too, Dave. You gotta stop thankin’ me for doin’ the bare minimum.”

“What? No! This isn’t the bare minimum. You cut my hair for me. That’s going above and beyond.” Davey bit his lip, obviously considering his next move. Then, without warning, he lurched forward and threw his arms around Jack. “Thank you so much, Jackie.”

Immediately, Jack wrapped his arms around the other boy and held him tighter than necessary. Davey. Shirtless. Hugging him. Jack had feelings that needed to be examined and promptly repressed. “Y-You’re welcome, man. Hey– I think– I think you look handsome.”

He couldn’t help himself, ruffling Davey’s head of dark hair. Davey seemed to glow with excitement, his expression softening. He looked at Jack like Jack was the only person in the world. “You do?”

“You… you always look handsome, Davey.”

“Oh.” A pause. Long, tense– Jack nearly burst out of his skin, unable to pull his eyes away from the beautiful green in front of him. “Thank you, Jack.”

“Of– of course, buddy. Let’s, uh… we need to get to sellin’ or your pa’s gonna be upset about our earnings for the day.” Jack quickly stumbled back, kicking himself for letting whatever that was just happen. Katherine, Katherine, Katherine, he reminded himself, because he did love her. He was obsessed with her. He'd felt as much that very same morning. So why the hell was he feeling so entranced with Davey, just hours later? Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he decided to shut his inner monologue up and stop asking unanswerable questions.  

Davey seemed equally stilted as he yanked his undershirt back on, redressing rather clumsily. “Right. Obviously. Let’s go.”

And if Jack watched him redress far too closely, neither said a word. There was something about Davey– something about his hair, eyes, cheekbones– the way he carried himself– it was clear to Jack that Davey wasn’t just a friend. Jack admired him. Perhaps even romantically. That was a thought that made him inexplicably nervous in regards to their future, but his worries could wait. Davey’s newfound brightness, just because of a haircut, kept Jack happy throughout the rest of his evening.

[qqueenofhades]

Sure, every single one of Trump's announced cabinet picks so far is (as expected) spectacularly terrible, but fear not, everyone. Susan Collins is here and she is Very Concerned.

[mwagneto]

every time I see you like something I also like it genuinely makes me angry because you have such shit taste otherwise and you're so annoying about everything why do you have to get it right sometimes just stick to your bullshit

you wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid

[secondpersonpoetry]

you’ve probably already read it before, but the poem Party by Kim Addonizio really got me tonight. first thought was “oh man. yeah” and then my second thought was “how can i make this about my hockey guys somehow………..”anyway! have a good one! 

oh. oh.

​

[crystallizsch]

every now and then i get the thought of making a star rail oc or a trailblazersona and then i remember i have to

Design It

and then i don’t do it ever