#Rebuilding Gaps in Wall.

[reasonsforhope]

AYESHA RASCOE, HOST:

With Spain and Portugal saying that hundreds of people have died from the heat waves sweeping through Europe this month, the longer-term view might come as a surprise. Over the past 50 years, the number of deaths attributed to weather-related disasters has actually fallen. Yes, you heard that right. The World Meteorological Organization says that the number of disasters has increased five times over the past 50 years, but the number of fatalities has fallen by two-thirds. Vox climate writer Umair Irfan has delved into this paradox and joins us now. Welcome to the program, Umair.

UMAIR IRFAN: Thanks for having me, Ayesha.

RASCOE: So how can this be? Like, how can the number of deaths be falling even though we hear the news, we see the disasters? You know, seas are rising, summers are hotter, hurricanes seem to be getting stronger. So how is it possible that deaths can be down?

IRFAN: Well, there are two main factors here. One is better forecasting - basically being able to get ahead of these disasters and then hopefully being able to get people out of harm's way. So that's really prominent with things like hurricanes and heat waves. We can actually see those things days in advance. The other side of the equation is how well we can cope with things like storms, fires and heat waves when they do occur. So we have better tools - things like sea walls. We have better building codes. We have firefighting teams that can get people out of fire zones. And so between those two aspects - you know, the better forecasting and the better tools - we've been able to avert a lot of deaths, even though the global population has grown about fourfold since the start of the 20th century.

RASCOE: Are the technological advances that you're talking about available even in less-developed areas?

IRFAN: It's not, unfortunately. And you're hitting on a very important point. You know, the WMO pointed out that about 90% of disaster-related fatalities that occur today are occurring in developing countries. And there's a huge gap in terms of being able to anticipate these disasters before they occur and being able to respond to them and being able to rebuild in their aftermath. And that really is a big shortfall that a lot of world leaders are starting to get concerned about...

You know, the World Meteorological Organization, they launched this initiative to basically say that they want the whole world covered by disaster early warning systems over the next five years. And they think that this is something that's going to be taking a big bite out of the fatalities and the casualties caused by these disasters. So I think it's worth highlighting the progress that's made, but also the progress that we still need to make.

-via NPR, July 17, 2022

Thanks so much to @gardening-tea-lesbian for the link!

[lila-lou]

✨Beyond saving - Pt. 3✨

Summary: I hate summaries, so this is part 3 of "Beyond saving".

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only!, Smut, mention of rape (well, detailed), Language, Angst, Hurt, soft dean (literally), it´s just a loooot

Word Count: 7600

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

As another week has passed, Sam entered the kitchen, noticing you sitting alone on the ground, your eyes fixed on the table where Dean had inflicted so much pain upon you. He approached you cautiously, sensing the weight of your emotions hanging heavy in the air.

"Hey", Sam said softly. "How are you holding up?".

You glanced up at him, your eyes weary and filled with sadness. "I'm… I'm trying", you replied hoarsely, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sam sat down beside you, offering a comforting presence as he reached out to gently squeeze your hand. "I know it's not easy", he said sympathetically.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you leaned into Sam's embrace, the weight of your pain almost too much to bear.

"I know it's hard to believe right now, but Dean still loves you", he said gently. "He's hurting too, maybe even more than you realize. He hates himself for what he's done to you, for what the demonic version of himself did. It wasn't the real Dean, you know that, right?".

You nodded slowly, tears brimming in your eyes as you struggle to come to terms with Sam's words. "I want to believe that. But it's so hard, Sam. Every time I look at him, all I can see is… is what he did to me".

"I know", he mumbled. "But you have to remember that Dean would do anything to take back what happened, to make things right between you two. He's fighting his own demons right now, just like you are. And I know that deep down, he's still the man you fell in love with".

"I know it's going to take time", he said gently. "But I truly believe that you and Dean can find your way back to each other. You've been through so much together, and I know that love doesn't just disappear overnight".

"Thank you, Sam", you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "I don't know what I would do without you".

Sam smiled warmly, giving your hand another reassuring squeeze. "You don't have to thank me. We're family, and family looks out for each other. We'll get through this together, I promise".

As the days passed, you found yourself greeted each morning by the aroma of freshly prepared meals and the sight of a bouquet of flowers adorning your doorstep. With each delivery, your heart ached with a mixture of longing and hesitation, unsure of how to respond to Dean's gestures of remorse and affection.

Yet, despite your reservations, you couldn't deny the sincerity of his efforts. Each handwritten note contained memories of the happiest moments you had shared together, reminding you of the love and joy that had once filled your relationship.

With each meal and each note, Dean sought to bridge the gap between you, to remind you of the bond that had once bound you together. And though you remained guarded, the warmth of his gestures began to thaw the icy walls around your heart, slowly but surely.

As you sat alone in your room, reading through Dean's heartfelt words and savoring the meals he had prepared, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope stirring within you. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was a chance for forgiveness and reconciliation after all. And with that thought in mind, you found yourself daring to believe in the possibility of a brighter future, one where love and trust could prevail over pain and sorrow.

As the days passed, you found yourself slowly opening up to the idea of letting him back into your life, of giving him a chance to make amends for the pain he had caused.

With each meal he prepared and each note he left, Dean showed you that he was willing to do whatever it took to earn your forgiveness and rebuild the trust that had been shattered.

Two weeks later, as Sam ordered Pizza, Dean made his way towards sam and the delicious smell. As Dean reached for the pizza, a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks. Startled, he turned to see you sitting next to Sam, your gaze fixed on your hands clasped tightly in your lap. For a moment, he hesitated, unsure of what to do or say.

But then, a flicker of hope ignited within him as he realized what this moment meant. After weeks of isolation and silence, you had finally taken a step forward.

With cautious optimism, Dean approached you, his movements slow and deliberate. He sat down beside you, careful not to startle you, his heart pounding with uncertainty.

"Hey", he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's, uh, it's good to see you".

You glanced up at him, your eyes meeting his briefly before flickering away. Dean's heart ached at the sight of your pain.

As the dinner progressed, a heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the occasional clinking of utensils against plates. Dean tried to muster up the courage to speak, to break the tension that seemed to suffocate the room, but the words caught in his throat.

Your gaze fixed on your plate, unable to meet Dean's eyes or engage in conversation. Every fiber of your being screamed with discomfort, your stomach churning with anxiety from being in such close proximity to him.

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his heart heavy with guilt and regret. He longed to reach out to you, to apologize for everything he had put you through, but he knew that words alone would never be enough to mend the damage he had caused.

Finally, unable to bear the suffocating silence any longer, Sam cleared his throat, breaking the tension with a forced smile. "So, uh, how's the pizza?", he asked, attempting to steer the conversation away from the elephant in the room.

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to speak, your throat tight with emotion. Dean swallowed hard, his own discomfort palpable as he forced himself to take a bite of his pizza, the taste turning to ash in his mouth.

Despite his best efforts to push aside his guilt and make things right, Dean couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled over him like a dark cloud. As the dinner dragged on, he couldn't help but wonder if he would ever be able to truly make amends for the pain he had caused you.

As the tension lingered, Sam attempted to lighten the mood with small talk, but his efforts fell flat against the weight of the unspoken turmoil between you and Dean. Each passing moment felt like an eternity, the heaviness in the air suffocating.

Dean's heart ached with every glance he stole in your direction, the sight of your pain etched into every line of your face piercing him like a knife. He wanted nothing more than to reach out to you, to beg for your forgiveness.

For you, the meal was a torturous ordeal, you struggled to suppress the torrent of emotions threatening to consume you.

After dinner, Sam tentatively suggested watching a movie together, hoping to provide a distraction from the heavy atmosphere that lingered between you and Dean. He could see the strain etched on both of your faces and desperately wanted to find a way to bring a sense of normalcy back to your lives.

You hesitated, the thought of spending more time in Dean's presence filling you with dread. But with a small nod from Sam, you reluctantly agreed.

As Sam set up the movie, you and Dean found yourselves sitting on opposite ends of the couch, a palpable distance separating you. The air was thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension, but for the moment, you both focused on the screen in front of you, allowing the movie to serve as a temporary escape from the turmoil that surrounded you.

Despite the heaviness that still hung in the air, there was a glimmer of hope in Sam's eyes as he watched the two of you attempt to coexist in the same space. He knew that healing would take time and effort, but he was determined to do whatever it took to bring his family back together, one small step at a time. And as the movie played on, he silently prayed that tonight would mark the beginning of a new chapter for all of you.

As the movie played on, Dean found it nearly impossible to tear his gaze away from you, his heart aching with every fleeting glance he stole in your direction.

A torrent of guilt and remorse washed over him, threatening to drown him in its depths.

In that moment, Dean would have given anything to ease your suffering, to take away the pain that he had inflicted upon you. If cutting out his own heart and offering it to you would mean healing your wounded soul, he would do it in a heartbeat.

But as he sat there, watching you, he felt utterly powerless, his own torment mirrored in your tear-stained eyes.

Another week passed, and tentatively, you began to open up to Dean once more. Your heart clenched with uncertainty as you heard his voice, but you knew that avoiding him forever would only prolong the pain for both of you. So, you found yourselves sitting across from each other at the large map-table.

Dean's question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions. "Are you able to sleep again?", he asked, his voice laced with concern and regret.

You hesitated for a moment, the memories of sleepless nights and haunted dreams flooding back to you. But then, with a small nod, you found the strength to answer. "Yeah, I am", you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

It was a small victory, but it felt like a significant step forward.

"I'm so sorry", he whispered, his words heavy with regret. "I can't even begin to express how sorry I am for what I did to you".

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself as you met his gaze. "You hurt me, Dean", you said, your voice quivering with emotion. "You hurt me in ways I never thought possible".

Dean's expression crumpled, his heart breaking as he listened to your words. "I know", he murmured, his voice choked with tears. "I know and I hate myself for it".

"You… you raped me, Dean", you continued, the words catching in your throat. "You violated me in the worst possible way".

Tears fell down Dean's face as he listened to your confession, the weight of his actions bearing down on him like a crushing weight. "I'm so sorry", he repeated. "I'm so sorry for what I did to you".

You took a shaky breath, your heart heavy with pain. "I want you to understand", you said, your voice wavering with emotion. "I want you to understand what you did to me".

"You shoved me against the table, Dean. You didn't care that I was begging you to stop. You didn't care that I was in pain".

Dean´s voice choked with tears. "I know, I know. I was a monster. I should have never—". But you cut him off. "You broke my wrists, Dean. Do you even realize how much that hurt? Every time I moved, every time I tried to do anything, I was in agony".

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I never should have touched you".

By now, your voice was trembling with emotion. "And my ribs, Dean. You broke them too. Every breath felt like knives stabbing into my chest. I couldn't even breathe without feeling like I was going to pass out". Tears started streaming down your face.

"And then you… you fucked me until I bled, Dean. Do you understand what you did to me? Do you understand how much pain you caused?". You paused. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive you, Dean. But I want you to know… I want you to know what you did to me".

Dean sat there with teary eyes and wet cheeks, his heart breaking with each word that fell from your lips. He listened to the pain in your voice, the anguish in your eyes.

Every detail you recounted of the horrors he had inflicted upon you pierced his soul like a thousand knives. He couldn't bear to look away, couldn't bear to turn his gaze from your tear-streaked face.

In that moment, he felt the weight of his actions crush him with a force he had never known before. He wanted nothing more than to reach out, to hold you close. But he knew that he didn't deserve it, knew that he had caused you too much pain to ever be worthy of your love again.

All he could do was sit there, his heart heavy with regret, and pray that somehow, someday, he could find a way to make amends for the irreparable damage he had done.

"I lay there for hours", you confessed, the memories still vivid in your mind. "I couldn't move, couldn't even catch my breath. Every inch of my body was screaming in pain, and all I could do was lie there and pray for it to end".

You continue, your voice laced with bitterness and sorrow. "After that, I stopped looking for you", you admit, the words heavy on your tongue. "I stopped trying to save you, stopped caring".

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of your words sinking in.

Dean's eyes glistened with unshed tears as he listened to your words, his knuckles white from the tight grip he held on his emotions. "I wanted to kill myself", he confessed in a voice barely above a whisper. "That's how much I hated myself for what I did to you".

Your words cut through the heavy silence like a knife, each syllable dripping with the bitterness of your pain. "I'm already dead because of what you did to me", you said, your voice laced with a coldness that sent a shiver down Dean's spine.

His eyes closed in anguish, the weight of your words bearing down on him like a crushing burden. You were his everything, the love of his life, and the thought of spending his days without you was unbearable.

"I wanted to marry you, to build a future together", Dean whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I wanted to have children with you, to grow old with you by my side. But I… I broke you".

The pain and heartache radiating from him was palpable, and despite your own suffering, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of empathy for the man who had once held your heart in his hands.

"I know", you finally replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "I know you're hurting, Dean. But… but what you did to me, it's something I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive".

Dean's shoulders sagged with the weight of your words, his gaze dropping to the floor as he struggled to contain his emotions.

"I understand", he said softly, his voice tinged with regret. "I don't expect you to forgive me, not after what I've done".

During the following two weeks, Dean spared no effort to demonstrate that he was no longer the monster he had once been. He cooked for you, cleaned the bunker without being asked, and even went out of his way to avoid any situation that might make you uncomfortable. Every gesture was infused with a desperate longing for redemption, a silent plea for your forgiveness.

As you sat in the TV room, enveloped by the soft glow of the screen, a bowl of popcorn nestled in your lap, you felt a sense of tentative peace settle over you. It was the first evening Dean and you had been alone since Sam and Cas had left on their hunt, and for once, the weight of the past seemed to lift ever so slightly from your shoulders.

Lost in the movie playing before you, you barely noticed when Dean appeared in the doorway. His eyes lingered on you, filled with longing.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. But then, with a hesitant step forward, Dean cleared his throat, breaking the tense silence that had settled over the room.

"Mind if I join you?", he asked, his voice tentative as he gestured to the empty space beside you on the couch.

You hesitated, torn between the desire to push him away and the faint glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be different this time. After a moment's pause, you nodded silently, scooting over to make room for him on the couch.

As Dean settled in beside you, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his eyes softening with gratitude and relief.

Dean watched you, his gaze lingering on your profile as you became engrossed in the movie playing on the screen. A flicker of recognition crossed his features as he realized it was the same movie from your first night together in the bunker—the night when everything had felt so new and full of promise.

"You remember this?", he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he glanced at you, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips as memories of that night flooded back. "Yeah", you replied, your voice tinged with warmth. "It feels like a lifetime ago".

Dean's expression softened at your words, sadness clouding his features. "I miss those days", he admitted. "I miss us".

You turned to look at him. "I miss us too", you whispered.

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, lost in memories of happier times.

Dean hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hope or forgiveness. "Are you willing to give me another chance?", he asked quietly. "All I want is to make things right, to hold you in my arms and ease your pain. I want to heal what I destroyed, to show you that I'm not the same person I was back then".

You felt a tug at your heartstrings as you looked into his eyes, seeing the sincerity and regret reflected in their depths. Part of you wanted to believe him. But another part of you was still wary, still hesitant to open yourself up to the possibility of being hurt again.

"I don't know, Dean", you admitted. "I want to believe that you're capable of being the man I once loved. But… I'm scared. Scared of getting hurt again".

Dean's heart sank at your words. "I understand", he said softly, his voice tinged with sadness. "I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust, to show you that I'm worthy of a second chance. Just… please don't give up on me".

As you sat there, grappling with the tumultuous emotions swirling inside you, memories of your past with Dean flooded your mind. You couldn't deny the depth of your love for him, even now, despite the pain and betrayal you had endured.

You remembered the way he used to make you laugh, the warmth of his embrace, and the way his touch could make your heart race with excitement. Despite everything that had happened, a part of you still longed for those moments of intimacy and connection that you had once shared with him.

But alongside the memories of love and happiness, there was also the lingering shadow of pain. You couldn't forget the agony of that fateful night, the way Dean had shattered your trust and left you broken and bruised.

Yet, as you looked into his eyes now, you saw the same love and longing reflected back at you.

Dean's voice trembled with emotion as he opened up to you, his words raw and filled with longing. "I've missed you so much", he mumbled. "I miss the way you used to sleep on my chest, your soft breathing. I miss the sound of your laughter, the way it could light up a room and make all the darkness disappear".

He reached out tentatively, as if afraid you might pull away, and gently brushed a strand of hair from your face. "Without you, I'm lost".

You felt a tug at your heartstrings as you listened to his words, seeing the pain and vulnerability in his eyes. Despite everything that had happened between you, you couldn't deny the depth of his love for you, or the longing in his voice as he spoke of wanting to make things right.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you locked eyes with Dean, his gaze searching yours with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. A whirlwind of emotions churned inside you—fear, longing, uncertainty—each vying for dominance as you grappled with the decision before you.

Part of you wanted to pull away, to retreat into the safety of your own walls and protect yourself from the possibility of being hurt again. But another part of you, a part that still held onto the memories of love and happiness you had shared with Dean, yearned for connection, for healing, for the chance to rebuild what had been broken between you.

And so, with trembling hands and a heart that threatened to burst from your chest, you leaned in slowly, ever so slowly, towards Dean. Each inch felt like an eternity, the weight of your decision heavy on your shoulders as you closed the distance between you.

As your lips met his in a tentative kiss, a surge of emotion washed over you, overwhelming in its intensity. It was a moment of vulnerability, of raw honesty, as you allowed yourself to let go of the pain and hurt that had consumed you for so long.

You cupped Dean's face in your hands, feeling the rough stubble beneath your fingertips as you leaned into the kiss, savoring the warmth of his lips against yours.

Dean hesitated for a moment, unsure where to place his hands, afraid of scaring you away with too much intimacy. His heart clenched at the touch of your lips, a familiar ache settling in his chest as he finally felt the softness of your kiss again after so long.

Despite the pain that lingered in your heart, there was a sense of comfort in Dean's embrace, a familiarity that whispered of happier times gone by. For a moment, the world fell away as you lost yourself in the sweetness of the moment, each kiss a silent promise of hope and redemption.

But beneath the surface, there was still a lingering sense of uncertainty, a fear of the unknown that threatened to overshadow the fragile connection you were trying to rebuild. And yet, as you pulled away from the kiss, a glimmer of hope flickered in your heart.

With a shaky, uncertain voice, you whispered the words that had been lingering on the tip of your tongue, the silent plea of your heart reaching out to him. "Hold me", you said, your voice barely above a whisper, the words trembling with the weight of your uncertainty.

Dean's heart skipped a beat at your request, his chest tightening with a mixture of hope and fear. Without a moment's hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, holding you close against his chest as though afraid you might slip away if he let go.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his skin as tears welled in your eyes.

Dean's hands trembled as he gingerly brushed over your back, his touch tentative yet filled with a quiet tenderness. With each gentle stroke, he tried to convey the depth of his remorse, the ache in his heart mirrored in the way his fingers traced soothing patterns against your trembling form.

You clung to him tightly, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt as you let out the pain and anguish. Your body shook with the force of your sobs, the emotional turmoil threatening to consume you entirely.

With a tenderness born of regret and longing, Dean pulled you closer to him, his lips hovering over your forehead as he held you in his embrace. His touch was gentle, his fingers tracing soothing circles along your back as you continued to sob against his chest.

Tears welled in Dean's eyes as he looked down at you, his heart heavy with the weight of his past mistakes and the knowledge of the pain he had caused you.

"I love you", he whispered softly, his voice filled with emotion. "More than anything in this world. I'm so sorry for what I've done to you, for the pain I've caused. But please know that my love for you has never faltered, not for a single moment".

As you looked up at him, your tear-stained cheeks and trembling lips betraying the turmoil within you, Dean's thumb gently brushed away your tears with a tenderness that spoke volumes. His eyes searched yours, silently asking for permission, for reassurance that this fragile moment of connection wouldn't shatter beneath the weight of your shared past.

With a trembling breath, you leaned into his touch, your heart pounding in your chest as his lips met yours once more. The kiss was featherlight, tentative yet filled with an undeniable longing—a silent plea for forgiveness, for understanding, for a chance to start anew.

As the kiss deepened, the world around you faded into oblivion, leaving only the two of you entwined in a moment of raw emotion and longing. With a newfound sense of courage, you straddled Dean's legs, your hands finding their way to his cheeks as you deepened the kiss, your lips moving with a desperate urgency born of years of pent-up emotion and longing.

Dean's hands remained at his sides, a silent testament to his fear of causing you further pain or discomfort. He was surprised by your boldness, by the intensity of your kiss, but he dared not move, afraid that any sudden gesture might startle you and send you fleeing from his arms once more.

Instead, he surrendered to the moment, allowing himself to be consumed by the warmth of your lips, the softness of your touch.

As the kiss intensified, your tongue seeking entrance to his mouth, you felt a surge of desire coursing through your veins. Your hands roamed over Dean's broad shoulders, urging him to reciprocate, to touch you in return. Yet, he remained still, his hands trembling slightly at his sides as if unsure of what to do.

But then, as you pressed closer, seeking the warmth and comfort of his embrace, you felt it—a hardness pressing against you, eliciting a gasp of surprise from your lips. Dean's erection, unmistakable beneath the thin fabric of your pajamas, sent a jolt of electricity coursing through your body, freezing you in place.

For a moment, you were paralyzed, unsure of how to proceed. The realization of what was happening between you, of the undeniable attraction and desire that pulsed between your bodies, sent your mind reeling. Could this be happening? Could Dean still desire you, after everything that had transpired between you?

But before you could gather your thoughts, Dean's voice broke through.

"I… I'm sorry", Dean murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he struggled to find the right words. "I didn't mean to… I just…".

His voice trailed off, his gaze dropping to the floor as if unable to meet your eyes. You could see the conflict etched on his face, the turmoil raging within him as he grappled with his own desires and fears.

"It's okay", you whispered, your voice trembling slightly as you reached out to cup his cheek, gently guiding his gaze back to yours.

But even as you spoke the words, uncertainty gnawed at the edges of your mind. Could you truly forgive Dean for what he had done? Could you trust him again, after the pain and betrayal he had inflicted upon you?

As you took Dean's hands in yours, feeling the tremble of your own shaking fingers, you guided them slowly and cautiously to your hips. The simple act of touch sent a jolt of electricity through both of you, causing Dean's heart to race and his body to react with a twitch of arousal.

But despite the undeniable chemistry between you, Dean remained hesitant, his eyes searching yours for any sign of uncertainty or discomfort. He wanted to be sure, absolutely sure, that you were okay with this, that you were ready to take this step together.

For a moment, the air between you crackled with tension, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the space between your bodies. But then, as you met his gaze with unwavering determination, Dean felt a surge of courage welling up inside him.

With a shaky breath, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a tentative kiss. It was soft, gentle, a silent promise of all the things left unsaid between you.

Dean's voice trembled as he spoke, his words laced with both desire and restraint. "Do you… Do you want to go to our bedroom?", he asked softly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation or reluctance.

You felt a surge of emotion welling up inside you at his words, a mixture of longing and apprehension swirling in your chest. The idea of being alone with Dean in the intimacy of your shared bedroom filled you with both excitement and trepidation, a reminder of the love and passion that had once defined your relationship.

But as you looked into Dean's eyes, seeing the vulnerability, you knew that this was a chance for healing, for closure, for the two of you to finally confront the demons of your past and forge a path forward together.

With a nod, you reached out to take his hand in yours, squeezing it gently as you rose to your feet. "Yes", you whispered.

Dean walked slowly, his footsteps deliberate and measured, as if he were afraid to rush or startle you. His hand, warm and comforting, brushed against yours in a gentle caress, a silent reassurance of his presence by your side.

As you followed behind him, the hallway stretched out before you like an endless expanse, each step echoing the rhythm of your racing heart. And as Dean finally reached the door to your bedroom, he turned to look at you, his eyes soft with emotion. Without a word, he reached out and gently pushed the door open, inviting you into the sanctuary of your shared space.

With a shaky breath, you stepped across the threshold, the weight of the past hanging heavy in the air around you. But as Dean closed the door behind you, shutting out the outside world, you felt a sense of peace settle over you.

Dean hesitated for a moment. "Is it okay if I… if I pick you up?", he asked softly.

You nodded slowly, your own voice barely above a whisper as you replied, "Yes, that's okay".

With a gentle smile, Dean reached out and scooped you up in his arms, his touch surprisingly tender as he cradled you against his chest. Despite the years that had passed, the memory of his strength and warmth flooded back to you, comforting and familiar.

As he carried you across the room, his movements slow and deliberate, you felt a sense of trust and safety wash over you, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that still existed between you.

And as he carefully lowered you onto the bed, his touch was feather-light against your skin.

As Dean hovered halfway over you, he hesitated, his voice trembling with nerves as he asked, "Would… would it be better if you were on top?".

You noticed the veins on his throat and arms standing out, evidence of the effort he was exerting to hold back for you. "It's alright", he mumbled. "If you want to be on top, it's fine".

His eyes searched yours for a moment, before you nodded slowly and before Dean lowered himself down beside you, his body trembling with anticipation and desire.

Dean´s fingers trembling slightly as he began to undo the buttons of your pajama shirt.

With a gentle touch, he lowered his mouth to your neck, trailing soft kisses along your skin as his hand slipped beneath the fabric of your shirt, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

"Are you okay?", he asked softly, his voice laced with concern as he brushed the shirt off your shoulders, revealing your naked breasts to him.

You met his gaze with a mixture of emotions swirling in your eyes—vulnerability, longing, and a hint of fear. But despite the tumultuous storm raging within you, you nodded slowly, offering him a small, reassuring smile. "I'm okay", you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper as you reached out to cup his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips.

With a gentle touch, Dean leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a tender kiss, his hands trailing down your body as he continued to undress you, his touch both reverent and filled with longing.

As you straddled his la, got rid of his shirt and pulled Dean closer, your body pressed against his, you feel the warmth of his skin against yours, sending shivers down your spine. Your nipples graze against his now naked chest, eliciting a soft moan from both of you. Dean's arousal, evident and undeniable, presses eagerly against you.

Dean's hand ventured beneath your pajama pants, his touch sending tingles of anticipation through your body. As his fingers brushed against your skin, he realized you weren't wearing underwear, and a soft gasp escaped his lips. His hand hovered tantalizingly close to your pussy, his breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts.

"Can I touch you there?", he asked quietly.

Dean's heart skipped a beat as he watched you nod slowly, your breath heavy and your heart racing in sync with his own. The anticipation hung thick in the air, a palpable tension that seemed to crackle with electricity. With a nervous bite of your lip, you gave him the permission he sought, sending a surge of desire coursing through his veins.

His hand trembled slightly as it moved lower, tracing the contours of your soft folds. You let out a soft moan of pleasure, your body arching instinctively towards his touch.

Dean's touch was electric, sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body. With each gentle stroke, he teased and tantalized, his fingers dancing over your most intimate parts with a skill that left you breathless. Your head spun with desire as he explored every inch of you, driving you to the brink of ecstasy with each passing moment.

As the heat between you grew, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you locked in a passionate embrace. In that moment, there was nothing else that mattered—no past, no future, only the raw, primal desire that burned between you.

As Dean felt the warmth and wetness between your thighs, he knew you were ready. With slow, deliberate movements, he began to ease down your pajama pants, his eyes never leaving yours as he watched for any sign of discomfort or hesitation.

"You okay?", he murmured softly, his voice laced with concern as he continued to undress you.

You nodded eagerly, your breath coming in short, ragged bursts as you struggled to contain your desire. "Yes, Dean", you whispered. "I want this".

With a final tug, your pants were discarded, leaving you completely exposed before him. And as Dean rid himself of his own sweatpants and boxers, you couldn't help but marvel at the sight of him—powerful and virile, his desire evident in every line and curve of his body.

Your breath hitched as you caught sight of Dean's erection, fear and uncertainty flashing in your eyes as he hovered above you. Sensing your hesitation, Dean froze, his own desire momentarily forgotten as he looked down at you with concern.

"Are you okay?", he asked softly, his voice filled with tenderness as he searched your eyes for any sign of discomfort or unease.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to find your voice. "I'm just… I'm scared", you admitted.

Dean's expression softened, a look of understanding and compassion flickering in his eyes. "I won't hurt you, I promise", he whispered. "I'll go as slow as you need me to".

Feeling reassured by his words, you let out a shaky breath, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Thank you", you murmured, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

As Dean continued to kiss you, his lips soft and gentle against yours, you couldn't help but feel a sense of tension and apprehension creeping into your body. Despite his best efforts to reassure you, you remained nervous and tense, unable to fully let go of the fear that still lingered within you.

Sensing your unease, Dean pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours again. When he saw the hurt reflected in your gaze, his heart clenched.

"What can I do to help you relax?", he asked softly, his voice filled with genuine concern. "I want to make this special for you, to show you how much I care. Just tell me what you need, and I'll do it".

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to express the turmoil raging within you. But then, with a shaky breath, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. "I need… I need you to be patient with me", you admitted, your words tinged with vulnerability. "I need you to understand that I'm still scared. And I need you to hold me, to reassure me that everything will be okay".

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest in a tight embrace. And as you melted into his arms, you felt a sense of comfort and safety wash over you, the tension slowly beginning to ebb away in the warmth of his embrace.

"I'll be gentle, I promise", he murmured, his voice soothing and tender. "We'll go slow, at your pace. Just tell me if you want me to stop, okay?".

You nodded, a sense of trust and gratitude washing over you as you buried your face in his chest. "Okay", you whispered.

With a gentle sigh, Dean leaned down and captured your lips in a sweet, lingering kiss. His touch was soft and tentative, his lips moving against yours with a tender reverence that made your heart flutter.

As the kiss deepened, you felt his erection pressing against your wet folds, the sensation sending shivers of pleasure coursing through your body. Despite your lingering apprehension, you couldn't deny the undeniable chemistry between you, the desire that burned hot and fierce between your bodies.

With a soft moan, you pressed yourself against him, your hips rocking instinctively against his, seeking the delicious friction that would ease the ache deep within you.

Dean’s breath was heavy with anticipation as he looked down at you, his eyes burning with desire and longing. “Can I…?”, he began, nodding towards his between the two of you. His hand moved to his shaft, as if to emphasize his need.

Your heart raced at the thought of finally feeling him inside you again, of surrendering yourself to the passion and intensity of your shared desire. But a flicker of uncertainty danced in your eyes, a lingering reminder of the pain and heartache that had once torn you apart.

“I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with”, he assured you. “I just want to make you feel good, to show you how much I love you”.

With a shaky nod, you reached out and took his hand in yours, guiding him towards you. As his lips met yours in a passionate kiss, you felt the heat and urgency of his desire washing over you, igniting a fire deep within your core.

As Dean pressed slowly inside you, his movements careful and measured as he sought to ease your discomfort. But as he felt you wince beneath him, he immediately stopped, concern flashing in his eyes.

“Are you okay?”, he asked softly, his voice filled with worry. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you”.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you met Dean’s gaze. “It’s okay”, you assured him, your voice trembling slightly with emotion. “I just… I need a moment”.

Dean nodded understandingly, his heart aching at the sight of your discomfort. “I’ll stop”, he whispered, his voice filled with regret. “I should have been more patient with you, especially after… after everything”.

You reached out and placed a hand on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “You’ve always been patient with me”, you murmured, your voice filled with gratitude and love. “Even before that awful night”.

Dean’s eyes softened at your words. “I just want to make things right”, he whispered.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. "I want you to go on", you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want to replace those memories of that terrible night with something beautiful, something loving".

Dean's eyes widened in surprise, his heart swelling. "Are you sure?".

You nodded, your gaze never wavering as you met his eyes with unwavering determination. "I'm sure", you whispered. "I want this, Dean. I want us".

As Dean slowly pushed himself inside you, the sensation of being filled with him once again sent shivers down your spine. You moaned softly and breathlessly, your body instinctively responding to his touch. But just as Dean buried himself completely within you, the memories of that terrible night crashed over him like a tidal wave.

His movements faltered, his breath catching in his throat as he felt the weight of his past mistakes bearing down on him. Closing his eyes tightly, he tried to push the memories aside, to focus on the here and now, on the love and desire that flowed between you. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape the haunting images that lingered in the depths of his mind.

Feeling himself going soft again inside you, Dean’s heart clenched with frustration and self-loathing. He wanted nothing more than to give you pleasure, to show you how much he loved you, but the ghosts of his past refused to release their grip on him.

With a heavy sigh, Dean pulled away from you. “I’m sorry”, he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I just… I can’t do this right now”. His gaze full of shame, as he got up from the bed and started to get dressed.

As you pulled up the blanket, your heart sank at the sight of Dean's retreating figure. Anxiety gnawed at your insides as you watched him hastily get dressed, his movements tense and hurried. A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, each one more tumultuous than the last.

Was it something you did? Something you said? Was your hesitation the reason he couldn't stay hard? The weight of your own self-doubt threatened to suffocate you as you struggled to make sense of the situation.

Dean couldn't even look at you right now, so consumed was he by his own guilt and remorse.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you watched him hastily getting dressed, his actions leaving you feeling confused and hurt. The weight of your own self-doubt pressed down on you like a heavy burden as you struggled to make sense of what had just happened.

“Did I do something wrong?”, you asked, your voice trembling with emotion as you fought to keep the tears at bay. “Was it because of me?”.

Dean paused, his hand hovering over his belt as he turned to face you. For a moment, it looked like he wanted to say something, to reassure you that it wasn’t your fault. But before he could utter a word, the door swung open, and Sam burst into the room, his eyes widening in surprise at the sight before him.

Misinterpreting the situation, Sam’s eyes darted between you and Dean, confusion evident on his face. “What’s going on?”, he asked, his voice tinged with concern as he took in the scene before him.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

Part 4

-

Taglist: @mayafatimakhan

[ferociouslycreativemystery]

The fucking veterans' event. I'll never get over this. He needed to see Havers again but he didn't have the right qualifications. Experience had taught him the layout of the mansion however, so he snuck around the back, because he knew that reality expands beyond the established rules of engagement. He'd been shown that those rules would still be enforced though, so he stole a mark of the approved experiences—ones which he'd never had.

He enters the room, and the same way he was able to sneak into the house he sees there's a path through the crowd to reach Havers. But he is inattentive of his environment and draws attention to himself, causing him to be challenged to prove his belonging yet again—only this time, he has moved beyond the pale and is thus forced to follow through with evidence to back up his pretence. Of course, he has no experiences to pull from in that regard.

"The Captain" is nothing but a facade walling off a soft man from a hostile environment. He has no home to provide him shelter behind what appears to be the front door. Tearing it open is the equivalent of pulling a turtle from its shell; without it, he cannot weather the world.

So when they all push through uninvited, he perishes. His soft heart breaks from the strain of exposure.

Kicking in the front door reveals this unexpected sliver of actual reality, ungoverned by the rule book. The tables turn as now it is the others who are left fumbling for what to do, their legs cut out from under them when suddenly deprived of their precious rules.

Except for the officer who's seen both sides, who did build a lawful home, yet who also knows the Captain. He rushes forward to bridge the long established, newly exposed gap between reality and fiction. They are pulled together by the joint store they put in the truth, in spite of propriety. And possessing the means to do so, Havers will protect what he cares about, be that a people or a person.

He declares the impostor to be a peer in everything but name by demanding medical attention for him, and kneeling halfway to his level, he speaks with him as close to equals as the situation will allow them to be. He affirms the final truth which risks seeping out for everyone to see while still guarding it, wrapping a gentle bandage over the open wound to spare the Captain from bleeding out completely: I know.

And then, as a final comfort, in place of the impossibility of open affection, he redirects the Captain's hands to accept a part of his own shell that he willingly offers up to help rebuild the one which kept the Captain safe all these years, up until it was cruelly torn away in what was to become his final moments.

How starved is the man who can hide behind a swagger stick?

At long last, heteronormativity finally did kill the Captain. Nevertheless, Anthony affirmed that in the face of it, James did still exist, and despite the violations he faced, he had a right to do so on his own terms. He might never have become a hero, but he was always a brave man. His circumstances gave him no choice.

[gabessquishytum]

Okay we’ve had a very sad lack of pregnant Hob here lately so I must fill the gap with a silly idea!!! So imagine it takes Hob getting knocked up for Dream to realize he loves him. It’s in one of those in-between moments where Dream hasn’t been to the waking world in months, too busy rebuilding his crumbling kingdom to check in on his favorite mortal or nurture this strange sort of friendship they’ve started up after hundreds of years. But Dream thinks of him often, more often than he’s willing to admit. So often that the second he’s done cleaning up his kingdom he doesn’t waste a second before he’s materializing in front of the pub (their tavern, it’s always been theirs) and walking in

Hob seems fine at first. He’s sat down at the back of the pub in a booth up against the wall. He looks a little tired, hair a little longer, strands brushing up just at the tips of his shoulders, the rest of it up in a messy bun that’s half falling out. And Dream is immediately so taken with him as he always is, something warm and soft and secret beginning to bloom in his chest. And then Hob sees him, his smile doing a strange little wobbly crease before smoothing out into a too-tight smile, and he’s about to say something, something that looks important, but Dream is already rounding the table and he sees Hob’s obviously pregnant stomach resting in his lap, stretching out one of his silly professor sweaters—

Either trans Hob times or maybe a little fuckery from everyone’s favorite Endless, Desire. Maybe it’s a demonic curse, or a gift from a lesser god. Either way it doesn’t take long for Hob to explain himself when Dream’s soul has been shoved back into his body and he finally relents and sits down. Hob explains that yes, he’s fine; yes, he’s taking care of himself and sleeping well; yes, it’s twins, thanks for asking; no, the other parent isn’t in the picture. And Hob looks so sad when he says that last bit that it makes something stupid and protective swell up in Dream’s chest, the same sort of feeling he gets seeing empty bird nests and children’s nightmares. Dream can’t get the way Hob says I guess it’s just me out of his head for a long, long time

But most of all Dream can’t ever burn away the image of Hob standing up and pressing his hands to the soft small of his back and arching forward with a groan. And for the first time in almost a thousand years Dream imagines silk sheets and bodies in between them. Maybe his offer to help Hob out around the pub and at campus is more selfish than he lets on

Omg, Dream falling in love with Hob/realising that he's been in love with him for ages WHILE HES PREGNANT is so perfect for them <3

Once his pregnancy is out in the open, Hob begins to see quite a lot of his favourite dreamlord. He's a little hurt that Dream might be seeing him just out of pity, but in the end he's grateful to have a friend. And someone to carry his bag around campus. Dream follows him devotedly from lecture to lecture, brings him nutrious lunches, and dotes on him so much that people begin to assume that he must surely be the baby-daddy! And Hob, well... somewhere along the line he stops denying it. Its kinda nice to fantasise that Dream is the other parent of his children.

And Dream, who can naturally sense fantasies and daydreams without meaning to, has to stop his heart from trembling when he realises that Hob wants them to be a family. Not just friends, but partners and co-parents. If he keeps making the right moves, he might actually be able to have Hob?! It seems crazy that such little inconsequential things, like running him a nice soothing bath or organising the shifts at the New Inn, should be the foundation for one of Dream’s legendary cosmic love stories.

With his undeniably changed physique, Hob can't help but feel that he'd never be attractive to Dream. Not when he's so round and swollen and all kinds of weird things are going on in his body. He never dreamed that he'd go through the humiliation of peeing in front of his centennial stranger, but here he is! What he doesn't know is that Dream has never been so aesthetically attracted to anyone. When he sees Hob sleeping on his side with his t-shirt riding up over his belly, Dream nearly melts into a puddle. He just wants to hold, touch, love and worship his body.

Thank goodness they get their shit together around the time Hob hits his third trimester, so he can get those life-saving pregnancy orgasms. He still can't quite believe that his massive belly, messy hair and eye bags were what attracted Dream to him....... but he's never going to complain. His twins are going to be luckiest babies in the whole damn multiverse.

[zahri-melitor]

I'm thinking about the post-Cataclysm rebuild of Gotham again. And in particular, I'm thinking about the fact that even to today, we should probably still see scars on the city from it, and that the rebuild would still have been underway as of Flashpoint.

Why?

I was in Christchurch last January, on holidays and visiting friends. It is now 13 years since the Christchurch Earthquake.

The Christchurch Cathedral reconstruction is still underway. You still see vacant blocks. There are stacks of shipping containers still braced to building walls in some places to reinforce the structure while repairs continue. There are buildings held up by scaffolding that can't be torn down for heritage reasons, that wait as they try to decide what repairs are feasible.

The skyline has never recovered (and this was a minor controversy the other week when someone insulted it as insufficiently highrise).

It's a living city, with its own culture, but you walk into it as an outsider and some of the scars are immediately obvious, and others still live in the memories of those who know what was lost.

What's that got to do with Gotham?

Gotham's an even bigger city. Even with Wayne and Luthor money pouring into the rebuild, three years down the track they would still be remediating things. Is there a fight over rebuilding in heritage designs v modern? What parts of the city are lower priority for the rebuild? Are there jagged gaps still where buildings had to be torn down? Fights over how to rebuild the bridges? Did they repair the blown up ones or build a new one beside the existing bridge? Is that site by the opera house still empty, or turned into a park as the city thinks about what to do with it? Has the trendy parts of the city migrated along with the rebuild to a more open area that was levelled, where new housing and shops can go in and younger people flock to the trendy cafes?

Is the reason Burnley (shhh) develops as a tech hub nobody had heard of previously because of city flight to the mainland after Cataclysm and it was easier to build a new suburban hub from the city rather than retrofit in around all of the inner city construction? Was Burnley originally a university town/suburb that rapidly densified following Cataclysm as so many people moved out there as they didn't want to go too far?

Does Dick still occasionally mentally plot routes through the city by rooftop that rely on buildings long gone? Did they straighten roads during the rebuild? Was there more public transport built during the repairs, or was it abandoned and stripped out?

[drdemonprince]

Hi Devon,

this might not be a question you can answer, or maybe it is! idk. this is about covid & alike

for context on myself, i’m a white gendrfucky trans guy who’s also autistic & an immigrant (so some cultural context is probably lacking)

as we know, we’re in a 2nd highest surge & the pandemic never stopped and it increasingly dangerous and disabling to so many

i wear my kn95 everywhere i go now, and while i tried last semester, it was a lot easier to abandon masking because of

1. others’ around me negligence

2. some classrooms being IMPOSSIBLY hot and close to unbearable with a respirator on

3. attending crowded events where people needed to hear me

i’ve reevaluated and am rebuilding my practices now, but what i’m finding really difficult is to get people i have in my life to wear a mask again

i feel so lost. i share the informational posts, i talk to my people, i offer masks- what else is there to do?? i know the exhaustion i feel is absolutely incomparable to what disabled and immunocompromised people feel, especially when they’ve done the work for years!

i just don’t understand how i’m supposed to keep moving through life. i mean ofc i’ll keep doing what i’m already doing but it’s so incredibly isolating to be the only person masked in a meeting of 20,30,50 people.

i don’t know how to make people care. i don’t know how to have conversations with my friends in a way that will let our relationship evolve with this new understanding of care. i don’t know how to not polarize people into defensiveness when i talk about the powers wreaking atrocities in falasteen being the same ones shortening an isolation period to 1 day.

i don’t know how to be eloquent enough to be listened to and firm enough where people take what i say seriously. i don’t know how to not start screaming WEAR A MASK anytime it’s a crowded (or even not crowded) meeting indoors with no air filtration.

idk how people don’t realize the “cold” they’ve had for 3 weeks is either covid or direct aftermath of it. idk how they stand for seemingly the right things and then come to work sick & unmasked.

i don’t know how to engage with most people in a meaningful way & find connections because the delusion, the “it won’t happen to me”, the “i don’t care if i catch it and die”, the “this is just the way it is” seems to be a wall made of unbreakable cement and i don’t know what will melt it.

i feel insane for having compassion towards the world and seeing how it can be better. i feel insane for being angry people don’t mask & downplay this issue. i feel insane for even trying to talk sense into people.

i’ve recently been called a lying phony by an account that talks about masking bc a lot of my recent pictures show my face without a mask. i archived the posts since, apologized and reflected. but a lot of pictures i take are in my own room so i am unmasked. idk

i feel like the gap between me and most people i know is growing wider by the minute and with every reading i do about interdependent revolutionary practices, etc.

i know that when one understands something, it is their responsibility to make an impact on their bubble of the world and transform it with their knowledge. but i doubt i’m the only one doing the reading and knowing what’s going on, i just seem to be the only one masking.

i don’t know. i’m sorry it’s such a long ask & i’m sure you have your own stuff you’re dealing with. i just don’t know who else to ask that might understand. i’m sure there are people around me who might but so many are in survival mode and i currently don’t know anyone with the capacity to hold space for this.

i guess it’s bold to assume you do.

anyway, i hope your day goes alright today<3

You are placing wayyy too much responsibility upon yourself as one compassionate and informed individual here, and expecting far too much perfection of yourself in ways that do not help you and do not help the cause. You've done a lot to unpack the terrible individualism that has led to anti-mask sentiment being so rampant, but you are in a way still applying that logic to yourself and your situation by imagining that if you, one humble person with limited power were able to be adequately persuasive, you'd somehow change the actions of thousands. That is not how behavior change works.

Persuasion almost never happens logically or instantly, almost never through one person's remarks. Behavior is shaped by a vast array of economic, sociological, emotional, and ideological factors.

It's also not helpful in my opinion to worry about the opinion of someone who would shame you for not wearing a mask at home alone in your bedroom, either. Obsessing over the optics of our actions and wanting all people to morally approve of us at all times is yet another consequence of individualism and Puritanism. as you well know as someone who masks in a crowd of maskless people, sometimes we gotta do what we know is right and disregard others' opinions.

What you can do, in my opinion, is this: keep masking. Your behavior reminds people of the need for masks and models socially responsible behavior. Bring spare masks with you. Offer them to your family and friends and the people standing near you in public. If they refuse, and you have a good relationship with the person where they have shown they respect you and listen to you, then you can tell them why masking around you is important to you. You cannot change the opinion of someone who has never shown you any respect so don't expect that to ever work.

Even if you do have a good relationship with someone, persuasion is a long, hard process. Do not expect yourself to change their mind. If you can get some people to mask at least around you, that is a victory. Perfection is an unrealistic goal here to expect of yourself, and for public health in general. Any improvement you can inspire is a victory. Even if it's just making one or two friends mask more often when they are with you. That still lessens risk. That still sends a visible signal to everyone around you. You have no idea of the impact you truly have on other people in the long term. It is both more modest and far larger and longer-reaching than you as an individual will ever know.

Please be easy on yourself. You are just a person. An average person with very limited power. So is everyone else for the most part. When you stop burdening yourself with the unrealistic responsibility of changing thousands of people's behavior, you will feel less resentful toward others as well. When we resent other people it always means we are doing too much.

And when you feel less overwhelmed and overburdened, you will be more effective in the conversations you do have with people about COVID too. People do not respond well to (what they perceive to be) guilt or intensity or someone presuming to know better than them. What people do respond to well is to be asked genuine questions, listened to, validated in their feelings, given help where they are facing barriers to action, and being treated with compassionate gentleness.

But to do that you have to work on believing that people who are flawed in their response to COVID have reasons for doing so that make sense to them, and that they aren't all foolish and lacking in compassion. As my friend @kim-from-kansas says, people do not do things that do not make sense. If a person's actions do not make sense to you, it is because you are missing a piece of their context. The sad fact is people have many reasons to think that masking doesn't work or is hopeless. People have been very heavily propagandized and trauma also makes many people value life less.

Convincing people to take COVID more seriously is a tall, tall order, but if you wish to do so, you will need to be more than correct. You will have to put real work into not making people feel judged, and you will have to make peace with not always (or even usually) succeeding. It sucks but that's how it is. Best of luck!!

[asongoficeandfiresource]

The songs said that Storm's End had been raised in ancient days by Durran, the first Storm King, who had won the love of the fair Elenei, daughter of the sea god and the goddess of the wind. On the night of their wedding, Elenei had yielded her maidenhood to a mortal's love and thus doomed herself to a mortal's death, and her grieving parents had unleashed their wrath and sent the winds and waters to batter down Durran's hold. His friends and brothers and wedding guests were crushed beneath collapsing walls or blown out to sea, but Elenei sheltered Durran within her arms so he took no harm, and when the dawn came at last he declared war upon the gods and vowed to rebuild. Five more castles he built, each larger and stronger than the last, only to see them smashed asunder when the gale winds came howling up Shipbreaker Bay, driving great walls of water before them. His lords pleaded with him to build inland; his priests told him he must placate the gods by giving Elenei back to the sea; even his smallfolk begged him to relent. Durran would have none of it. A seventh castle he raised, most massive of all. Some said the children of the forest helped him build it, shaping the stones with magic; others claimed that a small boy told him what he must do, a boy who would grow to be Bran the Builder. No matter how the tale was told, the end was the same. Though the angry gods threw storm after storm against it, the seventh castle stood defiant, and Durran Godsgrief and fair Elenei dwelt there together until the end of their days. Gods do not forget, and still the gales came raging up the narrow sea. Yet Storm's End endured, through centuries and tens of centuries, a castle like no other. Its great curtain wall was a hundred feet high, unbroken by arrow slit or postern, everywhere rounded, curving, smooth, its stones fit so cunningly together that nowhere was crevice nor angle nor gap by which the wind might enter. That wall was said to be forty feet thick at its narrowest, and near eighty on the seaward face, a double course of stones with an inner core of sand and rubble. Within that mighty bulwark, the kitchens and stables and yards sheltered safe from wind and wave. Of towers, there was but one, a colossal drum tower, windowless where it faced the sea, so large that it was granary and barracks and feast hall and lord's dwelling all in one, crowned by massive battlements that made it look from afar like a spiked fist atop an upthrust arm. -- Catelyn III, A Clash of Kings

[astarlightmonbebe]

the shenanigans in wedding impossible are fun and all, but impossible to truly enjoy because i cannot forget the high stakes behind them. it was bad enough when the premise was simply a contract marriage to cover up one man's secret, but now we have 'let me seduce my brother's fiance-soon-to-be-wife' thrown into a mix. jihan's actions are harmless on the surface, sinister beneath it. for all he says he cares about his brother, ajeong is right when she says he's not a very good brother (i mean, you could argue the same for dohan, which i will get into in a minute), because what brother makes a move on his brother's woman? it doesn't matter if there's no feelings yet, or if the marriage is fake - they've barely begun and they're already getting caught. and jihan and ajeong getting caught leads to dohan and ajeong getting caught out too, and so it always comes back to dohan's secret, his reason for trying to escape. i think starting off the drama we already know that dohan ultimately won't be able to keep his sexuality a secret, that it will somehow be forced out into the open, but with each episode, the stakes surrounding that reveal get higher and higher. the higher it gets, the more the fall hurts. the higher the walls, the more violently they crumble.

and, objectively, none of the characters are entirely without blame or flaws in the situation. dohan asking ajeong to marry him without consideration of the cost it could have on her (he's asking her to move to ny, lie to her family and his, possibly stall her career or risk losing it entirely, etc). ajeong lying about her career to dohan and acting as if she's rich and all that. for close friends, they are sometimes careless with one another, but we can also see them remedying that, rebuilding the gaps, such as when ajeong sincerely accepts his offer, and dohan calling her to check in. jihan's a much more volatile character. his character can be understandable when you think that he wants dohan to have happiness because he somehow thinks of himself as responsible for their mom dying, but what's the point in fighting for something for dohan that dohan doesn't even want? dohan has made it clear he doesn't want the company, but jihan has it set on him inheriting it, on marrying him off. he's not much different from their grandfather in that respect, although at least their grandfather agreed to let dohan marry ajeong instead of trying to break them apart like jihan's doing now. jihan's pushy and overbearing; dohan, in contrast, is perhaps too laidback. he doesn't seem to understand jihan's ambition or his struggles in the power balance, and he also left his brother alone with the wolves for five years. it's hard to really analyze the brother's that much, because we don't get that many scenes of just the two of them and have barely any backstory on how their relationship was like growing up (did dohan look out for jihan? what does he know that jihan doesn't, and vice versa? how was dohan's position in the family (we understand jihan is bottom rung)? etc).

still, when it gets down to the bone, the biggest blowback is on dohan, because he'll end up losing the one thing he wanted to protect. ajeong entered the game as an outsider, and she'll leave like one (or eventually be welcomed back into the family as jihan's wife at this point), although there will probably be considerable affect possibly on her career or public image as an actress. jihan could lose a lot, more so in standing, which he cares about, and public image as well. dohan gets outed to his family, and probably the greater public depending on how much comes to light (that reporter seems like he'll be an issue). so really, jihan and ajeong are playing a game and forgetting dohan is in the middle. and that's going to be a problem.

[fastcardotmp3]

Ronance AU where after the Upside Down has been neutralized and the fight for Hawkins is over, they go their separate ways and stay in touch largely through letters.

A couple of months together at the end of the world, a couple more helping Hawkins rebuild in the aftermath, and then Nancy is off to the East Coast for college and Robin is taking a gap year to spend the time with her family she lost in the war and they're not quite close enough for regular phone calls at that point, but Robin gets a great picture of Mike and the kids that she just knows will bring a smile to Nancy's face so she sends it and that's--

Well that's how it starts.

Polaroids with little notes at the bottom to show each other what they're up to, where they've been, who they've been with. Robin thinks it's easier to get to know Nancy Wheeler through the written word, none of their individual hang-ups can be in the room to get in the way and Nancy is just-- God she knows how to string a sentence together.

It's life updates and questions asked and answered and book and movie recommendations and--

Steve and I are moving to Chicago in the summer so I can start that linguistics program I told you about.

I usually have a layover in Chicago! Maybe I'll take a day to see the sights...?

It's plans made and it was good to see you's and more Polaroid photos with little notes at the bottom and it goes on for years, is the thing.

They move around and never end up in the same place. Nancy is chasing her dreams and chasing stories from city to city and country to country and she hardly sees her family outside of major holidays let alone Robin, but Robin gets the uncensored preview to a lot of her articles in long-hand scrawl from a cramped airplane seat and that's nearly as good.

Steve is Robin's platonic soulmate, always will be the bastard, but the more years it goes on through the end of both their undergraduate years and then into Robin's first Master's and Nancy's first staff writer gig and then into careers and new friends and lives and their thirties, well.

Well, Robin is pretty sure that Nancy Wheeler is her best friend. At least on paper.

It's like, the letters don't come every week or even every month, but every single time that familiar handwriting with a new return address comes sliding into her mailbox, thicker with photos the longer it's been, there's this flutter of utter joy and gratitude that Robin just can't deny herself.

Nancy Wheeler sure can string a sentence together. She can string a sentence together so good that Robin knows her just from pen and paper. Sees her just from the wall of Polaroids that travels with Robin from Chicago to a couple years getting yet another degree at UCLA and all the way back home again to Indiana.

When Robin imparts the news that she's gotten a teaching position (now that she has her doctorate) at IU, Bloomington to Nancy, it's with tongue-in-cheek jokes about whether or not this place is haunted too, but mostly Robin points out that she'll be close by again for when Nancy visits her parents.

She sends the letter before she gets into the passenger seat of the U-Haul Steve has insisted on driving cross-country for her out of fear for your safety, Buckley which is code for we haven't been on a road trip in too long and I miss you. But what it really means, the haste and the excitement, is that she doesn't manage to get her new address into the letter before it's already in the mail.

It shouldn't matter. She'll send another one when she gets to Bloomington in a week or so, depending on how many roadside attractions she and Steve decide to indulge in like they're teenagers with all the time in the world and not thirty-five-year-old dweebs singing along to mixtapes they made in 1987.

It shouldn't matter.

Miraculously, it doesn't.

She's getting a feel for the new campus the first time she sees Nancy Wheeler in probably four years, walking through the lobby of the student union like she belongs there.

(She belongs anywhere she decides to lay her feet, Robin thinks.)

She's walking through the student union, and out of nowhere Robin is a too-blunt, no-filter teenager and--

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Hallowed halls of a respected institution, Robin couldn't care less about it as Nancy turns over her shoulder and beams.

"I'm sorry," she gives Robin a once-over like she had been waiting for this moment, like she had known, "who are you?"

Robin is lifted across the room by the force of her own joyous laughter before she even has the chance to call Nancy any of the names she'd like too, wrapped up around her and swaying in the middle of what will become a well-used study space once the semester starts in a week.

Wrapped up around her. Feeling her here and now and real as she is on the page. Nancy Wheeler knows how to string a sentence together with a pen, but god does she know how to do it off her tongue just the same. Everything that rolls out of her and into the world has Robin's cheeks aching from how hard she smiles, has her buzzing despite the lack of caffeine in her system.

Because as it turns out, Robin isn't the only one coming home, isn't the only one looking to maybe create a home base to return to at the end of each long trip, isn't the only one who snagged a gig teaching a new generation of world savers just how to do it. (The IU School of Journalism is, after all, one of the best in the country, and thus fitting of a mind like Nancy Wheeler's.)

It's strange, not to need to pen a letter to talk to her anymore, to be able to go for dinner on Thursdays after classes or work on lesson plans in tandem in Robin's eclectic living room because Nancy is still very much working on the whole having furniture thing after so many years on the road.

Robin knows it won't last forever, that Nancy can't sit still for more than the next couple of years she's on contract here, but the longer they spend together the more it becomes clear that Nancy really does want a place to come home to for longer stints in between assignments.

She wants roots, she says, people and bars where she can consider herself a regular and students to teach how to take no shit from the old guard.

Robin wants that for her too. Wants to make that happen for her. Wants it to be here.

With her.

They're not kids anymore, and the world doesn't need saving in the same way it once did, and the pictures they take now are together, together, together and Robin finds it's so much easier than she ever thought it could be at seventeen years old to look at the woman she loves and not be afraid of it.

To lean into her on the couch while they listen to a record Nancy had picked up somewhere in her travels in a language Robin speaks and can translate in real time, to share her space, to kiss her like they've been kissing all this time and like they're inventing something new wrapped up in one.

"So, roots, huh?" Robin breathes, foreheads tipped together and those blue eyes bigger and brighter than ever.

Nancy Wheeler knows how to string together a sentence, but all she needs right then is two words.

"Yeah," she smiles, bright as the flash on a Polaroid camera, "roots."

[ereardon]

Come Back [Chapter 12][Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x OC]

Summary: Eight years ago, Bradley Bradshaw was just a college boyfriend who broke your heart. Now, he’s back in your life after a coincidental reunion, and he’s adamant about starting up a friendship. Will it be possible to be just friends with Bradley, or is he inevitably going to end up ruining everything you’ve spent the better part of a decade rebuilding?

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x OC [Nurse Maggie Brooms]

WC: 2.6K

Warnings: Cursing, SMUT

Series masterlist

Bradley lingered at the door. 

What you didn’t see was the way he jumped out of bed and into the Bronco after your call. How fast he flew down the highway to get to your house. The way his hands shook as yanked open the car door, rushed up the path to the townhouse. 

He was frozen at the door. It felt like a seminal moment. He didn’t want to fuck it up. He couldn’t afford to. 

He raised his hand and knocked. 

You pulled the door open in a hurry. 

Bradley stared at you, his eyes latched onto yours. For a moment, you were worried you had made the wrong decision. You knew you couldn’t just throw eight years of hurt feelings out the window. 

But then he closed the gap between you, pushing the door closed with his foot, grabbing your face in his large hands, thumbs stroking your cheeks on either side. Bradley looked down at you with such a feverish intensity that you thought you might crumble right there in the foyer. 

He ran one thumb over your bottom lip. “Mags,” he whispered softly. 

“Yeah?”

“Is this really what you want?” he asked. “Because for me, there’s no going back. I love you. I want you to be my girl. Today. Tomorrow. Forever. But if it’s not what you want, I understand. Just tell me and I will walk away.” 

You slid your hands across his wrists. “I want you, Bradley. I wanted you then and I want you now. The only thing that has changed is that I think this time, it could work.” 

A gasp escaped your throat as Bradley leaned down and pressed his lips against yours, walking you backward until you were pressed against the wall, one hand leaving your face to trail down to your waist, the other tracing delicately across your throat. 

Your fingers reached up and tangled in his short curly hair, pulling him in, one leg wrapping around his waist. With a small grunt, Bradley wrapped his arms around your thighs and lifted you into the air, your legs winding around his waist automatically, as he ground himself against you. His lips pulled off of yours, attaching to your neck, and you moaned as he trailed wet kisses from behind your ear, down the side of your neck, to your clavicle before walking you out of the foyer toward the bedroom. 

Bradley set you down gently on the edge of the bed, breaking the embrace to pepper kisses down your neck, his fingers already pulling your shirt off over your head. His eyes widened when he saw you weren’t wearing a bra, his mouth automatically latching onto one nipple and your head fell back in a moan. One hand came up and massaged your other breast, and then he switched and you felt yourself growing wet just from him touching your breasts. 

“Bradley,” you moaned and he pulled off your nipple with a loud pop. “Please.” You wiggled your hips underneath his hands and he smirked. 

“Baby, I’m going to take my time tonight,” he murmured. “I want to worship this body that I’ve been dreaming about for so damn long.” 

You laid back on the bed as Bradley kneeled in front of you, his thick fingers sliding down your abdomen, circling under the spandex of your leggings as he pulled them down. You lifted your legs, letting him slide the leggings off, revealing your bare core. Bradley groaned, nudging your legs wider, and landing a kiss on your inner thigh near your knee, working upward. 

When Bradley’s tongue came into contact with your folds your hips jumped up off the bed, and he pressed one large hand down on your lower stomach, sinking you back into the mattress as his tongue flicked easily through your folds. You gasped when his tongue danced along your clit, his lips suctioning on. 

“Fuck!” you screamed and he brought both hands up to press you into the mattress, driving his face further into your wetness, his nose brushing against the clit as his tongue darted inside of you. Finally, Bradley loosened the grip of one of his hands, sliding it down and pushing one finger in your cunt slowly until you gasped before starting to pump repeatedly, sliding his ring finger in as well, curling at the top and you felt the familiar wave of pleasure start to build. “Shit, wait,” you murmured and Bradley removed his fingers, pulling back as you sat up. 

“Are you OK?” he asked quietly. “Do you want to stop?” 

You shook your head. “No, but get on the bed. And take your shirt off.” 

He cocked an eyebrow but did as he was told, lying down wearing just a pair of black joggers and you watched Bradley’s eyes widen until you thought his pupils would blow as you climbed over him, naked, your dripping core positioned above his mouth. Your hands gripped the headboard as you leaned forward slightly, and Bradley’s hands came out to grab your thighs. 

He looked at you for consent and when you nodded his fingers dug into your flesh, pulling you down to meet his lips and you swear to God he moaned into your folds as you sunk down on his face. Bradley’s tongue swirled against you as you grinded on his face, whimpering every time his nose came into contact with your clit. 

Turning around, you saw how hard he was in his boxers, his hips even rising off the bed for a moment as he pressed himself against the fabric of his pants, trying to get some friction. 

That drove you over the edge. Bradley’s fingers were leaving bruises against your hips and thighs but you didn’t care. Not as you rocked against his mouth, whining and chanting his name over and over until you felt the breaking point, one hand reaching out to steady yourself against the headboard as you stuttered across his mouth, Bradley’s tongue swirling against your clit, your orgasm crashing in waves until you were slumped forward, breathless. 

Bradley pulled back and you gently rolled over so you were lying on the bed on your back, breathing heavily. He reached out and ran a hand down your side, causing you to shiver. 

“God you’re fucking beautiful,” he whispered, pressing against you and you reached up, locking your lips to his, tasting yourself on his tongue as Bradley rutted against your leg. 

You broke the kiss, reaching down to slide one hand underneath the waistband of his pants, felt him sigh as you wrapped your hand around his length. 

“Shit,” he murmured as you pulled off his joggers and boxers, and rolled off the bed. 

“Come here,” you whispered, hooking your finger, and Bradley scrambled to sit on the edge of the bed, his erection so stiff it nearly hit his muscular abdomen as he moved. Your knees sunk into the plush rug next to the bed as you placed your hands on his thighs, running your fingers up to his hips before leaning forward and licking his tip. 

“Fuck me,” Bradley whispered, looking down in awe as you bent and licked across his full length before dropping down and taking him in your mouth. He groaned and gripped the duvet cover, fingers white where he had them curled against the linen fabric. You bobbed your head up and down, a few tears slipping out as you wrapped one hand around the base of his thick cock and Bradley whimpered above you. Every time you got near the tip you pushed your tongue flat against the underside, making him shake. “Shit, Mags, you feel so good. God, baby, you’re perfect.” His praise went straight between your legs and you leaned forward, taking him further down your throat, feeling Bradley thrust upward into your mouth, a string of profanities and a loud yell on his lips as he came, hot, down your throat. You sucked down his length slowly, letting him pour out in your mouth before finally you pulled off of his cock and looked up with wide eyes. 

You stood up and straddled Bradley, who was still catching his breath. 

“Holy shit,” he whispered, one hand circling your waist, another coming up to brush through your hair. “You’re amazing at that.” 

You grinned, leaning in and kissing him. “It’s been a while,” you murmured. 

Bradley broke apart from the kiss. “I never forgot what it felt like to hold you and make love to you, Mags. Never.” 

“I missed you,” you admitted softly, your arms wrapped around his neck, his fingers tracing patterns across your lower back. “I’ve been missing you for a long time.”

“I’m here now,” Bradley murmured, pressing his forehead to yours.

He pressed his lips to yours, rolling over until he was on his hands and knees above you. Bradley leaned down, sucking on the space behind your ear as you raked your hands down his muscular back, wrapping your legs around him, bringing him closer. 

“Do you have condoms?” he whispered and you nodded, reaching over and digging in your nightstand drawer, pulling out a foil square. Bradley leaned back, tearing it open and rolling it over his already hard cock. 

Looking up at him, you reached out and brushed one hand over his face, felt the faint indent of his scar on your fingertips. Before you could pull away, Bradley grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips, kissing your knuckles softly. 

You slipped your fingers around the back of his neck, pulling him forward and pressing your lips to his. Bradley repositioned himself between your legs and you felt him brush against your soaking core, causing you to moan. 

“Are you ready?” he asked softly and you nodded. You could feel his fingers as he guided himself in between your legs. He was large, it had been a while since you’d been with anyone let alone someone as thick as he was, but he pushed in slowly, his eyes on yours the entire time. “You OK?” 

“Yes, baby” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in tighter. With a final grunt, Bradley pushed all of the way inside of you and you let out a gasp as he snapped his hips forward, jutting into you repeatedly. “God, yes, don’t stop.” 

He pushed himself up onto his forearm, one hand coming around to your thigh, pressing it back and you whimpered as he hit a different angle inside of you, bringing you so close so quickly. 

“I love you,” Bradley whispered, his forehead pressed against yours, your fingertips gripping his bicep tightly. “Fuck I love you so much.” 

“Bradley, yes, yes,” you chanted as he fucked into you, his lips brushing over your forehead as you squeezed your eyes shut, your mouth open in a string of moans. Bradley’s hand moved from your thigh, thumb grazing over your clit and you felt the heat building in your core as he shifted your hips higher, sitting up on his knees and using the pad of his thumb to stroke your clit in soft circles. 

“God, Mags, you feel so tight around me,” he muttered, and you saw a bead of sweat drip down his tanned face as his eyes zeroed in on his cock fucking in and out of you. His thumb was hitting just the right spot and your hips lurched upward as Bradley pushed deeper into you. 

“I’m cumming,” you whispered, the breath caught in your throat making it difficult to speak. “Fuck, Bradley, yes, I’m going to cum.” 

“Yes, baby,” Bradley murmured, using the hand that wasn’t circling your clit to stroke your leg lovingly. “Cum for me sweet girl.” 

You broke into pieces, Bradley’s thumb swiveling over your clit forcing your orgasm over the edge until your head felt tight like it was about to explode and you arched your back as he drilled into you, fucking you through the breaking point. 

Once you unclenched Bradley grabbed your hips, thrusting into you faster, until you were a moaning mess beneath him. “Cum for me,” you whispered and Bradley’s eyes focused on yours as a moan escaped his lips. “Please, Brad,” you begged and you watched as he threw his head back in ecstasy, his hips jerking forward twice more before he stalled and collapsed over you, pressing feathery kisses across your shoulder and up your neck until he got to your lips. 

“I love you,” you whispered softly and Bradley pulled back, his eyes wide. “I love you, Bradley Bradshaw.” 

He smiled and kissed you deeply and when you broke apart, he softly pulled out, rolling over and peeling off the condom before crawling back into bed, pulling you into his arms. 

You leaned against his chest and felt Bradley sigh. “What?” you asked, peering up at him. Bradley shook his head. “I’ve just dreamt about this for so long I can’t believe it’s real.” 

You traced a finger across his chest, down toward his belly button. It reminded you of the morning you had held Bradley while he slept off the fever. 

After a while, Bradley slid out from beneath your arms, jostling you just enough to shake you awake. 

“Babe?” you murmured. 

“Shh,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep.” He sat up on the edge of the bed, his back to you, and you heard a sniffle. 

“Honey?” you asked, sitting up. “Brad what is it?” 

He turned to you and the moonlight streaming under the curtains gave you just enough visibility to see the tear stains down his cheeks. He shook his head. “I’m sorry.” 

You wound your arms around him, felt his head meet your shoulder, a warm spread of wet tears on your bare skin. “Sweetheart,” you murmured. “Honey what’s wrong?” 

Bradley sat up, wiping at the tears. “I guess it just still feels like I don’t deserve it.”

“Deserve what?” 

He turned to you. “To be loved by you, of all people. A second chance after everything I put you through.” 

You reached out and pressed your hands to his face on either side, fingers threading through the hair beneath his ears. “You deserve to be loved, Bradley. Stop cheating yourself from having what you deserve because some part of you thinks you didn’t earn it. I love you and I have loved you for years.” You dropped one hand and pressed it against his chest, over his heart. “You’re the love of my life. You are so loved. Nothing will ever change that.” 

He nodded and you pulled him back into bed, cradling his massive form in your arms. You waited for the tears to dry up, your hand stroking his head, neck and back. You waited until his soft snores took over. And then you pressed your lips to his temple. 

There had been an ache, buried deep inside, for the past eight years. Ever since you watched him walk out that door. 

When you woke up, it was gone. 

And so was Bradley. The bed was empty. 

Your heart sank, quickly like the drop of a roller coaster. It continued on as you looked around, noting that Bradley’s clothes were gone. The bathroom was empty and so was the living room. 

In the kitchen, you sank down to the ground with your back against the counter, a few tears sliding down your face. It felt like that warm May night all over again. But this time, you hadn’t even watched him leave. He had just disappeared while you slept. 

It was worse. 

And then you heard the rumble of a car, and the sound of a key turning in the lock. Peering around the doorframe of the kitchen to the hallway that led to the door, you squinted. 

Bradley came crashing through the door, juggling a bakery box and a cardboard coffee cup holder with two togo cups. He winced when the door slammed behind him, tiptoeing inside and kicking off his shoes before looking up and catching your eye. 

“Maggie, I…” He trailed off when he saw your face. “Baby, what’s wrong?” He placed the box and coffee on the side table and rushed over, his fingers gripping your arms. “Honey what happened?” 

You gave him a dirty look. “What the fuck Bradley?”

“You’re mad,” he said, realization clouding his handsome face. 

“Fuck yes I’m mad. I wake up and you’re just gone!” You feel the tears backing up behind your eyes. “I thought you fucking left me, again. God, next time leave a note or something.” 

Bradley gave you a soft, sad smile and pointed to the kitchen table where a white piece of paper sat. You rushed over and grabbed it. 

Mags,

You deserve breakfast in bed. Please don’t change your mind before I get back. I love you so damn much. 

- B

You looked up and saw the smirk forming on Bradley’s lips and you reached out to swat at his arm playfully as a laugh bubbled in his throat. Before you could reach him, he stepped forward and grabbed you by the waist, spinning you around until you were laughing in his arms. When he set you down, you ran your hands down the sides of his face. 

“So this is it, huh?” you asked quietly. “You and me? For real this time.” 

“Honey, it’s always been you and me. You’re my dream girl, remember? I knew one day we’d find our way back to each other.”

Tag list: @abaker74 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @luckyladycreator2 @marantha @tayrae515 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @bradshawsbitch @lilianashomaresparza @double-j @hangmandruigandmav @blue-aconite @shawnsblue @minamisulemisa @momc95 @hangmandruigandmav @seresinhangmanjake @taytaylala12 @pulisvertz @brehonodea @babyminghao @crthurston @angelbabyange

[purrincess-chat]

For the writers truth or dare ask: 🌿❄️🍄

Give some advice on writer's block and low creativity

So, this is something I've actually been dealing with a lot over the past year. Some of it is out of my control, but the other side is just a general lack of motivation. Here are a few tips I've found that are helpful for me:

First, identify where your block is coming from. Is it because a scene isn't working and you don't know how to fix it? Is it because you don't know what to do next in the story? Is something else in your life stressing you out? Do you suffer from a mental illness that may be making you feel disconnected? Once you recognize what kind of block you're facing, you can find ways to overcome it.

The way you handle your block is going to depend on what kind of block it is. For me, I've been dealing with a lot of outside stress in my personal life that doesn't usually leave me with much mental energy to devote to writing or even some of my other hobbies. In cases like that, I've found it's best to be patient and kind to yourself. I've been working on managing my stress and taking breaks to fight the burn out. If this is the case for you, I can tell you it's sadly a slow process depending on your circumstances. Be kind to yourself, write when you can, and don't beat yourself up if you are struggling, it will only make it worse. Try to rebuild a habit of writing. Maybe set aside a certain time every day or every other day to write, even if you can only manage a few words. Building a habit will help you get back into the swing of things. If your daily life is too hectic to allow for that, then put the writing down and take care of your business. Sometimes things are just more important than writing, and you shouldn't feel guilty for putting aside a hobby. Life is hard. You'll get there.

If your struggle comes from being stuck on a particular scene, I have a couple of remedies that usually work for me. One way is to skip ahead and bridge the gap later, so for me if a conversation between characters isn't going how I want, or what happens more to me is filling in exposition between conversations, I might skip ahead to the next portion of the scene or chapter that I can clearly picture in my head and work on that for a while. Often times I find when I go back to bridge the two sections later, it's a lot easier seeing where exactly I need to end up, and I can usually fix the problem with a sentence or two that was previously tripping me up. The second option that I also sometimes run into is if I follow a particular thread and find out it's a dead end or just not flowing how I want, I might cut a chunk of the most recent bits I've written. Sometimes I delete it, other times I just cut it and paste it either further down on the same doc or by itself onto a blank doc. That way if I decide I want to keep it or add it back later, it's not totally gone, but sometimes going back and rewriting a particular bit that isn't quite working how I want gives me a fresh start to try something else. Writing sometimes is throwing things at a wall until something sticks. It's okay to delete something you've already written or cut it. In fact, oftentimes it's needed. It can be frustrating when you realize something you've spent a lot of time on just isn't working, and you have to cut it, but in the end, if it will fix the issue, it's unfortunately time to swallow your pride and just cut it.

On the other hand, if your block is coming from just not knowing what to do next in the story, I have a few options to re-spark inspiration. First, I recommend rereading over what you've written. Get a sense for what you already have on the page or in your notes. Next, revisit the source material you're writing from if you're writing fic. Sometimes I find that putting myself back into that world helps me put myself back into the characters heads, and sometimes getting a renewed sense for who the characters are and what drives them can help me figure out how they would react in a given situation or what choices they might make. Third, ask yourself what your end goal is, then work on figuring out what you need to get your characters or plot there. I know a lot of people don't like outlining, but if you find yourself running into this issue a lot, it might be worthwhile to figure out a system that works for you. I utilize a number of different kinds of outlines when I write. I usually start with a bare bones outline and summarize each chapter in a sentence or two. What is the main focus of each chapter? After that I work on a more detailed outline and fill in the blanks, focusing on what I want for each character throughout the story. What challenges will they face, what lessons do they need to learn, what flaws are they going to overcome, and how are they going to grow? Once I know that, I work on putting them in situations that will accomplish that. Sometimes, when you're making things up as you go with no real plan, it can be easy to write yourself into a corner. Planning a little bit ahead of time can help you see where you're going and hopefully avoid pitfalls. If you've already fallen into a pitfall, I'd recommend advice I gave earlier and go back to the point where things went wrong and cut the parts that aren't working and try a new approach. Writing takes patience, and you don't always get it right the first time. That's perfectly fine, just keep trying.

Some other remedies that work for me are taking time to clear my mind and refocus on the story I'm telling. I may go for a walk, or clean my room, or listen to a song that reminds me of the characters/story. I'm not the best example of it, but also sometimes reading other people's work (professional or otherwise) can spark inspiration, or studying the way they tell their story can help you figure out how to tell your story. Also, keep in mind that you're not going to crank out 3k every single day. Sometimes all you can manage is 500 words or even one sentence. That's fine. Every day is different. Just keep going. It's difficult to give a blanket piece of advice because everyone suffers differently. Hopefully any of this advice was helpful 😅

What's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best?

Ooo, so it depends. I have a lot of ideas all the time, and I love all of them in different ways for different reasons. I've been dipping my toes into the LoZ fandom lately, particularly the botw/totk side. I've been working on a Zelink fic that picks up right after botw ends and bridges the gap between botw and totk following how they began recovering from the calamity, so right now that is my dream fic, I suppose. I've also been working on my secret project for ML that I'm not quite ready to reveal yet, but it's another Adrinette centric story (surprise, surprise, Cat) where the reveal has happened and they're together, but things aren't as wonderful as they'd hoped. As for who will write them, ehhh me 😅 all of my ideas are things that I would write. But typically if I post about something publicly like in one of my brain dump posts, I don't mind if other people get inspired by the idea and want to write it. 🤷‍♀️

Share a head canon for one of your favorite ships/pairings

I'll give two because my brain lately is oscillating between love square and Zelink.

For the love square, I headcanon that Adrien would be the dad that wants to take his kids to do everything that he couldn't do as a kid, and Marinette has to reel them back in bc I don't care if it's fun for you, you can't take our five year old skydiving. Let's just go to Disneyland 🤦‍♀️

For Zelink, I headcanon that post botw, pre totk when Zelda is a teacher at the school in Hateno, that Link often brings her a picnic lunch, and they sit outside under a tree in the school yard and eat his cooking while talking about their day. I also hc that Zelda would absolutely rope him into teaching PE to the kids.

[maple-seed]

Thrown - Chapter One: New Neighbors

Summary: After the timelines are set free Loki uses a stolen tempad to join his brother in New Asgard. He has no intentions of fraternizing with mortals but one in particular is persistent.

Word Count: 4,465

Author's Notes: SLOW burn reader-insert fic. Takes place after the events of the Loki series, in a timeline where The Snap was prevented. I know New Asgard is supposedly Tønsberg but I've taken a few liberties. Infinite timelines so anything's possible, right? I'm very new to both fanfiction and tumblr so I'm open to feedback, especially regarding formatting and tags/descriptions!

Master List

Perhaps coming here had been a mistake.

Loki looked out his window to the street below. People bustled this way and that. Rebuilding lives, such as they could. New Asgard. Laughable, really. The thought that anywhere on Midgard might compare to their home.

With the timelines free there were hundreds, likely thousands of realities he could have stepped into when he left the TVA. He probably could have been King of Asgard, intact and pristine. Or perhaps there was a timeline where he could have taken the infinity stones for himself and become master of reality. He could have been on a throne, instead he was here in this hovel.

Loki left the bedroom window and meandered downstairs to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Thor sat at the table enjoying one of those awful pastries he was so fond of.

"Good morning, brother!" Thor managed between bites.

Loki gave a nod in response while he put water on to boil. Minutes passed in silence. He and Thor were still settling in to this... new situation. They were still Thor and Loki, but neither were the brother that each had been familiar with. The gap in their shared history made some moments feel a little off-kilter. New York was still fresh in Loki's mind. Falling through the void and Thanos. The TVA and betrayal. Meanwhile, Thor was reeling from Ragnarok. Odin's Death. His people decimated and his brother lost, again. Defeating Thanos had been some consolation, perhaps.

Loki still wasn't completely sure when he lost the eye.

"I have some business to attend to in town. I would like you to join me." Loki groaned. "The human town?" "What other town would there be? We're on Midgard." "Must you remind me?"

Thor leaned back in his chair. "Loki, this is our home now. Asgard is gone. Its people are here. You are here, and I'm grateful for that, but you must branch out, start to assimilate. Otherwise why are you here?"

Assimilate. That wasn't Thor's word. It was Stark's. Or possibly the righteous Captain's. They blend together in Loki's mind. The Avengers hadn't been keen on Loki living on Earth, and living unshackled at that. His arrival naturally caused a bit of a commotion. Loki lost track of the video calls and visits with various heroes and authorities. They didn't trust him, which was fair. He got the sense they doubted the existence of the TVA, which was reasonable. Thor had made so many assurances, so many promises, and eventually they very reluctantly allowed Loki to reside here in New Asgard under his watchful eye. They want him to assimilate like his fellow Æsir with the surrounding human communities. It had been made very clear that forces would be scrambled at the first sign of trouble and there would be no second chances.

Loki sighed and squeezed the excess water from the teabag. "Alright. I concede." Thor smiled wide. "Excellent. It's a beautiful day and the walk will be good for you. You've grown so pale, brother."

Loki narrowed his eyes and whipped the teabag at Thor, who dodged with a laugh. The teabag stuck to the wall.

"You can clean that up." Loki muttered, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

**

It was a beautiful day. The sun was out and the temperature mild. Since they were visiting the human town they were both dressed in Earthly clothes. The Midgardian town was a couple miles from the outskirts of New Asgard and while the use of automobiles was beginning to be adopted among the Æsir and some were working to recreate their means of transportation from back home, most still simply walked when they needed to travel. The walk to town was light and easy, especially on a day like this. Loki felt a sense of relief as they left the streets of New Asgard behind. The uncertain looks the Asgardians gave him were tiring. Though the looks humans gave him were worse. Even here in Norway the people knew him and were aware of his sins, with the added annoyance of a mythological history that was not always flattering. Why did he agree to join Thor on this errand in the mortals' town? "I don't think we could have chosen a fairer place to rebuild." Thor's voice snapped Loki out of his inner lamentations. He looked up to observe the scenery in earnest. There were wide open fields and gentle hills that eventually gave way to forest, with mountains rising up into the sky. It truly was beautiful, when he took the time to appreciate it. "I think you may be right." Loki admitted. "Some of the trees here, they remind me of the forest back home." Thor smiled and looked over at Loki. "Do you remember, when we were boys-" "Not the elk story!" Loki tossed his head back in exasperation. Thor laughed, "Yes, exactly what I was thinking of." "That was entirely your fault." "Come now, brother, you can't still feel that way after all these years." "Time does not alter facts." The conversation quickly devolved into a blend of bickering and reminiscing. For a short time it felt like the brothers had never parted.

Around halfway through the journey the road turned. There in the corner of the bend was what appeared to be a farm. A low stone wall enclosed a large field and joined to a cottage. There were a couple outbuildings in the field, one looked like some sort of animal shelter and the other was perhaps a large shed or barn. A third building was near the road, adjacent to the cottage, also interrupting the stone wall. At the corner where the road turned a yew tree grew just outside the wall that encircled the property.

As they rounded the corner they could see a woman up ahead, she appeared to be struggling with a wide wooden slat gate set into the wall.

Loki knew what Thor was going to do. In his mind he begged him not to, and sighed when it happened regardless.

"Do you need some help?" Thor called out.

You turned, looking a little surprised, and straightened up from where you had been working. "I hate to admit defeat but I think I might."

Thor gave Loki a nudge with his elbow and they made their way to you. As they approached the gate the head and paws of a large black dog popped up over the top of the wall. His ears at full attention as he watched the brothers.

You gestured to the gate. "The hinges gave out. I should have replaced them a while ago but you know how it goes. Just kept putting it off. The hardware store in town has some replacements for me so I'm just trying to rig it closed in the meantime. If you boys could hold it in place for me I think I could manage it." Boys? Loki was incredulous. Thor did not seem to notice. "Absolutely!" He gestured to Loki and lifted one end of the gate into place. Loki dutifully stepped forward and held the other end in position. You worked quickly with a spool of wire and a few nails, fastening one side and then the other in just a few short minutes. While you were working Loki noticed a large scar on the outside of your left forearm. Uneven parallel gashes that ran nearly from your wrist to your elbow. They had long since healed, years by Loki's guess. The injury must have been formidable to leave such a mark all this time later.

You stepped back to take a look at your work, the brothers released the gate and stepped back as well. Satisfied that it was staying in place you turned toward them and smiled. "Fantastic, thank you so much." "We are happy to be of assistance." You dusted your hand off on your clothes and offered it to Thor, along with your name. "You two look like Asgardians." He shook your hand and smiled wide. "That's right. I'm Thor Odinson. This is my brother, Loki." "Oh yes! Not just Asgardians, but myths! Legends incarnate." You smiled and turned to offer Loki your hand as well. "It's nice to meet you." Loki hesitated. Did you really not know them? Or rather, did you not know them beyond mythology? You hadn't recognized their faces. You seemed completely unaware that you were speaking to an Avenger and a villain. He reached out and shook your still-waiting hand. Thor leaned in and offered apologetically, "Please excuse my brother's manners. Mother's lessons clearly didn't take hold. We are pleased to meet you as well." You laughed, "No offense taken." Loki rolled his eyes and returned his hands to his pockets. Thor continued, "You knew we were Asgardians. Have you met many of our people?" "A few have passed by. You guys have a certain look about you, though. I suppose it's the godliness." You nodded toward the road. "You two heading into town?" "Yes, I need to tend to some legal matters for New Asgard." "Do you mind if I walk with you? I'm heading there myself for the gate hinges." "Please do." Thor gestured an open hand to the road as he and Loki began walking. You fell in stride beside them. You looked over your shoulder, clicked your tongue twice and made a hand signal to the dog behind the wall. It effortlessly bounded to the top of the wall, then to the ground, and padded along beside you obediently. Loki could see now it had a long thick coat, solid black aside from some greying on the muzzle. Large enough that its shoulder came to your hip. Some type of shepherd dog. It looked up at you like you were the center of the universe.

"That is a handsome dog." Thor remarked. Your smile brightened and you stroked the dog's head as you walked. "This is Ash. He's good company." "You aren't Norwegian." Loki interrupted, earning a surprised look from Thor. You raised your eyebrows and took it in stride. "Ah, good ear. You're right, I'm not from Norway. A transplant, just like you guys." You gave him a wink, which Loki had no idea what to do with. "I can tell you from experience that this is a great place to start a new life." Thor was elated, and you two struck up a conversation about this place and Thor's aspirations for New Asgard. Loki didn't say anything else for the rest of the walk, and soon the party had reached the town and it was time to part ways.

"This is my stop." You motioned to the storefront just ahead. "Thank you again for your help with the gate. Let me know if there's ever anything I can do for you. You know where to find me." "It was a delight. Please come see us in New Asgard sometime." Thor replied. "I'll do that." You turned to Loki specifically, and with a wry smile added, "It was nice talking with you." With that you turned away to enter the store, making another hand signal to Ash, who responded by taking up a post outside, out of the way of foot traffic.

Thor and Loki continued down the sidewalk. The town was quaint, even by Midgard standards, but large enough to have all of one's needs met. There were a few more cars around but even here folks were walking, biking, and it wouldn't be out of the question to see the occasional horse.

"Meeting her was a pleasant happenstance." Thor noted. "Hm." "You didn't have to be so cold, Loki." Loki sighed. "I don't see the point in being familiar with mortals." "Were you not telling me of the human you befriended just-" "That was different." Loki cut him off, "Mobius was a different case." "How so?" "For one, they don't age in the TVA, so technically he wasn't mortal." Thor rolled his eyes. "Technically." "Moreover, Mobius knew every detail of my life. He was aware of every terrible thing I've ever done and chose to trust me in spite of it. You aren't going to find any humans on this planet like that."

Almost on cue, a man who had been traveling in their direction on the sidewalk looked at Loki in recognition and promptly crossed the street. Loki waved his hand, palm upward, as if illustrating his point.

Thor scoffed. "She didn't offer you any scorn." "She didn't know who we were. She knows our names from fairy tales. She doesn't know you're an avenger and she doesn't know what I did in New York." Thor was silent for a few moments, then spoke somberly. "You don't have to carry that with you forever." Loki gave a frustrated sigh. "It was not so long ago for me. Besides, no one here has forgotten it." He nodded toward another nearby pedestrian shooting him a wary look. "That farm woman's kindness came from a place of ignorance. It's not something I can rely on so I'm not going to grow accustomed to it."

Thor didn't have time to respond, they had reached their destination, the town hall. When they entered they were greeted by a stout older man, standing up from his desk. He was well-dressed but his demeanor still felt warm and casual. He spread his arms in greeting. "Thor! So good to see you this morning." "You're looking well, Brynjar." The man approached to shake hands and for a moment, just a moment, his face fell when he saw Loki. He recovered nearly instantly and replaced the smile on his face. "Ah, and I see you've brought your brother along today. Wonderful! I'm honored to finally meet the second prince." This man was a diplomat, Loki certainly gave him credit for that. Loki knew that last sentence had been a lie, but there was only the slightest nervous edge in his voice and no hesitation at all to shake Loki's hand. "Yes, I find Loki's counsel to be instructive, on occasion. I asked him to join us, I hope that's alright." Thor clapped Loki on the shoulder. "Oh certainly, certainly. Here, let's come to the meeting table so we can better talk." The man led them into an adjoining room with a table and chairs.

Thor and Brynjar, who Loki surmised was some sort of official in the town, then proceeded to have the absolute most boring conversation Loki had ever been a part of. On and on about something called "zoning" and registrations and property purchases. This human town was apparently something of a landmark in Norway and garnered a fair amount of tourism. Some townspeople had been concerned that the new settlement of Asgardians might hurt this industry but as far as Brynjar was concerned it was certain to do the opposite. They would both ask Loki for his thoughts here and there. He was relieved when the meeting came to a close and the stout grey man led them out of the building and wished them well.

Their walk back was leisurely. Neither said much until they were beyond the edge of town, on the empty road, when Thor spoke up. "The humans, they'll get used to you. They're very adaptable." Loki chuckled. "They're simple creatures, set in their patterns. They have no interest in adapting to me. Not in their lifetime. Luckily for me, their lifetimes are very short. In a mere 100 years my escapades will be all but forgotten." "What is your plan then? Lock yourself away for a century?" Loki shrugged. "It's not the worst idea I've ever had."

Before long they were once again walking along the low stone wall. The cottage, the yew tree, the turn in the road just ahead. They were nearly halfway home. You were outside the wall, working at the gate. Loki cursed silently. He could not take another human interaction today. Unfortunately you took notice of the brothers, waving your hand over your head and calling out. "Hello again, boys!"

Boys. Loki tried not to look annoyed but wasn't putting much effort into it.

Thor grinned and called back. "Hello! I see you've been making your repairs."

You to took the opportunity to demonstrate, opening the gate wide and giving it a shove. It swung perfectly into the latch. You took a bow with an exaggerated flourish. Thor laughed and gave a few claps of applause. They were close enough now to see the large dog laying in the grass beyond the wall, relaxed but watching Loki. You leaned against the gate. "I think I'll probably have to replace the latch next year. And maybe some of the slats after that. When does it stop being the same gate, you think?" Thor chuckled at your mock philosophy. You unlatched the gate. "Are you boys hungry? I have a stew on, there's plenty to share." Thor shook his head. "Oh, we couldn't impose-" You waved it away. "Nonsense! Consider it a thank you for your help this morning. Or my way of saying welcome to the neighborhood. Whichever gets you to take some of this food off my hands."

Thor looked at Loki, who was trying to scream "NO!" with only his eyes. The message either wasn't received or had been ignored. Thor rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. "I suppose it would be rude to reject such an invitation." "Exactly!" You grinned and opened the gate, walking through and nodding toward the cottage. "Besides, you need the energy for your walk home." You laughed and began leading them to the back door of the house. The brothers followed, closing the gate behind them. The dog, seeing the action was moving elsewhere, jumped up and trotted ahead of you, waiting expectantly at the door. Loki looked out across the field. There was a buckskin draft horse in the distance, lazily grazing. It was accompanied by a small brown goat.

As you opened the door the dog slipped inside. The cottage was exactly what Loki expected from the outside. Warm and simple. This was one large room, here towards the back there were kitchen appliances, cabinets, a table and chairs. The far wall was the front of the cabin, facing the road, the only thing differentiating the kitchen from the living room space was the change in furniture. There were armchairs and a sofa, none of them appeared to be from the same set. A fireplace was currently dormant in the wall to the right. To his slight surprise there were pieces of modern technology, he spotted a closed laptop on the coffee table, a television. To his immediate left in the kitchen, Loki could see a bedroom through an open doorway. Everything here was well-worn. Lived in. The smell of cooking food permeated the air.

You began taking bowls out of a cabinet and handed one to Thor with a sly smile. "Pass that to Loki. Maybe if we get some food in his mouth then you and I will be able to get a word in edgewise."

You were teasing him. You were teasing the God of Mischief. Loki was now determined not to speak another word. You and Thor continued your chat, he ignored it. Loki idly turned the ceramic bowl over in his hands. It was hand-crafted. The bottom was stamped with the silhouette of a bird, wings spread, with a forked tail. As the table was set Loki noted that the cups were ceramic as well. The bottom of his was signed with a name he couldn't quite make out. None of the dishes at the table matched.

The food was good, Loki had to admit. It didn't compare to the meals they ate on Asgard, of course, but it wasn't a chore to eat by any means. He wouldn't say this out loud, of course, but he didn't need to; Thor was there.

"My lady, this is the finest meal I've had on Midgard." You threw a hand to your mouth to cover a laugh. "I'll allow that only because you haven't been here very long." "Truly, this was delicious." "By all means, get seconds. There's more than enough." Loki wanted to ask why you had prepared so much food for just yourself, but he was bound to his vow of spite-silence. You gave him a smile as you took a drink from your cup, almost as if you knew. Thor was busy making himself a second bowl. "You said you're a transplant. What brought you here?" "Oh, it was time for a change in my life. I had an aunt in Oslo, she helped me come over. Her friend Gerdy lived here and was looking for an apprentice. So here I am, a decade later." "An apprentice?" His eyebrows raised as he returned to his seat at the table. You lifted your cup to display. "Gerdy was a potter. I think all the dishes in the house were hand-thrown either by her or myself." Loki took note of the past tense. Thor examined his bowl. "This is fine craftsmanship." You smiled. "Thank you. That's one of mine."

Loki tuned out for a bit of the conversation, now noticing a variety of clay vases and dishes and trinkets scattered around the room. A potter, of course. It should have been obvious.

"If you would, please indulge my curiosity," Thor gestured to your arm, "That scar is very impressive. How did you come by it?" "Oh, this?" You held your forearm upright to look at it. "When I first moved here, there was this bear. A man-eater. He'd killed six men from town before I showed up. I hung around the edge of the woods where he'd been spotted and the next time he came around I tackled him. We had a tussle for an hour or so but finally I managed to punch his lights out. His teeth tagged me pretty good in the fight, though. This needed stitches."

It was a lie, but not one meant to deceive. A lie to entertain and, perhaps, to distract. It did the trick, Thor gave a deep and hearty laugh, and even the corner of Loki's mouth twitched upward, despite himself.

You and Thor continued chatting while you cleared the table. Loki was looking at the dog. It had sprawled out on a cushion on the floor by the wall. His head was resting on the cushion but his eyes and ears were directed at Loki, cutting to Thor when there was an unusual sound or movement. Loki got the impression that despite the relaxed posture he was ready to spring at the first hint of trouble.

"Thank you again for the meal." Thor said as you were leading them to the front door. "Thank you for the company. I can't say I've ever had gods at my table before." "Well we must have you at our table sometime." You gave him a friendly smile. "I'd like that." You said goodbye to Thor, and as Loki passed you at the door you waved him a silent goodbye with a smirk and a wink. As they were reaching the road you called out "Take care, boys!" Loki bristled. It was absurd, you called them boys mere moments after you referred to them as gods.

The brothers resumed their walk home.

"That was ridiculous, Loki." Thor said scornfully. "The story with the bear? I know." "No! Your behavior in there." "What was I to do? She all but challenged me to silence. Do you really expect me not to rise to the occasion?" Thor gave an exasperated sigh and shook his head. There was a moment of quiet before he continued, his tone somber. "Brother, I want to make something clear. I am so very grateful that you are here." ".... Alright." Loki was uncertain where this was going. "But you seem so miserable in this place. You hate Midgard. You hate being around humans. As much as I want you here I wonder why you chose to be somewhere that makes you so unhappy? If your story about the timelines and the device that brought you here is true, why wouldn't you choose some place more suited to you?" Loki waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, the tempad is a very crude tool. Finding a reality not already occupied by a Loki was difficult enough, and I didn't have much time to sort through them before I would be found out. Besides, I saw that you were here alone and I knew you'd be hopelessly lost without me." Loki gave him a sidelong glance and Thor chuckled. "At any rate," Loki continued, "I do still have the device. I suppose if things become too unbearable here I could try another timeline, though it's not guaranteed to be any better." Thor looked away as they walked. "It would be very difficult to lose you again." He said quietly. Loki was caught a little off-guard. When he spoke again his tone was softer. "Well in that case I suppose you should let me keep to my plan. A century of isolation." A smile returned to Thor's face. "Loki we both know you wouldn't be able to bear it." "In this realm? I'm certain I could."

They reached the humble building that was their new home. Thor had to leave to meet with the Valkyrie about something or other, Loki returned to his room upstairs. He sat on the edge of the bed and with a flick of his wrist and a flash of light the tempad was in his hand. He examined it idly. The battery was dying but that was no matter. Sylvie had managed to recharge hers, he was sure he could find the means if necessary.

It wasn't true, what he'd said. It would be very easy to find another reality to jump into. The possibilities were limitless. He could be on a throne by this evening. He had reasons for being here, however. The tapes he'd watched at the TVA. Some part of him wanted to be like the Loki this timeline had lost. The one who sacrificed himself to give the others time to escape. He wouldn't have thought it possible for a Loki to do such a thing if he hadn't seen it on the tape, if he hadn't witnessed the same thing himself with Alioth. He wondered if he could ever be so selfless. He had his doubts.

Then again, a friend had once told him he could be whoever he wanted to be, even someone good. Loki liked to think that was true.

Master List | Next Chapter>

[edupunkn00b]

Meus ex Machina, Ch. 2: Mad Lads

Edited public domain image of two hands reaching for each other, lit in deep blue and neon green

Prev - Mad Lads - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

WC: 2238 - Rated: T - CW: swearing

2090, Concord, MA, USA

“So what do you think?” Janus stood in the middle of the parlor, arms outstretched and a crooked grin painting his face. 

Patton turned on the spot and took in the decrepit, once-great great room. Thin, grey sunlight streamed through cracks and gaps in the walls and ceiling, the tangled wisteria from the front yard winding its way inside and up what was left of the crumbling staircase. The stubborn vines and deceptively bright purple flowers seemed to push their way through the old wooden structure, seeking the dripping water or shelter from the summer’s heat.

Or merely just nature imitating humanity, stretching out every which way it could reach, choking out anything in its path. 

“Pat?” Janus’ voice was quieter and his smile had shrunk. 

“Sorry, Jan. My…” He pressed a smile onto his face and attempted to banish his dour spiral. Fingers waggling on either side of his temples, he shrugged. “Thoughts ran away from me.”

One eyebrow raised, Janus gripped his shoulder. “I could tell.”

“So could I!” A cheerful voice boomed from upstairs and Patton shook his head, a sudden lightness in his chest.

“Stop listening in!” he laughed and looked at the old house with fresh eyes. “It’s got… potential,” Patton grinned at Janus. “How much of this do you think we can keep and how much is—”

As though to test its sturdiness, Janus had pushed against the nearest wall. The ceiling groaned and with a crack, another section fell.

Patton ran to Janus, one hand on his shoulder, the other catching a soggy wooden beam before it landed on his head.

“Hey, we’ve got a new skylight!” a too-happy voice called from the upper floors, clearer now.

“You could ask if we’re alright, you know!” Patton started to snap, but he couldn’t seem to hold on to his annoyance. Janus noticed and glanced between him and the fresh hole in the ceiling.

“I could tell you were fine,” he snarked back, voice thinning as though he moved further away. “Oh! There’s another level!”

Patton took a deep breath, ready to call him back down, but realized he was still holding the beam. Letting out a low sigh, he lowered it to the floor and released Janus’ shoulder. “We’ve got our work cut out for us, don’t we?” He wasn’t just talking about the renovations.

“Don’t we always?” Janus chuckled. He patted his hand and nodded, gaze following Patton’s. “We’ll need to rebuild, for sure. At the very least we’ll need to rip out all the old wiring and plumbing. And this wood was never designed for this kind of climate.” He scrunched his nose at the high water line that reached taller than his waist from over a decade of pre-levy flooding.

“But even with the repairs, it’s a steal,” Patton nodded, tilting his head as he peered through a big picture window out at the forest surrounding the antique house-turned museum. 

“New Boston needs the money. Relocating a million coastal residents didn’t come cheap.”

Reaching up over his head, Patton frowned and traced the ghostly outline of what had probably once been wall-to-wall bookcases. “I don’t suppose the government wants to remind people of what was lost in the Purge, either.”

“Why learn from the past when you can erase it?” Janus clasped his shoulder and Patton leaned in to his oldest friend’s grip. “So is that a yes?”

“Holy fuck, Pat!” An excited voice boomed through the house and their minds. “You gotta see the view from the attic!”

“Language, Kiddo!” Patton called back, laughter tinting his voice. “Sure sounds like a yes from him!” Sighing happily, he looked around the musty space and nodded before hooking his arm through Janus’. “From me, too.”

“Excellent,” Janus murmured. “I already signed the papers.”

“Of course you did.” Laughing again, Patton followed Janus up the rickety old stairs to see the view for themselves.

~

2105, New Boston, USA

Logan had to duck to get through even the larger doorway, and he tried not to think too hard about how the near bow felt like they’d wanted him to somehow prostrate himself as he entered their holy space. He straightened as soon as he was through, breathing in relief at the open layout. From the outside, the first level appeared to only reach about 8 feet, just slightly too short for him to move comfortably in his suit.

He stretched his arms up. These ceilings were at least fifteen feet high.

“We’ll need to make a room for you on this level,” Silvertongue murmured, watching his examination. “At least for when you’re in your mecha.”

His eyes followed the walls, searching for staircases and he frowned. There was no leaving this floor if he couldn’t go in his suit.

“There are three elevators large enough for your suit and your chair.” Golden eyes looked back at him.

“Don’t do that,” Logan snapped.

Silvertongue smiled and held out his hands, palms up. “I wasn’t reading you, simply a lucky guess.”

Belatedly realizing his arms still reached toward the ceiling, he began to lower them.

“No need to drop them just yet,” that strange layered voice said. The sound seemed to come from everywhere at once and Logan spun around, searching for the source.

“Now Kiddos,” a softer voice said, seemingly out of thin air. “That’s no way to treat our guest.”

“A guest is allowed to leave,” Logan scowled, stepping back until his hand brushed the doorframe. He turned to look. The seam was smooth, no knob or lever in sight, just another of those flat palm print panels. “I appear to be your prisoner.”

“Drop the Illusion, Prince,” Silvertongue said, sounding almost bored. Easy for him, he likely could see right through it.

A tall, muscled man, the closest Logan had ever seen to a comic book superhero appeared inches from his face. “Fine.” Logan’s hand jerked at the controls and the arms of his mech stuttered down and the man—Prince?—jumped back. “Watch it!”

“You scared him, Ro, that’s all,” the softer voice said, patting his shoulder. Nearly as tall as the Prince, his shoulders were even broader, and thick muscles slid and bunched beneath his fuzzy blue sweater. His face was round and soft, topped with curly golden hair peppered with silver strands and a bushy beard to match. He reminded Logan of a teddy bear. A giant teddy bear, but…“You didn’t mean any harm, right?” He met Logan’s eyes with an almost paternal smile.

“Only if he did,” Logan mumbled. “He shouldn’t—” A flash of purple moved from his left to his right and back again before stopping at the Prince’s other side.

“He’s unarmed,” the fourth man said, tapping at a small device. “All except for the damn Esper blocker.” He looked up at Logan, bright purple eyes practically glowing. Logan remembered him from the DC. Ultraviolet. “How’d you make that thing, anyway? It’s supposed to be impossible for Powerle—”

The one in blue cleared his throat and Ultraviolet nodded. “For Traditionals.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Logan snapped. Ultraviolet and Prince bristled, stepping closer to him.

“Logan—” Silvertongue began.

“Okay, Kiddos.” The one in blue stepped between them. “Let’s settle down.” He offered his hand to Logan, smiling. “I made some food for us. Why don’t you two”— he looked to the Prince and Ultraviolet—“bring in the trays from the kitchen?”

“Alright, Padre,” the Prince said, glaring at Logan over his shoulder even as he followed the other’s instructions.

“Call us if you need us,” Ultraviolet muttered, loudly, then looked pointedly at Silvertongue as they had some sort of silent conversation.

The blue fuzzy one waited for them to leave before turning again to Logan. “I’m The Bear, but you can call me Patton, if you prefer.” He smiled carefully, glancing quickly at Silvertongue as he adjusted the furniture, widening the spaces between them. He squeezed his mech’s hand, the servos’ feedback telling Logan just how strong he was. “What can I call you?”

“I’m Machina,” Logan said, fighting the stupid impulse to tell this strange soft ball of muscle to call him by his first name.

“Machina,” he repeated with another smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He touched the panel behind Logan and the door slid open. “And no, you’re not a prisoner here. V will need to add your palm print to the locks but in the meantime, any of us will open any door you want.” Silvertongue made a little sound and Patton’s eyes flicked over to his before returning to Logan’s.

“I see you brought your chair.” He nodded at the folded chair attached to his side. “How would you be most comfortable while you eat?”

“I…” Logan eyed the unfamiliar space. His muscles had grown stiff from the cramped space inside the cavity of the old picker bot but in his chair… In his chair he was defenseless. “I prefer to stay like this,” he said, unstrapping the chair but setting it in the corner, still folded.

Patton nodded, watching his eyes. “If—when—you wish to change…” He smiled and led him over to the seating area. “Simply let us know what you need.”

“After some introductions and…” Silvertongue met Patton’s eyes and nodded. “Some ground rules, I’ll take you to your personal space.”

“Padre’s spent all day preparing your room,” the Prince muttered from the doorway. “When he wasn’t—” He cut himself off and set down a large tray of glasses and a giant pitcher of bright blue electrolyte solution. Ultraviolet followed, bearing a tray of… cookies?

Smiling, Patton picked up two of the cookies, a wave of warm butter and chocolate scent filling the air. As everyone sat around the oval table, Logan set the mech to crouch on the floor, bringing him nearly to eye-level with the Prince and Patton, the tallest of the group. Patton handed him one of the cookies with a soft cloth napkin, passing them both through the opening at what had once been the top of the picker bot’s thorax.

“Does that work for you?” he grinned before taking a bite of his own.

“Yes,” he murmured. “Thank you… Patton.” The cookie was soft, still warm, the chocolate chips a little gooey against his fingertips. His stomach rumbled as he took a slow sniff. If it was audible through the suit, no-one said anything, though Silvertongue’s gaze seemed to linger on him as everyone settled. He forced himself to take a slow bite and looked around the group as he chewed.

Patton busied himself with passing around cookies and pouring drinks as though it was any other storybook family, nudging Ultraviolet’s elbows until he moved them off the table and smiling indulgently at the Prince when he took three cookies. Silvertongue didn’t speak, or rather, he was quiet, but the way some of the others would suddenly go silent and look his way led Logan to believe the group was having a full conversation, simply one he couldn’t hear.

“You should know, Machina,” Silvertongue began, nodding vaguely at Patton. “There was some disagreement over whether to bring you here.” The Prince’s steely glare left little doubt who had been most opposed to his arrival. “But in the end, we determined it was safest for all of us”—Silvertongue’s eyes went round the table, lingering longest on the Prince’s—“that you join our group.”

Ultraviolet crossed his arms and watched him from the corner of his eye but said nothing. Logan turned to Silvertongue. “You said at my cabin—the cabin—that an attempted murderer would ‘fit in just fine.’” He swallowed and held his chin high as he looked around the table, hoping he looked braver than he felt. “Which one of you’s tried to kill someone?”

The Prince and Ultraviolet raised their hands at the same time. Logan saw movement to his left and Silvertongue’s hand was raised as well. His eyes widened. “You?” he whispered.

“All of us, Kiddo,” Patton said softly next to him, lowering his raised hand to pat his mech’s arm.

“Oh,” he breathed.

“‘Tried’ is a strong word,” Silvertongue murmured, passing him a cup. 

Logan looked down at his crumb-covered fingers, nothing but the flavor of his cookie left. He accepted the cup and listened.

“We have more in common than it may at first appear. In fact—Dammit!” he swore when a strip of orange lights flashed along the ceiling. 

“Hesper!” Patton nodded, leaping to his feet. 

Silvertongue gripped his shoulders and stared into his eyes. “Logan, stay here,” he said, then tapped the nearest table leg. A spiraling staircase opened up next to him and The Prince ran down.

“V,” Patton ordered, and took Logan’s cup. “Get his handprint in. We can’t leave him here locked up.”

“Wha—What’s hesper? I… I can help!” he protested, but Ultraviolet grabbed his hand and pressed it against that same small device. He tried to pull away but the other’s grip was too tight. “Let me come with you!”

“It’s not safe.” Silvertongue shook his head. “We won’t be long. Is he in?” he asked Ultraviolet.

“Everywhere?” he asked, frowning down at the screen.

“Do you have time to differentiate?”

“No,” he muttered. “Fine. He’s in.” Ultraviolet glared at him with eyes hot enough to burn. “If you fuck anything up, I’ll know it’s you,” he said, shaking the tablet before it disappeared into his suit. “Don’t make me regret this,” he hissed, then followed Patton down the stairs.

“Make yourself at home,” Silvertongue said. “We’ll be back in a few hours.”

-

@sandersidesbigbang

[sokkas-first-fangirl]

Hi Sokka! Not sure if this is in the right place to submit this request/ask, but how would everyone that isn’t Mirabel react to seeing Bruno’s crazy Parkour moves for the first time (especially Alma because a small scare might be good for reminding her that she needs to work harder to do right by Bruno and keep him safe)? Also, how would they try to “rescue” him from falling? Bonus points if Bruno is super confused about why everyone is worried when he does stunts.

***

Pepa, Julieta, Agustín and Félix definitely already knew. They just assumed that maybe Bruno couldn’t anymore since he’s, you know, not in his twenties anymore. They sure can’t!

But Alma and the other kids? Clueless. They’re gonna have heart attacks

It happened while they were rebuilding Casita. A lot of things happened while they were rebuilding Casita.

In this instance, Bruno nearly gave Abuela a heart attack.

Mirabel watched, impressed, as her uncle jumped up and climbed Casita’s growing walls with ease, to bring a bag of supplies to some of the villagers. He scaled the wall like a monkey, leaping over a gap and using a beam to swing himself to the platform they were on. He landed lightly, arms outstretched for balance. Smiling, he handed the bag to the gaping villager.

Mirabel wasn’t sure how he did it. Normally, Tio Bruno was distracted and clumsy.

“Huh,” Tio Félix said. “I didn’t think he could still do that.”

“Can I do that?” Camilo asked eagerly.

“Absolutely not.”

But then there was a horrified scream: “BRUNO MADRIGAL, GET DOWN FROM THERE!”

Abuela had spotted him. Uh oh.

“Eh?” Bruno was hanging upside down from one of the beams. “What’s up, Mamá?”

“What’s- wh- what’s up!?” she screamed. “Mijo, you’re going to break your neck!”

“Alma,” Félix said, tone careful and soft. “It’s okay, he’s-”

Bruno jumped down. Abuela actually covered her eyes.

He landed perfectly.

Camilo and Mirabel clapped.

“Mamá?” Bruno stepped forward cautious, eyes wide. “I’m okay.”

Breathing heavily, Alma pulled him into a tight hug. “Dios mio, don’t do that!” she gasped. “For pity’s sake, that’s dangerous!”

“I’ve been doing it for years,” Bruno said.

“I saw him do it when we met,” Mirabel added. “He’s good.”

Abuela was not reassured. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Did your sisters knows about this?”

“No!” Bruno crossed his fingers behind his back. Félix quickly backed away. “Ay, Mamí, of course not!”

[astolfofo]

Hmm so I still have this kurapika fic rotting away in my docs kek

I’m going to finish it but like it really sucks so read this at your own risk

Dead dove do not eat, attempted mindbreak, dark content, murder, blood, NON-CON, nsfw, yk the drill just don’t read it if you’re sensitive to the above cause it’s shittily written dark content also big warning for cringe

Other than that  lmao have a good day ig

Typing with one hand rn cause I think I might’ve burnt the other while playing genshin mdni.

The Prince.

He was every bit as bitter and merciless as people would describe him to be. A sadistic bastard, who would stop at nothing... to get what he wanted. And he wanted revenge. He wanted revenge for his dead clan. He desired this revenge so strongly, that he put his own people under many years of suffering.

You were just one of the people foolish enough to try to free yourself and others from the misery you suffered. You hated the power of the upper classes- people who would ignore your suffering. You swore you would never bow your head down to them. They didn't deserve what they had. They were simply born with privilege, not allowing others to be free. They were simply ruthless people who would do anything and everything to get what they want.

As you lived with Kurapika, you realized the more this became true.

Yet ironically, here you were kneeling here before the Prince himself. The person who was wholly responsible for all your misery.

The people wanted change. The people wanted a revolution. They wanted equality.

They just wanted a better live.

After foolishly trying to assainate Kurapika, you were locked up by Kurapika’s orders. You were thrown into a dark dungeon for at least a few weeks. Isolated.

You could consider yourself lucky since you hadn't suffered the death penalty. Kurapika had let you live. Just barely.

"You do remember your part of the deal correct?"

"Wh-what?"

"Don't play stupid with me. I've already done my part of the deal. It's time for you to do yours."

Kurapika's voice was sharp as a knife and cold as ice. It echoed around the marble walls, and it pierced your skull. It was merciless; cold, and cruel.

Your eyes widened.

The reason why you could live with Kurapika...

In that instant when Kurapika had seen you, your nen had been taken away, which made you powerless against his wrath.

You were only allowed to live under the condition... you would help him rebuild his clan. In exchange, you would be able to live without ever having to worry about money ever again. You could live the life you desired, only if you were paid him back with your body.

And surprisingly, he had kept up to his end of the deal.

"I believe I have waited long enough."

He tugged at the chain around your neck, for emphasis, "Unless you would rather die now?"

You don't respond.

Kurapika narrows his eyes and sighs.

He walks shortly past you, closing the gap between you and him. You hear the sound of the chains in his left hand. Then, you feel a knife pointed at your throat. "What. Do. You. Say. (Y/N)?"

The knife pressed into your neck. You saw blood dripping down from your neck.You knew. Kurapika would not hesitate to kill you, given the chance. It was shown over and over again. You claw at his arm trying to pull it away, but he presses harder into your neck. The sharp pain was getting to your head.

"I give your pathetic ass a place to live. I let your filthy being drink, sleep, and live in my castle. You enjoyed this life. And nothing comes for free. You, of all people, should know that the best."

It seemed as if he knew just how to irk you enough. To get what he wanted. Not to mention, being on the verge of death clouded your resistance.

"Okay..."

The knife pressed even harder.  

"FUCKING OKAY KURAPIKA. Just... put down the damn knife."

Kurapika stops and tosses aside the knife. It lands on the ground with a loud clatter. The blood smears on the floor.

"Go on."

His voice draws your attention back.

"What the fuck do you want me to do?"

"Strip."

"What?"

Kurapika looks at you again. His eyes are now a deep scarlet colour.

"I'm not very patient right now. (Y/N). Either take off all your clothes right now. Or I'll do it for you. You can choose."

Either way, it wasn’t like you had a choice. You weren’t too keen on Kurapika touching you in general, but what could you do?

He was the reason you were still (although just barely) alive. Kurapika technically saved you. Besides, you did agree to help him in the first place.

You shrugged. “I guess I’ll do it.”

Kurapika narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything.

Every second felt like an hour, while your face burned from embarrassment, anger, and desperation.

You slowly unbuttoned your shirt and took it off.

You could feel Kurapika’s eyes burning into your bare back now. You swore you would kill him one day for this.

Kurapika sighed, “Must I do everything for you?”

“Don’t drag this out. We never know what I might do if you take forever. Or are you so spoiled, you forgot how to take off your clothes?”

Kurapika’s voice sends shivers down your spine. Anger clouded over your mind. What the hell did he know? He sat on top of a throne, a fucking throne. He didn’t know what it was like to be on the verge of death. He didn’t lose as much as his will to live. He still had the desire for revenge. A goal, an ambition to reach.

While… while the rest of you had nothing. It made you feel extremely angry and annoyed. You would admit that Kurapika was kinder than some previous leaders, although not much better as time passed on.

“Keep your shirt on. It’s better that way.”

Unwillingly, you reach for the waistband of your pants. Slowly, you unbutton your pants and pull the zipper down.

You lookup. Kurapika’s facial expression is completely darkened, and his hair covered most of it. His breathing sounded laboured.

Was he…

He couldn’t be… right?

“Keep going.”

You take off your shoes, then your socks, and you pull your pants to your ankles. You sighed and then pulled them down.

Kurapika took several steps toward you. Each step was very controlled, mechanical as if forced.

“This is not your first time doing this.. correct?”

“Yes… that is correct.”

“Tch. Fucking whore.”

You glared at him.

“There are better ways to make money and get what you need, rather than selling your body, and being a slut.”

Kurapika kicks you in the face, “But I guess you’re not smart enough to figure that out.”

You wince and cover the left side of your face- where he kicked it. Of course, you knew there were other ways to get money. You could’ve just gotten a job like everyone, instead of assassination or prostitution. But… what would he know? The world was cruel. You didn’t have a family, you didn’t have anyone… anyone who would give you a job other than the rebels of this country.

“Well, it doesn’t matter anymore. Look at you now.”

His eyes were now scarlet.

“You’re… so weak. You barely talk anymore and you’re so obedient. It’s almost cute.”

No… no…

“Even though you still harbour so much hate to me, I can sense it from miles away.”

“I’ve broken you well.”

Go… away…

He takes another step towards you.

You feel paralyzed by fear.

“I’ll do what I want to you…”

Your blood turns cold.

“And if I don’t do this now… I might go insane.”

You feel pressure on your throat, from how hard Kurapika is gripping the chains.

You feel tears falling down your cheeks.The reminiscence of your misery. How much you had suffered with him. With every violation he did on you, the emotions began to completely cease.  If only… you had chosen the death penalty back then.

This was, in many ways, a fate worse than death itself. You were living the life of a glorified pet. Nothing more, nothing less.

In a single motion, Kurapika pulls off his tie, and then he throws off his jacket.

Against your will, you look up. He is wearing nothing, other than his collared shirt.

He grips your wrists. His facial expression is maniacal- wide-eyed and angry yet, giddy and excited at the same time.

“We’ll rebuild the Kurata Clan together, (Y/N).”

“Kurapika.. stop please…”

Kurapika ignores you. Instead, he closes any remaining distance between you two, by forcing himself inside of you.

You squeak.

Slowly, he drags his cock against your walls.

You sharply inhale, trying your best not to make any noise. It was wrong. This was all wrong. You shouldn’t be making any noise. You shouldn’t be enjoying this.

You should be used to this by now since you had done it so many times before. But, you were always the one who initiated the action.

Kurapika smirked against your ear. “I know you’re enjoying this. No need to stop yourself.”

You snapped, “Why the hell would I be enjoying this?”

Kurapika pushes himself deep into you.

You compress the urge to moan, by biting your tongue.

“If you didn’t enjoy this, why did you almost moan just now?”

“Sh-shut up.”

His expressions looked almost mainical. It made you feel humiliated. He was enjoying this. The sheer of you crying and being humiliated, was enough to make him this.

“Don’t stop yourself (Y/N). I know you didn’t get fucked for a long time. I know I abused you. But for now, just cave into your desires. Like nothing else matters right now.”

“How the hell… am I supposed to do that. If you’re literally raping me.. right now?”

“When you agreed to this, you essentially sold your entire body away. For me. Therefore, I am not raping you.”

“And to be honest, I don’t entirely dislike you.”

Many sensations ran through your body right now. Your neck still hurt from being cut. Your body was sore from being dragged around by Kurapika. And… Kurapika’s dick was making you feel pleasured. More than anyone else.

“You’re kidding right?”

“I’m not. You are still respectable for trying to assinate me. You still have many virtues. People love you, respect you, and you do what you think is right. You’re a good person.”

“I-I’m not though..”

“If you were anyone else, per say, and blunt idiot who only wanted to kill me… I would’ve excuted them right away.”

“What?”

“You are special, (Y/N). You are different from all the others. You didn’t want anyone to die. You just wanted everyone to have a better life.”

[doomatnight]

Nora seduces Ren's father, wanting to personally thank him for having taken her in when she was young. Besides Renny won't mind since he's busy

Content: Age Gap, Daddy Kink

While Ren was busy with his mother, Nora was busy with his father.

Nora’s Daddy kink is eternal.

Li is beyond stressed with rebuilding the institutes of Mistral and managing to try and prevent corruption so you can imagine how much that would need a cute bubble butt bomber to help relieve that stress.

Nora is always waiting in Li’s suite when he comes home, her nude body and it’s curves brushing up against him. He can’t resist but to pin her to the wall and let loose. Pounding her tight ass as she moans for her Daddy.

He takes such good care for her and gives her so much cuddles and cooks food for her. It’s a perfect sort of life.

I would like to think that both parties know about the other and are all okay with it all.

The Kuroyuri Polycule anyone?