#and how tiny we are but how wonderful that is all the same like we're really out here in the middle of space on this tiny little planet

[odakota-rose]

man, looking at the night sky really can fuck you up. like damn i'm just trying to watch a meteor shower and instead the Existential Musings got me. anyway here's orion

[ashenburst]

Don't let them fool you. You can find your twin flame at the club

[hedgehog-moss]

I love how seriously people in my village take animal-related gossip. Someone saw a little snake on the road while cycling across the bridge yesterday and wondered if it was dead, but did not stop to check. Out of worry & remorse she asked around at the grocery shop and someone else said she had seen the snake in the same spot a while ago, so they concluded it was dead and must have been run over by a car. But!! a third person had seen no snake at all, and the pivotal question was, at what time did that person cross the bridge? The snake's fate was still undetermined when I walked into the grocery shop, and I was invited to join this forensic investigation. I confirmed that Pandolf & I had just crossed the bridge like minutes ago so my word was going to be decisive.

I said I had seen no snake, nor remnants of a dead snake (and Pan would have definitely noticed either) so the relieved consensus was that it must have been crossing the road very slowly ("or warming itself on the asphalt" the cashier offered) and had now reached the woods safely. All four of us who had acted as witnesses in this inquiry felt pleased with the outcome and also like we bonded. I don't know these people but I know for a fact that we're going to make awkward snake-related small talk ("hello, no snakes on the bridge today?") for months to come because now we share this. Well we share not much really, some of us saw a snake, some didn't, but we shared theories & concern about how this snake's day was going so now we have the same kind of tiny bond I've forged with that old lady at the library who had seen a large wild boar on her way there that I also happened to have seen. She greets me warmly now that we've got this mutual boar acquaintance.

[itadorey]

☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ [𝟖:𝟓𝟑 𝐩.𝐦.] 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

wc: 617, a repost from an old blog, gn reader, fluff

ignoring gojo satoru is not an easy feat, although you assume that you've gained some kind of proficiency at doing so throughout the years you've known him.

high school gojo was not someone you looked forward to seeing every day, not that 28 year old "i'm-the-strongest-jujutsu-sorcerer-in-the-world" gojo is any better. but, you will concede that maybe, just maybe, there is a tiny part of him that has indeed matured.

but then he goes and annoys nanami and you wonder if maybe he hasn't changed at all.

one of the main things about gojo satoru that bothers you is the fact that he knows he's attractive and powerful, and he doesn't mind reminding people about those facts every single day. you don't know if you should be attracted by the confidence he exudes or put off by his attitude.

yet when you're the one he's teasing (because he hates being ignored, especially by you), a cocky smirk on his face as he pulls his blindfold up to catch your eye, you can't help but feel the former. and your attraction to the white-haired sorcerer is only getting harder and harder to hide.

"just tell him how you feel," shoko drawls, taking a sip of her drink and ignoring your pointed look. you look around the room, making sure that nanami and gojo hadn't arrived yet. you turn your gaze back to shoko when she speaks once again. "it's not like we can't feel the sexual tension between the two of you whenever you're in the same room. to be completely honest, we're all getting tired of seeing the two of you skirt around your feelings for each other. even yaga."

"yaga?" you ask, a horrified expression on your face as you imagine your teacher-turned-principal witnessing the admittedly flirty (not to mention embarrassing) exchanges between you and gojo. "oh god. i don't know if i can face him again."

"who?" shoko asks. "yaga? or satoru?"

"both," you groan, letting your forehead fall onto the table. you look up when shoko pokes your side, and you see her tilting her head towards the entrance of the bar. standing at the entrance is nanami, a scowl on his face as gojo, hair unruly and sunglasses perched on his nose, hangs off his arm. a faint smirk spreads across nanami's face as he nods politely towards you, diverting gojo's attention towards you.

it's brief, lasting a mere second, but everyone in the room can see the way gojo's face lights up when his eyes land on you. he tilts his head down slightly, making sure that his view is unobstructed as he takes in your appearance. you can feel his bright, blue eyes burning into you, gaze soft as he takes in your after-work attire. visible only to nanami is the pink blush creeping up gojo's neck, bright against his pale skin as you wave them over.

nanami and shoko exchange tired looks as gojo slides into the seat next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and trying to distract you from your conversation with shoko as you continue to ignore him. shoko shakes her head softly, and nanami nods in understanding as he takes the seat next to you, immediately holding up a hand to flag down a waiter. the two of them pretend not to notice the way gojo's smile grows when you finally turn to face him.

sure, everyone might be tired of the way you and gojo are avoiding your very obvious feelings for one another, but the way gojo is looking at you in this very moment lets them know that it won't be long before he finally tries to sweep you off your feet.

rbs are appreciated <3 ty for reading!!

[alastors-antlers]

Being someone who sees a lot of talk about shipping Alastor (sexually, romantically) in fanworks, I just want to take some time to talk about both sides of the issue. It's long, I know - please, please bear with me until the end, and I hope you'll understand what I mean in a bit.

I hope this helps someone, but as an aroace person who understands the frustration and hurt, this is often how it feels to me:

Alastor, being one of the limited cases of aspec rep that I've seen and one of even fewer which I actually enjoyed, means a lot to me.

That being said, his canon rep establishes that he's aroace but not much about how this factors into his life or relationships at all -- and when there's a gap in canon, I turn to fanfiction, which tends to spotlight characters' queerness even when the source material doesn't or can't. Don't we all want to see ourselves in the media we engage with?

When I pull up AO3, there are already a good number of fics about him. Great! Some of them are definitely incredible; but as I read on, it starts to seem like a lot of fics I see acknowledge that he's asexual or aromantic in some way but don't really factor that into the story. It reads like you could have written the story without keeping his queer identity in mind, and it would've come out the same.

Even when representation that does resonate with me exists, it starts to be exhausting to pick through the slash tags to see which ones are written in an aspec-coded way, so I wonder if it would be easier to not read anything with slash at all. On the other hand, when you filter ships out completely, only a tiny fraction of the fanworks are left.

People often respond that aspec people can have relationships, and I think we tend to know that. They can have sex, some can experience sexual attraction in select situations, they can romance others beyond romantic attraction -- any combination of things. But some aroace people don't want either, and sometimes we're struggling to see ourselves in how Alastor is typically portrayed.

Out of all of the fics, sex-repulsed, totally aromantic Alastor isn't seen much. And when Alastor's limited canon seems to be pretty supportive of a reading where he is those things...

Sometimes, you start to feel lost. If fics were evenly distributed along the aroace spectrum of experiences, wouldn't you expect more fics of him being the "totally uninterested" brand of aroace? But there aren't. People seem to have a preference toward seeing him in relationships. Even if they mean well, it can make you think: what does that say about how we view asexuality/aromanticism as a whole?

Is there something less interesting about Alastor, when romance is taken out of the picture? Do others find him less appealing as a character if they can't see him dating, or in love, or having sex or wanting it? Why do we need romance, when romance is already everywhere else, when it doesn't even feel like he was originally really interested? It brings to mind a struggle to be societally accepted, even today.

Even when it's not technically wrong to write Alastor as you see him, being told that we should all be able to ship him however we want can feel like this:

It brings to mind people who try to swing in with misinformed good intentions, telling us "oh, you're aromantic? but you can still have romantic relationships, right? so you can still be normal." when all we want is to be okay outside of the normal.

Or trying to find a partner who can be with us, out of everyone who tells us "I know you don't enjoy sex, and that's okay, but I can't have a romantic relationship with you without it." and being so tired of hoping for someone who gets it.

Or talking with peers, and hearing them all commiserate and fawn over their experiences with love, then telling them about someone you like non-romantically and getting "aww, it sounds like somebody's got a crush!" but not being believed when you tell them it's not like that at all.

Alastor is not a big deal, not really, not in the grand scheme of things. But in an allonormative world, it can feel like a sudden splash of cold water when we were expecting a warm fire to sit around. Even within this ecosystem, we squint to see ourselves reflected.

Society isn't built for us. It can be exhausting to be reminded of that.

~~~

I hope to support people writing Alastor as any variation of aspec, or not even aspec at all. At the end of the day, I think that fanon is really whatever you want it to be, and everyone has their own reasons for writing what they find enjoyable. They should be allowed to do so, and I want to believe that people do what they do with good intentions.

They want to imagine scenarios with the templates of characters they love, and that's okay; even beyond sexuality/queer identities/etc., fan interpretations of characters can be incredibly, wildly different from who they really are in the story anyway, and that's what I try to remind myself. But still, I also can't help feeling disappointed about the aroace representation we could have seen.

(Is Alastor canonically sex-repulsed? Uhh, maybe. If I had to guess, that'd be my top guess, but this might be a hot take: I wouldn't really say there's enough to go off of considering that this view is supported by Angel propositioning him both times, and it's not like Alastor is a particularly big fan of Angel at those points anyway lol)

To my fellow aroaces struggling with Alastor's fandom rep: if you need a break from it all; if you need to block the tags that you hate; if you need to talk to someone about how you're feeling; that's okay. It makes sense that you'd want more representation in a way that helps you feel seen and validated and less alone. I can't speak for everyone, but I think I get it.

I don't have any solutions for how you're feeling, because sometimes I'm feeling the same way. I understand that you want others to get your position and you have the right to express your feelings, but even if you're correct, often being angry or frustrated won't help change others' minds, so let's try to save our energy and take care of ourselves.

Something that helps me to think about is that even now, asexuality is gaining more visibility. We're gaining support. Real change is happening in the world that's helping incredible amounts of aspec people feel freer to be themselves. And maybe one day, we won't be reaching to protect our scraps of representation.

Let's fight until that day together <3

[calicoheartz]

Request:

Can you make a Paige x reader inspired by from the start by laufey.

Paige adores reader. Their dads have always been good friends. So they were always together when they were younger. (as in the song) Paige is like kinda nervous around reader, not the most confident in herself. And now at UConn she is still all over reader, her confidence has improved but reader is oblivious to her feelings. (So basically a Paige pov, but you can mix it between the two)

Hope u like my request! 💗

𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓 ; 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐆𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐒

꣑୧ — summary | you and Paige had been inseparable since the two of you were younger, she's adored you since the day she laid eyes on you. with you oblivious to her feelings, how does she plan on making you see her the way she sees you?

wc ; 1k

— warnings | tiny bit suggestive if u squint , slowburn (?) , friends to lovers !

my master list ㇀♡

a/n : aww this was so sweet to write thank you so much for requesting anon! enjoy besties !

Paige’s POV : 

I have loved y/n since the summer of when i was 13, I had known her for years prior to my quite obvious revelation. 

Our dads had been best friends since university, so it was obvious that once the two of them had children, it was bound that we would be best friends.

I remember the first time I saw her, back when our dads introduced us at one of their weekend get-togethers. She was this bright, confident kid, always ready with a smile and a laugh. I, on the other hand, was the shy one, the one who'd rather dribble a basketball in the corner than join in on the games she loved to play.

Even then, I was drawn to her. I couldn't quite place why, but there was something about her that made my heart race and my palms sweat. She was always so kind, always so patient with me. As the years went by and we grew older, our dads' friendship meant we spent almost every weekend together. It was in those moments, watching you from the sidelines, that I realized I wanted to be more than just friends.

I couldn’t help but be a little envious when she got her first boyfriend, I mean why couldn't she see that I was right in front of her? I listened to all the heartbreaks, all the tears, and it made my heart ache knowing that she doesn't realize how much I truly love her. 

Throughout highschool, the more time i spent with y/n the more my feelings manifested into something i could no longer control, everything she did and said made me nervous. The way her eyes sparkled under the dim lights of the basketball court after practice, the way her laugh echoed in the halls, the way her smile made me weak in the knees. Everything about her was magical, as if a drop of the heavens fell from the sky and somehow adorned her complexion, mesmerizing me every time I saw her. 

Which is why when we both made the commitment to uconn, i knew i was eventually going to have to come clean to her. I couldn’t stand to watch the love of my life slip away between my fingers, and I knew I would regret it for the rest of my life if I never told her. 

My confidence on the court has soared, and I've found my place here, but when it comes to you, I still feel like that shy girl from our childhood. I wonder if you even notice the way I look at you, the way my breath catches when you laugh, the way I can't help but gravitate towards you whenever we're in the same room.

It was just me and you, in awkward silence.

I mean how hasn't she noticed how I get quiet when there's no one else around? 

But what's a girl to do? Lying on my bed, staring into the blue..

My love for her is driving me a little bit insane, I have to get this off my chest.

I'm telling you today.

Readers POV : 

Paige has always been a part of my life, a constant presence that I sometimes take for granted. Our dads' friendship meant that we were practically inseparable growing up. I remember her as the quiet one, always a bit nervous, always clutching her basketball like it was a lifeline. I liked having her around, though. There was something comforting about her steady presence.

Being at UConn together has been amazing. Watching Paige on the court, seeing her confidence bloom, has been incredible. She's become this powerhouse player, admired by everyone. I'm proud of her, and I make sure to tell her often.

What I don't understand is why she always seems a little flustered around me. I mean, we've known each other forever. There's no reason for her to be nervous, right? I chalk it up to her being busy with basketball and school, but sometimes I catch her looking at me with this intense expression, and it makes me wonder if there's something more.

Paige’s POV : 

Tonight, we're having one of our usual study sessions in my dorm room. I try to focus on my notes, but my eyes keep drifting towards you. You're sitting on my bed, textbooks spread out around you, a determined look on your face. It's moments like these that make me wish I could just tell you how I feel.

"Paige, you okay?" Your voice breaks through my thoughts.

I blink, realizing I've been staring. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking."

You give me a curious look. "About what?"

I hesitate, the words on the tip of my tongue. "About... us. About how long we've known each other."

You smile, a soft, nostalgic smile. "We've been through a lot, haven't we?"

"Yeah," I agree, my heart pounding. "And there's something I've been meaning to tell you."

You tilt your head, eyes bright with curiosity. "What is it?"

Before I can lose my nerve, I take a deep breath. "I've had feelings for you for a long time. Since we were kids. I was always too scared to say anything, but I can't keep it to myself anymore."

Readers POV : 

I'm stunned. Paige's words hang in the air, and for a moment, I can't believe what I'm hearing. Paige, the girl who's always been there, who I thought I knew so well, has had feelings for me all this time?

"Paige," I start, my voice barely above a whisper. "I had no idea. I..."

Her face falls slightly, and I realize how much this confession has cost her. I reach out, taking her hand in mine. "I never noticed, but now that you've said it... it makes sense. The way you've always been there for me, the way you look at me."

She looks at me with hope in her eyes. "Does this change anything for you?"

I think about it for a moment, then smile. "I think it does. I think it's something we should explore."

Paige's face breaks into a relieved, joyful smile, and for the first time, I see her confidence shine through, not just on the court, but here with me. From the start, we've always been there for each other, and now, we have the chance to turn our story into something even more beautiful.

Paiges POV :

just thinking of you...I know ive loved you from the start.

a/n : mighttttt make a part 2 to this....THIS HEALED MY DEPRESSION WHFBQEHR!! as always, thank u sm for reading !

[fuckmyskywalker]

Illusions — Trailer Trash!Anakin

— CW: 18+. Smut. Sexist remarks. Age gap (Anakin is on his 40s, reader is around 24-26). Slight manipulation. PiV. Creampie. Anakin loves to play reader dumb. | Word count: 1.4 (not proofread!)

— a/n: This is my part on the wonderful AU @lovelybucky1 and I talked about and that we are so involved with. Please read Artemis part before mine since it will give you context for this part! I love you my darling, you are my soulmate.

— Trailer Trash!Anakin part I

Waking up next to an empty bed isn't a bad thing when you are wearing Anakin’s oil stained shirt and being held by the warmth of the ghost of his presence next to you. Assuming he is off to work  you decide to stay in bed a little longer, hugging his pillow and drowning yourself in the nauseous scent of his perfume and cigarettes. 

The front door opens and you rise from bed with a small smile adorning your sleepy expression. The way your heart jolts when Anakin is back home has no comparison… and you love to make him feel taken care of. Making breakfast for him, watching him drink his morning coffee and getting fucked against the small kitchen counter makes your heart flutter— fulfilling his not-so-secret fantasy of having a throphy wife that will attend his needs, unlike his ex wife who wouldn't put up with his shit. 

You swing the door open, expecting to see Anakin standing in the tiny hallway that leads to the bathroom and the single bedroom— only to find another woman staring at you with clear disgust. She is holding an empty laundry basket in her hand and a judgemental look in her dark eyes. Something about her expression is creepily similar to Anakin’s, but at the same time abysmally different. 

«It's his daughter» You think, feeling your soul leave your body for a second. The way she stares down at you makes you feel as if you were naked under her gaze, completely vulnerable and viewed as nothing more than a common whore.

A few more footsteps caught your attention and two more people entered the trailer. A young man and a woman; they shared similar features and their faces share the same eerie aura of Anakin. They have smiles on their faces that melt the second they meet you standing in the hallway. Never in your life have you felt more judged and alone. The younger woman stands behind who you assume is the oldest, holding her arm as the only boy looks at you. He is the one who shares Anakin's expression the most— and it scares the shit out of you.

The entire trailer is thick with tension and an electrifying feeling of loathing— and it is all towards you, because of you.

Just like magic and as if he was your knight in shining armor, Anakin walks in the trailer with a frown. His eyes miss your presence and the way you are silently begging for help to address his children and save you from them.

“You are just like your mother!— always talking bullshit and always—” Anakin stops when he finally spots you, curling his lips to a smile that comforts you. “Oh, dollface.”

He walks past his daughter practically pushing her against the wood wall of the hall to reach you, placing his hands on your waist and pulling you for a kiss. His tongue slides inside your mouth as his large hands reach down to cup your ass and squeeze it. Instead of turning you on, it only worses your embarrassment— how can he be groping you with his children watching?

“Anakin,” You whisper against his lips. “Not here, they are watching us…”

A loud sound makes both of your eyes snap, the laundry basket lands next to his old boots. “Come on, we're leaving.” His daughter says with pure venom, turning around.

Your throat feels dry, but Anakin apparently isn't having it. “Alyssa! Come back here,” He never leaves your side, in fact he squeezes your ass harder, almost with hatred. “Who the fuck is going to do my laundry?”

“Ask your new whore to do it.” 

Your body curls in embarrassment, how could she say such things? She doesn't even know you!

Alyssa storms out of the trailer, but the twins seem reluctant to follow her. Anakin kisses you again before turning his attention back to his children. “Don’t listen to your sister, she is just like your mother.”

“Dad.” The younger girl says. “You were supposed to spend the day with us.” Her voice makes your heart ache and you can’t help but feel guilty.

His son doesn't seem to be in the same ride though. He grabs his sister's arm and rolla his green eyes. “Fuck you Dad. Alyssa is right, you will never change,” Something about his voice echoes inside your head, he sounds just like Anakin.”Let’s go Thena.”

“Fuck off then!” Anakin yells as his son slams the trailer door close. Running his hands through his blond locks, the multiple strands of silver shine under the shitty lights of the mobile house. “I don’t need them. Who needs them…” His voice is low, but his face is so close to yours you can hear him and smell the cigarettes he had earlier in his breath. “I only need you, dollface.”

A part of you tries to protest. You don’t agree with him— his children are his after all, but before you can even open your mouth his lips crash against yours, gripping your jaw to force your mouth open and slide his tongue in. The kiss is messy and sloppy and characteristically Anakin. He drags you to the bed and slams the door shut, practically making the whole trailer shake. Anakin pushes you to the bed causing to gasp. Something about him being so aggressive scares you and allures you at the same time. He is quick to peel off his shirt to grope your tits, pinch your nipples and slap the flesh roughly. 

“You like that?” He breathes out, rubbing his erection trapped underneath his work overalls. “Of course you do— you just need someone to take care of you.”

He flips you, bringing your ass up in the air and letting his palm smack on the tender flesh. Anakin loves how willing to please him you are, how easy is to get you to do what he wants with empty promises and sweet talk whispered to your ear. He loves how stupid and love deprived you are. 

When he finally pushes his cock inside you, your body tenses at the intrusion, moaning and arching your back. Anakin traces the curve of your spine with his index finger, smirking at how soft and youthful your body is. It makes him feel alive. You ignite something inside of him that gives him the strength to fuck you as if he was 20 years all over again. It’s your fourth day spending the night at his place and those illusions of moving in with him, make this shitty, cheap trailer a home, to change him… are only growling stronger. 

His thrusts push the air out of your lungs and Anakin is in heaven to feel your pussy just as tight as he did in the morning when he fucked you before leaving for work. “Good girl— such a good pussy, so tight and wet for me.” His balls slap against your clit with every snap of his hips and any neighbors who walks next to his place will hear Anakin’s deep, animalistic groans and your seeet helpess moans, accompanied with the sound of sweaty skin-to-skin. 

Throbbing inside you, his hairy thighs quiver with the force of his orgasm, and you find yourself closer as well. “A–Anakin,” You look at him from over your shoulder with glassy eyes that make his dick leak inside you. “Pull out—p–please.”

“I will try okay?” He says and it’s enough for you. “Your pussy just feels so good.” The praise makes you whine, maybe, maybe it’s okay if he does it one time… 

But he doesn't because he knows that if he apologizes you will forgive him. He knows that if he brings you a pink pill your stupid mind will think it's a plan-b when in reality is a kid’s supplement. So when Anakin fill you up with his sticky heavy load deep inside your womb, while the back of his head wishes you end up pregnant so he can at least make up for his mistakes with a new child. He still fucks you until you come because he wouldn't waste that emotional rollercoaster that orgasms provide you with. 

Anakin holds you, kissing your sweaty skin and caressing your shoulders. The room smells like sex, cigarettes and that cheap whiskey he buys at the gas station next to the diner you work at. His softening length rubs between your thighs, as his cum slides down your spent hole and makes a mess on the yellow-ish fitted sheet already covered in various stains—only god knows when was the last time he washed it— and it warms your heart. He is a good man, you know it. Deep down, looking past all his flaws, he is a good man.

You can change him. 

[aestherin]

KEEP MY HEART

goal 17: kuni

There have only ever been three times you saw Scaramouche so far.

First was when you reluctantly had to watch his team's match against your brother's. He was sporting a white jersey with blue accents, representing his own university with all his glory. Though laced with tension and fatigue, his whole being still demanded attention and attraction — from you.

Second, when you met him outside your own brother's — his rival — birthday party. It was purely coincidental, how he opted to stay outside and how you were running late to the dinner. It was fate, how you both clicked despite being strangers to each other. It was all adrenaline, the reason why you accidentally gave your identity away.

And the third was today.

No more invisible strings, no more coincidences.

He was here... of his own accord.

For you.

It would've been romantic if you disregard the purpose of his visit — but still! Does he always take his friends who stay indoors to go out and see the sun? No, you don't think so.

Maybe you're a special case.

"Hey," he greeted. Scaramouche was there with his hands tucked inside his pockets, leaning against the fences surrounding your home.

'He looks so damn attractive just standing like that,' you thought.

"Hi," you smiled sheepishly.

"Let's go?"

"To where?"

"Anywhere, I guess?"

"You're the one who's taking me outside and you don't even have an itinerary?" You laughed. "How are we even going to leave?"

The man was unfazed by your bursting out. He just sighed and shook his head.

"We're commuting," Scaramouche said as if it was the most obvious thing ever. He, however, spoke again before you even had the chance to. "I have a motorbike, but I didn't want to take a risk, just in case you didn't know how to ride one."

You shrugged. "I could always learn."

Unamused, he flicked your forehead. "Stupid. Don't you ever care for yourself?"

"No need."

"What?"

"You'll do that job just fine, won't you?" You grinned at how he easily he was affected by your teasing. He wasn't flushed, no. But the way his brows furrowed, how his lips formed a thin line, and how he looked away — it was all a give-away. You have an effect on him. Somehow.

"Do you just hit on everyone you meet?"

"Oh? So you took that as me hitting on you?"

"What else would that be —" Scaramouche clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Whatever. Let's just go."

"Does your brother even know you're chatting and hanging out with me?" The boy that was sat across you uttered, having just finished sipping from his drink.

You almost choked. "Well, I would let him know if I could."

He nodded and continued sipping, but didn't bother to stop staring at you.

You looked away.

Did he really expect you would tell Kazuha about your interactions with him? If it was someone else you're crushing on, it would've been fine. You could always deal with a little teasing.

But Scaramouche? The captain of the University of Inazuma's soccer team? Rival of your brother, who was the captain of TNU's soccer team?

Kazuha would explode.

You looked back at the man.

Still staring.

"Uhh," you started off. "It's not that I'm ashamed of you or anything, it's just that..."

"Hmm?"

If the Lasso of Truth — Wonder Woman's weapon — were real, you swore you were currently binded by it. Scaramouche's expectant gaze, his slightly arched brow, and the tiny curve of his lips that he failed to hide despite his best attempt... it had the same effect on you.

It was something irresistible.

"It's just that... their image of you, in their team... let's just say, aha." You gave out an awkward chuckle. "It's not that good."

Scaramouche laughed at your words.

"Oh no, [Name]," he smirked, his tone straying away from his usual one. "Whatever would your dearest older brother do if he found out you were hanging out with a delinquent?"

"What the fuck? Scara!" You laughed.

"So? What do they say about me?"

"Rude. Arrogant. Ill-mannered."

"Ouch. But wow, that's actually fewer than I thought." He looked proud.

"Etcetera."

"Oh."

He frowned. "There's more?"

You just answered with a smile.

Your meal was filled with fun teas and hushed laughters, but it was cut short by vibrations from a phone on the table. It was Scaramouche's.

He picked the black device up, brows soon furrowing while reading the notifications he just received.

"Are you alright?" Concern grew. "What was it?"

He put his phone in his pocket. "Nothing."

You knew it had to be something.

KEEP MY HEART — scara x reader smau

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SUMMARY — you find plenty of guys around you attractive, but there is only one you’re willing to make the first move on: the guy you first saw during your older brother’s soccer game. spoiler: he's a player from your rival university.

TAGLIST I (closed)

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[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: WE MADE IT TO CHAPTER FIVE!! EVERYBODY CLAP!! labour of love fr <3 but we're almost to the scene that sparked the whole freakin series and i. oh man im just yearning for that hurt/comfort

word count: 4.4k

synopsis: You test out if your efforts with the tonics are worth anything and Azriel bestows you with a gift. He asks about the Blood Rite and you ponder the strange, golden thread you've been feeling in your chest. Disaster strikes when night falls.

CHAPTER FIVE :: CONFIDANTS

You look younger in your sleep, Azriel thinks.

He doesn't think he's ever seen you like this before. The hard lines of your face are all smoothed out as you rest, so unlike your usual expression. There's something softer about you.

The constant furrow between your brows is whisked away for once. He can still see the familiar line between your brows though, if he looks close enough.

If he can look past the bruises that mottle your face, that is.

The damage you've sustained from training within the camp is severe enough to curdle something sour in his stomach.

Azriel had held his reservations about his trip back to Velaris— a suspicion that proved to be well founded. His own memories of training at Windhaven provide plentiful ways for you to have ended up in this state.

You’re curled up instinctively in your sleep, wings tucked around yourself. It sews of thread of worry through Azriel's chest, a slight concern at the state of your wounds and how the position will agitate them. While you don't move much in your sleep, he knows from experience that it'll be hell when you finally do stretch back out.

But... he can’t bring himself to wake you. You need the sleep desperately.

Azriel is fairly certain that the huddled form you take is some subconscious way to protect yourself, even in your sleep. Your wings drape across yourself, keeping yourself covered, hidden.

And while that makes some part of Azriel's heart ache, he can't deny that you—it looks… sort of cute.

Azriel forces himself to avert his eyes, ducking his chin for extra measure. Those pesky thoughts were becoming more and more frequent — something that he's pointedly ignoring at this point.

Protect, his shadows whirl around his ears like tiny gusts of wind, whispering their suggestions. Protect, they whisper.

Protect. Both a thought and a feeling. A guiding intuition that seems to reverberate from his very bones.

The suggestion from his shadows isn't entirely left field either, as they always take inspiration from what he can see. From his wandering thoughts, from his prolonged gentle gaze that lays upon you whenever he can.

Azriel scowls lightly at himself. He had no claim to protect you and further more, most Illyrian males like yourself would take great amounts of offence to the mere insinuation. He knows that you are more than capable.

He steals another glance at your peaceful, sleeping figure and his shadows seem to quieten in response— at least about you. The whispers don't ever truly quieten.

Azriel's fairy certain where they're getting their ideas. It's what he wonders too as he takes in your battered face once more—whether it’s the truth or just his familiar brand of desperate hope.

Something that would explain the urge to protect beyond reason.

Something like... a bond forged in starlight.

The Mother's Kiss whistles quietly outside and Azriel shifts his gaze again and this time, it lays upon the Heartstriker.

Sitting atop the one table-top in your shelter, the blade stays sheathed away in the very same bejeweled case that Azriel had found it in. Same as on that very first day he laid his hands on it.

It had been a wretched mission. One of his very first. It was not performed with the eloquence he would come to learn in future years.

Heartstriker had not been the objective of the mission. Far from it, in truth. The objective was a simple stealth reconnaissance into the Court of Nightmares.

He was to delve beneath the rock of the mountain in a mission very similar to his current. Swirlings of rumours and whispers of rebellion, against the new Highlord. Azriel was there to learn who had the guts to pick up the knife and try.

Heartstriker was a ploy. A shiny trick that Azriel had not yet learned how to evade.

He was still a novice by his own standards, only a few hundred years old. Spying in this sense was still fresh, still new. The work he had done under Rhysand's father during the war had been far more reliant on his brute strength. He had strict instructions not to hesitate to draw his blade.

It had taken time to relearn the importance in a message sent with words.

To remember the power of mercy.

This mission had been the first and only time Azriel had underestimated the measures in place in the Court of Nightmares, meant to keep out the likes of him.

His hesitance to kill had given another Fae time to trip an alarm, to flood the room with warriors. So when he had been backed into a corner by the snarling miscreants that lived in the belly of the mountain, taken by surprise, he hadn't hesitated to snatch up any weapon he could reach.

And it had branded him, singeing him right to his core.

But when he tried to force his fingers apart, they wouldn't obey, even as they screamed with the pain of the invisible flames. It was as though his hand had become fused with the blade, each atom of his being completely joined with the bronze of the sword through a terrible, unstoppable and invisible force.

Every part of him shrieked in agony. An age-old fear reared up within him, his hands burning like they were set alight and he could feel the flames licking at his skin, at his hands, could smell the scent of burning flesh—

He had fought on and won, all the same, taking on two battles at once. Fighting foes by real and faux, all whilst burning up from within all the while. The sword was immeasurably heavy and yet too light, all at once.

And only once almost all his enemies were slain, their blood staining the marble floors, did the burning cease. The blade seem to hum in response to the battle— drawn to the final foe who was clawing for his breath through his blood-soaked throat.

The tip of the sword had urged Azriel forward, like pulled by an invisible string, and he let it lead him, plunging the blade through the chest and into the heart of the last enemy left.

Only after, had the humming stopped. The sword finally clattered from Azriel's strong grip, the fusion broken.

His hands were same as ever, mottled with their scars, but with no indication of the burning he knew he had felt.

On his return, Rhys had told him the history of the sword and it's duly fitting name: Heartstriker.

It hadn't been claimed in centuries and as such, naturally it had come to live amongst other cursed objects within the Court of Nightmares. Unable to be used, unless someone bested the pain it took to raise it.

But Azriel had, entirely by accident.

It is said that once mastered, it will always strike true. Rhys had said, violet eyes gleaming as he looked over the bronze sword with piqued interest. That it's more than a regular sword but a living thing you must work in tandem with.

If anyone tries to take it from you, they must suffer the same fate. It can be gifted freely but, He had paused, that smirk that held no warmth in it pulling at his lips. I'm sure you can guess how often that happens down there.

It hadn't been used within the Night Court either, condemned to another hundred years or so without sight of battle. Azriel had more than enough blades of his own. The Illyrian broadsword that he had earned all that time ago in the Blood Rite for a proper battle and his Truth-Teller for the finer details.

Heartstriker wasn't right for his stature. Too short, strange weighted.

He'd kept it all the same. Perhaps, he told himself, to keep some other Fae from suffering the same fate if they laid hands on it.

His hazel eyes drift back across to you, bundled within yourself. You make a noise in your sleep, a gentle snuffle, and Azriel finds himself smiling.

Or perhaps, he thinks, he knew to keep it for entirely other reasons.

—

The quick healing of Illyrian's is more often a blessing than it is a curse.

On today's quiet winter morning, it is somehow both.

When you wake, dragged from your slumber in the early hours, it's before the sun has begun to make an appearance on the horizon. The shelter is coated in a soft darkness of dawn. The trees sway outside, a thousand creatures still roaming amongst their branches, reliant on the dark before daylight breaks.

It's the pain that wakes you, ebbing in through your sleep til it shakes off your sleep. You wake with your teeth already gritted.

The only pleasant surprise is that fact you're not shuddering yourself awake out of a nightmare, especially considering yesterday's training session.

You have a feeling that it has something to do with the sleeping Illyrian, propped up beside the fireplace, keeping watch.

His shadows still move about, even in his sleep. His neck is tucked down, his forehead pressed against his knee. It hides away part his face but as your eyes adjust to the shadowy light, you can make out his closed eyes. His hair looks messier than you've ever seen it.

It can't be comfortable, sleeping the way he is— but you have a feeling that Azriel has slept in places far worse before.

Shifting about in the darkness, your hand comes down to press tenderly at your sides, assessing as quietly as you can. There's no immediate sting of sliced skin as your fingers tips poke and prod at the skin, which makes you sigh in relief. You press down again, at bit harder this time, and it forces a wince out your gritted teeth.

Extremely bruised. But at the very least, the skin has knitted itself together in the nighttime.

Your face still aches, too. It's not quite the same ringing that made both eyes throb painfully yesterday and with a slow wrinkle of your nose, you can assess that the worst of your broken nose has healed up too.

Your ears, however, poses a different problem. One of them, the right side, still rings lightly. It would be more concerning, you think, if the left one itself wasn't so muffled altogether.

Huffing out a breath, you drag yourself up to a sitting position, moving at a tentative pace. Pain ricochets around your body. You're doing the best you can to be quiet but it's futile it seems — there's one creak of the bed as your weight shifts and Azriel's wings twitch, giving him away. He’s awake.

He lifts his head slowly, letting it roll from one side to the next, stretching out his neck. It's the only indication he gives you of feeling sore from his cramped sleep all night, his attentive eyes already watching you closely. His shadows, you notice, seem to gain speed at his rousing— circling his shoulders and neck closely.

You clear your throat and focus your gaze forward, resuming the task at hand. Raising one hand, you snap your fingers beside your left ear, then your right.

Frustration bubbles up inside you as you repeat the motion, as if it’ll change the outcome.

It doesn’t.

At least beyond the ringing, your right ear can hear the snap clearly— a keen Fae sense that like any warrior, you rely heavily on. The left one…

All you can think is that they must have hit you pretty damn hard to leave it as dulled as it feels. It can still hear, thankfully, but the noise that filters through is muffled around the edges. Buzzy. It makes you feel off kilter and unbalanced.

You let your hand drop and try to remain stoic, so used to hiding your emotions away from your face. You don't realise your drooping, limp wings give you away anyways.

Azriel gets to his feet swiftly, the movement so smooth you would have never guessed he spent the night tucked up uncomfortably against the bricks of your fireplace. He regards you with those burning amber eyes and your heart seems to lurch forward in response. You avert your gaze.

"It would seem we have an opportunity to test out our efforts." He says. His voice is still coated in sleep, low and rumbley, and it sends a bright zing down your spine. You lift your gaze from your lap and raise your brows in question.

He waves a hand to the table, in gesture.

Your various ingredients for brewing the tonics stay tucked in one corner, some wrapped up and set beneath the table. There are several different bottles too, stoppered with corks and containing yours and Azriel's attempts at the healing tonics.

It takes another moment to understand what he means.

"No," You say sharply, climbing to your feet. A thousand parts of your ache and groan in protest and you channel your focus into not letting a single ounce of it show.

Rolling your tense shoulders back, you wander towards your armor in slow steady steps. "Those aren't for me. I've healed enough in the night."

"I see." Azriel replies. "Is that why your left ear isn't working right?"

Gaze snapping back to him, you curse his ever-so observant nature. Maybe that's on you for trying to keep a secret from a Shadowsinger.

You are keeping a secret from a shadowsinger, something whispers in you.

A cold flush fills your body, numbing out every nerve for a single moment. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Your wings hike up, tuck in. It feels wrong.

For the first time in your life, it feels so so utterly wrong to be keeping this secret from someone. To be hiding who you truly are.

But Azriel... he was a stranger not too long ago, wasn't he? You're not sure if you can even call each other friends, even if you had begun to in your mind, without even realising.

You think back to last night, to when he could have easily lifted your shirt a few inches higher when trying to save your life and known.

Then you wonder if he did — and he hasn't said anything.

If he's waiting for you to trip up, to fess up, to explain to him why you've been lying to him from the moment you first met him.

Azriel seems to sense your internal battle, the same way he seems senses a thousand things from you as though he's known you his whole life. He clears his throat to get your attention. When you focus your vision back on him, you notice one of the bottles is in his scarred fingers.

"I will train you today," He says. "On the condition that you take it."

Your nose twitches. It's an ultimatum. He knows you want to train, to brush off yesterday and let the pain in your body fuel the determination of today but he won't let you do it so carelessly. Bastard.

Before you can blink, he tosses the bottle across to you. You react instinctively, cradling your hands to catch it quickly before you realise what you're doing. Your nose twitches again, a tiny flare of annoyance at his smugness.

No, not smugness. Surety. His expression, bordering on bored, tells you that he knows you don't have any other options— unless you want to climb back into bed and rot for the day.

You yank the cork off the bottle harshly. Then, just to show him how unpleased you are with this, you lob the cork at him with all your might. Your bruised side screams in response. Azriel snatches from the air easily, without so much as a blink.

He looks like he wants to smile but thinks the better of it, placing the cork gently onto the table. "I'll meet you outside." He eyes the uncorked bottle in your hand then back at you. "Drink it. Please."

—

The tonic, as you find out, is only mildly effective.

It's a gutting discovery. The mixture is nowhere near potent enough to fix the level of nerve damage that gets inflicted during clippings if it barely lightens the bruises on your side.

The mottled blue painted on your skin gives way to a light purple, the edges of them retracting to a tinged yellow. The skin glows hot as the tonic works as best as it can.

The taste of it is nearly as rancid as the failure feels.

You deal with it the only way you know how; chewing it up and spitting it back out as determination to do better. The drive to push yourself harder in training rears up, fiery and stubborn— harder than you logically know is any help to yourself.

What was already tedious and heinous training is made that much worse by your injuries.

You're moving sloppily today, offbeat. The dullness in your left ear helps to keep you off balance. Still, you manage to keep up with Azriel— not quite the one step ahead you're usually aiming for but, at the very least, you're still holding your own.

Your ribs ache and your heads throbs. The ringing in your right ear has disappeared with the help of the tonic, only to have started up in the left. A relief in one sense— it's good to be hearing more of anything. A fucking pain in another.

The only major upside, really, is the sword.

The Heartstriker, Azriel had called it

You had been half convinced it was a hallucination, the gift. Sure that it some desperate illusion born out of the delirium of the blood loss because, really, when was the last time you had ever gotten a gift?

When you'd limped your way out into the snow and saw it in his hands, you had blinked in disbelief.

But it's almost like Azriel had expected it, his scarred hands reaching out to gently curl around your wrist, murmuring its name as he had pressed it into your hand. It's yours, he had said.

He had let go of your wrist go immediately, stepping back but not far, still hovering close by. He let you have a moment to marvel at it before he urged you to follow to the usual neck of the woods you trained in. The sound of clashing steel had soon followed.

It's a perfect addition, you find.

The blade is like a mere extension of your own arm. It's light enough to carve through the air with ease but when you strike, it's buries deep. Compared the Illyrian broadsword used in training at camp, it suits your stature far better. You move more agilely, hit more frequently and harder when you do.

It's probably the best thing you've ever owned— ever held.

You're gazing at it where it rests on your lap, glinting in the light of the day, as you try to catch your breath. Azriel had given you a moment to recover, far earlier than normal, due to your injuries, no doubt. Normally, you'd grumble and snarl and push him to continue but today, you're quite happy to have another moment to stare at the first gift you've gotten.

Azriel breaks the silence with a question.

"Why haven't you competed in the Blood Rite?"

Something icy spikes in your blood and your back straightens instinctively, the hair on the nape of your neck standing on end. Whether he knows it or not, he is treading close to dangerous territory.

"Why do you ask?" You answer his question with another question.

Azriel regards you with a certain look, his dark eyes dragging down your body intensely and back up to your face. It's enough to make you fluster momentarily, to feel a faint stirring in your heart that doesn't entirely feel like your own. No one has ever looked at you like that before.

"You're strong. You hold your own. You're of age." He states carefully. "You remain attached to this camp with no rank until you pass it. Why not?"

You scowl at his frame of thinking, as if you haven't passed over those reasons a thousand times. Beyond the fact you can't ever ensure you wouldn't be burdened with your cycle during the Blood Rite, there's more than enough reason for you to remain a nobody.

You feel oddly disappointed that he would think only in that manner; glory and rank.

"What makes you think I want any rank in my camp?" You spit bitingly, watching as his wings sink down an inch at your tone. His misunderstanding of why you've chosen this way of life bothers you more than you expect.

"Because you did?" You ask. "Because three bastards fought their way through it and won and left their shitty pasts behind? I am not you, Azriel."

Azriel doesn't react, not even the raising of his brows. Only his shadows give himself away, whirling around slower than usual. He speaks in that same careful tone as before.

"I know you are not."

He makes you feel foolish for giving in to any lick of your anger, for so quickly snapping at your only friend. You turn your head away and stare down into the snow, taking a breath. Cauldron, you're tired. Lifting you arm, you wipe your forehead with the back of your hand, clearing the sweat that beads there.

"I could leave but for what reason? Ever since I—" You suck a sharp inhale, swallowing back words that dance too close to giving you away. You pray he doesn't notice your hesitation. "Ever since I was young, this has been my goal. This change must come from within, you know that."

You inhale again, feeling the breath rattle past every ache and pain in your chest.

"I can only do the things I do... the things I must achieve, by being unnoticeable."

You cast a glance up to him. "To them, I am some bastard who won't give up and die. I am not a proper threat. You, of all people, should understand that it's easiest to work when people are not paying proper attention."

And that's all you have known — how to become unnoticeable when needed and how to be noticed when wanted. Attention, you've learned, only means a target on your back.

Beyond that... you can't imagine someone who would want to notice you for anything more. You've had many, many years to make peace with that bitter fact.

I am.

Without warning, there's a sudden thrum from deep within you, like a echo of a drum, of a call. It's golden and threaded with softness. I am paying attention.

It startles you, one hand flying to your armored chest in surprise. As quick as it had appeared, the hum flees and leaves your bound chest twingeing only in its usual discomfort. One moment of brief serenity. You long for it, despite the unfamiliar nature.

You realise abruptly that you've trailed off and force yourself to move, body aching in the process. Heartstriker sinks into the snow and you use it to clamber to your feet, not nearly as graceful as you would like. Azriel doesn't say anything.

In fact, when you lift your gaze to meet his, he's staring at you more intensely than usual. His shadows seem more agitated. They flit about, circling his hands more than his shoulders, and you can barely see the scarred skin through their inky darkness.

There's a long moment. Around you both, the trees creek as they bend in the wind, a thousand leaves rustling around you in a chorus.

Azriel breaks the silence, casting his eyes to the ground and lifting his blade. "No more questions."

He says it like a promise, his lips pulling at the edges like he might be offering a smile.

"Just fighting."

—

By the time the moon rises, the ache in your body has dimmed to a more bearable pain.

While you'd be miffed at the idea of Azriel pulling his punches, you can't deny the sliver of gratitude you have for it now. As you reach over the cauldron of simmering stew, only a few of your ribs twinge enough to make your motions falter momentarily. The stew bubbles and brews, filling your shelter with a hearty smell.

It's been too long since you last cooked something to share.

You try to shelve the guilt away—you and Azriel have been running a very tight schedule, switching between training, tonics and rest. Taking time to cook, for yourself or others, hasn't even had time to cross your mind.

Your brief brush back with the reality during yesterday's training, however, had provided you with ample reminders. Your home camp and all its violent glory.

So, you cook. The logs crackle on the fire and above them, the stew simmers gently as you stir absentmindedly at it. Giving yourself this quiet moment, you let your thoughts drift as the tiredness of the day trickles into your body. Your thoughts turn to the quiet Shadowsinger.

He had taken his leave as soon as he had declared the end of your days training, needing another trip to Velaris.

I'll be back by morning, he had said, each of his seven cerulean siphons flaring brightly before he stepped between the fabric of the world and disappeared. Another hidden trick up his sleeve.

You'd allowed yourself only one moment of surprise before you closed your mouth— you really needed to stop underestimating him. As the stew before you begins to hiss and spit, you pull yourself from your thoughts and prepare yourself for the discomfort of meal times.

They never are as friendly as you might hope.

Despite your generosity, the different outcasts of Exordor remain cagey. Regard you with pensive and guarded looks, hands hovering on the butts of their swords. You can't blame them in the slightest.

But those that can brave the walk to your cabin, risking both themselves and your own safety against the other Illyrian brutes in the camp, are rewarded with a hot meal. Tonight, you feed 12 hungry mouths before your doorstep grows quiet.

You pack it all away in silence, with a quite yearning for company you've only just become used to having.

It's only as you're tucking in for the night, your wings wrapped around yourself tightly, does the first pain strike. Right to your core, the very insides of your gut feels as though it's being shredded. You gasp, your entire body curling up tighter to fight against the pain.

For only a moment, confusion clouds your mind at the attack that seems to come from nowhere, from an invisible enemy. Only one answer comes forward—the only thing that can threaten to reveal your secret without your permission, through mere scent alone.

A certain agony that only tortures you twice a year.

[NEXT PART: BETRAYERS]

[chrysalind]

sweet and sour

pairing: suna rintarou x reader wc: 880 tags: fluff, fake dating, (real) jealousy, party setting ofc, reader wears makeup and is shorter than suna

Sometime last Wednesday, Suna Rintarou had discovered inner peace.

It had been after his last linear algebra exam, during his third consecutive hour of mourning, when it finally occurred to him that it didn't matter. Of course, it mattered in the sense that it would affect his GPA, and as a result, his job prospects, career, ability to be approved for a mortgage and become a homeowner, and of course his retirement. But in a more 'in the moment' sense, it didn't matter at all.

This was because, he'd rationalized, it had already happened and there was no use agonizing over it after the fact. And so, for a few short days, Suna abided by the belief that if he couldn't change something, he simply wouldn't bring himself to care about it.

So when you drag him into the tiny bathroom of someone's apartment with a swipe of glitter under your left eye and a frazzled expression on your pretty face, Suna is fully prepared to put his new philosophy into action.

The door shuts behind you, muffling the din of music and people and he tries not to think about how precariously close your drink is to the edge of the sink when you set it down.

"I need a favour," you begin, wringing your wrists as he tries not to fall backwards into the shower. It is, in fact, a very tiny bathroom.

"Nah," he replies, managing to right himself against the towel rack.

"'Nah'?" you repeat, jutting out your bottom lip. "But you don't even know what I'm going to ask."

He rationalizes that it can't be anything worth putting in the effort for. Therefore would it even make sense for him to hear you out? He thinks not.

However, as he eyes the door behind you, your face bobs into view, obstructing his path to escape.

"Please," you whine, dropping down from a tippy toe. "Just hear me out."

He glances once at his reflection in the mirror before his gaze slides up to the ugly white light on the ceiling.

"Fine."

"Yes," you exclaim, your elbow narrowly missing the cup. Suna looks away.

"Okay, so my ex is here with his new girlfriend," you begin, your hands moving fast, "and so I would really, really be so grateful if you could maybe, possibly, pretend that we're together."

He blinks. "Nah."

Your face falls. "But I'm gonna look like a loser out there."

He wonders if the glitter is supposed to draw attention to your eyes. If so, why just one side?

"That doesn't even make any sense," he says. "No one cares that you're single." After all, no one cares that he's single. Except for himself, sometimes, although, he's learning to let go of that.

You're pouting again. "I care. And I'm pretty sure that he cares. Chiharu said that he told the other guys on the soccer team that he was bringing her because he knew that I'd be here. Like, isn't that kind of fucked up?"

Something like irritation wriggles in his brain but he quickly shuts that down. After all, what can he really change about the situation? Even if he does pretend to be your boyfriend for tonight, your ex will continue to be a convincing piece of evidence that Neanderthals might still walk amongst modern humans. And even then, you'll still be hung up on him and things between you two will just stay the same. So why should he bother?

"I'm gonna pass," he says dryly, squeezing past you to get to the door. Your elbow brushes against the cup and it falls, clattering into the sink and splashing red liquid down the sides.

"Just tell him to go fuck himself or something," he shrugs, before twisting the doorknob. "Or just pretend he's not there at all."

"But Rin," you pout as he lets the chaos of the party flood into the small space, "I thought we were friends."

And you are friends, he thinks, as he shoulders his way back through the crowd. That's the problem.

That's the fucking problem.

So when he spots you, fifteen minutes later, with your back up to a wall and that Cro-Magnon specimen crowding you, he thinks it's finally time to seriously reconsider his philosophy.

And sometime in the five steps it takes to cross the room does he finally come to the conclusion that enlightenment just isn't for him.

"Hey, angel," he says as he turns you around to face him. Your lips are parted in surprise and the glitter reflects fuchsia and gold in the low light.

He's acutely aware that the two of you are not alone, but he can't bring himself to look away. Something like a second epiphany dawns on him.

"Sorry it took a while," he murmurs as he leans down to meet your gaze.

"But better late than never, right?"

Sometime last Wednesday, Suna Rintarou had discovered inner peace.

But right now, tonight, as you let him kiss you in front of all the people you know, he decides that inner peace is entirely overrated.

[nozunhinged]

I finally managed to put my overall thoughts about Playboyy into words and hoooooo boy do I have a lot to say.

I watched the mdl ratings go down, the blatant hate towards the plot, the actors, the scenes, the sex. There was nothing that wasn't torn apart about this series and yet I wasn't phased for a second and I kept wondering why because usually get very passionate about defending the things I love.

And then I realized that this series is the cinematic embodiment of a very lonely path that I've been walking for decades and I am already very, very used to the shame around it.

Sex is not just my special interest, I also had the privilege to grow up with excellent sex education (thanks parents) and on top of that I never struggled with my (pan)sexual identity. Sex plays a significant role in my life. But I learned VERY quickly that I should keep this to myself if I don't want to be ostracized or bullied.

"You're autistic AND you like sex? You like porn? What the fuck is wrong with you??? That's impossible."

And all the comments I read about playboyy are exactly the same just in different fonts. Ew sex. Ew kink. Ew porn. Ew sex work. Sex can't have storytelling, plot, it's just for shock value. We all read it.

And sadly it's a very accurate representation of the role sex plays in our society. Which - ironically - playboyy exactly is about.

Playboyy is a visual collection of all the experiences of lives and people in which sex plays a significant role - even the lack thereof (looking at you zouey and all you lovely aces).

It's a collection of very important social commentary, with all the characters, sets, plots and visuals as a medium. Because this way, the points they make come across even stronger and draw out all the emotions they want us to feel - which is in the rarest cases, pure arousal. Because this is, in fact, storytelling. Even if many don't want to hear it.

Telling stories about sex is so stigmatized and shunned, it only has the tiniest place to exist freely. Just like sex itself. Every sex worker, sex educator, sex therapist, everyone who has a profession that deals with sex will tell you about it. The shame. The misunderstanding. Look at the state of sex work and porn in the world. It tells you everything you need to know.

And it's happening in the middle of the "modern" western society - Yes I'm talking about you, UK and I can't not plug this here:

*btw I am not a sex worker I'm just very passionate about letting people not just live their lives but giving them a CHOICE to do what they want or don't want to do

I existed in this tiny place for decades now and I got really comfortable in my tiny lil corner, but to see a show like this go "mainstream" talking about all the topics that tickle all the knowledge I collected over the years feels so amazing. And I can tell you, all you lil smartass purists, everyone involved in this show doesn't care an inch what you think, just like me. We're used to it, believe me.

I could go on for ages about how carefully all these topics of the show are treated but what I actually want to say is that I find it incredibly ironic that a show that depicts the struggles and stigmas about sex, exactly draws out the reactions and treatments it criticises.

If you don't want to join in on the fun, that's totally fine. I get that it's not for everyone (just like sex, he). But treating it as a piece of trash just because it's a thing you personally find icky is exactly the reason the issues Playboyy talks about exist in the first place. Hence you can thank your stuck-up ass yourself that debauched individuals like me get a gem like this to enjoy.

And the fact that it didn't just find a crew, but also the funding and the mainstream distribution proves that I'm not alone in this.

It's not my lonely little corner anymore and I'm absolutely thriving on that. Cry about it.

[jokeringcutio]

Stepdad!William Afton x Reader "Newborn" Mature/Drabble [3]

FNAF | William Afton (stepdad!) x (f) Reader | MATURE Summary: Imagine: You just had your stepdad's baby and mom still isn't allowed to know.

AN: These drabbles are in no particular order and not necessarily related. But they are all Stepdad!WilliamAfton x !StepdaughterReader Universe. This could follow up on Christmas Present, Pregnant and Discovered (See Masterlist->FNAF->Stepdad William )

Warnings: talk about dub-con/taboo relationship, keeping it a secret, name-calling, William being mean, William calling you a slut, but also: William being emotional about his baby.

The cold hospital air bit at your skin as your stepdad pushed the wheelchair, your weak body slumped in it. The weight of the newborn baby, a warm bundle in your arms, was both comforting and terrifying. Your mom rushed by your side, her eyes red from crying, still mourning the loss of her own unborn child just months ago. You know she should have been glad to have become a grandmom, but instead, she was disappointed.

"Look at you," William sneered, his blue eyes cold and unforgiving. "Such a young mom. Barely out of school and already bound for life.”

You tried to block out the sound of his insults. “A slut, that's what you are. Couldn't keep your legs closed, eh? Now we are stuck with this mess."

Your face burned with shame, but you clutched your baby tighter, refusing to let William's words affect you. You knew he liked to play dirty, twist things around to mess with people's minds. But this time, it felt too personal, too cruel.

“Thought of your poor mother? Thought it would be easy?” William continued, each word a sneer.

“Spreading your legs, that is easy,” he said as he had to halt for a moment to let someone pass. Then he pushed your wheelchair further through the hallways.

“But pushing the baby out. Now, that wasn’t so much fun, was it?”

You closed your eyes, biting back a sob. It had hurt so badly. And you were still smarting down below. That the bastard dared to make comments about it upset you greatly. But you also know he did it to try and please your mom. You knew how unhappy she was that you couldn’t name the father because you’d been ‘drunk’.

"Sweetheart, that is enough," your mother snapped, finally breaking her silence. She glared at William, her voice trembling with emotion. "This is my daughter we're talking about."

William held up his hands in mock surrender, but you could see the smirk on his face. He enjoyed pushing buttons, testing boundaries. It made him feel powerful, and you knew he wanted you to feel small, helpless.

"All right, all right," he said, guiding the wheelchair toward the car. And thank God you finally made it there. You couldn’t wait to be home in your own room and let things sink in.

"Let's get you two home," his voice still sounded harsh, but there was a gentler vibe underneath it now. You watched how your mother opened the front door and took her place in the passenger’s seat, while your stepdad opened the door for you and your baby.

The car door clicked open, and William's hand reached down to help you out of the wheelchair. It took every ounce of strength you had not to flinch as his fingers brushed against your arm. You held your newborn baby close, feeling his tiny body nestled in the crook of your elbow. He whimpered softly, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of anxiety.

"Careful now," William said, his voice low and smooth like honey. "We don't want any accidents."

You bit your tongue, careful not to let your anger get the best of you as you heard William put your bag in the trunk and then slam the lid closed. You heard him wheel the wheelchair away.

As you settled into the backseat, cradling your sleeping baby, you couldn't help but wonder what life would be like now, living under the same roof as a man who reveled in cruelty. How could someone so dangerous, so manipulative, be a part of your family?

But as much as you feared him, you also knew that you had no choice but to rely on him. And deep down, a dark, twisted part of you couldn't help but be drawn to his power, his intensity, and the danger that seemed to surround him like a storm. Hadn’t you loved every single moment of his touches? Hadn’t you been an accomplice in all of this? Eagerly spread your legs, warmed his cock, accepted the fact that he would dump his seed inside your womb whenever he so much as desired?

Your stepdad slid behind the steering wheel and took a moment, then he placed his hand on top of your mom’s leg and cleared his throat. His blue eyes met yours in the rearview window. “Are you all comfy there?”

Numbly, you nodded, clutching your child close to your chest. Your mother sat quietly in the front seat, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. Neither of them commented on the fact that you had decided to keep your baby in your arms rather than place him in the baby seat. You just weren’t ready to let him go yet.

The drive home was excruciatingly long, each passing minute stretching out like an eternity. The only sound came from the soft cries of your baby, his little fists balled up against his chest. Tentatively, you tried to feed him in the backseat, your hands shaking as you fumbled with your blouse. You already knew you weren’t a great fan of breastfeeding the little one – even though you had mentally prepped yourself for this task. Reality hurt like a bitch and wasn’t as easy as people made you think. But your mom had insisted that mother milk was the best, and of course, William had supported her in that. If they both wanted you to feed your child the natural way, there was no choice but to do it.

You closed your eyes when the baby’s jaw clenched around your nipple and bit your own lip to keep from making any sounds. The feeling was weird. You remembered the nurses in the hospital cooing how good a job you were doing and how happy they were the milk had started flowing so easily.

Easily. Yeah right.

"Take it slow," William advised from the driver's seat, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. "He'll get the hang of it soon enough."

His words felt invasive, a sharp reminder that he was always watching, always waiting for the right moment to strike. Your heart raced, but you focused on nourishing your child, trying to ignore the presence of the man who'd made your life that much more difficult.

Upon arriving home, William escorted you and your baby to your room, his firm grip on your shoulders making it impossible to slip away. You walked slowly, but luckily your room wasn’t far. Once inside, you sat down on your desk chair, cradling your baby protectively as you watched William with wary eyes.

"Let me make us some tea," your mom said suddenly, forcing a smile as she disappeared into the kitchen, leaving you alone with him.

The door clicked shut, and William moved closer. Warily, you watched him approach. His eyes glistened with unshed tears as they met yours. Was he… crying?

"Show me his hands and feet," he whispered, his voice soft and tender like it had never been before.

Tentatively, you revealed your baby's tiny fingers and toes, holding your breath as William counted them one by one. "Ten little fingers, ten little toes," he murmured, his smile genuine. "Everything is there."

You couldn't help but feel a flicker of relief, even as your heart hammered against your ribs. This was a side of William he hardly showed, a glimpse into the man he might have been if things were different. But you knew better than to let your guard down. With a man like William Afton, danger was always lurking just beneath the surface.

The weight of his gaze bore down on you, and for a moment, you almost forgot the cruel words he'd spat at you earlier. You studied his face, searching for any hint of deception, but all you found were real tears glistening in his eyes.

"You did so well, sweet girl," he said softly, kneeling down to your level. "I'm proud of you." His hand reached out, hesitating for just a split second before caressing your cheek with an unexpected tenderness. Your heart swelled in your chest, threatening to spill over as he spoke those words you'd been longing to hear.

“My good girl. Always my good girl,” he muttered before leaning up a bit to place a gentle kiss on the top of your head. You closed your eyes and enjoyed the moment, heart warm and full of adoration for the man who treated you this holrrible way. Yet, you couldn't help but feel for him. In your arms, your baby cooed.

"Look at our son," William continued, his tone a mixture of pride and wonder. "He's perfect, just like his mother." The subtle ownership in his words sent shivers down your spine, but you couldn't deny the warmth that spread through you at his praise.

"You will name him Evan," William declared, his voice firm but gentle. He didn't leave room for disagreement, asserting his control even in this tender moment. You watched as he carefully touched Evan's little hands and feet, his fingers tracing their delicate contours with a gentleness that seemed impossible for a man like him.

"Let me hold him," he whispered, and you hesitated, torn between fear and hope. But something in his eyes compelled you to relent, and you placed Evan into his outstretched arms.

"Hello, Evan," he murmured, cradling the newborn against his chest. "I'm your father. But ssh,” he shushed, “That’ll be our little secret.”

You flinched but couldn’t get yourself to look away. The sight of William holding his own son was mesmerizing. So wrong and yet in so many ways also so right.

“I'll always be here for you and your mother. No one else needs to know."

In that instant, it was as if time stood still. Your breath hitched in your throat, your thoughts racing wildly. Could you trust him? Did you have a choice? Was there a chance, however small, that things could be different now?

But as you looked into William's eyes, you knew one thing for certain: he was a man of many faces, and the line between love and obsession was dangerously thin.

~

AN: For more, follow me (:

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[venturelovebot]

A/N: I kinda wanted to write something like this for a while but I never really got around to it so thank you for this request! Link to request is here! Doing this one first because it's head canons and the rest of the requests are fics, so it's easier to do this one first!

Premise: Married & domestic life headcanons + proposal headcanons!

Warnings: None! Pure cavity inducing fluff!

♡ "I think you might like this one!" They could barely contain themself just giving it to you.

♡ You hold the smooth, cold stone in your hands before opening the cracked halves to reveal beautiful, twinkling purple crystals inside.

♡ It was like staring into a little piece of outer space– but then you see it.

♡ Inside the geode was the most gorgeous ring you had ever seen.

♡ You were speechless. A grin widens on your face from ear to ear as your face turns ruby red.

♡ "Oh my God..." We're the first words to leave your mouth.

♡ You're extra careful not to drop anything, but you have to sit down, you couldn't believe what was happening to you.

♡ "[Y/N]..."

♡ Sloan kneels in front of you.

♡ "Whenever it comes time to unearth our bodies far in the future, I want them all to see just how much I loved you when I was alive."

♡ "But even then, they probably wouldn't know a fraction of it..."

♡ "There are no words in any language– alive or dead– that could describe how much I love you. Even if there was, there would not be enough room to describe it on the tomb we shared together."

♡ "So, I have to make the most of it while we're both still alive. Only you will ever know how much I truly love you."

♡ "Will you marry me?"

♡ Once again you find that your words have failed you. You're crying tears of pure happiness, barely able to contain the joy that resonated inside of you.

♡ All that comes out is a very meek "Yes!"

♡ They put the ring on your left finger and it fits perfectly.

♡ "It looks wonderful on you."

♡ You lunge to embrace them and they happily wrap their arms back around you, holding you as all of your emotions spill out on their shirt.

♡ "I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you."

♡ When they weren't traveling, Sloan enjoys spending their time at home with you.

♡ In fact, they almost prefer it to traveling at this point. It would be a lot better if they could take you with them but they know that's not always possible.

♡ A lot of exploring can be exhausting and even dangerous, and the last thing they ever want to do is put you in harms way.

♡ Definitely loves to take you to the safer places they find, though!

♡ Randonauting also never died out for them. It's arguably safer than exploring decrepit, dark caves as well. Especially when you have somebody that's used to traversing around randomly.

♡ You both do an equal amount of cooking and cleaning to ensure your living space does not end up a jumbled mess like their workspace is.

♡ Their favorite thing to do with you is... basically everything. As long as it was with you, it was always worth doing in their eyes.

♡ They particularly enjoy cuddling up with you and reading the same book together. If you were tired they'd happily read it to you, instead.

♡ You keep encouraging them to start a reading podcast because you loved listening to them so much. You couldn't imagine other people not enjoying it, too.

♡ Rosetta now has a permanent home as well. You even bought them a tiny pillow to rest on like the royalty they are.

♡ Kisses you good morning and good night every single day. The only time they can't is when they're away, so they always make sure to call you instead.

♡ Their love language is physical touch so they're always clinging on to you regardless of what you're doing.

♡ Folding laundry? Holding you. Washing dishes? Holding you. Laying in bed? Holding you. Talking on the phone? Holding you. Just standing around doing absolutely nothing? Arms are wrapped lovingly around your waist, guaranteed.

♡ Spoils you to no end. Sloan always wants to make sure you feel special every day of your life, so they're always doing their best to make you feel like royalty even on your worst days.

♡ Even though you're married you still go out on dates. Even if it was just walking around in the local park holding hands, they just love spending time with you.

♡ Always low key shows you off to everyone. They're just so proud to have you as a spouse! They need other people to know how special you are to them.

♡ Definitely somewhat possessive, so they always have to be near you at all times to make sure no one tries to steal what is rightfully theirs. Probably definitely channeling jealous Peter lmfao,,,

♡ Not that you would ever do that to them, of course, but it's just apart of the deal at this point. Sometimes you wonder if they were a lost puppy in a previous life.

♡ Even after a couple of years into the marriage, it feels like it all just happened yesterday. You both never really left the honeymoon phase.

♡ Never once gets sick of your presence. Loves waking up to you and falling asleep to you and knowing you're right there beside them.

♡ Always mentions how beautiful you are just like the day they first saw you– and they mean it. It doesn't matter if you ever show signs of aging! They will always see you as a perfect ten.

♡ The concept of children has come up once or twice in the years you've been together.

♡ Ultimately they left it up to you. If you wanted children, great! If you didn't, that was alright, too.

♡ If you decided you did want children they would be more than happy to take a couple years (yes, years) off of work to help start a family life with you.

♡ They were more than confident that the Wayfinders Society could handle themselves while they were gone.

♡ Speaking of the Wayfinders– they were more than thrilled to have a mini Venture joining the team! They were the best godparents anyone could ever ask for.

♡ They even had a little jacket prepared for them with the logo on it and everything. You were both absolutely thrilled!

♡ Spoils you to no end while you're going through your pregnancy– if you thought they spoiled you before... oh no. Just you wait and see. You truly have no idea.

♡ Almost literally did not let you lift a finger the entire nine months.

♡ Painted the nursery yellow just like their favorite color and ultimately went with a dinosaur theme– even though that was "paleontology, not archeology. Dinosaurs are still cool, though."

♡ Honestly you thought they were going to be one of those parents who fainted in the delivery room but no, they were really encouraging and comforting the entire time you were in labor.

♡ Couldn't stop crying once the baby was born. Obviously let you hold them first, and then when it was their turn they started crying again.

♡ Really, really, really wanted to name the baby after some important historical figure so you allowed them with the exception that it also sounded somewhat normal for todays society.

♡ If the baby was a boy then they decided on Alexander. If the baby was a girl then they decided on Athena– but ultimately if they decided to change their name later in life they would accept that, too.

♡ You got to decide the middle name, and to go along with their Greek themed first name you chose 'Cyprus' as their middle one. Alexander/Athena Cyprus Cameron.

♡ They were just so happy. You had given them everything they ever wanted and more– there is truly no better gift in life than you and their newborn child were. No treasure in the world was more precious than the two of you.

♡ They were certain of that.

[ddejavvu]

aloha, i was just at an animal shelter with my best friend playing with kittens and it got me thinking;

hotch and reader going to play with kittens (for fun or on a date or something) and reader just melting at how sweet and gentle hotch is with the little kitties and vice versa.

also there was this adorable kitty there that had Cerebellar Hypoplasia (wobbly cat syndrome) and i just know hotch would be extra gentle with the little special needs cats😭💕

You're afraid that if you look at any of the cats around you, they'll decide they don't like you. So for now you stare into Hotch's eyes, wide and biting back a smile when a wet nose nudges at your fingers.

"There's one behind you," You whisper, watching the black cat that sneaks up behind him with a careful glance. It bats a tiny paw at his watch band, that Aaron's eyes soften at.

"Hi," You croon, when the tentative sniffs at your fingers turn into soft fur rubbed against your skin. You bend over to look at the cat beside you, and it mewls for attention that you grant it in the swipe of your finger down its back. It decides that that's not enough, and hops into your lap to stand poised on your thigh.

"Oh," You gush, scratching between its ears, "Hello!"

"Cute," Aaron beams, reaching his hand out to offer the cat in your lap more attention. At the same time, he flips his palm upside down where the black cat is inspecting him, and the tiny thing has no problem deciding to snooze right then and there.

"Oh, look at that," You coo, whipping your phone out to take a picture of Aaron, petting one cat while holding another sleepy one, "They love you, Aaron."

"We're not getting one." He warns you, though he strokes a thumb over the kitten's forehead with such softness that you're surprised he's ever held a gun in his lifetime.

"I know," You gripe, "I'm just saying- Oh, Aaron, look!"

He turns his head to where you're pointing, and the cat on your lap sees the flash of a laser pointer from across the room, departing quickly. What you've spotted is a little calico kitten, movements disjointed and erratic as it makes its way across the room.

"It's a wobbly cat," You breathe, "I've seen them before, they have a- a condition that makes it hard for them to control their movements."

"Is it okay?" Aaron looks concernedly at the cat who notices your attention, meowing eagerly as it meanders over to you. You catch the little thing before it can tip over, soothing it with a gentle rub of the ears as you cradle it in your lap.

"He's fine," You nod, "It's just hard for him to keep still."

"He's cute," Aaron smiles, returning the favor of taking pictures of you with kittens, "I wonder if he was surrendered or if he was born here."

"Probably surrendered," You lament, "They have a really hard time finding homes."

Aaron's jaw shifts; he knows where you're going.

"You just need someone to love you," You croon, leaning in to offer your nose to the kitten who tries to nuzzle you sweetly, but ends up knocking his head into yours more forcefully than he'd intended. You laugh at the collision, scratching up his back, "I think I already do."

"Honey," Aaron tries, but you're more than prepared.

"Aaron, I'm home all the time! You're always working, and I could use a friend. And so could he," You beg, holding the kitten out towards him that trembles slightly in your hold, "Come on, you're really gonna say no to that face?"

"I said no before we came in here," He reminds you, voice stern but eyes weakening. To demolish his resolve you slowly lower the cat in your hands to his lap, and he watches as the little kitten clumsily curls up on his jeans.

"Honey," He repeats, but there's no going back, the kitten's face is settled against his stomach.

"I'll tell the employee," You grin at his defeated grimace, watching as he brings a gentle hand up to carefully pet the animal, extra cautious with his nails in case he accidentally scratches it.

"You're in trouble," Aaron warns, "I mean it, this was not supposed to happen."

"This is your fault," You scoff, hovering over him from behind so that he has to look indignantly up at you, "Why did you take me to a cat shelter if you didn't want me to come home with a cat?"

"My fault," He repeats, his signature grumpy frown on his face, "You promised me you wouldn't get attached."

"That's like when Jack promises not to ask for something in line at the grocery store," You level him with an unimpressed stare, "You should have known I'd fall through on that one."

His jaw clenches, but when the cat in his lap noses at his fingers, he sighs, "I should have seen this coming."

"We can go to the pet store after this," You lean down to press a gleeful kiss to his forehead, wrinkled with the frown over his lips, "Thanks, Aaron!"

[pacific-rimbaud]

i was reading your thoughts on how fans felt about l&oha and while i concur it is a perfect piece of work in my head and have reread it 5x, i wonder if you think fans tend to be harsher/more critical of hermione and let draco slide? i see it a lot in fics where he's more of an alphahole type

Oh, man. Okay. The can is open, the worms are loose. Rant under the cut.

I'm actually going to set men aside entirely. Just. To the side with you. I desperately need more realistically complicated men, too, but that's a whole separate discussion. Right now: women.

There must be whole dissertations out there on the phenomenon of readers hating female characters with negative traits. I'm a fandom old, so I didn't grow up identifying with Hermione, and wouldn't have even if I'd been young enough to. I did that "which character are you" test just now and my top three matches were Janis Ian from Mean Girls, Jughead from Riverdale and April from Parks and Rec, which, massive grain of salt, etc. BUT gives you an idea. I am not a Hermione and never was, so she's never been a comfort character or self-insert for me. Some of my favorite fictional women are Sophie Hatter (mean, irrational, petty, old and mostly loving it), Harrowhark Nonagesimus (evil stick), Phryne Fisher (zero fucks to give). What I like about Hermione is how imperfect she is. I'm a "cleverest witch of your age I've ever met" truther (book!Lupin is absolutely saying "you're the canniest 14 year-old child I have personally met, saying this as a guy who doesn't get out much," not "you are a once-in-a-century genius"), and from my perspective, she's often wrong and often a dick, and not in a fun and fiesty burn-down-the-world BAMF way. Which. Good for her! Be human.

And that's the thing. I personally don't want Hermione to be perfect, I want her to be what I think she is, textually, which is intelligent, hardworking, loyal, competitive, compassionate, controlling, belittling, rude, petty, insecure, vindictive, volatile. She has the right to be that way, because she's human. The desire for perfected women (or unapologetically and unstoppably awful ones, another brand of female power fantasy) is not limited to Dramione fandom. I think it's amplified in DHr by many readers who DO identify as former gifted children, books-as-coping-mechanism kids and Strong Female Personalities who felt marginalized in childhood and want to see Hermione have it all: she's slim, she's tiny, she's fragile as a bird, she'll break your neck, she'll step on your throat, she'll tear down the system, she'll heal all wounds, she does not need help, she holds all the knowledge, she holds all the cards, she is forever wronged, she can do no wrong, her vagina is tight, her nipples are hard, her hair is on point, her waist is tiny, her tits are bouncing, her ass is in the style of Now. And like. This isn't at all unique to DHr and Hermione. It's pervasive in fiction written by and for women. Female power fantasies are obviously feeding a massive hunger. It's just not what I personally want. Personally, I find it alienating and uncomfortable, which I know equates to, "That is wrong and shouldn't exist" to a lot of people, but that's its own tale as old as time.

There's a disconnect that happens too often where a reader wants one (1) thing from their fiction, and receives something else, even when the contents are clearly labeled on the tin. In this case, wanting a female power fantasy and encountering a woman who's written with flaws makes people upset. And maybe if we could be more honest with ourselves about what we're looking for when we read, work to accept that not everyone wants the same experience, and learn to close a book when it's not working for us and say, "No shade, this isn't for me," it would be less upsetting when we encounter a character who isn't written to meet our personal expectations. I will open a book, realize the FMC is a female power fantasy archetype and close it, because that's not what I show up for. I like my women gritty and weird and foolish and vulnerable and liable to hurt people and feel terrible about it. Give me all the exhausting chatterers and evil sticks and jocks with swords and their hearts on their sleeves (their hearts ripped out), give me shy Anne Elliot and her suitcase full of regrets and the ugly fuckup who never has a glow up, give me dirtbag stoners and Fleabag and Alicent Hightower apologetics and every role Natasha Lyon has ever played. It's not a moral high ground, it's about a preference for seeing actual, demeritus flaws on the page and on the screen. Blame that woman. It's her fault. She has so many faults. Then show me how to forgive her so I can figure out how to forgive myself.

The thing is, I love women. I love women so fucking much. I want to be around them, to get to know them, to read about them, to watch them on TV and see them in films. And personally, I like them ugly. Physically. Spiritually. Morally. Give a woman a Bad Personality and watch her succeed in the most self-injurious way possible, fuck you. Give her a gaping chest wound and line it with teeth. Stick a piece of grit in that girl's tightly sealed shell so that a pearl is her only option. Make her love other women, make her fuck it up, make her have to earn them back.

Thankfully I do feel like we're getting more ugly women in fiction, especially BIPOC, queer and marginalized women who deserve gross, weird, nasty representation and not just didactic moralism, patronization and misguided sainthood. Some readers won't want that, and that's fine. Again, personally (it's all so personal, please, please remember that when you hit that comment button), I'm here for it. If you write about women like this, know that you have a thirsty reader here. I'm swallowing them up. I'm smacking my lips. I'm smashing my mug on the cafeteria floor and calling for another.

[scekrex]

You know who it is, it's ya boy! 🕺

So. Obviously a crack fic, if anyone is wondering - no, I don't smoke pot, I'm just very stupid with dumb, but creative ideas, about Adam, Lute and the reader having a mission given to them from Sera, we're they have to got to the Earth in their human disguises (Of course Adam is just Adam without the mask and brown eyes, because Alex Brightman, fuck yeah) to do some business with some of the governments. What they didn't think of is the fact that when they got their human disguises, they also came with human traits, like being able to get absolutely hammered. Like for angels it would take a lot of alcohol (I'm looking at you Castiel when you drank a whole ass liquor store) to get drunk, but humans have a weaker immune system when it comes to percentages. So Adam the drunkest of them all getting the amazing idea of stealing a shopping cart, a little less drunk reader agreeing and them running off before Lute could stop them, Adam in the cart, reader pushing. In the end they accidentally drove off the sidewalk and launched themselves into the damn brook. Lute panicked before they emerged, laughing their asses off, Adam just started to glide his hands over his clothes as if he wanted to hand wash them. Here cue the meme:

-I'M WASHING ME AND MY CLOTHES

-He's drunk as fuck

-Biiitch, I'm washing me and my clothes 😌

With the "I'm washing me and my clothes" being Adam, "He's drunk as fuck" being Lute and the reader just floating in the water next to Adam wondering what the hell he was doing before catching the vibe and doing the same. Now imagine Sera just wanting to check on them and their progress through that orb in Heaven like during "You didn't know" 😂 Miss girl would face plam so hard her big ass lashes would fly off her face 😂😂😂

Bro. Bro I adore you and I adore your fucking crack prompts, they're my new favorite thing to write. So here ya go babes

Drunk 'n' Nasty

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language, use of alcohol, yet another crack fic

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

Lute grabbed your wrist and pulled you away from the bar entrance, Adam had already been grabbed by his shirt to keep him from entering the building. “No, Sera explicitly said that we need to get this over with as fast as possible,” the lieutenant spoke in a firm voice as she dragged both you and your husband away from the pub, “So we will finish the job and then straight up head back to heaven.”

You pounded at her, “You’re no fun, c’mon Lute just let us have one drink, in and out in no time.” But the exorcist shook her head and stood her ground, “No. One drink will lead to two and two drinks will lead to you and Adam getting completely wasted.” Adam wiggled out of her grip and slapped the hand she had wrapped around your wrist. Yes, Sera had given you orders, but where was the fun in having human disguises if you weren't able to enjoy the night on earth?

“Oh fucking quit it, danger tits, we all know it will end like that either way,” Adam groaned and rolled his eyes, “Loosen up, bitch.” Lute side eyed the first man critically but eventually gave in with a sigh. She wordlessly stepped aside so the two of you were able to enter the crowded bar and Adam dragged you inside before Lute was able to change her mind again. “Let’s fucking go,” the brunette cheered and sat down at the counter. He patted his thigh as his now brown eyes caught yours, “C’mere babes.” That he didn't need to tell you twice, you closed the small gab that was left between the two of you and sat down on his thigh as the first man ordered two shots of whiskey for the both of you, he knew Lute wouldn't drink, she appeared to be quite tense ever since the three of you had arrived on earth.

Once the drinks were put down in front of you, you immediately reached for the tiny shot glass and downed it in one go by tilting your head back, Adam's eyes were locked on your throat as he was able to see how you swallowed the liquid, a nasty grin appeared on his lips as he leaned in a little closer to you, “Fuck, how often will I get that view tonight?” “Depends,” you grinned back at him, the pleasant yet unusual burn of alcohol made you shiver slightly, “How often do ya wanna see it, pretty boy?” Adam leaned in even closer until his lips brushed softly against your ear and his hot breath hit your face, “I don't think I will ever get enough of it.” And with that he downed his own shot just to slam the empty glass on the counter and ask the bartender for another round.

“Sir,” Lute had managed to get through the crowd somehow and was now standing behind you, “That was your one shot, we'll leave now.” Adam looked at you, it was so weird to see the first man with dark brown eyes instead of bright golden ones, but it was something you could get used to, they seemed honest, not that his golden eyes were serving you lies but the brown orbs just felt different, more personal. “Lute, do us a fucking favor and find some dude who will pull that massive fucking stick outta your ass so we can enjoy ourselves for a little while,” your husband shared his opinion on Lute's behavior towards the both of you, then he turned around again to focus on the drinks on the counter. The first man raised his glass, you did the same and in union you purred, “To us.” Another shot was swallowed and you slowly felt your cheeks heating up because of the alcohol. Oh how you had missed the burning liquor.

“I will regret this,” Lute grumbled as the exorcist sat down on the stool next to you. Your eyes beamed at her and you were quick to order three cocktails, visibly happy that she had decided to join you. “Just because I'm sitting down doesn't mean I will drink with you, it's enough of a burden that you two are,” she hissed and eyed the neon pink drink suspiciously as it was placed in front of her. “Don’t be such a princess, it's just one drink,” Adam commented and pushed the pretty looking drink a little closer to Lute. She however, simply passed it to some chick that was passing by. And that was the moment you chose to ignore the woman for the rest of the evening. If she was fine with staying sober and doing as stupid fucking Sera said, so be it, you and Adam however had other plans.

It didn't really take long for the alcohol to actually punch you two in the face though, heaven offered no such things as alcohol, weed, crack or nicotine so the tolerance bar for Adam and you was basically on the floor. And that was probably part of the reason why the two of you had one hell of a blast running away from Lute.

And then Adam spotted the supermarket that wasn't too far away from the pub so he made quick work of picking you up bridal style and then he was on his way to investigate whatever it was that was going on there. “What now, big guy, are we taking off together? Away from stick-in-the-ass-Lute and go-fuck-yourself-Sera?” you chuckled as the brunette continued to carry you over to the empty parking lot. “Damn fucking right, babes,” Adam agreed. The taller man let you down once your destination was reached and he immediately saw something new he wanted to investigate.

The fucking shopping carts.

So you tagged along, mainly to make sure Adam wouldn't hurt himself but also because you were curious too. You weren't quite sure how, but somehow Adam had managed to disconnect the metal chain from the cart, the first man was pulling it away from the others and as soon as it stopped moving, he climbed in it to sit down, “What are you waiting for, bitch, fucking push me!” Adam pointed to the street.

Lute had just managed to catch up to you two drunken asses as you rushed past her. You pushed the shopping cart as fast as physically possible, “Fuck yeah,” Adam yelled and threw his fists in the air, that man was having the time of his life - or well, existence. Either way it was fun, you two were having fun.

Lute on the other hand regretted every single decision that had led her to his exact moment, if she could she would punch her past self for even agreeing to coming with you. Fuck what had she been thinking, that you two would take this serious for once? Yeah, dead fucking wrong.

It was all fun and games until you stumbled over your own feet, lost control of the cart and pushed it right into the brook that was besides the sidewalk you had been running on. Your alcohol clouded brain didn't even think of letting go and therefore you fell with Adam. Instead of being bummed about it, you thought of this as an upgrade though, because now you were floating on water.

“Adam look,” you called for your husband, “I’m floating.” Adam turned around in order to see what you were doing and chuckled at the sight. “‘m washin’ me ‘n’ my clothes,” the brunette explained what he was doing as he slid his hands all across his body, crumbling up his very wet clothes.

Lute had finally managed to fully catch up to you and just watched you with annoyance. “He’s drunk as fuck,” she grumbled, clearly talking to you but you simply shook your head violently, you somehow managed to get over to where Adam was washing himself and his clothes and helped him by sliding your hands all over his body too, “Bitch, we're washing him and his clothes.”

The brunette turned around to face you and poked your chest, “If you handsome bitch keep touching me like that I might just fuck you right here, right now,” the words he spoke were a little hard to understand die to the alcohol he had been drinking earlier. But hard to understand didn't mean impossible to understand, because as soon as your brain had processed the words your husband had spoken you pressed your entire body against his, your wet clothes clinging onto each other.

“Oh Lord have mercy,” Lute prayed as she covered her ears and turned around so that she wouldn't have to watch.

“Yeah? What's stopping you, big guy?” you were up for the challenge, if he wanted to fuck you right there, then he should get to do that. At least that's how you saw it.

Sera had a gut feeling that told her to check on the group and so she did. But what she saw was something she surely hadn't expected. Lute was standing on the sidewalk, the woman was still covering her ears and had squeezed her eyes shut in order to tune out what was happening behind her back.

Because Adam and you were standing in a brook, both fully naked. Sera immediately regretted what she had just done, she wanted to unsee what her eyes had been able to see. She stopped the transmission in an instant. That had simply been too much for her nerves, she had also made the decision to never address what was currently going down on earth.

Spoiler: Adam was going down on you.