#b writes sometimes

[b-writessometimes]

Sick John Constantine w/ GN. Reader - Headcanons

Warnings: None, other than slight OOC John Constantine?  But idgaf.  It’s fanfiction.  Emphasis on the fiction part.  I originally wrote this while i was suffering from a cold so bear with me. 🙏

[word count: 861]

This man has two momentums he swings to when being under the weather.  We start off with his knee-jerk reaction:

Phase 1: Denial.

You know those people who claim they're 'not sick' while having a tissue box shoved up their noses?  That's him.  

I mean, he already regularly coughs up a lung due to his smoking habits, so in his own warped perception, having a cold is no different.

A large part of it is a pride thing.  After all he's the same guy who's gone up against demons, gods, and countless supernatural threats.  You think he's going to slow down just on account of some silly little thing like an illness?

John's denial shatters however once he hits a high fever.  By then he holes himself up wherever he's staying for the week and spends a whole day in bed with used tissues scattered throughout and a whole jug of water nearby.  (gross)

There’s some real cosmic irony to be found in the acclaimed 'Hellblazer' who tricked the devil himself, now reduced to a sweaty and half coherent mess because of some germs.

And thus we enter our next stage.  This is where you, our dear Reader comes in.  Knowing that John has the self preservation of a hamster, you take it upon yourself to check up on him.

Phase 2: Acceptance.

I fully believe that first this man will act all high and mighty insisting 'he doesn't need a babysitter' yada yada.  He'll grumble and make the usual sarcastic remark about you sticking around and babying him when in fact you’re trying to y'know, actually help him.  

But man's is real quick to shut up once you force give him some soup to drink and some genuine care.  (a sip of sopa de pollo is more powerful than any magic spell he could brew up, i swear-)

Little did you know, you've unknowingly unleashed a demon.

He's going to milk his newfound 'poor sick patient' status to its limits.  Will ask for anything and everything: some ice cold water, an extra pillow, the damn remote, random chores to be done, etc. 

I'm also convinced he would try to continue smoking his cigs even whilst sick, so you had to hide them like how parents hide treats in the pantry so that their kids don't scarf them down whole.

Aside from the whole ordeal, deep down the warlock does have to admit it was...oddly nice having someone take care of him.  Most folks just barely tolerate him on a good day, so having someone willingly watch over his sorry ass was a refreshing feeling.  And he really is grateful for your company even if he was being a complete twat during it all (he was).

If John had a high enough fever he might mumble out something akin to those lines, but when he gets better the following day he'll deny ever saying so till the cows come home.

Like we get it, you’re emotionally repressed/ lack emotional intimacy.  Just say you appreciated our help.

Bonus - Romantic-geared Headcanons 💗 (implied relationship).

So much worse.  If that were possible.  Also cue all the comments about you playing 'doctor' and him being the patient in this kinky role play you devised.  Whether you go along is up to you.

Will be even more whiny the more comfortable he is around you.  So if John acts like a big clingy cat, at least you know your relationship is something solid.

Seems like the type to enjoy, or in this case; need, his head in your lap while you scratch his scalp (likely dandruff infested but anyways-)  

Still tries to flirt with you when sick.  I don't think delivering lines with a hoarse voice and watery eyes is anyone's bread and butter, but you never know.

Gets pouty if you refuse to kiss him.  Like any sane human would refrain from.  Yes you've likely kissed him whilst he was covered in some demon's blood before, but not while he was sneezing all over the place and wheezy to the point of sounding like a broken squeaker toy with crusty lips.

But also will 100% make some smart comment if you do willingly kiss him while he's under the weather.  So there really is no winning here.

I don't think he's much for TV, but at this rate you can basically put on anything and he'll be weirdly invested in it.  Which to clarify, doesn't mean he'll enjoy it, just be very opinionated on everything happening on screen.

Gives you a little gift when all is said and done.  Nothing over the top or sentimental.  Not his style.  Instead when you find a little doodle of your favorite animal, graphite sketch torn out of some notebook depicting your favorite animal, you already know who it’s from despite the lack of artist signature.

I saw a headcanon floating around somewhere of John drawing in his down time and now I’m taking it and running it down to the ground with me

Is willingly to return the favor and 'play nurse' with you next time whenever you get ill.  To be expanded upon in a future post.  Probably.

[frownyalfred]

so I’m finishing my outline for the final two chapters of the ninth wave (yay!) and it reminded me of the many, many unhinged outlines on my phone so please enjoy these tidbits that didn’t make it into the main fic:

[dediezzyyy]

Arranged married life...

Cw: Cursing, angst, crack, one-sided love, fem!Atreides reader, jealous!Feyd, reader is hinted to be asexual, Feyd is down bad, reader is secretly a silly goose, mentions of violence/murder.

A/n: I am so sorry for neglecting this piece😭 and I genuinely have no idea what this is.

Tags: @peggyao3

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen did not get "jealous." There was no need to since the both of you were married. You belonged to each other, and absolutely no one dared to come in between your arranged marriage.

And so, he believed he did not need to worry about things like that; and it's not like you were infatuated with anyone, anyway. (Yes, that includes him, unfortunately.)

You were rather... odd, in some way. You loved, yet you did not lust. You want to have intimacy with someone, but the kind of intimacy where you understand someone so deeply that you know what they are thinking. And Feyd admired that about you, for somewhere deep inside of him, he felt the exact same way.

You were not in love with anyone, as you would rather frolic in the flower fields and gardens with all of those cutesy animals and whatnot. At least, that was what he was told when you lived on your home planet. Now on Harkonnen? You seemed so tense and watchful; as if you couldn't let your guard down for a second.

Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it was good that you wouldn't let your guard down around anyone else on Geidi Prime. Yes, that was it! Feyd-Rautha had no reason to worry about you and your marriage.

So why the fuck does he want to strangle the man who was obviously flirting with you?

There you were. Walking down the halls of the fortress as one of the generals from your home planet, Caladan, was visiting for trade matters.

Apparently, this general was a childhood friend of you and your twin brother, Paul Atreides. Feyd could care less, of course, but what really ticked him off was the way the bastard was looking at you.

The so-called look of love he had when he would admire glance at you from afar. The fucking audacity.

But what shocked the na-Baron the most was how you seemed almost too pleased to see the damn general. You even let yourself smile for the first time since you've arrived on Harkonnen.

Why? Why, why, why, why, why?

Why couldn't you smile at him like you smiled at the Caladan?

Feyd is reminded of this once again as he glances at you from afar, observing you walk with your servants to your quarters. Your body language was more relaxed. The bags under your eyes are less evident as your skin has a slightly more noticeable glow.

You were resting better than before, he acknowledged. Pale blue eyes softened at the sight of you, heart fluttering in his chest as those haunting thoughts are pushed away for now; you were more important. You, you, and your sweet smile and kind eyes.

Eyes that were now staring at him.

Feyd turns his head towards your gaze, jaw and fists clenching as his eyes darken at the general walking down the halls. What was so special about some weak Caladan?

A shy small smile made its way onto your face as you waved at your childhood friend, your shoulders slowly relaxing as the guard waved back. Aleskander breaks into a grin.

Feyd wishes he could break the pathetic bastard's neck.

Aleksander watches you with soft eyes, his breathing becoming slightly uneven at the sight of you walking down the halls. You were alive and well. That was all that mattered.

Your handmaidens stare at you in surprise, glancing at the strong general as they whisper questions in your ear. One of them gives you a small smile as she mutters something to you, making you flush in embarrassment and nod in approval.

Feyd does not approve of this at all, in fact. Yet for once, he restrains himself from doing something rash until he has a reason to do so. You are in the area, and he cannot risk driving you away because of his so-called 'jealousy'.

And so he waits; waits like a predator, counting the seconds before it can slaughter its prey.

The Caladan general slowly approaches you, bowing before he grabs your hand and presses a kiss to the back of your palm.

Feyd-Rautha starts to plan out how he is going to murder the fucking bastard.

Cold ice blue eyes steel towards your figure, glistening in hidden shock as he sees the flustered look in your face as you show a small toothy grin. Something that makes both men's hearts flutter quicker than before. The Harkonnen cannot hide the way he is fascinated by the look on your face, similar to what he believes is heaven.

You're more relaxed. Slightly happier than before, therefore Feyd cannot destroy that. He refuses to get rid of whatever makes you feel joyful. He fucking hates that you seem to care about the general, therefore making him untouchable.

Feyd cannot kill the Caladan, (yet) so he does what he does best next.

He lies and manipulates.

The na-Baron slowly strides through the halls, observing the way your eyes widen in surprise as well as how the general fixes his posture quickly.

"Rabban requests your presence, general. He says it has a matter to do with whatever you came here for," Feyd speaks, eyes slightly rolling as he circles closer. The Harkonnen opens his plush lips to speak again, feigning innocence as he squints his eyes and points his index finger in the air. "I believe he said something along to do with the spice trading."

Ice blue eyes narrowed on the Caladan man as he watched with pleasure on the way the general's eyes widened in slight fear. Feyd's lip quirked slightly, enjoying how the general seemed more tense now that he was in the room.

Good.

The general spares a glance towards you before nodding his head and bowing to leave. And just like that, the tension between you two was back to normal.

Not so good.

Feyd huffs in annoyance.

You avert your eyes out of fear respect, and bowing your head as your handmaidens bow their heads as well. You acted as if you were a mere servant, and Feyd found that frustrating.

You were his wife, and he wouldn't dare even think about harming a single hair on your head.

So why did you not see this?

Feyd's chest twists at the thought of this, remembering how fucking delighted you were to see the Caladan bastard. If you loved him so much, then why didn't you just marry him instead?!-

"You seemed happy to see him," Feyd grumbles, eyes glaring at the walls as his jaw clenches.

Your eyes widen in shock, a frown forming on your face as you dig your nails into your arm-trying to hide your fear. You open your mouth to speak, but quickly snap it shut when Feyd moves closer to you. Your handmaidens flinch in fear, bowing their heads as they respectfully move away from the na-Baron.

The pale Harkonnen tilts his head in curiosity, arms behind his back as he steps closer-starting to circle around you like a predator with its prey.

"Is he important to you?"

Your stomach drops in dread, standing still as you can feel your heart pounding in your chest. You can't speak, you can't. Your lungs feel tight and it's starting to hurt to breathe-

So, you stay quiet instead; quiet like the mouse hiding from the snake.

Feyd doesn't acknowledge the ache in the organ in his chest when you don't answer his question. The question that could cause so much pain to him if you answered yes.

"Will you not answer me, my wife?"

His voice was soft-almost a whisper as if he was trying to calm you from your nerves. His honey-like tone only made you more anxious and fearful in the way it made your heart rate speed up. Was this his way of luring you into a trap? Feigning sweetness so that he could devour you when you let your guard down?

No, no. You couldn't let that happen.

Your voice gets caught in your throat as you open your mouth to speak, trying to decide if he will cut your throat if you say something wrong.

But he waits, waits impatiently as he's deciding if he should just go ahead and kill the damn bastard.

"I-I was only surprised to see him," you say, internally cursing yourself for stammering; a habit you had since you were young. At least what you managed to say wasn't suggesting anything between you and Aleksander, because there wasn't and you prayed that he wouldn't lash out.

Feyd squints his eyes, debating whether or not if he should believe it was merely surprise or not. The na-Baron's mind drifts back to the way the fucking Caladan had kissed your hand, and how he even had the audacity to breathe the same air as you-

But then he notices the distant look in your eyes, the way your head hangs in guilt and the way you rub your arm in nervousness. Feyd is reminded that you are a foreigner on this planet, and how you barely manage to communicate with your family back on Caladan.

The Harkonnen stops circling you, standing next of you as a way to intimidate you less. He notices the way you exhale slightly, feeling slightly less tense even with your guard up.

You feel more vulnerable when there's someone in front of you, facing you and staring straight into your eyes. You can't run away if you're facing someone, you believe it's rude. If they stand in front of you, then they are confronting you, they want your entire focus and attention on them. You can't meet their gaze, it feels too close, too intimate-

So, Feyd stands by your side instead.

You clear your throat, eyes slowly gazing upward to meet his-and they're looking right into you. His pupils are dilated, and you never truly spent the time to realize how unique the color of his irises is. You squint, trying to see better under the dark lighting of the Harkonnen palace. His eyes remind you of oceans, the ones filled with cold and ice.

You don't notice how your handmaidens glance at each other knowingly, shuffling away but still remaining close enough if you need them.

You snap out of your trance, blinking as you clear your throat with an awkward grunt. You stare at the floor beneath your feet, hands clasped together as you try to think of something to say.

It's awkward again. Too awkward. You've just had a silent staring contest with your arranged husband, who is also one of the most dangerous and feared men in the universe. And here you are, trying not to overthink on what to say as you don't want to embarrass yourself or offend your arranged husband.

Same husband who could possibly kill you in one move.

Yeah, you definitely got this, the internal you says as she gives you a lazy grin and a thumbs up.

"Why does it matter to you, na-Baron?"

The silence is deafening as the tension in the air grows thick.

Feyd's jaw drops shock, staring at you as if you've just slapped him in the face.

Ha. Ha, ha ha ha ha hahahaha. Was it too late to ask for a refund in this marriage yet? Or maybe your existence-

You stare at the halls blankly, already planning out how you want your funeral to look like.

You can tell that your handmaidens are wincing from a distance, looking anywhere else as one of them is even counting the seconds before-

"What did you just say?"

Ah, she nods. There it is.

Feyd-Rautha stares at you with an offended look on his face, as if he couldn't believe the words that came out of your mouth. Was he just a joke to you??

Ha, ha, you feel like a clown at the moment.

You clear your throat, composing yourself as you avert your gaze, your hand slowly reaching to rub the back of your neck.

"What I meant was-I didn't think that general Aleksander and I having a small interaction mattered to you. I didn't mean to offend you at all, na-Baron-"

Feyd's eye twitched at the royal status. He was your husband, for fucks sake!-

"-and if I did manage to offend you, I am terribly sorry that I did, and I promise that I will do my best to never do it again-"

You were simply talking to him. And if you thought that that was offending him, then that meant you would never talk to him again.

Feyd deadpanned at the realization. Oh, for fucks sake-

"-and I wouldn't do anything to weaken our marriage, I swear! Even if it is just an arrangement made by-"

The Harkonnen's eyes snap towards you, wide with shock as his chest tightens and twists in an attempt to suffocate itself.

"This marriage is not just an arrangement."

Your eyes widen, voice shrinking in your throat as you stare at him dumbfounded. It seems to be that Feyd-Rautha is already seething.

The muscles in his jaw clench, trying to mask the pain he unfortunately feels as he storms off into who knows where.

Your handmaidens sigh and shake their heads as you stand there completely confused. What was he going to do?? Wasn't this marriage meant to strengthen your families together?-

"My lady, if I may-" "Please just let me have a second to think, Nadia. I believe I may have already planned my own death."

The handmaiden sighs as the other four give you looks of sympathy; all five of them feeling pity towards your... situation.

Your hands clench at your sides, crouching down on your knees as you bury your face in your palms and groan.

Why did it have to turn out like this?? Why of all people did they choose you to be here?? You knew it. You knew you should have stayed as an unfertilized egg and let Paul become whatever he was supposed to be-

Why did it have to turn out like this? Why did that fucking Caladan have to come here and sway his wife?? Why the fuck did he have to be himself and scare the love of his life away? Why was he the very thing she feared?

Feyd paced around his quarters, exhaling sharply through his nose as he tried to keep himself from going batshit insane.

He couldn't kill the general because he was here for political reasons, and he seemed to bring a slight source of comfort from you.

The second reason was because of the fact that every time he believed there's the slightest sliver of hope of growing closer to you, he was brutally mistaken as you do everything in your power to stay away from him. Great, just fucking great.

The Harkonnen slumps down into his office chair, running his hand over his face as he sighs tiredly. He hates how it aches. How the organ inside his ribs is greedy for even a sliver of your attention and love; he cannot control it. His black, wicked soul is undeniably and completely yours. You own him, and he will do anything and everything to make you know that.

A few hours had gone by, yet Feyd could not seem to even construct a simple thought without you appearing inside his mind. You looked lovely today. You always do, yet what made you look ethereal was the calmness in your expression-and Feyd-Rautha is suddenly reminded of your wedding day.

A sigh escapes his lips as his heart skips a beat, suddenly feeling the warmth wash over him. You were so beautiful that day.

The Harkonnens' eyes snap open, narrowing at the sound of footsteps meters outside his chambers. His blade slowly slides out from his sleeve, standing up from his chair as he moves to the thick doors separating the halls from his chamber.

The na-Baron raises his guard, the thick walls and doors muffling the footsteps, making it harder to identify the person. Feyd licks his lips, a dark glint in his eye shimmering in the dim light as he clenches his fists in irritation.

Who the hell would even think about coming to his room at this hour??-

A slight stutter in the strangers' footsteps cause him to pause, listening in on the way they stumble and try to regain balance. It's you-sweet and purely you. And for a moment, Feyd is completely surprised by your arrival. Were you lost? Where are your handmaidens? Why did you walk here alone?-

His thoughts are interrupted by the knocks on the thick doors; soft, hesitant, and careful. So undeniably you. Feyd tilts his head to the side curiously, his knife safely tucked in the inside of his sleeve as he approaches the doors.

The na-Baron opens the chamber doors, tilting his gaze downward as he sees you flinch in surprise. You're dressed in a simple nightgown, a robe on the top with your hair braided. Feyd notes the way your eyes blink in shame and how your lip is slightly pouting-oh, fuck, you look so endearing.

You clear your throat, head bowing down in respect, but your hand rubbing your nape in nervousness. "Good evening, na-Baron," you mumble, feeling cautious in the way he looks at you. "I-I just wanted to apologize for the way I spoke earlier, I did not mean to anger you. And I promise that nothing is going on in between me and the general!-"

Feyd stares at you for a moment, expression empty as he takes second to register what you said. The pale man huffs, averting his eyes as he cracks the door open wider. "Come in, I don't want you to be out here alone," he rasps, a smooth hand carefully grasping the tips of your fingers as he guides you inside.

Your heart skips a beat at the sudden contact, eyes widening in surprise as you let him pull you inside his chambers. The room is rather dark, and a few small orb lights dimmed while everything else is black... and cold. Why is it so cold?-

A shiver goes down your spine, yet you try to ignore it as you wrap your robe tighter around yourself. Why did he want you to come in here? Did he want to talk? Was he going to punish you? Or maybe you're just being too worrisome because you're afraid of him.

Feyd's grip on your fingers tightens in the slightest, feeling how cold they are as he frowns in concern. The na-Baron leans over to a cupboard next to his desk, opening the drawers while his other hand has a firm grip on your fingers. Instincts shock through your system as you lean back, eyes closing as you fear he might bring out a weapon to-

"I can practically feel you freezing." A soft, warm material is placed in your hand as Feyd stares at you to respond. You blink back, looking down to what was placed into your hand. Oh, he gave you a blanket. Feyd-Rautha just gave you a blanket because you were cold.

You're quick to snap back to reality, muttering thank yous as you unfold it quickly and wrap it around your figure. Your arranged husband seems to be satisfied by the look in his eyes, as he offers his hand for you to take. "I want to show you something," he rasps, voice soft and careful as he waits.

You're hesitant to take it, but then you see the look in his pale blue eyes, the way they show no hate or intention to kill. They're soft, vulnerable; and for once, you decide to put your fear aside. Your fingers tremble in taking his, testing the waters before grasping his hand firmly.

The Harkonnens' pupils dilate, staring down into your joined hands as he gives a gentle squeeze before guiding you out of his chambers and into the vast halls of the palace, a floating orb wakening as it follows you nearby for light.

You remain close, aware of the darkness in the halls and how easy it is to be killed by the guards. Feyd notices your uneasiness, pulling you closer to him as the floating orb slowly trails along the both of you, producing a warm dim light to show your path. Your eyes glance to the side, trying to observe the way the na-Baron remains calm and unwavering beside you. Oh, that must be nice, you think.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, he's holding your hand, oh shit, he doesn't want to pass out-

Feyd gulps, Adam's apple bobbing as he tries not to gawk at your joined hands. He was supposed to take you somewhere, but now he's having slight trouble recalling to which part of the palace he wanted to show you. The adoration he holds for you sometimes messes with his ability to think.

"What do you do when you're not fighting?"

It was a mere whisper. A question that could easily be ignored by how quiet your voice was. Yet Feyd was always attentive, especially when it came to you.

The Harkonnen takes a moment to think about your question, his thumb slightly rubbing the back of your hand in a soothing manner, trying to calm both you and himself from the nerves.

"I train. I attend conferences when my uncle wants me there," Feyd states. His eyes glance towards you, noticing the deflated look on your face as he speaks about his daily life. Your shoulders slump slightly. You would not expect yourself to ever feel sad for your arranged husband, and yet-his life seems as if he did not have much freedom at all.

"Do you-do you ever wish you could do something else?"

Feyd takes a brief pause as he thinks about your question, his eyes shifting to the black sky through the windows.

"What else is there to do?"

You pause, somber seeping its way into your heart as you squeeze his hand a tiny bit tighter. "Well, if it's alright with you, na-Baron, perhaps we could share time together?"

Feyd's eyes widen in surprise, and you suddenly realize how naive you've sounded-

"I-I'm sorry! That was foolish of me to think-"

"I would enjoy that."

Your eyes snap towards his in shock, and he simply returns your gaze with a look of adoration. You feel a slight drumming in your chest, only to realize it's your own heart beating in shyness.

Feyd starts to walk again, yet this time he's more relaxed, confident that you'll stay by his side. And not go frolicking around with that Caladan bitch-

"You're my wife, of course I want to be around you."

It's nothing really, mere words that are phrased to seek soft and delicate. But the way he says it seems like he speaks from his heart, and now a part of you is starting to believe he does have ine after all.

You're both quiet for the rest of the walk, enjoying the comfortable silence between the both of you. The halls of the fortress surround you as he guides you to two grand doors. You tilt your head to the side, looking up at Feyd in curiosity. "What are you going to show me?"

Feyd tilts his head downward, eyes softening as he admires your face. On the other side of the door is one of the courtyards, where its location provides a view of the night sky. It is one of the only places where you can truly see the stars and planets. But there is a grand pillar with mirrors on each side in the center, reflecting the beauty of everything the night shows.

The na-Baron leans forward, his nose brushing against yours as eyes glance to your lips; "the world."

Your eyes widen in curiosity, a small grin forming on your lips as you stare at him happily. That same grin that pierces an arrow through his heart every time-

The na-Baron has heard of your admiration of nature and the world's wonders, but his interest is only you; his entire universe.

[pastafossa]

"Poor thing." (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic) 🔥

So as promised, I'm taking part in the October Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! For Day One I had three prompts to choose from, and I wound up going for the kink prompt of somnophilia cause, well, I'd hinted at it in TRT as being something Matt liked, but never actually sat down and wrote anything out for it. You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me, but for now, please enjoy Day One! This is not specifically written as any fem!Reader in particular, although any readers of TRT can choose to see this as TRT's reader!

As a reminder, if you'd like notifications when I post something, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications!

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Chapter Summary:

You’d had a long week. He remembered you telling him that the night before. You wouldn’t mind if he woke you up—you never did—but odds were good you needed your rest far more than you needed him dragging you up out of the haze of sleep for a sloppy, indulgent midnight fuck. But then… he didn’t have to wake you up, did he? 

Wordcount: 3.3k words

Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: consensual somnophilia (they talked about this being fine, don't worry), oral f-receiving, grinding, PiV sex, some dirty talk. 18 and up only please!

Oh and we're black suiting this cause fuck yeah.

Your arousal hit him the second he opened the rooftop door. 

The scent of it stopped him dead in his tracks, threads of heat winding through him as he drew in a long, slow inhale, savoring it. Another inhale, and he let out a low rumble of pleasure, his mouth already watering, cock stirring. 

Well, that was one way to be welcomed home.

Not that he was complaining. His night had gone well enough—the fights visceral and satisfying, with multiple people he’d ensured would make it home safely. But your skin against his, fucking his way lazily inside you while you moaned loudly into his ear, dragging your nails down his back, would only make a good night better. However, as he eagerly stepped through the door and closed it behind him, it quickly became clear that your body’s call to him wasn’t exactly intentional. 

He directed his senses down the stairs and into the bedroom, hunting through sensory information, through the fire of the world until he found you in bed. You were laying on your side and tucked under the blankets, one of your arms thrown over his pillow to hold it up against your chest. And despite the tempting scent of you in the air, you weren’t moving. Not really, anyway. At most, every now and then your fingers would twitch or curl, your heartbeat uneven and a little restless. 

Asleep. 

You were dreaming, then.

Maybe even dreaming of him. 

He slowly dragged his tongue over his lips, considering his options.

You’d had a long week. He remembered you telling him that the night before. You wouldn’t mind if he woke you up—you never did—but odds were good you needed your rest far more than you needed him dragging you up out of the haze of sleep for a sloppy, indulgent midnight fuck.

But then… he didn’t have to wake you up, did he? 

Just like that, he settled on a course of action.

He crept silently down the stairs, stripping out of his gloves and black mask as he went, tossing them aside without care for where they fell. The bottom step was carefully avoided, thanks to its tendency to creak and alert you to his presence. He stopped only long enough to kneel and quietly unlace his boots, tugging them and his socks off so that he could slip barefoot into the bedroom, weaving through the shadows, navigating around any floorboards that might give him away. He did it all without a sound, his senses so focused now he could hear the faint whisper of the dust motes in the air stirred by his passage, hear the tiniest shift of your skin against the sheets as you breathed, hear the blood flowing hot beneath your skin where you’d grown flushed and aroused. 

The scent of your arousal was even stronger here in the bedroom, more than enough to thicken the heat inside him, an instinctive little purr halted in his throat before it could stir the air with sound. His body knew just as well as he did what that scent meant, what always followed, and his nostrils flared as he got closer to you, taking in how your pheromones had mixed with his in bed. It stirred some possessive, lazy satisfaction in him to take in the way you’d curled up with his pillow, chasing his scent, and you were even wearing—

Oh. 

You were wearing his shirt. 

It was like you were begging for this, for him, for what he had planned. 

He crept up onto the bed on his hands and knees, each shift of the mattress followed by a pause, a confirmation from your heartbeat and breathing that you were still asleep. He had to be careful if he didn’t want to wake you. It wasn’t that you’d be angry, of course—you’d both agreed that this sort of thing was alright, though he’d had a far easier time making use of that agreement than you had thanks to his senses. No, this was about ensuring you still had a chance to rest. 

Though, if he were honest, the challenge of this was a thrill all its own. It was a delicate balancing act to give you the sensations you needed, allow himself access to your body, all without waking you. It was as if he were hunting you, gradually gaining ground from the shadows until at last he could take hold of his prize. Fortunately, this prize was one that would leave you both satisfied. 

The moment he found himself over your hips, he shifted to catch the blankets and slowly, ever so slowly began to edge them down. 

Gentle. 

Inch by inch, he bared your body to the air. You didn’t so much as stir, well and truly asleep, and presumably still caught up in your dream. Even so, he held his breath, listening closely to the beating of your heart and your shallow breathing. But he’d been careful enough, and besides, you were used to him climbing into bed in the middle of the night, shifting the blankets around as he crawled under them to join you. 

The scent of you that rose up as the blanket slid down was so much richer now that it wasn’t stifled and trapped by thick fabric. It made him shiver, his cock already so hard he could feel a damp spot growing on the silk of his boxers. He needed more of that scent, and to taste it, too, but the angle was all wrong with you on your side. So he gently traced one fingertip up the side of your thigh, applying the barest hint of pressure. You were normally fairly responsive to him even in sleep. 

“Roll over for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, leaning down to brush his lips, light as a feather, against your hip. “You smell so good. I need a taste.”

He wasn’t sure if it was his touch or his voice that made it past whatever dream you were lost in, but either way, some part of you heard him. You breathed out a soft sigh, twitching a little until he helped you roll slowly onto your back beneath him. You made a soft sound that might have been his name, and he couldn’t resist letting out a reassuring little croon as he pressed your slack thighs outwards, gradually parting your legs. There wasn’t so much as a hint of resistance as your legs fell open, baring the wet heat of your pussy to him. 

God, your scent. 

He quickly backed up a few inches before dropping to his hands and his knees, lowering his head just over your hips to quietly inhale the scent of your cunt. The rich, musky tang of your arousal—all pheromones and slick warmth—left him half mad, his eyes rolling back. His hips instinctively snapped forward against nothing but air, his body curving as if he were already fucking his way into you. 

It only got worse, got better when he let his head fall further, hungry for just a taste. He slipped his tongue out until he could use the tip for the barest little lick at the line of your slit where your arousal had gathered, your body twitching as he did. Even that small taste hit him like a drug, and he swallowed down a ragged moan, his chest hitching as he kept the sound from reaching the air. He’d told himself he’d just have a taste, just one, but one quickly became two became three, hungry, quickening laps at your slit until he finally whined softly in want and dropped the rest of his body down, burying his face desperately against your cunt. 

Your hips twitched, rocking against him just slightly, and you let out the softest little whimper as he grunted and slurped quietly at your slit, wetness smearing across his chin and mouth. Only once he’d thoroughly tasted what you’d made for him did he slide up to your clit, tongue extended to lap at it with little kitten licks, ones designed to encourage your body to give him more of your slick wetness, your body jerking with every pass. He tried to remind himself to be gentle, to take things soft and slow so you didn’t wake, but that was so hard when you whimpered again, whimpered as he pursed his lips to suck lightly at your clit, drawing it into his mouth to work with his tongue. Your fingers curled and released against the sheets, and you tasted so good that he found himself fucking against the mattress, humping mindlessly at the folds in the blankets like an animal.  

“M… Matt.”

His eyes fluttered lazily open, his gaze drifting up around the sensory shape of you. You were all flowing air currents and sounds and scents, twisting tongues of flame fed by the growing heat of both your bodies. Your heartbeat was still too slow to signal you’d woken up, but your breathing had picked up, your eyes fluttering more rapidly behind your eyelids. 

If you hadn’t been dreaming of him before, you were now. And if you were still dreaming, he was safe. 

He rumbled a low noise of satisfaction, using his fingers to part your folds before dipping down to your entrance. Once there, he began to lick firmly at you, pressing deeper and deeper until at last your body opened to him and he slipped inside. You let out a sleep little mewl, one of your legs shifting restlessly in your sleep, your head rolling on your pillow as he moaned quietly, curling his tongue inside you to drag against the silken heat of your clenching walls, his nose grinding gently against your clit. 

Did you know, somewhere deep down, what he was doing? That he’d spread you open like this and worked his tongue inside you? Or did all your dream self know was that you suddenly felt so, so good?

The very idea that you might not know, that you’d left yourself so vulnerable to him, had him dangerously close to coming, his motions growing just a hint more frantic. Wetness smeared across his face as he kissed sloppily at your slit, kissed at it like he might your mouth, snaking his tongue out to slide inside you with every pass of his lips. 

He listened carefully to the quickening pace of your heart, your breathing, taking in the faint sheen of sweat forming on your skin. Every time your heartrate rose too high, he’d slow just a little, or shift his mouth over to your folds or the inside of your thighs. It was there he left you a mark or two, sucking gently at thin, delicate skin. Even if he managed to do this without waking you, you’d know tomorrow what he’d done when you saw the little love bites and bruises between your thighs. The very idea made him purr warmly against you, and he quickly worked his hand down beneath himself until he could undo his pants, pushing the fabric down until he could pull his hard cock free. He took a moment to grind slowly, deliciously against the sheets, presing his mouth to the skin of your thigh to muffle his hitched moan. And that reminded him of what he’d planned on from the start, before he’d become distracted by the taste of you.

He was close, and he needed you. Fortunately, based on the way your body had begun to tighten in increasing waves, you were close, too. 

He let his head roll to the side to rest against your thigh as he panted, still grinding himself against the sheets. “Do you want my cock, sweetheart?” he whispered, his lips curling up into a delicious little smirk when your body clenched at the sound of his voice. “I think you do. Even when you’re asleep, you need me inside you, don’t you?” 

There was no verbal response, but the growing heat of your skin was enough for him. He rocked himself up as gently as he could, stopping just long enough to strip the rest of his clothes off before climbing slowly up your body. As he went, he caught the hem of your shirt, slowly dragging it up your body with him. He couldn’t take it off you—even he wouldn’t be able to mange something like that—but he had no desire to. The idea of fucking you while you were sleep, while you were wearing his shirt, was a fantasy he’d used more than once while taking himself in hand. He did, however, tug your shirt up just enough to bare your breasts to him. 

Obscene, something inside him whispered in delight, a wave of throbbing heat flooding through him. Here you were asleep, shirt pushed up over your breasts, your naked cunt practically dripping onto the sheets. He balanced his weight on one arm as he hovered over you, indulging himself as he palmed gently at one of your breasts, dragging his thumb slowly against your nipple. That won him another soft moan in your sleep, your cunt clenching, body tightening around nothing. Your next moan was even louder when he dropped his head to drag his tongue hotly against your other nipple, drawing it into his mouth to catch it gently between his teeth, sucking lazily until you let out an even louder moan, one of your hands curling as if to claw at the sheets before relaxing. “Poor thing,” he crooned quietly, reluctantly leaving your breasts to climb the rest of the way up your body. “Listen to you, so needy.”

And it would only be right to help with that, wouldn’t it? 

Once his hips were level with yours, he settled in, rocking and grinding his cock gently against your slit, slicking himself up with your warmth and the saliva he’d left behind. The sudden sensation of your burning heat against the underside of his cock made his mouth fall slack, and he started to pant at the little shocks of pleasure that washed over him every time he caught the head of his cock against your clit. You weren’t much better even asleep, whining as your hips jerked, eyes rolling frantically beneath your lids. It took everything in him to keep his motions gentle and slow, no matter how much his body demanded he grind and rut, fuck his way desperately inside you even if it woke you. No. No, not when he was so close, his cock now slick and ready for you. He let out a shaky breath, burying his face against your warm throat, huffing in the scent of you as he shifted the angle and began to slide inside you, centimeter by warm, delicious centimeter. 

“Fuck,” he whispered shakily, one of his hands fisting desperately in the sheets beside your head. “Fuck, sweetheart. You feel so good.”  

God, you were tight, so close to coming that you were already clenching tight around him. That tightness forced him to move gradually, his progress slowed to a sinfully dangerous crawl, one that allowed him to feel every last twitch and shift of your body around his cock. It seemed designed to make him lose his mind when he was already this worked up. In a blink, he’d caught the fabric of your shirt in his teeth, stifling his hoarse, shaky moan, your shallow, hitched breathing a tantalizing whisper of sensation in his ear. It felt like it took hours,  ages before he’d finally hilted himself inside you, buried in your slick heat. 

He forced himself to still there for a long moment, his chest heaving as he scanned over you with his senses again. 

Stuttered breathing, each breath hiding a faint moan. 

The fluttering clip of your heart, just slow enough to indicate you hadn’t woken. 

Your fingers clenching and releasing, spread thighs shifting in minute, restless movements against the sheets. 

It wouldn’t take much more for him to come, he knew that much—the taste of you still lingered on his tongue, filled his nose, and the drag of your skin against his with every breath only left him burning. But he wasn’t a selfish lover, even when you weren’t awake to beg and plead with him for release. No, he’d make sure you got what you needed, too: his sweetheart, so tender and soft and welcoming to the Devil even in sleep. 

He slowly, gradually settled his weight onto one arm, sliding his free hand down between your bodies. Even that much shifting around had him swallowing down a groan, and he couldn’t resist grinding just a little inside you. It made you twitch and whimper, hushed and breathless in his ear as he pressed his cock against that spot inside you. Once he was sure that hadn’t been enough to wake you, he quickly dragged two fingers through your folds, raking gently to gather up your wetness before he brought them back up to your clit. The rhythm he started was slow and easy, a gentle grind and loop over your clit that matched the rolling waves of his hips as he began to gently fuck you, barely retreating at all before sliding smoothly back to fill you once more. 

It took him no time at all to work your body up that final hill, your breathing growing shorter, your heart rate climbing as you began to tighten around him. It helped that he knew what you needed—each retreat was slow and gentle, and he never left you more than halfway before rolling lazily back forward, ensuring your warm cunt stayed achingly full as he brought you just up to the edge. This time it was your mouth that moved, not a word but a soft whisper of skin as you parted your lips, your head tipping back. And he knew that motion, even as slack and lazy as it was in your sleep. 

He purred quietly at the unconscious request that he fill you there, too, lifting his head to seek out your mouth. One soft lick against your lips and you parted them for him on pure instinct, allowing him to slide his tongue filthily into your slack mouth, dragging his tongue against yours, granting you what you’d asked for. You let out a soft sigh, your throat working beneath him as you sucked at the taste of him, of yourself, of you both. 

All it took from there was one more finger grinding against your clit, a gentle buck of his hips as he moaned into your mouth, and you crested, your body tightening and releasing around him in rippling waves. Your head rolled back in your sleep, a soft gasp shuddering up your throat as you twitched and shook, eyes rolling back beneath your lids. You let out what might have been a moan of his name, hot and sweet, a sound that seared its way across his mind like a brand. That was more than enough for him, and he let himself go. He groaned softly against your lips, snapping his hips gently against you as he spilled himself near-silently inside you, filling your cunt with a spreading heat that you wouldn’t notice until morning. He kissed you through it as gently as he could, rubbing lightly, quickly at your clit to drag your orgasm out along with his, pleasure rolling through him in gentle waves. Even once you both began to come down, he wasn’t quite done, rumbling a low, possessive growl as he ground himself inside you further, ensuring he’d coated every last inch of your warm cunt, his, you were his, even in sleep. He toyed with that overstimulation just long enough for his toes to curl, for his spent, softening cock to twitch inside you, spilling a few more drops, giving you everything he had as you drifted back down into a deep sleep. 

Satisfied with what he’d given you. 

He got one arm down and around your hip, gently, carefully rolling the both of you until you were both on your sides, his cock still buried deep inside you. He rumbled a low noise to reassure your sleeping mind, burying his nose in your hair as you sleepily curled into him, one arm draping itself over his waist. 

“Love you,” he murmured. “My good girl.” “Mm.”

[rodolfoparras]

Pillow talk

Pairing: FTM! Peter B. Parker x Top Male Reader

Synopsis: In which Peter, a married man, gets off to the thought of being with someone other than his spouse

Content tags: 18+, MINORS DNI, emotional infidelity, cheating kink, pillow humping, masturbation, oral sex, Peter has a size kink, Peter being a bit of a pervert

A/n: as always pls excuse any mistakes I tried a new writing style here, also if you want you can listen to More Than Friends by Isabel LaRosa while reading this since it’s heavily inspired by it!

A tired sigh escapes Peter’s lips as his bones bleed into the sheets. The window’s cracked ajar, allowing cold autumn air to mingle with the smell of MJ’s perfume that’s lingering around in the room.

He’s stripped down to nothing but his tattered pink robe, searing skin exposed to the chilly sensation emitting from his wedding ring as it trails along the length of his body.

For the first time in a while Peter’s gotten some time alone.

MJ has taken Mayday for the day and left so that Peter could have the house to himself, claiming he’d been pent up for a while and supposedly needed a break.

Peter hadn’t argued against it but had instead taken the offer with grace since it’s true that he has been feeling pent up but not for the reason MJ thinks. Peter’s sure that if she knew the reason behind his recent behaviors she wouldn’t be so willing to help him.

For the last couple of weeks Peter’s been plagued with the realization that he didn’t hate his neighbor, not his next door neighbor because that man is a menace and Peter’s pretty sure the hate’s mutual.

Instead he’s come to the realization that he didn’t hate his neighbor on the floor below him, that neighbor being you.

At first he was sure that he hated you since you made his spider senses tingle, well at least that’s what he thought it was.

He’d first met you at a neighborhood block party. You had recently moved in or so he had heard and were more than eager to get acquainted with the neighbors for whatever reason.

You were lounging around in a lawn chair when he had first arrived with MJ and Mayday.

The poor thing threatened to give out under your weight but you paid it no mind as you entertained a conversation with a neighbor and nourished a beer in your hand.

When you rose to greet him, Peter noticed that you were a whole head taller than him so it was no wonder that you made his spider senses tingle.

He tried his best to ignore you but even when he couldn’t see you, he could smell you since you wore this stupid cologne that smelled stronger than anything MJ’s ever worn before and because of that he could always tell when you were lingering around.

If he thought that smelling and seeing you was bad then touching you was something else.

He’d purposely opted out of a handshake when you first greeted each other but that didn’t save his spider sense from going into overdrive after having your knees knock together while you were sat at the same table or having your elbows brush against each other while scooping up leftovers.

However even though you made his spider sense go off, Peter had quickly realized that you weren’t a threat, at least not a dangerous one.

You were friendly and always made sure to spark up a conversation with him, even when you'd be in a rush to something.

You’d go out your way to bring him any of his mail or packages that happened to be misplaced.

Hell you'd even baby sat Mayday a handful of times so it was safe to say you weren’t a threat. But for whatever reason Peter couldn’t seem to get you out of his head.

Especially after hearing your ever so polite voice protruding through his thin bedroom walls, your dirty words squeezing between his and Mj’s hushed conversations. Or seeing the way you basically engulfed whoever was in your arms but unlike the lawn chair they seemed to thrive from being in your embrace. And escaping the smell of your cologne turned out to be a hard feat since every other day someone would be prancing around in one of your shirts dozed in the smell of it.

He doesn’t even remember when he started making sure that he’d be the one to pick Mayday up from your house, just to see whatever lounge wear you’d be prancing around in that day and the bit of skin that always seemed to show through it.

He doesn’t remember when he started hoping that the mailman would misplace yet another letter or package just so that he could feel your calloused fingertips brushing against his as you handed him something.

He doesn’t even remember when he started biting his tongue just so he wouldn’t ask you who he had seen standing outside your door the previous night.

He shouldn’t be feeling like this. He has MJ and he has Mayday and as far as he knows he’s happy. He’s just pent up, like MJ had said.

It’s not like Peter and MJ don’t have sex. It’s just that she doesn’t do it for him, at least not anymore.

Every time they get intimate he’d have to fake an orgasm or jerk off after she’d gone to bed. Lately he’s even had to pretend to be asleep every time she tried to initiate something because he simply wasn’t up for it.

So he’d find other ways to entertain himself and one of the ways being with inappropriate thoughts of his neighbor.

And things kind of escalate from there not in the literal sense since you’re so fucking polite, wont even look at him twice, keeping a respectful distance to a man who has a kid and a wife.

But God Peter wishes that you did, so much so he imagines you pinning him to the bed, hip to hip, chest to chest, those strong arms and thighs caging him into the mattress

The tattered robe wrapped around his frame doesn’t compare to the way your body would feel on top of his. But he keeps it on anyway, closes his eyes and pretends that the hand leisurely dragging across his limbs is your body pushing down onto his.

He imagines the way your lips would slot together, hot breath washing over his cheek as you whisper dirty words to him.

A thumb finds his lips, teasingly tugging and taunting at the bottom lip. It feels nothing like your calloused fingertips but his tongue peaks past his lips, tasting the salty skin before sinking down on it.

He imagines how you’d tease and taunt him in that polite voice of yours that managed to whisper such dirty words, how you’d mock him for wanting to be fucked like a bitch in heat despite the wedding band digging into his skin, maybe you’d force him to say it just so that he hears it from his own lips or so that the whole neighborhood can hear how desperate he is.

He imagines you straddling his waist grinding into him while wearing nothing but your boxers, teasing him to point where he’s soaking through his own pair of underwear.

A hand slides down his chest, blunt nails dragging down his happy trail, only to stop at the fringe of curls atop of his cunt, tugging and taunting til he’s all worked up.

He imagines your long fingers thrusting into him , or making him finger himself while wearing his wedding band, prepping himself to be fucked by someone other than his spouse.

And God he’s already so wet, fingers easily coating in his arousal as he trails them up his cunt, and in that very moment he can't help but think how MJ never gets him like this.

But his fingers are not enough- this little fantasy of his is not enough but you’re too good to do anything about it so he rolls onto his stomach before propping the pillow between his legs, pretending it’s your face.

He imagines the bed creaking under your shared weight, and the way the smell of your cologne would engulf his senses. He imagines the way your calloused fingertips would sink into the supple skin of his thighs and the way your ever so polite voice would sound as you command him to properly sit down.

He starts moving slowly, rolling his hips cautiously, imagining the way your tongue would experimentally delve through his folds.

The pillow slides in between his folds, coarse fabric creating a steady pressure onto his engorged numb, not enough to overwhelm his senses but enough to send jolts of pleasure coursing through his body every time he moves his hips.

He imagines you wanting to take your time with him wanting to taste him, tongue licking a strip along his cunt up to his puffy clit where you’d continue to tease him until he’s begging and urging you to hurry before someone can find the two of you like this.

But you wouldn’t listen to him, wouldn’t care if anyone were to find you like this, hand slapping his ass in warning before you continued to do as you pleased.

His hand cups the globe of his cheek, much like the way you’d do it if you were with him, except his fingers feel nothing like yours. But the cold sensation from his ring as it slaps his searing skin sends sparks of pleasure coursing through his entire body and for one second it almost feels like you’re actually there with him.

The coarse fabric of the pillow case reminds him so much of your stubble and it’s so wrong but feels so right - the thought of being fucked by someone other than his wife as huffs and pants escape his lips, hips moving faster as he wanders back to his fantasy.

He imagines you having him so worked up to the point where Peter’s long forgotten about the fact that someone can just walk in on you two because the bed’s creaking and he’s loudly begging and pleading for you to stop teasing.

Eventually you'd take pity on him, showing him mercy by properly latching onto his puffy clit, eagerly suckling on it before tonguing his hole.

He adjusts his hips, and the angle in which the pillow hits his clit changes slightly, and intensifies the sensation along with it.

“Oh- oh fuck!” He squeals out, toes curling as he throws his head back.

He imagines the way you’d easily have him teetering on the edge of his release with Peter begging and pleading for you to let him finish.

He can almost taste it, can hear the Squelching sounds mingling with the sound of needy noises escaping his lips. He can even smell his arousal: strong and heady, knowing he’s probably stained the pillow under him and will need to wash it before MJ comes back but for now he can’t find it in himself to care.

He’s so close, needs just a bit more -and that’s when he picks up on the sound of your footsteps walking up the stairs, smells the scent of your cologne bleeding into the air.

You must be on your way to his apartment to bring yet another misplaced package.

And Peter knows it’s wrong but it feels so right, feels himself tip over the edge as you read what’s written on the parcel, out loud

“To Peter B. Parker, please handle with care”

[recurring-polynya]

a cool thing about writing bleach fanfic is that i have read certain parts of the canon so many times that i feel like i know it really well and then i'll realize there's something i have absolutely no clue about. today's example: in the wake of Ichigo storming Soul Society, how widespread was the knowledge that Urahara had been assisting him?

Aizen knew, obvs, for Aizen reasons, but some of the stuff he mentions, like Urahara's known base of operations being in West Rukongai-> the involvement of known Urahara associates Shiba Kuukaku and Shihouin Yoruichi and other clues probably had a number of characters such as Yamamoto, Ukitake, Kyouraku, Unohana suspicious. I feel like Soi Fon and Kurotsuchi could easily have put it together as well, but I did not get that vibe from them so either they didn't or they were just too distracted or in Kurotsuchi's case, he probably did put it together and just didn't care (or pretended not to care)

When the captains finally show up in Hueco Mundo, we learn that Urahara had been working with the Gotei for some time so obviously his involvement has been known at some high enough level of security clearance.

Did Byakuya ever officially report the fact that Ichigo Hollowified right in front of him, which may not have meant much to him, but probably would have been a big tip-off to Yams. On one hand, it does not feel very Byakuya of him to leave something like that out of a report, but on the other hand, I really feel like he just kept it to himself.

Would Rukia have mentioned Urahara in her debriefings after she was arrested? On one hand, I do not think she understood who Urahara was and would not have thought much of mentioning him. On the other hand, Rukia is a "snitches get stitches" type to the marrow of her bones and I feel like she would have intentionally wiped any mention of him from her narrative 99% on principle and 1% for the purposes of protecting Ichigo

If I were banished from Soul Society and hiding out in the Living World, I would use an assumed name, probably all the time, but AT VERY LEAST for the case of interacting with active-duty shinigami. The only person who actually did this was Isshin and I honestly believe he just changed his name for wife-guy reasons.

Ichigo did, very much, straight up tell Ikkaku that Urahara taught him to fight and it was quite clear that Ikkaku was fully aware of who Urahara was. Did Ikkaku tell anyone this or otherwise do anything with this information? I feel like he did not.

Does Ikkaku have a security clearance???????

I would not give Ikkaku a security clearance

If I were going 100% by the manga, I would assume that Yoruichi ghosted after they failed to arrest Aizen, given that she's still very much banished, but in Honey Dish Rhapsody, she apparently hung around with Soi Fon for a while. Is it possible that she had some meetings with the Gotei higher ups in the interests of re-establishing a relationship/working on getting the banishment reversed? My heart wants to say no, but Yoruichi often makes herself freely available to the Gotei in filler arcs, so who knows?

When the Advance Team first goes to the Living World, Renji goes to stay at Urahara's in the interest of "asking" Urahara why he put the hogyoku in Rukia (I assume "asking" is a euphemism for breaking his nose). I feel like this could be the natural follow-on to the idea that Renji just got handed a file of classified info related to this mission and is freshly Hot Mad at this dude he didn't know existed up until now.

Presumably, Rukia also could have given Renji a more detailed version of her time in Karakura in a non-official capacity

Presumably also, the Karakura kids could have gone around telling anyone who would listen about their Mysterious Shop Keeper Friend

I think the answer I'm leaning towards is that the Gotei higher-ups knew about Urahara's involvement and re-established communication with him, possibly in an obfuscated way so as not to run into trouble with Central 46 (fairly easy to do, since they were dead at the time). It's a pretty poorly kept secret, but on the other hand, Gotei op-sec seems to lean pretty heavily on the assumption that people who accidentally learn state secrets don't know what they are looking at and will most likely forget it in a day or two anyway.

[whoreiorcats]

Omg the reason Irving calls a waffle party a “children’s breakfast” and doesn’t mention the fucking rest of it is because he canonically is the slowest refiner and thus has never been R of the Q and thus has never had a waffle party and no one told him what happens in it also Dylan doesn’t let Helly stay behind because he wants her to get a chance to see the outside world but also because he wants to protect her from the tempers can anyone hear me HELPPPPP

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Thinking about how cool it would’ve been if the Soc spinoff used Wylan’s knowledge of Fjerdan to expand on his friendship with Matthias, like when Matthias didn’t know the Kerch word for snow goggles in the book and he didn’t want to ask Nina he just pointed to them and said “keep your eyes covered” instead, but we could have had him turn to Wylan and say:

“Lamb. How do you say snow goggles in Kerch?”

And then Wylan would say “snow goggles” in Kerch (/English for audience purposes) and then Matthias would tell everyone to put their snow goggles on and we would see both Nina and Jesper seething right up until their eyes were covered - especially because Nina would understand what Matthias had just said.

[tozettastone]

Well, personally, I want more fanfic that is written:

exactly how I would write it, and

with my specific tastes in mind, but

without my having to write anything.

So, instead, some (wittier, obviously) alternative universe version of me simply takes care of all the composition parts. I just cackle quietly while I read the fic. Perhaps I shall kick my feet playfully back and forth. You never know. The sky is the limit.

[thisisevenharderthannamingablog]

A couple weeks ago I was thinking about how the KimChay argument after the club was parallel to Kinn and Porsche's situation in E5 and therefore, if there had ever been a S2, KimChay should have gotten their own version of the forest episode.

The resulting fic is here; rambling about why I wrote it this way under the cut.

The Nature of the Problem

My starting point with this whole thing is that from a writerly POV, E6 is a problem-solving episode. The characters have been backed into a corner; they need a dramatic change.

For K/P, the episode is about redressing the power imbalance and control issues. The first part highlights Kinn's need to project power due to his position in the family. We saw in E5 how badly that position conflicts with his ability to be in a relationship with Porsche. The challenges they face and the conversations they have are shaped to provide a path to fixing that dynamic, giving space for their genuine attraction to one another to grow into a real connection. That path culminates in Kinn nulling their boss/employee relationship and giving up control (as symbolized by the handcuff), allowing them to start over as lovers.

If I was going to arrogate to myself the task of putting that same idea through a KimChay filter, what was the central problem to address? Kim does have some control issues, but in a very different way than Kinn does. Kim doesn't have a position of power, doesn't have a personal army, doesn't even carry a gun in daily life as far as we know. What he does have is an apparently long-standing habit (per that scene with Khun) of spying on his own family.

I keep coming back to the scene in Korn's office. There is nothing else in the season like it. Kinn has moments of disagreement with Korn but never displays anything other than implicit trust in his motives. Khun can stake out an opposite position to their father in family discussions (like with the one about Tawan), but there's no suggestion of a poor relationship between the two of them.

By sharp contrast, one of the very few Kim-centric scenes we got was completely devoted to showing us how he approaches his dad: fabricate an excuse for being there, search the room, ask a few lightly probing questions, get the fuck out. (I am legit obsessed with Kim's body language in this scene.) The icing on the dramatic cake being that the distrust goes both ways. Korn knows--or at least suspects--that Kim was there for some reason other than filial affection. We'll never know why.

(I still think a likely explanation is that Kim is a good enough observer to have picked up on some of Korn's manipulation techniques at work over the years, and that's why "get out of the house" was such a priority. This theory informs most of my Kim-related stories.)

That's a long-winded way to say that I think the fundamental problem with the KimChay dynamic is Kim's inability to trust people. He's a very isolated character; his introductory scene implies that this is the price of the life he wanted, that he knows it.

However. Kim wants to be with Chay. That will lead to him spending all that time with Chay, as long as the truth is comfortably far off, and finally to that lunge at the studio. As soon as reality hits, though, when it looks like the relationship is going to demand something beyond a surface connection, Kim doesn't merely run from it but tries to deny even to himself that this was something he wanted in the first place--and then regrets that, because the theme of the entire show is that connections with other people are the thing that will get you through life.

Parallels & Divergence

Kinn can't keep his power over Porsche and also have a relationship with him. Kim can't keep his defensive isolation and also connect with Chay. These are very different challenges.

What did that mean for the fic? The central conceit of removing the characters from their usual landscape, a change of context that requires cooperation and disrupts bad habits, holds up fine with both pairs. The symbolic washing away of the past, likewise. They all need a way to remember that they like each other to begin with, and genuine communication.

The handcuff thing was not relevant to KimChay, though. Kim does not need to learn how to let go of what he loves, but the opposite (the point of a B-plot is to either echo or contrast with the main plot). Rock-paper-scissors likewise is not useful to this couple. It's an equalizing game, one where Kinn's advantages of power, status, and money can't affect the outcome, but that's not a problem for Kim. Nor is it an issue of physical reliability. They needed something information-based, a way for him to inch into the space of trusting Chay with who he is.

Chay

Kim is not the only person in this story. Chay also has things to learn at this point--mainly that he can't chase Kim into a relationship. Kim is the cat in this pair (possibly the cheetah with anxiety who needs a companion dog). Chay has to figure out how to metaphorically or maybe literally just exist quietly near Kim until he relaxes, and not to assume that they're on the same page always, because Kim's entire life has been not normal. I don't think it's far-fetched for Chay to realize this eventually. Chay can hold the door open, but Kim has to walk through it on his own.

(I initially started the fic with Chay's POV and then decided I was taking the easy way out with that. Kim's opacity, the little we can even deduce about him from canon let alone actually know, is part of what makes him interesting to me, but is also a challenge for me to write. We don't know much about Chay either, but he's a lot more open and straightforward.)

The Ending

For K/P, the fight at the end of E6 not only precipitates the main plot in the back half of the season, but serves as a critical relaunch point for the K/P relationship. It closely reprises the scene of their first meeting, with one big difference: Porsche knows who Kinn is now, the good and the bad. There's no external pressure on his decision. He knows what he's getting into by coming back, and he chooses to do so. I wanted to use that thematic parallel for KimChay in this rather than echo the episode with an action scene. The initial context for their meeting was the open house, Chay's encyclopedic knowledge of the public side of Kim, and asking for tutoring.

(Also, fighting side by side is not a part of the K/C dynamic the way it is for K/P, who from their introduction straight through to the bullet-time tango are clearly a Battle Couple. KimChay started off their relationship with a duet. And anyway, I wrote two other stories where Kim takes a bullet for Chay.)

I did start writing a kind of 6.5-esque coda scene, but it was mostly "Kim tries to process trauma with an inadequate toolkit" and was depressing me, so I haven't finished it.

[moodymisty]

Russ goes on a massive bender and destroys part of the Palace, earning Dorn's ire while Perturabo is on damage control.

@commodoreprocrastinator I hope this high effort low quality shitpost is close enough to what we had in mind

[scribz-ag24]

i doubt this holds any interest, because they are such a minor character, but i would like to bring Spiritomb to attention, even though their relationship with Dusknoir is very vague? If only because it is a character that rarely gets talked about, despite them being one of the only Dark Future Pokémon we ever meet, even taking the place of the prototypical pokemon in that time during Episode 14.

I think their vague status between "random Dark Future Pokémon" in the main story and then "dusknoir's servant" in se5 can make a fun example of how Dusknoir treats regular pokémon in his native time (i know the doylist explanation of why spiritomb is here is probably character economy, reusing concepts from the main plot to make the plot tidier, but let me ramble for a bit). Or, at least, it helps emphasize the casual cruelty dusknoir is able to display at this point.

Despite how eagerly Spiritomb jumped Grovyle in the main story, the way they speak makes pretty clear that this attack was not their own initiative. In fact, Spiritomb seems reluctant to even bring up their desire to leave. all in all they sound like a reluctant intern who's trying not to fuck up but really does not want to be here?

They clearly seem intimidated, or at least respectful of Dusknoir. They address him with suspension points, as if unsure, and once again states their desire to leave, despite not wanting to sound insubordinate. Rather than respect, I simply believe he's fearful. Which, uh, is probably understandable considering he's been ordered to keep Celebi hostage after she was captured by dialga and he's witnessing how much agony Dusknoir can cause to his enemies.

Nevertheless, their desire to leave could not be treated with less indifference from Dusknoir, who, in all fairness, is probably entering a big high thanks to his plan's success. Hell, he can't even stop himself from laughing (in satisfaction? or perhaps anticipation for his big evil laugh soon after) before ordering Spiritomb to stay.

"Remain with us a little longer!", he exclaims. The simultaneous downside and upside of text without voice acting is that the tone of the dialogue is heavily dependent on how we read it. In my own view, though, I'd say he's trying to sound like an affable host, kindly inviting Spiritomb to stay, as if they were friend. And of course, he has his followers block Spiritomb's path immediately so they cannot escape. The threat seems pretty clear to me in the scene, and for that reason I do not think it's a reach to say that Dusknoir would have ordered Spiritomb to be threatened or physically hurt if they expressed any more intentions to withdraw.

(the reason for wanting Spiritomb to stay is also left unstated, iirc? The most pragmatic reason would be assuming if spiritomb left, celebi would be left free, and dusknoir doesn't want that. However, we are given no indication that the sableye could not move celebi or that spiritomb needs to stay exactly there to neutralize celebi. Idk i think dusknoir's just being petty. "look at what i did everyone i am so proud of myself i am the smartest most cleverest boy that ever lived"<- about to get an existential revelation so great it kicks him out of the closet into the wrath of god)

From the casual manner in which he acts this way, I tend to accept this as Dusknoir's behaviour in situations where kindness won't get him what he wants. And accounting for his indifference towards Spiritomb despite them neutralizing a legendary pokemon that only Dialga could chase down, I hardly believe Dusknoir would treat the sableye any better if they ever showed signs of hesitation while following orders.

That fact makes the Sableye's seemingly long-time wishes of saving planet almost heart-breaking. If you talk to them before entering Vast Ice Mountain, they say it's hard to be brave, and it's curious to me how Dusknoir -while also being unable to be brave and see the point of sacrifice until the end of se5- was unwittingly contributing to the Sableye being unable to find that determination too. Both of them were contributing to keeping the future in darkness, not just physically by attacking the insurgents, but mentally, as not a spark of hope could ever flourish when their mission was to crush that very dream they held somewhere deep in their hearts.

I personally really like the way he acts so affable and welcoming while putting the sableye on spiritomb's back. It overall feels like a perfect encapsulation of his plan with Hero and Partner in Treasure Town: putting the front of a friendly, powerful, humble explorer while waiting for the chance to take Grovyle and the young explorers to their execution. Now he invites Spiritomb to stay as if this was their collective success, while ensuring he will keep this audience for his evil speech. Much like him going "or is it? ;)))" before kidnapping hero/partner, this playful attitude of his seems to suggest he's truly pushed his morals deep down so he can ultimately feel some sort of joy or triumph from these heinous actions. All in name of keeping his own dull existence going a little longer.

This clash between his kind persona and dark identity, which is toyed with and finally a key component of his development in se5, where he finally shows his inner goodness, is very compelling to me. And imagining him trying to connect with others in more genuine ways after se5 makes me soft.

[this was a reblog i did for the sableye&dusknoir post, but the post was weirdly formatted and it was bothering me so im putting it separately]

[atopvisenyashill]

Why do you think Jaehaerys sexually assaulted his own daughter?( I'm genuinely curious)

I have two dedicated tags to this if you want to dig in a bit more - "gael and the bard" and the newly added "jaehaerys the cruel" tags, with this meta here being the kind of jumping off point into that whole theory/analysis. gael and the bard is more focused on gael targaryen herself and the mystery surrounding her pregnancy and suicide; there's a lot of bael the bard imagery surrounding her, being called the winter princess, gael being one letter off from bael, the father of her baby noted to have been a singer, and her status as like, an eternal maiden because of her relationship with alysanne. the jaehaerys the cruel moniker is just a reference to maegor the cruel - i think the play between maegor being outwardly monstrous and jaehaerys being privately monstrous is very interesting! but also it's not like a fun tag name lol so i might change it, haven't decided yet!

but i guess to break down my thought process here - i have never liked that man lmaoooo, i am an og jaehaerys hater. my lil journey here is, i read this series in high school, roughly around the winter of 2012, but i didn't read twoiaf when it came out in 2014, i read that just before i started this blog, so like....idk 2 years ago, roughly, but i was Aware Of Its Existence (they didn't have it at school, the library was kind of far, and it felt like a stupidly expensive book to ask for at the time). i had kinda skimmed over the short stories the princess & the queen and the rogue prince (don't ask me when they came out, icr), and had read all the twow preview chapters so it wasn't like i wasn't up on all the asoiaf world stuff, i just hadn't been able to get my hands on twoiaf, which I do think impacted my view of jaehaerys because the thing is...i just didn't understand the jaehaerys appeal. i won't get into the wanky aspects of fandom (i mean i will if someone asks but idk if you care lol), but i would say in the like 2010-2014 era the fandom was p staunchly and loudly pro targaryen, and not just in a "i love the rot" way but in a "they are the promised heroes" type of way and i never jived with it. i did not enjoy the vast majority of dany's chapters on my first read, nor did i enjoy this weird "well if you like the starks you're a NORMIE" takes that i was constantly seeing, and the sansa v arya war was insane (i'm blocked and have blocked just so many people lol).

i say all that because everyone was UP jaehaerys' ass. i won't name names but i remember a common rebuttal to the "well george is kinda critiquing incest-in-fantasy here and i'm not sure this series is going to end with an incestuous targ restoration" stance was "well if incest is so bad why do jaehaerys and alysanne exist huh? check AND mate incest hater" and it was like............alright, so this is a fandom of deeply unserious people who like to think they are the Expert On Themes instead of just another schmuck with a blog like everyone else. it was just a very condescending tone, always, and it turned me off the targs but especially turned me off jaehaerys.

and it was also like....but what has he done to be so beloved in this fandom??? again, this is pre twoiaf, and then post-twoiaf but pre f&b, so all we know about this dude is that he was called the conciliator because he pardoned the people who sided with maegor, he "protected the faith", he married his sister who gave the watch the gift, he abolished prima noctus, he built a dirt road, he was besties with barth. okay? i always thought the move with the gift was annoying and goofy behavior & i feel very vindicated on being right there esp if aegon’s dream was real, and i’ve always thought the marriages for his kids were kinda weird once we got those in twoiaf and WHAT DO YOU KNOW. like, pre twoiaf everyone was hyping him up as this great king, this paragon of valyrian supremacy, oh he’s so smart and politically minded but he’s not overly cruel, and it was like. we know little about this man in his day to day life though. we know damn well whatever good robert did as king was largely jon arryn's influence so Why are we pretending like just because jaehaerys passed a few good laws it means HE was the one responsible for those ideas (and again I WAS RIGHT). is what he’s doing even that good??

AND THEN FIRE AND BLOOD CAME OUT. and everyone was crying screaming throwing up about how stupid he is, how cruel he is, how weird he is about his daughters, and then people started saying “well you’re being unfair if you don’t like him because-“ i don’t give a shit because i’m validated for not liking that man’s vibes thanks!!!! like…yeah he IS a paragon of targaryen supremacy and this is not a good thing! and especially when you factor in how often the patriarchs of the series have these deeply rooted, very disturbing flaws, i thought the backlash to f&b re: “he ruined jae & aly!” so silly. of COURSE he was weird about his daughters, he eloped with his 12 year old sister and when confronted over it basically said “i do what i want fuck you” that’s not romantic it’s INSANE BEHAVIOR and i’ll stand on that forever!!! marrying your siblings is deranged and idgaf about what magic or political reasoning they have ESPECIALLY when jaehaerys himself refuses a valyrian marriage several times over when it makes more political sense to go that route (in both his own marriage and in the marriages of his grandchildren).

so! i always thought he was boring and weird, then f&b came out and i was vindicated. the thing is, as i read, i guess i was also like. but what is the fuckijg POINT of this guy! he dominates the f&b narrative when there’s way more interesting characters, he has no redeeming qualities, every good thing he does is usually overshadowed by his reasoning being heinous and disturbing, but this book is pushing this idea that he’s the good one, he’s the blueprint, so is it JUST an exploration of like, what ~being a good person~ really means and how reputations & history are very malleable depending on who is recording it??

And then i really started to dig into Saera. Her isolation, her drinking, her sexually tormenting the court fool, the way jaehaerys is always giving her gifts and "indulging" her, the way she's brought before the throne instead of in a private room because what she did is considered like, treasonous basically (what she did being, of course, having sex without her father's permission, lmao!), her very hysterical confrontation with her parents, Jonquil Darke forcing her to watch her boyfriend be murdered, Jaehaerys' insistence on refusing to forgive her and calling her a whore, and of course this weird exchange:

“What have you done?” the king said, when at last the princess ran out of words. “Seven save us, what have you done? Have you given one of these boys your maidenhead? Tell me true.” “True?” said Saera. It was in that moment, with that word, that the contempt came out. “No. I gave it to all three. They all think they were the first. Boys are such silly fools.”

"They all think they were the first." they all think it. i don't think any of those three boys were the first - i think she'd lost her virginity well before she started fooling around with them and when I first read that part my first thought was "I think Jaehaerys knows damn well who she lost her virginity to" and I started spiraling from there.

I decided to do a write up of Jaehaerys Being Deeply Weird Towards His Girls and while there's some things I would change - in particular, I think I'd add more to the Alyssa, Viserra, and Gael sections - there's a reason that the Saera section in particular seemed to really spark off a lot of conversation (not to toot my own horn here lmao) and that reason, imo, is that a lot of people read about what happened between Saera and jaehaerys and go "now what in the goddamn hell is THAT about." Saera more than any of Jaehaerys' kids is imo the canary in the coal mine, so to speak - whatever George intended with F&B, I do think he meant for us to look at the way Jaehaerys talks about Saera and go "this guy has some fucking ISSUES." I don't know that he meant for it to go all the way up to "Jaehaerys is molesting his own kids" route but I do fully believe he meant something in that realm of "Jaaehaerys is cruel to a sexually abusive point to his children" the same way that like, Tywin and Cersei sexually abuse Tyrion but don't outright rape him themselves. I think Jaehaerys was always meant to be aman who is remembered fondly but was an absolute monster in his private life, in contrast to both the kings he succeeded (maegor and aenys) and as a point of comparison to our "modern day" patriarchs who have their own hang ups surrounding their daughters in Tywin, Doran, Ned, Robert, Jon, and Hoster.

[devilsparda]

wanting to send people memes and start new threads vs knowing i will get overwhelmed if i get ahead of myself

[verynormalaboutkinnporsche]

KimChay forest episode fic is underway.

[kickedin17]

Woe, random collection of art and doodles I don't think I've ever posted on here be upon ye~ (clancy and torchy chibi heads are actually buttons but I don't have a good picture of them in button form atm)