#bc if he was trying to like expose them expose them I imagine they’d just have him killed

[radiaking]

I wonder if there’s still footage of coop promoting vault-Tec out there somewhere. My guess is they scrapped it all and scrubbed it after he spoke out against them and went with the cartoon instead of finding someone else bc that’d be quicker and easier probably.

[finelinefae]

Bestie I literally just read flower and I’m OBSESSED and I can imagine y/n trying to turn tattooh into a swiftie whilst he tries to explain the rap beef to y/n 😭

no bc this was such a good and unique idea i had to write a little something for it !!

wordcount: 1.3k

. . .

“Okay, so what was it again?” Y/N asked, a dip between her brows as she fastened the bow on a bouquet of flowers she was completing for a baby shower they had been invited to next weekend. 

“So Kendrick-”

“The guy who featured on Bad Blood?” Y/N double-checked. 

Harry chuckles, “I mean he’s also a Pulitzer Prize winner but that too.” She nods, waiting for him to continue, “So he featured on a song with a bunch of other artists basically taking aim at J Cole and Drake-”

“Oh I know him, he posted a picture of him and Taylor on his Instagram that one time two years ago,” Y/N says. 

Harry nods, desperate to finish explaining to her the current online events he had been obsessively keeping track of over the past twenty-four hours, “Right, right. So anyway,” Harry continued to explain the ongoing tension in the world of rap circling the internet with Y/N nodding a long, nothing but confusion on her face. 

Amongst many things, Y/N and Harry’s music tastes were polar opposites. Whilst Y/N loved pop - Taylor Swift, Chappell Roan, Olivia Rodrigo - Harry tended to lean more towards alternate music, genres like rap and grunge or anything before the 2000’s. He loved rock bands like Nirvana and Pearl Jam. On their first New Year’s Eve together, they’d spent the entire night at a karaoke bar in the city, four Shania Twain sons deep by the time the clock hit midnight. 

Although they were at opposite ends of the spectrum when it came to their music tastes, they loved talking to each other about what they were listening to. They would share their weekly Spotify stats over dinner at the end of each week and make playlists for each other to listen to whenever they were taking the train somewhere. 

As Harry finished explaining, Y/N picked up the bouquet and carried it over to where he was sitting, placing it on the table in front of him. 

Even as he was speaking, Harry automatically reached out to slide an arm around her waist beneath her fuzzy, pink cardigan rubbing circles with his thumb over the exposed bit of skin on her hip. 

“That sounds… really complicated, H.” Y/N sighed, “I’d hate to get into an argument like that.”

Harry smiled at how adorable she looked with pouty lips and concern on her face, “Lucky for you flower, y’ much too difficult to get into any kind of argument with.” 

Harry and Y/N rarely had major arguments. Typically, their disagreements were over minor or unimportant matters, often ending with Harry showering her with kisses as an apology or Y/N clinging to him until he forgave her.

“And he wants Drake to die?” Y/N gasps, “That’s awful.”

Harry nods, watching her hands carefully move around the flowers in the bouquet to get them in the perfect place. “Hmm, ‘s not the nicest thing to say to a person,”

Y/N sighed, sitting on his thigh when her legs got too tired from standing. His lips puckered against the base of her exposed neck from where she had tied her curls up with a scrunchie. He inhaled the floral perfume he had bought her for Valentine’s Day. She was obsessed with it, dousing herself in it every morning and before she went to bed.

“Have you listened to Taylor’s new album by the way?” Y/N wondered, turning to hook her leg over his other thigh so she was straddling him. She was pressed between him and the worktop, her arms moving around his neck and fingers fiddling with the curly baby hairs by his neck. 

Harry winced, “Ummm…”

“Harry,” Y/N huffed, “You said you would listen to it so I could talk you through it track by track.” 

“I know! I’m getting to it, y’know I’ve jus’ been busy this week.” Harry stated, which was true. It had been the school holidays and a lot more customers had visited both their shops than usual. 

“The album came out weeks ago,” Y/N said, pushing herself off of him to start putting everything away for tomorrow. 

Before she could take one step, Harry grabbed her wrist and pulled her into him, “I will, baby - promise, I’ll get to it and then y’ can talk for as long as y’ want all about it. Y’ can even put your pj’s on and show me y’ little dance y’ used to do when I heard y’ havin’ y’ little solo parties before we met,” He smirked against her neck. 

Y/N blushed, clearing her throat and moving away. Her eyes narrowed, “You better.” She walked back to the front desk, “And they weren’t solo parties! Marsh was there too,” She said, referring to her little cat. 

. . .

During her lunch break, Y/N reached for her bag to eat the pasta salad Harry had prepared for her that morning before they left for work. When she unzipped the bag, she found his Star Wars lunchbox inside instead of her own.

She slid off her seat and walked straight to his tattoo shop next door, knowing he had probably mixed up their lunches and ended up with her Cinnamoroll one.

She pushed the door open, expecting to hear the strums of an electric guitar or the low grovel of an indie rock band playing over the Bluetooth speakers. But instead, she was shocked to hear the voice of her favourite singer. 

Her heart soared even before she saw him as she walked past the front desk. "Hey Mike, what's with the music?" She asked as if she didn’t know already.

“Harry insisted he put it on this morning. You have to go in there and tell him it’s killing the vibe.” Mike grumbled, taking a puff of the vape in his hand. 

Y/N smiled, “I quite like it.”

“Of course you do,” He rolled his eyes. 

Y/N walked through to the back rooms where she heard the steady sounds of a tattoo gun. Her eyes found Harry, deeply focused on the design he was tattooing on someone’s wrist. 

Y/N stood to one side and waited patiently, “Okay that’s all done,” Harry clicked his tongue, pushing his chair away and wrapping up the tattoo for the customer. 

After the customer had left, she stepped into the room, “Hi Harry,” She beamed, floating over to him. He looked so cute and cuddly today, wearing a grey sweatshirt and black trousers with his usual Doc Martens and a navy-coloured beanie to cover his curls. 

A smile carved onto Harry’s face, “Hi flower,” He removed his gloves and met her halfway, pulling her into a hug and kissing her softly. 

“Missed you,” She murmured against his lips. 

“Miss you always, flower.” He brushed a loose curl behind her ear, “Thought I wasn’t meeting y’ ‘til later?”

“Oh,” She pulled out the lunchbox and handed it to him, “I think we got our lunches mixed up,” 

Harry furrowed his brows, grabbing the plastic bag with his lunch inside only to find her pink lunchbox instead. He chuckles, “Ah, must have been the early morning getting to me.”

“S okay,” Y/N grins, “I like your music choice by the way.”

Harry smirked, “Promised a girl something,”

“Oh really?” Y/N’s grin deepened, “Well I’m sure she’ll be very happy you kept your promise.”

“I’ve been thinking about her all morning, getting to hear her talk non-stop later about her favourite songs.” He says, her arms sliding up his torso to meet at the back of his back. 

She stood on her toes, his head dropping and their noses brushing together, “All morning?” 

“All the time,” He breathes, “Can’t seem to stop thinking about her since I met her.”

“Hmm, well she’s a very lucky girl.” Y/N murmurs.

His lips met hers, the low light above shining down on them as the Tortured Poets Department came to an end and ‘Lover’ played on shuffle over the speakers of his tattoo parlour. 

[throneofsapphics]

hi, i was wondering if you could do something with an idea that i’ve had for a while ?

it would be a feysand x reader

imagine: you’re apart of the friend group between nesta, gwen, and emerie. you’re all reading a darker romance book then you usually do, one day rhys or feyre catches you reading it or finds the book, either way they take the book and starts to read it/shows the book to other. later on that day feysand confronts you, starts to tease you about the book, maybe even asks to recreate your favorite scenes. you get a little embarrassed bc of it being a darker romance book, but mostly bc feysand found it & read it.

i hope that makes sense, i was hoping for somewhat angst if you could fit it in and definitely smut

i’ve had this stuck in my head for days and i just needed you to hear it 😂😭

i am absolutely OBSESSED with your writing, i can’t get enough of it 🫶🏻

a good book can do wonders 

Feysand x f!Reader

Summary: Rhys and Feyre steal one of your books. 

Warnings: nsfw, smut, cnc, bondage, not proofread, minors dni!!

Word Count: ~1.4k 

A/N: I loved this idea so much, thank you! It deviated a bit

They’d scented your arousal, undoubtedly, as you sat curled in your favorite armchair. …

“Who recommended this?” Rhys asked, flipping through the pages. 

You tugged your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. “Guess.” You muttered, carefully watching his reactions as he skimmed through it, Feyre leaning over his shoulder.

“Please tell me it wasn’t my sister.” Feyre groaned, but you saw how her eyes gleamed. 

“It’s not,” you managed to huff out a laugh. 

“Definitely Emerie.” Feyre shot you a sly smile. You didn’t confirm or deny. It was her, but you didn’t need to spill her secrets like that. Your non-answer probably told them everything they needed to know. Too late, you realized you could’ve just said it was your own book. 

“And what if it was mine?” 

“I’d be surprised.” Feyre admitted with a shrug. “But it’s not.” She continued flipping through the pages, pausing on one as her eyes widened. You knew exactly what part she’d gotten to, and groaned. You decided it was time for you to leave. Now. Before they said or did anything else that would embarrass you. Rhys shot you a look as you left, as if he was saying this isn’t over yet, and you ignored him, leaving both him and Feyre to keep reading over that damn book. You’d figure out how to get it back later. 

You avoided them for the rest of the day, being extra-cautious to stay out of their way. You weren’t too embarrassed, but it felt like a violation for them to come up and grab it from you. Your biggest secret fantasies, all exposed because they couldn’t mind their own damn business. Hours later, you were still stewing as the time approached for bed, and wondered if it made you a bit immature to avoid them over this. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” you muttered under your breath as you approached the door, pushing it open. Thankfully, the room was still empty and you slipped into the bathroom. Maybe you could be asleep before they returned. 

Sleep didn’t come easy, or come at all, you tossed and turned, tucking your arm under the pillow with a groan. 

“Already trying to sleep?” you heard Feyre from the door, “I might think you’re avoiding us.” 

You let out another grumble, but didn’t move, cursing how they always seem to know. 

“Of course we do,” Rhys’s smooth voice slipped into your mind, and you shoved him back out - slamming the mental walls right up and ignoring his chuckle as a claw stroked down them. 

“If you like it, you don’t have to be ashamed,” Feyre sat next to you, pushing you aside slightly to give herself more room. She moved your arm, exposing your face. You blinked and readjusting to the light, ignoring how her soft hands stroked up and down your bare arm. “So do we,” she glanced at Rhys with a small smirk. He was leaning back against the dresser, watching your every reaction carefully. He gave a small nod to signal his agreement.

“There are some scenes I wouldn’t mind giving a shot,” he purred. 

You let out a slow breath, trying to regain your composure as heat shot right to your core.  “It’s not,” you sighed, “not necessarily that. It’s that you took it from me.” 

His hands braced the dresser as he pushed off it, stalking towards you. He stopped, standing right by your head. One finger traced your jawline, brushing over your bottom lip. His eyes gleamed as your heart sped up, your pulse fluttering and eyes closing at his touch. “I’d say I’m sorry … but it’s opened up a whole realm of possibilities.” 

“Rhys,” Feyre said in a warning tone. Your eyes opened as he shot her a look, as if to say you feel the same. 

“Do you trust us?” He asked you, straightening. 

“Yes,” you breathed, and had an idea of what was headed your way next. 

“And you know how to give your word, if you can’t speak?” 

Gods, you felt like your heart might beat right out of your chest as you gave a small nod. The corners of his mouth twitched up. He tugged you out of the bed, and you stood on shaky legs, your nightgown falling down to the middle of your thighs. He reached out one hand for Feyre, grasping yours in the other, and winnowed. 

You fought hard to keep your balance as you landed … in the Palace above Hewn City. A shiver ran down your spine, the breeze seeming to swirl around the room. You’d only been here once before. 

“Run.” 

You didn’t hesitate and sprinted out, weaving up the stairs and throwing yourself around corners. You had absolutely no idea where you were and quickly found yourself lost. Still, you didn’t quit moving. 

“Lost, darling?” 

You ignored him, but left your walls down still. 

“She has to be, poor thing.” Feyre answered him. 

You could sense their presence nearby, they had to be close. Your breathing grew ragged, and a tiny bit of fear slipped in along with the anticipation. It made it all the more exciting. 

One arm wrapped around your throat, tugging you back into a hard chest as you yelped. 

“Found you,” Rhys’s teeth grazed your neck as you struggled, trying to throw him off. As expected, it didn’t work - not one bit. 

Instead, you found yourself on a balcony seconds later. All of the winnowing was throwing you off, making you lose sense of direction. 

Your hips hinged, pressing against the rail of the balcony as he pressed you over it. His feet kicked your ankles wide, and his firm grip was the only thing keeping you from tumbling off. Feyre’s hand slid down your calf, laughing and gripping your ankle firmly as she gripped it. 

“Please,” you begged, “please stop.” 

Instead, silky ropes appeared, binding one of your ankles to the railing. She moved quickly to secure the other, ignoring your attempts to kick her away. 

Rhys’s hand landed firmly on your ass. “That wasn’t very nice,” he tutted, and another blow rained down on you. You yelped and wiggled underneath him, but you could move. Not as he yanked your right arm over your back, tying it off somewhere, before yanking the left across it, securing that one as well. You were left completely immobile and exposed - at their mercy. Thank the Mother it’s summer time, still, the chill made your nipples harden painfully. 

Your nightgown was bunched up around your hips, as he ran one hand up the outside of your thighs, firmly squeezing your ass before slapping it again. You yelped at the impact, your hips digging into the rail. 

“Please,” you begged again, but this time you were sure what you were begging for. 

“Please, what?” Feyre asked, a cruel hint to her tone, just as two of Rhys’s fingers slammed into you. A mixture between a scream and moan left your lips as he crooked them forward to hit that spot. 

“Little slut can’t even talk.” You looked over your shoulder as Rhys’s fingers pulled out, in time to see him offering them to her. 

“St-stop,” you managed to babble, and she shoved him away, gripping the back of your hair and making your neck arch painfully. 

“Really?” Her hand laid a slap down, right to your wet and aching pussy, and another whimper left your lips. “This doesn’t feel like you want us to stop.” 

Her laugh was cruel as she released your hair, crouching down and digging her teeth into your ass, harsh enough she left a bite on your ass. 

They had studied the book apparently, and were playing out the scene almost identically to how you remember it. “Anything for you,” Rhys’s voice slid into your mind as Feyre’s tongue licked one long strip through your folds. You tried to wiggle away as she slid over your puckered hole, but she held you in place, nails digging into your ass as a warning. 

For what could have been hours, Rhys and Feyre took full advantage of your position - completely bound and vulnerable to their whims. Your hips would have bruises the next day from him pounding into you, you were overstimulated and more sore than you had been in the past, but satisfaction ran through you too - completely sated and content. 

You sighed in relief as they undid the binds, your nightgown had been torn off completely at some point, but Rhys somehow pulled a robe out of thin air and wrapped it around you, tying it gently. Feyre gathered you in her arms, holding you tightly and winnowing you back to the River Estate.

[mlkyshxrtcke]

EIDON ON APHRODISIAC!!

A/n: i really just had to get this one out of my system guys, its 1:30am but i had to :’) I know its kinda short. also this may or may not connect to the yandere!darling story bc i feel like they’d be the one responsible for this

Eidon had a large tendency to be really clingy, he’d wrap his arms around your waist and press kisses on wherever your skin was exposed, but today something about him was off. He traced his fingers over your waist and breathed heavily in your ear, and something about how he looked at you with puppy dog eyes was throwing you for a loop. You sat in his lap while watching tv at his place, his head in the crook of your neck and his hand roaming over your torso. His fingers felt so gentle, just brushing against your skin but also as if they wanted to hold you tightly. Out of curiosity you glance over at him, just to realize he hadn’t been watching the TV at all, he was just staring at you. His eyes half lidded with the most possessive expression you’d seen from him in a while. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just smirks at you. “Pay me no mind, my dear..”

After a while you just decide to brush it off, and head out to the store a little while later. Meanwhile, Eidon was trying to hold on for dear life. He hadn’t exactly felt this way before, his whole being felt hot, and his thoughts shifted to you, getting rather intense.. he could only imagine.. pressing hot sloppy kisses up and down your body, sucking and biting over the spots that made you feel really good. He wanted to rip your clothes off you and rut you with his cock until you turned into a whining babbling mess under him. Precum begins to stain Eidon’s boxers. When you got a bunch of messages from him asking to come home soon because he needs a favor, you rush home quickly.

“Eidon?? I got your messages, are you ok? Where are you..”

“Ah.. hello there, sweetheart..”

He stumbles into the living room to see you, scooping you up and holding you by your thighs. Eidon squeezes them once, then again. His head nuzzles into you, brushing his lips against yours and giving a lustful gaze. “I was so worried when you called, is everything ok?” You ask in a concerned tone. “Mmh.. no— honey I need your help, upstairs..” He carries you up to his room, tossing you onto his bed before yanking his shirt off. “What are you doing?.. Eidon?” “Shhh.. let me love you, my baby.” He puts himself on top of you on the bed, his body felt so warm and his breathing was very uneasy. You were almost worried he had a fever until you felt something hard pressed up against your thigh. Oh. Ohhh. “Y/n.. please.. I feel like I’m on fire..” He spreads your legs open and places himself between them, kissing wherever he can while he dry humps you like a rabbit during mating season. You give in, kissing Eidon deeply and allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth. His kiss is hot and desperate, while his hands snake up and down your body as he undresses you. He aligns himself with your entrance, groaning with a large sigh once he’s inside. “So fucking tight for me..” His hips begin to rock, causing moans to fall from both of your lips. Eidon smirks at you as he begins to fuck you harder, making sure each thrust is more pleasurable and delicious than the last. He puts one hand on your thigh and uses the other to grip your waist, muttering curses in Italian which showed that he was clearly getting close to reaching his high. You feel yourself loosing control under him, his cock was buried deep inside you, making you squeal and squirm. You beg him for release, which only makes him plow you faster. “Eidon.. f-fuuuuck pleassseee.. needa.. needa cum..” “You’re taking me so well, darling. Just a little more..” When he finally lets you cum your whole body spasm, hugging against his cock tightly. Eidon reaches his breaking point shortly after, holding you tightly as he spills his thick, creamy load of his baby batter inside of you. He holds you for a moment before pulling out, whispering in your ear that you did such a good job for him. “Fuck.. I love you so much, baby..”

Tags!!:

[seongminiz]

oh jeez😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 /pos i’m so dizzy at both scenarios omgg first off. the mattwoong sandwich plot with jiwoong filming u and matthew (his little sluts) and using u like that is so insane like imagine free use with dilf country club owner jiwoong like that?? like when he’s bored he seeks u both out and brings you together to “entertain” him like ur his toy barbie dolls .. this is getting so depraved but like fuck it i like to think u both (u and matt) got urselves way in over ur heads with ur dirty little games and if it isn’t the consequences of ur actions…

idk if this is too dubcon.. but i kinda like the slight aspect of coercion in terms of wanting to please jiwoong to keep ur job/membership at the club? and how humiliating would it be if he exposed all the nasty things you’ve been up to while ur supposed to be on the clock… sigh. anyways.

and omg everything u said for angel demon jumil. i rly love the idea of them holding u ‘hostage’ and threatening u with ur life😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 they’d loovvee how pathetic u’d be begging them for their cum so u don’t die :( like jeez that’s fucked up but i love it :(((

and the concept of juyeon literally losing his wings to commit himself to pleasuring u. definition of a service top lol. i want them both to use me as a fucktoy so bad so this + monsterfucking is so crazy. like i can’t even put it into words omg ffff😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

also slight side note. idk if u watched any of the fatal trouble promotions for enha, but i’ve seen a few screenshots from the relay and heeseung’s abs peeking out at one point?? i need to ride him so bad it’s so serious.

ur mean dom hoon thoughts too😵‍💫😵‍💫 i want mean dom enha hyung line i want all 4 of them to keep me as a pet we’re seeing a recurring theme here :( and use me to their will, be so mean to me that i never leave subspace and just exist to please them :( vampire hyung line living in a victorian castle and keeping u to feed off of and use for their pleasure??? probably been done before. but that’s also a thought.

- 🧁 anon

aaaaaaaaaaa idk where to start with this im going crazy 😵‍💫

no bc fuckkk jiwoong using u n matt as his own free porn like (!? #+_. im malfunctioning ,, also as u said , him threatening to expose every little depraved thing you've done for him , having all of it on video knowing your perfect little princess who has everyone wrapped around her finger reputation could be ruined in a split second .. making u suck his dick n apologize when you try to be bratty n defy him , taking a video everytime (which means he has a lot of them since he still hasn't fucked the brat out of u n probably never will)

n yesss 🫶🏻monsterfucking🫶🏻 tbh ik i alr said this but i should write more of it !!!

yesss i've seen that 0_0 feeling very much insane .. not only thinking abt riding hee , but riding his abs ?!?? that makes me even crazier

osmdbgj vampire hyung line ,, it all started when jake planned to only feed from u like all the other humans they've fed from for years , but theres just something abt you that makes him want to bring u back home n keep u all to himself ..... you're not particularly against it once you've gotten over the initial fear of jake being able to possibly kill u whenever he wants , but he won't be able to keep u from the others for long , after all they can recognize humans from smell alone , n your blood's specifically is so addicting they'll all start using u to both feed from u n fuck u ..

also ik we were talking abt the whole hyung line but mannnn this is making me think of vampire sunghoon so much 🫠 save me ..

[radiantmists]

I posted 858 times in 2022

187 posts created (22%)

671 posts reblogged (78%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@insomnia-productions

@stormstressed

@bookish-bi-mormon

@sabertoothwalrus

@radiantmists

I tagged 735 of my posts in 2022

Only 14% of my posts had no tags

#ntn spoilers - 53 posts

#murderbot diaries - 47 posts

#tlt spoilers - 41 posts

#the locked tomb - 37 posts

#murderbot liveblog - 35 posts

#nona liveblog - 34 posts

#bnha - 33 posts

#tma - 30 posts

#dc - 26 posts

#wheel of time - 23 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#bc like. the girls mostly share info with each other (that weekly tar meetup is the besst communication in the series) but not with the guys

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Genuinely would not be surprised if someone in the room when they suggested the checkmarks stack was like "wont that break shit if they buy too many" and someone else was like "even better, these idiots like it when shit breaks"

65 notes - Posted November 10, 2022

#4

so semi-related to this other post i made, i’ve been thinking about the conversation ed has with jack when he realizes that stede’s been lured into a trap, because it’s just such a good example of the mindset and culture Ed has been trying to break out of over the course of this season. 

At the end of the conversation, Ed gets fed up, breaks the oar, and then jumps into the water to head back to the ship. Just before he leaves, he yells that Stede’s his friend, and Jack yells back:

“What do you mean he’s your friend? What kind of pirate has a friend? We’re all just in various states of fucking each other over!”

Now, as Ed is swimming away at this point I don’t think he hears, but I imagine if he had this would have been an extra kick in the teeth, because he’s spent the whole episode catering to and entertaining Jack, trying to cheer up his friend who’s been (allegedly) mutinied against. And clearly, Jack sees his ‘betrayal’ as no big deal, cheerfully musing on where they should head next and surprised when Ed is actually upset about it.

He doesn’t think Ed should expect any better than betrayal, because Ed has absolutely been on the other side of this mentality. At the end of episode 4, I think it’s fair to say that he’s at least charmed by Stede even if he doesn’t consider them ‘friends’, and yet his plan is to use Stede for gentleman lessons, then brutally murder him and steal his identity. Ed is friendly to him over the next couple episodes, but he hasn’t yet resolved that this is someone he’s actually going to value and stick by. Their relationship is transactional (teach me to gentleman, i’ll teach you to pirate) and comes with an expectation of inevitable betrayal.

The shift only comes after Ed’s confession about the Kraken in episode 6, the moment when he’s fully confronted by the kind of person he believes himself to be and the moment where he starts to reject that personality. But even in episode 7, we see that Ed struggles with the idea of an equal friendship; he’s planning to leave now that his plan isn’t going to happen, and is just. so baffled by the whole treasure-hunt outing. Specifically, he’s constantly grumbling about the pointlessness of the whole thing-- it’s only after Lucius sets him straight that he notices that he can enjoy just spending time with Stede, even though he knows there’s no other benefit to the whole thing.

For the ‘real pirates’ Jack talks about, other people are just tools to get stuff you want-- maybe they’re tools you like, but at the end of the day if you need to screw them over to get something you want more or to save your own skin, you will.

But on the Revenge, Ed has slowly been exposed to a different way. Stede can talk a bunch of aristocrats into sinking their own ship just because they made Ed sad. Stede can see him having basically a panic attack about the Kraken and comfort him instead of think less of him for being weak. He and Stede can co-captain, just because they’d both like to spend time together, rather than parting ways when neither of them needs the other for some practical reason. And when Ed does leave Stede, we get Lucius dumping his stuff on him, very clearly communicating that he expected better. 

And so the moment that Ed chooses to go back to the Revenge, to die for Stede-- and later to give up piracy, which is very lucrative for him, in order to just peacefully retire with Stede and be happy with him-- is him starting to branch out from an extraordinarily self-centered culture where no one is valued for themselves. His excitement builds when Stede seems to return this sentiment, first refusing to let Ed die for him and then agreeing that Ed makes him happy and that he’ll run away with him.

But then Stede runs home instead. Now, there are a lot of ways to interpret why Stede actually does that, but from Ed’s perspective Stede is rejecting him utterly: not only does he not want to be with Ed, he doesn’t even want what Ed can give him.

So understandably Ed is moping about being rejected, and he gets these two voices trying to ‘comfort’ him and get him back on his feet. One is Lucius, very patiently telling him the way he feels is valid and encouraging him to continue to reach out with those soft feelings, to do fun things like a talent show with the crew just because they’d all enjoy it-- all of the new lessons he’s been learning  with Stede.

And this is lovely, but Ed has just had his first real foray into that type of trust brutally stomped on by Stede. It doesn’t help that, as this post brilliantly highlights, Ed is very used to being laughed at when he tries to be himself, and is primed to see the crew’s amazement at his reaction as mocking (which it kinda is, even if they’re probably not judging him too harshly for it). From that perspective, Lucius’ concern seems insincere; when you’re used to people fucking you over at the slightest moment of vulnerability, and have been accustomed to people fronting that they like you when they’re actually trying to expose more vulnerability for them to take advantage of or mock, Lucius’ attempts to draw him out start to look actively threatening.

The other voice is Izzy, who tells him to go back to being that closed-off person who uses other people and never lets himself be vulnerable. Which brings me to the other bits of the conversation with Calico Jack that I think about a lot. When Ed first notices something is wrong, Jack points out that the ‘old blackbeard’, the one Izzy wants back, would have seen the betrayal coming a mile away-- because he wouldn’t have given Jack the benefit of the doubt about Blind Man’s cove, and would instead have been on the alert for tricks like this. And then, when Jack mentions Izzy and Ed expresses surprise that Izzy would betray him, Jack says: 

“No, he sold Stede out. Sentimental bastard wanted me to get you out of there before the English arrived.”

Now I don’t know about you but ‘sentimental’ is not one of the first words I would use to describe Israel Hands. But in this world, Izzy’s brand of loyalty-- conditional and vicious though it may be-- is just about the most sentimental people get: the thing Ed can give him, the person Ed can be for him, is so valuable to Izzy that he’ll team up with Spanish Jackie and the English Navy to get it back, and he’ll send Jack to try and make sure Ed isn’t destroyed in the process. That’s nuts.

Izzy doesn’t seem to really care about Ed’s happiness, and he doesn’t make Ed happy to spend time with; in fact even in more casual moments like the ep6 opening (where Izzy’s trying to get him down from the rigging) they seem to annoy each other more than anything else. But for Ed, Izzy is utterly predictable: as long as Ed performs Blackbeard, keeps giving Izzy victories and validating his macho pirate fantasies, Izzy will stick by him. He’ll even go a bit further and give Ed warning and an extra chance when he wobbles in that, so long as there’s a reasonable chance that Blackbeard will come back.

The issue with caring about people is that they might leave you; the issue with being vulnerable is you might get hurt. But if you’re paying someone, even in the nebulous way that Ed ‘pays’ Izzy, they’ll never leave you, and if you scare them enough they won’t dare to betray you.  Being Blackbeard is awful, but safe.

It’s a guarantee where the other option is a risk, and while Ed’s been taking risks this whole season (and that is a Whole other post) he’s finally experienced the consequences of a risk gone bad, and it’s awful. So Ed throws Lucius overboard, rejecting the idea he represents-- that being vulnerable can be worth it, that people can be valuable in and of themselves and because you enjoy their company-- in favor of the stability that Izzy personifies, transactional though it is.

So for me, the big tragedy of the ending (beyond Lucius being dead because he’s not shut up) is that Ed has accepted... not necessarily that he doesn’t deserve to be happy, but that happiness isn’t possible for him, that this kind of relationship is the best he could hope for. He was introduced as someone looking for something better, something to break out of the pattern he hated, and instead he had it reinforced.

And hopefully, someone will come back and convince him that he can have friends and nice things-- but it’s gonna be rough, because I think the lesson he’s learned here is that nice things are just a trap so the people claiming to be your friends can fuck you over worse.

68 notes - Posted April 25, 2022

#3

God the moment where Ed picks up the ‘rather exquisite cashmere’ and gently brushes it against his cheek... 

113 notes - Posted April 25, 2022

#2

so at the end of episode 8, i think, ed arrives back on the revenge with the english closing in and tells stede to fly a white flag. and maybe it’s because i’d seen gifsets of the moment where ed starts yelling about the act of grace, or maybe i was just buying into the blackbeard persona, but I really thought he had a plan, that there was some clever fuckery in the works that would make everything turn out alright.

and then it turns out that there was... sort of: ed’s ‘grand plan’ was to sacrifice himself, trade on the blackbeard reputation and take responsibility for all of stede’s crimes. presumably, he would then have been executed.

it turned out that, just like with the spanish in episode 4, there were factors that ed had missed-- a combination of badminton’s personal vendetta, stede’s log, but most of all stede’s personality: the plan relied on stede confirming or at least not denying that yes, it was that awful blackbeard who did those horrible crimes. but stede didn’t take that opportunity. 

and of course, as with the lighthouse, they come up with something at the last moment to save their skins, but that moment of failure is intriguing. ed has gotten so used to the rhythm of things-- keeping track of the date by counting days, expecting other pirates to grab any chance to save their own skins-- that he’s utterly blindsided when something-- a leap year, stede’s concern for him and his sense of responsibility-- breaks out of that rhythm.

he’s clever, but he’s been coasting on the fact that he knows the world he lives in better than almost anyone else, so all he has to do is take advantage of pieces of it-- the weather, his reputation-- to get what he wants basically handed to him. it’s only once something disrupts that landscape that ed starts thinking outside of the box and changing the landscape, creating a circumstance that his opponents would have believed impossible and thus never would have prepared for. 

there can’t possibly be a lighthouse there, and blackbeard would never give up piracy; but break him out of his rhythm and ed remembers that he can do whatever the hell he wants. and stede is so alluring because he breaks that rhythm effortlessly, just by being who he is-- and, in the case of Act of Grace, by caring about ed.

250 notes - Posted April 18, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

the funny thing about htn is like. it's so obvious that gideon is narrating the second person parts. she makes it about five sentences into her description of harrow waking up before she starts complaining about harrow not taking care of the sword, and her reaction to harrow kissing ianthe is so obvious. the audiobook accentuates this even more because the delivery of parts like this are so clearly in moira quirk's gideon voice.

and yet there's so much nonsense going on that by the middle of the book you're genuinely starting to doubt everything that happened in the previous one.

477 notes - Posted August 5, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[slttygeto]

worst behavior ❀

request: [anon] NO BC THE HAITANI BROTHERS WITH A SISTER IS SOOOOO 😵😵 i love them so much and your recent post about them made me melt. just imagine how they’ll react if you dated one of their colleagues (either from bonten or kantou manji) when they really want you away from the gang life and no they don’t want you to date the craziest of the bunch, they’d rather get arrested again🧍‍♀️

featuring: the haitani brothers, lil sis! reader (she's the same age as kakucho), bonten (hajime kokonoi, kakucho hitto)

genre: mildly suggestive, kind of crack?

note: this will probably have 2 more parts, but for now let's just enjoy how reader is meeting them!! and thank you for sending this anon, i love writing abt the haitanis<3

part 2

—IN BONTEN

oh god oh god.

obviously when they joined bonten they made sure to shelter you away from the problems as much as possible, it was a promise they made the moment they were assigned as bonten's executives.

but sometimes they just had to bring you to one of the meetings, especially if mikey told them that the next mission will involve the safety of their loved ones if they're not careful enough.

bonten's headquarters is the safest place they know so far, so they just put you there.

and let's just say, you had a lot of fun 👀

hajime kokonoi

"who are you." the lack of tone in his voice made you jump out of your skin and almost fall out of the couch you were sitting on. ran told you that not all of them were supposed to go to this dangerous mission and you were honestly a bit afraid about your brothers' safety despite knowing they're capable of defending themselves.

"um, ran told me to stay—"

"I know what ran said but that doesn't answer my question, doll." doll?

almost twisting your neck to look up at the guy in front of you, your furrowed eyebrows and parted lips in disbelief were amusing to koko, and he found himself raising an eyebrow as he saw the wheels in your head turn trying to come up with a snarky remark.

"why am I supposed to answer you anyway? ran told me not to speak a word to any of you,"

"aww, and the little princess would never go against her big brother's words," the mocking tone in his voice made your blood boil but then your brain clicked in realization.

"big bro- you know who I am!"

"of course I do, you think I'd walk into the room and see a girl sitting on the couch and not shoot her? even if it was one of the guy's one night stands, they all kill them at the end to protect our identity,"

they all kill them? well damn, that's the price you get for having sex with men with such power and status.

"not you doll, I'd never kill you." walking past you, koko patted your head gently before making his way towards the other couch to grab the remote control.

he had to stop making you so flustered.

"I...," your mouth opened as you watched the gorgeous man in front of you lock eyes with you once again, this time with a tilt in his head as he waited for you to speak. he even gave you an encouraging push by saying,

"you?"

"I don't know your name."

"you don't?"

you nodded. "damn, rindou really didn't lie when he said he wouldn't expose any of us to you, it's kokonoi hajime,"

of course rindou would say that. you sighed before leaning back on the couch and ignoring just how much of a pretty name this man had.

"yeah, they're kinda protective of me to be honest,"

"kinda? it seems like they're locking you in a cage gorgeous," looking back at him when he used yet another nickname, your face flushing a little before focusing back on the TV, maybe the colors from the screen would cover the obvious blush on your cheeks.

"they just love me a lot,"

"and you think another man can't love you too? if not, love you better and in many other ways than your brothers can?" what he was saying sure was logical, you did have a dating life although now kind of dry, but it was still there, buried between rindou's consistent calls to see if you weren't attacked by a random man and ran's random showing up at 1am with ice cream and a movie when you were supposed to have a guy over for some alone time.

"It's hard to go against them," you admitted honestly, your heart beating against your ribcage as your mouth spilled out such a confession.

you didn't know just how much you hated talking like this about your brothers until koko was making your brain realize stuff like this.

you heard the shuffling from the couch and before you knew it, koko was sitting next to you on the couch, your shoulders pressed against each other.

"you know they don't have to know everything, right?" it wasn't really a question and you knew that. your head was dying to turn and look at him, to see exactly what he looked like this close to you but you knew that you'd embarrass yourself even more.

"they're going to kill you," your whisper was so shy, so small and kokonoi couldn't help but let out a small smirk, shoulders slowly pushing you so that you were falling down on the couch, your back hitting the pillows before hajime was placing his lips on the skin of your stomach that was peeking from your shirt.

"if I die between your legs, then I'll die a happy man,"

your breath hitched, hands flying down to hold onto the sides of the couch.

kokonoi pressed another kiss down your stomach, this time way too close to the waistband of your skirt before letting his hands travel underneath your skirt to grip your thighs.

"tap my head twice if you want me to stop, okay?"

with the way he had his head under your skirt, you don't think you'd want him to stop anytime soon.

kakucho hitto

you hated how big this place was.

seriously, how did you manage to walk down two different stairs and none of them led down to the kitchen?

"so if someone here wakes up in the middle of the night and is hungry or thirsty, they'd just have to order food instead," you grumbled to yourself as your feet dragged down yet another staircase, your eyes glued to your socks. you were really glad you wore them because with how large the place was, it was also kind of cold.

you stopped dead in your tracks when your eyes met mismatched ones walking up the stairs, blood covering his cheek and a nasty scar on his eye.

was this the part where you get killed?

no, it was just impossible. this was bonten's headquarters, how can someone like this walk here? you were gonna get killed that's it.

"do you need something?" his voice was soft, too soft for someone who had blood on his cheek.

"... I know bonten, I can get you in trouble if you don't leave," you didn't know who you were fooling, him or yourself but when his eyes squinted at your words you realized what you said.

"but you can just leave and we'll pretend this never happened!"

"what—"

"don't get too close, r-ran gave me a gun,"

"ran?"

fuck, maybe your brothers didn't say their names? did you just expose them?

".. annabelle"

"huh?"

"rannabelle, that's his name. rannabelle gave me a gun,"

"what the fuck are you—sweetheart, I'm bonten's number 3,"

oh.

oh?

number 3? so his position was higher than your brothers'. and you just threatened to point a gun at him, how amazing is that.

your legs were almost gonna give up on you when you saw him walk up the stairs towards you, and your feet started dragging you back up just to avoid him.

"would you please stop looking at me like I'm gonna murder you or something?"

"you literally have blood on your cheek," you scoffed as you answered him. it was easier said than done plus, rindou told you that there was a guy your age and you were starting to think it was this dude.

"you're acting like rindou didn't twist a man's bones so bad, they pierced his heart," he was so nonchalant about it, you cringed. he stopped before you on the stairs, eyes staring down at your legs before traveling back up to your face and that's when you realized two things:

one: he mentioned rindou when you didn't tell him who you were.

two: you had frog socks on.

"frog? are you ten?"

"hey! you don't have to be a certain age to wear frog socks." chuckling to himself, kakucho shook his head a little before walking past you up the stairs.

"they really spoiled you rotten didn't they?"

now you were actually offended.

"I am not spoiled, I'm a grown ass woman with a job and—"

"and ran and rindou would bring you anything you want the moment you mention it, isn't that true princess?" now that the man was a step higher than you, you were actually intimidated by his mismatched eyes and built stature.

"it's not my fault they want to buy me things."

"never said it was, I'm just saying you're spoiled. does it have to be a bad thing?"

"yes? considering the fact we're the same age—"

"we are?" now kakucho was actually interested. you, a harmless little sister with no gun whatsoever, no weapon on you or phone for that matter, still tried to threaten bonten's number three in broad daylight.

"stop interrupting me."

kakucho stared in amusement as he leaned his weight on his side, elbow resting on the staircase's railing.

"you're right, my bad."

"thank you—wait what's your name?"

"kakucho, kakucho hitto."

"okay kakucho as I was saying before you rudely interrupted me, there is something wrong with calling me spoiled because I'm anything but that. I'm capable of buying myself anything with my money—"

"you can buy yourself a mansion?"

no.

"you can buy yourself the car that you have?"

also no.

"then you're spoiled. the kitchen is downstairs by the way, we have pizza."

...was he going to end the conversation like that?

"rude motherfucker," you mumbled to yourself as you turned on your heels to walk down the stairs to find the kitchen like he told you to. you didn't even wanna continue convincing him that you weren't spoiled, your stomach was empty and you were starting to get extremely hangry.

"I'd rather be fucking you instead," you froze when you heard the words leave his lips, his teasing stare along with the laugh that escaped his mouth making your stomach jump a little.

"a-at least get to know me first?" you cursed yourself for stuttering. this wasn't the moment for you to realize just how handsome and hot he was, and the idea of him fucking you didn't sound so unpleasant.

"haitani (name), you're twenty-six years old and you live exactly three blocks away from rindou's place just in case an emergency occurs and he has to save you—" as he said those words, he was slowly walking down the stairs, his stare burning holes in your forehead and you found yourself unable to break eye contact with him.

"—from the big bad lurking wolves around because his sister happens to be so weak that she can't defend herself. do I know you enough now?"

"... what's my favorite show."

"(favorite show), ran bought all the DVDs once and I was a bit confused as to why he would do so but then he said it was for you—"

"you can fuck me."

now why would you say that. even kakucho wasn't expecting such an answer based on how his eyes widened, but you tried to play it cool by maintaining eye contact with bonten's number 3.

"what? didn't you say you'd rather fuck me instead?" crossing your arms over your chest, you raised a questioning eyebrow at the man in front of you, the lack of response from his side making you question whether or not he was actually serious.

"this conversation never happened." kakucho turned on his heels to look away from you, hoping that you didn't catch the slight color on his cheeks beside the fucking blood there.

"are you blushing!" oh fuck him.

"I said this conversation never happened!"

"you're actually blushing because I told you you can fuck me? fold me in a half? drill your cock into m-"

"don't try me!"

2022 © all works belong to slttygeto. do not repost my work anywhere else.

[peakyblindersxx]

May I request a john smut in which, despite being the cocky beast that he usually is, he manages to get all gentle and intense when, after years of mutual pining, he finally makes love to ada's best friend who's younger and totally inexperienced. Idk I just need this to be fucking intense, like John suffocating his desire for ages and now finally indulging in his worst temptation and showing her what lust is... please i'll burn in hellll

a/n: first of all let me say: this killed me. like, it’s literally all i can think about. god help me. but thank you so fucking much for requesting this bc i liked it sooo much that i decided to make a mini series out of it with the help of my babe @stxdyblr-2k who was sweet enough to offer to ghostwrite on the series 🥰 and to all my other angels who requested fics, don’t worry i will get them done! just wanna give you guys the best quality work i can. my 1st priority are some tommy requests i got, as well as some michael ones after :)

love, abi xxx

whiskey business - john shelby x reader (1 of ?)

warnings: nsfw! eventual smut, slow burn, john being sexy as all hell but also soft

John couldn’t tear his eyes off of you. From the moment you walked into the Garrison, arm loosely linked with Ada’s, clad in a black lace dress that hugged you just right, he couldn’t stop staring. Even Tommy and Arthur had noticed, cracking some joke about him being pussy whipped. The words floated right over his head, his mind on one thing only. The last time he had seen you, you were barely eighteen, cheeks pink as you waved goodbye out the train window to Ada as she sobbed. Ada had always had a flair for the dramatic, but the two of you had practically been attached at the hip your entire lives. So, he consoled her, reminding her that university wasn’t forever, that you would be back soon enough. And back, you were, red-stained lips sipping at a glass of something that Ada had practically shoved in your face. You weren’t a girl anymore, black heels crossed at the ankle as you sat across the room in a booth, laughing as Ada waved her arms, telling some sort of story.

“Just fuckin’ talk to ‘er, John-boy,” Arthur’s voice cut through John’s train of thought like a sharp knife, and he focused his eyes on his two brothers sitting at the booth across from him, clouds of smoke from Tommy’s incessant smoking heavy in the air around them.

“Fuck off,” John returned as he stood, earning a chuckle from Tommy.

“That’s right,” Arthur shouted as John made his way towards the bar, rolling his eyes at his older brothers. “Make sure you show her a real good time, eh?” Arthur’s voice was soon drowned out by the crowd around John, as they parted to let him walk through. He didn’t even see them, his eyes trained on your smile. Fuck, you were pretty.

***

“So, then I fucking kicked him in the balls.” Ada’s eyes sparkled triumphantly as she recalled the time she’d incited a riot, managing to cause great injury to a certain part of a policeman’s body. She did so casually, like it was no big deal. You couldn’t control your laughter as Ada grinned, pleased that she’d been able to make you laugh. “Fuckin’ missed you, Y/N,” she professed, shooting the rest of her gin and gesturing at the bartender to “leave the fuckin’ bottle, already.”

“Missed you too,” you smiled back at her, happy to be back in Birmingham in the company of an old friend. London was beautiful, but lonely. There was something inside you that missed the dirty streets, the crowded pubs bursting with familiar faces.

“Had to come over here myself to make sure it was you,” A deep voice interrupted your reverie and you looked up to see none other than Ada’s older brother John, looking even handsomer than the last time you’d seen him, in a grey-three piece suit, a cigar hanging from his lips. You’d had the hugest crush on him growing up, and the butterflies swimming around in your stomach seemed to confirm that you still found the tallest Shelby brother irresistible.

“Hi, John,” You offered him a shy smile and scooched over as he slid into the booth next to you, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to your cheek. You couldn’t help but drink in the smell of his cologne, the various drinks that Ada had encouraged you to down making you press yourself closer to him.

“M’kay, if you’re going to fuck, at least wait until I’m gone.” Ada’s voice snapped you out of it and you looked away, a pink blush staining your cheeks.

“Says the one who managed to fuck three of my best mates before you left school,” John retorted, causing Ada to roll her eyes, shooting her whiskey and pouring the three of you another glass each.

“I feel like getting drunk, and I’m not doing it alone,” Ada announced, causing both you and John to crack a smile at her forcefulness.

“Good thing we took a cab here,” you returned, before shooting your whiskey. If you were going to have to stare at John all night, you thought, you might as well be drunk doing it. Wasn’t like he was going to be staring back.

***

Ada was shitfaced, dancing in the middle of the pub. Luckily, Isaiah had stepped in as her partner, making sure her stumbling didn’t cause her to trip and fall. Unluckily for you, this left a tipsy you and John alone tucked into a booth in the corner of the room, out of view. The conversation was friendly, and you were trying your best to keep your mind off the way you could see John’s forearms practically bulging out of his suit. It wasn’t fair, you thought to yourself, for him to walk around looking like that. Especially when you knew that he was probably fucking the latest movie star, or something. It was almost impossible for you to keep your head straight, yet you managed to keep it civil. However, you couldn’t help your gaze from drifting to his lips. God, they were so pink and looked so soft, it was unfair. You couldn’t stop yourself from imagining how they’d feel on your mouth, let alone other parts of your body. Jesus, you were fucked.

A third of a bottle of whiskey later, you couldn’t help but let yourself slide closer to him, heart beating fast in your chest as you sat tucked into his side, his arm around you as you laughed at a joke he’d made, something about the stick up Tommy’s ass. Your eyes shone as they met his blue ones, his arm sliding down until his fingers were brushing against your waist, radiating heat into your skin.

“Y’know, I’d tell you how fuckin’ pretty you look tonight, but I think you already know that,” John rumbled into your ear, lips just barely brushing against your neck. Your breath hitched, and he noticed, a small grin spreading across his lips.

“You’re something else, you know that?” You shot back, a small smile threatening to take over your lips.

“M’not just sayin’ that. Couldn’t take my eyes off ‘ya, since you walked in.” John wasn’t kidding. For a second you didn’t know how to reply, staring up at him with a slight look of disbelief. The whiskey, however, had other plans, and had decided to respond for you.

“Can't keep your hands off me now." You smirked, waiting for him to escalate the moment, anticipation and liquor silencing the blaring alarm in your mind. God, you shouldn't want him as badly as you do.

"Can you blame me?" He muttered, dragging his fingers across the lace of your dress, tracing the pattern's loops absentmindedly, watching your jaw tense and lips part to take a gasping breath, your jacket having long vanished into the chaos of the pub. Your arms wound themselves around his neck, fingers twisting into his short hair. "Fucking come 'ere lass."

His strong arms lifted you onto his knee, gripping a thigh to help you balance, the friction of his rough hand against the stiff fabric pushing your dress up slightly. The need for more and the desire to know him completely intoxicated you far more than anything from a bottle; you'd never felt as though you were on fire from your drunk hookups. His fingers found the zip of your dress, tugging it down desperately, gripping the flesh of your exposed shoulder blades. A small groan erupted from your lips as you felt him chuckle below you, pressing a thumb to your lips to quieten you.

"John," you whined, pouting playfully against his thumb.

"I'll sort you out, I swear," He muttered, slipping his thumb between your lips. Instinctively, you sucked, locking eyes with him, his hand straying from your back to roughly grab your jaw, holding your gaze. "But if you're going to scream your 'ead off, we'll get caught."

"You wish you could make me scream, John-lad."

"Come off it, I could ruin you, Y/N." He stated, lifting your jaw, as though memorising the construction of your face, tone brimming with a cocky confidence only John could make attractive. "You want that?"

"More than anything." The words tumbled out of your mouth thoughtlessly, watching how his jaw tightened in response as you attempted to read his expression. He studied you for what must've only been a few seconds, but the moment passed so slowly, you could barely remember what it felt like to not be examined by his dominating blue eyed stare.

His grip guided your face to his, fingers tilting your chin so John's lips could brush against yours, before pulling you into a heated almost aggressive kiss, the straps of your dress barely grazing your shoulders, the hem of your dress bunching around your waist as he reached down your back to grab your bum in a firm squeeze. Your mouth gaped open in a gasp of pleasure, John taking the moment to run his tongue against your lips, gaining access and deepening the kiss. You were so caught up in the thrill of John's seduction that you hadn't noticed his hand suddenly pull away after moving your skimpy underwear to one side. You had instinctively ground your hips against him, he'd broken the kiss to let out a string of curses, complimenting you through his quickening breaths (“Fuckin’ wet for me already, aye?”), gripping your thigh. But as soon as he had pulled the thin silk from your thighs, the atmosphere shifted, his lip curling in frustration as his hands left your skin as though your flesh was suddenly scalding.

"John?" You prompted, resting a hand on his shoulder, noticing the dark shadows under his eyes for the first time.

"It's getting late."

"What?" Your voice sounded high and whiny, you mentally scolded yourself for sounding so needy. It was embarrassing to be rejected by the man you've admired for many years, but even worse to be openly vulnerable and so pathetic in front of your best friend's brother.

Ada.

Oh fuck.

Realisation hit you, it was either that or the unholy quantity of alcohol you'd downed which turned your stomach. You had gone too far this time. It was one thing to flirt with John and desire him from a distance, it was an absolute betrayal to have sex with him, knowing Ada's insecurity about being used to get close to her gangster brothers- sex, power and politics. You had sworn during those tearful walks around the canal that you'd never hurt her. You couldn't do that to her.

Your sudden panic must've been obvious, you tried to stand up from John's lap, stumbling slightly, only regaining balance due to a sudden arm across your back, anchoring you upright.

"No one has to know. It's our secret yeah?" He muttered into your ear, his words comforting.

You nodded silently, the reality of the situation settling in. Your hands are shaking by your sides, John catches them, locking his fingers with yours.

"It's fine, now. Nothing happened yeah?" He stood up in front of you, his muscular physique looming before you, the creases across his torso reminding you that just a few minutes ago his body was under yours, he was breathless, needing your skin against his, desperate and vulnerable. "I'll zip you up. Turn around."

His hands dropped from yours to fumble clumsily with your zip, struggling in the gloom and fog of intoxication, he eventually succeeded, the lace clinging to the curve of your hips, waist, back and chest again. You wished it was him instead that was skimming your figure but you pushed the thought away with a simple, "Thanks."

"I'll walk you home yeah?" He offered, as he straightens your skirt and his tie, allowing you to fix his crumpled shirt collar and the row of shining buttons below his throat which you'd ripped open as he whispered dirty nonsense in your ear, smirking at how you arched your back and swore back at him through your moans.

"Isaiah already said he would, it'd be better for us both that way. You know how people around here talk." You replied, glancing at the mirror on the wall of the booth to quickly smooth your tousled hair. Despite only recently returning to Small Heath, you'd already encountered the rife gossiping and quickly realised your neighbour was incapable of minding his own business. "Nobody has to know, right?"

John nodded, disappointed but appreciating your rationale and quick thinking despite your state, "Right."

"Good night, John," You said politely, ignoring the tension in his tone and the sudden soft sadness of his eyes, turning your back and walking to the door. Back to the sticky dance floor, back to Ada, Isaiah, Finn, Tokyo, back to spilling drinks, ashing cigarettes, back to noise, safety and far from the man who made your morals vanish with the same lines he uses on probably every single one of his conquests. Fuck it. You were going to enjoy it, you sped up your pace in your heels, trying to ignore your shaking legs. You tried to ignore the guilty twang in your gut when Ada screamed your name across the pub and stumbled over, dragging some lad on her arm, pressing drunken kisses to your forehead and cheeks.

You couldn't help but look back to see his shadow sloping away into the darkness of the booths closer to the dance floor, being bullied mercilessly by his brothers you assumed. You watched him fake a smirk, take the knuckles to his brow from Arthur, snap an insult back to Thomas and settle into his rightful seat. You only shifted your gaze to Ada for a moment but when you looked back up, he was staring at you, jaw tense, icy stare burning into yours, arms folded on the table, the gold chains of his sleeve garters barely glinting in the dim light. He looked away but you could see his cheeks were flushed with blood even in the glow of the oil lamps.

Pretending nothing happened was going to be impossible.

***

to be continued!

[infinitefandomimagines]

Scarred - Zuko x Reader

WARNINGS: ARGUING, BURN SCARS, ANGST

-

REQUEST: zuko x reader where the reader is the last one to forgive zuko at the western air temple bc he accidentally hurt her in the crystal catacombs and than zuko goes to her tent, begging for forgiveness and she shows him the scar he gave her and it’s super fluffy:33

-

"Y/N. . . what do you say?" All eyes landed on you, waiting for your response to Aang's question. However, there was only one pair of eyes in particular you glared back at; and if looks could kill, the recently renounced Fire Nation prince in front of you would've surely met his demise right then. But Zuko knew how to hold himself in front of those who wanted to intimidate him. If there was anything his father taught him, it was that much.

Despite your fiery stare and previous threats from the first time he pleaded for forgiveness that you'd "knock him on his ass" if he ever came near you again, he kept his composure. There was no doubt in his mind you'd stay true to that warning, which is why he made sure to keep enough distance between the two of you.

There was a hopeful gleam in his eyes, so far Aang, Sokka, Katara, and Toph had agreed to let him join the team, albeit some more hesitantly than others. If everyone else found it in their hearts to forgive and forget, surely you could as well. Wrong.

"No."

You saw the last bit of hope fizzle from his eyes as defeat weighed down on him, causing his shoulders to sink and his head to drop. "I know you don't trust me, I don't blame you. I've done horrible things, hurt you and your friends-"

"You can't even begin to imagine the amount of pain you've caused me!" Your words held a venomous sting, yet your tone was strained, calm almost.

"Y/N," Katara stepped up behind you, her voice was soft. You could barely feel the hand she'd placed on your left shoulder, thick and itchy bandages blocking her attempt at comfort. "I don't like it either, but Aang needs to learn fire bending."

"I really believe he's changed, give him a chance to-"

You cut Aang off, finally breaking your gaze from Zuko to face the young monk. "He's already had too many chances!"

No one could admit that you were wrong, not even Zuko. Because every time he'd faught against your little group of rag-tag heroes, you'd given him a chance. Even while the rest of team avatar faught the exiled prince, you never threw a single blow that wasn't defensive or to save your friends. Instead, you'd offer him a chance to join the right side. Of course, he never accepted, but you saw the benefits of your kindness when he'd began to show a sense of mercy against you. There was something in your head telling you he was more than just a villain.

But that mindset changed when you and the gang faught against him and his sister in the crystal catacombs. When Aang almost died. When he chose the Fire Nation's side. When he'd made sure to leave you a permanent reminder of that day.

After a few moments of tense silence, you let out an impatience scoff. "Leave, Zuko. I gave you my answer, the least you can do is respect it."

Reluctantly, he nodded, mumbling out an apology before turning on his heels. He only got in a few steps before Aang interjected.

"Zuko, stop."

He did, glancing over his shoulder, ready to hear what Aang had to say.

"I'm sorry, Y/N, but Zuko is staying. I need need to learn fire bending and he's my only option. I really believe he's changed for the better."

"You don't have to forgive him, but Aang's right, we need him," Sokka added in, to which Toph agreed.

You took in their words, it was obvious they weren't up for debate. You hated that they were right, you all did need Zuko, no matter your current opinion on him.

"Fine," you sighed, looking at Zuko, who was now standing awkwardly with his hands behind his back. "But stay away from me."

Over the next few days, Zuko had somehow managed to gain the complete and utter trust of everyone, even Katara. Everyone except you. Then again, you hadn't had your "life changing field trip with Zuko" that made everyone seemingly forget about everything he'd ever done to them. Field trip or not, earning your trust wasn't going to be that easy. You didn't care how many times he made everybody tea and told cringey jokes.

"Where did you learn to make so many different types of tea?" Aang inquired, causing everyone to look at Zuko, wanting to hear his answer.

Zuko returned to his seat around the fire between Toph and Aang, finally finished handing out small cups of tea. "My uncle, it's his favorite thing to make, he even owned a tea shop at one point."

"You mean the one you betrayed," you deadpanned coldly. You flicked your eyes up from the warm cup of tea in your hands to Zuko, wanting to see his reaction.

His smile faultered, and katara shot a disapproving look at you. For a second you felt guilty, maybe that was too far. He looked genuinely hurt by your comment, but soon another emotion took over his features. You could see it in the way he clenched his jaw and sat up straighter.

"Yeah. That one." His tone was one of poorly restrained bitterness, you'd definitely struck a nerve.

You hummed in response, refusing to break eye contact with him, like you were challenging him to say something equally as cold, but he didn't take the bait. Instead, he took a deep breath, just like his uncle taught him.

"I don't get it," He asked, frustrated and fed up with your snarky comments and side eyes. "Everyone else trusts me, why can't you?"

"You really have to ask?"

Katara could feel the tension and awkwardness of the impending argument hanging over everyone. This wasn't the time nor place to be having this conversation.

"I think now would be a good time for another healing session," she interjected, giving you a look that informed you she wasn't exactly asking. With a frustrated huff, you stood up and made your way to your tent, not even waiting for Katara to follow.

You plopped down onto your sleeping bag, sitting with your left side towards the opening.

Katara was there in a few minutes, holding a medium sized bowl of water in her hands. She gently set it down on the ground, taking a seat on your sleeping bag as well, facing your left side.

You tugged your left sleeve down so you could free it. With your shoulder now exposed, she carefully removed the bandages that covered your shoulder and the side of your neck, revealing the red and scarred skin hidden underneath.

"How does it look?" You asked, attempting to ignore the itchy feeling of the fresh air hitting your wound.

"It's healing, slowly" she answered as she conjured the water from the bowl and molded it with her hands. She purified the liquid, causing it it glow. Slowly, she lowered it until the cool water molded over your injured skin. You clenched your teeth and whimpered at the sudden sting the contact made, but then Katara started making circular motions with her hands, beginning the healing process. The stinging pain soon morphed into a comforting cold and relieving sensation.

Katara had done this for you and Aang multiple times since the gang escaped from that wretched crystal catacomb. As much progress as your skin had made in healing, you couldn't seem to wipe the painful memories of how you'd recieved such a wound from your mind. You could remember the events so vividly it was as if they'd happened yesterday.

You were stalling, Zuko and Azula knew that, yet they didn't seem to mind. If anything, Azula enjoyed watching you struggle to give your friends more time. You needed to stall them long enough for Aang to fully enter the avatar state, that's all.

"Come on, Zuko, you know what needs to be done!" Azula coaxed.

"No! You still have a chance Zuko, you can still make this right!" You could see the conflict rising in him as you and Azula tugged at his morals.

There was a moment, a single second where his emotions betrayed him, where you could see how badly he wanted to go with you and the gang. But it was gone just as fast as it came.

"I will kill the avatar and restore my honor, as well as my rightful place beside my father!" He launched into action, sending overpowering blows your way.

He kept you distracted and unable to help your friends long enough for Azula to strike down Aang. Your head snapped towards Katara's screams and you saw him laying there, completely unconscious.

You were distracted, and Zuko impulsively took advantage, sending a blast of orange and red flames towards you.

In all honesty, he expected you to dodge it, you always did without fail. But this time you were too distracted, too concerned with Aang, and he caught you completely off guard. You didn't even realize you were being attacked until the flames painfully scorched your skin.

You let out a horrifying scream as you crumbled to your knees, your shaky hand hovering over your left shoulder as you tried to control your instinct to grab it, knowing it would only hurt worse. You clenched your teeth together, biting back tears as you whipped your head around go see Zuko.

He looked shocked, remorseful even, but that didn't stop anger from edging its way into your glare.

You shuddered at the memory and tried to shake it from your head completely.

"You're all done," Katara said, maneuvering the water back into the bowl. A dull ache returned to your wound, but it felt significantly better than before.

"Thanks, Katara," you mumbled.

"Do you need help rewrapping the bandages?"

You shook your head, preferring to be alone and do the difficult task by yourself. Katara seemed to understand, because she didn't push the issue like she usually would. Instead, she left you with a few words.

"What you said was too far tonight, you should really apologize to Zuko, he is trying you know?"

She didn't wait for a response, not that you planned on giving much of one anyway, but soon you were alone, relishing in the peaceful silence.

But your silence didn't last long, just a few minutes after Katara left there was a whispering voice just outside your tent. It was unmistakable who'd come to visit you, and with great reluctance did you let him in.

"What do you want?" you asked, annoyance filling your voice. You refused to make eye contact with the boy, opting to stare at the mess of tangled bandages in your hands.

Your question was met with silence, that only seemed to worsen your mood. Really? He invades your tent just to ignore your one question? This guy was just unbelievable!

You could feel yourself loosing your temperature once again. "I said, what do you-" Your head snapped up at Zuko, ready to tell him off. But you froze when you saw his gaze, and how it held your figure. His jaw was slack, and his eyes swam as tears pooled at his lash-line. But his eyes never met yours. No, his focus was completely on the uncovered scar that graced your left side.

Your shoulder had taken most of the impact, just shy of being completely colored with a dull red scar. But the wound didn't stop there, covering a decent portion of your shoulder blade. The red marking also stretched up in a jagged stripe, narrowing to a point on the side of your neck, just barely marking your cheek.

You hated how you shuddered under his gaze, and had to look away. Your fingers moving faster as your tried to unravel the tangled bandage. You wanted to cover the burned area as soon as possible.

"I- I did that." It wasn't a question. He spoke purely in matter-of-fact statements, he knew exactly where you'd received your mark from.

"Yeah." You said sharply, picking up the bandage and moving to re-wrap the large wound.

"I . . . I am so sorry-"

"You've said."

Re-wrapping the affected area was proving to be more difficult than you'd thought, especially in your heightened state or frustration. Usually Katara did this part, and you were starting to regret sending her away.

"Please, let me help you," Zuko pleaded, reaching a shaky hand out to grasp at the bandage in your grip. You immediately flinched away from him, the sudden movement sending a sharp pain through your left side.

"Stay away from me!" You bit at him.

Zuko immediately pulled his hand back from you, as if he'd burned you unintentionally for a second time. "I'm sorry," he impulsively spilled out.

"Would you stop saying that? Stop apologizing, nothing is going to make me- ow!" Your own pain cut your sentence short, the sharp pain returning, sending another shock wave up your side at your frustrated movements.

"I'm so- just, please, let me help you and then I'll leave you alone, I promise."

You took a moment to think about the offer, and as much as you didn't want his help, the promise for him to leave is what enticed you to agree. So reluctantly, you handed him the bandages and positioned yourself closer to him, allowing Zuko to access your wound and wrap it with ease.

With slow movements, Zuko began wrapping the burned area. His touch was suprisingly gentle, even more so than Katara's, something you hadn't thought possible. But even with his feather-like touch, your skin still twitched as his fingers and the bandages made contact with the more sensitive areas. Zuko muttered out small apologies each time you flinched, despite your earlier message to stop that. Though the skin had begun the early stages of scarring, it was still sensitive.

"Uh, d-did I ever tell you how I got my scar?" Zuko asked suddenly, not even bothering to look up from his task. You knew what he was doing, he'd been doing things like that since he got here, trying to make small talk with you to cover up the awkward tension. You usually never entertained it, but for some reason tonight you felt intrigued by his question.

"No." You answered shortly, trying your best not to show your growing interest. You'd always been curious about the scar.

"My father gave it to me," he stated, oddly calmly. It was almost mindless the way he told the story as he continued to carefully wrap up your injury. Like the memory had become second nature to tell.

"Oh," you whispered out softly, your mind buzzing with a million different ways to respond to him, yet none of them felt right.

"I spoke out of turn during a meeting, over a general. They wanted to sacrifice an entire division of fire nation soldiers to gain the advantage. But I-," He swallowed thickly. ". . . I thought that was wrong so I spoke up."

You nodded ever so slightly, letting out a soft hum, showing that you were still listening and waiting for him to continue. At this point Zuko had finished wrapping the bandages around your burn, allowing you to turn your body to face him fully.

"My father was furious with my disrepect towards the general. He said that the dispute would need to be resolved with an agni kai, and I accepted. And when the day came I thought I'd be fighting the general I interrupted, but then my father walked out, my agni kai was to be against him."

With each word you felt your heart grow heavier and ache for the boy you swore you hated. You were beginning to question whether you genuinely hated him or if what you truly felt was left over betrayal and anger.

"How old were you?" You finally asked the question that had been bouncing around your head since he began the story.

"Thirteen, not long before I was banished."

You felt yourself boil with anger, but for once it wasn't directed towards the boy in front of you. No, you were furious with the Fire Lord. Who could do that to someone? To a child. Zuko must not have noticed the way your jaw clenched and your fists tightened into balls, because he continued the story as if he hadn't just made your heart drop into your stomach with his answer.

"I didn't want to fight my father, I couldn't. But he took my refusal as another sign of disrespect. I begged for his forgiveness, but he wouldn't hear it. He claimed that I would learn my lesson through suffering. He raised his hand just in front of my face and then he-"

His voice caught in his throat with a crack as he visibly grimaced from the sheer memory of the event. Instinctively, you reached out for his hand, placing yours over top of his much larger one. Now it was his turn to flinch at the sudden contact.

"Zuko, it's okay, you don't have to tell me this, I understand-"

"No! I do! I need you to understand that I never meant to hurt you! I need you to know that the last thing I wanted was for you to feel the same pain I did. After what my father did, I never wanted to inflict that on anyone. I knew that pain and yet I still hurt you . . . the one person who actually believed I could change!"

His hands flew into the air as his frustrated yells of regret were lost to the silent night. He then exasperatedly brought his arms back down and dropped his head into the palms of his hands. His body shook as he took in deep breaths, trying his best not to shed any tears. He was just so frustrated with himself.

"I thought you would dodge it," His muffled whimpers poured out. "You always dodged it."

It was then that you realized how cold you'd been to the boy. You were so caught up in your own hurt and anger, only concerned with making him feel as horrible as you had with your hurtful words. Not once had you considered that he was already kicking himself ten times harder for the pain he'd caused you. He really hadn't meant to hurt you.

And that's when you did something unexpected. In an impulsive attempt to comfort him, you threw your arms around his neck, pulling him in to a hug. His breath hitched, obviously shocked by the gesture, his body going stiff.

"I understand now, I forgive you, Zuko."

At those seven words he melted into your embrace, returning it as he wrapped his arms around your figure. His chin now rested on top of your good shoulder, as he was being extra cautious as to not press on your burns.

"And I'm sorry, for what I said about you and your uncle. He'd be proud of you."

His grip on you tighten, mumbling out a 'thank you,' in the process, finally feeling as though he could fully begin healing from all the wrong he'd done.

-

TAGLIST: @theepartygetsmewetter  

[greenbergwrites]

while snooping your account (as I do) I saw you posted about a dream you had where Steve was a sick lil omega and needed to go to the doctor and was assigned bucky as a heat partner and I just!! bc I love that idea. I could see Bucky having so much respect for omegas (especially runts like Steve) and maybe he only signed up as an assigned alpha bc he was low on cash but takes his job very seriously. maybe his first assigned omega is little innocent Stevie who’s shy bc they assigned him to the most attractive alpha he’s ever seen in his life and bucky just reassures him that he’s enough and he’s safe, while giving him his knot of course lbr

I barely remember the dream, but omega Steve needing a heat partner is always a beautiful thought.

I don’t know if they’d have a facility for heats or not. On one hand, the Omegas would probably be more relaxed at home, but on the other, inviting someone into their home seems overly personal.

But let’s just go with a facility for now, because making sure the Omegas are safe during their heats would definitely be a priority.

The Omegas arrive a few days before their heat, probably, to get acclimated to the environment and for a suitable partner to be chosen.

Steve, runt that he is, is obviously a late bloomer. This is his first heat, and his instincts are all over the place. The room they’ve given him is cozy, but he spends the days leading up to his heat nesting. He’s fussy about the placement of everything, fussy about the pillows, the blankets, the sheets, etc.

I also imagine that one of his nesting instincts has him building his own little den in a corner that’s almost like a blanket fort–somewhere he can hide away when he’s feeling especially vulnerable.

And when he isn’t nesting, he’s rejecting every Alpha partner they send him. He tries to be nice about it at first, but their scents aren’t right, and he doesn’t want them touching anything in his room, or staying long enough that their scent lingers.

The Alphas probably aren’t happy about the rebuff, but there’s fuck all they can do about it. It’s Steve’s heat, and he’s in charge.

The closer his heat gets, though, the more upset he is at being without his Alpha. He’s especially sensitive, and probably spends hours upon hours hiding in his little den, trying to find a sense of calm and safety that instinctively, he knows won’t come until he has an Alpha.

It’s not just about the biological need to mate, it’s that Omegas are never more vulnerable than when they’re in heat, and an Alpha is, above all else, a protector. An Alpha would protect him, would make sure no harm came to him, while also fulfilling his baser needs. Steve is close to his most vulnerable state, and there’s no Alpha to protect him through it.

And then, suddenly, there is.

He hears the door to his room first, that particular knock that tells him it’s another Alpha sent to tease him with what he craves. The door opens after a moment, and Steve doesn’t even bother to crawl out to make whoever it is go away. Leaving the safety of his den would expose him too much.

The footsteps that come toward him aren’t particularly loud, but they’re confident in a way that only an Alpha’s footsteps could be. A tall, broad shadow falls over Steve’s den, and then as he watches, the shadow squats down. The flap to his hiding place is pulled up.

The scent hits Steve’s first. Masculine, woodsy, Alpha. A shudder runs down his spine, his belly tightening as heat spreads inside him. His cock is instantly hard, his hole growing wet, his nipples aching for attention. He whines softly, an instinctive sound meant to entice an Alpha closer.

A face appears in the opening. He’s older, this Alpha. His features are as rugged as his scent, stubbled and strong-jawed, with full lips and bright, warm eyes that look at Steve like Steve is already his.

“Well, hello there, beautiful,” the Alpha says softly.

Another shudder wracks Steve’s body. He feels his Alpha’s voice on his skin like a caress, raising goosebumps in its wake.

“Alpha,” he whines, reaching for him.

Steve wants his Alpha inside their den, wants to be under him, skin-to-skin, the way Alpha and Omega are meant to be.

His Alpha doesn’t make him wait. He crawls inside the cozy space, stretching out as much as he can on the other side of the wall of pillows Steve is hiding behind. He takes hold of Steve’s outstretched hand, twining their fingers.

As soon as they touch, the tension drains out of Steve. He moans sweetly, laying down on his little barricade as he guides that big, warm hand to his throat. Encouraging the Alpha to touch him. His whole body throbs in pleasure when this earns him a deep rumble of pleasure.

“Well now,” the Alpha murmurs, his fingers brushing along Steve’s throat. “You can’t be the one giving everyone such trouble. Not a sweet little thing like you.”

Another deep shiver runs along Steve’s spine.

“Alpha,” he whispers, turning to nuzzle against those fingers. “Where were you?”

He turns to look at the Alpha, his lips forming a pout very much against his will. He says it as though they’ve known each other longer than these past few seconds.

The Alpha smiles crookedly at him, his warm palm curving around Steve’s shoulder and trailing along his arm.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he says. “Were you waiting for me?”

“Yes.”

Such a silly thing to say, to think, but it feels true. It feels as though he’s been waiting all this time for this Alpha. His Alpha.

Another rumble of pleasure. Steve feels that sound in his core, heating him from the inside out.

“Careful, pup,” his Alpha says. “It’s dangerous saying things like that to a man like me.”

Thick fingers take Steve by the back of the neck, pressing in firmly to either side, the way teeth would dig in if they were wolves under the moon. It’s a dominant hold in either form, one that Omegas are especially susceptible to. Steve’s cock stiffens to the point of pain, threatening to release just from this–from his Alpha’s presence, his scent, his dominance.

Steve falls onto his back, showing his belly, lifting his chin to bare his throat. It’s what a touch like that demands, and it’s what he craves. With a groan, the Alpha follows him, easily decimating the pillow barrier and rolling on top of him. Steve’s legs wrap around his hips, another shiver overtaking him as he’s finally given what he wanted. His Alpha on top of him.

The Alpha isn’t shy about putting his weight on Steve, pinning him in place. He leans down to nuzzle at the throat bared for him.

“God, you’re so pretty,” he murmurs, his nose following the line of Steve’s neck, inhaling deeply. “And so close to heat. I can already smell it on you. Are you going to take me to your heat bed, beautiful? You gonna let me mount you the way your body craves? Or should I leave?”

The very thought of his Alpha leaving is a wound on his soul. He cries out, grasping at him hastily, his fingers digging into the meat of his Alpha’s shoulders. It’s a useless gesture; if his Alpha wanted to leave, he would. Steve isn’t a match for such strength, not even at his best.

“Don’t,” he begs hoarsely. “Don’t, don’t–please don’t leave–Alpha, please–”

The domineering hand around his neck is back, squeezing again, and Steve instinctively goes limp. The Alpha kisses his throat, sweetly.

“Shhhh,” he soothes. “That’s it, pup. Just relax. I’m not going anywhere, not unless you want me to.”

Steve starts to shake his head again, but the pressure on his neck stops him. His Alpha doesn’t want his denial, only his obedience, and he gives it happily.

Lips brush over his throat again. “Tell me your name, beautiful.”

“Steve,” he whispers obediently.

“Steve.” The lips on him curve into a smile. “My name is Bucky. I want you to remember that, because I won’t knot you until I hear you scream it.”

Steve moans, but he’s settled once more by his Alpha’s dominant hold.

“For now, beautiful little Steve,” his Alpha says, “you’re going to try to get some sleep. And I’m going to lay here and hold you while you do, so you can feel me near. Your heat is close, baby, and once it hits, you won’t care about anything but my knot. You need as much rest as you can get.”

Steve nods clumsily. “Yes, Alpha,” he says.

He wouldn’t have thought he could sleep, not keyed up the way he is, but his Alpha soothes him until it’s almost too easy, curling up in his arms and falling asleep.

It feels like only minutes later that he’s woken by a fire under his skin, every part of him aching for something that he can’t provide.

He doesn’t know how it happens, but his clothes disappear and then his Alpha is there–also gloriously naked–settling his weight between Steve’s thighs and taking his mouth in a bruising kiss. Their cocks slide together, and then he’s being shifted, thick fingers pushing into his aching hole. He cries into the kiss, his hips jerking, but there’s nowhere to go. All he can do is lay in his Alpha’s arms and feel.

“Are you going to let me take you to bed?” Alpha asks, an endless eternity of pleasure later. His teeth scrape along Steve’s jaw. “Once I mount you, beautiful, I won’t care where we are. I’ll keep mounting you as long as you let me.”

Steve shakes his head. “No,” he whispers hoarsely. “Please, no. Here, here.”

Alpha glances around the darkened space, before his eyes spark with understanding. He smiles down at Steve as he repositions himself, guiding his long, hard cock between Steve’s legs.

“Of course,” he murmurs. His cock nudges against Steve’s hole; it takes almost no pressure at all for Steve’s body to give, all too eager to take him. “Of course it should be here. Can’t let all this hard work go to waste, can I, baby? It’s so cozy and warm here, filled with your sweet scent. You deserve to be knotted in the den you made for us, don’t you?”

Steve comes. He isn’t sure if it’s the fat cock opening him, lighting along nerve-endings he didn’t even know he had, or if it’s the words. But molten pleasure lights up deep in his core and he whines helplessly as his cock spurts against his belly, untouched.

That pleasure drowns him, and he doesn’t resurface for days.

[wondernimbus]

everything you didn’t say — draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x female!reader

summary: reader has secrets of her own. a party at the malfoy manor reveals them.

a/n: i had to rewrite this bc im dumb n my first draft didn't save which was Very upsetting but anyways i hope you like it :'') 

“Well, don’t you look dashing.”

Draco’s eyes snap up in the mirror.

[Y/N] is standing in his doorway, having somehow opened the door without him noticing. She has one shoulder leaning on the doorframe, arms folded over her chest, eyebrows raised. There is a glint in her eye that Draco knows all too well; that of playfulness, of fondness. One he has long since associated with safety.

He breathes out a short laugh. “How long have you been standing there?” Draco asks, ringed fingers deftly resuming to work on his tie, but he isn’t having much success. He feels far too jittery, and as a result he keeps accidentally knotting it, only to unwind the silk and try again, over and over like some messed up routine.

Watching her through the mirror’s reflection, he sees [Y/N] step into the room. She’s wearing a plain black dress; lace sleeves, collarbones in display, the silver necklace he’d given her hanging around her neck.

“Long enough to find out that you’re a grown seventeen year old who doesn’t know how to tie his own tie.”

Draco still has it in him to roll his eyes, to let out a short-lived laugh. “I do,” he mutters, yanking a little at the fabric in frustration. “It’s just..”

[Y/N] swiftly pads across his room to join him at the dresser, a tiny grin playing across her lips. Standing in front of him, she gently knocks his hands away so as to work on his tie herself.

“Nerves?” she says quietly. The grin on her lips falls slightly as she fixes her gaze on his tie, hands quickly working to loop the loose ends together.

Draco inhales sharply. His palms are clammy, his heart is beating too fast inside of his chest—to say that he’s dealing with nerves would be an understatement.

”You could say that,” he decides, curling and uncurling his fists at his sides. When she looks up to meet his gaze, he tries for a weak smile, if only to quell the storm inside his heart.

”It’ll be fine,” [Y/N] tells him with a pursed smile. She’s done tying his tie. Her hands move to rest on his shoulders, which are covered with his suit jacket. His mother had insisted he wear it, just as her own mother had no doubt insisted [Y/N] wear her dress; it is somewhat of a special occasion, after all, although what they are celebrating is hardly something that neither draco nor [Y/N] feel too ecstatic about it.

”There’ll be drinks,” continues [Y/N] with a lilting tone, thumbs smoothing over the creases of his suit. “And..”

She trails off. There isn’t really much to say.

”Dancing?” Draco suggests half-heartedly.

There is one brief second in which their eyes meet, and both of their lips are already beginning to quirk up at the corners, and then the next they are both breaking out into laughter. And it’s not the kind that hurts your stomach or has you pounding your fists on the ground, but it’s laughter nonetheless—a little rigid, a little heavy-hearted, but it’s just as relieving.

[Y/N]’s shoulders wrack with subtle giggles. “Yeah,” she agrees, nodding. “And I suspect Greyback will be giving a motivational speech.”

Draco feels his lips tug up into a crooked grin. “Hear my aunt might skip out on the party. She’s got knitting to do, you see.”

Both of them let themselves paint a picture inside their head: the infamous, untamed Bellatrix, sitting in a quiet corner with a quilt in her lap, humming a little tune to herself.

[Y/N] throws her head back in a loud laugh, and this time it’s not quite as tense. Draco watches her, laughing quietly on his own, and suddenly his heart doesn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.

He watches as the last of her giggles dissipate, and she is smiling down at her shoes again, and then back up at him.

“We’ll be okay,” she tells him softly, once more reaching out, but not to tie his tie or to smoothen out the creased fabric of his suit, but to card her fingers through his hair the way she knows relaxes him.

Staring down at her—holding her gaze, which is warm and comforting and reminiscent of simpler times, like when she would sneak into his bed at Hogwarts and they would whisper and laugh quietly into the night, taking care not to wake up any of his roommates—Draco allows himself to breathe. To feel like himself again; a boy in love and nothing more.

”Yeah,” he says, closing his eyes, leaning forward to lean his forehead on hers. “Yeah, we will.”

—

Gatherings at the Malfoy Manor were usually a grand event; peacocks would mill about the lawn, some wandering past the large castle doors and into the drawing room, where the guests would stroke their feathers in admiration with one hand and hold a glass of the finest mulled wine in the other as they spoke among themselves, laughing and boasting offhandedly about the ancient living room set they'd imported from France or their children's future careers. Sometimes one would have enough courage to bring up the notion of arranged marriages, only for Narcissa Malfoy to turn them down and say that Draco would choose for himself when the time came, veering the conversation away towards things like ministry connections.

Parties happened often back then—not as much to celebrate as to fill up the overly large halls of the manor with pointless chatter—but things have changed. It’s been a while since the Malfoys last opened their doors to guests.

Does this count as a party? Draco wonders to himself, watching Death Eaters filter into the drawing room, some wearing sickening grins and others looking dead inside.

There are no more wandering peacocks. No more music, no more friendly guests eager to wed their children into the Malfoy family. There are only murderers. Death Eaters. There is laughter, but the kind that has Draco feeling uneasy.

Things have changed. Draco wonders if it's for the better.

He knows he and [Y/N] can't hide here forever—at the edge of the shadowed banister overlooking the entrance hall—but they stay there for as long as they can, until his grim-looking mother comes up the staircase and beckons for them to join the party.

Party. Ha.

So Draco and [Y/N] trail after Narcissa, who leads them into the drawing room, where most of the Death Eaters have gathered. No peacocks, no music, but there is wine, and almost everyone is clutching a glass of it.

He feels [Y/N]'s fingers graze against his. Looking over at her, she sees him staring placidly in front of her, meeting no one's gaze, but she seems to feel his eyes on her—so she turns her head to the side, and Draco sees her facade slip away for the smallest of split seconds as the look on her face softens and she gives him this small, reassuring smile.

He can almost hear her voice inside his head: we'll be okay.

Draco swallows. Nods just a fraction of an inch.

People clap him on the back as he passes, congratulating him and [Y/N] for a job well done at fixing the Vanishing Cabinet. Draco nods mutely and lets [Y/N] do the talking—she has always been better at keeping her composure, masking her true thoughts.

"Could never have imagined it," cackles Alecto Carrow, marching up to them in the middle of the large room. Her cheeks are already tinged pink with intoxication, voice a higher pitch than usual. "Most I expected from you lot was.. well, nothing, really. Doubted you could even fix a dresser, much less a whole bloody cabinet!" she shrieks with laughter, some of the wine from her glass spilling onto the floor.

[Y/N]'s gaze is stony. "Thank you."

Alecto’s nose wrinkles, her chortles dying down. "Thank you?" she repeats. "S'that all you have to say?"

For a brief, horrifying moment, Draco almost thinks [Y/N] is going to bite back with a sarcastic remark—but things have changed and there is a mark on her arm now, so instead she says, flatly, "It wasn’t an easy feat." A slight pause. "We’re just as surprised as you."

Alecto grins. She seems satisfied. "Well, 'course it wasn't an easy feat, or at least for you." She takes a big swig out of her glass. "Could’ve done it myself in ten minutes, isn't that right, Amycus?"

Her brother Amycus snickers but doesn't reply. Draco knows it's because he doubts Alecto's claims just as much as they do; she doesn't seem capable of writing even a bloody paragraph on her own.

"Well," says [Y/N]. "We appreciate your.. praise."

Draco almost snorts. It’s uncharacteristic of her to be so formal, and most of all to take the high road when being insulted. He knows that if things were different, if their lives weren't on the line, she wouldn't be standing here at Draco's side—no, her wand would be at Alecto's throat.

But that little bit of humor quickly fades when Draco finds Amycus staring at [Y/N], uncouth eyes roaming from her lips to her exposed collarbones, the skin hiding just underneath the lace of her sleeves, the dress hugging her figure—

Draco feels anger flare up, hot and heavy inside of his chest. Unconsciously, he finds himself stepping forward, urged on by that unpleasant feeling worming its way into his stomach, curling his hands into fists, tinging the tips of his ears red as his fingers edge closer to the wand inside his pocket.

¨What are you looking at, boy?¨ Amycus sneers, meeting his gaze.

Draco thinks, at that moment, that magic would hardly be fit to put this ugly brute of a man in his place—no, he´d much rather use his fists, pummel them into that crooked nose of his until he kneels at [Y/N]’s feet and begs for her forgiveness, because no one should look at her like that—

[Y/N] is whispering something, but he can´t hear it through the blood rushing in his ears.

But all of a sudden, Amycus’s gaze changes. He is no longer looking at Draco; rather, at something over his shoulder, and then he is bowing his head, eyes downcast.

All it takes Draco is a brief glance behind him to realize why.

He hears [Y/N] now: he’s here. He’s here.

An odd hush has fallen over the large room. The cause is easy to pinpoint; the Dark Lord has appeared at the entrance of the large drawing room, bringing with him a familiar sense of foreboding as everyone’s breath seems to hitch. It’s funny, in a sick way, how easily the atmosphere has shifted from something like ease to suffocating tension. How Alecto, who had been cackling into her glass of wine just moments before, now looks like a dog called to heel. How Amycus has torn his hungry gaze away from [Y/N] to instead stare down obediently at his feet. How Draco’s own parents, who stand a few feet away from the Dark Lord at the entrance, have their lips pursed and their hands clasped in front of them in submission.

Draco would laugh, but he is one of them now, and his head is hung just like the rest of them.

¨My, my,¨ says the Dark Lord, tone soft. ¨What a lovely party.¨

It had been he, the Dark Lord, who had suggested the idea of a celebration to revere in Draco´s and [Y/N]´s success. Not out of fondness, of course, but out of sheer spite for the Malfoys, caused by Lucius’s failure at the Department of Mysteries. This party was just another part of his little mind games; not only had he forced their son, Draco, to let Death Eaters loose inside Hogwarts, but he was now forcing them to celebrate it.

But why is he here?

It had been he who proposed the party, but no one had expected the Dark Lord to actually come. He had other things of actual importance to attend to: things that involved torture and kidnap and blackmail. He was on the brink of taking over the Ministry of Magic, and thus was a busy man—the Dark Lord only goes where he is needed, and not to pointless parties.

Draco swallows.

So why is he here?

¨It is only right, of course,¨ Voldemort continues, his voice still so oddly soft, like he´s addressing children, ¨That we celebrate the success of our young Death Eaters. The task I gave them was not an easy one, I’m afraid, and yet they prevailed, in the end, and proved themselves to us.¨

He wonders if Voldemort has spotted him and [Y/N], and feels bile rise at the back of his throat. Draco doesn´t want him anywhere near her.

Just leave, Draco thinks to himself, his teeth gritted so tight he hears how they scrape inside his skull. Just leave.

“I must admit, a few months ago I had my doubts.. but now here we are, applauding them, congratulating them for a job well done, treating them as one of our own.. welcoming them.”

“Draco.”

[Y/N] has inched closer to him. A moment later she feels her fingers weaving through his, squeezing his palm so tight Draco knows without having to look that her knuckles have turned a ghostly white.

He squeezes back, thinking that she might just be as surprised as him. Just as nervous.

It’ll be okay, he tries to tell her without saying it out loud. He´s too scared to speak. It’ll be okay.

¨And yet even as we toast to their names..¨

Draco keeps his head down. He can hear the sound of Voldemort´s robes rasping against the floor as he moves about the room.

But that is not the only thing he hears. Cold sweat trickles down the side of his temple, because in the Dark Lord’s voice he hears an edge. He senses danger.

A thought bounces around Draco’s skull as he fixes his gaze intently on his shoes: why is he here?

"Even as we welcome them with open arms.. as we let them walk among us unharmed, revered, almost, for their bravery..¨

¨Draco,¨ [Y/N] repeats, a little louder this time but only for his ears, and if the room wasn´t so quiet he wouldn´t have heard her ragged, almost panicked breathing, but it was and he did. 

He senses uneasy movement from behind him. One of the other Death Eaters.

¨Despite our kindness, one of them dares to turn away from us. One of them dares—¨ The Dark Lord´s voice grows colder, angrier, losing control and then all of a sudden softening again after a pregnant pause; ¨One of them dared.. dares to feed information to the fools that call themselves the Order of the Phoenix.¨

Draco hears the collective murmur of surprise that ripples through the room.

“Draco.” [Y/N]’s grip on his hand, if possible, tightens.

¨One of them dares betray us.¨

There is a brief moment of confusion on Draco´s part. He turns his head to look at [Y/N], brows furrowed as he struggles to make sense of the Dark Lord´s words.

But then Draco meets her eyes. Sees the look on her face.

¨I´m sorry,¨ she whispers, and realization hits him like a burst of icy cold water.

¨Seize her,¨ Voldemort says coldly. When Draco looks up, he sees that he is halfway across the room but his gaze is fixed on them—on [Y/N].

Amycus and Alecto are the first to move. They drop their glasses with no hesitation, sending them to the floor where they break into a hundred tiny pieces, and grab [Y/N] by the arms. She resists, wrestling in their arms, but the string of words that leave her mouth aren´t curses, nor are they pleas to let her go; no, they are apologies, repeated over and over again like a mantra as she desperately holds Draco´s gaze—”I’m sorry, Draco. I’m sorry.”

He watches as they yank [Y/N] across the floor, towards the Dark Lord, away from him. His lungs have stopped working, his heart is pounding wildly somewhere inside his throat, and [Y/N] is being roughly thrown at the Dark Lord´s feet—

Draco can´t breathe. His mind is buzzing, blanking out to a field of white, noise and heat colliding and melting until he can´t think through the blood rushing in his ears.

“Pity,” the Dark Lord whispers, gripping her chin harshly, jerking it up so that she would look at him. 

“I thought you'd proved yourself to be worthy of my praise, but instead it seems you've proved yourself to be rather the opposite—“

She snaps her head away. “Fuck you.”

“You, my child, have proved yourself to be a fool.”

“You´re never going to win.”

The Dark Lord seems unfazed. A grin splits wide on his face, stretching his lips into an uncannily amused grin as he stares down at the girl at his feet for a few seconds before nodding—and then turning around, twirling his wand in his hands—when had he pulled it out?

“And now, my brothers and sisters.”

Draco doesn’t feel his feet move underneath him, but they do.

“Lo and behold what happens to ungrateful fools who turn us away believing that they are saving the world, when in fact they are ruining themselves.”

Everything happens so quickly that Draco barely has any time to react; Voldemort raises his wand, and it seems to almost shine in the light as he points it directly towards [Y/N]—the Dark Lord´s mouth opens, the spell resting on the tip of his tongue, [Y/N] at the opposite end of his wand—

“No!”

It’s as though something inside of Draco has snapped, like he is being jarred awake. He doesn´t think—just darts forward with no real goal in mind other than to put himself in between Voldemort and [Y/N], but then there are hands grabbing at his arms, holding him back—

“Let go of me!” his tone is feral. He jabs his elbow into someone´s stomach, trying desperately to wrestle himself free, but the more Death Eaters he rips off of him, the more take their place. “[Y/N]!” he is breathless. “[Y/N]—”

The Dark Lord is going to kill her. He´s going to bloody kill her.

“Draco,” he hears his mother´s voice but doesn’t see her—he´s too busy thrashing wildly in the arms of whoever has hold of him, yelling out profanities and curses and [Y/N]´s name; “Draco, come. You don´t want to see this.”

“Let fucking go of me!”

But then the Dark Lord´s voice cuts through the havoc—¨Let him stay.¨

“[Y/N]!” Draco shouts, gritting his teeth. There are tears in his eyes; he doesn´t realize they´re there until they´ve fallen and he tastes them on his tongue. “Don´t touch her! Don´t fucking touch her!”

But the Dark Lord is, once again, unfazed. He turns his gaze to Draco but doesn´t lower his wand. “Watch, my child,” he says, voice ringing throughout the room, cold and unforgiving. “And pay close attention. This is what happens to cowards. To fools. To ungrateful scum.”

[Y/N]´s back is turned to Draco, and maybe it is better that way, because when the Dark Lord raises his wand, he doesn´t have to see the light leave her eyes.

Draco feels the entire world slow down. A single thought appears inside the ruined mess that is his mind, almost as if it’s mocking him—[Y/N] has always been better at masking her true thoughts. At hiding things; even from him. 

We’ll be okay, [Y/N] had told him.

She had lied.

¨Avada Kedavra!¨

general taglist:  @dancing-in-the-moonlight3 @kalimagik @alittletoomanyobsessions @hariosborn @obsessedwithrandomthings @emcchi @sxrensxngwrites @enjoying-fantasyland21 @masterofthedarkness @siriusly-addicted-to-writing @bforbroadway @hufflefluff-writer @summer-writes @chaotic-fae-queen @firewhisky-kisses @dracosvftie @heloisedaphnebrightmore @idont-knowrn @dreamer821 @peachesandpinks @slytherinprincess03​ @chocfrogaddict @nebulablakemurphy​ ​@kpopgirlbtssvt​ @lumielikesbooks​ @teheharrypotter​ @susceptible-but-siriusexual @chaoticgirl04

[justforsutff]

Me rambling about Compton’s Cookoff and Anxiety!

I loved analyzing psychonaut 2 levels on my own time and while it may seem odd I really find a lot of analysis inside Compton’s stage. He’s definitely not the most recognized out of the psychic six and maybe because it may appear vague at first glance?

I’m NOT a psychologist, I don’t know how the mind works. I’m mostly basing it off of pure personal experiences with GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder). So accept it however you want! 

Warning: will contain spoilers for psychonauts 2, akso this will have typos bc i wrote this when i was tired

Let’s talk about Compton to begin with and key points we KNOW about him:

Compton, Like Dogen his grandson, has extremely powerful psychic abilities that make things around him explode

He appears - probably due to said psychic powers - to have a ‘overstimulation’ issue.

He usually relies on others to be comfortable - Cassie for example

He , along with the others, failed to help Maligula/Lucrecia

He’s one of the few members that’s still in the motherlove, but he’s shut himself away to avoid exposion accidents. He also says he was feeling a little “over whelmed” and when he gets overwhelmed “accidents happen”

Tries to monitor how many “Voices” are around (had to send lizzie away for that reason)

Clearly Compassionate about animals

Let’s look at how Cassie views Compton through the Compton Archetype:

(Cassie views him as someone kind and on good terms with her but something that is lost without her)

Now Helmut:

(Helmut views Compton as the “mouth”, associated with tastes and words. Compton is also met *with* Cassie, assuming Helmut sees them usually together. Also they’re Complimentary colors, Helmut potentially sees them as ‘complimenting’ eachother.) 

--

For this analogy to work let’s equate the ‘in-story’ reason for Compton’s psychic abilities to a metaphor. Compton’s psychic explosions are caused from overstimulation and stress, which causes ‘bad things to happen’. Think  about the last time you were REALLY worried about something, so worried that you made a fatal error in your judgement and made the situation worse. For some that might bum them out a little and make them feel stupid, but they’d move on. In my experience? No. You think about that shit and it haunts you. It might not even be the full memory but the SENSATION that you failed that screws you over. You can’t stop thinking about it either, because if you stop thinking about it that means you hard thinking hard enough. Yet if i’m thinking too hard I might overwork myself? Yet if I don’t overwork myself I don’t care enough and-

BOOM! 

You did something stupid again and got yourself into a even worse stage of the process. The cycle repeats until you can somehow force yourself out of it. For some that means isolating yourself for a bit, it could be a healthier destressing like playing a game of chess or something, but it could also be going to a friend. Friends are always there for you after all right? Even if you feel like a burden to them all the time by relying on them for your emotions- they make you feel safe and let you know that what you’re thinking is unreasonable. For some, it helps to just know what you’re hearing is JUST you. However this can become it’s own bad process in itself, it can even be somewhat of a dependency if your issues aren’t handled properly. And god, imagine if that person just- left you? You watch them literally leave? They *left* you, maybe even for a reason that’s *your* fault. Probably only heightened when Compton claims he looked for “Years” but “I just... can’t anymore”. Sure, that wasn’t the case for Cassie (And even then, Cassie did try to tell ford- just ford was too affected by the machine to articulate all that news) but what would you think if the person you talk to everyday just vanished like that. For someone who’s anxiety ridden, the first thing to blame is YOURSELF. When Compton couldn’t rely on someone or he was afraid of ‘making things worse’ (another tactic the brain comes up for which ultimately backfires because now we’re isolated and stuck to our feelings!), he isolated himself completely from everyone. He even had the kid he was supposed to be mentoring go out in the woods because it felt too noisy or too stressful for him to deal with. Isolating yourself and keeping those away from you may seem like the only solution, but in reality it only fosters those emotions into another bad coping mechanism. We’ve gone from pure dependency to pure detachment. 

Not to mention he hid away for all of the other “FAILURES” he believed he caused. He exploded those poor dogs in “I was only trying to Help!” because of HIS lack of control, Helmut died because HE didn’t put enough work in, Bob went into a alcholic state because HE didn’t reach out enough, Otto thinks little of him because HE has to stick to these emotional bursts instead of just controling his emotions like HE should, HE failed Ford and HE didn’t even save Lucrecia, HE was so pathetic that even Cassie left him! 

Are all of these statements true? No- maybe at most the poor dogs but nothing with the Psychic 6. Sure, everyone sees Compton as “dependable on Cassie” to an extent but there doesn’t appear to be much blame on him for everything HE blames himself for. 

See how he describes Maligula for example (There is no breaks inbetween these 3 lines, really showing that emphasis on blaming himself):

You’ll see the theme of “Is this really what they think of Compton? No” because it’s a vital aspect to Compton’s arc. Because Anxiety is like that, it makes you think absurd and seemingly illogical and purely emotional thoughts. Even if these thoughts seem silly or dumb, they’re very real to you and you almost feel like you can never control them. 

Even before we ENTER his stage, even before we’re given the opportunity to, he says

Compton thinks very little himself because he can’t act in the way he thinks he should or how he interprets others think he should. 

Another thing with my own experiences: Another terrible feeling is being wrought with a reality or preparations you weren’t mentally prepared for! Crompton feels this when he asks Raz to only bring ONE bee but instead Raz brought THREE. It doesn’t really seem like much - and outside of comptons powers it kinda is - but the stress that wroughts your brain after thinking “IM NOT PREPARED ENOUGH OH NO WHAT WILL EVERYONE THINK” sucks. Though the bees relate more to Compton’s powers I believe here than anxiety. 

Supposed it’s still noted:

Regardless of it being powers or not, Compton appears to be going through an Panic attack. Panic attacks different than Anxiety attacks, Anxiety Attacks are characterized by intensified anxiety over a period of time- to the point where it may feel like an “attack”. They’re persistent and long lasting. Anxiety attacks are usually caused by specific stressors or triggers. Where Panic attacks occur unexpectedly, are disruptive and sudden, sends the body into a ‘fight or flight’ and other states like agitation and shaking. All from an over stimulation- As Compton says, “IT’S TOO MUCH!” and afterwards followed by small sentence worth of responses or just “Ahh!”. It’s hard to articulate yourself when you’re set in a state of pure negative feelings! 

Now the stage in itself- Compton’s Cookoff. 

Some notes from just the first few minutes:

First things we can pick up is Compton can’t start because “Cassie’s not here” (Check the stuff about Cassie)

“Being on the Menu” is BETTER than preparing the meal in Compton’s mind. As Compton puts it “Judgement”

The Judge is introduced noted as “Cruel and Unusual”.

Why is being someone’s food BETTER in Compton’s mind? Well, as you’ll soon later see Compton judges himself based on the perceptions of others around him. The less he needs to be put to a standard and kept to the background, the much safer for him and others. Standards is anxiety’s biggest tool, especially the unrealistic or overexaggerated. Just saying someone’s art ‘could be better’ could mean that we failed as an artist. Even if it’s just a small passing comment! Even if it’s constructive or destructive! You worry if you failed to meet up to the best potential you could be. I grew up on the notion that my “Best wasn’t enough” for example, so I always felt like I needed to reach whatever the “best” was for these people or face the cruel reality that i’m pathetic and a failure to them (which is an overexaggeration of the brain). The last of the two options felt unacceptable. Problem is that it’d just sent me into the ‘exploding’ cycle mentioned earlier. I get into such a worry that i’m not meeting their expectations that I end up making mistakes or lapses in judgement and destroy myself more. Judgement, especially OUR OWN JUDGES, are “Cruel and unusual”.

When you ring that tiny bell it DONGS, sure you’re literally in a bigger bell but this is also ***Symbolism***. About how tiny situations or noises like that tiny bell can grow right around and you to the point it starts to make your ears go deaf from noise. 

Here we get introduced to the 4 goats- host and judges. 

Ford: Leader of the Psychic 6 and the one that RECRUITED him to begin with. Even if they’re friends, Ford has a higher authority and seemingly higher expectations. They didn’t necessarily meet “on the same level” probably in Compton’s mind. 

Otto: The Engineering Expert, to many of Otto’s team mates Otto appears emotionally unavailable (Which is not true, Otto vents his emotions by trying to create seemingly constructive machines. Otto just doesn’t show his emotions as extremely as he others. Despite prioritizing tech over emotions he clearly blames himself as so with his convo with Sasha. Side note tho lol). Otto - seemingly either got over it quickly to learned how to manage himself easier. Compton probably envies that ability and assumes Otto expected him to get to that state as quickly as he did.

Hollis: Second Head of The Psychonauts. Hollis is probably one of the closest to some actual truth, but even then Compton is taking it too personally. Hollis is a serious person, who’s highly responsible and knows how to manage a situation when things get bad. Compton- like Otto- probably envies that ability and assumes Hollis expects that of Compton. Hollis is an honest person, if she believes telling someone something will work towards better productivity I don’t doubt she’d speak it. Even if Hollis comes off as Cold and maybe aggressive, Hollis has a reason for the way she acts. For someone with Compton’s anxiety though? You’d avoid her like the plague because she’s the most likely to give looks. She’s better controlled, she knows how to step back on her feet, she knows when you’re messing up and she’ll tell you that you are. They’re one of the harder judges to deal with mentally. 

Truman: The Grand Head of the Psychonauts. From what we see of Truman he seems fine and friendly, so what’s he even doing? Well, Truman is technically even more of a boss to Compton than Ford! Truman is the one that keeps that mural of the psychic 6 up on display, Truman is the one that fired Bob for “Acting out of line” (More like ‘if you won’t seek help Bob i’m going to be forced to fire you’ but Compton wasn’t there when that argument happened), so on and so forth! Compton sees Truman like the host that, while passive and more off to the side (I doubt they talk that much due to their positions) still jabs at you and tests what you’re capable of. 

Again, whether or not these interpretations are accurate is NOT the point, because anxeity doesn’t really work like that. Most of the time they AREN’T accurate and even if they were there’s over exaggeration or false ideas placed within them. Literally also none of the judges believe in him and claim that - for him to make anything decent- is impossible. 

Can I mentioned also how all the judges deem anything they make as basically “eh, ok” and the show is called “ram it down”

Ram it down implies that whatever compton does or makes, it’ll be awful so the best thing to do it ram it down and stay quiet or pleasant. Only difference is that these puppets are interpretations of comptons own anxiety, so they aren’t going to be quiet or pleasant about it. The fear that the anxieties you worry about are REAL is TERRIBLE.

Before the judgement of some of the meals they’ll ask questions. Hollis for example asks something along the lines of ‘is that tallest stacks you could make?’. Hinting towards a “is that the best you can do?” mentality Compton assumes from these people and others. All the dishes are labeled as “jsut ok” in various measures. A - in hindsight sad - but relieving feeling is knowing that you at least matched to what they were expecting or was okay with. Being “just okay” is safer than risking something, which hinders our own potential to grow and flourish. 

The cooking show aspect of it is to match- once again- to that- “I’m being judged by everyone”- expect you ARE- IN A COOKING SHOW WITH A AUIDENCE HOST AND JUDGES! AAAA

Also noted he still has guilt on the mind when the first meal is a “grulovian drowned egg” (Helmut allegory? Lucrecia?) Noted that it’s from a very outspoken egg and unruly oven so perhaps lined more towards Lucrecia. Could be both though?

This works through until the solo rounds because Raz is helping- working a semi Cassie role here but it’s Raz so different dynamic of course. Though Compton seems to be getting some confidence from it- as cromptons given an idea on how to heal. 

Well unlike he has to do it all alone. 

Compton is still working WITH you technically, but it’s done in a way where he’s given a majority of control over it. Which is VERY stressful, but through it all though Compton can gain confidence in doing it. You can still rely on others but you also can work the backbones too! You don’t need ot let your fears and anxieties make you prefer to stay in the sidelines! 

With that comes also the other relevation, as you destroy each of the puppets come out a long greenish arm holding kitchen materials. With the last one destroyed (Ford- maybe being the worst anxiety due to guilt?), however, the puppet halts and Compton removes the puppet from his OWN hand. A Metaphor about how the anxieties in our head grow to the unrealistic degrees they do out of our own minds way to try to retroactively “work with” the issue. Where we have the power in our hands to control or manage the our anxieties, to the point rompton orders the kitchen to clean up! Before that that journey, I doubt Compton could even image telling the “kitchen” what to do!

Even then he knows that he also doesn’t NEED help either, as he moves on without Raz intro the forest. It’s a working of balance! 

When he’s heading towards to find cassie- sometihng he deemed impossible and exhausting effort. Now he says:

When it even comes to Cassie having remove the bees, she comments how she wishes Compton was there to help! It all came full circle! 

Anyway, this is why I like Compton. 

[aardvaark]

it was semi-believable back when there was hardly such a thing as an accessible internet, BUT no one could feasibly have a secret identity as a superhero these days due to social media lemme just. okay. 

we have paparazzi for celebrities, its gonna be 100x more for superheroes realistically. they would have a fanbase online who would clearly want to find out who they are. plus i think c*ps might be trying to find them.

let’s take spiderman as an example. it should have taken a few months at most imo. even though he has a fully body suit, we still have criteria for him

- male (spider*man*, stereotypical body shaping, ‘masculine’-coded voice, etc) - young. age bracket would be about 15-25, and though they wouldn’t exactly expect someone that young, people are going to be lenient with age. and he’s clearly not very old - again, voice, use of language, appearance - primarily english-speaking w/american accent.  - you can get a very accurate height from photos & videos (as we know from that one dude on tiktok), and there is a LOT of media of spiderman - lives in NY - muscular to an extent, athletic physique, somewhat thin. 

ofc you can be like “well that barely helps” but heres some stats.

7 billion ppl in the world.

8.4 million in NY.

4.2 million men in NY (roughly)

504,000 men in NY between 15-24 (about 12% of NY.)

352,800 men in NY between 15-24 whose first langauge is english/would likely have american coded accent (added a bit bc ppl with other langauges may easily still have an american-coded accent like Spiderman’s)

137592 men in NY between 15-24 similar accent height close to tom holland’s (which is current spiderman: 39%)

42654 men in NY right age right height right langauge/accent similar physique (69% americans considered overweight or obese)

38389 ‘’ who do not have a disability which would make it actually not possible for them to do what spiderman has done (note: i still firmly believe anyone could be spiderman, à la the entire movie about Miles Morales and a cartoon pig and a black and white old detective movies guy etc etc, but videos and stuff from THIS specific reality have shown spiderman do certain stunts, walk without aid for long periods of time, etc. this list is not about ‘who can be spiderman’ but about ‘who from his universe could be this person whose superhero identity is spiderman’)

so now we’ve narrowed down 8.4 mil to 38389. just under 0.46% of NY is still eligible by discounting ppl on very basic facts. thats still a whole lot, but its... a significant amount less. now we make some assumptions. 

he’s at an age where he would be at school, college or an apprenticeship. let’s be real, none of those are particularly flexible. you have a new criterion: search for ppl with high absences in education OR absences whenever spiderman is around during the day. its only a little, but its all you need. all you need is access to some school records, and it seems like just about anyone with any interest in tech in the universe spiderman is in, has the skills to break into literally all records ever, so this isn’t even a reach. (peter obviously would have to meet this criteria, plus being ‘lost’ on field trips an awful lot)

another group you would search would be anyone close to tony stark or that works at stark industries, for possible candidates. we know he’s getting tech from somewhere and is seen w the avengers on occasion or where they are. (peter’s... internship... meets this criteria. the fact that its sorta unofficial and unexplained makes it that much dodgier.)

another group is young men of over-average IQ or do ‘intellectual’ things. boys who are really into science, essentially. cause he had to make his suit somehow, he has to be keeping up grades to some extent, he has to be smart to get away w it, he has to manufacture web fluid. you’d search participants in competitions, awards that are handed out to school and college students, scholarship programs for science, etc. (peter does meet this criteria in fact; academic decathalon, science school, high grades.)

so essentially your method would be: 

to go through (students) + (ppl close to stark industries) + (highly intelligent). we can assume a candidate would meet AT LEAST ONE of these points (peter meets all 3). 

file out anyone who isn’t in that, like, less than 0.5% of people who fit his physical description

suddenly you have a far more concise list, of which you can count out anyone who has an obviously different body shape/features/etc which completely don’t coincide with all the images of spiderman

suddenly you have a far more concise list of people to track.

from here, you want to find anything dodgy, like the weird stark internship thing which sorta just got made for peter parker, or ppl with excessive injuries, sick days, etc

AND this is all based on the assumption that no one’s been snapping shots of him while even a small bit of his skin is exposed (eg if he is injured), or that he’s never given any information whatsoever about himself like having an aunt or what colour his hair is or his favourite flavour soup. and that no one has ever followed him home at least a short way.

if we use some of those, then

we would know he’s either white, very light-skinned or has vitiligo (depends how much skin exposed)

we would know he’s vaguely from queens & surrounding area

we could discount people whose favourite soup flavour is tomato or something idek

my point being, it gets narrower and narrower. you’d end up with at most like 30 subjects, who you would monitor and someone might even leak the names. this is just something fans (who don’t care about his safety much) could do, but imagine if you were his enemy and actually had to find him. or stark did it, right? it’s just not particularly hard. i very firmly believe ppl would find him. i dont agree w it, cause tbh i’d rather a superhero keep their secret identity or else they’d get prosecuted and stuff by c*ps, but ppl would likely do this. and this is a superhero whose face we have never seen, much less his skin or eye colour hair colour etc.

tl;dr clark kent needs to fucking step it up my dude

[olivinesea]

In the Golden Dark

a/n: Having never done any ship writing before I’m just going to jump feet first into the deep end with a little Hotchreid for you today. It’s nice. No warnings except maybe some angst because we are who we are. Probably the softest thing you will see from me so enjoy the moment. Completely unnecessary disclaimer that I would find this relationship wildly inappropriate in real life but thank god we’re out here in the lawless fiction of the internet. And you’re getting full on song lyrics bc Hotchreid is nothing if not decadent af. There’s more but I’m impatient so here’s the first bit. ~ 2.7k

what the hell am I doing here in the golden dark? feeling like I’m someone else who looks the part I built up barricades to block my heart cause I don’t wanna fear you

He leaned back in his chair, reaching his arms up and clasping his hands behind his head, arching his back slightly. With his eyes closed it could be any time of day. He inhaled deeply and pretended for a moment that he was nowhere. He even gave himself a few extra seconds, indulging in the quiet that was the office at night. If only he could feel so peaceful in the right moments—before sleeping perhaps. When he opened his eyes all he could see was the reflection of his office light in the black windows. There hadn’t been daylight for hours. He’d switched off the overhead lights in favor of the small desk lamp that pooled the light only in the area of immediate relevance. Everything beyond its reach faded in and out of existence as his focus fell deeply into the forms in front of him.

He pressed his elbows back as far as they would go, pulling up slightly on the base of his skull, stretching out a day’s worth of stress, countless hours spent bent over report after report. He never could have imagined that saving people would require so much paperwork. Reducing the chaos of the lived experience, the searches and the takedowns, the intricate patterns of dozens of personalities layering choices upon one another; it turned out to be quite difficult to do. It took him hours to wrap up cases, even with everyone doing most of their own reports. Which, through no fault of their own, wasn’t always the case. He usually ended up siphoning off a fair number of those reports in addition to his own.

He didn’t mind, he needed to go over everything, needed to make sure that any possible negative feedback that came back would fall to him and he would be prepared if it did. His team were his responsibility, he would be neglecting his duties if he didn’t ensure that things were handled properly. None of them needed the headache of administrative errors. He was good with details, good with forms, good with protocol. He would happily be the filter that saved them all the trouble of little errors even if it hadn’t been part of his job.

But that didn’t change the fact that it was eleven o’clock on a Wednesday and everyone else had gone home hours ago. Only the late night janitorial staff wandered in and out occasionally, nodding at him in silent greeting as they reset the offices to give the illusion of an endlessly renewable supply of fresh starts. People that didn’t stay late never gave this transformation a second thought. They left the office with full trashcans and small debris scattered on the old carpets, only to return the next morning to find a place untouched by human presence, metal fixtures shining and glass doors free of oily fingerprints. That was just how the world worked for them, generous with new beginnings. People who lingered knew better, that effort was put into the effect. Beginnings were never easy, never flowed so inevitably as the set and rise of the sun.

Hotch had been working late for many years, long before he was even in the BAU. He had learned in law school how to brew the coffee strong enough to stay up all night if need be. How the indoor lighting changed without the support of daylight, tinting the world a thin sickly green color without the natural light to round out the fluorescence. He only got worse about it once he joined the Bureau, the stress of the job causing old habits and old secrets to float to the surface. He compensated by working the hardest, doing the most, never allowing anyone to see him need things that other people needed. He could handle this job, this was all he ever wanted after all. To save the world. Or maybe, more modestly, to save the world of a few.

Now, with Haley gone, Jack with her, somewhere well out of his disastrous reach, there was no reason at all not to fully give in. No reason not to let his insomnia at least be productive. To let the latent self destruction that fueled his actions at least have a positive impact on the people he cared about. He could do that at least.

He rubbed his face with his hands, he was getting loopy. There was no reason to be letting his mind wander so far, there were still reports he could get through. Perhaps, as unlikely as the idea felt, he could even get ahead. He looked back down at the paperwork, letting his feet settle flat on the floor. The letters swam in front of him and he sighed, rolling his pen beneath his thumb, considering. He could probably make it another hour. He could get another pot of coffee into himself. He cast about for his mug, finding it empty on the shelf behind him. He sometimes kept it there to prevent his reports from acquiring telltale dark rings. Rolling back from the desk, he hooked the handle with two fingers and headed out to the kitchenette.

Wrapped up in making plans for what he could finish tonight and what could be left for the morning he was startled to find a light still on in the bullpen. He was certain everyone had gone home long ago. They’d each passed by his office, offering him an out as they made their ways home—perhaps their exit could be the motivation he needed to break out of his office, to head towards his own home. What they didn’t realize was that home was not better for him. Work was far better, far safer, with tasks to complete, a purpose. If he was smart he would stay at work forever.

So he waved to them as they checked out, giving them small smiles that, though imperceptible to strangers, they recognized as both apologies and well-wishes. He knew they worried, that they didn’t like to see him tied to his desk late into the night. They thought it was one of his many methods for making himself suffer but he didn’t have the heart to tell them that this was him making a good decision, this was him trying his very best. In his experience, nothing good happened at home.

He thought he remembered everyone leaving, each goodbye. But every day was the same and they all bled together so he must have missed one because he cannot deny the light down below. As he walked down the stairs, confused by the discovery that he was not as alone as he had been imagining, his tired vision focused better. He could make out dark blond curls and a darker sweater hunched over the desk in the middle of the room.

“Reid?” The name came out as a croak, he hadn’t spoken in hours and probably hadn’t had any water in that time period either. He cleared his throat and said it again, louder and closer to the other man than before. Reid’s head snapped up, expression as guilty as a child caught out of bed.

“S-sorry,” he stuttered, eyes wide.

Hotch frowned, not because he was upset but because he was still a little disoriented and his muscles fell back into the most familiar actions.

“I—“ Reid ducked his head and started pushing papers together on his desk, shoving them haphazardly into a file folder. “I was just…” he trailed off, not really having intended on explaining himself. He was simply also startled and reverting to the familiar.

Reid explained compulsively, able to handle the world when parsed down to facts and numbers. He didn’t have a fact for why he had stayed so late, only a feeling and that he didn’t know how to explain. Nights had been particularly lonely recently so he had allowed himself to stay later and later, getting lost in his thoughts at his work desk. Even without people around there was a sense of occupancy, their faint impressions lingering in the air. Plus there was always Hotch up in his office. He didn’t actively think about him or what he was doing but he liked knowing the man was nearby. Hotch’s solid presence always made him feel more secure, less concerned with whatever might jump out at him from the shadows overlapping the world and his mind.

He couldn’t tell Hotch that, was far too embarrassed to admit that sometimes, even with all the lights on, it was too dark in his apartment. No matter the illumination, he couldn’t quite dispel the unease of the night when he was alone. It wasn’t always like this, sometimes he had enough brightness to spare. Recently, however, things had been hard. So much had been going on, he couldn’t quite pinpoint why but he knew he felt uneasy. Too much had changed, there was too much risk that the floor could still fall out beneath him at any moment. And it hadn’t been so long since he’d escaped the consequences of his kidnapping, his addiction, that he trusted himself to be able to manage too much more uncertainty. Backsliding was always a risk and right now the world tilted at a frightening grade. So he let himself stay late in the safety of familiarity, sometimes working but more often not, idly rereading the books he had brought in and forgotten around the office. Tonight he had actually started to doze off, which contributed to his shock upon being discovered.

Hotch continued to frown at him, watching as the thoughts raced across Spencer’s face. He noticed how deep the shadows were beneath his eyes, the way darkness pooled in the space below his cheekbones, as if they were concave impressions filled by seawater. He knew Spencer didn’t eat enough, was all too familiar with the ways too much coffee and not enough calories pinched the skin and exposed the fine lines of capillaries beneath the surface.

“Sorry,” Spencer repeated.

He looked genuinely ashamed and it made Hotch a little sad. Couldn’t Spencer see that he was just as guilty of whatever it was he thought he was doing wrong by being here? He made a conscious effort to soften his expression, to show the warmth he felt for the younger man. After having spent his entire life masking his emotions, protecting himself one of the only ways he could, it wasn’t always easy to show his affection. Especially not at this time of night, when all he could do was cling to his walls and hope to find himself still on solid ground when the sun rose. Spencer wasn’t looking at him, too caught up in his own maze.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” Hotch said, trying a different tactic. He was smart, he knew not to make it a demand or a comment on Spencer’s health. It was only an invitation, firm enough for Spencer to know he meant it, that it was not just a pleasantry or an obligation he’d rather avoid. A hand extended, an offer of easy company to pass through a little more of this unwanted time. Spencer looked up from where his fingers were worrying at the corner of the file in front of him and smiled shyly. Hotch smiled back, a real smile that scrunched up his dark shining eyes.

“Give me five minutes to close up,” he said and turned back toward his office. As he packed his briefcase, his heart felt like it had been wrapped in a soft blanket. He didn’t bother questioning it—who didn’t like finding someone to commiserate with when they’d only expected more of the lonely dark?

*

Their late night meals became a regular occurrence. Not every night but once, maybe twice a week, they found themselves the last ones in the office. They fell into a rhythm, each learning to read more from the other’s subtle cues. They almost always went to the same place, a 24-hour diner near the office with deceptively strong coffee and a seemingly endless variety of pancakes. Hotch rarely ordered food, though he encouraged Reid to get anything he wanted. He accepted bites of whatever the younger man ordered, happy enough to reciprocate the excitement over strawberry rhubarb or cinnamon blueberry pancakes.

They talked about inconsequential things, mostly Hotch listening as Reid spun out information on whatever topic was on his mind that day. Reid, for his part, made mental note of the things Hotch responded to and had opinions on. Spencer sought out more information in that vein to bring up. He loved to talk, sure, but what he loved more was to discuss. During the day there was rarely time to let his thoughts wander so freely. It was a dream to have someone there, following along and challenging him with questions, building up new conclusions.

On the nights that followed difficult days, when they were both too stubborn to order anything of substance, they drank their coffees and avoided looking at each other too directly. Those nights they were both tied up in their own thoughts, islands separated by more than just distance, but there was something undeniably pulling them together. It was probably just the natural consequence of having opposite dominant sides but they mirrored each other perfectly across the table. Once, they both happened to reach for their mugs at the same time and the backs of their hands brushed against each other. They each noticed but responded differently. Hotch repressed any reaction, pretending the quick touch of bony knuckles and cool skin hadn’t registered. Maybe it hadn’t. Reid, on the other hand, jumped as if shocked, sloshing the hot coffee into a puddle on the table. This only flustered him more and he yelped at the sting of the liquid and the sting of embarrassment. It wasn’t like they’d never touched before. But here, in this nowhere time they’d constructed, it felt different. In his mind that brief touch became nails dragging across his skin, impossible to ignore. But he pretended the mug was too hot and Hotch didn’t argue, quick to assist with napkins and sounds of agreement to accompany Spencer’s half-coherent excuses.

When their meals were done, mostly cleaned plates of syrup and crumbs stacked to one side, they hesitated before standing up. Hotch always offered to give Reid a ride home, Reid always declined, insisting he could get there himself. This led to Hotch giving him a doubtful look and insisting that it was no trouble. Reid, secretly wanting a ride the whole time, struggled to argue for his self-sufficiency a little longer before giving in. It became a silly thing, both of them knowing exactly how the argument ended but they held onto it for some reason. It was a part of their ritual now, an important piece of the night. It kept this, whatever this was, contained, strictly occasional, random even. Not something they planned for, not something they looked forward to.

Hotch waited for Spencer to get in the door of his building before driving away. He knew it wasn’t necessary, Spencer was a grown man and a trained FBI agent with a weapon. Still, it made him feel better to see him safely inside. Sometimes he thought he would feel even better if he could walk Spencer all the way to his front door. But he knew that would be asking too much. As it was, the nights when they shared this extra hour or two together, extended further by the drive home, had been giving him more than he could have imagined. He wouldn’t dare impose himself further. The brittle excuse of safety would crumble if he were to start following the other man inside. He was not ready to find out what that would mean. He smiled unconsciously as he drove to his apartment. For now, it was enough that he had found companionship on these late nights when he would otherwise be slowly, meticulously, working his way into the grave.

~Part 2~

[wouldpollyapprove]

Child’s Play

Summary:  She will only ever be seen as a child in Tommy’s eyes. That’s what she gets for being Finn’s friend. No matter, her feelings for the man refuse to fade. Finn tried to help her, tried to get something out of his brother, but the man was unbreakable. Y/n decides that maybe it’s time to move and the best way to do that is to avoid him. If she can’t see him then he can’t bother her, right? Wrong. You can’t avoid Thomas Shelby.

Request: Helloo can i request an imagine where the reader is way younger than tommy(maybe around finn's age or between him or john)works for him and has a major crush on him but she's vv insecure bc of her age, grace has already died, and because it's very hard to figure out if tommy likes her or not, so she gets sad bc she really wants to be with him and have children other than his own

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Lanuage, age gap

A/N: I’m pretty happy with how this turned out. Sure, it didn’t turn out exactly how I wanted it to, but it’s pretty good either way. Oneshot requests are still closed and I wish you guys would respect that. It’s not all of you, just some. I want to have all my oneshot requests done before I open requests back up and I can’t do that if people keep sending them in.

Masterlist 

Life was hard.

That was a common fact that everyone knew. Y/n didn’t believe herself to be any the wiser for knowing that one simple thing. It just made life easier to deal with. When the market was out of apples or her seamstress ruined her favorite dress, she simply remembered that life is hard. That meant that not everything was supposed to go her way. She didn’t fret over anything, knowing it wasn’t worth it. Life was hard and if it was meant to happen then it would happen.

However, she was young and naive, and those words didn’t always mean as much as they should have. 

Her life became extremely hard when she started working for Thomas Shelby. Y/n had been a friend of his youngest brother’s, Finn, since they were children. The two would often be found creating havoc throughout the streets of Small Heath along with the other children they’d befriended. Y/n never spent much time at the Shebly household, though. Her mother always wanted her home in time for supper with enough time to get chores done before the table was set. 

Finn and Y/n were close, not as close as Finn and Isiah were, but they were close nonetheless. And Finn cared enough to get her a job at his family’s company when she was old enough. It was a sweet offer that she couldn’t pass up. Her parents didn’t bring in much money and what was brought in her father usually spent on beer. So with shaking hands, she entered Thomas Shelby’s office and accepted the job. 

She wasn’t given an easy job, being one of Tommy’s secretaries, but not for the reason she would have thought.

“Don’t tell me it’s still bothering you,” Finn rolled his eyes, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. The two sat across from each other in his family’s private room at the Garrison. It was one of Y/n’s days off and it had been a slow day for Finn so he decided the two needed a drink. Being early in the day, just around noon, the pub was empty except for them.

Y/n leaned back in her chair, a sigh escaping her lips. “Yeah, I mean I see him every day. What am I supposed to do, forget about him?”

Her friend nodded and handed her a drink.

She scoffed, taking the drink. Looking down at the amber liquid, she said, “You just don’t get it, Finn. I know I don’t stand a chance. Fuck, every woman in fucking Small Heath has fallen for your brother. I’m not special and I know that, but that doesn’t change how I feel.”

“God, you really like him, don’t you?” he shook his head, a smile on his lips.

Y/n nodded, taking a sip of her drink. She hated how she felt. She had always been an emotional person. Not everything made her cry, but it wasn’t hard to have tears prick her eyes. She hated being confronted or yelled at because the tears always showed up and didn’t know when to take their leave. And that didn’t change when she started to feel something towards her employer. Those feelings were always present and could never leave her alone. Y/n tried her best to keep it from interfering with her work, but it was hard when the man was always around her.

Y/n hated that she loved, not liked, Thomas Shelby.

“Yeah, I do,” she mumbled more to herself than Finn.

At first, she hadn’t even realized she was falling for the man. But over time, Finn started to notice something was off. He had known her long enough to know when something was wrong and something was definitely wrong. Y/n would have thought that he would be upset with her for liking his brother, but he simply laughed. Honestly, if she was in his position, she would have to. Since then, Finn went out of his way to tease her about it.

“I could probably talk to him for you,” Finn offered, giving her a small encouraging smile.

Y/n shook her head. “I don’t need you to do that, Finn. It’s my problem, not yours.” There was a short pause while she sipped at her whiskey. “I can barely talk to him on my own, it wouldn’t be worth having you do anything.”

He laughed, “Did you ever think that it’s him and not you? Tommy is shit at communicating with people, doesn’t matter who it is. And have you seen the way he looks at you?”

“He has only ever seen me as a child,” she scoffed. “And he lets me know every day.”

“You know he’s not good with feelings, right?”

Y/n rolled her eyes. Sometimes she wished she was as distant when it came to emotions as the man she loved. It would probably make life miserable, but not as miserable as she was at the moment. “What about Grace, uh? He still loves her. And what about Charlie? Tommy seems to be content with what he has.”

Finn leaned forward, looking his friend dead in the eye. “Grace was everything he was looking for in a woman, but that doesn’t make it love. She betrayed him and didn’t do much for Tommy but give him a son. That’s it. He’s moved on.” He shifted in his seat. “Tommy deserves someone real and Charlie deserves a mother. I hate to say this, but I hope it’d be you. You care a lot about Tommy and his wellbeing and if he can’t see that then fuck him.”

Maybe that was true, maybe it wasn’t. Y/n had no clue, but she hoped that there was truth to what Finn had said. She hoped that something would happen. It was stupid, she felt like a school girl all over again, waiting for her crush to make a move. She just hoped that there was some truth to those words, maybe then she stood a chance.

*~~*~~*

A few days later, Finn had found himself over at Tommy’s house, helping him look over plans for a new stable. John and Arthur were supposed to be there, but they both had family matters to deal with. It didn’t matter, though, as the work was small and gave more time for drinking. 

Sitting in one of the house’s many sitting rooms, Finn leaned back in his chair while he watched his brother fetch a bottle of whiskey. The conversation he’d had with Y/n days earlier was still at the front of his mind. He felt bad for her, for the position she was stuck in. Finn knew all too well how hard it was to fall for someone and he remembered Y/n telling him almost the same thing he had told her the other day. He wanted to do something for her, help her out any way he could, but what was he to do? There was little that could be done when it came to his cold, distant brother. Few could get through to him and even fewer could read what he was thinking. But Finn was certain of one thing, the way Tommy looked at Y/n. It was more loving than how he had once looked at Grace. It wasn’t lust, it was love. It was more than just one emotion. It was happiness, love, lust. Anything that sparked joy, that is what his eyes showed when he looked at Y/n. Finn knew his brother felt something for his friend and he was going to get him to admit it.

Tommy reappeared with a full bottle of whiskey and poured himself and his brother a glass. He handed one to Finn before taking a seat across from him. “Are you ready to go to the races?”

Finn looked over at him and shrugged. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been before. “I suppose.”

“There shouldn’t be any problems this time,” his brother commented. Mentioning the races gave the youngest Shelby an idea. “Could Y/n come then?”

Tommy raised a brow, sipping at his drink. “Why?” his voice was flat, not exposing anything. 

“Why not? She’s never been and if it’s supposed to be calm then I don’t see why not,” he explained.

“No.”

Finn frowned and rolled his eyes. “Come on Tommy, why?”

The older brother sighed in frustration. “Because she’s never been and she would just be a distraction for you. Y/n’s practically a child as it is, she’d just get in the way.”

“She the same age as I am! Why can I go but she can’t?”

“Because this is family business and you’re family!” Tommy almost shouted at him. “Y/n probably wouldn’t want to be around a bunch of Peaky Blinders as it is.”

A laugh escaped the younger brother’s lips causing Tommy to frown and set his glass down. “Are you blind or something?” Finn asked, laughing. “Are you? Do you not see that she likes you? It’s very fucking obvious! The fucking king would even notice! Not to mention, you seem to feel the same way. So, why don’t you invite her and make a date out of it?”

Tommy rolled his eyes and decided to stare out the window. He was silent for a long while, Finn sitting restless opposite of him. “She’ll get over it. They always do.”

Finn sighed in defeat. He wasn’t quite sure what he was trying to accomplish but it wasn’t going to happen. Nothing was going to happen. Thomas Shelby was a brick wall, that was how Finn could best describe him. A brick wall that nothing could penetrate. You could throw things over it, but more often than not, everyone fell short. 

Now, what was he going to tell Y/n? He tried, he really did, but there was no breaking Thomas Shelby. He was a selfish bastard that only cared about his own wellbeing. Sure, he’d tell people everything he did was for them, but it was nothing but a lie. He only ever cared about himself.

*~~*~~*

It had been a few weeks since Finn and Y/n had talked in the Garrison and things with Tommy hadn’t improved at all. In fact, they had somehow gotten worse. She wasn’t sure what had happened, but the man was more distant than normal. But only towards her. He never called her into his office to go over paperwork like he used to, instead asking for Lizzie. And he did his best to keep her out of things. Everything she used to be a part of, she was shut out of.

Y/n tired to think nothing of it at first. Tommy was a strange man and his mood changed with the wind. It wasn’t worth it to read into anything. But then there came a point when she had enough and wanted nothing more than to confront Tommy. She told Finn about it but he simply told her to leave it alone, that it wasn’t worth bringing up to his brother, so she didn’t. 

Instead, with all the newfound time on her hands, she was given time to rethink her life. She no longer wanted to be hung up on a man who would never love her back. Why waste her time when there were plenty of men who wanted her? Y/n laughed thinking about all the times she had refused men’s advances because she thought that Tommy would come around. Foolish. Fucking stupid. She was wasting her life and she just couldn’t do that any longer.

So, she wasn’t going to.

Y/n then started to go on dates, they were boring, but it was better than sitting at home, feeling sorry for herself. Some of them worked in the factories, covering dust, and others were businessmen that wanted nothing to do with Small Heath. It was too poor for them, too dirty, too this, too that. It always made her wonder why they wanted anything to do with her as she was a great example of what came from Small Heath. No matter how many dates she went on, though, she found nothing she liked. But she just had to wait it out, the right one would come.

She was only 19, she had time to find someone and settle down. But there was only one man she wanted to do that with.

In the back of her mind, she still had feelings for Tommy, but if she never spoke of them, then she believed they weren’t real. He no longer caused her problems and was only apart of her work life. And as Tommy started to distance himself from her in the office, she decided to do the same. It would help her move on because being hung up on that man would be the death of her if she didn’t.

Putting her finished paperwork in a file, Y/n placed it in a bin on her desk for Tommy to look at later. She stood from her chair, placing a few files on Lizzie’s desk for her to go over the next day and started to clean her own. The door to Tommy’s office opened, but she didn’t hear it close, telling her he was lurking in the doorway, something he was known to do. 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he stated.

Y/n shrugged, not bothering to look up at him. “Only because you have.”

He was silent for a second, searching his pockets for his pack of cigarettes. Once found, he dragged it between his lips before placing it between them and liting a match. “It’s nothing personal, Y/n. Just business.”

She scoffed, searching for her bracelet that had fallen off earlier in the day. She thought it landed in one of her drawers, but they were both empty. “Oh, yeah, I figured,” she spat. “Everythings always about business to you.”

Try as he might, Tommy couldn’t fool her. Y/n knew what it was like to not be welcome. To be pushed away. Most of her life, her father wanted nothing to do with her and he often did what Tommy was doing now. Without saying anything, he would just leave her out of things and when she was in the room, he would keep her out of the conversation. The girl was used to it at home, but she didn’t like the treatment at work. And not from someone she cared about.

“I’m glad you understand.”

Y/n rolled her eyes and finally looked up at him. “You’re glad I understand? Understand what? That you’re a fucking arsehole? Yeah, I’m glad I understand that.”

“Y/n I-” he was cut off before he could say anything more.

“I’ve been avoiding you because you’ve been avoiding me. And I know Finn talked to you, I’m not stupid and that boy is shit at keeping secrets! So, how about you just tell me how you feel instead of keeping me from my work? I’d rather know the truth than be treated like shit!”

Tommy didn’t say anything, he just stood there, blank face and all. It was hard to read him, but Y/n didn’t even bother, if he couldn’t give her an answer then she wanted nothing to do with him. 

“Forget it,” she mumbled and grabbed her coat off the hook. Shrugging it on, she headed for the door, leaving Tommy standing in the doorway of his office. 

The man let out a sigh once he saw her slip out the office door. Pushing himself off the door, he went after her. He didn’t know what he was going to say as he wasn’t good at expressing his emotions, but he couldn’t let her leave like that. He’d seen what pushing her away had done, Y/n was miserable yet she pretended to be cheerful and happy. It broke his heart that he had caused that and Finn made sure he knew it. 

“Y/n wait,” he jogged after her once on the street.

She sighed, turning around as he came to a stop. “What now? You want to tell me it’s childish to be upset over this? That it’s just fucking life? What Tommy?”

He shook his head. “No, no. None of that. I just…” He let out a sigh. This was one conversation he should have thought through first. “I like you I do. Fuck, I might even love you, but I can’t risk it. Not with what happened to Grace, not with what’s happened to everyone around me. I can’t do that to you.”

“You can’t do that, but you forget it’s not just your choice. Everyone in your life has chosen to be there no matter what happens,” she told him, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m Finn’s friend, I work for you, so no matter what I’m at risk. So don’t give me that bullshit.”

“I don’t want to lose you, Y/n,” he sighed, a look of defeat in his eyes. “I would rather see you sitting at your desk, alive, then dying in my arms somewhere down the road.”

Y/n laughed, giving him a small smile. Tommy raised a brow at the action, unsure what caused such a reaction. “Life happens, Tommy. We can’t predict it and we can rarely change it. It’s not worth fretting over especially when you’re not in control. But I know how I feel,” she told him. “I love you and I’ve tried not to, but it doesn’t work like that. I love you, Tommy, and I could see a life with you, but if you can’t see that then fine. Just tell me and you never have to hear about it again.”

Tommy took a drag of his cigarette, processing her words. He looked around, distracting himself with the people on the street. Was he ready to risk it? Was he ready to willingly put his heart on his sleeve for a woman again? He wanted a life with Y/n, she was smart, beautiful, and caring. Tommy could honestly see himself with her and maybe down the road, they would have a few kids. “Come one.” 

He tugged on her arm and started walking away. Y/n quickly fell in step beside him. Looking over at him, she asked, “Where are we going?”

“To dinner and I promise I’ll stop pushing you away if you do the same.”

A smile lite up Y/n’s face. She honestly didn’t think she’d get through to him, but the man was full of surprises. She knew that it would take Tommy time to adjust to being in a relationship, she understood that, but she was willing to wait.

*~~*~~*

Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list.

@amirahiddleston @captivatedbycillianmurphy @haphazardhufflepuff @woahitslucyylu

[potatotrash0]

Hey idk if youve done this alreadh but im curious about your body headcanons for the sdr2 cast!! An anon sent some in for characters previously (the one where they said things like angie has vitiligo and stuff-i love them and they really stuck with me haha) and i wanna know your headcanons!! :D

Hmhmm this one I might be listing off the spot lmao. I feel like my hcs are mostly just. Common hcs but hey I never said I wasn’t basic skdjksjdks

cw for. Everyone. Yeah kdjfksjdks

Hajime…..I like to think he’s slightly buff? Maybe that’s not the right word. Toned? Idk, I hc that he jumps around hobbies a lot because he wants to find something he’s good at, so that includes sports. I like the idea that a few stick with him, like swimming and basketball. I imagine he also has light scrapes and scars on his legs from falling, both with skateboarding and general Clumsy Shit.

Also this one switches a lot but with Trans Hajime, I can see him with top surgery scars.

Oh ah, I like freckled Hajime!! It’s cute. This one goes with the sports hc, but I like the idea that he’s kinda tanned. Entirely unrelated but I also like the idea that he has calluses from playing guitar.

Chiakiii!! She’s soft bc I said so. Specifically her thighs, arms and stomach + some stretch marks. And moles all over. Projecting big time onto a cute fictional girl, call that self care <333 /j

uhh other than that, I imagine she has bags under her eyes from staying up late gaming. Also tan Chiaki my love. Shh I know she probably doesn’t go outside for days on end. In my defense I tan easily and I imagine she does too. Again with the projection. Shhhh

Oh oh!!!! I forgot to mention but!!!! Chiaki gets a ton of moles. I saw the boob mole and went !!!!!! fellow mole haver!!!!!! and went nuts. This is the one weird niche entirely irrelevant thing that can get me to like a character, just. Being able to point at them and jump up and down with joy over them also having moles. Idk why it’s just therapeutic <33

Nagito’s bony. Skinny mf. Could probably cut cheese with his elbows. Maybe grate it on his collarbones. Cuddling with him would be a fight to see if you can find a position that doesn’t end with something poking you in the gut. I mean this affectionately, he’s bony as shit but he’s my bony fucker <3

Pale asf, sunburns if he’s in the sun for more than two minutes. His eye bags could hold the entirety of his life’s trauma. Sharpest features ever. Sometimes I hc that he looks greasy, and other times I hc that he looks ethereally pretty in a ghostly way. Either way he always looks like he’s had the soul sucked out of him by a Dementor.

You can probably definitely see the veins in his hands. They’re. Very There. Also I’ve brought this up before but he definitely has big ass hands. L a r g e hands, all the better to head pat you with. This was originally so much more pining but I decided no I’ve exposed myself enough on this blog skfjksjdkd

Oh last minute thing, I think he’d be tall as fuck. Specifically 6’0 or taller. Also he probably (definitely) has at least a few scars from his childhood, particularly that plane crash. And I like to think he has glasses when he’s older. I’m so sorry that his section is so long I have so many thoughts about him ;;;;;

Okay uhh Imposter? Mmm. Idk actually. I do think they’d have callused fingers but soft hands. Probably from having to adapt to using a ton of different talents for their Imposter Agenda. Also stretch marks probably, all over their body.

Teruteru uhhhhh. God. Can you tell I don’t think about some characters ;;;;; Idk I don’t have much that differs from canon. I like him. Oh but he probably has cook hands? Chef hands, whatever you wanna call them. Probably faint scars from cuts and burns from when he was still learning how to cook from his mama.

Mahiru……hmm well freckles obviously dkjfksjd. I think she’s tanned as well since I feel like she likes sunlit shots. Idk I don’t have much. I like to think she’s got a stockier body type though.

Also not necessarily her body but I like her with an undercut!

Peko’s buff <3 it’s canon <333 /j

N ee way yeah. Buff Peko my love. Also she probably has a few scars from handling her sword when she was younger and less experienced. I also feel like she would have contacts she wears when she trains bc fuck exercising with glasses

I don’t really have anything for Hiyoko until she gets her growth spurt. Afterwards, I imagine she’s tall and kinda thin? Mainly bc of fast metabolism probably, though when she’s older maybe she’d be a little less spindly.

I don’t know if her hair would be bleached or not, but if it were, I like the idea of her letting her actual hair color grow in. If not, I think Ibuki might help her try a few sections of dyed hair? Idk I just like the thought

Ibuki is a fellow bony bitch. I mean this lovingly. She’s skin and bone. Skeleton rocker lady

Probably tan, I imagine she spends a lot of time in the sun. She strikes me as a summer person. Oh, I also saw some art of Black Ibuki with vitiligo and loved that!! Also calluses from shredding guitar, obviously

Hmmm I like the idea that she rollerskates? So possibly some bruises or scars on her arms or legs from falling on concrete when she was still learning. Oh oh I imagine she has a ton of piercings!!! On her ears, nose, lips, brows, tongue, belly button…….maybe she has a split tongue too idk. Also she totally gets a ton of tattoos when she’s outta Hope’s Peak, prove me wrong.

Mikan uhhh. I like tall Mikan. She deserves the height. 5’8 to 6’0 Mikan good 👍

Hmm she probably has scars all over, particularly on her arms and legs. Uh. Idk I imagine she’s curvy probably. What do I say for her I don’t have anything skjdksjdks

I’m not even gonna lie I don’t have a damn thing for Nekomaru. Or. Wait nevermind here’s a concept: buff Nekomaru but like. If you’ve seen those wrestlers who have fat on them that hides some fucking crazy strength? Yeah that’s him. Also hairy asf.

Gundham……tall vampire vibes. I’d say he’s a stick but also I feel like he’s the slim type of muscular. Idk how to describe it. Shigaraki type muscle? Male gymnast. No nevermind those guys have visible muscle. Shigaraki type it is

Hmmm I think this is canon but probably a few scratches from his pets. His arms and legs mainly but I’m sure the Devas have scratched up his neck at some point or another. Just a little though. Also piercing fiend Gundham my beloved. I also like him having a couple tattoos when he’s older. Ibuki probably helped him heheh

I’m torn between Fuyuhiko being skinny as shit and Fuyuhiko being tiny and buff. I like both………hhh

His hair is probably bleached. Peko probably helps him re-dye it when his roots start growing in. I also like him having glasses

Uhhh tooth gap Fuyu’s cute. I used to have a super small one before I got my braces, I imagine it’s the same for him. Him, Ibuki, and Gundham are probably Tattoo Buds.

Kazuichi…..I want so bad to say he’s a weakling just to make fun of him but he’s a mechanic that probably works with heavy machine parts a lot and he probably has some sick biceps. But he probably also smells like hair dye, oil, metal, and Monster Energy. Win lose situation I guess.

I like to think he has a couple piercings? Not as many as Ibuki, but maybe he’s got like. Second or third place in the class. Also he totally filed his teeth to be sharp like that

Akane!! Buff lady, could probably deadlift me or something. She’s definitely got some scars from running around, especially when she was first learning parkour. Ummm oh, I like to think she has a chipped tooth or smth like that from falling roughly as a kid.

Soniaa <33 in my heart she will always be tall and have at least some muscle. Novoselic is a war country if I remember correctly, she’s definitely got some military training in her.

Idk why but her with heterochromia just popped into my head. That pretty greenish blue gray that she has + maybe brown or hazel? I think that’d be cool. And hip dips.