#enjoyed writing this a lot!

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

✨Sensitivity✨

I am an absolute SLUT for Luci’s wings so I wanted to write something with them :), huge thank you to @myhornybrainonlyknowsthis for the help 💖

Also I’m legit on a cruise ship rn, but @amberlouise473 knows I gotta feed y’all like I’m tossing corn to my chickens 🤣

Lucifer x f!sinner reader

Summary: You’re super curious about Lucifer’s wings, but neither of you knew how sensitive they were. You didn’t know how sensitive you could be either…

Warnings: 18+, smut, dry humping, ruined clothes, pet names, oral (f receiving), face riding, over stimulation, multiple orgasms

It was time for bed and Lucifer was still working. You knew he worked late sometimes but this seemed a little later than usual. You decided to take a look to see if he was still in his office. Sure enough, you saw him sitting down at his desk when you entered the room. But when you looked closer, you saw that he’d fallen asleep at his desk, his head resting in his arms. He looked so peaceful lying there, you almost didn’t want to disturb him. But you knew he’d feel a lot better if he actually slept in your bed instead of hunched over his desk. Quietly, you walked towards him trying not to make any loud noises that might startle him. You placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking it lightly.

“Luci?,” you whispered, “Luci, it’s time for bed, wake up sleepy head.” He moaned quietly, but your shaking didn’t seem to have done the trick. You shook his shoulder a little hard. “Luci, c’mon hon.” Nothing. You took your other hand and placed it on his other shoulder, shaking him even more. “Lucifer!,” you nearly screamed!

With that, Lucifer’s eyes shot open, pushing himself off the desk. “AAHHH!!! WHAT?!?! What’s going on?!,” he yelled. You never saw him so frazzled before, it was kind of cute. But what you really didn’t expect was to see Lucifer’s wings spring out from his back. It must have been an involuntary reaction from the shock of being woken up so suddenly. His eyes found yours and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Oh, it’s you, darling,” he breathed. “You really scared me there! I guess I must have fallen asleep, forgive me.” You were only half listening to him at this moment, your gaze was still fixed on his angelic wings. You’d only seen them once or twice before, but never for long. It was then that Lucifer turned his head and noticed what had caught your attention. “Oh! Sorry about that, it’s a defense mechanism, as silly as that sounds. I’ll put them away-”

“No, wait!”, you shouted louder than you meant to. Lucifer cocked an eyebrow at you, not understanding why you had stopped him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just…I never get to see your wings. They’re really beautiful.”

A light blush dashed across his face, he gave you a shy smile. “O-oh, thank you! I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me.”

“That’s a shame,” you pouted, “I think they’re incredible.” You walked closer to him to get a better look at them. Their white and red coloring were breathtaking. Their length took up almost the entirety of the room you were in, and his office was not small in the least. A tiny part of you wondered if he always had red feathers, or if they had changed after he…

Perhaps that was a question for another time.

“Are they heavy?,” you inquired.

“Oh! Umm, I don’t think so,” Lucifer pondered. “I don’t really notice if they are. I might have gotten used to them over the last 10,000 or so years.”

“Can I…touch them?,” you asked shyly, averting Lucifer’s gaze.

He smiled. “Of course, love. Let’s go back to our room, shall we?”

Lucifer’s wings disappeared for now as he gently grabbed your hand and led you out of his office. Once you reached your bedroom, he unfastened his shirt and threw it off to the side. It made you blush, even though his bare chest was not a new sight to you. Lucifer noticed your reddened face and smirked.

“It’s a little easier this way, don’t you think?,” he chuckled. He walked over to the bed and sat down, crossing his legs in the process. He tapped his thigh, offering you a seat in his lap. You smiled and wrapped your legs around his torso, straddling him. “You ready?,” he asked with a little smile. You nodded your head eagerly. In an instant, his three sets wings appeared again. You noticed something was a little different though.

“I could have sworn they were bigger,” you puzzled.

“No, you’re right, they were,” Lucifer laughed. “I can control how large or small they need to be. They might have broken something in here if they were any bigger!”

You chuckled lightly. They were even more breathtaking up close, his scarlet feathers glistened even in the dim lighting of the room. You stuck out your hands and touched the top of his first set of wings. Unexpectedly, Lucifer inhaled sharply from your touch, screwing his eyes shut. You pulled away instantly.

“Oh no!,” you gasped. “Did I hurt you? I swear I barely touched them! I’m sorry!”

Lucifer exhaled slowly and opened his eyes again. “No, no, it’s alright, love,” he cooed, “it wasn’t painful. I just didn’t expect the sensation. Let’s just say they’re…more sensitive than I originally thought.” It was only then you felt a bump forming between your legs.

Oh…OH!

You quickly caught on to what he was referring to. And having you straddle his lap probably wasn’t helping. A small smirk crept across your face. You couldn’t resist the urge to make him squirm from your touch; the thought excited you.

“Well, in that case…” you smiled slyly, reaching out for his wings once more. This time, you gave them a slightly firmer grip than before. Lucifer nearly yelped from your touch and buried his face into the crook of your neck. You ran your hands up and down the tops of his wings, almost massaging them in a way. Lucifer was unable to hold back his moans.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart,” he panted.

You loved the sight of him bending so easily to your simple touches. You wondered if you could break him. You began to shift your hips in his lap, grinding on the now very apparent bulge in his pants. Lucifer nearly sobbed as you ground your hips against him. You moved your hands down to his second set of wings to give them some attention. You could tell he was unraveling quickly.

“D-Dear,” he choked out, “i-if you don’t stop, I’m g-gonna…f-fuck…”

His plea only made you grind against him at a faster pace while continuing to stroke his sensitive wings. At this point he couldn’t even form a coherent sentence, only broken moans and gutural sounds left his lips. You moved your hands down to his smallest set of his wings, pinching them between your fingers.

“FuckfuckfuckFUCK,” Lucifer cried out as your movements finally pushed him over the edge. He bit down on your shoulder as he came, completely ruining in pants. Once he came down from his high, he looked into your eyes, almost distraught.

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” he whimpered. “I-I didn’t think that…I didn’t mean to…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. His wings disappeared from sight as he buried his head into you chest

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” you told him as you lifted his head up to plant a tender kiss to his lips. The small tears that had formed in his eyes fell down the side of his face, but you wiped them away with your thumbs. “Luci, please don’t apologize,” you soothed. “You never have to feel sorry for that! Did you feel good?”

Lucifer steadied his breathing, trying his best to calm down. “Yes, love, it was amazing. You’re amazing.” He lifted you off his lap and placed you on the mattress while he stood up, discarding the rest of his now filthy clothes. “But I absolutely refuse to be the only one being pleasured tonight.”

Without warning, Lucifer leaned down and crashed his lips into yours, filing your mouth with his tongue. You moaned against his lips, feeling as though you might be devoured by him. Lucifer tugged at the hem of your pajama pants, asking permission to remove them. “Mhmm,” was all you could mumble. In one swift motion, your pants had vanished and all you felt was the cool air on your legs. Lucifer brought down his fingers to your folds, loving the feeling of how wet you were for him. He captured your moan on his lips, but suddenly pulled his fingers away, leaving you to whine in protest.

Lucifer broke your kiss and brought his soaked finger to his lips, tasting your sweet nectar. “Mmm, you always taste so delectable, darling,” he marveled. You couldn’t help but blush at his words, he knew just what buttons to press when it came to you. He crawled back up on the bed and laid flat on his back, his head propped up by the pillows. “Come have a seat, sweetheart,” he teased as he pointed to his coy smiling face.

Your face became extreme hot as you crawled towards the demon king. You made your way on top of him and came to a halt when your dripping cunt hovered right above Lucifer’s eager smile.

“A meal fit for a king, truly,” he laughed as he dug his face into your aching pussy. You nearly screamed as his forked tongue worked his magic along your slit. He devoured you, making sure every inch of you was consumed. His lips found your clit and started to kiss and suck at it. He’d only just started and you were ready to snap.

“O-Oh my God, Lucifer, shhhiiittt, I’m so close…s-s-so close…,” you whined.

“God can’t hear you down here, angel,” he teased you before continuing to lap at your folds. He made quick work of you, the knot in your stomach threatening to snap at any moment.

“Fuuuuccckkkk, imcummingIMCUMMIMG,” you screamed as you finally felt your walls clench and spasm around nothing. Lucifer happily swallowed your juices as your orgasm started to recede. You tried to lift yourself up off Lucifer’s face, but he kept a firm grip on your legs.

“I’m not done with you, love,” he chuckled. With a snap of his fingers, golden shackles formed around your ankles, the chain hooked underneath Lucifer’s back. A twisted look of fear and passion flashed across your face. You were trapped.

“L-Luci…what are you-” you tried to asked but were cut off by another long lick up your sensitive cunt. A gutural moan escaped your mouth, you still hadn’t fully recovered from your orgasm.

“I thought it would only be fair to ruin you, since you ruined my clothes,” he chastised playfully. “But if at any time it becomes too much for you, tell me and I’ll let you go immediately, okay?”

“Al-Alright,” you stuttered, trembling from the anticipation.

Lucifer hummed against your lower lips. “I’ll make this a little easier for you, sweetheart.” You saw Lucifer’s form start to change beneath you. His horns had erupted from his head while his eyes shifted to a deep red and gold color with onyx irises. “Something for you to hold onto,” he murmured sensually.

Tentatively, you took hold of his horns and braced yourself for his next move. You didn’t have to wait long before you felt his tongue attacking your cunt once more. The grip you had on his horns could have torn your skin clean off with how tight you were holding them while he nipped and sucked your overstimulated clit. Before you knew it, your second orgasm hit you even harder than the first. Then your third, your fourth, your cunt was getting absolutely abused by Lucifer who hadn’t shown any signs of slowing down since he started. After your fifth orgasm washed over you, your legs had given out from under you, completely collapsing on top of Lucifer.

“No more…,” you begged. “No more, please…”

Lucifer snapped his fingers and the shackles around your ankles disappeared in an instant. You conjured up the remainder of your strength to push yourself off him and roll over onto your side, an absolutely breathless mess. You could hardly keep your eyes open. You could feel yourself losing consciousness until Lucifer pulled you flush to his chest.

“You did so well, my dear,” he murmured against your ear. “Are you alright? Do you need anything?”

“Sleep…” was all you could muster. Lucifer chuckled lightly, kissing your cheek ever so softly.

“Goodnight, love,” you heard him whisper as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close. It was the best sleep you ever had.

~~~~

“I just think they’re neat!” - Me w/ Lucifer’s wings also Lucifer inventend pussy eating, this is fact, ALSO also something something handlebar horns

[wardingshout]

Zelda goes mushroom girl

[sporesgalaxy]

TWO THANGS

when I say "love" with no descriptors, I don't mean romantic by default

when I say "art" with no descriptors, I don't mean visual by default

[funtergeist]

are there still any shadowpeach fans

[tshortik]

I love you messy artstyle i love you visible brush strokes I love you textures and rough edges I love you imperfections I love you roughness and colour blobs I love you scratchy sketches and bold stylisation and dirt and imperfections I love you ugly and raw emotion!!!!! ❤️

[gammija]

tiefling jon's first day at the Archives

[corvidcall]

None Of You Know What Haiku Are

I'm going to preface this by saying that i am not an expert in ANY form of poetry, just an enthusiast. Also, this post is... really long. Too long? Definitely too long. Whoops! I love poetry.

If you ask most English-speaking people (or haiku-bot) what a haiku is, they would probably say that it's a form of poetry that has 3 lines, with 5, and then 7, and then 5 syllables in them. That's certainly what I was taught in school when we did our scant poetry unit, but since... idk elementary school when I learned that, I've learned that that's actually a pretty inaccurate definition of haiku. And I think that inaccurate definition is a big part of why most people (myself included until relatively recently!) think that haiku are kind of... dumb? unimpressive? simple and boring? I mean, if you can just put any words with the right number of syllables into 3 lines, what makes it special?

Well, let me get into why the 5-7-5 understanding of haiku is wrong, and also what makes haiku so special (with examples)!

First of all, Japanese doesn't have syllables! There's a few different names for what phonetic units actually make up the language- In Japanese, they're called "On" (音), which translates to "sound", although English-language linguists often call it a "mora" (μ), which (quoting from Wikipedia here) "is a basic timing unit in the phonology of some spoken languages, equal to or shorter than a syllable." (x) "Oh" is one syllable, and also one mora, whereas "Oi" has one syllable, but two moras. "Ba" has one mora, "Baa" has two moras, etc. In English, we would say that a haiku is made up of three lines, with 5-7-5 syllables in them, 17 syllables total. In Japanese, that would be 17 sounds.

For an example of the difference, the word "haiku", in English, has 2 syllables (hai-ku), but in Japanese, はいく has 3 sounds (ha-i-ku). "Christmas" has 2 syllables, but in Japanese, "クリスマス" (ku-ri-su-ma-su) is 5 sounds! that's a while line on its own! Sometimes the syllables are the same as the sounds ("sushi" is two syllables, and すし is two sounds), but sometimes they're very different.

In addition, words in Japanese are frequently longer than their English equivalents. For example, the word "cuckoo" in Japanese is "ほととぎす" (hototogisu).

Now, I'm sure you're all very impressed at how I can use an English to Japanese dictionary (thank you, my mother is proud), but what does any of this matter? So two languages are different. How does that impact our understanding of haiku?

Well, if you think about the fact that Japanese words are frequently longer than English words, AND that Japanese counts sounds and not syllables, you can see how, "based purely on a 17-syllable counting method, a poet writing in English could easily slip in enough words for two haiku in Japanese” (quote from Grit, Grace, and Gold: Haiku Celebrating the Sports of Summer by Kit Pancoast Nagamura). If you're writing a poem using 17 English syllables, you are writing significantly more content than is in an authentic Japanese haiku.

(Also not all Japanese haiku are 17 sounds at all. It's really more of a guideline.)

Focusing on the 5-7-5 form leads to ignoring other strategies/common conventions of haiku, which personally, I think are more interesting! Two of the big ones are kigo, a season word, and kireji, a cutting word.

Kigo are words/phrases/images associated with a particular season, like snow for winter, or cherry blossoms for spring. In Japan, they actually publish reference books of kigo called saijiki, which is basically like a dictionary or almanac of kigo, describing the meaning, providing a list of related words, and some haiku that use that kigo. Using a a particular kigo both grounds the haiku in a particular time, but also alludes to other haiku that have used the same one.

Kireji is a thing that doesn't easily translate to English, but it's almost like a spoken piece of punctuation, separating the haiku into two parts/images that resonate with and add depth to each other. Some examples of kireji would be "ya", "keri", and "kana." Here's kireji in action in one of the most famous haiku:

古池や　蛙飛び込む　水の音 (Furu ike ya　kawazu tobikomu　mizu no oto) (The old pond — A frog jumps in The sound of the water.)

You can see the kireji at the end of the first line- 古池や literally translates to "old pond ya". The "ya" doesn't have linguistic meaning, but it denotes the separation between the two focuses of the haiku. First, we are picturing a pond. It's old, mature. The water is still. And then there's a frog! It's spring and he's fresh and new to the world! He jumps into the pond and goes "splash"! Wowie! When I say "cutting word", instead of say, a knife cutting, I like to imagine a film cut. The camera shows the pond, and then it cuts to the frog who jumps in.

English doesn't really have a version of this, at least not one that's spoken, but in English language haiku, people will frequently use a dash or an ellipses to fill the same role.

Format aside, there are also some conventions of the actual content, too. They frequently focus on nature, and are generally use direct language without metaphor. They use concrete images without judgement or analysis, inviting the reader to step into their shoes and imagine how they'd feel in the situation. It's not about describing how you feel, so much as it's about describing what made you feel.

Now, let's put it all together, looking at a haiku written Yosa Buson around 1760 (translated by Harold G. Henderson)

The piercing chill I feel: my dead wife's comb, in our bedroom, under my heel

We've got our kigo with "the piercing chill." We read that, and we imagine it's probably winter. It's cold, and the kind of cold wind that cuts through you. There's our kireji- this translation uses a colon to differentiate our two images: the piercing chill, and the poet stepping on his dead wife's comb. There's no descriptions of what the poet is feeling, but you can imagine stepping into his shoes. You can imagine the pain he's experiencing in that moment on your own.

"But tumblr user corvidcall!" I hear you say, "All the examples you've used so far are Japanese haiku that have been translated! Are you implying that it's impossible for a good haiku to be written in English?" NO!!!!! I love English haiku! Here's a good example, which won first place in the 2000 Henderson haiku contest, sponsored by the Haiku Society of America:

meteor shower . . . a gentle wave wets our sandals

When you read this one, can you imagine being in the poet's place? Do you feel the surprise as the tide comes in? Do you feel the summer-ness of the moment? Haiku are about describing things with the senses, and how you take in the world around you. In a way, it's like the poet is only setting a scene, which you inhabit and fill with meaning based on your own experiences. You and I are imagining different beaches, different waves, different people that make up the "our" it mentioned.

"Do I HAVE to include all these things when I write haiku? If I include all these things, does that mean my haiku will be good?" I mean, I don't know. What colors make up a good painting? What scenes make up a good play? It's a creative medium, and nobody can really tell you you can't experiment with form. Certainly not me! But I think it's important to know what the conventions of the form are, so you can appreciate good examples of it, and so you can know what you're actually experimenting with. And I mean... I'm not the poetry cops. But if you're not interested in engaging with the actual conventions and limitations of the form, then why are you even using that form?

I'll leave you with one more English language haiku, which is probably my favorite haiku ever. It was written by Tom Bierovic, and won first place at the 2021 Haiku Society of America Haiku Awards

a year at most . . . we pretend to watch the hummingbirds

Sources: (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x)

Further reading:

Forms in English Haiku by Keiko Imaoka Haiku: A Whole Lot More Than 5-7-5 by Jack How to Write a Bad Haiku by KrisL Haiku Are Not a Joke: A Plea from a Poet Who Has Had It Up to Here by Sandra Simpson Haiku Checklist by Katherine Raine

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

pt. 2

you just saw your ex boyfriend, dick grayson, for the first time since he broke up with you.

you ran into him on the street.

no, like, literally ran into him.

you were walking your mom’s dog for her, a german shepherd she got when you moved out. she’d aptly named him trouble. despite his name, trouble was usually a mellow guy, even if he was huge. walking him was just another thing you were doing to try and ignore the thoughts constantly pounding out a beat in your head.

oh, dick would think this is funny! that’s dick’s favorite color, i should buy it! dick and i should go there on our next date!

and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on and-

anyways, you were definitely trying to keep yourself busy.

any time a memory popped up in your brain of him—

laughing at your jokes, holding you close while you fell asleep, kissing your neck while he thrust into you

—you’d empty the dishwasher, paint your nails, (any color but blue) turn on reality tv, read a book, stuff your face, whatever.

anything to stop fucking thinking about him and his stupid blue eyes and his dumb smile.

you’d been been watching the news, sprawled across the couch. just the regular gotham news: don’t use main street, mr. freeze’s ray iced out the pavement. the iceberg lounge had been raided by the police for the third time this month. the justice league defeated yet another extraterrestrial threat to humanity, blah, blah, blah. you weren’t really watching. the news program ended, and the next one started. a gotham gossip show. they were doing a special segment on the wayne family.

of course they fucking were. even your tv was conspiring against you. you had to resist the urge to chuck the remote at it.

you turned it off instead, heading to your room to get ready for a run.

(running for exercise or running from your thoughts?)

your mom had asked you to take trouble right before you’d walked out the door, and so you grabbed him and his leash and headed out. you’d forgotten the bags for his poop, but you didn’t think you would be out that long, so you just kept on going.

you were wearing the leggings dick had bought you, ones he joked should be a specific blue color. you hadn’t understood then, but you more than understood now. it was warmer, and so you just had on an old sports bra on top, and some converse.

you were not the athletic type. that was dick. probably still was. you wouldn’t really know.

you hadn’t talked since it happened, like three or four weeks ago.

time had become a little fuzzy. your mom said you could stay with her as long as you needed, but you were starting to get the itch to move out.

nothing against your mom, it’s just hard to sob really loudly into a pint of ice cream when she’s there.

and she keeps trying to wash the one shirt of dick’s you still have. you know, fully well, how dumb it is, (and a little gross) but you’re still wearing his shirt every night to bed. and maybe it’s all in your head, but it still smells like him. you aren’t ready to wash it. besides, now that you’re sleeping by yourself, you’re pretty sure it’s helping you fall asleep. something that was hard to do the first few nights without your big warm boyfriend next to you in bed.

it probably isn’t good for you, to keep wearing his shirt.

you’d had your hand between your thighs more than once late at night thinking about being enveloped in his scent. your nights were haunted with thoughts of his body over yours, his phantom voice in your ear. calling you angel, asking you if this was heaven, like the last time you’d had sex.

it definitely isn’t good for you.

but neither is life without dick grayson.

you try not to dwell on the fact that dick had given you a sort of non-reason for the breakup. sure, it got lonely sometimes, or you got anxious for your masked boyfriend, so you cried. so what if your patience wore thin after a few too many “i’m sorry, angel, i can’t make it this time”-s.

you were human!

but you’d never, never once complained about his absence or his commitments to his family.

never.

he’d just assumed you were silently suffering and it really irked you if you thought about it for too long. you still weren’t sure if you were mad at him or sad, or whatever. it felt like your brain couldn’t decide on an emotion so you just got twelve at once. but what you did know for sure was that he was 110% worth it to you. you just wish he’d realize that. see that. instead of just the times you were a little emotionally strung out. your ex boyfriend was too willing to sacrifice his own mental health for the sake of yours and you were sick of it. but you didn’t know if you had the courage to say that to him. or even see him, after the way this breakup had hit you.

your friends had managed to get you out of the house, a few times now.

you’d gotten almost too drunk every time, escaping your friends and going outside to get some air. this time, you saw a guy that looked just enough like dick, and it’d all been too much. so you got out of there. you sat yourself down on the curb, looking up at the hazy rooftops. you were always looking up. always.

and since the break up, you’d noticed the vigilantes of your city more often. maybe there was more criminal activity. maybe you were just paying more attention than you used to.

you’d seen spoiler and orphan, pounding the pavement behind you to run after some seedy looking guy holding a briefcase. you think spoiler tried to high five you on the way past, but there was no way. you wrote it off as your memory embellishing things.

you were pretty sure red hood had nodded at you before disappearing down a fire escape on the other side of the building.

your mom had recently gotten a delivery of security cameras for her house. but she hadn’t ordered them. the shipping address had only the address of some warehouse on the dock, the name just, ‘R.R.’ you’d set the cameras up, but you and your mom both were still baffled about it.

and here, sitting on the curb, you were staring at what looked like a dark figure crouched on the rooftop opposite. they’d been there when you’d entered the club, too.

you squinted, trying to make out shoulders and suit colors, when they stood up, and the light bounced off his shiny cowl.

fucking batman?

you shook your head, trying to shake your drunk brain like an etch-a-sketch. there was actually no way.

a smaller figure, one you hadn’t seen behind the shape of batman (!?) pulled a weapon, a gleaming silver sword, and pointed it at you. your head spun. batman (there was no way) shook his head at robin. he sheathed his sword, throwing his hands up in what looked like annoyance. you blinked, and they were gone.

you weren’t really sure if it had happened or not. you’d been trying not to think too hard about the fact that you still hadn’t seen nightwing. you’d really been trying.

so instead, you were walking your mom’s dog.

trouble had, in fact, pooped, and you were frantically looking around for something to pick it up with. gotham was already shitty enough without the addition of, well, literal shit. the streets were busy, but not crowded, and someone down the block whistled for a cab, catching your attention. you turned, and at the same time, trouble jerked your arm, pulling you backwards into someone walking on the sidewalk. the stranger made a choked sound.

“trouble??”

your heart stopped. you held your breath, turning around.

trouble was at attention, looking up at your ex-boyfriend with his head cocked.

dick’s eyes were wide. his hair shorter than you remember. he leaned down to scratch trouble behind the ears, his biceps and shoulder muscles in hard relief. are you dreaming? you didn’t recognize the shirt he had on, but he was wearing your favorite jeans of his, and his matching converse. your mouth felt like a desert.

trouble trails around the two of you, the leash long. he loves your ex-boyfriend, you know he won’t go anywhere.

“did you cut your hair?” you take a step forward. dick does too.

“i-” he clears his throat. “i did. do you like it?” he shifts his eyes, his cheeks bright pink.

you make a show of looking it over. he turns his head so you can see it from all angles. like he always did when he got a haircut.

your chest hurts.

you nod approvingly, flashing him a weak smile.

“it looks really nice. you’re very-” your face heats as you stop yourself. “it looks very handsome.”

that’s an understatement. you would’ve climbed him like a tree the minute he’d come home looking like that. the way his biceps were bulging out of his shirt sleeves could not be good for his circulation. it was great for yours, your heart was beating a mile a minute.

dick smiles down at you, stepping forward again.

“thanks.” he looks down, taking in your outfit. “nice leggings, ang-” he’s cut off when trouble spots a squirrel and darts, barking wildly. the problem is, trouble had been walking his leashed self around you and dick.

you’re now chest to chest with your ex boyfriend in the middle of a sidewalk, tied to him by rope. you vaguely hear trouble whine at the way his collar bit into his neck from the leash pulling taut. you didn’t even have the time to process the fact that he had almost called you angel. which was probably a good thing.

you’re breathing heavily, while dick doesn’t seem to be breathing at all.

he’s put his arms around you on instinct, and you hate the way you feel like you’re home. a shiver runs up your spine at the sudden closeness, and dick peers down at you through half-lids. your mouth dries up again. you suddenly feel indignant.

“you are not allowed to breakup with me and then show up and look at me like that!” you hiss at him.

you would throw up your hands in exasperation if they weren’t basically pinned to dick’s body. a smile breaks across his face, his bright blue eyes telling you everything you need to know. he stares at you, studying you. you wonder if he can feel how hard your heart is beating.

“alfred taught me a new recipe.” he blurts, his hand clutching at your back.

he’s adorable. but you school your face and raise an eyebrow at him.

“..oookay?”

dick blushes, his face sheepish. “i could make it for you, if you wanted.”

“what i want is an apology.” you look him up and down.

your ex boyfriend grimaces, squeezing his eyes shut. “understandable.”

“on your hands and knees. i think this is one of those begging-for-my-forgiveness type situations, don’t you think?”

dick nods, a strand of hair falling across his forehead. his eyes flash.

“you don’t have to worry about getting me on my knees.”

one heartbeat pounds behind your ribs, the other one between your legs. you huff out a weird sort of nervous laugh.

“oh, i’m not joking.” his lips curve up in a smile, one you know very well. he obviously plans to make up on lost time.

you forgot how charming he was. you have to practically force yourself to breathe. you’d do anything to have the real thing over his old t-shirt. you give yourself a mental shake.

he can flirt all he wants, but what about your heart? you look up at him, and his face softens, his pupils huge.

“can you get us untangled?”

dick nods, whistling for trouble. he frees an arm and grabs trouble’s collar, guiding him back around so the leash falls to the sidewalk. you step back, taking a deep breath. you’re cold at the sudden loss of his body heat. it’s a harsh reminder of reality. you grab trouble’s leash, having him sit. you look at your ex boyfriend.

“thanks.” you take another deep breath. “can you promise me something, though?”

he nods, his face serious. “anything. anything at all.”

“promise you won’t break my heart again?” you hold out your pinky finger.

dick coughs, surprised at your words. he looks down, taking a shaky breath. he’s in disbelief, he’s ecstatic, he’s on top of the world, he…has a lot of apologizing to do.

when he looks back up to offer up his own pinky, his eyes are shining. the sight makes your heart melt. you take his finger in yours, beaming up at him.

he gives you a soft smile in return. “i promise.”

you take your hand back, feeling the most hopeful you have in a month.

a breeze picks up, and the whiff you get reminds you of your earlier predicament. you look down. dick looks down too.

shit. literally.

you forgot about the fact that trouble had used the sidewalk as a toilet.

“is that trouble’s?” he asks.

you nod, making a face. “i forgot the poop bags.”

“rookie mistake.” dick shakes his head, smiling. you look him up and down, and then turn, walking back the way you came.

“text me about that recipe!” you lift your hand in a wave.

“but-..uh, the shit?” he calls after you.

“that’s alllll you, baby!” you yell back, practically skipping away. you feel like you’re floating.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Get Souped!

[mercymornsimpathizer]

tbh I think people deeply misunderstand the dynamic between harrow and ortus. imagine ur thirty years old working a minimum wage job and living in ur moms basement. ur manager is an overacheiving high schooler who knows the employee handbook by heart. like she will garnish ur wages if u don't upsell vigorously enough but also she needs a ride home because her learners permit says she's not allowed to drive past 8 pm. ortus nigenad is victim of the alienation of labor, send tweet.

[ellana-ravenwood]

I know you probably abandoned this blog. But I want to say your writing has helped me. I have always had trouble with self-confidence, but I read your work, and I started to try and put myself out there more.

Oh...oooh..this made me incredibly happy. Thank you for taking the time to send this to me. I'm really touched, and happy my writing helped you in any way :). And I haven't abandoned this blog, I just got a little...busy with this :

Hehe.

I love you all. I will be back soon.

[woo-wahhhh]

[ too much energy ] "kaji..."

"what?!"

"did you seriously just walk into my shop, before class, and already injured?" you scowled back, rolling your eyes as you regarded his relaxed figure in the doorway. a part of you marvelled how he looked perturbed by your disbelief than he was of the blood freshly running down his arm. "you have way too much energy this early in the morning, dude."

"look, clown me all you want, but let's get one thing straight," he grit out. he jabbed a finger vindictively at you, followed by the insanely loud clacking of his stupid lollipop against his teeth. "i didn't get into a fight."

"colour me impressed," you couldn't help but quip sarcastically, though you motioned him to come closer to where you were rummaging under the counter. you were grateful that being so early, no one had come into buy flowers yet, since it would be a bit of a jump scare to find a man bleeding out.

"shut up," he hissed, glaring perpetually while he took a seat behind your counter, and sticking his arm out. it was amusing, how someone could look annoyed yet so charming in the same action. you almost wanted to comment on the his childish appearance, but you had a feeling he'd slap his headphones on and dash out if you did.

"well?" you prompted, pulling out a first aid kit and setting it on the counter. "what happened to your arm then?"

you could feel his hawkish gaze trail after your every move, scrutinizing each action with such intensity, you couldn't tell if he was pissed off or if he was under an enchantment.

"that granny lost her cat again," kaji said simply.

this boy, you cursed internally as you pulled out disinfectant and bandages. "and?"

"what do you think happened?" he scowled, canines flashing as he grit his teeth at the sting of the ointment. "it fucking scratched me when i caught it." he shook his fringe out of the way, perhaps to properly express his annoyance.

"you look much more handsome when you're angry," you blurted out, reaching up to push his hair back without thinking too much– after all, he was your boyfriend. but more importantly, it was much to his incredibly visible chagrin– by habit, he flinched, automatically trying to grab at his headphones, but he couldn't shake off your grip on his arm, leaving him to clutch one side like a damsel in distress, eyes wide and horrified.

but he calmed down quickly enough when you didn't pay him mind, too accustomed to his shenanigans, humming lightly as you focused on the bandages and keeping the heat from dancing up your spine. there was a simmering tension between you; unspoken, though his eyes were dead set on your nimble movements, the distinct weight of his gaze telling you he wouldn't look away, or more properly, he couldn't.

once you finally looked up from your finished work, you noted his eyebrows were knit together, the permanent glare on his face still written in stone, but his tone was somehow gentler than he let on. "look me in the eyes if you're gonna say stuff like that."

silence ensued, of course, your eyebrows quirking up as the obvious dangled from your tongue.

"kaji, you just looked like you were about to bolt outta here,"

"well, yeah, how else am i supposed to act when you say that?"

"i- i don't know," you stammered, suddenly hyperaware of how he wasn't looking away, how his eyes were practically tracing over every contour of your face with the intensity that could burn. "maybe- maybe act a bit more touched?"

"touched?" he echoed, a bit of incredulous sneer in his voice as he hopped off his seat. the abruptness of it all startled you as your back unwittingly hit the counter, and before you could make your own grand escape, he placed an arm on each side of you, effectively caging you in.

the sudden change up from the incredibly flustered kaji to this steamrolling behaviour made your head spin as you gaze up at him with wide eyes that were only met with a grey, smouldering gaze with the intensity of a storm.

"here," kaji swiftly popped out the lollipop from his mouth, holding it to you. you hesitantly took it from his hand, the question of "what the hell, dude?" bubbling at your lips when without a warning, he grabbed your face and kissed you.

short and sweet, but somehow still awfully fierce for that early in the day– you expected nothing less from ren kaji.

"now what was about?" you giggled as you pulled back, dotingly reaching up to smear your lip gloss onto his chapped lips. an act of giving and receiving, one could even say, since he'd left you with the sickeningly sweet taste of caramel on your tongue. "do you like it when i call you handsome?" you teasingly chimed.

"shut up," kaji grumbled once again, pushing his hair back and pressing his forehead against yours. "you looked cute and i just felt like it, that's all." maybe to someone else, that wasn't a fulfilling response, but you knew how straightforward kaji was, and that he wouldn't lie about something like that.

"well, if you're feeling like it then," you whispered, your lips bumping into his as you spoke, "you should kiss me again."

"demanding," kaji huffed out, though he hoisted you up onto the counter anyways without breaking a sweat, a small, but cocky smile on his face when you grabbed onto his shoulders for dear life.

"oh my god, at least warn me!" you complained. maybe you really should have kept an eye on the door, but with his figure before you, and slotted between your legs and the his hand gently coaxing you forward by the nape of your neck, it was hard to care.

"you have way too much energy to yap in the morning," he chided indignantly, but the way he was already leaning up suggested otherwise.

"hey, you're the one who–!"

"morning, (name)! did kaji already pop by– oh,"

"w-w-we'll just– uh– s-see you at school, k-kaji!?" enomoto managed to croak out before they both scurried away with mildly red faces, reminding you less of the teenage gang members they were and more of children.

you almost fell off the counter, had it not been for kaji's reflexes, but the damage had been done, and the lollipop he'd entrusted you with fell to the floor with a dull thud as enomoto and kusumi blinked at the two of you with horrified expressions.

"hey boys," you greeted casually with a wave.

"oh my, we've made a scandal, darling," you joked– regrettably, or so you thought later in the day when the rest of the tamon team's second years started cooing at at poor kaji. perhaps it was a lesson to not be so energetic in the mornings from then on.

[oocsydney]

this is more or less just a late night personal anecdote (so please forgive my rambling), but hbomb's plagiarism video got me thinking the differences between journalism and marketing

during my undergrad in journalism, I was required to take an ethics course. we learned how to write our own code of ethics, as well as the core tenants in the SPJ Code of Ethics.

it was honestly one of the most invaluable courses I've ever taken in my life, and not only did I learn a lot about journalism through it, but I learned a lot about myself and what kind of person I wanted to be

then, when I studied marketing in grad school, I remember asking one of my marketing professors about ethics in marketing, and I remember him saying:

"ethical marketers starve."

I still think about that to this day. It's one of the main reasons why (despite having a master's in marketing) I did not pursue that field out of grad school

not to say that all marketers are unethical, I'm sure there are ethical ones that exist. but the fields of journalism and marketing are so diametrically opposed to each other, and the reason is because of ethics. one field is (or should be) in the pursuit of truth. The other is in the pursuit of profit.

the James Somertons (self-proclaimed marketers) of the world likely never consider the ethics of their work, but instead behave like marketers: try to appeal to the masses and sell themselves, try to get as many subscribers as possible, have fancy sets and lighting and props in his videos, churn out as many videos as possible to stay relevant in the YouTube algorithm at all costs, be "controversial" (even though most of his words were stolen or misogynistic or straight up lies).

our world is so centered on the idea of profit and self-attainment that we forget to ask ourselves if we're being decent human beings. I wholeheartedly believe that it's possible to be ethical AND successful, all while lifting up our fellow creators and writers without stealing from them. no one has to starve.

[bowtiepastabitch]

Historical Analysis: class and injustice in 'The Ressurrectionists' minisode

Alternate title: why we're tempted to be upset with Aziraphale and why that's only halfway fair

Okay so first off huge thanks to @makewayforbigcrossducks for asking the question (and follow-up questions lol) that brought me to put these thoughts all together into a little history nerd ramble. That question being, Why is Aziraphale so clueless? Obviously, from a plot perspective, we know we need to learn some lessons about human moral dilemmas and injustices. But from a character perspective? A lot of this minisode is about Aziraphale being forced to confront the flaws of heavenly logic. This whole idea that "poverty is ineffable" basically boils down to 'yeah some people are poor, but their souls can be saved just as if not more easily that way, so it's not our problem and they probably deserve it anyway for not working hard enough,' a perspective that persists in many modern religious circles. Aziraphale isn't looking at the human factor here, he's pretty much purely concerned about the dichotomy of good and wicked human behavior and the spiritual consequences thereof, because that's what he's been told to believe. His whole goal is to "show her the error of her ways." He believes, quite wholeheartedly, that he's helping her in the long run.

"the lower you start, the more opportunities you have"

So here's what we're asking ourselves: Why did it take him so bloody long to realize how stupid that is? Sure, he's willing to excuse all kinds of things in the name of ineffability, but if someone in the year of our lord 2023 told me he was just now realizing that homelessness was bad after experiencing the past two centuries, I'd be resisting the urge to get violent even if he WAS played by Michael Sheen.

Historical context: a new type of poverty

Prior to the 19th century (1800s), poverty was a very different animal from what we deal with now. The lowest classes went through a dynamic change leading up to the industrial revolution, with proto-industrialization already moving people into more manufacture-focused tasks and rapid urbanization as a result of increasingly unlivable conditions for rural peasantry. The enclosure of common lands and tennancies by wealthy landowners for the more profitable sheep raising displaced lots of families, and in combination with poor harvests and rising rents, many people were driven to cities to seek out new ways of eeking out a living.

Before this, your ability to eat largely would have depended on the harvest in your local area. This can, for our purposes, be read as: you're really only a miracle away from being able to survive the winter. Juxtapose this, then, with the relatively new conundrum of an unhoused urban poor population. Now if you want to eat, you need money itself, no exceptions, unless you want to steal food. Charity at the time was often just as much harm as good, nearly always tied deeply up in religious attitudes and a stronger desire to proselytize than improve quality of lie. As a young woman, finding work in a city is going to be incredibly difficult, especially if you're not clean and proper enough to present as a housemaid or other service laborer. As such, Elspeth turns to body snatching to try to make a better life for herself and Wee Morag. She's out of options and she knows it.

You know who doesn't know that? Aziraphale.

The rise of capitalism

The biggest piece of the puzzle which Aziraphale is missing here is that he hasn't quite caught onto the concept of capitalism yet. To him, human professions are just silly little tasks, and she should be able to support herself if she just tried. Bookselling, weaving, farming, these are all just things humans do, in his mind. He suggests these things as options because it hasn't occurred to him yet that Elspeth is doing this out of desperation, but he also just doesn't grasp the concept of capital. Crowley does, he thinks it's hilarious, but Aziraphale is just confused as to why these occupations aren't genuine options. Farming in particular, as briefly touched on above, was formerly carried out largely on common land, tennancies, or on family plots, and land-as-capital is an emerging concept in this period of time (previously, landowners acted more like local lords than modern landlords). Aziraphale just isn't picking up on the fact that money itself is the root issue.

Even when he realizes that he fucked up by soup-ifying the corpse, he doesn't offer to give them money but rather to help dig up another body. He still isn't processing the systemic issues at play (poverty) merely what's been immediately presented to him (corpses), and this is, from my perspective, half a result of his tunnel-vision on morality and half of his inability to process this new mode of human suffering.

Half a conclusion and other thoughts

So we bring ourselves back around to the question of Aziraphale's cluelessness. Aziraphale is, as an individual, consistently behind on the times. He likes doing things a certain way and rarely changes his methodology unless someone forces his hand. Even with the best intentions, his ability to help in this minisode is hindered by two points: 1)his continued adherance to heavenly dogma 2)his inability to process the changing nature of human society. His strongest desire at any point is to ensure that good is carried out, an objective good as defined by heavenly values, and while I think it's one of his biggest character hangups, I also can't totally blame him for clinging to the only identity given to him or for worrying about something that is, as an ethereal being, a very real concern. Unfortunately, he also lacks an understanding of the actual human needs that present themselves. Where Elspeth knows that what she needs is money, Aziraphale doesn't seem to process that money is the only solution to the immediate problem. This is in part probably because a century prior the needs of the poor were much simpler, and thus miraculous assistance would never have interfered with 'the virtues of poverty'. (You can make someone's crops grow, and they'll eat well, but giving someone money actually changes their economic status.) Thus, his actions in this episode illustrate the intersection of heavenly guidelines with a weak understanding of modern structures.

This especially makes sense with his response to being told to give her money. Our angel is many things, but I would never peg him as having any attachment to his money. He's not hesitant because he doesn't want to part with it, he's hesitant because he's still scared it's the wrong thing to do in this scenario. He really is trying to be good and helpful. So yes, we're justifiably pretty miffed to see him so blatantly unaware and damaging. He definitely holds a lot of responsibility for the genuine tragedy of this minisode, and I think Crowley pointing out that it's 'different when you knew them' is an extremely important moment for Aziraphale's relationship with humanity. Up until now, he's done a pretty good job insulating himself from the capacity of humans for nastiness, his seeming naivity at the Bastille being case in point.

In the end, I think Aziraphale's role in this minisode is incredibly complex, especially within its historical context. He's obstinate and clueless but also deeply concerned with spiritual wellbeing (which is, to Aziraphale, simply wellbeing) and doing the right thing to be helpful. While it's easy to allow tiny Crowley (my beloved) to eclipse the tragic nature and moral complexity of this minisode, I think in the end it's just as important to long-term character development as 'A Companion to Owls'. We saw him make the right choice with Job's children, and now we see him make the wrong choice. And that's a thing people do sometimes, a thing humans do.

~~~

also tagging @ineffabildaddy, @kimberellaroo, and @raining-stars-somewhere-else whose comments on the original post were invaluable in helping me organize my thoughts and feelings about this topic. They also provided great insight that, in my opinion, is worth going and reading for yourself, even if it didn't factor into my final analysis/judgement.

If I missed anything or you have additional thoughts, please please share!!! <3

[welcometogrouchland]

I understand that literature nerd Jason Todd is kind of overblown in fanon compared to it's actual presence in canon (a few issues during his pre (and post?)crisis Robin tenure that highlight it) BUT consider that I think it's hilarious if the unhinged gun toting criminal has strong opinions on poetry

[lizzieisright]

if you wrote that backstory idk dude maybe i’d kiss you

alpha abby >>

Honestly I wrote it and for some reason it gives me Pride and Prejudice vibes idk idk

alpha!Abby x omega!reader, just two paragraphs of smut (MDNI), alpha!Abby is sweet eventually, mention of heats/ruts, written on a knee without editing, backstory for these idiots.

-/-/-/-/-/-

When Abby meets you she is baffled. It sounds incredibly arrogant but the fact that her alpha presence doesn't do shit to you offends her. Abby is not used to an omega who doesn't try to impress her and she knows she is being the worst fuckboy stereotype but it genuinely throws her for a loop. You just look at her like Abby is not, well, fucking Abby. Like her scent doesn't make you want to arch your back and present yourself for her. 

And listen, Abby is self-aware enough that she knows not all omegas will like her. It's just. It never happened before. And Abby also is not an idiot who will try to win you over or something - yeah, her ego was bruised but that was just how life is. 

The problem with this starts later, when you're paired for patrol. Abby is so used to being bossy and barking at everyone because omegas will listen and alphas won't dare to challenge her; she doesn't really care if she is being polite to you. 

But you care, judging by your raised eyebrows and angry looks when Abby gives you orders like you're her little soldier. 

And then Abby accidentally makes you absolutely fucking hate her, because she grabs you. She tugs you like a ragdoll to get you out of what she thought as a dangerous way, and she ends up with a knife at her throat. 

You look at her angrily and press your knife harder until she gets the hint, and Abby lets you go. 

"Do that again Anderson and I'll kill you. Don't fucking touch me like that." You growl and Abby, instead of being a normal person, frowns and gets aggressive.

"You were going to fall, idiot, I was saving you." Abby huffs and gets closer, daring you to challenge her. 

"I don't need you to save me." You growl in her face, not backing down, and Abby's eyes flash red, because omegas don't speak to her like that.

You stare back at Abby even though it's hard, standing up to an angry alpha with such suffocating presence is very fucking hard, but you're also very pissed off, so you stand your ground even though it physically hurts to defy an alpha, but you don't care about pain right now.

The stare down ends because there's a crack in the woods and you both get alert, looking around. You grab your knife tighter and Abby instinctively moves to shield you, but nothing comes out to attack you. 

So you finish your patrol in total silence. 

That's how you become easily the only omega in the stadium who doesn't like Abby Anderson. The fact that Abby is also extremely attractive and her scent is intoxicating only fuels your spite. The fact that her dick is so good there's fucking competitions to spend her rut with her only makes it worse. 

To be fair Abby looks miserable in pre-rut so you find some sympathy for her. But not after you hear another omega bragging about how good Abby is in bed. Then you're back to despising her. 

Abby's presence is something you have to train yourself to get used to, refusing to get under her influence, but it gets so much easier once you can let her stare you down across the room and be absolutely calm about it. Abby stares at you a lot, especially if she thinks you fucked up, but you stare back and don’t let her win this. It’s not even aggressive or challenging by this point and it feels like some kind of ritual between you two.

Abby, on the other hand, learns to be more nice to you. She is polite to you and she doesn't touch you again. Sometimes you can even have a normal conversation. You hate it, because Abby is not a total asshole of an alpha and you don’t have an excuse to be mean to her, even though you really want to - it’s the only barrier you have to keep yourself from falling for her. But Abby is genuinely trying and not because she wants to knot you, but because she can't stand having you in distress around her. 

For some reason Abby cares for you and your well-being, she wants you to be comfortable in her company, and yeah, this is weird and Abby’s never felt like that, but when she sees how your shoulders relax when she gets closer to cover you during patrol Abby feels like she won this life. 

Then your heat comes. It comes so fucking unexpected you have trouble breathing, panting and chocking on air as you desperately try to make your way to a safe space, because you know all too well what can happen when there's an omega in heat walking around. 

But it's so fucking hard to walk and you feel your slick coming down your thighs and everything fucking hurts because you need an alpha, so you clutch your knife and barely make it to some fucking corner to catch your breath. 

That is how Abby finds you. She caught your scent and all her senses went into overdrive because you're in heat and you're in distress and all Abby hears in her head is HelpHelpHelpMakeitgoawayHelp and she is making her way to you, her eyes are red because she can't fucking control it now, you're hurting and she needs it to go away and make it better-

You're sitting on the floor, panting, and you hold your knife right in front of your face with trembling hands because this is not happening. Abby smells like heaven and this is not happening. 

"Fuck." Abby sighs and she reacts way too hard to your scent, because your distress just got worse. "I won't hurt you, let me help." Abby pleads and you use your legs to get away from her, pushing yourself back into a corner but there's only a wall. 

"Stay the fuck away from me." You growl and clutch your knife harder. "Get the fuck away, Abby."

You're terrified and Abby can't handle it. She's never seen an omega in such a state, and her brain immediately shifts into protective mode. 

"I'm not going to touch you." But fuck she wants to. "You need to get to your room. I'll help you."

"No-no-no-no. Leave me alone." But you feel your arms grow weaker and the pain getting worse. 

"I'll make it better, okay?" Abby's eyes are red and you can hear it. You can hear it in her voice, what she is going to do and you start crying.

"Abby, no please, no. Don't do this." You plead her, but Abby gets closer to you anyway. 

"Relax." Abby says in her alpha voice and you immediately go pliant against your will. Your brain is fuzzy and you feel so much better, the thoughts are only filled with alphaalphaalpha and how good Abby smells and how good her hands feel on your waist and knees and you cling to her like she's a life line. "I'm not going to do anything. I'll carry you to your room and that's it, okay?"

"Alpha." You plead and bury your nose in her scent glands and Abby has to stop and take a breath and it only makes it worse because the air is filled with your smell. 

But then Abby is hit with your terrified teary eyes from a minute ago and she doesn't want to be someone you're so afraid of. So she carries you to your room and hopes your own place will ground you. 

Your place makes it worse for her though, because your scent is everywhere and you're still clinging to her and calling her alpha and she doesn't know what to fucking do.

So Abby does what humans do to cats: she carries to the bathroom and puts your head under the stream of cold water, which actually works and you spit curses at her.

"What the fuck!" You scream and Abby lets you go. You're sitting on your bathroom floor, wet and cold and angry, but your head feels clearer. You look up at Abby, whose eyes are red and she is so tense you see veins on her arms. You tense too: you have no idea what to expect. "Abby-"

"I won't hurt you." Abby growls and you search for your knife again. "I just. I can't leave you." 

And Abby looks almost guilty. It clicks and you feel affection overflowing your heart despite your better judgment - now that your mind is on heat leave you can't fight your feelings. Abby is so deep in protective mode she literally can't move because in her head she is a threat too - you knew it could happen, you just didn't expect it to happen to Abby. 

"Relax, alpha." You tell her to free her from it, and Abby relaxes immediately. "Now can you leave?"

Abby knows it's the right thing to do - you aren't even friends and you're vulnerable and she is a threat whether she wants it or not, but it still hurts. 

"Were you- did you really think I'd do something to you?"

"With alphas you never know." You answer vaguely and honestly? It hurts even more. Abby doesn't want to be that kind of alpha to you. 

What Abby can't stop herself from doing is sitting outside your door like a dog and guarding you during your heat. Your words really hit her and her instinct to protect you skyrocketed. 

And you know she is there, the heavy suffocating scent filling your nostrils as you desperately cling to your pillow, but Abby smells so strongly of protection it actually eases up the anxiety you have when you're alone in heat and you can't bring yourself to go up and tell her to fuck off.

(You're also afraid you'll jump Abby the moment you see her again because Abby is the best alpha you know and right now she is sitting outside your door protecting you)

(Abby sits there for three days and the way your scent is full of safe keeps her sane, makes it all worth it)

After that you awkwardly thank Abby and she awkwardly apologises for scaring you. The ice between you melts and now when you're paired for patrol it is actually fun. It's still strange to have Abby in constant protection mode, but now you find it sweet. 

Now you find her heavy scent comforting and safe and you seek it out every time you're close. Abby is no better, her head fucking snapping in your direction every time she smells you.

So the awkward courting begins. Abby cautiously attempts to care for you, scared to end up with a knife to her throat again, but you're actually way nicer to her now, taking her jacket when she offers, letting her carry things for you, letting her re-check your guns (after asking if she can). Abby feels hopeful. 

Abby asks you out, ridiculously nervous because you can reject her without a second thought, but you actually say yes. 

You go on a date and Abby barely keeps her hands off you, but she gets close enough for your scents to mix and you're not stupid, you notice it and snuggle into her side, rendering Abby speechless. 

She feels like an idiot around you. 

On the third date Abby kisses you and your scent gets immediately happy and you refuse to feel embarrassed about it because Abby smells the same. 

It'd been a month since you started dating and you notice how aggressively territorial Abby gets, how her scent gets heavier and how often her eyes become red all of a sudden. It means Abby's rut is close. 

Abby is exhausted and you do as much as you can to provide comfort for her, desperate to make her feel better. 

"Your rut is coming." 

"Yeah."

"What's the plan?"

"You don't have to spend it with me." Abby tells you, because she is afraid she'll hurt you. Alphas in rut are rough and unrelenting and Abby is not an exception. "Hell, I don't want you to, if it means you'll get hurt. Especially since-" Since you haven't had sex yet. 

You don't know why, but that is just the pace of your relationship and you're fine with it. What you're not fine with is Abby hurting. 

"I don't think you'll ever hurt me. I'd like to be there with you, if you're okay with it."

"You won't be able to stop me."

"Don't threaten me with a good time." You smirk, but Abby's eyes turn red and you feel yourself getting wet. 

"Fuck, sweetheart." Abby buries her face in your neck and you shiver, because her teeth are close.

That's how you end up face down ass up on Abby's bed, getting fucked so hard you'll have bruises just from Abby's thrusts tomorrow, not counting her grip on your hips. The room is so heavy with her pheromones you're almost choking on it, your head is empty except for alphaalphaalpha breedmbitememarkme and Abby's low growling of "mine" at every thrust, her fangs scraping over your neck. 

And you think you can't take it anymore because Abby is relentless, she is rough, but then her grunts start to get louder and her pace gets sloppy - she is close and you spread your thighs because you know what's coming. 

Abby knots you and it's so fucking much, she is big enough as it is and her knot is even bigger but it makes you see stars and you scream her name. Abby growls into your ear and you can’t help but arch into her, submitting to her. 

Later, when Abby catches the break from being insanely horny, she assesses all the damage she did to you and it makes her sad - she doesn’t like the bruises on you. She gently kisses all of them as if she is apologising and you just bask in her touch and care, smelling so happy and satisfied Abby starts to feel better about it. 

Can you sit properly after Abby’s rut? No. Do you enjoy the sting of pain every time you sit? Yes. Does Abby follow you like a puppy to make sure you're okay? Yes.

Abby is still the same intimidating mean alpha but now you like it. Now you watch her stare down alphas who even dare to turn their noses in your direction and you get happy. Abby is possessive as fuck and she makes sure you always have her scent on you and you're no better, wearing her clothes just to make her wear it after you so Abby'd smell like you, but both of you don't rush with the mating bite until a year later when Abby is gently taking you apart during your heat and you sink your teeth into her shoulder.

You cry because you think Abby'll get mad at you (fuck you heat hormones for making you so sensitive, you get so embarrassed later), but Abby kisses you and tells you how happy you made her and how she can't wait to have you sober to give you your mark.

You carry Abby's bite on your inner thigh.