#i could be wrong but most of these companies will

[psychoticallytrans]

I noticed today that the deadname of a client was clearly visible in their client file because it was their legal name, and flagged it for IT. I specifically flagged it as "Hey, if someone sees this and calls our client the wrong name, we'll lose them as a client." IT emailed me back immediately, and it's now invisible except on their contract with us, which the majority of us don't have direct access to, as opposed to their client file.

The reason I flagged it framing it as a loss is that what matters to most companies is money. If you can flag a bigoted practice as something that will lose customers, clients, or get them a lawsuit, that is significantly more likely to get taken care of quickly than trying to appeal to their better nature. I could have flagged it as "Hey, this is going to make our client really upset if they hear it.", which was my actual motivation for flagging it, but if I had, then it probably would have been taken care of in a few days or even weeks, not hours.

Always hit them with the profit argument for quick and decisive action.

[luveline]

there’s this scene in the office where pam falls asleep on jim during a conference at work, he doesn’t move her at all and even stays until after the meeting is over just to let her sleep!!! do u think u could write something similar for our annoyingly sweet coworker! james?? love u

love u <3 —James may not like you, but he’s a good pillow. fem, 1k

“Today we’re gonna talk about workplace satisfaction.” 

James crosses his arms over his chest. The yawn he suppresses threatens to make his jaw crack, his eyes heavy not a minute into the presentation. 

“I know all about that,” Sirius says under his breath. 

Remus needles him in the arm with his elbow. It might’ve been the best dumb luck in the world to get to work with his best friends, but not even their joking can make this meeting less mind-numbing. He covers his mouth with his hand and settles in. 

“We sent around a survey this last week and we’ve had everyone’s responses. The results are anonymous, but we do want to touch on where we, as a company, are going wrong. Our first category was day to day working.” 

You yawn. James turns his head to watch you, and with the lights dimmed, he’s not sure you notice. You cover your mouth with both hands, your eyes failing to reopen for a few long, admittedly humorous seconds. He likes how your lashes look stuck together, and the way you rub your nose afterward. It’s cute. 

What’s not cute is your shaking knees. You press them together, but you’re sitting awkwardly, and they tremble at the strange position. James wonders what it is you’re upto that’s making you so tired lately. You seem down; he stapled his fingertip earlier in a crazy mishap of which he was at no fault and you didn’t even laugh. You took his hand and pulled out the staple. 

You’ve been acting super weird. 

“So about half of you expressed that you feel like you aren’t allowed the breaks that you need. While it’s encouraged you all take a ten minute break from your screens every other hour, you feel penalised when you do, and we want to change that. Do any of you guys have anything to say? This is the time to speak your thoughts.” 

Remus raises his hand. James loves him more than anyone in the world. “Whenever I try to take a break around lunchtime, you ask me if I can wait until lunch. I don’t think needing breaks from the screen should wait, or detract from my legal break time.” 

“What we’re trying to do is encourage you guys to make the most of your working time without hurting yourselves.” 

A great non answer. You make a soft sound and James turns with a smile, expecting to find you smothering a laugh, and instead seeing a great eyeful of your neck. Your head has fallen back, your back slouching under the weight of yourself as your leg begins to drift toward his. 

Poor girl, he thinks. 

“What about the kitchen tap?” someone asks. 

Your boss sighs. “What about it?” 

James leans down to be your height. He can imagine the neck ache, the stiffness, and so when he brings his arm up to touch the shoulder closest to his, it’s with sympathy, if not fondness. 

You make another soft sound like a snuffle and rest your face on his shoulder.

James looks away. Looks back, tracing the soft roundness of your forehead, your nose, your cheeks and your lips, pouting ever so slightly in your dozing. He’s thought often that you were awarded a face too sweet for who you are. What evil demon are you, to treat him like he’s stupid and to smile at him in your way? Sometimes he gets so mad at you for it that he thinks about grabbing you, and yanking your face to his, and then he feels so guilty for wanting to grab you at all that he leaves your mug where it is in the cupboard. It’s not nice to want to kiss you with any sort of force. 

It’s not nice wanting to kiss you at all, because it isn’t a joke, he really doesn’t like you sometimes. 

But what’s not to like about you now? 

Lately he feels this weird bridge forming between you, like you could be civil, or better. You rub your nose into his shoulder and he holds his breath, worried his moving chest will jolt you. Something must be really getting to you if you’re sleeping at work. He should ask if you’re alright, when you’re awake. 

He doesn’t think he can. 

“Alright, guys. Let’s talk about customer service.” 

You’re demure. James thinks it and bites his own tongue, hard and accidental, flinching at the sudden pain. You mumble against him and he quickly stills, his heart pounding. Fuck, he hates this. Why does he feel like this? He didn’t mean to jostle you. 

Your hand curls around his arm like you’re telling him to stay still. 

He should take a photo of you for blackmail purposes. If not blackmail, mild humiliation. He can email it to everyone before you wake up, zoom in on your nose pressed rough to his arms, your deep exhales warm on his shirt. 

James rubs your elbow for reasons he can’t understand.

The meeting is torturously long, inanely boring. You rouse when your coworkers clap politely at the end of the presentation, James’ hand now returned to his leg. He looks resolutely at the front of the room, your gaze a heat on his cheek, before you look down and rub your eyes. 

“Sorry, James,” you murmur. 

“It’s okay. Don’t mention it.” 

That’s what’s best, right? You have these insane moments of togetherness and never, ever talk about them. 

“Did I miss much?” you ask. 

Pillow and minute keeper? James doesn’t think so. “Should’ve paid attention.” 

“Did he talk about the tap in the kitchen?” 

“If you were meant to know, you’d know, hm?” You yawn and blink to yourself all soft with sleep, and James debates giving in for longer than he’d care to admit. “He did talk about the tap,” he says. 

“Is he fixing it?” you ask. 

“Couldn’t hear him over your snoring, sorry.”

[stayconnecteed]

bang chan drabble    —   950 words !

⠀⠀⠀for the ❛ drabble event ❜⠀﹙ requested by @ anon ﹚⠀fluff, "i brought you flowers." "for what?" "there has to be a reason?"

18 : 40⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀it had been strange. the afternoon had started with a peaceful walk along sydney's seaside promenade, your hand entwined with your boyfriend's, his warmth wrapping around you like a hug in the middle of winter. it wasn't that cold, but you had trusted the sun that was shining when you had left the house and it was starting to cool down, so you missed the hoodie you had left on the bahng's couch. chris had put his arm around your shoulders after he felt your first shiver, but he didn't have the courage to offer you his jacket just yet.

he was nervous. when the opportunity had arisen to travel to his hometown in the spring - the aussie autumn - you had seized it, arranging the plane flight and the stay at his parents' home, to whom he was going to introduce you. yet despite the almost ten blissful months you had been together, his gestures still exuded the nervousness that had enveloped him on your first dates, his hands stuttering before he touched you, his cheeks flushing red at your compliments, so he had been thinking for a few minutes about the perfect way to give you the leather jacket you'd stolen from him so many times before without making it too awkward.

the weird part had happened when you had stopped on the shore opposite the opera house to take pictures of yourselves after convincing him that you not only needed a new wallpaper but that he could send them by bubble. you had tried to make him laugh, capturing the moment when his smile showed his dimples, and also let him use his own instagram boyfriend material poses. and when he asked you to model for him, leaning against the wall, the sea at your back, you saw the flower stall.

you couldn't even help it. you simply told him to wait a moment, ignoring his look of confusion, and ran over. you greeted the salesman with a smile, and asked him to make a bouquet of the ones that reminded you most of your boyfriend, caressing their petals with your fingertips, closing your eyes as you breathed their scent in. but when you returned to him, chris, who was leaning against the wall, one hand in his jeans pocket, the other holding his phone, looking effortlessly handsome. you cleared your throat, causing him to look up, his smile lighting up his face at the sight of you, and you heard him whisper "they're beautiful, baby, just like you".

but you frowned in response, pressing the bouquet against his chest, as if you were accusing him: “i brought you flowers”.

“for what?” he asked, putting his phone away with a look of confusion, sliding his hand around your wrist to grab the bouquet above your own hand.

“there has to be a reason?” you had said, curving your lips, leaving a soft kiss against the back of his hand, tiptoeing to leave another on his cheek, and tugging him to continue your walk.

but he had remained silent. part of your walk had been in silence, enjoying each other's company, letting the wind ruffle your hair and your thoughts, but always leaning on each other. that's why you hadn't realised how odd it had been. but when you had asked him if he wanted to go to the hamburger place he kept talking about or if his mother had already said something about having dinner together and he didn't realize you had spoken, you looked at him. and you discovered the same crystallised look he had adopted when you had told him who the flowers he still had leaned against him were for.

so you stopped in the middle of the street, face to face with him, asking him what had happened. he didn't known what to say, too much in his head, so you explained, soft voice and tender touch over his arms, that you had seen the flowers and thought they would be a nice gesture, that you hadn't meant to make him upset. and he had felt his heart break into pieces, rushing to assure you that it was only his head that was wrong, that you had acted flawlessly, but that he could not understand why he would deserve something so nice.

it was then that your own eyes crystallised, resting the palm of your hand against his cheek, him laying against your touch, and you whispered soft words that spoke of how you saw him from your point of view, how handsome and strong he was, how much he deserved simple flowers and so much more. you watched him close his eyes, resting his forehead against yours, still pressing the bouquet against his chest, his knuckles white, as you continued to relate a love song that was more a list of all that he meant to you and that though he was not able to see, you would show him. you had a whole life together to show him.

that afternoon you gave him some flowers, and among the people passing around you you stood, like a rock standing out in the swirling waters of a river, in a bubble of reaffirmation, breathing in unison, building the intimacy of someone who offers a hand to someone who has fallen but does not use strength to lift them up. just giving him the support he needs to stand up for himself. and then you left a kiss on the tip of his nose, guiding him to his parents' without seeing in the gleam of his eyes the truth he had just discovered and wasn't ready to say out loud yet: you were his home.

© stayconnecteed 2024 · do not copy, translate, repost or share this work as yours on other platforms

[moonydustx]

Hey, Brazilian here!!! Can you write about Law x Sick!Reader?

Oi oi! Mais um dia, mais um atraso om os pedidos. Primeiro, muito obrigada pelo seu pedido <3 Aqui e aqui temos algumas histórias sobre Law x Sick!Reader. Mas como é quase irresistível escrever sobre nosso pirata favorito, hoje eu trouxe mais uma. Espero de verdade que goste!

And here’s the translation: Hi Hi! Another day, another delay with orders. First, thank you so much for your request <3 Here and here we have some stories about Law x Sick!Reader. But since it's almost irresistible to write about our favorite pirate, today I brought one more. I really hope you like it!

Requests are back soon, don't give up on me!

one piece masterlist

The isolated

Law x Sick!Reader (F!Reader)

warnings: idiots who don't know how to show their feelings, maybe there is a wrong use of DF, certainly medical errors because I'm not very good at writing this topic.

The sun shone brightly outside the Polar Tang, matching the summer island you had stumbled upon. Beaches, parks, and even a small forest trail awaited you, and despite Bepo's grumbles, it promised to be a good time to relax.

"Are you two staying here?" you adjusted your backpack on your back and stopped beside your captain. "There's so much to do."

"I only leave here to buy ice, or ice cream." Bepo, sprawled on the deck, grumbled. Your eyes soon turned to the captain's.

"And you?"

"Maybe I'll go to the city later, need to buy some things." he said, assessing you from head to toe. "Aren't you going to the beach with them?"

"Not really. From what I saw, there's a pretty cool trail to hike, I can take the opportunity to get some new herbs."

"Hm, alright." he replied, returning to contemplating Bepo suffering in the heat.

"Any problem, Captain?"

"No, nothing serious." Lie. The invitation for you to accompany him on the small visit to the city lingered on his lips, but apparently, it would stay there. "Enjoy your trail."

"Thanks, Captain! I'll be back before the end of the day."

You disembarked from the ship without further difficulties, following the small map you had bought earlier. On the Polar Tang, Law watched from afar as you walked away. He held a certain fondness for you - one you would never suspect - making it difficult for him to approach. Despite the shared breakfasts and the plant and herb lessons you gave him, which he insisted on attending despite knowing most of the content already, he enjoyed being with you. It was a pity he didn't know there was a reciprocal feeling on your part.

On the other hand, you even expected an invitation to accompany him, but just as he didn't seem very interested in being on your trail, he also didn't seem interested in your company. The hours passed without end, and with each passing moment, you grew more and more exhausted. Even before the sun set, you were already making your way back up to the Polar Tang.

"What the hell happened to you?" Shachi was the first to ask, catching your attention as you headed towards the submarine's interior.

"What the hell what?" you looked over, seeing nothing abnormal except for the fatigue and heat in your body, likely from all the walking.

"We better call the captain." Jean Bart advised and didn't wait for a response, running further into the submarine.

You tried to see something in some reflection as you watched your colleagues avoid you as if you carried the plague within you. Your irritation with your friends was replaced by concern as soon as Law saw you. You expected a scolding, you expected some acidic comment from him, but you didn't expect the lack of words, except for the ones that made you teleport with him straight to the medical ward.

"Captain, what's happening?" you stumbled backward as he guided you not so gently to a stretcher.

"Open your mouth." he completely ignored your question, and you could tell he was more worried than usual, so you just obeyed. With a small flashlight, he checked what you believed was just your throat. "Can you breathe normally, have you felt anything?"

"I'm just a bit tired, that's all. I don't understand all this fuss." you grumbled.

Only then did Law realize that indeed, you knew nothing of what was happening or why everyone had practically become concerned. Looking for a mirror and finding it impossible to find one in the medical ward of the Polar Tang, he grabbed a small sterilized steel tray and passed it to you, indicating that you should look at yourself.

"What?" your cry echoed through the enclosed room. Your face, neck, and every piece of skin you could see were adorned with red and swollen lumps. "Law, what's happening to me?"

"At first, I thought it might be an allergic reaction. But with unobstructed airways, I rule out that possibility, given the size of these lumps, if it were an allergy you shouldn't be breathing." he touched your face, gently turning it from side to side.

"And you're speaking so calmly?"

"If I spoke more agitatedly, you'd get nervous, your body would pump your blood faster, and if it were poison it would only take a few minutes for you to drop dead here." again, that calmness in dealing with serious matters infuriated you. "It might be that," he muttered to himself.

"Poison? Am I poisoned?" you stood up and immediately stumbled, leaning against his arms. "Am I going to die?"

"Probably, maybe, and no." he helped you sit back down. "Just give me a minute, I suspect what it might be."

He disappeared from your sight, and immediately, it was as if exhaustion dominated your body. You allowed yourself to lie down and wait for a few minutes. When your eyes were already heavy - even though less than five minutes had passed - you saw him appear with a book in hand.

"Can you stand up and take off your clothes?" he asked, seeing you nod, even though it took minutes just for you to stand up.

Remaining only in underwear, Law took care not to touch your body disrespectfully. The lumps already occupied almost your entire skin, giving him some trouble finding what he needed. After turning you around a few times and bending down to see better, he unfortunately found what he suspected.

"Here!" he pointed to the side of your body and again picked up the small steel plate that served as a mirror. As soon as he showed you, you could locate two red dots. Law then stood up and took the book he had brought. "It's a type of bug common on this kind of island."

"And what does that mean?" you leaned on the cot, not bothering to put your clothes back on.

"Well, it's going to be a few difficult days, and I'll need to isolate you from the rest of the crew, but you'll be fine."

"What do you mean by difficult days?" you tried to grab his book, but he didn't allow it. The way the symptoms were written was much scarier than it should have been in reality, at least that's what he hoped.

"Some symptoms are quite annoying, but with the right treatment, in about six to seven days, you'll be cured." he explained, watching you nod slowly. "It's normal to feel a bit tired at first; you might feel a bit itchy tomorrow too."

"You said you're isolating me here, is there a risk I've contaminated someone?" contaminated you, you wanted to add, but preferred to keep the thought to yourself. "I haven't touched anyone, but you never know."

"Contamination is through fluids, so no, for now, we'll all be fine. Here, I can still use my fruit to ensure a bit more protection for myself." he closed the book and stooped down, picking up the clothes you were wearing. "I'll get rid of this, alright?"

"Can you ask Ikakku to bring something for me to wear?"

"You're isolated, for a few days, only I will be able to come here, okay?" His hand almost touched you, but retracted in the last moments. "While you're not feeling better, we'll stay here on the island, but visits to the trail will be prohibited to everyone. I'll bring your clothes in a few minutes."

Law left and left you alone for a few moments, only returning to bring your pajamas. Even though you said it didn't need to be that type of clothing, Law warned that you would still be thankful for it.

On the first day, you were completely alone as the captain made sure that no one was infected and that everyone was aware of the necessary precautions. The lumps on your face seemed even redder, and when you noticed, you were already scratching and clawing, seeking some relief from the agony crawling on your skin.

"Don't scratch, you'll regret it." Law's voice appeared, and only then did you realize that he had entered the room. "It'll hurt more afterward."

"But Captain!" you grumbled and brought your nails back to your legs, barely reaching them before he grabbed your wrist. "It's itching too much!"

"I brought this." Only then did you realize that he had come armed with things. In one hand, a small pot that from the smoke and aroma, should be food. In the other, a small bag. "Here are ointments that can help, Ikakku also set aside some more clothes and other things that you might need."

You barely waited for him to finish speaking and began rummaging through the bag, searching for the ointment. As soon as you smeared it wherever you could reach, under his attentive gaze, you didn't need to ask. It only took a single exchange of glances for him to reach out and take the ointment from you. As soon as the cold cream reached your back - and perhaps because of the gentle way his fingers slid - you swore you could melt.

"I think it's good." He returned the tube and lowered your blouse carefully. "I brought soup for you."

"I'm not hungry."

"But I need you to eat, please." His eyes seemed to plead on their own, making it almost impossible for you to refuse.

Law stayed longer than the day before, watching you eat and updating you on what had happened outside. From Shachi and Penguin almost getting beaten up by two women on the beach, to Bepo swimming with buoys and several other amenities. Although he stayed longer than the day before, it didn't take long for Law to leave you alone again.

The next morning, you understood what Law meant about regretting scratching. The vivid memory of your nails scratching your body was replaced by an unbearable burning sensation, which left you almost immobile. Except that it also itched, making you seek friction, however minimal. That morning, you were taken out of bed by Law's appearance. A tray was in his hand, and as soon as he placed it on the table, he transported two more bags in.

"How are you feeling today?" he stopped by your side, looking at your still-laying face. "Burning, isn't it?"

"Like hell!" you grumbled, and saw him laugh, as if to say he had warned you. "Can you fix this?"

"At best, alleviate it." he warned, and saw you nodding against the sheets. "But first, breakfast." His tattooed hand stretched out, and you used it as support to sit up.

Grabbing the bread and juice glass, you pushed the fruits in his direction.

"Eat too." he just waved his hand, and you insisted. "Please, Captain. It'll make me feel less strange."

"Okay, just a little." He grabbed one of the grapes and ate.

As soon as you finished, Law used the power of the Ope Ope no Mi to get you to a shower, and apparently, he had already left that isolation for you. He leaned against the outside and left you alone, washing your body. Even against his will, Law could hear your grumbles and sniffs, he knew that the contact of the water against the skin would be torture at that moment, but it was the best solution he could think of. How he wished he could take that pain away from you.

In the afternoon of that same day, you didn't expect to see him again, until once again he appeared in the room, armed with things that barely crossed your mind of what they could be.

"I-I…" he started, feeling a little insecure. He felt that perhaps, just maybe, he might be crossing the line between doctor and patient. "I believe you might be feeling lonely."

"You have no idea." you weakly laughed, accepting the package he offered. Some books, crosswords, and candies were piled in the package. "That's very kind of you captain, thank you."

"I brought more of these too." He piled some books next to you, with a glance you realized they were comics. "They help me pass the time, I think they might help you too."

"This is that story... Sora, right?" you flipped through some, excitedly. "I've always heard about it and even tried to read it, but I confess I didn't understand much."

"What didn't you understand?" he sounded almost offended, sneaking a peek at what you were talking about.

The idea was for him to just leave things there and leave you alone, but it seemed almost impossible that afternoon. Law got lost in the hours, what was supposed to be a simple explanation ended with him reading some issues aloud to you. He only realized this when he heard your stomach growl, knowing it was already dinner time.

In the following two days, you alternated between scratching, trying to avoid scratching, getting scolded by Law, and him losing hours again, talking to you. It had reached the point where Law and you were counting the hours to know when you would see each other's faces. You because you loved the company of your captain and how soothing his voice sounded when he read, or how he got excited gossiping about the "outside world," and Law felt he needed to see you up close, to ensure that you were and would be fine.

The last bout of symptoms was what worried Law, and it was when he entered the room and found you lying on the floor in a fetal position that he knew it had finally arrived. Although it meant that the illness was leaving your body, he knew it would be the most painful part.

"Law." your tearful voice called him as soon as he picked you up to put you back in bed. "My body hurts so much."

"I know, I know." he tried to calm you down and saw you curl up even more. "I promise, just one more day, and you'll be okay."

"I don't know if I can handle a whole day with so much pain." you sobbed and hugged yourself. "It hurts to breathe, it hurts to move, and-I-I don't know what to do."

He sighed, trying to think of how he could take that away from you. It was just one more day of symptoms, but it hurt him to hear from your mouth that you couldn't handle it. Just one more day, one more day, and you would be well again.

"Do you remember when the pain started?" he stepped away to start preparing a serum with medications for you.

"About two hours ago." you whispered, pulling the blankets against you and trying to press against your own body, the contact of your skin seemed like a relief.

"Okay, we have a few more hours ahead." he gently pulled your arm, and with the dexterity that only he could have, hit your vein on the first try, plugging the medication. "Maybe this will help a little with the symptoms."

Law stepped back again to get the book he had found the information about the insect that had bitten you. Most of it was that the symptoms were difficult, but they overcame themselves, and although it seemed like you were going to die, the probability was minimal. Pain and complications, pain and complications. Law finally found the topic he needed. When the disease was leaving the body, the heat provided by fire, blankets, humans could help, as well as pressure on the painful area.

"I have an idea." he murmured and began to take off his shoes.

While you were lying down, barely having strength to open your eyes, you saw him take off the shoes he was wearing and take off the hat he had on. The first thing he did was cover your head with the hat, making sure to keep as much of the top of your face covered and warm. Soon, he climbed onto the bed with you, his legs intertwined with yours, and his hands began to press against your body, promoting such relief that it drew a sigh from your lips and allowed you to stretch.

"Sorry." he apologized, his hands now pressing against your back intensely. "It's the best I could think of quickly."

"It's perfect." with some difficulty, you turned to him. "Thank you for taking care of me, Captain."

"This is my duty, isn't it?"

"Well, not when I'm a mess here, in pain, and crying." you tried to laugh, but a memory of a conversation you had some time ago struck you. "Enough, Law, you need to step back."

"And why would I do that?"

"Why do you think? Contact equals contamination, don't you remember?" you grumbled. Even though the massage he provided was the relief you needed, the last thing you wanted was to infect him.

"You're no longer so contagious. You're on the last day of the illness, full of symptom medications, and I'm protected, there's no possibility of you infecting me." he explained and felt your hand against his chest, trying to push him away. "Don't you believe me?"

"I'm a mess here, of course I'll infect you."

Instead of answering you, Law just stole a quick kiss from your lips, in an impulse of courage to show a little of what he felt and in the desperation to stop you from continuing to push him and, consequently, pushing himself out of the bed.

"I wouldn't do this if you were contagious, you know that." he simply said and pulled you closer, allowing your face and body to almost merge against his skin. "Now let me take care of you."

The last day of the illness passed faster than you expected, mainly because much of it you spent sleeping in the arms of your captain, who didn't stop for a second trying to ward off the pain from you.

The next day, you were finally free to walk around the submarine, take a shower freely, choose your own clothes, free from the small medical ward you spent those days in. As soon as you finished putting on your uniform, two knocks on the door caught your attention.

"Can we talk?" Law inquired, not waiting for the answer to enter the room. "About yesterday…"

"There's nothing I would change about that." you interrupted him, and you swore you could see a certain blush on his face. "Except the pain, I thought I was going to die."

"I would never let that happen."

"Captain?" you approached, stopping a short distance from him.

"Law, please." he corrected you. He liked to hear his title leave your lips, but hearing his name was a much more savory experience.

"Law, aside from all the pain and stress, it was good to spend these days alone with you." you confessed, seeing him nod. "Although I'm also ridiculous with those lumps that have now turned into scars, I really should have listened to you."

"Don't say that, even if you wanted to, you wouldn't be that." he refused to name you in such a rude way. "And I also enjoyed our time together."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I want to do it right." he cleared his throat, adjusting his posture and asking the question that could avoid all the stress of you having gone to do the damn trail. "Will you accept to visit the city with me?"

[shipmansflannels]

"who asked first" with the yellowjackets

yay! I'm back! the decision to open a new blog just for yellowjackets wasn't easy at all, but since it's been a year since this obsession has barely gone away and I already had an extremely confusing blog with layouts and the like, I wanted to start over with this one. hope you like it. I'll make a very simple and small prompt first, and then I'll make the masterlist and the oneshots/fanfics. stay tuned! sorry for any grammatical or coherence errors, english is not my first language and I'm trying to improve!

--------

who asked first with the yellowjackets girls...

jackie taylor.

well, if we're going to be honest here, you definitely asked first.

of course, jackie had already been rehearsing for weeks how he would ask you out. but she's obviously a girlfaillure, so you definitely asked first.

it was probably when she least expected it. it could be at soccer practice, or when you were coming home from school together and you had the audacity to ask her to go out with her to some hypothetical and boring place in the middle of the street… whatever.

all I know is that this little loser was eager for you to ask, and she definitely rolled out the classic, "took you too long…"

shauna shipman.

again, you asked first.

shauna doesn't have the social tact to ask you out (she's just like me), and drunk is even worse, so you actually had to make the first move most of the time.

just like jackie, it could have been when she was at soccer practice, or when she was alone enough to vent to her journal and you were able to get close to her without scaring her. anyway, the thing is, shauna was already secretly expecting this to happen (a lot of her journal pages were about you btw), so it wasn't a surprise either when you asked her out.

despite everything, you didn't have any difficulties on your first date. she's pleasant company, I suppose.

natalie scatorccio.

one of the rare exceptions where she asked first.

okay, don't be fooled, either. natalie is very cocky from time to time, but asking to go out with you is definitely one of the times she tends to weaken. so, kevyn probably dared her to do it and she just took advantage of her cooler personality to use it on you.

but that doesn't mean it's a bad thing. in fact, it's kind of a good thing (and probably depressing for her) because she only felt like herself when she asked you. I see in nat a huge tendency to ignore some of her feelings, especially when it comes to people she likes.

the invitation was probably also full of teasing on her part, from body language to the words used for it. and somehow she made it look cool and convinced you to accept it.

things that only natalie scatorccio could do.

lottie matthews.

for some reason, I'm 100% sure you asked first.

I know many of us think of lottie as a completely carefree, liberal and often bitchy enough person to ask someone out on a date. but, if we count the pre-crash, I think she was a very insecure person and uncertain of her feelings, more due to the influence of the pills.

so, as incredible as it sounds, you asked first. it was in an extremely relaxed conversation between you that the invitation ended up unintentionally, and she was visibly panicked when she agreed.

lottie is probably the type of person who has a rehearsed speech in front of the mirror while getting ready, and with her enviable style and expensive clothes (some stolen), she would do anything to make your date the perfect date.

taissa turner.

she asked first.

taissa is confident enough to ask you out, I have no doubt about that. but she definitely spent weeks planning the perfect invitation, just in case everything went wrong and she needed to run (just like what happened when she thought about breaking allie's leg before nationals).

anyway, taissa would certainly ask first and it would be quite a surprise for you. taking into account that, from the moment you accepted, you would discover that van also knew about her friend's ideas, and later that half of the team also knew. it would be a shock because you wouldn't understand tai's intentions at first.

but none of them are necessarily bad. one, is that tai was really excited if you accepted, and her anxiety couldn't stop her from wanting to tell the world. two, because she was overly excited that you had agreed to go out with her, and wanted the world to know it as well.

van palmer.

as much as I would really like to prove otherwise, you asked first.

van has the same problem as lottie, but in her case, it's excessively because of the sarcasm jokes and high charisma. she thinks she's being too much for you and that asking for something like that on this level would end up scaring you away.

in the end, it's totally the opposite, but it's going to take van a long time to figure that out, specifically. the invitation would happen when she least expected it, probably when you were feeling confident enough to pass notes to her during classes.

it's a cute invitation, and one that van would hold in question for a long, long time.

misty quigley.

there would be no other answer. she asked first.

misty has no shame in admitting that she has a crush on you. and of course, to ask you out on a date, this shame decreases even more. she doesn't even care if she will be made fun of by her colleagues, what really matters is that she planned everything for you to accept.

and when I say everything, it really means everything.

from the moment she will slide up to your table and quietly ask if you accept, to the tone of voice she will use to persuade your brain to accept, to the place she will take you hand in hand and then let it slide. … she literally thought of every detail.

And, well, knowing misty quigley's ability to create plans, the whole thing worked out… until you figured it all out and admitted that you liked it even more, much to her surprise.

laura lee.

you asked first, of course. there would be no other answer either.

of course, not ruling out the possibility of laura lee asking first, given her hidden impulsive personality, but, in this case, taking the obviousness into account, you asked, and had to be careful with every line said in the invitation.

of course, it needed to be at a time when you were alone, because you were afraid that pressure from other people would make you feel suffocated. this, of course, did not happen. she thought it was a classic weekend outing, like you guys usually did, until she realized your real intentions.

and, truly, at no point did it make her feel restrained or scared. she was ready to be vulnerable and be herself around you, no matter what.

(but, if you casually ask lottie at some point, she will definitely claim that she saw laura lee rehearsing some speeches and compliments for you in the locker room mirror…)

[golden1u5t]

working all day | s.r x fem!reader

ꨄ requested: no

ꨄ genre: smut

ꨄ summary: spencer’s being a brat because you’ve been working all day, leaving you no choice but to fix his attitude for him. 

You had been working all day long, in and out of the house all day. You worked from home most of the time with you being the owner of your company but today you were booked with meetings back to back, barely getting 30 minutes to come home and switch out the paperwork needed for each meeting.

Spencer had the day off which meant he was home alone while you were out at your meetings, only getting to see you when you came home for a brief moment.

The only contact he'd had with you all day was a quick kiss and a goodbye before you left again.

He tried to keep busy while you were out, cleaning the entire house, dusting off old books, doing laundry, he even went as far as watching a modern day romance movie but it didn't work. His mind kept drifting off to you every time he tried to distract himself.

So he tried one last thing, attempting to cook a recipe Rossi had given to him when he announced to the team that you two were moving forward in your relationship and moving in together, it was his house warming gift. With Spencer being so concentrated on trying to perfect the recipe, he hadn't heard you come into the house. You set your things down in your office before walking in the kitchen quietly and wrapping your arms around him from behind.

Spencer tensed for a second before he recognized the familiarity of your arms. He relaxed but he didn't say anything to you, he continued to cut the vegetables. A frown formed on your lips because this was something new. Spencer had never just ignored you like that, especially when you haven't seen each other for most of the day.

"Baby? What's wrong?" You asked, letting go of him and walking around the island to see his face clearly.

He turned around and emptied the bowl of mixed vegetables in the pot on the stove. You were madly confused, you couldn't think of anything you'd down to him all day long, you had barely been home to do anything let alone piss him off.

"Spencer. Look at me, now."

He huffed and turned around, knowing better than to not listen when you used that tone with him. "Don't you have another meeting to attend?"

"Go to the bedroom." He opened his mouth to say something argumentative back but you stopped him before he could form the first word. "Now, Spencer."

He huffed again and put the bowl on the counter and left the kitchen, he knew he would be getting punished but he didn't care, he wanted it. You two hadn't had sex in a week and a half, he was needy.

You watched him walk away until you couldn't see him anymore before going to turn the stove off and move the pot off of the burner. You waited a few minutes before going into your bedroom, wanting to give him a little time to think before you did anything. When you walked in the room, Spencer was sitting patiently on the bed with his arms crossed over his chest and a pout on his pretty, pink lips.

"What's wrong with you today?" You stood in front of him with your arms crossed in front of your chest, mimicking him. Spencer looked everywhere but you and kept his lips turned down.

"Answer me." You grabbed his chin and forced him to look at you, a whine slipping past his lips.

"Today was supposed to be our day together and-and you haven't touched me in a week." His hands fell into his lap.

"My baby is needy. That's what this is all about, you just wanted some attention." You fake pouted and squatted so you were eye level with him. He whimpered and nodded his head, his cock hardening in his pants.

"What have I told you about communication?" You hummed and tilted your head.

"That if I want something then I need-need to ask otherwise you'll never know." If you hadn't been right in front of him, you would've never heard what he said.

You smiled proudly at him and stood up, leaning down to press your lips to his temple. You pulled back and took a good look at Spencer, he was still pouting just with a hard cock this time.

He always did have a hard time with expressing what he wants or how he feels but you were working through it with him, teaching him that it's okay to tell you when he needed something.

Spencer wanted you to touch him, to do something. He didn't even care that the only way you'd be touching him is when you were giving him his punishment, which he knew was coming.

"Are you going to punish me?" He tried not to let his excitement seep through his voice. Spencer stood up and even though he was taller than you by far, you still made him feel small under your gaze.

"It wouldn't be a punishment if you wanted it." You watched him fidget with the hem of his shirt, fingers tugging and twisting it around.

You reached out and took his glasses off of his face, turning around and setting them down on your vanity. You told Spencer to undress down to his boxers, it almost made you laugh with how quickly you heard his clothes being torn off.

You kept your back to him while you took your time with taking your jewelry off and putting it back in it's spot on your vanity, Spencer watched your every move. He tried to stay calm and wait for you to give him another instruction, he wanted to be good for you, he needed to be.

It's hardwired into his brain, he had to be good for you, it was rare he had days like this when he was being rude or short with you. He hadn't had a day like that in a while which is why you weren't going to punish him, you were going to treat it as a warning.

When you finally stopped your teasing, you turned around to see him just like you asked, stripped down to his purple boxers. You walked closer to him and put your hand on the back of his head, pulling him down so you could kiss him.

Spencer kissed you back with just as much force as you did, maybe even more. You let your hand roam over his shoulders and down his back, stopping over his ass before harshly coming down on it once.

He was so surprised by the sudden hit, he whined into your mouth and stumbled forward. You pulled away from him to watch the blush spread down his chest, a satisfied smile on your face.

"Lay on the bed, sweet boy." You gently pushed his chest. Spencer settled onto the bed and waited for you, he rested on his forearms so he could have a clear view of you the entire time. You slowly stripped yourself of your clothes but left your panties on so he could take them off himself, something he loved to do.

You got onto the bed and straddled his thighs, purposely keeping yourself off of his hard cock. You ran your hands over his torso, stopping over his nipples and pinching gently.

"Mommy- please!" Spencer moaned, his back arching towards you as you continued to pinch and roll his nipples between your fingers. He always did have sensitive nipples and you found it entirely adorable, you loved to try and challenge yourself by trying to make him cum from just playing with his chest.

Spencer brought his hands to grab at your hips, he started to pull you forward so you were sitting on his cock instead of his thighs. The sudden pressure on his cock from your weight tore a whine through his throat, his hips bucking up and making you bounce.

"Ok-Okay, baby. I've got you, let me take care of you." You smiled at the desperate boy under you. You lifted yourself off of him and pulled his boxers down, the chilly air in the room sent a shiver down Spencer's spine. You situated yourself on his thighs once again and wrapped your hand around his leaking cock for the first time in a week.

Spencer's eyes closed and his mouth fell open in a loud moan when you started to move your hand, his body jerked slightly at the feeling of your spit hitting his cock. You moved off of his legs and sat on the bed next to him so you could push his legs apart, all while continuing to stroke his cock.

You moved to sit between his legs, you leaned down at took his cock in your mouth. You suckled on the head while your hand moved up and down on the rest of his cock, a moan slipping past your lips at the taste of him.

Spencer's eyes flew open and his hand moved to grip your hair tightly, tears starting to stream down his face.

"I can't- mommy- mmph, gonna cum! Please, can-can

I- please?" He nearly screamed, his thighs starting to shake as you continued to suck on the head of his cock.

You looked up at him and moaned, that was his breaking point, the vibrations shooting through his body.

Your eyes closed at the feeling of his cum hitting your tongue. Spencer's hips lifted up as he finished cumming, his orgasm dying down. You pulled off of him after giving him one last parting suck, a string of spit and cum connecting your mouth to his cock.

Spencer whined at the sight, his hands grabbing at your arms to pull you closer to him. You gave him a soft smile and kissed away the tears staining his cheeks. "Feel better?"

"Yeah-yeah. Think I need more." His voice was quiet but need dripping through his voice, even as quiet as it was. You let out a small laugh and nodded your head, starting to get off of him so you could push your panties to the side.

"Wait- I want to make you feel good."

[la-petite-lapin]

Keeping Secrets | John Price x female!reader

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John Price x afab!Reader Word Count: 2.3k Content Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, smut, mentions of injury, cannon typical violence, swearing, age gap (reader is in her twenties, John is in his forties), suggestive content, oral (F receiving), PIV (protected (stay safe, kids)), brief mention of Price JRs, no use of Y/N

The Captain and the Sergeant start keeping secrets from the rest of the taskforce

It wasn't like it was in the movies or the books. There were no longing glances across crowded rooms; no deep, personal conversations late at night. There was no warning.

The first indication that anything had changed between the two of you was in a dimly lit safehouse. A job had gone wrong - horribly, irreparably wrong - and Soap had been medevac-ed out to the nearest army hospital. The rest of you would have to wait until morning; would have to make it through the night when a countless number of enemy operatives could still be hunting you, then hike to the nearest evac point before sunrise.

Ghost was pacing the worn wooden floors, and you were sure he'd wear through them at some point. You knew better than to make a joke about it - knew better than most the deep bond that he and Johnny shared. To mock it would be to die a brutal death by Ghost's hand in the night.

Gaz was coping with it in the best way he knew how: checking in with everyone, yourself - as the newest member of the taskforce - included, mother-hening his way around the three-room cabin in the middle of rural woodlands.

It wasn't until he'd finally convinced Ghost to sit down and take a breath, that Captain Price finally approached you. Heavily, he lowered himself down to sit beside you on the shabby old sofa, not saying a word at first as you stared ahead at nothing.

Johnny had been standing right next to you when it all went to shit. Him diving in front of you like a lunatic was probably the only reason that you were there with them. The shot to his shoulder would have been a direct headshot on you.

It was hard not to feel bitter or dazed about that.

"It's not your fault, Sarge," John said, his voice markedly softer than usual. He typically made it a point to avoid babying you in any way - knew that you hated being treated differently to the boys - but you could make an exception for him just the once. "Soap chose to block that bullet. Saved your life an' all. Cheer up, yeah? He's alright and you'll see 'im soon enough."

You turned to face him, offering him a small, weak shadow of a smile. "I know. It just sucks."

John frowned, seeing through the thin veil of fake cheeriness. Quieter, he added, "It's alright to be shaken by this, too. First near-death is always scary. It stays with you in a way the ones after don't." There was a pause - a long, tentative pause - as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his parted knees, dark eyes finding yours and holding them. "If- if you don't want to be alone tonight, you don't have to be."

Laid out in the open like that, the offer seemed so damn tempting.

Your mind raced through all of the shit that could go down if you took him up on it - if you were found out. You could be removed from the taskforce, stripped of the sergeant rank that you'd fought so hard to attain. John could be reprimanded for sleeping with an officer under his orders. But, if no one knew... what was the harm?

With a soft, sweet smile - a genuine one this time - you tilted your head, leaning slightly into his space on the sofa. "Yeah. I think I'd like some company, Captain."

Hours later, after Ghost had fallen asleep on the floor of the living room and Gaz had been assigned first watch, Price led you into the smaller second room of the safehouse - the bedroom - under the guise of checking your wounds. In reality, the minor scrapes to his arm and leg had already been dressed, not requiring any further attention. If anything, the cut to Gaz's forearm was of a higher severity.

John grinned as he shut the door with a soft thud, sliding the flimsy, rusted deadbolt across to lock it. You were thankful for the added security; the increased reassurance that the boys wouldn't be able to just wander in and catch you in the act.

The bedroom was poorer lit than the main room, making it harder to see. The moon illuminated the outline of the Captain's broad, muscular frame as he removed his beanie and tactical vest before turning his attention to his belt. You took a seat on the edge of the bed, thighs clenching in an attempt to relieve some of the aching tension in your core.

He took his time stripping down to his white t-shirt and boxer briefs, the material straining with the impressive tent in the front. "Like what you see?" he grumbled cockily, noticing your attention.

You let out something akin to a whine. He looked so good - so unbelievably good after the day from Hell you'd just had. There was also something else that made it undeniably more thrilling; the risk of getting found out. The taboo of it all.

You couldn't deny that you'd found Price attractive before that deployment. You'd spent every day for the past two years around him, living, eating, and working alongside him and the boys. It had also been a fact of life that he had a following - a constant, ever-present gaggle of new, female recruits cornering him in the hallways and vying for his attention. But he never took any of them to bed, preferring to spend his nights in the barracks alone.

At first, you'd thought that he had a wife or a partner off-base, but a conversation on your last stakeout together led you to the truth; he just wasn't interested in the barrack bunnies. He wasn't interested in sleeping with someone just for the sake of it - just because they wanted to get a piece of taskforce 141's infamous Captain.

"I think I might need to see some more to decide," you purr teasingly, lifting a hand to beckon him closer to the bed.

He stepped forward slowly, hands rising to rest on his tapered hips. He was built like a bear; broad, built, and covered in a fine layer of downy body hair.

You licked your lips, eyes tracking every single minute movement.

"I think I need to see something from your first, princess," John teased. "It's only fair."

Eyes never leaving his, you made quick work of stripping out of your own tac vest and pants, chucking them over the edge of the mattress and into a heap on the floor. You even went one step further; shucking off your t-shirt. With a small smirk, you leaned back, clad only in your flimsy underwear and sports bra.

John's eyes were practically bulging out of his head.

"Like what you see, Captain?" you purred, words a light-hearted mockery of his own self-assured crowing.

"If I'd have known," John grumbled as he took another slow, measured step towards the bed, "that this is what you looked like under all that gear, Sergeant, we'd have done this a long time ago."

A grin formed on your lips, ego expanding ten sizes as John prowled across to close the rest of the distance. His irises were all but swallowed up by his pupils, blown with lust.

Shuffling back on the mattress, you eased back as John came to a stop, kneeling between your parted legs. With a lover's gentle reverence, he pressed a kiss to each of your knees in turn before turning his attention to the scrap of damp cotton protecting your modesty.

"May I?" he asked softly, fingers hovering over the waistband at the side, thumb smoothing a path along the ridge of your hipbone.

Breathily, you gave your consent. "Yes. Please, John-"

With practiced ease, he lifted your hips up and off of the bed, guiding your underwear down your bare legs then chucking them to join the rest of the clothes littering the floor. His hands skimmed back up, callouses feather-light against the skin of your calves before rising to knead your plush thighs when he reached them once again. He seemed to be mapping out your body; ghosting over the sensitive parts repeatedly, lingering where he'd deduced you liked to be touched.

The man was a fast learner. An eager one, for sure.

When he'd finished kneading at the soft skin there, he pushed your thighs apart, holding them down to the mattress and exposing the moisture glistening at their apex. Licking his lips, he bowed his head slightly, lowering his body down to the bed.

"John?" you asked, confused as to where he was going and why he still had his briefs on. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing, princess?" he mumbled against your inner thigh, dark eyes lifting to meet yours. "Didn't think to bring any rubbers with me, and I don't fancy having any little Prices running around any time soon." A spark of mischief glittered within his gaze as he nuzzled his bristly moustache against a particularly sensitive spot. Your shiver seemed to only embolden him further. "Which means tonight's all about you."

You arched your back off of the bed, trying to push his face closer to where you desperately needed it. "Can you hurry up then?" you whined, getting impatient.

John chuckled. "Yes, ma'am."

And, with that, he bowed his head and made good on his promise.

"John!" you yelled, thighs burning with the strain as you bounced up and down on his cock. "John- fuck!"

A whole three months had passed since the first night you'd spent together in the safehouse. The morning after, you'd fully expected him to put an immediate stop to it the moment you were all rescued. Instead, he'd held your hand in the Heli - tucked between both of your bodies, hidden from sight - and promised that you'd talk about what this is later.

Nights since had been split between your room in the barracks and his. Mornings, too, upon occasion. Every spare moment the two of you got some accompanied by the feeling of his large, warm hands on you. By his constant, protective presence in your life.

It was a miracle that no one had noticed the new pull between the two of you. How you seemed to orbit one another.

And then there was the sex. The constant fucking.

"Keep it down, princess," he grumbled, breathless and sweating, beneath you. He didn't look too bothered though - too blissed out to properly care or consider the consequences of someone overhearing.

Clinging to some semblance of intelligent thought, you bit down on your wrist in an attempt to muffle the sounds leaving your mouth, drawn out by the captain and his fat cock. It was quickly becoming one of your favourite parts of him, second only to his beautiful, expressive laugh. It was no secret to you that he was well-endowed. Well-endowed and skilled at utilising it.

"Stop that," he grumbled gruffly, raising a hand to gently remove your wrist from between your teeth. He quickly replaced it with his own hand, guiding the soft part of his palm between his thumb and index finger into your mouth. Anything to prevent you from accidentally injuring yourself. "Keep riding, love. I'm getting close."

A part of your brain purred at that. Love.

It was a pet name that he used sparingly. Perhaps because he saw the flash of panic in your eyes almost every previous time he'd used it.

But now...

You tipped yourself back, hands finding purchase on his tensed, thick thighs to deepen the angle. Freeing his hand from clenched jaw, you whimpered, "I'm... John, I'm so close."

"Me too, sweetheart," he mumbled, speeding up the pace of his thrust. He punctuated the sentence with a snap of his hips. "Me too."

Wrapping his arms around your waist, he tugged you down into his chest and rolled, rising up onto his knees as he set you on your back. Pressing a trail of soft, tender kisses to your face and neck, he picked up the pace; drilling deliciously deep.

You whined, squeezing your legs around his waist and clawing at his back with your fingernails.

With a low growl, John lost it. Turning frantic as he barrelled towards his rapidly approaching end, he pushed you towards your own orgasm - practically bullying it out of you.

You came with a sharp scream, turning your head in a fraught attempt to smother the sound in the pillow. It smelled of Price - rugged, masculine aftershave and a hint of tobacco smoke.

He himself came moments later, gasping as his release swept over him. Covering your body like the world's best weighted blanket, he slumped down on top of you.

Still buried deep inside the paradise at the apex of your thighs, he pressed a sloppy, lazy kiss to the side of your neck, running his nose along your throat. It was one of the best part of sex with Price; the cuddling that came after.

Giving a small jolt of his hips, he grumbled something into your salty skin.

"Hm?"

John lifted his face slightly, breath tickling the underside of your jaw. "I said, I wish I was ten years younger. Then I could go again and again without a half-hour break between each round."

You giggled. John's age was something that you didn't mind. You knew that the age gap between you probably would have put some people off, but - if anything - he made you feel safe and respected. Though that could be the fact that he was a highly-decorated war vet, and a complete Golden Retriever of a man.

Pressing a kiss to his temple, you whispered, "I wouldn't have it any other way, John."

There was a beat of silence as the two of you soaked up the moment; the feeling of just holding one another on the sweat-soaking sheets, oblivious to the world outside of the little bubble you'd created for yourselves. With a chaste kiss to your shoulder, John gave another tentative roll of his hips, drawing another whiny groan from you.

"You sure know how to make an old man feel loved, princess."

Before you could reply - to bring up to the l-word that you'd both been skirting around for weeks now - your phone chimed. The alert tone was one you'd reserved for the other members of the taskforce only.

Why would they be messaging on a Sunday night?

A wave of panic cresting inside of you, you eased John's softening cock out of you, wincing at the sudden emptiness. Your phone was on the desk, all the way over on the other side of the room. It seemed so impossibly far as you scrambled for it.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" John asked, suddenly fully alert and hurrying to tug his boxer briefs back on.

Wordlessly, you read the message you'd just been sent. Your face blanched to an unhealthy pallor as you handed him the phone. A single message notification waited on the screen, glaring with accusation.

GHOST: We heard everything, you two. Think you owe us an explanation at the very least. Rec room in ten minutes.

John looked up from the phone screen, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a lopsided, sheepish smile. "Well, I guess that's what we get for keeping secrets, princess."

a/n: hello, hello :) so this was the Price X 141!reader fic that won the poll! I've had so much fun writing this one - not that I don't love Double the Love (my firstborn fic) please feel free to tell me what you want to see next! - happy surprise-post thursday, lapetitelapin :)

[verystrxxwberry]

Hi, Alex! How are you doing? I truly hope you're doing alright. I am a Nevra simp and I wanted to do a request for a smutty one shot... which it is placed in human world andd involving a dress. You can do whatever you want with that information, surprise me! And do this if you feel comfortable with the request ofc.

ELDARYA; <<A little bit of fun won’t hurt.>>

♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: NSFW, Nevra smut :3, long one shot, Fem!Reader, human world, public sex, unprotected. ↝ 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Hi, Irene. I am doing decently, trying to cope with a lot of responsibilities and enjoy my life at the same time. But ayo, everything’s good by now! I hope you enjoy the os. 

♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•.

One of the passions Nevra unlocked upon arriving on earth was discovering those wonderful shopping malls so stimulating for product acquisition. You didn't even have time to read the store sign when you already realized that your dear boyfriend's hand was pulling you inside. The most annoying thing of all was that he would spend long minutes wondering whether to choose the plaid shirt or the plain one, whether the blue shirt or the black one. He is so indecisive that it drives you crazy in the wrong way sometimes. Shopping with Nevra means carrying more than five bags, each weighing at least three kilos. The worst part of it all is when you open your bank account and see that you could have spent more than half of two months' salary. That's why shopping with Nevra has become so limited. 

But every once in a while it's good to take a break from life by shopping. Other times you are forced to do so for more important reasons such as a company dinner to which you are committed that same evening. How forgetful of you to think it was next tuesday and it turned out to be today. You urgently asked Nevra to accompany you so he could help you to pick out a dress. After all, his fashion sense was decent when it came to fitting into a certain style.

And you weren’t wrong. The dresses Nevra suggested were so elegant that there were times when they were far from what you were used to seeing on yourself.  When you tried them on, he was silent; you could see that he needed several seconds to think rationally, with his lips slightly parted. His eyes would scan you up and down, but without adding anything. 

You laughed a little. "Hey..." in an attempt to get his attention you saw that it failed, his eyes completely glued to the way the dress marked the figure of your body. "Hey!" you exclaimed this time, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Are you going to give your opinion for once? It's weird seeing you so quiet."

"I doubt you're human." He said directly after clearing his throat, with a certain seriousness on his face. "You must be a Goddess, I'm sure of it." He seemed to be talking to himself by the way his voice came out so deep and low as he spoke.

"What are you saying now?" again you laughed out of his trance, shaking his arm a little. "Does that mean you like it?"

"I love it. I have too many good tastes, I think." A small smile appeared on his face as he stared at you in the mirror. "You have no right to doubt how beautiful you are." He sighed, as he again placed his hands on your waist, slowly moving down to your hips and stretching the fabric a little to smooth it out. But you knew perfectly well that his intention was not entirely to fix the dress.

"What a flirt you are" A small chuckle left your lips, but you couldn't help the heat on your face. Somehow his touch was able to leave your skin burning even if there was fabric involved. "What's the latest suggestion?"

"The latest suggestion..." He repeats, seeming to be on another planet as his hands turned you around so that you found yourself facing your own reflection. You watched as his hands ran down your hips to your stomach, caressing your belly with tingling gentleness. "I suggest you let me enjoy the view for a bit..." He murmurs, and you can definitely discern something hard pressed against one of your buttocks.

"Nevra... what's wrong with you today?" you whisper, trying not to let the heat of his touch spread through your body. You feel his hands caress your lower abdomen.

"Mm, what's wrong? Nothing." He whispers against your ear, putting more pressure with his hips so that you are able to perfectly notice the shape of his erection. "It would be a shame if it wasn't me making you debut your dress..."

You can't help but gasp the moment his lips begin to suck the skin on the back of your neck. His hands dare to caress your thighs above the dress, his dominant hand venturing beyond where the dress reaches to cover. It is then that a ripple of pleasure spreads through your body, causing you to cover your mouth at once so as not to let anyone notice that there is a finger circling your clit.

Nevra enjoys your reaction, smirking as he spreads kisses along your neck and finally shoulders. His middle finger circles your clit, with just enough pressure and speed to make you vulnerable. Not only that, but he slowly grinds his erection against the contours of your ass. The burning forming in your lower abdomen steadily moves down to the area Nevra is trying to access, making his stimulation of your clit more agile thanks to your own juices.

"Ah... I haven't just started and you're already this wet?" He whispers teasingly, as his tongue runs over the sweat generated on your skin by your nerves. "How cute..."

"Fuck..I can't help it." You whimper as low as you can, praying that the music in the store is loud enough so that no one nearby can hear your gasps. "Nevra, for God's sake... I'm going to kill you..." You growl, frustrated at the uncontainable desire to end up fucking in the fitting room of a clothing store.

"How kind..." He chuckles, increasing the speed and pressure of his fingers on your clit a little. "Say it again...?" The bastard knows what he's doing and takes advantage of it. The adrenaline gets the better of you and you can do nothing but respond with a soft moan. You open your lips to respond, but immediately have to bite your lip to avoid drawing attention to yourself.

"S-sometimes... I… ah- hate you." With your trembling voice you try to speak but it causes Nevra, who uses his other hand to lift your dress slightly from behind,  to laugh at your attempt.

"Oh, you hate me soooo much." The hand that rubbed your clit so devotedly lands on your back and helps you bend forward, making you rest your hands on the mirror so as not to lose your balance. Through the mirror you meet your reflection and the vision of Nevra's face, who is looking back at you with a mischievous grin. His eyes roam over your body and the reflection of your face, you can see he is having fun. Those grayish eyes were devouring you, and you could feel shivers through the areas he admired. So distracted were you with his gaze that the only thing that brought you out of your thoughts was the sound of him unzipping his pants. "A little bit of fun won't hurt..."

And it wasn't until seconds later that your panties were moved in a slow, torturous motion down to your knees. Each time your heartbeat got louder and faster, the adrenaline of doing this in public only increased the arousal.

You closed your eyes, unable to think of anything coherent. You were overcome with desire and it was clear to you that you needed him at that moment. Nevra rubbed the head of his cock against your entrance, enjoying the wetness emerging from inside. "Oh my god, baby..." He sighs, biting his bottom lip. "Last chance to back out?" he whispers.

You can't lie to him. Not when you're so wet that lust controls your desires.

"Fuck, no, go on.. But if you tear the dress..."

"I buy a new one." He said with some assurance, leaning down and planting a kiss on your head. "Thank you." He whispers and then slowly pushes inside you, feeling your walls embrace his cock in such a delicious way that it stole a grunt from him. His hands gripped possessively against your hips, and it didn't take you long to adjust to his size; your pussy had more than assimilated how Nevra felt. But every time he entered you it felt like the most pleasurable and delicious sensation in the world. You closed your eyes in pleasure, letting your head fall back as you gasped. "Open your eyes." You hear him say, as he grabs your chin and guides your head towards the mirror. His thrusts, slow but precise, burying his cock deeper and deeper inside you, do nothing to help you keep your eyes slightly open. "See? You're beautiful..." He growls in a husky tone.

Shit, you wanted to scream. It was an inopportune time to make you feel so good.

Every time you wanted to close your eyes, his fingers squeezed your hips or your chin as he picked up speed slightly. Nevra's shaky breathing was certainly pleasant to listen to, and yet the hustle and bustle of people outside the dressing room was enough to cover it.

"Ah... yes, faster..." you whimpered, and it didn't take him long to fulfill your request. Nevra was grateful for how horny you were, it was so easy to slide inside you. His hands gripped you so firmly that it was impossible for you to move. And it wasn't until he touched your weak spot that you had to cover your mouth from the moan that escaped your lips. At this, Nevra let out a playful chuckle and precise his thrusts to hit that spot again and again. 

"Does that feel good?" He knew the answer, but he loved hearing you when you were in this state.

"Yes, yes... too good..." You mumbled, trying not to let your voice break from your boyfriend's actions. Fuck, the burning in your lower abdomen was getting more and more intense. Nevra was also focused on how good it felt, totally unfocused on his surroundings. You were both having a hard time not moaning how much you would like to.

You couldn't help but moan again when he muted his sounds by nipping at your neck. You could feel your own walls throbbing as he took you with more desperation. Until finally you let go and reached your orgasm, and seconds later Nevra pressed his hips harder than before, going as deep as he could so he could fill you with his own seed. You felt completely full, besides feeling your thighs weak and trembling from the intensity.

Your heaving breaths come together as he leans down to give you a messy kiss of affection to your lips, sighing and finally pulling out of you. Through the mirror you saw that he had an amused smile on his face.

"What makes you so happy?" you sigh, grabbing a piece of paper from your bag to clean yourself, even though it embarrassed you at that moment.

"You." He said, he was also wiping himself and finally helping you to stand upright. He was aware that your legs were shaky enough to not allow you to walk very normally. "And the fact that I've been the first to debut your dress and not your corporate dinner party." He admitted with a confidence that made you laugh.

"See you're a little silly sometimes...you're lucky I love you." 

"Too lucky." Laughed he this time. You couldn't do much more though as you heard a couple of knocks on your fitting room door.

"Miss, you've been there for half an hour, are you all right?" a shop assistant spoke up, making it clear to you that it was time to go.

The look on the shop assistant’s face when she saw that you hadn't been alone was judgmental. But at least you had your dress for the dinner and both you and Nevra had enjoyed a moment together.

✩; remember to reblog and like to support my content, I hope you enjoyed it!

[rashoumon-homo]

- Bottom Dazai Week 2024 -

Day 2 - Disproportionately Sized

5/14/24 - “I’ll make it fit.”

Dazai thinks that since Chuuya is so short, he must have a small dick too. Chuuya proves him wrong.

♡ ♡ ♡

Ever since Dazai had started working at the same company as Chuuya, he’d been trying to annoy him constantly. At first it was just a little irritating, but then he started digging into Chuuya’s biggest insecurity: his height. Chuuya didn’t consider himself a naturally angry person, but working with Dazai was really testing his patience.

Everything came to a head when they’d gone out with the team for drinks on a Friday night. They were all a little tipsy and Dazai had decided that was the best time to pick another fight. He was being all condescending about their height difference again, but when he made some comment about, “Poor Chuuya, it’s probably so hard to find a lover when you have a tiny body and a tiny dick,” Chuuya finally snapped.

“Who said I have a small dick?” he shot back.

“Well, it’s just basic proportions,” Dazai said. “You’re so short that even a proportionately average dick would be small compared to most.”

Chuuya seethed. “Fine, don’t believe me, see for yourself.” He was fully about to whip it out right there, but Dazai stopped him.

He leaned over and whispered, “Or you could take me back to your place and prove it there.”

***

The front door of Chuuya’s apartment hardly has time to slam shut before he’s shoved Dazai against the wall. They’re a mess of hot breath and tongues, grinding against each other like they’re trying to get off through their clothes.

“Fuck, you’re hot,” Dazai groans. His head tips back, giving Chuuya access to kiss and bite along his neck. Chuuya growls against his skin in response, fingers clawing at the buttons of his shirt. At this rate, he’s sure to rip some of them off, but Dazai is too horny to care.

He pulls Chuuya in by the belt, holding him in place and grinding against him. Even with layers of clothing in the way, he can feel the heat of his cock against his own, and damn if that motherfucker isn’t hung.

“So that’s where those extra inches went,” Dazai murmurs with a smirk.

Chuuya returns it, and leans in to whisper against his ear, “Wait till you see what I can do with ‘em.”

♡ ♡ ♡

Continue reading here!

Event Masterlist

Tag list: @suru1990 @little-miss-chaoss

[odyssean-flower]

the winding path of fate chapter 13 sneak peak

(this is the second half of the first part. I want to rewrite the first half. tbh i'm thinking of posting the first part of chapter 13 since it is relatively long. ngl i feel like i put too many events in a single chapter sometimes. will put up a poll tomorrow when i finish the rewrites.)

With the new day and the cozy safety of your room, the events of last night seemed like they happened a lifetime ago. The fear had mostly subsided, leaving mortification and regret in its wake, especially as everyone was acting so considerate towards you. Looking back, you had no idea what you were thinking, and you realized once again just how lucky you had been.

Your ankle’s swelling had gone down considerably the next day, but it still hurt whenever you put even the slightest bit of pressure on it, so you spent most of the day in bed, reading books, drawing, or staring out the window at the gray sky. Your knee didn’t hurt quite as much either, but you still had to change the dressing regularly. You weren’t without company, though, as Marie sat with you in your room often, bringing you food and helping you put away your newly bought clothes in your closet. She had been horrified when you came home last night, injured. “Oh, Madame, you should have asked someone to get me!” she had lamented. “The streets at night are no place for a young lady to walk by herself!”

Marie wasn’t the only visitor to your room. The Melusines, including those who hadn’t gone shopping with you, also came to see you throughout the day. You supposed that Neuvillette told them about you, for they all brought you cakes and other desserts as get-well presents (you also suspected that they also reported back to Neuvillette about your condition, for when you mentioned to one Melusine how you would like to drink some Fonta, your wish was granted by the next Melusine who visited. However, she also heartily recommended that you drink water from Snezhnaya instead, which held a coolness that was good against swelling, and if you wished, you could ask Marie to fetch a bottle of it for you from Monsieur Neuvillette’s personal stash. She also added that you need not hesitate to ask, as he had more than one bottle. Perhaps all Melusines shared his specific tastes in water, but you didn’t quite believe that was the case).

Rhemia and the other Melusines who had been with you yesterday had been the most distressed upon seeing you bedridden. “I’ll stick to you like glue from now on, Madame! No criminal will escape my sights!” Rhemia had declared, and her sisters nodded vigorously in agreement.

“There really is no need for that,” you tried to decline her offer. Privately, you thought that there wasn’t much a Melusine could do against muggers anyways. “The whole incident only happened because I was careless and in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’ll be much more careful next time, so I doubt it will happen again. Just because I’m Neuvillette’s wife, it doesn’t mean that I deserve special treatment or anything of the sort. And if he put you up to this, then—”

Rhemia blinked at you in confusion. “But this has nothing to do with Monsieur Neuvillette. Not entirely, anyways.”

“It doesn’t?” Now you were confused.

“Nope! I’d do this for all the people important to me! Oh, but I guess you’re more than that, since you’re married to Monsieur Neuvillette! That would make you our mother, I suppose.”

“Um…” There was the m-word again. You considered correcting Rhemia, but she continued on, seemingly not noticing your discomfort.

“You’re always so kind and patient with us, just like Monsieur Neuvillette. You greet us whenever you see us, and you always ask us about our days and listen to our troubles. Oh, and Madame, you’re such a good teacher too! I’ve gotten so much better at drawing humans thanks to your lessons!” Rhemia turned to her friends. “Am I right?”

Her friends nodded enthusiastically. They began recounting all the times you’ve spent with them.

“I’m glad to hear that you all think of me as your friend,” you said after they finished, a little embarrassed but also pleased. You hadn’t expected them to remember so much about you. But you felt a little guilty as well. At first, you decided to become friendly with the Melusines because everyone knew that Neuvillette treasured them greatly and you wanted to be in his good graces so that he wouldn’t have any reason to kick you out. They had always been the ones to come up to you first, especially in the first few weeks after your marriage, and while you didn’t consider yourself to be a particularly friendly and warm person, even you weren’t heartless enough to be cold to such a cheerful race of creatures.

“It’s not just us! I’m sure all the Melusines in the Court of Fontaine feel the same way. You’re just as important to us as Monsieur Neuvillette.”

“Oh…” Looking at their bright, earnest faces, you didn’t know what to say. Your eyes suddenly became misty. Before this marriage, you hadn’t really given much mind to Melusines. They were just the public servants you would occasionally pass by on the street. But now that you were connected to them through Neuvillette, you were belatedly learning just how wonderful they were.

“Thank you,” you said at last, patting each of them on the head. Your hand still stung a little from last night, but you ignored it. “It means a lot to me that you think so highly of me. Truly. Still, you don’t need to follow me around. If I ever need help, I promise that I will come straight to you. And…I hope that you would all come to the sunflower viewing party we’re holding here next month.”

“Of course, Madame! We wouldn’t miss it for anything!” the Melusines chirped in unison.

By evening, the deluge of visitors had finally ended. You sank into your pillows, feeling exhausted. You weren’t used to having so many people fuss over you. It was unfamiliar territory, one that you weren’t quite sure how to navigate.

Still, as you gazed at the teetering pile of confectionary boxes covered in Melusine stickers on your bedside table and remembered all the get-well wishes you received, a rush of warmth flooded your heart. How did I get so lucky? You wondered. Perhaps even after I leave Neuvillette, we can still be friends…

As you were lost in your thoughts, Marie came into your room again.

“Oh, Madame, I completely forgot to give you this because of everything that happened yesterday. It appears to be from your family.”

Marie handed you an envelope made of thick, creamy paper. You recognized the stationery as the kind used by your father for formal correspondences, and the address written in familiar, flowery cursive on the front was indeed that of your family’s house.

“Ah, that would be from my sister,” you said, tearing the envelope open and taking out the contents. The enveloped contained two cards made of similarly thick paper. They both had an elaborately drawn border of Lumidouce Bells and Rainbow Roses and had an invitation written in the center. This was new.

You are cordially invited

To a celebration

Honoring

Justine’s nineteenth birthday

Semi-formal attire requested (Floral themed outfits are preferred)

P.S. Sister, please tell me if Monsieur Neuvillette has any allergies or requires any accommodations!

“Ugh…” you groaned, putting your palm over your face. “I still haven’t gotten her a present yet!”

That had been the cause of this trouble in the first place, and yet you hadn’t even accomplished your goal in the end.

While we’re on this topic, shouldn’t she have sent the invitations much earlier if she wanted people to RSVP? It’s just like her to do things last minute! And why is she acting like it’s already decided that Neuvillette’s coming?

“Marie, could you please fetch me my pen and paper?” you asked the housekeeper. After you received them, you began to write a reply to tell Justine that while you were coming, Neuvillette definitely wasn’t. But just as you got to that last part, you paused. The idea of the Chief Justice attending a teenage girl’s birthday party all the way out in the countryside was absurd, of course. You tried to picture him sitting at your family’s worn dining table, singing “Happy Birthday” eating the butterscotch cake your housekeeper always made for birthdays, all the while fending off the barrage of questions from your family and friends. I can’t imagine it! It’s just too ridiculous!

It would be better if he didn’t have too much contact with your family, in order to avoid them asking too many questions, and to make the eventual divorce go smoothly.

He rarely even attended the far more glamorous functions of high society, so something like this would be out of the question. His answer would go without asking.

Or would it?

You didn’t really know why you were entertaining the idea. Perhaps being with Neuvillette these past few months had greatly inflated your sense of self-importance—but then again, you thought that the two of you had gotten close enough where asking him wouldn’t be so preposterous. You were friends, and wouldn’t it be ruder to not at least extend an invitation to a friend? Wasn’t the act of asking in itself greatly appreciated?

And…there was a little part of you that would like to show him around your hometown. It was pretty much in the middle of nowhere, and all you could see for miles around were fields of wildflowers and mountains—a common sight in Fontaine—but there were a few spots that you had fond memories of. Since Neuvillette showed you his favorite places, it was only right to repay the favor, even if none of your favorite spots were as exciting as the giant willow tree or Merusea Village.

Recent events, including the latest incident, had taught you the folly of making assumptions, even for seemingly inconsequential things like this. Just because you thought

The worst thing he could say is no, you reasoned to yourself. And it’s not the end of the world if he does. Sure, Justine will be disappointed, but everyone knows how busy and reclusive Neuvillette is, so she’ll understand if he declines.

As if on cue, you heard the front door open downstairs. Neuvillette had returned home. After a brief conversation with Marie, the sound of his heels briskly ascending the stairs and heading in the direction of your room until it stopped in front of your door. There was a soft knock.

“Madame, may I come in?”

“Yes,” you called out, and Neuvillette opened the door and stepped inside your room. He was about to close the door behind him, but then he looked at you. A thought seemed to cross his mind, and he left the door ajar.

Um, why is he just standing there? You stared at him, confused when he didn’t take a seat right away. He simply stared at you, his gaze a mix of worry, uncertainty, and something else. For a second, you wondered if he was that caught off guard by your dishevelled appearance that was a result of staying in bed all day. It took you a minute to realize that he was waiting for you to ask him to sit down. Really, this man… I thought we’re past such formalities.

“You can pull up a chair,” you said, nodding towards the cushioned chairs in the center of the room. He complied, clasping his hands in his lap after settling in his seat and leaning towards you slightly. He stared at you intently, as if afraid that you would disappear before his eyes. You squirmed uncomfortably, suddenly very aware of the fact that you were wearing only your rumpled nightgown and that you were lying in bed. You surreptitiously pulled your covers up to your chest.

Come to think of it, this is the first time I’ve ever had a man who isn’t my father in my room, you mused, though you were also aware that this wasn’t really the occasion to think about such things. Well, I guess it technically isn’t the first time, since he carried me back here when I fell asleep in his study that one time. First time that I was conscious, then.

Thankfully, Neuvillette broke the silence and (once again) prevented your thoughts from going in strange directions.

“The robbers will be tried in court shortly,” he said. “It will be a short, simple trial, considering the number of witnesses at the scene. I will not be presiding over it, however.”

“I see,” you nodded. “I’m very glad to hear that.”

Despite that, his brow remained creased with worry. “How are you feeling, Madame? Should I take you to the hospital after all?” he asked.

“No, that really won’t be necessary,” you shook your head vigorously. “It’s only a bad sprain. I’ll probably be able to walk again tomorrow.”

“It is highly unwise to rush your recovery. What will happen if you worsen your injury? The meeting with Furina can be postponed—”

“Don’t postpone it,” you said, leaning over to grab his sleeve and stared into his eyes. “The sooner we get this over with, the better. I’ll drag myself up the steps of the Palais if I have to.”

Neuvillette looked like he wanted to argue, but he swallowed back whatever he was going to say. “There’s no need to exert yourself in such a way,” he said at last. “I would be happy to carry you into my office, if you should ask.”

“Carry me into your office, huh?” you leaned back against your pillow with a smile. You sometimes wondered if Neuvillette realized how unintentionally funny he could be. “Wouldn’t that give people the wrong idea?”

“You do have a point. Then, I propose that we arrive at my office early in the morning, before the Palais employees come into work.”

“How about instead of carrying me, I borrow your cane?”

Neuvillette seemed to be pondering your words seriously. “But that would also run into the problem of rousing people’s suspicions. Someone might wonder why my cane is in your possession.”

You turned your head away to smother your laugh.

“It seems that the Melusines have made their visits,” Neuvillette said, looking at the tower of boxes on your bedside table.

“Yes, they were all very sweet. Although, I’m not sure how they expect me to eat all these…” You liked dessert and all, but not to this extent. Perhaps you could bring some of them back home with you to share with your family and friends.

“Clorinde also asked me to pass on her well wishes to you. She was very sorry to hear what happened.”

“I see. Please thank her for me, and tell her not to blame herself for my foolishness.”

“I will do that,” Neuvillette nodded, then was silent for a moment. His solemn gaze as he looked at you made it seem like you were diagnosed with some terminal illness rather than merely spraining your ankle badly and hitting your knee against the ground.

“Neuvillette?” you called out his name in hopes of getting rid of that grave look in his eyes. It made your chest feel heavy.

“Ah, by the way, I consulted with a friend of mine about your injury. She made this drink for you,” Neuvillette brandished a green, ridiculously adorable cup from out of nowhere. It reminded of you of the cups toddlers drank juice out of. “She says that it will help your body recover quicker.”

“A friend of yours?” you repeated, your interest piqued. While Neuvillette would happily talk to you about the Melusines for hours on end and occasionally talk about his (human) acquaintances, you had never heard him call anyone his friend before.

“Yes. She is the head nurse the Fortress of Meropide’s infirmary, and one of the kindest and considerate people I know. I hope the two of you can meet one day.”

“That’s high praise coming from you,” you said, making a mental note of this mysterious friend. “Why don’t we invite her to the sunflower viewing as well?”

“What a wonderful idea. I shall do just that,” he said, then held out the cup to you. “Now, Madame, you should drink this.”

“Alright,” you took a sip of the drink and nearly spat it out. “Bleakness” was the only way to describe the taste. It almost made you want to get out of bed and walk so that the pain could distract you from the torture of your tastebuds. For a heartbeat, you wondered if Neuvillette was trying to poison you. “A-Are you sure this is h-healthy?”

“Of course,” Neuvillette said, looking baffled by your question. “I’ve drank it on numerous occasions, and I’ve always found myself quite refreshed and invigorated afterwards. I asked Sigewinne to make it taste more palatable for you, as I’m aware that her concoctions are not for everyone. She truly hopes it makes you feel better.”

This is palatable? You thought. Did I do something to this Sigewinne person? Whoever she was, she shared the same incomprehensible sense of taste as Neuvillette.

Speaking of Neuvillette, he was looking at you expectantly. Oh Archons, is he expecting me to finish it in front of him? Just as you were trying to come up with an excuse to not drink it, those efforts were dashed by his next words. “Is it not to your liking?” he said quietly. You were vaguely aware that it had started raining outside.

“I…um…” you didn’t know what to say or where to look. You suddenly had the impression that a large puppy was at your bedside, staring at you with sad eyes. Gah, he must be doing this on purpose! Either that, or he must really be fond of that friend of his. “Well, when it comes to medicine, it’s not really a matter of liking it or not liking it, right? A-And since you’ve gone to the trouble of asking your friend to make this for me, it would be rude of me to not drink it, right?” You sounded like you were trying to convince yourself.

“If you do not like it, then you do not need to force yourself—”

“No, no, I mean, I’ve taken plenty of bitter medicine when I was little, and I survived. This will be no different,” you brought the straw up to your mouth and held your breath. Let’s just get this over quickly, you thought, then emptied the cup in one go. Fortunately, there wasn’t much to drink. However, the lumpy texture was still a struggle to swallow. You felt as though you had just eaten concrete.

“That was…certainly something I’ve never drank before,” you managed, flopping back onto your pillows to recover. You opened a box of lemon tarts and shoved one into your mouth to get rid of the taste. Honestly, you wanted to drink some Fonta instead, but decided that it might be a bit uncouth. Of course, some might say that it was unladylike to eat cake in bed in the first place, but you doubted those people ever had the misfortune of having to drink that so-called “healthy drink.” “Please thank your friend for me.”

Neuvillette nodded, watching you as you ate a second, then a third tart. Lemon wasn’t your favorite flavor, but anything would do right now. YYou offered one to him, but he politely declined. His gaze dropped to the papers in your lap. “…Were you writing a letter to someone?” he asked.

“Oh!” you had almost forgotten about that. “My sister Justine sent us invitations to her birthday party. It’s a bit short notice, but it’s in a few days.”

“Ah, yes, I’ve heard you mention it before,” Neuvillette took a pause, as if he had only just taken in the entirety of your words. “Did you say ‘invitations’?”

“Yes,” you nodded. Your hands suddenly felt sweaty. What were you so nervous about? “Since we’re, you know, husband and wife, it’s only natural that invitations would be sent to the both of us. Funny thing is, Justine thinks you’re already coming and has asked me if you require any accommodations, but of course you haven’t given any answer as to whether or not you’ll be attending the party. I-I know that you usually don’t attend public functions, but birthdays parties in our party don’t tend to be very extravagant affairs. It’s usually just a small gathering of close friends and relatives. We can even make everyone sign a contract of confidentiality, if you want. You don’t have to bring any gifts either. I think your presence will be a gift in itself for my sister, haha…”

Oh no, I’m rambling again…why do I keep doing this in front of him? You toyed with the edge of your comforter, suddenly too nervous to look at his expression. Would there be a look of disgust there? Why would there be? Your brain argued back. You haven’t asked anything offensive!

Finally, you dared to sneak a peek. He was staring at your face, as though scrutinizing it for answers to a difficult question.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” you said, thinking that he must be trying to find a way to let you down gently.

“…Do you want me to attend?” he said at last.

You hadn’t expected that question. “What do you mean?” you frowned.

“What I mean is…would it please you—would it make you happy if I attended your sister’s party?”

Ah, so the answer is no, then, you thought. That was expected.

“Well, it’s not my party, so my opinion doesn’t matter,” you said slowly. “Justine would like for you to come, but there is no obligation on your part to say yes. If you like, I can make up some excuse about your absence to tell everyone.”

“But your opinion does matter quite a lot to me,” Neuvillette said. He was oddly insistent about this. “I would like to hear what you think.”

“As I said, it’s not my party. It will not affect me one way or another should you choose to come or not,” Realizing that you might be sounding too harsh, you softened your next words. “It’s okay to say no. I’m sure everyone will understand if you can’t come.”

Neuvillette stared at you for a long while, his eyes unreadable. You could hear the rain pounding against your window, and you turned your head to it. The sky was a dark, leaden gray. It’s been raining pretty frequently these days, hasn’t it? You thought distantly.

“Unfortunately, I have a trial to oversee on that day,” he said. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him clench and unclench his fists. You wondered why he didn’t mention the trial earlier. “I do not think it would be wise for me to attend, in any case. It would be a needless distraction.”

“Alright then. I’ll tell my sister you can’t attend,” you said lightly, then turned your attention to your unfinished letter. You picked up your pen and began to write. Focusing your mind on producing the words helped distract from the tumult of emotions within you—emotions that you didn’t know quite what to make of. Was it relief you felt, or disappointment? Relief for what? Disappointment about what? You couldn’t tell at all.

In any case, it’s over and done with, you told yourself firmly, signing the letter with a flourish. Maybe too big of a flourish. I’ll post this first thing in the morning—that is, if I can walk by then.

You glanced up to see Neuvillette still sitting there. He was drinking from his cup, but he was watching you over the rim. You had long gotten used to him studying you like you were some kind of strange specimen, but it was still awkward, especially in this silence. Your room, which had always felt needlessly spacious to you, suddenly felt very small.

Just as you were debating whether or not to fake a sleepy yawn and ask him to leave, he spoke again.

“You haven’t yet bought a birthday present for your sister, yes?”

“That’s right,” you replied, wondering what he was getting at.

“I won’t have any time tomorrow, but I do have an hour or two to spare after our meeting with Furina. We shall go pick out a present together then.”

You gaped at him. “Are you serious?”

“Why would I not be? It is customary for married couples to give presents as a pair, is it not?”

“I…suppose so,” you said. Neuvillette was so hard to grasp sometimes. Sometimes, he was clear as a fresh water spring. Other times, like now, you had the sense that you were staring into the sea, unable to see all the way to its bottom.

“Then it is settled,” he said with a note of satisfaction in his voice, then leaned forward and cupped your cheek. It happened so quickly that you didn’t even have a chance to react. “W-Wha…” was all you could manage to stammer out. There was only a millimeter of space between your faces. Your heart sped up a little when his gaze moved to your lips. His thumb moved to the corner of your lip and brushed against it. It took you a moment to realize that he had flicked off a cake crumb.

“I still have some work to finish, so I’m afraid I’ll have to take my leave now,” he informed you, removing his hand from your cheek. Despite that, you could still feel the smooth silk of his glove and the latent strength in his long fingers. “Please rest and get well soon, Madame.”

You could only nod as you gazed up at him. He stared into your eyes for a moment longer before turning on his heel and leaving your room. It was only when you heard his footsteps recede to the other side of the house that you realized that it was no longer raining.

[fleetingcalypso]

I absolutely love how you write Henry Winter! Perhaps you could write something more angsty. For example, Henry and the reader could get into a fight over Bunny going to Rome instead of the reader. Just an idea but I would love anything you do xx

≋ Love isn't love without some disagreements. I took the liberty of developing this prompt into something slightly different, it is a fight nonetheless.

≋ Henry Winter x GN!Reader ≋

≋ Word Count: 3277 words.

≋ TW: Possible manipulation/gaslighting, argument, consumption of alcohol, small moment of hallucination/dissociation, mentions of blood, mentions of planning someone's death, possible angst.

My arms are elbow deep in my sink, scrubbing the plates that barely minutes ago had my food resting on them. The only noises keeping me company are the quiet buzzing of the fridge, the splashing of water and porcelain hitting more porcelain. Three well assessed bangs coming from outside my apartment cause me to almost jump out of my skin and dry my hands in anticipation of opening the door, one glimpse at the clock mounted to the wall tells me it’s around nine. I’m not expecting anyone.

Most of all, I’m not expecting Henry to be the one pounding his fist against my door, a white knuckle grip on his suitcase’s handle, his chest rising in what look like panicked gasps for air. “Let me in.” He commands me. 

It takes me a moment to realize this is the real thing and not a hallucination. “My God, Henry…” I don’t recognize the narrowed eyes that stare at me, “What’s happened to you? What are you doing here?”  His shoulder bumps into mine as he makes his way into my home, without waiting for me to move out of the way.

“I had to leave. I had to.” He goes straight to my living room, all but throwing his coat onto my couch and ungracefully flopping beside it, I’ve rarely seen him act this way. A muscle in his clenched jaw twitches as he raises his fist, pressing it to his lips, the ever present frown on his face looks impossibly deeper than usual, he’s thinking about something and it vexes me that I can't read his mind like a poetry verse.

“Henry-” One glacial look from him shuts me up. He stares at me through his eyebrows, as if I’m everything wrong in the world, as if I was the serpent guiding humanity to an eternity of being exiled from Eden.

After he’s done petrifying me with his gaze he lets out an exhale of frustration lowering his head into his hands, his elbows sitting on his knees. Once the spell he had on my body evaporates I test my luck with just a couple steps in his direction. He doesn’t move. I’m gambling with his mood when I sit on the arm of my couch, lift his coat into my arms to fold it and set it aside. 

He abruptly stands and storms into my bathroom, slamming the door behind him; the muffled water sounds make it clear that he’s taken ownership over my shower. It leaves me enough time to fish some clean clothes out of his suitcase and set them in my bedroom’s bed where I know he will retire once he steps out, dripping wet and barely dressed.

Time barely moves while I step back into the living room and take a seat on the soft pillow he used earlier. I have no idea how much time has passed when he emerges from a cloud of steam, robe wrapped around his body. He spares me no glances while I rise to my feet. This time the door doesn’t slam after he steps into the bedroom and gets dressed. I still wait for him. It’s best to let him come to me, rather than pry. It’s like a toothache: the more the tongue smoothes over an aching tooth, the more it’s going to hurt.

After what feels like forever he trudges into the living room for what is the second time now, looking exhausted, his hand rests against the wall keeping him upright. Henry walks past me, pulling me into a kiss that lasts less than the flap of a butterfly’s wings.

The couch dips with his weight and suddenly we are back at square one. 

“Are you going to tell me what you are doing here, or am I going to pry the words out of you?” My words come out harsher than expected. Nothing makes sense. He’s supposed to be in Rome, keeping a strict eye on Bunny, making sure that idiot won’t do anything he might regret. I know for a fact our friend is still in Italy, he would have called and asked to meet up otherwise, surely to boast about all the things he’s admired and all to flaunt all the useless garbage he bought using Henry’s money.

Finally, he deems me worthy of an explanation, “Cuniculus molestus,” he says and it only adds fuel to my puzzlement. I repeat his words, he could only be talking about one thing, the one situation I hoped would never emerge. One blink, two words, three breaths and four shaky words: “What do you mean?...” It was all it took for Henry to rip apart at the seams.

“Bunny knows. He knows everything. The damned idiot found my diary.” He tries to contain the growl in his voice while rummaging through the clutter on my coffee table, searching for cigarettes I assume. And my suspicion is confirmed  hearing his groan of annoyance, finding the almost empty packet of Lucky Strikes: only four cigarettes, one is flipped upside-down. 

“It was a living nightmare. Bun acted as his usual aggravating self, perhaps even more so than usual, but nonetheless he wasn’t causing any actual harm. He complained about the rooms not being up to his standards, hell we were staying in some of the most picturesque rooms I had ever seen. He could have only dreamed of standing in that room, were I not there. Then he began feigning asthma attacks, nagging me about every small thing he could think of.” Henry’s words stop only when at last he lights the first cigarette.

“My God. He lamented being left alone just for a couple of minutes, but those times where I solicited him in coming with me, to a church, an art gallery, a restaurant- I don’t understand if he was faking, but he was insufferably bored, pestering me to leave. And it only got worse after a few weeks. Like salt sprinkled on a bleeding wound, I fell ill. A migraine, quite a painful one too. There was not much I could do, I realized. When after days of pure, unfiltered agony I finally mustered up enough strength to stand and search for a glass of water, that’s the moment it happened. I saw Bunny, because of the morning light shining into my eyes he simply looked like a blurry figure. When I greeted him, it took me a while to grasp the reality of what was happening.”

By now he’s a quarter in his second cigarette and I’m fully ready to cash a punch I know his words are leading the way for. He keeps talking.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” Henry asks, the pictures hung on my wall suddenly being the most interesting thing he’s ever seen, he stares at them almost unblinking. “I hit him. Hard. He retaliated, making me his punching bag until the chambermaid broke us apart. Since that day I tried to be as compliant as I could with him, I’d written quite a lot of harsh things about him after all, the best thing I could do was try to show him that- I don't know- that I didn’t mean them? Or that he wasn’t as estranged from our friend group as he thought?-” This time it’s my turn to interrupt him, this rambling has gone on for far too long. 

“Henry, get to the point. My patience is wearing quite thin, while I appreciate you going through what very well sounds like your own personal circle of hell to keep an eye on that menace of a man, I would very much like to know if we are all going to get caught because of that fool’s inability to keep his mouth shut in a foreign country or not.”

“I’m getting there.” He snaps. The third cigarette meets the previous’ fate, being lit and sitting between his lips. I try my best not to panic as he recounts about a German overhearing Bunny talk about what happened then following them, waiting for them by the fountain near their hotel. Anxiety nestles in me with each word that flies out of his lips, it doesn’t abandon me for a moment while he confesses that now he’s left Bunny alone in Italy without a note.

With the way my head spins I’m unable to reach the couch and I just sit on the floor. 

Henry knows Bunny better than anyone else, and he’s assured me countless times that he’d never go to the police, but I can’t help but wonder: if that German man found his way to Bunny, perhaps while he’s drunk in some italian bar, what are the chances that the truth would be out and we behind bars before we can plead ‘not guilty’?

“You think you could fix this?” My voice is barely above a whisper, I don’t think I even hear it over the sound of my blood thumping in my ears. When his head moves in a nod, mine mirrors it. “It all depends on waiting for the right opportunity.” For the first time in my life, his words sound completely disconnected from reality after he adds, “It depends on how far we’re willing to go, as well.” 

I can’t bring myself to glance at his eyes, if at first I delighted myself in being the one to willingly drown into the depth of his focus, meeting his divine stare feels borderline blasphemous now. Is the way my blood is freezing in my veins because my mind is spiraling into madness, or have I passed on as well? If I turn my head to the side and lower my gaze will I find a mauled farmer welcoming into the world of the dead? For a split second, when my hands come into view, I’m sure they’re stained red up to the end of my forearm; the water I used to wash my dishes did nothing to wash away the guilt that apparently only I, in my friend group, feel. Invisible, imperceptible droplets of what I know is blood, stains my carpet. There’s no washing it off. I could bathe in the holiest of waters, scrub my skin until it turned the very same color of what I want to rinse off of me and it still would be for naught.

Lucky for me, my holy salvation undoes the curse I’ve cast upon myself with just a call of my name. “I said I could fix it. Do not doubt me.” My hands clench, I feel my muscles tense as soon as I realize that what he accuses me is indeed true, I am doubting him. 

No words are able to make it through the lump in my throat. With what little strength I can gather I force my legs to stand straight after I lift myself off the ground. “I’m not doubting you,” I lie, “I just think this entire ordeal has developed into something way bigger than us all.” 

“So you don’t understand, then.” He shakes his head, strands of hair the color of raven wings fall onto his forehead, his glasses sit precariously low on the bridge of his nose.  “I don't, Henry. I really don’t,” My panic is slowly shaping itself into something else, something I am familiar with and that I had stored away as soon as Henry’s healing salve was rubbed on my sinful body, “There’s a lot I don’t understand at this exact time.”

He doesn’reply. He silently lights up the last cigarette, the upside down one, the one I was saving for last and after a couple of clouds of smoke are created into existence he extends his hand to me: offering me my own lucky cigarette. I accept it. Smoke fills my lungs and burns my throat while I pace back and forth, letting ash fall to my feet.

It’s not enough, just one isn’t enough to calm the nerves that threaten to take over me. Inadvertently stubbing my smoke in my hardwood coffee table instead then into the ashtray an unstable exhale escapes me.

Henry doesn’t move, not one of his muscles has even remotely twitched in the time I took smoking. 

It is impossible to think in this scenario and in what feels like the blink of an eye, there’s a cold bottle in my hand, burgundy wine flows into a clean glass, it doesn’t settle into it for a second before it makes its way down my throat, the fruitiness and sweetness of it tickles me. In my rush, it spills down my lips  and leaves a maroon spot, as small as a cherry, on my shirt.

“I want my life back,” I pathetically confide in him, this time taking a seat next to him, “I am sick and tired of living in fear of the authorities showing up at my doorstep.” A miniscule yet expanding part of me outright believes the murder we committed is a sin not even Henry can absolve. 

“You think I don’t feel guilty, also?” He began, taking the empty glass out of my hands and pouring himself a drink before pointing his finger at me, “We are human. Of course I feel bad for eradicating a man’s life, but certainly not enough to be distraught over it like you are.” It makes me feel wrong, being so agitated over something he swears he can fix.

“It’s not guilt that I feel, it’s fear. I am terrified every morning when I wake up that I am going to be in handcuffs in a prison cell by the end of the day.”

“You do not know Bunny as well as I do. He won’t say anything.”

“You say that, but you’re just a man. You’re not an all-seeing creature. You don’t know every small variable that could cause him to out us all.” I’d never thought I’d say it out loud. ‘You’re just a man’. It felt like blasphemy to even think of Henry as anything but a deity, jabbing his mortality right in his face was something that I had never even imagined doing. I didn’t think it would come to this.

“I see what this is.” The way he said that, it resembled a lighting flung from Olympus, ready to strike an unaware, disrespectful follower of the gods. “You’re not guilty and you’re not scared of Bun telling anyone. What you’re scared of is repercussions.”

"That's not-"

"Not true? Is that what you're going to say? Because it sure sounds like it is. You don't believe I could find a solution." Never has a voice so calm yet so deadly existed.

"I'm just saying, what if you can't? What if none of us can?" I keep seeing it like I'm reading from a book set in the future, like the Oracle of Delphi is miraculously inhabiting my body. "Henry, I don't think there's time to wait for 'the right opportunity'. Bunny is a ticking bomb as is it."

"So what?" He spits, "Should we just kill him, as soon as we see him, without a proper plan? That would ensure his silence, wouldn't it?"

The temperature in the room drops.

"Kill him?..." Never in my life had I imagined entertaining the idea of putting an end to one of my friend's life. I might lie, in truth, if I said it didn't sound like a plausible solution. "We can't."

"Why not?”

Good question. While it sounded absurd, it was truly the only way this nightmare would come to an end. I thought of Mrs.Corcoran, Mr.Corcoran, all of Bun’s siblings and Marion. 

“It’s insanity.” I stood, backing away from him. “We are not killing Bunny. That’s final.” No matter how much it would help us, no matter how much that would ease my anxiety in the moment, I couldn’t. It is likely that my expression betrayed my words, for Henry’s next words shot a spear through me. Being in his presence was insufferable, now.

He hissed as he spoke, “Oh, would you quit the wounded bird act, for just a moment of your life?” He lifted himself off the couch, following me as I evaded his gaze by walking away into my kitchen. “What are you trying to prove? Your acting like this won’t bring back that man in the countryside, nothing will ever bring him back.” 

“I don’t want to bring him back! You’re so deep into your own view of life that you're refusing to see my side!”

“Don’t raise your voice at me.” I hadn’t even noticed my loud volume, “Nothing can please you, I swear. You’re in no way the single victim of what transpired in that field. Yes, your hands were stained red that night, but you’re not the only one: Camilla still has nightmares about it, Francis as well and Charles, he will never forget that bloody bite on his arm. You’re not a saint, you were there with us drenched in blood, no matter how much you’d like to imagine the contrary. ”

My clenched fists trembled at my sides, with my back metaphorically against a wall of needles there was not a single thing I could do. My time was slipping away from under my fingers, crumbling into sand and being carried into a faraway land, never to be seen again. “But killing our friend is… it feels so wrong.”

“Try not to see it as murder.” To my surprise his steady hands held mine until they stopped shaking, “Look at me, look me in the eyes,” he held my face with one of his hands, slightly squeezing both my cheeks to stop me from looking away, “It’s not murder,” His whisper was slow and soft, deep down it sounded as if he was trying to convince an invisible audience and not me, "Think of it as a redistribution of matter, alright? You’re calling him friend, but was he behaving like one when he would throw out references to our misdeed? Was he a friend when he would pick up the phone and pretend to call the tips number on the daily paper?” 

“You’re going mental Henry. There is not a single way in hell you’re seriously saying these words. If in the right situation I were in Bunny’s place, would you conspire against me, too?”  I asked, knowing what he would say, “You wouldn’t be half as troubling as Bun is.” That was confirmation enough. 

That night in the country, the only thing that was somewhat planned was the bacchanal, being drowned in what can only be described as the epitome of blissful, dionysian madness. Mauling an innocent man wasn’t planned, it was a tragedy. This, on the other hand, is a plan to get rid of Bunny. The one man that could be described as Henry’s best friend, there was a time where one would not ever be seen in public without the other.

“I don’t recognize you.”

“You don’t need to. You just follow my lead and it will all be okay. I promise you, we’ll fix it. I’ll fix it. Don’t stray away from me, don’t make us fight over something like this, alright?” 

Hours after this conversation, when he’s fast asleep in my bed and I’m staring at his eyelashes, I want nothing more than for this torment to reach an end.  “Does it all mean anything to you? Or is it all momentary until divine punishment wipes all off the face of the Earth?” My whisper is met with no answer on his end, his soft breathing for the time being placates my doubts. This is enough.

[bandzboy]

Idea: Let's boycott the new ateez tour so the company lets the boys rest!!!

well as much as i feel like that would be a solution i feel like at the end of the day it won't be very fruitful because i feel like kq will make them work more since that would mean they are "flopping" and the thing is that... they know this! they know we have no choice but to support them and that will backfire if we boycott it 😭 that's how it works sometimes

[whetstonefires]

You know what I realize that people underestimate with Pride & Prejudice is the strategic importance of Jane.

Because like, I recently saw Charlotte and Elizabeth contrasted as the former being pragmatic and the latter holding out for a love match, because she's younger and prettier and thinks she can afford it, and that is very much not what's happening.

The Charlotte take is correct, but the Elizabeth is all wrong. Lizzie doesn't insist on a love match. That's serendipitous and rather unexpected. She wants, exactly as Mr. Bennet says, someone she can respect. Contempt won't do. Mr. Bennet puts it in weirdly sexist terms like he's trying to avoid acknowledging what he did to himself by marrying a self-absorbed idiot, but it's still true. That's what Elizabeth is shooting for: a marriage that won't make her unhappy.

She's grown up watching how miserable her parents make one another; she's not willing to sign up for a lifetime of being bitter and lonely in her own home.

I think she is very aware, in refusing Mr. Collins, that it's reasonably unlikely that anyone she actually respects is going to want her, with her few accomplishments and her lack of property. That she is turning down security and the chance keep the house she grew up in, and all she gets in return may be spinsterhood.

But, crucially, she has absolute faith in Jane.

The bit about teaching Jane's daughters to embroider badly? That's a joke, but it's also a serious potential life plan. Jane is the best creature in the world, and a beauty; there's no chance at all she won't get married to someone worthwhile.

(Bingley mucks this up by breaking Jane's heart, but her prospects remain reasonable if their mother would lay off!)

And if Elizabeth can't replicate that feat, then there's also no doubt in her mind that Jane will let her live in her house as a dependent as long as she likes, and never let it be made shameful or awful to be that impoverished spinster aunt. It will be okay never to be married at all, because she has her sister, whom she trusts absolutely to succeed and to protect her.

And if something eventually happens to Jane's family and they can't keep her anymore, she can throw herself upon the mercy of the Gardeners, who have money and like her very much, and are likewise good people. She has a support network--not a perfect or impregnable one, but it exists. It gives her realistic options.

Spinsterhood was a very dangerous choice; there are reasons you would go to considerable lengths not to risk it.

But Elizabeth has Jane, and her pride, and an understanding of what marrying someone who will make you miserable costs.

That's part of the thesis of the book, I would say! Recurring Austen thought. How important it is not to marry someone who will make you, specifically, unhappy.

She would rather be a dependent of people she likes and trusts than of someone she doesn't, even if the latter is formally considered more secure; she would rather live in a happy, reasonable household as an extra than be the mistress of her own home, but that home is full of Mr. Collins and her mother.

This is a calculation she's making consciously! She's not counting on a better marriage coming along. She just feels the most likely bad outcome from refusing Mr. Collins is still much better than the certain outcome of accepting him. Which is being stuck with Mr. Collins forever.

Elizabeth is also being pragmatic. Austen also endorses her choice, for the person she is and the concerns she has. She's just picking different trade-offs than Charlotte.

Elizabeth's flaw is not in her own priorities; she doesn't make a reckless choice and get lucky. But in being unable to accept that Charlotte's are different, and it doesn't mean there's anything wrong with Charlotte.

Because realistically, when your marriage is your whole family and career forever, and you only get to pick the ones that offer themselves to you, when you are legally bound to the status of dependent, you're always going to be making some trade-offs.

😂 Even the unrealistically ideal dream scenario of wealthy handsome clever ethical Mr. Darcy still asks you to undergo personal growth, accommodate someone else's communication style, and eat a little crow.

[onetailedtanuki]

what if i got so excited i got sick what if my head hurts soooo bad because of how excited i am huh. what if i cry what if i spent 26k lunacy on him what if i print him out and put him in my wallet again i'm gonna put him on my wall i'm gonna dunk him in the ocean. not punching myself in the face this time but i'm still losing it and have been for the last 20 minutes. most sane and normal heathcliff fan btw. ough. i can't believe he's an identity (?) this is so insane i'm gonna write sooooo much fic abt him ok

[robotpussy]

that aliyahsinterlude girl.... like sometimes she can be annoying but that's not a crime, and she has tweeted/said some kind of stupid things before but again... not a crime. but every month ppl are coming for her and like.... i kind of get it but also she hasn't done anything wrong but look cute!

i think part of the annoyance with her is her fans. when they see anyone dressing vaguely like aliyahsinterlude they start doing the "omg aliyahcore" shit like fluffy boot covers and miniskirts are not entirely HER THING i think she just stands out and was one of the first ppl to take part in the rise of these styles coming back again (although they never left) because she isn't the first or only one to dress this way, i could argue many ppl dress like her today whether they even knew of her or not....

but anyways this time some fashion company came out with a collection and she retweeted with "they should've asked me to model" and ppl arent taking too well because i guess they think its her claiming she invented the style (even tho she never said she did)

[skrunksthatwunk]

social failure: had to take a break halfway through midsommar (<- have not seen it before, watching with family) and started chatting about like. what a "huh" moment it is seeing someone cry so much and so hard. it's completely warranted like dani is in a really bad situation that keeps getting fucking worse. she is in an emotional hell and also has an anxiety disorder i do not fault her for crying at all (not that it needs an emotional-hell or disorder justification to be ok btw) it's just like. my human experience is so limited and i don't cry much at all (<- i just coast right above catatonia until i can find a place to actually go catatonic, where i will stay as long as i am able or the ~4-6 hour point or until i get distracted and my emotions hard reset(???), whichever comes first) so it's just like. oh damn. i don't even know what that would feel like (other than the assumption that it would be bad). look it's not my most empathetic moment but it activated my breadth-of-human-experience curiosity response and i made the mistake of sharing it and anyway point is i weirded out my mom oops