#i want to be an adult i want to be an adult so bad

[helen-with-an-a]

I am an adult pt 6

Hiiiii. I just wanna say thank you so much for everyone's support and love while writing this series - it means so much to me. This part was very easy to write but also emotionally draining ahahaha. Ik I did a poll and a lot of people said they wanted 1 really long fic, but I've split it into 2 halves instead cos it was so long! Also a massive shout out to @lyak12 who helped me a lot with the plot and hyped me up- forehead smooches for u. Anyways, I hope you enjoy.

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 3.5 : Part 4 : Part 5 : Part 6 : Part 7

Barça Femeni x reader

Description: R faces the consequences of her actions

TW: It's very emotional and hints of R's bad mental health

Word Count: 6.6k

You genuinely had no idea how you ended up at the beach. One moment, you were in the changing rooms with your life falling apart around you – your shattered dreams and splintered relationships crashing to the ground. And then you were on a quiet bench near the sea wall, legs tucked under your chin as you sat silently, broken in so many ways.

The gentle breeze carried the tangy scent of saltwater, mingling with the faint aroma of sunscreen and something fried wafting from a nearby snack stand. The waves relentlessly lapping at the shore rhythmically, the repetitive sound a soothing melody to help you drift away in the stillness. Time seemed to blur as you stared out at the vast expanse of the sea, lost in the chaos that was your mind.

You didn’t need to look up when you felt a presence standing next to you. You felt the bench dip as they sat down, not bothering to speak. You stayed silent for a very long time. You had no idea how long you had been there – minutes, hours, perhaps even longer. But as the bright blue sky began to shift into a blaze of fiery oranges, soft pinks, and deep purples, you realised that it had been long enough for the day to give way to the dark blues of the evening. A lone tear trekked down your cheek; you didn’t bother wiping it away.

“They hate me,” you finally said. You heard your companion sigh quietly, a sound filled with empathy and understanding.

“They’re scared,” Esmee countered, her voice soft and soothing. You didn’t respond, the weight of your thoughts drowning out the gentle reassurances offered.

"I fucked up," you admitted after a few too many minutes, the rawness of your confession cutting through the silence. It was Esmee’s turn to be quiet, her expression a mixture of compassion and thoughtfulness.

“We all make mistakes,” she said after a beat, her words a gentle reminder. Well, that was the most Esmee response ever. You turned to look at her, the fading light casting shadows across her face.

“This was more than just a mistake.” you insisted, your voice sounding weak and far away.

“You were hurt. You needed comfort. Something that you couldn’t find in Barcelona.” Her words hung in the air between you.

“I hurt them,” you said resolutely.

“Yes, you did. But I don’t think you meant to.” You could always count on Esmee to offer the truth. Some people thought she sugar-coated things, but you always found that she just said things in a way that was honest yet kind.

You fell back into silence, both of you looking out to the horizon. You had no thoughts wandering across your mind. No voice in your head or niggling feelings. You were just numb. It could have been minutes or hours; you weren’t sure.

“C’mon. Let’s go.” Esmee encouraged, standing up and offering her hand.

“I, um,” you cleared your throat. “I don’t have my keys or anything.” You looked up at her with big, wide eyes.

“That’s ok,” she smiled.

The silence in the changing rooms was deafening, broken only by the sound of shallow breathing. No one dared move. The only noise was the door clicking softly shut behind you.

“Qué quiso decir? Por qué no le renuevan el contrato?” It was Martina who was brave enough to speak up. Bruna looked up from her intense stare at her boots. All of the younger girls' eyes fell on Alexia. She was their captain, and they needed her to navigate these choppy waters. Alexia blinked. No one had mentioned the possibility of the club not extending your contract. She knew you were able to go on a free at the end of this season, but she had assumed you would sign for Barça again, at least for a year or so. When she had seen those pictures of you in Germany, she thought something had looked a little off. Even through the pixels, you looked so … distant. You clearly did not look comfortable there. At first, she chalked it up to nerves about meeting your new teammates and guilt that you were caught in the act. But now … now she wasn’t so sure. There was a tightness to your face, your usually bright and animated eyes looked clouded, and a subtle sadness in your posture.

“N-no sé.” Alexia breathed, clearly dazed.

“Ella no puede irse.” Vicky insisted. You and Vicky had a unique bond, one that often drove the older girls insane with your misbehaviour.

“She doesn’t have a choice.” Kiera reminded her softly, bringing an arm up to comfort the youngster. “A club doesn’t have to offer anyone an extension if they don’t want to, for whatever reason. Y/N has to leave Barcelona if she wants to play football next season.” Keira had always been a voice of reason in the team; she always had an great understanding of the dynamics at play both on and off the pitch.

“Pero … por qué?” Vicky looked around.

“I’m not sure,” Keira answered honestly.

“Ella no se está transfiriendo?”

“Not willingly,” Keira smiled weakly.

It wasn’t until you stepped through Esmee’s front door that you realised you'd never actually been to her place before. You weren’t the best of friends; she usually hung out with Aitana, Ingrid, and Frido – the quieter girls on the team, quite the contrast to the lively bunch you, Cata, Pina, and Ona could be. Her flat was distinctly Esmee: neat and tidy but with a warm, inviting atmosphere. The shelves were littered with pictures of friends and family, and the walls were filled with colourful art. Her couch looked cosy, with a soft green throw draped artistically over the back. “Do you want some tea?” she asked kindly, smiling as she gestured to the kitchen. You returned her smile with a soft nod. Why was she being so nice to you? You had been a raging arsehole and deserved nothing but the harsh words Lucy had hurled your way.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I told the others you’re with me,” she said apologetically, handing you a steaming mug. You nodded again, your heart sinking a little. “They aren’t going to come round, at least not tonight.” Was Esmee a mind reader? How else would she know you were anxious about them coming over?

“How did you find me?” You asked sometime later. It had stumbled across your mind when she first appeared next to you.

“You mentioned that you like to go to the beach to think.” Have you mentioned that? “After training, I drove along the front until I saw you.”

You stared into your refilled mug; the steam curled upwards and danced in front of you. “I didn’t know you knew that,” you murmured. “I didn’t think anyone knew that.” It was true; you don’t think you had ever mentioned the long walks along the beach you liked to take in the early hours when you couldn’t sleep. The fresh air helped clear your mind, the movement of your body helped to get the blood flowing again, and the peaceful nature helped soothe your soul.

Esmee shrugged, a gentle smile on her lips. “I notice people.” Her words hung in the air between you, warm and comforting like the tea you held. You glanced up at her, feeling a flicker in your chest.

“Thank you,” you whispered sincerely. She nodded back at you, settling back against the sofa, sipping on her own mug.

Ona was conflicted. On one hand, she was immensely relieved that you were safe. You weren’t lying dead in a ditch somewhere or injured and in a coma, unable to identify yourself to anyone. The scenarios that had been playing in her mind for days were far worse than the reality. She had been losing sleep, haunted by the fear that something terrible had happened to you. Knowing you were okay was a weight off her shoulders. But on the other hand, a heavy sense of betrayal gnawed at her. You hadn't trusted her enough to tell her anything. She thought about all the times you had confided in each other, sharing secrets and dreams and comforting each other during tough times. She was your best friend, the one who had always been there for you. And yet, you ran a thousand miles away without a word, without a hint of where you were going or why.

The hurt she felt was deep and raw. How could you not have trusted her with your plans? Why didn't you believe she would understand or help you through this? Her mind swirled with questions and doubts, each one cutting deeper than the last. She wanted to be happy that you were safe, but the sting of your secrecy made it hard to fully embrace that relief. The bond you shared felt strained, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of abandonment.

And now you had disappeared again. When she finally stepped foot on the pitch, she had thought you would have been there too, waiting for training to start. But you were nowhere to be found. Ona scanned the field, her eyes darting from one familiar face to another, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. Her heart sank with each passing moment. The coach blew the whistle, signalling the start of practice, but her mind was elsewhere. She couldn't focus, the worry gnawing at her insides. It must have been one of the worst training sessions she had had in a long time.

She had broken one of Alexia’s steadfast rules – no phones at training. Ona checked her phone obsessively, hoping for a message or a missed call from you. Nothing. The knot in her stomach tightened. She wondered if something had happened again or if you had chosen to vanish this time without a trace, leaving everyone behind to worry and speculate. Her phone buzzed.

Esmee: I’ve found her. She’s safe. I’ll bring her back to mine when she’s ready. E

She could have cried. She was fairly sure she had. Relief washed over her, mingling with the painful ache of betrayal. At least you were safe, and that was the most important thing. As she stood there, clutching her phone, Ona resolved to be patient. She would give you the space you needed, but she would also be there, ready to listen, when you were finally ready to talk.

You woke up the next morning in just as much of a daze. It took you a moment to realise you were on Esmee’s couch, the unfamiliar surroundings disorienting you even further. You hadn’t slept well. You tossed and turned as much as possible on the small couch, the spare bedding Esmee gave you tucked up around your chin. When you did sleep, it wasn’t much better; the nightmares that your mind dreamed up made you even more tired than before.

The quiet chatter from the kitchen pulled you from your not-quite sleep. “That’s up to her to say, Mapí,” Esmee said softly. You could imagine her face, the small apologetic smile and pinched eyebrows.

“Pero... sólo quiero saber, por qué? Ella de dijo algo anoche?” Mapí implored further. Of course, Mapí would be grilling Esmee. You could see her arms moving around as she spoke.

“Min skjønnhet, stop bugging Esmee” Ingrid cut in. You could envisage Ingrid’s soft smile and gentle hand moving comfortingly across Mapí’s shoulders.

“No, mi corazón. Necesito saber por qué se fue del puto país en lugar de hablar con nosotras.” she all but shouted, a guilty look flashing across her face as she registered her volume.

“María.” You didn’t need to be in the room to see Ingrid’s unimpressed look.

“Mapí, I’m not going to betray her trust like that. I found her, I took her home, she stayed the night. Ask her yourself.” You had never heard Esmee sound so tough. Your heart swelled at the thought of her protecting you. Sitting up slowly, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and listened more intently.

Mapí sighed, the sound of a chair scraping back as she sat down. “Aunque estoy muy enojado con ella. No creo que pueda hablar con ella sin gritar.”

“I know,” Ingrid reassured her, her voice softer now but still firm.

You took a deep breath, gathering the courage to finally face them. The floor felt cool beneath your feet as you walked towards the kitchen, the soft murmurs of their conversation growing louder.  As you entered the kitchen, three pairs of eyes turned to you. For a moment, no one spoke. The air was thick with unspoken words and raw emotions. Mapí stood up, her movements hesitant. “Por qué te fuiste sin decir nada?” Her voice was trembling, and you could see the effort it took for her to keep her tone steady.

You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice. “I...” you took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I just needed out,” you confessed.

“Y pensaste que desaparecer sin decir una palabra era la mejor manera de hacerlo.?” Mapí’s frustration was evident, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. You had no words. You had no reason, no excuse for your behaviour.

Ingrid stepped forward, her face a mask of disappointment. “Do you have any idea what you put us through? We were worried sick, thinking something terrible had happened to you.”

“No puedes simplemente huir de tus problemas y dejar que nosotros recogamos los pedazos.” Mapí added

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at each of them, their disappointment bearing down on you, crushing you. You had never felt so small, so utterly ashamed of yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the words barely audible through your tears. “I never meant to hurt any of you. I was just... overwhelmed. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“We understand that you were struggling, but that doesn’t excuse what you did. We’re your friends, and we deserve better than to be left in the dark like that.” Ingrid sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We care about you, but you need to understand that your actions have consequences. You can’t just expect us to forgive and forget.”

“I don’t expect you to.” You refused to meet her eyes, gaze fixed firmly on the tabletop. “I really am sorry,” you whispered out, blinking rapidly to try to stop the tears. Feeling the weight of their words settling heavily on your shoulders, you knew you had a long road ahead of you, one filled with apologies and making amends.

Alexia couldn’t allow herself to feel all the emotions she was feeling. She had to be the strong one, for the team, the one who held everyone together when everything seemed to be falling apart. But deep down, behind the facade of strength she presented to the world, she was crumbling. Fear, anger, and grief churned inside her, threatening to consume her whole. She wanted to scream, to cry, to lash out at the unfairness of it all. But she couldn’t. She had to keep it together ... for the sake of those who depended on her.

Her training was one of the best she had ever done. She focused solely on the ball at her feet. Her passes were stronger, her shoots were faster, her tackles harsher. Each movement was driven by a mix of determination and frustration. Yet, no matter how much she threw herself into her sport, the ache in her heart remained. The weight of your absence hung heavy in the air, a constant reminder of the betrayal she felt. You had received some terrible news. News that had blindsided you into fleeing the country. And you hadn’t confided in her. That was what made her the most … angry wasn’t the right word. Sure, she was so incredibly angry with you for running away. Even when you had all the legal trouble last year, she had never been this angry with you. But now that anger mixed with pain. You had begged her, pleaded with her to treat you more like an adult. And the first thing you had done when times had gotten tough you had acted like a child. Rather than asking for help, reaching out to those around you … those who loved you like family … you had fled. No word, no explanation, no nothing. You left. You left the team. You left her.

As she sat in the solitude of her car, the weight of your actions bore down on her like a heavy burden. The betrayal cut deep, slicing through the layers of friendship and trust she had built with you over the years. She wanted to understand, to offer you comfort and support in your time of need. But the hurt ran too deep, leaving behind a bitter taste of resentment and disappointment. How could you have kept such a monumental thing from her? Had she made you think you couldn’t come to her? Why? Why? Why? The questions swirled in her mind, unanswered and unresolved, adding to the confusion already in her heart.

Esmee graciously drove you back to the training ground to retrieve your belongings. Grateful that it was only an afternoon session, you silently thanked the heavens for the deserted car park. It was eerie, walking through the silent corridors and into the empty changing rooms. You tried very hard to not think about the events of yesterday, focusing on the speckled flooring and the wooden benches as you dug through your bag to get your keys. You would be back that afternoon, so the kit could stay in your locker for now. Your phone was dead, unsurprisingly, but you knew Lena would have spammed you in the meantime.

Returning home felt surreal. Evidence of someone's presence lingered—dishwasher humming, blankets neatly folded. The thought of Ona or Alexia, perhaps tidying in anticipation of your return, tugged at your heart. The house, once brimming with life, now felt suffocatingly empty. Each room echoed with your absence, the memories of laughter and warmth now hauntingly distant. Moving through the familiar spaces, you felt like a ghost, your steps muted by the plush carpet beneath you. Every corner held a fragment of the life you would have to leave behind, each one a bittersweet reminder of what once was. Yet, as you moved from room to room, a sense of disconnection enveloped you, as if you were a stranger peering into a life that no longer belonged to you.

Your phone buzzed, and buzzed, and buzzed. Lena’s texts were coming through.

L💚: How was it?

L💚: Did u speak to them?

L💚: Is everything ok?

L💚: Schatz?

Missed call from L💚

L💚: Helloooooooo

L💚: Schatz?

Missed call from L💚

Missed call from L💚

L💚: Ur really scaring me

L💚: Schatz ????

Missed call from L💚

Missed call from L💚

L💚: Please

Missed call from L💚

L💚: Bitte

Missed call from L💚

Missed call from L💚

L💚: WHY THE FUCK HAS ALEXIA JUST TEXTED ME TO TELL ME U DIDN’T TELL THEM U WERE IN GERMANY????????

L💚: PLEASE TELL ME U TOLD THEM U HAD LEFT THE FUCKING COUNTRY

L💚: WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

Missed call from L💚

Missed call from L💚

Missed call from L💚

L💚: Y/N !!!!!!!

Missed call from L💚

Missed call from L💚

Missed call from L💚

Missed call from L💚

L💚: ANSWER THE FUCKING PHONE

Missed call from L💚

Missed call from L💚

L💚: PHONE ME !!!!!!!!!!!!!

The last message dated from only 30 minutes ago.

Incoming call from L💚

“Schatz, what the actual fuck?” Lena almost shouted down, the Facetime picking up her distress.

“I … I …” you felt a tear escape. “Fuck,” you said, harshly wiping it away.

“This makes me look so bad. Do you get that?” You did get that. To the team, she was now the girlfriend that aided and abetted your horrific actions. “I know. And I’m so, so sorry, Leibe,” you whispered, your voice breaking with emotion.

“Why? Why didn’t you tell them?” she questioned again.

“I wasn’t thinking. I needed … out. I needed to get away. And it was all so fast and …” your explanation trailed off, a weak defense against her justified questioning.

"That's not good enough, Schatz. They're your friends. Did you think they wouldn't care? Did you think they wouldn't help? I'm trying to understand," Lena's tone softened slightly.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I fucked up massively. And I have no explanation for any of it.”

Lena let out a frustrated sigh, her features creased with concern. “You can't run away from your problems, Schatz.”

“I know,” you said, the guilt weighing heavily on your heart. “And I promise I'll do better. I'll make things right, I swear.”

“Wirst du das tun, wenn wir jemals streiten? Wirst du auch einfach verschwinden?” Lena's voice trembled with uncertainty, her fear palpable.

“No, never,” you replied immediately, the sincerity in your voice echoing through the connection. “I won't ever leave you. I promise, Lena. I love you.” Lena scrutinised you for a moment, searching for truth in your eyes. Finally, a glimmer of hope flickered in hers.

“Okay ... just promise me you won't shut me out like that. We're supposed to be a team, remember?” Lena implored. You nodded earnestly. “And make this right with the team. You can’t leave like this, especially not with Ona and Alexia.”

Lucy's fury surged like a tidal wave, threatening to engulf her and everything around her. Never before had she felt such a consuming anger, a tempest of emotions raging within her. How dare you, she seethed inwardly, her clenched fists trembling with unrestrained fury. The words reverberated in her mind like a relentless echo, each syllable fuelling the fire of her indignation.

The betrayal cut deep, slicing through the bonds of trust with surgical precision. How could you drop that absolute bomb of information on the team and then just leave? The question echoed in Lucy's mind, a refrain of disbelief and betrayal. Her chest heaved with the unspoken words, the air thick with the tension of unresolved anger.

Every fibre of Lucy's being screamed for justice, for retribution against you, who had callously shattered their trust. The image of Ona’s face burned in her mind like a brand, a scar etched into her memory. She had looked so scared, so fragile and raw. But beneath the raging storm of anger, there lurked a profound sense of hurt, a painful vulnerability that threatened to consume her. How could you do that to everyone? Did they mean nothing to you? Did Ona mean so little to you? The wounds of betrayal ran deep. Lucy found herself adrift in a sea of conflicting emotions, struggling to make sense of the chaos that had engulfed their once-unified team. The anger burned hot and fierce, a relentless inferno that threatened to consume her from within.

The changing rooms didn’t hold their usual pre-session chatter. There wasn’t a loud, bright atmosphere as people greeted each other and slipped into their workout gear. There was no gentle undercurrent of excitement for the day. Instead, it was spookily silent. A few low murmurs were uttered here and there as people passed, but there was no conversation, no high-fives, or laughter.

You had arrived at training early, hoping to avoid any awkwardness. As you entered, the stillness was almost suffocating. Mariona was the only other person there, her cubby positioned directly opposite yours. You both went about your routines in an awkward dance of avoidance, her presence a constant reminder of the tension that now defined the space. Seeking refuge, you slipped into the bathroom, deliberately taking longer than usual. The routine tasks of washing your hands, tying back your hair, and applying suncream felt almost meditative, a brief respite from the silence that awaited you.

Moving like passing ships in the night, you and Mariona drifted around each other, the silence punctuated only by the rustle of clothes and the soft thud of locker doors.

“Entiendo,” Mariona said suddenly, breaking the silence. Her voice was calm but firm, and your head whipped up in surprise. Her words hit you with the force of a confession, their gravity making you feel like she had just admitted to something far more serious. “I understand … I’m terrified, and I’m leaving voluntarily.” The admission hung in the air, starkly contrasting the heavy silence from earlier. “I can’t imagine what it's like for you.” A lump formed in your throat as you struggled to find the right words.

"I didn’t mean to hurt anyone," you whispered, your voice barely audible. The weight of your words was palpable, each syllable a testament to the regret you felt.

Mariona’s eyes softened, but the tension remained. “Yo sé eso.” You nodded at her words. Your mouth opened to say more, but you were interrupted by the door swinging open and Irene, Marta and Caro walking through the door. You snapped your mouth shut, dipping your head down and turning back to face your locker.

The trio's arrival brought with it a fresh wave of awkwardness. Their conversation, though low and cautious, filled the room with an attempt at normalcy. You focused on your locker, trying to steady your breathing, feeling the weight of their glances. Irene, always perceptive, gave you a fleeting look of concern but said nothing. Marta and Caro exchanged glances, sensing the tension but unsure how to address it.

Slowly, the rest of the team trickled in. It was obvious that you would be participating in this session in silence. No one made a move to talk to you, to even greet you. Not until they had the all-clear from Alexia. You waited until you were one of the final few in the room. Turning, you caught sight of Ona and Lucy whispering in the corner. Ona’s face was still slightly puffy, her eyes still red as she picked at her nails. Lucy’s lips were pressed into a thin, hard line, the corners turned downward in a scowl, her eyes flicking in your direction occasionally. Her body was taut, every muscle seemingly coiled and ready to spring. Shoulders squared and rigid, she stood with a stance that was both defensive and confrontational. Her hands balled into tight fists and trembled slightly with the force of her suppressed rage. Her breath was measured as if she was struggling to maintain control and not let the anger consume her entirely. You hurried out of the room, rushing to leave the couple to their conversation.

The training session was one of the most awkward and painful things you had ever experienced. You stood quietly, tucked away at the end of the line, as Jona started the warmups. Trying to avoid drawing any attention to yourself, you focused intensely on the basics: placing one foot in front of the other, the rhythm of your breathing, the movement of your body. You hoped this would keep your mind occupied and distract you from the palpable tension around you.

When it came time for partner work, you found yourself lingering silently, waiting for a few uncomfortable moments before turning to the trainers. With an odd number of outfield players, someone had to be paired with one of the staff. Today, it seemed like that someone would be you. It wasn't the arrangement itself that bothered you; rather, it was the underlying implications. There was an air of exclusion that hung heavy in the atmosphere, making you feel like an outsider in what was supposed to be a team activity. The most unbearable part of it all was the not-so-subtle looks being thrown your way. It was clear that people were talking about you during the water breaks. Jana would frequently glance in your direction, only to be slapped on the arm by Pina as if reminding her to be discreet. Vicky appeared to take a tentative step toward you, possibly to offer some form of solidarity but was quickly redirected by Bruna, who nudged her in another direction. These interactions left you feeling isolated and self-conscious. Every whispered conversation, every sideways glance, seemed to amplify your sense of alienation. You could almost hear the silent judgments. This wasn't just a training session; it was a stark reminder of your outsider status, of how much damage you had done.

The scrimmage at the end was no better. Thankfully, Jona had made the teams for the final 7 v 7. Was it karma that he had placed you on the left wing with Lucy as the opposing right-back? Maybe. But you couldn’t deny that you deserved every shove, every tackle that she gave you. She seemed to be toeing the line between unprofessionalism carefully. She never left a lasting mark on you, but you could tell each push was personal.

As the exercise progressed, Lucy's aggression became more evident. She was relentless, pressing you harder than she did anyone else on the field. Each time she shouldered you off the ball or slid in with a perfectly timed tackle, you could feel the underlying animosity. It wasn’t just about winning the ball; it was about sending a message. If it were a normal day, a day when you hadn’t messed up so unbelievably badly, you would have shoved back or shouted a little. But you couldn’t do that. Today, you were paying for your mistakes, and Lucy was more than willing to collect.

So, you took it. Every time you were sent to the ground, you didn’t question it. You didn’t wait for the whistle to be blown or hope that someone would extend a hand to help you back up. Instead, you popped back up, shook yourself off, and continued like nothing was wrong like your whole life wasn't crumbling around you. Each time you hit the grass, the sting of the impact seemed to echo your emotional bruises. But you refused to show it. You forced yourself to remain strong. You could break down again later. You pushed through the scrimmage with grim determination, aware of the eyes on you, aware of the judgment, but unwilling to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing you break.

Despite the bruises and the rough treatment, you managed to stay on your feet more than you had thought you would do. You moved through the motions, running up and down the small pitch, crossing balls into the box, and tracking back on defence. But every action felt hollow, your mind a swirl of what-ifs and if-onlys. The final whistle came as a relief, yet also with a sense of dread. You knew the real battle was far from over. As Jona dismissed you for the day, you helped the trainers collect the equipment, hoping to delay your return and allow the others time to leave peacefully.

As you walked through the main doors back into the building, you noticed Alexia. Standing strong and unimpressed, leaning against the wall. You went to speak but thought better of it, nodding once and smiling uneasily instead. As you moved to walk past her, she stopped you, a warm hand wrapping around your wrist.

“Nosotras necesitamos hablar.” Her voice was sharp, a firmness that was hardly ever directed at you … not since the trouble from last year. You nodded, your voice unable to work.

You followed her through the maze of corridors until you reached a seldom-used meeting room. Was it a coincidence that it was the same room you had the meeting with the State Officials in and first told them about Lena? Maybe, but you wouldn’t put it past Alexia to have chosen it specifically. “Sentarse.” Her voice held a harshness to it that cut through you like a knife. You deserve this. You deserve this. You hurt her. You hurt everyone.

“Since you wanted to be treated like an adult, we will talk like adults.” You nodded. God, why couldn’t you speak? It wasn’t like you hadn’t been in trouble before. Maybe it was because this was such a personal mistake. When you hadn’t completed the forms on time, yes, it had been your fault as you were the person responsible, but there was a somewhat clear-cut way to fix it. It was laid out for you. But this … this was something you needed to navigate like an adult. No one was going to help you this time.

Alexia pointed to a chair, and she pulled out her own. “Explicar.” Her command was simple, really. But where could you begin? Where should you start? You were clearly taking too long. Alexia huffed, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow at you. You sank into the chair, feeling the weight of her gaze bearing down on you. How could you explain the mess you had made? The knots in your stomach tightened as you struggled to find the right words. Despite your best efforts, your breath quickened, and your fingers had a mind of their own as they started to pick at the dry skin around your nails.

"I... I don't … I don’t know … where to start," you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Alexia's expression softened ever slightly, but her impatience was palpable. She had never seen you look so young. Even when you were in the hell that was the legal trouble last year, or the wide-eyed teen that turned up on her doorstep at the request of the club, with a single suitcase and a dream.

"Just start from the beginning," she urged, her tone imperceptively gentler now. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves.

“I got a phone call from Paul … my agent,” you swallowed, staring harshly into the table, refusing to meet Alexia’s eye or even look in her general direction. “He said he had just got back from a meeting with the club.” You stuck to the facts, no emotions, no elaborations, just facts. You couldn’t … wouldn’t … cry if you stuck to the simple facts. “He said they couldn’t afford to keep me next season.” You stopped.

It was clear to Alexia that that was as much as you could say about the situation without breaking. You were so similar in that way. Both of you refused to cry in front of someone else, not unless you were truly comfortable and perfectly safe around them. Did you not feel safe around her anymore? Had she broken your relationship? No, she stopped those thoughts in their tracks. You had broken the relationship, you, not her … then why did she feel like she was to blame, at least partially?

Alexia watched you carefully, her heart aching at the sight of your pain. She wanted to reach out ... to comfort you. No. She held herself back. She knew that now wasn't the time for softness, not when there were hard truths that needed to be faced. “What about Germany?” Her voice was still icy, cutting through the heavy silence like a knife. What about Germany? Germany was where Lena was. Germany was safe. Germany had Lena. You took another steadying breath, pushing down everything that was threatening to overwhelm you.

“Lena phoned me. She said either I went to her or she came to me. She had the Pokal final, so I went to her.” Another pause. “I needed to think. To breathe. To …” you trailed off. You let out a shaky breath, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Todavía no entiendo.” She admitted after a moment. You nodded, biting your lip so hard that you started to taste blood. A tear plopped onto the wooden table in front of you, another one joining quickly afterwards. “Por qué … why didn’t you tell someone? Anyone?” Alexia's question pierced through the haze of your thoughts, demanding an answer you weren't sure you had. Why hadn’t you done that? You honestly had no explanation for it. You just needed out. Out of your house. Out of Barcelona. Out of Spain. Every time you looked at your phone, all the emotions came flooding back like a tsunami. So, you didn’t look.

“I don’t know,” you croaked, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own racing heartbeat.

“Eso no es lo suficientemente bueno.” Alexia's words were severe, a reminder that there would never be a good enough reason to justify your actions. You knew that. You knew that there would never be an excuse that could erase the hurt you had caused. You nodded. “Mírame,” she demanded after a moment. Your head remained down, but your eyes drifted up.

Alexia looked in pain. Not the physical pain – you had seen the uncomfortable look she had when she had tweaked her knee again or the scrunch of her eyebrows when an opposing player left her mark on her. This was different. This was emotional pain, etched into the lines of her face, shadowing the brightness of her eyes. As you watched her struggle to contain her emotions, the guilt pierced your heart tenfold. Your actions had caused her pain ... had shattered the fragile peace she had worked so hard to maintain. “Por qué no viniste a mí?” Once she asked that initial question, the floodgates opened. “No querías que te ayudara? I could have done something. I could have spoken to the club or something, anything. Em culpes?” She finished her sentence in Catalan. She thought you blamed her? You didn’t know what to say. The dam broke. Hot, fat tears rolled in a steady stream down your face.

“Never, Alexia. Never. I never, ever blamed you. I promise. It’s not your fault. It’s on me, it’s all on me. I’m not good enough for the club. For anyone. Of course, they want to renew you and Lucy over me. You deserve it so much more than me. This isn’t anyone’s fault but mine.” It was a mismatch of languages. Some sentences in English, some in Spanish and Catalan, and others in German. “I fucked up so badly. I don’t even know what I was thinking. I … I couldn’t ... I needed to … I don’t even know. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. You don’t deserve any of this. I fucked up so horrifically.” Alexia had never seen you so upset. It was clear she needed to intervene when she noticed your breathing quickening. You were hyperventilating now, apologies still streaming from your mouth. With a gentle hand, she reached out and placed it on your trembling shoulder. She didn’t think you even noticed it.

“Cariño. Breathe.” She instructed. Eventually, you slowed down, your breathing and heart rate returning to a more normal level. “Thank you for apologising,” she said when you had fully calmed down. “I’m not going to lie and say that I’m not hurt. And I’m not quite ready to forgive you. But I think there is more to this story than just you. You should not have been blindsided like that by the club. But your actions …” You nodded.

“I truly am sorry, Ale, um, Alexia.” You really wanted to hug her, but you knew you weren’t quite forgiven enough for that yet. She stood, offering a weak smile to you as she left the room, leaving you to your own thoughts.

I hope you enjoyed <3<3<3<3

[serialunaliver]

It’s crazy to see that you’re 10 years older than me and still bitching and whining about stuff that I stopped complaining about when I was 12. We get it. Sexual harassment is bad but unfortunately, DUE TO THEIR CIRCUMSTANCES, some people are weird enough to want more of it. But due to your blatant lack of sympathy for people you don’t understand, you ignore those circumstances. I mean just look at me. Experienced nothing but sexual harassment before I was even old enough to understand the weight of desire. For years after that, nobody even looked at me in a weird way. I’ve never had a real boyfriend, at least not one who actually loved me. I miss the feeling of being wanted, and I miss the feeling of being wanted so much that I’m no longer a person to somebody. I would kill to be treated horribly again, because it means that they chose me of all people. True love is dead, and being objectified is the only thing left in the world that can make me feel loved. Might not happen to me but it clearly happens to you. Maybe instead of crying at every word spoken to you, you can either deal with it APPROPRIATELY (as in not crying about it online) or be weird like me and accept it.

But anyways back to my point you need to grow tf up and stop posting statements we’ve all heard millions of times before. Deal with it gracefully like a mature adult LOLLLLL

[henry7931]

The Brat Who Mowed My Lawn

Harold:

You know this kid is a real piece of work! But now that I have his body that’s all gonna change.

Chase has mowed my lawn for a couple of years now and I should have fired him for his poor attitude awhile ago.

The only is that he’s only one around I know who will do it well. Being an old man, it’s hard to get around but my ears and eyes still work!

Well I guess that’s a problem of the past for me and more of a problem for Chase.

All I do is catch that boy up to know good. And I knew for a fact he was going to be just as much of a bully and an a hole in college as we was for the last 18 years of his life.

What really upset me was how mean he would be to that sweet gay kid next door Joseph. That kid didn’t do anything to him!

Well I got a surprise for Chase when he wakes up from my nap, not only is now old, going to have trouble moving around but he’s going to hear about his body coming out as a proud gay man!

You know this is the last thing I’m going to do for him which is a free mow of his new lawn haha!

Now I better get back to my new home before he wakes up.

10 minutes later:

“Wooowee!! These piggies right here stink!”

But look how sexy my new young toes look! Let me get a good ole sniff…

*sniff*

Boy that makes my new pecker harder than a pool!

I take a little peak at my growing boner and it’s a pretty good size.

I walk over to my window to see if he’s gotten up yet but that’s when I spot that sweet gay boy walking.

I crack open the window and say, “Joseph!! Hey hold up a minute, I wanna talk to you!”

He looks nervous and I say, “I promise, it’s nothing bad. Just give me 2 minutes.”

I run downstairs and meet him at my door.

He looks at me shyly and I say, “hey I owe you an apology.”

“Really?”

“Yeah I’ve been awful to you and— it’s because I haven’t been honest with myself. I just see you out here being so you and truthful… I guess what I’m trying to say is…. I’m gay too.”

He looks shocked hearing the words come out of my mouth.

“It’s okay Chase, I uhhh I’m kinda surprised but thank you for the apology.”

“Well how I’ve been was not acceptable at all and I would love to make it up to you.”

“Yeah?”

I scoot closer to him, “I think you’re awfully cute and uh… what are you doing right now?”

I was gonna ask him on a date but my bodies hormones are losing control right now.

“Nothing really.”

“Well you wanna hang out?”

1 hour later:

So Joseph and I made out for a bit which kinda led us to heavy pettin’

And well I may have let him explore my new body. And we’re pretty compatible, we both like smelly pits, dirty feet, he even let me play with his cute toes too.

But the best part was the foot job he gave me. It felt amazing on my new pecker. He even let me lick all the cum off his toes.

Now he wants to come back tonight for a “sleepover.” Good thing is that my new parents won’t mind, that it matters I’m a grown adult at my age.

Oh wait I’m getting a FaceTime, oh look who it is! It’s the old sleepy grandpa.

“Hello Mr. Harold, how did you like your yard?”

“SHUT UP OLD MAN! AND GIVE ME BACK MY BODY!”

“Oh no, is everything okay over there? You don’t sound well. Should I call someone?”

“Don’t play stupid! You need to give me back my body or—“

“Or what exactly? You’re going to beat me up? Tell someone? Listen, I don’t think anyone had ever taught you a lesson so I’ll make this easy for you.”

*click*

Poor old man, sounds like he’s going through a lot. Oh well!

*A Few Months Later*

“Ugh are you going to tease me with this clothes on or are you gonna join me?” says Joseph my currently naked boyfriend standing with an erection in front of me.

“Well let me start out with my socks, I know you love my feet after a long day.”

“God you I do love your feet but I especially love that nice cock of yours.”

Joseph impatiently hops into the recliner with me and I embrace his body wrapping my hands and with his cock.

“So glad your parents are out of town, I can’t wait until we’re ‘college roommates’ next week.”

“I know then we can do this every night,” I say pinching his ass.

Joesph or Joey as I like to call him makes a yelping noise,

“Oh my god, I forgot to ask you. Did you hear about our old neighbor next door?”

“Oh yeah, poor old guy. Well you wanna take this upstairs because I’m horny as f*ck now.”

“Please! And you better fuck me tonight Chase, I’m not giving you a foot job again.”

“But!!! But you’re so good at them baby and your feet are so sexy!”

“Nope I want you rail me.”

“Fine!”

[bunnygirllover45]

Long ass rant under the cut I apologize in advance.

I don't get why people interact with media they don't like, it's not only bad for your own mental health, people should let other people mind their business if they're not actively hurting nobody or spreading some hateful ideologies, I don't know if this is a hot take or not, but I think if you find any content you don't like in any social media, isn't better to just block people instead of leaving stupid comments that annoy the creator? Why is it my responsibility to block you when you can do it yourself?

I don't really like talking about these topics, but I always took the approach of just blocking people who send hate instead of replying to them with an equally bitter response, I don't want to lower myself to their level, I'm not here to interact with person or media I don't like, I come here to share what I enjoy. If I see someone I don't like in real life I don't go to them and attack them, I just simply ignore them, why shouldn't I do the same to people on the internet?

It's a little tricky to speak about these things because I don't upload the most morally correct content and my art is focused on dark yandere content, I'm aware that people will criticize that. I'll still approach the hate the same way I always do, because I think is the healthiest thing for both people, both me and the other end, I don't attack them back, and they don't see my content ever again.

Hopefully, this isn't too controversial, I don't want this to become a rant or anything, I just wanted to share my thoughts because I've been getting some nasty comments/asks lately, probably because my audience is growing and people from outside my usual followers are finding my content, or who knows. If anyone would like to share an opinion on this matter feel free to do so.

Is it okay to flag posts that romanticize bad stuff or push dangerous ideas to other people? yes, of course, you should totally do that, but I'm not here to spread any of that with my art, I just draw what I enjoy in fiction, I'm an adult trying to be responsible with the audience I have.

[steviewashere]

Welcome Home

Rating: Teen and Up Pairing: Steve Harrington & Wayne Munson, Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson CW: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse (Not Graphic But Prevalent), Referenced Period Typical Homophobic Slur(s), Referenced Drug Use (Recreational Use of Marijuana) Tags: Post-Canon, Post Vecna, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Wayne Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Wayne Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Good Parent Wayne Munson, Steve Harrington has Bad Parents, Coming Out, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Steve Harrington Gets a Hug, Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Al Munson is a Bad Person

Read the content warning!!

🫂—————🫂 He knows the person he wants isn’t home. But Steve can’t afford to stall any longer. If he continues to wait out in his car, it’ll probably be towed, and he’ll be arrested, and he won’t have the person he needs to bail him out. It’s not like he can just turn the car around, though; make his way back home.

Home doesn’t even exist anymore. It took one night where he thought he was alone, because he was always alone, for them to come back and see him. See him with another boy. Not experimenting, because he knows damn well who he is. But making semblance of love, because he’s been desperate enough for it his entire like. Now that he had it, or something as close to it as he can get from a late night cruising pull, it’s even farther away.

Yeah, maybe he should’ve rain checked. Maybe he should’ve bought out a motel room for the night. Maybe he should’ve just entertained himself with his own hand and the wrinkled magazines that Eddie smuggled for him.

Speaking of Eddie, he’s not here. His government replaced van isn’t parked outside the new Munson’s trailer. Only Wayne’s is. And he’s not sure if he’s ready to face another adult. He is an adult, he knows this, but sitting behind the big wheel of his car—his hands look like they belong to a child and looking at himself in the rearview mirror, it’s like matching gazes with ten year old him; wide-eyed, afraid, and forced against his will.

He is afraid. And maybe he should just let himself feel that. But he doesn’t have the time or the energy or the gall. So he shuts his engine off, hauls an old duffel bag over his shoulder, and makes the arduous journey that is the thirty second walk up the front steps.

Knocking, he swallows his pride. Every part of him is lost and disorganized. He didn’t style his hair. And he couldn’t grab his belt from where it had been kicked under his bed in panic. His shoes are untied. There’s also a large hickey at the base of his neck, unhidden by the stretched collar of some ratty maroon t-shirt he thought he tossed years ago. It’s stark against him in the reflection of the nearest window. He can also catch the dark bruises left on his biceps—grabbed by his dad when he tried to make an initial escape. Maybe he should’ve risked the arrest.

The doors open rather quickly, though. And through the screen, a plume of smoke pools over him from—what smells like—a stale joint. Wayne Munson stands on the other side with tired eyes and a pinched mouth. He’s dressed down in flannel pajamas and has that joint between his fingers. All his movements are slow as he takes Steve in.

“Eddie’s not home right now,” he states instead of offering a greeting. “Is there something I can do you for?” His eyes dip low from Steve’s. Following down the stretch of his neck, where it’s tense and rigid, over that hickey. Pauses momentarily. And then continues to look around, over, down—right up until he notes the bruises on Steve’s arms. “You…Uh…You making a runaway from a bad date, kid?”

Steve swallows. It stings a bit, though not from the hickey. When he closes his eyes to gather his words, he can almost feel the hand around his throat—the wedding ring cold over his wanted bruise, but the red hot spray of spit over his forehead. All as he cowered against his bedroom wall, tense to the floor he stood on, praying that his dad would make it quick.

He’s shaking, he knows. Trembling something minute that, hopefully, Wayne won’t pick up on. “Good evening, Mr. Munson,” Steve greets quietly, voice quaking. “I—I’m sorry to intrude, but I don’t know…There’s nowhere else I can go right now.” He peels his eyes open and peeks up through the screen door. Wayne’s eyes are the size of saucers when they lock stares. He hefts the bag over his shoulder higher, there’s a warm ache through his upper back. Slammed against the wall; remember, he reminds himself.

The screen opens wide and Wayne gestures over to the couch. “Leave your stuff by the door, kid.”

He steps through, plops his bag by the small breakfast nook, and chucks his sneakers to mingle with the pile. Then, he just stands in the doorway. Wayne’s off of his right shoulder. Towering over him a bit, but warm and solid. Steve knows he doesn’t have to be afraid, yet something in him skitters when Wayne’s left hand rests gently on his lower back. “Have a seat,” Wayne murmurs, “you’re shaking like a leaf.”

Acknowledging, without words to say, Steve nods. He shuffles over to the sofa and sits on the farthest cushion on the right, where he tends to settle when he comes over.

“You eat?” Wayne asks.

“No,” Steve mutters, “my dad didn’t give me enough time.”

“You like pepperoni on your pizza?”

Steve nods. “Anything except mushrooms, sir.”

“Wayne,” he says softly over his shoulder, “that’s my name and you wear it out all you like. I ain’t your daddy.” Steve just grunts in response, watching warily as Wayne orders them some food.

When he’s done, Wayne faces him again, leaning against the edge of the dining table. His joint has long since been put out, resting warm in the ashtray on the same table. Steve leans forward on his cushion, hands dropped between his knees. His hair falls limp in front of his eyes, but he doesn’t care. Nothing matters now, does it?

“I’ll only be here a night, promise.” His shoulders hunch inwards. That ache back and persistent. And he knows wherever he sleeps, be it on the floor or the sofa or even in the grass outside, he’ll just wake up hurt. More than just physically. “I know that there really isn’t space for me here and I…I don’t know. I’m not expecting you to take me in just because I get myself in messes.”

For a moment, the room stretches with silence. Going diagonal with the former words.

Then, Wayne takes a deep breath. Shuffles over to a dining chair. And plops down, watching. “You mind telling me what happened?” He asks gruffly, though not pessimistically. “If you’re in trouble, I can only let you stay here a night.”

“Depends on what you view as trouble, Wayne.”

Wayne narrows his eyes, twisting his mouth. His left hand rests on the surface of the table, fingers stretched towards the ashtray and the discarded lighter next to it. “Illegal shit. Anything that gets you in trouble with that Powell bastard. Not including weed. That’d make me a hypocrite, and that’s one thing I ain’t.”

Again, Steve nods his agreement, the acknowledgement. He fidgets with the tips of his fingers. Nails digging into the fatty parts, turning them white with pressure. “I didn’t do anything illegal, swear. Just did something stupid.” Warily once more, he eyes Wayne. “How do you feel about Reagan?”

“That man can rot in hell for all I care.”

He chuckles, despite everything. Then, he takes a sobering breath. “I had a…I picked up a boy tonight. Because I wanted to have—We were going to have sex, to put it simply, Mr. Munson. And I took him to my room, thinking I’d be alone for the rest of the night…”

“And you weren’t,” Wayne states, not asking. What questions need to be asked to an admittance like that? Steve nods, mouth pinched and eyes shiny. “I’m guessing your folks came home.”

“Yeah,” Steve whispers just loud enough to be heard. “I must’ve made a…noise loud enough to be heard downstairs. And my dad had just come home. And he…maybe the boy also made a noise, I don’t know. But one thing came after the other, and the next thing I knew my dad had gripped me on my arms and threw me against the wall and I thought he was going to kill me dead right in my own room and he was spitting about…he called me a-a fag and a fairy and I…

“I didn’t fight back. I didn’t speak. I was so scared. I am scared, Wayne,” Steve admits, voice trembling and his nose burning. “All I could do was take it.”

Carefully, Wayne extracts himself from his seat and situates himself on the coffee table. Right in front of Steve. “Where all did he hurt you, Steve?”

He swallows, remembering. “My arms,” he mutters, pointing, “and my neck and…he dropped me down on the ground and while I was reaching for my shirt, he got me on the ribs.” Narrowly, he misses Wayne’s furious gaze. Instead, he finds a shiny blank spot between mugs on the far wall. “He was so furious he didn’t even take his dress shoes off by the door,” he meekly states, “and he didn’t stop until my mom screamed at him to at least let me grab some of my stuff. She told him it wouldn’t be worth it, and I quote, ‘to murder our son.’ He told her that I wasn’t his, but he let me leave.” 

He’ll never thank his mom for that, but at least she granted him grace. Though, she didn’t look pleased either. Her face set and jaw clenched. He knows that if she had the chance, when he wasn’t in earshot, she would’ve said the exact same thing as his dad. Steve withers further at the thought, if that’s even possible.

“I’m just lucky that I’m not dead, right?” He adds a moment later, face wet with tears and throat thick with grief.

Wayne sharply inhales. “You’re safe here,” he says lowly, “just as Eddie is. You’ll forever be safe here, I promise you that.”

Steve’s eyes cut back to him. That ferocity in his gaze like a warm blanket over Steve’s shoulders, something he can cling onto and believe. “You know about him?”

“You’re not the first kid to run here from their daddy,” Wayne utters.

Something in Steve’s stomach twists slowly. His chest crackling with those words. Remembers when Eddie Munson was out of school for a week in eighth grade. When he came back: long sleeves in late May, hair shaved close to his scalp, heavy eyes, and new silver scars over his knuckles.

“I’m not…”

“Eddie would never cut his hair voluntarily,” Wayne states, voice grim.

Steve looks down at his lap, fingers picking nervously at each other. He murmurs, “I’m safe here,” but more of a reminder to himself. He’s not sure if he’s had a promised safety in years. All the stuff with Vecna and the Upside Down and now his dad—which never started with tonight; it had been growing to that, always something small like a slap to the wrist or a dull smack to the back of his head, but his life had never been almost choked out of him. He never feared, just always worried.

God, he always worried. And now here he is, trembling with his tail between his legs.

The silence stretches between them after that. Wayne gets up at some point to pay for the pizza, gather a couple plates, even relight his half-gone joint. And in the time it takes him to sit back down on the sofa with the food, Eddie comes back.

He tumbles through the door, a thousand words spilling out of him, coat hanging off of his elbows, and one shoe already stepped out of. He’s a whirlwind of movement and thing after another after another. But then he spots them on the couch; Wayne eating slowly and Steve curled nervously, face turned away from the door. “Aw man,” Eddie drawls. “Sharing pizza and weed without me? You guys always have all the fun when I’m not here.”

“Ed,” Wayne mutters, “we need to have a conversation, alright?”

Steve peers over, just as Eddie’s eyes widen.

“Did I…Is it something I did?” Eddie murmurs, voice falling meek. “Is everything okay?”

He can’t help but try to hide further. Flinching into himself, eyes closing on their own accord, cheeks flushed, and lips trembling. Tries to pinch the bridge of his nose, but he’s already opened the waterworks once tonight—they’re not going to close up again just from this. He looks to Wayne, eyes pleading for him to explain. He’s so tired of having to digest this, let alone regurgitate it.

“Come sit in my chair, Ed,” Wayne says, gesturing to the brown chair near the window. He waits until Eddie does what he’s told, sitting slowly and looking at them with his too big, concerned eyes. His eyebrows raise, even Steve can make that out through his blurry vision, waiting for some sort of explanation. “Okay, I need you to listen and not ask questions. No interruptions unless I ask you to respond, you got that?”

“Wh—Yeah, Wayne. I’m all ears; you’re freaking me out.”

Wayne nods gently, his left hand out in a placating manner. “You remember, I mean you most definitely do, but do you remember when you had to come here all those years ago?” He asks softly. Eddie acknowledges by nodding, nothing more. “Steve is going through something similar,” he explains gently, “and I’m letting him stay. If you want to know the specifics, that’s something that you’ll have to hear when Steve’s ready, got it?”

Eddie inhales slowly. His face gaining that same furious ferocity that Wayne’s had. But then he looks to Steve and all the hard features of his face soften. Back to something familiar and warm and homely. “Stevie?” He ventures. “You okay?”

He shrugs. Answers thickly, “I don’t know.” His cheeks wet with more tears and he roughly wipes them away with a shaking hand. “I don’t…I thought they loved me? Even just a little bit.”

Warmth crowds him as Wayne lays a firm arm over his upper back, hand wrapping around his right shoulder, just missing his bicep. “Eddie? Why don’t you clean up a bit in your room for his stuff? Get some new sheets on your mattress, too. Think he could use a sleepover, that alright?”

“Course,” Eddie answers almost instantly, voice soft and calm. “I’ll set out some pajamas, too, Stevie. You want a sweatshirt or a t-shirt?”

Steve sniffs and swallows heavily. “Sweatshirt, please.” 

Slowly and carefully, Eddie comes over towards the couch. He places a gentle hand on the back of Steve’s head. Thumb running up and down at the base of his skull. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “we’ve got you now, though.” And with that, Eddie retreats to his bedroom, the door clicking softly behind him. The rustle of things being moved around ever apparent through the thin wood.

Wayne clears his throat and pulls Steve in a little closer, tighter. He says close to Steve’s ear, “We love you here, you got that? You have no reason to hide yourself or sneak around or try and fit yourself in a box.”

He nods minutely. “M’kay,” he mutters, “I’ll try and find another place soon, I promise. I just don’t have the money—“

“Nonsense,” Wayne states steadfast, “this is your home now. And I won’t have it any other way.” He pulls back just enough to make them lock eyes again. The air smells of grease and weed and Irish Spring. Amber light flooding around them and dim enough to not hurt his head. Everything around him is soft, gentle. It feels like home. Wayne holds him by the shoulders, firm but not suffocating. “Don’t tell Eddie I said this,” he whispers, “but he doesn’t shut up about you. He’d kill me if I didn’t let you stay and I’d beat myself up about it. As long as you stay true and playful with my boy, then you’re my boy, too. You hear me?”

Steve’s eyes blur again and his nose stings and he wishes that he could stop crying, but this is nice. The warmth and the love and the tenderness. He could burn alive from it and still be grateful. It’s so much better than the lonely, cold sprawl of his parents’ house. A house he never thought he’d leave.

“I hear you,” he musters.

“Good,” Wayne murmurs. “Why don’t you go use up some of the hot water and take as long of a shower as you want? I’ll get your things into Eddie’s room and—don’t tell that Powell bastard at the station—but I’ll roll something for you, if you want it.”

Despite everything, Steve finds himself laughing from his belly and smiling enough to ache his cheeks. “Yeah, okay,” he agrees. “Warning, though, I’m really annoying when I’m high.”

“Then annoying you’ll be,” Wayne gets out around a chuckle. “And keep smiling, boy. You ain’t got a thing to worry or fear here. Even if your daddy comes running on over, I’ll make him leave just as fast with his tail between his legs, swear it.”

His smile relaxes to something soft, a ghost of a thing. He leans forward and hesitantly wraps his arms around Wayne, relishing in the hug that he gets in return. “Thank you,” he says, muffled into Wayne’s pajama shirt, “think you literally saved my life tonight.”

“You’re a good kid, Steve,” Wayne murmurs, “you’re always welcome in my home.”

He knows he’s crying again, a gentle and silent thing into Wayne’s shoulder. And yet, despite everything, he’s lighter.

Later, he tells Eddie all that happened and is held close, a hand in his hair and fingers tracing over his trembling shoulders. Later, Wayne will make a grand breakfast spread to celebrate new family. And even later, Wayne’ll crack a joke about no funny business while he’s sleeping. But Steve will know, through the tired and playful glint in Wayne’s eyes, he’s all too happy that Steve and Eddie figured themselves out.

For now, though, Wayne hands him a clean, soft towel. It’s dark green and well loved. And he knows, too, that his soul will eventually look just like that. And just like the towel, he soaks it all up. Including the warm, “Welcome home, son,” Wayne says before he closes the bathroom door.

🫂—————🫂

[vintagegeekculture]

There are some books that are functionally boy’s adventure books, but are not advertised as such (Stuart Gibbs is a good example), but I absolutely know what you’re referring to. I have some experience in the public-facing library/bookselling field, so I have a guess at some of the reasons that boy's adventure books are currently out of fashion. 

Shonen anime, and graphic novels trying to cash in on being similar to shonen anime, are currently considered to be the main replacement.

The dual successes of Diary of a Wimpy Kid and Captain Underpants are seen as the overall representation of “what boys want to read”. As with any success, middling-to-bad (or at least incredibly cynical) knockoffs are rife. 

Right now, books aimed at boys who have poor experiences around masculinity, or little interest in it, are extremely popular. So any story that celebrates masculinity is going to be looked at as being somewhat dangerous.

If you’re not interested in toilet humor and are a masculine kind of guy, you’re going to be looking at slim pickings.

-------------

P.S. I'm a WWII guy, except for a few years when I was a Spanish-American War guy -- I thought that was the same as having a personality.

Here's my observation on the popularity of Captain Underpants and Dogman: it ties in to an absolutely well understood track for stages of development in boys.

Now, keep in mind that I am not an expert in childhood development or education, but in the past, the reading habits of boys went through three comic book reading stages that maps, roughly, onto their growing capacities as they get older:

Archie/Harvey Comics Stage. This is usually a boy's first comic book, friendly and humorous and childlike. In the past, every boy's first comic is usually Archie, Jughead, or Richie Rich, or Casper the Friendly Ghost, Peanuts, Garfield, or Wendy the Good Little Witch. They like surreal humor, and the absence of concrete thinking and unreality of these books is a positive, as it matches the non-concrete thought processes of young kids, which is why adults often have trouble relating to this: if you ever saw a kid's drawings from this stage, people just float or fly in space, their feet not on the ground, and the sun is often drawn with a face. Notice that kids absolutely accept as a given that Pete and Pete are two brothers with the same name, which is something adults have a problem grasping. If you ever asked yourself why Spongebob Squarepants lives in a pineapple under the sea, of all things, instead of accepting it as a given (of course he lives in a pineapple, what do you expect?), you're probably past this stage.

Superman/Batman Stage. After the Archie/Harvey stage, boys move on to Superman and/or Batman, as their imagination capacities develop, they start to envision adventure and science fiction/other worlds apart from just humorous surrealism. Because they start to experience stories vicariously as their imagination expands to include putting themselves into the story, they tend to start to want adventure and action at this point, power fantasies of muscles, freedom, swordfighting, karate and sweet jump kicks, swinging over a rickety bridge with a rope, and wrestling a monkey (this is also the age that in decades past, boys got obsessed with Tarzan, and in more recent times, got into Adventure Time, a show about two brothers with no parents). All this is mingled with fantasy and science fiction as the ability to think in terms of other worlds and places emerges, but they still prefer pro-wrestling like good and evil as clearly delineated, as their moral reasoning is not super well developed. There are female villainesses in stories at this level, and their master plan is often to get the hero laid, which is a sign of evil instead of good. The fact that Batman and Superman seem to always have all the answers and win cleanly is a plus at this stage, since stories are lived vicariously as opposed to handled and seen with distance. Some people don't move past this stage, and you can usually identify these people because as they identify closely with a main character's state and emotions, put a book down when things get bad for the main character, and often say things like "wow, why does this writer like killing off characters or making them suffer?"

X-Men Stage. After a phase of being into Superman and Batman, most kids move on to an X-Men phase, usually by 6th Grade, but it depends on the kid. They start to be aware of society and the individual, and with that, in the case of many, comes an awareness of being on the outside looking in, so themes of being an outsider, rebel, and alienation start to be important. This is the stage your kids start to turn into little jerks who mouth off to you, and the reason why is the same reason kids (usually) move on from Superman to X-Men: it's the era that kids start to develop moral reasoning, a muscle they flex and apply to every aspect of their life and play with like a new toy. They probably aren't able to articulate it this way, but they like the idea of conflict with society, rebellion (as they are conscious of an individual and society for the first time), and even the idea of moral dilemmas. Also, because boys are going through puberty at this point, they start to find girls interesting, which is why the X-Women like Rogue, Storm, Marvel Girl, and Psylocke were so much more alluring and appealing than Lois Lane and Betty and Veronica. They also start to be aware of status for the first time, a person's relationship in comparison to others, something younger kids are only barely cognizant of, which is why they like things being hardboiled and "cool."

You could, for more modern times, update this list of stages to the Spongebob Stage, Adventure Time Stage, and Jojo/One Piece Stage. In the 1950s, the trajectory would be Tom Swift and other "boy with a helicopter" stories, then boyish gee-whiz adventure writers like H.G. Wells and Jules Verne, and finally, big-idea, believable guys like Heinlein and Asimov by age 12-14. The exact content is not important, the developmental stages in boys are.

If you're a Star Trek fan as a kid, Captain Kirk is usually your favorite character early on (in the Superman/Batman stage), where you vicariously experience and enjoy his coolness and ace-status (as a kid, I thought Captain Kirk was cooler than all the comic book superheroes put together), and then it usually becomes Spock as you get older and start to relate to his alienation and the fact he is different from everyone else. Star Trek deserves some genius prize because it has the adventure, cool monsters, and moral framework to appeal to kids at the Superman stage, but then grows up with them with dilemmas and big ideas as they enter the X-Men stage.

I do believe the reason Harry Potter has such a fan following is the books grow up with you. Harry Potter started off whimsical and charming (Harvey/Archie Stage), then became about adventure and good versus evil (Superman/Batman Stage) then was about moody teenagers, where the heroes are outlaws on the run from the clueless government and pair off with each other in love stories (X-Men Stage).

There are bound to be problems when something aims at one stage but has fans of the other. Hulk Hogan and John Cena are often hated by a certain kind of wrestling fan because they are Batman/Superman heroes kids love because they experience their strength and indomitability vicariously, and only grow to prefer the X-Men-like "cool rebel" Rock and Stone Cold later on. You don't like John Cena, or Superman, because he's not for you.

Now, all that said, when you talk about how boys don't move past Dogman, the Archie/Harvey Comics is the stage of development you're talking about, that books like Captain Underpants, Diary of a Wimpy Kid, and Dogman operate at. And the reason they seem to be dominant is that boys stop reading after the Archie stage. In other words, in my opinion, you're confusing effect with cause: they have nothing for them except manga after this point as most boys stop reading entirely past the Archie/Harvey Comics stage.

Why? Your guess is as good as mine, it is simply the largest and underdiscussed social problem of our time, boys stop reading and often never read again. "Young Adult" essentially means girl's books now.

The reason why nobody is examining this issue is simple: men's rights advocates are not particularly concerned with helping boys, but more with bitterly whining about ex girlfriends and gripes with the family court system. So when a legitimate social issue happens that affects boys disproportionately (the fact boys stop reading entirely around age 9-10 and never read a book again in their lives) they have nothing to say and are not particularly interested in the issue.

As someone with a concern and interest in helping boys, I was initially very sympathetic to the Men's Rights idea that society leaves them behind, and it does happen more or less as they say it does: society lets them slip through the cracks, especially in the school system, where they are seen as a problem to be solved, especially when high spirited (normal). However, there was very little sympathy in that group for boys who were physically abused and beaten by parents. Most believe in corporeal punishment, as they care less about boys and more about the primacy of paternal authority - just as you'd expect from bitter, divorced dad, malicious pieces of shit. And boys being molested is often treated as a joke, and not with the seriousness and primacy the issue deserves.

Likewise, despite the talk of feminism helping men, women's rights are not especially concerned with helping boys either, because...well, why would they be? It also doesn't help that the leadership and vanguard (though not necessarily the rank and file or activist base) of women's rights movements are usually professional, striving educated women (a group with high rates of sociopathy and reduced empathy) so their focus is on access to elite institutions and professions. This is more especially obvious in the UK than in the US, where feminism is more explicitly linked to class, as one can see with JK Rowling. As a consequence of this, #MeToo was not about waitresses or gig workers who endure horrible harassment, but about access to elite institutions. There's a reason why when we picture sexual harassment, it's in business suits at a law firm, and not a diner waitress bothered by creeps or her manager.

I will say this: I am very heartened that #MeToo and activism and so on are now starting to include boys who were molested. Very few changes in our culture have been positive and that is one. There's a reason male survivors of sexual abuse and molestation keep their head down, were not included as a part of #MeToo initially, and that is starting to change. Self blame and guilt is a part of every abuse victim, but it is especially crushingly intense with boys too young to understand, and who are trained to endure and not ask for help from male friends.

[syoddeye]

ill-advised

simon x f! reader | 1165 words cw: simon being a gross creep, terrible advice, slimy internet culture, bad usernames, unsolicited nudes a/n: wrote this silly thing on my phone. lightly edited. been thinking about how simon would be the world's worst agony uncle. enjoy a few easter eggs.

Simon doesn’t have a God complex. No. He leaves that to the Simulation 5 streamers who build complicated dungeons beneath their character’s cottages, forcing others to labor on paintings or crochet projects to sell and support their captor’s livelihood. Not that he…watches those. No, no. He’s simply seen more than his fair share of depravity. Some of it at his expense, some at others, and more than a chunk of it dealt by his own two hands. He knows how the world works. How people work. He knows his shit, plain and simple.

So when his schedule allows, he logs on after midnight. His username and password are two alphanumeric strings, but people recognize the cluster of digits and letters. Wait for his comments. Follow his account. Send him stupid digital gifts, some useless currency to dress up his default icon. The amount increases daily, as does his following. His own little cult.

He doesn’t care about the numbers. Not really. He just loves dishing out his honest opinion, and nobody’s safe.

AN [Advice Needed] Family forgot to invite me on a trip, expect me to go last minute Hi, it’s like the title says. I (25 M) live across the country from my parents, siblings (all all adults), nieces, and nephews. I am the only one who lives on this coast, but I try to visit twice a year. I recently reached out to my brother to see when he thinks I should come visit in June and suggested some dates. I know it’s only February, but I want to save money on airfare. He responded: “Isn’t that when we’re going to Hawaii???” It was the first I heard of it. It turns out my parents invited my siblings to Hawaii and planned a family vacation without me. I confronted my parents about it, they swore they invited me too then said I could send them my share of the bill for the resort and book a flight. Like it’s no big deal. I can’t afford to go and I don’t want to go, but I feel really pressured. And sad! They forgot me! Who am I, Kevin McAllister?

> 35J0G39GH6: Find out the resort name. Cancel the reservations. Cease contact.

Within seconds, a dozen upvotes. A minute later, a hundred. Up, up, up. And the replies? Oh, the replies. He smirks at the cracked phone screen.

>> michaelEthelcaine: Fucking brutal as always >> c0y0t3fug1y: LMAO it’s this simple OP - this dude is never wrong >> patcemetery79: I DID THIS BACK IN 2003 FOR A FAMILY REUNION. A REAL RIOT! HAVEN’T BEEN INVITED TO ONE SINCE@ HILARIOUS!!!!!! I LOVE YOU 35J

Simon receives a fair share of downvotes, too. Negative comments. He doesn’t give a shit, but some of them are fucking hilarious.

>> grasshopperwhirlpool: Not funny. Be better than this asshole, OP. I’m sure it was a simple mistake. >> thewildrumpussy: really mature advice. who shit in your coffee?

Every few weeks, a morally righteous do-gooder encourages people to mass-report him, and he gets a slap on the wrist. The idiots come out in droves after some of his more choice replies, like worms after a heavy rain. The most recent offense?

AN [Advice Needed] My husband (35 M) forgot my (33 F) birthday My husband of three years forgot my birthday. No flowers, cake, or gifts. When I came home from work he asked about dinner. I lost it, turned around, and left. I’m at my sister’s house now (and she started baking when I called and told her what happened!) but he won’t stop blowing up my phone. He says it’s because he’s been so busy but here’s the thing: he forgot last year too. I really love him but I’m tired of this treatment.

> 35J0G39GH6: Have your friend take you home between 3-4 AM. Cut his brake lines. Go back to her place. Wait for the inevitable.

>> 6polyesterbutthole9: i dont care if this is illegal its funny af >> passtheaggression: Hand to god, you need your own forum dude.  >> gordonramsme55: Where are the mods on this??? This shit is going to get someone killed. Report this psycho. >>> puffalo: Agreed I think this breaks Rules 3 & 5, reporting now >> austrianPrincess: not saying i did this but when my boyfriend’s brakes failed, i got a big check, OP!  >>> gordonramsme55: This is what I’m talking about!  >>> 6polyesterbutthole9: get that check >> tech60nyneme: WOW someone check this guy’s crawlspace. reported and blocked

That one earns him the most severe ‘punishment’ yet: A month-long commenting ban. No skin off his nose, he's deployed days later, anyway. If anything, the radio silence winds his followers up, their excitement a palpable thing when he gets out of forum jail. He rewards them with another series of blunt, to-the-point pieces of advice. 

His absence makes one particular fan particularly hungry, and a little desperate.

He’s no stranger to unsolicited dick and cleavage pics from his followers. They flood his inbox, giving him a side hobby of delivering pithy degradation the sick fucks seem to love. Saves the best for his private collection. 

But then he gets a picture from some cute thing with a comment about him being her favorite person on the Internet. Knelt all sweet in front of her mirror, haloed by a ring light, white lace barely hiding the goods. His eyes snap to her tits—where his ridiculous username is scrawled in sharpie. There’s nothing to critique except maybe the laundry in the background of the shot. Tugs his cock to it, then clicks her username to check her comment history, and wouldn’t you know. Her location is public on her profile. She’s a couple hours away from her idol and doesn’t even know it. 

>> 35J0G39GH6: Perfection. >> YN10282022: Oh my god, I didn’t think you’d reply. >> YN10282022: You know, a few months ago, you gave me good advice about my creepy boss. >> YN10282022: I posted about the stuff he’d say to me. >> YN10282022: It took some time, but I was able to record him. Sent it over to his wife on their anniversary. When he accused me, I told him HR was getting the next copy. >> YN10282022: I got a promotion and a raise, and sent the file anyway. >> 35J0G39GH6: Good girl. >> 35J0G39GH6: I’ll be in your neck of the woods in a week for work. >> YN10282022: Really?? I’d love to meet up! >> 35J0G39GH6: Probably shouldn’t. I’d advise you against meeting me. >> YN10282022: They do say you should never meet your heroes. :) >> 35J0G39GH6: Shouldn’t meet strangers off the Internet, either.

She still sends him the address of a cafe. It matches one he finds on her social media an hour later. She seems to be a frequent customer. Simon grins at his screen, the sole light source in his dark room. He taps back to her pretty picture.

She looks like an angel.

[godisfemale]

When I was 10 years old I decided to check out Omegle, I’d seen all the funny videos of people making friends and finding other people their age from different countries to talk too, how could it possibly be bad if all my favourite YouTubers had a video or two messing around on there having fun

To say 10 makes you pretty naive would be an understatement

The first thing I saw was a middle aged man jacking off in front of the camera, asking me how old I was and that I was pretty, I remember being so young and sheltered I didn’t actually know what he was even doing, so I asked to see his face and he told me he only would if I stuck out my tongue, of course I did this thinking it was some innocent funny joke and he genuinely wanted me to stick out my tongue to laugh at, there are probably screenshots of that somewhere out there, he then started telling me, a 10 year old, that I looked 18. I completely believed this and thought that I had him fooled, I felt a sense of pride knowing that I looked older than I was and that this man thought I was an adult, as we talked he kept panning the camera back down to his dick, asking me if I was horny, I recall constantly asking him to put it back on his face because I was so confused as to what he was doing, I also had no idea what horny meant so I asked him. Still thinking that he thought this baby-faced 10 year old who already looked young for her age was 18.

It wasn’t even a few years later when I realised exactly what was happening, I felt sick to my stomach. I think about it still to this day at 21 years old. do not give young children unsupervised access to the internet please.

[theredcuyo]

Huh

You know those AU/fics where the kids met earlier?, like, Dick is just old enough for Damian to be a baby kind of situation and somehow they all met and get adopted within no time from each other and all that

Well, i think the perfect dynamic for a fic will be this one:

Dick

He wasn't happy at first. At all. He went from a life of a single child to older brother of like 4 or 5 now?? In like, less than a year.

He didn't even have time to adjust to Jason before he found little Tim following him around in patrol. Not time to get around that little stalker child before Jason found a lost girl in need of help who couldn't talk. No time to even get a hold of signs when Talia came to drop a baby on Bruce.

The worst part? While he can't get around it, because he's still dealing with his grief, and anger, and why does it seem like B gets tired of his last child every week, where does that leave me, And why do this kids that i barely know look at me with eyes that say they'll follow me to hell and back-

That's the thing, his new sibblings follow him like newborn duckies, they observe and copy, and do everything he does except to leave him alone. And he's not sure how to feel about it.

He's overwhelmed with all the attention, with how this house that used to be silent has become anything but that.

And also, he can't go up to the chandeliers now. The babys try to follow behind him and he knows that non experienced people shouldn't do that. That also sucks.

Wally is making fun of him. That's one sibbling for every time you complained about not having any, he says.

He gets used to them as time goes on tho, he couldn't imagine a day without Jason coming to his room to tell him an over the top sight into the book he mentioned to have to read for class.

He can't imagine not to see tiny Tim bright up every time they see each other in the hallway.

He even forgets to actually talk sometimes instead of signs because Cass just wants to spend so much time with him and they both practice the signs a lot.

Damian is the weirdest baby ever, but he's the only member in the family who doesn't complain about being hugged for long times, at least not yet, so that's cool.

Jason

He's just happy to be here.

He didn't knew what exactly a family was, and when he found out there was another kid there, he felt a bit more safe, they could team up if it was necessary to protect themselves against the adults.

The closest thing he had to sibblings before where other kids in the streets that helped each other out, the older kids got jobs at convenience stores and sometimes they'll leave out food for them, you had to protect the youngest.

He was happy to have an older brother, and Dick clearly knew what he was doing, so everything was good.

And then he found Tim inside a trash can when he was allowed in a recon mission. He was so, so tiny, like the other kids he had met, and he knew the little thing needed protection from the world. He also had a camera with pictures of B and Robin, and that was probably important.

But whatever, two sibblings instead of none now had to be a jackpot! He did feel bad sometimes about B getting tired of him because of Tim, but, at the same time, he loved that little gremlin so much he could forget about it.

Until he wasn't so sure when Tim found a lost girl wandering around town. (He isn't Even allowed to go out alone, whats wrong with him?) don't take him wrong, Cass is great, she joins them in pranks and in spying on Dick, but she also doesn't let him forget that she's older than him (just a few months damn it!) but it's just-

She's just so much better than him too. She can't read, he has her on that, but that's all. She's stronger than him (she beated his ass in training at least twice now), she's faster, she doesn't cause problems, She's smarter than him for fucks sake.

So, why-

Why would B still want him around with this kind of upgrade?

It's not like he can ask tho, B is been very busy since that lady came to give him a baby. Literally.

And, sure, Damian is a weird ass baby, the only one he's seen that doesn't cry for most things. But he likes the little guy, he just hopes he'll still be here by the time he learns how to walk.

Tim

Tim didn't expect to be caught. He also didn't expect for it to be the new kid who found him, and as if there was anything else to surprise him with, said child auto proclamed himself as his big brother from now on.

He didn't knew if his parents will like that, because the didn't like children, not even him sometimes, but when they came back the next week and the police arrested them for working with black mask and tax evasion they didn't even ask to see him, or tried to when he reached out, so he couldn't ask.

Jason did become his brother tho, when Mr. Wayne adopted him after that, the same Mr. Wayne he knew was Batman. Huh.

Well, anything was better than an empty house, and now Robin was his-

OH GOD ROBIN IS HIS OLDER BROTHER NOW.

FUCK HIS PARENTS. HE LIVES WITH HIS HERO NOW. HE WILL OUT AS MANY CRIMES OF THEM AS NECESSARY.

Tim was overjoyed to know this. Everything was nice, Dick was cool, he didn't talk much with them, but he's Robin, nothing's cooler than that.

And Jason does spend time with him, he loves beating his ass in maro kart.

And then he found Cass when he went out to buy a new camera, he wasn't allowed to go out alone, but it wouldn't be for long, they wouldn't notice surely.

They did notice, but the good thing was that it saved him from taking Cass home on his own.

She's nice too. He never had a sister (or brother too) before, but he likes her, she helps him find hide spots around the manor.

Who he doesn't like a bit is the baby. That Demon spawn.

First he appears out of nowhere. Second, he only seems to cry when someone is talking to Tim.

What is wrong with that thing.

He also follows him around for some reason, and grabs his shirt, but if Tim tries to look at him or hold him he cries. Really, what's wrong with this baby?

Like, sure, Bruce did have him by accident, and so did Tim's parents, but the fact that Damian's did want to keep him around and pay attention to him didn't give him any right to be like this.

It's not like he's better than them, B adopted them all out of a sense of duty.

Cass

Suddenly, communicating is a thing.

If she has something to say it's that she's happy. She got a baby brother, two actually. And a Big brother. And then a very baby brother.

And a Dad that loves her. And a granpa that feeds her anything she wants except for burgers. But dad buys her a burger in the secret if she tells him.

She likes spying on Big brother. She likes learning to read with baby brother big, and to hide with baby brother tiny.

She likes to stare at very baby brother. He stares back.

So everything is good.

She's happy.

Damian

Baby Damian tolerates his family. He let's Dick hug him, and Jason carry him around talking about who knows what until he falls sleep.

And gets into staring contests with Cass.

But the one he really likes is Tim. He likes to have his attention, and he doesn't like when he doesn't have it.

But he also doesn't like to fully have it, he gets overwhelmed.

Basically, baby Damian wants Tim's attention but not too much.

The family also makes a bet on who will make Damian laugh first.

They all lose when it's Tim, even Tim loses because he had all his money on Dick.

Because apparently, his presence comforts him when he misses Talia.

[midnightsxblue]

CRUSH

carl grimes x adhd!dixon!fem!reader

(carl loves to hear about your hyper fixation.)

tags: fluff!

masterlist here!

(this takes place in season 4 at the prison!)

Growing up, you’d gotten interested in many things. You were really educated on a lot and your dad, Daryl honestly couldn’t keep up with it. He tried his best, since he’s a pretty quiet guy he’s a great listener. Although, sometimes you wished he’d give you some sort of feedback or maybe ask you questions about whatever it was you were telling him about.

I mean, even after the turn he never really had time to talk about anything. He was always going on runs or he went out hunting. He was really important in the way the prison ran, so he was always busy. You always felt sort of anxious about it, you could never really talk or share your thoughts or explain the interests you loved. They were especially important now as most of your hyper fixations were what was getting you through it all.

You talked, and you talked a lot and there’s nothing wrong with that. But in a world that suddenly had gone quiet, it was hard for people to listen to you considering how adapted they’d become to the silence. You were like a burst of energy that most people weren’t exactly ready for quite yet.

Except for Carl.

He always thought you were the cutest and funniest ever, even when you were younger like at the quarry or the farm. There, you never really had freedom to be yourself because the adults would always tell you to hush and be quieter. That’s why at the prison, he loved to watch you be who you truly were. He’d seen you interact with the other kids at the prison and had gotten angry at them for brushing you off when you were excited about certain things and began to ramble. So, one day at the tables outside the prison, he did something not many people did.

He asked you your favorite book series.

You were ecstatic, even though you realize this may not an invitation to explain to him every bit of lore of the story, you were happy he’d even put in the effort to ask. You tried to stay as calm as possible. “It’s called A Series of Unfortunate Events…it’s quite complicated…” You explain shyly, not having really opened up to him like that before. Sure you’d gone through a lot with him but you stayed quiet a lot of the time because of how discouraged you were by adults.

“Complicated? How so?” He questioned. Which is exactly what you wanted. Your eyes widen a bit but you try your best to stay calm so you don’t completely scare him off.

“Well how much do you wanna know, I mean it’s quite a lot it could take me hours to explain and I’d feel quite bad if you wanted like a quick synopsis and not an entire look on the lore and…” Your voice trails off when you realize you’d been rambling. He however was admiring you completely. He found you so refreshing. “I wanna hear everything.” He tells you. Again exactly what you wanted. Was he always so cute? Or is that something you’d just noticed?

“I guess I could start with the basic information, there’s three siblings right, theres Violet who’s the eldest sister and she’s an inventor, she always ties her hair up with this ribbon and that’s how you know she’s gonna make something good...” You continue to ramble and smile at little details you explain. “Then there’s the middle child, Klaus who’s a boy and he is very intelligent, he remembers basically anything ever told to him which I somewhat relate to considering I get really interested at certain things but anyway,” He giggles at you a bit, enjoying everything in front of him at the moment.

“They also have a little sister Sunny who’s just a baby but they understand everything she says and she has these teeth that are super sharp even though it’s just four but she could probably bite off a finger if she really wanted to.” His eyes widen a bit. “A finger? Wow…and only four teeth?” He inquired, very intrigued at what you’re saying.

You continue to talk to him a bit more, explaining a good amount of the plot to him and he listened intently. You’d stopped for dinner but continued to talk with him during. At some point, Daryl had to come and pry you away from him so you could actually go the hell to bed. Carl didn’t want you to go, you’d already gotten him invested and he wouldn’t be able to sleep without knowing what happened next. He also wanted to just spend time with you.

“Cmon s’time for bed.” Daryl told you, you then turned to Carl and a small frown was displayed on his face. “We can talk again tomorrow morning…if you want.” He immediately nods. “Yes- yeah I’d love to.” Daryl looks between the both of you, knowing how much Carl had admired you. He also knew that if Carl was listening and wanting to know more, you’d also admire him just as much. You smile at him and nod. Daryl directs you in the way of the cells and he stays back to talk to Carl.

“You got somethin for my daughter?” He interrogated Carl for a moment. “W-what?” Daryl looks back at you to make sure you’re far enough before continuing. “Those books…she’s been dyin to talk to me about those since I found em for her. Haven’t had the time.” He explains. “No one else seems to want to hear about it. What’re you up to?” Carl tilts his head a bit. “I just wanted to know her favorite series…I suppose I enjoy hearing her talk.” He smiles.

So Daryl left him alone about it. He was glad to know you had someone to talk to while he was busy.

The next day at breakfast, you were eating while reading back at the benches. Once he gets his plate he walks over and sits across from you. His paper plate hit the table with a bit a thud and you notice, looking up from the book. “Oh…hey.” You look up at him and smile, he takes a moment to respond as he’s quite flustered to see your smile straight off the bat. “Hi…which one are you reading?” He points to your book.

“The twelfth book. I’m kinda sad about it though…” You give a small pout and he picks up a bit of bacon to take a bite. “Why, cause it’s gonna end?” He chews his food and waits for your reply. “That and I don’t have the last book.” You fold the page’s corner, sort of a way to mark your place. Carl takes note of that. He does however feel horrible that you’re missing the last book. “Oh really? I’m sorry…maybe we can make up our own ending. Once you explain the rest of it to me.” He does his best to cheer you up.

But somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he had to solve your problem. Although he was too young to go out scavenging, his best friend wasn’t. So after breakfast where you explained the second book to him, on his way to do his chores he stopped Michonne on her way out of the gate. “Do you think maybe if it’s not to big a deal you could stop at the library? I’m looking for a book.” He explains, not quite mentioning you currently. “Is this for your new old ‘friend’?” She questions, somewhat teasingly. He rolls his eyes but nods. “Yes. She’s missing the last book. The thirteenth.”

“The last book? Tragic. I know the series, I overheard your guys’ chats yesterday.” She smiles.

So she left and you didn’t see Carl till later that night in the cell block after dinner. He stopped by your cell with a small bag in his hands. He pushed the curtain open to see you lying on your stomach atop your bed, on the final pages of the twelfth book. “Almost done?” He sort of startled you but you immediately smile once you realize it’s him.

“Mhm.” His visit was rather unusual, usually you’d just talk to him during the day but not before bed. You sit up and make room for him to come sit beside you. “I got something for you.” He reaches into the bag and pulls out a book, the thirteenth book. “‘The End?’ Really? How…I mean my dad’s been looking for it for me but-” You look up at him with a bright grin. You don’t really say anything before swiftly tackling him in a hug. He hugs you so tightly, all he wanted was to see you happy.

After pulling away from the hug, he reached back down into the back and pulled out a hook bookmark. It had a little arrow charm. Fitting for a Dixon to say the least.

“I mean…this makes sense.” You tell him, he laughs at your comment. “I just thought I’d have Michonne find you the last book. I’m quite invested in it myself. I love hearing you talk about it…I love hearing you talk.” He explains, sort of staring at you admiringly. You notice and look a tad skeptical, knowing there was something more appealing to him than just talking.

“I uh..I have a small crush on you…if that explains everything.” He admits, his face turning a light shade of pink.

You smile. “Yeah, I could tell.”

a/n: i thought this was quite fun to write, i love a series of unfortunate events muehehehe. anyway i hope this is what anon wanted, i did some good research for it to ensure it was okay :)) okay love u bye

tag list: @zomb-1-egutzz @lunarnightt @ilikestrawberriesandwomen @hiro--aoki @h00d-tr4sh

[effy-writes]

Hii!! Can I request a one shot of Stolas with a fem s/o who rlly can't see WHY he wants her. Reader just believes that she's weird and ugly, practically worthless. And Stolas finds her crying one day and comforts her?? TY!! <33

ofc! thank you for requesting! hope you enjoy <3

🦉🦉🦉🦉🦉🦉🦉🦉🦉🦉🦉🦉🦉🦉🦉🦉🦉

Stolas x Fem! Reader: Darling You’re All I Need

You always had horrible self esteem issues. Constant bullying of your looks, your personality, even the existence of your life. Kids can be pretty mean, especially since they don’t know that bullying can affect a person this much. Eventually you believed them.

Now as an adult, those self esteem issues didn’t go away, in fact they gotten much, much worse. You completely shut out from the outside world, you didn’t want to be seen or heard. Or maybe that’s what you really needed.

You were surprised whenever you became friends with the prince of Hell, Stolas. You were shopping at a clothing store and bumped into him. You profusely apologized and felt super bad that you bumped into a prince. Stolas reassured you that everything was okay and that you didn’t have to apologize. He saw how upset you were and offered to buy you something from here. You denied the offer because you believed you should be the one buying him something. Stolas said, “That’s no need. How about we go get coffee or tea tomorrow?”

At first you denied and wanted to run out of the store, but Stolas said something that made you rethink your decision, “I find you interesting, that’s all. Of course, you’re allowed to say no, but I do want to get to know you.”

So the next day you learned all about him. He was at that store looking for clothes to buy for his daughter. He also used to have a toxic situationship with this one imp that ended about a year ago. You listened closely as he talked about his childhood, adulthood, his daughter, his duties as a prince, but he wanted to know more about you.

You were taken back. Nobody asked you that before, you were completely shunned down by your peers.

“I’m not that interesting.”

“I think everyone is interesting in their own way. Tell me about your life or the things you like.”

You definitely did not want to tell him about your life. “I like stars and moons. That’s why I was shopping there yesterday. Um..” You couldn’t think of anything else.

Because of this interaction alone, Stolas was intrigued by your nature. Eventually you guys would go get coffee, brunch, lunch, even dinner almost everyday, and during those interactions he would find out more about you little by little.

He first found out about your childhood and how you would get bullied by kids everyday. His heart ached for you while hearing them. Some days after that you told him about middle school-high school and things got much worse for you, but you always told him, “It didn’t affect me,” but he knows very well that it did affect you, but he didn’t want to bring it up first.

Lastly, he invited you to his house, and when he did he finally got the truth, “Me? Why me? You don’t have to invite me because you feel bad about me. Christ on a stick I should’ve lied about my childhood.”

“Darling, I’m not doing this out of pity. I’m doing this because I love your presence. Come to my house tomorrow at 7, i’ll have a fancy dinner for you.”

“What about your daughter?”

“She’ll be at her mother’s.”

“Okay…is this a date?”

“Would it be a problem if I said yes?”

Now you were definitely taken back by this, “I don’t know, Stolas. I’m flattered! Really! But…”

“Don’t fret darling. If you don’t want it as a date then it doesn’t have to be, but I would like to have this date with you.”

This was something different for you. Your whole life you felt worthless to a point where you don’t deserve anything good, especially when it comes to a prince asking you this.

Days later after that date you two made it official. It was still all new to you and you felt like you were being pranked, but Stolas has been nothing but kindness towards you.

You later on met his daughter who seemed to like you. You two would talk about superficial things, but eventually she opened up to you, as well as you opened up to her.

Your life with Stolas has been great, and you believe it’s 100% to good to be true. The relationship has been phenomenal, but your self esteem was still in a shit hole.

Stolas knows this, he knew it the moment you accidentally bumped into him, but he didn’t want to point it out, he wanted you to express your feelings about your self esteem.

The trauma of verbal abuse caught up to you recently, making your self esteem even worse. You tried to keep it together, but day by day you were on the verge of a breakdown.

You and Stolas was laying in his bed watching some romance movie. His arm was around you while the other one was trailing circles on your arm. You looked at him with sorrow, you dont deserve a guy like him. You’re bringing him down, you’re too much for him, you’re too ugly compared to him, your personality is too much for him to handle.

You couldn’t do this anymore, “I’m going to go to the bathroom real quick.” You got out from his holding.

“Do you want me to pause the movie?”

“No, you don’t have to. I shouldn’t be too long.”

“Okay, darling.”

The moment you locked yourself in the dark bathroom you cried. You hardly ever cry because you believe it makes you look weak. Everything you do makes you look weak.

Thought after another thought caused another sob. Your head began to hurt from the painful sobs. You tried to quiet them so you won’t disturb Stolas and make him worry, but with each passing, horrible thought you couldn’t silence yourself.

A worried knock came from the door, “Darling? Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“I’ll be out in a minute!” You choked on your tears.

“Y/n…” Stolas’ volume softened, “Can you open the door?”

You let out a shaky breath and unlocked the bathroom door. Stolas peaked in and was about to turn on the lights,

“Don’t! Just leave them off.”

Stolas left the bathroom door open to bring some light in, he sat down across from you. “Why were you crying?” His tone was still soft.

“I don’t feel too good about myself.” You rubbed your eyes.

“About what?” Stolas scooted closer towards you where your legs was touching.

“I don’t deserve you. Why would you want a girl like me? I’m messy, Im nowhere near royal, I’m off putting and I definitely don’t have the looks.” You sniffed.

Stolas couldn’t believe this, “Why would you say that? I’m very fond of you and-”

“Save it, you’re with me because you feel bad. That’s gotta be the reason why you’re with me, because why else? You’re a prince you could’ve found ANYBODY other than me. Anybody who doesn’t have horrible self esteem issues and-”

Stolas dragged you into his lap and held you, “Darling, you’re all I need.”

You blinked through the tears, “I don’t..I don’t know.”

“You deserve love,” Stolas slowly rocked you, “I want to help you feel loved. You make me the happiest guy in Hell and it pains me to see you like this.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I love you. I love your existence, your presence, your face. You’re all I need.”

[mustainegf]

So, reader is Daves younger sister and she is dating James. And one day James sneaks into her room and Dave catches them fucking...this is after Dave got kicked out of Metallica so he and James hate each other

Goodie this is so good, I’m so sorry if it turned out short :(

𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 ¹⁹⁸³

James hovers over me as he fucks himself inside of me, grunting as he brushes back my messy hair.

"Mmm, yes," I whisper, enjoying the feel of him deep inside of me. He's so warm, so perfect, and it feels so good having him inside of me.

I close my eyes as he pumps into me hard and fast, the slap of his body against mine filling my ears, our moans echo off the walls, and the heat that radiates from his skin warms me from head to toe.

"Such a good girl, so pretty for me, yeah?" James huffs, grinning while his cock remained merciless.

"Mmhmm," I hum softly, feeling his words penetrate me even deeper than his cock. I love hearing that I'm beautiful, especially when it's coming from him.

It turns me on and makes my inner walls spasm around his cock. "Look at you, so wet for me,' groans.

His grip tightens on my hip as he thrusts into me faster, making my breasts bounce. My fingers curl into the sheets as I try to hold on for dear life, but it's pointless. He's just too strong for me.

But in an instant, the pleasure came to an abrupt end and terror shook me as the door violently swung open.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Dave screams, his face red with fury. My heart dropped as James scrambled off of me, his length slipping out.

"You're fucking my sister!?" Dave shouted in fury, wildly looking between the both of us as I clutched the blanket to my chest.

"You kick me out of your stupid fucking band and turn around and bang my little sister? What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Dave hissed as he stared at James who shimmied his boxers back on, his erection still incredibly obvious.

"Dave!" I cry out in panic as I cover myself, not wanting my brother to see me naked. This was supposed to be a time for James and I to connect without any distractions.

"Yeah, get you boxers back on dickhead..." Dave spits at James.

"Fuck off man, we're adults we can do what we want," he rebutted.

"Not when one of those people is my sister." Dave seethed as he took a step forward, and I thought for sure that James would be hit, but he didn't.

"Dave, get out!" I beg, my one hand pointing at the door, the other clutching the blanket to my breasts.

I had never felt so vulnerable before. And all because my brother walked in on James and I during a moment of intimacy.

That should have been our moment alone, and instead it became something horrible. "No," he snarls as he takes another step forward. "I need to know what the fuck is going on here."

"How many times have I told you to keep your hands off my sister!? " he roars as he stalks closer to the bed, his fists balled up as if he were ready to attack James. " I don't take fucking orders from you, " James growls.

"Take your tiny fuckin' dick elsewhere asshole!"

Dave raged at James. I knew this could go bad if I didn't get Dave to leave, he was a fighter.

"GET OUT!" I scream at him, and the raw fury in my eyes must've flipped a switch in him, because he let out an angry sigh.

He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

We sat there in silence as our breathing slowly returned to normal. My stomach twisted with knots as Ilooked up at him, eyes starting to fill with tears.

James drooped as he slumped in bed next to me, smushing his face into his hands.

"I'm sorry, baby," he mumbled. "This wasn't how I wanted things happen," he said, trying to wipe away my tears. "It's fine, I'll talk to him." James tried to comfort. "And tell him what?" James huffed as he pulled me to his side. "That I'm not going anywhere."

[jube-art]

Get those kids some Milk (iv fluids rich in nutrients) ASAP!!!!!

“They’re very sick.” Superman is explaining. “Very sick. They don’t speak English either, so we’ll have to wait for Kara and Karen before we have full native translators, I can understand them a little bit.”

They’re hurrying to the medical bay, Superman’s got some kind of Kryptonian scrub on, tight material with something almost like a surgical mask covering the bottom part of his face. “Change.”

Kon doesn’t have to be told twice, the medical bay in the fortress is used only seldomly, every time it’s had to be booted up it was sort of a world ending emergency, a big player was down and needed to be fixed right away.

There’s already scrubs waiting for him, Kon sheds his shirt fast, the scrubs laid out are a “one size fits most”, adult version, so even though they’re meant to be skintight Kon feels sort of stupid and too small in the thick material. He seals the zipper up to the bottom of his chin away, securing the skirt like bottoms over his board shorts.

The medbay is a shitshow.

Kon has never seen so many people in here.

There’s five of them. Five skeletons laying out on gurneys and if Kon couldn’t hear the weak heart beats he would assume they were already long dead.

Black hair, long and greasy, unwashed. Skin wane and strange colored, sickly, and tight to the bone.

With the adult that was limp and unmoving, closest to Superman, the man looked a little like a bad Halloween decoration. Like somebody had taken a handsome Barbie doll and put the skin over a dollar store very wrong skeleton.

With the Kryptonians on earth, Kon knows they’re all on the heavier, rounder side, plump or chubby or whatever the fuck people wanted to call it. Producers had asked Rex just once for Kon to loose weight for promotions and TV shows and for his image, but when Kon had gotten skinny (an exhausting process for several reasons) they told Kon to gain it all back again. His bones, his muscles, were wrong.

The one closest to Kon says something, something strange and backwards and mixed together in syllables that aren't in any language that can be found on earth.

Kon can tell that he's begging, for something, for anything-

Probably for food.

--

yes sir right away sir time to put them in medical bay and stick things in them and shine strange light at their skin :)

[whetstonefires]

The reason I keep banging the Jiang Fengmian drum so hard is not that he did nothing wrong--he's definitely in contention for best parenting in this book but that bar is in the ground--but because most of the takes I see about him are so extremely bad.

If you want to slag him off for trying to make choices that would hurt no one, and winding up properly protecting no one as a result, that's valid! That's an interesting and text-based critique, which opens into his parallels with Lan Xichen!

If you want to blame him for being weirdly over-invested in Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng being bffs, that's fair, that definitely contributed to the weirdness between them. If you want to say he was a poor communicator, that he fundamentally misunderstood his son, that he failed to be emotionally available in a way his kids could get much use out of, even that he should have figured out a way to stop Yu Ziyuan from creating such a hostile environment, all of that is fair game!

If you want to tackle how the worst thing he did to his kids was die I am so interested in how Wei Wuxian went on to abandon A-Yuan by going to his death, and how that might be tied to how his primary adult role model tied him to a boat and went off to a fight he knew he was going to lose.

After his parents had already left him like that once before, presumably less intentionally.

But no, instead I keep seeing that Jiang Fengmian didn't care. That he never expressed affection. That he actively participated in Yu Ziyuan's fucky game of forcing proxy conflict onto the boys instead of constantly trying (and failing) to shut it down, or that he ignored her bad behavior because it didn't affect him, or that he fought with her constantly, or that he was too much of an unmanly coward to stand up to her when she wanted something.

All of which are directly in contradiction to every scene he's in, and several of which manage to invert or erase the actual conflicts between him and his wife that were the source of all that tension.

And which are really interesting, because some of the most intractable elements are ideological--Yu Ziyuan is fundamentally a conservative and Jiang Fengmian seems to want to be an egalitarian, which ofc matched poorly with his hereditary authority as patriarch of a large sect.

The fact that the bit where we get to actually see him failing to parent Jiang Cheng consists of him gently and firmly trying to correct Jiang Cheng's ethics when what was actually needed in that moment was reassurance for the well-founded insecurities that were causing him to be a little bitch, only for Yu Ziyuan to charge in and make everything fifty times worse, is so much more interesting than literally any version of this family dynamic I have seen in fic. It's to the point I'm relieved when writers kill Jiang Fengmian off, because it means they probably won't feel the need to character-assassinate him too badly.

The number of people I've seen come right out and say some variation of 'men can't be abused' is killing me here. No, Yu Ziyuan wanting to hurt her husband does not constitute sufficient proof that he abused her first and deserved it! That's not how anything works!

[ava451]

Venture X Talon!Reader

Venture clashes with a bunch of Talon goons in Ilios. And there is one that riles them up especially - not entirely in a bad way though.

TW: Explicit sex, hatefucking, believe it or not, it is consensual, tho I admit dubcon. reader is lowkey depressed and lowkey a bitch. Mentions of drug abuse and abusive Talon practices. Fem!reader and afab!Venture. I've seen this fic idea from an anon on other Venture blogs - so the idea isn't really mine. But god, I need this so badly lmao.

As you a child you would have been giddy with excitement to see the old ruins of Ilios. As an adult and working for Talon, you could not care less about this bunch of stones. Their beauty was entirely wasted on you by now - you were bitter like that.

You could only share Dr. O'DeoRain's opinion: Yet another stretch of cloudless skies and idyllic ocean views. Beautiful! - not. It was hot and it was bright, and you were tired. The few relics your employees and coworkers were dragging out of the ruins and into boxes had better be valuable - but even if they were, you knew full well that Talon would get the larger cut of what you looted today. With thumb and forefinger pressed to the bridge of your nose, you tried to alleviate the headache that had been pounding away at your head for the past half hour.

"How much longer do you need?" you snarled to one of your men hurrying past with a marble head.

"Only a few pieces left." he answered.

"You already said that half a fucking hour ago."

"Well, these things are heavy!"

God, you just wanted out of here. Maybe get a few hours of rest, just three or so, and you wouldn't ask for dreamless slumber, just resting and getting some sort of relaxation. What did a bitch have to do to have an okay time around here?

Evidently today was not your lucky day, because you heard more commotion coming from the far end of the cave you were overseeing. Yet another reason for a headache, presumably; just what you needed. You set off in the direction and next thing you knew was a flock of your coworkers scurrying past you, holding onto stone statues, old jewelry and marble busts. They looked like they were on the run - from what you could not see, only hear: There were burrowing noises, the deep growl of earth being ripped up and then the ground was shaking and giving way to chaos. You were quick enough to jump back, but one of your teammates was not so lucky; trying to hold onto something and flailing his arms, he threw away the little golden figurine he had been holding. It glittered in the air as it tumbled, fell - and then it was caught by someone who, concealed amidst the dust, did not have the silhouette of anybody on your team.

That could only mean one thing : Overwatch. Today was really not your day.

Like a flock of hens, your coworkers huddled up behind you, staring at the figure stepping from the dust. You narrowed your eyes.

"No looting on my watch, talon goons." they said with the most shit-eating grin on their face that you've ever seen. Instead, you took a moment to check them out from head to toe. By experience, just a quiet look was the most intimidating thing one could do. What was slightly more intimidating to you however, was the fact that they could carry the gigantic drill they were holding with just one hand. And the other thing you noticed - though without horror - was the fact that they answered your shameless staring with them checking you out themselves.

You weren't in the mood to make an even bigger fuzz out of this. And before you made a fool of yourself trying to argue with this person it occurred to you that maybe you could be more persuasive without the shuffling Talon employees at your back. You turn to beckon one over.

"Grab what you can and head back to the ship." you order.

"And you-"

"I have the translocator. I'll rejoin you as soon as I can."

You turn back to the person keenly eyeing the movements of your companions. There's a new restlessness to their movements, as if they're debating to drop the artefact and try to stop your people.

"Eyes on me, baby." you say, dropping the muzzle of your gun to the floor, trying to make yourself as big as possible. They don't seem to buy it.

"Who are you calling baby?!" they snap, and you think there's a confused blush on their face. You clutch your gun harder.

"You, baby. Listen up. That artefact there-" you point at it, then curl your index finger. "Be a good pup and give that to me." Said in the sweetest, most saccarine voice you can muster.

The blush on their face is now ruby red. Good. "Nuh-uh." they go, stashing the artefact into some pocket in their coat.

"So you're going to be bratty?" You sigh in pretended disappointment.

"I won't give you that artefact."

"So you are going to be bratty."

The look they give you is venomous. "Who the hell are you?!" "Wouldn't you like to know. Maybe if you behave and hand that artefact over I'll tell you."

"I already told you no." "That's a shame."

You balance your laser gun teasingly, as though you're about to launch an attack. It has the desired effect; your opponent assumes a defensive stance with both hands holding their drill. Once more you lazily check them out, wondering just how shredded they must be under all these layers of fabric to be handling their weapon like it's nothing. They are pretty handsome; they've got pretty brown eyes especially. As you take up your gun, you muse that today has perhaps ended up being better than you anticipated - or rather, is going to end up being better yet.

You launch your attack, simply hurling your laser gun into their vague direction and then dashing off to the right side. It works; they did not expect you to let go of your gun, and by the time they register from which direction you're coming, you've already tackled them to the floor, knocking the drill from their hands with two precise kicks to their wrists. Not enough to hurt; just enough to make them drop it.

Within a moment you've pinned them down, have them at your mercy. You're straddling their chest, hands trapped beneath your thighs, their head between your legs. Now you are the one with the triumphant, shit-eating grin. "I did tell you to keep your eyes on me, didn't I? You really need to learn how to obey orders." you coo down at them, chuckling at the struggling that only makes you sway a little bit. You send a silent prayer to these potions Moira administers to the Talon operatives before missions - you haven't eaten in days, but you feel as strong as - perhaps not Doomfist, but definitely strong.

Strong enough to hold this troublemaker down with just the strength of your thighs. And if you're not entirely mistaken, the blush on their face speaks volumes.

You cross your arms, gazing down at them. "Now, where were we? Oh yeah. You were going to give me that artefact."

"Nuh-uh, I won't. Told you. Maybe you're the one that needs to listen."

"I didn't get my head trapped between a girl's thighs."

They glare. "Fuck you."

"Oh! Such language!" you feign outrage before leaning in closer, grabbing them by the chin. "Better behave and keep that mouth of yours shut; or I'm going to stuff it myself. Considering the position you're in, I'd wager that I won't have the most trouble with it."

Their lips look so damn kissable, plump and dark, parted slightly as they respond to your touch. You can see that one of their front teeth is chipped, you can see that their eyebrow is pierced, and you can see the hazy look they give you, partially brimming with hatred at your brazen insolence, partially burning with anticipation for more of your touch. You lean in just so your breath can fan over their lips, but when you feel their breathing quicken, you pull away. They seem to hate your guts even more now.

"Fine. Be that way then. I'll get it myself." you say, leaning back to start your search. All you feel is fabric, belts and dust, which frustrates you immensely. You thought this would be easier. You shift on top of them, running your hand over the slight curve of their chest, into their coat sleeve and over their arm. They are shredded after all. You can't feel their biceps too well because your thighs are trapping most of their arm, but you feel how firm it is, and once more you thank Moira's potions or you would be beneath them - not that that would be the worst fate though, really.

You grow frustrated when you can't find the artefact - are they lying on it? Did you not look thoroughly enough? You grow exasperated, feeling them up is not your least favorite past time activity but hell, you need that artefact. Maybe if you bring it back you get enough money to buy yourself something to eat - Talon doesn't pay for that - or maybe you could even leave Talon - not that they'd let you - but either way, why does everybody need to give you a hard time? You let out a frustrated sound, turning back to your enemy who now looks quite cozy between your legs.

You're about to bark something at them, another futile command to finally hand that stupid artefact over, when you notice their gaze - not resting on your face, but right on your crotch. Even their lips look wetter than they did before, and you just barely catch them licking them. Upon this sight, your frustration dissipates a little.

"Enjoying yourself?" you hiss.

"Uh, no."

"Then what the fuck are you looking at?"

"Nothing."

"If you want anything, you can ask."

The blush is back on their face. It's never left.

"Listen up, nerd." you begin, ceasing your efforts to search through their coat. "Just give it to me. I really need it."

You only realize how your words could possibly be understood when they grin up at you. "Oh yeah? I can tell."

"That's not what I- what do you MEAN you can tell?!"

They grin, nodding towards your crotch. "Eager, or what? Enjoy feeling me up?" they taunt and this time it's your turn to blush. "As if." "You got something there." "Yeah, like what." "I dunno. Just a wet spot."

Their grin is so cocky, but they speak the truth. Now you can feel it; the uncomfortable wetness that makes your underwear sticky. Frantically trying to save face, you lean back and start your search again, hands roaming over their chest, waist, down to their belly, patting any spot for that damn artefact, but the more you feel of them, the more the thought of your task at hand leaves your brain. They're so warm, their body so strong-

And you become aware of a nagging throb between your thighs, that you half-curse, half-welcome. Your enemy shifts beneath you, though not with the intention to throw you off- and just as you wonder what the hell they're up to, you feel them press their face against your crotch.

It doesn't make you squeal or gasp; it makes you moan. You can feel their hot breath through your pants, can feel their nose pressing against the fabric, providing enough friction for you to-

You open your almost closed eyes with a shaky breath. If they wanna fight dirty, you can - to be fair, you were on that path right from the beginning - but your decisive advantage is that both your hands are free and you are on top. You reach back with your hand, clasping it firmly over their crotch, pressing just enough to elicit a grunt from them. You feel the vibrations against your cunt and it makes you shiver in pleasure - if only your damn pants were off.

"There, you hypocrite." you mock them, though your voice has lost the aloof snark from before. "I think YOU got something on YOUR pants."

They say something you can't understand, but no doubt it's something rude. Such insolence you punish by rubbing them through their pants, alternating between harsh pressing and lighter circles, but even with the fabric in the way you feel them react beautifully, exactly to your liking. You even fathom that you can smell them.

When their thighs start tensing and rubbing against each other, you think them distracted enough to flip positions. And indeed they are too into grinding their face against your clothed cunt to take advantage of you moving to sit atop them in a reverse cowgirl position, facing their legs.

"Shoulda not gotten in my way." you hiss over your shoulder. "Coulda just given me the artefact and be done with it."

Their voice is muffled: "Why do you even want these artefacts? You're just selling them! Don't you have other ways to make money?"

"What's so special about these dusty ass artefacts anyways?" "They're precious! This site here was a refuge for the Athenians during the Peloponnesian War, and- mmph-" You're in no mood for a history lesson right now, or to get lectured about Talon's, no doubt, dubious ways, so you clamp your thighs around their head tightly, grinding down against their face. This time they wriggle one hand free, but instead of trying to shove you off - as you would've expected - they hook it around your thigh and dig their fingers into the plump flesh. You bite back a moan.

"Cool story. Sucks for these Athenians, but they're dead and I'm not, and I need that money." You get to work on the buttons and zipper of their pants. The whole dry-humping game is fun but it riles you up to the point of putting you in a bad mood. And miraculously, when you shove down their boxers to thread your fingers through their damp pubic hair, you notice a suspicious bulge and golden glint in one of the folds of their coat right next to their thigh.

Your mood thus so elated, you wriggle your hips against your new lover's face. They haven't noticed that you found what you were looking for - or maybe you were looking for multiple things, and the artefact was for sure not what interested you the most right now.

"Anyways, I found something else really precious." you purr as you pull your gloves off and trace your index finger over their slit. "But I'm afraid I won't be too much of a saint with this one either." Your finger presses further, delving into their slick labia. They're incredibly wet, impossibly soft. Their clit delightfully large, just beckoning your mouth forth to suck on it.

"Someone's so, so eager, huh? Poor pup, you could've begged me nicely and I-"

"Shut up!" They growl, pushing you off just enough to hurl that at you. "You're soaking my fucking face and your pants aren't even off! Fucking slut-"

"Stupid, horny nerd-"

"Needy ass bitch-"

"Dumb idiot-"

Their hand now digs so harshly into your thigh that you feel the fabric of your pants give way. You need to act quickly if you want to keep the upper hand, so you further pull down their pants as fast as you can in the few precious seconds you get, just so you have enough access, leaning forward and burying your tongue in between their slick folds. Instantly you feel them shudder beneath you, both your bodies pressed flush against each other, and a hoarse, needy moan reaches your ears. You grin through the pubic hair tickling your cheeks as you get your whole face in there, both hands occupied with massaging their strong thighs so they don't get any funny ideas.

They don't - at least in terms of trying to shove you off and knocking you unconscious or something. But their fingers still grab and tear at your pants with such force that now you finally hear - and feel - them rip. The cool air is soothing on your heated skin, but the hands and fingers of your new nemesis feel even better on your sensitive flesh.

There is something stunningly dirty about their grabbing; their hands are just large and deft enough to make you feel like a toy in their hands. Soon you feel yourself exposed and despite all your aloof demeanour, your cheeks burn at this sudden turn of events. You suck harshly on their clit before pulling away and tossing a haughty gaze over your shoulder.

"Can you at least tell me your name before you tear my fucking clothes off of me?"

"Venture. Can you tell me yours before you eat me?"

"No."

Well duh, they ripped your clothes. What, should you be grateful for that? When their mouth finds your cunt and their tongue rubs against your labia, you think you maybe should. Their hand tears further at your already shredded pants, one deft hand fondling your butt, one finger dangerously close to your asshole as their other fingers stretch over your sensitive flesh.

Your thoughts race, your heart pounds, everything clouded by the bliss of their mouth and hands on your most sensitive parts. How are you going to snatch the artefact with them holding your hips in a vice grip like that? How are you going to keep yourself from cumming over and over again if they keep this up? Because you're so dangerously close, and your mind is starting to slip-

In your distress, you lean down to take their clit into your mouth again, suckling gently. Even their taste drives you wild, tangy and sweaty and somehow clouding your senses. You're too aroused to not be messy; their slick is smeared all over your cheeks and chin, dripping from your nose. They're so damn wet, so hot, every greedy suck on their clit and every time you push your face further into their cunt making them shudder and groan and tense and buck their hips against you. You wish you could fingerfuck them too, but their pants are only halfway off, only giving you enough space to eat them out, and even then the buckle of their belt presses awkwardly against the bridge of your nose. Not that that's stopping you. Especially their sweet moans, needy for your touch, spur you on.

They lick your pussy with just as much zeal; bordering on hatred because they're merciless on your clit, making you squirm, their fingers digging so roughly into your skin that you're basically anchored to their face. Not a chance to move away. The only time you feel their grip waver is when you make them feel especially good, when you suck their clit or flick it with your tongue. As much as you hate the prospect of not being able to cum on their cute face - especially because they're eating you out so well too - but you know that victory won't lie in the hands of the one that cums first. You redouble your efforts on their cunt, rhythmically sucking and licking until their moans grow ragged and frantic. The moment they cum, you resolve to reach for the artefact and run for it - so until then, you wish to taste as much of them as you can. You want to taste them the next day, still.

Their grip on your thigh weakens, the movements of their tongue against your clit become irregular, the only thing stimulating you at this point being the vibrations of their moans against your sensitive flesh.

God would you love to drag this out. You already know you're going to be in a shit mood tonight because of how pent up you are. But Talon is going to put you through hell if you don't deliver.

You flick your tongue over their sensitive bundle of nerves, making them cry out and seize up beneath you, and in the moment that you feel their arousal soak your face, flow into your mouth in a tidal wave, you kiss their clit goodbye, snatching the artefact and jumping up. Your pants rip further; you're gonna have explaining to do to Talon when you return to the ship.

Your legs are weaker than you thought as you waddle some meters away, fumbling for your translocator. Glancing back, you see them sitting up, adorably dishevelled, pants in disarray around their thighs. Oh, how you regret leaving them like this.

Nonetheless you smile triumphantly, showing them the artefact clutched in your hand. "Sorry, pup. But you know what?" You open your mouth wide, sticking out your tongue in the lewdest way you can manage. "I swallowed!"

The ruby red blush on their angry face is the last thing you see before you use the translocator to get out of what used to be the - what did they say? Athenian refuge, site of the best fuck of your life, even though you didn't even get to finish. You miss them already.

By the time you have delivered the artefact to your superiors and fixed your ruined clothes, you find yourself yearning to be back in that digsite and getting fucked silly by your new nemesis. But who knows what the future holds? Who knows when you'll run into them again?

You sure hope you will, and soon.

[emilsgrippers]

Today, TDI Tumblr, I’ve come to rant about Alejandro and how YOU GUYS TREAT HIM.

This is Alejandro. (And his girlfriend Heather, say hi Heather)

Alejandro is 18, allowing him to just BARELY pass as a young adult. Despite him still being so young, he is often sexualized due to his looks and personality.

This is not cool.

Most of his fans who sexualize him in this way will alter his personality to further push the typical Spanish lover stereotype onto him (I’m aware this is what he’s based on), however, he’s more than that!

He’s very intelligent, and he’s good at mostly everything. He’s not just Spanish lover who takes his shirt off and dips you while holding a rose inbetween his teeth.

In Alejandro’s lore, he has two brothers, José and Carlos. Carlos is the oldest, José is the middle child, and Alejandro is the youngest.

Little is known about Carlos, but José is well known, and Alejandro rants about him on a few occasions. He explains how José pretty much bullied him his whole life, by punching him in the arm and calling him something he hates being called ‘Al’.

Since it went on for..his whole life, and even resumed when we see José in TD:AS, it’s easy to deduct that his parents do nothing to stop this.

Now, Alejandro was always kind of the lesser brother, if that makes sense. José was always better, always more, always just overshadowing him in a humiliating manner.

So, Alejandro was taught to use his looks to get what he wanted, since, with José around, it was really all he had going for him. (That’s another part of why he doesn’t eat any junk food).

Hence why he manipulated half off the TDWT cast and then revealed himself to have sinister intents to eliminate everyone else. Of course he only wanted to win, but, do you want to guess why he wanted to win so bad?

To prove he was better than José!! Wow!! Before his tie breaker with Cody, Alejandro , in the confessional, says something about José at home seeing him tie with someone like…Cody. Alejandro says José will already have his insults ready before face palming sadly.

that’s just a quick debrief ^_^

Now! Thats everything about him really. But here’s what the fandom reduced him too

“Daddy? Sorry Daddy?” “He could get it!!” “I could take him (not in a fight)”

I’ve seen all of these commented on Alejandro posts…yikezzz…

Now, does he look good? Yeah, he does! (But Blaineley is right there) But not to the “I need to sexualize him and drawn him in lewd poses, positions and outfits!” Kind of way. Remember, he’s just 18.

(“18= adult so!!—“ he’s just 18)

And mostly everyone else just gives him the “mi amor” treatment.

He calls her ‘mi amor’ ONCE. During the world tour finale, and that makes sense considering it’s between a heartfelt confession and a make out session. He never carries her bridal style while calling her mi amor. He does do countless loving things for her, like using the immunity idol to have her eliminated!

But carrying her in his arms and calling her mi amor never happened. It never happened with..ANYONE? He holds Heather bridal style for one challenge..where she was a bride.

He would NOT call you Mi amor, guys. Maybe carry you? But he’d call you by your name. Maybe a nickname? But not Mi amor. ‘If he did it once—‘ in between a heartfelt confession and a make out session does he ever just see her and go “hi mi amor… *wink..!” NO he doesn’t

Also!! He’s not a CREEP.

I see so many people say “he probably rewinded (whatever episode Heather accidentally lost her top in) so many times 🫣” no I don’t think he did..!

That’s a double whammy! Why sexualize one (practical) minor…when you could sexualize two?!!!

Plus it’s just gross..it’s disgusting what you’re implying by saying he rewinds it all the time.

In conclusion, I’m gatekeeping him and you need to bring me a legal document proving you’ll be aloud to use him in any bit of media from now on. Using his name is now prohibited unless what it says above comes into account. Thank you