#is that the parts of your brain responsible for handling that need to build up enough muscle to lift that kind of emotional weight

[mrtheinsatiable]

Starting to realize I've been unnecessarily resistant to a lot of ideas because I was just looking at them from an angle I didn't like

The idea of a "purpose driven life" is one of those things. The whole "I was Created for a Purpose" thing didn't vibe with me and also kind of pissed me off and that was pretty much the only context I had for the idea for a long time. And even the more secular version where I create my own purpose didn't work either because I've never felt like I had any particular calling or thing I Have to Do. It also feels dehumanizing to think of it that way, to a certain extent, to have a specific purpose or use like a tool or an object.

But actually a purpose driven life doesn't have to mean Having a Purpose it can just be "doing things on purpose." Life becomes a lot easier and also more fulfilling when you act with intent instead of just letting yourself loose in the day. It's hard to get your shit together when you're winging every second. A sense of purpose doesn't actually need to be deeper than that, I think, to positively influence your life

[chaptersleftunwritten]

Red Hot

Based on the song ‘Breaking the Girl’ by Red Hot Chilli Peppers. Also, requested by the sweetest nonnie!

Blurb: Eddie has never had a constant in his life. Everyone leaves or he does before he can get hurt. After working up enough courage to ask you on a date, he can’t help the itch to run from you when he sees you talking with another guy.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Light angst with a fluffy ending, miscommunication, reader referred to gal/girl, Eddie’s puppy eyes being teary. Jealousy. I think that’s all….

-

divider by @cafekitsune

It all started in August.

The longing stares, stolen touches, blushing cheeks, sweating palms. Eddie had fallen for you. Hard. And it was incomprehensible to him.

Sure, you guys had been partnered on a few class projects, muttering sweet ‘Hello’s’ to one another as you passed in the hallways. But nothing overly serious. Nothing that could lead to this flutter in his inked chest.

The feeling startled him— like falling asleep, only to dream that you’re falling from a building and then you jolt awake.

You frightened him. You with your shining smile that could light up the whole of New York City, or your bigger than life bubbly personality and your Einstein like brain. You frightened Eddie Munson— and he liked it. Loved it, even.

When he looked at you, he was sure. Surer than he has ever been about anything in his entire life. He wanted you— he needed you in his future. You made him feel… wanted. Normal? Less like than outcast and more like a friend.

And so he asked you out— but not without extreme difficulty. It took him three whole days to pluck up enough cowardly courage to slip a hand written note into your locker, signed from him with a cheesy love heart stamped next to your name on the back.

Eddie was consumed by immense panic after he had posted the note to you. He paced the halls and even contemplated breaking and entering into your locker just to steal the note back. It wasn’t regret, but more like guilt.

He wasn’t brave enough to ask you face to face. He knew he wouldn’t be able to form a coherent sentence in front of you, nevermind ask you out to a diner for milkshakes.

He also couldn’t handle your rejection. It would sour him… it would break his heart.

And so when he seen you bounding over to him and the other guys at lunch like a cheerful bunny rabbit he nearly sunk and hid beneath the table. Terrified of what you might say— of what you might think of him…

Would you take him as he was?

His insides were twisting and turning, his feelings for you burning…

“Hey, Eddie…” you stop a few paces away from his perched frame, your cheeks flushed and your fingers fumbling with your pocket, “Could I please borrow you for a moment?” Your voice is sweet enough to make Eddie’s own cheeks pink and your eyes examine the table, almost as if you are asking for the men’s permission to pinch their friend.

They spare you some friendly and amused smiles, but that is all. They know better than to meddle with the things Eddie cares about.

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” He clears his throat in the form of a light cough, his palms slapping against the top of the table as he lunges from his seat and onto his feet to meet you. His movements are so fast that it takes you a moment to register that he is standing inches in front of you.

“Lead the way.” He purrs softly and that’s it for you. Your brain is none responsive. Eddie was great at the art of pretending. He was a pretender— which meant that he was the master at faking his confidence. As he watched your jaw fall slack at his toothy dimpled grin it only spurred him on further. He was adoring the effect he was having on you.

Leading Eddie into the quiet of the corridor you stop against a wall, smiling angelically up at the metal head, “I got your note.” Part of you was hesitant to even approach Eddie, in doubt that you had been brutally pranked by someone but the softness in his eyes and the relaxation of his tense shoulders put your mind at ease.

“What note?” Eddie perks a brow, a massive stretched smile on his lips and you swat at him playfully, pulling the loose piece of crumpled paper from your pocket and waving it in front of his nose, “Okay, okay.” He throws his hands up in surrender before tucking them beneath his armpits; trying to contain his nerves.

“If by chance, I did slip that into your locker… what might you reply to it? Y’know— if it were from me.”

There’s a moment of pause and you purse your lips in false thought, holding the note flat against your chest, “I think I would say yes— but only if it were you.” You sigh, frowning mockingly, “But I guess we shall never know, huh?”

You sway away from the wall, overly slumping your shoulders as you take agonisingly slow steps back toward the cafeteria.

Eddie can’t contain his thrill. You just agreed to go on a date with him. You! You agreed!

He punches the air whilst your back is turned to him before he is prancing behind you like a ballet dancer, “It was me! Did I mention that? Swear I did.” He grabs the note from you and you giggle as he examines his own handwriting, “Yep! See, right here. That’s my name.” His index finger taps on the inked page and you hum in recognition and amusement. Peeking up at him through the thickness of your eyelashes you offer him a sly smile and he is quick to return one to you.

“Okay, well… how about Friday then? You, me and some delicious milkshakes?” You chirp like a song bird, clasping your hands behind your back and rocking on your heels.

Eddie’s heart thunders in his chest and his cheeks ache from the unremovable smile on his face.

“Sounds like a date, Princess.”

-

Eddie couldn’t keep his Bambi eyes closed at night, all he could think about was you. You and the minutes counting down to your date together. He had to fight the urge every single second of every day to smother you with attention in the corridors at school. He wanted to allow you space but fuck— was it challenging.

He would leave rouge flowers and their stems poking out from the vents in your locker— never specifying if it were him or not. But you knew. You knew it was Eddie leaving you little trinkets. Like a trail of rose petals leading right to him.

In between classes he would stare at you from a distance, right through the crowd and you would feel his blazing gaze on the back of your head which, without fail, caused your flesh to flush brightly with colour.

He couldn’t help it. You were stunning and the literal gal of his wildest dreams. His pretty little flower. He just wanted you to be his so badly that he was terrified of suffocating you with his presence.

He hadn’t spoke to you from that day in the hallway; he thought it safer that way. Wait until the date, and then let you decide how you feel about him.

The thought made him antsy and unable to keep still. If he had one wish right now, it would be to read your mind. Just so he knew— so he really knew. So he could please you and make you happy. No matter the cost. No matter the effort. He would do it.

He already felt so strongly about you; and that’s why it bruised his heart so brutally to see you giggling and talking with another bloke. Eddie had never experienced jealousy on this level before, but it felt Hellish. It felt intentional and spiteful and he couldn’t control the envious tears pricking at his waterline as he longed for you from afar.

He wouldn’t let you hurt him. He wouldn’t let you get close enough… not anymore. No matter how badly he wanted a life with you. He decided not to take the risk.

And little by little, the trinkets stopped and you only received one final note that Friday morning.

A cancellation letter.

‘Can’t make it tonight, see you around.’ - Eddie

The excitement you had for the night ahead fizzled out and died— sending your stomach sinking like a plane shot from the sky.

What hurt you most was that there wasn’t even an apology. You could understand being too bashful to ask you out face to face— but to cancel on you through a lousy note? You couldn’t understand that.

You thought you meant more than that to Eddie, you thought that he thought more highly of you. Felt more for you. But you must’ve been mistaken since you had to walk through his blizzard of a mood change.

He wouldn’t look at you anymore. His once warm gaze turned icy and much less frequent than before. You couldn’t think of what you had done to deserve this from him. His cold shoulder and snippy responses.

It was hurting you more than you could have imagined. You liked Eddie— you really liked Eddie, and to have him be so brutish toward you was dizzying. Upsetting. Penetrative; like a knife to your heart. Twisting and turning relentlessly. Unwaveringly. Suffocatingly.

But you weren’t one to back down from confrontation; you were going to get the truth out of him if it were the last thing you do.

-

It’s Monday afternoon and after working yourself up all goddamn morning you decide enough is enough. You can’t take it anymore. You have to know why.

“Hey, Munson!” Eddie’s brain hasn’t time to compute what is happening before you are stomping over to him, your arms flexed by your sides as your fists are balled tightly by your waist.

“What do you want?” His deep voice is rumbly and clipped as it leaves his throat and you scoff at his nonchalant tone.

“I want you to explain this.” The crumpled piece of paper is held slotted between your middle and index finger as you wave it like a white flag in front of his face, “I never pegged you as a coward, Eddie— really, I just don’t understand.”

Eddie’s ‘give no fucks’ attitude falters at your distress and he has to shove his hands into his pockets to keep his composure. He knows he can’t sweep you up into his arms and coddle you the way he wants— so he settles for this. Being a total dickwad toward the one girl that actually makes him feel something.

“What’s not to understand? I saw you with another guy and I took the fucking hint. Plain and simple. You don’t owe me an explanation and I don’t see why I owe you one, Princess.” He shrugs his shoulders in discomfort but to you it seems like utter ignorance.

His nickname for you tastes like battery acid on your tongue. A pill that’s hard to swallow. You don’t like this facade he’s putting up— not one bit.

“What are talking about? What guy?” Genuine confusion wraps itself snuggly around your psyche and it’s now Eddie’s turn to scoff in annoyance.

“Oh, please! Don’t act dumb, Sweetheart. I saw you and Eric together with my own two eyes. Giggling all cutely— showing him extreme interest. It was clear as day that you were into him.”

“Into him?” You echo, “I was simply being polite, Eddie. That’s the type of person that I am! Maybe you should try it sometime instead acting like an asshole!” The words spit from your lips like bullets and Eddie begins spiralling.

Had he got it all wrong? He knew you were a polite and gentle girl. It’s one of the many reasons as to why he liked you. He couldn’t help his mind from going to a dark place after seeing you together with Eric. It came to him as though it were second nature.

He had to run before he got gunned down.

“Wait-“ Eddie calls after you, his voice strangled as he leaves his post to jog behind you, his belt chain jingling with his movements, “Please!” His hand clasps your shoulder softly and you spin around to face him. Your face is flushed with anger and Eddie is taken aback from the look in your eyes.

He had seen it so many time before from his peers.

Distaste. Annoyance. Fear. Fury.

All so familiar to him; but they look so foreign in your kind eyes.

“What?” Meeting him with the same blunt force he displayed earlier has his heart clenching; bracing for impact.

“I… I misunderstood.”

“You think?”

“I just… I’m not good at this.” He gestures between the pair of you. A shaky breath leaves Eddie’s lungs and you soften at the sight of him becoming dishevelled in front of you, “I don’t know how to love. And… and I guess when I saw you with Eric it was my own insecurity eating me alive. I wasn’t mad at you, I was mad at myself.”

The metal head leans against a near by wall for leverage and you move in closer to him, magnetised.

“I saw the life you could have. The life you deserve… and it wasn’t with me.” His bottom lip quivers and you can see the struggle roaring in his eyes as he tries to contain his tears, “I’m afraid. I’m afraid of getting hurt and being the one that hurts you.”

The answer was clear as day to you. You knew how to love unconditionally. You could be the one to teach him. To guide him. Eddie needed reassurance; that’s all he needed and you could offer him that. You could work at this with him.

“You don’t get to decide who gets hurt in this world,” With shaking hands you reach out to touch Eddie’s face, your thumb stroking his cheek to catch a stray tear, “I can show you how to love. And how to be loved.”

You’re smiling like an idiot, your heart pumping hopefulness throughout your entire being.

“Yeah?” Eddie sniffles gently and you nod your head vigorously.

“Yeah.”

Slender ringed fingers curl around your wrist and Eddie holds on tightly to the warmth of your skin against his.

“You feelin’ reckless, Sweet girl?” The teary eyed man is smirking now and you fear for the future of your heart; it might just combust into flames at the sight of him.

“Well, that depends what you mean…” you perk a brow, intrigued and Eddie laughs.

“Let’s ditch next period and grab those milkshakes I promised you.”

And without any further hesitation, you allow Eddie to take your hand into his and lead you out of school grounds and toward the rest of your lives together.

-

taglist: @colorful-white-ideas @littlered0000 @ali-r3n @daisy-munson @serenadingtigers @rainybloo28 @munson-enthusiast @godcreatoreli @littlefreckles4 @what-the-jams @tlclick73 @ameliapond1995 @thepurplelovewitch @somethingvicked @costellation-hunter @munsonzgf @emxxblog @ingridvasquez @sadbitchfangirl @im-julessssss @munsonburn3r @unclecrunkle @cierra222 @ziggeddie @yarafae @sidthedollface2 @kellsck

[astralis-ortus]

against the world

✱ boyfriend!bc × fem!reader

— for as long as i love you.

w.count → 2k genre → angst, fluff, a dash of comedy warnings → reader mocked by a character, self deprecating thought a.n → based on this request! took me a while to figure how to write because brain did not want to work together with the pictures i had in mind but we're here! it's a fun one to work on (despite the angst)(i actually love the angst) and i hope it's up to your expectation!<3 ⋆ see masterlist

the bus ride felt like forever.

honestly, you weren’t even sure why you ended up arguing with chan in the first place. hell, you couldn’t even remember what even really irked you about his response. all you remembered was about feeling upset and ended up lashing out at chan to the point where he decided to head back to his studio despite just coming back the hour prior, just so he doesn’t say anything he might regret.

when he still hadn’t returned hours later, however, guilt started to dig its sharp nails into your sore heart.

you knew you had to let him cool his head—you understand that, but you can’t sit still knowing he’d likely lock himself in and drown himself in work. you can’t, especially when you knew for a fact he hadn’t got anything to eat since you two were planning to go on a date had the argument never happened. he hasn’t been on top of his condition as is, and you won’t be able to forgive yourself if this whole absolute ridicule of a situation you caused made him fall sick.

hence, after your nth call went straight to his voicemail, you know there’s only one thing left you could do—go to his studio and apologize.

“thank you,” you offered a smile at the familiar security guard, bowing your head enough as you entered through the trainee and artist entrance of the building. usually, either you or chan would offer him a snack or coffee whenever you got there together, but with all the chaos happening inside your head, all you could remember to grab was the light meal you had hurriedly prepared for chan as an apology.

“bang chan is still in his studio,” the security guard quietly informed with a knowing smile, abruptly stopping you in your track with your eyes wide at him, “most of the staff, trainee, and artist have left for the day, but you could let me know if you need access to the rooftop. the weather is good enough for you to talk there.”

you blinked at his offer, a little stunned at the conclusion he took just by looking at you. is it that obvious…?

“it’s going to be okay; fights are bound to happen between couples,” he continued lightly with a tender smile, as if reading the thoughts passing your mind, “as long as you love and care about each other, there’s nothing you two can’t handle. don’t worry.”

choking up a breath, you hurriedly thanked the security guard and walked past the familiar hallways leading to your boyfriend’s studio. tears were pooling dangerously in your eyes, threatening its way out as you replayed the passing advice in your head. he’s right—as long as you love and care about each, there’s—

“hey! you! stop right there!”

the loud echoing voice snapped you out of your thoughts, again halting your steps before you reached your destination. despite your racing heartbeat at the sudden loudness, you try your best to seek for the other soul around—leading your eyes to land at a female figure at the end of the hallway.

“oh,” you immediately bowed your head as soon as you noticed the identity of the staff rushed towards you—one you recognize as a part of division 2, according to an exchange she had with chan a few months prior during one of your visits. “hello, i just—”

“who are you? how do you get in here?” the sharpness in her voice made you wince; startled and confused. you’re certain she’s aware of your presence before—distinctly remembering how chan awkwardly introduced you as to her own request, understandably wary of an unfamiliar face lurking around a private section of the company.

“right,” you shook your head, ridding your mind off of the uneasiness you picked up, “sorry, you probably don’t remember. i’m chan’s girlfriend. we met a couple months ago? i remember chan introdu—”

“girlfriend?” she scoffed, not even letting you finish your sentence. the way she shut you off left a sharp sting in your heart, but even that wouldn’t compare to the way her icy gaze pierced right through you—pricking and prodding every inch of your appearance, finalized with a condescending snicker.

“another crazy fan, huh?”

you felt your heart sink at the accusation. dating chan, you knew it would come with the bad alongside the good. you understood that, and you knew better than anyone to focus on the flowers and butterflies chan made your everyday look like while paying zero attention to the odd snarky remarks here and there. though it sure has been quite some time since the last time someone accused you of being delusional, but to be completely honest with yourself, it didn’t make it hurt any less.

fingers tighten around the strap of chan’s meal bag on your hand, you try hard not to let yourself crumble as you attempted to defend yourself, “no, i’m not—”

“besides,” cutting you short, she took a step closer and shoved her fingers on your shoulder, “you need to wake up. why would chan even date someone like you?”

you know you’re not perfect. you know that despite the amount of love you have for chan, there’s no promise of a perfect future between the two of you. you know that there’s a possibility of a life where you have to live without chan, and the blame will most likely be on you—because you’re not pretty enough. you’re not talented enough. you’re not someone of a similar background. you’re not even anywhere close to being on chan’s level, and it’s all because you’re you.

“seriously, get a grip,” she hissed, digging her fingers onto the bone of your shoulder while you desperately bit your lip, trying to contain the tears threatening to fall. “you’re just some lowly, delusional fan. don’t even—”

“don’t even what, noona?”

both you and the staff immediately snapped your eyes towards the figure behind her; heavy, firm steps towards you with his jaw tense and a silent rage burning in his eyes. she immediately scrambled away from you, hiding her hands—ones nearly pushing you to an endless canyon of despair.

you’ve never seen chan that angry.

“i-i just—”

“she’s my girlfriend,” chan emphasized through gritted teeth, taking your freezing hand in his trembling one, “and you do not talk to my woman like that.”

“i was just looking out for you!” she attempted to defend herself, fear present in her eyes as she attempted to look straight into chan’s eyes. “you know how crazy these sasaengs have been these days! i just—”

“stop!”

your body involuntarily jumped at the sudden raise in his voice, eyes wide as you looked at him in surprise. his face was red—but even from your point of view, you could see he was hurt.

“no one gave you the right to talk to my people like that,” chan towered against her as he makes himself clear, "especially towards my woman. you don’t—”

“channie,”

your voice was soft, but it was enough to quiet down the anger burning inside chan. yes—his priority is to keep you safe.

shifting his attention entirely towards you, chan felt his heart drop—your eyes were red, trails of tears apparent down your cheeks. your fingers were ice cold against his burning skin, and the way he felt your body tremble broke his heart.

“baby,” chan cracked a weak smile, trying to ease the tension on you as he ran his palms against your arm, “are you okay? need me to carry you?”

you quickly shook your head, sniffles escaping past your lips as your nerves slowly calmed down. you’re just so, so tired—and all you need is chan.

“let’s head to my studio, okay?” his voice was soft, arms wrapped around your frail figure as he leads you down the empty hallway, leaving the still stunned staff behind. he’ll deal with that tomorrow; because now, your well-being mattered most to him.

as soon as you got to chan’s studio, he immediately locked the familiar green room and covered you up with a blanket—ones he kept especially for you, keeping you warm as he quietly cuddled you on the small couch. your faint sniffles turned into sobs, and as the sense of safety finally settled in your bones, you finally let yourself cry into chan’s arms.

chan simply stayed silent; warmth of his arms surrounds you whilst he lets you pour your feelings out.

he heard almost everything the staff had said to you, and he’s mad at himself for not being able to protect you from those words. he should’ve been there with you, keeping you safe from the unnecessary hate just because you’re his girlfriend. he should’ve stayed with you instead of running away. he should’ve—

“i’m sorry for lashing out on you,” you clutched onto his hoodie, voice coming out weak as you try to regulate your breathing. “i didn’t know why i was so upset. i shouldn’t have done that to you. i’m sorry.”

“i’m sorry too, baby,” he pulled you closer into his arms, letting you nuzzle against the crook of his neck. “i shouldn’t have left you home alone, let alone for hours. i just—i could’ve handled it better. i’m sorry.”

a hum escaped your lips along with a soft shake of your head, showing your disapproval to his apology. “no, channie. i understand why you feel like you need to leave to clear your head. just… i’m worried because you didn’t answer my calls, and i know you hadn’t eaten anything today, so—”

“wait,” chan gently pulled away and looked at your flushed face, light trace of his fingers fixing the stray strands off your features, “you called? i didn’t hear my phone ring—or buzz, as a matter of fact. when did you call?”

“last was an hour ago, i think?” you leaned onto chan’s warm touch. “i don’t know. i was hurrying—ah,” eyes suddenly wide, you prodded your finger at the bag chan had set aside on his desk earlier, “i brought you some sandwich to eat. it’s not much, but you need to eat, channie.”

chan was stunned—he felt warm.

he’s used to being left alone to sort his feelings. he’s used to being treated as if his emotions were worth nothing, and he only mattered if he did something for others. chan is used to feeling invisible—but with you, he felt seen. not because of what he’s trying to prove, but because of the simple fact that he’s… him.

clearing his throat, chan immediately flashes a smile at you. “let’s eat first, yeah?” he hummed, voice noticeably lighter as he gently moved you off his lap and grabbed the little bag. “you should eat too. you spent a lot of energy crying.”

“but—”

“no buts,” he playfully glared at you, lips pursed in protest, “you came all the way here for me, it’s only fair i share my food with you.”

“after this,” finally unpacking the sandwich and handing you his other half, “we’ll order something else and some ice cream while i play you some of the songs i was working on. sounds good?”

the way your face lit up was enough of an answer for chan—your excited nods were merely a confirmation.

“alright, alright,” he chuckled, fighting off the urge to pull you back into his arms. instead, chan fished for the phone in his pocket and handed it to you. “your pick, baby.”

“yes! i’m—wait,” pressing on the power button, you blinked upon realizing how the screen remained unchanged despite your attempts. “did you forgot to charge your phone, channie?”

Chan grimaced. You could see how he’s slowly tracing his steps throughout the day—until a split second of realization flashed past his eyes. His lips turned into a little grin; one he always wears when he realizes he did something wrong.

“…did i?”

You’re out of words.

“channie!”

“hahah—i’m sorry!”

©️ astralisortus, 2024. | likes and reblogs are highly appreciated♡

[adore-laur]

hmmm maybe dadrry where he pretends to make her jealous but it doesn’t work bc they’re so secure in the relationship they just smirk and tease them, or that yn gets mama bear when she sees other moms hit on harry at school or daycare

——

In a couple of weeks, the preschool your eldest daughter attended was going on a field trip to a petting zoo in Montebello, California. Chaperone sign-up sheets were recently emailed to every parent, and you were debating with Harry about who should be the one to tag along. It wasn't a requirement to be a chaperone, but your worrisome maternal instincts sure made it one.

Harry was lying on the couch, his socked feet dangling over the armrest. You sat normally, your legs bent over his straightened knees, as you stared into space. The conversation kept hitting dead ends, but you were insistent on coming up with a solution as soon as possible. You had enough on your plate to deal with in the weeks ahead.

"Only one of us can chaperone the field trip," you repeated for probably the fourth time that night.

"I'm more than willing to take off work for it," Harry replied, his fingers casually laced over his chest. His eyes were closed since it was nearing ten p.m. and you hadn't been able to make up your mind about which parent should volunteer their time and energy toward the field trip. You had cornered Harry when he went to shut the living room lights off and forced him to sit down before he retreated to bed. It wasn't that you didn't trust him to be a chaperone—he'd definitely handle the controlled chaos that came with supervising a group of kids in an environment full of animals to gawk at. You just considered yourself a more watchful person, but really, it was an excuse to witness your daughter's interactions with her classmates and make sure she was adjusting well to being in school.

"I'm more than willing to as well. So..." You tapped your fingers against the couch cushion. "We need to make a decision right now. Signups are first come, first served."

Harry hummed in acknowledgment. "I can go."

You slowly nodded and said, "Okay. Well, so can I. You know, if you're not able to take off work."

He snorted a laugh and shifted his head, getting more comfortable. He was going to get a crick in his neck if this conversation didn't hurry along.

"What?" you asked, unsure why your reasonability was so amusing to him.

"You're funny."

You tilted your head back against the couch and sighed toward the ceiling. "Harry, I'm trying to get us ahead of the game. Otherwise, neither of us will be able to chaperone, and then our child will be in the care of a random parent."

Your trust in the preschool was substantial, yet a part of you was still cautious about the parents. You hadn't had the chance to build relationships with them since you started working part-time again. Your little girl was a wanderer, and if something caught her attention, she was off and admiring it without notice. Other parents didn't know that about her. What if they didn't pay close enough attention and accidentally let her get lost? The mere thought was why you were determined to claim an open spot as a chaperone.

"You're not making this particularly easy, honey," Harry said lightheartedly, tiredness rasping his voice. "I am actively telling you that I would love to be a chaperone instead of a chef for a day. Getting to pet adorable animals is also a plus."

"Maybe we can write both of our names down," you replied, deep in thought. Half of what Harry had said ricocheted off your brain.

"I don't think that's allowed." He yawned, stretching his arms. "Just put my name down. If work ends up being a problem, I'm sure they wouldn't mind you taking my place."

You contemplated his decision, then asked, "Did you read the chaperone responsibilities list?"

He frowned. "No, but there's time. The email was only sent this morning."

"You have to read it," you said firmly. He needed to be as prepared as possible. This was the first field trip of many, and rules have most likely changed since you were a kid.

In a lull of silence, Harry's hand caressed your ankle. "What are you so anxious about? Talk to me."

You wanted to say everything, but not even someone as wise as Harry could procure a remedy for that. "Nothing," you mumbled. "Just trying to have a solid plan in place."

"Are you worried the moms will be all over me? Pulling me aside and asking me"—Harry paused for dramatic effect—"burning questions?"

You looked over at him, taking in his sly little smirk. He was being like this on purpose. Not to make you jealous, since you were years past that phase—instead, it was a way to distract you from ruminating over minuscule matters.

"I’m not worried at all," you said confidently, flashing him a grin. "Because you know what to do if that happens, right?"

Harry wordlessly lifted his left hand, showing off his gold wedding band snugly fit on his long ring finger. Exactly, you thought to yourself.

"And what if they persist?" he asked, enjoyment clear on his face. You knew he loved this type of banter.

"You show them the picture of me that you keep in your wallet." You leaned toward him. "Then your last resort is calling me and putting whichever mom is flirting with you on the phone."

His teeth bit into his soft bottom lip. "Yes, ma'am."

You crooked your pointer finger, beckoning Harry closer. He sat up with a groan, his face now mere inches from yours. The hypothetical scenario caused misplaced jealousy to surge through your bloodstream, and you had to remind him of some things.

"You're my husband."

Harry traced the tip of his nose along your cheekbone and said, "Loud and proud, baby."

Your breaths became shallowed. "Father of our two children."

"And counting."

You pinched his waist, and he writhed with a heavenly laugh. "You're conventionally attractive, which piques a lot of people's interests. And while it used to bother me in the past, I know that your soul is tethered to mine."

His hands traveled an intimate path up your thighs. "It always has been," he said, his eyes sincere.

"So," you said with finality, your heart racing from his words, "I will let you chaperone the field trip. Because you always come back to me and our family, and I know work has been keeping you away from our girls."

"How do you turn the most mundane thing into a romantic declaration?"

"With you as my muse, it's pretty simple."

Harry moved closer and brushed his lips against yours. "If you keep melting my heart, I'm going to lay you down on this couch and make love to you until the sun rises."

"Risky," you whispered, smiling against his mouth. The kids were asleep down the hall. Any lovemaking would no doubt be interrupted by the baby monitor.

"Tell you what," he said, stealing a hot, deep kiss from you that left you briefly stunned. "This weekend, I'll have my parents take the girls for a day so you and I can love on each other without any distractions. I miss having you all to myself."

"I'm right here," you said, cupping his face. "And I'd appreciate it if you kissed me some more."

"I thought you needed to sign me up as a chaperone."

You kissed him three times in quick succession before saying, "Shut up and make out with me."

"Roger that," Harry murmured, towering over you until your back sank into the couch.

——

[girlgenius1111]

love you anyway

r returns from losing out on going to the olympics with england to barcelona. alexia reminds her that she is more than just her losses.

You stared out at the rising sun, oranges and yellows painting the sky. This loss felt different than the world cup. At least then, you'd known you'd done everything you could. At least you'd made it to the final. Now, you weren't even going to the competition. You felt the weight of the loss land squarely on your shoulders. You'd missed the goal by barely an inch, you'd had the chance to score after Lucy. If you'd made it, the team would have made it. Instead, you sat on a flight back to Barcelona all alone.

You were supposed to leave with Keira and Lucy later in the day, but you'd moved your flight. You told them you just wanted to get home faster and see Alexia, but that as only part of it. You found that you couldn't look Lucy in the eye. She'd told you probably 10 different times that it wasn't your fault, but you knew it was. You'd seen how she'd collapsed on the pitch. It was her last chance at an international tournament, and you'd blown it. Lucy, who helped make you the player that you were, who'd been there for you from the beginning.

All you wanted was to get home and see Alexia. She'd been texting you, trying to gauge how you were handling the loss. If your lackluster responses were any indication, you weren't handling it well. You hadn't told her you were catching an earlier flight. She was supposed to train, and you didn't want to distract her from getting back to 100%.

A part of you was also kind of nervous; logically, you knew Alexia wouldn't be disappointed in you for missing the goal. She held herself to impossibly high standards, was so incredibly hard on herself, but she'd made it clear early on that your performance on the pitch would never affect how she saw you. While your brain seemed to know this, your heart clenched uncomfortably whenever you thought of her watching the missed opportunity, the disappointment you imagined on her face.

So, after you landed, making your way quickly through the airport, you left her texts on read, knowing she'd see you soon anyway. You got your luggage as fast as possible, hopping in an uber. You directed it to your and Alexia's apartment; she would be at training, which meant you had plenty of time to shower and make yourself presentable. You're sure you looked like a disaster, eyes puffy from crying yourself to sleep last night. The drive was a blur, and you got lost in your thoughts again, startling slightly when the car pulled up in front of your building.

Your phone dinged again while you were in the elevator, and you pulled it out.

-How are you this morning, mi amor?

-What time does your flight get in? I'll come get you guys from the airport.

-Y/n?

The texts were spaced a couple hours apart, and you sighed, knowing you had to respond before Alexia freaked out. You didn't want her to rush home from training for you though, so you kept your answer vague.

-Sorry. I'm on an earlier flight, you'll have just finished training. I'll just uber and see you when I get home.

You put your phone away, stepping out of the elevator and walking to your door. Unlocking it, you stepped inside, dropping your bags to the ground heavily. You leaned back against the shut door, resting your head on it and closing your eyes, enjoying the feeling of being home immensely. Sighing, you pulled your bag into the bedroom, not even stopping to unzip it before hopping in the shower. You went quickly, desperate for a quick nap before Alexia got home.

Getting out, you heard your phone ding again, and you picked it up. You hadn't been expecting a response from Alexia yet, as she normally didn't check her phone much during training.

-Bebita, you know I have your location right? I checked to see if you were at the airport yet and you were already home. If you needed some time alone, you could have just said so.

Normally you would have remembered that key piece of information, but your brain was a mess. You responded right away, feeling bad that she thought you wanted space from her.

-No, Ale, I don't want time alone, I want you. I just didn't want you to rush home from training, you just got back. I'm good here, take your time.

Awaiting a response, you walked to the closet, not even bothering with your side. Instead, you pulled on a pair of Alexia's shorts, walking over to the chair in the corner of the room where she'd discarded the sweatshirt she'd worn to bed. Pulling it on, you inhaled deeply, the comforting smell of Alexia washing over you, a soft floral scent flooding your senses.

Figuring that if Alexia was going to respond anytime soon, she would have already, you climbed onto the bed, grabbing a throw blanket from the end and wrapping yourself up in it. You settled on Alexia's side, burrowing into her pillow and shutting your eyes. You drifted off rather quickly, completely missing a text from your girlfriend.

-Too late.

You didn't hear the front door open, the sound of Alexia dropping her bag right by the door and searching for you. You didn't even hear her enter the bedroom.

Alexia walked in quietly, having expected you to be asleep. She'd heard from Keira that you'd had a rough night, and she knew how exhausting traveling was for you. Her heart melted at the sight of you curled up in her clothes, head buried in her pillow. You were out cold, so she decided to shower before climbing in with you.

She'd checked your location in a panic after you hadn't responded, shocked to find that you were already almost home. She'd figured that you'd just wanted some space to process the loss; it's what she would have wanted. Your response to her told a different story though, and she was again reminded of how thoughtful you were. Fully lying about when your flight got in so she wouldn't miss training? She really couldn't have been mad if she wanted to be.

Alexia showered quickly, wanting nothing more than to be snuggled up next to you. The past week without you had been torture; international breaks were always hard, but since she'd returned to Barcelona after the first day, she'd been bored out of her mind without you here.

She pulled on clothes, before climbing onto the bed, careful not to jostle you. She rested her head by yours, facing you. She took in the sight of your puffy eyes, and knew you'd been crying. Not able to help herself, she brushed a piece of hair out of your face, keeping her touch soft. You stirred slightly, and she froze. You only mumbled incoherently though, before reaching out and grabbing her sweatshirt in you fist. You leaned into her, and she kept still, letting you wiggle closer until your face was pressed against her neck, both hands now gripping her top tightly.

Alexia wrapped her arms around you and you sighed contentedly, even in your sleep, pushing yourself impossibly closer to her. She felt your soft breaths hitting the skin of her neck rhythmically, inhaling the scent of your shampoo. She wasn't tired at all, wide awake really, but she was more than happy to lay here with you while you slept, right where she knew you wanted her. She held you close to her with one arm, picking up her phone in the other, where a text from Lucy waited for her.

-Hola Capi. Keep an eye on y/n. I think she's really beating herself up over this one.

-----

You woke up naturally an hour or so later, to the feeling of someone running their nails up and down your back. You immediately recognized the body under you as Alexia, and you blinked your eyes open, pulling back slightly from the crook of her neck. She met your gaze with a soft smile.

"Hola, mi amor." She murmured, her low voice the best sound you'd heard in days. You hummed in response, still sleepy. You rested your chin on her chest, looking up at her. She tangled her hand in your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp. Your eyes fluttered shut, thoroughly enjoying the close contact with the midfielder.

"How is my girl, hm?" She asked, not stopping her motions.

"Missed you," you replied, voice still thick with sleep.

" I missed you too, bonita," she paused. "I'm really sorry about the olympics, y/n." She kept her voice soft, but still felt you tense slightly against her.

"Me too," came your response, tone defeated. Alexia thought about the text from Lucy, studying you closely. Your eyes were closed, still laying against her, but your shoulders were tense, and you looked like you were incredibly weighed down.

"You played two incredibly games, though. I'm really proud of you." She said, speaking with conviction. You shook your head on instinct, opening your eyes to look at her. "Yes you did, amor. I watched." She said, raising an eyebrow at you.

"Then you saw me lose the game for us." You said, voice catching slightly.

"I saw you take an incredible shot on goal, and just barely miss. I wouldn't call that losing the game for the team."

"If I'd have made it, we would have gone through, Ale." Your voice was really wavering now.

"And if the Dutch player had missed, you would have gone ahead. Or if any of your teammates shots had gone in. You can't blame yourself for that." Alexia told you, watching carefully as tears began to well in your eyes.

"No, Ale, it's different. I fucked it up for everyone. I let the whole team down, I let Sarina down, I let Lucy down, I let you-" You broke off, clenching your jaw shut tightly in an attempt to stop yourself from crying. Alexia's hands came to cup your face, tilting your head to look at her.

"I don't want to hear you talk about yourself like that," Alexia began, face fixed with intensity. "That could have gone either way, it was just chance." You said nothing, blinking hard. "And you haven't let anyone down, baby. Not the team, not Sarina, not Lucy. None of them blame you for this. And you absolutely didn't let me down, mi niña. You made me so proud, like you always do."

Alexia watched as you continued to valiantly fight off your tears, your lip trembling hard. "It's alright to be disappointed, but I won't have you blaming yourself," she said, almost sternly. She watched you for another second. "You can cry, bonita. Come here."

At her words you let yourself go, allowing her to tug you up into her arms. She held you tightly as you cried against her, murmuring soothing words into your hair, interspersed with pressing kisses to your head. You cried for a while, getting her shirt extremely wet with tears. Her hold on you was unrelenting, though, and she didn't pull away until your sobs had slowed to occasional sniffles. Using the sleeve of her sweatshirt, she delicately wiped the stray tears off your face, before pressing a long kiss into your forehead. You gave her a weak smile, unsure how to put into words how much she meant to you.

"Well, I still get to go to Paris. Really live out my WAG dreams." You joked, and Alexia chuckled.

"Will I finally get to see you in a jersey with my name on the back?" She asked.

"You'll have to marry me if you want to see me with your last name on my jersey." You replied, smirking up at her. Her mouth twisted into a grin, and she shook her head at you teasingly.

"Well, I better get moving then if you're gonna be properly dressed for Paris." She wasn't joking. You knew this, but you didn't realize to what extent she really wasn't joking. If everything went according to plan, she'd have an engagement ring on your finger by June. You settled back against her, soaking up the time with your girl, as she did the same, her mind getting lost in engagement plans.

-----

[seventeenpins]

knock him down a peg

pairing: QZ!Joel x F!Reader x Tess

word count: 4.4k

summary: A follow up to Never Pegged You For A Quitter. After a raid gone wrong, Joel's been acting out. Cue an attitude adjustment. Inspired by this ask! 🩷

content/warnings: threesome, pussy eating, anal fingering, Tess is 'daddy', sub!Joel, fucking with a strap-on, reader is injured, Tess is protective af about reader, Joel nuts a frankly concerning amount, references to fisting, Tess slaps Joel

a/n: uhhhh i've been working on this for MONTHS but i think it's finally ready?? shoutout to my co-writer @ozarkthedog without whom this wouldn't exist -- thank you for letting me scream about all of my horny Tess thoughts, helping me organise my brain, giving me about a million good ideas, and encouraging me the whole way thru, and to @sp00kymulderr for giving me the fic title (did you know you did that?? you did. thank you!!)

The three of you had been planning for weeks; maps spread out across the kitchen table. Packs filled with ammo and food and product. It was an immaculate plan, every variable accounted for.

It still went tits up.

Just that morning, FEDRA had changed patrol routes altogether, so your route out wasn't clear anymore. It was no matter, you'd figured. You could head south, through the old high rises, and hook around.

That's when you discovered why FEDRA changed their routes.

Swarms of infected like you'd never seen them had flooded the buildings, hissing and flailing and scrambling towards you. Tess nearly got bit. And then once you made your drop and collected your payment, you had to go back through again.

Tess and Joel had taken the rear, and you'd gone ahead, ending up face-to-face with a slimy FEDRA lackey who took all of the cards you had on you, half your new product, and still put you in lockup for three days.

All in all, bad. 

Arguably better, though, than the noose.

Tess had been waiting for you when you got out and scanned over you as you limped your way out. Your shoulder had been dislocated, but she'd reset it as soon as you were let outside, cussing out the disinterested agents who were watching you, telling you to breathe deep and setting it on two when she made you count to three.

Now, you’re home, sat across from Tess, hissing as she dabbed iodine on the oozing cut beneath your eye. There was a gash on your abdomen that was just shallow enough to avoid the need for stitches. Small miracles. You watched her scan over you, head-to-toe, as if you were hiding some extra life-threatening wound that neither of you knew about yet. Her concern was firm and fierce; never sweet words, but warm hands and a careful touch.

Joel, however, wasn't handling things well. He was pacing back and forth, dangerously quiet. He wore a mean scowl, and his eyes were nearly black with fury. You could see all of his tells; the clench of his jaw, the flash of his eyes, the way his fingers twitched nervously and he refused to make eye contact with you.

The more he paced, the more Tess tensed till suddenly she snapped.

"Sit the fuck down, Joel. You're not helping, pacing like that," she scolded. He practically growled in response.

"It was fuckin' reckless," he spat, "Shouldn't've let her go ahead."

"Her?" you scoff, "We all decided I should go ahead. Someone's gotta do it, and I'm as much a part of this as you are."

He glowered.

"You think you're some kinda savior?” Your shoulder smarts, and the more Joel talks, the more you want to smack him. “Gotta protect me, is that it?"

“You’re more important here,” he argues, punctuating his point by jabbing his finger towards you, “Plottin’ out the routes, trackin’ product, inventory-”

“Joel-” Tess interrupts, “You know as well as I do that she’s been doing this just as long as we have. You wanna know why you weren’t the one going ahead?”

The guard dog reels, as if he didn’t know his place and his role were calculated. As if it weren’t something Tess would ensure.

“You’re talkin’ bout reckless? You’re the one getting reckless, Joel,” Tess hisses.

“It shouldn’ta gone like that-”

“Shit’s gonna go bad, sometimes. But we’re all here. We’re all okay.”

Joel huffs a sigh. “We nearly weren’t.”

Tess ignores him. “And you think being a martyr, putting yourself in danger ahead of us is gonna help us in the long run?”

“If I’d been up front-”

“If you’d been up front, right now we’d be cleaning your oozing face. Maybe you’d have some broken ribs, too.”

“But-”

“Nah. Shut the fuck up, Miller.”

Joel scoffs, nostrils flaring. Shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

The eye roll–that’s the final nail in the coffin.

Tess glowers. “You’d better fix your fuckin’ attitude, Joel, or I’ll fix it for you.”

He grinds his jaw, glaring at you both in turn.

But then Tess sees it; the way he’s starting to get hard in his jeans. You see it too, and you start to notice other things; the flush of his cheeks, his pupils dilated, blown black.

“Oh-,” Tess smirks and turns to you, “Look at that, baby. Looks like he wants a little attitude adjustment.”

You expect him to fire back, make some quip, talk some shit. Instead, he looks ahead. He avoids making eye contact with either of you. A deer in headlights.

“C’mon, Joel.” Tess soothes, stepping forward to rub small circles on his hips, holding and settling him with a surprisingly gentle touch. "Instead of letting you be a stubborn jackass, maybe we oughta fuck some good sense into you.”

Joel doesn’t groan, he just lets out a breath. You do groan.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how to be good for us,” she taunts.

You’ve been on the receiving end of Tess’s mean streak before and it’s embarrassing how immediately it excites you. Whenever you think about it, your stomach flips and you have to actively restrain yourself from rubbing your thighs together. Her voice was then as it is now–gleeful and mocking. She made sure you learned your lesson- you fucked up, so now I gotta teach you how to act right. 

The last time you’d seen her like that, the night had ended with your ass on fire, covered in raised handprints. Painful indents of bite marks bruised beautifully up along the insides of your thighs, and you’d come so many times you nearly passed out. These days when you touch yourself, you’re thinking of that; how Tess must’ve been wrist deep, fucking her whole fist into you as she opened her mouth, tongue ready and waiting, grinning when your release splashes her face and drips down her chin, telling you, “Now that’s better, baby.”

Now, fully back in the moment, you’re looking at her and you can see the fire in her eyes. Tess grabs you by the collar, kissing you hard. It’s a dizzying few moments as she licks into your mouth, tongue hot and sweet. You love how she tastes.

When she pulls away, you’re breathless and she’s smirking. 

“Take a seat, honey,” she tells you, and pushes you back. You stumble and land in the armchair behind you. Then she turns to Joel. “You,” she fixes him with a stern glare, “No touching. Behave.”

She exits the room. You and Joel are left in silence. 

You don’t know exactly what Tess has in mind, but you’ve got a pretty good idea.

Joel watches you, wordless. You can feel the energy, the urgency vibrating out from him, but he says nothing. Barely moves. Tess has him trained well.

You unbutton your jeans and lower your zipper. Shimmy them down your hips, past the swell of your ass, and kick them off. 

There’s a sharp intake of breath, and you know Joel’s just noticed you’re not wearing any underwear. You recline back, letting your legs spread. Letting him see every part of you.

The wound on your abdomen is hot, a burning pulse. Your shoulder aches. Your jaw stings. You’re pretty sure your face is a swollen, puffy mess, especially where the gash beneath your eye still weeps, and there are bruises in the shape of handprints all down your arms. 

You need to feel good. Not broken or disregarded, and certainly not made to feel inadequate. You’d gotten your ass handed to you. Now, you need to indulge in some of your more hedonistic pleasures. And, you want to torture Joel, just a little.

Hoping Joel’s watching, but refusing to look up to see, you start to trace along your body. Your fingertips brush your lips first, trailing down your chin, your throat, your collarbone. It’s grounding. Assessing. You need to know what will make you feel good and what will cause you pain.

Slowly, you follow down your shirt, taking a moment to pinch your nipples, tracing a path along your belly, and then to the thatch of curls between your thighs.

You hear a restrained breath, and now you know Joel’s watching. You cup your mound, feel your own heat in your hand. You don’t want to go too far, don’t want to really start before Tess is back, but there’s no harm in warming yourself up.

A few minutes later, as you’re stroking your cunt, feeling yourself start to drip, she walks back in. 

What a fucking sight to behold. Her own shirt is unbuttoned, harness secured at her waist and thighs, the firm silicone cock hanging heavy between her legs. She’s beautiful, breasts unconstrained by any bra, nipples hard, and legs so toned. She looks at you, your naked self, and her scowl softens.

She turns to Joel. “Now, that’s a good girl, huh? Look at that.”

Joel says nothing, just grunts a vague noise of affirmation. 

Tess raises a brow. “Really, Joel?” she admonishes, “You had plenty to say earlier.”

He’s grinding his jaw, has been grinding his jaw for a while. You start to gingerly pull the shirt you’re wearing off and over your head, and Tess leans down to help, taking care to avoid your fucked up shoulder, all your cuts and bruises.

“This is what’s gonna happen,” she tells Joel, “I’m gonna fuck our girl, and you’re gonna watch. If you’re good, then we’ll fuck you, too. Got it?”

Joel grumbles an affirmation, but Tess is sick of his avoidance. She rounds on him, closing the space between them in only a few steps, and slaps him hard on the cheek.

“-The fuck, Tess.” Joel growls, and he’s mad now, “Goddammi-”

She smacks him again. “This isn’t a negotiation, Joel. You can leave if you want,” her eyes glance down to where his cock strains painfully against the fly of his jeans, “But I’m guessing you want to stay here and play with us.”

Finally, Joel looks at her. Directly at her. It’s like staring at the sun.

“Yes,” he admits, “I want to be here.”

“Good boy.”

Now, her attention turns on you. “How’re you feeling, baby?” she asks.

“Better every minute,” you grin up at her, fingers lazily swirling around your clit as you let yourself feel.

“Let me see,” she commands, and you let her spread your legs, opening your thighs wide as she examines your glistening cunt. She nearly gasps when she takes a look. “Oh, baby,” she praises, “Look at you-”, and it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

It feels so vulnerable, having Tess on her knees in front of you, looking at you bare. She breathes in deeply, groaning as her nostrils fill with the smell of you. The vulgar eroticism sends another surge of arousal through you and you’re almost embarrassed at how much it makes you drip.

Gently, she presses an exploratory middle finger against your opening and hisses out a breath when she slips in easily.

She turns her wrist, twisting the digit, letting you feel the width of her fist pressing against your mound. The pressure against you is delicious. It obsessed you, every time you considered it; the way she can make every time feel like the first time. You could never get bored. She’s a force.

You want to taunt her or tease her, rile her up just a little more. You love her rough side. But you know she wouldn’t go for it, the state you’re in, and besides–you’re tired, and the way she’s fingerfucking you feels so goddamn good you can’t even think of a single thing to say. 

She goes from stroking your folds and covering you with your own slick, to slipping her ring finger in with her middle. It’s an easy glide, too, and she starts pumping the digits, thumb hard against your clit as she works you open.

“God damn,” she groans, “All beat up and you’re still fuckin’ gushing for me, pretty girl.”

The pressure is overwhelming but you want to endure, need to endure. That doesn’t, however, stop your body from writhing and shaking, and the combination of her words and her ministrations, you know Tess feels how hard you’re clenching around her, feeling yourself get too close, too fast. She winks at you before turning back to Joel.

“C’mon over here,” she beckons him. He obeys, kneeling down beside her. She leans over and narrates. “Look at how she’s taking my fingers. Barely any resistance. Slipped right in, see how wet she is for me?”

Joel hums in acknowledgement, something between a sigh and a growl.

“Good thing she’s this wet already,” she tells Joel, nodding at the strap between her legs, “Otherwise you might have to suck it first-” 

His growl turns into something like a whine, desperate and beautiful. You know more than most how much effort he’s putting into not allowing himself to speak. How he must really be desperate to get fucked if he’s restraining himself like this.

“And we know that’s not a punishment for you, don’t we?” She swats him on the cheek, “We all know how much Joel Miller loves suckin’ cock, huh?”

She’s not wrong. His eyes somehow grow darker, and you’re so focused at watching his reactions that you barely even register Tess spreading your legs even further apart till the head of her cock presses against your drooling cunt, and she slides the entire length in, bottoming out in a single smooth thrust.

“JESUS, Tess,” you cry out. 

She just grins and holds you by the waist. “Hold on tight baby,” she tells you, “I know you can take all this and then some.”

After a few restrained thrusts, she finds her rhythm and starts fucking you. The initial sensation of being filled starts to wane, and you swear your pussy is a starving entity of its own. It wants and it wants and it wants.

The ache is so good, and she’s deep, too. It’s a perfect balance of pleasure and pressure. With each cant of her hips, you sink further into a blinding euphoria. It’s exactly what you need. 

“Taking me so fucking good,” she praises, “Like you were made to take me. Goddamn, baby, you’re dripping like a faucet.”

“Needed this so bad-” you mumble, “Fuck, Tess, I need you-”

“You got me, baby,” she promises, “You got me, I’ll give you anything you need.”

Every word is punctuated by another thrust. 

“Tell me what you need, honey.”

“Faster,” you gasp, “Please, Tess, need it faster-”

With a growl, she shifts you, pulls out for a moment and grabs you by the legs. She drags you further down the chair but rests the back of your calves on her shoulder before plunging the strap back in, deeper and rougher than before.

You wince a little, the tender part of your belly stinging, and she notices immediately. Rearranges you, just a little. 

When she slides back in, the pain is gone. Only pleasure remains.

“See?” Tess snarls, “She knows how to be good, huh?” 

Still holding your legs with one arm, she wraps the other around you and lands a hard smack on your ass, grinning when she feels you gush around her again.

You buck and writhe, and you know you have the stupidest grin plastered across your face.

She makes you dizzy.

“That’s it, baby,” she tells you. “So good, telling me what you need,”

“Fuck–” you rasp, “I’m gonna cum, Tess, please-”

She keeps to the rhythm, letting her fast strokes and the snap of her hips undo you. You’re close, so fucking close, but you can see the way she’s trembling, so focused on you, you don’t think she realises she’s close to the edge too.

Now, the only thing you want is for you both to cum together.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Tess, daddy, cum in me, please–”

A strangled moan leaves her, breathless, and she fucks into you and feels the way you tighten and pulse around the cock, feels the way you drip greedily down her thighs, and that’s enough; Tess comes with you.

As you come back out of the fog, your head is giddy with bliss. You’re tangled up, sweaty, sticky skin pressed together. You hold her close as she runs her hands up and down your back, soothing you. Your breasts are pressed together like a jigsaw puzzle, and the thought is silly, but it’s true.

The strength of your orgasm has knocked you numb, and it takes several moments for your vision and hearing to come back fully. Tess seems to be in the same boat, because it’s at the same time that you both hear it.

Slick squelches. Soft moans.

You both look over at the same time. Tess’s jaw drops. You feel another surge of arousal run through you as you focus on Joel.

“I’m- I’m sorry, honey,” he tells you, “Shouldn’t’a acted like that.”

You barely register his words. Instead, you watch how he’s stripped down near completely, barring his socks. That should make you laugh, but his legs are lewdly spread. With one hand he’s gripping his balls, clearly trying not to touch his drooling cock. With the other, he’s three fingers deep in his asshole, moving desperately. There’s a bottle of lube nearby and you can see its contents dripping down his wrist as he pumps his fingers hard and fast into his aching hole.

Tess looks stuck between telling him off for touching himself, and wholly impressed by his dedication to preparation.

“Well I’ll be damned,” she laughs, incredulous, “Someone’s eager.”

She’s still inside you, and you can feel another rush of your cum drip down the strap. An idea strikes you.

“Fuck him with it,” you tell her, looking down at the thick silicone as she glides out of you, “Fuck him with it, while it’s still dripping with me.”

Tess moves a hand to her breast, pinching and flicking at her own nipple, practically growling at your words. She stares at you for a moment. Then back to Joel.

He’s lost for words, too, it seems. He looks absolutely wrecked. His fingers are still buried deep, but they’re not moving anymore. Focus on the motion is forgotten, he’s just fixed on you both, eyes darting between you, waiting for a decision, any decision, to be made.

“Honey,” she smirks at you, “Why don’t you move over to the head of the bed there, that’s a good girl.”

You get up and scoot back, snorting a laugh as she swats at your ass while you rearrange yourself so your back is against the headboard.

“Spread those legs,” she orders. “Mmm yes, that’s it. My good fucking girl-”

She turns to Joel. “What a nice view, huh?”

Your lips are puffy and used, shining with slick. The room smells like sex, heavy and intoxicating.

“I think you’d better clean up the mess I made of her,” she gestures towards you and Joel doesn’t hesitate. “Hands and knees, Miller.”

He moves from his seat, crawling up the bed, wrapping his hands around your thighs and spreading them further.

The first stroke of his tongue feels like coming home. The hot, wet pass of it is intoxicating, and you’re already so sensitive you don’t need any focus on your clit to feel the build clutch at you again already.

“Good boy,” Tess praises him. He growls into you, the strokes of his tongue growing wider and faster, drinking up every drop of you.

He pulls away for only a moment. “Fuck me, Tess, please-”

“You focus on her and you’ll get what you need,” she promises, “But you’d better move fast, Texas.”

He sighs, but glances up at you. He nods, more weight to it than you’d expect, before he runs another lick up your cunt.

You shudder at the sensation, your legs turning to mush again. His calloused hands scrape against your thighs as he holds them apart, nuzzles at your pussy, dives back in, alternating between licking and sucking. 

There are many things that can be said about the man worshiping between your legs, but no one could ever say he eats pussy with anything less than religious devotion.

He nibbles gently in a way that devastates, knocks you back and wears you down. Once you’ve hit one peak it doesn’t take you long to hit the next, and he has you on the edge so damn fast you’d feel embarrassed if you didn’t also feel so fucking good.

“Fuck,-” you breathe, “Fuck, Joel-! Can’t fucking stop coming- Fuuuckkk–!”

He blinks, dark brown eyes gazing up at you as he continues, relentless, barely impeded by the way your body is convulsing from the overwhelm of sensation.  

You shudder on his mouth, legs shaking, involuntary whimpers turning into something more like panting whines and moans. You’re pretty sure the entire building can hear you. You really don’t care.

Tess has been watching the whole time, smirking but silent. Now she lines up her still-wet cock against his slick hole.

“Y’ready, Miller?” She asks, and you feel yourself melt at the tenderness of it. You fall in love just a little bit more, every time you see her soft.

He grunts an affirmation. His mouth is still on you but his movements slow and he buries his nose between your folds, nudging at you gently as Tess presses the head of her cock to his slick hole. The most beautiful whine slips out his mouth, reverberating against your cunt. You can feel the way his entire body moves, pressing up into you, as she lets herself loose, thrusting shallowly at first before snapping her hips in longer, deeper strokes.

With one particularly brutal thrust, he knocks forward. The curve of his nose hits against your clit and you come again with a shriek, soaking his face as he takes everything she gives him.

You’re worn out, spent and satisfied. You clutch him by the hair and yank him off of you, and now his moans aren’t muffled anymore. 

He keeps his head between your thighs, breathing in your scent as the cum on his face cools and starts to dry. He’s loud, whining and grunting, taking Tess’s cock like it’s his only purpose.

“Fuck, Tessa-” he sobs, the heat of his breath on your used-up cunt. “Feels- so fucking- good.”

“Feels real fuckin good, don’t it?” she echoes, rhythm never ceasing, “Lettin’ your daddy fuck you like this.”

“Uh huh.”

“You wanna be good for me, say thank you?”

“I-” His words come out stilted, punctuated by each thrust. “Yes-”

“Say thank you, Daddy.”

“Thank- Thank- you- daddy-” he chokes.

“Thank you for what?” you prompt, and Tess grins. Joel looks up at you with a flash of something that could be fury or hunger.

“Thank you-” he hisses, “Thank you- daddy- for teaching me a lesson-”

“Good boy,” she soothes, “Say ‘thank you daddy, for teaching me how silly and childish I’ve been.’”

“Thank you daddy,” he echoes, “For teaching me how silly I’ve been. How childish. Ain’t been actin’ right. Not to you honey-” he presses a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh. Closes his eyes when he speaks to her. “Not to you either, daddy.”

“You feelin good, baby?” she asks him.

He breathes out a shudder. “Feels so fucking good, but–”

“But?”

“Need more. Need to be touched.”

“Poor baby,” Tess pouts, “I’m afraid we can’t do that.”

He whines, but nods.

“But since you’re taking this lil attitude adjustment so well, I suppose we can let you cum. That sound alright to you honey?”

“Sure,” you beam, “He can rub himself up against the mattress if he likes. Cum just like that.”

“Mmm yeah,” Tess agrees, “You able to cum from rutting up against the bed?”

“Yes- yes anything, please-”

“Love it when he begs,” you sigh and Tess hums in affirmation.

She presses him down, keeps her cock in him as she knocks him so he’s flat on the bed, legs splayed, swollen dick rubbing against the covers as she holds him by the hips.

This whole time, she’s kept a steady pace. Not quite brutal, but certainly not leisurely. You see the way his own hips rock as he humps the bed, trying to find an angle that’ll give him the release he needs.

“I’m- fuck, I’m getting close Tessa– Gonna fuckin cum–”

“Good,” she smacks him hard and watches the flesh of his ass shake deliciously from the blow.

The masochist he is, it’s all he needs to tumble over the edge.

He comes with a shout, cum painting the bedsheets and pooling on the fabric, coating his stomach, his cock, his balls. Tess is still inside him, still hitting his prostate with every stroke, and it strengthens his orgasm to a point of almost overwhelming intensity. After a few moments, you’re not sure if he’ll ever stop coming, the amount of it verges on concerning as the pool of cum threatens to trickle over the edge of the bed.

Finally, his orgasm comes to an end, and Tess’s thrusts slow. 

They both reel back, panting, Tess pulling out gently and Joel whimpering at the loss of sensation. 

“Good boy,” she tells him, unbuckling the harness and letting the strap fall to the floor.

“Fuuuuuckkkkkk-” he sighs, and you giggle. His eyes snap up to you, but he’s laughing too. 

He shakes his head and starts to peel himself up from the sticky mess he’s made. “Sorry I’m such a jackass.” 

“Eh,” you shrug, “We know you’re a jackass.”

He nods, considering.

“And–” Tess joins in, “We know how to set you straight.”

He snorts.

“Just– I know you were scared out there,” you tell him, and he must’ve been fucked real good because he doesn’t even try to argue. “We’re always gonna have close calls. But we’re in this together, yeah? Don’t shut me out just because you’re afraid.”

He’s silent for a moment. Then nods at you.

“Okay, honey. And- thank you, Tessa. You know how t’ keep me in line.”

“Anytime, Texas,” she grins.

You get up and turn on the shower. The rest of the day, you’ll get clean. You’ll rest. You’ll let your aching bones start their healing. Just over the sound of the shower spray, you hear Tess speaking to Joel; “Now, unless I’m much mistaken, it’s your turn to change the sheets-”

[mixtape127]

i dream about you and i ☆

taeyong x gn reader

genre : fluff, non idol au, college kinda au

summary : confessing your feelings is one thing, but the feeling in your stomach is another.

warnings : strong language, mention of panic and anxiety but really slightly because reader is confessing, cuteness overload, no caps, reader smokes and is def simping on sleepy taeyong, not really proofread but i hope there are no errors tho

words : 1k

notes : sorry english isn't my native language so i did my best !! taeyong is leaving for military soon and i can't handle it, so i'm coping with cute content. hope you enjoy ♡ lmk if a part 2 is needed !

the weight of my emotions had been suffocating me for too long, i couldn't bear the burden any longer and finally decided to do it; to confess my feelings. the mere thought of it sent shivers down my spine. my stomach was in knots, and i couldn't tell if the sensation was caused by a swarm of butterflies or my organs colliding against each other. it's a nerve-wracking experience, but i hoped that it would be worth it in the end.

my feet led me to his building. hopefully, his roommate won't be there. i can't imagine the scene and i'm almost sure i would run away if Doyoung opened the door.

i have already smoked three cigarettes in the last 15 minutes.

my heart was pounding so hard that i could feel it in my throat as I looked up at the darkened building in front of me. the streetlights cast a golden glow, painting the surrounding area in a sickly yellow hue. i squinted, trying to make out any signs of life or activity in his apartment, but all i could see was darkness. i know it's 9pm, but come on, don't tell me he's sleeping.

hoping that he is not asleep, i throw away my cigarette and head towards the main entrance. i climb the stairs one by one, my brain emptying little by little with each step. i thought of using the elevator, but i'm almost convinced it would fill the emptiness in my head since there was no music playing in there.

as i walked down the hallway, only hearing the sound of my footsteps echoing on the walls, the nerves in my stomach churned. before i knew it, i was standing in front of his door. my hand trembled slightly as it rose to knock, but i managed to keep it steady. come on y/n.

i knocked my knuckles against the wood apprehensively, but there was no answer. after a few moments of hesitation, i decided to ring the doorbell, hoping that he would hear it and come to the door. i pressed the button lightly, waiting anxiously for a response. and then i realised. he's probably going to open the door, and after that, there is no going back.

i feel like time is dragging on and minutes feel like hours. i even consider turning back, he's probably sleeping or just not there.

as i breathe out and adjust my jacket, the door cracks open, and the apartment is engulfed in darkness. the light from the corridor reveals a slightly disheveled Taeyong, with swollen eyes, indicating that he was probably sleeping. i can't help but think how beautiful he looks.

"y/n? what are you doing here at this hour?" he said in a voice slightly broken by tiredness.

my heart accelerates. "come on, it's not that late, were you sleeping? did i wake you up?"

he shrugged his shoulders. "i was just taking a nap" his fingers fidget with the door he's holding. "but you're making me worried, what's the matter? a problem with Doyoung ?"

no Taeyong, your roommate is not the problem...

i swallow hard, my own thoughts getting stuck in my throat. i feel like a thousand waves of feelings are overflowing my brain. “i have something to tell you but it can wait until tomorrow if you're sleep-..”

what am i even saying? i got up from my comfortable bed, walked over here, and woke him up to tell him that it could wait until tomorrow? love is making me act up for real.

"you've already woken me up, so come in." he smiles. that cute smile. that damn smile.

i come in and put my jacket next to the sofa. Taeyong turns on the little light next to the tv, scratching his head right after, not hiding the loud yawn that escapes from his lips. his t-shirt and shorts whose colours are matched as usual, his lips pouting slightly, his small eyes. i'm down bad.

“tell me everything, do you want something to drink?”

i nod. "it'll be fine ! it won't last long... i..."

all of a sudden, i feel like my saliva is stuck, and i almost choke. Taeyong shoots me a concerned look. "hey, y/n, are you okay? i'm really worried. i feel like you're about to confess to me that you've committed a crime, and i have to help you cover it up." he chuckles.

i take a deep breath and shake my head. my hands are folded together and i'm playing with my thumb anxiously. i stare at my socks as if they could magically give me courage. the reason why i want to confess my feelings to him is because i've grown tired of constantly doubting myself. since this summer - and now that we're in winter - i've been thinking about him non-stop. his smile, his voice, the way he could talk about his fishes all day, or his new shoes and hats, and the way he laughs - everything about him makes me madly in love.

because if he rejects me, i can finally move on.

"Taeyong, i'll get straight to the point. i like you. i have had feelings for you since this summer. i fell in love with you, even though the word seems strong to me and i almost never use it. but that's the case. i know that coming to your place at this hour to tell you this is crazy, but i didn't really think about it that much and just followed my gut. gosh, it sounds so lame..." i smack my forehead, closing my eyes.

all my limbs begin to tremble.

a long silence settles in.

and my breathing jerks.

i keep my eyes closed anxiously.

"so, you... like me?"

his voice echoes softly in the room. i nod slowly, still unable to look him in the eyes.

all i hear is a scoff, followed by his cute laugh. i can't tell if he's genuinely laughing so hard that air gets stuck in his throat or if he's suffocating.

"i was planning on telling you on tuesday after class that i like you." he said with an amused voice.

my eyes widen this time.

"you what ?..."

"i like you."

he smiles.

holy shit.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Renegade

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: A rough night lands Matt on your doorstep, bleeding and overstimulated. It’s your job to remind him of his strengths and bring him back from the brink of despair. 

warnings: swearing, Matt’s depression, slight violence

a/n: This fic takes place in the Wake Up verse, but you do not need to have read all of that series for this one to make sense. @babygrlmurdock requested that I write a fic based on Taylor Swift’s Renegade so here is that! SO sorry for how long this took me, dear. I’ve had it written for over a month but I was waiting until Wake Up was all posted. I hope you like it!!

w/c: 2.8k

He’s not quite sure what triggered the fight or flight response, nor the spiral of doubt that followed. Maybe it was the stress of a week of cases with impenetrable prosecutors. Or maybe the way that the old man he’d nearly failed to save from a robbery gone wrong had used the same soap that Stick once used. Regardless, Matt was currently drowning in a series of flashbacks from his childhood. 

The rough voice of his old mentor pierced his ears, even though he was alone as he hurdled from roof to roof towards his apartment. You coward. You sniveling weakling. Get back out there and fight like a man. 

His breathing was rapid and his heart felt like it was going to fall out of his rib cage at any moment. Willing his brain to shut Stick up, he vaulted to the next building. 

Apparently this was not what Stick’s ghost wanted him to do. Quit your fucking whining and turn around, kid. Or are you too fucking soft to fight bumbling idiots now? Worthless sack of shit. 

As illogical as it would seem in the future, Matt could feel Stick gaining on him. Tears were pouring down his face as he begged the vision to leave him alone. 

A cruel laugh rang in his mind. I see the Devil still can’t handle the truth. Isn’t justice all about people taking accountability, Matty? Are you so useless that you can’t even own up to your stupid mistakes?

Feeling a withered hand on his wrist, his steps faltered and he careened into a gravel pit on the roof before him. Scrambling away from the intangible figure, he screamed. “NO! No, get away. Get away, Stick!” His back collided with concrete as he reached the perimeter of the surface he’d crash landed on. Fists clenching painfully, his head darted around wildly as he tried to find any sign of the man. 

The same mirthless laugh sounded again, booming like a pistol at an execution. Away from what, Matty? I’m part of you now. Your crazy ass will never be rid of me. 

Hobbling to his feet, Matt took a breath and tried to regain any sense of direction, hurling his wobbly body towards his apartment once again. 

His knees finally gave out when he reached the roof of his building. Stupid. Worthless. Crazy. Useless. The expanding list of insults circled his frazzled mind, adding to his frenzy. Scurrying inside and down the stairs, he ripped his face free of his mask. Panting, he sank back to the floor, trying to calm down. Yanking off his gloves and beginning to undo the suit, he was taunted once again. 

You think a pansy like you will be able to save the people you claim to love? You couldn’t save your father. You couldn’t save Elektra. And, when the day comes, you won’t save her. 

“Shut UP!” Matt roared, hurling his billy club in the direction of the voice. Glass shattered in the distance. Pressing his palms to the floor, he rested his head on the wood and tried to force the new wave of thoughts out of his mind—this time focused on the inevitability of your lifeless body in his arms. Fumbling with the suit's pockets, he grasped his burner phone for dear life. Shaking hands finding the buttons he needed, he held his breath as the phone rang once, twice. 

After four rings, when his heart was seconds from breaking, you answered. 

“Hey darling, you ok?” Your voice was hoarse with sleep and he cringed as he realized he’d woken you up at some sinful hour. Useless. You won’t save her. 

“Love?” You tried again, hesitant to use his real name when you had no idea who was on the other line. 

“Yah. I-I’m fine.” Matt stifled a sob poorly. “So—Sorry to wake you.” 

“That’s alright, baby. You can wake me whenever you need to, remember?” A brief memory of you consenting to his late night requests for medical help flashed through his mind at your prompting. “Where are you? Are you hurt?” 

“Not hurt. ‘M at home.” He answered shakily. “Need you, please.” 

“O-ok! Yep, I am coming right now. Give me a minute to get there, I have to get a cab—“ You thought aloud, but Matt interrupted you. 

“NO! No. It’s late. It’s not safe. I’ll come to you.” He cursed his lack of consideration for your safety. You won’t save her. Stupid. 

“Are you sure, love? It’s not a problem!” He could hear your growing concern and it filled his eyes with tears again. 

“I’m sure. Is that ok?” 

“Of course that’s ok. Always, my darling. Did you want me to stay on the phone with you?” He sobbed as you parroted the question he always asked you when you called him. 

“No. I’ll be there—be there soon.” He managed. 

“Ok, love. Get here safe, please.” 

After what felt like hours, a soft tapping on your window alerted you to your boyfriend’s whereabouts. 

Rushing to help him through the small frame, Matt collapsed into your arms, not exactly giving you the relief you’d optimistically hoped for. But, he was alive. 

“Hey, hey, I gotcha. You’re safe now, my love. Where are you hurt?” 

Matt gave a pitiful shake of his head. 

“You’re—you’re not hurt?” Your question was laced with your genuine confusion. 

Matt shook his head again, tears pooling in his haunted eyes. 

“Ok, well…let’s get you cleaned up and into comfier clothes.” You glanced at Matt’s rumpled Devil suit. He’d removed pieces but hadn’t changed out of it, apparently. 

Maneuvering the vigilante into your bathroom, you frowned at him. “Shower?” You asked, but Matt whimpered so you quickly pivoted. “Ok love, no shower. That’s alright.” 

Thinking for a moment, you gently set him down on the lid of the toilet and started the tap. Grabbing the softest cloth you could find, you soaked it in scalding water. Letting it cool for a moment, you began unclasping the body portion of his suit. Slipping the tight fabric off of his torso, you inspected the damage before getting to work. 

Swiping the cloth as tenderly as you could across his skin, you started by cleaning his face. Streaks of dirt, sweat, and blood mingled on his porcelain skin, but they quickly vanished under your touch. 

“If it’s too hot, or you want to stop, just give me a shove or something, ok?” You’d never seen Matt in such a state of distress and you wanted him to retain his power of choice as much as possible. 

Moving down his pummeled body, you carefully cleaned his neck and torso. Gently turning him to clean his back, you bit back a gasp, only just now registering the scrapes and bruises along his side. It almost looked like road rash. What did you get yourself into, darling?

Taking extra caution to not aggravate the injured space, you cleaned every inch of skin currently exposed to you. 

“Ok. The top half of you is clean. I’m going to treat the scrapes on your side then we can finish washing up. That ok?” You waited for his small nod before grabbing the neosporin from the first aid kit. 

Once Matt was cleaned and his wounds were treated, you guided him to your bedroom where you provided him with a set of fresh clothes that he’d purposefully left there. Sliding the sleeves of the sweatshirt over his trembling fists, you let out a breath. 

“All done, my darling. Did you want to get into bed?” 

Matt nodded and you obediently began to tuck him in, sliding in next to him once he was settled. Stiffly, he repositioned himself so that he was laying across your chest, one ear over your heart. Finally, he gave a sigh, going limp across your torso. 

“There’s my sweet boy.” You murmured, scratching at his scalp in the way he adored. “It’s just us. We’re both safe.” 

The two of you were wrapped in silence for a bit before Matt’s demons reared their ugly heads once more. 

Coward. Weakling. Fuck up. Matt whined, burrowing his face into your chest as fresh tears cascaded down his cheeks. 

“Hey, what happened, Matty? Where does it hurt? What’s wrong?” Your hand stilled against his head and he felt the tears come faster. Grasping the hand in his hair, he begged.  

“Please don’t stop.” 

Immediately, you began running your fingers through his fluffy hair again. “Ok love. I won’t stop. What hurts?” 

“Head. Too loud.” 

“I’m being too loud?” Your voice softened before he could respond. 

Shaking his head, he took a stuttering breath. “My thoughts. Too loud.” 

It was starting to click for you. Matt had offhandedly mentioned that this could happen after his nighttime activities. Sometimes, he bottled up so much that it all came pouring out unexpectedly and overwhelmed him. You weren’t a stranger to the feeling, so you offered a way forward. 

“I’m sorry they’re too loud, my love. Would you like to tell me what they’re saying?” 

Matt shook his head miserably. “Can you—“ He stuttered, taking a deep breath before attempting to finish the thought. “Do you remember when we talked about me not being enough?” 

You hummed in affirmation, waiting for him to continue. 

“Can you…can you tell me again? That I’m…good?” 

“Oh Matty, of course I can!” Your own eyes threatened to well up at his impossibly quiet request. Your poor boy was suffering so intensely and all he had needed was a few kind words? 

You tugged him upwards just a touch so that he could bury his face in your neck. He’d told you once that feeling you talk while being wrapped in your scent was comforting. You were hoping that would be the case tonight. 

“You are good, my beloved Matthew Michael Murdock. So so good. You amaze me every single day. You are so compassionate and you save lives every single day. Not just as the Devil, but as Matt Murdock the phenomenal defense attorney too.” You poked his chest and he nuzzled further into your neck, sniffling still. 

“And you’re smart. The smartest person I’ve ever known, truly. The ways that you craft arguments and problem solve are unmatched. Like, a few weeks ago when you won that manslaughter case by showing that the woman had CPTSD. That was fucking incredible, darling, and you spared her children from losing their mother. Your intelligence is life changing, my love.” 

Matt’s tears had slowed, but you could still feel his shaky breathing against your throat. You pressed a kiss to the bridge of his nose before continuing. 

“You are so brave. In and out of the suit, honey. The number of times you’ve put yourself at risk to better the city is innumerable. You’ve faced threats that even the Avengers refused to take on. You’re a hero, Matt. A fantastic one.” Shifting so that you were face to face, you pressed your forehead to his. 

“You are good and sweet and smart and brave and also the best boyfriend a girl could ever ask for. I’ve never met someone who loves so passionately. You make me feel like I’m a priority and your devotion is inspiring, love. I know you worry about splitting your time between me and your firm and the city but I promise you’re the best partner I’ve ever had. I love you so much, darling.” 

Matt was trembling in your arms, fighting back more sobs. You pulled him impossibly closer, placing gentle kisses on his cheeks, jaw, and forehead. “I love you, Matthew Murdock. You are magnificent and I will tell you over and over until you believe it.” 

“Thank you.” Matt murmured against your neck as he nestled into your embrace. “I’m sorry, I—“

You pressed a gentle kiss at the corner of his mouth to interrupt his self-loathing. “No need to thank me or apologize, my love. I’m here for you, good days and bad.” 

Wrapped in your embrace, Matt felt the ghosts of his past failures dissipate. He let his tired eyes fall closed as you massaged his scalp, swallowing to ease the pain in his dry throat. You shifted underneath him and he moaned subconsciously, tightening his grip on your waist. Chuckling beneath him, you brushed a hand over the hair on his forehead. 

“I know you want to be glued to my side until we both pass out, but you need water and painkillers. And, given what I know about your nightly routine, probably a snack?” Your reasonable tone did nothing to appease the Matt-shaped octopus latched onto you, who growled and held you closer. 

“You’re a cute little devil, you know that? Did you want to stay here or come with me to the kitchen?” In lieu of a response, Matt shifted so that his leg was hooked over your hips, smiling at the resulting jolt of arousal from you. “Matthew, you know I adore this weighted blanket position, but you need water. At the bare fucking minimum. Drink a glass or two for me and I’ll let you cuddle me for hours.” With another low growl, Matt rolled off of you, giving you the opportunity to slide off of the bed. Taking his hand, you carefully pulled him to the kitchen. 

Filling a glass with cool water you handed him a couple of painkillers and narrowed your eyes, “Drink all of that, please. I see your stage sips, you goon.” Matt’s lips quirked up and he dutifully switched to actually drinking the water. 

Winding yourself around his waist, you nuzzled into his cheek with a quick kiss. “Thank you. Are you hungry at all?” Matt pondered for a moment before giving a shrug so you handed him a granola bar, taking the now empty glass from him. With your arm still hooked around his waist, you drew soft patterns on his hip while he ate. Gracefully tossing the wrapper into the trash, Matt pulled you into an unyielding embrace. 

“I love you.” He whispered into your hair. You squeezed your arms around his waist. 

“I love you too. Now let’s get some sleep or I’ll be unbearable tomorrow.” Matt huffed a laugh and clasped your hand firmly as you padded back into the bedroom. 

Drawing in a breath, Matt shuddered awake as the lack of your warmth finally became too much for his subconscious to bear. Whining involuntarily, he let his eyelids slide open as he searched for your presence. Thankfully, it didn’t take more than a moment for him to realize that you were in the kitchen. Your steady heartbeat was surrounded by the soft scraping of a whisk and the smell of brown sugar. 

Scrubbing at his irritated eyes, he sighed, debating his next move. While he always craved your touch, he really was not ready to start his day yet. As if you had his superhuman senses, you set down whatever you were cooking in the kitchen and retreated to the sanctuary of his room. He heard your breath hitch as your eyes landed on him and it squeezed his heart in a way he was not overly familiar with. 

“Mornin’ sleepyhead. Feeling ok?” Your voice was soft as you sat on the mattress inches from his hip. Hand sliding into his hair, you leaned back onto the pillows gazing at his pretty face. 

Submitting to your hair petting happily, Matt made a noise akin to a purr. Giggling, you pressed closer, kneading at his scalp with a bit more vigor. “Mmm feeling fine, I guess.” His voice was rough from his breakdown the night before, forcing him to clear his throat before continuing. “Head hurts a bit.” 

Clucking in sympathetic disapproval, you lessened the pressure you were applying to his crown. “I’ll grab you some water and Advil. I was about to make some pancakes, would you like a plate?” Matt nodded, burying himself in your chest and placing sweet kisses along your collarbone. 

“If I have time. I should probably get dressed. I’m guessing it’s about time for us to leave?” 

Pressing a kiss to his temple, you shifted uneasily. “About that…I may have called Foggy and asked if you could have a day off? Before you get upset, I told him that I had a bad week and wanted you to stay with me today.” 

Matt felt the pressure in his chest lift and he smiled. “I’m not upset, sweetness. Do you have the day off too?” 

You nodded against his hair, heart still jogging with anxiety about his reaction. Matt shifted so that his forehead could fall against yours. Pressing a kiss to your nose, he cupped your cheek with his hand. “Thank you, angel. I’d be honored to spend the day with you. Since you need me so much.” He pinched your side and you squealed. 

The rest of the morning flowed by slowly, complete with stacks of incredible pancakes and syrupy kisses. Matt’s intrusive thought had quieted, for now, replaced with your beautiful laugh and steady pulse. 

[aching-tummies]

RP Starter: Manufactured Ache

It's about 5:45AM on the first of two days off. My little tummy woke me with a deep, hungry growl. Right…I did skip dinner the night before in favour of getting some much-needed sleep. I've been stressed to the nines lately, waking up at 4AM or 5AM on days off to deal with timezone nonsense as I make calls to head-office stuff across the country for various things, mostly banking-related.

Normally, I get up around 8AM for work, but my tummy doesn't handle food/digesting stuff well until closer to 10AM so I usually hold off on breakfast until then to avoid a painful tummy ache (the kind that literally makes my toes curl). On days off, I often hold off on putting anything but water in my tummy until closer to 1PM or 2PM, even if I am hungry.

I've been sitting up in bed, languidly rubbing my tummy since 5:30AM as it's been clenching uncomfortably, letting out loud growls thanks to the mouthful of cold water I gulped down to chase away a case of cotton-mouth. I can feel another growl building beneath my palm. My stomach is clenching, seemingly consolidating it all for a big gurgle. As it comes, you stir to my right in bed, having heard this second growl. You slide a hand onto my belly before you even open your eyes, feeling the tense muscles under my skin.

"Hmmm? Morning, babe." I murmur, still stroking my belly as the aftershocks of the gurgle reverberate around my gut. I give a small belch, the little bit of air that got displaced with the gulp of water coming up and out with the pressure of both of our hands on my tummy. "It's not even 6--go back to sleep. It's too early to be up on a day off." I mutter tiredly as I shuffle back to lying down. I was only up to indulge in the sensations caused by that gulp of water. I wasn't expecting my guts to be active so early in the morning.

Your eyes snap open at my statement and you sit bolt-upright in bed, eyes wide and tell-tale grin on your face. Day off? Time's a-wastin'!

You've had this idea in your head for a while now, having seen and tended to my stressy tummy aches for weeks on end. Today marks the first true day off after over a month and a half of stressing out over responsibilities for me. The first in a long, long, long period of stress-induced upset tummy aches. It didn't help that I contracted a bit of the flu for a couple of days at the start of this stressful period. My schedule during those days was brutal: tossing my cookies from 3AM-6AM, trying to soothe my sickly tummy from 6AM-8AM, working an 8-10 hour shift at any of my three jobs, getting home after 9PM and immediately falling asleep--at the dinner table, at the entrance trying to remove my shoes, etc.--only to rinse and repeat.

The stressful period was out of our control. The effects of the flu was out of our control. While you certainly enjoyed tending to what was there, a part of your brain has been wondering about intentionally causing a tummy ache and how a manufactured ache would compare to all of the ones that have simply developed due to circumstances. Right now, we're dawning on the first of back-to-back days off. Our schedules have lined up for the first time in forever and we are almost 6 hours down of a potential 48 for fun and indulgence. You pat at my tummy, a wide grin blooming on your face as you think of all the possibilities.

Well then, what are you going to do first?

[trashbag-baby666]

Hello! Loving your Parental Clegan posts. I have a question for you. How do you think they handle cheer and gymnastics at the high school level, when things get more intense, social pressure is higher, and the kids want their independence more?

THANK YOU POOKIE <33 I’m so glad you asked because me and Kat were chatting about this all night!!!

So, Cordelia trains and competes in All Star Cheer. At first it’s because Gale doesn’t want her tumbling on dead mat if she was just doing it at a school or high school level. They found her a gym with wonderful cheer coaches, he took the program seriously. He also takes safety very seriously, none of his fliers ever touch the ground during falls. They rarely have them anyways, they also rarely have injuries on the team too.

Gale had researched like a crazy person to find the right cheer coaches. He researched all the common injuries seen in cheer and prevention and what to look for in a gym and what to avoid. But he also learned how costly cheer was…

For Flynn, at least, things get pretty serious for her gymnastics pretty early on. Her gymnastics coach, Dick picked up on her skills pretty early into her being enrolled in tumbling. She was in a pre-team program from when she was five till about six and a half. Then they had her on the gyms team but she just had to turn seven before her first competition.

By the time Flynn’s 12 she’s on the gyms elite team and things do considerably start to get really difficult for her. Her grades are slipping and she’s struggling more and more in class. She knows that Gale and John have strict rules about grades. Anything below a C and she’s sitting out practice to do homework and study. She’s having issues in school with some bullies too and it’s over all just really negatively affecting her.

She isn’t in the right headspace during practice, she’s not landing skills she’s confident in, the frustration is turning into her getting more agitated with herself. So, she keeps going over her routine and pushing herself harder and harder. Which in response, just causes her to get more upset. She starts adding in different skills she knows she’s not confident/not yet trained in. Similar to John, she’s on a path of self destructive behavior.

It’s been a building theme for a couple good months, within her last three meets she hadn’t been scoring or performing as well. Her best events are bars and floor and she hadn’t been placing in bars. She had fallen out of two of her dismounts and then landed one but had a step out. Her brain would get so clouded and she would just be so nervous doing floor she forgot parts of her routine and fell on some tumble passes.

This carried into her pushing herself and getting easily frustrated at practice.

It’s a particular practice that she had been working her bars routine nonstop. Dick already gave her a couple warnings and a harsh, “take a break.”

But she falls out of a skill and just full belly flops onto the mat. Dick lets out a sigh and waves down John and says, “Come on, I think we should chat in my office.”

Dick flat out just tells John and Flynn both that she needs to take a week or two off from the gym. Flynn is quick to ask if she can still come in and do conditioning or just watch practice but Dick is shutting her down.

He at least lets her finish practice so she doesn’t have to explain to her teammates leaving early. But she does text Curt and ask him to pick her up after practice. John wants to fight her on it but Gale reminds him how he used to get. Curt and Ken come to pick her up after practice, take her to get dinner, they go for a more scenic route home. Flynn asks to stay with them for the night and Curt can’t say no to her…

The following year they do an athletic focused homeschooling program. She finished out middle school and they just want her to have a more stable school year.

[mono-lee-mmxxii]

Alright I'm posting this bc my cherished mutual on main said they'd read it if I did, sorry not sorry if ya follow for TMNT

Nightlights

Chapter/Part One: Drop With Rosie

Tags: Caregivers & Littles AU; Designation AU; dissociation, non-sexual age regression, autistic aroace Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Little Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Caregiver Rosie (Hazbin Hotel), Switch Vox (Hazbin Hotel), bad to outright negative self care, everyone has a complex dissociative disorder it came free with your designation, Rosie is a little bit codependent but she is self aware as hell and we love her for it

Summary:

Hell is a fucked up place, but sometimes the people in it can do good things for each other. Alastor doesn't know what to do with that.

Seven years away from Hell had left Alastor in relative privacy to manage the most miserable punishment the Divine Eternity could give to sinners. He didn't find any of the “natural wonder” that Charlie went on and on about in his designation. There was no joy when he thought of the inevitable next time it would come knocking on his door, demanding his time and attention and most disgusting, vulnerability. 

Drops were the bane of Alastor’s life after death. 

Now, he was at the Hotel. Things needed to be different than they had been in the last seven years. 

Rosie was the only person that knew his designation and would respect his privacy in how he handled it. She'd always been a confidant and constant in his life, and one of the few individuals he would deign to call his friend. She was his opposite in many ways, from the way they chose to rule as Overlords, to how they took their tea, and up to including their designations. 

She'd think he was a stupid fool for what he was going to ask of her, but she'd do it anyway. 

His headspace was not, in and of itself, a terrible thing. 

Being a Little was not a punishment more terrible than any he'd inflicted on others; he'd done far worse to people than make them dissociate severely for several hours if their social needs went unmet. Dissociation was undoubtedly the right word, but Alastor wished it came with a side of amnesia as well. Being vulnerable as a Little was something he hated to remember. When he recalls the visceral feeling of losing control of himself, of his own reactions and responses, he wants to raze the entirety of Heaven to the ground until the Divine Himself rescinds this curse. 

Social needs. His face threatened to wrinkle at the very thought. Not social needs as he'd known them in life, as a human. These were needs that scratched an itch in his brain, that soothed tensions he hadn't realized were there, actions that had no meaning before suddenly full of a million things to interpret.

Letting people do things for him, letting himself be held or taken care of. Small things could be used to keep full drops at bay, or at least to ease the severity of a full drop. Drops could even be handled by a Little on their own, if it's not a bad drop. He's seen it. Nifty manages her own drops very well, for the most part, surrounding herself with toys and soft things until the fuzzy headspace has faded.

Most Littles had that. They had a method that worked, or they had people, or sometimes could pay someone, to care for them through their drop cycles. 

Alastor was not most Littles. Eventually his body would force a drop. It had been four months since his last drop, with very little happening in between to meet his social needs or ease the building stress. When he did drop next, it promised to be bad. 

Which was why he was in Cannibal Town. 

In all the years he'd known Rosie, she'd always worn a rose perfume that was heavy and sweet, but it couldn't hide the sharp scent of decay that covered her delicate figure. The smell drifted like an invisible cloud, a heavy odor that announced her arrival before she came into view through the parlor door. She was carrying a tea tray, of course. 

“Oh, Alastor, darling!” Rosie's voice was bright and over the top and she set the tray down to press kisses to both of his cheeks. She urged him to sit, gloved hands pressing on his shoulders with familiar authority. 

“It's been seven years! I refuse to count the Overlord meetings or her Highness's favor. Where have you been?” She demanded. 

“I'm afraid I can't share that one with you, my dear.” Alastor grinned, reaching for the teapot. “Allow me.” 

“No, no, I insist, let me pour for you.” Rosie swatted his hands away from the teapot; the sting, however slight, made him bristle. 

“I can do it myself.” He would deny any testiness in his tone. 

“I know you can, Alastor. But let me? I like to do things for you.”

“Rosie, I am capable of pouring my own tea.” He snapped, and she pursed her lips. Shit. He'd made her mad. 

“Fine, fine. You're a grown man, you can handle yourself. What did you need from me, Alastor?” 

He deliberated on how to say this as he poured, but he already knew what to say. He'd scripted his part of this conversation several weeks ago. 

“I find myself in need of suppressants, my dear.” He said it quietly, taking extra time setting the teapot down with deliberate motions. He needed to collect himself a bit more, and he was frankly glad the teapot wasn't trembling, even slightly. She hadn't slapped him yet, thank the stars. 

“Alastor.” 

“Yes?” He sipped his tea. If he didn't look at her, he couldn't see how much she was judging him. 

“How close to dropping are you?” 

“How close of friends are we?” Alastor countered, because he couldn't answer that directly but both of them knew he was far too gone to actively lie to her. 

“I'd say we're rather close friends.” Rosie was eyeing him critically. “Finish your tea, and I'll pour you a new cup.” 

He looked down, surprised to see it was already almost empty. He didn't remember drinking that much of it. Regardless, he followed the first part of her instructions before he thought better. 

When she reached to pour him a new cup, he stopped her. 

“Alastor.” 

He hated how she said his name. With pity, like he was a child who couldn't understand that bedtime meant the lights went out. 

“…” 

How did he explain this to her? That if he let her do this one little thing for him, he'd be falling over the edge of his headspace when he was already grasping for straws. 

“You've been missing seven years. For all I know, you haven't dropped in seven years, haven't had a Caregiver or even a friend, in those years. Do you expect me to give you suppressants when I don't know how long it's been since you dropped? I'm not letting you poison or stress your body into a second death.”

He blinked, and then laughed a bit. 

“No, no! It hasn't been seven years, gracious no! It's… it's been four months. I am going to drop soon, that much is inevitable but I cannot be at the Hotel when that happens.” There was no one he trusted there, and no one he trusted anywhere else. The Radio Demon had far too many enemies who would just as soon use his headspace to kill him as they would mock him. 

“You know my rooms are always private.” Rosie offered, and he hummed noncommittally. 

“We'll see what happens.” He said. “I just need to get past the extermination.” 

“I'll give you one bottle.” Rosie said. “Come back in three weeks, and we'll see how you're doing.” 

He nodded sharply, reaching out to take the bottle. She pulled it back a little, and he raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“But Alastor, you know as well as I do, I won't give you a refill until I know you're dropping regularly.” 

He scowled, if one can scowl and smile at the same time. Rosie was one of the best illegal drug suppliers in Hell; she prioritized her clients well-being above all. 

“As you wish.” His tone was as hard as the little tablets crashing around the bottle; he hoped it wasn't nearly as rattled. He didn't know how the hell he was going to manage a single drop in the next few weeks, much less trying to go down regularly. 

But right now, at least, he could afford a moment to relax. He could make it work, if he could get just a bit more soothing before he went home. He could hold out on a drop, no matter how tenuous his threads to the present felt at the moment. 

“Please, stay and eat.” Rosie was saying, and he found himself nodding. A meal with Rosie sounded like a good idea. She'd bring in the plates and make sure he hadn't forgotten his napkin before they ate, and she'd probably see to their drinks just to spite him for the tea. 

“Rosie?” His voice felt strange, and his eyelids were slow and heavy when he blinked. That wasn't good. She hadn't drugged him, had she? She was his friend, surely not. They were friends, right? 

“Yes, we're friends.” Rosie seemed concerned at the question. “Are you okay, Alastor?” 

He bit his tongue, uncaring that the sharp pins of his teeth weren't as sharp as normal, that he couldn't taste his own bitter blood. The pain was still there, more than enough pressure to make sure his tongue didn't slip away from him again. He hadn't realized he'd asked that question out loud, and now the answer to hers eluded him so thoroughly he concluded it must be a no. 

“You know you're safe.” She said, and he nodded again. 

Everything felt soft around the edges. His drop was happening faster than he'd expected. He hadn't taken the suppressants yet, but they wouldn't work now. Everything was out of his control now; weightless in his own body, a falling numbness in his limbs. He didn't want to drop, he couldn't. He'd be a laughing stock and a fool. He'd be dead within a week if word ever got out. They were gonna kill him. Dropping was a risk, a threat; he wasn't safe.

“Rosie.” He repeated her name with a great deal more urgency. 

“I'm right here, Alastor.” 

Except he was safe, wasn't he? Because she had just told him so. Friends didn't lie to each other. 

“This is gonna be a bad one.” His words were slurred, and he hated the sound of them. But he had to communicate, before that slipped away like the ability to move more than a few inches. “May not remember it.” 

“I know, sweetie. I'll take care of you. Food, toys, and a light show, that's all. I'll lay you down for a nap after all that, and we'll talk more about this when you're big again. How's that sound?” 

He nodded, just a touch too eagerly. 

“Please,” he said, and his tongue gave up entirely after that. 

He frowned, trying to form the words he wanted to say.

He knew them, he knew that he knew the words. How to spell them, how to read them, how to say them. Why weren't his words working? 

Al could feel cotton in his brain, making keeping a train of thought difficult. Why did he need to talk again? He didn't want to talk to anyone. No, no he wanted… he couldn't remember. It hadn't been important if he couldn't remember it. 

---

Rosie was sitting across from him, watching as the demon in front of her went from sharp angles to soft curves. His antlers had receded, leaving little knobs of velvet sticking up out of his hair, and his ears flicked about constantly with each little sound, but he probably didn't notice those things. 

“Alastor, honey, are you hungry?” She asked, and he stared at her with round, wide eyes. 

He was smiling, but it was a very small smile. Scooting the platter pinkies she'd brought with tea closer, she nodded at him in encouragement. He slipped off of the chair, pulling the plate closer as he made himself comfortable sitting on the floor. 

Little Al usually enjoyed pinkies as much as his Big self did, and she hoped that hadn't changed. 

It hadn't. 

His teeth weren't as sharp as they could be but he had no trouble making quick work of them. These were prime choices, of course; they wouldn't serve anything less to an Overlord. She'd have eaten whoever thought it was a good idea to send chewy or tough meat to a meeting between her and Alastor, and was glad that such measures hadn't proven necessary. 

He was picky, though, which was something she'd forgotten. 

Currently he was sorting through the tray of provided pinkies, arranging them by size. 

Each mouthful was chewed diligently, and swallowed carefully. After each bite, he’d take out the bone, all the meat cleaned off, and methodically set it aside. 

Alastor started humming, something she'd heard on his radio more than a few times. A favorite song,one he'd enjoyed for a long time. 

He was arranging the bones on his tea saucer, the tea cup moved onto the doily. She moved it onto the tea tray before it got knocked over, obviously already forgotten. 

“Do you want to draw?” She asked when he finished eating and was just playing with the bones. He was making a castle, remnants of sinew the flags flying from the parapets. 

Rosie had to try not to laugh as she watched him sit forward so fast he had to use both his hands to catch himself against the table before he smacked into it. He was nodding, strands of bright red hair falling down into his eyes. He didn't bother brushing them back, just staring at her more, an unnerving gaze as eerie as any cannibal’s in Hell. 

She wasn't sure why the Divine had made him a deer when he was still obviously a cannibal. Why not just make him an eyeless undead like the rest of them? Maybe the All Knowing had known that the demon would tie himself up in the Hotel, and it was to spare the sensibilities of those seeking redemption. But his wide, dark eyes would be considered doe-like on anyone else, and they were as captivating and endearing as the phrase would imply. 

“You can draw, just don't make a mess too big to clean up.” 

He needed no reminding of where she kept her drawing supplies. Within moments he was at her desk, pushing her chair out of his way. 

Rosie smiled, clearing off the tea table so he could color on the table. She'd have the pinkie bones he'd spit out earlier washed and cleaned; they'd look nice strung together as a little bracelet. Maybe she could get his name carved on it? Something nice, to celebrate his first drop since coming home.

Al remained unaware of her wandering train of thought, pulling out stacks of paper and crayons and colored pencils from the drawer in her desk that he knew kept all of it. It was his favorite of her desk drawers, aside from the one that had candy. That one was his absolute favorite. 

He carried the supplies back over to her, ignoring both desk and tea table. Dropping everything on the carpet, it was clear he'd rather be on the floor again. 

Sheets of construction paper were spread out in front of him, blank canvases for when he wanted to draw something new. Everything was ready, he just needed… colors! He needed to pick colors. 

He hummed, picking through the crayons. 

Red and black were his favorite colors as an adult, but it never failed that the moment he was in Littlespace he reached for the cyan and gray crayons first and the red ones second. 

She knew why, of course. No one was friends with Alastor for as long as she was without becoming privy to things the demon hadn't yet divulged. 

He hummed, drawing pictures of televisions and radios arguing, and the radio always won, of course. 

Every picture was presented to Rosie for approval, and she made sure to complement each one. 

His favorite seemed to be one where the radio danced on the television set and had blasted the antenna of the TV clear off with his radio waves. He'd taken care with the detail, one red and one black dot taking up the television screen and two bright blue dots for the irises. 

“Is the TV your friend?” She asked, and he shook his head no so fast strands of hair whipped around. 

“He's your enemy?” 

More hesitant, but still a no. 

“He's your rival. That's different than enemy?” 

Alastor nodded happily. He kept drawing, before he showed her the picture again and she took it with a smile. He'd added Rosie to the picture, smacking the television with a long stick that ended in a crudely drawn skull; her cannibal Overlord scepter. With his coordination at the moment, the entire drawing was imperfect and uneven. 

“Such artistry! This one is going on the fridge!” 

Beaming with a bright smile, Al laughed. He pulled another sheet out of the stack and grabbed another set of crayons. 

While the boy entertained himself with drawings, Rosie put on an old record, one of her favorites. Shortly after the soft music started playing, his feet were kicking in the air. 

It was a sight she never got tired of: little Al, laying on her floor, drawing and kicking his feet. It was his favorite thing to do when he was little, but she'd never asked him why. It didn't matter why he liked to draw and refused a table to do so, it mattered that it made him happy to do it. 

He'd confessed more than enough that he hadn't had someone to ease his drops for a long time, and she missed being able to give him that. 

Taking care of her cannibals was plenty to keep her own Caregiving impulses in check. She had plenty to take care of when it came to her town, and she'd guided more than a few lost Littles back up out of their headspaces. Poor things usually came looking for her, regressed and contracted to her, and she always took them back to their Caretakers. 

If they didn't have one, as most of the new sinners didn't, they stayed with her until she could get them a house, and get them established in Hell and taking part in community drops and guides. No one in her town went uncared for. 

Taking care of Alastor was always a little different though. 

There was some small, selfish, impulsive desire to have him as her Little, to be the only one to take care of him, the only one who got to guide and guard him during his drops; she recognized it was the same selfish, hungry impulse to own that had driven her to devouring her second husband. 

It was only part of why she'd never offered, and why she never would. She respected him too much to pretend that being his Caregiver wouldn't change his public image, which she knew he was already worried about if he was looking for suppressants. No, while she enjoyed caring for him through his drops on occasions he needed it, their interests and paths diverged far too much. 

She'd never let Alastor know she thought this either. To do so would only damage their friendship, and she'd never do anything to betray that trust in any way. 

Besides that, she'd rather not make an enemy of a fellow Overlord. 

Little Alastor snaps a crayon and starts crying, and she knows that her night is far from over. 

[araedi]

I promised an update on my life/activity and stuff, so here it is! I’ll stuff it all under the cut but the tldr is I’m still here just on a super slow. I’m always down for chats and interactions as long as you’re cool with that!

I’m quite private about myself online so gonna keep this brief (lol watch me do anything but), but I feel like I keep circling back to apologising every few months for not being here enough then punishing myself over it when I’m not magically active again. It’s ultimately a hobby but I still feel bad that people writing with me could be feeling let down/ignored, so I wanted to drop this rather than keep on cycling the same apology until it feels hollow.

Life’s a Lot right now: I’m currently juggling two part time jobs, pretty much full household responsibilities for three people, night-school with essays, and an emotionally intensive placement as part of my training which also involves paperwork. Home life is also less than ideal (won’t go into details). On top of this, I have chronic health problems alongside chronic pain so most days I’m just crabby and exhausted; my mental health could be better but rn it just feels like I’m treading water to get to a place where I’ll have fewer commitments.

Ultimately rp and writing/creative stuff in general is part of how I unwind so I’ll always be around because this outlet is so rewarding, but as it stands I’m just so mentally and pysically drained that when I do have the time I’d rather just switch my brain off and play a bit of a game and have a sliver of social life than try to force out writing which is gonna be sub-par. I’ve been feeling kinda down about my writing for a bit and just feel like I’m giving the same post over and over, which also isn’t helpful!

As for my activity and where y’all fit: I’m still around and intend to be; still responding to DM’s on Discord or IM’s on here (unreliable though they are -_-) just being ridiculously slow with replies and popping reblogs or replies out just as and when. I’m not the type to up and quit, hell I’ve been on this blog for years so I’m going nowhere, just on the go-slow with the odd spurt of like 3-5 replies.

Of course I 100% understand if this weird unpredictable activity doesn’t fit for you: we all have different needs and expectations with this hobby and if me only showing up now and again isn’t gonna work that’s totally ok and you don’t have to follow or write with me: it’s been a blast knowing you!

If you’re chill to stick around and deal with my slowness, please know I WILL get to replies, even if it’s at glacial pace. I’ll post a shot of my tracker/a list up in the future so I can be 100% on what I owe and know you can always check in with me/hold me accountable for stuff. Please know you can ALWAYS drop stuff in my ask boxes, whether it’s memes or questions for muses or just crack. It always puts a smile on my face <3 if I received it I’ll reply to it, so barring just a few memes I have nothing else waiting!

This all being said I would LOVE to build up more long term/in-depth character relationships and sustained interactions over multiple threads. I love getting to know my rp partners beyond the muses – it’s just that right now it’ll take six times as long to get anywhere. My door’s open for any chats r.e. any muses here or on the multi.

If you need my disco handle just ask/reply here or whatever and I can send it; if you need to get in touch for any reason and can’t seem to get through to me, just send a ping to the bestie Benevolentgodloki c:

If you read all this and are ok with sticking around know that you have my undying love lmao; I know it isn’t easy trying to build anything with someone who only posts once in a blue moon so your patience is appreciated and I’ll always appreciate having people to come back to on here <33

[ssahotchhner]

could you do a blurb about hotch rubbing your shoulders/back to try to calm and comfort you? or just anything hotch and physical contact? I love your writing 🫶🏻🫶🏻

thank you for sending this in!!! i hope this is what you were looking for

tw: panic attacks, anxiety

Part of the reason you had fallen in love with Aaron had been his gentle demeanor. You knew he could be authoritative, scary even, when he needed to be. But he was never like that with you. 

The beginning of your relationship was difficult, before he knew you. It took him a while to learn your rhythms and signals. It took him longer to convince you that your anxiety wasn’t just something you had to live with, that you could get professional help and it didn’t make you weak.

But it wasn’t a cure, you both knew that. All the same, the stretches between your panic attacks lengthened. Before you met Aaron they were up to an average of once a week. After he convinced you to see a therapist and a psychiatrist had prescribed something for emergencies, it had gone down to once a month. Then once every other month. It plateaued somewhere around once every six months.

You knew exactly what triggered them, now, but sometimes it wasn’t enough to stop them in time. Though you had learned to handle them on your own, it was much easier to slow the storm with Aaron around until they became nothing more than a gentle wave against the shore.

He had been away on a case for two weeks now, promising you every night over the phone that he’d be home soon. You knew he wasn’t purposely misleading you, but with each day he wasn’t home you could feel your frustration building. It had been an incredibly stressful week at your own job and when you came home that Friday night, the first thing you did was uncork a bottle of wine that you had been saving for when Aaron came home.

Swirling the wine in your glass, you stared at that orange bottle that sat on the window sill above the sink, conscious of the pressure that seemed to be building in your chest. It doesn’t make you weak to take one, you could hear Aaron in your head, it just means you know your body and your brain and what it needs. Just like eating when you’re hungry.

You bite the inside of your cheek and reach for the bottle. You hold it there in your hand for a few moments, taking some deep breaths as you did so. Then, you opened a cupboard and placed the little bottle there, not wanting to look at it anymore.

Finishing off the glass of wine, you pour yourself another. There was a voice in the back of your head telling you that the alcohol was only going to make it worse, but you pushed that away. You were fine. You hadn’t had an attack in months, you couldn’t even pinpoint what had triggered it anymore. You didn’t need the pills, you didn’t need anything. Plenty of people open a bottle of wine to unwind after a bad week, and that was enough for them. So why was your heart still racing?

You bent your head, trying to stretch out the tension in your neck and shoulders. It wasn’t helping. You tried to pay attention to your breathing, slow it down,, but that only made you feel like you weren’t getting enough oxygen. Suddenly, you could hear your heartbeat in your ears, your chest rising and falling too fast. Seemingly from a distance, you hear the front door and then Aaron calling for you. The sound of his voice becoming increasingly more concerned at your lack of response.

Then, you hear his briefcase hit the couch and his footsteps get closer. “Hey,” He’s next to you now, that soft low voice in your ear, it cuts through all the noise, “Are you alright?” He only needs to look you over for a moment before he can see what’s happening. You want to say something, but you can’t get enough air in your lungs. “That’s okay,” He says when you don’t respond, “Have you taken your meds?”

You manage to shake your head, the hyperventilation is making you dizzy. You feel like you’re choking, like someone’s standing on your chest. You’ve been through this so many times, but you never get used to the feeling. The surety that this time you were dying.

“Honey, where are they?” He’s noticed the little orange bottle isn’t on the window sill like they usually are. 

“Had wine,” You manage. His shoulders droop immediately and the disappointment there is evident. It makes you feel even worse. This isn’t the first time you’d turned to alcohol instead of your meds, knowing you can’t mix the two.

“Let’s sit down, then.” He says softly, leading you to the couch. He sits first, taking off his suit jacket and tie, before opening his arms to you, gesturing for you to sit between his legs.

When you lower yourself to the couch, his arms snake around your front, pulling you to rest your back against his chest. You close your eyes at the feeling of his body against yours. His breaths are slow and deep, the complete opposite of yours.

“Breathe with me.” He says, his breath tickling the shell of your ear.

“Can’t.” You manage, your breathing still rapid and shallow.

“Try.” He kisses your hair, “In…” He instructs, breathing in slow and deep, “Out…” He repeats this a few more times until your breathing seems to have slowed significantly. He can no longer feel your heart racing against your back. “Good.” He murmurs.

You can feel the panic leaving you, slowly. Sometimes, it feels like coming down from a high. You’re starting to feel shaky, “I’m sorry, Aaron.”

He pulls his hands back from your waist and begins moving them slowly up your back to your shoulders, “You weren’t this tense when I left you.” He says as he gently kneads your muscles, “What happened?”

You close your eyes against his touch. With the panic having left in a rush, the wine, and Aaron’s touch, your eyelids feel heavy all of a sudden. “Bad week at work. Too much work, not enough time. The usual.” He’s quiet, continuing to work his fingers into your shoulders. He’s being gentle and calm, but you can tell from his silence he’s disappointed in you. “I know I shouldn’t have had the wine, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” He runs his hands under your shirt, applying gentle pressure along your back, “Just relax.”

The shakiness has started to pass, “I missed you.” You turn in his arms, straddling his hips. 

His face is filled with tenderness as he looks at you, gently stroking your face with one hand, “I missed you too.”

“I’m sorry.” You repeat. The insistent apologies are a habit of yours, especially when your anxiety is on high alert. Always worrying that you’re being too needy, too bossy, too sensitive.

“Baby,” He leans your foreheads together, “I’m not mad. It’s okay. I promise.”

He sinks lower into the couch and you lay yourself on top of him, cheek pressed to his chest. The sound of his heartbeat is a comfort in your ear. He slides a hand under your shirt again, running his calloused fingertips gently across your skin. “Bad case?” You ask.

“I’ve had worse.” He murmurs, “Just relieved to be here with you.”

You smile and push yourself up, connecting your lips to his. He kisses you back, his hand at the back of your neck. When he slips his tongue into your mouth, you moan softly and his hand tightens on your neck in response. He pulls away a moment, smiling softly, “Let’s go to bed.”

You nod, and he leads you up the stairs by the hand. Your panic has completely dissipated now, proving to be no match for the comfort of your sweet boyfriend.

[missbabyjay]

What Is This? - Joel Miller x F Reader

TLOU SPOILERS!

MASTERLIST - CHECK OUT MY PAGE FOR MORE!

HI! This takes place in my own made up dimension lol. I followed parts of the actual show, and then completely disregarded other parts. I plan on leaving Bill and Frank in, but I wasn't sure about Tess (no hate to her character). This is sorta self-indulgent so I hope you enjoy anyway! I think I might make a part two but I need to know what y'all think :)

I'd also like to point out that I am just becoming familiar with Joel. I would like to keep him rough around the edge, but I think there's truly a sweet person under there and I need some fluffier stuff with him. I'm seeing way too many pieces where Joel is next level crazy. So this is for my fluff lovers.

Warnings/Content: Mature, Swearing, Angst, injury, the tiniest bit of fluff

Summary: You and Joel don't particularly enjoy each other, but with the shared responsibility of Ellie you're stuck together - being forced to address whatever weird thing there is between you two.

Word Count: 2K

. . .

You had been working alongside Joel for the past two years. You had met through Tess, doing odd jobs for her. Joel never seemed to trust you, although he never really trusted anyone. He didn’t enjoy your attitude, and found you to be sloppy at your job. The two of you were similar in one way; you had enough of the corrupt shit occurring in the QZ. You wanted to get away, you craved freedom - even if that meant living among the infected. You craved life outside of the walls… away from FEDRA.

Besides that, you and Joel butt heads like two mountain goats; fighting for dominance in the partnership you shared. You both had cold, yet overpowering personalities. Your morals were long gone. You both had an incredible amount of trauma constantly sitting on your shoulders, making the linger of tension much stronger between you two.

You insisted that you’d be able to handle yourself outside of the walls. You had experienced life among the ruined world before making it to Boston… how did he figure you ended up there anyway? The only reason you agreed to transporting Ellie was in hopes of finding new life, somewhere far away from the Boston QZ. With or without Joel, you didn’t care. In fact, you could say you were using him as leverage to get out of here - he knew the secret ways out, where to go when you reached the open world outside of the large, consuming and towering walls that encapsulated you within the fucked up corrupt society you lived in.

It had been a tense few days since you left the QZ. Plans changed and you were left with the responsibility of Ellie; something neither you or Joel really wanted. You trudged your feet forward, following behind the two. You knew there were a few places that Joel stashed extra items, making you hopeful for a pit stop. Your legs ached, sending shooting pains to your feet. Each step you took forward made you wince with pain… this sort of trek was easier before you got comfortable with your sedentary life within the QZ.

“We’re gonna stop right up here, stay back… I’m gonna check inside,” Joel instructed you and Ellie. 

You sighed, sending a gentle smile to Ellie who reciprocated. You appreciated Ellie’s attitude. She didn’t really have much of a filter and she stood up for herself; respectable for a fourteen year old, you thought to yourself. You wished you were the same way when you were fourteen. You will never forget being that age; that was the year the outbreak began.

As always, you didn’t listen to Joel. You proceeded forward causing him to let out a low, powerful, “No.” To which you responded by rolling your eyes.

The two of you followed behind Joel, and when you entered the building you were met with a run down gas station. Yet the ravaged sight was genuinely nostalgic to you. You couldn’t remember the last time you were in a gas station. Your brain flooded back to pre-apocalyptic life, a time where life was enjoyable; renting a movie, grabbing a slushy, indulging in some candy. Your hands glided along the dust covered shelves as you walked down the aisle. Ellie wandered off while Joel searched for his stash.

“So what’s your plan, old man?” You muttered to Joel as he continued trying to retrace his steps.

“Why’s it matter to you? Thought you could handle this on your own,” he grunted.

You continued tracing shapes and drawing in the dust, dragging your feet along. “You’d like that. Wouldn’t you?”

Joel stopped, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You continued stalking the aisles, but now you were staring into Joel’s eyes. He looked angry, a look that was quite familiar to you.

“I know you don’t even want me here. I don’t even want to be here with you. I’m sure there’s better people out there anyway,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes sarcastically.

Joel stopped his scattered movements to face you, quickly removing the space between the two of you.

His hand forcefully made its way to your delicate neck, pushing you against the end cap of the aisle. Your eyes widened as you gasped for air, “Look girl, you know you wouldn’t survive out there without me. And after losing Tess? I’m not losing you either.”

Joel stared into your eyes, into your soul. Your neck gulped under the strong grip of his hand - you struggled to gasp, your lungs were begging for air. He finally let go, causing you to intake a deep breath, trying to find the words, but instead tears began to well and you hurried out of the busted gas station.

Joel knew he fucked up. He didn’t know what came over him, but he couldn’t lose you or Ellie. Not necessarily out of love, but for the sake of his own ego, and guilt. Joel couldn’t handle anymore of that.

“Ellie!” He yelled out, searching for her in the building.

She slowly slid around the corner of the small office space, “What the fuck was that dude?”

Joel shook his head, “Let’s go. Now.” He demanded.

To Ellie’s surprise Joel ran out of the building. She quickly followed behind.

. . .

Your heart was racing as your chest expanded and closed in at a rapid pace. You tripped on a large tree chunk, leaving you sprawled on the ground. You pushed yourself to stand with the limited energy you had left. Your hands held you up as you used your knees for support, trying to not put too much pressure on your weak and injured foot. You attempted to get ahold of your breathing; the tears still falling down your dirtied face like a waterfall.

You didn’t understand… he cared about you?

The way he treated you since the beginning just didn’t match up with his words. What kind of game was he playing? He would throw cold, intimidating bitterness towards you for any small mistake. He didn't hesitate to put you in your place, and never paid you any attention that wasn't direly necessary.

You didn’t remember what it felt like to be cared about. You always ran from affection… even before the apocalypse.

You heard your name being called from afar, awakening your fight or flight to kick in - you wanted to run, as far as you could, but your body couldn’t withstand anymore; your legs continued to ache, your ankle was agonizing and your lungs felt like they were filled with blood. You were far more out of shape than you thought, leaving your inner weakness to overtake you. 

You decided to let the universe decide your destiny - you laid on the ground and waited, like bait. Either for Joel to find you, or an infected.

Your eyes wandered above you. You soaked in the leafy green trees towering over you. The sounds of nature filling your ears. The warm wind blowing against your rough skin. The earth below you felt cool and comforting. Your breathing began to slow and you found your eyes becoming heavy. As much as you wanted to fight it, you let them close and soon you were met with a hazy half-ass slumber - the best you could get in an apocalypse.

. . .

Joel felt panic wash over him. He just told you he couldn’t lose you, and yet here he was searching for you. “Where could she be?” he questioned as he began to feel that all too familiar feeling - guilt.

Ellie joined him in calling your name. She felt nervous too. She wasn’t sure if she could handle Joel after losing another person. His bitterness made this journey much harder, a journey she didn’t choose to be on.

Joel stopped dead in his tracks, and reached his arm out to stop Ellie from proceeding. He slowly raised his gun, and cautiously began walking forward, taking small, quiet steps in order to avoid creating too much noise. He didn’t have much ammo left and he had to make the most of it.

He saw a body laying in the middle of the path, could it be an infected? Or just a dead body? His heart dropped when he noticed it was you; eyes closed, body limp. His mind wandered to the worst possible place.

“Y/N!” He shook you lightly, cautiously, unsure of the situation. Just hopeful that you were okay. He saw your chest rising, indicating you were well alive. He soaked in the view of your face; your parted chapped lips, the delicate crows feet nestled beside your eyes, the dirt that laid on your face - that still looked so soft to him.

. . .

Your peaceful slumber was broken as your body was gently shook. You bolted up - defencive being the first thing you felt anytime you woke from sleep. “Y/N, woah girl it’s just me, Joel” his voice cooed, bringing you back to reality as he rubbed your arm.

“Oh, you,” fell out of your lips sarcastically, brushing Joel off as quickly as you could. You didn’t want to feel his touch - you didn’t know how to process his touch. Joel made you want to feel cared for again, maybe.

“I’m just uh- gonna go like 10 feet over there and let you two figure out whatever this is…” Ellie announced, awkwardly making her way over to a nearby tree where she could prop herself against, somewhat comfortably, while being able to protect her back.

You both eyed Ellie as she walked, both knowing she was your responsibility to protect, but also knowing the two of you had to figure out whatever fucked up situation this was.

You began to massage your ankle, wincing in pain. Fuck, what did I do. Joel looked down over you, concern and anger were plastered on his face.

“Why the fuck did you run Y/N? What is wrong with you? I said you couldn’t handle being alone and here I fucking find you… asleep in the middle of a forest… so vulnerable,” he exclaimed, aggressively grabbing your arm to pull you to your feet.

You resisted, but his power was all too much for you to fight against. The weight of yourself bearing on your ankle made it difficult for you to stand. You shrugged your shoulders. You weren’t sure exactly why you ran. Joel’s words made you feel something that you didn’t want to feel. You didn’t want a connection to anyone. You knew this sort of life meant relying on yourself and only yourself, and Joel was making that difficult.

You looked up to meet Joel's brown eyes. His dusted face looked concerned, not angry, for once. “Look, what you said… I'm not used to people saying that kinda shit to me. It’s hard to hear that someone doesn’t want me dead, I usually assume the opposite considering no one really cares about other people in this world,” you muttered out, struggling to keep contact with Joel's gaze.

Your body tensed as you were suddenly pulled into Joel's embrace. It wasn’t necessarily loving, but it felt protective. “Well I do care. I’m not gonna lose you. You may annoy the shit out of me but my world would be too quiet without your bitching,” he whispered into your ear. Sure, the words weren’t romantic or anything, but you knew Joel was being genuine. 

You pushed Joel away, “Okay,” you grunted, sending him a feeble smile through your pursed lips. “I’m gonna need you to tape me up. I fucked up my ankle earlier,” you lamented. 

Joel shook his head, “Of course you did. Here, sit back down,” he glowered. He called over Ellie to assist him and the two managed to tape your ankle making you able to lazily follow behind them as you continued your journey. 

“Where to?” you questioned, not sure what kind of answer you’d receive.

“Bill and Franks,” Joel muttered, waving you over to come closer to him. “Get on my back, you shouldn’t walk on that ankle of yours,” he insisted. You obliged, you’d be crazy to turn down his offer. Your ankle was throbbing and you could use a break considering you still had a few hours of your hike to get through.

As Joel readjusted you on his back your body became quite comfortable. You nuzzled your chin in between his shoulder and neck, embracing his warmth and surprisingly nodding off into a light snooze. 

[why-bless-your-heart]

Dumb Protastant Question #5

Also a theoretical scifi world building question.

So a random half-formed thought popped up as I am vaugely aware that you can't/shouldn't do confession via electronic means.

And then my scifi author brain popped up and demanded but what about AI parishioners without corporial bodies? If you can't do electronic confessions than how are good Catholic AI going to do confession?

And then I started thinking, okay, we are still a long way from that, but supposing that we as a culture actually get to that point where we are seriously considering granting human rights to AI? What about when the question of AI souls acutally comes up?

And I started wondering from a world building perspective, how is that going to be handled? Like is that a college of Cardnials type thing? How much of a say does a Pope have? What woudl happen if indivdual priests start treating AI like humans before the official decision is made? Is there an existing structure that could be applied to to determine when AI have souls and if they do how they would confess, or would one need to be created from whol(y) cloth?

Surely Catholic Scifi authors have thought of this...

Anyway so yes, what structure of the Catholic Church would be tasked with determining if sufficently advanced AI have souls that need confession?

Okay so basically humans are body and soul combined. That’s why the resurrection of the body is so important, and also why the sacraments are so vital to Catholic life. What you do with your body affects your soul, which is the whole concept of sin. So from right off the bat, since an AI doesn’t have a body, it’s not considered human and isn’t included in the New Covenant. If you don’t have a body you can’t receive the sacraments. (Sorry).

Putting that aside, when it comes to the spiritual side of humans there’s the soul, and then there’s the mind, which includes the will, the intellect, and the passions. A sufficiently advanced AI could be said to have a mind, insofar as it imitates the functions of will, intellect, and passions, but the mind does not beget the soul anymore than the disintegration of the mind negates the soul (c.f. cases of mental illness or senility). The most generous that could be said is that the machine/program is ensouled the same way that an animal is ensouled with an animal soul, or a plant with a plant soul: it is alive and a part of God’s creation with its own end, and a good in itself, but it still doesn’t have a human soul. The only way you get one of those is by having human parents. (Human cloning is a deep sin against God and His creation, but a clone would still have a soul.)

The whole point of the sacraments is that participating in them is how you participate in the life of Christ. Christ was fully God and fully Man, so by participating in His life we share in the life of God, which makes us fit for Heaven. We’re only able to participate in the sacraments in the first place because of Christ’s incarnation, because He became Man and represented us in the New Covenant. An AI just doesn’t have a representative at the table.

Now, as far as the actual mechanics of church hierarchy. The Catholic Church has a very strict top-down model (Pope -> Bishops -> Priests -> religious/lay), but vox populi (voice of the people) has historically been recognized as an important aspect of Catholicism as well. Usually you’ll have a bunch of lay theologians and priests and bishops discussing an issue on their own back and forth, arriving on a general consensus on what it is that Catholicism teaches on the issue. They’ll appeal to scripture and Church teachings over centuries to build their arguments. It’s usually the fastest response to any new question, but also the most likely to entail a lot of confusion and mistakes. In the US during the 1950s this kind of discussion ended with a lot of people thinking that artificial birth control was permissible under Church doctrine until the encyclical Humanae Vitae (Human Life) was sent out by Pope Paul VI. Depending on how pressing a matter the Pope considers the issue (and depending on whether or not individual priests are starting to try to give the sacraments to AI), he may issue a Papal Edict (a letter saying ‘do this’ or ‘don’t do that’), write an encyclical (a letter to instruct the bishops), or call an ecumenical council for all the bishops to come and discuss the matter together. It’s really up to him. You could have a very quick, passionate, involved pope who slams out an edict the minute he hears that somebody in a sleepy one-horse parish in the left-hand corner in Azerbaijan asked a priest if he could conditionally baptize their AI, or you could have a cautious, thoughtful, hands-off pope who waits 40 years to hear all sides before he calls a three-year council to hammer out the question.

So to sum up in answer to your questions. 1. It depends on the specific circumstances how it’s going to be handled. 2. No, it wouldn’t really be a college of cardinals type thing. Cardinals are just bishops who the pope picks to have a more involved advisory role, and a number of them are also included in the papal conclave to elect new popes. 3. The pope has final say. That doesn’t necessarily mean that he has first say. 4. If individual priests started treating AI like humans before the decision was made they’d most likely be rebuked by their bishops. If they persisted, they could risk being defrocked, which doesn’t undo ordination but does mean that they no longer have permission to administer the sacraments. 5. The existing structure is just the current hierarchy of the church.

Hope this helps and/or gives you some new ideas!

[hoursofreading]

When I helped start a website almost a decade ago, I didn’t know anything about how to do it, but I knew that at the very minimum I could wake up early as hell. (That website is now closed, however, so, grain of salt.) At the time, the early-morning routine stuck, immediately, in part because it felt good (I felt as if I were inhabiting a secret world), and in retrospect I’m kind of stunned by how many problems something so simple did actually solve. I didn’t know how to manage people or my own time, or how to handle almost any of the new responsibilities I had, but giving myself what felt like more than enough time to look at them turned out to be basically all I needed. Sort of, anyway. Here’s my rationale: First of all, almost no one is awake then, so you can quietly and without being judged just get a bunch of stuff done. Also, no one is trying to get in touch with you (and although it wasn’t relevant then, a major factor now is that you don’t have to be on Slack). You can do all the little tasks that are otherwise not crucial but that weigh over you like a nuisance cloud all day as they build up, such as getting to in-box zero, scanning feeds, pursuing internet rabbit holes without needing to account for yourself, or spending hours pinning down a detail that almost no one else will ever notice. Or whatever it might be. You can keep your brain in a sort of primal mode. It’s as if the “talk to people / get dressed / be presentable” mode isn’t on yet, and you’re almost a different person — even a little reptilian. Also, of course, waking up early gives you a surge of power; you feel superior, smug. It’s also kind of like being vegan — I’m pretty sure there’s no one I talked with back then who I didn’t tell in some way, as quickly as possible, that I got up at 5 a.m. Back then I also felt a little flicker of knowing that such an extreme routine can’t last forever (I’m trying to pick it back up now, but there were years when it seemed unnecessary), so I kind of relished it. Warranted or not, the early-morning routine gave me a vague but real sense of buying points for my later-sleeping self in the future, and of maybe even compensating for past laziness. Oh, and despite it being a very private, solitary time, getting up crazy early also feels a little like joining a club. One that never actually meets but whose members nod at one another across space and time. When I dated someone who got up at 8 a.m., but was otherwise successful and accomplished, I was kind of scandalized and would experience moments of self-doubt. Is the core of my approach to problem-solving not required? This is all obviously much easier to do when you don’t have a lot else going on, such as children. But in my experience, waking up obscenely early allows you to wear two hats, and the wearing of the first one allows for a much more peaceful wearing of the second one, if that makes sense. In times of stress, my early-morning self makes the day more pleasant for my regular self.

It’s Astounding How Many Problems Can Be Solved Just by Waking Up Early