#like I am in many people's lives in a way but only as a “guest appearance” I feel (which is not the worst tbh)

[girlscience]

the RAMPANT consumerism on the section of youtube I have ended up on recently is actually kind of disgusting to me. if I see one more video of a perfectly manicured hand with a hint of a sweater sleeve putting things in a target cart or using 100 bottles for a skin and hair self-care day or using 50 different cleaning products in an enormous, pristine, white home while a random pop song remix plays in the background I'm going to start destroying things.

[letoasai]

Will work for food ~ part 2

Part 1 - Master list

Tim was anxious which wasn’t an emotion he often put into use. Even on a bad day he was calculating, overly prepared, and usually ran on caffeine. He was a young genius and a hell of a detective, but nerves probably didn’t care about his resume or personality quirks. 

He rubbed his thumb against the folded piece of paper kept hidden in his pocket. He’d examined it in the batcave but it held no clues of note. It was just a normal sheet of paper, and the ink could have been a pen from any local corner store. No DNA. No fingerprints. All the same, he kept it out of sight in public. 

Tim had been antsy about summoning Phantom, mostly because he felt like he was disrespectfully late. When he’d first laid eyes on the living form of the Ghost King, he’d felt a familiar ache. Neglect. He didn’t know if the king had neglected himself, or if the blame lay at someone else's feet, but he just couldn’t stand it. 

He’d offered food and company in an instant, the words popping out of his mouth before he could think them through. Despite that, he didn’t regret the offer. He could have done without the teasing from his siblings and teammates, but he didn’t regret the offer once. 

His only remorse was with the clean up efforts. The Infinite creature, Vortex, had left quite the destruction in his wake. Even with many extended members of the League assisting with clean up, it took ages. Search and rescues were active and humanitarian groups had arrived to offer aid but some things couldn’t be done in a weekend. 

The bats returning to Gotham didn’t offer much in the way of a break either. A Scarecrow outbreak with his fear toxin. Three different gangs in the middle of a turf war. A weapons smuggling ring being uncovered… It was one thing after another for a minute. 

When all was said and done it had been nearly two months before Tim had the opportunity to keep his promise. He was in his civvies, standing at the mouth of an alleyway across from a little italian place that looked cheap but was actually the best tasting, most authentic italian place in all of Gotham. Little hole in the wall places often were the best. 

The problem now was his ability to overthink things. Would he summon the king in a glow of green that would light up the street like a beacon? Would he arrive in his ghostly form, crown hovering above his hooded head? 

Phantom looked human enough but was he? Did he come from Earth originally? There were plenty of aliens that looked human. It would be rude to assume… 

What name did he use? Did he need to go full title? Why didn’t he ask more questions when he had the chance?

“King Phantom.” Tim muttered, deciding to just go for it. He still clutched the paper sigil out of sight. “Uh, Ghost King Phantom. King of the Infinite Realm. Um… Or was it High King…” 

“Just Phantom is fine.” 

Tim tensed, all of his hair standing on end at the voice directly behind him in the alley. He hadn’t made a sound but he needed to actively work to exhale and turn around to face his guest. There had been zero indication of his arrival, and he was thankfully, in his living form. 

He was in jeans and an over sized hoodie. Tim could just barely make out a faded NASA written in the front. That was a point in the direction of him possibly being a human from Earth. He wore shoes this time, beat up looking kicks that had seen better days. His hood was also drawn over his head, likely to hide his bony appearance. Tim did spy the tail of his braid over his shoulder though, his hair black to further prove he was in his living form. 

“You…scared the hell out of me.” Tim said, smiling after another hard exhale. “I am sorry it took so long, your Highness.” 

“Phantom.” He corrected, looking around the street and taking it all in. Tim could clock him making note of the turns down the street and the buildings with fire escapes even with his hood up. People just had certain body language when casing an area. “I figured it would be a while, if you summoned me at all. I was not going to hold you to a whim, Red Robin.” 

“I said i would…” Tim muttered. “Uh, it’s Tim, out of uniform. If you don’t mind.” 

“Tim.” He repeated. That softness to his voice remained, and honestly, Tim liked the cadence of it. He liked it as much as he was sure he never wanted to hear Phantom raise his voice. “I understand.” He hesitated only a beat. “You can call me Danny. Phantom is probably a silly thing to call someone in a city like this.” 

“Not if it’s your name.” 

“Danny is okay.” He said, and for whatever reason, Tim noticed now how he kept his hands in his pockets, likely to hide them too. Frail, skeletal looking hands would just frighten some people. “Food? For a favor?” 

“No favor involved. I invited you out.” Tim said. “I mean, maybe we can chat about stuff but you aren’t obligated to answer or anything.” 

Phantom…Danny nodded, shuffling for a moment and looking around again. The height of the buildings seemed to be a mild interest of his. “Where are we eating?” 

“Well, if you like Italian, we’re walking across the street.” He thought pasta and breads would be both filling and flavorful. It would also be something easily packed up for Danny to take with him. 

“I’ll eat anything.” Danny informed him. “I have no preferences after all this time.” He hesitated. “Or maybe i need to rediscover them, but anything will be fine.” 

“Let’s… let’s go then.” Tim said, walking with Danny at his side. He’d made a reservation which wasn’t strictly necessary at such a small place but it gave him the option of reserving a corner table to offer them a little more privacy. 

They walked in, the hostess greeting them with a smile before leading them to their table and leaving them with bread, water, and menus. There were a few other full tables but it wasn’t packed the way it would be in the evening. 

Danny kept his hood up, but it was Gotham and no one questioned the decision. They just left him in peace to not start a conflict with someone who wasn’t causing any trouble. He also kept his hands out of sight until the hostess had left. He sipped the water once and broke off only a little piece of the bread. He buttered it and ate on it while flipping open the menu. 

Tim didn’t know if he was reading the English or Italian parts of the menu but it didn’t matter. Being fluent in reading an Earth language was another check mark for this being his place of origin. 

“Can i…” Tim hummed, keeping in mind that he was speaking with royalty and act a little less like Bruce interrogating a suspect. “Can i ask a couple questions?” 

Danny looked up at him, Tim only barely able to make out some of his features passed the unnatural shadows his hood provided. “Sure.” 

Tim smiled, not even bothering with the menu since he knew what he was getting. “You’re the King of a realm, but was Earth your place of origin?” 

“Yes, but not this Earth.” 

Dimensions! Tim filed that away for later. “You can travel to any of them?” 

“Within reason. Yes. I’m old, but not that old yet. Only eight or nine decades.” He tore another small piece of bread to eat. Tim assumed he was pacing himself. “They call me a baby Ancient still.” 

“That’s cool…” Tim muttered. “Are there many other Earths?” 

“The answer to that would never satisfy you.” Danny said softly. “Trust me. I am the Ancient of Space and i’m hardly satisfied with it.” 

There was a new fact for Tim to latch on. “What’s the-” He stopped when the waitress appeared. Both of them ordered, and Tim was certain he’d end up ordering more halfway through the meal so Danny could take more home with him.  

When the menus were taken and the waitress left again, Tim continued. “What’s the difference between being an Ancient of Space and being the Ghost King.” 

“When i died, or half died, it was my fate to one day become the Ancient of Space. I am that regardless. I won the title of Ghost King.” 

Tim dragged a hand down his face. “That’s…. Endlessly fascinating. I have so many questions.” He didn’t even know how to touch ‘half died’ yet. 

Danny hummed once and fiddled with the end of his braid. “Do i get to ask questions too?” 

“Of course.” 

Danny leaned forward, sipping at his water again. “This Earth has super heroes. That’s interesting. Mine didn’t. How long have you been a hero?” 

Tim nodded, figuring that would be the direction the questions would have wandered towards. They were far enough away from everyone in the restaurant that he didn’t worry about being heard. The music playing in the background also helped a great deal. 

“Hero might be a debate depending on who you ask. In Gotham we’re considered vigilanties. I first suited up at thirteen but it was really more like fourteen after a great deal of training.” 

Danny was quiet for a moment. “And how old are you now? I have trouble telling ages these days…” 

“Eighteen.” Tim said. 

“Young.” Danny muttered. “I was young too. Fourteen when i became the bridge. Sixteen before i really understood what it meant.” 

“The bridge?” 

“Balance. The living and the dead.” 

Tim huffed softly. “You wear a lot of hats, don’t you?”  

Danny made a quiet noise, and it took Tim a beat longer than normal to realize he was laughing. “I do, i wish i didn’t most of the time. It’s fine though.” 

“Just fine?” Tim asked after a beat. He knew a little about expectations and high standards that could weigh you down–both his own standards and other peoples. 

Danny nodded, one of his hands resting on the other. “I’ve seen things. Good things. Bad things. Things that will never happen. Things that have. It’s better i have certain powers because i have no desire to use them.” 

Aah. Tim understood that. “People who want too much power are dangerous.” 

“Exactly.” 

“The power of ruling an entire realm…” 

“Exactly.” 

Tim heaved a sigh. “Damn.” Maybe he should ask something less intense. “Did you enjoy the food we gave you last time? It was just some fast food but there was some worry it wasn’t good enough.” 

“It was great.” Danny said and he sounded sincere. “Nostalgic. It took me a few days to eat all of it. I know the Infinite Realm’s reputation, and it is a warranted reputation, but i’m… hard to offend. Little things are just little things.” 

“I’ll put them at ease then.” 

Danny was quiet for a moment, the silence not an oppressive one. “What is the difference between a hero and a vigilante?” 

“How people perceive us, i guess. Superman will always be seen as a hero. Wholesome and valiant and all that. Things in Gotham are altogether… shadier. Being a vigilante isn’t exactly legal and while we have our boundaries, we break the law all the time.” Tim said. They covered their own tracks well but it was fortunate that no one looked too closely at their activities. 

It didn’t bother Tim when he knew his reasons were still good. 

Danny made a thoughtful kind of noise. “I’m willing to bet Superman’s business isn’t purely legal either. This seems like a nice Earth though, despite whatever troubles you have.” 

“Some hero work is sanctioned by the government so it’s a fine line. Any of it could be argued.” Tim explained, and that was something Danny seemed to find fascinating. 

They paused their conversation again when the waitress appeared with their food, and Tim put in a second order for them to take when they left. The eyes Tim could feel on him told him that Danny already knew what they were for. 

He could hear Danny softly inhale and exhale as he looked at the plate in front of him that came accompanied with salad. He likely wouldn’t be able to eat even a fraction of it but the way he looked at it…. made Tim realize that he could see Danny’s face more clearly. The shadows that obscured his face from his hood had receded. He was still gaunt, but he eyed the food with so much joy. 

The first bite of –non fast food– food nearly seemed to overwhelm him in a good way. 

“You know,” Tim swung hard to change subjects. “We can do a bit of a food tour every time i summon you for lunch. Pizza. Chinese. Barbeque. There’s a great taco truck. We could get something homemade.” 

“You cook?” 

“Haa. No.” Tim said seriously. “But Al… my grandpa is an amazing cook and he seemed to think trading food for world saving services was very sensible but he was appalled that we offered you cheap fries and burgers. He’d honestly love to cook for you.” 

Danny smiled, this shy little look that shouldn’t have fit someone with the title of Ghost King but it sure fit Danny. “That could be nice. Decent home cooked meals are kind of mythological to me.” 

Tim nodded once, and knew better than to ask directly. “I didn’t have a very cuddly upbringing either. There was a lot of take-out involved.” 

“Your food ever come back to life and try to eat you instead?” Danny asked and Tim just stared. 

“I can’t…tell if that’s a real question or if you’re messing with me.” 

Danny smiled and was that a hint of fangs? “Dead serious.” 

Time groaned. “No, no you are a king. You are not making puns.” 

“Thinking i’m too mature for puns is a grave mistake.” Danny said without hesitation. 

“Noo.” Tim groaned, lips upturned into a smile. His brothers could never know about this. Dick would start a pun off and Jason’s morbid sense of humor about his own death…. Ugh, it would be bad. 

It did bring up the interesting question of Danny’s age. He said he’d been alive for decades but how did he mature. Was he still a teenager? Did he age slowly? Asking not only sounded like a bad idea, but Raven and Zatanna had both made sure he knew it was a question to not ask. 

They chatted, they ate, or well, Tim ate. Danny ate a bite every few minutes and looked thrilled about it but he was slowing down. Tim was looking forward to Danny being able to eat more with every visit. 

He flagged down the waitress, gesturing for a box and got a thumbs up in return. 

“You can take it with you.” Tim said when Danny was giving him a look. “It might be a couple days before i can call you again and this way you’ll have enough to eat every day.” 

“I can’t deny that.” Danny said. “You don’t have to keep summoning me.”

“I promised you lunches.” Tim said firmly. “And you said it yourself, you should eat more and spend more time in a living realm. You may as well take advantage of being summoned for food.” 

“Hm…” Danny played with the end of his braid again. “You do make a compelling argument. It’s nice to talk to someone without it being preceded by a brawl.” 

Tim stared, “What?” 

Danny just looked amused. “I’ll explain to you etiquette in the Infinite Realm sometime.” 

“Yeah?” 

The waitress returned with boxes for Danny to pack up his meal and the empty dishes were whisked away to make more room on the table while they waited for their to-go orders. 

They were almost startled when a second waitress reappeared with a few little dishes before they could begin speaking again. Everything was set in the middle of the table, presumably for them to share. There was a piece of white peach tart, a bowl of strawberry gelato, and a slice of frozen chocolate chip meringata. 

“Um…” Tim blinked. “We didn’t-”

The waitress chuckled. “It was ordered for you by another patron. Please enjoy.” She set down another set of utensils for them and walked away. 

Danny made a small sound in his throat. “Well i was full but how could i say no to a couple more bites…” 

“Wait.” Tim said, gaze subtly shifting around the room. Maybe he was trained to be paranoid, but it usually served him well. What he found almost instantly had his eye twitching. 

Not even halfway across the room sat a poorly disgusted Dick wearing large sunglasses, a fedora, and the world's least convincing mustache. When he saw Tim looking and grinned and raised his own wine glass. 

“I gotta kill my brother…” 

Danny sputtered out a laugh, so genuinely amused that Tim could definitely see his fangs as he laughed.

“That would make him my problem.” Danny pointed out, reaching for a spoon to try the gelato first. 

“I’m not seeing your point.” Tim said, delighted by Danny’s teasing. It was a rookie mistake to think one of his siblings wouldn’t find out about this. An absolute blunder that he hadn’t noticed Dick walking in after them at all. He’d never live it down. 

“Guess i’ll have to be more careful next time.” He added. 

Danny hummed again and seemed to have a fondness for the cold dessert. “I could always invite you to my realm sometime.” 

“Cool.” Tim said instantly. Ha, let them try to follow him then…

[freedarick]

If I love and appreciate people, why in the hell cannot I believe that I can also be loved and appreciated??

[writerunnamed]

note: This is something I've wanted to write for a while but I am well aware that not everyone will be into it. There are a few stories I want to tell that aren't the norm so I decided to start this nameless blog to tell them. I am not tagging anyone, if you find it then you find it. xo Joel(stepdad), significant age gap, female reader. 18+ legal, reader is 20 (warnings: pov sex, Joel spits on the 😸, boobie play, really inappropriate dirty talk, an unused sex toy [will make an appearance in another chapter], female masturbation, daddy kink, unfit parent) 5.6k word count

He takes up so much space, and it wasn’t just physically. He took up space emotionally, mentally. Mentally most of all. Your thoughts always drifted back to him. Cyclical. An elliptical pattern making him the top of every list you’d go through in your head. He seemed to know it too, in a stoic, quiet, largely unsettling way. Older, attractive men tended to do that. 

It started during that in-between time, when summer, losing your job, and having to move back home pushed you to figure out what the fuck you actually wanted to do with your life seemed to come together like the planets aligning. The precipice of a turning point, a ticking clock counting down the days until your childhood bedroom would be turned into a gym, or an office, or a guest bedroom. The lukewarm welcome from your mother would ice over and you’d really have to get your shit together. 

Your mother was what people who didn’t know her would call ‘a free spirit’, what you called her, was a fucking mess. 

Your earliest memories consist of having to remind her to buy milk or to pay the bill because the electricity had turned off while watching cartoons in front of the tiny, living room tv. You’d had to remind her, in not so many words, that she was the mother, and you were the child. 

To your friends, she was the cool mom. The party mom. Your house was the place to be because she didn’t ask questions, she left her cigarettes unattended and didn’t mind if a few went missing. She kept the bar cart stocked, even if there was nothing but flies in the cupboard and nothing but half-empty condiment bottles in the fridge. Your friends loved it. 

She flirted with the boys your age, she gave sex tips to the girls. 

You smiled when they congratulated you on having the cool mom, and when they all went home, you retreated and pretended to be happy. 

Joel settled her down. Met her in a bar and moved in quick. He came into the picture when you were fifteen and you were almost sure he’d be just like the rest of the lovers she’d taken over the years. You’d given the whole thing six months. Half a year for him to see what a fucking disaster she was. Six months to be a fucking creep, to cheat or get cheated on. 

The only differences you could clock at first were that he was self-employed, and marginally better looking than his predecessors.

He was firmer though, less malleable than the others she’d brought around, he seemed immune to her charms and that only inflamed her. It made her desperate for his approval and his attention. She would throw a tantrum, or play one of her mind games but he’d never rise to her bait. He was patient for the most part, until he hit his breaking point and his temper reared its head. A temper only she seemed to bring out in him. 

To you, it was pathetic. 

He didn’t try with you though, there was no flattery or strong hand, only a silent respect. In a sense, he treated you as the adult, and her as the child. It worked for you, if he’d expected you to call him dad he would have been laughed at mercilessly and he seemed to know this. 

The disturbing part was his respect and his healthy avoidance of you worked its own kind of magic. It made him an enigma, made you curious as to what he got out of the whole thing. A home, sure. A woman who was obsessed with him, yes. Sex–yes. You heard it enough for it to turn your stomach. By the sounds of it, he knew what he was doing.

The thought sickened the healthy part of your brain. The other part though, the part flooding your body with hormones, making it come to life with curiously intense sexual feelings, that part wanted to know what it was he was so good at. How could he pull those sounds out of anyone? It was easier to imagine him with some faceless woman. 

It was shameful to imagine yourself. 

The thought–although enough to fuel a desperate journey of self-exploration–always filled you with an insurmountable guilt. 

For those first few years you could barely look at him. Your mother took it as a healthy dose of teenage rebellion. That only aggravated you more. She never asked questions, never dug to see what the cause of your obvious distaste for her partner was about and so again, you retreated. He, however, kept to the outs of your path. He followed your lead, he let you control any and every part of all of your interactions. He didn’t ask questions. He kept the lights on. He kept the fridge full. 

He burrowed his way in, whether you liked it or not. 

When you turned eighteen, you moved out. He helped, did his ‘fatherly’ duties and moved you into the apartment, he urged your mother to take you on an extensive grocery trip, spoke to your landlord about the safety of the building. You supposed you should have been grateful, you should have said thank you, given him some sort of acknowledgement that you appreciated his help but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Instead you said your mumbling goodbyes, and promptly closed the door on them. Neither of them complained. 

The euphoria of venturing out on your own had lost its shine depressingly quick. A string of chronically unserious boyfriends came and went, the rent climbed higher than you could keep up with, and while already living paycheck to paycheck, you lost your job. Your cellphone had taken the brunt of your frustration at having to call your mother, begging her to let you come back home while you got back on your feet a little more than two years after you’d left. 

Your teeth gnawed at your lips, your fingernails dug into the skin around your cuticles in the attempt to keep your voice sweet and pleading, in the end it was his voice that you’d heard in the background, telling–no, commanding her to say yes. That he would be your champion twisted at your insides. Maybe a small, healthy part of you hoped he’d put up a fight, tell you that you were too old to be coming back home and that you had to figure it out on your own like an adult. 

A healthy part of you hoped that he’d save you again, only from yourself. Hanging up with a heavy, resigned sigh, you set about starting the trek home, ignoring the swirling mess of annoyance, confusion, and perverse glee in your stomach. 

-

The first few days were spent in a depressive episode, a seemingly inescapable loop of sleeping in late, leaving your room only when the house was empty to raid the kitchen for something to eat, scrolling mindlessly–blindly–on your phone and then staying up way too late only to do it all over again. 

They didn’t bother you, but if the annoyed sighs and narrowed eyes from your mother were anything to go by, the talk was coming soon. After the third day of the cycle, you circumvent it and wake up early-ish to shower and dress in something other than ratty old sweats long forgotten by an ex you couldn’t quite remember. 

You came down to find Joel sitting at the kitchen table. His eyes tracked the lines of you, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. 

Your heart leapt. He should have been at work by now. 

“Good morning.” It came out croaky, your voice almost reluctant to come out. 

“Mornin’.” His hair was slicked back, the gray almost sparkling in the golden light. You fiddled with the hem of your shirt. His eyes were so intense, you found yourself stuck in place, like a deer in headlights and that ever present, deep-seeded anger reared its head. It was irrational that he should frustrate you so much with his calm presence. 

“Coffee’s fresh, if you want some.” He jut his chin out to the pot, lowering his eyes to his paper once more. Once his gaze had shifted, you found you could breathe again. You mumbled a thanks and moved to pour yourself a cup, thankful, if unsure why, to focus on something concrete instead of abstract self-reflection.

“Your mama’s gon’ be late tonight. I thought I could pick up a pizza on the way home.” He says it offhand and again, your heart races. 

“Whatever.” You scrunch your face up in annoyance, it sounded like such a bullshit, teen response. He doesn’t comment on it, and that somehow makes it worse. You beat yourself about it as you root around in the fridge for the milk. The cereal you liked was in the top cupboard, and you’re not quite tall enough to reach it. 

You heard his chair scoot back and then suddenly he’s there, beside you, pressed up tight. You follow the long line of his throat as he stares up, reaching the box with ease while one big, warm hand lands on your lower back. He smells like the laundry detergent your mother insists on buying mixed with something else. Manly, smoky, with coffee laced through. Your cunt clenches nonconsensually as he stands there and stares down at you, his whole front pressed against your side, his hand still holding your lower back. Your mouth hangs open, stupidly, and he raises an eyebrow again forcing something to kickstart deep in your gut. 

“You okay there babygirl?” The endearment feels unwholesome.

It triggers something strange, strengthening the underlying conflict for him. There’s a lilt in his tone you don’t like, maybe because deep down you like it too much. Maybe you don’t want to admit that, or analyze anything about what the fuck is happening in your body. In your psyche. 

“Yeah.” You step out of his bubble, barely managing not to trip over yourself in your haste to get away and put a healthy distance between you. 

“Yes. Thank you.” You take a deep breath, pressing your lips together tight in what you hope to God is a neutral expression. 

He lets out a bemused huff through his nose, a mischief in his eyes shining out at you that you’ve never seen directed at you. You’ve seen it used on your mom. You’ve seen her go giggly and flirty whenever he looked at her like that. A half-formed escape plan starts to form but he saves you from the need, he puts his things in the dishwasher, and nods his head in goodbye. 

You practically hold your breath until you hear his truck rumble out of the driveway, and down the street. 

-

You manage to avoid him for a few days, staying out late catching up with friends, or feigning a need for rest. You’ve convinced your mother that your days are now spent job hunting, and for the most part they are. You leave in the morning, avoiding any and all contact and you get home late, creeping up the stairs much like you did in your teens even though you’d really never needed to. Your mother never enforced a curfew, and when Joel joined the picture, he didn’t pry. 

The luck didn’t last though, you got over-confident. He was sprawled out on the sofa, up uncharacteristically late one night when you padded through the house. 

“You’re up late.” You quickly check the accusatory tone, “Don’t you have to get up early?” Better, it comes out more concerned than annoyed and he nods. He wore a threadbare t-shirt, the fabric of it having been through the wash too many times to keep its shape. Light, gray sweats were stretched almost obscenely tight over his spread thighs, pooling at his crotch from being shoved up by the couch. 

“Couldn’t sleep. Come sit, we can watch some tv.” He pats the seat next to him and despite the deep desire to retreat into the Joel-free haven of your bedroom, you cannot seem to disobey him. 

You settle beside him on the couch, a little further away than was necessary. He chuckles softly. 

“I ain’t gonna bite you, girl. Not unless you ask nicely.” 

You pretend you don’t hear it, choosing instead to compartmentalize whatever game he’s playing and stare at the screen. He flips through the channels, settling on one thing for a few minutes before moving to something else until he finds a movie that’s already close to midway. There’s an electricity in the air, something about him galvanizing the space between you, charging it enough to make the hairs on your arms stand on end. You frown to yourself, barely paying attention while fighting an increasingly confusing mental battle. Why is it so hard to be around him? Why does he inspire such scorn? Is it scorn at all?

You rub at your eyes, scrubbing your hands down your face in a feeble attempt to wipe the slate clean. 

He’s just a man, a man your mother had chosen and for better or worse they seem to work. She is happy with him and he is seemingly happy with her, why then is it so hard to accept him for what he is? Something slithers around in your brain, something that laughs darkly, something pulsing through the network of thoughts and ideas that threatens to crack open your subconscious and throw it right in your face. 

“Well now, ain’t that somethin’?” You pull your hands away from your face to see a very explicit scene playing out on the screen. Heat floods every inch of your body. 

“Almost looks like she’s enjoyin’ herself.” He leaves it on, and you feel stuck, your body betraying you yet again to see the way the woman on screen moans wantonly while under a very handsome man. You let out a non-committal sound, teetering on the edge of madness. You scold yourself, you are an adult, an adult that has had sex before and this isn’t even real. 

“Looks like fake bullshit to me.” The strength in your voice lends credence to the illusion that you aren’t affected. He laughs, calm and completely at ease and that only pulls the anger to the forefront again. 

“They can’t show the real stuff on these channels. If it were real, he’d be doin’ what she needs.” 

“And what’s that?” It comes out before you can stop it. 

“Well,” He smiles to himself, winning a duel you hadn’t even known you were fighting. 

“If it were real, he’d be pressin’ on her clit, he’d be makin’ sure she felt every inch of him and make her take his cock like a good girl.” You let out a heavy breath, half shocked, half grateful it wasn’t a whimper. 

Warning bells go off in your head, just as a heartbeat starts in your cunt because you can see it. You can see him. His face twisted up in pleasure but cocky, his hips moving, his thumb dipped into your mouth and then swirling around your clit. He smiles at catching you looking at his hands and you want to yell at him. You want to smack him across the face and kick him in the balls for saying something like that to you, his partner's daughter, but you don’t. 

Your body almost catapults you out of your seat. Barely unintelligible words come out, something about needing sleep, about being tired and then you hightailed it out of there like a bat out of hell. 

The shower was cold enough to make your teeth chatter, but it did nothing to cool the heat blooming in your core and it was with a terrifying desperation that you ground against your fingers. The slick pooling at the mouth of your pussy was enough to feel even with the water washing everything away except your shame. 

You bit your tongue to keep from moaning out the taboo and entirely inappropriate name you were dying to say out loud. His firm thighs spread on that couch filled your mind, the calloused, work-roughened hands you could practically feel on your hips, on your thighs. You could feel them holding and spreading your legs open so he could make you make those same noises you’d heard over the years. Make you take it like a good girl, his good girl. 

You came with a shudder, sagging against the chilly tile. You warmed the water with a sigh, disappointed and ashamed with yourself, trying, and failing, to put the whole thing out of your mind. 

-

You doubled down on avoiding him after that. 

Your mother worked most of the time but when she was home, things were easier. He reverted to the healthy avoidance, the proverbial disinterest that she didn’t seem to have a problem with. You still heard them some nights, the bed creaking, throaty cries, deep grunts but now they haunted you in a different way. Now you heard his words on that couch and couldn’t help but picture all manner of unsavory things that both disgusted and thrilled you. 

Being unemployed didn’t help. There was nothing to keep you out of the house most of the day, and there were only so many places that would accept you looking for a job in person. 

There was only so much time you could spend with friends too, they had their own lives and jobs and relationships. Too busy to save you from unwanted free time. 

Old habits resurface, and you retreat within yourself while pushing yourself harder. A job would fix things enough to help, you could save up enough money to leave for good and take yourself out of the equation. 

-

The powers that be momentarily take pity on you, and after what seems like a lifetime's worth of job hunting you blessedly get a call back. It’s a part time job, but at this point beggars can’t exactly be choosers. It’s a steady, if insufficient source of income that hadn’t been available to you before. Determined, you buckle down, you channel every guidance counselor you’ve ever had and ace the fuck out of that interview.

It’s not taxing work, but you put your head down and focus with the hope that if you worked hard enough, if you made a good enough impression, made yourself indispensable they’d throw you enough shifts to make up a full time job. 

It helps. Time spent away from the house, from your mothers dried up welcome, from Joel altogether genuinely helps. You feel a bit lighter, less guilty, less prone to imagine the unimaginable. You find comfort in the absence of self-imposed temptation. There is peace in the mindless work, in the life outside of the house that no longer feels like a home. 

It's a double edged sword though, because at the end of every shift, the luck–the peace–runs out. If being at work and out of the house is a respite, returning home only thickens the tension. Time spent outside the house only sharpens the discomfort, clarifies the glaring wrongness of it all when you enter it at the end of the day. What it all is, you won’t name. That way madness lies. Issue is, with every interaction, with every chance encounter in the hallway, or living room, every second spent with him in the kitchen watching his lips touch the rim of his mug the thing inside grows. Parts of him fill the corners of your mind. The curve of his shoulders filling out the flannel shirts he favors. The fullness of his bottom lip when he purses them, something he does while squinting at the paper that you’re almost sure he isn’t aware of. His neck, his hands, the dimple in his cheek when he laughs at something really funny. 

These things jump out, innocent as they may be, but other not so innocent things start to creep in. The bulge in his jeans is a mental mine, it lies in wait and every so often when you think you’ve avoided it, it detonates and you catch yourself staring, both ashamed and so inappropriately curious it eats away at you like acid. 

What you needed was something to fill the emptiness, both emotionally and physically. So you did what any modern, adult woman would do; you bought a sex toy. 

Nothing too crazy, or expensive. After perusing the site for a while you finally settled on a plain, non-threatening dildo. Nothing too big, nothing noisy, just something to be able to focus on, something to use while imagining someone giving you what you need. You ignored that dark thing inside that hissed his name, shooed it away and ordered the package for express delivery. With your mom constantly working, and Joel keeping to himself you figured it wouldn’t be an issue. Neither of them would question a package addressed to you. 

You still aren’t sure whether or not you’d do it all over again had you known the Pandora’s box that little package would open. 

You all but rushed home after work. All day, you’d imagined the relief that toy would bring. You imagined yourself using it in the shower, steam swirling as you took your pleasure. You imagined yourself laying in bed in the safety of the dark, setting a towel down on your chair and riding it to your heart's content. 

Joel’s truck is in the driveway when you pull in, but it’s secondary to the excitement at the chance to sequester yourself with your new best friend and so when you walk into the house, you don’t give him much attention. Until he opens his mouth. 

“You got a package today babygirl. I put it on your bed.” He sits on his spot on the sofa, a funny little smile on his face. A bad feeling swells in your chest, and you look up the stairs before meeting his eyes again. 

“Thanks.” You drop your bag on the little bench near the front door, trying, and failing to keep the nervous feeling out of your voice. He nods, and you make your way up, stopping yourself from taking the stairs two at a time. 

Ice flows through your veins when you see the package is open. 

He’d opened your package, he knew what you’d bought. 

Blood pounds in your ears as you stand there, limbs cold and numb at the realization that he saw it. He saw it. He opened it, and he placed it here, on the very place you fantasized about using it. Sweat beaded on your brow, the bottom of your stomach fell out of your ass as you stood there, barely feeling the soft, worn carpet under your feet. 

“Little small, f’you ask me.” His voice at the mouth of your room made your head twist fast enough to hurt your neck. You hadn’t heard him follow you up the stairs, hadn’t heard him open your door and lean against the frame, arms crossed in haughty amusement. 

“Why would you open my package?” You clutched at it, as though he could forget what he’d seen if you held it tightly enough. 

“I didn’t open it on purpose, I’m expectin’ somethin’ and I didn’t read the name.” He pushes away from the door frame, making his way closer and it’s like the air thins as the space between you shrinks.

“I mean, I could tell you been frustrated, but this doesn’t seem like it’s gon’ help much.” He reaches out, and takes the package from you. You watch him do it, watch him, frozen as he plucks it from your hands and takes the toy out. 

“This all you can take?” He holds it, contemptuously–pityingly. 

You wanted to snatch it out of his hands, the dimming voice of reason urges you to push him out of your room and remind him that he needs to keep a healthy distance but you say nothing, you stand there, and watch him. He puts it all down on your dresser, before stepping a little closer, close enough for you to have to crane your neck up to look into his eyes. 

“No boyfriends around to give you what you want?” His hand comes up, the tips of his fingers sliding across the apple of your cheek, slipping down until his thumb pressed against the cushion of your bottom lip. 

“No one around to give you what you obviously need?” He steps a little closer, until your bodies meet. This is wrong, your mind screams it but your body is frozen under his eyes, under his touch. That part, the frozen part is cheering, it’s running victory laps as it floods your cunt with slick in preparation for something unholy. 

That same, writhing, traitorous thing whispers that this is your chance, the house is empty and your body obeys. You look your fill, you take in the curve of his nose and the furrow in his brow. His eyes are black as a crow's wing, lust-blown and completely focused on your parted lips and your shallow panting. 

Adrenaline spikes and you do something you cannot take back. You rise on your tip-toes and press your mouth to his. 

He hums into it, smiling and once again you get that feeling that you’d made the exact move he’d expected you to. A vague, but fleeting inkling that you were just a pawn on his chessboard. 

At any other time you would have stepped away and repented, ate yourself alive with guilt but his hands pulled you closer, his tongue swiped at the seam of your mouth and you opened up for him. That only made it all the more real, the taste of his tongue in your mouth, feeling his hands lower to hold onto your ass. 

The rational part of you shrinks down to nothing, and that other part, the wrong part–it swells and preens under his hands. He pulls away, and embarrassingly, you chase his mouth in a daze. 

“Oh honey, you’re just dyin’ for it aren’t you?” He herds you towards your tiny bed, the twin mattress that has been the stage for every taboo fantasy about this man, your stepfather. You shoo the word away with a shiver. 

“It’s wrong-” You almost whisper, but you don’t push him away, you let him lay you down in that bed and he laughs. 

“It is, isn't it?” He pulls at the hem of your shirt, you raise your arms for him and the picture of it is wrong, daddy taking off your clothes. The thought, the word,  should disgust you but it only pulls your hands to him. You join in, and pull his shirt up and off, biting your lip at the broadness of him. You take in each freckle, the sprinkling of hair on his chest, the dip of his throat calling out for your tongue like a siren. 

He presses his lips to yours again, licking into your mouth obscenely. Unseemly. 

“You been wantin’ this for a long time, haven’t you babygirl?” He pulls your bra off, and the shock of cold air hardens your nipples. He bites his lip to see it, unable to stop himself from flattening his tongue against a hardened bud. A sound you’ve never let yourself make out loud in this room fills the space between you and that slithering thing luxuriates. 

He moves, languidly, unhurried to the other breast and holds the plump of it in his big hand and sucks at the second bud, sucks as much of the peak as he can into his mouth, breathing through his nose while you slowly spiral into madness.

When he lets go, he presses a kiss to your nipple and his facial hair tickles your skin. 

He pulls your leggings off along with your underwear in one go and the reality of it all hits you when the air hits your soaked core. That’s when the urge to put a stop to it is the clearest, when he kneels between your legs and spreads them wide, stares at the place where he’s already filled a million times in your mind. The place that’s drenched at the mere thought of him. 

“Joel-” You start, but he pushes your legs up, folding you and then he lets a glob of spit fall from his mouth slowly, aiming it, a bullseye right on the lips of your cunt. It’s too much, too filthy and you let out a whimper. 

“I think you wanna call me somethin’ else right now.” He undoes his belt and his jeans, keeping his eyes on where his saliva slides down over the open mouth of your cunt, down towards your asshole. He pulls his cock out and part of you shatters. Your eyes flit to the toy sitting on your dresser, your eyes flit to the open door of your bedroom. 

“Don’t worry, your mama ain’t gonna be home for a while.” He smiles, conspiratorially. It's too real, it’s too hypnotic, seeing him there with his cock in his hand while your legs already ache from holding them up and open. He slides the blunt end of it through the mess he’s caused, through his spit and he groans at the sight of it. 

Your heart races so hard to feel him there, that you see the pulse of it in your vision. 

“Deep breath baby.” he warns before slipping inside the tight fist of your pussy, the size of him making you gasp. This is it, there’s no coming back from this and right now, with him seated deep, his groin pressed up tight and the tip of his cock kissing your womb you cannot even think of why you’d ever care.

This is where he's meant to be. This is where you need him. 

“Oh baby, that’s so good huh?” He thrusts shallowly, pulling out a little more than halfway before shoving his hips forward again. You don’t really know how to form words, you don’t know how to take in what’s happening. This is Joel, your step-dad, fucking you in the bed you grew up in. One hand sits heavy on your shin, holding it, the other slides up and holds onto your breast. 

“Look how fuckin’ wet this little pussy is for me,” he moans the words, “you like daddy fuckin’ you?” He thrusts harder and you moan despite the word hitting you in the stomach like a big drop on a rollercoaster. He shouldn’t say that, shouldn’t call himself that, not now. 

“No-” it doesn’t come out like you mean it to, it sounds wrong, like a caress. 

“No? But I think you do-” He leans forward, keeping his pace while pressing his chest to yours, his mouth all but lining up and despite your bullshit protest, you hitch your knees high on his ribs to make room because if he stopped you’d probably die. 

“I think you want me to be your daddy, don’t you baby, it’s okay, I want to be.” He speeds up and the sounds between your legs are so wet, so filthy. 

“You can say it, I want you to say it.” He holds himself up, his elbows caging in your skull and before you can complain or moan or cry he sticks his tongue down your throat again. Your hands finally join the fray and you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him tight to you. 

“Come on baby, say it for me, tell me how good daddy fucks you.” You moan, closing your eyes while your cunt floods him with wave after wave of slick, enough to drip down your ass and onto your bed, down his balls. Enough for it to soak the curls at the base of him. 

“Look at me when I’m fuckin’ you honey.” His hips speed up and it's hard now, his thrusts making your bounce, hitting a part of you that toy would never touch in a million years. 

You open your eyes, and look at him above you, sweat beading on his hairline. Never has he looked more fucking appealing than he does right then. The word is there, in your mouth and you know it’ll taste sweeter than anything in this world. 

The wrong thing wins.  

“Yes daddy.” You moan it, and the shameful thing sets off fireworks in your being, he smiles, and tucks his head into the damp crook of your neck, feeding his lovely filth right into your ear. 

“That’s my babygirl, that’s it, fuck baby you take it better than your mama.” Something inside recoils at that, but something else, another facet of that fucked up thing inside rejoices.

“Let me hear you say it again, say it when you come.” He licks a hot stripe up your neck. His words are a filthy groan, something to tuck away for later.

He reaches down, pressing his thumb to your clit just like he said on that couch and you keen, the slip and the pressure enough to toss you over the edge with an almost painfully intense orgasm. 

“I’m coming, daddy.” It’s a shuddering whisper as your cunt clenches around him. 

He moves quickly, kneeling between your legs to pull out and then he’s stroking himself over your cunt. It’s still pulsing when he paints it in his come. You catch your breath as he tugs at himself a few more times, milking himself against you with a disturbingly familiar groan. 

The fog clears altogether too quickly. The lights are too bright, you’re naked, and he’s still got his jeans around his thighs while the guilt creeps into your veins, replacing the euphoria. 

What have I done? What have you made me do?

[ckret2]

Chapter 64 of human Bill Cipher being 50% the prisoner & 50% the weird guest of the Mystery Shack:

Soos makes a deeply significant moral decision. To redecorate!

If you're seeing this picture, it's because I either didn't have enough time to draw a better one before the queue spat out this chapter, or I decided that nothing else I could draw would be half as funny.

####

Whenever Soos faced something difficult, he talked to Abuelita. And Bill was nothing if not something difficult.

Soos laid out the situation to her in the living room as she watched her telenovelas—she didn't mind the distraction, she far preferred real life drama over anything they put on TV. He told her about the confiscated canes, the daily injuries, the bargaining for food, the threat of forced showers, the bruises and burns and blood Bill said nothing about. He told her about Bill's door trick and how he'd only used it to talk to a teen about life and tuck a kid into bed. Once he'd told Abuelita all his thoughts, she nodded slowly, eyes still fixed to the TV screen; and for the moment, said nothing.

The doctor on TV confirmed the tearful new mother's suspicions that her husband had cheated (DNA tests confirmed the baby was another woman's), and Abuelita muted the show as it went to a commercial break. Soos waited as she collected her thoughts to render her judgment.

"I have been talking to Mr. Cipher for the last month or so. He keeps me company while I cook so I do not poison him again," she said. "I think he is ruthless, manipulative, and self-centered."

Soos winced, but nodded. "That's true."

Abuelita went on, "I like him. He is self-confident. He's blunt in a way you only get when you're old and cynical. I think he is a bad person; but, many bad people are good company."

"That's also true." Soos nodded again thoughtfully. Like whenever a comic book had a young idealistic superhero team up with an old jaded ex-villain who played by his own rules, and they ended up best friends, in spite of their glaring ethical and political differences.

"But, more importantly than whether he is a good person or a bad person," Abuelita said, "he is a person. And if you do not like a person, there are three ways you can deal with him." She counted off on her fingers, "You can kill him; you can avoid him; or you can set your feelings aside, and treat him with decency. Yes, get rid of the people who are bad for you—but no matter how terrible a person is, you must treat him like a person."

Soos's eyes lit up. "Oh, like with grandpa!"

Abuelita nodded slowly. "Yes. Just like grandpa."

"Yeah but—what if treating him decently is, you know... dangerous? Like if he uses any privileges we give him to do bad stuff? The Pines think he will. And I think he might be secretly talking to his cultists or whatever? Who miiight wanna destroy the world? But what if they can't destroy the world actually, and if I tell about the people he's talking to, he gets treated even worse..."

"Without his devil powers, he couldn't destroy a bookclub," Abuelita said. "But, if he is so dangerous, are you going to kill him?"

"No. I actually don't think we can anymore?"

"Are you going to avoid him?"

Soos let out a heavy sigh. "I can't as long as he lives here."

Abuelita shrugged, as if to say there you have it. "You are a good, kind man, mijo. I am sure you will figure out the right thing to do."

####

He took Melody out for lunch. They went through a drive-thru so they could park and talk privately in the truck.

She took a firmer stance on it than Abuelita. "I do not want to be stuck with Bill forever," she said. "I could put up with it this long because I thought the Pines would get rid of him as soon as possible! Now that he's staying here indefinitely...?" She shook her head. "I really don't like it, Soos."

Soos wasn't surprised. "Do... you think they should have 'gotten rid' of him?"

Melody paused, then shook her head again. "This whole thing is such a bizarre situation. Like, I can get why it makes sense to execute the guy that can end the world, but... I just don't think that's a decision two random guys with a big gun should be allowed to make," she said. "Honestly? I think we should call some federal agency and put him in jail somewhere. You know I've been iffy on Ford's 'only we can contain Bill' thing from the start."

"Yeah. I know." Soos agreed with Ford—he was the Bill expert, he would know—but he couldn't say Melody was wrong, either.

"Our wedding's scheduled for the end of summer," Melody said. "And... I'm sorry, Soos, but I just can't live under the same roof as the guy that turned me into a statue. We'll still get married—"

"—Oh, phew, almost had a heart attack there—"

"—pff, sorry. But if Bill's still in the shack after the summer, then... then I'll keep staying with my aunt, or we could move into your old house and just visit the shack for work, or something... but I can't move into the shack permanently until he moves out."

"Okay. I accept that." Even if the rest of them had sorta gotten used to living with Bill, Soos thought not wanting to live with a former torturer/conqueror/dictator was a pretty reasonable boundary. "I dunno what we'll do long-term just yet, but—we'll decide on something before the wedding."

Melody let out a long, nervous sigh. "Okay," she said. "Okay. Thanks, Soos." She reached across the truck's center console.

Soos took her hand. "But, how do you think we should handle Bill until then?"

Melody stared out the window at the gray sky. The rain had dried up before dawn, but the sky was still hazy. "If we keep guarding him ourselves instead of getting law enforcement involved... personally? I wouldn't give him any kind of special treatment at all. He tried to end the world! He stuck the whole town in a throne! He can just keep sleeping on the floor and being miserable, and I'd be fine with it."

Soos winced. "I see."

Melody squeezed his hand. "But—the fact that you're kinder than that is one of the things I love about you. Even when the creep you're being kind to doesn't deserve it." She gave him a resigned smile. "Do whatever you feel is right."

He considered that. Then he nodded. "I will."

####

Bill kept Soos's Abuelita company while she cooked, and gossiped with her in Spanish better than Soos's about people Bill had never even met. Bill liked watching cartoons, sports where people got hurt, and weirdly intellectual movies Soos didn't get, and he heckled historical documentaries and the news. Bill was offended by white rice and had incredibly strong opinions about salsas for a guy who'd only started eating them a month ago. Bill hadn't taken his friendship bracelet off once since Mabel gave it to him. Bill might not have been a human; but he was a person.

It was high time they start treating him like one.

####

Soos came home late in the afternoon with his truck laden down with supplies. Stan's car was gone, and when Soos came in with an armload of wooden boards he didn't see anybody around except Abuelita, napping in the living room, and Dipper, laying on the living room floor watching TV. "Hey dude," Soos whispered. "Where's everybody else?"

Dipper whispered back, "Hey Soos. Stan and Ford are at McGucket's mansion." He didn't look up from the TV. He was watching a rerun of Ghost Harassers on mute. "Mabel's with Bill in the floor room. He's in a bad mood about something so they've been doing karaoke all day."

"Huh." Soos could faintly hear someone playing his electric piano. It sounded like it was on the organ setting. "I didn't know he plays piano."

"He's alright," Dipper said. "His singing's terrible, though."

Soos shuddered. He could imagine.

Well, at least it meant Bill was out of the way. Soos began his first of many trips upstairs.

####

"What's all this racket?" Stan trudged upstairs to inspect Soos's noises—and abruptly stopped at the top of the stairs as he almost ran into a wooden beam. "What the—?"

"Oh, hey Mr. Pines!" Soos hooked his hammer on his tool belt. He'd put up wall framing to section off the corner of the attic floor that included the window seat.

Stan circled around the framing, inspecting it in bafflement. "Soos, what the heck is this?"

"So, remember at the beginning of summer, when I said that me and Melody were thinking about putting in a gaming room-slash-guest room in the attic? And Ford said not to bother until Bill was gone because he wouldn't be here long enough for me to finish? Welp! Sounds like he's gonna be here long enough for me to finish now! So I thought, hey, might as well, right? No reason not to!" He shrugged. "By the way, do you think I should put the door in front of the stairs, or on the long side of the room opposite the window? If it's in front of the stairs, you can just walk right in the room when you come up, and we'd be able to put a big screen on the long wall; but when you're walking out of the room it'd be really easy to forget the stairs are there and fall, and uh, we already have enough of a problem with that—"

Stan finally got his dropped jaw working again. "But this is where the demon sleeps! Where are we supposed to put him now?!"

"Oh, it's fine! Bill can keep sleeping in here. I'll put up a curtain instead of a door for now. This way the room's ready for gaming once Bill's gone." Soos planted his hands on his hips and surveyed his handiwork with pride.

"Are you crazy? You're giving Bill his own room?! No way! He could do anything in private. We can't trust him with that—"

"Listen." Soos gave Stan a serious look. "Mr. Pines, I respect you, and I love you like the dad I never had except technically I do have a dad but he's off being a deadbeat in Florida or something so he doesn't count."

He pointed at the floor. "But this is my house now. My name might not be on the deed, but my butt is in the master bedroom! And nobody under my roof is living like—like—like some kind of starving hobo sleeping on a bench under a newspaper, you know what I'm talking about? The Mystery Shack is a happy place! Where people come to see dreams come true and have their imaginations expanded! And I won't see it turned into some sad one-man prison!"

Stan stared at Soos, speechless.

"So." Soos took a deep breath. "With all due respect—I'm building a gaming room, and it'll have walls, and Bill gets to sleep in it. Because he's a person! And we're gonna treat him like one!"

Stan slowly looked from Soos to the wall framing, to the boxes of supplies he'd bought for the room and pushed against a wall to wait—to the pathetic couch cushion bed still sitting on the floor in front of the window. "All right. That's—that's fine. I'll let Ford know."

Soos's shoulders relaxed. "Thanks, Mr. Pines."

Stan clapped a hand on Soos's shoulder; looked for a moment like he wanted to say something; then just shook his head and said instead, "Knock off the hammering before the kids go to bed, all right?"

"No problem! I've gotta set up some furniture and stuff in here anyway." He got back to work as Stan went downstairs.

####

Soos paused his work when he overheard Bill's voice: "Hey Stanford. Figured out the kitchen situation yet?"

Soos had to strain to hear Ford (jeez, Bill was loud) as he said, "We haven't had a chance yet. For now, we can at least leave one of the counter cabinets open."

"Huh." It didn't sound like an impressed huh. "And will this open cabinet have any of the foods you put in the cabinet to hide from me? Or just more of the junk I've already been scavenging."

Ford was silent long enough to provide the answer.

"Right."

"I went by the grocery store," Ford offered. "I got avocados."

"Uh huh."

"And several pepper varieties."

"Ooh." Bill sounded intrigued in spite of himself.

"And protein drinks. They're nutritious, at least," Ford said. "But—I know that's not adequate. Stan and I will have something permanent figured out by the end of the week."

"I guess it's fine as an emergency measure," Bill said, "but you know how the phrase goes! Give a triangle a protein drink, and it'll eat for a day. Teach a triangle to open the fridge, and it'll eat for the rest of its life. If you lift that curse..."

"We'll talk. But don't get your hopes up. Neither of us likes the thought of giving you the power to come in our bedroom and smother us in our sleep the next time we have an argument."

"Fine." Bill's voice had hardened again. "You've got to the end of the week. But don't forget! If I don't like your offer, I don't have to take it! You can't keep me in this rickety barn anymore."

"I haven't forgotten."

The conversation seemed to be over and Soos didn't hear anyone coming up the stairs. He got back to work.

He felt good. He was doing the right thing.

####

When Mabel came up to bed, she stared in confusion at the modified attic floor, squealed in excitement when she realized what she was looking at, surprised Soos with a hug, and gushed about how great it was; and then she let Soos know Dipper and Ford were out tonight investigating weird stuff and went on to bed herself.

The first notification Soos had that Bill had come upstairs was a flat, offended, "What."

"Oh, hey!" Soos ducked out of the opening he'd left for the doorway—which he'd ultimately decided to put straight across from the window, to let a little light back into the attic. (He'd have to add more lighting in the main attic now that the window was blocked off.) Bill was standing at the corner of the new room, surveying the work with an expression of deep suspicion.

Soos said, "I was just getting started on this gaming room Melody and me wanted to put in—it's okay though, you can keep using it, we'll just turn it into a gaming room, uhhh... lllater. Whenever, it's cool!"

Bill turned his suspicious look on Soos; but when Soos gestured for Bill to follow him into the room, he reluctantly followed.

"Yeah, I got up the framing," Soos said, "but I couldn't get to the drywall today, so I just stapled up some tarps to be walls for now. But, look!" He gestured grandly. "I brought up the old orange sofa and chaise thingy that used to be in Abuelita's room! They've been in storage for like a year. I bet we could sit, like, six people on it for game nights. It turns out the sofa's a daybed, so we can use it as an extra guest bed for visitors, we do not have enough beds for visitors in the shack, haha. And, check it—" Soos flipped up the lid on a chest he'd placed in front of the right end of the sofa like a footrest. "I put in one of those top-down chest fridges for gaming snacks! It uh, the top of it swings up, that makes it a lid instead of a door, right? Sooo I guess you can use it too, right? You can just, put whatever you want on the weekly grocery list, and we'll put it in here. Oh, and!" He pointed at the ancient TV console table he'd hauled up from the cellar, "I set up a hot plate here, too! So you can cook stuff in the attic! For—for normal legitimate gaming room purposes."

Bill's gaze followed where Soos pointed, from the ancient orange sofa to the fridge chest to the hot plate. He didn't say anything. His expression was completely unreadable.

Soos swallowed. "Oh, and, by the way, speaking of home improvements, I took out the doorknob on the main bathroom, and put in one of those, like, little slidy dealies like public bathroom stalls? Plus I gave the door those swinging hinges—like the kind on saloon doors in the movies, o-or, say, the door into the gift shop—"

Bill whipped around to face Soos.

Soos jumped. He laughed nervously and tried to remember what point he was making. "S-so, um... there's no latch now, so it doesn't latch, which means there's no way to accidentally get locked in—or out, of the bathroom, and... and I don't actually know how much of that you understood, due to the whole curse thing? Just forget everything I just said, I guess, the important thing is you can use that bathroom without asking someone else now! Cool, right?"

He had to turn away from Bill's intense gaze, pointing back at the gaming room's doorway. "Anyway since the room isn't finished yet and you're probably gonna use it for a while, I hung up a curtain instead of a door. And I added that cool zodiac spell blanket thing Mabel gave me inside the curtain! Since you said you liked it so much when you first got here. And like... having it in our room kinda creeps Melody out, I think it might be giving her nightmares? So I thought you might like it better. Anyway I've still gotta do some other stuff, like add power outlets in here, and air conditioning, and... a-and..." He petered out weakly.

Bill was giving Soos the most venomous look he'd ever seen. 

"Sure. Terrific." Bill crossed his arms, seething. "I've slept on the floor, I can cope with sleeping in the middle of a construction zone too. No big deal! I'll make do."

"Oh," Soos said. "Uh... if it bothers you, I could try to get the walls finished tomorrow? Shack's closed tomorrow too, so, I was already planning to keep—"

Teeth grit, Bill snarled, "Don't put yourself out on my behalf."

Soos froze. "Oookay! Uh... well, I'll be getting ready for bed if you need... yeah, no, you—you probably don't need anything. Bye." He ducked out into the attic, letting out a whoosh of a sigh as soon as the curtain swung shut behind him.

Bill had looked like he was two seconds from ripping out Soos's throat. Why? Had he liked sleeping on the floor? He'd never seemed like he had. Maybe he'd preferred the attic's open flooring? Maybe he hated extremely 70's orange upholstery? Was this a mistake...?

Bill watched through the tarp until Soos was down the stairs. Then he lunged over the sofa, hanging over the back by his waist, to reach the attic window seat. He groped for the corner of the seat cushion where he'd hidden Journal 4.

He sighed in relief when he felt the familiar rectangular block in the cushion. He pulled it free: there was Journal 4, along with his two stubby crayons. As well as two marker pens, black and red, with a sticky note wrapped around them that said, "Thought these might be useful, dude!"

Bill's hands trembled with fury.

####

Soos was brushing his teeth when someone pounded on the bathroom door, making him drop his brush. The door swung open a couple of inches; Soos heard Bill mutter a confused, "What?" before it swung shut again.

Soos opened the door. "Bill? What's..."

Bill's face was completely flushed. It was hauntingly reminiscent of the look he'd had last year right before trying to murder Soos and the kids in Stan's mind. His rage had shot past "apoplectic" and landed on "apocalyptic." Soos understood how Pompeii had felt when the rumbling began. He took a few steps back.

Bill stalked into the bathroom.

He slapped the red pen down on the counter.

And, avoiding eye contact, he muttered, "Fine-tip yellow highlighter would be better. If you've got it."

"Oh," Soos said. "Sure, I... I think I have some skinny highlighters in my office. Just... lemme finish brushing my teeth."

####

Bill leaned in the office doorway, arms crossed tight, waiting. As Soos rummaged through his desk supplies, back to the door, he got the uneasy feeling that maybe Bill had lured him here to stab him in the back or something. He seemed mad enough. And the office was narrow; if Bill came up right behind him, there'd be nowhere for Soos to dodge...

When he found a new highlighter and turned around, Bill was glowering inches behind him.

Soos jumped. "Dude! You freaked me out."

Bill didn't condescend to respond. He just snatched the highlighter out of Soos's hand and stormed from the room. A moment later, Soos could hear him stomping up the stairs (and stumbling on one step. Soos really needed to figure out how to make the stairs more safe). 

For the life of him, Soos didn't know how he'd offended Bill.

####

The contraband supplies Bill had hidden behind a loose board in the wall still appeared to be undisturbed. He could only hope Soos hadn't found them during his snooping. For tonight, he could hide Journal 4 there; tomorrow he'd have to find a new, more secure hiding spot that kept it close enough to where Bill slept.

He turned around the hanging zodiac blanket and curtain so Bill's watchful triangular face was guarding the new attic hallway rather than staring into the room.

He surveyed his atrocious new sofa. If he'd known he would be plagued with this thing in the future, he would have found a way to make Ford get rid of it thirty years ago. Would Ford have thrown it out if his blessed Muse had told him it looked hideous? Maybe, but that would've put a ding in Bill's benevolent image. He could've said the sofa would lead Ford to doom? No, too implausible. Ford had always wanted a nice set of leather furniture; maybe if Bill had claimed the cost of leather furniture was about to skyrocket, and if Ford ever wanted to build his dream sophisticated gentleman's den then he should buy as soon as possible—maybe sell his current sofa to recoup costs and free up space... Yeah, Ford would've eaten that up, he'd have been so grateful Bill was thoughtful enough to care about his silly little life dreams and look out for his financial future. He shoulda done that. Hindsight.

So. What did he have here? A daybed; personal fridge; mini-stove; walls (tarp); two pillows; throw blanket; two markers; a lamp (unplugged); a clock radio (unplugged); a low console table with two shelves, onto which Soos had emptied the contents of Bill's cardboard box of clothes; and an implicit promise to keep a pile of secrets.

How humiliating.

He considered sleeping on the bare floor in protest; but, his back still hurt. Once again, subject to the tyranny of an organic body. He sighed, pulled his bedsheet from the console table, and curled up on the sofa.

The moment he lay down, a scent soaked into the seat cushion made his heart leap into his throat. He was sure he could smell home. Familiar and comforting and right—and for a moment the evidence of his other six senses didn't matter: he had his power back, he was in his kingdom, and all was right with the world. It took a moment to figure out what about the scent had so strongly disoriented him: he was smelling the atmosphere of the Nightmare Realm.

And then took another moment to work out that it wasn't really the Nightmare Realm, but a very similar scent—sulfurous, organic, burning. Burnt hair.

The cushion still smelled like Ford.

Bill groaned in frustration, rolled off the sofa, and flopped to the floor.

After permitting himself a moment of rage at the injustices of the multiverse, Bill crawled up onto the chaise lounge on the left end of the sofa, avoiding the part of the sofa where Ford used to sleep.

The chaise was smaller than his floor cushion bed used to be; but he'd make do.

####

(I know we're all busy going insane over the website but i'd love a comment when y'all read this chapter lol)

[spooky-bunnys]

So I'm bad with this thing, but I wanted to request a bonten where their husband is an omega only different from the others, as he is not sensitive and he orders bonten to obey (imagine him ordering him around in a meeting and random leaders are outraged by an omega ruling bonten) sorry for my english, i'm not of the english language

Title: I am Bonten

Fandom: Tokyo Revengers

Pairing: Bonten x O!Male Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Weapons, and Sexist Assholes.

Bonten was tired of this meeting already. The only thing going through most of their heads. They left their gorgeous Omega in their bed, for this meeting? It was all they could think about. It was only a matter of time before two things happen.

Either Mikey gets tired of the meeting and snaps, or (Name) comes in. The excutives didn't care which happened. They were just ready for the meeting to end. All they wanted to do was eat (Name)'s delicious food and finish the multiple piles of paperwork that was waiting on the Omega's desk.

Since their Omega was their assistant after many fails. They had their mate become their assistant and its made Bonten's work easier for them. Which made their lives easier if they were being honest. Since they finally had an assistant that wasn't just trying to sleep their way to the top. But also wasn't afraid to put them in their place.

As the company leader in front of them cleared his throat, probably to get their attention since it looked like almost nobody was paying attention. The door to the meeting room was kicked open. While Bonten didn't jump, knowing who it is and very used to the action. Their guest was not expecting the interruption.

Which lead to (Name) almost getting shot, if he hadn't already started making his way over to Bonten. But from what the excutives could tell, someone messed up. Most we're willing to bet it was one of the three idiots. "OI! Haruchiyo!" Said male perked up only to have the collar of his shirt grabbed. (Name) yanked Sanzu from his seat and glared at him.

The other members quietly laughed at his facial expression. Very quietly so they wouldn't get on their Omega's bad side again. "Why was in when I came into work expecting finished paperwork on my desk, I see the others have finished some paperwork. But nothing from you? As Bonten's second your supposed to set an example. Not FUCKING GOOF OFF!"

As (Name) shook Sanzu violently. The other watched like this was an everyday thing. Which is probably was true with how much Sanzu avoids his paperwork. Before (Name) knew it he was forcibly removed from Sanzu and thrown to the ground. The excutives jumped up to help but Mikey raised his hand.

Mikey of all people knew what happened if someone puts their hands on (Name). As someone who knew (Name) from his childhood, he knew how (Name) was raised. (Name) was an Omega not to be tried with. He'd learned the hard way how different he was from other Omega's.

(Name) glared at the towering figure and slowly got up. "Excuse you. But what the hell do you think you're doing putting your hands on me?" The air in the room immediately grew cold. The company chuckled. "You're excused Omega. Now leave so we can continue this meeting." (Name)'s glare hardened. "No. Get out."

The company leader busted out in laughter. "An Omega like you can't make us leave!" (Name) practically snarled. As he tried stepping closer to the peader only for the same male from earlier to get in his way. Making (Name) snap.

Bonten watched with smirks as (Name) threw the guard to the ground. They loved when (Name) got like this. It reminded them why they loved him so much. (Name) quickly took care of the other guards. After the last guard was down, (Name) stalked towards the leader. The Company leader looked furious as (Name) got into his face.

"I told you to get out. That was me being nice. Now," (Name) pulled out a gun and held it under the leader chin. "Either you leave and take your guys with you, or I blow your brains on the wall and your guys go to the basement." He pressed the gun harder. "You're choice bitch."

Mikey motioned the guys forward. Sanzu carefully wrapped his arms around (Name)'s waist while whispering something into his ear and kissed his neck. While making direct eye contact with the leader. (Name) huffed and pulled the gun away and growled. "Fine. Get this asshole out of my building."

The leader scoffed while ribbing his chin. "Your building?! This building belongs to Bonten!" (Name) with a straight face pulled down the collar of his turtle neck. Showing not only a bite mark, but in the middle of the bite was a tattoo. Bonten's tattoo to be exact. "I AM Bonten. Now leave while I'm still in a good mood."

Sanzu nodded to the others who got the guests to leave. Once they were gone, Sanzu turned (Name) around and gave him a sweet kiss. "Do you know how much we love you?" (Name) stares at him. "A lot. Do you know how much paperwork you need to do?" Sanzu stared. "Is it a lot?" (Name) nodded and Sanzu groaned. Laying his head on (Name)'s shoulder.

[patdkoala]

I Don't Hate You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warning: Angst, enemies to lovers, smut, nicknames (Doll and Charming), unprotected p in v, masturbation (Fem), Oral (Fem receiving)

I'm not entirely convinced that Bucky doesn't hate me.

His resting face is also his angry face. And he's always looking at me in that tone.

Like right now. He was just sitting there staring at me.

"What?" I asked while looking up at him.

"Nothing, just... thinking."

"About?"

"You wouldn't want to know."

Now what the fuck is that supposed to mean?

"Try me," I said to try and get something, anything, out of him.

"Don't push it, kid."

Oh, I hate it when he calls me that.

I grit my teeth. "Fine, don't tell me. I don't care anymore.

"Fine by me." His tone was sharp. He spoke with such anger towards me and I didn't know what I ever did to him.

Bucky is handsome, sure. He's tall and largely built. The metal arm alone scares away almost everyone.

But there is something about him that I find incredibly charming.

But in a stuck-up asshole Prince Charming way.

"Whatever, Charming," I sneered back at him.

Bucky scoffed when I called him that. "Charming?"

"Yeah, you know because you are a jerk like Prince Charming," I said as I got up from the couch and poured myself a drink.

"Hey, at least I own up to it. Unlike some people, who think they're God's gift to womankind," He said as I nearly killed him right then and there.

"I AM! Have you seen this ass? And my tits? These are fantastic. You just wish you were one of the many men I have that get to touch me."

"You're as shallow as a kiddie pool."

"Confident. I'm confident. Not my fault you cry when you look in the mirror."

He sighed and I could have sworn I saw a hint of a smile. "I don't know why I waste my time with you. I could find a rock with more personality than you."

I had had it with him. He is such an asshole.

"Why do you hate me?"

"I don't hate you. Hating you would mean I loved you at one point and grew to hate you. I can't stand you."

"Wow. Fantastic. How about I go outside and help you find a rock with a great personality?"

"Be my guest."

I set down my drink and walked towards the door. He was standing in front of it.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me. What are you doing?"

"Getting a rock. What does it look like?"

"No you're not," He said in a stern tone.

"What are you saying?" I was so confused. First, he wants the rock. Now he doesn't.

"You're not going outside to find a rock," He said it but it felt like a demand.

"I'm not?"

"No. You are not."

"Are you asking me not to? Or telling me not to?"

"I'm telling you."

oh

My breath caught in my throat as he just stared at me. There he was. Again. Just staring at me.

"What is going on in that mind of yours?" I asked with actual curiosity.

"You really wanna know?" He asked as interest peaked in me.

I couldn't even speak I was so excited. I just nodded like a mindless bimbo.

He got closer only to whisper, "I'm trying to figure out why in the hell I haven't left you in the middle of the woods yet."

Asshole.

I pushed him back against the door but not in a flirty way. More of a shove before storming off.

He doesn't even flinch. He just glares at me as I storm off.

I go to my room to cool off. I obviously like him but he doesn't like me and I am just going to have to deal with it.

I decided to work out. I needed to get this fire out of my system. I blasted my music into my headphones as I started my routine.

The workout wasn't working. I needed to matters into my own hands. Or, hand.

I made sure my door was locked and when I did I saw Bucky in the living room doing push-ups. He was trying to cool off as well.

I am going to make his life very hard. Well, and something else.

I sat on my bed and slipped a hand into my shorts. I started off slow but then built up tension.

My fingers felt nice but they weren't him.

"Oh, Bucky~" I moaned quietly as I came.

That was when I heard the knock.

I got up and opened the door.

"I hope you didn't think I didn't hear anything."

"Oh, but I was intentionally being loud for you, Charming." I smiled as I raised an eyebrow.

He rolled his eyes. "Of course you were."

"Is there a problem?"

"Yes, actually."

"What is it now? Gonna tell me how much you hate me? How much you wish I was dead? Or maybe-" "I was just going to ask that you keep it down when you finger yourself."

"Seriously? That's it? No snide comments?"

"Don't temp me."

"Oh, but it's my favorite thing to do!" I whined.

He just stared at me. Again. So, I stared back. He turned around and walked away. I rolled my eyes and followed him.

"Do you seriously have to follow me everywhere?"

"No. But I just want you to tell me the truth." I said as I followed after him.

"What truth? That you're a pain in my ass? That I want nothing more than to ditch you?"

I was actually hurt this time. "Is that actually true?"

"Yes. Yes, it is."

"Because I need you to be very honest with me, Barnes. If that is really how you feel then I will just head out and you will never have to see me ever again."

"Fucking guilt-tripping. You're not gonna leave, and you know it."

"Watch me." I felt the fire inside me rise.

"Oh please, spare me. I know you. You wouldn't make it a week on your own."

I rolled my eyes. "And why is that? Why do you think I need you all the time?" I was practically screaming at him at this point.

"You are the most dependent person I have ever met. You would die without me."

I thought for a second. "No. No, I think it's the other way around. You'd die without me and you just don't want to admit it. I swear you are such an asshole."

"And I think you are in denial. That's why you cling to me so much because you hate being alone with yourself."

I scoff. "I think you are forgetting how okay I was with myself not too long ago in that bedroom in my own hands."

"Oh yes. I remember. You were so "okay" you were grunting and groaning for half an hour." He paused and took a breath. "You want the truth? I'll give it to you. Right now. You're a spoiled, ungrateful, whiny, little bitch," He said I was slightly taken aback but I didn't flinch.

"Oh, come on. Say it like you mean it." I roll my eyes one last time.

"You'll be back here in a day you useless piece of-"

"Save it. I'm leaving."

"Fine."

I went to my room and honest to God packed a bag.

I went back towards the front door and saw that Bucky hadn't moved. I lifted my hand to the handle. I was going so slow a snail could have stopped me.

I wanted Bucky to speak up and say something. Stop me from leaving. But he just stood there.

Then he cleared his throat.

"Oh, this should be good. What is it now?"

"Please... don't go..."

I was speechless.

"Give me one reason. One honest reason to stay," I finally spoke.

"Because..." he doesn't continue.

"Exactly. That's why I'm leaving. You only want to fight me when I'm here but you won't fight for me to stay."

"Don't go. Please," He said in a breathy sentence.

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you to go."

I didn't know what to say. He was just staring at me. Again. I swear to God this guy has got a problem.

Except this time he looked vulnerable.

Helpless.

Needy.

"Are you asking me to stay? Or telling me."

"I'm fucking begging you."

I dropped my bag and turned around so that I was standing closer to him. It was taking everything in me not to pounce on this man and rip his clothes off of him.

We were so close that I felt his breath hitch.

Say something God Damnit!

He didn't say a thing.

He grabbed me by the waist and pulled me into a kiss.

"I- I thought you hated me," I said in a breathless sentence.

"I do." He said as he brought his mouth to my neck.

I moaned as he touched me so feverly. I had never felt something like this before.

The passion. The rage. The fire.

He pulled me closer as if it was even fucking possible, and he started to kiss down my collarbone.

"Bedroom- the bedroom-" I stuttered out.

Bucky smiled in a way I had never seen before. He had mischief in his eyes. He picked me up and carried me to my room.

He put me on the bed and crawled on top of me.

Mother fucking Bucky Barnes was crawling on top of me.

He held our gaze as he removed my shorts and soaked panties.

He held our gaze as he moved to the edge of the bed and sunk his teeth into my inner thigh.

The only time he looked away was when his head was too far buried in my cunt to even notice his surroundings.

I tugged on his hair and tried to pull him closer. I was so close to coming and we were only on that bed for maybe 6 minutes.

"I know, Doll," He said as chills went down my spine.

I wanted more.

"Mhmmm," I moaned out at the empty feeling as he got off me and then he removed his shirt.

I sat up and ran a hand down his chest.

The muscles.

The scars.

The happy trail.

The sweat.

I wanted to lick him.

As my hand was gliding down his glistening chest, he removed his belt and pants.

He was so hard that part of him was poking out of his boxers.

"That looks painful," I said as he slowly pushed me back onto the bed.

"You have no idea what I have been going through all day today," He said as he pushed his knee between my legs to spread them apart.

"All day?" I questioned.

"When you asked me what was on my mind while I was staring at you from the couch. I was thinking about how hard my dick was and what it would feel like inside you," He said as he moved his boxers down just enough to get free.

I kissed him roughly and bit his bottom lip as he lowered himself into me softly so I could adjust to his size.

He then held onto one of my legs. "What-"

"I need to get a better angle." He said as I felt like I was splitting apart.

I moaned so loud as he started thrusting into me. Hard.

His hips snapped so fast and the whole bed shook.

He was the one grunting and groaning now.

"Oh, Bucky~" I moaned out again but this time with him inside me. Happily.

"No, use the nickname," He said as I smiled. "I did. Bucky-" He stuck a finger inside just to hit my clit.

"Charming!" I yelped out as felt myself getting closer and closer.

His hips started faltering and my legs were starting to tremble.

"I- 'm close Doll," Bucky moaned out as I sat up a little more so he could really get up in there.

"Me too, Charming," I said as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. I think I hit a nerve with that last one.

I moaned so loudly as I came around him. He came very soon after. I think the feeling of me pulsing around him was too much for him.

He pulled out and then cleaned us off with the henley he had thrown off.

He laid down next to me and pulled me close so my back was to his chest.

"Do you still want me to go find you a rock?" I asked as he laughed.

"You are insufferable."

[rey-129-fan]

Gotham-Amity Co-op AU Part 3

Part 1 | Previous | Next

“Hola beauties, and welcome back to Fashionable History, I’m Paulina,”

“And I’m Star, and on this channel, we teach you how to be at the height of fashion, no matter what time period you find yourself in.”

“Now for our long-time viewers who missed our community posts, you might be wondering about the change in location.  Well, we are moving up in the world.  That’s right, fam, we are officially-

“College girlies!” The two shouted into the camera.

“Ah, such a big step,” ‘Star’ sighed.

“Indeed it is.  And to celebrate, let us dress up like we’re going to meet the queen of fashion herself: Marie Antoinette!”

***

“So you would think it would be hard to demonstrate Amity Park’s weirdness while no longer living there, but you would be wrong,” a black man said into the camera while walking down a hallway, his glasses fallen ever so slightly down his nose.  There were voices in the background progressively getting louder.  “You see, Danny’s mentor popped by this morning, and apparently, he decided that the perfect way to tutor Danny and piss off his bosses at the same time was to allow a bunch of college kids to summon a historical figure of their choosing to discuss their area of expertise.  Once a week.

“Jazz got to go first.”

The black man stopped in a doorway.  Much clearer in the background was a woman’s even voice.  “And Jazz, being the future psychologist that she is, picked the most sex-obsessed man in history.”

The camera flipped to show a young red-head sitting across an older man with a white beard in a blue three piece suit.  In the background was a younger man, his blue eyes glazed over as he sat there sipping from his mug, his head of black hair bobbing as he fought to stay awake.  Really, it wouldn’t gather a second glance, except for the tiny detail that the older man’s skin was as green as a sunburnt person’s was red.

“-indeed homosexuality is not an illness, and in fact the only link between it and mental health has been observed to be caused by familial and community reactions.”

“That is good to hear.  Indeed, many people throughout history were homosexual, and a lot of them did not show any other signs of mental illnesses.”

“It is.  However, with the recent pushes for public acceptance of those not heterosexual, many have come forward with sexual orientations beyond just hetero and homosexuality, including those that are attracted to both men and women at the same time, as well as those who experience no sexual attraction or are completely repulsed by the idea of anything sexual.”

The camera flipped back to the first man.  “She is explaining how psychology has developed in the last 100 years without trying to rip apart Freud’s work.

“This isn’t even the first time something like this has happened.  Occasionally, we’d get guest speakers that would turn out to be some famous author or pioneer in their field.  It’s how our English teacher got his copy of the Tempest signed by the original author.  I think this might be the first one that won’t end in a raid by government idiots in white, though.

“So yeah, we occasionally get to talk to dead celebrities and don’t bat an eye at it.  Amity Park is very weird.”

***

“Danny!  You left your cups in the sink again!”

“How can you tell it’s mine?”

“They’re glowing green and you’re the only one that drinks ectoplasm!  Now take care of them before you bring the food to life again!”

“Fine…”

The camera pans over to a goth woman giving the camera a flat look.  On screen, there’s some text that reads: ‘When your boyfriend forgets to clean off his dishes after his mildly radioactive smoothies.’

***

“Urgh!” Just die you stupid, lazy skeleton!”

“How long is this attack going to be!”

“I don’t care, because when it’s finally my turn, I am going to stab the dust out of this depressed sack of bones!”

On screen was a couch, and on that couch sat 3 young adults, two women and one man.  One of the women was Valarie Gray, US National Taekwondo Silver Medalist, was jabbing her thumb down on the d-pad of her controller, lips pulled back in a snarl.  The other was Samantha Manson, more known for the TikTok channel Our Strange Lives.  The man was a muscular blond.  All three were focusing on the screen, their eyes emitting faint light and Valarie’s teeth seemed to be getting sharper.

Quietly a blond woman walked on screen, a backpack slung over her shoulder.  The woman was Star Strong from Fashionable History.

“You guys are still streaming?”

“This boss is stupid difficult and Manson and Gray are the only ones willing to play.”

“What happened to the guys?”

“Fowley, Wes, Singh all had work.  Fenton got to the first boss and then lost it because ‘Goat Mom just wanted to protect us’ before getting a call from his lil sis asking for help.  Kwan is working on a lab with a guy from his chem class, and Kyle passed out a couple hours ago.”

“Stop dodging!”

“Wanna play?”

“Can’t.  Going to the library to study for a calc exam I have coming up.  See you guys later.”

“Later.”

“FUC-”

***

“And so, with this polaroid image, we have evidence to prove that-”

“Hey, Wes, do you have something I can use for a collage?  Oh sweet, thanks bro!”

“What?  No!  Kyle!  Get back with that! That was the proof I was going to use to prove the existence of Yetis!”

“Oh damn.  This is some nice creature work!  Danny, your friend has an incredible costume, man!”

“Thanks, Kyle!  I’ll pass it on!”

***

Tim paused the video right as Wesley Weston stood to chase his older brother.

There.

The red-head’s eyes had a slight glow to them.  Tim clicked over to the other images he had gathered of the Amity Park teens, all with their eyes glowing or other signs of something inhuman.

Tim had been introduced to this group by Stephanie when she found a martial arts demonstration Gray did that involved breaking multiple boards, all several feet above her head.  Stephanie had meant it as a ‘check out his cool person doing what we’re doing,’ but Tim noticed something.  All the boards were being held by seemingly the same person- or at least people dressed very similarly.  And not in a way where they’re sitting on a ledge above Gray and are switching out the board each time she broke one.  More that there were multiple companies of the same white glove all holding a board and all floating several feet above where they should have been.  That was already a little weird, but it could’ve been some special effects or just a uniform.

No, what caught Tim’s attention was the quick glimpse of the face of one of the board holders.  It was youthful- late teens- but with paper white hair that showed no signs of bleaching.  Now these features would have been a thing to cement the mysterious person in Tim’s mind.  But it wasn’t that.

No, what got Tim to do some digging to find out about a previously unknown supposed hero from a small town that has been blacked-out by the US government, was his eyes.

His calm, glowing Lazarus green eyes.

***

So we finally get a taste for the shenanigans our liminals are up to. Sam, Tucker, and Danny all share a TikTok where they show off how weird the other two are and how weird their town is. Wes is trying to prove cryptids exist, which Kyle ruins. Dash has a gaming stream that most often Kwan joins in on, and Paulina and Star do dress history. Oh, and Valarie is a national taekwondo because karate has only been an event for one Olympic games, but taekwondo has been an event since 2000 and Val seems more like a kicker than a thrower. Plus, I actually took taekwondo when I was younger.

We do get another Bat showing up at the end. There is absolutely no plot, however, so who knows where this is going. Certainly not me!

I'm still looking for names (please, I need them). As for majors:

Jazz-Psych (obviously)

Kyle- Liberal Arts (I wanna put him in accounting, but Liberal Arts works for now)

Tuck- Comp Sci

Danny- Poly Sci, minor in Astronomy

Sam- Double Poly Sci and Environmental Science

Val- Criminal Justice

Dash- Undecided (both me and him)

Kwan- Pre-Med for now, though he wants to do Child Development/Education

Paulina- Fashion Marketing

Star- Sports Science

Mikey- Music

Wes- Journalism

[ktempestbradford]

A Story for Star Trek Day

I've told this story on Twitter before. I tell it every Star Trek Day and whenever a Deep Space 9 anniversary rolls around. It's about me and Avery Brooks (aka Best ST Captain Benjamin Sisko).

The college my mother went to specifically started recruiting top Black students in the 60s. Due to this, the Black kids all mostly knew each other as they were in that same program. Avery Brooks went to the same college and they were good friends.

(She once told me he had a huge crush on her and I was like MOM. MOTHER. WHAT. HOW COULD YOU HE COULD HAVE BEEN MY DAD.)

Anyway, many of the students in this program remained friends long after college. So over the years as Avery was getting TV gigs & such we would all watch cuz he was my mom's friend & I thought that was the coolest. There was one particularly fun night when my best friend's uncle, Frankie Faison, guest starred on A Man Called Hawk. TWO people we know on TV!

When I was in middle school Avery was touring his production of "Paul Robeson" and it came through our town, so I got to see him perform in person (awesooooome) and meet him for the first time since I was a baby (which I did not remember, of course).

Now, backing up a little bit: I am a Star Trek fan because of my mom. She loved the original series and I remember being a wee Tempest in front of the TV watching The Wrath of Khan and us excitedly going to see Star Trek IV together.

I watched TNG from the instant it appeared on TV because of her. I watched all of The Animated Series even though everyone looked "wrong". (Man... it took me 4 months to realize that dude in the red shirt was Scotty cuz I'd only ever seen movie Scotty.)

Then... they announced Deep Space 9.

We heard Avery Brooks would be the commander and there was MUCH rejoicing around our house. DS9 turned out to be the best Trek ever and, of course, Avery was awesome. This was around the time my mom dropped that "he had a crush on me but I wasn't interested" bombshell.

I'm still bitter.

I mean, I love my dad he's great. But SISKO COULD HAVE BEEN MY DAD.

I lost my mom in 1999. She was--and I'm not exaggerating--an extraordinary woman and beloved by many. I received so many beautiful messages of condolence from her friends all the way back to those college years, including Avery. So many people remembered her fondly. <3

I kept watching Star Trek and often talked to her as if she was there during episodes. She would have LOVED Discovery. Especially since she took me to RENT the year I started college. I'm sure she would have shared my opinion of Enterprise as well. But she loved her some Scott Bakula, so she would have watched, anyway.

I got the chance to interview Avery Brooks at DragonCon back in 2013 (jeez, it's been almost 10 years omg). Before the interview, I went up to him on the Walk of Fame and I said:

Hi, I'm (name K stands for) Bradford, I don't know if you remember me...

And he looked up and said: Of course I remember you.

We talked for a bit and I asked if I could come back and interview him later and he said yes (he wasn't supposed to; his handler had A LOOK). I didn't want to hold up his line, so I said I'd see him later.

Before I could go, he reached out for my hand and squeezed it before saying: I loved your mama, you know.

And we just stayed like that for a few seconds, missing her together.

...I might have been trying very hard not to burst into tears.

That DragonCon was the last time I saw Avery. Barring an extraordinary circumstance, that's probably the last time I'll see him in person. I'm glad we got to have that moment together. And we had a great conversation!

His contribution to Trek has meant so much to me. SISKO4EVA

And I'm glad that it's another tie between me, my mom, and Trek. I can't watch DS9 without hearing her voice giving color commentary. Even the episodes she didn't live to see.

I think Star Trek is part of what gave her hope for the future. She passed that on to me. ❤️🖖🏾❤️

Happy Star Trek Day to all who celebrate.

[octuscle]

I'm on a flight to Tokyo, and I'm definitely going to stand out amongst the locals... what should I do?

I always have the greatest respect for visits to Asian countries myself. So it's more than natural that you need support. I myself have had very good experiences with a preset that I am sending you. I recommend that you activate the preset as soon as possible, the transformation is set to last 12 hours.

Okay, it's exemplary that you had your cell phone in flight mode, so the message only reaches you after the plane is already on the tarmac on its way to the terminal. With your seatbelt still fastened, you activate the default setting. After the first few seconds, the first effect becomes apparent. The tension is gone. This is not the first time you have landed in Haneda. Only tourists and fools jump up and open the luggage compartments before the seatbelt signs have gone out. You are disciplined. Discipline is the only way to survive a juggernaut like Tokyo. You know that. The idiots around you don't.

You say goodbye to the person sitting next to you. You say goodbye to the flight crew when you leave the plane. In broken Japanese. You struggle with the language. Even though you've been learning it for over a year. At least you recognize a few of the characters at the airport. At least you can understand fragments of the conversations around you. And you know your way around the airport. Even if you're not the first to jump on, you're one of the first at the baggage carousel. It pays to have a Japanese ID card. Wait a minute! A Japanese ID card? Sure, you've been living here for years. Tokyo is your second home. Naturalization was only logical. You have a Japanese great-grandmother. That made it easier. You inherited your black hair from her.

You look at the people with the big suitcases with pity. They're either going to waste a fortune on cabs now. Or they'll have real problems on the train during rush hour. You've packed efficiently. And your advantage is that you stand out from the crowd. 190 cm… That makes you a giant in Japan. And a colossus at 120 kg. When you finally take the steps from the subway into the open air, the default setting has already been active for three hours. You walk the last few meters to your hotel. It's so nice to be back here. Yes, you actually live in London. But you spend as much time as you can in Tokyo for business and pleasure. For years now. You speak the language very well, you're up to date with all the fashions and gossip. And a regular guest here at the hotel. The concierge addresses you by name. You greet him back by name. Nevertheless, you exchange business cards. Tradition is tradition. The building trembles. A slight earthquake.You don't know how many earthquakes this is in your life. It's not even worth mentioning in your conversation.

Now a quick bowl of noodle soup. And then to the gym. You've spent too much time motionless on the plane and in the subway. You need action now. The feeling that your body has given its last. And then a hot bath and a massage. Your buddy at reception has already arranged everything. You just quickly take your luggage upstairs and get changed. And then you run down the stairs to the gym. The earth has just shaken a little again. The last thing you need now is to get stuck in the elevator.

Two hours later, when Atsushi presses his elbows into your back, all is right with the world again. Atsushi is a master of his trade. And you've known each other for ages. In fact, you played baseball in the same club as children before you moved to Europe with your parents. It was a real coincidence when you found each other on one of your visits here on Grindr. It's one of the biggest and hardest reasons why you're staying here at the hotel. Rarely have you experienced a better masseur who is both good for your back and offers a first-class happy ending. He stands behind you and massages your neck. And his hard-on sticks out in front of your face. Shit, if he doesn't suck you off right away, you'll cum without him laying a hand on you.

You two spend the evening at karaoke. Unfortunately, Asushi can't stay in your hotel room tonight. But he will take you upstairs. And you fuck him as a thank you. Asushi thanks you with a deep kiss goodbye. He says that your education in Europe has paid off. Nobody fucks like real Japanese men who learned to fuck in Paris. You grin. Well. An almost real Japanese man. Your one grandmother was English. You owe your blue eyes to her.

Get up, go to the gym, take a hot bath. That's how your next morning starts. Not easy with the jet lag. But you have to get back into the rhythm of the city of your ancestors quickly. The first meeting is at 07:30. Time is money. And life in Tokyo is not cheap. "それで、侍よ？よく眠れましたか？" Asushi sent a picture of his morning wood. You return the favor with a selfie, freshly showered. "よく眠れたよ！しかし、私には硬いものと柔らかいものがある。疲れ果てた夜に備えよ," you reply. "はい、侍よ！" You're looking forward to the end of the day!

[kassiekole22]

im so excited to be able to share this request with you! 🥺 — could you do a headcanon with syzoth x princess!reader? *in my mind she's mileena and kitana's sister. — and she doesn't feel so included among the sisters and finds comfort among "the banished"

Ok, so just a warning: When I read this, I thought you wanted a fic. And I was already deep into this when I realized that you wanted headcanons. 😂 So if you want, I can still do the headcanons for you too. Just let me know! 🙂 And to my other requests, your fics are on their way! Anyway, here it is! My first ever Syzoth X Fem!Reader fic! Enjoy! 💚🖤💚🖤

No Longer Alone

Description: Being stuck in your sisters' shadows was never easy, especially when you live in the royal family of Outworld. You always felt as if you came in last compared to them and felt so alone. That is until one day when a mysterious man literally crashes your festival... Warnings: Fluff, Sad And Lonely Reader And Sad And Lonely Syzoth. Word Count: 2.6k MasterList: 🖤 Kassie's Angels: @lorebite, @mornandil. (If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know in the comments! 🖤)

》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《

Never would I have thought that on that day — the day a strange man came crashing into our festival — that my life would change for the better forever. As much as it pained me, I wasn't allowed to interfere when the man went into battle with my sister. Being the youngest of the three royal sisters of Outworld, I was bound to the sidelines as I watched my sisters deal with any situation — unless they needed more numbers in a battle, of course.

I knew that they were only protecting me and that they didn't want to put my life in danger unless it was really necessary, but I couldn't help but feel left out. It was as if no one took me seriously — as a princess or a fighter — and that stung worse than any wound I would ever receive in any battle.

I sat on a nearby stool, watching the altercation from afar. It worried me, watching my sisters battle with no way to aid them. But I had no choice. I was damned to just sit and watch — just like the people I've been told are beneath us. Though I never really thought they were. What right did I have — someone who was born into royalty — to sit there and claim that my life was more valuable than any other. It just felt wrong. After some time, the fight seemed to come to an end with both the man and my sister seemingly not severely harmed. And then surprisingly, my two sisters approached me with the young man at their side.

I couldn't keep my eyes from following the man as he came forth. He seemed so different — so... Beautiful. There was something about him that lured me in. I just couldn't place my finger upon it at the time.

"(Y/N)," My sister — Kitana — addressed me and I stood.

"Yes, sister?" I responded as I stepped closer and bowed my head as a symbol of respect. It was what mother taught me to do, since my sisters were older and wiser than myself.

"This is Syzoth — he has come to aid us in upcoming battles." She notified me while introducing the mysterious man.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Syzoth." I greeted him kindly. "I am (Y/N). The third daughter of King Jerrod and Queen Sindel."

The man nodded with a smile stretching the corners of his lips and — to my surprise — he bowed before me. "It's my pleasure, princess."

I had never earned that type of respect from someone so soon. Being so young in a family of royals, many don't appreciate me the way I — at least — felt I deserved. I let my eyes linger upon the man as he stood to his full height and smiled warmly in my direction. He was so different compared to anyone I had ever met before.

After letting out a slightly annoyed sigh, Mileena broke the silence that had fallen between us all. "Sister, show Syzoth to one of our guest cabins by the castle. He can rest there for the time being."

I nodded eagerly and my sister handed me a key to said cabin, and then I gestured to the man to follow me in the direction I was planning on going. As I began walking down the stone road with him at my side, I could hear Kitana call out with concern filling her tone, "Be cautious, sister!"

I shook my head as an amused smile curled my lips. She was always so concerned for my well-being. But she should know that I can very much take care of myself. After all, they both made sure to train me well.

Most of the walk was silent until I noticed how the man watched his surroundings with much curiosity. He looked at everything as if it was new to him. I couldn't keep myself from glancing over in his direction once in a while just to watch his interesting behavior. 

'Is he from another realm?'

"So — where do you hail from, my friend?" I asked as we turned down a new pathway, leading towards where the guest cabins were.

"Oh, I'm from Outworld." He replied, much to my surprise. "Just not these parts of Outworld..."

The comment very much intrigued me and I wanted to know more, "Not this part?" I pushed carefully.

"Ever heard of Zaterra?" He asked with a hint of resentment and... Something else in his voice. Perhaps sorrow? I couldn't help but wince as the word greeted my ears and I responded with a simple and rather nervous, "oh..."

We reached the cabin but just as we went to say our goodbyes and part ways, I noticed a pretty deep and bloody gash on his right bicep. Being used to tending to my sisters' battle wounds when nurses weren't accessible, I knew the right thing to do was offer assistance.

"My — that wound looks pretty deep. I think there is a medical kit in the bathroom of this cabin. Do you want me to clean you up?" I offered kindly and he quickly shook his head.

"No, princess. I've already disturbed your night enough. Go enjoy the rest of your festival."

I mirrored his previous actions by shaking my head, denying his refusal. "No, I insist. It will only take a few minutes of my time."

After a minute of hesitation, the man accepted my offer with a nod of his head. I opened the door of the cabin with the key my sister had given me, we entered the cozy place and I instantly headed straight to the bathroom to retrieve the medical kit.

Once I returned a few minutes later with the needed items in hand, I saw Syzoth sitting on the couch in the middle of the room, looking around at his surroundings curiously like before. I found it oddly cute, how he seems so fascinated with all around him. I decided to watch his actions for a minute longer, before entering the room to greet the man once again.

I sat down right beside him on the couch, and quickly got to work on his wounded arm. He would flinch every once in a while, but he was pretty good at staying still for me. The room fell silent for the time being but it was actually fairly nice. He watched as I cleaned and bandaged his arm, but I didn't feel judged or criticized like I usually did whenever I was being trained by my sisters or mother. I felt... Rather calm with this man. I liked it.

"There you go — all better now." I announced as I finished wrapping the soft cloth around his muscular arm as carefully as I could.

He looked down at his arm for a moment, carefully inspecting the bandage before looking up at me with a grateful grin.

"Thank you, princess. You did a wonderful job."

I could quickly feel my cheeks stinging with heat and I instantly looked away to hide the blush I knew had stained them crimson. As a royal, I knew I couldn't mingle with one my family didn't approve of first. And besides, he could never feel that way for me anyway. Growing up, all the men in my village were always attracted to my sisters like moths to a fire. And it seemed to me that I was the lavender that repelled them. They haven't wanted me all my life, so why would they now? I quickly looked for anything to steer the conversation in a new direction and distract the man from my rose-dusted skin.

"Um... So, I must ask..." I began, struggling to find words as I thought hard of a good question to ask him — anything to steer the conversation away from dangerous territory. "I've never seen Zaterra, but I have heard stories about it from my ancestors. You don't necessarily look Zaterran. Were you adopted?"

The man stared at me for a moment with a blank expression — as if I had just said the most obsurde thing he had ever heard — before laughing heartedly for a few minutes. He shook his head as he calmed down from his fit of giggles, finally looking back at me with a large smile of amusement.

"No, I am not adopted. I am indeed Zaterran, princess." He informed me. Still being very confused, I just had to push for a clearer answer. 

"I do not understand. You look so— so—"

"Human?"

"Yeah,"

At that moment, Syzoth leaned forwards and lowered his voice as if to tell me something that was only meant for my ears to hear. I leaned in closer — until our faces were merely inches apart — and it had just then dawned on me that I had never been this close to a man before. My heart began racing as I felt his hot breath fan my skin like a warm summer's breeze. I was sure that I was blushing again.

I could see his face better now — every little detail of his tattoo, his beautiful light green eyes, the aged scars that were across his face and soft pink lips. I wanted to run my fingers along the inked design to see what it felt like, his soft green eyes lured me in like a wolf to the stars at night, and those soft pink lips... I wondered at that moment what it would be like if I leaned in a little closer and let them gently caress my own — how good would that feel? But then his low voice finally brought me back out of my little fantasy.

"Can you keep something only between you and me?" He whispered in a volume so quiet, I almost couldn't catch the words to comprehend them. I nodded slowly and he stood up from his spot, backing away from the couch. "Promise me you won't be frightened, princess?"

Though that last sentence did make me a bit worried and nervous, I nodded my head in agreement. Merely a few seconds later, the man disappeared. I was pretty confused but then suddenly a large, reptilian creature appeared right before me. He stood around 8-9ft tall, towering over me as he licked his big fangs. I could only gasp as my eyes stayed focused upon the creature — my body now completely frozen in shock. I couldn't comprehend how this beautiful man could transform into a reptilian creature. It seemed impossible. But it was Outworld, so I guess I shouldn't have been too surprised.

The creature then came forward and lowered his head to my side, showing that he had no intention of devouring me like my ancestors told me Zaterrans do. I placed my hand upon the top of his head and stroked his scales a few times to show that I wasn't afraid of him in his — I suppose natural form. He let out a low rumble that emitted from his chest and I couldn't help but giggle a little bit at the fact that he enjoyed the affection much like a tamed dog. He was actually quite a beautiful creature. I always had an appreciation for reptiles that my family could never understand.

The creature eventually backed away and suddenly, Syzoth was once again in his human form. He stood before me with a rather cheeky smile set on his lips. Whether he found it amusing how shocked I was or was just happy that I didn't run away, I am unsure. He approached the couch and sat down once again, staring into my eyes with almost hopeful ones.

"When my people found out about my "curse", I was terrorized and run out. They called me a freak..." He peered down to his hands folded in his lap as he whispered the last sentence as if it hurt his heart to speak those words, and that hurt my heart as well. Because in a way, I knew what it was like to be treated differently than others. "But that's why I'm here: To make a new and rewarding life for myself."

"You're not a freak," I exclaimed with a reassuring smile while placing my hand on his own. He glanced up at me as if he was surprised to hear me say those words — lips parted as if he wanted to speak, but didn't know what to say. "And I don't think it's a curse; It's a gift."

"So you are not afraid, princess?" He asked with a hint of nervousness in his tone and I shook my head.

"Of course not, Syzoth. I think your Zaterran form is rather beautiful. And you must be a mighty good fighter?" I nudged his shoulder playfully with my own and he huffed a short laugh.

"Perhaps once you are queen, I can be your protector?" He suggested as his lips curved up into a pretty attractive smirk. My heart began to beat faster once again for only a second until his words finally sunk in.

"Unfortunately, that won't be possible." I mentioned and he looked at me with confusion etched in his features. I figured that I should explain more thoroughly. "My sister — Mileena — is next in line to inherit the throne from our mother. I will never be queen of Outworld."

"Oh, I am sorry." He spoke sincerely and I simply shook my head to dismiss his apology, despite being grateful towards his empathy.

"It's fine, Syzoth. I am truly proud of my sister's accomplishments. I just wasn't meant to be a ruler." I gave him a faint smile to mask my hidden sorrow but it was plainly clear that he could see right through it. He had only known me for an hour and he could somehow see through the cracks of my porcelain mask of lies better than my family could. How funny is that?

He stared at me as if he was examining my features for a moment, before speaking in the softest tone I had ever heard spoken, "Well, you could be the queen of my heart instead?"

Coincidentally with his words, I felt my heart stop for a second as they sunk into my mind. My thoughts were racing around my mind at such fast speeds, that I began to feel dizzy and lightheaded.

'There is absolutely no way he just suggested— No, it's not possible— Or is it? Even if it was, there would be no way we could— By the Elder Gods, my sisters would never allow it!'

But just as I parted my lips to speak my refusal, my eyes set upon his hopeful gaze. There sat before me a man who saw my worth — who wanted to love me the way I deserved to be loved; how could I deny that?

"Syzoth," I spoke in the most soft and calm tone I could muster. I took the man's large hands within my own and smiled up at him in a loving way. "I would be honored to be the queen of your heart."

His smile broadened as his fingers clasped around my hands to hold them tight as he locked his warm gaze with my own. "Together, we will no longer be alone."

We both leaned forward and his soft lips finally collided with mine in a kiss that I had not only been waiting for for the past hour, but my whole life. It was as if color had finally been restored into my grey existence and — for the first time ever — I knew something that was finally set in stone — I knew that I would no longer be alone.

》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《

[lovecla]

IF YOU LOVE ME, LET ME KNOW | jack hughes.

00.2. how did you and jack meet?

➴ warnings: none!!

➴ word count: 1k

➴ author’s note: mostly sophia’s first nhl concert and how she and jackie boy met. i spent the entire morning working on that Nonsense outro and i am gonna say that im very proud of it lmfao. hope u enjoy!

—♡

THE room looked full.

On the stage, you could feel dozens, hell, hundreds of eyes on you. Shanon had warned you that at least two hundred people were expected but damn.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our most expected guest for tonight, Sophia Montenegro!” A man’s theatrical voice was heard just before the first notes of Nonsense.

You and your team worked really hard to make this happen, because April flew by, really. Coachella was a hit and you got so many jobs out of it, it was crazy. But this was what you were looking forward to the most.

You sat on top of a piano, black dress shining with the lights directed at you. You smiled, feeling anxious and excited and maybe just a little bit nauseous too. There were men, women and children sitting in round tables in front of you, but what really caught your attention was the group of men sitting on the table right in front of the stage, all of them wearing shirts with your face in it. And they were screaming the loudest too.

“‘Think I only want one number in my phone, I might change your contact to ‘don’t leave me alone’.”

Singing for you meant living. It was a necessity, a need. Every time you stepped on a stage, you felt alive, you felt fulfilled. You felt like maybe you were on this planet for a reason, and that reason presented itself whenever the words came out of your mouth during a song.

So you enjoyed yourself, and watched as the other people did the same. Everyone seemed to enjoy the acoustic version of Nonsense— which you had never sung before, by the way— and it was so funny to see grown ass men singing the lyrics like their life depended on it.

“Lookin’ at you got me thinkin’ nonsense. Cartwheels in my stomach when you walk in…”

“Please do the outro!” Someone shouted before the end verse and you giggled. You were already planning on doing it, but you gave the man a thumbs up either way.

“Shanon said I should keep it PG.

So, Father, I might need to be set free.

Because I really want a Devils in me.”

Loud cheers were heard and you smiled, biting your lip.

The rest of the little concert went well, and when you noticed it, you were dancing on the stage with another five players, who had two left feet and were probably a bit drunk too, but it was so much fun. One of them even asked for the mic so he could sing for a while too. You had the time of your life and you really hoped everyone else did too.

When the last song— Espresso— ended, you received a standing ovation. You felt yourself tearing up just a bit, and you closed your eyes, bowing your head.

“Thank you so much, everyone, I had so much fun tonight,” you started, voice wobbly and tired. “I didn’t know you guys were my biggest fans…”

“Nico here went to your concert!” Some guy shouted, pointing at the man— Nico, you suppose— beside him. You laughed, blowing him a kiss. The Nico guy looked like a tomato, face all red and cute, but he was wearing your merch too.

“Well, now I need to change and from what I’ve heard, we’ll have some delicious food and more amazing singers tonight, so please don’t leave!” You said, leaving the stage after another round of applause.

You found Grace in your dressing room, and you both hugged each other, yelling with excitement. “Can you believe this is our life, baby?!” Grace yelled, and you shook your head no. “I can’t either. Anyways. You have to change into a jersey and I have to take pictures of you with it.”

You looked at the jerseys hanging on the wall in front of you and smiled. “Can I have a Nico one, please?”

—♡

AFTER taking pictures with the players and their families— some of them had daughters who loved you as well—, you found yourself near the food table. You were deadass starving and you needed to get your hands on a hot dog before you passed out. Oh, and a drink as well. It was hot there.

“You got the wrong number on your back.”

You heard a playful voice behind you and you would’ve cursed, if you hadn’t had your mouth full of bread. You tried to swallow it all before you actually turned around.

What you saw was… interesting. It was probably one of the youngest guys in there, perhaps even the same age as you, and he had beautiful, blue eyes. He was wearing a white jacket and a Devils cap, so he was definitely one of the players on the team.

“Wrong number?” You asked, looking at your jersey again, the #13 plastered on your arms and back.

“Yeah. Should be wearing an eighty-six jersey instead.” He smirked.

“Let me guess. That’s your number?”

“That’s the best number. A girl like you shouldn’t be wearing anything less.”

You ignored the compliment (was it even a compliment?) and plastered a smirk on your face, too.

“I think I’m fine with Nico’s number on me. Since he’s the captain and all,” you shrugged. “He also went to my concert so that proves he is the best.”

“Sweetheart, you seriously need someone to show you what best means,” he stepped closer and suddenly your heart was racing all over again. “I happen to be the right person for it.”

“Right person?” You chuckled. “Got your hopes way too high, don’t you, lover boy?”

He shrugged, the confident smirk never leaving his face.

“Just an offer. You did say you wanted a Devils inside you.”

You audibly scoffed. This handsome ass man, with the tiniest bit of an accent and a huge lot of an attitude had some balls.

But then again. Last time you had sex with someone was a year ago, with your ridiculous ex-boyfriend, Harris. You were feeling pretty needy, but with all the work and energy you had to put into your performances, you just didn’t find the time to deal with other dipshits.

At least this one looks like he knows here your clit is.

You stepped closer, noticing how you tilted your head up so you could look into his eyes.

“Is the offer still up?”

He smiled, cocking his head to the side.

“For you, doll? It will always be.”

[ashthemadwriter-archived]

"Either I'm insane or you were just masturbating in our living room"

"Open your mouth for me baby"

"Do you know what happens when you misbehave?"

Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs

Pairing: Fyodor X Fem!Reader

Request: "HIIII I'm here for your September event ! God, I hope it's not too late and you'll take my request (and I hope you're having a good day). So I'll like 17, 1 and 5 with Fyodor. If it is possible a Fyodor... Not very nice, you know, a little psycho. OK it's weird, I hope you will accept T-T Have à great day !!" ◜By dear @concombre-2-mer ◞

Genre: Smut

Format: Fic

Warnings: Explicit smut, Porn with a plot, Orgasm denial, Yandere themes, Toxic relationship, Mean dom!Fyodor, Sub!Reader, French!Reader(Just pretend that you're French if you aren't lol), Lovesick!Reader,Heavy degrading, Praising, Slapping, Choking, Spitting, Dacryphilia, Fingering, Vaginal penetration, Pet names(Dear, Darling, etc), Name calling(Slut, whore, etc), Dirty talk, MDNI, Dark content dead dove do not eat

Word Count: 4.4K (I KNOW)

A/n: Ahhhh this took so long I am very, very sorry. Also, I hope I reach your expectations lol.

Fyodor Dostoevsky, a complicated, brilliant, dangerous man, with so many plans in his head.

You met him at a ball where your dad, the most powerful senator of France, was the host, and he was one of the VIP guests. The second your eyes caught a glimpse of the raven-haired man, your heart missed a beat. It wasn't just about his looks- although you could never overlook how attractive he was. It was the way he calmly witnessed everything and talked in a nice but also careful manner, or perhaps how he smiled elegantly while looking at other people blabbering, like he knew all their intentions inside out- which you found out later that he actually did; nothing can escape this mans sharp eyes.

Whatever the reason was, he had you fascinated by him from the very beginning.

You made the not-so-wise decision to approach him and start a casual conversation, which only made you more curious about this mysterious, fetching man. Your discussion that was supposed to be a short chit-chat lasted for hours, but it couldn't be any other way. You had the same interest, the same likes, the same taste in literature; it was nice having someone who understood what you were talking about and didn't look at their clock every ten seconds as company; nice, and rare.

When the party was over and Fyodor walked you to your room as the gentleman he was, he couldn't miss the hints of lust in your eyes, and how you were looking at him so desirably, hoping he would step inside the bedroom and spend the night with you; but all you got was a kiss goodbye on your cheek and a formal farewell.

That night you couldn't sleep. Between all the tossing and turnings, you thought about the ball. How you found the perfect guy, spent the whole event with him while others were laughing and drinking at the buffet, and how you got rejected in the end. Maybe he was just playing with you after all; just to get information about your father and to take advantage of you, like everybody else had done. He was never interested in you in the first place.

You were wrong.

Not about the information part. He did got the information he wanted through his intellectual methods and you carelessly gave it all away; but for the first time in his life, Fyodor found himself curious about someone, for reasons that weren't involved with his work. He didn't care about your father and his political status anymore, he wanted to know about you; which explained why your phone was ringing with an unknown number showing up on the screen the day after the event.

He asked you to give him a tour around the city and to accept his invitation to a lovely dinner as a thank you gift, and you accepted without giving it a second thought.

Nothing happened that night either.

You were frustrated. Everything was going great, he even smiled at your funny remarks a few times- actually, he was smiling the whole time, examining your expressions with a vague look on his face. But the second you arrived at your home, he was gone again, rejecting your offer to come inside for "a cup of coffee".

Who was this man? Why did he kept doing this? He was not someone you could read his mind easily, you had no idea what was going on through his head; all you knew was that you'd only known this man for two days, and you're already obsessed with him.

Given how many times he had humiliated you, it was stupid to accept his offer for another date the day after again, but you weren't really thinking anymore.

Just like that, you kept going on small dates with each other every night, and he kept refusing to come inside each time; but you were happy that you got to spend time with him; you could always open yourself on your fingers pretending that they're his afterwards. You could see a future for yourself with this man, living in a fancy house together. He would read to you when your head is on his lap, take a bubble bath with you in the bathtub, you could even get yourself a cat. A baby would be nice too, if Fyodor would be down for that...

Little did you know, you were digging yourself into a bottomless hole, which you'll never be getting out of.

Fyodor had the same thoughts as you.

You were so sweet, so kind and lovely. He liked it that you were actually smart, but lost all your senses when it came to him. You were sweetly stupid and it made his heart clench every time he had to drag his feet out of your alley to head back to his empty, cold apartment alone, but it was all part of his plan, and the only key to it was patience, because he needed to make you desperate, to the point that you would kneel and accept everything he tells you to, not needing to be told twice.

And it happened. You found yourself to be at Fyodor's beck and call, agreeing to his every word without putting much thought to it; Even when he asked you to run away with him.

You were skeptic of course; not enough to reject his offer, but you needed to hear him saying it was ok, it was the right thing to do. And he did, assuring you that your parents would never let you come with him if you tell them beforehand, that it's the only option you've got left and you will eventually visit them after a while.

How could you refuse when he was the one asking?

You didn't hear anything from your parents until a few days later, when the tragic accident of fire that had devoured the home of the great senator and the occupants alive got all over the news.

You haven't seen Fyodor for over one week.

Months have passed since the "accident" and your so called "get away", but things have gotten worse, if even changed slightly. You've been kept in a small apartment ever since, and haven't caught a glimpse of the sun for so long, not even through the windows.

Fyodor said it's for your own good, that people who killed your family are after your blood and you need to stay somewhere he can protect you, but you're not sure if sealing the windows are really related to that. You don't have a key to the apartment, even to the rooms; Fyodor has set many ground rules of things you should and should not do, and it's frustrating.

Your patience knows limits, and it might already be at it.

You're lying in front of the TV, with a bowl of ice cream in your hand, looking at some romantic movie in your own language. You watch the people laughing, dancing, making love, but the only thing you feel is one single emotion.

Envy

You're envious of other people. How they go on fancy dates and end up fucking in a public bathroom, while you haven't even kissed Fyodor yet. You don't have the faintest idea why he asked you to come with him in the first place. That's what Fyodor does to you, always keeping you in the dark and only coming back when he decides it's the right time.

Him, not you. Your opinion does not matter one single bit.

Sighing, you turn the TV off and put the empty bowl on the table. You're already way too depressed, you don't need to see other people's happiness and regret about your own choices.

But that's the problem. You don't regret anything. You don't regret taking Fyodor's hand when he offered you a dance at that part, you don't regret spending time with him and having wet dreams about him at nights, you don't regret agreeing to come to this place;

you even know that he was the one who slaughtered your entire family, but you decide not to think about anything other than him because sometimes, ignorance is a bliss.

As you lean back to the couch, you wonder where your boyfriend- if you can even refer to him as that, is right now. What might he be doing? Is he planning another murder? Is he on a date with another poor woman to manipulate her, use her and then just throw her away like she's worth nothing? Is he holding her hand and whispering sweet promises about the future to her?

Ah, you just remembered.

His hands.

Fyodor has long, skinny hands and stretched, pale fingers. You admire the way his veins lay bare under his skin when he holds a coffee mug or writes a letter. His nails are always cut shortly, exhibiting his smooth skin and how he takes care of them. His hands are cold, not at a shivering state but cold enough for you to offer him your gloves, or just hold them to warm them up.

God, you can't wait to hold his hands again, and to feel them inside you once he finally gets around to it.

Sliding your hand in your pants, you close your eyes and imagine how his fingers would curl up and massage your sweet spot, dragging pleasure outside of your cunt. Will he be gentle, taking his time, making love to you? Or is he the kind to be rough and would make you scream his name by the end of the night? It's your call, since this is all an illusion and he isn't actually here.

Fyodor hates masturbation. He told you that once you brought the topic up on one of your dates. He thinks that it's pathetic, useless, and offending to a person's partner, But Fyodor isn't here; it's only you and your pitiable moans filling the room.

You whisper his name as you scissor yourself open on fingers that are actually supposed to be his, but unfortunately, they're attached to the pathetic body of yours. Tears find their way out of the corner of your closed eyes, staining your cheeks, and you wish he was here to wipe them off your face, plant a kiss on your forehead and say how well you're doing for him.

I miss you so much, Fedya…

You feel getting closer to your orgasm as your fingers speed up, but the sensation isn't nice, not as much as it would be when he's the one helping you out; yet this is all you're going to get for now, so you shouldn't complain and just take it.

With a cry out of his name, you come. Arousal covers your fingers and you have no choice but to clean them up with your mouth. Your whole body stings and you just lie there, panting and half way through crying. What would he do if he was here? Would he scold you? Punish you? Or say something like...

"What are you doing?"

Until a few minutes ago, you thought that when he comes back, you'll jump into his arms, kiss his face over and over while telling him how much you've missed him, and that he should bring you along with him everywhere he goes; but now that he's actually here, you just want this to be a mirage.

It isn't.

You desperately open your eyes and tilt your head toward the doorway, only to look at the tall man standing there through your blurry vision.

Fyodor is as handsome and terrifying as ever. There's a bouquet of roses in his hand, and he's wearing his usual outfit, an Ushanka and a black cloak. Everything looks the same as ever, except for the look on his face.

You expect him to be angry, to shoot daggers your way; but through the violet shades of his penetrating eyes, you find another emotion; one that intimidates you more than his anger and sends shiver down your spin.

Disappointment.

You stay silent and keep staring at his figure with widened eyes. Fyodor doesn't scold you. After a few seconds, he slowly walks toward you and places the roses on the table, standing next to the couch.

"May I take a seat?"

You want the ground to swallow you whole.

"S-sure, do as you wish"

He calmly makes himself comfortable on the couch, while you nervously curl yourself up against your side. Feeling like you need to explain yourself, you want to say that it's not what it looks like, but you know you would only tie yourself up in knots. Besides, it's exactly what it looks like, and Fyodor isn't stupid.

With an expressionless face, he points at the flowers on the table.

"These are for you"

Roses are your favorite type of flowers. Sitting there with your legs crossed and your arms wrapped around your shins, you sense his thoughtful gesture to be a slap in the face. Guilt and fear makes your heart ache yet you don't have the guts to start crying again.

You didn't want him to come back. Not like this.

"Ah, thank you..."

He couldn't have heard you since you mumbled so quietly, but he's got sharp ears. You look unsure when you stretch your arms out to pick the flowers up, but when you sniff them, your face brightens up with delight.

"They are lovely"

"So, care to tell me why you were calling out for me like that?"

He's not going to let it slide, is he?

"Nothing. Where have you been?"

"Answering my question with another one? I see"

While you struggle to breath, he takes his Ushanka off and places it between you, and all you do is watching him carefully for a reason you're unaware of yourself, but he probably is, since he's a mine of information and knows every twist and turn of your brain.

"To answer your question, I could say I was tying up a few loose ends. But fill me in, dear; was I hallucinating earlier? Because, either I'm insane or you were just masturbating in our living room"

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but words seem to have been erased from your mind and your tongue doesn't roll in your mouth as it did before. When he doesn't hear a response, he flashes you a pitying look and shakes his head.

"No comeback? You're not even denying it"

How long was he standing there anyway? Was he there from the beginning? Because god, if he was then you don't want to face him ever again.

"You know dear, I thought that we should wait until we were in a better place; but if you're so eager... I shouldn't keep you waiting for so long"

Ah, what?

When he catches you staring at him, like you're unable to believe your ears, he merely smirks; standing up and taking the direction to your bedroom.

"Aren't you coming, sweetheart?"

"I'm... coming..."

You don't have a clue of what is going on, still, you've waited for this moment from the year dot; you won't be letting it pass this easily.

As you enter the bedroom, the sight of Fyodor taking his cloak off catches your eye. He takes a peek at you from the corner of his eye, only to find you standing next to the wall awkwardly.

"What are you waiting for? Get undressed"

"...Ok"

Stripping out of your clothes, you feel slightly embarrassed when your whole body is exposed to him for the first time, and his eyes scanning you up and down are not exactly helping.

Fyodor pauses a little, like he wants to say something but he's not sure if he should; then looks you in the eye.

"Get on the bed"

You obediently listen to his demand and lie down on the bed, getting excited when he follows you to hover on top of you. He gently cup your cheek with his hand, and cracks a smile.

"I don't think I've ever told you how pretty your eyes are, Darling"

You blush at his sincere comment that gives you enough courage to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down a little so that your lips are only inches apart. The idea of you initiating the kiss doesn't even cross your mind; Fyodor is the one in charge and he has to have control over everything. Thankfully, he's kind enough to not push you away this time, playing along by attaching his lips to yours, kissing you passionately. And you kiss him back with so much desire and longing, like you did every night before going to sleep in your imaginations. You won't be doing that anymore, now that you have the real thing.

Not only Fyodor doesn't stop you when he senses your hands on his body, trying to unbutton his shirt, he even helps you out with some of them. You smile into the kiss when you feel a certain "something" pressing against your core, which doesn't go unnoticed by him.

"You sure get cocky, But I don't blame you dear; you certainly taste nice"

"Mhm... Touch me more, Fedya"

The mans face breaks into a mischievous grin. He places his hand on your collarbone, lightly rubbing it with his thumb.

"You want me to touch you more, Darling? Where do you want me to touch you?"

His hand roams down on your body, until it reaches to your boobs, And cups one of them.

"Here? or..."

You let his limb wander on your body, thrill taking over you as you anticipate where its destination might be. A soft moan skips your lips when he finally cups your womanhood, fingers teasing your clit.

"Maybe here? Hmm?"

"Fedya…"

"Yes, honey?"

You look at him with plead through your dewy eyes.

"Stop teasing and just give it to me, ok? I've been waiting for so long..."

Fyodor briefly examines your face and his small slowly fades away. You feel shaken by his sudden change of mood, wondering if you said something wrong.

"I will; but, do you think you deserve to be touched? You looked like you were having so much fun with your own hands back then"

As his gaze pierce through your soul, you find yourself to be in dire straits. Despite the position you're currently in, you know you should rack your brain and say something acceptable, or else you won't see the light at the end of the tunnel, or even tomorrow anymore.

"I'm... Really sorry about that... I guess I was just under so much pressure, you looked like you weren't attracted to me and you were gone for a quite amount of time... But It won't happen again, You have my word. I really am sorry"

As you wait for him to react to your genuine confession, his stare becomes more gentle, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips.

"I know you are Darling, I know you are"

His fingers lightly rub circles on your clit to make your mind go numb while he deeps his face in the place between the pillow and your ear, making you shiver every time his lips brush against your earlobe.

"Tell me y/n; which feels better? My hand or yours?"

You choke a moan out as his digits slide inside with the help of the arousal from your lewd activity earlier. They are longer than your fingers; longer, professional, and more importantly, they belong to him.

"Y-yours of course, Fedya"

"Good girl. That's what I thought"

Fyodor doesn't hurry anything. His moves are calculated, and with each shove, his fingertips hit just the right spot. As you whine and hold him closer, you think about something more exciting. When he can make you feel this good only using his fingers, god helps you when he unzips his pants and opens you up on his probably lengthy cock...

Which makes you brave enough to ask him, because if he fingers you for a little longer, you'll probably come and the chance to make him feel good will slip away from your hands.

"Fedya honey..."

"What is it, Love?"

"I need to feel you inside me"

His smile looks dazzling.

"Aren't I already inside you, dearest?"

"You know what I mean!"

Pulling his fingers out, you almost regret asking him to do so, but you try to comfort yourself since he's gonna stuff you with something better and you won't be feeling empty for long.

"Alright then; but first, open your mouth for me baby"

Deeming he probably wants to clean his digits up, you part your lips to help him out, but instead of fingers, he leans closer and abruptly spits in your mouth. You're stunned, but you still swallow it down your throat under the proud look in his eyes.

"So perfect for me, Myshka. Now, lie down and relax. Let me handle things from this point"

As if he wasn't already.

You can't believe your eyes when he uncovers his member from his pants. It's not the thickest cock, but the length is definitely quite something.

Fyodor smirks as he catches you staring. He adjusts himself on your entrance and casts an eye on your expression.

"Does my darling like what she sees?"

"Yeah..."

"I bet you'll like it more when I'm fucking your cunt"

Yeah, no shit.

With a bright groan, he pushes himself into your hole. Your pussy is slick enough to devour his dick, but also tight enough to send pleasure his way. He has a breather before thrusting in and out you, find the steady rhythm and the perfect place to hit inside, making your eyes roll at the back of your head.

While Fyodor does everything, holds you in place, sucks hickeys on your neck and rubs your right nipple with his fingers, all you do is whine, hug him tightly and hover your legs over his back. You would've felt disturbed by how cold his body was; but you don't feel troubled, not even the slightest bit. There is no way you would feel like that when he makes you feel so warm inside. Its not just about fucking- it's about him, coming back to you, to understand the pain you went through, and make the most memorable night as a reunion. In this cold bed, you find your body and your heart getting warmed up by this Russian man's love and affection.

Fyodor fastens his pace at plunging in your pussy, meanwhile his tongue rolls around on the sensitive spot on your neck. It's unbelievable how he knows your body like the back of his hand while this is the first time he gets to lay a hand on you. You don't know whether to moan at his cock pounding inside your tight cunt, or at how he doesn't stop marking you up as his belonging.

"A-ah... Fedya… I'm getting close..."

"I can feel it, love. C'mon darling, Come for me. Show me how much you like it when I make love to you"

His praises send you over the edge. You feel so close, this unholy feeling is so addictive and you never wanna let go. Your body is firing up, you start shaking and you're only a little away from your release; which you'll surely get there soon, with Fyodor whispering sweet things in your ear.

"You're doing so good, Milaya…"

"So pretty for me, sweetness"

"Come for me, baby"

"Come for me, beautiful"

"Come for me"

"Come for me"

"Come for me"

You are literally on the verge of breaking apart on his cock, one second away from releasing all over him and make a mess out of his lower abdomen. You close your eyes and ready to feel the orgasm wash over your stress and sorrow and make you complete again; but in a split second, you feel a tremendous amount of pain, due to the sudden emptiness of your hole.

You feel miserable when Fyodor's length leaves your orgasm undone, and when you open your eyes to know the reason, you're met with the emotion you were searching for not so long ago.

There's the anger and daggers he was saving from your stare, to let them appear at the right time.

Now.

"Do you think you deserve to come, y/n?"

All the warmth you were feeling a while ago, all the heat and certainty was gone; now it's only fear and pain, germinating in your heart, making your chest ache.

His look is dangerous. It's not just anger. It's everything. Fury, disappointment, disgust. For the first time since you met Fyodor, you feel so scared, to your fingertips.

His grip around your throat snaps you back into reality.

"I'm talking to you, slut. Do you think you deserve to come? After what you were doing on my couch, shamelessly touching yourself like some common whore?"

You don't say anything. You can't. You can't even breath. You can't even if he let's go of your throat. You just want to die.

"Ungrateful little bitch. You're so full of yourself. So needy and pathetic. It grosses me out. What do you want me to do? To treat you like the princess you are? To turn a blind eye to your scandalous behavior and make your every wish come true? You think you're still in your daddy's house?"

"N- no- no- I- no-"

His hand finally let's go of your throat, but just as you're about to gasp for breath, his palm lands on your cheek.

"Don't talk back to me. I didn't give you permission to talk yet"

You only stare at him with disbelief, unaware of the tears that have been falling from your eyes from the moment his attitude changed.

It was never about you.

Never about affirming you.

Never about comforting you.

From the very first moment Fyodor set foot in the house, he came to torture you.

"Do you know what happens when you misbehave, precious?"

He knew what you were doing. He has always known.

And yet, you love him with every inch of your soul. With every breath coming out of your lungs.

"Worthless woman. I should throw you out in the streets, where you belong to. You'll die eventually, if some guy doesn't rip your throat apart. Is that what you want, woman? You want freedom? Help yourself! Get out of my sight and never come back again"

"No! I'm sorry! I won't ever do that again! I promise- !- Please! Please- I swear- Please believe me, Fedya!"

Another slap, landing on your other cheek.

"Don't say my name with that filthy, disgusting mouth of yours. Know your place"

You don't say anything anymore. As he keeps stabbing you with heartbreaking words, you only sob and bite your bottom lip so that your whimpers wouldn't interrupt him.

Fyodor looks at your pathetic state, and clicks his tongue. He gets up and picks his clothes from the ground, shooting a warning glare at you.

"Now, I want to see you try to masturbate again"

And with that, he leaves you in the bed, shattered into pieces.

It will never be about you,

And you hate yourself for not hating this, until the day you die.

All rights reserved © 2023 AshTheMadWriter. Please do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works on any platform.

[adrienneleclerc]

Move to Miami

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Hispanic/Latina! Reader

Summary: after the Miami Grand Prix, Charles meets a wonderful woman that would make him consider moving to the states

Warning: the usual spelling and grammatical errors, this is based off "Move to Miami" by Enrique Iglesias featuring Pitbull

A/N: LANDO WON THE MIAMI GRAND PRIX!!!!! I cried, I cried so many times hearing him win, watching the edits people have made, the McLaren post of Lando jumping on the team, I was so emotional! I mean i cried when I couldn’t watch it live, I had to go to YouTube for live commentary, I am so happy he won!!!!

After doing beach yoga for the Hilton hotel, Lando actually invited Y/N, the yoga instructor, to the Grand Prix.

"Are you sure? You don't have to invite me, I'm sure you have other people in mind." Y/N said.

"No, no, I insist. You said you've never seen a race before and you're a big fan. I can even pick you up so you could be my personal guest." Lando said.

"All right, sounds great, I'll be rooting for you and for Ferrari." Y/N said, hugging Lando before she went to roll her yoga mat. She made it to the hotel so she could change and put her sneakers on before heading over to Juice and Java for a sandwich and a smoothie.

What Y/N did not know is that a certain Ferrari driver was also heading to Juice and Java. Both were walking from opposite directions but Charles opened the door first, letting Y/N pass.

"After you." Charles said.

"Thank you." Y/N said, walking in to the cafe with Charles walking right behind her. She turned her head. "Oh my god, you're Charles, I'm a big fan, really, I'm Y/N." Y/N said.

"Thank you, always great meeting a fan." Charles said.

"Yeah, I am so excited for the Grand Prix, like you don't even know. Am I talking a lot? I tend to ramble when I'm excited or nervous, and honestly seeing you here makes me feel both emotions." Y/N admitted.

"You are talking a lot, but I find the rambling cute." Charles said, making Y/N blush. She was up next to order.

"Hi, how are you?...I'm good, can I get a blueberry, banana, and strawberry smoothie, a chicken caesar wrap, and a Nutella crepe please...yeah that's it, thank you." Y/N said. Charles also said his order and stood beside Y/N.

"You mind if I eat with you?" Charles asked. There was something about Y/N that drew him in.

"I don't mind at all. Lets find us a table." Y/N said, they chose a table away from the windows. Y/N's order was called up first and then Charles, they sat back down.

"So you're a fan of Formula 1?" Charles asked, taking a sip of his juice.

"Yes actually, big Ferrari fan. By the way, not a fan of the new livery." Y/N said, taking a bite of her wrap.

"Why not? Ferrari should be red." Charles said.

"Yeah, but you guys were teasing how Azzurro la plata and Azzurro dino are historical blue shades, making homage to the North American Racing Team, so you'd think that for Miami only, the new livery would look like that, all white with azzurro la plata details." Y/N said, sipping her smoothie.

"You are right, I can't lie, but I am also under contract so as far as Scuederia Ferrari knows, i love the new livery." Charles said, eating his wrap.

"You mean Scuderia Ferrari HP." Y/N teased.

"Ugh, don't remind me. That livery has so many blue HP logos, what is the point of having the blue background on a red car?" Charles argued.

"The fans have been saying the same thing! A transparent background with just the white lettering of HP would have been just fine." Y/N said.

"So what is it that you do?" Charles asked.

"Oh, I'm a yoga instructor, I actually did the Hilton yoga thing with Lando." Y/N said,

"Really? That's cool, are you going to the race?" Charles asked.

"i am! Lando heard me say I never been to a race so he gave me a pass, I'll be his personal guest for race weekend. I'm sure I'll see you around the paddock." Y/N said.

However, Charles did not truly see her until the celebration in a Miami club. Y/N was dancing to a reggaeton song, truly having a good time, drinking with Lando.

"Thanks for inviting me Lando! I am so proud that you won your first race, and that it was my first time watching one in person, you made me cry." Y/N exclaimed over the music, hugging him tightly because she is an affectionate Latina.

"Thank you for coming! I loved hanging out with you." Lando said. Y/N kissed his cheek befire she started dancing some more, Charles watching her every move, just mesmerized by the way she moves to the music, you won't find women like her in Monaco, that's for sure. Charles took a shot of tequila before going up to Y/N and tapping her on the shoulder, she turned around.

"Charles! Its so good to see you, congratulations on P3, you did so well considering what happened during practice." Y/N told him, hugging him really tightly. "Wanna dance with me?"

"I'm afraid if i dance with you, i'll never want to leave Miami." Charles said, flirting a bit, Y/N giggled.

"Well we wouldn't want that now do we?" Y/N teased.

"I don't know, I think I'm willing to move. Theres good food, good music, a bigger population than Monaco, obviously." Charles said and Y/N laughed.

"Well there's also alligators and crocodiles, hurricanes, i don't think you're built for Florida, guapo." Y/N said.

"Would you consider moving to Monaco?" Charles asked.

"Oh i would LOVE to live in Monaco, but I am broke as fuck." Y/N said.

"Then live with me." Charles said.

"Hold on, espera un tantito, we just met, at least buy me dinner." Y/N joked.

"Mm, we leave tomorrow morning. If you give me your number we could do long distance." Charles said.

"Are you serious? You are willing to do a long distance...whatever this is, with me? Are you drunk?" Y/N asked.

"No, but your body got me tipsy." Charles flirted again.

"I'm serious Lord Perceval." Y/N said.

"I would like to explore this, I haven't had luck dating in Monaco, maybe it was time to explore elsewhere, and where else than Miami." Charles states.

"Fine, don't make me regret this." Y/N said. Charles gave her his phone and she put her number and a contact photo from her instagram. "I made you follow me on Insta by the way." Y/N gave Charles his phone back.

"You won't regret it, I swear." Charles said.

7 Months Later

Charles was in his hotel room after media day, December 5. He decided to FaceTime his long distance girlfriend.

"Hello, mon ange, how are you?" Charles asked.

"Guapo, isn't it like 11pm over there? Go to bed, you have practice tomorrow." Y/N said.

"But i wanted to talk to you, how was your day?" Charles asked.

"Its been fine, I'm just doing Christmas shopping, my niece wants legos but my cousin didn't specify which one and I am this close to getting her a McLaren lego set." Y/N said.

"McLaren? Why not Ferrari?" Charles asked.

"Ferrari is all sold out, mi amor, so McLaren it is until that freaking payasa se digna a contestar el pinche teléfono." Y/N said.

"You know, speaking of Christmas, my winter break is coming up in a few days. How do you feel about me spending the break with you in Miami?" Charles asked,

"Wait, really? But what about your family?" Y/N asked.

"I told her that you don't have the luxury to travel with me so I think she's okay with me spending some time in Miami with you. And so is Andrea as long as I am keeping up with my workouts and diet plan." Charles said.

"Wow, thats amazing. Do you still have that craqzy idea of moving to Miami?" Y/N asked.

"I mean, under normal circumstances, I would never leave Monaco because of my mom, but a certain beautiful angel makes me consider moving every time I speak with her." Charles said and Y/N laughed.

"Que cursi, but that's super sweet of you to say, I must give you some credit. Now please go to bed." Y/N said.

"I'll be dreaming of you, goodnight, mon ange." Charles said.

"Goodnight, guapo." Y/N said and hung up the phone. Who knew teaching yoga with Lando would lead to all of this.

The End

Hope y'all liked it, just a little quick blurb to keep me busy and entertained. Read part 2 of Meeting the Family if you haven't done so, I wrote a little more to it.

[nkjemisin]

Hey there. I'm writing a story set in New York City and am not American. I have few characters, but most of them are arab or white. I can't help but feel a bit wrong about it, given that America is much more diverse than that, and NYC being an emblem of that. Do you think I should force myself to include more representation or should I just tell my story, and leave that more diverse cast to some other story I could write? I know this is a neverending debate and there are many opinions about it, but I've always agreed with everything you've said in matters of representation in fiction, and so I'd be curious to know your personal answer on it.

I'm a little confused by how you're using "representation," here. It sounds like you think representation = "randomly sticking BIPOC everywhere." I think when most people use that word, it means something more like "create an accurate or at least plausible depiction of a group or place." In actual New York, there are plenty of Middle Easterners and white people who live in relatively homogeneous small communities where they might only see someone of a different ethnicity on the subway. If your story is set in one of those communities -- and you do stick some random BIPOC in that subway scene, because that's plausible -- then it sounds like your characters might be an example of good representation.

(Note: if you're not writing something set in the real world, but it features human beings, it needs to represent humanity as a whole, unless there's a good in-world reason not to. But if it's our world? You can get specific.)

Here's the catch, tho: plausibility is relative. If you've absorbed some biases and haven't done enough research, then you might end up writing something that feels plausible to you, but which isn't actually representative or plausible to anyone else. The way to avoid this is to do the research and check (to the best of your ability) your biases. For example, you aren't American, I assume you've at least visited NYC? If not, you should. You can visit some of the communities I mentioned! You can eat in restaurants, visit mosques, have conversations with actual real people who are living the life you're writing about! If you don't have the time, money, or spoons to do that, there are other ways to do good research -- films and YT/Tiktok videos made by people from the communities in question, for example. But you'd need to watch a lot of them to get a good representative sample.

I recommend this book to all the writing students I've taught at Clarion, and other writer workshops: Writing the Other, by Nisi Shawl and Cynthia Ward. There's a particular part of it that seems relevant here, which is a kind of hierarchy of "appropriate" appropriation, I think first mentioned by Diantha Day Sprouse but included in Writing the Other. Basically it says that if you want to write about a culture that isn't your own, you can learn about that culture in one of several ways: a) You can be an Invader, and just go take whatever intellectual and artistic tidbits from that culture that you want, regardless of how damaging this might be to members of that group. Example: non-Indigenous people who write about actual secret practices, or who encourage the desecration of sacred places. b) You can be a Tourist, in which you're still mooching from that culture, but at least you're figuratively paying someone for it and accepting tidbits that the culture has chosen to sell. Example: getting a sensitivity reader. Or c) you can be an Invited Guest, who brings in as much as they take out, and who has formed relationships that are beneficial to all involved. Example: being part of an exchange program, both as a student and later as a host, and maintaining those friendships outside of the program.

The goal is to be an IG, but that isn't always possible. Tourist is still better than being an Invader. (...I feel like I'm leaving out a category. It's been a while since I read the book; any more recent readers want to check me here?) But the closer you can get to actually participating in that culture, the more your work will be informed by reality instead of biases or misinformation, and the more likely your work will read as plausible not just to you, but to your widest possible audience -- people familiar with the culture and people who aren't.

(I'm a little concerned about your phrasing of "force myself to include more representation," note. Why would that need to be a forced thing? A writer's goal should be to write something that feels lived-in and authentic to [if it's a real place] most people's experience -- not to meet some arbitrary standard, but because that's how you master immersion and characterization. If good immersion and characterization feel forced to you right now, that suggests you need more practice. I recommend writing short stories!)

[matan4il]

Buddie 612 meta

I don’t think we’ve had this much fodder with such few scenes in a long time, and I am LIVING!

Okay, so first of all I have to mention the parallel between 217, when the team was coming in, one by one, to see the suspended Bobby, and this ep, with everyone dropping by one at a time to be there for the recovering Buck. The similarity is of course in the found family connection. In both cases we see the importance of the absent member of the team through these visits. The difference is in the way the team came to Bobby because they need him to be there for them as their captain and friend even when he’s not on the job. But in Buck’s case, they don’t need anything. They’re coming by because they want to be there for him when he needs his team members and friends. Buck’s parents needed a reason to love him. Buck’s found family in this ep is loving him anyway. ~~

I’m gonna scream about the couch in a second, but I have to admit that while I was watching the ep, the moment that REALLY had my eyes shoot wide open and my breaths go into hyperventilation is when Maddie reads the note saying Buck has gone out. Because as soon as it was made clear Buck had chosen to escape his apartment and all of his visitors, I knew where he was headed. First off, the very fact that everyone else came to him, while Eddie was the one person Buck chose to go to already had me biting my fists. Once more, like in so many other cases (for example, when the lightning hit and Eddie was filmed differently to everyone else in the 118, or the way he was the only absent person in Buck’s dream and the only one Buck remembered without needing a physical object to jog his memory), Eddie is singled out as having a unique space in Buck’s life that no one else occupies. And of course there is this domestic quality and element of choosing each other as we see them repeatedly opening the door for and to get to the other one. ~~

But just think of the meaning! This man puppy, who only ever wanted to be loved and who’s being showered with attention and care, is absolutely restless because he’s having a hard time and feels like he has to pretend with the people he loves the most, and therefore he’s failing to fall asleep on his own couch. He seeks comfort in a connection that’s even deeper than the people who have been to see him, where he can really be himself without pretense. And that’s what’s insane, because he was visited among others by Maddie and Hen, his loving blood and adoptive big sisters. NO ONE can claim that his r/s with them is anything other than deep, and yet when he needed something more, when he needed an escape, when he needed a place where he could simply rest and be himself, he went to Eddie’s. This isn’t just Buck standing in Eddie’s kitchen declaring, “I’m not really a guest” in 311. This is him being more of a guest in his own apartment than in Eddie’s house. This is him being home and safe and able to JUST BE in Eddie’s space.

This is Buck beginning his healing by sleeping on the SAME couch where Eddie did in 514, connecting their healing in a parallel that is going to make me tear my own hair out. Which actually connects us back to 407, when Buddie talk about Buck’s need for his loft to be his safe space. Now it’s canon that this desired safe space is Eddie’s home, and I will chew through every piece of glass out there before I calm down from this. Once again, there are opposite sex canon couples on TV who never get this level of soulmate development! ~~

Oh, I also found it very interesting that Buck tells Maddie about his list he goes through every time he wakes up, to make sure he’s not in the coma world. We didn’t see him going through those steps when he woke up on Eddie’s couch. Remember how I said Eddie had to be absent in the dream world or Buck might not have made it out of there? Well, this ep adds to that. By virtue of being the only one who’s fully absent, it means Eddie is the one person whose very presence is a cue for Buck that he’s in the real world and safe, the only one who, by simply being there, negates the need for a list. I AM MELTING. (my gif, please excuse the awfulness) ~~

Speaking of soulmates bonding, I have to point out the opposite sex soulmates we do have in this very ep. Bobby confesses that Athena is it for him because she makes him feel like he’s standing on solid ground, she helps him be himself by finding again a piece of him.

We also see her becoming a part of his healing process when he allows her to come to his AA meeting. This is exactly what we see Buddie going through in 612! Eddie is Buck’s solid ground, the person he can count on and who can provide him with rest (that’s what solid ground represents), who allows him to simply be himself, and Eddie is also a part of the healing process that Buck allows him into by seeking out Eddie, and by opening up to him when Eddie asks him to, after finally getting some rest on the couch... ~~

That brings me to the couch because that in itself is just... Wow, this show really hates my nails and wants me to chew on them fully, I see how it is. Let’s not forget for how long the couch metaphor has been with us! Once Taylor and Buck discussed their couches situation when she was moving in with him in 513, and it was clear there was an incompatibility issue because she was bringing in a couch while he already had one (meaning they had already failed to communicate about this pretty basic point), it was clear they’d have to choose only one and dispose of the other. Very tellingly Taylor doesn’t really leave room for choice, so Buck (who only asked her to move in out of guilt) gave up his for hers. That’s the start of the couch being a metaphor for his romantic relationships, and I can’t believe it started a whole season before this ep! And then when Taylor moved out in 518, he was left with none? But that wasn’t unhinged enough for our show, so they brought it into an even greater focus with the lasagna scene in 601, when it was made even clearer that the “right couch” for Buck is about his romantic partner, that he’s aware of that significance, and that he admitted to it IN EDDIE’S PRESENCE. I can’t believe Buck fell asleep like that on Eddie’s couch, when they BOTH KNOW what the couch means. This is the most naked two men have ever been with each other on a TV show without taking their clothes off! Then Buck’s parents get him a couch he doesn’t want, one that’s all wrong for him, one he didn’t get to CHOOSE, so unsurprisingly he can’t sleep on it. That would have been a lot already, but then this ep turns around and SLAMS US IN THE FACE with Eddie’s couch being the right one for Buck to fall asleep on and to do so effortlessly! Two seconds on it, and Buck was out. That’s okay, 911, I just have to work a double shift while I’m sick today, I didn’t need to also have my sanity. You absolutely can have everything left of it. (my gif, please excuse it) ~~

I know it’ll sound dumb, but I was happy crying over the beers in Eddie’s fridge and the zoomed in shot we got of them. Look, it’s their thing, right? We’ve seen the two of them sipping on beers together in the iconic 309 kitchen scene (NGL, the oral sex scene in my Blue Against Blue fic was inspired by this), and it’s been a repeated theme, so when I saw Eddie had no less than 6 beers easily accessible in the top shelf of his fridge, chilling away, it screamed “This is my Buck stash” to me.

I will forever be a mess that Eddie Diaz, tough war veteran, actually has a supply of beers ready in his fridge for whenever soft man puppy Evan Buckley drops by unannounced. Can you imagine when Eddie goes grocery shopping and he probably smiles softly to himself when he buys his Buck beers? These two are so domestic and in love and equally soft about each other, it’s gross. And by gross I mean I love it, please gimme more. ~~

Oh, but the domesticity just keeps leveling up in this ep! Because then Buck wakes up and makes his way to the kitchen, where he just… lets Eddie take care of him by serving water. And it’s so tender and husbandy, and affectionate, and connects so perfectly to Eddie asking Buck to share with him. Because Buck wouldn’t let others fuss over him, but he lets his hubby take care of him. And he doesn’t tell others, even ones who are significant people in his life, where he’s really at, but he will share everything with Eddie. Not to mention that it doesn’t take much to get him to open up. All Eddie has to do is ask, and despite Buck’s initial announcement not to, he just goes right ahead and spills. I am inhaling and exhaling into the palms of my hands.

Of course, tucked in there is also Buck asking Eddie about the shooting. We all remember Buddie holding eye contact through that and Eddie reaching out to him, right? Or everything that transpired between them in the ambulance, all of it so romantically coded... This scene tells us that Eddie doesn’t remember those bits. I find it interesting to consider that maybe Eddie really doesn’t. That maybe the reason he hasn’t figured out yet how he feels for Buck is because he blanked out on the way he turned to Buck during the most intense moments of his life, and the ones he thought were his last. ~~

I mentioned during the hiatus in replies to asks I got that I suspected just like the distance between Buddie in 5a served to bring them closer together in 5b as Buck helped Eddie with his healing, the same structure was being followed in s6, just in the reverse, where Eddie will eventually help Buck. You can’t imagine how deep and meaningful I find it, that the show has actually structured these two seasons as counter paralleling each other, and showing Buddie as being a vital part of this mutual healing, so I tried to demonstrate that with this gifset. ~~

Last one! The cardiologist. Look, I already mentioned in my previous weekly meta that the heart theme started with Eddie, and then it was expanded to Buck. I find it insane that the show really hammered it home by having the same cardiologist be the doctor for both men, and that while she’s at it, she hints to both that their issues are not purely physical. How long before the metaphor-loving Buck catches on? IDK, but every single choice about this ep feels incredibly deliberate, when so much is condensed into so few scenes.

(my weekly meta posts) (my Buddie gifs) (all of my content)

~~ I can’t explain how much I’m asking of the amazing @whosoldherout​ for the gif requests, and the results are always so stunning, I’m deeply grateful!

~~ My tag list will follow in the reblog, please let me know if you wanna be added/removed here. Thank you in advance for any reblog and like! I’m sick and took three different medications to be semi-functional, so I really hope you’ll like this. Please don’t hesitate to let me know if you did! xoxox