#maybe people were having issues with it before i dunno

[squidkidnerd]

Why is everyone so hung up on NoA's use of the word "inkling????" I've seen so many posts lately that are like "it doesn't make sense that the squid people are called inklings since octolings use ink too so it should be a general term and the squid people should be called squidlings!!!" and like. Yeah. That's true I guess. I dunno, I never really particularly cared about it that much, it's kind of a nitpick. And like—something about "squidling" as a word feels super weird and awkward to me and I don't entirely know why? I think it has something to do with the consonants? Or maybe it's my imagination, who knows. Either way I don't entirely get why people have been getting so hung up on it lately.

[proto-language]

hrngnfghnfg

[blueshykitsune-blog]

I want a giant brown bunny... but... but too much!

The only one I found was like $158 USD... it was just about 5 foot tall! It literally was like looking at what I wanted to make but realized I didn't have enough stuffing for!

And one that was like 3 feet tall was $100...

Like yes I know materials and time is money but I can still complain! Why fabric gotta be so much! And so messy! (The ones with faux fur or of the like. Like whyyyyyy!!!!) Also why is cotton and stuffing so much too! And you get enough for maybe only one 2 foot plushie!

(I ran out of tagging space... 30 the limit sadly. But I had more to say but maybe later I'll do a bigger post on that all.)

[floral-hex]

Constantly regretting not joining a local Cyberpunk Red game when I had the chance.

[reverie-starlight]

this is my contribution to @tetzoro 's summer olympics collab! this is so late >.< but I can't wait to go look through all the other fics people have written for the collab!!

fem!reader, no physical descriptions. fluff fluff fluff (of course). suna and aran can't stand atsumu's antics, but what else is new? atsumu misses you and he makes it everyone else's problem.

atsumu has been staring at his phone for twenty minutes.

suna makes note of this from where he's seated in the tiny living area of their shared olympic village apartment. it irritates suna, actually, because for someone who made a such big deal of their room assignments and got a bit weepy over how it reminded him of their high school days, atsumu couldn't seem to care less about his roommates right now.

aran (the third occupant of their dorm) appears in the doorway and glances between his two juniors. "is he still on that thing?" he asks, seemingly surprised by this.

suna shrugs and snaps a picture of the blonde when he smiles at his phone, quickly sending it to osamu with a message of how much of a dork his twin is.

leave him be

he replies, making suna's eyebrow raise. osamu coming to his defence? that's new.

he's got separation issues when it comes to her, I swear. he's like a puppy.

there it is. he snorts and puts his phone away, throwing a pillow at atsumu. the setter just uses it as an arm rest and continues to ignore them.

"hey, loverboy," aran calls and finally gets his attention. "we're heading down to get some lunch, ya coming?"

atsumu's eyes widen a bit. "it's that late already? yeah, I'll be down in a minute, save me a spot."

the other two look at each other knowingly and shut the door behind them.

now normally atsumu wouldn't be so glued to his screen on the first day of the olympics, but then again- last time around they were in tokyo and his girlfriend was no more than a couple hours away at any given time.

this year, he's in paris and about a 13 hour flight away with a 7 hour time difference from his fiancée. it would still be manageable for him, of course- he's not as clingy as you or his brother make him out to be, he swears- if not for the fact that your boss denied your time off and you wouldn't be in attendance at any of his games.

as soon as he's alone, he's facetiming you and the ache of not being near you is lessened by the bright smile you pop up on his screen with.

"hi 'tsum, how's it going over there?" you're cuddled up on the couch with a blanket.

he shrugs. "there's no AC. the beds are cardboard again. but I'm rooming with rin and aran, so that's nice."

"not sakusa and meian? I thought the plan was to keep the ones who played on the same league team pre-olympics in the same room?"

he shakes his head. "we got to make room requests this time. he's rooming with ushijima this time around."

you giggle and his mind goes a little fuzzy. "I'm sure after what happened in tokyo, he'd be more than happy to be rooming with anyone other than you."

atsumu rolls his eyes. "he made it seem worse than it was. we didn't even get into that much trouble, I mean, what's a little scolding from our managers?"

you raise an eyebrow. "you almost caused the entire village to evacuate."

"anyway," he transitions to another topic before he can be reminded of that night. "what are your plans for the rest the night?"

you hum thoughtfully. "I dunno, maybe I'll watch a movie... maybe I'll rewatch that clip of you almost tripping during the opening ceremonies..." your lips stretch into a playful grin as you tease him for his blunder.

"HEY, barely anyone noticed!"

you snort. "if by barely anyone, you mean everyone watching then sure, baby. oh, what time is it for you?"

he lets your comment slide for now and addresses your question instead. "just after noon, why?"

"have you eaten yet?"

"was just about to," he shrugs.

you narrow your eyes. “miya atsumu, you’d better not be skipping lunch just to talk to me.”

he’s unable keep the guilty expression off his face when you hit him with that tone. “I wasn’t-”

“don’t even think about lying to me. as soon as I hang up you’re going to go meet your teammates for lunch and make some new friends.”

he pouts, but his heart warms at the idea that you still want to take care of him all the way across the world. although he is a little offended you think he needs to make friends. “ya sound like my ma.”

“for good reason! go eat, baby, you need to stay strong and healthy for your games. plus I’d feel so guilty if you missed out on all the fun stuff with your teammates because of me.”

he sighs, finally letting himself give into his hunger and agreeing with you. you say your goodbyes and he makes his way down to the cafeteria.

the days pass and while he’s not glued to his phone at all hours of the day anymore (thanks to practices starting up again on the olympic courts), his teammates often catch him snapping as many pictures as he can, no doubt to share them with you.

they don’t know how many texts you’ve received about how amazing the chocolate muffins are, but if it’s anywhere near the number of times they’ve had to hear him mention it in a day, they feel sorry for you.

and as the day of their first game grows closer, suna and aran can tell atsumu is more on edge than usual. he’s acting like he did in high school again, and they know it’s because he’s antsy about not having his fiancée in the stands for the first time in a while.

they’ve seen him double, triple and quadruple check the time zones to make sure he didn’t misread it. “she’ll probably be asleep…” he said when aran asked him about it one night.

they were getting a bit worried. obviously they know him well enough to understand that he’ll pull himself together in time for the game- he’d never let his feelings compromise his plays- but they’d much rather play alongside him in a good mood than a bad one.

but the problem seems to fix itself when he lights up along with his phone screen just before the game begins. suna looks over the setter’s shoulder to see a picture of you, cuddled up on the couch with your dog. your cheek has a small japanese flag painted on, and you’re wearing his MSBY jersey. it must be extremely late for you, but you’re smiling wide and holding up half a heart with your hand.

underneath the picture you sent a message wishing him luck and telling him how proud you are of him, telling him to play his absolute best.

and suna misses what your next message says, but he gets a pretty good idea based on how red atsumu’s ears get. he looks over at aran with a nod and the former inarizaki players silently thank you for your actions.

atsumu definitely wouldn’t be stepping onto the court in a bad mood now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I feel like this could’ve been better, and it definitely didn’t turn out how I originally wanted, but I’m still happy with how it turned out :3 hope u enjoyed !!

ty again to aims for hosting this collab and allowing me to join!!!

[incidentallysunny]

I Was Never There.

Death Island Leon x Reader

Real!Dad Leon

Dead dove warning.

13k word count. Proof read 3 times until I got to around 11k then I stopped worrying and just skimmed. Critique is welcomed and my skin is thick for it.

I’d like to appear in the tagz pls so here’s a warning. My writing is not ever meant to be taken literally and is just for the sake of writing f*cked up content that I enjoy writing. If you do not wish to read this, please do not as my intentions are not to offend or make you intentionally uncomfortable but if you choose to read- don’t be hateful. With that out of the way, extremely sensitive content and dead dove material ahead.

Specifically blood-related incest, smut, suicidal ideation, mentions of grotesque imagery, light mentions of gore in a hypothetical scenario, daddy-issues, age-gap, overall disturbing topics.

As far as smut specifically: this includes talking of public sex, mentions of oral, fingering, unprotected sex, cream-pie (wrap your willy irl pls) praise, dirty talk, any probably some other irrelevant shit I’m forgetting my b.

PROCEED if you read the above, are okay with it, and are mentally unwell like I am. Happy reading, it’s a long one.

The drive from your college town to where your home had been all your life was as expected. Nostalgia and homesickness being mixed in your gut like a can of paint in one of those weird machines at the hardware store that your dad would take you to. Speaking of dad, you hardly remember him. He was present for a short while, your mom always excusing his absence with work this and work that. He really did get busy, though. Almost dying several times. You still remember your moms panicked phone calls, her countless prescription drugs for the same problems you now suffer from, and her late-night bathroom breakdowns. Apparently he couldn’t get out of this job though. Some real fucked up government shit he was tied to, your mom explained. All you know about him is that he saved the president’s daughter. Whatever.

So yeah- a perfect life with a perfect set of parents. One being mentally driven through the dirt and the other that you haven’t seen in 8 years or maybe more. You can’t seem to remember if the last few times you saw your dad were daisied dreams or reality. Bastard has never FaceTimed or video called you, either. Dunno if he even had a phone capable of that. Either way, it must be for the better, because your grades had been sufficient without stressors on your mind. And we all know a low-effort dad would definitely be one. But perhaps he’d rather just be there in person. Older people are like that.

You grunted, trying to drag your over-packed suitcase up the steep suburban driveway before sighing and standing in place. Sure, you didn’t need to bring so much shit home, but would you really want to risk some bitch at college stealing anything from your quad-dorm?

Before you could think and figure out how you’d even get the plastic luggage up the pristine, hand-painted porch steps and inside (without scratching them up and having your parents on your ass about their perfect house having a flaw) a voice called out to you. Unrecognized and not ringing any of the bells in your head. (If there were any left)

“Hey there, sweetheart. It’s been a while, huh?”

You turned to see a middle-aged man, similar to the last memory of your dad that had been printing-pressed into your mind for safe keeping. He was just emerging from the front door, broad chest accentuated by a well-fitted T-shirt. You immediately felt angry that his tits were bigger than yours. Would probably look better with a bra, too.

You didn’t answer.

Fuck- nerves were getting the better of you. Your palms were slick with sweat and you didn’t know if it was from the building summer humidity or anxiety. Was this normal? No the fuck it wasn’t.

“Uhh.. dad?” You queried- almost certain the gorgeous man at the door was just a hotter, older version of your dad and not actually him. The fuck is wrong with you? You’re getting this worked up over your father? Did college drinking really rewire your brain to be this fucked or is it all of the anxiety meds? Maybe both. Maybe you’re just overwhelmed. Maybe it’s because you rarely saw him and have zero attachment.

“Yeah, it’s me. Your old man. Missed you, kiddo.” There’s a pause for a moment- because you’re not sure why he’s talking so casually as if you see each other every weekend- like it hasn’t been years and years since you’ve seen him.

“Don’t remember me,huh?” He laughs satirically- like you’re supposed to be so sure. It makes you slightly furious and the feeling of anger bubbles up again- replacing any strange thoughts you were having moments ago.

No, my apologies dearest dad. I totally recognize you despite having met you enough times to count on almost two hands.

But the better part of you that managed to exist underneath the scores of problems you had just replied in jest- like someone without said scores of problems. It was best to keep the peace for now.

“You look a little different… sorry.” Is that all you can manage? It’s pitiful the state that your sullied mind is in.

He chuckles, though, like he knows your’re right. The sound is more pleasant and striking when it’s genuine. Makes you feel damp in other areas than just your armpits (thank you, heatwave).

“I suppose there’s truth to that. But It’s alright, sweetheart. I know it’s been a long time. People change, right?” His eyes scan you in an undecided way.

“But you, shit. You’ve grown into such a beautiful woman. College treating you well?” His words sound a little huffed then, he’s clearly beating around the bigger issue with a stick. But him calling you beautiful and being all fucking sappy makes your face feel hot and sticky like it’ll melt off. Got you wanting to rip the hair from your scalp to hear him say it again.

“Please?” You called out gently- gesturing to the suitcase and ignoring any other question. You were very much overstimulated- having overexerted muscles in your arms by being a weak bitch about a crammed carry-on. Just get your ass out here and help your daughter, thanks.

He shook his head- again laughing hotly while looking down as he stepped off the porch- his brown bangs were peppered with greys and they brushed his face on one side, his hair somehow pornographic on its own. Christ. He looked like one of those men you saw on Viagra commercials that obviously didn’t actually need it. Even the sight of your perfectly trimmed lawn and faux-looking home completed the scene. Where was the camera?

He walked over to you- there was a slight stiff in his stride; like he had a bad back or something. Maybe he did. Almost dying was the likely cause for that. Serves him right for leaving you with issues on top of issues. Maybe you should stop being mean, you’re the one getting hot over your own father. Again- because of him. Circle back to square one.

Leon towered over your frame as he hinged at the hips, picking up the suitcase with ease- the muscles in his arm flexed with each small movement. His face was a tinge of smug with a mix of something else…satisfaction? Maybe he was just pleased he was able to lift it without rupturing a hernia. Jesus Christ, his veins. You wonder if he has them anywhere else. No- maybe you should be wondering about taking your ass to an inpatient facility immediately. A few screws are loose and you don’t exactly have the tools to tighten them.

“I guess college did treat you well. You’re here in one piece.” He says- cutting you thickly from your thoughts and answering his own question from earlier. His blue eyes are sweet and gently lined with signs of aging. Which only makes him hotter- just like the fiery pits of hell that await you.

You scoff.

“Well, it’s not like I went to war or something.”

“Still. It’s nice to see you, sweetheart.” The word rolls off his tongue again. Your insides are trapezing around in their own miniature, fleshy circus- you’re wishing you could stab yourself in the stomach to stop the swarm of butterflies that don’t even feel metaphorical anymore. You’re sure they’re real now.

He continues, though.

“I know I haven’t been around much in your life- this fucking job and-“ You stare up at him- glossy doe-eyes and stupid look on your face. An apology- or even an explanation from your daddy might be part of what your scrambled brain needs.

“Work kept me away, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t think about you every day. I’m sorry if I wasn’t there for you like I should have been. Shit… What I mean to say, is- things will be different. I’ve retired. Your mother wanted me to tell you over dinner later but I figured you’d be happy to know. I’m not the best at keeping secrets.” He jokes at the end, but how is that true in the slightest? He’s kept his job a secret for your entire life, so he clearly can’t be that horrible at it.

“Oh.” Leaves your lips quietly, ghosting over Leon and leaving him wondering if he said something wrong. But then he realizes it’s probably just overwhelming for you. The worst part of him thinks you hate him. A feeling overcomes you though, and you rush in to wrap your arms around his waist- hugging him tightly. You now wonder why he didn’t hug you to begin with. Maybe he wasn’t an affectionate guy.

He says nothing at first- he’s even more awkward than you are if it’s possible. But he’s trying. He sets down your suitcase before returning your hold. One arm comes around the back of you and the other is overlapped on top- a hand nestling on the back of your head. Seems he’s getting a bit emotional, too. The attention from him is nice, though.

When you make a small grunt as to wanting to end the hug, his hands linger on your shoulders and he smiles at you. You actually return to, not feeling anything horrid become of your thoughts right now. Whether it be anger or incestual lust.

—

Your dad pushes the front door open with one of his large hands encased on the knob. Hands you immediately find attractive, wondering if they’d feel nice scissoring your cunt open. You now begin to understand why your mom was getting suicidal over him possibly not returning home. You’d kill yourself over him too. But that’s too morbid- especially after the moment you just shared.

That’s already lost to you.

He shut the door firmly, sighing, then gestures to the stairs.

You went up first, self conscious about your backside being right in front of his view but he was your dad. Wouldn’t be looking at you that way. You’re just brain-rotted and have an ill opinion of men.

Your old bedroom still looked the same, basically. Just emptier and more hollow without your things. But the walls were still painted a babydoll-pink and lined with the few girlish decorations you left on the wall. No way you would have been caught dead with those in your dorm. Not unless you wanted to endure torment and bullying that’d lead you to jumping off the dormitory roof.

He sets your luggage down and takes a seat on your bed. A groan escapes him as he puts a hand on his lower back for a moment.

“I see this room hasn’t changed much, has it?” he muses, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Your mom and I had a blast putting it together for you when she was pregnant.”

Yikes. You almost feel guilt for both the incestuous thoughts and the fact you may have ruined your parents' marriage. Maybe that’s not true. It was his work- not you. After all, he’s insinuating how happy they were to have you brought into this world. Plus- they were fine. Never argued or anything.

“I’m sorry. I dont- I don’t know what to say.” You laughed awkwardly, throwing your hands slightly up by your side.

His face doesn’t drop, though. It seems he understands perfectly fine.

“It’s okay. We can start from scratch. Not talk about… your room or childhood stuff. I know it’s a sore spot for you, sweetheart.”

Wrong. It’s more like a festering wound with the rusted knife still wedged in it. The knife being Leon and the wound your daddy issues, by the way. And having no attachment to him as a father figure makes the attraction worse. Notably when he calls you any term of endearment. He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

What the fuck. Was he sculpted by Satan himself as some kind of hell-on-earth punishment? Is this purgatory? Everything he did now was driving you up the wall like a roach- every movement and small flex showing a vein or bulge of muscle. And his arm hair didn’t help. Fucking Christ- shave it off or something. You don’t know how you’ll be able to stand it.

“Okay…. How does that work?” You cocked your head to the side a little, shifting your weight onto one leg. A nervous habit.

“Well- what do most parents do with their kids? We could go out for dinner, catch a movie, just… hang out. I’d like to spend time with my daughter, you know.”

Okay, so maybe he did care. That’s a start.

“Uh… all three?” You questioned, an eyebrow lifting along with the infliction of your voice towards the end of your sentence. You’re indecisive like your mom.

He smiled, lines and the corners of his mouth pressed. Happy. Something you heard wasn’t common for him, anyways.

“Of course. We can go out tomorrow, honey. Your mom just wants us to all have dinner together when she gets home. She missed you- not as much as I did, I bet.” He does that stupid fucking wink again. It makes you switch emotions and want to throw something at his head. Maybe your lamp. You feel bad, It’s not his fault you’re acting like a mental freak about him. You don’t even bother to fixate on the fact you’ll have to have dinner with your cunt of a mom. Okay, maybe that’s harsh.

“Okay.” You breathe out, looking around your room. Leon takes that as a cue to stand up from your old bed- the thing creaking from his weight and leaving an indent on your comforter.

“It’s a date, then. I’m going to start dinner. As much as I love your mother, she can be…scary.” He says, still rocking that pressed-in-cheek smile and cracking your door closed behind him. By the way, what he really meant was probably ‘bitchy’- not scary. But dad seems too kind to say that. He loves your mom.

You can breathe again without his presence. It was smothering, like you had to overperform. You find yourself rushing to your dresser mirror to check how you looked. Hair looks great, face too- though a little tired from college over-studying and then driving 4 hours home with no break.

You might as well write ‘whore’ on your mirror with lipstick. Or a marker- since that’s a more permanent reminder with the way you’re acting. But part of you wanted to know what he thought of you- how he perceived you. For now though, it doesn’t matter. Had barely been 15 minutes since you arrived. You turn your attention to your suitcase and push it over flat, unzipping it before the teeth give out and some of your things spill from inside.

You had less than a sufficient amount of energy to care about it being broken now- so you just put your things away quickly before plopping onto the bed and indulging your senses with the smell of the floral detergent your mom always used on your sheets.

—

It’s some time later when you’re abruptly awoken by your moms manicured hand shaking you awake by the shoulder.

“I can’t believe you’re sleeping when you could be spending time with your father. He was excited for you to be home.”

‘Way to wake me up.’ You thought. She was always having a stick up her ass about this kind of thing. Or anything, really..

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Besides, we’re going out tomorrow to do a bunch of stuff.” You argue sleepily, sitting up as your back aches with your vision still adjusting. She cuts on the lamp, sizzling your retinas.

Her face perks up but is pleasantly surprised.

“Oh, okay..” silence.

“I’m sorry, honey. It was just a long day at work and I’m just over-the-moon for you two to finally have some daddy-daughter time.”

You wrinkle your face in disgust, but not fully disgust since you were just fawning over your hot dad earlier. Maybe daddy doesn’t sound so bad.

“Ew- mom. He’s just my dad. I’m not five.” She laughs, waving her hand off at you.

“Well anyhow- come down for dinner, will you? He put in a lot of effort to cook something for us.”

You cursed under your breath and straighten out your shirt- hoping she wouldn’t bitch about it being slightly wrinkled from you sleeping in it. You seat yourself at the table- adjacent from your mother sitting at the end. She’s already changed out of her office clothes and sure enough, here comes your daddy dad from the kitchen with utensils.

“Sorry ladies- almost forgot these.” He laughs, placing down everyone’s set before seating himself next to you. Fuck.

“You know- your father has only been home a few months and he’s already shown the extent of his memory loss.” She jokes, giving him a loving yet teasing look that makes you want to vomit. And yet jealousy curls up like a cat in your lap, wanting to be lavished with attention from you. The metaphorical jealousy pounces off your lap as you’re met with your dad’s hand on your denim-clad thigh. It’s an innocent gesture but you want to his hand to go further than just sitting politely.

“She’s right, but I can be useful otherwise.” He’s bantering back with her- and you realize he’s making an innuendo when you look over at his face. But it’s weird that he’s saying it while his digits cradle your thigh so gently.

“Gross.” You take a bite of your food- momentarily shocked that a dad of any sort could make such a pleasant meal, especially when he’s spent such little time doing domestic duties.

“Oh honey- you’re grown. We’re just teasing each other.” Your mom nods to Leon, taking a bite off of her fork. His hand slides off of your thigh and he grabs his whiskey glass to take a proper sip.

Jeez, he drinks that shit like its water. No grimacing. No face was made when he swallowed it. Just a guy thing you suppose.

Dinner drags on- the both of them forcing you to talk about your less-than-thrilling college experience. No mom, no boyfriend. No dad, I’m not failing. No you two, I’m not having unprotected sex- fuck off.

After that eventful meal and conversation where your parents basically eye-fucked each other over dinner, you’re left to clean up the mess while your mom gets ready for bed. She has to leave for work early in the morning- as usual. Guess she’s going to take your dad’s spot for the absent parent now that you’re grown and traumatized full and proper.

-

Sleep came and went- leaving you to trudge out of bed and do your morning routine. It felt out of place trying to do it back at home- but it was also a sentimental feeling to be doing just that.

Leon is already in the kitchen, shirtless and cooking. Seems impractical, but holy fuck. You’d gorilla glue your eyelids open just to not miss a single second of what you’re seeing. Maybe that wasn’t needed- because you've been staring long enough that your eyes prick with tears. You remind yourself to blink and you seat yourself at the high-top, the stool swiveling slightly when your bottom meets the material.

“Morning, sweetheart. Sleep well?” He asks, turning to look at you over his shoulder. His traps are distracting you. You want to chew your fingernails past the nail bed- bite a finger off too. You can’t stand it. For a moment- the way he talks to you- you’re pretending you’re not his daughter. And then a moment later, you’re not being delusional anymore.

“Mhm.” You mumble sleepily- wishing you’d have stayed in bed longer. But piercing morning light, lack of blackout curtains, and the chirping of birds outside made that idea inconceivable. Leon chuckled to himself- turned away from you.

You decide to scroll through your phone for a moment’s time before he slides a plate to you from across the island.

“Breakfast a la Leon.” He says- clearly being silly. Corny as fuck, anyways.

“You’re old.” You snort, setting aside your phone and grabbing a fork to pick at your food until he turns away again. You didn’t enjoy the idea of having a hot, shirtless man watching you eat.

He shakes his head, sitting down next to you at the island.

Christ. Fucking go away. It’s actually enraging now.

You want to scream at him- it’s irrational and crazy- but you do. Screaming at him and being sent away to a ward sounds more appealing than the anxiety crawling up your spine like a horde of fire ants. Potentially- just like the butterflies- they’re real too.

He seems undisturbed as he settles- taking a bite. You do the same- trying to ignore the fact he's so close you can nearly feel his arm hair touching you every second or so. He breaks the silence after a moment.

“So- after this, I’ve got a whole day planned out. Mall, movies, and dinner. Sound good?” You nod, a soft ‘mhm’ reverberating on the roof of your mouth.

He finishes before you and makes his way upstairs- the occasional pain in his back unmistakeable every few steps. And yet he wants to take you to the mall to walk around? You didn’t even know how to feel about a day with your dad. What’s a dad? What’s daddy-daughter bonding? That’s lost to you- well- more like it was never even discovered. Not even Columbus could have ventured out and conquered it.

Since he’s no longer in the room, you hastily eat the rest of your breakfast before you discard the plate and fork into the way-too-elaborate dishwasher your mom had installed (you totally didn’t spend 10 minutes trying to turn it on).

Back in your room, you settle on a simple, totally not underlyingly slutty outfit. Shorts and a crop top. Can never go wrong with that. It’s just soft/core prom enough for an outing with your dad. When you leave your room- Leon is just headed down the stairs. He turns to look at you, his smile is as jovial as it has been since you’ve seen him. For a moment though, you think you catch his eyes landing on your exposed legs- but you know you’re just crazy. You’re the one lusting after him, not the other way around. Your dad isn’t abnormal like you. His head is on correctly- even if it’s been battered and spun on his shoulders throughout the years.

“Ready?” He asks, stopping in place to wait for you. You nod stupidly, breaking from your trance to follow him in a descent down the stairs.

He’s dressed similar to how he was yesterday- jeans and a t-shirt that should be considered indecent. If you were your mom, you’d beg him to wear something that doesn’t highlight every curve and dip of his chest. Hell, if you were your mom, you’d never let him go outside. Too risky. But you’re not your mom. You’re just unusual.

As a perfect man does, he opens the door for you. Then opens the SUV door, allowing you in before shutting it behind. You’re sure you've never met a guy that does that in real life, but maybe it was a ‘you’ problem and not the guy. Who knows.

When he gets in, he cranks the vehicle only for rock music to start playing from the radio- making the corners of his mouth dimple with a pleased look. Really are the simple things for him. As for you, you’re suffocated in a Hellish torment by both his presence and the expensive scent of cologne and leather seats combo.

The ride isn’t long, nor bad. Albeit you two only talk here and there so he can focus on the road- and so you can focus on not dying (he’s not a perfect driver, but not terrible either). Just enough to keep your nerves teetering between a light anxiety attack and full blown panic.

You’re relieved to get there alive. Maybe not. Your thoughts have you thinking suicide may be your only option for now disgusting they are. And it only gets worse when he helps you down from the step up of the SUV- a hand on your exposed waist and the other on your shoulder. It’s harmless. Just a dad being gentlemanly. He was shaped and carved out in that perfect, chivalrous image with only a mallet and hammer. No reason to make it weird.

Inside the mall is a tad busy- the perfect amount to be comforting. You feel a bit more at ease in a public setting since you can now focus on anything but your dad’s chest. As long as he doesn’t require eye contact or talk to you, that is.

He looks around, arms crossed. It’s almost whorish. He has to know his arms look good. Or that his everything looks good. The fuck.

“So…” He cranes his head to the side, bangs brushing over his nose for a moment. The way he looks around makes his Adam’s apple and neck muscles a little more prominent. A perfect, stubbled spot to attack with your lips.

“What do you feel like doing first, kiddo?”

You. Is what you want to say.

He looks back to you, smiling down amused. He seems genuinely happy to be able to take you out. But really- his face is making you nauseous. Obviously not because it’s bad. But because it’s good-bad. Too good it’s bad.

“Uhh… “ you look away from him, scanning the entrance area and looking at any signs. Almost like an escape.

“How about new clothes maybe? Seems like something got ahold to the other half of your pants anyways.” He nudges you with an elbow, gesturing to your shorts with his head.

So he probably did look at your legs earlier. Maybe not in the way you think, though.

You glare at him.

“Seriously?”

Leon puts his hands up in defense. He’s always on the defense in life anyways.

“Joking, joking. You’re…grown.” His forehead lines crease when he raises his brows. You did get rather annoyed at his comment, however.

“I could always buy some even shorter.” You spit sarcastically.

“Yes- because every father wants to walk around with their daughter who has her ass out.” He’s quick to remark, this time he seems grumpier when he talks. Sorta like he’s uncomfortable with the conversation. Or that he’s mad.

“Sorry my legs make you so uncomfortable. I guess I should’ve left them at home.” The back and forth here could go on forever between you two but he catches you off guard.

“Shit- no. It’s not that- ‘s just you’ve got nice legs. Can’t have these…shitheads eying down my little girl. I may be old, but I can fight when I need to.”

You know he meant his words innocently enough, but the fact that he said nice legs has you giddy inside. Same feeling when your crush calls you pretty. Yeah- that sorta feeling. And his little girl. It has a ring to it. Could even legally change your name to it so that he can call you by it more often. Maybe he’ll even let you jump on his dick right away.

Your face is pure rose-shaded. A perfect, neutral shade to make your embarrassment pop on your skin. You’re sure it’s visible to him, too. Your mom always teased you about how blotchy it would get when you were humiliated. Particularly when she would tell awkward stories about you at family dinners. Bitch.

“What’s wrong? Don’t be pissed at me, sweetheart. I was just teasin-“

“It’s not that.” You interrupt- heart thumping into your rib cage. If it doesn’t stop, or you don’t stop your word-vomit, it might crack a rib or four. Probably more. Better have hospital bill and therapy money ready, dad.

“Then what’s the matter? I just want us to have a good time together. I’m not trying to upset y-“

“You said I have nice legs.” You’re quick to cut him off again.

“And…?” He trails off, cocking his head to the side like he’s confused. Because he is confused. You stare off to the side- eyes glued to the fountain. Maybe you could go drown yourself in the penny-flavored water that you guarantee hasn’t been changed out since you were still the unlucky sperm in your dad’s ball-sack.

“I like that. You saying that.” You speak a little lower now- afraid someone will hear. Or because the tinnitus is so loud in your ears. What you’re getting at is almost clear now. Or at least clear enough.

Leon’s expression is taken aback but still confused to an extent because he’s not even certain what you’re saying. Though, he has an idea.

“Oh- uh. Okay. Sweethea-“

“Holy fuck- stop calling me that. You’re not making this easy. Wanting to fuck you. I know- I sound mental.” You spill it out, guts on the floor and the sword still in hand. Holy shit. Just told your dad you want to fuck him. You could have backtracked- fucking dumbass. You won’t be shocked if he packs his bags and leaves off again tomorrow.

He’s silent for a moment.

“Okay- clearly I wasn’t around enough. I get that. But I mean- fuck.” He runs his hand through his hair, looking around. Probably thinking the same thing about the fountain that you did. Still- he looked hot while having a crisis and contemplating immediate suicide. He paces while your nerves are being electrocuted in your body. Why couldn’t you just be normal?

“Just- sweetheart, no. None of that’s.. I can’t.” He starts, turning back to you. It seems he can look you in the eyes now. So maybe he’s not entirely disgusted by you. His face isn’t contorted with disgust, so there’s a chance. Yeah, you’re off your rocker now. You know.

“Look- let’s not talk about this. C’mon. Let’s go catch a movie like I promised.” He starts walking- leaving you standing in a puddle of shame and embarrassment for a moment before stopping to let you catch up.

Luckily- the theater is joined to the mall. It’ll be a short walk.

—

Leon is lax on the couch until he hears the crunchy sound of tires on concrete. You’re home. Despite his shitty back, he's huffing as he gets up fast and is already opening the door. The air is hot as it greets his skin and he watches you struggle with your suitcase through the heat-haze that spans over the distance.

He calls out to you- making your head snap in his direction. Your face is that of awe and confusion. You don’t seem to immediately recognize him- okay. He gets it. It’s been a while. Nevertheless, you’re beautiful. He’d seen pictures of you from your mother, but he’s in awe just as you are. Though, he doesn’t think that highly of himself so he often wonders if you’re even his kid. Couldn’t have made something that perfect, in his mind. He helps you with your bag and follows you to your room. But your demeanor around him is noticeably mousey. At first, it doesn't seem like much. You’re just getting used to him.

Plus, Leon knows he can come off intimidating. Sometimes. But for him, he’s got a good eye and his job has led him to being able to read even the tiniest bits of body language. Doesn’t take him long to see how you’re worming around shyly- subconsciously smoothing your hair down and biting at your lip. Same way your mom acted around him before they started dating. But again- maybe it’s just in his head. Leon’s been wrong a time or two.

A better man would have left it alone. Leon gets that. But an innocent thigh squeeze at dinner can help him test his theory. A thigh squeeze that’s under the guise of friendly, fatherly touch. You tense- he can hear your small, sucked in breaths as long as his hand is there, along with heat radiating off your body like a wildfire. If wildfires could be horny college-aged daughters with daddy issues, that is.

The idea disgusts him. Because he should feel disgusted and just kill himself. Where did these thoughts come from? He even has the urge to let his hand wander other places. Bets that you have a cute pussy. No matter what it does or doesn’t look like, it’s yours and he knows it's cute. He’d give you two thick digits in your hole (three if you allow him) and have his tongue kitten-lick your clit.

“There we go. Good girl.” Is what he envisions saying before diving back in for a mouth full of you. Girls like you love being praised. Especially by their estranged father-figure or a middle aged man. It’s all the same. He’d pry the daddy issues right out of you with his dick. It’s long and fat enough, and solves all of his matters properly. Your mom is in a bad mood? His dick will fix that. He can’t sleep? His dick will fix that. His daughter is a horny freak and begging for it? His dick will fix that, too- obviously.

It’s only when your mom makes some stupid fucking joke about his memory loss that he snaps back into reality and he loses the momentum he had going for an erection. Which is good. Maybe thinking about fucking your mom will make him normal again. So he drops a quip right back- something about… being useful. Yeah. Again, his cock is useful. Your mom bites at his words, but you’re annoyed and disgusted with his comment- especially with his hand on you while he says it.

Trust me, baby. Much rather be splitting you open than having performative, mandatory spousal sex. It’s like a switch flipped. He’s not interested in your mom. Should’ve had that realization years ago, even. Technically he did. He’s just now saying it in his head finally. Mostly he was exhausted because she had nothing to do with Leon even when he was home (unless it was for dick). Too bad he was a golden retriever following after her every step like a good doggy. Marriage did that to a guy. He just did what he was supposed to. Kept the lights on, blew out her back occasionally, listened to her complain, and took care of the lawn when he could. Easy enough. That’s what men do, right? He doesn’t really know what being a man is, honestly. Thanks, Major Krauser. Anyhow- he chokes down his food with a smile. The need to upchuck after everything he just thought up is a given.

He takes the liberty to fuck your mom later that night as promised per (faux) flirting over dinner. He has her face down-ass up, though. For… imagination’s sake. At least fucking a pussy and imagining you is better than his hand and imagining you. Or so he tells himself. Call it killing two birds with one stone, satisfying your mom and quelling his own desires. And it’s not hard to imagine any of it, because you look so much like your mother. He lies awake for a short while after- contemplating his existence and fucked up thoughts. He’s still holding back vomit and the urge to grab his gun from the nightstand and off himself all over the wallpaper, while in the process, traumatizing your mom. After an hour of this- he figures it’s fine, men think of perverted or weird shit sometimes. Jerk off to weird shit too. He hasn’t technically done anything morally wrong… sort of. It’s denial. At least he’s good at playing the part of a genuine, loving father. Because he is! He loves his family. Always has!

Spending time with you would make you happy, him happy, your mom happy. He loves you dearly. All is great. He’s swearing that his brain won’t be smoothied in his skull by tomorrow. It’ll be normal and function rationally.

But Leon wakes up with the thoughts being real as ever while he stretches an arm out to feel around for your mother- bed empty since she leaves at the ass crack of dawn. Leon had just missed her leave, he’s still getting used to sleeping in ever since he retired.

He gets up and heads downstairs- immediately starting breakfast to take his mind off his…mind. Breakfast is his favorite meal of the day, it makes him feel better to indulge in it right now. Though, he doesn’t bother putting a shirt on at any point- just rocking those generic, green and blue tartan patterned pajama pants. Cooking shirtless is weird- but he’s hungry and part of him wonders if he’ll get to see your priceless face when you walk into the kitchen. He shakes his head- telling himself that he just had this talk with himself last night. None of that shit.

He was right about one thing. God, he could make a killing in betting. He sees your reflection behind him in the small window above the counter but you didn’t know that. Just stood, gawking. It’s okay. He’s observative, you’re not. You’re his dumb little girl. Dumb in the way you shift in your stool next to him when he sits down, dumb how you hold your breath when he’s near, dumb how you can’t even eat next to him, and dumb how your thighs seem to wriggle when his arm ‘accidentally’ brushes yours. Oh, he’s definitely not wrong.

Still- he knows when to back off. He hounds down his food, before you even make a dent in your plate, and heads upstairs to shower. He’s analyzing every detail of himself, contemplating how he can get under your skin the most- his knuckles gripping the sink with distaste for himself. Because it’s wrong. He’s acting like a teenager. This is a date with his daughter, not his highschool girlfriend.

Leon skips over shaving his face. Likes to keep it a little grown out but not too much so. Just in case he gets the chance to eat (your) pussy or kiss (your) a neck. Then comes the Dior ‘Sauvage’ body wash he never failed to keep with him. He takes pride in smelling good if anything. And this particularly expensive wash, plus the cologne, was his lifeline for that. When he traveled for work- the D.S.O. better have god damned had some sent to his room as courtesy. Ever since Raccoon City- he’s adamant about not smelling less than great. He swears he can still smell the sewer on himself sometimes, even if it’s not really there.

His hair routine was even more extensive and involved a weekly hair mask. Hey- it wasn’t wrong for a guy to have nice hair. It paid off.

Heat protectant, blow dry, hot-comb to get any cow licks or fly-aways he might have- though it’s unlikely- and a little spritz of biotin spray to keep it healthy and shiny. All of that in reasonable time, too. And no- it's not weird for him to spend longer on his hair than your mom does.

Besides, you seem to appreciate the way he looks when you come out of your bedroom- watching him descend the stairs. Leon looks back at you- eyes on your legs momentarily then coming back up. He knows it was a quick look- quick enough to make you question it. You do. Very much. Still, taking you out in public wearing those shorts is less than ideal for him, but he’s the one who needs to be watched closely. Aforementioned, Leon’s great at pretending. Pretending to be normal. Pretending to not have ulterior motives. Pretending to not want your legs on his shoulders as he-

“All ready?” He interrupts himself here. Can’t let his thoughts keep going too far. Even if he does want to rest a hand on your leg while he drives. Or veer off the road and into a tree so that he can’t continue to be disgusting. He’d die with the image of being a good, wholesome dad in everyone’s mind. And if you did or didn’t die too, at least you would have died not having been fucked silly by your old man. He manages to not kill you both, though. He wasn’t planning to- his driving is just ass. He knows whiskey with his breakfast isn’t ideal but when you’re a recovering alcoholic plus post traumatic stressed failure of a father, it helps.

Can’t complain though since he gets to put his hands on you while helping you out of the vehicle.

Now you’re both in the mall- Leon questioning what exactly he’s supposed to do now. He hasn’t been to one since… he doesn’t have enough fingers for that. But you’re seemingly calm. Until he makes a stupid joke about your shorts. Sure. As much as he’s thinking about ripping a hole in the crotch to fuck you cause he’s impatient and stupid- he said it out of genuine concern.

He still has fatherly instinct. Some sick bastard could get a glimpse of your exposed legs and go jerk off to it or take a photo. Ironic coming from him right now. The call is coming from inside the house but the dad is too busy fiending after his own daughter to answer.

You’re royally pissed. He knows it. Women don’t like having it insinuated that they’re dressed like a whore. Big whoop, though. Someone has to say it. Then you blindside him. Big, needy eyes and saying you like it when he tells you your legs are nice. Then something about how you want to fuck him. Christ. What the fuck. He’s not sure if this is some kind of screwy set-up or you’re actually just so slutty that the only dick you’ll accept is your dad’s. He’s rocking a semi now. Would be a full hard-on if he weren’t in public but his head spins cause all the blood went to his loins too fast.

Leon doesn’t accept the advances yet. Not now, anyways. He’s mortified. He really thought he had himself going in delusion about how you were behaving- but he was actually right. And now being confronted with it… he’s fucking scared - that’s for sure. Hmm. Be a morally acceptable human or fuck your needy, whore daughter silly? He shakes his head and lets out an exhale.

That question needs some thought. No, it doesn’t. He knows better than to do any of that shit, right? He takes a moment to start walking while you follow along shamefully- the two of you headed to the theater. A movie is perfect. Don’t have to talk or anything. No interacting, really. But how the fuck is he just going to forget what you said? Sure, he’s been having questionable thoughts but they’re just thoughts. Your words, however, spoke it into existence. Like a fucked up, frankenstein’s monster of father-daughter reality.

Don’t mind us, everyone. Daughter’s got it real bad for me but I’m just going to take her to the movies and pretend it’s normal. Reality was distorted for him ever since the existence of zombies and BOWs anyway.

He lets you pick the movie- telling the attendant that he needs two tickets. It’s a horror movie. Of course. Something to trigger his PTSD, maybe. Then he could say anything he did after that was just accidental. A mental slip. He goes to fork over the $60 for tickets and popcorn- god, when did shit get so expensive? As he’s pulling out the cash, he sees you give him a look like you want to say something. His mind is racing looking at you- it makes him nervous.

“Uh.. what about candy?” You ask, looking away from him and at the display.

“What? Sour worms?” He questions you, laughing. Not in a mean way- but because it’s your favorite. So insignificant but he remembers. You were still a kid when he and your mom took you to see some milked out children’s movie that was a part of an entirely too long series. He bought you two boxes of sour worms then. You were a weird kid, though. The worms were split into two colors, and you’d always bite them down the middle and make him eat the side you didn’t like. But he’d do it. Gladly.

You nod, a little befuddled that he’d remember something like that. Cute. Too bad your weird ass just told him you wanted to fuck him about 15 minutes ago. So not entirely a cute moment.

“Oh- and two boxes of Sour Worms, please.” He adds, now pulling out a little more cash.

You both respectively grab your own drinks- Leon with popcorn in tow and you, your worms and cherry soda. His hands are full but he manages to flash the movie ticket between his index and middle finger to the usher, who then ripped it in half and pointed to the left end of the hallway.

You both don’t say anything, but you immediately race to the very top row like a child once inside the screening. Leon swears under his breath as he follows you like a geriatric snail. If a snail could have lumbar issues. He’s able to make it up the stairs to you quite some time after and takes the seat next to you that’s closest to the aisle. Safety and all that jazz.

Previews are already playing so it gives him peace of mind to not address the awkwardness between the two of you. Your soda is in the cup holder that’s separating you both, but you lean over to take a sip, cheeks hollowed out while you drink. Of course Leon looks over, fuck.

Pretty little lips wrapped around the straw until you pull off of it with a satisfied sigh. Cause you were thirsty from anxiety- like someone shoved gauze and cotton into your mouth.

He shifts in his seat and looks back at the screen. He doesn’t even know if you’re doing it on purpose. You’re not, however. He’s just a perverted dickhead.

Time passes and not a single soul has come into this screening. It’s Monday at 11am, after all. Who the hell would come watch a horror movie at this time? No one except two fucking weirdos. It’s making Leon’s nails dig into the armrest with the other set scratching at his jeans.

The movie doesn’t start off bad, to Leon’s shock. He’s actually enjoying it and you seem just as entranced, pulling open the box of Sour Worms without looking down. You do wind up looking down, however, to bite one in half because it just so happened to be a blue and orange combo, and you hated the orange side.

“Here.” Leon turns to look at you- your eyes coming up to meet his blue ones that are oddly blue enough to the point that any light from the screen makes them pop. Pretty.

“The orange half. I know you don’t like them.” His voice is husky and low since the speakers are blaring some generic string-quartet horror piece. He nods down to the half chewed candy in your palm.

You pinch it between your fingers, bringing it to his mouth as your cunt throbs. He was expecting you to hand it to him, but the way you confidentially yet instinctively brought it to his lips isn’t entirely unwelcome. The emptiness of the theater makes it that way. Allows room for incest of whatever. He opens his mouth for you, and you go to place the sour treat on his tongue. His lips gently close around it, before he grabs your wrist to hold your arm in place. A hold gentle enough to tell you that if you want to snatch your hand away- feel free to do so. But you don’t. And you won’t. He knows.

Candy in cheek, he brings your fingers to his lips and nurses your knuckles with a kiss before puppeteering your hand with his larger one, working each digit so that he can equally suck each one clean. You’re amazed, aroused, and alarmed all at the same time. Amazed because he looks so gorgeous sucking on your fingers. Aroused for the obvious reason. Alarmed because duh, he’s your father and things can only go further from here.

Leon places your hand back onto the arm rest between you, chewing the halved sour worm now. As if he didn’t just give you the most visually appealing form of sexual affection in the history of womankind. The dryness of your mouth returns and you take another sip of your Cherry soda. Maybe you can drown yourself in it. No, stupid. That’s what the public bathroom toilets are for.

Right before you set the plastic cup into the cupholder again, Leon speaks.

“Ah, ah. Put it over there.” You don’t even hesitate to listen. Record timing for you doing anything. You don’t even know why you followed his instructions so quick.

“Good girl.” His words send lightning of excitement down your nerves and straight to your clit as he pushes the armrest between you upwards and out of the way. Because that’s a thing, for some reason. It’s like theaters want people to fuck, give head, and spread their diseases everywhere. And why does he know they move? You don’t even want to question it. Maybe he’s just a knowledgeable guy.

“Come here, honey. Let daddy kiss that pretty mouth.” Fucking Christ. This can’t be real. Doesn’t matter, ‘cause again, there’s zero hesitation on your part. Leon likes that. A woman that can follow orders. He’s so used to taking them, not giving them. And your mom isn’t one to listen to other people. Either way, if this goes south, Leon can always just off himself. He wasn’t around much so what difference would it make if he was permanently gone? The reassurance of being able to log out forever gives him courage here. It’s rational.

You scoot over since you’re free from any barriers or restrictions, and he puts an arm over you. You swear you almost hear your skin sizzle from the contact. You’re not a witch- and as far as you know, he’s not water. Even if he gets you wet. He brings a hand up to cup your cheek and swipe a thumb over your bottom lip- teasing you.

“D-dad.” You stutter a protest- cringing that you sounded the way you did just now. Maybe you shouldn’t be embarrassed ‘cause he’s your dad- but you are embarrassed ‘cause he’s hot. You can’t even figure out why you wanna back out suddenly. Probably because the idea was better than betraying your mom and knowing yourself as someone who fucks their dad. Anywho- didn’t he say something about kissing you? Cause he’s not even doing as promised.

Your dad leans in, his free hand is now on your neck and angling it just to show you how easy he can manhandle your body. He plants a kiss on your earlobe before saying anything.

“What’s wrong, baby? Can’t go giving daddy blue-balls now. It’s not polite to start things you don’t wanna finish.”

Leon’s words simultaneously gross you out and turn you on in a self-deprecating, disgusting kind of way. Not to mention he’s literally contradicting himself since he would gladly eat the half of the sour worms you didn’t want to finish- therefore entirely enabling you to start things you couldn’t finish. Hm. That must explain a large portion of your life, then. And besides all do that, doesn’t the know blue-balls is some kinda stupid myth or whatever?

His thumb falls down your lip and traces your jawline with intentional slowness while his eyes look over your face appreciatively- but it also seems as if he’s looking for or at something specific.

You get the courage to speak, air sucked fully into your lungs.

“Sorry, daddy.” The fuck is wrong with you? You could have said anything but that. It’ll only spur him on. But you want that, obviously.

He smirks, lips pressed together as the corners of his mouth do that same, pitted thing they do that you like so much. Must go hand in hand with how his chin is also dimpled. It’s sexy. But little do you know, it’s one of the reasons he keeps his stubble. Doesn’t feel like having his butt chin on display to the world- even if every woman that’s ever laid eye on him sees it and wants it buried in their cunt.

“That’s my girl. Didn’t even have to be around much to teach you that, did I?” Leon queries, grabbing your chin to crane your head just so that he can plant his lips onto your neck. His other hand is on your knee, unmoving. You want it to move, though. God- you’re sure whatever higher power is in the great sky is throwing up right now, moments away from pressing the reset button. The same higher power will make a new rule on humanity.

No free will and absolutely no incest. Yeah. Probably should have written that into the books ages ago, one fears.

You fidget as he kisses your neck, stubble scratching your epidermis yet tickling all the same.

“Not gonna answer me, sweetheart?” He murmurs against your throat, the neck kiss he gives it uses a bit of tongue- making your body jolt. “I know your mother taught you manners.”’

You mumble something pathetically apologetic, hands gripping the fabric over his shoulders. Hopefully your mom won’t notice his shirt being stretched out there- cause she notices everything.

“N-no, daddy. I knew it on my own.” You huff, that hand you wanted him to move is slowly doing so- fingers dragging along your inner thigh as if everything he’s doing to you is purposefully meant to be some kind of forewarning. But for what, exactly?

“Such a smart girl. Get that from daddy, you know it?” Ok, cocky…

Leon kisses his way back up your neck, jawbone, and then your cheek. It’s sweet- if being lavished with saccharine, sexual and inappropriate attention from your dad could be sweet.

You nod, feeling his grip loosen from your chin and now sliding up the back of your neck to tangle in your hair, threading it. He’s slow and deliberate- part of you wishes he’d not give you time to think about your actions. Not that you can really think anyways. Your heartbeat is muddled in your ears and the movie is still rumbling through the speakers while someone gets murdered on screen. Lucky them.

The hand on your thigh presses firmer into the skin just below the edge of your shorts, a silent telling for you to keep your attention on him.

“Sorry baby, daddy got distracted. Just so pretty.” He must be able to tell you’re impatient because he kisses your cheek (with an oddly dark undertone to it) before slimming the distance between your lips. He pauses right when they touch and you’re breathing in the taste-turned-scent of the sour worm you fed him earlier. Sugar and that weird orange flavor that is only specific to orange candy. You’re obviously not a fan, but it suits him.

You don’t get any time left to process before it’s a full on kiss- well, make out, actually. It’s slow. You can’t recall being kissed like this, ever. Normally it’s straight to tongue with guys, and not in, like, the good way. The ‘having an eel invading your oral cavity’ kind of way. Eugh.

But your dad’s tongue does brush yours, tastefully. You can actually feel the texture and it’s easy to tell there’s an erection fueling his actions- but not so much so that it takes over the whole kiss.

He uses your hair to pull you closer, teeth clashing momentarily. Not exactly the best feeling but everything else envelops your senses to the point that it’s only a flash of a moment. Your thigh is neglected by his touch, hand moving up and around onto your backside. He gives a squeeze to the fat of your ass and groans against your mouth before pulling you into his lap- legs folded on either side of his thighs.

You break the kiss, looking over your shoulder and to where the entrance is- the exit sign casting a nearby glow that gives you anxiety..

“Can’t- we’ll get caught.” You pant, that weird feeling that’s the grotesque love child of nervousness and excitement is swimming in your gut like a parasite before settling. The severity and realness of the situation sinks in.

Leon laughs low and mean, retracting his hand from your hair and moving to run it through the top of your scalp to push it back. He juts his hips upwards to prod his denimed erection into the cunt of your shorts. You mewl quietly, or maybe it was loud. The movie is just too deafening to distinguish which.

“Suppose you’re right, baby.” He tucks a loose strand behind your ear, leaning in to give you a light peck on the lips. “Told you you’re a smart girl, didn’t I? Can’t let me go around thinking with my dick, huh?”

His hand pats your thigh as if to tell you to get off.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Up.” He commands you with a huffed voice- not because he’s annoyed but because he’s a middle-aged man. Moving is hard. You ignominiously climb off of his lap, putting your bottom back onto the seat next to him. He’s looking at you, meandering a hand back onto your thigh just to rest in place.

You stare at the screen- but you can’t even register it because you’re too disassociated from what just happened. You almost want to beg him to fuck you right here- plead for forgiveness that you suggested stopping in the first place. And you can still taste that damned orange sour worm in your mouth.

Leon behaves, though. He’s good about that. Respectful. In the way of consent- not in the way of not tongue fucking his daughter in a public space. When the movie ends, he gestures for you to stand and you walk past him, carrying your empty cup and boxes of sour worms while the uncomfortable feeling of your slick clinging the gusset of your panties to your cunt. You look back at your father, the sight of him in the palely lit theater is a bit intimidating. He’s adjusting his pants for obvious reasons. You look away quickly and keep walking- a giddy feeling of satisfaction overcoming you. Shortly enough, you’re both back in the main area of the mall. You brush your shirt out and fix your hair- the thought occurs to you that maybe you look a little mussed and should have straightened up sooner.

But the daylight beaming through the sky roof brings you back to your senses.

“Hmm. What does my sweet girl want to get up to now?” Leon asks, intersecting his arms as he looks over you.

You think, mind fizzling as it short circuits. You almost smell smoke emanating from your head, too. How can you look him in the face right now?

“Uhh..” You really don’t know what to say. What can you focus on doing after everything that’s happened today?

“How about this? We can go home a little early and I’ll cook something up for lunch. The drive will give us time to work up an appetite.” He says, nonchalant. Right back to his same fatherly tone from earlier today instead of the ‘I want to split you open with my dick’ tone he had moments ago. Maybe he’s just being sweet and you’re overthinking.

You’re befuddled that he’s not saying anything else about… that. How can he so easily go from publicly groping you to acting cheery and normal? It’s frustrating. Disturbing even. Leon can see the disappointment on your face- but you don’t know that. You assume it’s well hidden, just like the fact you kissed your own father. He thinks it’s cute though. You’re just cock dumb for him. On the other hand, this whole situation is something he has to deal with.

“Got it.” You manage to say, walking a little faster than he does. This is the second time you’ve walked off from your dad, and it does irritate him because he can’t keep up like he used to. Displaced disc in his spine or whatever. Plus, he thinks you’re pissed. Which is worrying. Should have known better than to mess around with his own daughter, he supposes.

The drive back is silent and less terrifying than the previous, part of you thankful. Maybe he was only a bad driver in the morning. Unlikely, but not impossible. Maybe it was the fact that he drank whiskey with his breakfast. Hm. ‘Responsible’ in hindsight.

It’s still early in the afternoon when you arrive back home. The concrete is sizzling from the heat and the sun beats down way too uncomfortably for even a walk from the driveway to the front door.

Leon side-steps you to unlock the house before he urges you in. He may be morally reprehensible but he still didn’t want to let any cool air out- AC’s expensive. You plop down on the couch and he locks the door, walking past you and straight to the kitchen.

The tension is thick for you- but for Leon- not at all. You watch him disappear through the doorway as he goes to prep food. Why is it so hard to read his emotions? He’s like a fucking light switch. You’re annoyed- leaning back on the couch, until he calls for you. You’re quick to get up, scrambling into the kitchen.

“Hey, sweetheart. Mind giving me a hand?”

“Yeah. What is it?” You faintly cock your head to the side.

Leon looks to the side- directly at you. You’re cute when you’re confused. He can tell that all you’re thinking about is continuing where you two left off earlier. Shit, you’re no better than your mother. ‘S just that you’re not crabby and sour all the time like she is.

“Can you grab the saucepan from the bottom cabinet. Your old dad can’t exactly bend over too well.” He laughs- shaking his head. Yes, dad. I get it. I know you have a bad back.

You walk over to the cabinet where he’s leaned onto one hand which is rested on the marbled countertop. You feel a bit apprehensive to be close to him again. Mostly because you don’t trust yourself to not jump his bones, but Leon’s already ahead of you. As soon as you bend over, he pulls you back by the hips so that your ass is flush with his groin.

You’re taken aback but definitely not surprised. He’s a dirty old man, as you’ve learned.

“Gonna let daddy fuck this pussy now, or are you getting flaky on me?” He coos against your ear while he runs his hands up your sides and down again- creeping his hands to your front and over the buttons of your shorts- unhooking them through the slits.

“Yes.. want it.” You breathe in quick- the word coming out on its own. If god could hear you right now, he’d set your house ablaze with lightning.

“Need you to loosen up if I’m going to. You’re way too stiff.” Your shorts are the opposite of you, loose and unfastened fully so they fall to your ankles, and Leon nudges your feet apart with his boot. You realize he’s got a point as you feel his calloused hand glide down your hip and yank you in place. The other hand is spreading your pussy lips apart before finding that fleshy bud between them. A moan rumbles in your throat as your legs almost give out below you. He mutters a curse under his breath, and you realize his cock is now out while he rubs up against your ass- getting off on not only playing with your pussy but from dry humping you.

“Fucking christ. Got the prettiest ass, baby. Think daddy needs to see it bouncing on his cock.” You can practically feel that stupid, smug look as he grabs his dick- slapping it on your ass. It makes you cringe a little, but maybe you should be cringing at the fact your dad is the one doing it. You figure it’s just something he saw in porn, so it doesn’t leave your expectations high at the moment. Great. Leon adjusted himself back into his pants, for now.

His finger continues circling that bundle of nerves, your legs shaky as you’re being pressed into the counter, a hand is on your lower back to keep you down so he can do what he wants. You sound stupid- tears welling in your eyes as you babble nonsensically about wanting to cum. He moves his hand off of your back and sinks to his knees to be face level with you (even if it makes his back hurt a little), sliding his fingers up your inner thigh until there’s a digit prodding your hole, slowly pushing in.

He watches your cunt swallow his finger, barely able to fit it inside.

“Fucking shit, baby. Gonna have to stretch this pussy out if I want my cock in you, huh? Think you can let daddy do that?” He asks, breathy and sounding like he’s trying not to bust all over himself.

You eagerly shake your head.

“Yes, daddy. Need you to get me loose.” The words spill like a hot cup of tea from your lips, scalding Leon with desire.

“God damned. Such a polite fucking girl I’ve got. Might have to eat your mother out later to thank her for making you so respectful.”

You scrunch your face in disgust.

“That’s fucking gross.” You moan, Leon slipping a second finger into you, which should technically feel like four with how worn and big his hands are.

He tuts, planting a kiss to your asscheek.

“Now, didn’t daddy just compliment you? Could be a bit more grateful since he’s trying to make you cum” He grits, sounding a bit (terrifyingly) stern.

You apologize again.

“Sorry, daddy. Just don’t wanna hear about you and mom. Makes me jealous.” You admit, briefly thinking about their dinner conversation last night. Then about how fucking weird you are. You’re really hoping you get the courage to bash your head on the marble countertop and get amnesia.

Leon laughs, but in a way that makes you think he’s amused more than actually laughing.

“God. Want me to stop fucking my own wife just ‘cause you’ve got a needy pussy?” A third finger slips in, making an almost unbearable stretch as you feel a slight ache, but the previous two fingers already did enough work that it’s not completely unbearable.

“Maybe you’re not that grateful. Giving you three fingers here and she’s still too tight.” He twists his hand, letting the inside of you feel every inch of his knuckles and calluses. Your knuckles, however, are ghost-white as you grip at nothing.

“Maybe your fingers are just too small.” You say- mostly from built up tension and annoyance that you didn’t get to let out yet. But you regret the words.

He’s silent- which scares you. He pulls his fingers out of you- the stark contrast in emptiness is clear and the cool air stings you.

Leon groans as he stands up, kicking off his boots before yanking you by the arms to stand straight. He leans into your ear.

“C’mon. You’re gonna come sit on daddy’s dick, since you’re too fucking picky.” Goosebumps form all over you as he leads you to the couch. Leon leaves you standing there so he can get comfortable and discard his clothing, lying back with his hands behind his head. You make a mental note of how his biceps look with his arms bent in this position, even if you kinda feel like it’s lazy. But holy fuck, his toned stomach is perfect- sprinkled with a happy trail that will definitely lead you somewhere that will make you happy. Speaking of, his dick is nice. Fat. Not sure how big it is since you have not much to compare to, but you’d imagine taking it would be a bit of a proper challenge.

You step a little closer- crawling awkwardly over his lap- ass faced towards him so that you settle on his waist. It’s hard not to feel self conscious about your backside in this position, even considering the fact that he was just fingering you from the back moments ago. You’re mostly just upset you can’t gawk at his tits or stomach.

You grab him by the base, shifting yourself to hover directly over him, letting the tip graze your wet hole before slowly sinking down- a drawn out moan escaping you.

“Fuckkk. That’s it. Sit down on it. Take all of daddy.” You glance over your shoulder as you bottom him out; his eyes are half-lidded. Well, at least he’s got a pretty face while you’re fucking him. You almost failed to realize his hands moved from behind his head to your ass- gliding up your back and down again.

You take a moment to adjust, breathing shakily ‘cause his dick is so fat you think you might die. Or maybe you’re having a heart attack at your ripe age.

“Didn’t tell you to take any breaks, did I baby?” You’re annoyed at his pushiness, but you did have a bit of a sour attitude earlier. So you can only blame yourself.

You’re not sure how to entirely do this, but you move yourself up and down. Not at a fast pace, yet. Just that savoring your dad’s dick seems like a reasonable ordeal.

He doesn’t shut up, though. You’re learning just how much he likes to talk- as if he just wants to hear himself. Is he even getting off on you or the sound of his own voice? It makes you roll your eyes even if you do like hearing him say dirty shit.

"That’s my girl. So fucking good. Ride it nice and slow... Work that sweet pussy on daddy's cock.” You just might fall over dead hearing him say any of it- it’s disgusting but sweet Jesus are you eating it up. He must know it too because of how you clench around him involuntarily when he talks like that.

“You like when daddy praises you? Yeah, you love me telling you how good you are.” His words are husky and yet pleased with the previous tidbit of information.

“See how nice I am? Letting you sit on my cock after you made me wait earlier. Wasn’t very nice of you, now was it, baby?” His words have an underlyingly mocking tone, but you’d do anything to make him change it.

“No, daddy. Was really mean of me.” You whine pitifully, bouncing yourself on his dick like it’s your major in college and you’re trying to pass with flying colors.

“I know, baby. But daddy forgives you.” He murmurs, sitting up with you still on top of him. He’s flush against your back now- reaching in front of you to make those same tight circles on your clit. You both exchange your pitchy moans and his grunting and groaning- working up to a good point in both of your impending orgasms.

“Gonna cum in this pussy, got it? Daddy doesn’t like to pull out.”

You scramble a bit, squirming on his lap.

“Fuck, dad! You can’t do that!” You whine as his other arm holds you onto him- wrapped around your stomach. Your nails dig into his forearms, hopefully not leaving noticeable scratches.

“I think I can, baby. You’re squeezing me at the idea- I’m not fucking stupid.” He’s quick to be mean again, but you’d be a liar to say you’d don’t want him to cum in you. And you’re not a liar, that’s just deplorable- coming from someone who is literally fucking their dad with enough energy to power a small village for a month. And yet, you don’t stop riding him.

And your silence tells it all.

“Yeah- my baby wants a nice creampie.” He sounds more strained now, letting go of his hold on your stomach and using his hand to now guide you to roll your hips on him.

Sweat beads down Leon’s forehead, bangs sticking to his face as he watches your ass grinding against his lap.

“Fuck, baby. Just like that. I’m gonna cream this tight fucking pussy. Want that, don’t you? ‘Cause daddy’s gonna give it to you whether you want it or not.”

You should be a little more upset or concerned in any regard right now, but the last two days have made you into a proper whore to the point that you don’t even give a shit. Self respect crawled itself into a space shuttle and launched off of the planet, probably to never be seen again. Stuck in orbit, if you will.

You’re sucked out of the motions when Leon speaks again.

“Stop, stop.” He pats your bottom.

“Turn around, baby. I wanna see your face. Wanna kiss those lips while you’re on my dick.” Your stomach flutters with nervousness and a sickly sweet feeling. You lifted yourself from him with a trail of arousal to follow and maneuvered to turn around- this time he was holding his cock ready for you. Moments went by of you staring, getting a proper look of him since everything had been a quick blur so far.

“Come on, baby. Need you to mount daddy’s cock again. Told you I wanted to kiss you, didn’t I?” He exhaled, sounding a bit pent up. Jeez- seconds without pussy and he’s getting upset. Maybe he needs a therapist and anger management, not his college-aged daughter spearing herself on him.

You replied, yes, daddy. Sorry, daddy. Didn’t mean to make you wait, daddy.

You dropped yourself down onto him once more- only this time it was easier since you were able to get accustomed to his dick.

“Start moving sweetheart, make daddy cum.” He instructed, leaning in to take you in a kiss. It was more dirty than the last kiss, somehow. His tongue slipped between your lips- Leon lifted you with his hands on your waist before jutting his hips up to slam his cock snugly into your heat, groaning against your mouth delightfully.

His teeth nipped your lower lip- giving you a little further taste of just what kind of lover he is. Or maybe this is just the version you get. Either way, you can’t complain in any area. You feel lucky to receive even a sliver of it.

The familiar roughness of his thumb returns to your already throbbing bud- circling at the same pace he’s now moving at. Despite his age, he seems awfully enthusiastic to do strenuous work involving his hips. Bad back, my ass. Or maybe he’s able to put that on the back burner to please you. Probably worried if he doesn’t give you good dick then you’ll go tattle on him.

Leon didn’t break the kiss whatsoever while he pounded into you ruthlessly, he swallowed up every moan and noise you made like it was alcohol. ‘Cause that was his favorite, obviously.

When he pulled his mouth off of yours, a trail of saliva lingered- stretching out while you giggled on top of him. Something about you laughing almost made him nut immediately, but he held out just to prolong this and let it engrain into his mind for certain.

“Got the prettiest baby- look so good on my cock like this. Want daddy to bust in that pretty pussy?” He asked, looking for your approval.

“Uh-huh. Need daddy to knock me up.” The words came from god knows where, making even your eyes look bewildered for a second.

Leon laughed darkly at you.

“God, baby. Daddy’s so fucking close.” He muttered stupidly, almost like he was drunk. At least this could be an ego boost for you- but the fact it was your dad canceled that out. Dick only counts if it’s from someone that’s not related to you. His eyes did that half-lidded thing from earlier that you found so hot, and he pulled you down onto his cock one last time, spilling thick ropes into your blood-related hole. His dick pulsed as he let out a muted grunt, head lolling back and his adam's apple on full, stubbly display. You could bite it, just like a real apple.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He moaned. Jeez. He was a whore, honestly. The way he made noises and didn’t shut the fuck up was honestly… a case that should be studied. Maybe he had been turned out a time or two himself.

His cock didn’t soften though, nor did he not forget about you cumming. He lifted his head back up, looking down at where his thumb was. It was almost like he read your thoughts, not saying a word as he concentrated on making you cum. ‘Cause earlier he had been too eager to get in you and you were too eager to get on him.

Your nails dug into his shoulders (hopefully your mom wouldn’t notice any marks on him when she gets home from work later) and he gently fucked into you while you received proper attention on your aching clit. The combination of his dick keeping you full and the sensation of his digit sent you throbbing through your orgasm around him- low curses and other disgusting things coming out of both your mouths.

‘Cause you’re both disgusting.

[uglypastels]

Logan idea- reader has very similar traumas I.e trained as a weapon, memories wiped, has bad nightmares, slower aging, modified healing.

They find healing with the X-men and get close with Logan because of their similarities the reader is more sunshine to Logan’s I don’t know if pessimism is the right word. They go on a mission, goes missing for a period, and when they show back up they’ve been brain washed and are fighting the X-men but Logan recognizes them instantly. And does the whole this isn’t you sweetheart while taking a beating cause they can both kick ass and that’s one of the things Logan loves about them. He gets the mask off of them cause he realizes that’s part of the issue for them not recognizing everyone and then it’s hurt/comfort them feeling horrible for getting caught and Logan feeling horrible for letting them get caught. And even though they hadn’t been together before just very close friends/testing the waters this brings them together cause they realize they want to be with each other after some healing and Logan be soft with the reader while they heal from the brainwashing fiasco.

I dunno I love the idea of Logan feeling horrible about not being able to rescue the reader and then recognizing them fighting his allies and helps bring them back from the void. I’m a sucker for two people relating to eachother having a friendship that a hard time brings out their true feelings with lots of fluff and healing cause Logan understands that.

this made me think of some of my favourite wolverine scenes from different media so it's all inspired by that i guess. hope you like it :3

warnings: angst. mind control. reader presumed dead. swearing. violence. hospital-setting. guilt.

Masterlist ~ X-Men Requests are Open

‘What the hell are you doing? We have to go back!’ Logan started yelling as soon as he realised you hadn’t made it back to the jet. 

‘It’s too late,’ Scott shouted back at him from the pilot seat. ‘We won’t make it.’ 

‘She won’t make it,’ Logan retorted, already lunging at the cockpit, claws itching to come out. And they would have if it wasn’t for the cold hand touching his skin. He looked up to meet Rogue’s eyes. They were filled with sadness–pity– as she held his hand. He tried to pull out of her hold, but the longer it went on, the more frail he felt. Everything around him began to spin, his vision blurred until it all turned black, and his head hit the steel flooring of the plane.

⮿

Rogue had held on for too long. That much she had realised as soon as Logan had passed out.

It took a whole day for him to come by, but not even her powerful narcosis had suppressed his rage. As soon as Logan had woken up and his senses had felt Scott’s presence, he was on his feet, grabbing the team leader by the collar of his shirt, pushing him against 

‘You proud of yourself, punk?’ he spat in Scott’s face. ‘Got your sorry ass out all safe and sound, huh?’

‘There was no other way. We would have all died if we had stayed, Logan,’ Storm clawed at his shoulders to pull him back, but none of her methods sufficed. ‘This was the only way.’

‘No the fuck, it wasn’t!’ He saw red with anger. ‘We could have saved her.’ He had pulled out of saying that one word at the last minute. I could have saved her. That was the only thing on his mind for weeks. How you still would have been there if it wasn’t for him. 

The plan had been simple; that much had been clear in your face as you suggested it the last time he saw you. But he never should have gone along with it. He never should have let you go on your own. If he had just stayed— ran after you— maybe…

A pitiful portion of him still kept up hope. That one day, the heavy doors to the mansion would open, and you would stand in the middle. Perhaps a bit bruised up and tired, but all there. And he would pull you into his arms like he had wanted to all those times before.

But you never did show up. Days turned into weeks turned into months, and there had been no news, no sightings. Even the Professor had stopped seeking Cerebro’s help as nothing turned up anyway, no matter how hard he looked.

⮿

His heart was in his chest as he raced through the dark corridors of the bunker complex. Logan looked around him for the way out with the least henchmen as chances of there being none were slim. He had already left a trail of bodies behind him and was ready for the next wave of men to beat into a pulp.

He turned the corner, but what he saw was the last thing he had expected.

For a second, he thought he was dreaming; perhaps it was a hallucination brought on by some chemicals they pumped into the air to get to him. It wasn’t possible. His mouth had already fallen open, ready to call out your name, but as you got into a stance of attack, eyes blank except for a fury deep inside them, Logan realised it wasn’t a dream at all. It was a bloody terror. 

It was the hardest fight he had ever been in, trying to block all of your attacks while pulling himself back. He couldn’t het himself to hurt you. All he found himself doing was calling your name, but it was useless. It was you, but it wasn’t. Nothing he said seemed to matter, seemed to take any effect on you. You lunged at him, punching and kicking. 

It was futile to try and argue with you, and so, against every muscle and nerve in his body screaming against it, Logan started to place his movements harder, fighting against you until you went limp in his arms. He cursed himself out as he looked down at your unconscious body, pushing some of your loose hair out of your face. But as he looked at you, he also saw that it really was you still in there. And so he didn’t waste a second thinking about it as he picked you up in his arms and ran as fast as his body could take him. Out of the tortuous underground maze and back to that godforsaken jet that had been the scene of the dreams that had plagued his mind for the past months.

⮿

Everyone had practically stopped in their tracks at the sight of you in Logan’s arms. He stumbled into the jet, nearly falling over, having had, as predicted, to deal with a number more nameless jackasses, but with you in his arms, it made beating them up a bit more challenging.

‘What—’ Storm’s eyes were nearly as pale of shock as they would have been of her powers. 

‘She’s been brainwashed,’ Logan explained before anything else, ‘or controlled. I don’t know, but he’s hostile. We need to keep her down.’ He laid you down on the ground, sitting right beside you, wiping the sweat off his forehead with a deep heave, and only then he noticed the looks of everyone around him. ‘What?’

No one said a thing, but he knew what they were all thinking. For he was thinking it, too. Was it safe to bring you back home? Could whatever they had done to you be reversed, or was he just putting everyone at the school in danger by taking you back? 

‘Is everyone back?’ He just said after no one had dared to say another word.

⮿

Logan didn’t know what had possessed him. Why he had suddenly grown so protective over you, but he could not stand the idea of you being alone in the hospital wing. It took nearly half a week just for Jean and the Professor to understand what had happened to you, and the treatment itself took far longer than Logan would have liked. 

He didn’t know why he came to visit you every night, far outside the regular visiting hours, past when anyone would be awake to see him sneak in and sit by your side, holding your hand, hoping you could feel and hear him as the apologies spilt out of him.

‘I’m so sorry, bub.’ He kissed your knuckles. ‘I should have gone back for you. I should have–’ He stilled as you stirred in your bed. 

‘Logan?’ You croaked out, throat dry and hoarse. In slight shock, Logan said nothing. You blinked and tried to find him in the darkness of the room. ‘Logan? Is that you?’

‘Yeah, it’s me.’ He chuckled softly to himself, squeezing your hand.

‘What happened?’ You tried to sit up, orientating yourself to where exactly it was that you were, but he quickly pushed at your shoulder to stay put. 

‘It’s a long story, kid.’ Never before was Logan happy to be sitting in the dark as the tears he had subdued for months finally fell down his cheeks in extreme relief. ‘You uh– you’d been gone for a while.’ 

‘I was?’ you tried to remember, ‘I can’t recall anything. It’s all—’

‘I know.’ He kept your hand in his, rubbing your skin with his thumb. Logan knew to call for someone as soon as he saw you stir awake, but he needed this moment alone with you. Make sure you are doing alright himself. Besides, the professor was probably already on his way. 

‘It’s okay. You’re alright now.’ He continued, happy you had finally come back home.

the end.

thank you for reading 💗

if you enjoyed the fic, please consider reblogging and leaving a comment. or send a message via my inbox. requests are also more than welcome. 💗

[hp-hcs]

violent stalker mattheo riddle.... each guy and girl readers ever spoken to? damn wdym they showed up beaten up the next day and they dont even know who did it ????

i feel like he'd also get violent with reader and ykw .... im so insane id let him beat me bloody .

"i'm doing this because you're not listening to me, sweetheart. how else am i supposed to show you that trying to leave me is what you shouldn't do?"

hey uh, future requesters: giving me a line of dialogue or smth to build around means i’ll finish your request WAY faster. tysm anon 😭

requests open

prometheus — yandere! insane! stalker! mattheo riddle x gn! reader

wow! there’s a fuck ton of really fucking dark violence, murder, torture, manipulation, abduction, and horrific domestic abuse in this! please be careful if you choose to read this!

1.5k words!

i jokingly took a sociopathy test with a couple of friends earlier today and i scored like really high so uh dunno how to feel about that

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Am I…am I in trouble or something, Professor…?”

Professor McGonagall’s lips thinned and she looked at you over the rim of her glasses. She folded her hands together neatly where they rested on her desk before speaking. “Not for now, no. Relax a bit, dear. The law states that you’re innocent until proven guilty.”

“That’s not- that doesn’t really make me less nervous.”

The professor opened her mouth to speak again when a chime alerted her to an incoming floo call.

With a wave of her wand, the flames flared green and a genial-looking man stepped out of the fireplace. He brushed soot off of his robes and grinned brightly as soon as he caught sight of the professor.

“Minerva! Lovely to see you again. I’m afraid Quincy isn’t going to make it. Corbett is sick, poor thing, so he’s staying home with him today,” the man gushed, evidently quite close with the professor.

“Oh, send them both my well wishes, Hez, dear. Anyway, this is the student you asked to see, Y/n L/n,” she motioned towards you.

The man gave you a cheery grin—far too cheerful for this early in the morning—and held out his hand for you to shake. “A pleasure to meet you, Mx. L/n. I’m Auror Hezekiah Ackerly. I’d just like to ask you a few questions if that’s alright?”

You dubiously shook his outstretched hand, a bit put off by his bright grin that never seemed to dim. “Sure.”

“Wonderful!” the Auror pulled the second office guest chair closer and sat down across from you. “Let’s get the easy questions out of the way. Do you have many friends? Or maybe a small, close-knit group of people you regularly hang out with?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. The fuck kind of question was this?

“Uh, I guess a close-knit group?”

Auror Ackerly summoned a notebook and quill, writing quickly. “Who belongs to this group?”

Seriously, this felt more like being at a psychiatrist’s office than being questioned by a government official.

“Er, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger? And sometimes Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood?”

Seriously, what was going on?

“And do you have any…romantic relationships? Any troubles or issues there?”

Your eyes narrow. “What’re you playing at?”

“Cormac McLaggen was found dead in the Forbidden Forest this morning,” Professor McGonagall cut to the chase, interrupting Auror Ackerly. “You were the last known person to have spoken to him, and several of your peers attest that they heard an argument break out between the two of you last night after dinner.”

Your eyebrows shot up and your jaw dropped. “Dead? Wh- how?”

“That’s what we at the Ministry would like to know,” Auror Ackerly interjected smoothly. “You’re not in trouble, Mx. L/n, but I am here to escort you to the Ministry for questioning.”

Your jaw dropped.

They thought you did this?

~~~

You sat at a table, alone in some room deep inside the Ministry building.

You huffed, folding yet another paper crane from the stack of sticky notes Ackerly had oh-so-thoughtfully left for you after your interrogation.

You set the finished bird on the table, the small pile of origami cranes you’ve made while waiting slowly getting larger.

Peeling off another sticky note, you started folding another when a nice-looking man in well-pressed robes entered the barren room and stopped in front of your table. He looked down at you with mild bafflement.

“L/n, I presume?”

“That’d be me,” you mumbled, adding your newest crane to the pile.

The man smiled gently before waving a hand over your paper birds and enchanting them to fly.

You tried to hide your awe as you look up at the cranes that floated and soared around the room.

The man smiled at your reaction. “It’s quite nice to finally meet you, Mx. L/n. You’ve been the topic of many a discussion today.”

“I’d imagine so, yes,” you said dryly. “Not many teenagers accused of murder coming through the department, huh?”

He grinned. “Not really, no.”

The man pulled out the other chair at the table, sitting down across from you and rifling through the thick manila folder he held.

“Are you here to interrogate me some more?” You asked suspiciously. “Ask Ackerly, man. I already told him everything I know.”

He laughed. “No, I’m not here to interrogate you. I’m your lawyer, Mx. L/n.”

You blink. “I don’t have a lawyer. My family can’t afford that.”

“You always have the right to an attorney, Mx. L/n,” he said kindly as he held out his hand to you. “Octavian Foxglove, Esquire.”

“Y/n L/n, but you already knew that,” you greet, shaking his hand.

He smiled again.

He was a very smiley man.

He laid out the manila folder and turned it around on the table so that you would be able to see it.

The first paper on top was a copy of your school records, with a bright red PRIMARY SUSPECT stamped over the top of your picture.

You grimaced.

Your lawyer nodded sympathetically. “There’s a photo underneath that page, by the way. Supposedly the last photo we have of McLaggen still alive and, uh…it’s not looking great for you, in all honesty.”

You moved your school records page aside, finding a standard moving photograph paperclipped to the inside of the file.

It showed, quite clearly, you speaking with Cormac McLaggen in a hallway. Picture-Cormac angrily threw his arms up in the air and silently yelled at picture-you, while your body language in the photo loudly screamed ‘furious & upset’.

He was right. It wasn’t a great look.

“And there’s only one thing I need you to- oh, where is it?” He dug through the inside pockets of his robes, procuring a pen. “Aha! The next page has a simple contract. I just need a signature stating that you either accept me as your public defender, or would like to request someone else from the Ministry to handle your case.”

You nod, flipping the page to the contract he indicated. Mr. Foxglove smiled again and held the pen out to you.

As soon as your fingers made contact with the pen, you vanished.

~~~

You stumbled blindly, almost falling to the floor before a hand caught your elbow and steadied you.

“Easy, careful.”

You whirled around, surprised to see a different man in Mr. Foxglove’s clothes. He held his hands up in a non-threatening manner.

“Woah- slow down, kid. You’re fine.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m- was your lawyer,” he shrugged and smiled. “Augustus Rookwood, at your service.”

It dawned on you. “It was a portkey,” you breathed. “The pen. It was a portkey, wasn’t it?”

“Clever kid,” he sounded impressed. “Now c’mon. The boss wants to see you.”

You followed the man without complaint; half out of curiosity, half out of the knowledge that Augustus Rookwood was an Azkaban escapee charged with at least forty counts of first degree murder.

Pretty simple choice.

It looked like you were in a wealthy aristocrat’s house. Er, mansion, more accurately. The hallway you were walking down was old and stuffy and dusty, and the overall aura of Dark magic that permeated the very air of the house sent shivers down your spine.

Rookwood led you down a flight of rickety stairs to the first floor, and then down a narrow hallway and into a study, where he left you without another word.

The study itself was old. Everything was coated in a thick layer of dust except for the pristine and polished bureau right in the center.

(Obviously, ‘the boss’ was sitting at this desk.)

((Villains tend to be predictable like that.))

However, you were surprised to see that ‘the boss’ was-

“Riddle?”

He looked up at the sound of your voice, a wide grin spreading across his face as he hurriedly got up from his desk.

“Y/n, darling, hello!” He gushed, practically skipping over towards you before pulling you into a very uncomfortable hug. “Sweetheart- oh, I’m so glad you’ve made it here safely! Rookwood really is my only competent assistant; I must be sure to give him a raise.”

You froze up at the unexpected hug, your arms remaining stiffly by your sides. He let go after a moment, but remained just a bit too close for comfort.

“Hopefully the Ministry didn’t give you too hard of a time,” he rubbed the back of his neck with a guilty grin. “I promise Ackerly’s a good man. When he’s, y’know, in control of his own body.”

Your eyes widen and you take a step back. “What?”

“Just a little Imperius, darling, no worries. Did you like your gift?”

You blinked, thrown off by his rapid changes in subjects. “Uh- gift?”

He smiled proudly. “McLaggen? He won’t bother you anymore, see?”

All the color drained from your face.

“You killed Cormac?”

He nods, grinning. “Uh-huh. I heard what McLaggen said to you last night in the hall, and I don’t like when other people look at what’s mine.”

“Yours?” You repeat, your lip curling in disgust. “You’d better not be referring to me.”

Mattheo paused, looking at you in confusion. “What else would I be talking about?”

You scoff in shock, shaking your head. “Yeah, nope, I’m out.”

You turned around without further preamble, marching out of the room and towards the front door that you’d passed earlier. Mattheo laughed and followed you out of the study at a leisurely pace, seemingly unworried.

“Where are you going to go, darling? As far as the general public is concerned, you’re on the run after brutally murdering a classmate. You’re Wanted with a capital W, sweetheart.”

“I’ll figure it out,” you snarled, storming towards the front door.

“Y/n…” He warned, drawing his wand and pointing it at you. “Get back here. Now.”

“Fuck off.” You spat over your shoulder, not sparing him another glance.

That was clearly not the thing to say. As if in slow motion, you heard a dreaded word fall from his lips.

“Crucio!”

You were struck with pain that was so overwhelming, so blinding, so agonizing, that you were sure you were going to die.

You were only half aware that you’d fallen to the floor at some point as wave after wave of unbearable pain crashed over you. You could feel your bones creaking and grinding together, your skin splitting apart only to knit itself back together just to be torn apart again, like you were some fucked up wixen version of fucking Prometheus.

You were only vaguely aware that you were speaking, pleading. Pleading not for the Unforgivable to be lifted, but for him to just end it, end you, entirely.

“K-kill me! Kill m-me…please!” You begged, blood trailing down from the corner of your mouth and smeared across your chin. You must’ve bit your tongue hard for it to bleed like that, and the sting from that wound while you speak is just too overwhelming when combined with the pain from the Cruciatus Curse.

Then all at once, it stops.

You gasp for air, your entire body trembling and numb as you lay sprawled across the floor like a marionette with its strings cut.

Mattheo kneeled down by your side and cupped your face in his hands with a kind of tender gentleness that felt deeply wrong coming from him.

“See, I’m doing this because you’re not listening to me, sweetheart. How else am I supposed to show you that trying to leave me is what you shouldn’t do?” He cooed softly, gently wiping the blood from your chin with the sleeve of his shirt.

You flinched back at his touch. Your body—still wracked with uncontrollable quivers and trembles—tried in vain to crawl away from him.

“Oh no, honey- hey, honey- I promise it’s all over, okay? You were so so good for me. But you see now that you’ve got to stay with me, right?”

Your jaw quivered and your still-stinging tongue felt thick in your mouth, yet you managed to spit vicious hatred towards him.

“G-go to hell.”

A flurry of emotions crossed his face: surprise, anger, guilt, and disappointment; all of which were topped by the underlying aura of pure sadistic glee that exuded from him.

“Oh? Do you need another lesson or two before you learn?” He sighed and shook his head patronizingly. “Very well then, darling. Crucio!”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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[348kg]

better be (theo)

ꕤ non idol!choi taeyang 최태양 (theo) x reader

18+ mdni

wc : 5.0k

tags : afab reader, fluff, crack, smut, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, implied age gap, drinking, original characters, fast paced except not really

synopsis : you thought your crush on your older brother's best friend went away in the time you'd spent apart (spoiler! it didn't)

an : inspired by hidden love (2023) happy late birthday theo!!!

"taeyang lives in gangnam too, did you know?" your brother's words echoed in your ears. you held your phone between your cheek and your shoulder as you hauled a box into your living room and dropped it on the floor.

"ah... does he?"

"yeah, i meant to tell you about it before. why don't you reach out? it might be nice to have a familiar face in the area." you grimace at his words, embarrassing memories flooding your thoughts as you recalled the feelings you had once harbored for the man.

"i have seulgi and sooah, remember?"

"okay, yn." you can hear him eye rolling at the avoidance in your tone through the receiver. "i'll send you his contact info anyway."

you sigh, "okay. i gotta go, i have a million boxes to sort. bye, minhyuk." you hang up just as you received your brother's text. you absentmindedly entered taeyang's contact information before tossing your phone onto the counter.

following your university graduation, your dream job offer resulted in you packing everything you owned and uprooting your entire life to a new city. you felt a little less on edge about it knowing your two closest friends would be by your side, but were nonetheless still nervous about adjusting to your new life.

your newfound discovery about taeyang— aka the former love of your life, or maybe that's an extreme way of looking at it— shook you a little, it had been at least a year since you'd heard his name, much less seen him. how long had it been... 2, maybe 3 years?

you shake your head to yourself, looking around your new apartment at the current issue you had to deal with— the seemingly endless amount of boxes that scattered your floor and just about every surface you laid your eyes on. you're cut off by your phone buzzing again.

seulgi (my favorite alpha male) 🐻

[3:48pm] be ready outside your building at 8pm ON THE DOT .

you

[3:48pm] ????????

seulgi (my favorite alpha male) 🐻

[3:49pm] me and sooah r taking u out to celebrate u moving!! we r going to our favorite club

you

[3:50pm] i dont have time for this!!

seulgi (my favorite alpha male) 🐻

[3:50pm] wear something slutty!!! 💋💋

— you disliked a message

you sighed, shoulders sulking as you realized all of your belongings were still sealed away, not magically unpacked by the moving gods you had been praying to a few moments before. so you take matters into your own hands, rolling up your sleeves to begin scouring the sea of boxes for your clothes and toiletries. maybe you’d find your sanity packed away somewhere too.

-

you silently regretted agreeing to go out as you sat slumped in a booth at the club. you feel a dip in the cushioned seat you occupied as sooah collapsed next to you and leaned into your shoulder.

"uumph… drank t’much…” she spoke into your neck. you reached your arm up to pat her head, but missed and instead mindlessly swatted at the seat behind you.

“how’re you…” you pause, “how’re you gettin’ home?”

“dunno.” she mumbles, getting up and stumbling towards the dance floor. “gonna go find someone to go home with.” she calls behind, gesturing to the crowd of people in front of you. you had seen seulgi leave with some girl 30 minutes before, so now you were really on your own.

you pat at your surroundings to find your bag, eyes closed as you dig your hand through your stuff to find your phone. you open your eyes to scroll through your contacts, tears forming in your eyes as you realize you don’t have anyone to call. so in your drunken state, you call the only person you could think of. you hold your phone to your ear as it rings once, twice, three times.

“yn? is that you?”

“taeyang? what… you— how’d you know it’s me?” you slur, eyes closing again.

“minhyuk sent me your number, i was going to text you… nevermind, that's not my point. what's wrong? where are you? have you been drinking?”

“i…” tears were falling down your cheeks now. you sniffled, “i’m at a club, i don’t remember the name.”

“can you send me your location? i’ll come get you.” you hear shuffling on his end, you quickly pulled your phone away from your ear to fiddle with the buttons.

“did’ya get it?”

“yeah, you’re close to me. hang on for 5 minutes. i’ll be there soon.”

your tears stopped. “see youuuuu.”

in all the years you’d known him, taeyang was always a very honest person, proven to be true even now when you spot him frantically scanning the room in search of you exactly 5 minutes later. you locked eyes, and you gave him your best attempt at a smile as you messily waved your hand over your head. he made a beeline for you, a worried look on his face as he crouched in front of you. time had been kind to him, you noticed, the man in front of you had somehow become more attractive then he was before.

you grinned at him. “hi.”

he smiles, letting out a breath. “hi, yn. are you okay?”

“mhm… m’sorry for this. don’t be mad… didn’t know who else to call.” you felt tears sting your eyes again, burying your face in your hands.

“yn.” he held back a laugh as he reached to gently hold onto your arm. “it’s okay. seriously. i’m honestly relieved.”

“really?” you look up and sniff.

“really. can you get up on your own?”

“ah… um, i think i need help.” you stand up, stumbling into his arms. he holds you upright and reaches for your belongings.

“this is everything you brought?” he lifts his arm up to gesture your purse in front of you.

“mhm. lessgooo…” you attempt to take a step forward but overestimate your ability to stay balanced as you fall forward. you brace yourself for your inevitable face plant with the floor, but it doesn’t come, instead you feel yourself being pulled back into taeyang’s arms.

“be careful. hold onto me.” you stare at him. would it be weird if you smelt him? you sniff him anyway.

“you smell good.” you giggle, and you feel his chest move in and out when he laughs in response, uttering a thank you before he wraps an arm around your waist to keep you secure by his side as you begin your trek to the exit. after what felt like a painfully long walk (30 seconds) you make it outside, feeling the shift in your surroundings when your louboutin's began to smack against the hard pavement.

he pauses. “where do you live?”

“it’s… oh. i don’t know.” you sulk, your current state of mine rendering you incapable of remembering whether your apartment building was on 6th avenue or 8th avenue, or maybe it was 10th avenue?

“you— you don’t know?” he laughs fully now, and you can’t hold back a grin as you laugh with him.

“jus' moved, so… it’s new, ya'know?”

he hums, looking around. “are you comfortable with sleeping at my place tonight?”

“err… it’s okay with you? won’t your girlfriend be mad?” you ramble, watching his face morph into confusion.

he shakes his head. “of course i don’t mind. and no, i don’t have a girlfriend.”

you feel your jaw snap open. “ah... is that so?"

he chuckles awkwardly, you feel the vibration in your side. “nope, no girlfriend. do you want to hop on my back?” you pull away from him and nod, suddenly very aware of your bare skin as the wind whipped past you. taeyang glances at the goosebumps forming on your arms and immediately shrugs his jacket off to throw it over your shoulders. he crouches in front of you and you pull your arms through the sleeves before crawling onto him, knees locking around his hips to hold yourself in place.

“my place isn’t far. hold tight, okay?” you nod, a sudden wave of exhaustion coming over you as you lean your head on his shoulder. your eyes shut and sleep overtakes you.

-

sight is the last sense that comes to you. your wince and throw your arm over your eyes as the sun hits your eyelids. sitting up, you take in your surroundings and realize you have absolutely no idea where you are.

“what the…” a headache hit you at full force as you rubbed your eyes. you looked down and noticed you were no longer wearing your skimpy black dress from the night before, instead suiting a large black t-shirt and sweatpants.

“yn? are you awake?” a voice from behind the door has you jolting in place, squeaking out a "huh?" the door opens slowly, and absolutely nothing could have prepared you for the face behind the voice. you felt like you were punched in the gut as you watched taeyang move from his spot at the door to sit on the side of the bed, his hands stretching in front of him to offer you the water and tylenol he carried.

you stared at him, "taeyang— you— what?"

he smiles softly at you. "do you remember last night? you called me to pick you up." no, nonononono, no.

"i— oh my god? i'm so sorry, this is so embarrassing, i'm so sorry i bothered you." you frantically apologized, mind running wild as tears pricked your eyes. you move your hand to wipe your tears just as you feel a hand rest on your thigh.

"yn," he reassures, still smiling, "it's okay. honestly. i'm glad you called. i want you to feel like you can rely on me."

"i feel so bad. can i make it up to you somehow? i can buy you lunch? dinner?" your shoulders slump, and you vow to yourself in that moment that you are never touching alcohol ever again.

"it's really not necessary. honestly. call me whenever you need me. you don't know how happy i was when minhyuk told me you were moving here."

you sniff. "why?"

"it gets lonely, you know? my job basically stripped me of a social life." he laughs, low and deep. you feel your heartbeat pick up.

you nod. "i get that. i still want to pay for a meal, though."

"if you insist."

you start to shift in your spot, throwing your legs over the edge of the bed to stand. "um... where are my clothes?"

"oh, right. you left your dress on the floor of the bathroom so i hung it up. your shoes and purse are at the front door."

"thanks." you make your way to the bathroom and entrance of his home under his direction and collect your belongings.

he gestures to your current outfit. "you can bring these home with you, if you want. i want you to be comfortable."

"sweatpants and high heels... that's definitely a choice." you giggle as you pick your shoes off of the floor.

"don't walk, i'll drive you."

"you've done so much for me already. i can't ask for anymore."

"i told you i want you to rely on me, didn't i? we live close enough anyway. it's not a problem." he walks to his kitchen to grab his keys, gesturing for you to follow him as he opens and shuts the front door.

"you know your address now that you're sober, right?" he grins.

"what are you talking about?"

"you couldn't remember where you lived when i asked yesterday." your face turned beet red as you turned to him, eyes wide with mortification. you thought about how nice it would be if you would melt into the floor and never be seen again.

"this is actually unbelievable. i'm never drinking again." you bring your folded dress to your face and let out a fake scream into it. taeyang laughs, hand moving to the small of your back to guide you through the parking lot to his car. he passed you his phone to enter your address— which you did remember now— and you felt your face heat up as he gripped the back of your seat and looked behind you to get out of his parking spot, muscles flexing next to your face.

you try and make awkward small talk, asking him about work and in turn answering his questions about your new job until he pulls into the entrance of your building.

"let me walk you up. you can never be too safe." he says as you step out of the car.

"we're in broad daylight, taeyang. chances of me getting kidnapped are pretty slim." you giggle, but don't put up a fight when he gets out of the car anyway, grabbing your purse from you to free your hands. the elevator ride up is silent, and on multiple occasions you turned to look at him and found he was already staring at you. god, why was he so sweet? and attractive? your heart pounded in your chest, a feeling you became familiar with as you grew up, anytime he would offer to help you study, or bring you food and company after arguments between you and your brother. you reminisced on your past with him all the way to your door as you unlocked it and stepped inside. he stepped in behind you and hung your purse on the hook next to your door.

"woah... that's a lot of boxes. how do you own this much stuff?"

you cover your face with your hand. "i know, okay? i might be a hoarder."

"do you need any help unpacking? this is a lot for one person to take on."

you gawk at him. "taeyang, i physically can't ask for anything more of you."

he throws his hands up like a criminal. "i told you i want to! it's sunday and i don't have plans. let me help."

and so, you find yourself sitting on your living room floor with him hours later, moon rising behind him as you caught up on everything you'd missed in each other's lives during the years you spent apart. most of your boxes were unpacked now, you could only spot one or two stray boxes littered across your apartment.

"ah... it's getting late. what time do you have to get to work tomorrow?"

he looks at his watch and grimaces. "you're right. i need to be up early... i should probably leave now." he stands and you follow in suit, walking to the door. you stare at him, a little unsure how you should end the night. he sensed your hesitance, you think as he pulled you into his arms for a hug. caught off guard, it takes you a moment to reciprocate, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hung around your waist.

"this was," he starts, pulling away from your embrace to look at you, "really fun. i'm glad we got to reconnect."

you grin at him. "me too. when are you free for dinner? i promised i'd treat you."

"i'm pretty sure i'm free every night this week, depending on how late work keeps me."

"so... let's say wednesday for now? we can reschedule if you have to stay late."

he nods and smiles. "i'll see you wednesday then." you realize you're staring and quickly pull yourself away from him. he laughs, waving goodbye and you watch his figure get smaller and smaller as he walks down the hallway towards the elevator.

-

wednesday comes faster than expected. work's letting me out on time. see you at 7? you stared at taeyang's confirmation text, palms sweating. you had lost track of how much time you'd spent standing in front of your closet weighing outfit options, wanting to pick something you think he'd like. you knew it wasn't a date, but you couldn't ignore the fact that just about every aspect of tonight screamed 'date' except for the people attending. you're snapped out of your thoughts when your phone buzzes with an incoming call.

"taeyang?"

"can you buzz me in? i'll come to your door."

you try to sound as nonchalant as possible, "yeah, see you in a few." before hanging up and frantically picking out a random dress, throwing it on as you scrambled to put your shoes on and touch up your lipstick. you straighten your back as your door bell rings, and you unlock it to reveal a very happy looking taeyang.

"hi." you grin, "you look good."

"ah, really? i didn't go home and change, i came straight from the office."

"you look great, trust me. you always look good." you mutter the second half, digging through your purse to find your keys so you could lock the door behind you.

"thanks. you look really pretty. blue is a good color on you." your eyes widen and you manage to squeak out a quick thank you.

you let him talk about his day in the car, he complains about a colleague that wouldn't get off his ass and you tell him about your boss at your new job that seems to have it out for you. your conversation carries all the way to the restaurant, now conversing about anything and everything that popped into your mind. you recalled the funny voicemail your brother had left you the day before, digging into your purse to find your phone to show him before he stops you.

"yn." he smiles, reaching to grab your hand from across the table. "let's not talk about your brother right now."

you cock your head to the side, a confused expression taking over your features. he continues before you can get a word in. "our whole lives minhyuk has been the bridge that's kept us connected." he looks at you. "now i want it... to just be us. i don't want to use the excuse that you're his sister to see you. i want to hang out with you just because i can, you know?" you watch him retract his hand from yours to take a bite of his food and you think your heart might explode. how could he drop a speech like that on you like it's nothing?

you catch your breath and nod, inhaling. "i feel the same way, taeyang." you know your cheeks are turning red and you can only hope your makeup hid the extremity of it. "being with you has been really, really fun. i hope we can do this all the time."

he grins in response and sticks his pinky out. "we will, i promise." the sincerity in his eyes has you thinking that you'd never doubt a word he says for as long as he'd allow you to stay by his side.

-

you and taeyang were very alike, you think, recalling the past few months you'd spent together. you loved the natural rhythm of conversation that you always seemed to fall into when you were with him. you loved that he no longer viewed you as a little kid or as an extension of your brother.

"so," you had asked him one day with an evil grin on your face, arm linked with his as you walked down a side street in hongdae, "do you like me or minhyuk more?"

"that," he brought his hand to your face to squish your cheeks, "is a very hard question." you sulked and pouted at his response, so he leaned down to whisper low in your ear.

"you."

since then, you found him glued to your hip even more than before, not that you were complaining. your hangouts became so frequent that you weren't sure if you remembered the last time you'd gone more than 2 days without seeing his face. you realize referring to your time spent together as 'hangouts' was a downplaying it a little, considering that to onlookers you looked very much like a couple going on dates. there were a few instances where shop owners had complimented how good you looked together and you had to very awkwardly deny it, despite the fact that your hands were intertwined tight at your sides.

you had fallen so incredibly hard, and you were sure he had too, the lingering glances and constant touches had become too frequent for it to mean nothing.

"hey, your birthday is coming up." he nudges your shoulder as you sit next to him on the rooftop of his building to watch the sun set.

"how'd you remember?"

"i have a good memory." i remember because it's you, he fails to add. you hum and he continues, "are you planning on celebrating?"

you nod. "seulgi and sooah are taking me out a few days before... but i have no plans on the actual day."

"okay, so we'll do something. want a home cooked meal?" you kick his foot and giggle.

"you're a terrible cook, taeyang."

he laughs, throwing his head back. "no need to get violent about it."

the moon was up in the sky now, so he stands, reaching for your hand to lace your fingers together and make your way back to his apartment.

-

"oh my god." you breathe out a week later when he moves his hands from over your eyes to reveal the display in front of you. "this is too much!"

"please. cake and flowers is not too much." he makes air quotations with his hands as he rolls his eyes. "i have something else for you. hold on a minute." he darts behind you and reaches into his coat pocket to reveal a small box and you feel your breath catch in your throat when he sits down next to you at your kitchen counter.

"you didn't."

"happy birthday, yn."

you gently pried open the box, revealing a silver necklace with a diamond pendant that hung on the chain next to a smaller one.

"taeyang, i—" tears pricked your eyes.

"look closer." he cuts you off, grabbing your hand to guide your fingers to the engravings on the back of the two pendants. a small 'yn' and 'ty'. tears were openly falling down your cheeks now, and he reached to gently wipe them away with his fingertips.

"i take it you like it?"

"thank you, seriously. put it on me?" you turn around and lift your hair up to give him access to your neck. he doesn't say anything after as he places four candles on top of the cake and lights them.

when he tells you to make a wish, you pretend to think about it even though you'd been wishing for the same thing since you turned seven years old. you inhale and blow, extinguishing all the candles but one.

you grin at him. "you make a wish too."

he stares at you in awe for a second too long, snapping out of it when you gesture towards the cake. he doesn't need a second to think before he's blowing out the last candle.

"what did you wish for?" you ask him, voice quiet.

"you already know, don't you?"

you stare at him, eyes flickering to his lips. "we both wished for the same thing then, huh?"

he moves closer to you now, arm wrapping around your waist, face moving closer to yours. you can hear your heart beating out of your chest and you're sure his is too.

"i need to hear you say it, yn." his nose brushed yours and your gaze moved from his lips to his eyes. you take a deep breath.

"i want you, taeyang. please."

he doesn't need to hear anymore, ducking his head to connect your lips, and you think to yourself that waiting your whole life for him was absolutely worth it. he stands to pull you into his chest because being close to you wasn't enough.

"wanna fuck you, so, so bad, but can i just kiss you first? jus' wanna hold you." he mumbles against your lips, and you think you might collapse and die. frantically nodding, you grab his cheeks and kiss him as hard as you can, and he slides his hands from your waist to your ass, squeezing it when you moan into his mouth. his touch was soft where his kiss was rough, tongue swiping across your bottom lip to beg for entrance.

you melt into his embrace as he reaches under your thighs to hoist you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you into your bedroom. your mouth moves from his lips to his neck, kissing and sucking on any exposed skin you can find. you're both too lost in lust to form words, your apartment quiet except for soft moans and grunts and smacks. the noises that escaped his throat had you feeling more turned on than you'd ever been in your life, lips moving back to his to swallow his sounds as you pulled on the hair at the nape of his neck.

he pulls away to toss you onto your bed, throwing his shirt off before crawling on top of you. you tug your top off before he can even ask, arms reaching behind you to fiddle with your bra clasp to fully expose your top half to him. he darts down, immediately taking a tit in his mouth, smiling at the way you were already squirming. he pulled away to look at you.

"fuck, you're so fucking pretty. my pretty baby." him referring to you as 'his' had you breaking down beneath him, hips bucking up to grind against his clothed cock. he groaned and grabbed your hips for more friction. his finger dragged along the waistband of your pants. "want me to make you feel good, baby?"

you nod a little too fast, "need you to touch me."

"what's my name?"

"need you to touch me, taeyang."

you were naked within seconds, sweatpants tugged down your legs and soaking panties ripped and discarded as he pulled you into his lap. a big hand slipped between your thigh, the other resting on your hip as he began to circle your puffy clit, causing you to let out the prettiest moan he'd ever heard. you knew he was teasing you, a smug grin on his face as he watched your expression crumple.

"oh my god, please."

"we have all the time in the world, pretty. m'not going anywhere. trust me?" how could you not, with the way he was looking at you? you nod, and he so painfully slowly moves his finger to spread your slick around, now using his free hand to hold your face to look at him. he finally dips his fingers into your entrance and you moan his name at the way his fingers reached deeper than yours ever could. his fingertips curled into your walls causing your soft sighs to fill the room as he kissed down your chin, ruthlessly pumping his fingers in and out of you.

your breathing picks up and you begin to squirm under him, hips desperately jerking into his hand, and he takes that as his queue to use his spare fingers to flick and pinch at your clit. you feel the pressure building in your core, snapping like a rubber band when you reach your climax. you scream his name and your vision goes blurry as he continues to fuck you with his hand to work you through it. he grabs your chin and forces you to make eye contact as his licks his fingers, before pulling you into him to connect your lips in a kiss.

"you're so perfect." he mumbles and you sigh into him. it's not long before he's disconnecting your lazy make out to flip your position so that you're underneath him again. you tug at his sweatpants as he hovers over you, and he immediately strips his pants and boxers to reveal his red, throbbing cock. it leaked with precum and stood tall as he shifted to grab the base and align it with your hole.

"do you think i stretched you enough?"

"just... go slow."

he kisses your forehead in reassurance. "i got you, baby. tell me if you need a break."

you suck in a breath when he pushes his length inside, tears stinging your eyes at the burn even though you knew it was coming. you squeezed his bicep to signal that you were okay to continue.

"fuck, you fit me so well. so made for me." your back arched as he grunted, moving to kiss him sloppily as his hips pressed against yours, now fully inside of you. his thrusts started slow, but sped up as you began to chant his name, your legs moving to wrap around his waist as your hips snapped together. it was frantic and messy, but so, so, perfect. his cock slammed into you, pressing into your g-spot over and over as your nails dug into his back, breaking the skin.

he whispered under his breath how much he loved you over and over as you cried, panting against him in lust as your thrusts slowed, feeling yourself reach your breaking point.

"my beautiful girl, love you so much. so— m'so close." he moaned into your neck as your walls squeezed him when you came. you came hard and fast, and he followed not long after, hips stuttering as he pumped you full of his seed. he pulled his now soft cock out of your entrance as he collapses on top of you. you squeal and giggle as he presses kiss after kiss to your cheeks, before he moves to seal your lips in your softest kiss of the night. as much as you wanted it to last forever, you're the first to pull away.

"i— i love you so much. you have no idea." you couldn't tell if you felt tears or sweat on your cheeks. he grins at you, big and bright as he cups your cheeks.

"oh, baby. i love you. wanted to tell you everyday."

you fall asleep in his arms, ready to take on the changes that would come when the sun rose in the morning.

© 348kg please do not copy my work

[0daylighthours0]

A Deep Dive into Milkvan and Byler's Development: If Milkvan Was Endgame All Along, Why Was it Written Like This???

SO. I've been rewatching st with my mother, who's never seen it before. And she was a fan of milkvan throughout seasons 1 and 2. Viewing those seasons again I could see why, they're cute. However, come season 3 and INSTANT distaste. And, listen, my mother is not the consciously shipping gal. She simply routes for main character pairings as writers intend, doesn't read between the lines, doesn't nothing. And she does NOT know my own opinions on the pairing. In other words, completely unbiased, uninternet drama influenced eyes. We've now reached season 3 and, after getting through a chunk of it, I asked her,

"so what do you think of Mike and El?"

and she expressed to me that they seem to be, quote:

"not very good together."

She said El's character doesn't suit the way she's acting now (in the first few episodes, concerning Mike), that Mike is more likeable and interesting when he's away from her. She doesn't like the way they ditched the party, and when it comes to their 'making out' the scenes are seen by her from Hopper's perspective (in other words, distasteful). She claimed that they'd be much better characters as friends.

And ya know what, she's right. And I mean like - duh, that's what we've been saying all this time, I'm not stating anything new here. But guys, wouldn't it be strange if the central couple of the show, pivotal that it is liked by audiences and is rooted for by them as they are THE pair, would be so dislikable like this? So uninteresting, so cliche.

I mean, okay, let's do a little mental experiment I like to do to test if I'm not just acting delulu. Let's play a game. In this game, milkvan ARE meant to be endgame. They are in love, they were all along, and they're here to draw in viewers and appease all El stans. Now, seasons 1 and 2 their relationship is honestly fine. Surface level, yeah, people will watch and appreciate them. They perfectly blend in with all the other neat pairings of the seasons, and have their own unique character traits to stand out as a main couple.

Just pretending our mate Will doesn't exist, we now get into season 3. Now, writers have nothing to lose here. If you've finished season 2, you probably like milkvan already. The issue is that they're already together now, so what's the conflict going to be? The arc? And every central couple needs that conflict to stay juicy.

Just take a look:

Jancy: quarrels, struggle to understand one another

Jopper: not yet together, one sided? will they won't they

Lumax: ...

Lumax? Lumax. Huh, guess they were simply together. Some loveable bickering, maintained a friendly dynamic while clearly in closer proximity. Well then, writers can do the same for milkvan right? Well, yes easily. But one might argue that since they are supposed to be THE pairing they need more going on between them than that. So what'll it be? Well, it seems that writers thought,

"hey, why not break them up?"

ok so.. that's a bit risky. I mean you want people to like this ship, if you break them up then that threats: 1. there being a disliking to one or both characters, 2. coming off generic if done incorrectly, 3. the break up might make no sense considering how in love they came off as just a season ago. But hey.. it could work, if done right. Some kind of misunderstanding, similar to Jancy. Maybe an argument leading to a sudden parting. I mean, yeah, Yeah! I can see that. Perhaps Mike is being too overprotective whilst El's trying to sacrifice herself for something, so she NEEDS to separate herself from him attempting to hurt him less. Or, I dunno, something akin. What's crucial is that us, AS THE AUDIENCE, still know them to be deeply in love. I mean, we have to still want them to be together. And we've seen couple trouble before. Just take a look at Lumax season 4 - did you or did you not want the best for both of them as a pair? You most likely did. See, it's doable. So did people like milkvan season 3 the same way, even after a separation plot? No.

Okay well, there are obviously those who'll always love milkvan no matter but, see, season 3 tainted it. "We need to write them like this cause it's more realistic to teenager behavior" my ars. You can make it messy without making it icky. Not only did it sour their unique dynamic, it flabbergastingly stomped on Mike as a character.

Honestly, I feel Mike has always been a mild struggle to write. Season 1 his motivations were 'find Will' (who still doesn't exist in our mind game yet shh) and 'protect El'. This worked well for him. Afterwards though, El and Will became more separate plots to him. But as a main character it remained integral that he be closely linked to them somehow. This sets him apart from Lucas and Dustin, who can easily be given any arc any season as their plots have the flexibility of a side quest nature. Since what Mike does is meant to matter more - with there probably being a better way of phrasing that but you know what I mean - it's harder knowing what he'll do when El and Will (who we'll GET to sh.) are their own separate people. And Mike is just a boy, he doesn't have super powers and he isn't a cop, which leaves there even less for him to do which is of significance. Season 2 writers decided upon having him support Will's arc, making himself of enough relevance by being able to take credit for some Will development in the story, and the plots that surrounded that, and then Mike was thrown a little bone by being the one to come up with the idea of burning those vines in the finale.

Truthfully, you don't really remember Mike's deeds much when reminiscing the series. It isn't like Dustin who's bond with Dart sticks to everyone, or Nancy and Jonathan responsible for kicking out Hawkins Lab. This is due to them, again, being able to traverse all sorts of adventures without limits. But my guy Mike can't do dat. Sadly, this kind of leads to him coming of as a little.. well... insignificant. And I know I know, the Mike truthers are gonna come at my throat. And hey! I love him too. I only want the best for my boy.

This makes season 3 a unique case cause it seems that, for the plot they decided they wanted, writers actually had to almost entirely change his character. I mean mate s2 Mike and s3 Mike are two different peoples, don't even. And I don't believe that the Duffers had their story and character turnouts completely drawn out from the very start at all. If I was to guess, I'd assume they have vague ideas of little plots they plan to include in future, but there is definitely a lot that has come unpredicted or changed throughout st's runtime. And one of those phenomenons are Michael Wheeler. So they decided to make this guy a di-

So they decided to make him more douchy, more movie typical teenage guy. It's not as if he wholly sucked, he didn't, but he didn't really do much. Whined about his girlfriend, separated the party. I mean what even was his arc? (UnLESS–)

You see, if milkvan is written to be loved, then season 3 was strike one. All of its charm was stripped away. It seems they had some cute scenes after their reconciliation, but it's not enough. It's just sort of

"oh, ok, so they're happy with eachother now. yayy."

and Stranger Things should want to be anything but boring. Sure they often enjoy indulging in tropes, but they always do something different with them. Something standoutish. And from this point on milkvan just got dull. Either writers ran out of ideas or lost interest, honestly (still with our mind game of telling ourselves they're meant to be).

But it's okay. Look, so season 3 was a bit rocky, maybe lost a couple of fans for the guys, but it is salvageable. Easily, easily. Looks like we want a plot of Mike struggling to tell El he loves her. Great! Much to work with.

So let's get into it. Season 4! Choices were... made. And, okay, now we can't go any further without bringing in our boy Will.

Mike is intrinsically tied to Will and El and has been from the start. Maybe Will was more of an accident. Maybe s1 Will was just a plot device for Mike, then s2 Will was a plot device again and Mike needed to be there as the main boy character. Come season 3 and it seems their relationship still matters. Will was sidelined - hard - so most of Mike's moments revolved around El. But as his bond with Mike is the only that's been properly built up, that's the only friend we'll get him interacting with in a way that matters. So the Mike and Will tie continues!

But that does not have to be the case for season 4. Now the writers have a chance.

They made Will gay.

Ok so.. ok so yeah that's fine. Yeah! I mean they didn't have to do that, might put them in hot water with the bylers since milkvan is their golden beauty but.. you know what no no that's okay. He's been hinted at being queer since episode 1, why not make it canon! Cool that works. Explore that, especially since we now have Vecna who can easily target Will for this. Give him a boyfriend! Or a guy crush. He's at a new school now? That's cool. Maybe we can explore some new male character Will's taken interest in. Hey maybe he meets someone who interests him which rises to surface his whole sexuality plot and-

he's in love with Mike.

Ok. No. No. What are you doing? What do you mean?? You didn't have to do that. Strike- strike EFING TWO mates! Strike. 👏 efing. 👏 2!

This was part 1. I am tired and gots to get my ars in bed. But ohohoh, do not worry. I am just getting started.

[starfxkrreloaded]

hunting practice - jj. m.

discord mod!jj x kitten!reader

we all know about the infamous google doc with these two. they can never seem to stay out of trouble but there’s one incident that sent people over the edge.

maybe it isnt a good idea to film yourself chasing your girlfriend with a gun.

based on this

the issue wasn't that jj had bad aim, the issue was that he had almost perfect aim.

the fact that he kept missing meant he was really trying not to hurt you for once.

he had given you a head start setting you off in the woods as he checked his ammo with a beer in hand, "you better run fast pussycat. don't wanna see what happens when i catch you."

when. not if. so you booked it, despite the fact that it was getting dark and you could barely see in front of you. you thought you made a good enough distance when the the tree next to you cracks, the bullet just barely missed your head.

"run kitty, run!" jj's voice was closer than you thought and you were smacked with the image of your brains splattered across the forest floor when he shot the ground next to your feet. your heart was thudding, the further you got the darker it was and the muddier the ground became and you kept slipping until your clothes were caked in mud and leaves.

another shot rang out, farther this time and you felt like he was toying with you on purpose, "stop! time out! i can't breathe!"

jj reloads, "no timeouts remember? i catch you, you're mine."

exhausted, you try to run again, but your legs gve out before you can make half a step. by now you were crying, makeup smeared down your cheeks when a flash blinded you. he was filming you now, all while you stared down the barrel of his gun, "please i don't wanna play anymore, i'm done!"

jj just laughs, and before you know it he's in front of you with the gun pressed to your head, "aww, but i was having fun. been needing a bit of practice."

all you could let out was blubbered pleads as he trailed the muzzle down your face, "n-no i'm d-done." you hiccuped and he sighed, vaguely you thought you heard him slide the safety back on, but that relief was short-lived when he brought his foot up to your chest, pushing you back down with a soft oof so he could kick your legs open before he settled his boot on your stomach.

"i dunno, you seem like you were having fun to me." the flash still obscured your vision from where he stood over you, recording how your body trembled in fear and adrenaline underneath, "are you fuckin wet? jesus christ." jj cruelly digs his his heel into your cunt, smearing mud into the crotch of your panties.

"s-stop- i'm not- oh-" you couldn't hide it, if it weren't for the thick leather of his boots you were sure he could feel your clit throbbing. but you laid there, shivering and mewling as he continued to grind his foot against your puffy lips. a combination of your hot arousal and the cold, damp mud made you slicker as he zoomed in closer unbeknownst to you. and he slid the safety back off.

"look into the camera, c'mon look."

blinking your eyes back open you gasp--this time jj's shaking, his finger hovering over the trigger right above you.

"i'm a little tweaked out right now i'm gonna be honest, you gotta hurry up."

you let out a whimper, but your whole body goes hot again, "please don't..."

"i wanna fuck you so bad, but you gotta do it for the camera first."

desperately you shift your hips up, rocking in time with him as you inch closer and closer to release, "i can't"

without a word he slides the bullet into the chamber, and you're in tears sobbing as you try to cum.

"lemme help you out then."

jj aims at you and your eyes screw shut in anticipation, when he shoots just above your head, timing it with a well placed grind of his heel and you cum all the while you're crying and hysterical underneath him.

the lights gone and suddenly he's on top of you shaking and frantic with a kiss, "you're fine, you're fine. i wasn't gonna hurt you."

he swallows the rest of your sobs as he pushes his shorts down just enough to sink inside of you--still throbbing and sensitive from your orgasm.

this one really didn't go over well on twitter.

[the-eternal-child]

Just noticed something...

This part of Iron Flame noting how Riders are usually discouraged from politics and are discouraged from keeping their family seats.

Xaden's grandfather who was Sgaeyl's former rider was said to have died without making it out the quadrant. We know assassination attempts on students with powerful parents happens. So maybe this was an assassination carried out because of the power dynamics mentioned above. The future Duke of Aretia being a rider? Bonded to one of the strongest dragons out there?! It's what I'm thinking because why else mention the fact that he died while in the school? Info drops like these are purposeful.

My first question is timeline wise... WHEN did he have Fen 🤣🤣?!! I'm assuming he wasn't married since you can't get married until you leave... Unless he was married before entering the quadrant. Maybe marriages don't play that much of a part in the legitimacy of heirs for the Tyrrish 🤷🏾‍♀️.

Next question is, was this a case like Aaric? He found out what was going on and decided having a dragon would help the effort to fight the venin?

It brings me back to my questions in a previous post wondering about how much the Tyrrish know.

They're described through out the series as having been the last to join the unification, seen as troublesome or prone to unrest by Navarrian leadership, the Tyrs describe themselves as being 'loyal to their own' which makes me think of the kind of cultural identity people have when they're discriminated against...

It seems like the Tyrrish have been aware of the fate of the continent for a long time - or maybe only their leadership? They maybe have always had issues with Navarrian rulership decisions and being last to the party of unification and objecting to things would give them the reputation of being 'too proud' or 'thinking they're too good to submit to the king'.

Maybe Fen grew up being aware why his father died and decided to try another route to change. Let us become our own country so we can deal with this problem ourselves.

And the Navarrian top brass like Markham were just waiting to finally have a reason to drop the hammer on the Tyrrish people. Crushing a rebellion is one thing... But to raize a capital city to the ground?! A city described as having been beautiful?

Seems like a purposeful psychological blow to the people. Very publicly defame your beloved leader, take out almost everyone affiliated even loosely with the rebellion planning - Liam's father's execution even though he wasn't involved, and I bet he wasn't the only family member to get that treatment - they'd even wanted to execute the damn children! Cripple their financial centre by burning the capital, which would give them something else to focus on in the years to come, trying to rebuild their lives!

They humbled them, invalidated the claim they fought for, crippled them financially and painted a target on their back for the disdain of the rest of the kingdom. Amber Mavis was literally described as 'one of the good ones' because her family didn't take part in the rebellion!

Jesus fking christ!! Someone stop me! Cue 'make it stooooopp!!' screams like Jeremiah 😅😅

The more I think about this damn series the more insidious things start to look, the more glaring Navarre's crimes. The Tyrrish are entitled to freaking reparations man 😭😭!!!

[sirfrogsworth]

Mental Health Sushi

My brain was a bag full of cats today and I really needed to get out of the house. I was also craving sushi.

Or maybe I was craving sushi because of the brain cats?

I don't get paid until Saturday so my friend told me he would buy me dinner to help me calm the cats.

I still don't have my new lens. They said it would be in stock by "end of week" so hopefully that means tomorrow. But my brain cats were also desiring photography.

Some demanding-ass cranial felines to be sure.

I headed across the river to Nice Sam's and I challenged myself to take some photos as I acquired sushi.

Sam's is a challenging place to get cool photos so I thought I would do something experimental to make things more interesting. I love panoramic photos but most people look at stuff on their phones and horizontal panos always look like a tiny sliver. So I wondered if it would be cool if I did vertical panoramas.

I started looking straight down and took 5 photos gradually raising my camera upward.

To all of the grade school bullies who made fun of my belly... I can totally see my feet.

I found the sushi and they had some interesting things. I tried doing a giant sushi panorama but my lens had way too much barrel distortion and the way I shot it caused... issues.

All of those vertical lines didn't help the situation.

If you use a wide angle lens it is best practice to rotate the camera around a nodal point.

This helps eliminate parallax artifacts and helps Photoshop get a better stitch. It can sort of unwrap and flatten your photos like the label on a soda bottle. But when I took a photo, I moved to the left, took a photo, moved to the left, took a photo. That's a better technique when you have a more tele lens with less distortion on the edges.

In any case, I grabbed some spicy tuna roll, a "dynamite" roll (which I had never tried before), and a variety pack.

Once I got my sushi I tried a few more vertical panoramas in the parking lot.

These two are kinda neat when you switch back and forth rapidly. My belly and feet line up. And I totally planned that. Definitely not a coincidence.

Hey PandaKhan! Put your cart back in the corral!

I was trying to look cool and roll my cart so it buttsex'd into the next one... but that just inched it forward. So I had to buttsex them the less cool way.

Which is a reminder to all you buttsexing folks to use a quality lubricant.

Oh, and I was also test driving my new jacket. I haven't needed to outstretch my arms like Superman as of yet, so the sizing might be okay after all.

Though, do those shoulders look a bit bunchy to you? I'm getting linebacker vibes from this photo. I dunno. I'm going to take better pictures later so I can evaluate the fit a little better. It's hard to tell from the mirror shots.

When I got home I started with the Dynamite Roll.

The crunchy onions on top were very tasty.

I don't know if my brain cats are any better but at least I'm not hungry anymore.

[celaenaeiln]

something i’d love to see more of is angsty rebellious teenage dick grayson. i don’t know why i enjoy the trope but the image of dick “golden boy” grayson getting plastered with roy as he slowly sinks into depression before somewhat getting his shit together is an interesting picture

also he just seems like the guy to get impulsive piercings. dunno why

oooh yeah that fantasy's a guilty a pleasure of mine.

I am 1000000000% an enforcer of Dick was not an angry robin. And he wasn't because the comics show just how happy his demeanor was and how fun he is. But angsty teen Dick? 16/17 year old Dick?

I LOVE IT.

Again throwing a little bit of canon in

"When we started this you were open and encouraging. You were my father...but these last few years...all you've been doing is trying to control me even more."

This is so loaded.

The anger Dick feels when Bruce is trying control him, trying to lock him in a cage in the batcave because of worry, has so much ao3 potential.

Like angsty teen dick is so complicated to think about because Bruce acts a bit like an alcoholic father and Dick's compartmentalization issues come from his parents' death. So what would this result in?

I have no fcking clue.

Because Dick would totally get wasted with Roy, hazy blue eyes staring emptily into space, watching with a flushed cheeks as his short black hair fans out on the back of a beaten blue couch at Roy's place, just breaking down quietly as Roy rants and screams about life's injustices in the background, slinging an arm around Dick and jostling him.

Or maybe he and Roy would also go bar hopping, both of them sloppy drunk, laughing and crying at the same time while they max out their daddies' credit cards and then crash somewhere in someone's pool. Maybe they end up inadvertently on Katy Perry's Friday Night music video.

Or maybe Dick would be a hurricane of disaster, lashing out with knives of sharpened words stabbing the deepest, sorest spots of pain in people, his anger alighting a fire in all. He would be magnificent, ferocious, and catastrophic.

He could be any of these three and all three at once.

He would feel the need to act out if Bruce was becoming more controlling.

BUT AT THE SAME TIME, Dick raised Bruce and that perpetually sense of responsibility he's instilled into himself from a young age as well as his self-sufficiency is never erased so one night he would be blacked out from the excessive alcohol but next morning 6'o clock his body's walking up and he's going through his morning routine like a machine and out the door to work. He just keeps going like this day and day until he collapses and the titans intervene or Bruce drags him back to the manor, screaming in love and fear and Dick screams back and the cycle begins.

Nightwing (1996) Issue #135

Like canonically Dick ran away from home at 16, got a job, got caught up in a major anarchist group, and did a whole freaking investigation while Bruce sulked in the cave because Dick ran away.

There's so much angsty dick potential that could go in so many ways because he's such a complex character that all of them apply.

LOL!!! I totally think he would get impulsive piercings too. Maybe when he's drunk and pissed and then the next day he would wake up be like wtf. He'd sit in turmoil and a little regret for a while and then be like whatever because these piercing are freaking cool.

Bonus: no one (except the og titans and Alfred bc Dick never keeps anything from Alfred and the titans are family) ever find out about the piercings and it's kept a tightly guarded secret until a decade later when he does something in the batcave and one of the batkids notice and they're like, "DICK YOU HAVE A PIERCING?!" The rest of them just about break their neck whipping their head around to look at him. Dick just shrugs nonchalantly because time has tempered him and goes, "oh yeah. I guess. I forgot." Bruce passes out and wakes up on the floor to Dick hovering worriedly over him while the rest of the family watches in amusement at his predicament and also half brokenly because their golden boy big brother has piercings. Plural.

Bruce gasped out a pained breath, "Piercings?"

Dick stared at him silently, gemstone eyes holding his gaze as the quiet of the cave melted the seconds into hours. His eyes slowly slid from Bruce's to where the rest of the family was standing, watching them with bated breath for his answer, before they met Bruce's hopeful ones again.

"No." Bruce, with all the strength left in his body after recovering, raised a questioning eyebrow as Dick continued, "I don't have any piercings and never did."

"Hmn." But he swore he could've seen-

The kids erupted in protests.

"Dick, come on!" Jason hollered, pushing forward. "We clearly saw it there-"

"Where?" Dick asked, spreading his arms wide and invitingly, offering them to see for themselves.

The piercing they had all gotten the barest glimpse of was gone from where they had seen it on Dick.

"But you said you! You said, 'yeah. I guess so. I forgot.'" Stephanie put her hands on her hips, "Admit it Boy Piercing!"

"Boy Piercing?!"

"Fess up, pretty boy!"

"Steph," Dick visibly bit his lip to keep from laughing, "I was joking. You guys should've see your reactions - they were so funny!! Dick has a piercing. OMG. You people were hilarious."

Damian clicked his tongue. "Enough Richard! Did you implement metal into you skin like a heathen? Richard, how could you?! Who dare touch-"

"No Dami!" Dick quickly interfered to prevent a possible murder on his behalf, "I was just kidding, okay? Besides, did you guys even really see it? Like full on?"

Harper crossed her arms. "Close enough."

Dick quirked his eyebrow at that. "But you didn't actually see it right? You thought you saw something shining and turned to look. C'mon you guys know what it is - peripheral vision hallucinations. Things you see in your peripheral vision that aren't real because you are tired," He pinned a look at each other, emphasizing the words, "and stressed."

Dick pressed his lips together and folded his arms. "Time for bed. Now. I know you all haven't been sleeping for the past few days so you all are going to bed. At the manor." Dick finished, shooting Jason a look when he tried secretly shuffling toward his bike.

The rest of them were unmoved for a moment but quickly caved under Dick's patented "I'm mom-ing you."™ stare as Jason liked to call it.

They trudged upstairs while Bruce and Dick watched in companionable silence.

Bruce turned to look at Dick as the sounds of their bickering and footsteps faded away.

"How did you do it?"

Dick hummed distractedly and tilted his head to look down at Bruce still sitting on the floor. "Do what?"

Bruce growled, impatience, annoyance, and apprehension swimming in his voice, "Don't lie. To me. How did you hide it? Now. And for so long?"

Bruce watched tensed as the tip of Dick's tongue ran over the ridges of his top row of teeth, the first sign of anger he had seen from him in weeks. The pink flesh of his tongue barely avoiding cutting itself on the slightly too sharp canines that Dick loved to call his vampire teeth since he was little. He had even threw a veteran-dentist-scaring-tantrum in the dentist's office when the man suggested shaving them down once.

Bruce watched warily as Dick crouched down, balancing on his balls of his feet like a cat on a fence, and forcefully tamped down the sudden urge to pull out a hidden batarang when the boy grinned, eyes lighting with the wild fire of joy and madness from his robin days that still had Bruce on edge for decades.

"How did you it?" He asked again, not sure if he really wanted to know anymore but the principle remained. There was no way Dick's activities could be hidden for so long. He didn't invest in his detective following skills for something like this to escape his observation. But at the same time Dick had evaded his tracking skills when he was seventeen and ran away from him. But something so obvious as a piercing would never escape his notice. But a whole 17 year old boy also shouldn't have escaped his notice. However, Bruce had improved. He had gotten better at his job and his skills. Right? Right, of course, he was the best in the world. Dick definitely did have a piercing. But...on the off chance...what if he really had just seen a flash of light? Sweat on a body? The edge of a birdarang? Peripheral vision hallucinations? "Do you?"

"Do I what?"

You already know what I'm asking. Bruce thought, frustrated with Dick for lying. Frustrated with himself for not knowing if Dick was lying.

"Do you have piercings?" Bruce ground out.

Dick laughed, his voice echoing like choir bells in the spacious cave and bouncing off the stalactites to create a ringing, haunting melody as he leaned in closer to Bruce.

"C'mon, B! You know every showman's got his own tricks," Dick grinned brightly.

And you're the whole damn circus. Bruce hissed viciously in his mind.

Dick's eyes twinkled back at him.

[lizzy-calaxio]

Ok, well, this didn't turn out like I originally planned, but have some late transition lizzy/krile

Chirin downs his third drink within the half hour at the Forgotten Knight. He drunkenly feels his horns, and slumps down onto the counter, “Another please.”

Gibrillont looks at the au ra, looks a little concerned, but relinquishes another full drink.

Chirin downs it immediately, his tail whipping back and forth.

A voice startles him, “Whoa, hey, watch the tail dude.”

He glances down towards the voice, “Oh, hey Krile.” for a flash he looks sad, but he swiftly hides it by asking for another drink.

Krile looks up at the counter, then at Chirin. He sighs, and lifts the lalafell onto the counter next to him.

“So what’s up, you seem more down than normal.”

Chirin looks away, a hurricane of emotions swell within him but he quashes them swiftly, “Ah, just, the everything.” he gestures vaguely around himself.

Krile’s echo tells her his intentions – he’s hiding something. She tilts her head and examines him, trying to get a gauge on what the problem is.

“I’ve also been thinking about my family, I miss them. I could be fishing with my brother on a warm beach right now…” his sentence doesn’t quite end so much as trails off in thought.

“Why not visit them?”

He shakes his head, “Nah, I’m needed here. If I just keep my head down, and keep trudging forward, eventually I can go back with a clear conscience.”

Krile gets the feeling that this isn’t the actual issue, “Is there anything else going on...?”

Chirin looks at Krile, the lantern nearby flickering, causing the light to catch her eye in a very particular way – Chirin begins blushing, but shoves the feelings down.

“N-no.”

It’s unconvincing.

Krile scooches closer to him, “C’mon, you can tell me anything. I promise.”

Chirin glances at the empty glasses around him, he’s pretty sure there’s six glasses, though he doesn’t remember ordering that many. A deep twisting thought in the back of his mind nags and pulls at him, but he shakes it away.

He sighs, “I dunno. I’m unhappy. I just wish….” a thought almost spills over, but it vanishes before it can, “I wish things went differently in my life. That’s all. Maybe next life I can do things right.”

Krile looks confused, her echo isn’t helping much here and she can’t interpret the vague thoughts spilling out from her friend. She presses forward with her desire to help, “Well, what things do you wish were different?”

Chirin’s eyes glaze over, his limbal ring glowing brightly in the dark bar. A profound sorrow reflects in his face, as he thinks he grows more depressed, “I dunno. I…” his voice cracks, and his throat chokes at the words, “I...I…..I feel guilty.” the continuing wavering sound in his voice betrays any concept of him having a cool demeanor, “I have feelings for you. I shouldn’t, I know you don’t have an interest in...people like me….I…” he trails off, his head laying on the counter, tears welling up in his eyes, “I wish I wasn’t born…”

Krile’s face mirrors his sorrow, his intentions spilling forth and into her mind. A single thought grabs hold though, that last sentence isn’t finished.

Chirin lightly sobs, before continuing, “I wish I wasn’t born a boy.”

Krile gently runs her fingers through Chirin’s hair, unsure of what to say. She glances at the glasses around him, and is unsure if it’s the alcohol, or his true feelings.

The two sit in silence for an eon, before Krile speaks, “Hey, why don’t we go for a walk?”

Chirin nods, and stands upright, his entire body betraying how depressed he truly is.

As they step outside, they’re met with the gentle glow of moonlight reflecting off of fresh snow. Light snow falls, and Chirin tightens his jacket.

Krile puts her hood on, stifling her echo, “Ok. So, you don’t want to be a boy. Talk about those feelings.”

Chirin shifts uncomfortably, and starts walking. Krile keeps up, eyeing his tail to ensure she doesn’t get hit. He regrets saying what he said, but is thankful Krile doesn’t hate him for confessing his feelings.

“I feel wrong. Every day I wake up crying because I’m wrong. I wish I had been born correctly.” he doesn’t know what he’s saying, the words just spill out like an overflowing cup of coffee.

Krile hesitates, but reaches up to grab his hand, unsure of what to say.

Chirin continues, “I’m too tall, too muscular, too masculine, my horns are wrong, my face is wrong, everything is wrong and bad and and and….” his voice chokes, he’s unable to continue as he starts crying.

The two sit down on a bench, in utter silence as the snow muffles any traveling sounds. Chirin’s light sobs are the only sound that breaks the silence, as Krile rubs his back.

Chirin composes himself enough to whisper, “I just wish I was a girl.”

Krile thinks about how to help, “I...I mean, you still can be?”

Chirin looks at Krile as if she had four heads, she actually only has two. He mentally scolds himself for getting this drunk. He wants to take everything back. Undo this night.

Krile continues, “I’ve heard of a magic potion, that could change your body. Why not use that?”

Chirin blinks, trying to process the information, “What?”

“Fantasia, I think it’s called. A very rare, very expensive potion, that when drank will transform your body overnight.”

“…..WHAT.” his entire mood turns on a dime.

Krile lightly smiles, “I think I could probably procure one for you, if this is truly what you want?”

Chirin grabs Krile, “I do! I mean,” he lets go, nervously, “I...Yes, I would want.”

Krile giggles a little in response, “Oh! Do you have a new name you’d like to use?”

Chirin thinks for a couple minutes, “Elizabeth. I think that’s a pretty name.”

“Elizabeth, huh? Lizzy suits you, I think.”

[david-talks-sw]

George Lucas & Karen Traviss' visions of Star Wars are NOT the same...

So whenever I come across this image:

I keep in mind that it's from a book written by Karen Traviss, who is a brilliant author (I adored Legacy of the Force: Bloodlines and Sacrifice) but whose stance on Anakin, Yoda & the Jedi and Star Wars morality is this:

As opposed to George Lucas' stance on Anakin, Yoda & the Jedi and Star Wars' morality, which is this:

In a children's story about Light and Dark, good and evil, selflessness vs selfishness, George Lucas marks the Empire as absolutely evil and the Rebels as absolutely good, in the Original Trilogy.

In the Prequels, the situation is more complex (the Jedi are drafted into a war and forced to do things they know they shouldn't be doing, but have to for the greater good; the Sith bring about order to a corrupt government) but the morality stays the same... the selfish, greedy Sith are absolutely evil and the selfless, compassionate Jedi are absolutely good.

That's George's thesis.

And, as a character, Yoda's function is to deliver that thesis. It's no wonder why Lucas treats Yoda's words as absolutely correct:

Yoda is Lucas' mouthpiece in the Prequels, his self-insert.

George Lucas' narrative frames Yoda as objectively right.

So when Karen Traviss questions the Jedi, particularly Yoda's character and wisdom, she's disagreeing with George Lucas' thesis.

Which is fair. Traviss, is a different person than Lucas, she's an ex-journalist with a more "grey" view of the world and a different philosophy re: fiction aimed at children. "Death of the author" and all that. Again, fair enough.

And if you like Travis' interpretation and philosophy more than George's, if her read resonates with you more... also fair enough.

But the EU is not a reliable source on Lucas' vision.

I've talked about this in MUCH more detail here, but if you do care about George Lucas' vision, then maybe don't draw from the Expanded Universe, which includes content written by authors who expressly disagree with him, like Traviss.

Sounds logical, but for some reason people will read the above-posted Dooku quote and treat it as reflective of Lucas' vision, when it's not the case.

George Lucas' Dooku doesn't have an issue with Yoda or the Jedi (at least not openly, as Darth Tyranus, the Sith Lord he wants them all dead). Dooku's issue is with the Senate and the Republic.

George Lucas specifically added that most Jedi share Dooku's concerns. Before he's revealed to be a mass-murdering, Sith who enslaves neutral systems, the Jedi think he makes a good point and are even reluctant to consider him a murder suspect.

But let's not start saying that Lucas' Prequels are meant to be about "the Jedi's failure" and "Dooku being right that the Jedi are corrupt.

Because that's not the case.

If that's how you see them, great. It's certainly how Traviss saw them. To each their own, authorial intent be damned.

But it's not what they were about, to Lucas. Stating the contrary is... I dunno, lying? Rewriting history?

It's as if I got hired to write a Lord of the Rings prequel seen from Gandalf's POV. And y'know what, maybe I don't like Gandalf. So I write him as a scheming asshole going “myahahahah, fuck hobbits! I’m gonna let them keep the One Ring so a bunch Nazgûl will swoop through the Shire and murder them!” and suddenly, everyone starts writing posts about the notion that “Growing up is realizing that Tolkien always intended for Gandalf to be the secret villain of LOTR!” as if that had always been the case and I didn't just reframe him that way retroactively.

Finally, I'd also encourage you to read @rendar-writes' well-made point here about the fact that, while claiming she "doesn't give the answers", Traviss nonetheless shows a clear anti-Jedi bias.