#my mind needs to reset button

[hazbinash]

when demigods get sick

Percy : internal clock gets messed up sleeps all day and is up at 1 am once he feels a little better and then probably wants to fight the gods

Annabeth : freaks out , dose not want to get anyone else sick and will lock her self away and make building designs , with Percy contesntly trying to visit her and once she falls asleep he gets in to where she is at and gives her a blanket

leo : "sick , wdym sick nope no I can't I have stuff to build no no no no no I cant be " - will be in denial and then once he gets better will act as if nothing hapend

hazel : is the only normal one and just takes stuff slow and least dramatic

frank : turns into animals that he thinks cant be sick so he is a snake and it seems like the snake is half dead but that is only for when he is really sick he is normal most of the time if it is just a fever or something simple

jason : is never sick as he has a good immune sytem from being rased as a wolf

nico : will babys him if will finds out Nico is sick , or Nico is sick but never shows it untill it is really bad

will : TAKES MEDS LIKE A NORMAL PERSON , can not afford to be sick and is the only one to rember that meds exsist

piper : trys to charmspeak herself into not being sick

reyna : takes a day off but still is crazy busy but her being sick dose not change alot and she needs to get shit done

[often-daydreaming]

A Quick Chat

'Absolutely not!'

'I'm just gonna talk with him!'

Following the quickly escalating shouts down to the Batcave Bruce found Dick and a heavily armed Tim at each other's throats while their siblings oh so helpfully egged them on.

They were arguing about Wally and their last universal saving mission for some reason and Tim had nearly every contingency he could think of to handle a speedster on him.

-nna talk, that's it!'

'Then you can leave the gear here!'

'What's going on?'

All of his children froze, finally realizing he was here before they started shouting over each other.

'You remem-'

'-ick's trying to-'

'Father Dr-'

'-ng crazy, just because the universe re-'

'Enough!'

'Now, can someone tell me what's going on or do I have to get Alfred?'

And Jason was happy enough to tell him. 'Replacement's pissed because we finally discovered a pretty big difference with the universe after the League hit the reset button.'

Multiple screens on the Batcomputer held information on new heroes, a Junior JLD and everything Tim could dig up on two individuals. The first one was Phantom, a new addition to the Titans and had a number of detailed conspiracy theories tracking his appearances through time while the other held the detailed background information of a recently graduated Daniel James Fenton. Tim had dug up everything from his kindergarten grades to... Oh... Oh no... That explains why they were arguing about Wally.

Most of Daniel's latest online post covered his move to Gotham, his new job offer working in their engineering department and his new boyfriend Bernard. Looking at it all made it painfully easy to piece together that... 'They stole my life!'

And Dick and Tim were arguing again but Bruce knew it wouldn't get too heated and focused his attention on the gathered information. It was easy to see that a number of encounters his kids (mainly his oldest three) should have had with the Titans were adjusted just enough to fit Phantom now and Tim's involvement with the Children of Dionysus had been shifted around to involve Daniel in this new universe.

'-e universe reset doesn't mean you can ruin their lives. Phantom seems like a good kid.'

'Dowd would have left you eventually.'

Dick had to hold Tim back from launching himself at Damien while Jason and Steph stood by egging the two of them on, but then Tim got that look in his eye when Duke brought up the idea of reintroducing himself and everyone noticed.

'No.'

'Come on. Tim, you don't need another restraining order.'

'But it didn't happen in this universe so it doesn't count.'

'It counts if we still remember it!'

But Tim wasn't listening, too busy changing out of all of his gear as a plan quickly started forming together in his mind.

Why waste time with Wally when he can just as easily win over the new couple while ignoring everything else he's learned from his friends.

He'd figure it out one mess at a time. After he won Bernard back he'd figure out the situation between Red Robin and Phantom.

-_- -_- -_-

Reading over the sticky note Danny couldn't help but wonder what Clockwork meant when he wrote 'Have Fun'.

Again, I blame my medication for this, but this came from a couple of different prompts about Tim, Bernard and Danny and I just sort of went with it. Basically the main roster of the League has to stop (Pick a threat) and end up resitting the universe again. The problem is they still remember the old universe so they spend a week or two looking up any big changes and a sleep deprived Tim starts believing he barely knows Bernard in this universe when he's actually dating him and Danny. He just hasn't dug deep enough to figure out his own connection.

[thefaiao]

Here's a portrait I did based on the movie Hackers (1995), which I'm posting on its own because I want to talk about this movie!

I had never watched the movie before working on this commission, but it was truly magical to watch. I've been kind of taking in what I watched over the last days and it has given me so many thoughts that I don't even know to begin. Watching without any knowledge of how the movie was received, I was shocked to learn that there is a major split in opinions about the movie, which has left me completely puzzled. How can a movie, that in my eyes is simply phenomenal, be even able to receive such negative reviews to this day?

I think the keyword here is what I used to describe the movie: magical. There is a magic circle that needs to be accepted and entered for you to truly enjoy the movie, and see how the silly sequences are a depiction of reality that is juiced up, and not a substitute of reality. If you just take the movie at face value, you won't be able to appreciate how this effect works. You'll think just because an interface is translated as two obvious HACK buttons, they can in no way actually be depicting hacking. But they are, the movie does a lot to show its appreciation and love for the scene, with accurate references to relevant books, multiple little "tricks" like phreaking and resetting the phone to call someone other than your lawyer when you get arrested. You can appreciate that effort and also how it was dressed up to resonate more with a larger audience, and keep the movie's amazing pace!

Now there are also things that maybe were taken for granted in movies of this time. The set design and costumes are fantastic, and somehow still feel fresh today. Maybe they are not realistic but they are effortlessly cool in a way I think almost no one does well nowadays. All the characters are visually strong and are immediately identifiable, on top of having great chemistry and represent a decent variety of archetypes. Despite being a movie, it communicates strongly that this world is bursting with life and character, that the game is not set, and that there is still future ahead of us. They have a scene of the main guy wearing lingerie in a dream, and the main girl joyously, sincerely smiles at the thought. That is a deep understanding of the human spirit.

Yet it kills me! It kills me that people watch this movie and think it's "terrible" or "cringy", that they don't have eyes to see how much heart it has. People have convinced themselves that reality can only exist within their brain specifically, that there is no use for magic, even in movies, even in books and games. What's the point of being smart if you just want all the answers handed to you? The abstraction is not a defect, it's a working piece.

The people who saw the world through these cold lens have removed all of the punk and empowerment that the movie champions. They boiled down the culture to just code and went on to make lame companies that serve to optimize suffering and take the people's ability to actually interface and express themselves through computers and electronics as a whole.

You can accept both the material reality and understand the purpose of abstraction and interpretation beyond furthering material gain. Perhaps the movie didn't intend to show me such a complex message, but that's what I got from it, and it gave me room to interpret it that way, allowed me to be curious.

That's all I have to say. Maybe I'm preaching to the crowd, but whatever. When you approach something, have heart! Without your heart, your head would have no blood, and your mind, no thoughts. Treasure, and use, it!

[lxndonorris]

games - Franco Colapinto

Y/N x Franco Colapinto Theme: Smutty, Teasing, Touching playing teasing games with Franco word count: 3520+ taglist: @game-set-canet @cloud-55 open for requests :)

The hum of the paddock was always the same. Mechanics bustled between the garages, engineers huddled over laptops, and the faint smell of burnt rubber and motor oil lingered in the air. 

It was race weekend, and as a member of Williams' strategy department, your mind was consumed with tire degradation rates, fuel calculations, and weather forecasts.

This weekend was different, though; Franco Colapinto had been brought in as a replacement for the remainder of the season. It wasn't uncommon for drivers to shuffle in and out, but his arrival left you with mixed feelings.

While his talent was undeniable, his presence also underscored the volatility of the sport. 

One moment you're on top; the next, you're replaced.

You tried to keep your head down and focus on your work, but Franco had other ideas.

From the moment he stepped into the Williams garage, he exuded confidence—maybe too much. His charming smile seemed to disarm everyone around him, and his jokes quickly won over the mechanics. 

You wanted to be immune to it. After all, you weren't here to be dazzled by a driver; you were here to perform as best as possible. 

Still, there was something about his energy that made him hard to ignore.

Friday morning was spent poring over practice session data. By the time the clock struck noon, you were desperate for a break. Slipping away from the chaos, you found a quiet corner of the hospitality area. The cool breeze and a cup of coffee were all you needed to reset your mind.

But, of course, that peace was short-lived.

"Found you," came a smooth voice from behind.

You didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Franco had a knack for making his presence known.

"What do you want, Colapinto?" You asked, keeping your tone neutral as you sipped your coffee.

"Is that how you greet all our teammates?" He teased, sliding into the chair across from you. 

He didn't wait for an invitation, naturally.

"I'm not sure we're teammates," you countered, setting your cup down. "You're here to drive; I'm here to strategize."

"Semantics," he said with a shrug. "We're both here for the same goal, aren't we?"

His casual confidence was maddening, but you refused to let it get under your skin.

"Did you need something, or are you just here to disrupt my break?"

He grinned, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Maybe I just wanted to get to know you better. You seem... interesting."

"Interesting?" You echoed, raising an eyebrow. "That's vague."

"Charming, sharp, beautiful. Should I go on?" he asked, leaning forward slightly.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes.

"Flattery doesn't work on me."

"Oh, I don't believe that for a second," he said, his voice dropping just enough to make your pulse quicken. "But if it doesn't, I'll just have to try harder."

It was infuriating how effortlessly he pushed your buttons. And yet, you couldn't deny the thrill of it. 

If he wanted to play this game, you'd make sure you won.

Careful, Franco," you said, letting your fingers brush over his arm as you stood. "You don't want to bite off more than you can chew."

His breath hitched just barely—a subtle reaction, but one you didn't miss. He tilted his head, smirking as he leaned back in his chair. 

"I think I can handle it."

"Good luck, then," you said, walking away before he could respond.

---

The day went on, and you managed to avoid Franco for the most part. But by the time the evening rolled around, you found yourself thinking about your brief encounter. 

He was charming, funny, and annoyingly attractive. And yet, you couldn't shake the feeling that getting involved with him was a bad idea. He was a temporary replacement, after all. What was the point in letting yourself get tangled up in something that might not last?

But Franco wasn't the type to give up easily.

---

Saturday morning brought more practice sessions and strategy meetings. You were buried in data when Franco strolled into the engineering office, his helmet tucked under one arm.

"You look busy," he said, leaning casually against the desk.

"I am," you replied without looking up.

"Maybe I can help," he offered, his tone playful.

"Unless you've suddenly become an expert in race strategy, I doubt it."

"I might surprise you," he said, stepping closer.

You glance up at him, your lips curving into a smirk.

"Oh, I'm sure you're full of surprises."

His eyes flickered to your lips, and for a moment, the air between you seemed to crackle. Then, just as quickly, you returned your focus to the laptop in front of you, leaving him standing there.

But Franco wasn't one to be ignored. He leaned down, his breath warm against your ear.

"You know, if you keep teasing me like this, I might start to think you enjoy it."

You turned to face him, your faces inches apart. 

"And if I do?"

His grin widened. "Then I'd say we're going to have a lot of fun."

With that, he straightened up and walked away, leaving you to wonder what exactly you'd gotten yourself into.

---

A few hours later, the buzz of post-qualifying energy filled the air as team members analyzed data and discussed strategies for the race.

The car had shown steady performance, and Franco had managed to secure P13—a good result considering the car's limitations this season and his inexperience with it all.

You sat in the corner of the engineering office, reviewing telemetry and tire degradation patterns when the door swung open, revealing Franco. His white racing suit clung to him, the logos proudly displayed on his chest. His hair was damp, slightly tousled from the helmet, and a faint sheen of sweat made him look effortlessly rugged.

"P13," he announced with a grin, his voice bright as he strode into the room. "Not bad for the new guy, huh?"

You glance up from your screen and nodded.

"Not bad at all. You might even be worth keeping around."

His grin widened as he leaned against the desk beside you.

"High praise coming from you. I was beginning to think I'd never win you over."

"You still haven't," you said, letting your lips curve into a smirk. "But you're off to a decent start."

He chuckled, his dark eyes locked on yours.

"I'll take that as a challenge."

As the room cleared out, people heading off to dinner or more meetings, Franco lingered. His teasing continued, lighthearted at first, but his words grew bolder with each exchange.

"You know," he said, his voice low, "I think you like having me around more than you let on."

"And why would you think that?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Because you're still here talking to me instead of running off like everyone else," he said, his tone smug. "Admit it—you’re intrigued."

You leaned back in your chair, studying him.

"Intrigued? Maybe, impressed? Not quite."

His laugh was soft, and he leaned in closer, his arms crossed as he rested them on the desk. 

"You're tough to crack, you know that?"

"Maybe you're just not trying hard enough," you shot back, your tone playful.

Beneath the table, an idea crossed your mind.

Without a word, you let your foot drift toward him. Slowly, deliberately, you dragged the tip of your shoe along his calf. You felt him tense ever so slightly, his smirk faltering for just a fraction of a second before returning, sharper than before.

His eyes darkened, but he played it cool.

"Oh, so that's how you want to play?" he murmured.

You didn't respond, instead letting your foot continue its slow journey up his leg, brushing over his knee and toward his thigh. His breathing quickened, though he did his best to hide it. When your foot reached just beneath the edge of his suit, you stopped, withdrawing just enough to leave him wanting more.

"You were saying?" you asked, your voice innocent.

He cleared his throat, his grin never fading.

"I think you're enjoying this even more than I am."

You tilted your head, feigning indifference. 

"Maybe. Maybe not."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. 

"How about we find out?"

Your heart skipped, but you kept your composure.

"And how do you propose we do that?"

"Meet me later," he said, his words deliberate. "My motorhome."

For a moment, you let the suggestion hang in the air, the weight of it pressing down on both of you. Then, with a coy smile, you leaned back in your chair.

"We'll see."

He laughed softly, shaking his head as he stood. In one swift motion, he unzipped his suit just enough to grant you a glimpse of the blue fireproofs beneath.

"You're going to drive me crazy, aren't you?"

"Only if you're lucky," you replied, watching as he walked away.

As the door closed behind him, you exhaled deeply, your mind racing. You didn't want to admit it, but the thought of meeting him sent a thrill through you that was impossible to ignore.

---

An hour later, you found yourself standing outside Franco's motorhome, the cool evening air brushing against your skin. Your heart was pounding. Was this the right decision? Yet, something about him—his charm, his confidence, his maddening ability to make you second-guess everything—had drawn you here.

You knocked, the sound feeling louder than it should in the quiet paddock. A moment later, the door opened, and there he was.

Franco stood in the doorway, still in his racing gear, the upper half loosely hanging down around his waist. The tight blue Nomex undershirt clung to his chest and arms, highlighting every contour. His hair was still slightly damp, and his grin was as infuriatingly cocky as ever.

"You came," he said, leaning casually against the doorframe, his voice laced with amusement.

"You invited me," you replied, your tone light but guarded.

"And I didn't think you'd actually show up," he admitted, stepping aside to let you in. "Come on, make yourself comfortable."

You hesitated for only a second before stepping into the motorhome. It was cozy, the space designed for function but with enough personal touches to make it feel lived-in. A small table and couch sat to one side, a kitchenette on the other. The faint scent of something fresh—maybe soap—lingered in the air.

The door clicked shut behind you, and you turned to find Franco watching you, his arms crossed and that ever-present smirk tugging at his lips.

"Not bad," you said, glancing around. "I expected it to be messier."

He chuckled, stepping closer.

"What can I say? I like to keep things in order. Well, most things."

You raised an eyebrow. "And the things you don't?"

"Those tend to be more fun," he said, his voice dropping just enough to make your pulse quicken again.

You rolled your eyes, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

"You're relentless, you know that?"

"And you're impossible to ignore," he countered, closing the distance between you.

The teasing back-and-forth began almost immediately. His fingers brushed against your back as he passed you, a casual touch that sent shivers down your spine. 

You retaliated by letting your hand linger on his arm, tracing the toned muscle beneath the fabric. His grin only widened.

"You're not making this easy," he said, his voice low.

"Good," you replied, leaning against the small table. "I wouldn't want to."

He moved closer, his eyes searching yours as he rested his hands on either side of you, caging you in without actually touching you.

"You're going to drive me insane," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

You tilted your head, a smirk playing on your lips.

"Maybe that's the point."

His gaze dropped to your lips, and for a moment, the air between you crackled with tension. Slowly, he leaned in, his face inches from yours. Your heart raced, your breath catching as his fingers brushed against your back again, this time more deliberate, more lingering.

You let your hand slide up his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. Your fingers drifted to his shoulders, then down his arms, before finally brushing over his thigh.

His breath hitched, his composure faltering ever so slightly, and you knew you had him.

But just as his lips were about to meet yours, you pulled away, stepping aside with a teasing smile.

"Not so fast," you said, your voice light and playful.

His eyes darkened, and he let out a low laugh, shaking his head. 

"You're cruel, you know that?"

"Am I?" You ask innocently, though the gleam in your eyes betrayed you.

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mingled with amusement.

"You're going to be the death of me."

You shrugged, moving toward the couch and sitting down, crossing one leg over the other. 

"Maybe. But you'll enjoy every second of it."

Franco stood there for a moment, his hands on his hips, as if deciding whether to let you win this round. Finally, he let out a breath, his smirk returning.

"You're trouble," he said, joining you on the couch, his knee brushing against yours. "And I like it."

You lean closer, your voice a whisper. 

"You have no idea."

The air between you felt electric, the tension thick as you leaned in just enough to close the distance without actually touching him. 

Franco stayed still, watching you with a mix of amusement and anticipation. His restraint was admirable, but you could see the flicker of desire in his eyes. 

He knew you were playing with him, and yet he let you—whether it was curiosity, confidence, or sheer temptation, you couldn't tell.

You let your hands roam over his chest, your fingers trailing along the lines of his toned muscles beneath the fabric of his Nomex shirt. His breath grew shallow, his chest rising and falling in time with the slow, deliberate movements of your hands.

You lingered at his collarbone, letting your fingers drift upward to his neck, where you caressed the sharp line of his jaw. His skin was warm beneath your touch, the faintest hint of a stubble grazing your fingertips.

With your other hand, you let your fingers slide down to his thigh, brushing over the firm muscle just barely. The touch was light, teasing, a mere whisper of contact that made him shift slightly under your hand.

His lips parted as though he wanted to say something, but he didn't. He just watched you, his gaze dark and intense, as if daring you to push him further.

"You're quiet," you said softly, your thumb brushing over the edge of his jaw.

"You're in control," he replied, his voice rougher than usual, a low hum that sent a thrill down your spine. "For now."

The confidence in his tone made you smirk. 

You let your fingers on his thigh press down a little more, moving in slow circles that barely grazed where you knew he wanted them. He shifted again, his composure slipping just enough to make your teasing worth it.

"Franco," you murmured, leaning in so close that your lips nearly brushed his ear. "You're enjoying this too much."

He chuckled, the sound soft but strained.

"You don't know half of it."

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers still exploring his jawline while your other hand continued its slow, deliberate movements on his thigh.

His eyes were locked on yours, his restraint remarkable given the circumstances. 

It was a game now—one you weren't sure either of you wanted to win.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of teasing, you leaned in, brushing your lips against his in a kiss that was soft but purposeful. He hesitated yet gave in, his hand moving to the small of your back as he deepened the kiss, his restraint giving way to the desire he'd been holding back.

The moment felt charged, every touch, every movement heightened by the tension that had been building between you.

Your hand on his thigh moved slightly, your fingers brushing against him just enough to draw a sharp intake of breath from him. 

You smiled against his lips, knowing you had him exactly where you wanted. You let your touch linger, a faint stroke that sent a shiver through him.

When you finally pull back, his eyes were heavy-lidded, his breath shallow as he looked at you with a mix of satisfaction and frustration.

"Was that what you wanted?" you asked, your voice low, teasing.

He smirked, running a hand through his tousled hair. 

"It's a start."

Your fingers, still on his thigh, pressed down a little more deliberately, tracing slow, deliberate circles over the firm muscle. He tensed beneath your touch, his breath hitching just barely, but his eyes stayed locked on yours, a challenge glinting in the dark depths.

"Patience," you murmured, letting your fingers drift a little higher, teasingly brushing along the edge of where he wanted them most.

His jaw tightened, and you could feel the restraint it took for him to let you lead, to let you play this game.

"You're relentless," he whispered, his voice rough and low.

"Only because it's fun," you replied, your lips curving into a mischievous smile.

You leaned in again, letting your lips hover just over his, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against yours. At the same time, you let your fingers slide up his thigh once more, giving him the faintest, gentlest squeeze. 

His breath hitched again, sharper this time, and you couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped you.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" he asked, his voice tight, his control fraying at the edges.

You didn't answer, instead letting your hand linger, your touch slow and deliberate as you felt the tension coiling in him, the way his body reacted to every subtle movement. 

Your other hand moved back to his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles beneath the tight, slightly damp fabric of his shirt, before sliding upward to cup his jaw.

His eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, and you took the opportunity to lean in, pressing your lips to his in another slow, lingering kiss. 

This time, he didn't hold back. 

His hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer as he kissed you with a hunger that made your heart race. His other hand cupped your face, his fingers warm and steady against your skin.

But just as he was beginning to take control, you pulled back, breaking the kiss and pulling away from his touch. Your fingers trailed down his chest one last time before sliding back to his thigh, giving him one final squeeze. 

You smirked as his eyes opened, dark and heavy with frustration and need.

"So much trouble. You're impossible," he said, his voice husky.

"Maybe," you replied, standing up slowly, letting your fingers linger on his thigh until the last possible moment. "But you're still letting me win."

He laughed softly, shaking his head as he leaned back against the couch. 

At first, he exhaled and raised an arm, stroking the back of his head. The movement made his toned chest stand out even more, the fabric of his undershirt clinging to him as he stretched slightly, trying to shake off the tension you'd left behind.

"I'm letting you think you're winning."

You turned back to him, raising an eyebrow, watching him closely.

As he leaned back against the sofa, his head resting against the cushions, he let out a long, steadying breath. His hand moved almost instinctively to his chest, following the path your fingers had traced moments before.

His fingers slid over the fabric of his nomex shirt, pressing lightly against his chest as though trying to capture the sensations you'd left behind.

His other hand drifted lower, brushing over his stomach and coming to rest near the visible strain inside his suit. His bulge was unmistakable, the tension evident even through the tightly fitted material. 

"Oh, is that what you're telling yourself?"

He smirked, the heat in his eyes unwavering.

"You'll see."

Franco closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw tightening as he let his hand hover over his bulge, his fingers flexing slightly.

It was as though he was chasing the lingering heat of your touch, replaying every teasing stroke, every deliberate squeeze in his mind.

The ghost of your fingers on his thigh, the press of your hand against his jaw, the softness of your lips—all of it hung in the air between you, even though you stood up.

He exhaled sharply, his hand brushing against the strain, his body responding to the memory of the game you'd just played. A low chuckle escaped his lips, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Next time, I'll make sure to win."

You laughed, stepping toward the door.

"Goodnight, Franco."

Goodnight," he called after you, his voice rich with amusement. As you slipped out of the motorhome and into the cool night air, you couldn't stop the smile that tugged at your lips.

This was a game you weren't sure either of you wanted to end.

[trippinsorrows]

without you + five

authors note: well, it's been a while...for obvious reasons. after a lot of deliberation and polls from my followers, i've decided to see this story through to the end. there won't be a book 3, so once this is done, it's done.

this and my only other joe story, give me a reason, will be the end of my joe fics.

i also redid the taglist for this story, again, for obvious reasons. so, if you wish to be tagged moving forward, you have to sign up here.

warnings: none

song inspo: be without you by mary j. blige

masterlist

words: 5.3k

Lately, I've been going through some things that's really got me down

I need someone, somebody, to help me come and turn my life around

I can't explain it

I can't obtain it

Five months pregnant with triplets, barefoot, moving and dancing around the bathroom, curling iron in hand as you retouch your curls isn’t exactly how you planned for this morning to go, but how does that saying go? We make plans, and God laughs?

Yeah, the big man must be having a time up there, because it’s most definitely been a chaotic morning to say the least.

It started out with you trying to surprise your daughter and fiancé with a special breakfast for an extra special day. Nothing too crazy. Just some sausage, eggs, and waffles with that fancy waffle maker you were gifted during the baby shower. It would have been fine and perfect but not for the fact that damn waffle maker wasn’t as simple and easy as marketed. Far from it, because somehow you ended up burning the first set. A mishap that resulted in the smoke detectors going off and waking up not only your man but his mini me.

Callie’s sleepy face morphed into a scowl at being woken up unnecessarily early, her little hands rubbing her eyes as Joe worked to turn off the alarms that blared all throughout the big house.

“Mommy,” she spoke, forcing you to look away from where your less than stellar eggs somehow looked so different from when Joe made them. “I think you should let daddy cook.”

“And, I think you should mind your business, Little Ms. Ma’am.”

“She’s not wrong,” Joe huffed from where he stood on a chair, finger down on the button, trying to reset it.

“Shut up,” you murmured, sighing and turning to your daughter. “How about mommy makes you—”

“Y/N, don’t touch nothing else.”

You pouted, arms crossed over your big ass breast and even bigger belly. “That is rude.”

Callie was suddenly at your side, big brown eyes looking up with all the understanding. “It’s okay. I’ll have cereal.”

“Naw, I’ll make you some pancakes, baby,” Joe protested, stepping down from the chair. “Just give me a minute.”

“I can make the—”

“Why don’t you sit down, babe?” He asked, walking up and stealing a kiss, rubbing your stomach. “Rest. You shouldn’t be on your feet.”

Your pout returned as you whined almost, “but, it’s our big day. I wanted to do something special.”

“Well, burning down our house ain’t it.”

You sucked your teeth, punching him on his big ass arm, warning, “you got one more time.” He shook his head, completely unaffected and unbothered. “Acting like I won’t F you up.”

It's a quick save. Censoring yourself last minute due to the presence of your daughter who stood in front of the pantry, trying to reach the pancake batter for her favorite person.

Joe’s deep voice sounded as he chuckled. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Don’t think cause you done knocked me up with your big headed ass children, I can’t and won’t.”

His laughter echoed down the hall, right as your mom walked in, adjusting her robe.

“Girl, what you done burned now?”

“Mama!”

That was not even two hours ago.

Joe made good on his promise and righted your many wrongs, preparing an amazing breakfast for everyone with the help of your mom and your daughter. Perhaps Callie was right.

Maybe you should just let him cook.

“Makes me clap my hands, makes me wanna dance, stomp,” you sing along lightly to the song you grew up listening to, careful not to burn your fingers the way you burned up breakfast.

“Mommy!”

Turning to your left, you almost do just that.

But, it's so worth it. A sight that brings tears to your eyes. Tears you have a hard time not shedding but do your best to avoid letting fall, because you want to prevent messing up your makeup.

“Baby….”

She looks so pretty and adorable in her white dress with gold trim. Little gold studs in her ears. Her hair down and free, curls so perfectly defined and coiled, perfect styling courtesy of your mom. Her shoes are also white and gold, matching her all gold socks. And then there’s that smile. God, every time she smiles, you see it. See Joe. See yourself.

See the two of you.

Callie spins around, holding her dress. “You like it, mommy?”

“I love it, baby girl.” You truly do. “You look like a princess—”

“I look like Moana!” She says happily, walking over, little hand on your stomach. “Not you, baby sister. The real Moana!”

A happy chuckle leaves your mouth as you place the curling iron on the counter, doing your best to lean over and hug her. “I love you so much, Calista.”

She hugs back, holding you just as tight. “I love you too, mama!”

A small knock on the door reveals your mom standing there in a simple white dress, her box braids pulled into a neat bun atop her head. She doesn’t wear much makeup, but she doesn’t need to. When it comes to looks, there’s no question where you got yours from.

“Don’t she look pretty?”

Callie smiles and nods happily, pointing to you. “I look like, mommy!”

Your mom makes a sound, feigning some sort of indecision. “I don’t know, sweetie pie. I’m starting to see more and more of your daddy in you.”

You gasp, grabbing and holding Callie close. “Naw, this is my baby. Her daddy ain’t the one who pushed her out the co—”

“Y/N.”

You roll your eyes, murmuring a quiet “sorry” to your mom, releasing Callie, directing her, “why don’t you let daddy see how pretty you look?”

At the idea of being around her best friend in the world, your baby girl is jumping and leaping for joy.

“Yay!”

Before you can even say anything, she’s turning on her heel and rushing out the bathroom. Her departure leaves just you and your mom alone. The mood shifts, something warm and maternal. She walks over, positioning the both of you so she’s hugging you from behind.

The most heartfelt sigh leaves her mouth as she maintains eye contact through the mirror. “Your grandma would be so proud of you.”

Heartfelt words that instantly have your eyes watering yet again. You miss her so much, and every time you think about the fact that she never got to meet Callie, a small part of you grieves her death like it’s the immediate days after all over again.

“And so am I.”

A welcomed addition, your voice soft and vulnerable. “Yeah?”

Your mom sighs once more, holding you just a little tighter, like you’re still that spitfire little girl that always gave her a run for her money but also made her life so much more meaningful. “You know how I feel about you and Joe started.” Very much so. Even with all you know regarding the truth of his marriage with Jadah, the fact of the matter remains that an affair occurred. It’s something you’ll probably always struggle with to a certain extent. “But regardless of all that, I truly do believe God meant that man for you. This is the life you deserve. A beautiful, healthy, happy family.”

Words that have never hit so deeper than in this moment. Her hands settle on your stomach. “Thank you, mama.” A deep, thick swallow. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Y/N.” She kisses your cheek, clearing her throat and stepping back. “Now reach me that curling iron so I can fix whatever you thought you were doing to your hair.”

“Mama!”

—————

First thing in the morning at City Hall proves to be the perfect time of the day to have a “legal only” wedding. Not too many people outside of the employees and workers, but even better, no one who recognizes Joe. Or, rather, they don’t approach him, because with how mainstream he’s become over the past few years, you have a hard time believing not even one person knows who this man is.

So for the probable respect that said folks have for him, for the small group of ya’ll, you’re eternally grateful.

The last thing you want is this getting out to the media.

Joe, being the amazing, type A man that he is, already handled a lot of what needed to be completed to make this happen. There’s only some standard procedures like providing ID and paperwork that the both of you need to sign to “seal the deal,” so to speak. It’s all relatively straightforward and takes less time than expected, proving that arriving so “early” wasn’t necessarily needed.

Especially since the rules don’t allow for “weddings” to take place outside of the specified appointment time, thus giving you all some time to kill. It works for you, but not necessarily for your daughter who seems to get bored much quicker the older she gets. Thus, your and Joe’s mom, who met you at the courthouse, taking her around the building to explore and take pictures.

That leaves just you and Joe in the waiting room.

“So.” He says, your hands locked together, his thumb running over your knuckles and the rock on your finger.

“So,” you mock, taking a second to admire his appearance. Joe has always been ridiculously attractive, but age only seems to do him better and better. He looks so damn handsome in his black suit, designer, custom, the white tie the perfect complement to your white dress. Hair pulled back in that perfect man bun he mastered well before you met him, it allows an unobstructed view of his face. His features chiseled and well defined. Just so damn fine.

He chuckles, looking over at you. “Still want to do this?”

You were expecting him to ask as such, but it still makes you smile. “Are you?” Moving your conjoined hands to your baby bump, you continue on the path of playfulness. “Though I’d think real careful about that answer, because child support for four kids, especially in the state of Florida from what I’ve read, can be real steep.”

He eyes you, almost skeptical. “Why you looking that up?”

Shrugging, you answer honestly. “Curious.”

“Yeah, well, get uncurious.”

“That’s not a word, sir.”

“You’re such a fucking teacher.”

“Ahh, it was that too,” you suddenly remember. “I was also looking into what I need to do to get my teaching license in this state.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, further explaining as he moves your hands around your stomach. “Seems relatively straightforward. I already put in my application for the test. Apparently, it can take some time to be approved, so I figured better to have it in the system now and wait versus doing it later and having to wait even longer.”

He doesn’t say anything, but you can see the wheels in his head turning. He wants to say something. “What?”

Unfortunately, sharing doesn’t seem to be on his agenda. “Nothing.”

You sigh. Does he not know you?

“C’mon, big daddy, you know I’m not gon’ let up till you tell me.” Especially since you two have already argued about this same subject once. You were under the impression it was all good, but if that’s not the case, you want to know.

“I don’t know, I just…I want you to take it easy.” And before you can protest, he lifts his other hand. “I know you can handle yourself, Y/N. You always have, but that’s just the thing. We’re about to be married now. I know a lot of it was on you with Callie, but it’s not gonna be like that this time. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.” His baritone voice deepens, weighed down with sincerity and love. “I’m gonna take care of you. Take care of all of us. You work when you feel ready and like it’s a good move, not because you’re so used to handling things on your own, and you feel like you need to provide.”

His words hit deep and linger in a way you haven’t experienced. He’s not wrong. Like you’d told and explained to him before, you’ve worked damn near your whole life. Your mom always instilled such a good work ethic in you, and being a single mom only doubled that. And, it’s not even that you dislike working. Hardly. You love it. You worked so hard to get to where you are, so to not be able to do it is a bit of a difficult thought for you.

But, you also know there’s that small—maybe bigger—part of you that also is uncomfortable with letting go of just as he said. That provider role. Moving to Florida so you all could be a family was one thing. Necessary, even. Him buying you all such a big, beautiful home was another. Also, necessary in a lot of ways. There was no way ya’ll could stay in his old place. Not will all these kids. But, truly stepping back and letting him be the head of not just the table but the household is a new experience for you.

One that might be more of an adjustment than you were anticipating.

“I know,” is the only response you can give him right now. This will clearly be a continued but important conversation throughout the beginning of your marriage. “I just—“

“You’re stubborn as hell?”

You snort. “Like you aren’t?”

He shrugs. “I own up to it though.”

“And I don’t?”

He makes a sound, indicating disagreement, prompting you to shove him on his arm. His gaze softens. “I’m serious, Y/N.”

You swallow. “I know, and I appreciate it.” You do. More than he could probably ever realize. “And, I’m—I will try.���

He leans over, kissing your temple. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

And, it’s the least you can give him in return.

The two of you sit in silence, interlocked hands still resting atop your belly where your babies move around, as if in excitement and preparation for this big day. Like they’ve been waiting just as much and as long as their parents.

“Yes,” you finally answer his initial question. Joe looks over at you. “I still wanna do this.” Reaching with your free hand to stroke his beard, your crude nature kicks in a bit. “Your dick is way too big and good for me to back out now.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “That’s it? That’s the only reason?”

“What other reason is there?” He cuts his eyes, feigning irritation and starting to look away only for you to lightly tug on his beard. Your mouth dips into a small frown, your voice softening. “I love you, Joe. Here. Now. Then. Forever. My answer is always the same….yes.”

Because of this being a wedding for legal purposes only, and though allowed, you two decided to not do vows this round. You want that reserved for the real wedding, so the words expressed to him stem from the deepest part of your heart and soul, unofficial vows that carry with them an unbreakable promise and oath.

Nothing will ever separate you from this man.

"What God has joined together, let not man separate."

—————

Having the last name A’noai. The same last name as your daughter and now husband is something that doesn’t register right away. Not even as the judge announces you husband and wife, Joe sweeping you into his arms, planting the most sensual, heartfelt, loving kiss that the two of you have ever shared. Not as Callie rushes forward, planting herself between the two of you, jumping and leaping for joy, shouting, “we’re a family!”

Not even that night as you and your husband made love for the first time as a married couple. Not boyfriend and girlfriend. Not man and his mistress. Husband and wife. Not even as he held you afterwards, hand remaining on your belly, deep voice in your ear speaking sweet nothings and words of love and affirmation.

No, it still feels like something….impossible. And perhaps that’s because for so long it was. For so long, you never allowed yourself to feel and believe that this could ever happen. That Joe could really be yours. You refused to think about it, because that meant you would have to think about the why. Would have to acknowledge that for years you laid up with a man who had a whole ass wife.

And again, learning the truth behind Joe’s “relationship” and marriage with Jadah cleared up so much. It wasn’t the traditional, ‘ain’t shit man’ cheats on his loving wife who holds down the fort back home while he grinds to provide and make his dreams happen. Hardly. They were married in name only from the beginning. Had love for each other but were never in love with each other. In fact, being apart, separated, and divorced is the best thing that’s ever happened to both of them. What they needed to happen.

Hell, Jadah even thanked you while acknowledging she wished that you’d have told Joe from the beginning about Callie so that they could have divorced sooner.

Even more, the whole Mariah situation is starting to feel more and more like a thing of the past as Joe’s legal team continues with proceedings towards her, the gag and restraining order issued keeping her nice and quiet as you’re sure she drowns in debt trying to “fight” all the lawsuits she got slapped with.

It all worked out, so why can’t you acknowledge it?

Be okay with it?

Why does something still feel….off?

“Look, mommy!”

Callie’s excited voice pulls you from your overthinking, the photo of Joe on her shirt making you smile. Baby girl loves repping her daddy’s merch.

“What’s up Callie Bear?” You ask, one hand to your back that’s been killing you the past few days. You’d thought carrying Callie around during the middle and near the end of your pregnancy was a bit difficult at times, but three babies at once is a whole different ballpark.

She runs towards you, taking your hand, starting to pull you near the steps. “Daddy says I can have the big room!”

At that, your interest piques. “Really?”

Callie starts guiding you, keeping a hold of your hand as the two of you take the carpeted steps one by one. Her other little hand remains holding the banister for balance, similar to yourself. The whole while your mind stays on one thing and one thing only.

You know damn well this nigga did not give this little girl the master bedroom.

Except, you’re good and wrong, because Callie so happily walks you two into exactly just that.

The master bedroom.

As if sensing the many thoughts you have about and towards him, Joe walks in, arms crossed, gaze taking in the large, much too large for a going on five year old little girl.

And judging by the look on his face, he knows it, too.

“It’s so big!” Callie spins around in a circle, giggling as she falls to the floor. You take that moment of her being consumed in bliss to wobble over to her big head ass daddy.

“Her room?”

He reaches behind his head, scratching the back of his neck. “Baby—“

“Joe, she’s a little girl. Why does she need the master bedroom?”

And this man really has the audacity to answer so casually, “cause she asked for it.”

You shut your eyes. Impossible. This man is impossible.

“Do you even know how to say no to her?” You whisper, even though it’s not necessarily required as Callie has darted out the room, probably down the stairs to grab her tablet out of her backpack.

He rolls his eyes. “Of course, I do.”

“Really? I can’t tell with the way you and I are gon' be sleeping on twin size mattress and she living it up in the California King.”

Joe rolls his eyes, muttering, “stop being dramatic.”

You don't skip a beat with your retort. “Stop letting her walk all over you.”

He takes a minute to look at you, a hint of irritation crossing his handsome face. “I don’t let her walk all over me.”

“Then why is our barely five year old daughter getting the master bedroom in this house, Joe? Cause she asked for it? She keeps asking for that damn puppy, too, and you don’t see me looking up breeders.” He opens his mouth, and you lift your finger to silence him. “Leati, I swear to black Jesus if you mention one more thing about the benefits of her having a pet—“

“—it’ll teach her responsibility.”

“You really don’t believe me when I say it’s either me or that dog, huh?” You cross your arms, shaking your head. “Okay, when I go to the store to get some milk and don’t come back, leaving you with a spoiled little girl, three fussy babies, and a damn puppy that’s pissing and shitting all over the house, don’t call me up.”

He rolls his eyes once more, walking over and grabbing you by the hips, turning you so that you’re directly facing him. “I’m sorry, alright?” You look away, maintaining your pout, even as he moves his finger under your chin, forcing you to look at him. “She was just so excited when she saw it, and I just—“

You sigh. “I know.” You really do. All in all, Joe has done such a beautiful job stepping into the father role. The fact that he bonded with Callie almost instantly and seeing that bond continue to grow truly warms your heart. You just wish he would work on finding a little better of a balance between being the “cool” dad and still being a disciplinarian. But, it hasn’t even been a year yet, and truth be told, if you need to play that role a little longer while he continues to learn, you’re okay with that.

After all, it’s on you that he wasn’t able to be in Callie’s life from the very beginning.

Being patient is the least you can do.

“It’s fine.” His eyes widen slightly, conveying his surprise at your sooner than expected surrender. “Not like this is our house anyway.”

No, the house you stand in is not the home your husband purchased for your existing and growing family. It’s a house currently being rented for him by the studio of the film Joe will start filming sooner rather than later. The room Callie picked out as “hers” the one she will sleep in when you bring her to come visit him when he has to stay in town for a few days to film.

And, if you know your newfound daddy’s little girl of a daughter like you know you do, she’ll manage to finesse her way into your and Joe’s bedroom anyway.

He pulls you closer, stealing a kiss, murmuring against your full lips, “thank you.”

“Mmmhmm.” Your fingers grasp at his shirt, eyes lowering, eyelashes batted. “You’ll be making it up to me later tonight, anyway.”

His hands shift to your ass. “Is that so?”

“Sure is, motherfucker,” you sass, hand dropping to palm his dick through his shorts. A small smile on your face appearing at seeing his jaw clench. “You good, daddy?”

His glare makes your smile widen. “You’re an evil lil’ something, you know that?”

The most innocent expression as you lift your hand from his crotch to motion to yourself. “Me?” Shaking your head, you start to pull away. “Never.”

Trying to walk away proves futile as he grabs you, pulling your back against his chest. His forearms cross over the top of your breast, your hands resting on them. His heavy sigh sounds in your ear, as you crane your head back against his chest. He just holds you like that for a good minute.

“I love you.”

You must have the biggest smile known to man. Your three favorite words in the whole wide world from 1/2 of your two favorite people in said world.

Life has never felt so good.

“I love you, t—“

“Mommy! Daddy!”

Of course.

You can only shake your head as Callie’s voice travels from down the steps. That little girl is—

“Hello?”

The smile is gone.

That is most definitely not Callie.

Joe is already ahead of you, the two of you out the room, only to stop at the top of the stairway.

It takes a second, the shock of seeing someone other than your daughter who sits on the very bottom step, tablet in hand, looking up bored and irritated, settling when remembrance gradually sets in.

Primarily when she smiles.

It’s the same smile that greeted you that day you met during the Zoom meeting Joe had a few weeks ago.

“Megan.” Joe says her name with a combination of surprise and something else. Something akin to irritation.

Megan.

The rep from the casting company.

Naturally, Joe starts to move down the steps, you right behind him, one hand on the banister, mind elsewhere.

You could have sworn Joe locked the door when you guys arrived about an hour ago, and you know Callie would never open the door without asking for permission. Especially in an unknown place.

So, how the hell did Megan get in?

Close enough for formal introductions, Calista moving to stand close and near to Joe’s legs, Megan’s smile widens as she offers her hand. “Pleasure to finally meet you in person, Mr. Anoa’i.”

Joe accepts her handshake, correcting. “Please. Call me Joe.”

“Joe, it is,” she giggles, right as he turns to look at and reach for you. You accept his hand, Calista shifting once more so that she’s standing between the two of you. “I’m sure you remember my w—Y/N.” He catches himself, clearly about to introduce you as his wife, which wouldn’t be wrong, but the fact remains that currently only you, him, Callie, his mom, and your mom know that you two are now legally married. And for right now, you’d like to keep it that way.

Megan shifts her focus to you, smile remaining, “of course.” She extends her hand once more. “Nice to meet you as well.”

“Same.” You accept her kind gesture, taking a second to look her over. A young girl, probably in her late twenties, early thirties. Bright blue eyes. Soft features. Thin, narrow nose matching even thinner lips. She wears a simple, red bodycon dress with 3/4 sleeves that stops just below the knee. A tan Marc Jacobs tote bag over her shoulder. Pretty, according to modern day beauty standards. Alexis voice in the back of your head, saying something along the lines of “watch that lil’ white girl” has you holding back an amused smile.

That’s always been her thing though. Not yours.

You’ve never been the type to be pressed or bothered about other women around your man. Even with Joe. Not really. Insecurity within your relationship, within your marriage, is non-existent, and the trust abundant. You trust Joe with with your life. Know that that is something you never have to worry about.

Not only have you both been through too much to get to where you are now for him to ever risk it, but the fact remains that Joe wouldn’t look at this little girl even if she was the last woman on earth.

Outside of her….complexion being too light, contrary to what many might think given how insanely fit he is, Joe likes thick women. Loves a good ass to grab at and smack while he’s fucking from behind, big ass titties to suck on while you ride his dick like your life depends on it. Yeah, Megan’s dress is molded to her body, highlighting a nice set of breast, but they’re attached to such a slim frame. And, once again, you know Joe. His likes. Dislikes. Preferences. All of the above.

The man wants something he can grab, and he’s been grabbing at you for too long to even think about anyone else.

Even big and pregnant as you are, not even 24hrs ago, he had you on all fours, big hands spreading your ass cheeks, finger probing your asshole as he ate your pussy from behind, all while recording, adding to your growing collection for when pregnancy doesn’t allow for any sex. Something to hold you both over.

That’s the other thing….you two are freaks. Kinky as fuck, not many being able to match just how high and erotic your sex drives can be.

Joe knows where it’s at.

Always has.

Always will.

“And, this is the fabulous Ms. Calista, right?” Megan asks, leaning over to be more face to face with Callie.

Callie, however, isn’t having it. She hugs your legs, only nodding as a response.

That does make you frown a bit, but it’s not necessarily concerning. Callie, despite how she’s been the definition of a social butterfly with Joe’s family, can be initially shy when she meets people.

Granted, she technically already met Megan over the computer, but it’s a bit different. Online versus In-Person, so that’s probably it.

Almost awkwardly clearing her throat from your daughter’s cold greeting, she tucks a string of greasy blonde hair behind her ear. “Is the house okay for you all?”

Joe looks at you for an answer. Makes sense. This man was literally sleeping in sleeping bags on the road at one point. He’s good with whatever. It’s really if it works for you that he cares about.

“It’s perfect,” you answer. Your focus shifts down to Callie as you gently stroke her curls. “This one especially likes it, don’t you, sis?”

Callie’s big smile returns as she nods happily and rapidly. It makes Joe chuckle as he gives his final answer.

“It’s good.”

Megan nods, giving a thumbs up. “Awesome sauce.” She then turns, pulling out a folder from her purse. “I came to make sure the house is up to your standards, but I also have some paperwork from the studio regarding scheduling, your contract, and things of that nature if you’re available?” She then shakes her head. “But, you’re also with your family, so I can come back—“

“No,” you speak up, earning glances from both him and his twin. “It’s fine. I’m sure this one and I can find something to do while daddy works.”

A wink to Callie earns a scowl, as she doesn’t hesitate to express her dislike of this new plan. “Work sucks.”

“Watch your mouth, sis.” You warn, earning a sheepish look from her and Joe reaching to gently cup her face as she takes the opportunity to hug his legs. Naturally, he leans down to pick her up, Callie wrapping her arms around him as he kisses her cheek.

Megan makes a face, her hand over her chest. “Oh em gee. Your family is so cute.”

The compliment is kind enough to make you ignore the cringe of hearing her talk like that. Joe places Callie back down as she takes a step or two higher.

“Thank you.” You smile, reaching for Callie’s hand. She doesn’t know it yet, but a nap is calling her name. Yours, too. You’ve been on your feet today way too much. “It was nice meeting you, Megan. Well, in person.”

“You too.” The reply is directed to you, but her focus is on Joe. Again, understandable.

“I won’t take long,” he assures, gaze set on you and your daughter.

“I know.” Leaning over just enough, you steal a kiss, uncaring if Megan is standing right there. She don’t stop nothing when it comes to you and your man. “We’ll be waiting for you.”

[the-traveling-poet]

House-Husband’s Love

When life becomes too overwhelming, maybe even simultaneously underwhelming at times, sometimes you just need a break. Just a day off to lay around and do nothing; give your brain a chance to calm down and reset. With Levi as your partner, you can bet he would be the one to ensure you got your breaks. And some attention, of course.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x gn!Reader (relationship isn’t specified, so imagine how you prefer!)

Warnings: SFW, hurt-to-comfort kinda, themes of depression/disassociation/sensory overload, fluff ending

A/N: Needing some modern!househusband!Levi rn cause I’m nearing my breaking point again and needed to write some brain rot to completely disassociate again. I guess also to distract myself from writing my fics? I dunno man.

1.2k words

It must have been one of those days; where everything felt off-balance. Levi always saw. He could tell by just a glance your way the morning before.

Another day of feeling as though every sight before you became dull and muted in appearance. Unnoticeable, nearly, while you disassociated. And yet somehow, all at once, the more noticeable everything became, making you paranoid and panicked.

He could figure out your tell-tale signs well enough by now, from his own curious observations over time. Occasionally, after some time of letting you sort it out yourself, he’d talked it over once or twice with you. He’d asked you how exactly you felt on days like these; days where your eyes stayed wide and brows raised in an expression of alertness, even as your jaw clenched and hands shook, your eyes glazed over as you kept yourself in near constant motion. He knew the signs, and what they meant.

You were spiraling again. Sensory overload, dissociation…He hadn’t seen it so bad in you before.

Always moving, always forcing yourself to focus no matter how shallow it made your breath...He hated seeing you in such a state, when you wanted to focus on anything but your own thoughts.

Sometimes these moments lasted a few hours, sometimes even just one. But often, they progressed into days of forced hyper focus and constant activity to draw yourself away from your own mind, busying it with tasks and work.

But this time…this time, it had been weeks.

It hurt him to see you so stressed, no matter the situation.

And so, one such morning, following another rough night, he took the liberty of disengaging your alarm for the morning. The simple press of a button, he hoped, would keep you asleep for just a tad longer. Your mind needed the rest of a couple more hours, he reasoned.

After only a second’s hesitation in which he still held your phone, he also sent a quick email to your employer; some excuse about being unwell enough to not clock in today, and warning about a possible similar hinderance for the following day.

'If you need more information, feel free to message my emergency contact, as he's looking after me today while I recover.'

He sent the email, slightly smirking to himself as he turned your phone off and set it back onto the nightstand.

He would handle it for you, as much as he could.

Pulling the covers up over your shoulder, Levi slid out of the bed soundlessly.

With you still soundly asleep, he went about tidying up what he could around the apartment, keeping any noise to a minimum to ensure you stayed asleep.

'A clean space helps clear the mind,' he'd always believed, and as such he wanted to provide you with such a fresh start today. Whenever you chose to wake up, that is. He wouldn’t enforce it today.

It wasn't until late morning he heard movement from the bedroom, your weight shifting over the creaking bed as you stumbled out in a panic moments later.

"My alarm, I must not have set it-" You'd started, obviously anxious as you raced to throw on a new top and a pair of jeans.

Before you could get to slip anything off, Levi’s hand found your shoulder, softly holding you in place.

"Don't worry about it, love. You have today off. Maybe even tomorrow, unless I get a call."

He mumbled, gently taking a jacket from your shaking hands.

You stared up at him blankly for a moment, completely in disbelief.

"...It's Wednesday. I work a 9-5, babe...I'm not off today; it's not a holiday." You tried to protest weakly, but once again were silenced by a slender finger against your lips.

"I know. I called off for you, though. Besides, the shift started three hours ago, so there's no need to bother going in now. Just take a seat, breakfast is half done."

Still regarding him in complete bewilderment, you hesitantly took a seat on the couch and watched him meander back towards the kitchen, returning his attention back to the stove. It was only then you noticed the array of pans neatly set on the hot surface, and the toaster on the counter already slotted with bread. The smell of frying foods wafting over to you, causing your stomach to protest weakly.

When was the last time you’d focused on a full meal, instead of eating a few small bites here and there throughout the day?

It wasn't long until he'd plated the meal, and brought you a plate with a cup of tea to pair it. Once you were settled in with your plate and utensils, he sat down on the couch beside you with his one of his own. He'd never been fond of eating on the couch, you knew, so this must be a 'special occasion' of sorts.

"...Why?" You eventually mumbled between bites of toast and sips of tea, digging in the moment he’d sat.

He swallowed the bite of scrambled eggs from his own plate before answering, a napkin already in hand to wipe away any invisible cooking greased from his lips.

"You're stressed out, baby. I've seen it for several days now. Relaxing evenings after work weren't doing it, so I wanted to give you a full day's worth, instead."

"...I'm fine. Life is just rough sometimes-"

You'd started, setting down your mug to weakly protest his concerns; but he easily held a hand over your wrist, lowering the warm beverage from your lips.

"Then isn't it my job to try and make life a little less strenuous? One day off won't kill you, and won't impact the income too greatly. We can manage; but your mental health can’t, not like this.”

He sighed, setting your mug down onto the coffee table for you.

“Just relax, yeah? Relax, and let me handle today for you. It’s the least I can do, for all that you always do.”

Huffing quietly in muted amusement, you smiled his way, eyes welling with unshed tears. Tears of silent relief.

“…I haven’t had a work day off in ages, maybe months. Two days a week are nice, but…”

“…But not enough sometimes. I know sweetheart. I know. I can see it in you. So just relax today. We don’t have to be productive every day.” Levi reassured softly, keeping his hand around yours.

“Hell, I’ll bully your boss into giving you another day off-“

“Levi I need this job, you can’t,” you giggled, leaning against his side and curling up onto the couch.

“…But thank you, my love. I think I needed this,” you finished in a whisper, briefly closing your eyes.

“I know you did.” Levi stated calmly, running his free hand’s fingers through your hair.

“Just rest…I’ve got everything else. I’ll deal with it for you.”

(A/N: I’m a whore for the idea of Levi calling us ‘baby’ or ‘sweetheart’ leave me alONE-)

For mroe Levi Ackerman content, feel free to check out my other masterlists!

[sabrinasopposite]

game-boy; resume?

pt. 2 of ,,game-boy !'' / clark kent x reader

but you took my love for granted and it took me two years to understand it

summary: a broken heart and a gameboy. y/n makes her way to smallville to fix the things that matters her, was it her desire of the happy ending or truly her heart?

It was strange, how a game could feel so much like life—full of little victories and crushing defeats, like a series of choices made in a world that offered no reset button. Y/N had tried to move past it all—the late nights, the quiet silences after Clark’s absence, the emptiness that lingered in the spaces he used to fill.

Yet, she found herself holding the Game Boy again, tracing the worn edges of its plastic casing. It was as if the world had somehow paused for a moment, waiting for her to press *Start* again.

She wasn’t sure what she was hoping for. That the game would offer something new? That it would play itself differently this time?

Maybe.

But there was something about it—the way the colors flickered on the screen, the way the music filled the air—that made her feel like she could win. Even if the game had been broken before, maybe now it could work again.

The days drifted by in a haze, a blur of routine that left her empty and wanting. The memory of Clark lingered like a half-finished puzzle, pieces scattered around her heart that she couldn’t seem to place. She would see him sometimes, in passing, his smile as easy as it had always been. But it wasn’t the same anymore. She wasn’t the same anymore.

One morning, she found herself driving without quite knowing why. The motion of the car was almost soothing, a rhythmic hum that filled her thoughts with a strange kind of quiet. It wasn’t something she planned. Sometimes life didn’t need to be planned. Sometimes it simply asked you to follow the faint trail of breadcrumbs, just to see where it would lead.

And so, she drove, westward, the road stretching before her like a never-ending line on a map. There was a place she’d seen once, a shop with peeling signs and neon lights that flickered like forgotten memories. The words "Vintage Electronics Repair" had called to her then, and when they reappeared in her mind now, she didn’t question it. She just drove.

The shop was tucked between rows of weathered buildings, a small oasis of history amid the rush of the world. Old clocks, radios, and scattered trinkets filled the window display, each one a relic of a time that seemed to stretch out like a half-remembered dream. Inside, a man was bent over his workbench, his glasses perched low on his nose as he adjusted the internals of a broken radio. He barely looked up as Y/N approached, but when she handed him the Game Boy, there was something in the way his fingers touched it—a recognition, maybe. Or understanding.

He nodded silently, taking the device from her as if he knew it held more than just circuits and plastic. It held memories, and perhaps, pieces of her heart.

Hours passed. Y/N wandered the town aimlessly, trying to avoid the thoughts that buzzed in her mind like static. Her hands felt empty without the Game Boy, and yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was doing something important. The moment stretched out, pulling her further from the reality she’d been living in, into a strange space between wanting and needing.

When the repairman finally returned, she was almost nervous. Would it be the same? Could it be the same?

The Game Boy was different. In her hands, it felt… better. The worn edges had been smoothed, the screen clearer than before, the buttons clicking with a newfound precision. It was almost too perfect. Like someone had restored it to a version of itself that felt unfamiliar. It was… better. 

Y/N hesitated, her fingers tracing the contours of the newly restored device. It was no longer the one she remembered. It was something new, something polished, something she didn’t know how to approach. It had changed, but so had she.

As she stood in the shop, staring at the Game Boy, the soft sound of a familiar voice reached her ears, pulling her from the haze of her thoughts.

"Hey."

Her breath caught in her chest. She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

Clark stood in the doorway, his posture relaxed, but there was something different about him now. His smile was the same, but his eyes—they held something more now. Something softer. Something deeper. The lines of his face seemed both older and younger at once, as if time had moved in ways she couldn’t quite understand.

It took her a moment to find her voice, to remember how to speak in the presence of someone who had once been everything to her. “What are you doing here?”

His smile faltered, just for a second, before it returned, warmer than before. “I heard you were in town.” His voice was casual, but his eyes… they lingered on her face in a way that made her heart ache. “Smallville’s a small place. Thought I’d see how you’re doing.”

The words felt like a weight, heavy in her chest. She wasn’t sure if he was here out of politeness, or if there was something more behind his visit. Either way, it didn’t matter. It was like stepping back into a level of a game she had already lost.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Y/N’s gaze dropped to the Game Boy in her hands, and for a split second, she wondered if this was it. Would it always be this way—trying to fix something that was already broken?

“Clark…” she began, but her voice trailed off. She didn’t know what to say. There were too many things she wanted to ask, too many things she needed to know. But instead, she held his gaze, searching for something that might give her an answer.

He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. “I know things ended… differently,” he said quietly. “But we don’t have to pretend it never happened.”

It wasn’t the answer she was looking for, but it was the one she needed. The weight of his words hung in the air between them, and for a moment, she felt as if the game had started again. But this time, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to play.

Y/N stood there, her fingers still lightly grazing the newly repaired Game Boy. Clark’s words hung in the air like a thin thread, delicate, yet weighted. She knew she should walk away—should leave the shop, the town, everything behind—but there was something in the way he was looking at her, like a flicker of the past had ignited in his eyes. It pulled her back, as if the magnetic force of their shared history had never quite released its hold on her.

For a moment, she thought she could walk away. She thought she could turn the Game Boy off, leave the old world behind and start anew. But the truth was, she wasn’t sure she had the strength to turn the screen dark again.

Clark shifted his weight, sensing her hesitation. His voice softened, pulling her out of the dizzying loop in her mind. “You look different,” he said, and there was something about the way he said it—an observation more than a compliment, like he saw past the surface and into the layers of time between them. 

Y/N forced a smile, though it felt thin. “Guess time does that to people,” she replied, trying to sound nonchalant, but the words felt hollow, slipping off her tongue like they were meant to fill a void that only he could see.

But he didn’t push it. Instead, his gaze dropped to the Game Boy in her hands, his eyes softening just a fraction. “Still got that thing, huh?”

It was as if he was trying to make a joke, a way to bridge the gap between the past and the present. But it didn’t work. It only made the silence louder.

“I had it repaired,” she said, her voice quieter than she intended. “It’s… different now.”

Clark nodded slowly, taking in her words. His lips parted, like he was going to say something, but he stopped himself. The space between them felt impossibly wide, yet neither of them seemed ready to cross it.

Y/N swallowed hard, trying to steady her pulse. Her hands tightened around the Game Boy, feeling its weight—new, restored, like it was waiting for her to push Start again, as if the game could fix what was broken. But the truth was, she didn’t know if she could play this game anymore.

Before she could speak, Clark’s phone buzzed, breaking the silence again. He glanced at it quickly, his expression unreadable. Y/N’s stomach twisted in knots, the old feeling of being left behind creeping in, the sensation of watching him slip away even when he was standing right in front of her.

“Sorry,” he muttered, glancing at the screen before quickly tucking it back in his pocket. “Work stuff.”

Y/N nodded, though the tightness in her chest didn’t go away. There it was again. That familiar distance. It was the game she’d been losing for too long, but each time she tried to quit, each time she tried to walk away, she found herself back in the same spot. The same loop. The same unresolved question: Could she ever really stop?

The relapse started quietly, like an itch she couldn’t scratch. She’d told herself she was over it—over him, over the weight of the past. But when Clark stood before her, in the same small town, with the same smile, the same pull in his gaze, it was as if nothing had ever changed. It was like being handed the controller to a game she’d promised herself she’d never play again.

But here she was.

“Clark,” she started, her voice barely a whisper. “You... You’re still with her, aren’t you?”

There was a brief silence. His eyes flickered, guilt flashing across his face before he exhaled sharply, looking away. His expression wasn’t just regret—it was the heavy weight of someone who had hurt the person they loved and didn’t know how to fix it.

“No,” he said finally, his voice low. “But… we’re trying to be friends. We’ve been through a lot.”

Y/N felt like she’d been struck. He wasn’t with Lana anymore, but they were still tethered to each other in a way she couldn’t understand. They were tangled in a history Y/N wasn’t part of, and no matter how many times she pressed Start, she would never find herself in the same level.

She had been so desperate for the game to reset, to find a way back to the beginning, when everything had been simple, and nothing had hurt. But now, with the screen so clear in her hands, it was harder to ignore the fact that some things couldn't be fixed with a button press. Some things weren't made to be replayed.

A familiar ache twisted in her chest. She felt like she was falling behind, like the game was moving faster than her fingers could follow, each press of the buttons failing to keep up with the pace of the game, her heart.

"I don't know if we can be friends," she whispered, her voice trembling despite herself. "Not after everything. We were toxic from the start.“

Clark’s face softened, the edges of his mouth curling into something like regret, like understanding. But Y/N couldn’t do it. She couldn’t keep replaying the same levels, trying to force a different outcome.

With one last glance at the Game Boy, she realized something. She hadn’t been playing to win. She’d been playing to lose, over and over again, because it was easier to lose than to walk away.

And maybe that was the hardest part—to stop. To shut off the screen. To leave the game behind.

Clark stood there for a long moment, his eyes searching hers. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but the words faltered, held back by the weight of everything that had passed between them. Finally, he spoke, his voice a whisper, raw and sincere.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the weight of his apology settling heavily between them. “I know I hurt you. I shouldn’t have just disappeared the way I did. It wasn’t right, and I... I regret it.”

Y/N stood frozen, the Game Boy still clutched tightly in her hands. The sincerity in his words cut through her like a blade, but it also stung with the realization that this was the first time he wasn’t just apologizing for his actions, but truly understanding the consequences of them. But was it enough? Was he enough?

Clark stepped closer, his hand hovering like he was unsure whether to reach for her. His voice was softer now, almost pleading. “You matter to me, Y/N. I— I don’t want you to think that you were just something I could walk away from or play with.”

Y/N’s heart twisted, torn between the overwhelming desire to believe him and the knowledge that she had been hurt too many times. Clark’s voice shook, but his words weren’t just a last-ditch effort. They were the admission of someone who had been through months of reflection, who was no longer just talking from a place of guilt but from a place of understanding.

For a moment, she thought about giving in, about losing herself again to the pull of the past. But even as she fought it, she knew: She had to let go.

“You don’t get to do that, Clark,” she said, her voice shaking as she fought to stay grounded. “You can’t just show up and say that like it fixes everything. You can’t just come back and expect me to fall into step with you again.”

His face tightened, like he wanted to say something—like he was fighting to explain himself, to make her understand. But then he stopped, his eyes flickering with an almost resigned pain. He knew she was right.

“I know,” he said quietly, taking a small step back, his voice soft. “I know I don’t deserve a second chance. But I had to try.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. In that moment, she saw the raw truth of his words—the quiet acceptance that he may never be able to fix what he had broken. It was a growth she hadn’t seen in him before. He wasn’t asking her to forgive him. He wasn’t asking her to play along or try again. He was finally giving her the space to decide what was best for her.

There was a long silence, thick and suffocating, and for the first time, Clark didn’t try to fill it. He simply waited, as if knowing the decision was hers alone to make.

Y/N’s mind screamed for her to walk away, to shut the door on him and everything he represented. But her heart—her foolish heart—whispered for her to stay. To take the chance.

But no. The game had changed.

"I think we both know," she said finally, her voice quiet but steady, "that this—whatever this is—can't go on like this."

She lifted her gaze to meet his, her eyes steady and unflinching. Clark’s expression faltered as if he was about to say something, but she raised a hand to stop him.

“I need something real, Clark,” she continued. “Something that doesn’t break apart every time I let my guard down. Something that doesn’t leave me wondering if I’m just an option you pick up when it's convenient.”

She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat growing larger as she spoke. Clark was silent, but there was no anger in his eyes—only the understanding of someone who had known what it was like to be lost, to feel like there was no way to come back.

He looked at her for a long moment, his own chest rising and falling as he fought the urge to reach out to her. He wasn’t going to stop her. He wasn’t going to plead. He just stood there, holding the space for her to make her decision.

“You’re not just an option,” he said softly, his voice almost hoarse. “I never meant to hurt you. I just... I don’t know how to fix it.”

Y/N looked at him, really looked at him for the first time in months. And in that moment, she realized that she wasn’t looking for him to fix it. She wasn’t looking for any promises anymore. She didn’t need him to say the right words, or to prove himself.

"It doesn’t need fixing anymore, Clark,” she whispered, almost to herself. “I’ve learned how to fix me.”

Clark took a slow breath, and though his expression was still pained, there was a quiet respect in the way he looked at her now. He had nothing left to give, nothing left to ask. And for the first time, he understood what she needed, even if it wasn’t him.

Y/N slowly stepped back, the Game Boy still in her hands, heavier now than ever before. She could almost hear the echo of the button clicks in her mind—the same rhythm that had once drawn her in. But she had learned that no game, no matter how addicting, could define her.

“I think,” she said softly, her voice steady with finality, “it’s time for us to finally be done with this game.”

Clark didn’t argue. He didn’t try to pull her back into the cycle they had once shared. He just nodded slowly, his eyes still holding hers, as if silently acknowledging the end of this chapter.

Y/N took one last look at him, then turned and walked toward the door, her heart aching but lighter than it had been in months. She wasn’t running anymore.

“Goodbye, Clark,” she said, her voice steady.

The soft hum of the city outside felt like a lullaby, a promise of new beginnings. And for the first time in a long time, Y/N smiled—not because of a rush, but because she knew she was ready to live.

🕹️ hi everyone! I know it's not a happy ending but I wrote so many drafts of the part two.. and somehow I always end up with the version of them two being on their own. It's important to see the toxicity of them both and y/n's addiction or idea of clark's attention. just like in games, we are all focused on it and feel addicted to know what's the next step, what's the next level. 🕹️I am still thinking of writing a spin-off to clark's version of the story, or maybe a ,bonus' chapter of them in few years :) love ya ! 🕹️ taglist: @blackynsupremacy @angelsgalore @alelo23 @caliicela

[ancha-aus]

Small Olympus AU Drabble - Even gods have an awkward Teen stage...

Because the little trend @mikimakiboo and I made about loser Nightmare [Here] lives rent free in my mind hahaha. So... here we Go!!! just a quick Drabble about Killer joining lmao. Hope you like it friend!

*---------------------------*

Honestly? Getting stuck in the void is a rip off.

Killer had thought... He figured that once he finally did it. Once he finally managed to fight back and take control back from Chara he would be free. He would be able to reset everything to the start.

Seems like that had been foolish to even think as he just floats in the nothing. There is nothing.

So why is he here?

Is he just nothing?

Probably...

It is still... hard to remember them all.

To remember all the faces of the people who lived in the underground.

To remember who he used to be. Who he was meant to be?

He just sees himself as a weapon... he is just a weapon... Chara's weapon.

But Chara is gone now... He is a weapon without a master.

What does that make him? What can he even do now?

That is the nice part about being stuck in a dark void he suposes... There is no choice to make. There is no decision he needs to make. He can just... be.

Maybe that is nice. To just be. To not have to wrory. To not have to hurt... either be or do it.

Something... Soemthing is here?

He looks around. Searching. the void shouldn't be able to change. That is against the very fabric of the void. It is why he pulled Chara to here. Hoping that by doing this Chara would lose some of their grip on his being and the timeline. and it did! It worked! He managed to press the reset button... Except he was still here and-

He sees it.

It is a drop of pure blackness wihtin the void. It is slightly different than what surrounds it but it is obviously there...

It grows. It keeps growing and it makes a circle. Killer frowns as his body floats backwards and he pulls out his knife. He makes sure to be ready at a moment notice.

A smallish oval is formed and a dark shape steps out of the maybe portal. Then they take another step-

Only to trip and fall down. A duff bonk is heard as the other falls.

That... shouldn't be possible.

The void doesn't have a floor to fall on? It doesn't even have anyhting to trip over! how did the other trip?!

A groan is heard and the other moves to push themselves up only to not be able to touch anything, again no floor, and they yelp as they end up spinning in place. Arms waving, legs kicking. The strange limbs on their back lash out looking for anything to grab but they can't quite touch anything because again... Void.

Killer can't help but snort and let a laugh escape. Is his mind fully broken? Is he hallucinating?

For now he stashes his knife and floats over to the hallucination. He reached out and is shocked to make contact.

The contact cuases the other to stop spinning. They hang there upside down. Clearly dizzy and the limbs, tentacles aparently, are twitching and moving all independently.

The other shakes their skull before focussing on Killer "Ah! Euh. You are upside down?" they sound shocked.

Killer raises a brow "Pretty sure that is you." and he twists the other around to be upright. Maybe a bit too quickly but he can't help it.

The other is clearly affected as they sway a bit and seem to struggle to find balance in the void.

Killer snorts as he crosses his arms "How did you even trip? There is nothing to trip over?"

The other sputters and mumbles something about having expected floor. Then they straighten their back and stare at him "Hello mortal. I am Nightmare. God of negativity and future king and ruler of the multiverse! I am here to offer you a positionjob- job position!" and the socalled god just stands before him.

Killer takes a moment to just look at the maybe not hallucination his mind imagined.

The other is short, even shorter than him and Killer isn't the tallest, and chubby. They are covered with goop and the one eye that isn't covered by it is large and bright cyan, even if it still looks a bit hazed and dizzy.

Nightmare throws out his hand.

Killer snorts "A little to your left." nightmare looks confused before turning a bit and throwing his arm out again. Almost hitting Killer in the progress.

Killer isn't sure baout just following someone again. Last time it didn't go well when he made a deal just to experience something new. But... this being knows a way out of the void? He knows a way home?

That doesn't make sense? He enver heard of any god of negativity...

Nightmare continues to stand there even as Killer can see the tendrils start to move and idle, two of them are turning around one another. Nightmare's eye glances to the side before staring back at him, hand still out.

Killer leans his skull against his fist as he grins "And what exactly do you do? I never heard of you before."

Nightmare blinks before looking focused "I am the god of negativity! I bring negativity! It makes sure to balance the balance into a state of balance!" then he stops for a moment. a small cyan blush starts to appear as he sputters "It is!! Stuff! God stuff! Very complicated!"

Killer snorts as he gives anod "Of course of course. and what would i exactly do?"

Nightmare pauses before speaking "Well! It is... Just amatter of spreading negativity! then! I will gain more power and in turn become king."

Killer honestly isn't even sure if that counts as a plan. But it means a way away from here. Away from the void.

It isn't like he has a home now... He doens't even know what happened to his home... is he even allowed to clal it his home still?

He doesn't.

On the other hand. He will be out of the void.

The multiverse? Multiverse theory is real? That is perfect! He will use this idiot of a god to gain knowledge about this new place. Then once he knows the basics and how to travel it he will betray this stupid god and disappear. Never to be found again. Oh he can't wait for the shocked look on this god's face when he gets outsmarted by just a mortal.

Killer makes sure to sigh loudly as he takes the hand "Sure whatever."

Nightmare stars and the not winded together tendrils lash out. A smile appears on his face "Really?" he focusses "I mean! Of course you accept! this is a good deal!" He raises a hand and the black oval portal returns and they step through.

They end up before a large castle. It is imposing and dark looking. some victorian style mixed up in it and some statues of different creatures all around.

Ngihtmare starts to lead the way and Killer follows "This! is my castle! and now also your home. We will stay here to plan before we go to different worlds to do our work! No one knows where this place is!"

Great. he isolated himself.

Nightmare continues on "I cna edit it as a please. I took inspiration from books and stories and fabricated this world to fit those images. If anything needs to be changed or included do let me know." he pauses in the large hall "Well. This is the hall." he points towards the different doors and says what leads where.

What happens next is a whirlwind where Killer rushes after an excited god as they, he? shows him around the place. IN the end he shows his room which is right next to Nightmare's.

Nightmare's sounds downright excited even as he tries to hide it. But the tendrils are straight up wagging as he speaks "As you are my first ever follower you are also my right hand now!"

First ever follower?

Killer can't help but ask "How long have you been a god?"

Nightmare blinks but answers "I have been a god for... about five hunderd years now... I gained my powers when I was... eight? yes eight."

Killer nods... does that...

Nightmare nods "Get some rest! I will go get some food. I will be back soon." and he walks away. Silence until a yelp and a duff clank of him falling against something.

To be expected as one of the tendrils tends to wrap around Nightmare's own leg.

Killer just closes the door and sits on the clean bed. He can see the sun shining outside and a large forest against this new place.

It is a child.

Killer doens't know how but it is a child.

Did it even grow up? Was it frozen at age 8? do gods age slower?

Killer can't believe this.. he is stuck working for a child AGAIN.

It is okay.

Just grind your teeth.

Learn what you need. and then you can leave.

Eyes on the prize and keep the plan in mind.

Killer will leave quickly and not get stuck. He isn't an idiot. He knows what to do.

Just play this game and let it happen. it is a matter of time before he has his freedom again.

[yexthiccxa]

Secrets of the Second Shift - (Part 2)

summary: you're still reeling from an unforgettable friday night (read part 1), but monday rolls around and you have a new set of problems and being attracted to choso is one of them.

wordcount: 3.8k words

full fic c/w: choso smut, choso/fem!reader, choso/oc, modern!au, some plot, plot what plot, porn with plot, gentleman!choso, soft!choso, praise kink, blindfold sex, oral, fingering, vaginal sex, enemies to lovers, fingering, oral, multiple orgasms

a/n: also open to a taglist for this one so lmk if you'd like to be on it (: this is my first wip so i will try my best to keep it updated regularly!

Tumblr Master List | Read this chapter on AO3!

✦✧✸✧✦ 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ✦✧✸✧✦

Monday rolls around and you’re still uneasy. You wake up for work and let your body move on autopilot: get ready, eat breakfast, drive to work. Typically you feel refreshed when you go through the routine, but lingering thoughts from Friday’s encounter paired with the anticipation of work has your mind racing.

What is going on? This is completely unlike you. You’re composed, calculated, you always have a plan. But now it seems like all of that has gone out the window.

You try to rid your memory of your mystery man but it doesn't seem to shake. You can’t help but recount your thoughts:

✦✧✸✧✦

“So much for no strings,” he mutters, almost to himself. “This is gonna be harder than I thought and we've only just begun.”

You internally sigh—scared that you might agree.

You bury the thought with a quick reply as you switch positions to climb on top of him, “The only thing that should be hard right now is your dick, and the only place your dick should be right now is my mouth. Let’s warm you up for round two, shall we?”

“You’re a goddamn vixen, aren’t you?” he rasps.

You skim your fingers from his chest and to his lats, using the ridges of his body to guide you down before settling near his manhood. You slip off the condom and he takes it from you—tossing it into the waste bin next to the bed.

You polish off the remaining liquid off his tip causing him to shudder from the overstimulation.

“Fuck—oh. Fuck that feels so g—” 

✦✧✸✧✦

“—Good? Excuse me?”

A voice sends you back to reality as you realize you’ve made it to the elevator of Zenin Tech. In the opposite corner of the cramped space, a man is staring at you, his eyes are dark and direct.

“Hey, are you good?” he repeats, his tone steady.

“Huh? Wha—yeah, I’m fine,” you stammer, refocusing your thoughts and trying to ignore the heat rising to your face.

“I didn’t mean to bother you—but you didn’t press a button. Which floor?”

“Oh, right. Nine, please.” You glance at the panel, realizing the button is already glowing. Odd. You’ve never seen him before.

He gives you a soft smile before leaning back against the railing.

The ride to the ninth floor stretches on, each passing second weighed down by the heavy silence of the elevator. But that’s nothing new. What is new, however, is the man across from you.

He’s tall—broad shoulders and a lean frame that seems effortlessly composed. His jawline looks like it was carved from marble, and his dark, shoulder-length hair casually falls back, leaving a few stray baby hairs to perfectly frame his face. He has a scar over his nose and his eyes are deep and unreadable. There’s something about him that tugs at you, a force so intense you’re afraid of slipping into a place you know you shouldn’t—like desire.

Maybe this man is the kind of distraction you need, you half-heartedly hope. Sometimes all it takes is one good fuck to reset your system.

From the opposite side, you see one of his arms pinning a file box to his side, while the other has a firm hold on his laptop. You find yourself gesturing toward it as an icebreaker.

“Are you one of the new members from CurseCore?”

When his eyes meet yours, they give you nothing but his undivided attention. He pauses, taking you all in and wondering if you were a gift sent from the gods. He doesn't break the connection immediately, letting the silence stretch just enough for the tension to thicken between you. Little do you know, he’s also trapped in a memory of someone he’s desperately trying to forget.

The corner of his mouth quirks up—not quite a smile, but enough to catch your attention. “Yeah, Pleasure to meet you. I’m Choso.” 

You tell him your name, though it feels like a formality—your mind is too preoccupied with the sound of his voice. I’m Choso. The richness rings with a strange familiarity that you can’t quite place.

Choso tries to extend his hand to shake yours but the box slightly fumbles. “Sorry. I’d shake your hand, but I’m a little tied up here.”

You laugh lightly, the sound cutting through the awkward tension. “No worries. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of chances to meet again.”

He glances at you, his lips forming that same restrained smile. “I look forward to that.”

The heat in your core begins to simmer before the elevator dings, pulling you both back into focus as the doors slide open.

Choso steps out and immediately a hoard of new faces flock to him, forcing you to weave to the sides. A wave of chatter fills the entryway.

"Where do we set up our laptops?"

"What’s the Wi-Fi password?"

“Are desks first come, first serve?”

“How do we pick up our ID badges?”

You almost step in to give the new guy a break, but his voice cuts through the noise before you can utter a word. “Everyone, relax.” The word hangs in the air like a command, and almost instantly, the buzz fizzles into silence. He scans the crowd with a steady gaze. “Let’s take this one at a time,” he continues, his tone calm yet authoritative.

You watch him—proper, composed, and directing the newbies with calm precision. Every gesture is smooth, controlled. His focus is laser-sharp. There’s a confidence in the way he moves, like he’s been doing this for years, but there’s also something irresistible that keeps pulling you in.

A friendly voice pops up behind you. “Whoa, the new guy can tame me like that any day” Yuki says, her eyes fixed on him too.

“You know, if we weren’t good friends you would be a walking HR complaint,” you joke with her.

“Can you blame me though? He’s gorgeous.”

You let out a snicker, because you can’t help but agree. Not only is he gorgeous, but assertive too. It’s not every day that you come across a man who can take charge without coming across as a self-absorbed dick (ahem Naoya). As the thought begins to fade, you know that somewhere deep down, Yuki is right— you’d love to let him tame you too.

You both walk past the flood of people, but your sight remains secured on Choso. In the sea of bodies, he catches your eye. Most would look away, but you both hold the stare, just for a moment—like a silent, playful challenge meant only for two. He can’t hide the subtle flicker in his gaze as it drops briefly to take in your curves. It’s a look that’s equal parts fiery and possessive, the kind that whispers I want to devour you .

The thought makes your heart beat out of your chest, causing your cheeks to flush. You break the gaze first, eyes darting away.

 “Choso,” you whisper under your breath, as if your daydream has swept you away.

“What’d you say?” Yuki’s voice pulls you back.

“Choso,” you clear your throat. “His name is Choso,” you answer—returning to your composed self.

“Choso,” she repeats, as the pieces fall into place. “Oh yeah! The manager from CurseCore. They say he's the full package—cool, calm, professional. I’ve heard he runs his team with this… almost zen-like efficiency. Super smooth. The kind of guy you can't help but respect.”

You feel your stomach drop at the realization. Great. So this is the guy who’s gunning for your promotion. Unfortunately for you, Choso is the perfect little corporate robot. Even worse, given Naoya’s history, you’re certain he’s already made up his mind.

Yuki blabbers on, “They say everyone loves him, but what they failed to mention was that he’s also a fuckin’ heartthrob.”

“First off, HR. Second off, how do you even know all that?” you ask.

“Well, you would know that too if you joined any of our Friday Happy Hours,” she teases.

Ah, right… the mere mention of Happy Hour makes your chest tighten. Sure, they’re filled with harmless office gossip, but one too many drinks could lead to one little slip that could unravel everything. You’ve worked too hard to keep the lines between your two worlds from blurring—and you’re not about to let happy hour small talk be the thing that blows it all apart.

"Hard pass," you say, keeping your tone light, but there’s an edge of finality to it. "I have better things to do than waste my time schmoozing up to Naoya."

Yuki smirks knowingly. "Okaaaay, but you know that schmoozing will help you get your promotion. Don’t think I didn’t put two and two together.”

Her words cut through you because you know she’s right.

A self assured smile wipes across her face. “And who knows, with the two teams merging, maybe we’ll get to see a little more of Choso, " she adds, nudging your shoulder.

"I think I’ll survive," you reply, though her sentiments echo in your head. You can’t help but wonder if skipping out has truly cost you an edge with Naoya—especially now that Choso is in the picture."

Speak of the devil. Naoya appears from around the hall and calls the whole team into the conference room. As you migrate to the room, you see windows lining opposite sides. The exterior windows face the gorgeous view of the city. The interior windows face the common area of the office. After everyone packs into the room, Naoya clicks a button that instantly turns the glass from clear crystal to an opaque frost—obscuring the view beyond it. The iconic click is always a sign that the meeting is in session.

“Alright, let’s get started,” Naoya began, his tone sharp and authoritative.

In the far end of the room, you notice two voices coming from a pink-haired man and a redheaded woman, both unfamiliar and completely oblivious to Naoya’s growing irritation. From the opposite end, you hear Choso clear his throat and turn his head ever so slightly to the giggling pair. 

He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to.

The look he gave them was surprisingly soft, but still unwavering, a silent command for order. The chatter instantly dies with the two culprits shrinking under his gaze. After the tension dissolves, Naoya picks up where he left off.

From your seat, you can’t help but watch Choso, your eyes lingering on the quiet power in his demeanor. It’s not just his composure—it’s the effortless way he commands respect without ever raising his voice. You hate that it stirs something in you.

You notice the way he leans back in his chair, effortlessly exuding confidence as one arm drapes over the armrest. This position allows you to see the subtle flex of his bicep. Your eyes trail down his arm until your view jumps to get a glimpse of the muscles on his thighs. Dirty thoughts fill your mind when you think about what lies in between.

Wait, stop.

Your attraction goes head-to-head with your instincts. He’s competition, you remind yourself, shifting in your seat to refocus on the meeting. Remember: he’s here to climb the same ladder as you, and if you lose focus, you might as well hand him the next rung. You didn’t claw your way this far to let a pretty face throw you off balance.

Keep your head in the game. Keep your emotions in check. And definitely don’t let anyone, no matter how charming they are, shake your confidence.

After Naoya concludes the meeting, Choso approaches you as everyone else gathers their things, his presence quiet but commanding.

“Hey, I didn’t realize you were the other manager. I think I should properly introduce myself this time,” he says, extending a hand. His voice is the type of rich that makes it impossible to ignore him.

You tilt your head, your lips curving into a neutral smile. “No need, I got the gist earlier,” you say, nodding at him but ignoring his hand. “Welcome to the team.” You weave past him and walk down the hallway towards your next meeting.

He promptly follows you down the hall, confused. “Forgive my assumptions, but did I do something wrong?”

You stop to face him, when you realize how much he towers over you. You tilt your head only to find that your eyes land straight on his lips. Focus.

You sigh. “Listen, it’s no secret that we’re fighting for the same promotion. What you don’t know, but I do , is that you have a 99.9% chance of getting it. So until I am satisfied with the fact that I’ve given it my all, you and I are enemies.” You return to your route, hoping to leave this conversation as soon as possible.

“How do you—” trails behind you before keeping up with your stride. “Nevermind. Being enemies is a bit harsh to start with, don't you think? We’re all on the same team here.” 

“We are for now—at least until you get promoted.” You hesitate. “Then I’d have to work under you.”

His brow raises, as a devious smile spreads across his face. “I can assure you being under me wouldn’t be the worst thing .”

The thought makes your core swell. Without thinking you drop your guard. “But you see, Choso… I’d prefer to be on top —professionally speaking.”

You’re steps away from the meeting room but he stops you just short of the doorway. “Hmm. that’s a very appealing offer, I accept.” he teases. “Shall we sort out an arrangement over dinner?”

You catch a glimpse of sincerity in his eyes. Is he actually trying to make a move or is this all just for show? You can’t help but feel your cheeks flush. Though his confidence sends butterflies to your stomach, you decide to stay true to your resolve.

“Let me be clear—If you want to talk about work, you can schedule some time on my calendar. Otherwise, you should know that I have no interest in mixing business and pleasure.” As the words leave your mouth, you immediately start to wonder if you’re gonna regret your decision.

“Very well,” he playfully concedes, but the spark in his eye tells you that it’s far from over. As he takes a step to unblock your path, you feel the warm sensation of his fingers wrap around your waist.

You’re close enough to breathe in his cologne. It’s a known fragrance that you can’t quite place, but smell instinctively triggers a rush of liquid in between your legs.

He lowers himself until his breath dances around the tip of your ear. His whisper is low enough for only you to hear, “For the record, I have no issue being under you, on top of you… or even inside you ” he clears his throat before returning to his normal posture. “—professionally speaking, of course.” 

His remark left you speechless. You hesitated before finally replying, “I’ll file that under ‘things to pretend I didn’t hear.’”

He retreats back into the hallway as if he didn’t just drop a bomb on your heart. “I can say it again if you’d like,” he quips back.

You shake your head in amusement, trying your best to hide your smile. “Goodbye, Choso.”

“See you soon.” He turns his back to continue walking, tossing his hand in a casual farewell. 

You step into the meeting room, unable to wipe the stupid grin off your face. For the first time in two days, the uneasiness you’d been carrying around was nowhere to be found, leaving you to wonder what caused it in the first place.

✦✧✸✧✦

“Back up…he did WHAT?” Yuki blurted out in pure disbelief.

You winced, glancing around to make sure no one heard her outburst. “Shh, keep it down.”

After your final meeting of the day, you and Yuki decided to hang back in the conference room a bit longer so you could tell her what happened.

By the looks of it, she could barely contain her excitement. “Sorry, but this is huge. I can’t believe he actually tried to ask you out.”

You mentioned the dinner, but conveniently skipped over the specifics—for obvious reasons.

“Okay so when’s it’s happening?”

You look away, ashamed to tell her. “It’s not happening”

She grabs your face with both hands and turns your head back to get your attention. “What do you mean it’s not happening?”

You swipe her hands away and groan, rolling your eyes. “You know he’s my biggest competition right now and I can’t afford any distractions.”

Yuki gives you a pointed look, leaning back in her chair with a smirk. “Please. You think letting him chase you will distract you, of all people? If that’s the case you’re selling yourself really short.”

Leave it to Yuki to be your ultimate hype woman.

“You know you’re smarter than that. I’m sure you can handle a little fun and still crush it at work.”

“But—” you start, but Yuki cuts you off.

“No but—you’re overthinking it. He obviously wants you. And you’d be crazy to not want him, so why not go for it?” She leans in, her voice softening. “Look, you deserve a little excitement. You’ve already been working your ass off. Don’t let this slip away just because you’re scared to have a little fun.”

You know she’s right but you don’t want her to hear it.

You don’t need to say it though because she already knows. “Plus, if he likes you enough, maybe he’ll just give it to you,” Yuki adds.

A puzzled look forms on your face. “Ok, What does that mean?”

“You know…he falls madly in love with you, heroically declines the promotion and tells Naoya that you should get it instead. It happens in all the books and movies.”

You pause, shocked at the mere possibility of that thought. That goes against everything you’ve ever worked for. “Yuki, that’s messed up. I don’t want to get it because some man says I can have it. I want to get it because I deserve it.”

She leans back in her chair with a shrug. “Hey, I’m just saying—crazier things have been done for pussy,” her tone is easygoing.

You laugh as you get up from your seat, “Ok, I think this is my sign to go home.”

After Yuki waves goodbye, you head back to your desk to gather your things—hoping to catch Choso before he leaves for the day. No luck. He’s already gone. As you put on your coat, your conversation with Yuki replays in your mind. Are you really going to give him a chance? Every longing ache in your body screams yes, but your mind stubbornly says no.

I mean, what’s the worst that can happen when you have a little fun?

You reach the elevator just in time, sliding your hand between the doors just before they close. Stepping inside, you catch your breath when you see Choso standing there.

He leans his tall frame casually against the wall, one hand shoved into his pocket, the other holding a phone he doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to. His dark eyes flick up to meet yours, and in an instant, the air feels heavier. There is a faint hum of people packing up for the day, yet it seems deafening in the silence between you.

Your heart pounds erratically, a war drum echoing in your chest as your mind scrambles for something to say. Anything. But your tongue is heavy, and all you can do is step further inside, keeping your gaze fixed him.

The doors close with a soft thud, locking the two of you in the confined space. The proximity, the tension—it’s suffocating, exhilarating. You can feel his presence pulling your focus no matter how hard you try to resist.

He finally breaks the silence. “Hmm. You weren’t lying earlier when you said we’d have plenty of chances to meet,” he teases.

You smile at him, remembering your first encounter from the morning. The weight between you seems to lighten. “I’m sorry about earlier,” you manage to get out. As an act of truce, you extend your hand and say, “I think I’d like to properly introduce myself this time.”

As you tell him your name, he can’t help but keep his focus locked on you. The fire in your eyes ignites him as he tries to press down every filthy thought that runs through his mind: What do you taste like? What do you feel like? What do you sound like when I make you moan?

He subdues his thoughts just enough to say, “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Ch—”

As he looks down to return your handshake, he pauses—his eyes widen in disbelief. He notices three delicate stars placed between your thumb and pointer finger. He hadn’t meant for it to linger in his mind, but now, it’s all he can focus on.

Memories flood him and he remembers the softness of your skin when he pressed his lips on it, the way your fingers would glisten with wetness when they slid into your pussy, and especially the way his hands guided you towards an earth shattering release. After replaying those moments in his head, he knew he would recognize those hands anywhere.

His filthy thoughts resurfaced, causing a tightness in his jeans. What do you taste like? What do you feel like? What do you sound like when I make you moan? He didn’t need to wonder because he already knew.

When your hands finally meet, there’s an unseen electricity that charges between you. “Well, fuck,” he chuckles with amusement. “Isn’t this a pleasant surprise.”

“Huh?” The warmth between you settles but you tilt your head while your brow furrows in confusion. 

He slightly tightens his grip on your hand to pull you closer and the air begins to thicken. You’re inches away from his face and the heat of his breath sends shivers down your spine. Before you know it, His other hand slides securely to your waist, his touch beginning to feel alarmingly like second nature.

“Choso—?” His name barely escapes your lips before instinct takes over. Your eyes flutter shut, drawn to the overwhelming closeness of him. In the dark all your senses heighten. You notice how the smell of his cologne seems to fill every crevice of the elevator. Then, in an instant, your eyes shoot back open as the revelation hits you— spiced and earthy, just like the one from a few nights ago. 

Stop, wait. It can’t be.

He delicately brings your hand to his lips and the familiar warmth of his kiss tightens the coil in your center. In this moment, the rumble of his voice is absolutely unmistakable, "Hello, my little vixen. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

--

taglist: @makingtimemine

[biblicalvampireemmy]

i made a post before (like a month ago) that im not linking bc im lazy and it's midnight its abt a hamburr au im making this quick

RESET!Au

this is a burr-centric story

this story relies a lot on undertale because uh, that fandom revived itself into my brain and i can't get rid of it

burr is essentially frisk. he doesn't really know that yet though. obviously, im not making him choose mercy, violence etc.

the only thing that will be undertale related is the reset button.

Burr shoots hamilton in the first round (?). And regrets it.

He finds a glowing light. a button with the word "RESET" on it.

If it was truly what burr thinks it is, he clicks it.

And we are back to when he meets hamilton for the first time. The thing is, burr doesn't manage to change hamilton's fate after 5 resets.

The thing though, like in the game, hamilton is aware of these resets, but plays along for his own sake. Burr isn't. At least he's not as aware until the duel. Hamilton persists even after three resets.

To find his buddies, Laurens, Lafayette and Hercules again

To meet his wife and the rest of the Schuyler sisters

To meet Washington

To meet Burr.

Again and again.

Every reset, he's sure Burr will finally maybe change his mind, maybe it would different. Even after getting shot three times he still trusts him to change it the next reset.

Burr goes through the five stages of grief (which are The Five Resets)

On the 6th reset, something happened.

It's the duel day, once again. Burr and Alexander are face to face one last time before going on about this reckless loophole. Burr feels empty. He stares at Alexanders glasses, where his reflection lies. It was silent for a moment.

"You don't need to keep doing this."

"What?"

Alexander turns around and waits for the duel to commence.

Burr is left there, perplexed.

[cashmerekittennnn]

the ultimate guide to weekly resets✨°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

a weekly reset is so much more than just a tidy room or a to do list, it's a ritual that recentres your mind, body and soul. it helps you feel grounded and focused so so much. i dont do this every week, i do it multiple times a week just to feel pampered and pretty.

SELF CARE;

a reset for me always begins with a long hot shower or bath. once i'm finished with my shower, i slug my entire body. (ive recently started slugging my body every night before bed and its such a game changer, i wake up with baby soft skin.) i then do an ice face bath and i do it for around 10 seconds until i get up a minute, once im finished i put it back in the fridge and place my face roller in there to get it freezing and cold. i also put a face mask in the fridge with is also such a game changer. once everything's nice and cold i do it all and then i just do an enhanced version of my skincare routine.

A CLEAN SPACE IS A CLEAN MIND;

that quote is genuinely so so true, your general environment affects your mental health so deeply. having a clean room always makes me feel better and changes my mood so quick. make your bed, wipe down all your surfaces, declutter your desk and your nightstand, do a quick vacuum.

you dont have to deep clean everything, just make it feel functional and calm.

SOCIAL MEDIA RESET;

digital clutter is real. set boundaries between the online world and the real world. unfollow accounts that drain you, turn off notifications that you dont need, set app limits. i always do a 24 hour detox if i really need too, but if that's too hard for you, do it gradually.

be mindful of what you consume online, is it helping you grow, or is it keeping you stuck?

MOVEMENT;

movement definitely isnt punishment - so dont treat it like it is. treat it as a reset button. do whatever exercise youd like, whether is a walk, stretching, dancing, yoga or a workout. its so simple but so so powerful. reconnect with yourself and sweat off the weeks stress.

READING;

disconnect from screens and reconnect with your mind. you dont even need to have a physical book, you could listen to a podcast or write in your journal, review your goals or your to do list. whatever it is, reading, writing or just consuming knowledge in general is so helpful.

xxx, belle

[honeytonedhottie]

reset, refresh, move on⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🛍️

GET UR NAILS DONE ;

sometimes when im feeling a bit stuck or if i feel that my energy seems clogged, getting my nails done makes me feel so put together and it helps my mental state too.

getting my nails done makes me feel super feminine and it makes me feel put together. when i feel put together (even if im not) it acts like a push in the right direction.

CLEANING UR SPACE ;

a clean space = a clear mind. when our surroundings are cluttered, our minds are prone to be cluttered too and it can keep u stuck in a cycle that you feel stuck in.

wash ur sheets + pillow cases

pick up trash from ur room

put things where they belong

so force urself to get up and do some cleaning and i promise that you'll feel so much better afterwards and your mind will be a lot clearer.

RETAIL THERAPY ;

nothing screams "moving on" more then buying something nice for urself and treating urself to something that u want. for me, im a lipgloss junkie so i buy myself a new lipgloss.

HAIR AND BODY CARE ;

take an everything shower. use leave in products and make sure to be super meticulous and treat urself the way that u deserve. taking showers feels like hitting a refresh button so if u feel like ur in a funk, try and take a nice long shower.

JOURNALLING SESSION ;

its important when u feel like u need to refresh to realign urself with ur goals and evaluate where you are now. so some journalling prompts for realignment are...

"have i moved forward, backwards, or stayed the same since my last entry"

"what can i do differently and what should i keep doing"

"have i been working towards my goals and if so how"

"have i been working towards my goals and if not how can i change that"

MAKE A RULE ;

to avoid getting in the habit of rotting away again, make a rule for urself. my rule is that i cannot spend two days in a row rotting. if i spend today rotting, tomorrow i need to get my act together.

make sure to know what works for u before u create and follow thru on a rule. having a rule provides some structure and semblance of "im going to get through this". like a safety net essentially.

everyone has periods in their lives when they feel lethargic or depressed so dont feel bad about urself if ur going thru that right now. it just matters that u get urself out of it when ur ready and u realign with what matters. love - honey

[queenburd]

it's not going to let me rest until i write about it, so tonight I want to talk about the TSP2 Expo in Ultra Deluxe, and why it's a thing at all, and what it means about the Narrator, and how deeply self-conscious he is.

The Expo is, and I say this without exaggeration, the Narrator's deep, desperate need to respond to the audience and the reviews from the Skip button ending. They say he's not funny; he makes "a whole lot of gags". He's still reactionary, he makes all of this in response to (and in my mind, in the downtime during) the Skip button, and it's the first thing you can find right after the game resets from the Skip button.

He's not over it.

TSPUD in general is in a big way about the relationship between an artist and their audience. (i swear on my life i've written those words before...) it's about how a creator can and does create for themself but does, on a real level, yearn for an audience to understand and appreciate, while also being scared that people wont get it, and also being scared about "needing" a reaction to begin with.

Create for oneself, sure, but you still want people to like the thing you made. You want them to experience it, this thing you put so much time into. You want them to laugh at the jokes, that's why the jokes are there, and you hope they hit right.

Elements of that have always been in TSP but they're at the forefront of TSPUD and especially all the Expo stuff. Even while the Narrator, in Skip button rants, berates the audience for wanting jokes and gags and bits to distract them, he immediately wants to please. He's yearning to be understood, and he thinks if he can just give the people what they want, then surely they'll find the meaning in his work.

And then there's that darn Bucket. And while the Bucket feels like, at times, a stand-in for the Narrator or a way for him to project, it's easier for me to see him trying to frame Stanley's bond to the Bucket as a parallel to his bond to Stanley, instead of the other way around.

Stanley is the thing that is here in this world and story to comfort the Narrator. But Stanley is also the thing that can crush the Narrator's spirit.

In the Press Conference Ending, Stanley's bold new approach to story-telling gets him lauded, gets him praise. In the Bucket version, he tries to make the Bucket understand him through other people understanding him, and it fails. It scans as the Narrator desperately trying to reach out to Stanley, even as he tries to get adoration from an audience. Stanley only has eyes for the Bucket in the Apartment ending; in the end, the Narrator only has Stanley for company, and he on some level wants Stanley to appreciate him. He asks for feedback in the Games ending. And while nothing will ever really make him happy, there, he still asks.

In the end, Stanley's the only audience that really matters. He wants Stanley to like the things he makes.

"Why did I create Stanley? Was I lonely?"

He was. And the audience he's looking for isn't one he can interact with.

TSPUD is about a creator's relationship with an audience, hoping they will play the game, and like the game, and understand the game, so that they'll keep playing. And the game "ends" when the creator says "okay. I think I'm ready to try something new. for real this time!"

And then he gets pulled right back, because the audience response is just so uproarious. How can you move on from a thing that did, on some level, garner you success? Shouldn't you just stick with the thing that made you successful? But how do you make it better, when it felt like a complete work?

When do you get to move on? When do you make that choice? Will the audience understand? Will they follow you? Or do they just want more of the same?

The answer isn't simple.

[floweycidal]

do you think when flowey was a wee weed and just got into calling himself flowey that he had a kind of embarrassing stage he does not want to talk or even think about where he tried too hard to be the opposite of asriel and it was so obvious everyone could tell it was asriel

BAHAHAHAHA, YOU BET I DO! this is probably going to be as headcanon-y as it gets (kinda), sorry in advance. but really, making him a total sopping wet soggy loser is the best part of writing him. it's my favorite angle, no doubt.

the first month of being "flowey" was an exercise in second-hand embarrassment, except the person you're embarrassed for is yourself. and you can't even leave the room to escape it, because surprise! you are the room. you're a flower. stuck there. living it.

he had it all planned out. goodbye asriel dreemurr, the prince of crying-at-literally-everything, hello to... whatever cool and clever thing he was supposed to become. the details were fuzzy, but he figured being soulless meant the whole "evil" thing would come naturally.

it did not come naturally.

the cracks showed almost immediately. everything he tried just came out wrong. his threats sounded more like worried suggestions. his evil schemes kept accidentally making things better. his idea of entropy was essentially community service with attitude.

he couldn't even get the basics right. he'd tried tossing out sick burns, but they'd just hit with all the impact of a wet napkin. they weren't even insults half the time—just weirdly specific observations that petered off awkwardly.

he sucked at it. no way around it. he sucked ass.

so, he worked harder. determined to sound edgy, bad to the stem—whatever that meant—but it didn’t seem to take. every affront felt more like an accident than an attack. 

and the laugh. god, the laugh. he practiced it, forced it, tried every variation. dry chuckles, derisive cackles, even an exaggerated villain’s howl. none of them worked. what kept slipping out instead was the exact same dorky laugh that used to bubble up when #she would do silly voices during storytime.

this was the worst. he was the worst at being the worst.

his own body double-crossed him at every turn, still running on years of ingrained kindness his mind was trying to stamp out. he'd be right in the middle of his most "menacing" speech yet, really getting into the whole eternal suffering thing, when someone would sneeze.

"bless you!"

every. time.

the number of “villainy” monologues ruined by his automatic politeness was actually impressive. really, it was almost a talent.

it was a drawn-out process, this transformation. no guidebooks or cheat sheets. however... i’d argue the closest thing he had to a mentor here was toriel.

she didn't know it was him. obviously. somehow that made it worse, because she kept almost-recognizing things. little stuff he hadn't managed to burn away yet.

a familiar turn of phrase. how he'd end sentences. that godawful giggle that still sounded too much like pillow forts and frolicking in the mud. how he’d fill glasses, just enough to make them brim above the edge. the efficient way.

each time her eyes would catch on these moments, these tiny betrayals of self, he'd slam that reset button with all six petals. nu-uh, no buckaroo.

her reactions were the compass he followed, pointing to what needed to be carved away. reset after reset, he got better at it. harsher. finer. a little less like the kid who used to run up to her with flower crowns and scraped knees. 

the kindnesses got rarer; the callousness came easier.

never easy enough, though.

she'd still tilt her head sometimes, something glittering in her eyes like she was hearing the first few notes of a song she’d once known by heart. and he'd realize he'd effed up again, let some stupid little piece of asriel show through.

she’d never know she was teaching him how to stop being her son. to her, he was just some weird flower guy that occasionally felt eerily familiar, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on why.

every time she almost intuited something in him, he'd reload, desperate to finally become someone she wouldn't know at all.

ahhhhh. and so it came full circle. in his frenzied bid to unlearn being her child, he was still (by the most bruisingly contorted logic) turning to her for guidance. still just a kid, looking to his mom for answers. just… not in the way either of them would’ve wanted.

[gloomwitchwrites]

*stumbles breathless through your door*

I SAW YOU'RE ASKING FOR STORY REQUESTS!!

*fixes the Caps button*

Sowwy!!

Anyway!!

Please can I ask for:

1. Lord of the Rings

2. Bathing (innocent)

3. Thranduil

4. I leave free hand to you. Just some nice relaxing bath with his love (can he his new queen or soon to be) some pampering with hair and skin care, something along those lines. Fem!elf!reader if I may ask that!

xoxo Firelight

That entrance into my ask box is a solid 10/10. No notes. Just perfect.

Technically, I’m not taking story requests, but I am taking headcanon requests for all the fandoms I write for. So, this will fall into the “what are Thranduil’s bathing habits” realm. So like, what he does alone and with a partner. But it’s obviously on the innocent/fluffy/romantic side of things.

Personally, I’m all about a soft Thranduil who knows how to pamper himself and his partner. I've kept this one on the gender neutral side.

Word Count: 585

ao3 // 1k follower event masterlist // main masterlist

Thranduil’s bathing habits when he’s alone:

A bath is Thranduil’s reset. There is no one that attends him during this time. It’s a chance for him to slow down and to let go of the pressures of the day. When I mean that no one attends him, I mean no one. It is he that fills the tub with water. Not one of his subjects. Thranduil uses that time to disconnect and to think only of the task at hand. He is always making choices, giving orders, and overseeing the wellbeing of all. Filling the bath is a moment of peace. There are no responsibilities here.

Thranduil soaks before he scrubs or washes his hair. He will close his eyes, tip his head back, and rest. This could take a few minutes or even ten before he opens his eyes again and begins the process of lathering up some soap.

Thranduil washes his body first before his hair. The soaps and scrubs he uses are always made from ingredients that are found within the Woodland Realm. He is resourceful in that regard. That same goes for his hair. Anything and everything are sourced from the forest, if possible.

Thranduil reads in the bath (if it’s just him).

Usually doesn’t eat but might have a snack. There will always be wine. That’s nonnegotiable.

Doesn’t remove himself from the tub until the water has gone cold. He likes to stay in as long as possible.

Loves a warm towel afterward.

Thranduil’s bathing habits when he’s with a partner:

Similar to how he draws the bath from himself, Thranduil will do the same for his partner. It’s an act of service, but also a way he shows affection. He wants to do it, and he always makes sure to have it done before they can arrive to bathe themselves. He might seek help from an attendant to prepare other items like candles or fetching wine and food, but Thranduil likes to do most of it himself.

Because of who he is and all the things he must do in a day, a bath is his time to reconnect with his partner. During this time, they are alone, and are unlikely to be interrupted. Truly, this is the only time for Thranduil to spend time with his partner since most of his day is spent taking care of his people.

Whoever Thranduil is with, they are not to lift a finger. This is about them, not him, and he goes to great lengths to make that happen. His favorite thing to do is recline in the tub with his partner leaning against him. This way, Thanduil can cuddle them but also take care of them. It’s the best position to wash their body and their hair.

He is prone to gentle touches, almost an absent-minded sort of motion. He does it without having to think about it. Skin against skin is usually what he needs and not in the physical sense of need. Connection is more important here.

Thranduil enjoys conversation but it is not a requirement. Sometimes just being in each other’s presence is enough.

Thranduil will not allow his partner to do anything for themselves while in the bath. Won’t get angry about it but he might have a twinge of attitude if they keep resisting. Thranduil just wants to take care of them.

Will make sure his partner removes themselves from the bath before they grow cold.

Thranduil will insist on drying them himself.

[b0oker18]

The X Files Season of secret sex: A reflection

When I was younger I was a big believer/supporter of the season of secret sex. Upon rewatching and reflecting on season 7 my opinion has changed on this slightly.

Originally I totally bought into the fact that Mulder and Scully were doing the deed from "Millenium" right on through to "Requiem". I now think it's more complicated than that. While there is still no doubt in my mind that they first slept together some time after "Millennium" I can’t help but feel like there was some sort of stopping point sometime before or after "Orison". It’s just this gut feeling I got while rewatching season 7. At first I was horrified but as I thought about it more I think I can make sense of it.

I believe that Mulder and Scully jumped into the pool of romance with both feet after the events of "Millennium". I think it lasted until "Orison" Maybe even a little after because I still see that wonderful post coitual filtation in "The Amazing Maleeni". With that being said Scully MUST have gone through some sort of off screen PDST after "Orison" which in my mind could have caused her to back away from the romance. That is not out of character for Scully either. @randomfoggytiger post here helped me understand this better.

For many fans Season 7 was Mulder and Scully dipping their toes in the pool of romance, with "All Things" being the culmination. The two lovers finally jumping into the pool of romance. For me, it's the opposite. After "Millennium" they jump in with both feet, Scully backs away some time after the events of "Orison", the two are navigating rough waters all the way up until the events of "All Things".

"All Things" is where Scully AND Mulder hit the reset button on their romance, instead of jumping in with both feet into the romance pool they dip their toes in. The waters clear, its warm, etc. But it feels like the right thing to do.

After "All Things" that overt flirtiness is back. We have worried! Scully holding Mulders hand and rubbing his shoulder in "Brand X" (P.s. the shoulder rub in Brand X is very blink and you miss it, and comes off as very we just had sex to me), we have to hand holding/date night in "Hollywood A.D.", office filertiness in "Fight Club", and the "I'm fairly happy" in "Je Soulhaite". To me it reads as though this dipping in the toes is going very well and by the time we get to "Requiem" their fully in that pool, and we get to see it for such a brief period of time.

Like I mentioned earlier, when I had this revelation it horrified me, so much so I almost felt like I needed to take a rewatch break. The more I thought about it the more it made sense. If feels very in character with these two which helped me swallow this pill XD.

I am very open to having my mind changed again so I welcome debate. Thoughts?