#she even told me she just wanted to be involved

[princessoflalaland]

Fiancé Nanami

content: fluff and smut, some degradation, oral (m), doggy style (our second fave position), creampie (I told you I want his babies)

a/n: this is reminiscent of how i was raised by a single parent, so that’s why the dad is not involved. thx to @teddybeartoji for giving me the idea based off this post.

surprisingly, your family had only met Fiancé Nanami a handful of times, despite you two practically being joined at the hip. it was those seldom interactions that planted the seeds of doubt in his mind that he wouldn't be able to appease to your mother.

Fiancé Nanami who, while fussing with his favorite tie in the mirror as you two prepared to drive across town to have dinner with your mother, couldn't help but to grow frustrated when his clothes wouldn't cooperate. this caused you step in and fix it for him, trying to calm him down as you do.

"you really don't need to worry, honey. my mom will love you, I just know it." that cliché line managed to soothe the worst of his nerves. he held your hips and watched you earnestly as you tightened his tie.

"thank you, darling. I just...I don't want to disappoint anyone tonight, especially not the woman who raised my beautiful wife-to-be." his deep, silky voice and sentiments made your heart skip.

Fiancé Nanami who, despite your encouragement, still felt worry linger in the back of his mind. he was rigid the entire drive to your mom's place.

Fiancé Nanami who could barely keep his eyes off you as you two made your way up the stairs to your mom's cozy townhome. the way your dress hugged your body, the sweet perfume you wore temporarily distracted him from how his stomach had knotted itself too many times for his liking. you could practically feel his anxiety beneath his warm skin, so you gave his hand a squeeze and offer him a bit more reassurance.

"I need you to look at me," you demanded softly. you two were right in front of the door, crickets beginning their evening symphonies filled the air. your fiancé could feel his heavy pulse in his ears, but brought his attention to you anyway, finding comfort in your steady, gentle gaze.

"everything is going to be fine. even if she doesn't like you, which I doubt because you're the greatest, most respectable person i've ever known, that won't get in the way of our plans. i'm still going to marry you, I'm still going to be Mrs. Nanami and have all your kids." his heart swelled at your words, and he leaned down to kiss you.

Fiancé Nanami who kindly and gently shook your mother's hand when she opened the door. he was a tall individual, so your mother's head moved up and down as she gave him a once over. he swore his tie began to strangle him under her careful stare. after introductions, you two were lead inside to the dining room, his hand still secured in yours.

Fiancé Nanami's articulate speech and gentlemanly mannerisms won your mother over quickly. they engaged in deep conversation about his career as a successful CEO and your mother's career, as well as the current status of your relationship. he took this as his opportunity to gush about how enamored he is with you. your mother would glance over at you from time to time as if to telepathically say: "I don't know where you found him, but i'm glad you did. he's definitely a keeper."

as the night wore on, however, Fiancé Nanami was finding it hard to focus when your hand casually rested on his thigh under the table. what started off as a mere touch of endearment became much more. rubbing your palm up toward his crotch, letting it simultaneously slide inwards, your fiancé had to fight to keep up his respectable demeanor.

Fiancé Nanami who was finding it harder to focus on the topic of discussion because your hand had so callously wandered over his bulge, your manicured fingers tracing the outline. he cut a glance over to you find you completely unfazed; in fact, you looked invested in what your mother was saying. meanwhile, he was doing everything he could to keep his breath steady and the pink tint out of his cheeks.

Fiancé Nanami who looked both ecstatic and bewildered at your mother's offer for the two of you to stay the night. with the way you were teasing him, all he was able to think about was getting you home and ravishing you until dawn. your mother broke through his thoughts: "it's late, and I wouldn't want you two to worry about the drive home. please, stay, I insist." who could turn down that kind, motherly tone? certainly not the two of you.

Fiancé Nanami who only marveled at your girly childhood room and its keepsakes for so long before you threw yourself on him. he returned your deep, fervent kisses, tasting your mom's cooking on your tongue.

"darling, slow down," he huffed against your lips as you fumbled with his belt and he with your dress zipper. "we can't make too much noise..."

you responded with a simper, one that had him straining against his dress pants. "then you better keep quiet."

Fiancé Nanami who was reminded how pretty you looked with your painted lips wrapped around his cock. you left mauve lipstick marks on his thighs, his pelvis, his dick. it was almost like art to him, the way you painted his skin like it was the most lewd canvas. he covered his mouth with his palm, his eyes fading in and out of focus as you slurped him salaciously.

"m-my love," his muffled words managed to reach your ears over the sounds your mouth made on him and your soft moans. "this is so wrong, doing this to me i-in your mother's home. nngh, God- ease up, I-i'll cum..."

Fiancé Nanami who quickly disregarded the risk of getting caught and possibly receiving a tongue-lashing great enough to make God cry, as you bent over your old bed, ass perked up for him. all he could think of now was how wet you must be at this point, how you've probably been thinking of this since y'all left home. hot puffs air condensed around his lips as he rubbed his tip against your slick folds.

"so wet. this what you wanted, love? to be fucked senseless in your old room, your mom just outside?" his husky, carnal voice only made you wetter. "am I really making a woman so slutty my wife?"

Fiancé Nanami who had to fight himself and you to keep you two covert. a big calloused hand was clamped harshly over your mouth that couldn't seem to contain its wanton vocalizations. his thrusts weren't as powerful as they usually are, the sound of slapping skin usually enough to let your neighbors know what you two got up to in the late hours of the night. his deep, slow strokes still had the same effect of making you want to remind those beyond your room walls who you belonged to.

"told me to me to keep it down..now look at you, fuckin cryin on my dick." you loved when he got vulgar, it made you clench around those inches of him inside you. "I know you want it deeper, honey, you want it harder, I know. we can't, c-cant make too much noise though." "but you'll still be a good girl for me right? you'll cum all over me like the good slut you are..." how could anyone resist that gravelly voice in their ear when he's balls deep in you?

Fiancé Nanami who lets go with a shudder and guttural groan, filling you to the brim with his cum, as your tight walls spasmed around his length. you cried behind his palm, eyes rolling back, toes curling. he littered kisses all over your neck and back, not daring to leave marks anywhere visible. with each heavy breath he released, he made it known how much he adored you.

"...love you..y'always so good to me, always make me feel like no one else has...I love you so much, my beautiful, beautiful wife..."

Fiancé Nanami who made sure you two took proper precautions before going to bed. he made you go pee while he bashfully sought out your mother, in his hastily put-on clothes, to see if she had clothes for you to sleep in. when he returned with one your mother's nightgowns, he'd heard the shower running.

"I got you some clothes from your mother, they're on the counter." he informed you before approaching the steamy translucent curtains. "can I join you?"

Fiancé Nanami who held you close after you both have washed up and have dressed as best as you can for sleep. he planted kisses over the crown of your hair, your temple, the corner of your lips. the feel of your fiancé's smooth lips on your skin helped you drift off faster. his low, silky voice was the last thing you registered before you were nestled comfortably in the embrace of sleep.

"sleep well, my love. thank you for tonight and all the wonderful nights to come."

[penelopepine]

Don't be a stranger! Pt. 8

Part 7 Part 8

Simon "Ghost" Riley x FemReader

Content: Neighbors AU, fluff, developing relationship, non-con drug use, light angst

Simon instantly felt his heart drop, “What do you mean she’s gone?” His voice was cold as he spoke. If Johnny is saying what he thinks he’s saying then someone is going to die today, that Simon can guarantee. 

Before Soap can respond though a gunshot rings out. "Soap, where are you? What's happening?" 

"We're at the small grocery store in town! Things here went from zero to hundred real quick; Beads is nowhere in sight." 

Right away Simon is moving; he has to get to you. "What the hell were you two doing off base?" 

"Just- I'll explain when-," Soap suddenly pauses , "Price?!" 

"Soap, go 4 aisles down; Gaz is there with Beads." Price's voice suddenly cuts through the phone. 

Price? Gaz? What were they doing there? An immediate uneasy feeling rises in his chest. This whole thing wasn’t making sense to him. 

He could vaguely hear Soap speaking to Price. The only thing he could make out was the clear anger and confusion in his voice. Moments later Price’s voice comes through clear as day, he can only assume that Price took Johnny’s phone. 

“Ghost, stay where you are.” 

“Price what the fuck is happening?” Simon growled. 

“Ghost.” Price took a deep breath before continuing, “It was all a set up. We planned for the possibility of Beads being targeted and taken once stepping off base. They did exactly what we thought they would do.” 

He couldn’t fucking believe what he was hearing, “You used her as bait! Did you keep her in the dark too, or was I the only one that wasn’t given the truth?” 

“You, Beads, and Soap weren’t told anything. The situation here is under control though now, and once we're back we can discuss more. Laswell is already waiting for you in the main meeting room; she’ll explain everything a bit more to you.” 

Simon hung up. He didn’t want to hear anything more from him. If you’re hurt in any way there will be hell to pay. This whole plan shouldn’t have happened; much less with him not being told about it. 

He almost wants to disobey Price, and go find you right now. The only thing stopping him is also wanting answers for what is happening. As much as he wants to be with you he knows that you're mostly likely on your way to him right now. So he turns and storms his way to Laswell. 

Once reaching the meeting room he gives a sharp knock, but doesn't wait for an answer before opening the door anyway. Laswell is sitting already with a serious look on her face. "Ghost, sit down. Let's talk about everything calmly." 

Calm was the last thing he was feeling right now. All he wanted to do was yell; yell at everyone involved with making this plan. "Explain then." Simon sneered before sitting right across from her. 

"On Monday Soap and Beads approached Price about leaving base to go to the grocery store. Beads apparently wanted to make a special meal for you, and Soap said that he would gladly accompany her." 

"A Russian terror group broke into both of our flats. They know that she is connected to me. Leaving base shouldn't have even been considered." Simon argued back. 

"She's been here for almost a month, Ghost. There has also been no other signs of them attempting to get to you." 

Anger filled Simon's veins, "Of course there hasn't been any signs! They've been waiting for us to mess up, and this, sending her out there, was what they were waiting for." 

Laswell doesn't react much to his anger; only giving him an unimpressed look, "We had no way of knowing that though, and we couldn't have kept her on base forever. Which is why when Price asked about what I thought about letting her leave I agreed, but not without planning for the possibility that they would attack her." 

"Why wasn't I informed then?" 

"We knew that you wouldn't have agreed to it. You would have gone with her in full gear; which would have only brought more attention to yourselves." 

"And the reason for not telling Johnny then; the one who would have been right by her side if he had known?" 

"Soap is amazing at what he does, but he is not an actor." That Simon could agree with; which is why he would have much rathered Johnny to be obviously lying to you, then him not there to protect you. “We had a small team following them the entire time. Price and Gaz were watching her the entire time.” He knew Laswell was trying to calm his nerves as much as she could right now. Simon knew though that the only thing that could calm him was seeing you; making sure that you’re alright. 

“So Gaz training recruits and yours and Price’s meeting was a lie to keep me unassuming then?” He lets out an almost defeated sigh, “At least tell me she's alright.” 

Laswell for the first time doesn’t answer him immediately. She seems to be taking a few moments to assess his emotions before answering, “Price called me before you arrived. She is safe, whole, alive, but she did end up getting hurt. One of the men grabbed her before injecting some kind of sleeping drug into her-.” 

It was sudden ding from Laswell’s phone that stopped her from continuing. She took a few minutes to write them a message back before finally turning her attention back to him.

"She's here."  

Simon didn't wait to see if she had anything else to say before he was standing and walking out of the room to the med bay area. He feels guilty; he knows that he had no way of helping you avoid this since he wasn't told of the plan. You had been there though because of him; you had apparently wanted to do something special for him. 

If he could he'd go back and tell you that just being around him is all he needs because you are special to him. 

He's vaguely aware that Laswell is following him. Simon isn't interested in speaking to her anymore though. The only thing that matters is making sure you're ok with his own eyes; everything else can wait. 

Which is why he immediately goes to just walk past Price who was clearly waiting for him in front of the med bay doors. 

"Ghost." Price puts his hand on Simon's shoulder stopping him from entering. 

Simon knows that he could break Price's hold and continue on his way; he stops though, willing to give him one chance to explain his piece. "Price." 

“I know you’re upset, Ghost, and you honestly should be. Believe me though when I say that we were watching her the entire time. She got hurt, yes, but there was no way I was going to allow them to leave that building with her.” 

He trusts Price, trusts him with his life. Simon also knows that Price wouldn’t lie straight to his face about something like this, “I want to be included from this point forward. I don’t care if you think I’ll disagree. I need to be involved when it comes to her.” 

“I promise.” Price says with sincerity, “Now would you like to see her? She’s being taken care of right now; we can go to her room if you want to.” 

Simon doesn’t say anything else, only nods his head. The sooner he can see you the sooner he can finally breathe again.

Laswell during all of this had been silently typing away on her phone. "John, Ghost, I'll leave  you two here. The men from the grocery store are ready for questioning. I'll call on either of you if needed. Hopefully this can end the whole situation," she pointedly looks towards Simon now, "You and your friend will be able to walk freely if so." She then turns and walks down the hall away from them. 

Placing a hand on Simon's shoulder, Price directs them back to the doors, "Let's go." 

Price led them inside down the white sterile halls of the med bay till they reached your room. “Are you ready to go inside?” 

Without answering he pushes past and into the room. Then there you were, lying down asleep in a standard hospital bed. A doctor was also there standing next to you writing some things down on her clipboard. 

“Ghost, this is Dr. Withers, she has been the one taking care of her.” 

The doctor gives them both a nod, “She’s doing well. We’ve already done a blood test, and nothing except the obvious seems wrong.” Looking down at her clipboard she flips through a couple pages, "It seems they weren't able to inject very much of the drug; she'll be in and out for a few hours, but she should be waking up soon." With that she leaves them alone with you. 

In the silence that follows Simon makes his way to your side, sitting down next to you, placing his hand near yours. Price stands at the end of your bed, but his attention is solely focused on Simon. "You really care about this girl don't you?" 

"…I love her." He whispered to himself, but it was clear as day for everyone in the room to hear. 

Simon couldn't believe that he actually said it. He's been fighting with himself about what he was going to do about it, debating ignoring the feeling all together. In the end though this wasn't something he could run from. He loved you. 

“You love me…?” Your gravelly voice calls out. 

Note: Ahhhh I finally getting this chapter out! Thank you for reading this far. I also hope you have enjoyed the series as much as I have. The next chapter will most likely be the last update on this.

Also a special thank you to @nexthyperfix for beta reading this chapter for me!

Taglist: @nexthyperfix @yourdaydreamerfan @tf141gloryhole @just-pure-trash @definitelynotaclown

@141tfsan @arminarlertssword @openup-yourmind @evie-119 @v1x3n

@whos-fran @trcyyyyy @azkza @kaoyamamegami @yyiikes

@leryg0 @pansexualhailstorm @trulovekay @kdidgg @ane-sthesie

@zhongtar @shinebright2000 @blackhawkfanatic @cmbghost @prozacprinc3ss

@shizukunora

[mulloey]

innocents • yunho

it’s easy to forget you’re his prisoner

warnings: criminal!yunho, mentioned sex trafficking (but it’s in the context of him Not doing it), mentioned murder, reader is held against her will but nothing is done to her without consent, her shitty boyfriend pimped her out kind of and yunho’s not about that but he is Not a good dude in this, dom yunho, implied drugging (alcohol), implied physical punishment, other than the *implications* this is actually pretty tame. also san is yunho’s goon lol

this doesn’t represent yunho, ateez or my perception of them in any way. don’t like, don’t read:) please comment if you enjoyed!

—————

The first time you met Yunho, you were a payment. Your stupid, doofus boyfriend, thinking he was tough and smart enough to survive a life of crime, had gotten in too deep with the wrong people and found himself with a bounty on his head, pursued across the country until he was finally cornered in a dodgy part of Seoul. Dragged unceremoniously to Yunho’s office, he’d realised quickly who he was dealing with, and what was about to happen to him, and in a moment of desperation had offered you up instead. “Take my girlfriend,” he’d begged. “She’s at my house and she’s beautiful, you can have her. Just please don’t kill me.” And Yunho, disgusted that your boyfriend would offer you up like cattle but intrigued by the thought of you, had sent one of his men to pick you up.

You knew what your boyfriend had gotten involved with and you knew how spineless he was, so you weren’t surprised to see an armed man in your doorway, telling you to come with him if you wanted your boyfriend to live. You were more annoyed than anything else, but as much as you hated your boyfriend for selling you out like this, you didn’t want him to die, certainly not in the slow, painful way the man in your doorway had so graphically promised. So you followed, allowing yourself to be brought to a sprawling property on the other side of the city. When you were dragged into Yunho’s office, your coward of a boyfriend wouldn’t even meet your eye. But there was one person who couldn’t take his eyes off of you. The tall, dangerous looking man behind the desk.

He looked you up and down for a moment, ordering his man to turn you around so he could see the back of you, before nodding. “I accept your offer,” he told your boyfriend. “Leave her with me and don’t ever return to Korea, and I’ll wipe your debts and set you free. Understood?”

And without a moment's hesitation, your boyfriend agreed, thanking Yunho profusely for his generosity — for taking her instead of me. You could have attacked him if you weren’t surrounded by armed henchmen, but you were realising now that this pathetic little man wasn’t worth any more of your energy. So you let him scurry away with your back turned, eyes cast downwards to the floor.

The room was silent for a moment, tension in the air, until Yunho spoke. “If you’re wondering what I’m going to do to you, don’t worry,” he said. “I sell things, not people. Not women, at least. You’ll be safe here with me.”

You nodded, not really convinced before he ordered you closer to him. You shuffled forwards, as slow as you could before one of his men shoved you so hard you stumbled, landing on the solid wood of the desk.”

“San, you fucking idiot,” Yunho snapped, standing from his chair and rounding the desk to help you up. You looked you up and down and, satisfied you weren’t hurt, released his grip on you. “Your boyfriend’s lucky you’re such a beauty,” he said. “And so are you. Cus he’s not being fed to dogs right now, and I’m going to take much better care of you than he did.”

For some reason, maybe the sting and annoyance of the idiotic betrayal you’d just suffered, you believed him. Yunho would take care of you. He’d keep you safe. And you’d never be bounty again.

True to his word, Yunho was for the most part perfectly respectful. He didn’t touch or try anything with you without your permission, and he made certain none of his men did either, as made abundantly clear your second month under his care, when a low level fighter had cornered and felt you up, and Yunho, upon hearing about it, had summoned him to his office and, without a word, shot him between the eyes with his own gun.

The only time Yunho wasn’t so nice to you was the few attempts you’d made to escape. As much as he respected you as a person, he’d forgiven a lot of transgressions and missed out on an awful lot of money to have you, and he wasn’t going to let you go. And in the months (you think, time moves strangely in Yunho’s house) you’d been in his possession, he had by his own admission, developed feelings that gave him another reason to want to keep you with him.

After a few failed escape attempts and quite severe reprisals, he’d settled on another way to keep you pliant. With your previous boyfriend you’d gotten heavily into alcohol and as Yunho quickly realised, supplying you with it was a good way to keep you happy and obedient. And to keep you safe by his side, anything that worked was worth it.

You’re a few drinks deep when he comes into your room, taking a seat on your bed, eyes on you. You’re at your desk and facing him, fiddling absentmindedly with an empty glass.

“Come here.”

You feel dizzy, and not just because of the alcohol. You see the small knife in his hand, dwarfed by his massive palms. You know what those palms can do to you. You’ve tried everything to avoid finding out about the knife.

“Are you going to cut me?” You try to sound as afraid as possible, knowing it softens him — not because he feels bad for scaring you, but because he likes it. You’re such a good girl, he’d say, being so afraid of me. He thinks it’s sweet. It makes him happy. And you like when he’s happy.

His face is blank. “Why would I cut you?”

“The knife.”

His gaze flickers to it, then back to you. “Ah,” he says, smiling slightly. “This isn’t for you.”

“Did you hurt someone?” You ask softly.

“I’m going to,” he says. He puts the knife down on the bed, behind his back where you can’t see it. But now you know it’s there and you guess that was his intention. Your time with this man has taught you that nothing, nothing he does is an accident. “Come here.”

His tone is harder now, on the edge of anger. Since becoming his prisoner, as he hates when you call yourself, you’ve learned that Yunho does not like repeating himself — a lesson that has been painfully delivered to you more times than either of you would like. Not wanting another, you scurry over to him, stopping short of settling on his lap, because he hasn’t said you can touch him, and you know not to do it without his permission. Nothing without permission.

He smiles, recognising your obedience and pats his lap. “Sit.”

You settle yourself in your lap, heart still racing slightly, but the feeling of his warm hands on the small of your back always calms you. He strokes up and down your back, humming softly with his gaze fixed on you. “Have you been good today?” He asks.

You nod. “I have. Thank you for the drinks.”

He hums, running his thumb across your plush lips. He pushes it in slightly, letting you suck at the tip while his other fingers stroke your cheek. “I wanted to check on you,” he says quietly, “before I leave. Just to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am,” you say, smiling softly.

He narrows his eyes, studying your face for any signs of dishonesty, but you know better than to lie to him. You know that in less than a second, the soft, gentle touches on your back could turn hard, crushing and striking, and it informs every choice you make with him. He nods, apparently satisfied that you’re telling the truth, and presses a kiss to your lips. “Good girl,” he breathes.

You smile at the praise, out of relief as much as happiness. You’ve learned quickly that Yunho is very, very good at concealing his true feelings — a necessary skill for someone of his profession — so you never bank on him being satisfied with your behaviour until he confirms it himself. But today he is satisfied, and it fills you with relief. “Thank you,” you whisper.

Yunho smiles at you and pushes his thumb back into your mouth. Focused on the feeling, you don’t notice his other hand move from the small of your back to the top of your leg. The feeling of his hand on the sensitive bare skin of your thigh makes you jolt and he tuts, tightening his grip slightly. “Still,” he orders gently.

He lets his hand wander further up your leg, into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, dangerously close. Your breath hitches as his hand slowly approaches your most sensitive area. “Yunho,” you whisper, the desperation in your voice evident.

He smiles softly but shakes his head. “I don’t have time now, darling,” he says regretfully. “Just wanted to play with my baby a little before I go. Get her worked up and ready for when I’m back.”

The hand on your face moves to grip your thigh, holding you in place as the other pulls your tiny shorts to the side and presses a long finger into your hole. You gasp softly; it’s been a while since you’d started playing with Yunho like this, but you’ll never get used to his size, not just of his dick but of his entire body. Everything about him is large, strong, brimming with restrained power until he has a reason to unless it.

The finger reaches deep inside you, curling as he pushes another in. He starts to pump them slowly, quickly speeding up until you’re whining and squirming on his lap. A third soon joins and you almost choke. “Yunho,” you cry.

He hums, not acknowledging you further. You love when he plays with you like this, clinically and methodically pleasuring you but seeming indifferent to you or your reactions. He doesn’t care what sounds you make, how many times you come undone on his fingers. You’re his toy and he’ll play with you until he gets bored.

He presses his thumb to your clit, rubbing in circles to drive you close to the edge. You’re babbling incoherently now, crying and gasping as he works you to your orgasm.

“Yunho,” you sob as his fingers speed up. “Yunho, I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he says. He doesn’t look up at you, gaze still fixed in your gushing pussy.

You cry as you let yourself go, juices coating his entire hand. He chuckles at the sight, pumping his fingers a few more times before pulling them out, but you know that’s more due to his time constraints than any desire to show you mercy. Other than your worst misbehaviours, the only time Yunho shows the merciless, cruel side of himself with you is during sex. He’s in charge, and he loves the way you cower and come undone beneath him.

He holds you in his lap for a few more minutes, stroking your gently and whispering praises as you come down from your high, before he gets up, a sad look on his face. “I so wish I could stay, baby,” he says mournfully. “You’re such a good girl for me.”

“Me too,” you sigh. “Please don’t get hurt.

He tilts his head, lips twitching with an amused smile. “I never do that,” he says. “And I’m not fighting anyone tonight. Just teaching them a lesson. Be ready for me when I’m back, yeah?”

You nod and he smiles, pressing another kiss to your lips before picking up his knife and walking out of your room. You hear the lock click behind him, a reminder that as much as you love each other, you’re still his prisoner. But the ghosts of his touches on your skin make it so much sweeter.

—————

[sceirlose]

Okay, hear me out.

I want to write a fanfic where Remus is the one who goes horcrux hunting and dies drowning. First of all, romantic moonwater where Regulus talks about Kreacher to Remus, and in an attempt to stop Regulus from doing it, he goes before Regulus. He thinks he's stronger and more competent since he's older and a werewolf. Obviously he dies and Regulus is fucking devastated.

Unrequited wolfstar, too. He hears about this from Regulus, and he's so mad at Regulus for letting it happen. His moony. Dead. Because his incompetent little brother, whom he trusted to date his moony, let the guy go on a suicide mission, so they had an even bigger fallout. In the midst of his grief, he found comfort in Marlene, who helped him stand up back to his feet. James and Peter helped, too, of course, but the way Marlene held him was so different. After graduating, he went on to marry Marlene and fight in the order.

On the other hand, James was just as upset at the death of his friend. But he couldn't do anything about it. He did a lot of thinking and observing. He watched Sirius cry and scream at the mans death, and he watched Regulus walk the halls like a zombie. He made it his mission to kill voldemort with his own bare hands.

Peter was worried and torn between joining the death eaters and the order. He lost his best friend's in some way or another. To death, to revenge, and to grief. He decided that he's going to follow James, like he always had. Just not on the same level, as he was kept grounded by his other slytherin friends. Who knew what's going on and persuaded him into being the rational one in his friend group for once.

Marlene tried to get the marauders back to their feet. She slapped James out of his muttering about vengeance, told Peter to man up and help his friends, and helped Sirius out of his mourning. She would push them all into the correct path, even if one of them would eventually stray away. Yet her mother went on and on about her involvement in the war, telling her to just settle and let the men do it. She will marry Sirius, discarding her past with Dorcas for a play pretend household.

Lily and Mary would also help the marauders collect themselves after their own moment of mourning. They would help gather information and resources for the order and make sure that everyone else knows what's going on and doesn't push the wrong buttons. They would date secretly, because being in love and happy would be selfish of them when their friends were at their lowest.

Meanwhile, the slytherin skittles aside from Regulus would move on from Remus' death quickly. They knew Remus, but Regulus was the one who's alive, so they're more thankful for his death than anything.

Regulus would slowly go insane. Everything reminds him of Remus. He lost the person who understands him, who he loves the touch of, someone who was connected to him by soul and mind. Now he's empty. Just a shell of what he used to be. All of him gone, following where Remus was. He would go on a rampage, getting incredibly violent and unstable. He would then start killing people. Whoever he decides deserves it, he would kill them. He will marry Pandora to continue the Black lineage, but she would only be helping him hide all the bodies he killed. He would be against voldemort for pushing Remus to death, and would hate the order because Sirius would be in it and it would be a constant reminder of Remus. He would rarely attend the meetings and never go on the missions voldemort tells him to go. He would only start going more often when Barty and Evan join and swears to himself he's going to protect the both of them at all costs.

Evan will become a death eater as well. He at first would gaslight Peter into joining them, but when he hears about Remus' death and watched the way it affected Regulus, James and Sirius. He makes Peter think through his actions, and forces him into helping James. He will marry a pureblood woman from obligation (Genevieve my beloved), and do the bare minimum in playing his part ad a follower.

Barty would become a death eater too. He would be absolutely obsessed with the dark lord, which only makes Regulus mad and Evan annoyed. But if it means he could ruin his father and everyone around the man, he would do it. He was incredibly excited when he received the dark mark and kept on talking about all the things he would do in the name of the dark lord. But at one point, he would watch his mother cry when she saw the dark mark and soon regretted his decision.

Dorcas will join the order. As a half blood, she valued her life over anything else. She has a little sister to protect, and a friend group to look after. But she would dread every order meeting. Because Marlene is right there, as beautiful as ever, but she was not the one who held her hand. She would be active in the order, helping Lily manage everything while still keeping touch with her friends. Despite their differences, she still respected them and cared for them. Regulus and Evan were suffering in their forced position, and Barty had regret his decisions after all, why would she hate her best friends? She would help comfort Pandora, who often times struggled. All while ignoring her own health.

Pandora would be passive. She wouldn't join the death eaters, but would be a follower by association. She was deeply concerned by Regulus' violent tendencies, though Regulus would rather kill himself than hurt Pandora. She was worried by the tired expression Evan constantly had and felt pity for Barty whenever he would stare at his mark and talk about his mother. She will make sure that all her friends were safe. She will take care of Regulus, check in on Barty, and have talks with Evans wife. Pandora would fall into deeper pressure, to bear an heir, to spread the Black family influence while her dear best friend repeats a generational cycle.

The fic will tell all about their relationships and time during the war. The struggles, the fighting, the betrayal, the deaths. All in different perspectives. Its a simple retelling, and a show of curses.

@multishipperofgaydeadwizards @koezii READ MY YAPPING 🏋‍♂️🏋‍♂️🏋‍♂️🏋‍♂️🏋‍♂️🏋‍♂️🏋‍♂️🏋‍♂️🏋‍♂️🏋‍♂️

[icarus-n-flames]

I posted about this on twitter but I had another idea that came to me. I know we all do love ourselves a clueless Charles, but what about Edwin? Stick with me here, this is inspired by true events.

I want to see a version of Edwin that is so consumed by his love for Charles and the tiny ache of how it might never be, who completely misses the memo that he HAS what he wanted. He overhears Charles talking to a client or someone saying that he couldn’t make a concert or whatever because he had a date with his partner and Edwin is just distraught and distracted. It was fine when no labels were involved, he could pretend that it was fine and he wasn’t bothered but wasn’t a label more serious?

Tired of the mood swings, cagey behavior and solemn looks, Charles eventually confronts him. Immediately Edwin makes a snide remark about how Charles must be quite busy with Crystal and whatever Charles thinks is happening they can discuss it later.

Charles is proper confused at this point and is like “Did she need something? Why would I be busy with Crystal?”

And at this point Edwin is trying very hard to look unbothered while flipping through a tome on idk cryptid feeding habits and mating rituals. “Well, she is your girlfriend, isn’t she?”

Now Charles is even more confused. His boyfriend is sitting here saying he’s dating someone else. For a minute he’s fairly certain he’s being accused of cheating but he remains calm. “Mate, that’s been over for like a year. What are you on about?”

Edwin honestly feels like he wants the earth to swallow him whole because not only is Charles dating someone, it’s someone he doesn’t even know. Was Charles worried about him meeting them? Was he trying to spare his feelings? He sets the book down, adjusting his cuff that does not need it before saying as nonchalantly as he can. “I heard you mention a partner the other day is all.”

“I mean yeh, you. What about it?”

Edwin can’t help but sigh and stand from the desk at this point. “Not that kind of partner Charles, don’t be daft. You’re courting someone, dating…”

At this point Charles can’t be sure if he’s frustrated or amused. He places a hand to one of Edwin’s shoulders, keeping him from storming off somewhere. He says as slowly as he possibly can, making sure he looks Edwin right in the eyes. “I was talking about you.”

Edwin freezes because wait, had he really said that and then he just blurts the loudest, most confused “WHAT?!” He’s been tearing himself to shreds inside for MONTHS.

“We’ve been dating for like…6 months, Edwin, what do you mean “what?” and now they’re both confused because somewhere along the line Charles thought he was being very clear about his intentions but Edwin didn’t realize anything had changed. He’d thought everything was normal. As much as he was conscious about Charles’ touches he always told himself he was in denial and Charles thought Edwin was just a old fashioned sort and would need a lot of time if not an eternity of time to really progress their relationship beyond a the barest of kinship and occasional flirting and hand holding.

No idea exactly how the initial conversation went that made Charles like “Bet, we’re dating now” and Edwin just miss it entirely. If someone has any ideas feel free to share lmaooo.

[otomehonyaku]

Diabolik Lovers Lost Eden Stellaworth Tokuten Short Stories スペシャル特典小冊子 ☽ Subaru ver.

This short story booklet was part of the Stellaworth set for Lost Eden! Keep reading below the cut for Subaru's version.

S ☽ [Ayato’s version by @kyouxa] [Laito’s version by @kyouxa] [Shuu’s version] [Reiji’s version] [Kanato’s version] [Subaru’s version]

M ☽ [Ruki’s version] [Yuma's version] [Kou’s version] [Azusa’s version]

TK ☽ [Carla’s version] [Shin’s version] [Kino’s version]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

As always, special thanks to @karleksmumskladdkaka for providing the scans ♡⸜(˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ Please do not reuse or post my translations elsewhere or translate my work into other languages without my permission.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

—The World Tree, with its roots in Eden soil.

Its leaves continued to fall as if signalling the world’s impending demise. It was a grim reminder of our fate.

Fear seized me. Would I become like my father?

Still, no matter how much I thought about it, the answer wouldn’t come. I shook my head and kicked at the ground. It made the fear dissipate a little. 

And then my mind was suddenly filled with her. She chose me and vowed to stay by my side no matter what happened… She was my beloved.

“But… she won’t be coming anytime soon.”

Where could she be right now? What could she be doing? I looked up at the sky and sighed. The woman, who was usually with me at this hour, was nowhere to be found.

“Well, whatever. It’s not like we promised to meet.” 

Right. Whatever she was doing, it wasn’t really any of my business. Even if she were to get involved with any of my brothers, or even if she’d thoughtlessly become involved with the Mukamis–who had come to visit me lately–or the Founders… it had nothing to do with me.

“...Fuck!”

I didn’t want to be here any longer. I just had to leave. With that lazy excuse, I turned my back on the World Tree. I was going to find her… no, I was leaving under the pretext of surveying the area.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“...You still bothering with that shit?”

“S-Subaru…?!”

It was surprisingly easy to find her. She was in Eden’s flower garden. Most of the greenery in Eden had withered away, and so we had come to visit here often in an effort to restore the castle's former glory.

I peeked at her hands where she crouched down and saw that she was planting a slightly misshapen artificial flower into the soil. She was looking after the garden without me.

As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I scolded myself internally for my narrow-mindedness.

“Hey, hurry up. Let’s get you back to your room.”

“Could you wait a little? I’m almost done.”

“...”

Disappointment washed over me as I watched her shake her head. To make matters worse, she told me to go on ahead without her, even though I hadn’t even told her why I had come to see her. I sighed heavily and sat down on the ground.

Surely, she must have thought I would go home. She looked at me curiously.

“...Oh, come on.”

“Huh?”

“Come on! Don’t be so selfless. What I’m saying is, just… keep me company sometime.”

I must have gotten my point across, because her cheeks flushed and she hurriedly hid her face. Seeing her reaction, I felt myself falling into a pit of self-loathing. I hadn’t been planning on telling her. I became overwhelmed by embarrassment, and I wanted to get out of the situation immediately.

However–

“Ah…?!”

I inhaled sharply. Her frail body, which had been in front of me until just now, suddenly collided with my chest. Her arms wrapped around me, her slender fingers grabbing on to my clothes. I was so bewildered that I couldn’t even bring myself to push her away. It felt like forever until I processed what was happening.

Was she… hugging me? By the time I really noticed, it seemed that a few minutes had passed. She met my gaze with a slightly sullen expression.

“...Jeez. Don’t get carried away.”

I may have said that, but her embrace had instinctively sparked my desire for her. Her loveliness overwhelmed me, and I pulled her back into my arms. 

I pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck. She shivered a little, probably because she was ticklish, and so in response I kept planting kisses on her skin until she could barely move.

“We’re going to your room. Now. You’d better prepare for what’s coming… alright?”

I whispered the words into her ear, no matter how embarrassing it was, and she simply nodded as I expected she would.

Only moments earlier, I had been lamenting my weaknesses and feeling jealous over her not spending time with me, but those thoughts all melted away in an instant. I hastened my pace as I led her to her room, gripping her hand tightly.

Right now, I just want to feel her. Her warmth, her touch, her voice, her body… I want all of her. I want to make her mine.

[ficreadergirl]

Dangerous Inquiries (2.ch.12)

"As far as I know, you only took 3 days off. Where were you yesterday?" your colleague asked curiously. Remembering yesterday, you blushed faintly. Jason really kept his promise about... anyway.

"I was... uhh... a little bit sick." you lied quickly, hoping he wouldn't pry any further.

"Really? It must be because of the weather. It's very unstable." he said sympathetically. You thought he was such a sweet person and you kind of felt bad for lying to him.

"Yes. You're right. So... is there anything new about that thief we think is the murderer?" you changed the subject, wanting to focus on something else.

"Not yet. But streets say he might be dead." he informed you. That caught your attention immediately.

"What do you mean by dead? Who says that?" you asked carefully. He sighed heavily before approaching you.

"Of course it's just rumours but... some says he's killed by Red Hood." he whispered like it was some sort of forbidden knowledge. You froze when you heard those words.

"Uhm... when exactly this happened?" you forced yourself to ask casually. Even though he found your attitude strange, he answered the question without saying anything.

"Yesterday. Rumours say he beheaded that thief." he whispered again. Yesterday? It was fake rumours. Yesterday, he was so busy with you. You wondered where he heard that rumour.

"Who said that?" you asked trying not to seem so curious. When he realized that you were curious, he started to explain more enthusiastically.

"I heard it from this girl I knew who works at the bar near the docks. Her boyfriend is a part of the gang that Red Hood sometimes hangs out with. I heard that this girl witnessed her boyfriend talking to some of his friends. What the girl said, these guys were telling that the guy called Red Hood cut off a thief 'who also attacked to a courthouse' head." he explained.

"Just that? There isn't anything else? Who's that said boyfriend? Who's that girl?" you asked.

"Well... she wants to stay anonymous and wants to protect her boyfriend. But she said they also were talking about an antique dealer who was murdered some while ago." he told you. You gasped. An antique dealer who was murdered...

"That's..." you couldn't finish your sentence. Could it be true? Was Jason involved in all this mess? How could he be? He was with you all the time. The girl must have been lying. You left office to get some fresh air. You called Jason as soon as you got out.

"Hey love. What's wrong?" he answered, sounding sleepy.

"Did I wake you up?" you asked trying to keep your cool.

"No. I was just resting my eyes. What's going on?" he replied, already alert now.

"I have to see you." you said firmly.

"Really? You missed me that much?" he teased.

"It's important, Jason. Please meet me at the coffee shop across the street from the courthouse. We need to talk." you insisted.

There was a pause. "Okay. Be there in ten minutes." he agreed, his tone serious now.

You hung up and hurried back to your office, feeling a mixture of fear and determination coursing through you. Whatever was happening, you needed answers. After telling your colleague that you were meeting with a client, you headed to the café.

Jason arrived a few moments later looking worried. "So what's going on?" he asked once you were seated together.

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. "I heard some things today. About the man we're after."

His brow furrowed. "What kind of things?"

You told him everything you had learned, leaving nothing out. As you spoke, his expression grew increasingly concerned. "I don't believe that you killed him Jason." you assured him when you finished. He looked up at you, searching your eyes for any sign of doubt.

"But why would someone make up a story like that?" he asked clearly confused.

"I don't know but what if..." you trailed off, hesitant to voice your suspicions aloud. Jason waited patiently, watching you intently. "Do you think that Wilson girl is here, messing with me again?" you asked finally.

He frowned considering the possibility. "Maybe..."

Both of you fell silent, lost in thought. Finally, Jason reached over and took your hand in his. "Look, whatever happens, you should know that I'm not involved in any of this."

You squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I know. I believe you." you said softly. Your hands remained entwined as you sipped your coffees, gazing into each other's eyes. His touch was making you feel better, more secure. You didn't want to let go. Your leg brushed against his under the table and you couldn't help but feel a jolt of desire course through you. He was surprised but pleased, returning the touch. The moment lingered, and then, without another word, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his. Jason's lips were warm and soft against yours, and you could feel his heart racing. He broke the kiss after a few seconds, looking into your eyes.

"What was that?" he breathed almost in a whisper. Your leg under the table slid up against his thigh.

"Can't I kiss my boyfriend?" you teased as your leg moved up and down, pressing against him. He was hard beneath his jeans, and you could feel his breath hitch. "Or are you telling me you don't like it?" you asked arching an eyebrow.

"Don't you have to go back to court?" he managed to say between pants.

"Do you want me to go?" you challenged grinning mischievously. "I can go back now." you said as you moved to leave the café but he grabbed your arm, pulling you closer. You could feel his erection pushing against your hip. "In all these people? Jason..." you protested quietly while moving your body against his.

"There're only 2 more people Y/n..." he murmured, his hands moving up your arms to cup your shoulders. "We can use the toilet I think."

"Do you think I can be quiet?" you teased nipping playfully at his bottom lip before capturing it between your teeth.

"Let's see if you can." he growled before leading you to women's toilet, locking the door behind. Once inside, he pushed you against the wall, one hand holding onto your hair while the other slid up your shirt, cupping your breast roughly through your bra. You moaned into his mouth as he kissed you hungrily. His tongue was seeking entrance into your mouth, demanding attention. It was hot and rough, passionate and urgent. You felt yourself growing wetter by the second. His hand on your hair started to move lower, trailing along your neck and collarbone until it found its way to your hip. He pulled you even closer, grinding his hips against yours.

"Jason...," you whimpered, unable to form coherent words anymore. You wrapped your legs around his waist, wanting more contact, needing to feel every inch of him pressed against you. He groaned into your neck. His hand on your hip slid down further, cupping your ass through your pants and squeezing gently.

"Fuck..." he muttered, kissing your neck and jaw. His lips trailed lower, sucking and nipping at your skin as they made their way towards your breast. When he found your nipple, he circled it with his tongue, causing you to arch your back and cry out.

"Please..." you begged, your fingers digging into his shoulders. "I need..."

"Need what baby?" he breathed against your skin. "Tell me what you need."

"I need you..." you confessed. "I need you inside me."

Without another word, he undone your pants and lowered them, taking your underwear along with them. His fingers found your aching entrance and pushed inside, stretching you. You cried out, arching your back as he thrust his fingers in and out. He leaned in, kissing your neck and nipping at your skin, driving you wild. You were kissing his head as he slowly fingered you, setting a pace that was both gentle and demanding.

"Jason... please..." you moaned, your hips moving with his fingers. "I'm... so close..."

He growled, speeding up his movements, his fingers moving faster and deeper inside you. You could feel the familiar tightening in your core, the impending release building up. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you came, your voice muffled against his neck. He held you tight against him, still thrusting his fingers as you cried out in pleasure.

"Turn around Y/n..." he breathed against your ear. "Let me take you properly."

He pressed you to wall as you turned around. "You're so eager baby..." you said while hearing him undoing his pants. That sound was arousing enough, making your sex throb and ache for him. You couldn't see him but felt his length pushing at your entrance. He lined himself up, and then slowly slid inside, inch by inch. It felt so good to have him inside you again. "Oh fuck..." you moaned, arching your back. "Slowly Jason... take your time..."

He groaned, thrusting deeper, burying himself completely inside you. His hands cupped your ass, holding you close as he began to move. It was slow at first, his hips rolling against yours in a sensual rhythm. "Y/n..." he murmured against your ear. "You feel so good..."

"So do you..." you breathed, feeling your body relax into his touch. "Just like this... so good..." you moaned, your hands on the wall, fingernails digging into the paint. "Go slowly Jason... I wanna feel you..."

He listened, slowing down even more. His hips barely moved against yours as he held himself deep inside you. You could feel the weight of his cock stretching you, filling you completely. "Like that?" he asked, kissing your neck. "You want me deep and... slow?"

"Yes..." you moaned. "Just like that..."

He smiled against your skin, his hips starting to move again, but only fractionally. It was almost like he was teasing you. His hand slid up your stomach, cupping your breast over the fabric of your shirt. He pinched your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger as he began to thrust more deeply.

"Jason... I love you..." you whispered, your eyes closing as you felt your body beginning to respond to him. His hand moved to your other breast, massaging and squeezing it through your shirt. "Oh god... baby... it's so good..."

"You're so good for me Y/n..." he groaned, his hips beginning to move faster. "I love you so much..."

"Jason... take me..." you gasped, digging your nails to wall. "Take me love... like that..."

He growled, thrusting harder, deeper. His hips slammed against yours, driving his cock deep inside you, claiming you completely. You arched your back to meet his lips, kissing him with a passion that was almost desperate. His hand slid under your shirt, stroking your bare skin as he continued to thrust, his rhythm becoming more and more urgent. "Jason! Keep going!" you cried out, your body trembling with pleasure.

"Y/n... quiet..." he gasped, his lips finding yours again. His hips moved faster, his cock thrusting deeper with each thrust. You could feel the head of his cock brushing against something inside you, driving you crazy for more.

"So good... so good..." you moaned, your legs shaking as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. "That's it... oh baby..."

"Quiet..." he growled, his hand covered your mouth. "They'll hear us..."

"Mmph..." you moaned into his palm, unable to help yourself. He growled, thrusting harder still as he felt you tighten around him. You could feel the rush of pleasure overtaking you, your body tensing and shuddering as you came, your orgasm radiating out from your core and through your entire body. "Mmphh!" you cried out, arching your back as your walls contracted around him.

Jason's thrusts became erratic, his hips slamming against yours as he came as well. He groaned, his eyes closed, his teeth bared as he emptied himself inside you. After a few more moments, he pulled out, his breath ragged. "God... Y/n... you're incredible..." he panted, kissing your shoulder.

You leaned back against him, your heart still racing. Turned your face to his and kissed him softly. "I love you, Jason..." you whispered. "I love you so much..."

He was holding you, his lips pressed to your neck. "I love you too, Y/n..."

"Fuck... I feel like I'm paralyzed." you complained laughing.

"I can carry you to courthouse if you want." he joked back. You both laughed as you started to get dressed. Before unlocking the door, he turned to you and kissed you softly on the lips. "God... I'm so lucky to have you."

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him back. The kiss was almost desperate. "We should go do our thing before I get wet again I think." you teased, trying to play it cool.

"Whenever and wherever you want." he whispered, his eyes locked on yours. "I'll take you anytime, anywhere."

"Jason... fuck..." you groaned, feeling your body heat up again just from the look in his eyes. "Let's go before I'm late to work because of our second round."

He laughed and leaned in for another kiss. "Yes... we'd better get going. Don't want anyone to get the wrong idea." he said turned to kissing you again.

"Jason..." you moaned, melting into him, deepening the kiss. "I need you again... oh fuck..."

"I'll satisfy you tonight, love." he whispered, his hand sliding down to cup your ass. "I promise."

"I can't believe how we got here. I mean a month ago I was hating you and now... I can't focus on anything else." you confessed before kissing him again.

"Neither can I, Y/n. I love you so much." he whispered, kissing you back. You were trying to push your tongue into his mouth, desperate for him. "Stop before I change my mind. Or--"

"Or what?" you whispered to his lips, licking them gently, kissing him again.

"I'll fuck you again baby... and I won't let you leave this time."

"Oh really?" you asked, teasing, pulling him into another kiss. "What will you do, Jason? Stop me?"

He groaned, his hands gripping your hips as he pressed his body against yours. "I'll show you..." he whispered, his voice rough with desire. "I'll show you tonight."

Read more

[heygerald]

AU where Tom Ryder is still an asshole, just not a psychotic one. When Colt Seavers' sister, Parker, finds the professional asshole in a vulnerable moment, she decides to sideline the attitude to help. Is an asshole still an asshole if no one is around?

The movie was finished, and, apparently, a whole lot of people were happy and drunk over that little fact. The wrap party was currently being hosted by Gail—producer extraordinaire—and it was quite literally the nicest house that Parker had ever seen in person. White leather couches that cost more than her car dotted the living room floor, decorated with Williams Sonoma pillows, and a Versace rug that spelled the brand name out in big, bold letters. Art hung on every available space, while odd statues were placed at random throughout the living room. There was even a pair of perfectly groomed Afghan Hounds doing tricks near the conversation pit.

The opulence of it all was counteracted by half-drunken executives milling around the pool, very drunk equipment techies playing a game involving dice, a quarter, and a banana in the kitchen, and one particular Colt Seavers miserably attempting a handstand on the back patio.

"It's harder than it looks, you know," he told the crowd of onlookers as he teetered left and right. Venti swatted his shoe when it knocked into the back of her head, while Jody tried to act impressed with some half-hearted clapping. "I did this once—two hours. Could barely talk afterwards."

"Two hours?" she echoed; half doubt, half amusement. "That sounds almost impossible."

"Heh, well, nothing is impossible if you believe hard enough. You're the only one who gets to decide what you will be remembered for."

"Is that written on a poster somewhere?"

"Uh, not exactly—"

Colt's peacocking was cut short when an unfortunately timed sneezed caused the stuntman to lose his balance. He swung his legs wildly in an overcorrection that ended up knocking a full glass of Chardonnay right onto Parker's lap.

She responded in true sisterly fashion: by promptly shoving him as hard as she could on the hip with the toe of her shoe. And though his literal job was to know how to take a fall, the entire patio got to watch as he went ass over face into a nearby potted plant.

Alcohol, a nice sunny evening, good music, and better food made the fiasco a spectacle, and everyone keeled forward at the waist in laughter. Jody, bless her, did her best to muffle her giggles behind her hat while Colt awkwardly floundered on the ground. Parker didn't have such restrictions.

"It was a Taylor Swift quote, actually," she told the camerawoman. It wasn't as funny when she noticed the damage to her pants, and with a sigh she attempted to blot the wet spot with Venti's crumpled napkin. "These are brand new jeans, you ass."

Colt popped back onto his feet with a flushed face. A pair of executives raised their eyebrows at him curiously, and in response he offered his typical awkward smile and wave combo. "What did I tell you about being cool?" he hissed at his sister.

"You're the one attempting cheap Cirque-de-Solei acts on Gail's back deck," she tutted.

"You're not even supposed to be here," he whined while plopping himself down beside Jody. She pretended to sympathize by offering a pat on the back. "How are you even here? You didn't even work on the movie!"

Parker shrugged. "Dan brought me as his plus-one."

"His—? I didn't even get a plus-one!"

"Maybe because you do stupid stuff like a handstand in the middle of a crowded party," she sniped. Colt didn't rise to the bait, however, and instead slumped onto Jody's lap with a long-suffering sigh.

"S'not fair," he muttered into her leg, words half smothered by the denim. "This is my first big party, and you just happen to be invited as well. Oh, the misery."

Parker blew a raspberry.

Colt batted his eyes at Jody and she conceded with an easygoing smile. "I didn't get a plus-one either, babe. But you know what? If I did, I would haven't wanted to bring anyone but you," she cooed while tapping him on the nose.

And—god, it actually worked.

Colt's entire face broke out into a starry-eyed smile.

Parker, still wet and now grossed out, decided that was as fine a time as any to excuse herself. "Well that's officially disgusting. I'm going to try to find a hair dryer and see if I can't dry this before it stains or I throw up."

"There's a loo by the kitchen," Jody pointed.

Colt popped up out of her lap, his tantrum already forgotten about. "Oh, hey! Will you get me another beer? Something cold, domestic maybe. A bud light if they have it. If not, I'm cool with whatever is on tap."

She blinked at her brother. Once, twice, three times.

"Yeah," she shook her head at him. "And I'm the embarrassing one."

"What'd I say?"

Both women promptly ignored that as she asked if Jody wanted something, but the camerawoman was still working on her very much un-spilled glass of wine and therefore didn't need anything. Venti made a general request for some snacks, which Dan quickly seconded.

Parker gave them a thumbs-up before heading inside. The mansion was no less shocking the second time she traipsed through it, but it was certainly more daunting to brave without her date, brother, or Jody and with a giant wine stain near her crotch.

No one seemed to notice her discomfort, however. There were plenty other things to occupy their attention. Between the caterers walking around with trays of fancy finger foods and freshly made mojitos there wasn't any reason to take note of the unfamiliar face in the crowd. She wound her way past whatever game was happening on the kitchen island towards where Jody had said the bathroom was. Unfortunately, the free food and alcohol did seem to have a penance; the line was seven women long.

"Wine?" a waiter offered on a silver tray.

"No thanks, I'm still wearing my last glass off," she joked with a dry smile. The kid followed her line of sight to the large wet spot on her pants and went bright pink.

Still, it couldn't have been the worst thing she had seen before, and with a modicum of professionalism that impressed Parker, she pulled forward a second tray with a variety of fun colored drinks. The one closest smelled of coconut and had a cute umbrella sticking out of it.

"Piña colada?" she asked.

"...yup."

Parker grabbed a glass and didn't hesitate to take a large gulp. And—damn.

Thank you Gail Meyer.

The waitress then leaned closer, glancing pointedly at the bathroom and then Parker's jeans, before saying, "there's two more bathrooms upstairs that are open for guests."

Channeling Jody, Parker grinned. "Brills," she chirped.

She felt a little bad that she didn't have any money to tip the kid, but before she could try to work something out, the redhead was already drifting off through the crowd to offer the other guests her variety of drinks.

"Brills indeed," she said again, even more pleased.

Following suit, she wound through the crowds of people until she reached a large staircase. From there, the crowds seemed to thin out considerably.

A few people sat in conversation at the foyer at the top; a beautiful blonde woman that was the lead actress in the film was chatting with some friends. She was utterly gorgeous, with pearly skin and silken hair, and without even looking where she was going Parker covered her pants with her hand and darted to the hallway on her right.

The first door revealed a linen room with a washer/dryer set that she half considered smuggling out when she left later that night. The second a yoga studio. The third was locked.

The fourth door was tucked all the way on the end of the hallway, hidden between a glass statue of a pelican and a snake plant that was taller than her. It wasn't locked—in fact, whoever had previously been inside had left the door ajar.

Parker stuck her head inside, and was ecstatic to realize it was a bathroom.

A nice one, she thought while stepping inside.

There was a marble counter with a large white sink, a mirror with LED lights, a beautiful tile floor, a clawfoot tub next to a large window that overlooked the back yard, edited photos of Gail on every wall, plants hanging from the ceiling, candles propped across floating shelves, a stunning white rug of questionable descent, and—

Tom Ryder. Hunched over a toilet. Puking.

"Shit."

The sound of her voice echoed in the nearly silent bathroom. Tom jerked upwards, all red flushed cheeks and hazy eyes, and though it took him a moment to realize just who had walked in on him, he didn't manage so much as a glare before he was retching into the toilet bowl.

"Uh, fuck, um—do you—I can totally come back. Sorry. Sorry!" she said, panicked, backtracking towards the door before she not so smoothly slipped on said rug. Parker hit the ground with a squeak, and her piña colada only added to the wet spot on her pants. "Fuck!"

The hurling stopped for a moment as he took in a large, calming breath. And the sudden awkwardness of it all had her freezing in place on the ground, staring.

Always fucking staring when it came to Tom Ryder. Never able to look away.

The white button down he had arrived wearing was discarded haphazardly near the rug. His ripped jeans were bunched on the calves, shoes nowhere to be found, while sweat-dampened tufts of hair were plastered to his forehead.

He looked... well, awful.

Which was a far cry from the first time she had ever seen him on the set, and the three or four times after that in which the pair had equally unfortunate run-ins with one another. Every single one had been filled with witty barbs and well-placed insults. Mostly on her part. Tom seemed to prefer the approach of generally being an asshole in everything he said, did, and thought. It came natural to him, really, and just like their introduction it always ended with Colt playing referee to keep the two from drawing blood.

Well. Colt was nowhere to be seen, and Tom was already down.

Suffice to say Parker certainly had the upper hand if they were going to fight.

But—well, fuck. The dude was lying on the bathroom floor at his producer's house during a party that was practically being thrown in his honor.

Alone. Sick. And looking a little too close to death for comfort.

"Ah, fuck," Parker seconded under her breath. She set aside the cup to shake ice cubes and an orange slice off her shirt. Of course the towels were all white. Wincing, she started to pat dry her, well, everything with a side-eye in his direction. "Are you... okay?"

He scowled. Sorta. It was hard to tell when his face was half hidden in a porcelain bowl. "What the fuck do you think?"

"I don't know. That's kind of the purpose of asking."

"Fine."

"You sure don't look fine."

He glanced at her, eyes darting over the wet spot on her pants to the newly wet spot on her shirt. Somehow, he wasn't too sick to roll his eyes as he pressed his forehead against the cold porcelain. "You're supposed to drink it, not wear it."

"Says the guys vomiting his drinks right back—"

The mention of the word vomit had his face turning a shade of green, and not a moment later Tom pitched forward to throw up once more.

Parker winced. She didn't have a strong stomach, and the sound alone was already threatening her own health. "...er, sorry."

"Can you go bother someone else?"

The vomiting subsided. Parker looked at her pretty pineapple glass with a despondent sigh before she filled it up with cold tap water. He didn't accept it when she offered it, however, and with a defeated sigh she set it onto the sink counter.

"I'm trying to be nice, asshole."

"Hm. Since when are you nice?"

"Well I'm pretty sure if you choke on your own vomit and die, I'll be liable as the last person to see you alive. So," she fluttered her hands at him, unsure of what to do or where to touch, and eventually Parker settled for planting her hands firmly on her hips. "Just—chill out for a moment, okay. I'm going to call Colt and have him find Gail."

"No, no, don't—don't tell Gail."

"Are you kidding? I think you might actually die, dude."

"Just don't," he snapped in a tone that left little room for argument. Of course, it was plenty easy for her sidestep the argument considering he was down for the count on the bathroom floor, but after a moment of a silent stare down, his shoulders deflated with a sigh. "I... she's going to flip. Alright? I'm fine."

"Fine?"

Tom attempted a shrug. "Bad reaction to shrimp."

Parker heard alarm bells ringing. When she spotted a nickel sized baggie on the counter those bells turned into sirens. She pinched it between two fingers while arching a brow at him pointedly. "I know giant shrimp are a thing, but I didn't know microscopic shrimp had started to gain traction."

His lack of a retort was more concerning than the vomiting.

"I think I should get you some help."

"It's not—" he started before stopping when he took too deep a breath. Something darkened in his features; mouth flattening, downcast eyes, furrowed brows. Was that guilt she saw? Or shame? "Just... relax. I took some Xanax and it... well, you know, fucked with the alcohol."

Parker couldn't withhold a snort. "Xanax? Seriously. Are you secretly an unhappy soccer mom or something?"

Whatever look had been curling his eyebrows vanished in seconds, replaced full force by a glare. "Fuck off, alright. I take them sometimes for anxiety."

"What in the hell do you have to be anxious about?" she asked.

There was a long pause. Music thrummed from outside, laughter, chatter, and shouting echoing happily in the summer evening air. The bathroom itself was cold.

Even colder when he said, "you know can be a real asshole sometimes too."

And—yeah.

That single sentence fucked with Parker. Because upon closer introspection she realized that, shit, he was right. The guy was on the ground, throwing up, in a vulnerable state surrounded by some very powerful people that could easily ruin his career if they found him and here she was kicking him when he was down. Literally.

Pot, meet kettle. You two have a lot more in common than you think.

Disgruntled at being called out—by Tom fucking Ryder of all people—it was Parker's turn to flush red in shame. She tucked the pill baggie into the pocket of her jeans so someone else wouldn't stumble upon it and his piss poor excuse, before sticking her head out into the hallway. Whatever was going on in the landing seemed to be keeping everyone occupied, and the noise wafting from downstairs made it clear that the party would continue with or without her.

Satisfied, she firmly pulled the door shut. Paused. Then locked it for good measure.

The bathroom was surprisingly empty despite all of the decorations. Thanks Kim, now even Gail is part of the minimalist movement. The mirror cabinet was completely empty over then some Q-tips and an extra bar of soap, and there was no space under the sink for storage. Tutting, Parker pulled the hand towel free and stuck it under the tap.

Then, she lowered herself to his level. Physically.

Tom seemed surprised that she hadn't left. Even more so when Parker offered the cup for a second time.

"What?" he asked, a bit dumbly. Fair though, given the circumstances.

"You should drink some water."

"Can't you just piss off?"

She sighed through her nose and gently shoved the cup into his hand. "Drink some fucking water, Tom."

They stared at each other for a long moment before he accepted the cup. He shifted so that his back was now pressed into the shower so he could drink without choking. Parker took advantage to close the toilet lid, flush it, turn on the overhead fan, and crack open a nearby window.

Immediately, it felt easier to breathe.

Tom took two, small sips before setting aside the cup. Patronizing, even when he wasn't trying to be.

"Do you want me to go find one of your friends?" she asked; almost entirely because she couldn't stand not talking.

He shot her a deadpan look. "No."

"O-kay. How about some food?"

He grimaced.

"Right," she clicked her tongue. "Some soda? Ginger-ale might help with the nausea. I don't think you should take any ibuprofen right now or else I would offer some."

"What are you doing?"

"What?"

He gestured vaguely to her, to the room they were in, and then to himself. She could tell by the way that his face paled even that small use of energy was taxing, and Parker shoved the glass of water back into his palm.

"I'm just trying to help."

He harrumphed, but chanced another sip of water. "Why?"

"Because you were... right," she muttered through clenched teeth. He blinked at her through hazy eyes, and she tried not to notice the sweat dripping down his bare chest. "I was, well... being an asshole. And you need help. So."

He still said nothing. Parker tried not to feel super awkward.

After a moment of indecisive staring Tom took another sip of water before letting his head hit the wall with a soft thud. "Is this some sort of trick?"

"How on Earth is me hanging out in a bathroom with you a trick?" she scoffed.

"I don't know," he shrugged, sipped the water, and took a long, hard swallow that made her wonder if he was biting back another round of bile. Subtly, Parker propped the toilet lid open again. "Blackmail, or whatever."

What a fucking asshole, she thought.

"Just because everyone else is dying to get a picture of Tom Ryder doesn't mean that I am," she said. Her attitude did little to convince him of her good intentions if the wary look he shot her was anything to go by. Rolling her eyes, she plucked her phone from her back pocket, waved it dramatically around in the air, before turning it off. When the screen was good and black she half-heartedly tossed it aside. "Happy?"

He grumbled.

Parker huffed. Don't be an asshole, she had to remind herself while clambering to her feet. The hand towel was properly wet and cold by now. She switched off the tap and took a moment to wring out as much water as she could. Then she promptly slapped the wet towel onto his forehead with a thwap.

"What is—?"

"Just shut up and leave it be, okay? The cold water should help with the flush. Once your skin starts returning to a normal temperature, the nausea should be more manageable. I don't know anything about downers, but... it's the best I can do without getting help or using my phone," she said; adding a pointed glared at the mention of her discarded device.

He grumbled a bit louder, but didn't remove the towel. In fact, she watched his eyes flutter contentedly as he smoothed it out along his hairline. "Are you a doctor now or something?"

"On the side. I'm at A-list parties all the time. You're hardly the first celebrity I've found on a bathroom floor with an empty pill baggie."

"...seriously?"

"No. Not seriously, Tom. That was a joke."

He blinked at her. "Oh," he said awkwardly. Then, added, "wasn't that funny."

It was her turn to bang her head onto the cabinet behind her. "Well, sorry for trying to lighten the mood. I'm still a little worried I'm going to get sued or something for this."

"For spilling on Gail's mink rug?"

"That's mink?!" she shrieked, jerking around to give the rug a better glance over. No wonder it was fabulously soft. "Who the fuck keeps a mink rug in the bathroom? Shit! Do you think she'll charge me to clean it? I can barely afford eggs!"

There was a noise half between a grumble and cough, and when she glanced towards Tom he was sporting a crooked smile under the towel. "That was a joke."

"O—oh," she said. Parker glanced at the rug once more. "Well, it wasn't that funny."

"You don't know how to clean mink fur?"

With the panic subsiding from her suddenly too-tight chest, Parker returned to her seat on the ground, and glared. "I guess I skipped over that chapter in my cleaning manual."

"Is that where you learned the thing about wet rags?" he asked, subtly fixing said wet rag with a sigh. His shoulders relaxed as he settled against the shower glass, and in turn Parker tried to relax as well.

"No. I read that in an old textbook once. A physiology manual from, like, the 1930s. So, I actually have no idea if it's outdated information or not. Guess we'll find out, huh?"

"Why the hell are you reading a physics manual?"

"Physiology."

"Is there a difference?"

"Yes. Like... a lot," she deadpanned. He responded with a blank, empty, no lights-on-behind-the-curtains look. Parker pinched the bridge of her nose before decidedly moving on. "I read a lot."

"Don't you work?"

"Says the guy who reads bad scripts for a living," she retorted. His cheeks had been slowly returning to their normal color, but quickly blushed an irritable red as he scowled at her.

"My movie scripts are not bad," he shot back with just as much heat. "They're million dollar enterprises, that make quite a lot of people rich and famous. Like people here, at this party. What have you ever done?"

"Not have my face plastered on a billboard."

"Exactly."

"Yeah, and thank god for that."

"There's not a chance in hell you would ever."

"Good!"

It took them both a moment to realize that they weren't actually agreeing on anything. Parker thought having her face plastered on a billboard was a horrific nightmare that she would not be able to endure, while Tom clearly took pride in his advertisements spread all over the Hollywood acres. Somehow, though, in their attempt to insult the other, they had missed the mark entirely.

The pair shared mutual glares.

Stopped short when he turned green in the face, pitched forward, and vomited a third and final time.

"Oh, shit," she said, hands waving around and not knowing what to do other than to snatch the wet washcloth from where it had fallen into his lap. Awkwardly, Parker patted him on the back. Once, twice. "Um... better out than in, right?"

"Did you read that in a book too?" his voice echoed hoarsely from the toilet bowl.

And, well, it was such a ridiculous question to be asked while he was hurling into a toilet worth more than her car, that Parker didn't have a response other than to huff.

Which turned into a giggle. Then an actual laugh.

In an even more surprising turn of events, Tom laughed too. "S'not funny."

"No, no, actually," she corrected him to gently lay the cold towel across the back of his neck. "I think that's the funniest thing you've ever said, Ryder."

Some time passed as he focused on taking deep breaths before the nausea passed for good. As he returned to his former position against the wall, hand towel now dripping a trail down his chest, Parker flushed the toilet a second time, and folded her legs into a pretzel so she could lean an elbow on her knee. "I read a lot for work. Out of boredom, mostly," she admitted.

"Bad scripts?" he echoed her earlier sentiments.

"Bad biographies, mostly," she corrected him. He gave her an odd look, to which she shrugged. "I work at a bookstore. Er—own—a bookstore, I mean. I just read whatever I happen to find that day."

Parker wondered if Tom Ryder had ever stepped foot in a bookstore before or if he got too distracted by his reflection in the window outside.

"I don't think I've ever been to a bookstore," he said, almost as if he could hear her. The reason why remained inconclusive. "But I thought the idea was to sell books, not read them."

"Generally, yeah," she conceded with a sigh. It wasn't so funny now and she frowned at the thought of her dilapidated store with shoddy lighting and a half-functional air conditioner. "It's not exactly... well, successful. Not like your movies, anyway. I can't throw giant wrap parties for my employees because, well, I don't have any. I don't get a lot of customers so I read."

"Movies are better than books," he said.

He must have caught the irritated curl of her mouth because he made an amendment to his statement before she could argue.

"I mean," he added in the raw sort of voice one got from throwing up five times in an hour, "they make more money. It's all anyone cares about in LA."

"Yeah, well, maybe I should get a billboard."

Tom snorted. "You wish."

Parker wanted to glare, but... it was a little on the nose. The idea of shelling out money to plaster her face—or even her bookstore's name—on highway billboards went against what she believed in. She liked the idea of having a small, hole in the wall shop where lonely wanderers like herself could take solace in. That's what the shop had been in the decades before she bought it. Then again, her old boss had been all too eager to hand it off to her, and how bill days she suspected he knew that it was a dying market without a hope or a dream.

Only—LA was supposably the land of dreams... right?

"You ever read sci-fi?" he asked.

Thrown by the question, Parker had to shake the static out of her brain before it fully comprehended. "Uh, sure. Loads. There's tons of source material from the 70's and 80's that is pretty fun. They're all considered kind of hokey nowadays though so they don't sell that well."

Tom shifted the towel back to his forehead with a thoughtful tut.

He didn't seem so sickly pale anymore, and his breathing had evened out. Even his chest had dried up a bit.

How didn't he die of lack of service if he was never wearing a shirt when she saw him?

"There's this role that I want to go for, a big sci-fi thing. Gail said that I'm not right for it, though."

"Not right for it?" she echoed, scrunching her nose. "Seriously?"

He gave a half-hearted shrug. "Too pretty, she said. Which—duh—that's a given," he added. Parker responded with an over the top eyeroll, but she refrained from faking a gag. She was a little too worried that they weren't out of the woods yet, and that the sound (fake or not) would provoke Tom to start hurling again. "But it's a smart role. Intense. A great script. I think I'd be perfect for it."

"Can't you audition anyway?"

"I don't know, I—she—Gail tends to know what roles I'm good for, you know. She doesn't think I can pull off a smart, sci-fi type."

Parker snorted. "Why not? All Chris Pine has going for him is blonde hair and blue eyes and he got three movies out of Star Trek. Pretty sure you got that covered. You know, box dye notwithstanding."

Tom shot her a cross look. "I would never use box dye on my hair."

"Even better," she waved a hand at him flippantly. "Audition then."

Something weird happened then. Something so out of character and bizarre that by the next day Parker would convince herself it hadn't really happened; that it was provoked by the bathroom fumes of Febreze and vomit.

But Tom Ryder, A-lister, looked... unsure.

"Yeah, I... I don't know. She's probably right."

Sounded it, too.

Parker didn't even know how to react to that. The guy had been a grade A tool since the moment she met him, and in the several run-ins they had since, he hadn't disproven the label. He basically worshipped himself. Once, she had even caught him admiring a paparazzi photo taken of him wearing low riding swim trunks in a cheap magazine.

Seriously!

The guy loved himself, talked about himself, and never let people forget who he was! What could ever provoke a moment of self-depreciation like this?

Oh, duh. Drugs.

"Jesus, how much Xanax did you take? You don't even sound like yourself."

The question pulled him from whatever pensive moment he had been having, and Tom's response was to promptly chuck the wet towel at Parker. It landed atop her head with a smack.

She plucked it off with a grimace. Wet pants, wet shirt, now wet hair. She would have to go home after this to save herself the sheer embarrassment of being an utter disaster at her first mansion party. And by the time she glanced back over at him he was back to his normal mode of self-importance as he started to run a hand through his damp hair, singular moment of weakness already forgotten.

"Is my hair okay?"

Parker sighed.

It was nice while it lasted, she thought.

"Yeah, Ryder," she deadpanned while ambling onto her feet. She fixed her own hair in the mirror while he finished the last of his water. He actually looked close to normal—because, of fucking course he looks fine after coming down from a bad drug cocktail—and she avoided the mink rug entirely to pick his shirt up off the ground. "Your hair looks fine, Chris Pine. Your shirt is probably all wrinkled though."

"Fuck. That's Dolce & Gabbana."

"I thought it was linen," she snarked.

There was some groaning and whining as he teetered onto his own feet, and while Parker was half afraid that he might just keel over and die on her, he seemed more scandalized by the fact that she was touching his designer clothes.

Snatching the shirt out of her hands, Tom huffed, "do you even know what linen is? I thought all you knew how to wear is that polyester crap you seem to like so much."

Wow. What a fucking asshole.

It was her turn to take a deep, calming breath as he ambled towards the mirror. He didn't seem sick anymore, his breathing was normal, shoulders relaxed, and he was able to stand on his own. Somehow, even his skin had bounced back with a lively, bright sheen.

Fuck, even his back was beautiful. How did—?

A wrinkled Dolce & Gabbana shirt was slung over his back, effectively cutting off her gazing. Parker ran a hand through her hair a second time. When she glanced in the mirror, however, she found Tom smirking at her.

"Staring ain't free you know. The pap pay a lot for this," he said.

For fuck's sake! she thought as her mouth curled sourly.

Shaking herself of both her stupor and kind hearted feelings, Parker snatched her phone off of the ground. She didn't miss the way that he was ogling her back side in the mirror, and she flushed a bright shade of pink without meaning to. That only incensed his smirk further.

"Yeah, um, Tom? I did lie," she admitted, pausing in the doorway to bat her eyelashes at him as dramatically as she could. She wasn't an actress, but she was pretty sure the point got across when she cooed, "your hair looks awful."

She watched his jaw slacken in the mirror with a sharp smile, before Parker swung the bathroom door open, and made her way back to the party.

.............

And the love/hate continues.

[bluinary]

Waking up crying because after 2 years of grinding and understudying I was called back to play a real lead for a renowned director (me out of 3 girls total) and I lost the role to a girl who just auditioned here for the first time. The worst part is that I am also her understudy for the show before that!

[extra-somethin-somethin]

If nothing else Koenma is a Kuwabara stan and I'm right there with him o7 (I need to write the kuwameshi fic that goes with this fr)

[moeblob]

Deacon loves two things: Ymber and digging himself a grave.

Fulj hates one thing: Deacon.

[oatbugs]

pls i need to provide updates

[forbiddennhoney]

):

[swordmaid]

the thing with shri’iia to me is that she is very easy to manipulate if you say the right words. that’s how the matriarch kept her in a leash and cage and shri’iia WAS happy with that until she accidentally escaped and slowly realised how shitty all that was. that’s why - in an oathbreaker shri’iia run - she starts to spite the emperor once she realises what he’s doing with her, and why a vengeance shri’iia run would still be plausible after the religious/self existential crisis bc she’ll be in a really vulnerable place and she would want to hear those right words, you know …

[random2908]

I started by telling myself I shouldn't feel bad that I didn't get all my planned chores done: Saturday is a rest day, and we've just finished three weeks of crunch at work. (Next week might also be crunch but probably not; the product ships at the end of the week but we should be in good enough shape already.)

But then I realized: I ran three errands in the morning, and did three chores in the evening--even if one of the chores was just "cook a healthy dinner" and two of the chores were banking-related on a website. (But one involved sending text messages, and one involved an actual phone call to customer service, so I can't even really say they were just on a website.) That's six things I got done on a rest day. I may have overscheduled by saying I'd do at least eight things, but still, six things is very good.

[binders-and-beanies]

If u tell a trans disabled person to call the cops or tell someone else to call the cops abt them u do not care abt that person’s safety