#they identify i KNOW you will not deliver what i want but for the time being i will be delusional)

[santacoppelia]

Aziraphale's voice - Michael Sheen's voice

I know we all have talked a lot about Michael Sheen's ability to manage microexpressions with his face, but this post is to mark another really interesting character crafting decision: his voice.

I believe that, If you are a hearing person and you watch Good Omens in its original language, identifying Aziraphale's pitch, tone and timbre is really easy. That's because it is slightly higher and more of a dulcet tone than the usual Michael Sheen voice (which usually is more deep and lower).

However, there are three times when Aziraphale uses the "Michael Sheen voice" in season 2 (I'm not sold on having heard it during season 1). All of them are on point for the character and I love the acting choice, so I came here to share:

I have already seen this one discussed, so it goes first: the "Azirapalala- Aziraphale" moment, when correcting Furfur in the e04 minisode. It is made even funnier because we have already seen him being so happily flamboyant... And his voice going lower with the annoyance of correcting his name is precious.

When he vows to protect Gabriel, during the final defense of the bookshop, in e06. “You came to me, I said I would protect you And I will”. His voice shifts as he makes that last point clear, and suddenly his Sheen voice becomes the sign of his commitment to keep his word. He doesn't use that voice when menacing the demons; he goes with a more "Aziraphale tone", while having his face do the "fierce" work.

My personal favorite: during e01, when Crowley comes back after their fight, trying to keep his cool, and Aziraphale is so not having it. He uses his natural register when he says he wants "a proper apology, actually". And he practically keeps that tone until the apology is finished.

@susanwhynow noticed (and I had absolutely MISSED) that when he answers the "Smitten. I believe." he is using his Michael voice. I was fooled by the "You're being silly!" being delivered in a tender, usual Aziraphale manner... But yeah, one of the best lines of these two being sweet is in "Michael tone". Do with this what you want :D

That is quite an acting choice! When a character is built around choices that separate them so clearly from the person who performs them, deciding to use the "natural" repertoire is really meant to make an impact. It is a really subtle voice work, but goes a long way to convey the seriousness of those moments for Aziraphale.

And I brought this here just to present my respects to Michael Sheen for those choices!!

[ddarker-dreams]

Better The Devil You Know.

Yandere Chrollo x Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, discussions of past minor character death, and descriptions of anxiety. Word count: 2.6k.

You awake to cold sheets and damp cheeks. 

It isn’t a peaceful transition into consciousness. You fight for each breath, a losing battle that swaddles your mind in thick fog. The vapors thin out as time drags along. It doesn’t dissipate in its entirety, preferring to linger and prolong your disorientation. 

You wipe at your face with your wrists, ignoring the sting accompanying the action. Hesitatingly, you appraise it in a ray of moonlight that snuck past the blinds. It’s clear, not crimson and thick. A normal product of a healthy body. You should feel relieved, you think. Every organ is as it should be. Your brain remains in your cranium, your lungs expand and contract, and your heart pumps, albeit at an alarming speed. 

It’s better than the chill of encroaching death. 

… 

You are alive, aren’t you? 

This question prompts an investigation. 

Nothing hurts. Your throat, maybe, but that’s a minor ache spurred from thirst. Your skin is warm and clammy. Peeling the comforter off, you squint, assessing your body’s condition. Weary eyes take in everything. Your socks, the lace trimming of your nightgown, its diaphanous midriff, then your chest. Everything appears in order.  

Would your incorporeal form accurately reflect your physical body? 

You shake your head. 

This can’t be heaven — no pantheon would be cruel enough to set the stage of your paradise with props from your captivity. 

It can’t be hell either. If it were, you wouldn’t be alone right now.

You blink.

You’re alone? 

Chrollo’s side of the bed is notably empty. He must’ve got up in a hurry, the sheets are in disarray. The adjoining restroom is dark and unoccupied, confirming he must be elsewhere. Your stomach churns. Determined to do away with this creeping anxiety, you get up, padding across the hardwood floor. 

The night gifts shivers and goosebumps. Wishing to ward off its unwanted advances, you wrap your arms around yourself. You pass through the door that connects to the common area. Although it’s dimly lit, you can tell he isn’t here. The attached balcony is similarly uninhabited. A quick foray into the study confirms your status; you’re truly by yourself. 

What should be a triumph or a relief delivers nothing but dread. 

You return to the common room to assess the situation. 

You’ve never been left alone before. Not without him telling you in advance, normally with a rough estimate of when he’ll return. There’s no way an important detail like that would slip your mind. At a loss, you dredge through your memories for some sign you may have missed. His voice pierces through your head like an arrow. You wince but ignore your body’s displeasure at anything associated with him. The unintelligible noises sharpen, forming consonants and vowels. 

The thrum of the air conditioner eases away. 

You’re left in absolute silence, until Chrollo’s voice fades away, replaced by another.

“... She was five or six, I think. Right around the age where you start losing baby teeth. There’d been this game she wanted and, y’know, kids aren’t rolling in cash. So she figured, what better way to pay for it than through the tooth fairy? I caught ‘er with my wrench, determined as anything, ready to speed up the process. It ended up being a little inside joke between us.”

Your lower lip trembles. 

“... That’s how she ended up getting identified. Her teeth, I mean. Wasn’t anything else left to go off of. I couldn’t wrap my brain around it. A whole life she lived, sometimes getting into trouble, but mostly helping others outta theirs. And to have that— all that— reduced to just… just a couple, couple fuckin’— teeth? What kinda joke is that?”

You fill a glass with water until it overflows.  

“Hey, tell me. Has that fucker ever mentioned ‘er? … Probably not, right? Probably never knew she existed in the first place.” 

Head thrown back, you gulp down the liquid, fighting the lump that longs to form in your throat. 

“Who knows? Maybe I’m the one in the wrong ‘ere. Hell, you don’t look much older than her yourself. I don’t— don’t wanna hurt ya. But…” 

Tears prick the corner of your eyes. 

“There’s no other way to hurt him.” 

Someone’s beside you.

You can hear their voice, though it sounds like it’s coming from miles away, carried over by the wind. Warmth sears your bare shoulders. You smell the faint aroma of sandalwood and amber. It’s distinct, this cologne that serves as an ill-omen better than any blackbird or cracked mirror. You couldn’t scrub it from your memory if you tried. That, or the scent of old books, leather, coffee, and red wine. 

You dig your nails into something — fabric, perhaps — but nothing grounds you. It’s like you’ve been transported outside of space and time. Existing, yet far from alive. Your stomach falls while your head floats away. Up, up, up, lifting you higher and higher. From this impossible vantage point, you sway, your limbs gleefully ignoring every attempt to regain control. 

And there it is again. Your name echoes throughout the atmosphere, beckoning you to acknowledge the sound’s source. 

Maybe you should.

Even if you’ll come to regret it. 

When you first met Chrollo, his eyes stood out the most, like the universe itself deemed them worthy of veneration. You found the gray depths captivating. The undertone varied, you never could ascertain if they were a cool or warm shade. All you knew was that once they found you, they boasted a vitality siphoned at the expense of your own. 

Presently, they can’t. Their unwitting host has been exsanguinated. 

“Where were—” You silence yourself, aghast by the implication. 

You’d sought him out. So desperate for an anchor, you would’ve latched onto the culprit behind your drowning. There’s no doubt he’d find some twisted satisfaction in the accidental admission. You shrink away, but the solid counter presses against your spine, halting your retreat. He doesn’t advance, you’d barely created any distance. 

“There’d been something that required my immediate attention,” Chrollo answers your unfinished question. There’s no thinly veiled derision or curiosity in his voice. You miss the familiarity. “Does anything hurt?” 

It’s then that you recall your predicament. 

You’re on the kitchen floor, surrounded by scintillating shards of glass. A pool of water gathers to your right. Chrollo’s bent down before you, wearing a heavy coat and a tint of pink on his nose. He must’ve come from outside. He stares unblinkingly, awaiting your verdict, which you deliver by shaking your head. There’s a dull ache in your tailbone but you keep that to yourself. It’s awkward enough that he found you in this state. 

You’re sitting on the floor with one leg extended and the other bent at the knee, allowing your short nightgown to ride up. The compromising position stokes your embarrassment. You shuffle around to maintain some dignity. In doing so, you forget the pointed glass strewn about. Before you make contact, you’re hoisted up. Chrollo foresees your struggle and holds you tight enough to thwart its success. 

“You’re alright,” he reassures, his sincere gentleness unbecoming. "Everything's alright."

He places you down on the closest couch and sits beside you. While you regain your bearings, he shrugs off his jacket, then drapes it around your trembling form. His scent and warmth flood your senses. You consider throwing it off out of spite, only to decide against it. You’d be the one to suffer the most. Chrollo remains unusually silent as you cocoon yourself in the thick wool jacket. It’s big on you, but not big enough to swallow you whole like you’d prefer. 

“Should I grab your propranolol?” 

Another head shake.

“Will you tell me what happened?” Foreseeing your tepid response, he adds, “Verbally?” 

You clear your throat as quietly as you can. “I got thirsty.” 

“Hm.” 

You both know he isn’t convinced. It’d be easy for him to poke and prod until you revealed everything — intentionally or not — but his lips remain in a thin line. You shuffle in your seat. The fabric brushes against your wrists, eliciting a sharp inhale. The burn is short-lived yet the memories associated with it rage on. 

“... Chrollo?” 

He blinks, likely unused to the sound of his name on your lips. “Yes, love?” 

“If that man killed me, would it have hurt you?” 

A shadow falls over his visage, like a waxing crescent transitioning to a new moon. When you shiver, it isn’t from the cold. Dark hair frames a far darker expression. His eyes narrow as if he’s trying to see you better, beyond your flesh, at the crux of your soul. You await whatever comes next, returning his stare with equal intensity. 

Finally, he slowly replies, “Yes, it would’ve.” 

“Then why was it so easy for you to kill his daughter?” You ask, the words weighing heavily upon you. “You might’ve liked her, if you’d gotten to know her.” 

The man revealed enough for you to feel like you knew her. Lana Ellis — a woman with an iron will, sharp tongue, and golden heart. She’d recently been hired to work as a waitress at a business that catered high-end events. Galas, celebrity birthdays and weddings, those sorts of things. It wasn’t going to be a permanent arrangement. Lana planned to ditch the gig after saving up tuition money, where she’d then aim for a doctorate in veterinary medicine. According to him, he’d squandered her college fund after the unexpected death of her mother; his childhood sweetheart. He said he’d never forgive himself or the Troupe. 

“She wasn’t s’posed to have been there,” he wheezed. “She never should’ve been there…!” 

Chrollo shuts his eyes. “What are you getting at, dear?” 

His words come out light, though they’re anything but. 

“She could’ve been me.” 

“Yet she wasn’t.” 

“But—!” Your voice cracks, so you take a deep breath and try again. “You… you deprive the world of people you could’ve come to like, be friends with, whatever! All for stuff you eventually do away with. How is that… how can you…” 

Righteous anger suits you. It's a sword and shield that requires no skill to wield, reaching for the instruments have become second nature. Their effectiveness doesn't matter so long as you can hold onto something.

“You don’t need to understand.” 

This isn't a parry or pivot, he's disarmed you.

“Huh?” 

“Yes… if anything, it’s best if you don’t,” he mutters, more to himself than you. His eyes find yours again. “I can’t make sense of your empathy any more than you can grasp my lack of it. If I could, you’d no longer be yourself. Your self-limiting, bleeding heart should remain as is. It’s the one part of you I’ll leave untouched.” 

You don’t know what you were expecting. 

You slump back into your seat. “... Don’t you think you’re overestimating yourself?” 

“Hardly,” he replies. Then, in a softer voice, “You torment yourself, love. This—” 

He rests his hand over your heart.

“—Hurts you more than anything I’ve ever done. Yet you believe it unthinkable I’d do away with such an inconvenience.” 

“So you’re a coward,” you mumble. The insult is uninspired but it suits your purposes. “You can’t handle it, so you took the easy way out.” 

“Rationalize it anyway you'd like.” 

Chrollo reaches for your forearm and coaxes it into view. His fingers brush along your wrists, where the man’s restraints left rope burn behind. The irritated skin is slowly recovering. The deeper wounds, those without a cure, will linger after the surface heals. They’re etched into your bones. 

“Isn’t going against your morals worse than having none?" Chrollo queries. “That girl’s father knew you had no involvement in his daughter’s death. You’re an unwilling third party, same as she was. And he was ready to hurt you regardless."

Your mouth feels dry. “He didn't hurt me—” 

Chrollo raises an eyebrow, causing head to flood your cheeks.

“—All... that... much. I don’t think he was going to...?” 

“No, not until he was intoxicated enough to stomach it,” Chrollo retorts. “We’ll never know for certain, darling. Thankfully, I interrupted before it could get to that point."

That point, that point, that point...

What could that man have done to you?

Chrollo appraises you like he's yet to decide on something.

After a moment passes, he leans in, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. Your muscles stiffen as he pulls you close. He exerts none of the force you know him to be capable of. The gesture's languid nature gives the impression you could wriggle free if you tried. You don't test this theory. Chrollo's mood seems pensive, not amorous, hence your hesitant compliance.

He speaks your name. Then, he asks, "What's really bothering you?"

Biting your lip, you turn your head away from him.

He doesn't relent. "You can tell me anything, you know."

If you weren't so utterly exhausted, you might've laughed.

"You wouldn't be my first choice for a heart-to-heart."

"How about your second?"

You look at him like he's just suggested the world is flat. He smiles softly, allowing you time to think.

It's weird.

This is weird.

The lack of verbal finesse, designed to extract any emotion or confession he desires. You're used to his cunning, his depravity, his unfiltered self. You've come to expect it, as one would the sunrise and sunset. Briefly, you search for it. The expedition is futile. His normal tells are gone.

Truly, you could almost forget the imbalanced nature of this dynamic and pretend it's normal.

It isn't, however.

So you'll need to keep your wits about you.

"Could... er..." you trail off, uncertain of the best parlance, "Will something like that... happen... again...?"

The claustrophobia of being shut in a trunk. Blindfolded, hands and feet bound, gagged by a rag. Terrified and sobbing. Unable to breathe, unable to scream.

You feel as small now as you did then.

The man told you his reasoning. It tugged on your heart. Wringed the organ for everything it was worth. He deserved justice. He deserved revenge. At that lone instance, the playing field was even. The immeasurable gap in strength between him and the Phantom Troupe's boss meant nothing if Chrollo wasn't physically present. There was a chance for this bereaved father to return the pain unfairly inflicted on him.

But why on you?

Why do you have to be cast into hell for the sins of another?

And why was it so tempting to forgive the devil's transgressions against you, if he provided salvation just this once?

You don't know when you began shaking, but you do know it won't be easy to stop.

"You must've been scared," he murmurs.

This observation makes your throat feel impossibly tight, as if a serpent coiled around your neck. His eyelashes flutter shut and he rests his forehead against yours. He contents himself on breathing in your air while you wrestle with the odd intimacy of it all; this simplicity untainted by needling or provocations.

"I never make the same mistake twice," Chrollo eventually says. "In light of recent events, I've made it clear that you are off limits. Those who still wish to try their luck, well..."

The air itself writhes like a malicious entity. The sensation is brief, but the impression lingers, chilling you on a primordial level. You're reminded that his control, while impressive, isn't flawless. Every surface can fissure, allowing the noxious contents contained within to break free. This concentration of ill-intent isn't even focused at you. To be on the receiving end must be to face the inevitably of death.

"... They can be made examples of too."

Curiosity nips at your heels, demanding satiation.

Your part your lips.

Then his eyes reopen. They're dull, lacking any illumination, like light itself felt the urge to flee.

It's an understandable sentiment.

For that reason, you decide some questions are better left unanswered.

[nicxl333]

LUSTFUL TENDENCIES— WRIOTHESLEY X READER

bro…i just finished the 4.1 archon quest and omfg i’m going mad over wrio- fucking hell

characters: wriothesley, afab! reader

summary: you almost get caught giving wriothesley a blowjob so he punishes you in his office (not proof-read)

warnings: 18+ content, nsfw, semi-public smut, blowjob, handcuffs, spanking, established relationship, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, squirting, breeding, slight 4.1 spoilers

it wasn’t supposed to end up this way. hell, you had only made your way into the fortress of meropide to deliver an urgent message from neuvillete to none other than the duke himself, your boyfriend.

so how oh how did you end up with a mouth stuffed full of dick?

“fuck…that’s it beautiful, doing so— so well for me” wriothesley groaned, pushing his bangs back from his face.

you moaned around his dick in appreciation and gratitude at his praise, your cunt pulsing at the sheer sinfulness of the situation. you knew damn well that anyone could see what was going on should they venture even one step too far up the staircase leading to the open plan of his office. truth be told they wouldn’t even have to set foot on the stairs, for they would hear the sloppy sounds of your mouth long beforehand.

your eyes gazed into his, enjoying how he fell apart at the sight of your mouth engulfing every inch of him. the way his eyes clenched shut, scar just below his right eye compressing as it followed the movements of his eyes squeezing from the overwhelming pleasure.

he could feel the coil in his stomach tightening, his resolve unravelling as he tried to regain his composure and control, albeit failing to find any reason to given how you were taking care of him so fucking well.

alas, before his end could occur, the sound of his heavy door opening downstairs and footsteps audible caused both parties to freeze, the risk of your filthy secret threatening to be discovered.

proving his ability to act instantaneously under pressure he lifted you off his soaked cock, pushing you under his desk and reeling in his chair so his state of undress would not be identified should whoever was quickly approaching wander too close to his grand desk.

after a continuous rhythm of steps, a head poked through, the figure confirmed to be chef wolsey.

wriothesley briefly glanced down at you, his eyes sharp in a silent warning;

stay. silent.

you spared him a single smirk just before he lifted his head to look at the man who was now standing before him.

“how can i help you today wolsey? if it’s for time off you already know the drill, you need to give in credit coupons.”

above your head you could hear the chef speak.

“ah, your grace, it’s not about that. if you are lenient enough i would need your authorisation on a slight change to the ingredients of the welfare meals. i have discovered a correlation of stomach bugs occurring with numerous inmates possibly due to the type of milk used.”

really and truly, you couldn’t give a shit on the status of the inmates, as cruel as it sounded. you just wanted to be filled by wriothesley, and wolsey was currently cockblocking you. so you did the one thing that was advised against.

“i suppose that can be done, given that it’ll lessen my work load should i allow this matter to be resolved. just give me the required paperwork and i can give you clearan—”

he immediately tensed up, seizing in the middle of his sentence. why? because he felt your hand slowly stroking his girth. although taken by surprise, he did his best to not show it, opting to clear his throat in an attempt to save himself.

“umm, sir, are you alright?”

your hand tightened on wriothesley’s dick, twisting as you stroked, your smirk widening with your wicked intentions. you could see his thighs taut and fists clenched, trying so hard to not react. he couldn’t talk, he knew if he opened his mouth to speak he would either let out a groan or moan. whatever the outcome, both were highly unsavoury and would no doubt get you caught. after a few moments of silence wolsey pressed further.

“erm…your grace?”

you slightly loosened your grip and slowed down your movements to allow the man in front of you to save his dignity, if he even had any left.

he lifted a bandaged hand, waving it around in a dismissive motion. “yes yes, i’m quite alright. don’t you have ingredients to be chopping or something? best get to it.”

wolsey immediately nodded, turning towards the stairs and swiftly making his way down. only when wriothesley was certain he was gone did he push you off him and pushed his chair back, pulling you upwards and slamming you on his desk.

“oh you are so fucked baby. did you enjoy us almost getting caught?”

he leaned over you, caging you in while he started rubbing your clit through your panties, eliciting a moan from you.

“yeah i know you enjoyed that, you’re fucking soaked you dirty girl. want me to fuck you?”

he pressed harder on your clit, rendering you unable to speak. you arched your back and rolled your hips in time with wriothesley’s hand, maximising the pleasure. when he didn’t hear an answer however he took it upon himself to bring a hand down against your left cheek, the stinging sensation leaving you crying out at the pain mixed with pleasure.

“answer me y/n, do you want me to fuck you?”

“yes wrio please! it feels so good!” the strokes of his fingers increased in rapidness, the friction of the fabric against your clit quickly bringing you to the brink of orgasm.

“you gonna cum pretty girl?”

“shit— yes wrio!”

“well that’s too damn bad.” and he pulled away altogether, standing at full height and looking down at you.

you turned your head to look at him, eyes wide with the fear he would leave you like this, unsatisfied.

“wrio please! make me cum, i need you so bad baby!”

he stood, arms crossed and expression unwavering.

“oh you do now? maybe you should’ve thought about that before you pulled that little stunt of yours.”

you wiggled your ass at him hoping to break down his resolve.

“wrio i’m sorry, i’ll be good for you i swear.”

he said nothing, instead opting to move closer to stand right behind you, dick now pressing against your clit, making your breath hitch. you heard movements of metal behind you, wondering what he was doing until he leant closer over you, chest to your back which pressed his dick even further into you. you moaned out, too distracted to realise just what he was doing until he grabbed both your wrists, bringing them together and cuffing them with his handcuffs.

he stepped back to look at his handiwork, smirking as your arms flailed to the best of your ability, struggling to get free. he then bent down, kneeling while he pulled down your panties, looking at your cunt shining with arousal.

“wrio! what are you doing?!”

“you want to get fucked right? i’m just fulfilling your wish, with the exception of one thing of course: you can’t cum.”

you whined out, jolting when you felt extremely cold fingers against your entrance, tracing the seeping hole. it was apparent that he used the power from his cryo vision to lower the temperature of his palm.

“wrio! c’mon i said i was sorr-”

you cut yourself off when you felt two of his fingers breach your entrance, stuffing you to the hilt. his fingers were thick as it is, so you already felt extremely full. even worse when he curled them against that spongey spot in your cunt and started attacking it.

your thighs immediately tried to close, proving to be quite the useless action once his iron grip prevented you from doing so.

“aht, aht, if you know what’s good for you y/n you’ll comply like a good girl, you’re already in deep shit as it is.”

and so, you succumbed to the pleasure of the sensation you were feeling, moaning at wriothesley’s ministrations on your pussy. he leaned over you once more, this time feeling his bare dick directly on your bare clit. he licked the shell of your ear, whispering into it seconds later.

“yeah does that feel good y/n? go on, tell me how good i’m making you feel.”

“so fucking good wrio! i want more— want you to fuck me. don’t hold back, i can take it.”

he complied, removing his fingers and moving his dick down to your entrance, using your previous lubrication and current arousal to fully coat his angry red tip, before slowly pushing in.

your back arched hard into a ‘c’, your hands doing what they could to grip onto his desk despite being cuffed.

he laughed at your actions, continuing to sheath himself inside you until you were completely filled, resting for a moment before slowly pulling out again. he repeated this action multiple times, teasing you to see just how long it would be until you completely snapped.

“wrio! can you stop fucking around and jus— oh fuck!”

his change in pace was instantaneous, his thrusts pounding against your ass, having you moan out in ecstasy. he quickly pulled his tie from around his neck, putting it around yours and pulling so your head fell back, being able to see him above you and therefore his next words to you.

“be quiet baby, or i’ll stop.”

although his door downstairs was big and heavy, it wasn’t soundproof. and if you didn’t shut the fuck up someone was bound to hear.

you nodded your head, opting to let out whimpers of approval instead. he doubled his pace, something you didn’t even know was possible, almost as if he was challenging you to disobey him once more.

it was becoming increasingly difficult to not cum. his thrusts drove so deep inside you it felt like you couldn’t breathe in the short burst of intervals between thrusts. each push of his hips against yours had the veins on the underside of his dick rubbing up against your g-spot, something that quickly had you tumbling towards the edge. you knew wriothesley knew that, how could he not when all he could feel was your cunt gripping him so tightly?

it’s not like he was well off either, he was quickly losing himself inside you too. although you had been dating for a little over 7 months, he still could not find himself getting used to the way you clenched around him. it had him quickly unraveling the exact same way you did, and delving deep into the pits of no return.

“you gonna cum?” his voice was strained, composure tethering on a thin thread, threatening to collapse.

“n- no.” a lie. you both knew that. he decided to play along though.

“good. cause you can’t cum.”

“wrio!” you had no choice but to beg, for you were quite literally about to cum. his earlier actions had already brought you to the edge, but now you were delirious with pleasure, and had no way to stop yourself from cumming. you already did what you could. “please! let me cum, let me cum! i’m sorry baby i really am, i need you to make me cum! i’m begging you, just do something, anything!”

wriothesley had no other option but to allow you to, given that he was about to cum himself.

“go ahead y/n, make a mess for me.”

with his approval, you immediately felt the coil inside your stomach snap, causing you to gush around his cock. you moaned out his name as quiet as you could, which wasn’t very quiet at all. he never stopped thrusting, allowing your essence to go everywhere. on your thighs, on his, and dripping on the floor. your cunt was gripping wriothesley like a vice, and he fell victim to his own orgasm, hands on your hips tightening, groaning deeply while spilling every drop into your spent pussy. his thighs shook from the sheer intensity as he slowly came to a stop.

all was silent for a moment, as you both breathed heavily, hot and exhausted from what had just taken place. after a while, wriothesley was the first to move, slipping out of you and grabbing some tissues from the side of his desk, wiping delicately at your cunt before pulling up your panties and releasing your wrists from his cuffs with a key from his draw. he gave your temple a kiss before pulling away.

he then fixed himself up, tucking himself away back into his pants and taking his tie back from your neck, wiping the sweat from his forehead and sitting back in his chair, pulling you down with him and engulfing you in a hug.

“now then, would you like some tea before you go?”

[harrysfolklore]

grammy at wembley - bandmate!yn blurb

gif by @londonharry <3

BANDMATE!YN MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

Wembley Stadium buzzed with excitement as the crowd eagerly waited for the big night to start. Feather boas, cowboy hats, pride flags and colorful signs were everywhere in sight in typical Love on Tour fashion.

Tonight was one for the history books. Harry was closing out a successful run of 4 sold out nights at Wembley Stadium, and his family, friends, colleagues and all kinds of loved ones came together to support him.

To celebrate said shows, Harry had a lot of surprises in store, including letting each of his bandmates be an opening act for a different show; and even though it took a lot of convincing, his girlfriend agreed to take part for the final night.

"I'm not sure, lovie. I mean people like what I do as your bassist but my own work? I don't know if they would like to hear that." YN said when Harry brought up the proposal.

"They would, because you're insanely talented and everyone deserves to see it."

And with a few more kisses and sweet words, YN accepted to perform and delivered an impeccable set that was loved by everyone in the stadium, specially Harry who greeted her as soon as she was off the stage and held her as he said how proud he felt.

Now, the band was getting ready to hit the stage together one final time, gathering around in a circle as they always did.

"Okay, I'm not trying to get sentimental over here," Harry spoke to his bandmates, "But these past shows wouldn't had been possible without you, so let's do it one last time for London."

"Let's go!" Pauli cheered hyping everyone, and then they were off to perform.

The evening went on filled with music, excitement and love. Harry charmed the crowd as usual and the band gave their best playing their instruments.

"I'd like to take a few second, no, not a quick second, a brief moment to introduce you to my wonderful band." Harry said into the mic and proceeded to introduce each of his bandmates, leaving his girlfriend last as usual.

"And finally, in bass and vocals, YN!" she waved out to the crowd, but surprise filled her face when instead of moving on with the next song, Harry continued speaking about her, "YN, you're not just my bandmate, you're also my girlfriend, my musical soulmate and my partner in crime," Harry said, putting a hand into his heart and making the entire audience become emotional, "Tonight is a very special night, and I want to give you something that is just as special, and celebrate with everyone here."

A trace of confusion flickered across YN's face, not sure about what Harry was about to do, she leaned closer and her voice came out in barely a whisper, "Harry what's going on? Don't tell me you're proposing becau-"

"I'm not proposing, yet," Harry interrupted her with a wink, "Just wait here."

He walked towards the side of the stage where a crew member handed her the a shinny item that YN and the rest of the crowd was yet to identify, it was when she took a proper look at the golden trophy that a wave of realization hit her body.

"No way, Harry. Is that?" YN said off the mic to him when he was next to her.

"It's your Grammy, baby. Came in the mail the other day and I decided this was the best way to give it to you," Harry shrugged, pulling her into his arms in hug, "Congratulations, bandmate."

YN pulled back to look at him, she was aware of the thousands of fans watching them but she still pulled him in for a quick kiss before speaking, "Thank you, this is magical."

Harry only pecked her forehead before speaking to the crowd again, "Give it up for YN! Grammy Award winner for her collaboration as a songwriter and producer in Harry's House!"

The audience broke down in cheers and screams as YN held her award up, and as the crowd continued to celebrate, she thought that the award not only symbolized a musical achievement, but also the strong bond she shared with Harry, one she wishes would last forever.

taglist: @lightsoutstyles @waitingroomharry @willowpains @straightontilmornin @sleutherclaw @gimsaysay @hazzassmirk @platinumbarbie143 @musicforcinemas @celesteblack08 @scntfrhs @eleanordaisy @lomlolivia @iceebabies

tell me if you want to be added to the taglist <3

[lincolndjarin]

constructive criticisms

main masterlist ✧ kinktober masterlist ✦

kinktober : day two - afab!ficauthor!reader x javier peña

prompt : virginity loss [ 18+ mdni ]

word count : 5.1 k

summary : javier peña has been a thorn in your side for months, the last thing you need is for him to find out you write dirty fanfiction

warnings, etc. : language, fluff, smut, protected sex, p in v sex, oral m!recieving, fingering, mutual masturbation, viginity loss (duh), innocence kink sorta, squirting, reader is completely clueless when it comes to sex, javier is a dumb sweetheart in this, plot w a little porn lol

a/n : yippee! this is an idea ive had floating around for a bit and this seemed like a good opportunity to do it! easily the longest of the kinktober stuff lmao which is why i didnt want this to be day one cause i didnt want to set a precedent haha. also i hate this but it's october so like i can't do much about that lmao. AND the edit was rushed bc i gotta get to work so apologies for any errors!!

  “What’s that?” You slam your laptop shut the moment you hear his voice. 

“Nothing.” You hadn’t heard him come into your office yet here he is, looming over your shoulder. 

“Didn’t look like nothing.” You can’t stand the mocking smile on his face. 

“Did you need something?” You do your best to sound patient. 

“I’ve got some suspect photos I need you to identify.” He’s still grinning from ear to ear as you hold your hand out for the file. You flip through the pictures before tossing them onto the pile of paperwork you’ve been trudging through. You’re waiting for him to leave but he just stays in place behind you until you spin around in your chair. 

“Is there something else?” You cross your arms in front of your chest, glowering at him. 

“What were you working on?” For god's sake, drop it. 

“Get out of my office Peña, or I won’t process your suspects.” Thankfully that gets him to leave, sighing as he closes the door behind him. Once you’re sure he’s not coming back you open your laptop again, quickly closing out your tabs. 

The last thing you need is for Javier fucking Peña to read your Star Wars fanfiction. 

He makes your life hell around the office enough as is. He makes fun of how you dress, he only ever asks you to file his paperwork, (despite the dozen others who are just as capable.) and you’re pretty sure he stole your lunch one time. He’s just in general a nuisance. (And it doesn’t help that he’s gorgeous and knows it.)

It’s not like you’re ashamed of your writing, you’ve mentioned it in passing to some of your friends around the office but Javier is different. He gives you enough grief without knowing how badly you wanna fuck Anakin Skywalker, you can’t imagine how much worse thing would get if he found you’re writing. 

So you get back to work, trying to forget the interaction entirely. 

You like to work late on fridays, it makes things easier, you don’t have to come in early on monday and no ones around to bother you while you work. You’re just about done with everything as you gather up all the finished documents, going from empty office to empty office as you leave the respective papers on each person's desk. 

You’re nearly done, you’ve just got Javier’s suspect list to deal with as you step into the bullpen to deliver it you’re surprised to see him still sitting at his desk, everyone else is gone, only his desk lamp and computer monitor light the large room. You approach quietly, wanting to get this done as quickly as possible so you can just go home. You’re about to clear your throat to get his attention when you freeze in place. 

You recognize the website he’s on. 

You’d know that red bar anywhere. 

There’s no fucking way. 

You feel your face getting flushed, a deep shame settling in your stomach as you take another step forward just to be sure.

Archive of Our Own beta

And just below that, the name of your favorite song, but more importantly, the title of your fanfiction. 

You’re so fucked. 

You feel a mess of angry tears starting to pool in your eyes as you hear him groan. 

That somehow hurts worse. 

Not only is he reading it, but he also thinks it’s so bad he’s audibly expressing it. You’re livid, and humiliated, you should spend this weekend looking for a new job because he’s about to become insufferable. Knowing him, everyone will know about it before you even get in on monday.

In your rage you walk forward noisily, tossing his files down onto his desk, turning, planning on glaring at him once before leaving, hoping he doesn’t see how truly upset you are. 

Nothing could have prepared you for what you’re met with. You’re expecting a smirk or maybe even a look of disgust, instead he’s gritting his teeth, his hair sticking to his forehead, a visible sheen of sweat on his face and most prominently, his hand haphazardly shoved down the front of his pants. 

You both realize the predicament you’re caught in at the same time. You stare way too long. Eyes lingering on the exposed skin where his shirt rides up, a trail of hair running down his naval. Neither one of you moves until you finally snap out of it, squeezing your eyes shut and turning on your heel, walking as quickly as possible towards the exit when you hear the squeak of his chair on the floor as he calls out your name. You don’t dare turn around though, not slowing your pace until you’re out of the building and in your car. 

Thankfully he doesn’t pursue you further as you drive home as quickly as possible. Hands tightly gripping the wheel the entire time. You can see your phone blowing up in your bag, the inside dimly lit the entire length of the drive. When you pull into your apartment building’s parking lot. You grab your bag and hurry inside, desperate to just go to bed and forget everything that just happened, ignoring the throbbing between your legs from what you just witnessed. 

You step inside your studio, locking up behind you as you toss your bag onto the bed, shedding your clothes and stepping into the bathroom, praying that a cold shower will clear your head. 

It doesn’t. 

You feel just as hot and frazzled as you did before. Maybe he was just trying to mess with you. If that’s the case then now he’s just sexually harassing you. 

Stupid fucking Peña. 

You pull a tank top over your head and throw on a pair of panties before collapsing on your bed. You don’t want to look but you won’t be able to sleep if you don’t, so you reach into your bag, retrieving your phone. 

Just as suspected you have an endless amount of messages from the man himself. You're about to start scrolling through them all when you read the most recent one. 

[ I’m coming over. ] 

Son of a bitch. 

You quickly scroll through the previous messages. 

[ I’m sorry, are you okay? ]

[ Call me or I’m coming over. ]

[ Please just text me back. ]

[ I really liked your story. ]

[ I’m sorry. ]

There’s about a hundred similar messages but one stands out to you more than anything else. 

He liked your story. 

Why does that make your face burn up?

You start typing, telling him that he doesn’t want to find out what’s gonna happen if he shows up but you’re interrupted by a knock on your door. You trip over yourself as you rush to your dresser, pulling on a pair of sweatpants before peering through the peephole. 

Sure enough, there he stands, he looks exactly like you’d left him, shirt untucked and askew, hair a mess, except now his hand isn’t in his pants. You’re about to reach over and turn your lamp off when he clears his throat. 

“I know you’re in there, your car was out front.” Well, so much for pretending you aren’t home. You hesitantly unlock the door before pulling it open, plastering a scowl on your face. 

“What do you want?” You try to look stern but you know you probably just look nervous. 

“I just wanna talk.”

You’re hesitant but you open the door fully, letting him in as you return to your bed, sitting and pointing at the loveseat in the corner for him. Neither one of you speaks, you watch as his throat bobs, he won’t look at you, staring at his hands instead. 

“How did you get my address?” You finally break the silence. 

“Your file.” He says sheepishly. 

“You can’t do that! That’s an invasion of my privacy!”

“That’s what you wanna be mad about?” Fair enough. 

“Fine, why did you do it?” You don’t like that he’s here, in your tiny apartment, the memory of him splayed out in his chair takes up all the space.

“Which part?” He finally looks up at you, meeting your gaze. 

“Why did you read it?” 

“I was curious.” He looks truly apologetic, it almost makes you want to believe him.

“Really?” Your tone drips with sarcasm. 

“You seemed really defensive, I wanted to see why.” It seems genuine but you know better. 

“You wanted to embarrass me.” You say plainly. 

“Why do you act like I’m out to get you?” His brows furrow and his mouth settles into a frown. 

“Because you are.” You say it matter of factly, you honestly can’t believe he’s acting like he doesn’t know. 

“I don’t understand what I did that makes you hate me so much.” You’re tempted to soften your gaze, but the last thing you need to do if this is all just some trick is appear vulnerable. 

“You can’t be serious.”

“Please, enlighten me.” He throws his hands up in exasperation. 

“You despise me! You torment me every single day!”

“Really? I torment you?” He points an accusatory finger in your direction. 

“You make me do your paperwork every single time, even when there are plenty of other people who are capable of it.” You feel the urge to stand and have this argument, you’re getting heated in several ways now. 

“You do it better than everyone else.” He shrugs like it’s a valid excuse. 

“Bullshit.” You snark as he puts his head in his hands.

“And I like the excuse to see you.” He mumbles before looking back up at him.

“You make fun of how I dress.” You’re quick to change the subject, not wanting to fall victim to his charms. 

“I do not.” His voice pitches up defensively. 

“You said I dress like your grandma.”

“That was a compliment.” He can’t be serious.

“How the fuck is that a compliment?”

“I love my grandma very much.” He sounds serious. 

“You’re a nightmare.” You fall back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, your head swimming with confusion. 

“Have you ever considered that I just wanted to be around you? You assume that I just liked to bother you but maybe I just like being near you.” He stands as you sit up, a look of honest upset on his face. 

“You expect me to believe that you did those things because you like me? Are we in middle school, Peña? You could have just asked me out instead of pulling my pigtails on the playground.” You stand, not liking the power imbalance of having him towering over you where you sit. 

“I did, you said no.” He crosses his arms and you scoff. 

“You did not, you can’t just make things up to get out of this conversation.” You poke a finger into his chest but he just brushes it away. 

“I asked you out to lunch two weeks ago and you said no.”

“I think I would remember that if it happened.” His anger fizzles out a bit as he looks you up and down. 

“I may or may not have thrown your lunch out that day so you’d be more likely to accept.” He gives you a sheepish look. “But you were so mad you brushed it off.”

“That was a serious offer? I thought you were messing with me.” He just stares at you, wide puppy dog eyes you have to turn away from lest you fall for this act. You don’t get a moment's rest though because as you stare at the floor a particularly harrowing thought crosses your mind. 

“How much did you read?” You turn back to him quickly. 

“Enough.” When you turn back to him he’s staring at his hands again. 

You both know what that means. 

“It seemed a little familiar.” He says softly. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You want him out, now.

“Don’t play dumb, you know what I’m talking about.” You’re going to look at job listings once he goes home. 

“I think you should leave.” You clear your throat, nodding towards the door. 

“I’m not leaving until we talk about it.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You sit back down on your bed, your legs feeling unsteady. 

“Well I do.” He takes a few steps in your direction and you immediately regret sitting. 

“I don’t care what you want, get out of my apartment, now.” You head is tilted up completely as you glare at him.

“Do you really not realize exactly what is happening here?” You can feel his breath on your face, cigarettes and spearmint. You turn your head to the side, refusing to look at him. 

This is exactly what happens in your story. 

“You’re an idiot.” You whisper, willing yourself not to get any more upset than you already are. 

“You wrote your story about us.” He says each word sharply as you grit your teeth. 

“I did not.” Now who’s just making things up to get out of a conversation?

“Everything that I did to you, he does to her.”

You don’t have a response to that. What are you supposed to say? He’s right, straight down to the confrontation where he tells her he wants her and she tells him that can’t be possible. He hates her. 

He kneels in front of the bed, moving to be in your eye line and when you go to turn your head he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. 

“I really did like your story.” You shove his hand away as he says it.

“Don’t mock me.” 

“Jesus, what do I have to do to make you realize I don’t have an ounce of contempt for you?” He stands, throwing his hands up in defeat.

You finally snap. 

“Maybe stop taking my shit and stop giving me extra work and stop invading my privacy and just fucking talk to me like an adult, you arrogant, immature, son of a-“ He grabs your face in both of his hands as he leans down and crashes his lips against yours, you let out a surprised squeak as he cups your jaw. After a moment he pulls back and you’re left staring at him dumbfounded. 

“Now, can we please talk about it?” He mumbles before pulling you in again for a single chaste kiss. 

“Okay.” You feel a little breathless at the abruptness of his actions. 

“I really liked it.” He smiles now, the energy in the room changing drastically. 

“You keep saying that.” You whisper.

“It’s true.”

“Wanna give me some constructive criticism?” You laugh but you can see his eyes flicker to the ceiling quickly and suddenly you want to press further. 

“You know you quoted me word for word a couple of times.” 

“You’re avoiding the question.” You laugh again but now you’re genuinely curious. 

“I guess I thought the sex scenes were the tiniest bit unrealistic.”

“Unrealistic?” You feign offense. 

“Well yeah I mean, it’s written like you’ve never had sex. They go at it all night and he never needs any breaks? And doesn’t she have like twenty orgasms? I’m pretty sure she’d be in terrible pain at that point.” He laughs softly but when you furrow your brows he stops. “I assumed because it’s fantasy that that’s intentional though.” He adds on quickly at the end. 

Your embarrassment is clear on your face as his own expression goes to one of poorly concealed surprise. 

“You’ve never-” He whispers, clearly shocked. 

“I’ve never.” You finish his sentence, not wanting to hear it out loud. 

“I mean, that’s fine.” His ears are burning red. 

“I know it’s fine.” You mumble. “I’ve had opportunities to, I just… I don’t know, I guess I made it too big of a deal in my mind and now I just don’t care but I’ve waited this long and-”

“Cariña, it’s fine.” He interrupts you now, that soft smile on his face never wavering. 

“Do you think my writing would be better if I had more experience?” You say it like it’s a joke but he sees right through you.  

“I’m not sure, how much experience do you have just in general?” He stands, moving to sit beside you on the bed. 

“Well I’ve kissed people before.”

“That’s it?” You glare at him and he coughs nervously. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course.”

“I’ve been busy with work, it's just, it’s never been a priority of mine.”

“You do know… how to do it? Right?” You smack him on the arm. 

“Of course I know how to do it, you read my stuff.”

“That’s why I’m asking.”

“Oh come on, you said it was good!” 

“It is good! Everything but the dirty stuff is really good!” You groan, putting your head in your hands, he sits quietly beside you for a bit, rubbing your back. 

“Do you want me to teach you?” He says lightheartedly. 

“Seriously?” You glare at him. 

“It’s the least I can do for unintentionally making your work life hell.” He’s starting to sound more genuine in his over, it sends a chill down your spine. 

“So what? We just… do it?” You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the idea of losing it to someone who knows what he’s doing. 

“No we don’t ‘just do it.’ we do other stuff first.” He sounds amused but you’re glad he doesn’t outright laugh at you. 

“Can you just- can you just tell me what to do?” You rest your head on his shoulder briefly and he runs his fingers through your hair. 

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes please.” You mumble, feeling a strange mix of aroused and nervous. 

“Well, in one of the later chapters she blows him, right?” You nod slowly. “And you say it’s her first time doing it, she probably shouldn’t have been able to just take all of him in her mouth right off the get go, especially since he’s apparently nine inches? Which is a whole separate issue by the way.” You can feel your face getting hot all over again as he explains everything like it’s obvious. “If you want to start there we can do that.” He murmurs, trying to meet your gaze but you just keep trying to look anywhere else. 

“How big is it supposed to be normally?” You chew on your lip, hoping you don’t sound stupid, you couldn’t be more thankful when he once again doesn’t laugh. 

“It depends, but nine inches is a bit outlandish. Have you ever actually looked at that on a ruler? It’s way bigger than you think.” He holds out the estimated size with his hands and you have to stifle a giggle. 

“Fair enough.” You lean against him one last time before sliding off the bed, kneeling in front of him. “So she’s like this.” You watch his throat bob as he swallows harshly, everything is starting to quickly become real as he nods. You reach your hands towards the noticeably larger bulge in his strict jeans, stopping just before you touch him. “Can I?” 

“Yeah, of course.” With his approval you gingerly unzip the restrictive fabric, watching his half hard dick spring free. He’s certainly not nine inches but he’s still intimidating. You don’t have a frame of reference but you have to assume he’s on the bigger side of things. 

“You don’t wear underwear?” You scoff, trying to lighten the mood despite the combined anxiety and arousal pulsing through you right now.

“Not usually.” He murmurs, notably softer than before. 

“What do I do first?” 

“If you want, you can start by touching it, just do what feels right.” He reaches down to hold your face for a moment until you’re able to calm down a bit. You reach forward at a snail's pace until finally wrapping a hand around the base, jumping a bit as you feel him twitch against your palm. You slowly stroke him, just once before looking up at him, a reassuring smile on his face as you stroke him a few more times, feeling him swell until he stands fully erect. Almost absentmindedly your other hand drifts between your legs, you experimentally grind against your own hand as you continue to leisurely jerk him off, watching how he grips the sheets when you run your thumb over his drooling tip. 

“What do I do next?” You look up at him. 

“Spit on it, hermosa.” His voice is raspy and you sit up on your knees, a line of spit falling from your mouth onto the head of his cock, drawing a hiss past his teeth. It’s easier to stroke him when it’s wet, you experiment with different speeds, watching his reactions until in a moment of bravery you tentatively guide him into your mouth. You can’t help but feel pleased when his hand instinctively flies to your hair, not moving you in any direction, just holding you. You swirl your tongue around the tip, tasting the bitter pre-cum as you open your jaw a bit wider, letting him slide over your tongue. As you take him deeper you feel him against your throat and you quickly gag, coughing a bit as he gently pulls you off. “Go slow, don’t take more than you’re able to.” You cough again, catching your breath before taking him in your mouth again, slower this time. “Use your hands on the rest.” He murmurs, the low tone shoots through you and you quickly go back to touching yourself with one hand while using the other to stroke the half of his length that you can’t fit in your mouth. 

After a few minutes you begin to moan against him as you try to reach your own peak, your hand now haphazardly shoved down the front of your pants. He’s leaning back, his pupils pitch black as he watches you, his breathing unsteady. 

“You think you’re ready for more?” He says sweetly, caressing your hair. You pop off of him, watching a line of spit going from the head of his cock to your lips. 

“Sure.” You feel less nervous than you thought you’d be as you stand up, wiping your mouth on the back of your hand. You feel all fuzzy and slick between your legs, your pussy aches with need as he takes your hand, pulling you onto the bed with him. You sit up against the headboard as he strips completely, discarding his shirt and shoving his pants all the way down. 

You can’t help but take in the sight of him as he turns back to you. 

His warm sun kissed skin, the wide expanse of his shoulders a sharp ratio to his slim waist. He’s toned but he’s soft around the edges and his cock stands proud against the thatch of hair on his lower abdomen. You tilt your head the way it curves, admiring it until he laughs. 

“I want you to do something for me that wasn’t in the story.” He climbs back into bed with you, playing with the waistband of your sweats. 

“Sure, what is it?” You lift your hips, letting him pull them down, tossing them off the bed. 

“I want you to show me how you touch yourself.” You stare at him, a little shocked by the request, your eyes going wide. 

“Why?” 

“I want to see, I want you to show me what feels good.” You want to feel more self conscious but he’s completely naked and something about the fact that you’re still a little covered up helps you relax, with a soft sigh you gingerly slip your hand down the front of your panties. You go off of muscle memory, recalling what you would do if he wasn’t here. 

Tracing your fingers in delicate circles around your clit, watching as he begins to touch himself, almost matching your pace. This would have been a fantasy of yours that you’d resort to when nothing else worked. Javier Peña in your bed, revealing some sort of secret attraction to you, you just never thought it would ever come to fruition. 

But here he is.

Ravaging you with his eyes as you dip two fingers into yourself with a shuddering breath, his own movements stuttering a bit as you do so. With everything leading up to this it isn’t hard to feel the familiar heat building as you expertly push yourself towards it. After a few moments more you shove your panties down completely, wanting to be unencumbered as you discard them. Without them restricting you, you can easily feel that hot tightening sensation approaching rapidly. Your breathing gets heavy as you grind your fingers against your palm, you feel the familiar fiery sensation in the bottom of your stomach as you start haphazardly fucking your own hand, you keep your eyes on the way he fucks his own until you’re just about to burst and he takes hold of your wrist, stopping you.

“Please I-” You let out a frustrated whine but he shushes you with a quick peck.

“I know, can I do it?” You nod frantically, you’d like nothing more. He gently pushes two fingers into you, you gasp in surprise at the sudden stretch as he slides them in and out slowly, continuing to jerk himself off with his other hand as he watches how you eagerly suck him in. 

It doesn’t take much from there. 

His thumb mirrors the motions you did against your clit and that’s all he has to do to push you over the edge. Your cunt spasming around his fingers as he works you through your orgasm, hot white burns the edges of your vision and you keep your eyes open long enough to watch as he squeezes the base of his own cock, groaning as he makes his own attempts not to finish. You're vaguely aware of him murmuring something that sounds like praise in Spanish as you get your bearings, he slowly removes his fingers, leaning forward on his knees to kiss you. You catch your breath through the kiss until finally he pulls back.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” His breathing heavy as he nudges his forehead against yours. 

“Is it gonna hurt?” You’re more curious than nervous at this point. 

“It shouldn’t, and if it does I’ll stop, okay?” He hops off the bed for a moment, searching through his wallet before tossing you a condom. 

“Okay.”

“And you’re sure this is what you want?” You carefully tear open the condom wrapper, handing him the rubber ring with a nod, watching how he aptly rolls it onto his cock. 

“Probably wouldn’t have come this far if I didn’t.” You slide down the bed a bit so you’re mostly laying on your pillows as he positions himself on top of you. He still seems worried about you so you reach forward, taking his cock in your hand and guiding him between your legs. 

You can’t help but sharply inhale as he eases just the tip into you, your eyes flutter shut and your mouth opens slightly as you sigh.  

God, you wish you’d done this sooner. 

It doesn’t hurt. You expected a stinging, or a tearing, instead it’s just pressure. When you open your eyes you find his squeezed shut now as he slowly works himself into you, rocking slowly back and forth. He keeps your foreheads pressed together, occasionally, bumping his nose against yours. 

“Still good?” He whispers, a noticeable strain to his voice. You nod, watching curiously as he pushes his hips forward in one last motion to fully seat himself in your heat. His jaw is tense and he’s breathing through his teeth. “So fucking tight.” He mumbles before leaning forward, groaning into your mouth. 

“Does it hurt?” You ask when he pulls himself away with a soft smile. 

“No, it just makes me worried about hurting you.”

“I’m okay, I want you to move.” You look down to where the two of you are joined. Watching how he gently pulls himself from you just a bit before pushing back in. That’s when he bumps against that spot inside of you that suddenly has you seeing stars, your hands grip his shoulders as a moan slips out of you, the grin you’ve seen a hundred times before forms on his face, you’d once hated it but now it has you gushing around him. 

“Does that feel good?” He tilts his head to the side, nudging his nose against your temple as you nod fervently. He repeats the motion, pulling out about halfway before snapping his hips forward again, your back arching when he slams into the sweet spot inside of you. 

“Fuck- Peña, right there.” You whine, your nails leaving little crescent indents in the tan flesh of his shoulders. He gets into a steady rhythm with it, crashing into you with precise deliberate strokes, designed to make your head spin. He grits his teeth once more, his breath going ragged.

“Javier.” He pants, gripping your waist to hold you still. For a brief moment you almost see vulnerability in his eyes. 

“Just like that, Javier.” You stammer out as he bends one of your legs up, pressing you into the mattress further as he throws your ankle over his shoulder, the new angle letting him fuck far deeper into you than you even thought possible. The soft and slow Javier starts to dissipate as he bares his teeth, his breath hot and heavy through his tense jaw as he slams into you. The second orgasm building in your stomach isn’t like anything you’ve ever felt before, it’s molten inside of you, threatening to burst as he brings a hand to your clit.

“Shit- tell me when you’re close.” He growls, your vision’s already blurring again as an unfamiliar pressure settles within you. 

“I- I am.” You pant out, he accentuates each thrust with a grunt and you feel yourself slip as he applies the slightest pressure to your sensitive bundle of nerves. You’re positive you’ve never come like this before, you soak his cock, a flood of your release pulses out of you as you strangle his cock. He collapses into you, your orgasm sending him over his own edge. You feel him throbbing within you as he groans into the pillow next to you. The two of you lay in a sweaty, breathless heap for a moment until he pulls out of you with a hiss, rolling over, his chest heaving as he lays beside you. 

“Now do you believe that I don’t hate you?” He gasps out. 

“I might need a little more convincing.” You grin, reaching behind you to turn your lamp off before rolling yourself over so you're on top of him.

a/n : I have a very serious love hate relationship w this.

[sanguineterrain]

Hiii, discovered your fics on AO3 and they’re very my jam! If you’re still taking requests, could I suggest something where Jason rescues you, an angsty hurt/comfort? Maybe they’re pining for each-other and maybe confront/confess their feelings, or are already together, up to you.

No worries if not 😊😊 Thanks for the good words ❤️🖤

Hey I know you! Thanks for leaving nice comments over yonder 🥰 Idk if I really delivered on this prompt but I hope you like it anyway lol 😅 I combined this prompt with another I received about Jason and the reader fighting before the reader is hurt/kidnapped.

jason todd x fem!reader. tw: creepy men, crime alley, injured reader, jason shoots people (🎶whatta mighty good man🎶)

****

"If you don't know who this is, you shouldn't be fucking calling. Leave a message after the beep or whatever."

Beeeep!

"Jay, it's me. Can we please talk? You can't ignore me forever. I want us to fix this. I—" You swallow hard. "I miss you."

You sigh, rubbing your forehead as you think of what to say. You've already left three unanswered messages. There's no more for you to say. You just want things to be fixed.

You want your best friend back.

"Okay. Call me when you can."

You hang up and pocket your phone.

The fight was stupid. Jason doesn't respond well to being pushed, but you pushed him anyway. You wanted to know where he disappeared to at night. You were sick of the secrets, of always feeling like you were three steps behind, left in the dark.

If you really cared about me, you would tell me where you go.

Jason had stilled, expression cold.

I don't owe you anything.

Your voice had turned wobbly then.

Jay, don't I mean anything to you? I want you to trust me, I want this to be a normal friendship!

He'd put on his jacket and collected the few things he left in your apartment.

You're right. You deserve normal.

You haven't spoken since. At first, you thought Jason left for a few hours to cool down. So you gave him space.

But then hours turned to days, and now it's been a full week and a half since you'd fought. Last night, you broke down and cried. This is it. You've lost him for good.

Part of you fears the reality is darker than him just leaving. You've long suspected that whatever Jason goes out to do is probably illegal since he's always out at night.

What if you're called down to the police station to identify a body?

All those things left unsaid. Jason will never know you love him.

Screw this. You're going to his apartment.

It's late. It's really late, and this is actually not the best idea to carry out at eight o'clock at night in Crime Alley. There's a reason Jason always insists on hanging out at your apartment or at a cafe.

A man whistles at you down the street. "Goin' somewhere, girlie?"

This was a bad idea. Jason might be the one who has to ID a body tonight.

You can't remember which of these apartments is his. But you can't call him. He can't know you're here, not yet.

"You shouldn't be here, lady!" a kid shouts at you from a fire escape. "He don't like new people on his turf!"

You don't take the time to figure out who the kid means. Crime Alley is known for, well, crime. The sooner you can locate Jason's apartment, the better.

A group of men light cigarettes down the road. You pause and turn around. In the process, you stumble over a garbage can.

That instantly draws their attention.

"Well, what have we here?" one jeers. "You lost, sweetie?"

You run.

You don't care if it makes you look afraid—you are afraid, and you're beyond caring. You shouldn't have come here.

You turn abruptly. You have no idea where you're going, but maybe if you act like you do, you'll throw them off. You take another turn, then another, and you look behind you to check if—

Wham!

You crash into a body. A muscled body, one that forces you backwards.

White, glowing eyes that smolder inside a red helmet meet your own.

Jason's never warned you about the Red Hood. He just tells you to stay away from the area altogether. You don't really need to be warned about Hood anyway. You know what he's about. You know you've probably just sealed your fate tonight.

"What the fuck?" he asks, modulated voice rough.

"I'm sorry," you babble. "Please don't hurt m—"

Gunshots ring out, and you realize you've just stumbled into an active gunfight. With Red Hood.

Fuck your luck.

The gunmen have spotted you, and they take great pleasure in using you as a distraction; they fire at you instead of Hood.

He shields you with his body, blocking the bullets. It works until a flash grenade is thrown, and you're separated from Hood, ears ringing. You hit the ground hard from the impact, scraping your hands and arms.

Someone's arm wraps around your neck, and you're suddenly dragged backward. You scream, scratching at the arm, and a fist thumps your head. You blink at the pain, too dazed to keep fighting.

"We had a deal, Hood!" your captor shouts, arm tightening around your neck. "Let us go or she dies!"

"Negation's over," Red Hood snarls, and shoots all four men.

You cry as the shot echoes too close to your face and for a moment, you fear you've been shot too. The now dead man slips off of you, collapsing in a heap on the ground.

Your ankle protests when you step on it. In the chaos of the fight, you hadn't realized you sprained it. You trip and fall on your butt, scrambling away from the pooling blood.

"What are you doing here?" Hood growls at you, stalking closer.

You start to cry, edging backward.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your fight, please d-don't kill me—"

You press down hard on your wrist and that hurts more than your ankle. You cry harder at the pain, grabbing your wrist.

Red Hood gets closer, and you try to scramble away with one arm and one leg. He kneels down and holds your good arm in place so you can't move.

"I'm sorry!" you say again, tears thick on your lashes.

"Fuck," Hood says roughly, and unlocks his helmet.

Your eyes widen as he pulls it off.

"J—"

"I told you to never come to this area, and you come alone, in the fucking dark, without a weapon? What the hell is wrong with you?" Jason snarls.

"Please don't yell at me," you whisper, covering your face with your hands.

You're shaking, adrenaline turning your stomach. A moment later, you throw up.

"Shit," Jason says and puts a hand on your stomach to help you sit back up. "Shit, I'm an asshole. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell."

"I thought you died," you say, daring to look at him. "You weren't answering my calls, and you only go out at night. I thought..."

Jason immediately looks avalanched by guilt. He cradles you to his chest.

"Fuck. I'm sorry. I should've—I thought it would be better, leaving."

"I didn't want you to leave," you cry, arms curling around his neck. "I love you so much, Jay. I was so scared. Don't leave me again."

Jason's breath hitches. You freeze, suddenly sure you've screwed it all up.

"Jay—"

"Y'love me?" he asks, cupping your cheek.

You nod emphatically.

"Even though I'm..." He gestures to the helmet.

"I'm just happy you're alive," you say. "I missed you so much, Jason."

His arms tighten around you. "God, I missed you too, baby. I was going crazy not talking to you. I'm sorry I ignored you. Wasn't right of me. But don't ever do this again, okay? If I hadn't been here—"

He takes a shuddering breath and kisses your neck. You nod against his shoulder.

"I promise. Just don't shut me out again, please."

Jason's quiet for a moment. You can feel him thinking.

"This isn't gonna be normal," he says. "If-if we do this. This is part of me. Who I am."

"I don't care," you say. "I love you, Jay. Every part. Whatever that entails."

[cantheykillmacbeth]

In Shakespeare's Macbeth, there is a prophecy made to the eponymous Macbeth that "no man of woman born can kill him." Ultimately, Macbeth ends up being killed by MacDuff, who sidesteps the prophecy due to being a C-section baby.

With the wording of this prophecy, it can be said that quite a few fictional characters could, theoretically, kill Macbeth if they wanted to. Several factors could make you exempt from this prophecy: being any gender other than a man; not being conventionally "born"; and birthing parent is not a woman. Here are the three main criteria that will be analyzed for a character:

Gender Clause: A character applies for this Clause when they do not identify with the term "man" in reference to themselves. Inversely, the are disqualified from this Clause if they do identify with the term "man." Since characters' gender identities are rarely looked this far into, it will be assumed that if a character uses strictly he/him pronouns, then he will be disqualified for this Clause by default.

Unconventional Birth Clause: A character applies for this Clause if their inception was done in some way other than a conventional live birth. This could mean they were extracted via c-section, delivered posthumously, hatched from an egg, manually constructed, etc.

Birth Parent Clause: A character applies for this Clause when the person attributed to their creation does not identify with the term "woman." This functions similarly to the way that we handle the Gender Clause.

Unique Exception: This is used for any character with some other loophole, such as being able to canonically change the path of fate.

FAQ under the cut, PLEASE READ BEFORE SUBMITTING:

Why isn't there a Species Clause?: A character's species is not taken into account for the "man" portion of the prophecy, as a character of a different species can still identify as a man. Why isn't there an Age Clause?: Unless the character specifically says that they are not a "man," but a "boy," (See: Peter Pan) then a young male character will still be disqualified for the Gender Clause. How would a genderfluid/trans character be counted?: Whether or not a character applies for the Gender Clause is determined by how they personally identify at that specific time. A genderfluid character could kill Macbeth one day, but not the next; a trans woman could kill Macbeth, but a trans man could not. Who runs this blog?: It's just me, one person. I haven't disclosed my main account yet, but another gimmick blog I run is @periodiccompletionist. Could the owner of this blog kill Macbeth?: Yes, I apply for the Gender Clause due to being a demiboy(? it's complicated) who does not identify with the term man. How do I know if a character has been done already?: I tag all submissions with the character's name and associated fandom. A spreadsheet is in the works as well, but that's not yet public. Could [character] kill Macbeth?: This is what the ask box is for! Feel free to submit whoever you want when it's open. Is the ask box open?: Check my bio for ask box status updates. :) I sometimes close it to work through backlog, and have anon turned off to cut down on the amount of asks coming in. Can I submit real people?: Yes, but I will most likely not give an answer in my post; these sorts of details are often highly personal, so I will not be doing research on them for this without their consent. If they're on Tumblr, they can respond to the post itself and give the definitive answer if they so choose. What should I do if I have a correction/rebuttal to a post?: Please do this in a reblog instead of an ask/DM/reply; it makes things much easier for me. My submission didn't get answered. Should I submit it again?: I would strongly advise against it. It's most likely that I didn't answer it for one of the following reasons: I haven't gotten to it yet through the backlog; it's a real person not on Tumblr; the character/media was too difficult to research (I'm not going to be reading/watching through the actual source material, sorry); the character/media makes me personally uncomfortable; or someone has already submitted your character. If you're REALLY curious about what happened to your ask, you can send me a DM and I will give you the reason why or tell you if I didn't receive it. Are you dead?: No, I just have ADHD. Errm, actually, wasn't the prophecy just a trick to fuel Macbeth's hubris?: Great job, you just defeated the entire point of this blog! What the hell do expect me to do with that information? Delete my account?? Ruiner of the spirit. Jarvis, piss this guy's pants. How do you pronounce axolotl?: a-SHOW-loat.

What media properties should I avoid submitting?: Dialtown (makes me uncomfortable), Homestuck (personal reasons), Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss (or anything vivziepop-related), Harry Potter (JK Rowling is a bitch and I'm the only god here), Hi-Fi Rush (want to play; avoiding spoilers), Slay the Princess (want to play; avoiding spoilers), FNAF (you actually can submit this one but be aware that you will not view me the same afterwards also all my homies hate Scott Cawthon)

[corroded-hellfire]

Pretty Girl - Eddie Munson x Reader

Note: This is for my darling @munson-blurbs 💚 I told her that if she finished the big project she was working on in time, I would write her anything she wanted. Not only did she finish on time, but she did it damn near perfectly. I am so unbelievably proud of you, Bug. I’m always in awe of your intelligence and work ethic. I hope I did justice to what you wanted, and I hope you all enjoy it as well! Also, I hope that I used the academic terms I included correctly, but if I didn’t, we’re just going to ignore that lol

Request/Summary: Eddie × Bookworm!Reader where Reader is stressed because of a massive project she has to do. And she keeps talking about all of this academic stuff that makes Eddie's head spin. So he does what he does best: fucks his smart girl until she's dumb

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), oral f!receiving, slight daddy kink

Words: 2.4k

Eddie’s just hanging up the phone as you step into your shared apartment after a long day on campus. Letting out a huff, you drop your backpack down on the kitchen table, and books and papers come spilling out.

“Ugh,” you groan, running your hands down your face. Eddie frowns and walks over to the table as you slump down into a chair. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asks as he takes the seat across from you. 

With a sigh, you shake your head. “S’nothing.” Eddie raises an eyebrow and tilts his head. You can practically hear him asking if you really expect him to believe that. “Just school bullshit. You’d think people studying for their doctorate would be a little more serious than some people in my class. But you don’t want to hear me ramble on.”

“Uh, yes, I do,” Eddie says, leaning forward on the table. “You know I think it’s sexy when you talk all academic. My girl’s gonna have her PhD.”

The salacious wiggling of his eyebrows has you cracking a smile. Relenting, you sit up in your seat and begin to tell Eddie about the irritants you’ve been dealing with.

“So, we have to utilize these things called literacy based behavior interventions…”

Eddie rests his chin on his fist as he listens to you. He’s picked up a lot over the years and is able to identify so many more words that you say than he used to. Sometimes though, he still gets a little confused.

“Well, then that brought us to the Social Identity Development Theory…”

Nodding, Eddie is almost positive he knows what that is, but he doesn’t want to interrupt you to double check. 

“But after all this, he admits he doesn’t really understand qualitative vs. quantitative methodology! I have absolutely no idea how this man even became a BCABA.”

I know this one, Eddie thinks to himself. Board Certified Assistant Behavior Analyst.

“Then he kept saying ‘phenomenology’ instead of ‘pedagogy.’”

Now those, Eddie did not know. He can see you getting more riled up though, so he knows it’s time to intervene.

“Baby, baby, hey.” He reaches over and tugs on your hand, nodding for you to come over and sit in his lap. “It’s okay, you just need to relax.”

Reluctantly, you push yourself out of your chair and let Eddie pull you on top of him. The way he smirks up at you lets you know he’s about to get frisky even before his large hands slide up your thighs. Rough, calloused fingers dig into the plush of your denim covered legs. 

“I think my smart girl needs me to take care of her, doesn’t she?” Eddie pouts up at you. When you nod in return, your boyfriend removes one hand from you and brings it back down to deliver a harsh smack to your ass. “Use your words, baby.”

A whimper escapes your throat as you tighten your legs around his hips. “Yes, Eddie. Need you. Make me feel better.”

Tightening his grip on you, Eddie stands up from the chair. A squeal escapes you as you tightly wrap your arms around his neck. A smirk of satisfaction on his lips, he carries you into your shared bedroom. Gently, he lays you down and lets you get comfortable before he’s crawling on top of you. Eddie tugs on the hem of your shirt, and you sit up enough for him to slide it off of you. Then he works down your body, taking off every piece of clothing in his path. Moving back up your body, he goes to press kisses against your neck, but you stop him with a yank on his own shirt.

“Me too?” he asks with a chuckle. 

“Yes.” The adorable pout in your voice has Eddie acquiescing, stripping down so he’s just as naked as you are. 

“May I continue?” After letting your eyes slowly roam up and down his bare body, you give him a nod of approval. 

“You may.”

He chuckles and leans in and presses his lips against the juncture where your neck and shoulder meet. The kisses start off soft and sweet but turn wetter and needier as he moves down to your collar bones. Moving further down your body, he attaches his lips to the underside of your breast. It’s his favorite place to leave hickies on you and from the way his mouth is moving against the sensitive skin, you’re sure that’s what he’s doing now. 

As the first moans tumble out of your mouth, Eddie switches breasts to give the other one the same attention. Your hands tangle in the curls that are splayed out over your naked chest, your fingers coming up to scratch at Eddie’s scalp as he continues his journey down your body. His kisses trail down your stomach, to your belly button, then further and further down until he stops just shy of where you most want his mouth. 

“So needy,” Eddie says with a chuckle as your hips begin to move, looking for some sort of friction. You let out a whine and give a tug to Eddie’s hair. A guttural groan sounds deep in his throat. “Playing dirty, huh?”

“Need you so bad, Eddie,” you say through a whimper. The way you look down at him with wide, imploring eyes has his cock twitching between his body and the mattress. 

“Relax, my beautiful little genius. I’m gonna help you feel better.”

You’re not given a chance to respond as Eddie moves down and wraps his lips around your clit. One of your hands comes out of Eddie’s hair to grip the sheet you’re lying on.

“Fuck,” you moan. 

Eddie’s tongue expertly works over your clit, moving at the speed and pressure that he knows drives you wild. Using his hands to spread your legs even wider for him, he nudges his nose against your sensitive nub as he licks at your entrance.

“Jesus, baby, I’ll never get used to how fucking good you taste.” It’s not unusual for Eddie to take his time when he’s going down on you. He likes to ravish you, gathering every last drop from you that he can. The only reason he pulls away from your sopping pussy is to praise you on how sweet you taste or how wet you are for him. 

Now, Eddie’s taking even more care than normal to make sure you’re feeling good. Lazy strokes of his tongue over your clit pairs with him slipping two fingers into you. The moment he curves them up inside of you, he’s hitting that delicious spot that has you seeing stars. There are few things Eddie knows better than your body—it’s the only thing he’s ever actually enjoyed studying. He knows it as well as he knows his own body and is able to bring you to the brink on his terms and in his time. 

“M’close, Eddie.”

He knows without you telling him, though. You both know that. The way your walls clamp down around his fingers, the way your breaths hitch as you lose yourself in the feeling. With one last rub of his fingers against your inner wall, the wave of pleasure crashes over you and has you whining out your boyfriend’s name over and over again. 

“That’s a good girl,” Eddie coos as he works you through your bliss. As your moans subside, he slips his fingers out of your pussy and pops them into his mouth. “Mm, fuck, baby.”

“Eddie,” you whine, trying to catch your breath.

“What, my princess?” He crawls up your body and presses gentle, barely-there kisses along the column of your throat. “You already cock drunk? I haven’t even been inside you yet, sweetheart.”

“Y’make me feel so good.” Your hands reach up, grabbing at any expanse of Eddie’s pale skin that you can.

“I’m here, baby,” he assures you, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek.

“Wanna feel you.”

“Aw, does my pretty girl want my PhD?” Eddie teases with a smirk. “My pretty huge dick?” Before you have time to respond, he leans down and slots his mouth over yours, immediately licking into your mouth. Using his other hand, Eddie lines himself up with your entrance and slowly pushes inside.

Eddie’s mouth swallows your moans as you feel him stretch you out deliciously. Above you, your boyfriend meets your sounds of pleasure with his own at the feeling of sliding into the wet warmth of your pussy.

“Shit,” Eddie mumbles against your mouth. “So fucking tight. This is all you needed, right baby? Just needed your daddy taking care of you.”

Words seem too hard as Eddie pulls his hips back before thrusting back into you again and again. You’re dissolved to whining and whimpering in response to his question, which has him smirking down at you. 

“Mm, look at that,” Eddie muses as he grips your hip. “I may not be a genius like you, baby, but this I’m pretty good at. Fuck my smart girl ‘til she’s dumb.” Not only does Eddie know what to do to your body, but he knows just the words to say to get you hurtling towards another orgasm. 

Every generous inch of Eddie moves inside of you, the ridge between the head and shaft dragging against all the spots that have you arching your back. A strong hand slides up from your hip, making sure to caress every inch of skin it comes across as it makes its way up to your mouth. 

“Open up.”

Immediately, you do as you’re told, and Eddie slips two fingers into your mouth. Not needing to be told what to do with them, you begin to run your tongue around his fingers, swirling it around the tip as you soak the digits.

“God damn it,” Eddie says with a huff of laughter. “You’re gonna make me cum before I want to. Gotta get my girl off again, first.”

A small smirk on your face, you release his fingers with a pop. He reaches down and rubs his fingers over your clit, eliciting a breathy moan from your lips.  

“That feel good, baby?” Eddie goads.

“Y-Yes,” you stutter, your eyes closing in ecstasy. 

“Want you to cum for me again, my good girl. Think you can do that?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “So close.”

“Cum on my cock, baby. Want you to make such a mess of me. Cream my cock.”

“Fuck,” you groan, fingers digging into Eddie’s back as his thrusts become sloppier, a tell-tale sign he’s close as well. “Want you to cum too, Eddie.”

“Oh, don’t worry, princess,” he says with a laugh. “‘Bout to cum so hard in your pretty little pussy. Gonna fill you up so, so good. You’ll feel me dripping out of you for days.”

“Shit,” you hiss, and Eddie picks up the pace on your clit. “Fuck—E-Eddie, I’m gonna cum. Fuck, I’m coming.”

The clenching of your walls around his cock has Eddie losing his composure, groans and mutterings of your name falling from his tongue. 

“Shit, baby—m-me too.”

Your bodies move together as the two of you ride out your highs with each other. Eddie’s head drops down and buries into your neck as his body stills on top of yours. Reluctant to pull out of you, Eddie busies himself by pressing sweet kisses against your skin.

“How was that, my love?” Eddie whispers against your ear.

“Was perfect,” you tell him, a lazy smile on your face. “Don’t want you to move.”

Eddie chuckles. “Me neither. But I was thinking we could get all comfy and I’ll hold you as close as you want me to.”

“Can’t get much closer than we are now,” you point out, making Eddie laugh again. 

“Good point. I’m gonna get us cleaned up though, okay?”

Eddie forces himself to get out of the bed and brings back a warm washcloth. Gently, Eddie cleans you up before working on himself. He leaves the room to throw the washcloth in the hamper, but you figure he gets sidetracked because he takes longer than expected. When you see him balancing a bowl of popcorn and two bottles of water as he walks back into the room, you see why. He sets the snack down on the bed and rolls one of the water bottles your way.

“I was thinking,” he says, turning his back to you and walking over to the television resting on your dresser. “We should watch a movie.” It seems like he already had one in mind as he plucks one from your small pile of VHS tapes. Eddie pops the tape into the VCR and strolls back over to the bed. He holds the popcorn bowl so he doesn’t knock it over while he gets situated. As soon as he lifts his arm, you’re cuddling up into his side. Sweat sticks to both of you even after you’ve cleaned up, but you tuck yourself into Eddie’s side regardless. He places the bowl of popcorn on his thigh closest to you as you rest your head on his shoulder. The familiar sweet scent of your strawberry shampoo brings a smile to his face and a feeling of warmth and comfort settles over him. 

“Oh, you put Tommy Boy on!” Your face lights up in glee as you point to the television, as if he didn’t know that you were referring to the movie on the screen. 

“I know how much you love it,” he says, a smile on his face at how happy it made you. 

Cuddling up to his side, Eddie grabs a few pieces of popcorn and holds them up to your mouth. Giggling, you eat them out of his hand like a horse being fed hay. The two of you lazily feed pieces to one another as you watch the movie. When the bowl is empty, you nuzzle your face into Eddie’s neck. The smell of sweat, weed, and his minty shampoo floods your senses and has you more relaxed than you’ve felt in days. Only a few minutes later, Eddie can feel your breath against his neck as it comes out in long puffs. A smile grows on his face at the realization that you’ve fallen asleep.

Carefully, Eddie moves the empty bowl of popcorn to the bedside table and slowly maneuvers himself so he's laying down, keeping you held in his arms. He pulls your body as close as he can, keeping his promise of holding you as closely as you’d like.

“Goodnight, pretty girl. I love you.”

[bonefall]

Favorite rewritten scene from TPB? Any scenes you think would fuck if they were animated? Dont worry why im asking its not important <3

Hmmmm....

Well, BB!TPB is probably the least changed arc to begin with! Better Bones is a project that is basically trying to deliver on the themes I liked in the first 5 books; a flawed society is on the verge of birthing a great monster, a reckoning generations in the making, which can only be saved by the very outcasts their culture seeks to destroy.

So I'm not adding too much to it which isn't just building up the culture some more, adding personality to some background characters (especially mollies), or shoring up cats in ShadowClan.

I've got an old post floating around somewhere about my goals and a basic summary for each book, but here's a MASSIVE ramble about things I plan to add

The three MAJOR cool scenes in here though?

Rusty's Collar

Deerfoot's Sabotauge

Scourge's Collar

Into the Wild: Opening stuff, ThunderClan expansions, Rusty's Collar

For one, DAPPLETAIL has a much bigger role as Firepaw's first teacher. Rusty speaks Townmew; he needs to learn Clanmew.

So I might make the meeting with Graypaw earlier, or just have a bit more of a transitional period where he's "living with a paw in both worlds" before he gets named Firepaw

He also is able to see and take part in some of the Expanded Roles, while still learning Clanmew.

Frostfur is Head of Kitchen Patrol, pregnant, and overworked. Rusty likes her though, he can't always tell what she's saying but he learns she calls him the "Intense Gingerthing (affectionate)" and she's got cool scars

Tigerclaw might be Head of Hunting, or his cousin Willowpelt. Undecided yet; Willowpelt will be taking over after he becomes deputy though.

I forgor who is Construction Head at the moment, probably Mousefur. In any case it's a molly, One-eye has been retired for a long while.

Dappletail is the Educator, naturally, and she hangs out with Ravenpaw and her son Graypaw. Ravenpaw has a habit of telling tall tales.

The adult he's closest to though? Spottedleaf, the Cleric, like a big sister.

IMPORTANT: Rusty's time as a not-apprentice comes to a hard end with his battle against Longtail. Probably because he now understands enough Clanmew to know he's talking shit.

This time though, we're setting up some foreshadowing lads

Unlike other depictions of the collar removal where it's framed like the triumphant moment he enters the Clans, with a beam of sunlight revealing to Bluestar that he is the cat of great prophecy, his collar being snapped off comes with trembling fury and anxiety

He was terrified and angry in that moment! He's been bullied by Longtail, it just came to physical blows, and he was being choked by his collar digging into his throat so he couldn't breathe. When it suddenly SNAPS, he's hacking and coughing, but the whole Clan is cheering at the spectacle, it's like...

He's being told he's just proved himself. The joy of finally getting what he's really wanted, of landing a mark on his bully and being CELEBRATED for it, it starts to wash away the fear and fury.

It's sudden, like whiplash. He's trembling, he's growling, he's smiling. His stomach is rolling and he doesn't know which emotion is turning it.

Then, his collar is buried. He only sees it out of the corner of his eye, Dappletail (someone he likes) digging a little hole and dropping it in. Like getting rid of something dirty. He can't identify the emotion that prickles his heart in that moment, and to his dying day he never learns the word for it.

But it's going to be the same thing he feels, much much later, after the roar of the BloodClan battle has gone quiet and he's staring at the collar he ripped off Scourge. He spared the leader's life and caused the group to retreat... but, looking at that collar, so lovingly studded with trophies not unlike the ivory Clan cats take from boar hunts...

He realizes that it's meaningful. To Scourge. He can't go far enough to admit that his own collar meant something to him... but...

it would be wrong to just discard this. This emotion drives him to eventually approach Scourge and BloodClan again, in the Epilogue, returning the collar as a gift of goodwill and re-opening discussion about Tigerstar's Impossible Deal. These talks open up a new era of peace and trading between Chelford and the White Hart, until TNP brings it to a tragic end.

But anyway!

Ally Expansions + Deerfoot's Sabotage

In an effort to establish that the Clans have unique subcultures, and that the cats within them are unique individuals, BB!TPB needs more positive supporting cast in more than just WindClan.

GATHERINGS NOW HAVE AFTERGATHERINGS. This is like a discreet afterparty, which adult warriors can choose to attend by simply staying behind when their leadership returns home.

Fireheart regularly attends them until the moment he becomes leader.

A few of his friends in other Clans are Aftergathering regulars. Onewhisker, Mosspelt, Wetfoot.

Some others are just occasional visitors. Mistyfoot is brought along by her sis-in-law, Mosspelt, once or twice. Morningflower comes to do some trades.

(at his FIRST aftergathering he gets to meet Carpwhisker and Cinderfur. These two are noted to stop coming when the political tides harden.)

Because this is the Thistle Era, the Aftergathering is much smaller than it will be in a few generations.

They're also still careful to not leak too much information outside of their own Clans, and the ShadowClan cats are even particularly excited at Fireheart's first Aftergathering because it was difficult to regularly attend these while Brokenstar was leader.

DEERFOOT is a MUCH expanded character. Son of Lizardstripe, brother of Runningnose and Tangleburr, Deerfoot is involved in opposing both Brokenstar, and later NIGHTSTAR when he feels he's going against what Deerfoot fought so hard for.

And, most famously and most fatally, he's the head of the TigerClan Rebels.

Much as I like Ravenpaw... he's not getting his cameo at Stonefur's execution. No, I'm not going to be having the HalfClan cats rescued by Graystripe's bad feeling and also Ravenpaw is there. Freeing the prisoners was an action that came from WITHIN TigerClan.

Deerfoot is going to be beseeching Firestar for it. I haven't figured out EXACTLY how yet, but I'm thinking that it's after Darkstripe was exiled (suddenly, Tigerstar no longer has a mole in ThunderClan) and he's able to ask for Firestar's help openly and honestly, and tell him how many cats will need refuge if the plan is successful.

Being leader now, and not JUST a deputy, Firestar has to consider the way it might drag his Clan into conflict with a huge opponent... which Deerfoot assures won't happen, because his forces have a process. Using ochre and onion, they obscure themselves completely. Not a single one's been caught-- besides the ones who were picked up for the "crime" of being HalfClan.

Deerfoot is going to be killed for what he does here, saving so many lives. So he won't pay for the little trick he's going to pull.

While applying Firestar's ochre and onion, just before entering the camp to rescue the HalfClan cats (and finding they've started an execution early-- with Stonefur), Deerfoot draws back to look at his handiwork. Not a single fleck of his bright, unmistakable orange fur is peaking through his disguise.

So he clicks his tongue, "I've missed a spot." With a rub of his paw, the ochre around the ThunderClan leader's eyes is smudged. Just enough that anyone locking with those green eyes would see the fire poking out from beneath.

Later, when Firestar learns of this after Deerfoot's death... he chuckles with equal parts bitterness and admiration. Most of Deerfoot's Rebels had to go right back to living in TigerClan, and knowing Firestar was leading the battle patrol would take suspicion off them... but, knowing his old, lost ally... a bigger part of it was that Deerfoot was hoping that information would reach Tigerstar and BURN into him.

Compassionate and spiteful to the last, that Deerfoot.

Darkest Hour: BloodClan and Scourge's Collar

I think if I was going to rename the individual books, I'd call the last book of BB!TPB "The Moment of Truth."

BloodClan is keeping the way that it's not important until the last book. Aside from an offhanded mention here and there and a run-in with some peons that replace the rats that attack Bluestar, they're not relevant until the moment they're introduced.

I do want to keep how SURPRISING it was to see them suddenly roll up, keep that feeling that they're brutal, unsettling, foreign. When Tigerstar loses his shit on Scourge for not following his order and attempts to kill him, I want to keep how cold, sudden, and BRUTAL that ending was.

But... when Scourge FIRST appears on screen, he looks much different from the Iceheart he will eventually become. He begins to look less "monstrous" and more like a PERSON as Firestar realizes that they're not so different.

Scourge has no pupils at first. His eyes are solid, icy blue.

He also has no mouth when he isn't about to bite, no lip synch when he talks. Like he's just existing ominously onscreen, wind ruffling his spiky, ungroomed fur.

Before the killing of Tigerstar, it's noted that Scourge's speech is odd, and hard to understand. But, you can sort of make out his intent if you listen carefully.

Firestar recognizes that he is speaking Townmew, his own first language.

Tigerstar doesn't really respect him enough to listen, until he barks an order and Scourge tells him, "...My cats move when I command them, and not before."

Like canon, Firestar steps forward to speak with Scourge. Unlike canon, he very intentionally begins speaking Townmew.

ALSO like canon, when Firestar explains Tigerstar's crimes, that he will never honor any bargains he has made, and thus that they can't be trusted, he rolls that Nat20 and Scourge tells him that there will be no battle today as he thinks about this new information.

And, of course, Tigerstar lost his marbles about this. And also his organs

And Scourge is SEETHING. That's his LAST straw. He made a deal and he is NOT being given what he is owed, he tried to gracefully walk away only for Tigerstar to disrespect him for the last time, and he's SICK. AND. TIRED. Of backstabbing, DISHONORABLE CLAN CATS.

And YET. He remains cool. And he tells Firestar directly, "In light of this, I have changed my mind. We will be taking what we are owed. You have three days to leave, or it will come to combat."

Another big change from canon is that no Clan needs to be convinced to fight. It's a battle culture. They were ALWAYS going to win, or die in glorious combat. Running away is not an option in this era-- they believe their eternal reward is up in StarClan.

But Firestar CAN unite them, bring them together to discuss battle plans. And in this first day...

TigerClan is dismantled. Though Leopardstar tries to cling to her newfound leadership of TigerClan; both Shadow and River are clearly tense and demoralized. Anxious and snappish warriors are mulling about the camp.

and STILL, Firestar is dealing with a bunch of cats who are openly disrespecting him.

Even when he reminds them, "YOU brought him to the Forest! Tigerstar's deal was HALF our land and I could pull LionClan out at any time! I'm trying to HELP YOU"

Darkstripe in particular is still here with his little xenophobic jabs. And he is Xenophobic Jabbering.

In spite of the guilt Leopardstar feels, and the resentment that Blackfoot is starting to feel for Tigerstar and the position he's being thrust into, they're still DIFFICULT, not giving Firestar clear answers about if they're going to come talk battle strategies or not.

Firestar can't believe this.

They're really gonna do this. Say that TigerClan can take care of its own problems.

They're just gonna try and hold onto their scraps of pride and charge into battle, NO plan, because they think they're above him.

After ALL OF THIS, EVERYTHING thats happened, the times they've fought and he's won, becoming deputy, even earning the authority of a leader...

They're STILL not taking him seriously.

This prompts Firestar to end up losing it, the "I saw what you did to Stonefur" speech to Blackstar is moved here, addressed to BOTH of them.

But this time, there's even MORE victims. He lists ALL of them, plus the refugees still in his camp.

And they're gonna kill even MORE cats? What? To be the smuggest corpses in the GROUND?

OR MAYBE THE HAPPIEST LITTLE SKULLS ON THEIR STUPID HILL.

It SHUTS them up.

Leopardstar, in particular, clearly haunted by this... her own father, Mudfur, is one of those refugees. And she is staring intently at some of the bones on the hill.

Unfortunately, her remorse will not stick. Distance will make Blackstar more ashamed, but Leopardstar begins to look back with nostalgia.

But FOR NOW? It MATTERS.

Darkstripe comes in with another little comment, and she snaps at him.

Then she turns back on the Bonehill, and says the, "This belongs to a darker time" line.

Firestar also ends up visiting with Barley Sr, Jr, and Ravenpaw. Chatting about reasons why Ravenpaw still doesn't want to come back, even though Tigerstar is gone.

And about BloodClan, as Barley Senior comes from there. Bone is his mother (though due to some timeline things I'm considering her being his sister; and then Hoot and Jumper are littermates OR cousins of Junior.)

Ends up explaining a bit about the history, how it was formed because of Oakstar, the context of the descendant of Oakstar turning on Scourge like that

Plus why Barley Sr left. His time as a solver, the death of Violet Sr, the way BloodClan demands tribute to keep its cats fed.

And while BloodClan has issues... Firestar is realizing... so do the Clans.

Violence, blood feuds, war... xenophobia. He's still seething over that exchange from earlier.

Firestar's anxious over the big fight, and the people he knows he will lose. GOOD people. The battle won't discern the crackerjacks from the jackasses; people he loves will die. He HAS to win. And yet, his feelings towards Scourge feel frustratingly conflicted.

On the second day...

Finally he's getting somewhere with the other four Clans. Everyone's preparing properly, learning how to fight TOGETHER and not just as four separate entities.

But in ShadowClan, he catches POISONS. Runningnose and Blackfoot are planning to go into battle using the same tactics they used against WindClan-- things that won't kill right away, but will cause inevitable infection and kill slowly, and painfully.

And they're showing OTHERS about it, too.

And this UPSETS Firestar

But, AGAIN, he's able to talk to them. They have a point-- if BloodClan is going to use those claw-weapons, they ALSO have an unfair advantage.

Firestar, about to invent Rules of Engagement: "If they weren't going to use them though?"

That's how Firestar ended up in a british back alley. Meeting with BloodClan.

Scourge is cold and polite, as always, makes a comment about him being early.

Firestar tells him about the poisons, how he's seen them be used before, and how they will kill slowly,

Scourge is torn... at first, thinking it might be a lie, but then the shock of what might happen sets in. He asks, "and why would you warn us about this?"

"Because it's the right thing to do. We're fighting for our home and you're fighting for your promise; It should be a fair fight."

"which means you're reigning them in, then?"

Nods, "If you use the claw extenders, they're going to use an unfair advantage of their own"

As they dig deeper into the conversation, Scourge loses his patience.

"Enough. I've heard enough lies from Clan cats, forest fool. You untrustworthy lot NEVER uphold your end of the bargain, you come here to weaken us but we will not be tricked by a dishonorable foe ever again."

It's starting to hit Firestar now. Scourge... is kinda right.

He's RIGHT to be so distrustful of Clan cats. To think they're dishonorable. He's seen them all himself; liars, hypocrites, cowards, all of them allowing EVIL things to be done to innocent cats.

The pause seems to last days, but it's clear to Scourge he's thinking deeply about what he said.

When Firestar looks up he tells him, "I understand. But I am honorable."

Scourge laughs at that. The whole alley does.

But he stands firm. He will uphold HIS end. "And when you come tomorrow, you will see that I've held my people to it."

"Then you're a greater fool than I thought, weakening yourself."

"Tigerstar believed that honor made us weak," he says with defiance, "and you killed him. I buried him. Now he is dead; don't choose to keep his memory alive."

AND ON THE THIRD AND LAST DAY

When they all come to face off at Fourtrees, it is seen, most of BloodClan is not wearing their extenders.

And most of the Clan cats do not have deathberry-red claws.

There are just some. On both sides.

Scourge is not one of them. His claws are his own

Fire and Scourge step foward in the center, their armies behind them.

Scourge quietly points out the irony in a hushed tone, for what he is about to say could have offended either army;

"Two fools, alike in their dignity. Perhaps in another time we would have been Brothers-in-Honor, you and I."

Brother-in-Honor = Townmew term for someone who unites you through a shared, noble cause.

But Firestar is done. He had to say goodbye to many of his cats this morning, he doesn't know who will live and who will die. The Warriors stand behind him, proud and noble, but terrified to their core. He knows this.

This is their HOME. And he is the holy leader of ThunderClan, bearing the fragment of a star within him.

He's lost his patience, and his sympathy. When he responds, it's loud enough for both armies to hear. (Note: Ever so slightly performative)

"Last chance, Scourge! One step further, and you'll meet the full might of the Warrior Clans."

"Two fools," the little cat laments, "One far more foolish than the other!"

He screeches for BloodClan to attack, and like canon, Firestar loses track of Scourge in the torrent of angry cats

Battle otherwise goes very similar to canon. Out of left field, Darkstripe turns on Firestar with deathberry-red claws, furious and embarassed that he took Tigerstar away and prevented them all from fighting with "every advantage"

Graystripe. One-Man Firestar Defense Squad, body checks him and kills him, trembling in disbelief and immediate regret over his brother's body

Whitestorm loses his fight with Bone and falls, bleeding, to the ground

As he dies, he tells Firestar to let go of his grudges. He was wronged, he was hurt, but please don't let that stop him from making the right choice. Longtail should be deputy.

Firestar announces Longtail is his deputy right there.

The apprentices dogpile Bone in revenge, though I also wouldn't mind changing it. In any case, Bone's dead before Willowpelt can even realize her mate is gone

When he finally sees Scourge again, they grapple ferociously until the little cat breaks loose

Trying to avoid the grallocking move that ended Tigerstar in a blow and not knowing Scourge can't do that without his claw extenders, he pulls back and leaves himself wide open for a vicious transverse slash

He's split open from neck to arm, he can feel himself bleeding out

Scourge looks at him with pity but says nothing, flicking his claws like he's wicking the blood from a sword.

Game_Over.png

Firestar's vision fades into flashing stars and bursts into the silver-and-blue lights of StarClan

He sees the faces of everyone who he's lost, everyone he couldn't save. Spottedleaf who died in a raid. Stonefur whose execution came too soon. Pikepaw who refused to take refuge with his mother. That old bastard Deerfoot. Whitestorm whose blood is replaced with fresh stars.

Yellowfang comes forward, threading constellations like stitches through his gash, snipping at him to stop wriggling like a worm. Spottedleaf is also helping in a way he doesn't understand, licking his fur the wrong way and returning his lost blood like a Mi returns warmth to a cold kitten.

He smiles, filled with the wonderful sensation of a Sharing of Stars, until it hits him again that he needs to go back

Hmm.. maybe ill have it so Whitestorm had no last words and he gives them here. "Don't let the grudges of the past ruin the future. Make the choices you know are right."

Bring the theme together; he was talking about Longtail, but Firestar interprets it differently.

And when he wakes up in his body, gash aching but skillfully closed by the best healers he ever knew, he feels like they filled his veins with a lion's blood.

He grins, a mixture of humor and righteous fury. He didn't know Scourge's tricks, but he doesn't know HIS either.

Scourge has his back turned, focused on Onewhisker who's cowering in front of him. Firestar bowls into him, catching him off guard

"You! You died! I killed you!"

"I played dead."

With a second bolt of strength, Scourge tries to turn it around and they tumble, hissing and spitting, but the little cat doesn't get a second chance

He's pinned like prey, one paw holding his head and the other pulling down his shoulder, growling like an animal with its neck exposed for a brutal killing bite

Firestar lunges down and Scourge screeches, a horrible crack of teeth on bone quiets the battlefield

And then a SNAP

The sun glimmers on the bloodstained collar's fangs, one of the teeth cracked by Firestar's jaws, as he throws it behind him

Scourge's face is truly apparent to Firestar for the first time, his icy eyes wide with astonishment

Firestar recites the beautiful words that had once been made hollow by hypocrisy, "A true warrior does NOT need kill to win their battles," but he presses his paw into Scourge's pulse as a warning, "DO they?!"

He lifts his paw, and Scourge calls for BloodClan to retreat

Though the warriors are shocked at first, they saw his collar ripped off and his black fur soaked in his own blood, and understood they were losing

Just as united as any Forest Four following the command of a leader, each warrior disentangled as quickly as possible and streamed out behind their bolting leader

Some warriors ran after them to chase them out, and came back a few minutes later

And just like that, it was over. They were gone.

But, that collar is laying there, in the light of the setting sun. The inner fabric is purple, covered in a layer of red and brown from a mix of fresh and dry blood. Various teeth poke through, which he now realizes are from various predators.

Firestar gazes at it and feels Rusty's heart beating. He has that strange, indescribable feeling again.

It's... just like Clan cat hunting trophies, yes. It's a valuable, meaningful object to Scourge. It's a spoil of war made of spoils of war. That's why it's stirring his chest, surely. There's something... deeper to this item. It shouldn't be discarded; this item needs to be kept safe.

Or, perhaps, returned.

From there, the epilogue is gravy. When Firestar arrives in the alley again, this time flanked by several cats, Scourge is still recovering from his many injuries. He feels like he's been seeing Firestar's face too often-- and then the collar is gently placed on the ground.

Just like Firestar expected, there's an energy that washes over the gathered cats, and even the unreadable Scourge now seems awestruck by the gesture. The collar was something greater than just a collar; though Firestar couldn't remember if he had ever been told what a BloodClan collar represented.

Speaking, again, in Townmew, he explains that Tigerstar made Scourge an Impossible Deal, which the treacherous tyrant never meant to honor in the first place. But he is dead. BloodClan cannot have the territory and the Clan cats have won it fairly-- but what CAN we do for you? What were you seeking?

The answer was so simple that it was almost sickening. That they'd come to blows, and cats had died, over something that could have been worked out so easily. BloodClan had plenty of food from the humans' excess and hunting in the wilderness was not a skill they ever had anyway. What they wanted was materials.

Wood. Flowers and herbs. A chance to walk along the hiking trail and see the giant trees. Maybe the occasional piece of prey they didn't have access to in the town, like squirrels and frogs.

So, for a while. There was peace in the Forest, bringing the Tiger Era to a definitive close and beginning the fruitful, but short-lived Fire Era.

So! Them's the major changes. Take your pick of the scene you think is coolest, personally I've got a thing for Firestar ripping off Scourge's collar.

[coochiequeens]

Doctors and nurses who are not willing to listen to their patients should be replaced

BY VICTORIA SMITH

The third time I went into labour, I was determined to avoid getting told off. With both of my previous births, I had somehow managed to get things wrong. My errors the first time: going to hospital too early, then, when I returned three hours later, “leaving it so late”. The second time: ignoring assurances that I didn’t need to come in yet, then giving birth in the car park — an event I later discovered was being used in antenatal classes as an example of women “not planning ahead”.

“My previous births have been fast,” I said, when I went into labour with my third, “so I’d like to come in now.” I was speaking to the woman at the midwife-led unit that is the only option where I live. (If you need a caesarean section, you have to be transferred to next town.) “Third babies are notoriously difficult,” was her response.

What an odd thing to say to a woman already in labour. The “notoriously” suggested it wasn’t based on any actual evidence, but rather a kind of folk wisdom. It felt as though I was being warned not to tempt fate, not to assume that this baby would just pop out. I saw myself being categorised as one of those arrogant women who presumes to know her own body, only to be taught a harsh yet much-deserved lesson. “Third babies are notoriously difficult” sounded not unlike “third-time mothers shouldn’t get above themselves”.

In fact, I have never been particularly cocky about childbirth. When I was pregnant with my first child, back in the days when the Right-wing press were still obsessed with famous women being “too posh to push”, I wondered if I might be able to get an elective caesarean myself. I did not particularly care about childbirth being a wonderful experience, or about “doing it well”. I didn’t care if the Daily Mail thought I was a joke.

What I cared about was not having a child who would face the same difficulties as my brother, who was starved of oxygen at birth. This has had serious consequences for him, and for the rest of my family. Just how serious is hard to gauge. He was born traumatised; there has never been a before to compare the after with. What there has been instead is the hazy outline of an alternative life, one that runs parallel to the one he has now. It’s a life that began with the problem being identified sooner, with him being delivered quickly, perhaps by emergency caesarean. The difference between this and his actual life comes down to something small: mere moments, mere breaths.

I was born three years after my brother, in a larger hospital, where my mother was induced and monitored carefully. There is something very strange about being the sibling who had the safe birth. It feels as though I stole it. There is a constant sense of guilt, as if my life — my independence, my choices — constitutes a form of gloating. “This is what you could have had.” Everything I do feels like something owed to my brother (do it, because he can’t) but also something taken from him (you shouldn’t have done that, because he should have done it first).

Still, my family were fortunate, insofar as my brother didn’t die. Current reports on the Nottingham maternity scandal reference 1,700 cases, with an estimated 201 mothers and babies who might have survived had they received better care. What strikes me, reading them, is the enormous gulf between the cost of a disastrous birth and the trivial, opportunistic way in which childbirth is so often politicised — with mothers themselves viewed as morally, if not practically, to blame if anything goes wrong.

As a feminist who concerns herself with how the female body is demonised, my interest in debates about birthing choices is more than personal. I have read books railing against the over-medicalisation of childbirth, aligning it with a patriarchal need to appropriate female reproductive power. I have also read books protesting the fetishisation of “natural” birth, suggesting that it infantilises women, that it implies women deserve pain. To be honest, I find both arguments persuasive and dismaying. Both are right about the way in which misogyny and professional arrogance can shift the focus away from meeting the needs of women and babies. I feel a kind of rage that we are told to pick a side.

Representations of the labouring woman are so often negative: the naïve idealist, the “birthzilla“, the birth-plan obsessive, the woman who is “too posh to push”. This latter stereotype has gone hand-in-hand with a veneration of vaginal births, and stigmatisation of caesareans, that has had sometimes disastrous consequences. Midwives at the centre of the Furness General Hospital scandal were reported to have “pursued natural birth ‘at any cost’”, referring to one another as “the musketeers”; at least 11 babies and one mother died. But their approach was sanctioned by their employer: the 2006 NHS document “Pathways to Success: a self-improvement toolkit” explicitly suggested that “maternity units applying best practice to the management of pregnancy, labour and birth will achieve a [caesarean section] rate consistently below 20% and will have aspirations to reduce that rate to 15%”. Proposed benefits to this included “a sense of pride in units”.

Responses to maternity scandals now express horror that such an anti-intervention culture ever arose — responses in the same press that denigrated women such as Victoria Beckham and Kate Winslet for not giving birth vaginally. Instead, newspapers now stoke outrage over “natural” treatments during NHS births, such as burning herbs. Women have been shamed for having caesareans, but they have also been shamed for wanting births with minimum intervention — as though they are selfish and spoilt for seeking control over such an extreme situation.

In his memoir This Is Going To Hurt, former doctor Adam Kay writes disparagingly of women who arrive at the delivery suite with birth plans:

“‘Having a birth plan’ always strikes me as akin to having a ‘what I want the weather to be’ plan or a ‘winning the lottery’ plan. Two centuries of obstetricians have found no way of predicting the course of a labour, but a certain denomination of floaty-dressed mother seems to think she can manage it easily.”

Wanting to have some control over your experience of labour — which will hurt you and could kill you or your baby — is not akin to some messianic aspiration to control the weather. And in his mockery of the woman who wants whale song and aromatherapy oils, ironically, Kay deploys the same silencing techniques that might intimidate a woman out of seeking the very interventions he so prizes. What he and others do not seem to grasp is that their arrogance is a problem, regardless of which course of action they champion. It makes women feel they can’t speak, for fear of inviting hostility at their most vulnerable moments. It’s true that none of us knows our body well enough to know how we will give birth. But, looking back, I find it utterly insane, not least given my own family history, that one of my biggest worries during labour was “please don’t let anyone get cross with me”. Then again, I don’t think that fear is unrelated to the desire to remain safe.

Birth is not a joke. It is not a place for professional dick-swinging or political one-upmanship. I cannot describe — and, as I am not my mother, cannot fully understand — the shame of feeling that you “let down” your child before they drew their first breath, that they will forever suffer because of it. You watch an entire life unfolding and that feeling is there, every single day. This is the fear of the women in labour who are characterised as either idiots mesmerised by fantasy homebirths or cold-hearted posh ladies who can’t take the pain. If things go wrong, they are the ones who will bear the consequences, reflecting every day on what might have been, if they’d only done more.

When people discuss their siblings, my mind does wander to the one I don’t have, the one who was born safely. Perhaps he would have a job he loved, or one he hated, but in any case a job. Perhaps he would have a partner. Perhaps he would have children, and I would be their aunt. Perhaps we wouldn’t get on, wouldn’t even speak, but he’d have a life of his own. I know he thinks about this too. I wonder if the professionals who presided over his birth have thought about him since.

My third labour was not, by the way, “notoriously difficult”. My third son arrived into the world safe and well. No one can say why him or me, and not my brother. Mothers may long for control over birth, for which we are mocked; but we do not have it, for which we are blamed. Politics still takes precedence over our needs, and the needs of our babies.

[agustdef]

Will You

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Black!Reader

Genre: Fluff; Idol AU/Idolverse

Word Count: 3k

Warning: Light Language

Rating: PG-13

Beta Reader: @hobeemin

A/N: This was due to idk and I have so many ideas that I simply didn’t write a ff that ended up posted for much too long. So here’s to hoping to finishing these ideas.

“And without further ado, I am more than happy to introduce you to our keynote speaker Ms. YN LN.”

Clapping fills the room, and Jungkook joins in a beat late. His mind wandered as he’d listened to the other speakers for almost an hour. They’d all had interesting things to say, but something about being in a room with all these people with a person at a podium felt too much like school. Plus, a few of them seemed just to enjoy hearing themselves talk.

He refused to admit that to YN, though.

His beautiful girlfriend tried to give him an out when he said he’d come with her for this event. Told him how boring it would be and that she didn’t mind if he just did something else until she was done. Of course, he pushed for it, and she relented with one final warning about how he’d be bored as hell. To a degree, he’d known that going into it, but he wanted to support her. And to see her in her element.

Though they both work in the same industry, they’re on different ends of it. Jungkook as an artist and occasional writer, while YN worked legal. Their first encounter was when an American artist friend of his invited her out to dinner as a thank you for helping him with a contract issue with his label. They’d made him promises and tried to backtrack when it was time for the new contract. YN worked at a firm that specialized in that kind of thing, though they usually worked with smaller artists. His friend had been her big break, bringing in business and a promotion.

Of course, Jungkook was too much of a punk to ask her for her number at that meeting. He was too nervous about if it was forward, and he didn’t want to mess with the mostly professional nature of the event. But he got her card, and that was enough.

Until they kept bumping into each other at the more business-like industry events. Well, half bumping into each other and the other half him hunting down her name on programs and making sure to show up to those panels or events. It made him feel like a little bit of a stalker, but to combat that, he finally got his shit together and asked her out after running into her at a restaurant. 

Grateful to not be turned down was an understatement.

As they got to know each other, he felt himself fall hard and fast. She was perfect. Not in how one thinks when they hear the word, but in how that worked for him. That made their relationship work through the lows as well as the highs. 

I love you slipped out of his mouth five months in. 

If that didn’t explain why he put himself through this boredom, nothing, else would at least not in a way that made sense. His members still sometimes looked at him crazy with how he felt about her and how he could only sometimes find the words to explain it in a coherent way.

“I promise to try not making this too boring for y’all. I can not, however promise it won’t be boring at all. My line of work has to have some pitfalls besides all that paperwork,” YN joked.

The entire room laughs. It’s not the funniest thing in the world, but the way she delivers it and the energy she exudes as a person gets to people. It’s why Jungkook lets out a laugh that’s a little too loud and draws the attention of those around him. And of YN, though she doesn’t look his way to make that clear. He just nose from the way she pauses for a second longer, and her smile widens. 

Embarrassed isn’t even the right word for him at the moment. Part of him wants to flee the room, but he stays in his seat. It helps that anyone who side eyes him switches to being shocked to see him there. Being identified as a member of BTS is what he can handle; being embarrassed is not, despite what his variety show content and the lives over the years might suggest.

To let the feeling pass, he focused on the stage. Well, on YN.

“For those who don’t know me, I’m YN LN, and I've been working at Heights Law for the last six or seven years,. We specialize in fair contracts for indie artists. From things with their label to tours, merchandise, the people they hire, and even contracts between members if it’s a group. About thirty-five percent of those we work with don’t even have a label they’re signed to and don’t want to. And then about twenty percent of our clients are more mainstream artists looking for the same services.

We don’t work with any sort of label because we feel it ties us to worrying too much about keeping on their good side when trying to figure things out. And while we are not on a mission to do anything that would be, for the lack of a better word, line crossing with the people we are trying to get to sign the contracts, our clients come first. That’s made us stand out in a way y’all may have heard about a time or two. I’d like to personally apologize for making you sit through articles about a certain label trying to screw over up and coming artist Minx and all the weird things that were honestly not so weird about her tour rider.”

Again laughter, but with some whispers and grumbles thrown in. That entire situation had everyone in the industry confused as hell, and for the last few months, they thought Minx was trying to be greedy until everything was settled and it was shown that all her asks weren’t as crazy as they’d seemed. Even Jungkook found himself looking at YN like she’d lost it with every new bit of information that was released. He��d asked her about it, but she gave him a look, and he had to wait out the outcome like everyone else. 

“And for this, I think Minx is the perfect situation to discuss. I mean, when else will you see how things can go when a former lawyer turned pop star wants to sign with the label she used to work for but knows all their tricks.”

That was all it took to have people enthralled. After everything settled, everyone still had a million questions about it, but they were still waiting for someone at the firm to answer them. Jungkook had the fortune of dating YN around the time, so he got her to tell him, and Minx had invited them somewhere and told him more. So, he knew everything.

Which meant he could just stare at her. He didn’t think of himself as the type to be much of a creepy person, even if him trying to run into her wasn’t a clear indication of that. That and that looking at her was one of his favorite pastimes. 

YNs cute.

He would and did use a million words to describe her. But the first thought in his brain when he saw her was how cute she was, and he felt his heart triple in size from that alone. Her genuine smile and soft features do a lot to counteract the fact that she’s only an inch shorter than me, which throws people off when they meet her and had only seen her face before.

Those legs of hers, when she wears heels, drive Jungkook absolutely feral. And he has to fight off the thought of them as his mind spirals. He focused instead on the light tint of pink pushing through the brown skin because of all the bright lighting, the way there’s a stray piece of hair not as curly as the rest that she swears isn’t from heat damage, and she can fix, the soft red of her lips, and the way every part of her body seems light and open as she talks about a subject she loves. A look he’s familiar with and is how he knows she looks at him. 

More than anything, Jungkook is sure that YN loves him as much as he loves her, and like a revelation, he knows how much that is. How much space that love takes up in him, to the point that sometimes it feels like it’s overflowing. Right now, it feels like it’s overflowing.

“Questions?”

That one word pulls him out of his head, but he looks at YN with a clarity he didn’t have a few minutes ago, let alone a few hours ago.

Someone clears their throat, but his eyes don’t leave her.

“Why not just go with what the label wanted? I mean, sure, Minx had the background, but that shouldn’t make her any different than any other artist. Should she not be thankful to get into the place twice on different sides of it?”

There was agreement in the crowd, but it died out quickly with everyone else's quietness drop quiet.

Despite the shift in vibes, there’s a smile on YN’s face. 

“Why do you think that? Is it because others don’t have that same knowledge? I can see how that could be seen as unfair because it is. But because she has the background,, she used it to help herself best,, which made it so we could best help her and those in the future. However, I can assure you that they changed their contract language a lot since then. Height and many other firms who deal with them and this kind of thing all saw a shift for the better and for the worst with them. So, while you may wonder why Minx didn’t simply take what she should be lucky to have gotten from them, I hope you’re settled by the fact that unless the rare thing happens. Someone else does the same thing, no one else will be able to give the insight on how to best make the next contract work for the client in the way she did.”

The response is assertive, sarcastic, and professionally annoyed. It doesn’t leave room for anyone to say anything that doesn’t make them look any more like an ass. But the man at the podium opens his mouth a few times to try and figure out what to say. In the end, he walks away from the mic with his head down. Jungkook is sure that if it weren’t for pride, he would walk out of the room altogether.

“Any more questions,” YN said after a moment.

There’s one that Jungkook has. One he needs answered, but he finds himself glued to his seat.

Several people go up and ask their questions, all of them better than the first one, though some of them toe the line. There are also a few that Jungkook would deem flirting, but they don’t bother him. Not with the thoughts swarming around in his head.

Before he knows it, she answers the last question, and everyone is dismissed. A few linger to talk, but with this day being so packed, everyone wants to rush off to the next talk or event happening.

He sits in the seat for about fifteen minutes before she walks up to him, and when she puts her hand on his shoulder, he looks up at her startled, even though he watched her approach him.

“Ready to go?”

Jungkook’s mouth opens and closes as he stares at her. He feels all over the place, but none of it’s uncertainty or doubt.

“I have a question,” he managed.

“Huh?”

“I have a question. I didn’t get the chance to ask it in there. I was… I’m nervous to ask it, and I couldn’t do it in there.”

YN frowned. “You can always ask me anything, my love. No need to be nervous about it. Plus, I’m sure yours is better than some of the bullshit I get asked in general when it comes to work.”

For a moment, Jungkook says nothing. All he can do is stare at her and try to keep his breathing normal. The latter is the hardest part, but YN takes his hand in hers and squeezes it tight.

Taking a breath, he gets to his feet, takes both of her hands in his, and stares into her eyes. He’s more than sure about what he has to say.

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes.”

Question nor answer was said with any hesitation. However, Jungkook could tell that YN was still trying to process what was happening. He was too, but that wasn’t important now.

After a second, Jungkook released one of her hands, and with the other firm in his grasp, he led her out of the room. He hears her ask a question, but it doesn’t fully register in his brain. All his focus is on weaving through the crowd of people and out the door of the convention center. The place isn’t as isolated as some can be, so he walked past the parking lot where his car is and made his way past the hotel they were staying at.

“Where are we going?”

“Jungkook?”

“Jay?”

There’s a loud exhale too, but Jungkook paid it no mind. He’s on a mission. 

“For goodness sake, Kookie.”

YN matches his pace though she’s clearly confused by what the hell is happening. He knew he should say something, but couldn’t find his words just yet, so he kept walking until ten minutes later, they were in front of a popular celebrity-use jewelry store.

A few of the things he bought for himself and others - YN included - were from here, so he had a code that they gave him to get in. The door buzzed them in, and the moment that they walked in, there was a person there and ready to help. Though it might not be obvious to most, it was clear from the knowing smile on the woman’s face she knew what was up. 

Didn’t stop Jungkook from being so flustered, though. 

“Hi. Engagement rings. I mean, we would like to see engagement rings.”

Without a word, she directed them to the back of the store. They followed close behind her, and when they entered the room, she’s taking them to another person is setting down a tray of rings, with others sitting on a cart behind him.

Yeah, she knew.

Once everything is on the table, the man leaves, and they’re directed to sit. The woman who welcomed them stands on the other side of the table.

“This is a collection of all the rings we sell in the store. Though there are others, we can have custom made if what you see in front of you isn’t the right fit or you want a mix of styles. There’s a mix of the traditional sort and the non-traditional. Some are even without diamonds. Please, take your time to look through them and see if something catches your eye.”

Then she’s gone, and all the sound goes with her.

“We’re doing this?”

“You asked me.”

“True.”

Jungkook finally turns and looks at her, and despite all the nerves he’s feeling about if she’ll take it back, there’s a smile on her face. And a lack of anxiety like what’s going through him. Though he can tell, she’s a little thrown off by it all.

“I did. And I want to.”

“Then we better start looking, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

All the tension that was once there leaves the room, and they both turn their attention to the hundreds of rings in front of them. It’s an overwhelming site, but they dive into them. Jungkook tries to get YN to try some on, but she says that she doesn’t want to just yet, so they set them on the empty tray right in front of them. 

Each one feels perfect to Jungkook, but not right. More of the diamond rings that look how he’s used to seeing American engagement rings look like end up on the tray, which isn’t much of a shock with YN’s usual preferences.

A tray marked as morganite is second to last, and Jungkook almost avoids it, but then one ring calls to him. His eyes zone in on it, and he reaches for it just as YN gasps. His neck nearly breaks when he turns to look at her, but the slight pain means nothing as he follows her gaze to the ring he was reaching for.

Without another thought, he picks it up, takes her hand, and slides it into place. Though it’s a little loose, it fits her finger. The oval champagne colored gem is on a white gold band and surrounded on either side with diamonds that fan out, almost like leaves on the stem of a flower. They wrap perfectly around her finger and stop before they reach the palm side. Everything about it is YN. Is them.

“Perfection,” YN whispered.

“Yeah.”

And like the whirlwind that this was, Jungkook was happy to find that they had the same ring, the right size, on the premises, and he paid for it right then and there. It only left YN’s finger so they could clean it, and then it was on again.

They walked out of the room, and both were on a cloud. All those nerves Jungkook felt before were gone, but something else replaced it.

“I guess we have a wedding to plan. I can’t imagine when we’d even have it,” YN said.

“Now.”

Not the least bit startled, she turned to him with a raised brow. 

“Now?”

“I… I don’t know. Maybe?”

Silence sat between them for what felt like forever, and then YN turned her attention back to the jeweler.

“We need to see wedding bands, too,” she said, then turned back to Jungkook. “And you need to start making phone calls.”

[pix3lplays]

Hello I wasn't sure if requests were open but I just had big brain idea. The readers father is super toxic and nearly succeeded in tearing apart the readers marriage with Dan Feng by trying to scare the reader into running away but Dan Feng managed to stop them.

Oooh, okay, okay I’ll see what I can do~

Tw! Toxic father, I guess a little bit suggestive(?), sharing a bed

-Dan Feng: Stay with me-

It was HARD to deal with that kind of pressure. Sure you were nervous to marry Dan Feng already, but with your father’s pressure you were feeling even more nervous. You don’t know why your father was like this. You almost wondered if he even knew what he was saying when he talked about how a high elder like him would never love a commoner like you. How he’d probably hate you. Be sick and tired of you within a week. Well. It scared you. It scared you so badly, to think that your husband-to-be would hate you. So the night before your wedding, you pack your bags. With packed bags, you begin your letter for Dan Feng, explaining how sorry you were that he even had to THINK about marrying you. And you arrive at Dan Feng’s manor, with your packed bags at the ready, so you could leave as soon as you delivered the letter. And to your surprise, the high elder instead answered the door, instead of a servant. He’s so pretty, especially in the moonlight, and in his evening clothes. “A moment, please,” he says when you hand him the letter and turn around immediately, with your bags in your hands. You have to watch with shame as he opens your letter and begins reading it in front of you. Finally, after what feels like agonizingly too long, he looks up at you with those pretty eyes, at first not saying anything, and now you’re wondering if you’re supposed to speak first. “Dan Feng, I-“ “Do you really mean this? You intend to run away because you believe I hate you?” the tone in his voice is hard to identify, the way it’s always been, and you’re biting back tears. “I-I mean…don’t you?” you bubble out, your throat burning. He hesitates, but then his lips part to enter, and before he can you begin to move away again, and to stop you he surprises you by doing something he’s never done to you before. He reaches out, and touches your arm. Then he gently wraps his fingers around your wrist, to keep you in place. “No, y/n…I could never hate you…where did you get such an idea?” You shake your head, blinking away tears. You don’t want to say. You don’t want to say what your father has been saying to you. You don’t want to upset him even further than you already have. “No, it doesn’t matter to me,” he says when you don’t respond. You’re just…staring at his lips with a distant look in your eyes. “I don’t hate you, y/n. Please, trust me, I’m so very happy to have the privilege to marry you…” he pulls you a little closer, spreading out his other arm to indicate he wants you to press yourself to his chest. You hesitantly comply, leaning against his chest, snaking your arms around his back, and his arms come to wrap around your waist. He leans down. Kisses your shoulder, murmurs something into your ear. “I love you…please…don’t leave me. Come inside for a little while…” You can’t reply. You rest your head against his chest and he begins to guide you inside, quietly ordering someone to prepare you some tea, and he gently pries the suitcases from your hands. And a moment later, you’re sitting in his lavish lounge. He’s sitting across from you, watching you while he’s sipping his tea. You haven’t brought your own teacup to your lips yet, and he’s becoming concerned. “Are you feeling…uncomfortable?” This WAS the first time the two of you had ever actually had alone time like this, in his own home no less. “Hm? No…” you say. “Just…thinking.” To prove your point, you drink a tiny bit of tea, and smile at him. “Delightful, thank you…” He tilts his head at you, and you watch his long, dark hair move with the motion. “You’re very welcome, I’m pleased that you like it.” You nod, try focusing on drinking the tea to put his mind at ease, and after another moment, Dan Feng clears his throat, trying to get your attention. “Do you wish to spend the night? It is getting late…We could prepare a room for you.” Your eyes widen. Staying the night? The thought hadn’t even occurred to you. You had kind of planned on never seeing him again.

And now here you were sleeping over at his house.

How you ended up in Dan Feng’s own plush bed, with his arms wrapped around you and his face buried in your shoulder, you’re not sure. You had sort of forgotten you had fallen asleep at his house, and you had had a nightmare, and you aimlessly wandered the halls until you found his room, and even though he knew such a thing was frowned upon for a High Elder, he invited you into his own room for the night. Nobody needed to know. You could sneak out through the window tomorrow morning, if need be. He lets out a gentle noise, one indicating to you that he really was asleep, and you feel the fears of your nightmares fading away, and your eyelids getting heavier as you fall back asleep in your husband-to-be’s arms.

[izuhan]

coming home exhausted ︱stray kids (hyung line + hyune)

pairing: boyfried!skz x gn!reader ︱ genre: fluff, comfort no hurt ︱warning: grammar mistakes, not proofread, i love chan

a/n: ,, i think this has been done a lot but I was having a bad day and wanted to write so here we are! im still confused if hyune is part of hyung line but my powers last night ended after I wrote his. hope u enjoy!

⸝⸝bang chan♡ᵎ

— one another’s arrival at home will always be the highlight of both of your days, and if you arrive at the same time as him, it is a total bonus for each other.

— within his or your arrival, he will never let you hug him first, he’s ought to do them first and that is the rule. which means whether he’s working or burning holes in your wall clock, he makes sure he gets to hug you, only allowing you to hug him back after.

— he does them a lot to the point he could identify who needs one and who doesn't. this time, it was you who he heard walking past his room. you have no energy to knock and be loud, all you wanted and needed is chan and nothing else, no one else. 

— you knock a couple of times and Chan, hurriedly and almost tripped himself—he opened the door to an exhausted lover of his. 

— “Ch—” he did not hesitate to pull you close to him in such an embrace he always does, a light squeeze and his signature giggles melting all your exhaustion away.

— you don't need to ask for a hug; he always delivers them as much as he wants, and you, yourself, can't hate him for that.

— as you melt and cave into his hug, he would take that as a chance to ask about how your day went, let you talk, and vent all those things which made you wear such a long face.

— he would move you with him in a gentle rhythm, humming and replying softly to your complaints, and say sweet promises he could fulfill within an hour of your arrival.

— and if you do cry while hugging him, you two would be in his bed immediately. sat down on the edge of the bed before Chan would wipe your tears away or kiss them, assuring you he would be by your side no matter what and hug you warmly once you asked for another.

— once settled in his bed, he would ask you to stay put and let him take care of you. “I need to change clothes, Chan,” he would smile, rummaging through his closet or the baggage he has that he hasn’t taken care of just yet, maybe for this moment, or simply another excuse to let you wear his clothes. 

— you would glare at him and his gentle, proud grin that he has. it’s almost a shit-eating grin but he’s beautiful no matter what and you will always wear his clothes if that means seeing that grin again.

— he helped you sit up carefully, holding your waist as he guides you, “no, please, let me.” he gives you the smile again. you’ve already seen each other a lot, but there is still embarrassment whenever there is a chance to do so, not when his eyes are focused on you. 

— however, you appreciate it in a way you can relax and lean your weight on him after it, dressed in his clothes and having him lull you to sleep. “Chan, thank you, I love you.” and his voice, confessing his undying love and affection until all you have in your mind is him.

⸝⸝lee know♡ᵎ

— coming home to one another has always been quite a big deal for both of you; screaming is a norm to let the other know of their arrival, or the cats would do the job. 

— however, your voice would still be heard by him, he loves you enough to train himself on focusing only to hear your voice at this point.

— so, he wondered why his cats were screaming at someone who did not utter any words of arrival. lee know, worriedly, rushed to the living room to see you—exhausted, like a withered flower. still beautiful but no color in your soul.

— you look at him with exhaustion, relief, and delight, and finally, you're home. but with how your day went, one thing you need you can't even say it.

— “... hello?” lee know cocks an eyebrow but doesn't speak, he stares with no words to say, that's where you know he’s waiting for you. “... I'm sorry... can I ge—can I hug you?”

— lee know doesn't hesitate, “you're the one who needs it,” it's permission, rather, a clarification that he can hug you, and you can hug him later after you've received one from him.

— he's that fond of you to be stubborn in his own conduct, to make another excuse to hug you and turn the tables, tease you instead of you teasing him that you're growing on him. he will also let your lack of proper greetings slip for once this time around.

— his embrace would make you tear up a bit, though you would not let it all out. you don't want to be a burden to him although he has greatly expressed interest in you being a burden to him. you're his responsibility he says, but to put it that way sometimes concerns you and makes you ponder over it.

— “cry, if today was that bad,” he could feel your gulps and silent sniffles stop you from crying. he breathes out a smile when you do, pressing a kiss on the crown of your head as he brings you to the sofa with the cats. 

— he points at them to scatter around you, which they did, surprisingly.

— lee know would listen to you being a stuttering mess, drawing circles on your back or caressing your hair to soothe you down before he would close the distance to stare at your swollen eyes directly. 

— “.. what?” he wouldn't say a word and cupped your cheeks, examining your face before placing his lips against yours suddenly.

— he knows his lips would do the work perfectly, and he loves to deter your attention from all the horrible things that have happened--to him only. at least for a moment before he does the leftover work on keeping your mind off things you shouldn't waste your tears off.

— and after all, that was done, a smile from both of you would top it off, and lee now would want you to take a bath as he prepares you something. though before parting, you still demand a kiss and a hug which he gladly obeys.

⸝⸝changbin♡ᵎ

— before you leave the place you're in and whenever you're close to home, he always demands you let him know beforehand. not because he was preparing something, kind of, but all there is was a feeling of relief you'll be coming home soon before he burns the clock with how hard he stared at it

— and so, when no text was sent to him and the door to his room was opened suddenly, his whole face cannot be painted

— either you're a burglar or one of his family members. though once he recognized it was you, a hug would be his only resort before asking questions about your actions, why you never texted him beforehand so he could greet you by the door somehow.

— you would stay silent over his words, holding him tightly with the fear of letting him go. that's where he senses something might be wrong and let you squeeze him as much as you could. with the build he has, he doesn't think it would hurt and if it would, he will take delight in it. being weak towards you... fuels him.

— he would continuously talk and ask important questions. you want to answer him but exhaustion not letting you form words completely, you would either break down into tears or apologize numerous times, though either of those would happen, changbin would be as patient as possible.

— he knows enough to not talk over you the same you do to him, talking over each other is something you do when teasing each other, and fighting would be the worst-case scenario.

— he would let you talk and cry, or if you can't anymore, he would let it be. let the silence swallow the whole room so that you would calm down and ease your body.

— and while he's at it, he would rest his back on the headboard of his bed and settle you down on his lap. as embarrassing as you might be, it's the only way he could think of holding you while facing you.

— he would give you a smile rather than a worrying pout you do think is adorable, however, his smile and giggles were what erased your exhaustion for a moment before he holds you close.

 — promises to cuddle and smother your with love all night would ensue, his face too close for comfort but you would laugh it off sweetly, let yourself be stupidly in love with changbin and be as vulnerable as you could be, telling him the story of your day and all that caused the bad day because you know you have him by your side and ready to fight whatever it is.

⸝⸝hyunjin♡ᵎ

— coming home exhausted would be no different in your shared place with hyunjin. 

sometimes you fear you both are coming home exhausted for so many days in a week that it's becoming a problem.

— but that also means you get to pamper each other with love and affection, lay low and lose all the tension and exhaustion from work and life at once. 

— it's also another excuse to let him be as romantic as he could be. you can't stomach it sometimes, in a good way, because you will combust in any second the moment you realize hyunjin's action is too romantic for your liking, that he's too perfect and charming. 

— today was no different too. silent sweet ambiance thanks to hyunjin's newly composed song showering the place with a new atmosphere as you step inside.

— you would either find him working on it, or doing art in many forms. and always, you would watch his back and smile. snap a few pictures to set as your new wallpaper or lock screen or post it in your gc just to make everyone jealous of your lover, or sometimes, keep it to yourself as a secret treasure.

— this time though, you badly needed him to embrace you to death. but you can't ask him directly, you don't know why.

— until he appears right in front of you, “i see, one of those days huh?” hyunjin is straight out of the shower, a new enticing look in his slightly damped short hair, the t-shirt he's wearing kind of soaked with the water dripped on them, and the towel hanging on his shoulder. god. how did you get so lucky?

— “hug, please?” hyunjin would chuckle, cooing and wiggling his body before embracing you with a smile on his face. you would groan once he would lift you up, clearly, he's not having a bad day, and he's affecting you with his energy. 

— “this is why I recommend you stay here with me all week, just a week of us and I could promise to have the world in my hands, and hand it to you for your undying love.”

“I k—”

“Nope, please, this week has been horrible for you. let me care for you the same way you ditched your whole family for me.”

— for hyunjin, having you counter him serves as a win, and so he does this time around, capturing your lips onto his before you could utter words that he knows would affect his plan for the both of you.

— and giving up was all you could do, let him take his time to take care of you in his very way.

[beebopboom]

Greasy Johnson: a Red Herring?

This is a season 3 speculation post - you know not what to do with them

ok so i’ve fallen down a Greasy Johnson is Jesus rabbit hole and I love it - seems pretty plausible (here are some of of the pieces that sent me down here - Jesus 2.0 rides a Motorcycle Scooter , Greasy Johnson is Jesus, and Greasy Johnson in the book)

To summarize Greasy Johnson is the third baby in the swap who grows up near Adam and has kind of a “rival gang” who in the book is used as the reason why Adam finds a fight between two rivals ridiculous

plus you have the working title for the talked about sequel 668: The Neighbor of the Beast which more than likely is Greasy Johnson house and his thing with tropical fish - just a lot of things pointing to him being Jesus

But!! I want to talk about something a little different (and I can recognize this is probably just my want for Warlock to come back as someone important) because it was a choice not have him mentioned after the swap in the show.

What if Warlock is Jesus? Now just hear me out

If i’m following the swap right Warlock is our baby draped in blue and is the Young’s actual son

Now going back a bit I believe Heaven has been testing out aspects of what is said to happen in the Second Coming for a while now maybe as far back as 1827 but probably got close to right around 1941 and was just waiting for Hell to have the Antichrist and trigger Armageddon

and yknow for being an order of satanic nuns they sure do have a lot of Jesus on the Cross hanging around. why? - it’s almost like the were also meant to deliver him as well

So when Hell pulled their final card - so did Heaven

Now who was not meant to be there that night and messed everything up - the Young’s and their baby, Warlock - it’s almost like it was a divine intervention. And like I said earlier Warlock is our baby draped in blue (like Jesus) and our Ace card (ace up their sleeve anyone?)

Greasy Johnson was apart of Hells plan and set up - Warlock was not

also he has traveled the world because of the Dowling’s work before being tempted by Hastur which he denies

and the whales and dinosaurs we see in his room - you got your mothers humor don’t you?

and he is the only one who has to make a return to the UK - the plane in the opening sequence

what about Greasy Johnson and the neighbor of the beast though? that seems to be a pretty great fit and I agree - he is going to be the reason the swap is discovered and they all get together again - whatever that reason may be (*cough*dying*cough*)

and not mentioning him further in season one allows for him to come in as a completely new character and story that we get to follow around with points in his life pointing towards him being Jesus - as a distraction for the characters and for us

but where does Aziraphale come into this and why does the Metatron need an angel of his talents? - Heaven has also lost its card(baby), the trick worked a little too well and there are still two children to choose between, if they could find them - and Aziraphale, who has shown is apt at finding and identifying the Antichrist and knows Earth better than any angel, is just the being for the job

I recognize this is a lot of speculation and this is just kinda just a crack theory but it wouldn’t leave me alone so I’d thought I’d share

and mostly I think it’d be funny that in thinking they were raising the Antichrist they were actually raising Jesus Christ

(but also it would fit a lot of the headcannons floating around. Jesus being a right terror? check. Them raising Jesus? already did that. Trans!Jesus? remember all those trans!warlock headcannons. Jesus having a mentor relationship with Crowley? the demon raised Warlock. Going out for a drink? Warlock would an adult now by the time season 3 comes out and they keep following that the events in the show are happening at the present time it comes out trend - just on and on)

[crocswithoutsocks]

What do cogs eat in Toontown: Corporate Clash?

I'm doing research for a fic and have been scrounging the wiki for this information so I thought I'd compile my findings as a nice organised tumblr post in case anyone else needs access to this very specific part of the lore. There's actually a lot more than I thought there would be! If I've missed anything, feel free to add! The definitive list will be way at the bottom of the post if you just want the cold hard facts.

Section A - Foodstuffs that have a lot of evidence pointing towards their consumption by cogs.

Oil - Massive evidence for this in both Derrick Man and the CEO battle. Heals suits in Derrek Man, and seems to be their preferred food given its literally the only thing being served at the banquet? Maybe more of a beverage than a food? Still makes the list either way. Different varieties of oil are also mentioned, including carbonated/seltzer oil (from the Director's Cuts ARG andHigh Roller's trivia questions) and crude oil (discussed further below).

Cogfee (Coffee) - Cogfee is mentioned all the time. There's promotional art of Chip promoting cogfee, and his secretary also requests a new cogfee machine in the April Toons ARG. Cathal and Brian have also both delivered/refused to deliver cogfee to Allan, respectively. The Toxic Manager also gives the Insider a cup of Cogfee in the Director's cuts ARG, and there's probably even more examples of cogs drinking cogfee that I haven't included here. It's also worth a mention that Jennifer's favourite drink is a soyl mechiatto, which I would have assumed to be the cog equivalent of a machiatto with soya milk, but the fact that High Roller's trivia question on the subject makes a distinction between soyl mechiatto and cogfee mechiatto makes me doubt that the soyl one contains cogfee at all. Alas, I don't know enough about actual coffee to be able to tell you if you can even make a machiatto without coffee.

Cookies - Most of the evidence for this comes either directly or indirectly from Belle. Evidence for suits eating cookies comes from Belle's interview notes, the 1.3 blog post, the comic with Flint and Belle baking, and the C.O.O's 2023 dialogue. These also provide other things suits can eat in the form of cookie flavours: charcoal, ginger tar and crude morsels. I don't know if ginger tar is ginger flavoured tar or a variety of tar called "ginger tar", so that's up for interpretation. As far as I can tell, all three seem to function as a chocolate chip substitute, but could also possibly be replacing things like fruit or nuts in the cookies. The only non-Belle-related cookie evidence comes from the Director's Cuts ARG, where the Middleman gives the Insider a plate of crude oil cookies. I assume the crude oil used in these is a different thing than the crude morsels in the C.O.O's cookies, and I can't really identify what crude oil is supposed to be a subsitute for food-wise since it appears multiple times in different contexts.

Sandwiches and assorted ingredients - Cathal eats a sandwitch halfway through his battle, and you can't really get evidence more definitive than that. The wiki says it's specifically ham and cheese, and looking at his renders I can see that probably. In the 1.3 key art, he's got a different sandwich that looks like lettuce and tomato, so from Cathal alone, bread, ham, cheese, lettuce and tomato can be added to the list of things suits eat.

Ketchup - This is really a subsection of the last category given tomatoes have already been confirmed, but Count Erclaim steals 'Chup from Rocky on multiple occasions (notably the 'Halloween Hater comic') and Cathal also has two bottles of it in his office. There are also a concerningly high number of ketchup bottles inthe Mozzerella Styx freezer. So... Ketchup. Interestingly enough, the ad for Mozzerella Styx on High Roller's website lists 'Chup as a drink, so maybe its a suit beverage? Sure, why not.

Water - The existence of the water cooler attack implies that cogs can and do drink water, and it's also listed as an available drink three times on Mozzerella Styx's menu, as 'water', 'dihydrogen monoxide' and 'corporate water supply'. They also drink sparkling water/seltzer/carbonated water, whatever you want to call it, since Jennifer asks where she's supposed to keep her sparkling water after Spruce takes a bite out of her desk, and seltzer is one of the available options in the Mozzerella Styx drinks machine.

Cereal - Dave buys 500 boxes of cereal in the April Toons ARG. The picture identifies the cereal as 'Oil-o-Flakes', but the description says they're 'corn flakes', soooo... corn confirmed? Maybe?

Pizza - You'd think this one would be easy, given the fact that literally the only cog owned restaurant is a pizzeria, but the fact that Mozzerella Styx is a front kind of raises the question of whether they actually serve food there. Either way though, Count Erclaim orders a "none pizza with left beef" in one of his monologues, and even if his pizza is a meme it's still a pizza, and Erclaim is still a cog that's probbably going to eat it. Oh. Also beef then, I guess.

The sustenance page on the gopher version of cogs.ink gets a special mention because I forgot about it completely and then felt like I'd struck gold when I stumbled back upon it. Things mentioned on this page that aren't already on the list include:

Coal, petrol-marinated beet and diamond dust inside a sandwich called the 'Money Christo'.

Sides include crispy steel bits, extra crude oil and gas-infused triple-fried coal.

Coal again, Turpentine Ansoff Jelly and Oxalic Acid patties, all of which are considered breakfast (or, deskfast, as the page says) foods.

Carbon carbonara, made with only the finest eggs and crude oil (but what ingredient can be used in cookies and also in carbonara?).

Canned bread (WHY IS IT IN A CAN?) and kerosene dip.

Compressed fish

Strawberry Daigou, which is a dessert according to the description, and also contains the allergen 'red'. I didn't know suits could be allergic to anything until now.

SODIMM SOda

Section B - Things that I'm not certain on but I thought were still worth a mention.

Pie - Allan asks if the pies the toons are throwing at him "are imported blueberry", which implies that he's eaten both imported and non-imported blueberry pies before, to be able to tell the difference. Either that or he's been hit in the face so many times with both that he's now able to tell the difference, and he doesn't actually eat them. He can tell its blueberry though, which does suggest he's had those before and knows what they taste like. Given strawberries are already confirmed, its probably safe to say that cogs eat blueberries too.

Wood - Spruce, basically. He takes a bite out of Jennifer's table during his interview, says he's got at chomping trees in his personal statement and he's always got that log in his mouth. It's never really stated whether he actually eats the trees or just bites them, though. Also, eating trees feels very much like a Spruce thing, and not something any other suits would do. Like, they probably can eat wood, but would they want to?

Coins - Its mentioned in the cog building music backstage blog post that Dave ate 20,000 Cogbucks worth of quaters in the Cashbot mints. I'm confident this is a Dave exclusive thing and that no other cog would ever do this. I think.

Section C - Things that depend entirely on the validity of Mozzerella Styx as an actual cog restaurant.

Mozzerella Styx seems like it would be a veritable gold mine of information on cog food, but that actually depends on who Mozzerella Styx's target audience actually is. Mozzerella Styx's target audience is important because if they're trying to appear as a reputable toon resturaunt, then there's no gaurentee that cogs would even eat the things on their menu, as they would be toon foods rather than cog foods. The menu is weird though, since it definetly includes things that toons would never eat, like oil, which implies either that suits are intended to eat there or that whoever wrote the menu didn't know that toons can't drink oil. The menu does seem to be geared towards toons in some way, though, given the two 'toon drink here' options in the drinks section. Who are your target market, Mozzerella Styx??? And that's not even getting into if they even sell food there. The short with the two toons ordering a pizza implies that you can definetly order there, but the outcome of that short (the toons never getting any pizza) combined with the menu says 'pay upfront', 'product not gaurenteed' and 'no refunds' makes me incredibly doubtful that anyone has ever managed to successfully eat food from Mozzerella Styx (the fact that the toons are going here also suggests its a "toon" resturaunt. Or maybe they're just chill with going to a cog owned resturaunt? They definetly at least heard Styx over the phone). HOWEVER! The fact that the 1.4.0 patch notes say they're generating more money through pizza sales, combined with the (presumably paid for) ad on High Roller's website and the fact that they have actual pizza ingredients in the freezer makes me think that maybe they are actually running a resturaunt with real food on the side of all the money laundering? Perhaps? Either way, this big long ramble has acheived nothing, and I've got no idea if these foodstuffs are any more valid than I did at the start of it. Well then. If we're assuming that cogs do eat at Mozzerella Styx, for the sake of having more data, then everything on the menu can be added to the list. This includes:

Pineapple - The head huntin' hawaiian pizza, despite the pizza pictured under it not containing any pineapple, does make another appearance on a poster where pineapple is visible. There's no sauce, though. Why is there no sauce on this pizza. (Also, I'm going to remove pineapple from the 'Mozzerella Styx Clause', since Jennifer says in Buck's interview notes that he smells like pineapple, meaning she's eaten or at least smelled it before. Therefore, it's probably a valid suit food).

Nuts and bolts - The same poster with the hawaiian pizza also suggests you add [photo of nuts and bolts]. They aren't mentioned by name, but they sure are there!

New Year Cabbage

Salad - No idea what this salad contains, so I suppose every vegetable and other thing that could possibly be in a salad is up for debate. If you wanted to make it out of already confirmed salad stuff, it would probably be lettuce, tomato and beetroot.

Mushrooms - The picture of the aledgedly hawaiian pizza appears to have mushrooms on it, and mushroom pizza is also an option.

Broccoli - The alleged hawaiian pizza also has what I think is broccolli on it, and I really like broccoli so I'm adding it to the list.

Bread-sticks

Junior Executive Juice - I hope this is juice made for junior executives and not juice made out of junior executives

Ice cream cone - Not specified whether this is an ice cream cone as in 'its ice cream in a cone' or 'it's an ice cream cone with no ice cream'. I'll assume there's ice cream involved because it seems cruel to deprive these robots of ice cream.

Waffle cone

Traffic cone - I mean... it's on the menu?

Onions

Pine - Pine needles? Pine trees? Pineapples? We will never know

Jellybeans - I find it funny that these guys are just casually eating the toons' money. Maybe there's a difference between currency jellybeans and jellybeans for eating, but its still funny.

Soda Cold-a - The drink machine by the front counter actually provides a lot of new drinks that I'm specifically exempting from the 'Mozzerella Styx Clause' due to the fact that a) Toons definetly cannot drink half of this stuff and b) this drink machine for sure exists and probably does dispense all of these things. Available beverages not yet counted include antifreeze, diet oil, coolant, Cold-a and gas (which completes the C.O.G.S trifecta! Horray, suits can officially eat everything that C.O.G.S inc produces!)

Slushies - The slushie machine behind the counter appears to dispense slushy in flavours DRINK, Zap and BLUE. There are no cups present near this machine, only cones, which implies it could be a snow cone machine, but the ad on High Roller's website shows a cup with a straw labelled 'BLUE', so either they're drinking snow cone syrup or its a slushie machine.

Snow cones

Salt and pepper - There are salt and pepper shakers on all of the tables. Horray for seasonings! Why you would put those on a pizza I have no idea.

The List

Okay, I've probably missed something but here's my definitive list, colour coded, alphabetized and sorted for your convenience. Items in black are pretty much 100% confirmed, items in blue are speculative with not much evidence and items in green depend entirely on Mozzerella Styx's validity as a cog resturant.

Human safe foods:

Beef, Beetroot, Blueberries, Bread, Bread-sticks, Broccoli, Cabbage, Carbonara, Cereal, Cheese, Cookies, Corn, Eggs, Fish, Ginger(?), Ham, Ice cream, Jellybeans, Lettuce, Mushrooms, Onions, Pepper (the seasoning not the vegetable), Pie, Pineapple, Pizza, Salad, Salt, Sandwiches, Snow cones, Strawberries, Tomatoes (and derivitives ketchup and tomato sauce), Waffle cones.

Things humans should definetly not be eating:

Charcoal, Coal, Coins, Crispy steel bits, Crude morsels, Crude Oil, Diamond dust, Extra Crude Oil, Gas-infused triple-fried coal, Ginger tar, Kerosene, Nuts and bolts, Oxalic Acid Patties, Petrol, Pine, Traffic cones, Turpentine Ansoff Jelly, Wood.

Beverages:

Antifreeze, Carbonated oil, Cogfee, Cold-a, Coolant, Diet Oil, Gas, Juice, Ketchup(?), Oil, Slushies, SODIMM SOda, Soyl, Sparkling water/Seltzer, Water.

Unidentified:

red

All of these things can probably be broken down into their core ingredients, too, which would really expand the variety of foodstuffs on offer. Basically, cog food seems to be pretty similar to human food, just with a lot more metal and machine-stuff.

[shigayokagayama]

The Beach Omake And Authorial Intent

initially i was going to save this for a big teru analysis i had cooking however i eventually ended up deciding that it would feel like a really long tangent in its original context and probably deserves a separate post.

when it comes to the whole "teru's parents" thing i generally see two competing ideas on it

a. terus absent parents are the real villains of mob psycho and are the direct cause of everything wrong with his life and any and all teru analysis must center around this fact

b. terus parents being absent in the first place is only revealed in an omake and only exists for plot convenience and is not something that should be focused on at all when writing him

and whenever i see either of these my mind always drifts to the question of authorial intent. i know how people are reading this information, but how are we supposed to? i know death of the author is becoming more of a common thing in fandom spaces (albeit usually misused) but i feel like a better understanding of why this omake exists and how we're supposed to read it might help to better synthesize two takes that seems to be completely at odds with each other.

okay first i want to go over the actual placement of the beach omake in the update schedule of the manga because, unlike most other omakes, i feel like this ones placement in the schedule of page releases is actually super relevant

the vast majority of omakes come at the end of weekly updates. you finish reading the usually 15-20 pages ONE put out and then you get a little bonus comic at the end, usually something funny or a slice of life but but occasionally more serious. multi part omakes are usually spread out over multiple updates, making you wait a couple weeks for a punchline.

beach omake is not that. between chapters 99 (mob gets hit by a car) and 100 (the whole rest of the omake) there was a 6 week hiatus from normal pages and in this hiatus is where we get beach omake. reading it all together immediately cuts away the sort of "slice of life sunday paper comic" tone other multi part omakes have and make you read it as a part of the actual main story, since that's how you're used to reading these weekly updates.

now the actual tone. generally the multi part omakes exist to be long punchlines and the rare emotional ones are a single page for maximum impact. beach omake has a very different structure compared to, say, the haunted doll omake or the pot of happiness.

off the bat from the first two pages there's not really a joke. the tone mostly seems kind of melancholic. mobs expression for the middle section of the second page (maybe purposely) is obscured by the panel breaking off, it's hard to tell his reaction, all our attention is directed at teru. with all of the panels taken up by dialogue (primarily his own), we're being asked to focus on what he's saying:

-teru lives alone

-he lives alone because his parents live overseas

-he hasnt seen them in a while

-he doesnt like having nothing to do

-he doesnt like being alone

all of this information is delivered with an extremely casual expression from him, implying that it's not something that seems ll the out of the ordinary for him. mob, on the other hand...

the hesitation before he says anything and the way his expression is obscured seems to imply something is... off... about this information to him. this isn't a handwaved "oh mob is walking home from school after passing out because he needs to for plot reasons", we're reacting to this information like it's weird.

the next two pages are, mostly, a lot more of what we expect out of a mob psycho omake. the first one works as a standalone joke page, teru is bad at identifying animals which leads to him showing reigen a roach, something reigen is terrified of, instead of a beetle.

the second page starts similarly, we get a dumbass joke about reigen trying to pick up women at the beach (note: i think this is the singular time we get an indication reigen is even into women) but then the next two panels take on a more melancholic tone again. we get a small panel of mob and ritsu playing on the beach and a much, much larger panel of teru sitting on the beach, watching them. the dialogue bubble forces us to pay attention to the fact that he is silent.

the ending of this omake is where we bring it home. generally the last panel centers the punchline of the page, or of the whole omake, but the final panel of this isn't really what was being built to in this case.

we start our second page on teru. his expression is obscured, reigens speech bubble is shoved to the side so we can see that teru's hat is being held in his hands.

when we see his face in full view he looks... confused. he looks like he doesn't know how to react to someone going through all this trouble for him. teru is a character who, up to this moment, we have seen as extremely independent. he always rushes into things alone, he always has to be the hero, he always has to be the one to save the day. hell, this omake is immediately followed by the confession arc. where... you know.

so what are we supposed to get out of this omake?

teru's been doing everything on his own up to this point

but he doesn't have to anymore