#when they try to dig to the root of it and get stuck in the process

[luslushearth]

Pairing: Lilia Vanrouge x Reader

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Breeding, Overstimulation, Creampie, Tiddies

Lilias's eyes watch your form dart across the room, diligently patching up cuts and scraps Silver and Sebek had garnered from their training. Goodness, would you make a good mother.

…

Lilia pats himself on the back for such a wonderful idea, scooping you into his arms the moment you’re done with the two.

…

“Lil…Lilia…!” Your hands grip the bedsheets below you, your nails digging deep into your skin with every thrust he delivers to your insides. “So… Much…! T-Too much..!” Squelch sounds resonate through the room, strands of your cum and his connecting your lower bodies in a string of pure lust. You’ve lost count of how many times he’s cum inside you, if you had to guess, maybe 5…?

Meanwhile you’re on your 8th orgasm of the night, you’re on the verge of your 9th with how well Lilas thumb grinds into your clit. Your walls flutter around his girth, Lilia quietly praising you for such a wondrous performance.

“Just give me one more… We need… Hah… To make sure…!” There’s more…?! You’re about to tell him to give you a break, but the moment he resumes his thrusts, your words leave your lips immediately, each blow to your g-spot making you bite your lip and roll your eyes to the back of your head. Low pants coming from you as you feel the old fae’s hips stutter, pushing as deep as he can into your insides, slowly filling your cervix with even more of his love for you, his seed no doubt taking root within you.

He brushes the strands of hair that stick to his forehead to the side, laughing as he falls on top of you, not daring to move his flaccid dick from your cunt, he wants it to take the first try. His cheeks rests on your chest, his fingers playing with your nipples in between his fingers.

“You will make a beautiful mother.”

Your fingers cup his cheek, a smile taking place on your lips. “I’m sure Silver will be happy with another sibling.” Your fondness is dissipated as quickly as it came, your eyes squinting at the man. “Really…? Oh…!” Your head is thrown back into the pillow when Lilia takes your nipple into his mouth, his fingers back to work on your clit, slow thrusts beginning to pick up pace.

Your husband, Is hard, again.

“How did you get…?! Ahh…!”

“You showed me just how amazing of a mother you’d be.”

Seems you’ll be stuck here for the rest of the night. Even longer if your legs decide to not work tomorrow…

[doestalker]

plug!eren yeager who finds you crying on his front porch during one of his pool parties. makeup running down your cheeks, your body shaking from the cold air hitting your bare skin in the outfit you were wearing, a black bikini top and some mini shorts that hugged your figure.

he sits next to you, lighting up a blunt and asking you what's wrong, eyes glued on the way your chest heaves with each hiccup as you try to calm down.

eren frowns when you tell him you found your boyfriend making out with the girl he told you not to worry about, practically fucking each other with their clothes on. he stays silent for a few seconds, baffled by the idea that someone would have the nerve to cheat on an attractive girl like you.

and he shares that thought as he passes you the blunt. you accept it with a light giggle, taking a puff and looking at him from head to toe. he was wearing a white tee and baggy jeans, his medium-length hair in a half ponytail with a few loose strands framing his sharp features. you notice how the silver of his chains highlighted the green in his eyes. he was undeniably attractive, and the way he stared at you made it clear that he found you cute too.

as you pass him the blunt back, eren asks you who your boyfriend was. his brows shoot up in disbilief when you tell him it was jean kirsten.

saying jean and eren weren't fond of each other would be an understatement. they despised each other. jean saw eren as an arrogant pot-head with no future beyond a life behind bars, while eren viewed jean as a stuck-up hypocrite—someone who talked trash behind his back but came crawling when he needed a fix. their animosity was deeply rooted in their mutual disdain.

the corners of his mouth twitch upward, and a sparkle of mischief dances in his eyes as he offers you a way to get back at jean. he's practically brimming with excitement at the thought of how furious that horse-faced idiot would get when he sees you with him. you don't know if it's the mix of alcohol and weed or eren's deliciously intoxicating aura, but you think it's a good plan—great even—so you agree.

next thing you know, you're down to your bikini, clinging onto eren's shoulders as you make out with him in the pool. his lips are soft and wet from the pool water, and his tongue—exploring posessively the inside of your mouth, tastes like raspberry vodka. your hand glides easily through his damp hair, grip tightening as he nips at your lower lip, his teeth sinking gently into the soft flesh. his fingers dig firmly into the sides of your hips, holding you tight against his firm torso.

you felt someone's gaze burning into you, so when you pull away from the kiss, you turn your head and meet with jean's eyes.

you wanted to laugh. he looked so furious even though the same girl he was making out with before was wrapped around him.

"what a fucking clown," eren muttered softly against your ear. "how could something like him bag someone like you?" there was a hint of something in his voice, but you couldn't manage to figure out what.

you answered him with another kiss. now that you knew jean was looking at you, you made sure to put on a show. your legs were now tangled around eren's waist, and your tongue danced with his, your lips making an erotic wet noise as you explored each other hungrily. you've never kissed jean like these, not in public at least.

a small, high-pitched giggle escaped your lips as he boldly moved down his hands to greedily grab your ass and guide you both towards the edge of the pool. all the while, his lips remained locked on yours, his kiss unbroken as he manouverd the both of you out of the water.

the cold air hit your body the moment it was out of the pool, sending a shiver down your spine and making you stay against eren's impossibly warm body. he looked down at you with a soft smile, tucking a loose hairstrand behind your ear.

or,

plug!eren yeager who has his hand firmly planted on the back of your head, pushing it into the matress, while he pounds into you. your clothes are now scattered around his bedroom along with his and the loud music blasting from the backyard couldn't muffle the wet sounds of your pussy swallowing his length.

"ahh, eren~" you whined, barely able to breath with the suffocating pressure of his hand and the rapid pace of his hips.

"yeah? you like that?" he said, and you could hear the smirk on his face. he took a long drag of his blunt, his thrusts slowing a bit, just to tease you. and when his lungs were full of the intoxicating smoke, he pulled you close to him by your hair. grabbing you by the cheeks with his other hand, he blew the smoke into your open mouth. "take it, baby," eren ordered.

you aspired as much as you could, already feeling lightheaded, then exhaled the smoke back into his face. eren smiled, proud, and gave you a wet kiss on the cheek. "that's it, baby, good girl." you moaned at his praise.

eren brings the blunt close to your lips, he didn't need to say anything as you took a drag from it. it was kinda difficult, since he was still pounding into you, so it took two tries to line the filter with your mouth.

"good. girl." groaned the brunette through gritted teeth, his lustful eyes almost completely black from his dilated pupils. it was now your turn to shotgun the smoke into his mouth, and of course he took it like a champ.

he puts the blunt away on a small tray next to you, which had rolling papers, filters and a lighter. it was your idea to take this to his bedroom after that panty-dropping kiss, but it was his idea to roll a blunt while he was buried deep inside your cunt. but goddammit if it wasn't hot.

you were used to having boring sex with jean. the missionary only kinda sex. you've always desired to be manhandled, for him to take you from behind, to slap you or to spank you. it never happenned though, and you didn't push it too much.

but now? oh boy.

eren was fucking you like a beast. the way he pounds his cock into your cervix, in contrast with the way he praises you like you are the prettiest girl he's ever been with? it was all driving you equally crazy and to your climax. you swear you started seeing stars.

"i'm gonna cum, babygirl, m'gonna fill up that tight little pussy, hm?" eren pants, sliding his hand through the curve of your arched back, back and forth, until it's resting against your ass cheek and leaves a hard slap there.

"erenn! please, fill me up," you whined, voice muffled by the matress. "fu-uuck, i'm gonna cum~"

"cum on my dick, princess, want you to cream my fucking cock like a good girl."

let's just say, jean had no way of winning you back now that you tried plug!eren yeager's cock.

[moonlight-prose]

THE WAY YOU SAY GOODBYE

a/n: i have been watching way too much hart of dixie lately and well wade is basically just hangman in a different font. don't try to argue cause you know i'm absolutely right. so i spawned this drabble out of my head as if i were summoning a demon. enjoy my hangman girlies.

summary: if there's a way to say goodbye that has been noted in the history books, hangman will find a way to master it.

word count: 1k+

pairing: jake 'hangman' seresin x f!reader

warnings: semi-explicit, kissing that borders on tongue fucking, he's nasty with it, cocky hangman, spit, again i say he's nasty with it.

Looking up the definition of the word goodbye would come with an endless amount of definitions and explanations. All in varying languages, with meanings so deep they grew like the roots of a tree. Embedding themselves in the earth with life of its own.

The way Hangman said goodbye wasn’t one of those.

He was assured, cocky, and genuinely believed he was God’s gift to this earth. You could see it with how he leaned against the pool table, his legs spread, lips pulled into a you know you want to fuck me smile. And the thing was…you couldn’t deny it. You did in fact want that. You had that. Four hours ago at the crack of dawn when he found his way back into your bed after a run and a shower.

Of course the others around would voice their displeasure and intense disgust if either of you brought it up. So you stayed silent. Sipping a coffee as he argued with Rooster over who had the bigger dick. Or something of that manner. You weren’t entirely focused on the conversation, your eyes fixated on the way his uniform pulled taut across his shoulders.

You were pretty sure that if you peeled the layers of fabric away, you’d find the imprint of your teeth in the muscle of his right shoulder.

Part of you was tempted to search for it. The other part had yet to notice he had stopped talking altogether, his attention on the only thing that mattered. You and your dreamy haze of love.

If he had the time he’d drag you to the bathroom, but everyone was already starting to pack it in for the morning. It would be a long day of training, of listening to the same orders over and over, of picking fights with one another until their patience ran thin. And all he wanted was to say goodbye to you properly. In a way that he’d feel each time you crossed his mind.

“You want a ride?” Fanboy asked, digging his keys out of his pocket.

He nodded. “Yeah thanks.”

“Let’s head out boys.” Phoenix shoved her arms into the leather jacket she’d brought even though the weather outside was warm enough to sunbathe.

He found his mind wandering to the image of you doing just that.

“Alright,” he sighed, standing tall as he reached for the jacket on the back of his chair.

You smiled as he sauntered over to you, his hand gripping your waist as he tugged you to stand up. “You’re going?”

He sighed as if you’d asked him the hardest question to exist. “Yeah. I’ve gotta go baby.”

“I’ll see you tonight.”

The soft smile that crossed his lips was enough to have your heart racing. “I’ve got a new bottle of wine, some new desserts to try out.”

He smiled, his hand sliding lower as you listed out a few other things. Some which you had to say softly, lest you bring the wrath of the others. You’d been in that predicament before; you didn’t necessarily want to go back. At least not for a few months. Getting caught at the rocks by the beach was bad enough. Getting caught by Rooster, Phoenix, and Coyote was worse.

Although they couldn’t deny it, they were much happier seeing Hangman in a relationship than out of one.

“We got to go man,” Fanboy said, nudging Payback to get up from where he sat. “I don’t want to get stuck doing extra push ups when your asses make me late.”

Jake chuckled, his eyes dropping to the way your tongue slid along your bottom lip. The idea of dropping in when he got lunch was appealing enough to hold him over for a few hours. At least then he could show you what he’d been craving to eat since this morning.

“Gentlemen. Phoenix. You might want to avert your eyes. I’m about to kiss my woman goodbye.” The groan from behind was enough to set you off in a fit of giggles, your hand sliding into the base of his hair. “C’mere sugar,” he mumbled, grasping the nape of your neck.

To say Jake Seresin invented the art of saying goodbye was an understatement. He made bidding farewell dirty, debauched, and so filthy so as to solidify that moment in your mind for the rest of the day. His tongue slid into your mouth, a soft moan at the taste of your coffee being pressed into the searing kiss, as he tugged you even closer. The breath was knocked from your lungs with each lick into you and you began to wonder if maybe he was thinking of something else entirely.

That only made you grip onto his hair tighter, pulling him close enough to feel the way his hips shifted forward. Not enough to draw attention from the others. Yet you felt as if he was grinding into you without a single item of clothing on.

“That’s disgusting!” Rooster shouted from across the bar.

Yet you couldn’t find it in yourself to pull away. Spit spread slightly down your chin, his teeth digging into the plush skin of your bottom lip, and you felt your knees begin to buckle. Even as he gripped your ass tight enough to leave a phantom touch behind.

He made sure you’d feel him all fucking day.

“Mm,” he hummed, his grip growing tighter. “Your coffee tastes delicious baby.”

You laughed. “You want some?”

“I gotta go,” he mumbled, kissing you again as he licked even deeper into your mouth. His sharp inhale the cause of your heart stuttering.

“So go,” you breathed. “I’m not stopping you.”

He smiled. “Liar.”

“Don’t be rude.”

“Or what?”

Twisting his hair between your fingers, you tugged his head back slightly. Earning you a soft grunt you felt in the base of your stomach.

“Or I find something else to occupy my night.”

“Noted Mrs. Seresin.” He snuck your mug out from behind you, stealing a sip as you hung on him—addicted to his mere presence.

You smiled, biting into your bottom lip as he cleaned you up with his thumb. “I’ll see you later Mr. Seresin.”

“Oh yes you will,” he murmured, stealing a chaste kiss as he swung his jacket over his shoulder. “You can count on it sugar!”

[neo-novaa]

marital duties

synopsis: king george x reader, loosely based on this ask,

the sun was burning against your back, the only cold solace being from the wet dirt that riddled your hands.

“you’ve got to be careful pulling that one out,” george— farmer george says to you. it’s a carrot, you’ve grown to recognize them by their leaves. “reach deeper into the ground. if you pull it from the leaves, they’ll rip.

you nod, digging your hands into the dirt, but not before you hear george inhale sharply. you turn, worried, finding his lips in a stern line and his brows furrowed.

“what is it?” you ask, interest peaked.

“you’re still not doing it right.”

you scoff, releiving your hands of the moist soil, and unceremoniously brushing them against your silk dress. it was far beoynd saving, sticky with sweat, stained with soil, the wonderful pastels now tainted with shades of brown.

“i’m reaching into the dirt.” you retaliate, flicking away the dirt from under your nails. 

it’s his turn to scoff. “barely. you didn’t even get your palms in there.”

wiping the last chunk of mud away from your hands, you turn to him with an unapproving glare. “fine then, i’ll dig deeper.”

you dive in, wrist deep—

“no, now you’ve gone past the root entirely.” he scolds, shuffling over to the carrot you’ve been spending far too much time trying to pick out. 

“let me show you,” georges hands envelop yours, his soft palms a sudden reminder of this very temporary escape. 

only an hour, that’s all the time you got in a day to pretend that this was your life; to pretend that he was nothing more than farmer george, and you were nothing more than his wife. 

“you have to say close to the stem,” he whispers, as if people are watching— as if this isn’t the only time in their entire lives where people weren’t watching. 

he gently curls your fingers so that the tips run down the slimy side of the vegetable, nearly reaching the bottom.

“now,” he’s impossibly close, his warm breath against your neck almost making you shudder. “pull!”

he fists your hands and tugs at the carrot with a comical amount of strength. so much so that it causes the two of you to fall over, hands enveloped in each other, grasping a muddy carrot.

“now do you understand?” he says through laughter, and you’re struggling to speak with how much you’re laughing with him. the backside of your dress is now caked in a layer of mulch and dirt. if it was able to be fixed a minute ago, it was far past salvageable now. 

“i think i understand.” you finally say through an onslaught of giggles, sitting up once his hands leave yours.

they’re quick to find you again, gently covering your bare shoulders, shielding you from the blazing heat for almost a moment.

you meet his loving eyes scanning your face, taking in every detail as if he’d forget it– as if he’d let his mind do that to him.

one of his hands runs along the side of your face, grasping your chin. “you’ve no idea how beautiful you are.”

you can’t help but roll your eyes. you don’t need a mirror to guess your current state: hair a mess, face riddled with streaks of mud, stuck to your face from how much you’ve been sweating.

“george–” you barely get to say his name before he’s kissing you, dirtied hands finding your place along your jaw. you share the sentiment, your own hands caked in soil are muddying his hair, pulling him closer to you. 

his hands find your waist, pulling you on top of him. they wander up to your chest, down to your hips, and settle on your thighs.

you pull away, gasping, lungs aching from the lack of air. georges breath are matching yours: strong, heavy, wanting.

you’re about to go in again when you hear feet shuffling on gravel only a few feet away.

“brimsley.” you grumble.

“reynolds.” he mutters. 

your right-hand men borh bow deeply. “your majesties,” brimsley says, standing up with perfect posture. 

“yes, yes, i know,” you stand up, brushing off the layer of dried soil on your knees, as if it does anything to help. george doesn’t bother with the stains, almost as if he knows that any attempts to clean his farmer trousers would be futile.

“hours up.” you say with a disappointing sigh, and almost scream at the way that brimsley nods curtley.

“says who?” george is grabbing your wrist, catching your attention and reeling it back to him. “i am the king, and you, my queen. there is no one who can tell us what to do.”

“george?” you barely manage to say, standing blankly, fighting the urge to drop your jaw. 

“all i’m saying is…” he begins to pull you towards your home, not-so discreetly eyeing your chest. “we have other marital duties to attend…do we not?”

“george!” it’s more like a scorn this time, your gaze quickly darting over to brimsley and reynolds who, as if they were statues, have barely moved since they appeared. unlike him, you’re not used to sharing your thoughts around people.

“come on!” he’s tugging you onto the gravel path, and all you can do is roll your eyes and hike up your dress while running off to perform your… “marital duties.”

[stylesloveclub]

Prose (part 2)

In which not many students attend Harry's office hours, and y/n's kind of burnt out.

+++

“What’s that drink you’re always drinking?” Harry asks, sitting across from y/n in his office.

She’s the only student to show up to his office hours this week (again), and had come to ask about the first essay that’s due next week. While she types on her computer, writing down all the notes that Harry just gave her on her first draft, Harry finds himself staring at the iced drink sitting next to her laptop.

“Oh, it’s just an iced chai. I’ve been getting two pumps of pumpkin spice syrup in it recently though, since Starbucks has their fall flavors now.”

“Hm. I’ve never tried the fall drinks.” He twirls his red pen between his fingers, leaning back in his chair comfortably. “M’always too scared to try new drinks, y’know? Like what if I don’t like it? Then I’d have wasted five bucks and I wouldn’t even have a coffee to get me through my day.” He pouts to himself at the thought of it, and y/n finds it terribly endearing.

She’s happy to know that Harry is seemingly very comfortable in her presence, prattling on and on about the simplest of things – like coffee orders and his favorite food places on campus. When she first walked in, the first thing he’d asked her was her favorite place to grab lunch on campus, since he was starving and one of the other TA’s had offered to drop off some food for him. His personal favorite was the bagel place (he could have a cream cheese bagel at any time of the day, he told her), but that place closes early, so he was stuck between getting mexican or sushi.

Y/n advised him to stick with the burritos – her ex-roommate once got food poisoning from the sushi. Never trust the on-campus sushi, she warned.

“M’kinda like that too,” she responds once she finishes up her essay outline. “I usually just always get the chai, ‘cos I know I’ll like it. But sometimes I’ll be adventurous with like, the syrups I add, because it doesn’t really make a difference. Like right now, I have pumpkin spice syrup in here, and I can barely taste it so even if I didn’t like it, it’d be fine.” She takes a sip to somehow prove her point. “I just like adding the pumpkin for the fall vibes.”

“Is fall your favorite season?” he asks. It’s been a lot of this – Harry asking her questions, getting to know her. She wonders if it’s because she’s the only one who shows up to his office hours and, therefore, is the only person whose ear he gets to talk off – or if he genuinely is interested in her. The thought of it makes her heart want to do a backflip, but she kindly tells her heart to CALM THE FUCK DOWN before she starts getting carried away in her train of thought. Harry’s just a nice guy! A nice guy, who talks to her about books, and shares his umbrella, and gives her rides home when it’s rainy outside – and has pretty pink lips, and pretty green eyes, and pretty brown curls.

“Yeah, I think so,” she hums.

Her crush on him seems to grow more and more every time she sees him, like those tall annoying weeds that you constantly have to dig out of a pretty flower garden. The type of weeds that seem to grow back even stronger each time you cut their roots and spray anti-weed chemicals on them to ensure that they don’t come back. She’s tried to smush those bothersome butterflies in her stomach, continuously reminding herself that he’s just her TA. That he’s just being nice. That he just calls her smart, and tells her that she’s doing a good job, and praises her discussion posts because that is literally what a Teaching Assistant is supposed to do. But whenever he smiles at her with that boyish dimple and his eyes glimmer all sweetly and romantically and thoughtfully – well she just can’t help it! She’s given up and has let the crush invade her brain like the invasive garden plant that it is.

It’s just a harmless little crush, she rationalizes. Just a little fantasy of kissing him here and there to get her through her boring lectures with Dr. Richmond – nothing wrong with that, right?

She clears her throat, “What’s your favorite season?”

He stares up at the ceiling, pursing his lips thoughtfully, “Hmm… probably spring. I like seeing the flowers bloom, especially after a snowy winter.”

Oh, of course he likes seeing the flowers bloom. He’s a walking piece of poetry.

+++

Harry stands at the front of the classroom, lecturing once again. It’s the same as before – fourty-ish college students hanging onto every word like his words are a waterfall and they’re a group of dehydrated travelers.

He loves teaching, loves seeing the way his students’ eyes light up with wonder when he explains a certain theme or points out a new motif. He’s more than happy to hold their hand through the novel, be their guiding light through the Romantic era. Their questions make his day, and he’s beyond happy to see that, now that they’re a few weeks into their course, the students are opening up.

“Victor is so caught up in his experiment,” Harry lectures, “that he begins to ignore nature. Victor says– ‘The summer months passed while I was thus engaged, heart and soul, in one pursuit. It was the most beautiful season; never did the fields bestow a more plentiful harvest, or the vines yield a more luxuriant vintage: but my eyes were insensible to the charms of nature.’ So what role does nature – or should I say – the lack of nature, play for Victor?”

Four hands shoot up into the air (relieving considering how last week he could barely get anyone to say anything). “Katie, right?” He smiles when she nods, and gives an exaggerated, celebratory fist pump that makes all of his students chuckle. “Told you I’d start getting your names down! Go ahead, Katie.”

Although he’s laughing and smiling – practically beaming since he and his students are getting along and actually discussing (instead of just him lecturing them) – he can’t help but feel a little pinch of sadness in the back of his mind. As his eyes scan over the seats, he can’t manage to find y/n in the class. He’d searched for her three times already – wondering if he accidentally missed her, or if she was hidden behind one of the tall boys near the front – but he couldn’t find his star student. He missed catching her eye, giving her sly winks and watching her duck her head down stifle a laugh. It kept him entertained whenever he had to sit through Dr. Richmond’s lectures, and he liked hearing her talk. Not only does she add amazing thoughts to their class discussions, but she also is just… nice to listen to.

“Good… I love how you said that Katie,” Harry carries on, “He embodies the corruption of nature in the quest for glory. And we already know how highly the Romantics regard the beauty of nature – their artwork is meant to connect us with the world, isn’t it?”

He wonders if she’s okay. She isn’t hurt or anything, is she? Did something happen to her on her walk to class?

“He’s disrupting the natural cycle of life, basically destroying nature, by trying to play God and create life himself–”

Y/n, as quietly as she can, sneaks into the classroom. She’s 15 minutes late, which isn’t late enough to just completely ditch the lecture, but still late enough to raise a few eyebrows. Of course, being the clumsy duck she is, she accidentally knocks the trash can over with a loud bang. She winces at how loud the sound is, and feels her cheeks turn hot when all eyes turn to look at her.

Harry turns as well, and can’t help but smile to himself – there she is.

He continues with his lecture, as if nothing happened, but watches as she hurries over to her set spot in the third row. She messily pushes her hair out of her face as she sits down, pulling the pull-out desk in front of her and grabbing her laptop from her bag. She types in her password quickly, and pushes the sleeves of her white cardigan up her arms so that they aren’t in the way. Her eyes briefly flicker upwards to the projector to see what she missed – but instead she accidentally catches Harry’s gaze, who’s already looking at her.

All of a sudden, Harry loses his train of thought. His eyes flicker between hers, and she stares back at him. They’re stuck like that for a moment – just the briefest moment – before he realizes that words are no longer coming out of his mouth and that the rest of the class is staring at him expectantly.

His cheeks tint pink. “Um… sorry, what was I saying?” He chuckles at himself embarrassedly, shaking his head at himself – it’s not often that he stutters over his words. But, luckily, it was brief enough to just pass as a slight fumble. Nothing too suspicious.

Harry tears his eyes away from y/n and resumes with his lecture. But somehow, as delusional as she might be, y/n can tell that that moment was something more than just a slight stumble.

+++

“I got this for you,” y/n says, standing in front of Harry’s desk, placing the iced drink down next to his pile of papers.

Harry furrows his eyebrows and sits up straighter. “What?”

“It’s a pumpkin iced chai… the same one I usually get. I thought, since last time you said you didn’t wanna waste five bucks trying a new drink–”

“Are you mental?” he interrupts.

She blinks. “Huh?”

“Why would you go on and waste five of your dollars instead?” he huffs. “Christ, y/n, don’t be silly, m’not letting you buy me a coffee. How much was it, let me pay you back–” he’s reaching into his back pocket for his wallet, but y/n is quick to refuse.

“No, don’t worry I didn’t pay for it! Starbucks has this thing– it’s like, if you buy one fall drink you can get a second one for free, but it’s only on Thursdays after 12. And I was gonna get one for myself anyway, so I was like– might as well just get the second one for free so that you can try it and not waste five dollars.”

He pauses, his wallet half open and a five dollar bill pinched between her fingers. He squints at her, “Are you lying?”

She gives an exasperated huff, “Why would I lie?!”

“I dunno, maybe you’re trying to butter me up with drinks and stuff so that I’ll grade your essays easier – which won’t work by the way! M’not easy to bribe!”

She rolls her eyes and plops into the seat across from him. “Please. If I was gonna try and butter you up, it would’ve started five weeks ago, when classes actually started. And I probably wouldn’t be in your office hours every week groveling over these stupid essays.” She lets her bag fall to the floor and blows the hair out of her face. “Y’know, Dr. Richmond does not explain the politics of 18th Century Europe well enough to expect me to write an entire essay on ‘the effects of globalization on romantic era literature.’ I signed up for a literature class, not European history. When are we gonna start writing essays on Frankenstein and feminism?”

Harry goes to respond, but right at that moment he takes a tentative sip of the drink that y/n had forced onto his desk. He cannot hide the grimace that graces his face.

Her eyes round out and her eyebrows pinch. “You don’t like it?” she says with a pout.

His lips smack together a few times, trying to get used to the taste of pumpkin in his mouth – but he actually really cannot stand it. “God,” he says, his nose wrinkles and his tongue aching for some water to wash away the pumpkin-y after taste. “What a waste of five dollars.”

“Oh my gosh– I did not spend five dollars on a drink for you!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he pushes the drink to the edge of his desk, the sight of it making his tummy turn a little bit (he really did not like that pumpkin flavor mixed with milk). He then states the obvious, “You were late today.”

“Yeah. I overslept.”

He tsks, “What happened to the punctual Miss y/n who showed up twenty minutes early on the first day of classes?”

She sighs, “Dunno. Was up kinda late last night. And then I guess I snoozed through my alarm.”

It’s only then that he notices the dark circles under her eyes, and how her face is missing that usual radiant glow. He’s so caught up in her smile and her eyes, that he nearly missed the exhaustion leaking off her body. “How late?” he inquires.

“Um… like 3 in the morning.” Harry gapes at her, and she shrugs.

“Tha’s not healthy,” he scolds like a father. “Why’re you staying up so late, hm? Should be in bed for at least 6-8 hours, don’t you know that?”

“I know,” she rubs at her eyes tiredly. “I just have a psych midterm next week that m’really freaked out about. I like– fell behind on the lectures, so m’trying to learn like the past three weeks of material in a few days.”

Harry feels his heart ache, sympathizing for this poor, tired, hard-working girl. He knows the struggles of undergrad – he was pulling all nighters too, back in his day, and he never dared to go above 16 units. He wonders how she’s surviving, taking 20 units while still being at the top of her classes – well, she’s at the top of this class, he knows for certain. His star student.

Her eyes are still hidden behind her hands, knuckling at her eyelids, but she pulls them away slowly when she feels Harry’s hand at her knee. She looks at him, and he’s suddenly aware of how red and glossy her eyes are. “Just don’t overdo the studying, okay?” he says with soft eyes and a gentle voice. His thumb rubs overtop her knee softly, saying a hundred words that he can’t say out loud just quite yet.

She nods, and swallows thickly. “Okay.”

He smiles. “So you want a crash course in European History? I can do that for you. Dunno why more people don’t show up to my office hours, m’literally about to tell you exactly what to write…”

+++

Y/n is exhausted.

Actually, exhausted doesn’t cut it. She is at her breaking point.

With midterms week upon her, she’s been drowning herself in her school work, trying to keep up with her lectures and recap everything that she’s learned up until this point. Kind of difficult, when she’s fallen so dreadfully behind and barely knows what’s going on in her stats class. And – to make things worse, not only does she have both her stats and psych midterm this Friday, but she also needs to finish this stupid Globalization essay by tomorrow’s deadline.

Seven pages about The Effects of Globalization on British Romantic Literature. She currently has three pages written.

She’s screwed.

It’s not like she was trying to get behind! She tried so hard to stay on top of her studies. She promised herself that she’d finish the globalization essay last night – went to starbucks with her noise canceling headphones, got herself an iced pumpkin chai as a motivational treat, and sat down to turn all her notes into a beautiful, magical essay on Romanticism that would make Dr. Richmond weep.

But… the words just weren’t wording! Her brain refused to cooperate with her, despite the fact that she stayed at the Starbucks literally up until they kicked her out. She read her sources, went over her excerpts, wrote and rewrote her thesis over and over again… and only got three out of the seven pages done. She doesn’t know whether to blame Dr. Richmond for assigning such a stupid essay, or just her own sleep-deprived brain.

She’d gotten maybe five hours of sleep last night. And the night before that, too. Harry’s words ring loudly in her head, scolding her to get at least six hours of sleep every night… but she just has so much work to do! She has to do her psych readings, her stats homework, the midterm practice her stats professor posted, and this essay… It's a lot. Plus having to actually attend all of her classes and go to work (she works at the campus bookstore) on top of all her homework and studying? She barely has time to eat!!!

Her tummy grumbles miserably, a painful reminder of the fact that she had forgotten to pack herself a lunch this morning in her haste to get to class on time. The pain is nowhere as bad as her headache, though. It’s the kind of migraine you get when you barely got any sleep. Her head feels heavy, her heartbeat pounding in her ears, and her eyes sting every time she blinks. It’s horrible. She can barely focus on anything. Not her stats homework, not the essay open in front of her.

Not even Harry, who’s sitting to her left, helping her with her essay. In fact, she’s completely missed what he’s spent the past minute explaining to her.

She blinks at him slowly. “Sorry… can you say that again?”

Harry’s pretty face pinches, his eyebrows furrowed and eyes glimmering with concern. She’s so clearly off today… he can’t ignore her red-rimmed eyes and zoning out any longer. “…are you okay?” he asks timidly.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says quickly, brushing off his concern. “I’m fine.” But it’s like as soon as she says those two words, the dam holding her together collapses, and a river of emotion comes barreling through her. She looks down at the open document on her laptop, stares at the cursor blinking at her. The blank page taunting her. Tears well up in her eyes, and her heart starts to swell sadly. She’s not fine at all.

She quickly hides her face from Harry, looking down at her lap. She is NOT allowed to cry in front of him, she reprimands herself. She’s kept herself together all day, why is she starting to get emotional now, in the middle of his office hours? Couldn’t it have waited until she was alone in her shower?

She swallows around the lump in her throat, and presses her palms to her stinging eyes. As if that’ll keep her tears at bay. “Sorry,” she mumbles, trying to conceal her shaky voice, “let me just think for a second.”

“Hey…” Harry sees right through it. “Hey, come on. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says, mostly trying to convince herself. She sniffles as quietly as she can and tries to rub the tears away. “Sorry, nothing. I’m fine.”

She reaches for her laptop, but Harry grabs her hand. “No.” He can’t ignore the glossy sheen of her eyes, or the quiet sniffles. He just can’t. “We need to take a break.”

“It’s really fine–” she tries to say, but she can barely get it out with how her throat is swelling. She stares down at the floor. Harry holds her hand.

“What’s wrong? Talk to me.” His hands are big and warm, encasing her’s, wholly. A cross tattoo sits between the slit of his thumb and second finger, twitching as his thumb grazes her knuckles.

“M’just tired,” she says dejectedly. “I was up super late last night and I just… didn’t even get anything done. And now I have to finish this, and I haven’t finished my stats homework, and I have two midterms on Friday.” Her heart starts to race as she realizes much she has to do, and how little time she has. She’s stretched herself thin. “There’s just so much I have to get done,” her voice cracks, “and I’m so tired.” A big fat tear rolls down her face, and drops onto her shirt – shamefully staining the thin material.

Harry gets out of his chair and kneels down in front of her, resting their joint hands in her lap as he stares up at her. More tears fill her eyes without her consent, and her cheeks burn with embarrassment. “Sorry,” she sniffles. She refuses to meet his gaze, despite how earnestly he’s looking into her sad eyes. Another drop falls from her lashes.

“Don’t apologize,” he murmurs sadly.

“I thought I could handle it all,” she bleats. “But I’m so unprepared for my midterms, and I need to finish this essay, and I promised you that I’d stay on top of my work, but I’m falling behind–”

“Don’t worry about the essay,” he interrupts. “I’ll get you an extension on your paper.”

She shakes her head. “Dr. Richmond doesn’t do extensions, though,” she blubbers.

“I’ll talk to him,” he says firmly. “M’the one grading it anyway.”

“But Harry–” she whines, shamelessly childlike, “I promised you that this wouldn’t happen. I told you I could handle it.”

“And you can handle it. I know you can.” His green eyes are wide and round as he looks up at her, earnest and pleading. “You come to office hours, and you study hard, and you’d stay up all night to finish this essay – but I don’t want you to. You don’t have to prove yourself to me. I know you can do it.”

She pouts, still not looking up at him. She stares instead at their joint hands in her lap blankly.

“You’re doing so good,” he coos, “You’re coming to office hours even when you have so much going on, and you’re taking so many units. I know you’re giving it your all. S’okay.”

He reaches a hand out to rest on her shoulder, and suddenly she feels the weight of the world fall off of her chest. A long, shaky breath leaves her, and she blinks her eyes shut, letting more tears cascade down her cheeks. “Oh, sweetheart,” Harry’s heart breaks. He leans up to wrap his arms around her shoulders, a soft hug, and she rests her forehead on his shoulder, letting the tears silently fall. His hands rub big, soothing circles on her back, and he shushes her softly, “It’s alright.”

His blue dress shirt feels cool against her face, crisp and fresh, and he smells like vanilla and smoked wood. She doesn’t want to abandon his firm chest, his warm embrace, but he pulls back and looks into her eyes. For the first time, she meets his gaze. “No more crying, okay?”

She sniffles, and wipes the wetness off her cheeks. “M’kay.”

A soft smile smooths out the worried lines on his face. “Here’s what we’re gonna do,” he says, his hands slapping his thighs as he stands back up. “You’re going to take a nap–” he closes his office door and locks it with a click.

“A nap?” her watery voice exclaims. “But– I need to study!”

He gives her a firm look. “You’re not gonna get any studying done if your brain isn’t well rested.” From one of the bottom drawers of his desk, he pulls out a blanket (he sometimes will take a nap in his office if he needs a break from grading). “Take a nap. I’ll wake you in an hour and then y’can study in here.”

+++

You know that peaceful feeling that surrounds a room when a baby is taking a nap? How everyone tiptoes around the crib, their voices barely surpassing a whisper in fear of waking the sleeping baby. How parents will stand around, just watching the baby nap, smiling to themselves when their baby twitches in its sleep. How the world just seems more… peaceful?

That’s how Harry feels right now.

Y/n is on his couch, his cozy gray blanket pulled up to her chin. Her cheeks are puffed, her tired eyes shut with her eyelashes resting delicately on the tops of her cheeks. She looks angelic, the most relaxed he’s ever seen her be, with no midterms stressing her out. No papers due, no furrowed eyebrows, no crying. Like a sleeping baby, cherubic and sweet. He’s been tiptoeing around her for the past hour, grading papers as quietly as he can. He tried to be productive and just mind his business while she napped, but everytime he shuffled through one of the essays, he felt the urge to check on her, to make sure that he didn’t accidentally wake her up. And then he just wanted to… watch her. Not in a creepy way though!!! Not in a creepy way. In a kind of… sweet way. :( She was beautiful, especially when she slept.

His heart doesn’t want to wake her up – not when she looks so peaceful for the first time weeks. All the times he’s seen her since that very first week was her stressing and stressing and stressing – stressing about getting a permission code from Dr. Richmond, stressing about her exams, stressing about the rain. He’s never gotten to see her take a breath and be calm. She’s a hard worker, he can tell – which is a great trait that he admires in his students. But, with y/n… he just wants to make sure she’s okay, too.

He kneels down in front of the couch, and regretfully murmurs out, “y/n?” She doesn’t respond at all– she’s dead to the world. All the exhaustion that she’d accumulated this past week, all the hours of sleep she missed, are catching up with her now. He tries again, “Y/n… time to wake up.”

Her eyebrows furrow and her nose wrinkles, but she still refuses to open her eyes. The pull of sleepiness is too strong. It makes him chuckle. “Come on, bunny,” he says, in reference to her twitchy nose and pouty lips. “V’got a snack for you.”

Her sleepy eyes blink open, and immediately he can tell that she needed that nap. Her eyes are brighter, less red, and she stares up at him sweetly. “A snack?”

Of course that would get her to wake up. His dimple pokes his cheek. “S’not much. Just a granola bar. But it’ll help you while you study.”

She sits up, the blanket pooling around her waist, and rubs at her eye with her knuckle.

“Feeling better?” He asks, a hand on her knee.

She nods. She’d taken an Advil for her headache before she’d gone to sleep. That, with her nap, has made the prospect of studying a little bit more bearable.

When she looks around the room, she sees that Harry’s cleared up a portion of his desk for her to study at. Gone are his stacks of books, a bare square of wood right across from the stack of essays he’s currently grading. The usual foldable chair that he has students sit in during his office hours has been moved to the corner, and has been replaced with one of the more comfy, rolly chairs. He’s gone out of his way to make a sweet little study space for her while she napped in his office.

“Now… we’re gonna have to leave by 9,” Harry says, standing up and going round to his side of his desk. “Cos v’got to feed my cat. But that gives us at least… two hours of study time. N’then I can take you home. How does that sound?”

She blinks. “Harry… thank you.” She doesn’t know why he’s being so nice to her, or what she’s done to deserve such kind treatment. But it means the world.

He shrugs nonchalantly, but she doesn’t miss the dimple that pinches his cheek as he smiles to himself.

+++

They stay in his office until nightfall.

Harry’s nicely styled curls turn messy, his fingers tangling through his hair he graded the freshman papers (is he a harsh grader, or does this new generation truly not know how to write?). His eyebrows furrow behind his tortoise shell glasses, green eyes hard and serious. Y/n watches the way his lips purse, how he taps his red pen against his chin while he reads.

Her own brain is done with studying. After her nap, she started playing her classical music and sat down to finish her stats homework AND the practice midterm. Without the globalization essay to worry about, she managed to calm down and focus, get some of her work done, and catch up on the things she was so behind on. Does she feel any better about the exam? No. But at least she can say that she studied!

Harry manages to make a nice dent in the stack of ungraded papers as well, working well in the comfortable silence filtering between the two of them. There was no need for them to talk, and they didn’t distract each other either. Simply getting their work done next to each other, and enjoying each other’s presence (though neither one of them would outright admit how nice it is to just sit in silence with the other).

They pack up and head out together when it gets closer to nine. Harry holds the office door open for her and locks his door behind them, and they walk closely together towards the parking lot. It’s dark, the ground only lit by the few streetlights looming above them, and a shiver racks through y/n’s body from the cool autumnal air. She hadn’t planned on being on campus so late – she thought that she’d probably go straight home after office hours and pull an all-nighter to finish her essay – so therefore, she doesn’t have much of a jacket except for a lame cardigan over her shirt.

Harry, who usually is on campus until nightfall anyway, wishes he could do something for her when he notices the way she’s hugging herself, her cardigan pulled over her fingers. He wants to pull her to his side, wrap an arm around her and share his body warmth with her – but that would be entirely too unprofessional, he thinks. Instead he picks up his pace, forcing y/n to scurry in order to keep up with his long strides, and immediately turns on the heat for her.

He doesn’t need to ask for directions this time, knowing exactly where to turn and how to get to her apartment, and when he pulls up in front of her door, he turns to her quietly. “Listen. Don’t stress about the paper. Focus on studying for your exams, and then you can have the entire weekend to finish the paper, okay?”

“I feel… bad. Like, Dr. Richmond said no extensions, and you’re making these exceptions for me–”

“Don’t overthink it,” Harry interrupts. “Dr. Richmond just says that so people don’t just ask for extensions because they procrastinated. He will grant extensions when there’s a valid reason.”

“But, really it’s not a valid reason… everyone else has midterms.”

“But none of those other students have shown me how much they care about this class. I know you’re a hard worker, I know you aren’t just procrastinating.” He shrugs, “M’the one who makes the calls. And I think you deserve an extension.”

She sits there quietly, then says, “I-I just don’t want you to think I only came to your office hours to cry and make you give me an extension. I… come to your office hours for help. You’re like… helpful.” She says that last part awkwardly, and it makes him chuckle quietly.

“You can say I’m your favorite TA. I won’t tell.” His dimple pokes his cheek as he smirks at her teasingly, and she can’t help but giggle too. Her eyes twinkle as she looks at him with a small shake of her head. That wasn’t what she was getting at… but it is true.

They stare at each other for a moment too long. One of Harry’s hands rests on the wheel, while the other one comes up to play with his lip. Y/n’s hands sit politely in her lap, her bag sitting at her feet on the passenger’s seat floor. They’re both quiet, not knowing what to say. Yeah, they’re laughing and teasing each other, but something heavier lingers in the air around them. This tension… this magnetic energy. Neither y/n nor Harry know what’s causing it, or why the silence is suddenly so overwhelming. The smile on y/n’s face lingers in her eyes, which glimmer as she stares at Harry. And Harry, who had been smirking mischievously, now looks at y/n with a bit of a more serious air. He stares at her thoughtfully, his bottom lip pinched between his lips. His eyes wander down to her lips, pretty and heart shaped. She’s chewing the inside of her lip softly, and he wants to brush his thumb over her mouth and tell her to stop.

He catches himself, and quickly tears his eyes away before she notices. He clears his throat.

“Take care of y’self,” he says with a soft smile. “I want to see you well rested in class next week, okay?”

+++

HOPE U GUYS LOVED IT!!!!!! part 3 is up on my patreon already, and will come to tumblr next saturday (oct 21) pleeeeaaaase lmk what u rhink and give her a rb and a comment i love u guys so so much!!! more tarry to come!

Prose (part 3) is already posted on patreon! : In which y/n is Harry's favorite student, and she sort of somehow accidentally kisses him.

Prose Masterlist

[dearsnow]

OUT OF TOUCH (1)

- you lost contact with the boy next door, and you believe your life is better for it. (bradley “rooster” bradshaw x fem!reader, ⚠️ adult topics mentioned, part of the series “out of touch”)

OUT OF TOUCH: It’s been twenty years since you last saw Bradley Bradshaw, and, suddenly, you realize he’s finally grown up.

word count: 1,003

a/n - aaaaaa my top gun obsession as of late is currently taking up everything in my brain 🥹 now that i’m out for the summer, i really am going to try to finish what i started. come along for the journey, if you dare <3

You were never “together” together with him. You used to wish you were, praying desperately to every fallen eyelash and coin in a fountain and 11:11, but nothing could make Bradley Bradshaw, the only thing your teenage self wanted, settle down.

Instead, you followed him like a lost puppy, and he reveled in your affection. He was fifteen years old, just barely starting to grow his hair out, and you were fourteen. He was also your neighbor, something you could not get out of your giddy head every time you caught a glimpse of him riding his bike outside your window. You supposed it was a thing of proximity; you fell for the only boy you had ever really talked to, and he wanted a warm body.

It was an innocent crush. You liked the way he moved his (frankly horribly styled, which you only realized later) hair out of his brown eyes, and he liked that you liked him. So you went out on “dates”, and you had a fun time, and he inevitably left you to fend for yourself when his friends came around. It took two months of this for you to finally realize that it just wasn’t going to happen.

As soon as you pulled yourself off of your metaphorical knees, he was attached to another girl. A blonde named Rebecca with curves that were certainly not age-appropriate, even at seventeen. You hated her, for a time, but looking back on it, she had the same lovesick look in her eyes that you did. He had that effect on everyone.

When Bradley left, you didn’t even miss him.

You’re thirty-four now, with a brand-new sparkle in your eye. Things are perfect. You just accepted a new job in sunny San Diego to be closer to your long-term boyfriend, and really, life couldn’t be better.

After high school, you moved halfway across the country to attend your dream college, where you met Derick. He’s a nice guy. He brings you flowers, knows your drink order by heart, and, most importantly, he isn’t afraid of commitment. He has a big, shiny ring tucked in the back of his sock drawer, and you won’t ever tell him you know where it is.

Even your job is amazing, which is something people rarely get to say. You got the opportunity to own and manage a cafe quietly nestled into the cozier part of the California coast, and you wouldn’t change it for the world. Its proximity to a naval base is also a great thing, as uniformed men line up in droves for an early morning coffee or the odd pastry on their cheat days.

You’re hardworking, and finally, finally, it’s starting to pay off. You smile to yourself as you pull the morning’s cash profit out of the cash register and divide it into folded envelopes. Nothing, you think, could ever go wrong.

Bradley’s life is great, too. That’s what he’d like to think, at least. He has friends. He loves his job. He loves the freedom of hooking up where he wants when he wants, without anyone trying to tie him down. He likes condoms and birth control, too, which are very important to his lifestyle. But when he looks at couples, rings around fingers and hands tucked into back pockets, something inside of him gives a little.

He’s never been one to stay in one place. He moved around a lot as a kid, and some essential part of that stuck with him. His job doesn’t make it easier, either–he’s constantly on the move. Now, though, he’s living in San Diego semi-permanently, and his roots are beginning to dig into the sand. And the whole time, he’s stayed depressingly single.

Women want him. There’s no doubt about it. He’s young enough, at thirty-five, for the twenty-something’s to chat him up, but old enough for the forty-somethings to not feel creepy talking to him. He’s fit, smooth, confident, and if he wants to take it that far, very good in bed. Despite all of that, he’s never found anyone that could truly tie him down. He’s getting a little tired of it at this point.

“Lord, she’s the hottest thing I’ve seen all week.” Fanboy moans into his palms. There’s a croissant on a napkin in front of him that he hasn’t even touched.

Hangman grins from behind him. “You gotta get us there so we can take a shot. As a humble man, I can firmly say that she won’t even think about her boyfriend when I walk through the door.”

The daggers are going on about their new crush of the week. Apparently, Fanboy had spotted what he describes as a “cuteness off the charts” cafe owner on his quest for a new dessert spot. There’s only one thing that deterred him from sweeping her off of her feet: she has a boyfriend, one that she’s evidently quite serious about.

Rooster isn’t into taken women. It’s too much hassle, and he doesn’t like getting in the way of a relationship. He’s made that mistake in the past, and gotten a black eye to show for it. A bit of him is curious, but he won’t take that bait.

“I want to go back. Maybe… maybe I can say the croissant was so good that I had to get another. Guys, you need to go with me. It’s serious serious.” Rooster can firmly say that he’s never seen Fanboy so worked up about a girl before. Who in the world could make his friend geek out like this?

Phoenix chimes in from her spot behind Rooster. “I don’t condone messing around with girls with boyfriends, but I’ve gotta see her for myself.”

Fanboy stands, determination written on his face, as he takes a bite of the croissant. “Let’s go. And you guys better not steal my thunder.”

Rooster rolls his eyes, but follows behind his very smitten friend. He’s in for an interesting (if not somewhat funny) afternoon.

NEXT

Taglist: @m1dnightsnackz @itsarabellebabes

[tosuckmyweenis]

A man and his dog

I saw this post about Leon loving nintendogs, and my mind was melting. 

What would it be like to introduce him to it and go through the entire tutorial.

bonus pics of doggy at the end

Spring cleaning started, and it was one of the very few things Leon took seriously, going through every nook and cranny to see what he could get rid of and compress down; he liked living light and says it's because he doesn't want to trip on things when he comes home after a few too many, but you highly doubt that the only reason.

Sitting curled up on the couch corner, sipping your drink and watching whatever was on to pass the time before bed

"Hey, I found this in an old box that was falling apart in the closet; I thought you might want it" he held up the bright pink purse bag and wiggled the destroyed box in the other as proof before tossing it to the side.

"Oh hey! I wondered where it went; hand it over." you stuck your hands out for your treasured possession.

"What is it?" 

"It's my old DS; I used to play this all the time. My favourite game was Nintendogs." 

Opening the case, you pulled out the gray charger, inspecting it to ensure no exposed wires before holding it out to Leon.

"What do you do in it?"

"You take care of dogs, of course," Pulling out the pink device next, opening it until you heard the satisfying click, the memories it held bringing a smile to your face.

 He takes the cord from you and leans over the small table to plug it in, handing the end to you.

Saying a silent prayer before plugging in, letting out the breath you were holding when the orange glow hit your eyes

"And she charges still!"  

Setting it down on the side table and digging through the rest of the bag, you pull out the cartridges, looking for the one you're hoping is still there. Purrpals, catz, petz, all close, but not what you’re searching for. Leon takes his seat next to you, plopping down with a little too much force, jostling you into him. throwing his arm on the back of the couch behind you and leg crossed in his typical fashion, he observes you turning each cartridge before dropping them into your lap. “What are you rooting around for?”  “Nun ya.” snorting at your own joke “Haha, very funny.” the lighthearted tone in his voice made it clear he knew you were joking “Found it!” exclaiming excitedly, grabbing the ds and inserting the cart before powering it on to the familiar jingle, you select the game and hand it to him expectantly.

"I never started this one, so how about you give it a try?"

"I guess I could take a break; I have been cleaning all day" he wasn't too hard to convince; after all, he'd move the world if you asked him to.

"Please knock?"

"Yeah, take the stylus here and tap the door gently. " pointing to the side, making him tilt the system and slide the stylus out

the door swinging open when he taps has him fascinated

"This is kind of cool. I never had one of these growing up."

Leaning over to watch him, practically narrating the tutorial for him.

"You can go straight to buying your puppy or play with the kennel dogs."

"Of course, I'm going to the kennel; those puppies deserve love too" he sounded offended at the thought of just going straight to the buying.

The screen flashes white and the top screen switches to a dog view of a golden retriever digging on the ground.

"There's 3 of them! Look at this one; she's digging."

"You can have multiple dogs if you want." 

"What does this do?" he questions himself while pressing the button; a whistle is heard along with the pattering sounds of puppy feet and barks.

"It calls them to you," you say matter of factly 

"Thanks, genius," a small smile tugging at his lips

 He takes the stylus and begins petting the closest dog on the screen, which happens to be a tiny white chihuahua. After petting him for a few seconds, he rolls over, and you swore you can hear Leon gasp.

He takes his time petting each dog, ensuring they all get a turn before leaving the kennel.

"Alright, now we look at my options" Once the menu pops up, you can see his eyebrows wrinkle and nose scrunch.

"I didn't think I'd have this many options."

"It is called Dalmation and friends; it's not just one breed."

"Alright, the first option is a Yorkie; Pros: go."

It's not like any of these matter, but you play along anyway; brainstorming never hurt anyone.

"Pro: they are small, they are built for city life, and they bark at everything so no one will ever be able to break in." your reasonings were solid

"Cons: If they're too small, I'd probably step on them; barking at everything is a con if we live in an apartment, noise complaints and we don't want evictions."

Scrolling to the second one 

"Beagle, pros: Low maintenance, so if we go away, it'll be easier to find a sitter; if we ever get stranded in the woods, he could help us hunt rabbits for food, and they have floppy ears," he finished his list and looked over to you

"Cons: House training can be harder than other breeds; they are also very vocal, so no apartment life either." you countered

"Good points. Golden retriever, All pros and no cons, Next."

"Wait for a second; you can't just skip an entire br-"

"Boxers, Affectionate, could be box a pro and a con, watchdog which makes me feel better if you're home alone or I'm busy, and they are super smart. Your turn"

"Uh, well, They shed more, so extra cleaning would need to be done; they don't do well left alone, and with our schedules, it just wouldn't work."

"Sad but true. German shepherds, Loyal and love the outdoors, we could take him on our hiking trips."

"We could; that would be pretty fun; you know I always pictured you as a cat kind of person."

"I also like cats; I had one growing up and named him Peaches because there was a patch of fur in the shape of a peach. Loved him to death," Leon recalled with a sorrowful smile.

"Enough of that, though. Now for the start of the show, Dalmations.......I got nothing." he quickly changes the subject

"They make really cute firefighters?"

"Well, I guess we could put him to work, make him earn his keep" Leon chuckles at his joke

"Alright there, Come on. we know which one you're going to choose." 

Leaning your head on his shoulder, you slink your arm around his, cuddling into him

"Was it that obvious?" clicking the little golden retriever tab brought up another set of options

he stared at the screen showing 3 little puppies, two girls and a boy, all a different shade.

"So you can click one, and it'll bring up a little bit of info about them."

Clicking the first picture

"She has a very laid-back attitude, won't bark much and loves to sleep...Sounds a little like someone I know." 

The arm you're holding moves to nudge you in the ribs slightly, causing a small laugh to escape

"All reasons you love me, I hope."

"That and so much more." leaning over to kiss the top of your head lovingly before clicking the next one 

"The male puppy is full of love; he can get lonely at times but is still the perfect pup for family life."

Now that sounded like someone you knew, but you'd keep that to yourself for now.

"He's very charming" You look at the top screen, showing him scratching his ear before being barreled over, a toothy smile tugging at Leon’s lips

"And last but certainly not least, this little lady. She has a bright personality and is recommended for first-time owners."

The camera zooms in on the girl, you could see him staring fondly at the animation of her pawing and playing with the boy.

"So, what do you think?" you inquire, his eyes staying focused on the screen of the puppies

He didn’t even miss a beat, he already decided the minute he seen him "I'm picking the boy...Can't have him be lonely."

Your new life with your new puppy is about to begin He looks a little nervous, being in a new surrounding

"Aw, don't be nervous little guy."

Spend some time with your puppy to help him feel more comfortable

Touch the whistle icon to interact with him

Following the instructions, he presses the icon and watches the puppy run up to him, placing his paws on the screen while Leon pets his head

"He's very cute, and he loves head pets."

He seems to have calmed down quite a bit; Surely you must have an idea of what you want to call this puppy, don't you?

"Uh oh." 

"Can’t think of a name, what about meatball?"

"Meatball is a cat's name."  “What about someone important?”  It was like a lightbulb went off in his head after that, his eyes lit up to match “I know what I’m going to name him”

hearing him repeat the name over and over, it tugged at your heart, he had told you the story of that night and how he wished he could have done more to help

He seems quite happy you've given him a name. Keep calling his name so he can get used to the sound of it. 

"Marvin huh, That's a wonderful name." “Yeah, I think so too”

Watching him roll around on the screen and respond to the name, petting him every time for positive reinforcement

This is a good time to teach him how to sit. Gently pet the top of Marvin's head, then slide the stylus down his head to make him sit

"Already learning tricks, I knew my Marvin was a smart dog!"

"You can feed him the lightbulb!" He was ecstatic about that and fed him each one, not missing a single one

Now you need to make sure he can perform the trick you just taught him

"Marvin, Sit down"

the dog just looks at him

"Marvin, Sit down"

He sat.

"Yeah! Let's go, Buddy!"

 It looks like he responds to your voice and commands. You can now begin your life with Marvin

The pure joy radiating off of him infiltrated your soul; seeing him content with something small that brings him peace from the horrors he had to face day in and day out. 

You woke up to Leon shuffling next to you, trying to move as little as possible, you look over at the clock, and it read 3:48 am.  You think he is having one of those nights and is just settling down, so you decide to wait a few seconds before turning towards him or saying anything until you hear the tell-tale click and the beginning of the opening chime before it is cut off abruptly, Leon let out a hushed 'shit' before all movement halted, you could practically hear his heartbeat hammering in his chest. You felt his eye burning into your back, checking to see if he woke you; you pretended to be asleep. After a moment, you heard the light tapping of the stylus and a very, very faint bark.

[hope-to-hell]

John Wick. The one good thing about being alone with nothing to do. Smut, masturbation, blood, blood as lube, spit as lube. He’s got a little downtime alone. What’s a man to do but take the edge off?

This began as a single, very specific mental image that then, naturally, needed a story to go with it.

———

The house always wins. You can’t fight fate. All that is, and was, will be again. The lesson’s on an infinite loop, round and round like ribbon, like rope, and yeah, sure. Maybe it’s true: maybe our lives are measured by blood moving through the body one heartbeat at a time. But it’s not like there’s nothing beyond the chains of fate— there has to be something that makes this all worthwhile, something beyond the gilded cage of order. Even if it’s just a single moment— one spark in the darkness—

One blinding white jolt of pleasure, brutal and unforgiving, a tracery of veins crossing your vision and oh, Johnny boy, there’s always one more, one more

One more

One more job (one more stroke)

and it’ll be done. You’re gonna go out wet and sticky, maybe moaning a little, more likely stoic and silent. But, hey. You’ve got a little time, old friend, so go ahead and lean back; try to pull the iron from your spine far enough to curl in and over yourself. The wall’s cold— these rooms aren’t made for comfort, after all— but soon it’ll be blood-warm in the shape of your body. Take a few breaths and slide down down down til your ass is freezing on the floor; your seat’s all shivery-wet but the rest of you’s still soaked anyhow so who gives a fuck.

And anyway, you look like hell but that’s a distant concern; if— when— this ends you can patch yourself up, butterfly bandages and rough stitches telling the story of this long night. But while you’re here with nothing to do but wait, how about you take the edge off a little? After all, with the way you’re straining at your trousers, it’s a wonder you’ve been able to think at all. You’re a man of focus, right? Focus on yourself a minute. Get your mind quiet so you can put your thoughts in order. So open your fly and feel the cool air on your cock; swipe your hand across the wound that’s oozing sluggish on your belly. Fuckin hurts, right? That’s okay. Look at how you’re already twitching with anticipation.

There’s nothing like a palm full of blood to get things going; it’s still a rough burn but it just looks so pretty on your cock, doesn’t it? Savor it. Admire the way it streaks bright across your knuckles and drips along your shaft. Yeah, yeah. You’re itching to spit, to see if you can get it right on the head cause it just feels so dirty when you twist and drag your hand to spread it around.

And you are not going to think about— no. Don’t even think of what (who) you’re doing your damnedest to keep out of your head. Blank it all out. Put that focus to good use— this is between you and your hand. Go ahead and tighten your grip just that little bit more. Grab the bud of that dirty shameful little thought and crush it before it can bloom. You’re gonna need a clear head, and isn’t that what this is all about? Weeding out distractions?

Nevermind the way need ripples down your spine when you see yourself all red and white, sticky and twitching and oh, John, baby, that nasty deep-down voice is saying these hands of yours weren’t made for gentleness and maybe that’s so; but you’ve had five years to give yourself some balance and don’t you dare lose that part of yourself now. Nevermind the calluses on your thumb and fingers, raised in the shape of a pistol grip, and how their friction is so fucking sweet. There’s something you need. Dig down and root it out.

‘Course, you’re still listening for muffled footfalls just outside; you may be stuck in the liminal space between one firefight and the next, but you never really rest. You’ve got so many what-ifs and contingencies racing through your head. Aren’t you tired, trying to find a single path through it all? Yeah, you’re worn to the bone but that’s the life. You get through one way or another, even when you’re worn down to nothing but wet red footprints on the tile.

Hey, Johnny boy—you disaster, you gorgeous ruthless singleminded sonuvabitch— do you feel that? The gold thread at the base of your spine coiling tighter and tighter but not quite breaking? That’s your climax just out of reach, the candle wick that’s just a hair’s breadth too far from the flame. That’s clarity. You know what you need to get there: a little more spit for slick, tinged red from the sting of a split lip, maybe another drag through the slow bleed on your belly. Hold your breath. Curl your toes inside your shoes. Focus. Take all those aches and pains, those cuts and stabs, those bone-deep bruises. Gather them up and pour them into your hand.

That’s it. That’s good— you’re so very nearly there. Your balls are drawn up so damned tight, you’re like a gift to be torn open. All you need’s a little ribbon and a tag: to John, from your right hand. Keep holding your breath until the edges of your vision haze out— there’s that focus, that pure unadulterated will that keeps you going until you’re ready to give. The precipice is right there, knife-sharp, waiting. Go ahead—

exhale—

And fall.

There, now. Doesn’t that feel better? Sure, you’re a little sticky but it’s not like it matters. You’re filthy already, so a little semen’s just another drop in a deep well. Tuck yourself away and prick your ears for the sound of distant footsteps. Someone’s coming.

[majycka]

Gojo Satoru, a sad case of “pookie peaked in high school” and what it tells us about the dangers of nostalgia

(chap 236 and 261 major manga spoilers ahead please be warned!!)

What exactly do I mean by “pookie peaked in high school”? In general definition, it’s someone who often recalls their glory days and achievements back in high school. Well, Gojo Satoru isn’t exactly the type to brag about his achievements in high school because he just generally brags about being  “the strongest” all the time. Instead, I’ll be focusing more on the “recalling glory days” or the nostalgia aspect of this phrase because this is so apparent to how the few times we got to hear Gojo’s thoughts from the past chaps, and it is always longing Geto presence and Geto represents a lot of the youthful days Gojo had. Heck, even in his death, Gojo reverts back to his highschool self, preferring he’d stay in there because that goes to show he’s very much stuck up to his past and heavily longs for it.

Geto is one of Gojo’s biggest symbols of his youth because in that era of high school with him, Gojo gets to be much of a kid when ever since day one of his birth he was built up this perfected weapon of jujutsu. Gojo has someone even in his messed up thinking that only “strong people” will be able to understand him and luckily, he had a “strong person” he could connect with to “understand” the burdens of shouldering such responsibility. Gojo obviously feels nostalgic for his youth because it was that time in his life where he kinda remotely let it someone (aka a friend).  I mean, sure, nostalgia is fine and dandy because Gojo was able to be a teacher with the aim for a better generation. However, there’s a crucial amount of nostalgia that makes someone at least in the healthy realm of thinking and use it to move forward with life. As for Gojo’s case, he is trapped by it.

He’s so stuck by it that it bleeds into his present goals as teacher and that’s his whole schtick with “raising a “stronger” generation that's gonna change the system.” It’s not entirely bad right? He seems like he’s using his past experience to try to change the future. He’s moving forward? He’s seen how badly the system messed up his best friend, so now he doesn't have any of that happening to the kids? But then his intentions are further put into test when he becomes Megumi’s mentor.

We can’t deny that Gojo is a pretty inattentive teacher except for the times he actually wants to be an attentive one (aka with Yuuji’s case). Megumi literally asked Gojo’s time if he wants to spar but it’s kinda understandable because Gojo the Strongest has a tight schedule being always on demand with his job. 

He chooses kids with potential already and kinda leaves them on their own to figure out stuff. If we put him with a student like normal girl Miwa, there’s no doubt he’d say no to teaching her. Now, we’ll be focusing more on Megumi because this guy gets more time under Gojo’s mentorship. This sparring says a lot about their dynamic. To recap, Megumi asks Gojo how he can improve → baseball scene flashback → Gojo points out that he isn't selfish enough and it’s ok to be selfish. However, there’s one thing Gojo forgets about why Megumi, who despite having the gifts, isn’t really pulling his own weight to fulfil potential.  

Gojo forgets Megumi’s not like him who delights in power. Megumi’s just some guy who got stuck working as a sorcerer cuz Gojo says that’s the only way he’ll be able to protect his sister. Gojo ain’t too wrong about the selfish part to be fair though, and he has a point. Megumi needs to think about himself too! Gojo kinda acknowledges the problem but doesn’t really dig into the root of it. It makes sense Megumi depends on his will to live with his sister especially when he grows up where the supposed “nurturing” adults in his life kinda just toss them aside and leaving Megumi to be unequipped with the perils of growing with just his sister around there for any semblance of being “nurtured.” Thus, overall, this trauma being unaddressed leaves Megumi walking around with repressed issues, and yes, that ridiculous meme of Megumi always pulling out Mahagora due to some inconvenience actually says alot about  his self sacrificial issues and suicidal tendencies.

This issue with Gojo also kinda reflects his falling out with Geto. Gojo sees how the system messed up Geto with what happened to someone innocent like Amanai. Gojo, post star vessel plasma, continues to be himself and getting stronger while of course, Geto spirals down. Gojo was able to pick up signs of Spiralling Geto. However, at the same time, Gojo fails to understand why Geto  spiralled so much because this guy is frustrated with the system he thinks is supposed to protect the weak(“non-sorcerers”) and yet those non sorcerers can also still kill someone innocent like Amanai. On top of that, fellow sorcerers also just keep on dying in the process to protect such people. Is there an ending to this madness? Again, Gojo acknowledges the cruelty of an innocent death due to spending time with Amanai, but he doesn’t dig deep into it especially how it affected Geto's psyche because Geto is someone who deeply feels/ connects with people the same way he was able to be friends with a big brat like high school Gojo. 

Wait, so how does this entire thing again connect to nostalgia? Gojo’s whole past with Geto is filled with nostalgia that in some sense he kinda doesn’t stop to think and reflect about the bad parts about it like how Geto spiralled and how their friendship is tested. That’s the whole thing about nostalgia, how it gives us an idealized and romanticized version of the past. That nostalgia is Gojo being filled with a sense of comradery with Geto, someone as strong as him, he rarely experienced in his “it’s lonely to be the top” life. In some sense, it looks like Gojo just tryna recapture that nostalgic feeling/romanticized past with his whole “I will raise people stronger than me so they can change the system.” As if he’s whole solution to that fallout with Geto is that if maybe Geto’s only “stronger” maybe he could have power through his trauma and that whole spiralling thing never gets to happen.

SOURCE (for the sake of more accurate translation)

It’s like if his kids are raised strong, stronger than him, then they will push through ANYTHING and kick out the old grumpy higher ups with no problem. The highlight here is strength alone. However, as we see in Megumi (and even Yuta), he isn’t that case, and it ended up him being in a vulnerable position. Megumi was able to get back to his sister after some killing spree but still ends up getting his body snatched away from him due to failure to communicate with his sister, stemming from his unaddressed issues. Yuuji can only think of himself as a cog of the system, another child soldier they can use. Yuta, also one of the students that Gojo is seen to also mentor, ends up being HEAVILY affected, but I will dedicate another meta post about him because he’s the star of jjk 261 afterall.

Gojo’s type of thinking probably come from being raised in a system where they refused to see these kids as individual humans with feelings and emotions but just weapons. Also, his whole trauma with the Toji fight made him build literally and figuratively walls towards people, and he pigeonholed himself deeper into that “The Strongest” position. Gojo then says a lot of “no one can take away their youth..” but then forgets that these kids are already put into the ringer because they are CHILD soldiers. It’s the same way he doesn’t understand about Geto, who despite being the strongest with him, can still lash out from his trauma. Like sure yes, Gojo probably meant despite living with this shitty system, he wants that there’s still a “speck” of youth in his kids. It’s like back when he was in high school again when being the strongest duo leaves them untouchable for a moment that they can throw around their weight and be still the kids they are, but then life has to happen and they have their falling out.  It goes to show how nostalgia lenses are pretty heavy on Gojo’s eyes that especially now where we are seeing Geto panels when we get to hear his thoughts. He never gets to move on, and it’s dangerous because it self-destructs him.

It comes to the point that his students were literally offering to help him, asking him to open up that Gojo just immediately shuts them down because again, he’s stuck with the thinking that only Geto alone can be the Strongest with him, the only one who can bare the burden of being the strongest with him. Isn’t Gojo’s whole point to raise a whole generation who can become pillars of support with him? Then why, why are you still thinking of “catching up” to Geto? 

All in all, It’s constantly one step forward and backward with Gojo’s case like yes okay you acknowledge the problem and you’re trying to learn from it, but his actions doesn’t echo in actively changing it, and you know what? It makes him such a real and compelling character! He uses his past experience as a learning experience but his nostalgia surrounding it kinda bars him from fully learning from it. He himself fails to think that he’s also raised a child soldier, and there’s trauma comes with being wielded as The strongest ever since a child, thus emotionally stunting him. This mindset now gets unintentionally passed to his student who just ends up repeating the cycle.

[ickyarson777]

Many Eyed Vessel Fic Thing??? Chapter Two

If y'all have any suggestions on a name for this series, let me know and I'll do a poll if I get enough suggestions!!

Chapter 1, 2

That being said, here's chapter two. I don't know quite what I think about this one.

Word count: 2,889

Content warnings: maybe a little dread? it's not particularly scary tho

After my experience in the forest that day, I decided to return to the small, single motel in the tiny town where I was renting a room. I decided to lie down and take a nap. It was about 2 in the afternoon when I had fallen asleep, and I woke to see darkness crawling in through the window, glancing over at the clock on the nightstand, I saw that it was 9 o’clock and sighed heavily. 

’Managed to sleep through the whole day,’ I think to myself. 

I slide out of bed and pull on some clothes. My stomach is growling and I decide that I should go and try to find some food. Surely, there’s a restaurant or two that’s still open. I pull on my shoes, grab my bag, and walk out of the motel, walking down the street towards the restaurants. I knew walking alone at night was dangerous, but I prided myself on the knowledge of how feral I’d act if anyone approached me, knowing they’d be twice as quick to get away from me. 

I hummed to myself as I walked down the street and glanced sideways as I passed an alleyway. Just in the corner of my eye, I see him, the man from the woods. A blur, almost entirely hidden in shadows save for the bright white and red of his mask. I do a double take and whip my head back around, he’s not there. I pause for a moment, listening. Surely, if he was there I’d still hear distant shuffling in the alleyway. I don’t. Instead, part of me believes I hear a voice. I can’t hear the words, I can’t tell if it’s speaking or singing, but it sounds like the man. Or does it? 

I hesitate, glancing back down the street and taking a deep breath before stepping into the alleyway, choosing to follow after the man, to see if I can get some answers. 

I take quick steps, rounding the corner and catching a small glimpse of him again, turning around the corner of a building, his cloak billowing after him, tracing his movements. I followed silently, not paying attention to the fact that we were slowly walking back towards the forest. 

I don’t realize this until I’m on the edge of the concrete, the roots of trees digging into the rough stone. I see him, in the distance. But he looks.. odd. He stands there, but it's like his appearance is flickering. I decide it must be the darkness playing tricks on my eyes, and take a step forward. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” says a voice somewhere to my left. 

I gasped and turned, searching for the one who spoke. Luckily, this guy stuck out like a sore thumb. Tall and thin, shoulder-length hair, colored bright red. He wore a long-sleeved shirt that was covered in colorful designs and a long black hooded vest over it. His pants were black but only stretched down to the middle of his shins, where long checkered socks met the edge of his pants. He wore a mask as well, gold, save for the area around his mouth, which was black and gave the impression that his lips had been crudely sewn together, but not shut in a creepy open-mouthed smile. In clean white lines, the same sigil that the other man had on his mask was painted across his face. I could see his eyes, shining greenish blue in the darkness.

“That’s not who you think it might be, love.” He spoke with a thick Cockney accent. “That’s another one of our monsters, trying to kill you.”

I stare at him, wide-eyed, and glance back at the first man, seeing that the form was flickering and changing much more now. I could see more clearly that it was indeed, something else entirely. I could see the figure, now hovering slightly above the ground, much taller than it should’ve been. Its legs were heavily muscled and ended in hooves rather than human feet, ankles wrapped in bandages, and upper legs armored. Its rib cage was empty, dark viscera coated its completely exposed bones, and thin leathery skin poked out of the tarnished metal breastplate it wore, extending to the tips of its long withered fingers. Tusks extended from underneath the things mask, which was blank except for six dots, arranged in two columns of three as if they were eyes, a feather plume extended from the top of its helmet, curling around its head, and the two horns on its head. One hand held its weapon steady as it sat across the monster's shoulders, a huge war hammer, one end flat, the other a dull pointed tip, both splattered with the reddish brown of dried blood. 

“An apparition,” the man said to me, now standing closer. 

I took a step back, I hadn’t heard him move closer. ”Who are you?” I demand. “What the fuck is going on?”

Beneath the mask, the man chuckles, his shoulders shaking. He turns towards the monster, “Leave us alone you big lug, go find your food somewhere else.”

Slowly, the monster turned and disappeared, the image melting into the trees.

I turn back to the odd man, still waiting for answers. I look at him expectantly. 

“Oh, you were serious?” He asks, almost sounding amused. “Look mate, this is something that doesn’t concern you. Vessel told us you’d be back, and sent me out here to make sure you don’t get yourself killed or worse. I’m sure I'm not even supposed to be telling you most of this, but you seem like the type to ignore anything if you’ve set your mind to do the opposite of it. Trust me when I tell you, you need to turn around now, go back to the town, go beddy-bye, and pretend all of this was just a really weird fever dream.”

I try to process his words quickly. “Vessel?” I decided to question him here first. “What vessel?”

“Not what, but whom. The guy you met when ol’ clunky was chasing you earlier. His name is ‘Vessel.’”

I think for a moment, then I turn and begin walking into the woods.

“What are you doing?” The tall man says almost worriedly. “I told you to go the other way.” 

“And clearly you’re not going to stop me,” I say as I hear him begin to follow me. “I want answers, and if that means finding your ‘Vessel,’ then so be it.”

The man laughs softly. “Love, if you think you’re gonna get an answer better from one of the others, you’re sorely mistaken. II and IV, they listen to the rules. Vessel’s even more vague than them.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, pausing for a moment and glancing around the woods. “Are we headed in the right direction?”

The man sighs. “I’ll never understand why we’re not allowed to touch you humans. How am I supposed to stop you from finding the house if I can’t grab you and toss you back to where you’ve come from?”

I stare at him. “What are you?”

His eyes glint in the darkness. “Do you really want to know?”

I nod my head, now feeling slightly nervous.

“What’s your name?” He asks slowly. 

I tense now feeling slightly apprehensive. An odd masked man in the forest asking for my name? If I was stupid, I might’ve given it to him. “None of your business.”

I can see the sly smile in his eyes as I speak. 

“Smart one, aren’t you..”

I continue walking. “What’s your name?” I ask him. 

“III,” he says simply. “And yours?” He tries again. 

I shake my head. “Ulfric Stormcloak.”

At this, the man, III, laughs. “Nice to meet you then, Ulfric. Planning on giving me your real name anytime soon?”

“Of course not,” I say with a small smile. “I won’t be giving you anything of mine.”

“You are a smart one,” he says. “Not smart enough to realize we’ve been walking in the wrong direction this whole time though.”

I scoff, turning to him. “Which way then? And where are we even going?”

“No idea, love,” III says laughing. “You set off on some determined journey.” 

“Just going the way I went earlier,” I mutter as III turns and walks in a separate direction. I follow him quietly. 

“That’d be why you ran into the one you did then..” III says, surveying the woods. 

I stay silent for a moment, thinking of the two monsters I’ve met so far. “What… what are they?”

III turns his gaze to me. “Hmm? Oh, Clunky and uh…” He trailed off. “Shit, I only know their other names,” he mutters to himself. He shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair. “They’re… uh,” he pauses. “Actually, love, this one might not be for me to tell you about.”

I sigh, “Great, and you’re telling me you’re the only one who’s gonna give me straight answers, and now you won't give them to me?”

He barks out a laugh. “Not necessarily. Those things, I don’t know how to explain that one to you without making you turn tail and run. And at this point, I’m not sure Vessel will let you do that.”

His words send a shiver down my spine. 

“Meaning?”

He glances at me, eyes almost seeming preoccupied, “Meaning, you’ve seen far too much of this and lived. Vessel’s under direct orders to not let anyone who’s seen as much as you have just… go.”

We fell into silence then. I open my mouth and close it, trying to find the words to speak, and failing. “Am I… going to be killed?”

I half expect him to laugh, tell me ‘of course not,’ but he doesn’t. Instead, he shoots sideways glances at me. 

“What do you think?” He asks, but it seems more like he’s asking someone else, someone unseen. He thinks for a moment, before speaking again. “I don’t think so. But it's not really up to us, is it?” He puts his head down and his shoulders droop slightly. 

we fall into silence again. A few minutes later, as we walk through the brush, a faint warm glow begins radiating from the trees ahead of us. 

“Ahh, home sweet home,” III says loudly, making me jump. 

As we get closer to the glow, the building comes into view and my eyes widen in surprise. Whatever I’d been expecting, it wasn’t a mansion.

It was such an odd sight, too. A lovely, perfectly preserved Victorian-style mansion, gas lamp posts lined the courtyard and led up to the large porch. The whole building was three stories high, and I assumed there was an attic and basement as well. Vines grew up and down the building, and if not for the warm light coming from the windows, I would’ve assumed the building to have been abandoned, even if it was pristine underneath the foliage. 

III walked up to the door, and opened it, ushering me in with an exaggerated bow. “Welcome to our home.”

I step inside. The foyer was lit by candlelight and a beautiful rug ran down the hall, which branched off to three different rooms. Directly ahead I could see bits and pieces of a kitchen. III began walking down the hall and took a left. I follow him quietly. I glance through the door at the right, the dining room. A long mahogany table complete with a crimson table runner and intricate golden candlesticks. The room was empty. 

I stepped through the doorway of the room to the left, which ended up being a living room of sorts. A sofa, a loveseat, and a couple of plush armchairs surrounded the coffee table in the center of the room. On the wall in front of it, a fireplace, with burning tinder. I was surprised to see a TV mounted on the wall above it, the modern tech looked very odd in a place like this. The right wall was filled to the brim with bookshelves, each one crammed tight with hundreds of books, some very old, some new. There was a dark staircase on the wall by the door, leading both upstairs and downstairs into a basement. 

III threw himself on the couch and gestured for me to take a seat. “II and IV will be down soon,” he tells me. “Make yourself comfortable in the meantime.”

I take a seat in one of the armchairs and fold my hands into my lap. ‘What the fuck am I doing here?’ I think to myself quietly. 

A few moments later, two men enter the room, and I suddenly feel more afraid than before. Neither of them was as tall as III, but they also wore masks. One of them, the taller of the two, had a mask like III’s, except the colors were switched. The other, his mask was a dark charcoal gray, an angry expression molded into the face, though the same sigil passed over the forehead, eyes, and eyebrows. Unlike the other two, the mouth of this one wasn’t sewn together, but twisted and nonexistent. 

They glance at me and take seats around the room. The one with the different mask nods at me, muttering a muffled ‘hello.’ I’m too nervous to return it. 

“Don’t worry love, II won't hurt you,” says III. “Bloke just looks a bit spooky’s all”

Vessel told you not to return. 

I jump at the voice I hear in my mind. 

“Forgive IV,” says the one with the different mask. “If he speaks out loud, none of us would ever hear again.”

I glance at IV, his eyes are narrowed, staring at me with an angry gaze.

Silence falls over the room as I try to decide how to respond. I see a smile grow in III’s eyes. 

“Having trouble collecting your thoughts?” He says, smugly.

I’m beginning to feel slightly faint. A forest full of monsters, four masked men, none of which seem to be entirely human. They can all definitely hear my thoughts and each other. I’m quite far away from my home, and my friends and family don’t even know where I am. III has already given me the hint of an idea that they might kill me. 

My thoughts are running rampant now. The men in the room tensed, almost as if sensing my fear. The fourth stares at me, gaze softened slightly.

We don’t want to hurt you. His voice echoes in my mind. But we might not have a choice.

II shakes his head, “We don’t even think it’ll end up coming to that,” he says quietly. “Vessel is speaking with Sleep now, trying to figure out what we’re to do with you.”

My mind is reeling, and I suddenly have a strong urge to cry. I feel the tears gather in my eyes for a moment, desperately trying to blink them away. 

I see II glance over to the staircase and I follow his gaze. The man I’d first met, the one called Vessel, was walking up the steps from the basement. I’d felt his presence before I could see him and felt a shiver run down my spine. There was a certain air of authority and heaviness that followed him. 

“Hey, Ves!” said III enthusiastically. 

As he reached the top of the stairs, Vessel looked around the room at our little group. I couldn't see his eyes through the mask, but I could tell when they fell on me, the way he lingered for a moment and his jaw clenched slightly. 

Was he angry? With me? 

“Of course not,” his voice was just as beautiful as I remember.

My eyes widen slightly as I realize he’s speaking to me, hearing the fears in my thoughts and reassuring me. 

I open my mouth to speak and then close it again.

“I’d like to have a word with you, alone,” he says quietly. 

Wordlessly, the other three stand and file out of the room, IV leaving last and closing the door behind him quietly. 

Vessel takes a seat in the armchair across from me, studying me through his mask. His body paint is a lot more streaked and faint now, I can see a lot of his natural skin underneath. 

“You’re an odd one, huh? Meet a monster in a forest and a strange man who tells you not to come back,” he tells me, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. “Anyone else would listen indefinitely.”

“I want to understand what's happening here,” I say. “I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s ever done this.”

Vessel doesn’t speak immediately but nods in agreement. “No, definitely not the only one. But there’s a reason more people don’t know about this. The ones who see what you did and listen, only have their words to tell people. The ones who come back-”

Somewhere in the distant wood outside of the house, a horrible gut-wrenching howl sounded. It brought up every horrible memory, every time I’d felt pain. I take a shaky breath, a tear tracing its way down my face. 

Vessel regards me for a moment before finishing his statement. “Those who return, are either killed or consumed by Sleep.”

~~

Thanks for reading !! Should I cross-post to Ao3 as well?

@dravenskye @stuffedzitifrita

[yellowcry]

Here we are

"If there's anything wrong, just leave it to me!" Wink "I can deal with..." Drip The sound cut off Luisa. And wake Mirabel scared once again. Extremely loud dripping, rang in her ears, sending cold waves down her spine.

Body horror warning

Mirabel leaned against the rails. Antonío's ceremony, the cracks... It swirled in her head like a painful drum. Too many things happened yesterday. Magic dying.. The thought made Mirabel gasp for breathe. 

"Hey, sis?" Mirabel winced at a low-pitched voice. 'Luisa' her mind registered. "About the yesterday..." Mirabel looked up, with how tall Luisa was she needed to lift up her head as much as possible. Luisa bit her lip, clenching her fists together.

she, blinked. "Do you know something?" Somewhere inside her soul, she felt delight crawling out of the ground. Dolores could've known something, and if Luisa...

Luisa's eye twitched. "NO!" She yelled way too fast, making Mirabel startle. Just an instinct, when somebody yells it's usually her fault. Her breathing quickened in panic. Luisa stated for a second, before her shoulders relaxed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." The older sister smiled, looking down at Mirabel. "I just meant to say," A muscular arm wrapped around her chest, pulling Mirabel up. Physical affectionate as always. "If there's anything wrong, just leave it to me!" Wink "I can deal with..."

Drip

The sound cut off Luisa. And wake Mirabel scared once again. Extremely loud dripping, rang in her ears, sending cold waves down her spine. Like her own bones, her core was crating it, rather than some outside source like Tía’s rain clouds drizzling over with anxiety that gripped onto Mirabel like a disgusting parasite that twirled inside her head. Rooting deeper and deeper with each passing moment. Unraveling her brain into thin stitches.

Luisa yelled in terror, the sound so loud Mirabel thought she would go deaf. She clenched her teeth, grinding them against each other. And looked down to where very terrified Luisa stared just a moment ago.

Mirabel’s skin, her clothes was… dripping. Melting like a lightened up candle. The wax… if she could call it this way ran all the way down her body. Falling onto Luisa’s arm, that started to lose form under the pressure of Mirabel’s melting skin. Only digging deeper into the mass. Mirabel tried to breathe but the air didn’t come in. Agony traveled with her doughed form, drops growing bigger.

Luisa tried to pull away, freaking out no less than Mirabel was. She tried to pull her arm out but Mirabel was stuck to her body. Wrapped her free bicep in attempt to pull her sister off herself. Which only caused it to get stuck as well, tugging Mirabel even more to her torso that kept melting with hers. 

“SEIP WE T’MS SOTRIY!” She… (they?) cried out, trying to detach their merged bodies. One of Luisa’s arms practically piereced Mirabel, buried inside her stomach. The younger girls could barely wiggle, let alone move or struggle. Attached too deep to Luisa’s way bigger frame. She wasn’t sure which heart was beating so fast it slammed the sound down to het tiptoes. Wax kept  clinging to Luisa’s equally melting body. Like a cheese inside arepa melted to the corn flour. Except that flour was melting the same way cheese did this time. Panic rose inside her chest, flooding her lungs until Mirabel couldn’t breathe.

“HMW OMRMINIT NOMOAK II SEOHLSET GO!” Their words clang against each other. Melting into illegible sounds. The same way their bodies did. Her heads spun in anxious trembling (why was she so worried about work?). As she did her best to at least comprehend the situation. Which didn’t work, only sending her spiralling deeper with each drop of her (their?) bodyies. Guilt wrapped around her in a big snake, squeezing. Fat and thick fangs gnawed into her neck. The problem with magic happened because of her, this happened because of her, Luisa was melting because of her. Hell, she just wanted to calm down her sister! (Wait no that was Luisa who tried to calm her.) Her thoughts turned into inconsistent bunch, alien memories that weren’t, couldn’t be, hers dug into her. Not just their body that kept turning into one more and more, no matter how much Luisa struggled to get Mirabel off themselves. No matter with her magically gifted strength. (Am I the one with the gift or you are?)

“WHAT?” She… Luisa… somebody of them turned around. Isabela stood in front of her shining door embroidered in flowers. For the first time in her life, Mirabel thinks she can see her eldest sister terrified. Hands tensed to hard that the outlines of bones were visible. Eyes widened at the sight. Not like either of them can blame her. 

With some effort, they managed to mutter “Help!” their voices layering together. Mir- Lui- (who’s body touched the ground? I have no idea! Why is it so hard to separate?) They took a limped step to Isabela. They weren’t close to her sister, definitely not as close to each other (even before… this). But right now, they needed help.

Vines grabbed onto them, pulling body in different direction. Just for a second before wax drops run onto it. Making the greenery melt just like them. And if before Isabela was visibly scared, now she was even paler. So much that seeing it without context shes would assume Isabela was sick.

Another step. A colourful spot fall onto the floor. Isabela swallowed, stepping back. “You… don’t come near me!” She exhaled, visibly shaken by the sight and a thought tat she might join into this mess. 

Mirabel.. or Luisa, they weren’t sure, tilted her head (does it even matter now?) taken aback, maybe even insulted. Asking for help (Wait it’s not Isabela’s job to help everyone? It’s yours…mine?) They tried to focus, think which one of them was who. Their consciousness slipped together until it was barely possible to realize which one thought of anything. Which part belonged to Luisa and which was Mirabel? It merged with their bodies and didn’t want to get off each other the same way their melting bodies couldn’t get off each other. No matter how much the bigger part (they assumed it was it, it could move more freely) tried to tug off the smaller one. Would this even work? It… It wasn’t just their bodies.

It were them. Their entire existence stopped being separate entities. (FUCK, STOP THIS LET GO OF ME! Who was screaming? perhaps, both of them). For a moment they looked themselves in the eyes. Desperate to get.. themselves. Instead whatever it was. They couldn’t call their body neither like Luisa nor Mirabel. Not like it was important at all. Again, they didn’t know if ‘Mirabel’ supposed to be bigger or smaller part. Was Luisa the one to embroider or no? This felt internationalizing. With each drop melting between two parts, their existence became more and more merged. They couldn’t call themselves sisters, anything separate. Not knowing who was whom.

They just stayed together.

[cellophaine]

Could I get a matt Murdock with an s/o with anxiety? And I don’t mean that sit com tv anxiety where they pretend to scream and get “panicked” ?. I’m talking about The one where your body get suddenly really cold then really hot, and you feel like your body is made of air? I get bad anxiety like that and i often lie on the floor to cool down and to feel better.

I feel like with his hightend senses he can tell when there anxiety gets high before them, just a simple “hay you would lie on the floor, your anxiety is going up” and it just becomes normal? And at home he just kinda lies on the floor with you/ sometimes lieing on top of you (mind out of the gutter!!) and having a funny YouTube video play when it happens?

Peace of Mine

Pairing: Matt Murdock x GN!Reader

Warning: Anxiety, fluff.

Author's Note: I wrote this with some of my own experience. I hope that's okay! I didn't mean to make your request so long (just about 1.5k words, but still), and Matt only comes in in the last half, but I hope you'll enjoy the fic! Also, what are the chances that I got anxiety while editing this piece lmao 🥲

Share and feedback are welcomed!

What a perfect day it could have been.

A day off spent at your own pace. Bookshops, cafes, record stores and the farmer's market were all within reasonable walking distance from Matt's place. Spring was approaching, but the air was still cold as if the winter was trying to sweat out its last shivers before the sun was warm enough to chase the chills away. On your shoulder was a jute bag halfway filled with fresh produce as you gradually checked off your list.

You stopped at a fruit stall; the crisp scent of apple rose above all else. The woman behind the table gave you a warm smile, nodding at you. You smiled in return before directing your attention to the fruits. Your eyes roamed over the colourful display, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the ample array. You took an apple in your hand, turning it over and studying its pattern with a forced intensity. Your stomach stirred slightly, and you brushed it off, thinking it was from your breakfast earlier. It took a long moment before you realized you only stared blankly at the apple; your attention slipped over its shiny, reddish skin, taking nothing in even as your fingers nudged against the soft spot that almost cried out in its sour juice.

Your stomach churned again in warning, gradually tying itself in knots as if to brace for what was coming. You felt unsteady on your own feet even as you were rooted to the spot with your head dipped low in an attempt to make the surroundings stop moving. Your body turned cold at the early signs of an anxiety attack that could blow up if you didn't get it under control soon enough.

You took a shuddering breath, doing your best to act normal. Your body grew hot out of the blue as if it tried to flush the cold out. Your mind was stuck in a messy loop, worrying that someone could see through you all the while you tried to compose yourself. Your stomach twisted, your heart raced, and you drew into yourself as if it could stop the pain from digging at you. The familiar and unwelcomed sensation extended throughout your body, manifested in goosebumps along the skin of your arms. You dared a glance at the woman behind the stall, who gave you a look of apprehension. In your distressed mind, it was a look of disdain as if you were an inconvenience by just standing there, being obstructive. It was then that all hell broke loose.

Anxiety unfurled like a flood, sweeping over everything you tried to prevent it from worsening within a heartbeat. You were overwhelmed by different sensations and thoughts as they fed one another in a delirious high despite your best effort to sort and make sense of them. You whispered a small 'sorry', placing the apple back on the pile before walking away, your hands clenched and unclenched at your sides. You wove your way out of the crowd, whispering 'sorry' repeatedly at the briefest contact with people around you; your anxiety worsens, twisting your inside. You broke out in a slick sweat, and your body burned up even more as the embarrassment of freaking out in public quickly soaked in.

You walked faster once you got to the main street, almost broke into a run; your head worked in tandem with your pace as you tried to regain control of the situation. But it was like quicksand. The more you tried, the harder it was for you to steer yourself away from going deeper down the spiral. Your head hurt, your palms were clammy, and your entire body felt uncomfortable, as if your skin was only an intolerable costume.

Your lips parted as you took in huge gulps of cold air, passing familiar scenes that brought you so much joy just a few hours before until you saw a familiar sight. Matt's apartment. You took the flight upstairs two steps at a time until you reached his door. You rifled through the bag, pushing at the heads of green onion, the bundle of parsley, the blunt bodies of carrots and other things to find the key to his apartment. Unlocked, then locked again once you were inside. You put the keys on the table in the hallway and hung your coat up; only then did you see the dark crescent marks on your palms. If Matt was with you, he would slot his hands into yours so you wouldn't hurt yourself. But he couldn't be with you all the time.

Confronted with the familiarity of Matt's apartment, with the lack of strangers, your brain had almost nothing to overthink and grapple with, and the churn in your stomach relented. You poured yourself a glass of water and paid no mind to the droplets spilled on your cheeks as you downed the glass in one go. You put a hand over your heart, feeling its rhythm slow as you took several deep breaths. You looked at your watch to see that Matt should be back soon. So you rolled up your sleeves and got to work.

Your mind tuned out, allowing your body to go into autopilot as you prepared a dish you had made many times before without the items you missed. You thought about what happened earlier and repeatedly told yourself you were overreacting. Everything was fine. You had no reason to get nervous or freak out about it. But why did everything feel so terribly wrong? Was it the watchful eyes of the woman? The curious looks from bypassers directed right at you because you appeared flustered? Because you looked wrong and out of place by simply being there? You felt like everything was spiralling out of your reach. You felt the familiar stir in your stomach, the prickly heat ghosted over your skin, and you didn't want to give in to that for the second time that day.

You were carried away, so lost in your thoughts that you barely registered the soft click at the front door and the unmistakable sound of Matt's footsteps on the hardwood floor. Your lips curved into a small smile as you heard him putting his bag on the dining table, finally breaking into a soft laugh when his arms winded around your torso, enveloping you in a hug from behind. He placed a kiss on your temple before resting his chin on your shoulder, his hands splayed on either side of you as if he needed to feel as much of you as possible. You relaxed in his embrace, feeling better already.

"Hi."

His deep voice smoothed at your earlobe, drawing a breathless sigh from you.

"Hi."

"That smells delicious. How was your day?"

You thought of the answer before giving him a half-truth and halfhearted response.

"It was fine."

Matt stilled with a brief pause of realization before leaning forward into the peripheral of your vision. You avoided looking at him, removing yourself from him and picking up the spatula.

"Is everything okay?"

You responded with a noncommital hum and poured all your attention into the cooked vegetable as if it was the most important thing at that moment. Matt placed a hand on your shoulder blade, urging you to stop and look at him.

"Come with me."

You shook your head.

"I'm cooking. I don't want the food to burn."

With a swift movement, Matt reached over and turned the stove off, coaxing you to leave the spatula and the sizzling pot alone. You reluctantly obliged.

"Matt, I'm okay."

"Please, sweetheart."

His pleading tone softened your resolve, and you let him lead you to the living room. He lowered himself to the floor and beckoned you to join him. You sat beside him before fully reclining with a small distance in between. The coolness of the hardwood floor soothed your nerves. You closed your eye and took a moment to truly assess yourself. The residue of your anxiety was still there, tethering at the edge, waiting for the right moment to strike again. You squeezed your hand subconsciously and felt Matt's own holding you tenderly. The pads of his fingers settled over the crescent marks, caressing them. You smiled at his gentleness and pulled his arm to drape over your midriff. He understood your need, closing the distance between you by his elbow before slowly dropping his weight onto you. You felt the slow ease of his weight on you, anchoring you to the comfort of him like an anvil. His legs are on either side of you, caging you in, the hard floor dug into your back, yet you felt the furthest from being trapped. Instead, you felt grounded and present in the moment with him. The natural scent of his enveloped you, and you couldn't help but nose at his skin, taking a deep breath. Your overthinking ceased, allowing the memories of the anxiety break to stay in the past. Matt nuzzled his stubbled jaw into your cheek, pressing a kiss there before whispering.

"Do you want to listen to anything?"

You quickly shook your head.

"I'm okay. Just need you."

Content with your answer, he settled in more, his arms slightly raised, watchful of his weight on your body. You felt every breath, every deep sigh he took as your own, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat on your chest. You stayed like that in the quietude of his apartment, basking in his presence, feeling anxiety retreating from the shore of your consciousness slowly.

*Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!*

[awellboiledicicle]

Keep imagining Mo the Human and anyone else who knows how to cook just doing the *presses hands together, fingers to mouth, deep breath out of nose* thing watching Reth insist cabbage only soup = vegetable soup, but no one can remember an actual recipe at the jump so they just. Dont tell him.

Cut to like, they've been there a year. They've settled in. They are besties with p much most the villiage. It's the dead of night. Suddenly, their memory jogs as they roll over in bed.

Next thing anyone knows is they're dragging a very sleepy Reth into the nearest kitchen and shoving a basket of ingredients into his hands.

"Fancy, I literally just fell asleep--"

"I REMBERED HOW TO MAKE SAUSAGE AND VEGETABLE STEW."

A very protracted blink while this information sunk in, as he watched the human light the stove and start cutting meat with the kind of zeal he could only attribute to humans being weird. He valiantly managed to not drop the basket of ingredients and even managed to get them on the counter before propping himself up against the wall. Definitely for style points and not because he was losing the battle for conciousness. They shuffled around him to get at some spices to work into the meat, and by the time they were done he'd woken up enough remember words.

"I get the excitement but" A yawn that popped his jaw. "I know how to make stew."

In reply they loudly dropped a frying pan on the burner and, not breaking eye contact, dumped the meat into it. They spared him the look long enough to fetch enough water for the soup pot and get it heating.

"Not this stew. This is nuclear grade stew."

He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. Mo seemed to take this as some form of agreement, though to what he couldn't say.

"What's so 'nuclear' about it?" He made a mental note to look up what nuclear meant. It felt like a word he wasnt supposed to know, which naturally made it at least thirteen percent more interesting. They pushed an onion I'm his direction and started digging for something in the basket. Getting the drift, he committed to trying not to cut off a finger while dicing things. "Did you find something new to put in?"

"Nope. Something old."

They then held up a cabbage and he suddenly felt exhausted again. Their self satisfied grin did not waver in the slightest.

"C'mon Fancy, if I make cabbage soup again--"

"Meat and vegetable stew. Not cabbage soup."

Their correction was met with an exaggerated squint. They just grinned wider. He still cut the cabbage when they placed it by the board, though.

"Okay, so what's so special about it?"

"Its poor people food."

"Poor people food? From Fancy? My world is spinning!"

"My *point*, is that its filling. You need smaller portions to get the same nutrition and satisfaction as a large portion of other veggie soup." They deftly added each ingredient to the pot as he prepped them-- the cabbage, onion, carrot, potatoes, and garlic. Spices they rooted put of the cupboard with little fanfare in the way of asking permission. "Good for many mouths and not a lot of money."

They stirred while he went through the familiar motions of cleaning the counter and board. It was an odd break in their response-- normally Mo would be a good three minutes into an explanation when they remembered things. It made his ears itch, honestly.

"That's what makes it special?"

This earned an owlish blink for a moment before they went red and got exceptionally interested in the soup.

"My family would make it together on cold days. Its special because its feeding people I care about food."

Reth suddenly felt very awake and very fuzzy.

"So you thought about sharing it with me?"

They squinted at him a moment, like they were puzzling out how he hadn't followed them from point A to point Soup. He just grinned back until they stuck out their tongue and returned their eyes to the soup.

"Yeah? Are you suddenly not Soup Man? Decided to get real into sandwiches instead?"

"I can make a mean sandwich, actually." He moved to look over their shoulder at the soup in progress, slyly giving them a sideways look. "... I appreciate it."

"Good." They shouldered against him a little and yawned. "Okay I think soup could probably have waited."

"Oh, now you think soup could have waited?"

"I got excited okay!"

(Rotates palia friends in my mind)

[rickmymanrick]

rick’s POV(ch 6 | one rule)

here's a little look at what's going through rick's mind after the lori/shane bombshell. this should give more background to rick and daphne's 'relationship' before the fall.

also take it easy. this was written very quickly without much revision. just a fun little dive into rick's thought process during this scene

"Oh, really? Does a brother fuck your wife?"

I didn't understand what Daryl had said at first. The shock kept me rooted in my spot as he scoffed and then stormed off into the trees.

Does a brother fuck your wife?

A rage crept in as Shane began to shuffle uncomfortably, mere feet away from me. He wasn't even trying to deny it.

"She... Lori... she thought you were dead, man."

I suddenly knew this wasn't just sex. The first thing he'd done was defend her honor rather than his own. Was he in love with her?

My jaw clicked as I clenched my teeth together angrily. The betrayal was almost enough to blind me in rage. Our marriage was on the rocks for almost a year before my coma, but we were still married. Someone I'd trusted with everything knew the mother of my children intimately.

"Did you?" I bit out. After all, he was the one who had last seen me at the hospital.

"You heard 'em. I—I tried, Rick! I saw you every chance I got—"

His words flew into one ear and out the other. I couldn't think of anything but how much I wanted to knock his teeth out.

"—we were comforting each other the only way we knew how—"

Holding onto my sanity was surprisingly difficult. I always had a feeling Lori had her affections directed elsewhere. All our arguments and fighting, the things she'd say in front of Carl— the thought of infidelity wasn't out of reach. I'd even come to accept the possibility of it, because outside of my house, I wasn't doing much better. Could I even be upset with her? I never cheated on my wife, but my attention had been fixed on another for quite some time.

"I thought you were gone." It was the only thing I could manage to say, if I wasn't going to send my fist flying into his face, at the very least I could try to express the hurt. He needed to know that this broke everything we had.

"After I woke up in that hospital bed, when I saw what the world had become. The first thing I thought about was Carl and Lori. And then you. Our unit. For a moment, I thought you were all dead—" The words got stuck in my throat as I recalled the horrible thoughts that plagued my mind when I woke. How I mourned my best friend.

I could barely stand to look at his face. My eyes stung and I forced myself to look him squarely. He did this to me. He did.

"Our marriage... fell apart a long time ago," I shook his head and clenched my jaw. "But that doesn't make this okay."

He knew this already. Hell, if I recalled correctly, it was the grand topic of our final conversation before the world went to shit.

Shane was normally so outspoken, always had a goddamn thing to say. A quip. A disagreement. Always something.

But now he was deadly silent, guilt must be brewing in him. Good.

I was only able to push the murderous thoughts out of my mind when I remembered that my son was only alive because of him and Daphne. It was the only thing sparing him. From what? I wasn't too sure.

"I appreciate what you did. Saving 'em. I owe you everythin' but—" I forced through my teeth, digging my nails into my palms.

In this moment, I realized I couldn't confront Lori. I couldn't destroy whatever semblance of family we had left. It's a miracle we were still alive and that we found each other. That I found my boy.

We're still out in the woods, unprotected and exposed. Tomorrow was not promised. And until it was, until I could guarantee my family would live to see more sunrises, I couldn't destroy what they had built here. Otherwise, we would not survive.

"I get it, man. I'll go back to camp."

"Uh— yeah, yeah," I said dismissively. My anger could only hold off for so long.

As soon as he stomped away, I allowed myself to glance at his retreating back, confirming what I suspected since yesterday afternoon. The look on his face— the shock of seeing me— it wasn't happy. Maybe, just maybe, part of him wanted me gone for good.

The thought sent my fist barreling into the nearest tree trunk, a frustrated yell tried to escape but I kept my lips firmly shut. I didn't need Shane coming back, if he cared at all that is.

Somewhere in the jumbled thoughts that were fighting to make some sense of anything in my mind, I remembered the one thing that had brought me any type of comfort when Lori and I would argue. Which was practically everyday.

"How long you been there?" I asked softly. I knew she would hear me. I'd seen her brown eyes through the bush as Daryl led us farther from camp.

The branches rustled a bit.

"I was here first," her voice was defensive. I couldn't blame her. Witnessing what she just witnessed.

I tried to spot her curls through the bush but she seemed to have camouflaged herself within the leaves.

"You were. I saw you just before Daryl left."

And out she finally came, her cheeks flushed and her hair in a bit of a disarray, but the sight of her brought back memories from the station. At work, she usually had her hair pulled back, two curls framing her face while she sipped a steaming hot coffee. She was always there before me so I would choose the long way to my assigned desk, which was in a completely different wing, just to catch a glimpse at her. The sight of her was a breath of fresh air after rough nights of arguing with Lori. Daphne had an aura to her that made just about everyone gravitate to her. Bitterly, I also remembered that Shane tainted most of my memories of Daphne Ayala.

Always lingering around her desk, conveniently posed right in front of her whenever I would walk in. It wasn't odd for her to be busy with another officer, most of the department had a crush on her as grown as we all were. But Shane's appearances always seemed deliberate.

"I was picking berries. Found the patch a few weeks ago," she explained, showing me her pouch of fruit.

How odd it was to see her outside the precinct. Her hair was down, curls reaching her lower back as she brushed them away from her eyes. Eyes that weren't framed by her usual eyeliner style.

She looked so jarringly beautiful in a world so terribly gruesome.

I hoped my anger would mask how unsettled I was that we were actually speaking, after years of observing her from afar. Did she know I was as hopelessly attracted to her as nearly everyone else in the KCPD?

"I can leave you alone."

I realized with a jolt I've spent so much time staring that I'd forgotten to speak.

"I'll go back to camp—"

"No." I said more assertively than I meant to. I didn't want her to slip away again. She was always a mystery I wanted to solve but I forced myself to stay away. Despite the problems at home, I was still married. And now? Well, it was all in shambles.

"Oh, um, okay."

"Do you..." What am I trying to say? My mind went blank. But I looked at Daphne's eyes obscured by her curls and her work updo came to mind. And then her shadow, Shane. "Did you know?"

"No," she said looking rather uncomfortable.

"I keep wondering... if I have the right to even be upset. I wasn't a good husband to her, I know this, and you're the last person I should be telling this to but—" I cut myself short, the words slipping past my lips before I could think them through. I practically gave myself away and it was wishful thinking to hope that it had flown over her head. Daphne was a detective for crying out loud.

"It's fine. I know this can't be easy for you. To wake up to... this."

I scoffed. It wasn't easy to see the world flipped upside down sure, but the most selfless person was standing right in front of me. The one who had saved my family's lives at the risk of her own. She was keeping them and the rest of the camp alive. People she didn't even know.

"I woke up and the hardest part was done. Seeing the world change— changing with it— becoming the leader of a group you had no responsibilities or ties to. You, you did the hard part."

She seemed taken aback. "Oh— did Shane—?"

"Shane didn't hafta tell me nothin'. Lori and I talked last night. She told me everything that happened since the day I got shot." Saying their names left a bad taste in my mouth. "I guess I have a lot to be thankin' you for. You saved my family. That is something I will never be able to repay."

I placed a hand on her shoulder. "You have my gratitude."

"Carl's a great kid. And Lori's my friend. I would do it a million times over."

She's a goddamn angel. I studied her face in awe, something I'd never been able to do in the years I admired her from afar. There was just something about her.

Her nose crinkled awkwardly as her brown eyes struggled to look into mine. Her lips turned up into a tiny smile. I had to remind myself that I'm married and step away respectfully before it got weird.

I brought myself to the ground, legs feeling weak from everything I'd endured in the past 48 hours. Daphne sat next to me.

"What... what do I do?" I asked her quietly.

She's a detective. She's light years smarter than I'd ever be.

"You're asking me," she said carefully.

I shrugged and looked at our surroundings obnoxiously.

"I can't really tell you what to do, Rick."

I rolled my eyes as I thought of Shane's guilty expression. "What I really want to do is break his jaw in. Watch him choke on his teeth."

"He deserves it," she agreed with an irritated tone.

Now that I thought of it, I hadn't seen Shane and Daphne interact once. A stark contrast to his relentless pursuing day in and day out at work. Maybe they had a falling out.

I sighed. "I don't know how to go on. How to look him in the face. We were brothers," I got angrier as I went on. "He was my best friend. He knew."

"He knew?"

"He was the one person I confided in. I told him about Lori and I. I told him when things started going south. I never thought in a million years I'd have to worry."

"We never do. They fill our heads with all these stupid promises and reassurances just to stab you right in the back anyway," she said.

I would've paid more mind to her comment but I was too wrapped up imagining how Lori and Shane would sneak off. How she'd leave Carl alone with people she barely knew.

Carl.

He's wrapped up in the middle of this. I'm sure he noticed all the fights between us. Lori never bothered to keep our discussions private. But even if I entertained the thought of just destroying whatever was left of our marriage, I couldn't do it now. Not while he needed his parents more than ever.

"Carl... he's so young," I expressed. I felt guilty that I was rambling so that's all I said. I wasn't sure why I was telling her so much— I'm not a particularly open person— but it's easy to talk to her. Natural even.

"Rick, the world isn't the same anymore. It doesn't excuse Lori's actions or Shane's, but all of that doesn't matter so much when you're trying to keep yourself from getting eaten by dead cannibals. I can't tell you what to do but in the grand scheme of things, I think Carl will learn to understand."

She's right, I thought. But things were too unstable, we were living life one day to the next... it had to wait until we weren't constantly looking over our shoulders.

I stared at the blueberries, willing myself to think of anything else.

"I've been thinking about the man we left behind," was the first thing I could think of. The guilt kept me up half the night.

Daphne looked over at me with a shocked expression. "You can't be serious."

Her reaction made me frown. "It isn't right. Leaving him up there to die."

"He would do the same to any of us. You just escaped the city. Survived alone against all odds. You're willing to risk that for a douchebag like Merle?"

I was confused, more shocked than anything. It didn't sit right with me— it was practically murder. She must know this. Douchebag or not, it would stain us forever if we left the man to cook in the sun.

"This— what we have here— this is what we focus on. It's unfortunate but Merle dug his own grave. It isn't worth risking your life, Rick."

No, I wouldn't accept that. And I didn't think she could live with that either. My face twisted uncomfortably as I tried to rationalize. She's right that it would be putting my life on the line, but it would kill not only me, but her, if I don't go. All those years of watching from a distance, I knew she had a big heart.

Her callousness and the iciness in her tone was so different from her usual behavior. I didn't like it, but I could see she was looking out for me—

"MOM! DAD!"

The words disappeared from the tip of my tongue. We both shot up with only one thought in mind— Carl.

[ceilidho]

soo im thinking abt writing a fic or 2 & i just want to know, please, what’s ur writing process? how do u figure out the characterization & dialogue & such? x

i don't really have a process tbh!! i usually start with either a concept that i have in my drafts or a sentence that recently got stuck in my head. this is also why im VERY bad at writing longer fics because i love love love writing scenes / moments in time.

i always start with the scene i want to write the most and i try to excite myself into it by starting with a really good first line that gets me jazzed up about writing. i have a line in my drafts right now that goes "And they say if it sways, you have to cut it off at the root" and the day i figure out how to use that, it'll let me jump right into the fic because im excited to take that line and really dig into it and the story around it.

characterization is fairly easy because the concepts i have in my drafts often align with the characters i want to write them for.

i try to plot everything out. i rarely write something without a bullet point list of what i want to do. the list can include: extracts of dialogue, points i need to touch on, character sketches, etc. this is saltwater's plot outline:

always need a good playlist going. i have to listen to music when i write.

as for dialogue, that can take awhile. if i know what the characters are trying to accomplish, it's easier to build the dialogue around that. i think you need a clear understanding of where the fic is going and what everyone wants or where they think they're going. then you can start experimenting with how they say it and how they go about getting that.

that's sort of it though!!! i think when i start trying my hand at longer, novel-length fics, ill try out like a plot-building tool, like something that'll actually help me keep track of important elements that i might forget, but for now this is enough for me!!

[salixsociety]

Botanical Folklore and the Divine

On using herbs in your relationship with the divine. Inspired by @adhdcatholicheretic's post about Marian Gardens.

As anyone who's ever had to listen to me talk for more than five minutes will gladly tell you, I am very passionate about folklore, and I think it is something that us contemporary practitioners of magic tend to ignore. Most of us using herbs find ourselves stuck repeating the same patterns of practical herbal magic: teas, poultices, soaps, tinctures. Maybe the occasional loose leaf smoke cleanse instead of some incense. But rarely do I see people use herbs in their encounters and connections to the Gods, and that's what I'd like to write about today; because it's easier than you think.

The Lore

Folklore regarding plants is rife with stories about divinity and its associates. Back when we needed stories not only to remember what plants looked like, but also to explain why they looked the way they did. If you look deep enough, almost any plant in your surroundings is bound to have some stories, a creation myth, an explanation for some peculiarity. Take Lady's Mantle, alchemilla vulgaris, native to Northern Europe, Iceland and Greenland. The large foliage of this herb have an interesting structure and soft texture, and tend to capture dewdrops around their edges and in their middle, which speak to our imagination to this day. The story goes that the old Teutonic peoples thought it to be the tears of either Frigga or Freyja, who were later syncretized into the Virgin Mary. Nowadays the name Lady's Mantle is in reference to the shape of the leaves and how they may resemble Mary's cape, which in turn is subject to much more folklore, as of Rosemary it is said the bright azure flowers got their color from the Virgin throwing her cape over one such bush to let it dry. The saints also get their share of lore, some more explicitly than others. Some got their lore because of pagan rites being Christianised, such as St. John's Wort (hypericum perforatum), which was usually gathered on midsummer's eve or day for its magical properties. That day was later Christianised into St. John's feast day, and the plant turned into a prominent folk-magical plant to ask for St. John's intercession. Others got their lore from their appearance, such as pansies, with their three petals, and then there are of course those with Biblical appearances such as palm and hyssop. But fear not, all my friends worshipping the infernal: Christian folklore regarding plants doesn't end at the Virgin or the Saints. Devil's Bit (succisa pratensis) is one of my favorite examples. A dainty, delicate flower with strong curative properties. What does the Devil have to do with it, then? Well, in his anger at how good it was at curing various ailments, supposedly he rose up from his seat in Hell and bit off the rootstock of every single one. And indeed, if you dig one up, you'll see how strange the root looks, almost as if it's not complete.

The wealth of folklore goes on and on and on. Not just covering Christian divinity: despite my failure to cover it, the lore regarding the pagan gods and their spirits is very much there! Look deep into the Christian lore, oftentimes it had to come from an already extant pagan story. But instead of droning on about examples, I'd like to tell you how to find your own and then apply them in your magical practice.

The Research

I highly recommend researching plant folklore, as its applications go far beyond this little snippet. But it can be overwhelming, so allow me to try and grant you a place to start.

Your first considerations should definitely be your location and your practice, and how they balance each other out. If you are a Danish folk practitioner but you live in the tropics, consider whether you value sticking to traditional plants or using what's outside your door, more. The question for you, reader, is: do you want to use what's traditional, or what's available? Work from there. Make a list. If you want to use what is traditional, make a list of some of your favorites (including herbs you already have!) and the ones you could easily get. Research those first. If you want to use what's available to you in your environment, make a list of plants you already like to use or know a bit about, or if you're a bare bones beginner, plants that stand out to you. See also my post about connecting with the plants in your environment.

The best places to start research are definitely peer-reviewed and academic sources, not something like Wiccapedia. Folklore has logic, and structure, and anthropologists, ethnobotanists and folklorists are by far the best at conveying it. Often Wikipedia will have some tidbits to jump off of, but if not, look regionally. Archives, books about certain regions or countries, museums, universities tend to have the best sources. See the end of this post for some source recommendations.

The Application

So how does one actually go about applying all this? That, of course, depends on your practice. But the idea is to use this lore, and the connection it gives you to your divine, their behavior, their motivations, their stories, etc, to bring you closer to your magic and your faith. Some ideas:

Plant a devotional garden, big or small, with plants that feature your divine in their lore, perhaps in combination with plants that remind you of them.

Burn or make incense with the plants and use it for rituals, during prayer, to invoke them, etc.

Offer the plants (ethically sourced) to your divine.

Use the plants for something practical (make food with berries, fiber with flax, syrup with flowers) and offer your labor or part/all of the finished product to your divine.

Make art with the plants of your divine (weave something, make dye/paint out of them).

Put in conservation efforts or donate to those making the conservation efforts to preserve the plants, if they are endangered or about to be.

If it is a tree or several trees, find a stand of them (or just a single one that you like) near you, and use it as a place of worship or make a shrine there.

But it could be even as simple as thinking of your gods when you see the plants in question. Ultimately, that is where the lore came from, and that is what the lore is for. Knowing the stories, and feeling what they mean to you, is an important way to connect with your Gods.

Just a Few Source Recs

Note: my practice revolves around Alaska and Europe, so that's what my sources reflect. But my ask box is always open for resource requests, and I may do a little looking around for you!

Compendium of Ritual and Symbolic Plants in Europe - M. Cleene and M. Lejeune (available on Archive.org)

Native American Ethnobotany Database

Forestry Service/U.S. Dept. of Agriculture

The Medieval Garden Enclosed

Masterlist of Ethnobotany/folklore/etc sources coming soon.