#which is making it difficult to do any work

[javier-pena]

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Word Count: 5k (so much for short drabble)

Rating: Mature

Summary: You work for the DEA in Colombia. Until one of your missions goes terribly wrong.

Warnings: hurt/comfort | attempted rape (nothing too graphic) | smoking | reader is being held captive | historical inaccuracies | period-appropriate sexism | difficult father-daughter relationship | canon-typical violence (kind of graphic) | panic and distress | brief description of wounds 

Notes: This is the first fic for my 10k follower celebration!!! Thank you, @lokischocolatefountain who requested “I’ll be here when you wake up” with Javier Peña. I hope you like it 🤭 This fic was very much inspired by Gabriel García Márquez' "Noticia de un secuestro" ("News of a Kidnapping") which I highly recommend if you're interested in what Narcos (Season 1) only covers in two episodes, namely the kidnappings of prominent figures in Colombia by the Medellín Cartel in the early 90s. As ever, huge thanks to Dani @alexturner who took the time to ask, "What does this mean?" and made me realize that I, in fact, don't know the answer to that question.

***

It’s night again. Or maybe it’s dawn. You don’t know. The blacked-out windows don’t let in any light. Your days are no longer structured according to the laws of nature (morning – midday – afternoon – evening – night), but according to the laws of your captors (wake up – bathroom – food – nothing – food – sleep). Maybe you’re awake all night and sleep all day. Maybe you only sleep for four hours and are awake for twenty. Neither your mind nor your body can tell the difference any longer.

Right now, for example, you’re in the “nothing” part of your day. It’s just you, rolled up on your mattress in your corner, and your thoughts, looping and looping, making you relive how you ended up here, in this room, somewhere in Colombia. And every single day, right at the end of “nothing” and the start of “food”, you come to the same conclusion: It’s all your fault.

It started with your childhood, you think. No, you can’t blame everything that went wrong in your life on your father, but he certainly did his bid – no matter what you did, it was never enough. Not even when you applied for a transfer to the embassy and you got selected, the youngest woman in DEA history who got an assignment like that. All he had to say to you was, “Huh”. So of course, you had to do better than that.

Here, in Colombia, you found yourself surrounded by men just like your father, old men in suits who sneered at you, confusing you with a secretary, asking you to make coffee and take notes. Old men with guns and enough war stories to fill a book, calling you “little lady” and pinching your cheeks. Old men that were just there, leering at you from corners and doorways. And they all had the face of your father.

Still, no one forced you to raise your hand that Thursday afternoon your floor ran out of coffee, the same afternoon Noonan called you all to a meeting and asked for a volunteer. “Dangerous assignment,” she said, “likely to get you killed.” You should have listened to her. But the looks on all those faces when you raised your hand and said, “I’d be happy to do it,” were worth it. Almost. Because, ultimately, it was the beginning of the end.

One of the men on guard duty today swears loudly and another one growls at him to be quiet. Sometimes they forget there’s a life outside those blacked-out windows and they’re not the only people in this city. You forget that too, but then you hear the voices of people living their lives, the sound of a car backfiring, a dog barking somewhere. If one of you makes the wrong noise, surely, you’ll be discovered.

The three men with you today (tonight?) know that, and so do you. They’re playing cards by the light of a dirty kerosene lamp, sitting so closely together their knees are touching. If they stretched out their legs, their feet would be touching your mattress. The room you’re in is barely big enough for one person, let alone for four. It’s the only room you’ve seen in months, apart from the bathroom they take you to once or twice a day. It’s across a small hallway you haven’t seen because they blindfold you. Every time, for every trip.

You can barely remember a time when not everything you needed to survive was dependent on another person. The autonomy you prided yourself on, your ability to achieve everything on your own, to survive everything on your own, those have been taken away from you. Could you even use the bathroom if no one gave you permission first? You doubt it.

You didn’t need anyone’s permission to go on that undercover mission that ultimately landed you in this tiny square room that is now your entire world. You were the fastest to volunteer, you fit the profile they were looking for: fluent in Spanish, low level enough to not be able to spill any secrets should you get arrested, pretty. It was supposed to be so easy. Infiltrate the Medellín cartel, gather intel, report back. There was even a plan in place to extract you should anything go wrong. And go wrong it did, and nothing was there to break your fall.

Before that, before you watched boys play cards all day, before your only window to the outside world was a small TV, there was one person who tried to get you to back down. You thought he didn’t think you capable of anything because you’re young, inexperienced and a woman, but in hindsight you should have listened to him. It doesn’t matter that the others called him an asshole and you thought he was trying to dissuade you because he was jealous. He knew what he was talking about and you should have listened to him.

The man closest to you lights a cigarette, his face briefly doused in a gloomy red light. You think of them as men because it somehow makes it easier, but he looks barely 16. Your room quickly fills with smoke and you try to suppress a cough so they don’t hit you again.

That’s how this all started, with you getting punched in the stomach.

Your undercover mission asked a lot of you, maybe too much. You were aware that it might be necessary for you to sleep with some of the men you were trying to get close to, and when they asked you about this back at the embassy, you wouldn’t have any problem with it... Until it was about to happen. The man touched you, breathed into your face smelling of cheap alcohol and expensive cigars, and in a moment of sheer panic, you fought back and blew your cover.

That’s it. That’s all. You ruined the mission because you couldn’t lie still for five minutes, and now you’re paying for it.

You know there have been attempts to find you and you know you’re not the only hostage. Right at the beginning, you shared a room with a Colombian journalist who, before that, had shared a room with a famous Colombian TV presenter. You know there are negotiations, you sometimes see on TV that a hostage is returned to their family. One time, there were shouts and sirens and gunshots, but they blindfolded you and put you in a truck. That’s how you ended up here, in this room.

At first, you focused on the stories of the people who made it out alive, not on the stories of the people who didn’t. You’re DEA, and even though you fucked up, you know those three letters are like a protective spell woven around you. Yes, they will hold you captive for as long as possible, yes, they will use you to fight everything you stand for, but they won’t kill you. The more time passes though, the more you doubt anyone is still fighting for your safe return. They might not kill you, but you also won’t be getting out of here.

With every day that passes, with every day you grow weaker and more tired, those men stare at you more and more. At first, they didn’t dare to look at you, ignored you when you tried to talk to them, acted like you weren’t there. Now you catch their eyes on you frequently, hungrily taking you in. They still don’t touch you – not like that, anyway – but they hit you when you’re too loud, they press their fingers over your mouth, the smell of cigarettes and gunpowder making you gag, and sometimes their hands wander, to the small of your back, to your side. Even if you make it out of here alive, you won’t make it out of here unharmed.

It's a different day. At least you think it is. You sleep more and more during your period of nothing, but it isn’t a restful sleep. If anything, it makes you more tired, wearier. You dread waking up and you dread falling asleep and you dread being awake. But something is different today, something has changed while you were asleep. There are only two men with you tonight, and they look at you more and more, their faces unreadable. It unnerves you more than their openly lustful gazes. You pretend to ignore them as best as possible, but it’s hard when you don’t want to turn your back on them.

A third man comes into the room, one you haven’t seen before. He’s big, broad, a tight shirt stretching over his belly, lines around his eyes, thinning hair on his head. He doesn’t look at you, just steps over the two boys and switches on the TV that comes to life with a static crackle. On your mattress, you come alive too, your heart starting with a painful lurch. Whatever it is, this can’t be good for you.

You barely recognize the face on TV. It takes you about a minute to make sense of what you’re seeing, so unfamiliar you’ve become with the ambassador you used to take orders from. She looks the same – it’s you who has changed. Her suit is still perfectly pressed, her hair is still perfectly styled, she still speaks into the cameras in that calm, no-nonsense voice. It’s you who you don’t recognize, you who doesn’t make sense anymore.

It also takes you a while to understand her, to make sense of what she’s saying. You hear the words “hostages” and “negotiation”, and you know she’s talking about you and whoever else there may be, but definitely you. It would explain your captors’ faces. Something has happened, some new development that’s inconveniencing them. Maybe this is it. Maybe you’re being set free. Maybe even tonight. The thought makes you feel light-headed; you have no idea who you are outside of these four walls and that mattress.

“… end of negotiations. We will no longer regard terrorists as equal opposites in this. Any American hostages they might still have, or pretend to have, will, from today onward, be considered missing in action.”

What does that mean? Surely, they wouldn’t just … they wouldn’t just let you die, would they? You’re DEA, you can’t be missing in action, you’re not a soldier. The cartels can’t kill you, they wouldn’t do that. Just how the US wouldn’t abandon you, wouldn’t go on TV to sign your death warrant in front of a live audience. It doesn’t make sense.

You turn to your captors, as if looking for guidance, but they look just as lost as you. Even the big man. He keeps running his fingers through his thin hair, sweat beading on his forehead. One of the boys looks at him too, as if waiting for orders, the other is running the tip of his index finger through the dust on the floor. Why won’t they look at you?

“So we just kill her?” asks the boy who keeps staring at the big man. His name is Andrés Felipe. You know that because another boy let it slip once. You’re not supposed to know their names, and Andrés Felipe made sure that mistake would never happen again, but by then it was too late.

“Not yet,” the man answers. “We have to wait.”

Andrés Felipe groans. “What for? You heard that woman on TV. They’re done negotiating.”

“You don’t know that,” dust boy chimes in. “It could be a ruse.”

Andrés Felipe laughs at him. “As if you know anything about politics. You can’t even read.”

You look at Andrés Felipe then, truly look at him. You need the distraction. You need to pretend it isn’t you they’re talking about, as if your fate doesn’t depend on these three men. And there isn’t much else to do in this room but look. Andrés Felipe is young, younger than you, but older than dust boy. His face is free of wrinkles, free of the tell-tale signs of hunger and a tough upbringing in the favelas. He isn’t here because he needs to be, he’s here because he wants to be. Which also explains why he dares to speak up in front of the big man, whose maturity puts him in charge.

You don’t like Andrés Felipe, never have. Maybe it’s because knowing his name humanizes him and it’s easier to hate a human than some faceless, nameless villain. Maybe it’s because of the cruel glint in his eyes, or the way he beat up that boy who revealed his name. And now there’s his eagerness to kill you. There is no reason for you to feel any sympathy toward him.

“He’s right,” the big man says then. “Maybe they want us to kill all the hostages so they’ll have an excuse to send in the military.”

“They wouldn’t do that,” Andrés Felipe responds. “Everyone would know they’re liars.”

“They’re not,” dust boy dares to speak up again. “Missing in action also means they can be found. If you’re missing, you’re not dead. If the missing people die –”

He can’t finish his sentence because Andrés Felipe slaps him. “Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The big man doesn’t come to dust boy’s aid. He just smirks. “Quit it, you two, we’re sitting tight until we get our orders.”

“I’m fucking done waiting!” Andrés Felipe shouts and you flinch. He’s too loud. Someone will hear him. And they don’t have any reason to keep you alive now. It’s easier to shoot you and then run. “All I’ve been doing is waiting. Do you think I don’t have anything better to do with my time?”

The big man shushes him. You wish he would hit Andrés Felipe, put him in his place, but he just crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I say we wait.”

You close your eyes and breathe in deeply. Andrés Felipe says something else in that sharp, nasally voice of his, but you refuse to listen. Nothing good can come of it. Either they will kill you or they won’t. You’re too weak to think about either of these options. And you’re not going anywhere until those orders arrive, so you might as well …

When you wake up, the room is quiet, and you immediately know something is wrong. Even before you feel the cool, sharp blade against your neck, and before you smell the stale breath of the man holding it, cowering above you.

“Not one sound,” he hisses, and you recognize Andrés Felipe’s voice, uncomfortably loud in the quiet room. It’s so quiet, too quiet with just the two of you. The sounds of him unbuckling his belt are like explosions against your eardrums. You fight the urge to tell him to be quiet, but then your brain catches up with what your body already knows, and you kick your legs and shake your head.

You almost don’t feel the cut of the knife, but you do feel the hot drops of blood on your neck. “I told you to be quiet,” Andrés Felipe hisses. “Just don’t move.”

But you do, you do move, at least your hands that you ball into fists. You don’t want your life to end like this, in some shack somewhere in Colombia with a knife against your throat and a criminal inside of you. This can’t be it. They have to put you in front of a firing squad at least, don’t they? Not like this. Please, not like this.

Andrés Felipe touches your lower belly trying to unbutton your dirty pants, and you flinch, a terrified groan escaping your lips. The knife cuts deeper into the soft skin of your throat. “Shut up, you stupid bitch,” he growls.

Then there’s blood. Everywhere. It’s in your eyes, your mouth, you breathe it in, you taste it on your tongue. Andrés Felipe collapses on top of you, the knife landing on the mattress with a dull sound. You try to get out from under the heavy body, but you can barely lift his shoulders before your arm starts to tremble.

“Hey.” You wipe the blood out of your eyes to find a man kneeling next to you, shoving Andrés Felipe’s heavy body aside so you can sit up. You don’t know who he is, you’ve never seen him before, but he has to be someone higher up if he dared to kill Andrés Felipe. Because that is what just happened, you slowly realize. Andrés Felipe is dead and you’re covered in his blood.

The strange man reaches for you and you flinch away. “Ma’am, my name is Javier Peña,” he says, his voice steady and calm as if he’s been in this exact situation a million times before. “I’m with the DEA. I’m here to get you out.”

“The DEA?” you repeat, the English sounds feeling foreign in your mouth.

He reaches for you again, touches your shoulder, and this time you don’t flinch away. “You’re safe now.” He squeezes your shoulder, then stands up and holds out his hand to you. You take it and push yourself off the mattress.

“What happened?” you ask, trying to ignore the dead body, half its face gone.

“Maybe we should discuss this –,” Javier starts, but you don’t hear the rest of the sentence. Suddenly it feels like there are cotton balls lodged in your ears and the whole world turns dark, darker than it already is.

Someone is carrying you. You think you must be outside because you feel a light breeze on your face. You don’t remember the last time you smelled fresh air, but when you breathe in deeply, you’re enveloped in cigarette smoke and gunpowder. It’s not unpleasant, you realize with a start. It comes from a heavy leather jacket you’re wrapped in, and from the man carrying you. They never would have carried you like this, carefully, as if you might break, so you know you must be safe.

When you next open your eyes, you’re inside again. The room is so big it startles you at first. But the longer you let your eyes wander, the more your brain adjusts to help you realize you’re in a normal sized living room, sitting on a leather couch, a knitted blanket wrapped around your shoulders. You must have just sat up because your head is spinning and your limbs are trembling, but otherwise you feel like you can finally breathe again.

“Feeling better?”

You’re proud of yourself for not jumping at hearing his voice. “Yeah,” you answer, swallowing to wet your dry throat. You feel an unpleasant tug on your skin where Andrés Felipe cut you twice. “Where am I?”

You turn to look at him. He’s sitting on the couch next to you but with enough distance between the two of you so you don’t touch. He’s holding a half-smoked cigarette between his fingers, trying to hide the look of concern on his face. It’s something you will see a lot from now on, people looking at you as if you’re about to break.

“You’re in my living room,” he answers.

“Why not,” you have to swallow again, “why not at the embassy?”

He taps his foot nervously so his leg is jumping up and down, takes a drag. “Us coming to rescue you … that wasn’t exactly sanctioned by Noonan.”

“So you really are DEA?” you ask, even though there are a million other things you should ask first. Like if the press conference you saw on TV was really true. If Noonan and the United States were really prepared to let the remaining hostages die. But the longer you look at the man next to you, the more familiar he looks.

Javier nods at the same time as you burst out, “You tried to warn me, didn’t you? Back at the embassy? You told me I was in over my head with this. You’re the asshole!”

The surprise on his face is almost enough to make you laugh for the first time in months. “I’m the what?”

You open your mouth, but instead of an answer coming out of it, you start coughing uncontrollably. Your sides are burning by the time you’re done, but Javier is right there next to you with a glass of water that you accept gratefully.

“Let me take a look at your throat,” he says, watching you swallow down the cool liquid.

If you think about it, you haven’t been touched in months. You know you’ll flinch away before he even touches you, so you stiffen your muscles, determined to remain in place.

He must see it all on your face. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know,” you say through gritted teeth.

His fingers are rough against your skin as he carefully tilts your head to the side. You barely flinch but you whimper because the movement hurts more than you would have thought. He hums quietly before standing up. “I’ll be right back.”

You raise your finger to your neck to find the skin there sticky with blood. Whether it is yours or Andrés Felipe’s you can’t tell. But the unfamiliar feeling makes you tremble again. You wish you could stop that, or at least suppress it. You wish the world would start making sense again. You miss your small room and your mattress and knowing what comes next. You don’t even know if Javier is telling the truth, if he really is who he says he is. Yes, he looks vaguely familiar, but until a few hours ago, you had no idea what time of day it was.

“Hey, hey,” Javier says softly. He is sitting next to you again, closer this time, but he’s still not touching you. “Breathe. You’re safe. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“None of it makes sense,” you mumble. You’re not sure if he’s heard you, but you do feel the pressure on your chest lighten.

“You have two cuts on your throat,” Javier goes on, shaking a small bottle of disinfectant. “They don’t look too bad, but I’d still like to clean them. Is that okay?”

How do you explain to him that you just spent months asking for permission instead of giving it? How do you explain to him that you don’t know how to decide anything for yourself anymore?

Not sure what to make of your silence, Javier goes on. “You can do it yourself if you want to. I can show you –”

You tilt your head to the side. “No, please. I want you to do it.”

Javier stops shaking the bottle of disinfectant, grabs a cotton ball, and pours some liquid over it. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

He does hurt you. The second he touches the cotton ball to the cut, you want to scream. It burns so much you can hardly take it. But you grit your teeth and you don’t complain. Because you don’t want him to stop. You know it’s just the isolation and the confusion of the last hours and the fact that your world doesn’t make sense anymore, but the way he dabs the cotton ball across the cut, brow furrowed in concentration, makes you feel safe. And you can’t remember the last time you felt like this.

“You’re being so brave,” he mumbles, and surely you must have misheard or you must have imagined it, because he continues in a normal voice, “Tomorrow, you should go see a doctor. I don’t have any medical training and it doesn’t look too bad, but it can’t hurt to be safe.”

You raise your fingers to touch your throat and briefly brush his as he draws them back. “Thank you,” you say when you find your skin free of dried blood. The cotton ball in Javier’s hand is now a blotchy red. “What happened?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Javier says, standing up to dispose of the cotton ball. “I think he cut you with a knife.”

“No, not that.” You sink back against the couch cushions and tightly wrap the blanket around yourself. “With Noonan and the hostages.”

Javier, who is standing in the open kitchen with his back toward you, stiffens. “It was just you,” he answers, pretending to clean some dust off the counter. “You were the only American hostage left. Because it took so fucking long to find you.” He turns to you, cringing. “Sorry. I meant it took us forever to find you.”

“You can swear,” you tell him, your cheeks tingling from the unfamiliar sensation of a smile.

He walks back toward you, and it’s as if you’re seeing him for the first time. He’s no longer the jealous man who was trying to get you to back off from a mission he told you you weren’t qualified for. He’s the man who risked his job – and his life – to save you. And you don’t quite know what to do with that.

To your disappointment, he sits down in a chair, not on the couch, and lights another cigarette. “We had your location eventually. But then, two days ago, the cartel released the businessman, the only other American being held. We had to give them three men in exchange, and the exchange almost went wrong. Someone high up in Washington must have decided that’s enough.”

“So it was true, what Noonan said on TV?” You feel hot and cold all over. “It wasn’t a ruse? They were prepared to let me die?”

Javier nods. “Yeah, but I wasn’t.”

Your heart stops for a short while. “Why?”

He shrugs. “You’re one of us.”

“You warned me. You told me not to go on this mission. I thought you were jealous.”

He barks out a short laugh. “No, I thought it was a stupid mission. Too dangerous. Not worth risking the life of one of our agents for. And it was putting all our other informants at risk too.”

You look down at your hands, barely recognizing them underneath the dirt clinging to your skin. “What happens next? Will you get reassigned?”

“I won’t get a medal, that’s for sure.” He takes a drag of his cigarette and his face lights up with a red glow. “Noonan will thank me privately but reprimand me publicly. And then she’ll send you home.”

“Me? Why am I being punished?” Your voice, still hoarse from disuse, rings in your ears.

He laughs again, loudly this time. “Darlin’, Colombia almost killed you. I wouldn’t call it punishment.”

Your heart kickstarts at the use of the diminutive. “I want to stay here. There’s still so much to do.”

He stubs out his cigarette. “What you need to do is take things easy. You just went through a horrible ordeal you haven’t even begun to process. Even if you do stay here, you need a break first.”

You want to protest, but you can’t find the strength. You feel weary, exhausted, like you spent the last month trekking through the jungle without a break. Your body is a heavy lump you hardly have control over.

The next thing you feel is Javier’s arms around you as he holds you tightly. “Hey,” he says again, and you could get used to the softness in his voice. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“No,” you mumble, trying to push him away, suddenly trapped in the memory of closing your eyes and waking up to a man holding a knife cowering above you.

Javier doesn’t take no for an answer. “You’ll sleep in my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You’re still not sure this is such a good idea, but there is no alternative you can think of, and your body is begging you to lie down on cool, clean sheets and forget the world for a while. You let Javier pull you up, and you manage to stumble not more than once as he leads you into a dark bedroom. He doesn’t switch on the light.

“I’m going to let you sleep in,” he tells you, sitting you down on the edge of the bed. “Do you want me to leave the door open in case you need me?”

“No, that’s fine,” you answer, weakly kicking off your dirty shoes. You just want him to leave so you can close your eyes.

He runs his hand from the top of your head down to your neck in a well-practiced, automatic motion. “I’m a light sleeper – just shout if there’s anything you need.”

You nod, and he finally steps back with a smile on his face. “Good night, Javi,” you say, your head hitting the pillow before you can stop it. He’s already at the door when you add, “And thank you.”

You can’t have been asleep for more than a few minutes when the sound of gunfire wakes you. It’s not close by, but the echo of it still reaches you, and before your brain has time to process, your body is already responding with a sob that shakes you from head to toe.

“I’ve got you,” Javier says, wrapping you up in his arms. You bury your face against his naked shoulder, trying to steady your breath, but you’re crying uncontrollably now.

“I’m sorry,” you sob.

All he does is run his hand up and down your back. “Shhhh, I’m here. Nothing is going to happen to you.”

His warm breath against the top of your head makes your heartbeat slow down, and you finally manage to swallow your tears. “I’m so sorry,” you repeat, feeling like you’re about to die.

“Come on, lie down,” he urges you gently, trying to lower you toward the mattress.

“No!” You cling to him desperately, but he pries your arms off him without much effort.

“I’ll be here, okay?” he soothes you. “Right in that chair over there.”

You don’t know what chair he’s talking about; you didn’t notice one when he led you into the bedroom, but you stopped noticing things a while ago. “Don’t leave me,” you beg.

He brushes your hair out of your face and places a soft kiss against your temple. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

When you next open your eyes, there he is, asleep in an armchair in the corner of the bedroom, the early morning sun dancing across his skin.

[yorsgirl]

Angels like you

Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: A chance meeting with a stranger in a bar leaves you wishing for more. For the first time in a while, fate decides to bless you.

Tropes: Smut, mild fluff, One night stand AU

Warnings: Intoxication, strong language, explicit smut, fellatio, cunnilingus, fingering, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, implied shower sex, No curse AU, implied age gap, usage of nicknames, no mentions of y/n.

Word count: 3.6k

Divider credits: @saradika-graphics

Disaster of a date is what you call it.

No, you aren't exaggerating. It is genuinely a disaster.

Firstly, your date arrives half an hour late at the chosen restaurant. While you could empathize it to be the possibility of being a communal issue (something which afflicts Tokyo often) what you found intolerable was the amount of arrogance he exuded upon his arrival. A mere apology or any excuse would have sufficed; you received none. Instead, he got seated opposite you and proceeded to criticize the restaurant's ambiance, lamenting over and over how there were far better options for this meet-up.

Secondly, if it wasn't evident from the dreadful outset of the date, it certainly did when the lack of chemistry started to show its fangs. His tastes exuded extravagance while you stood as a mere pedestrian before such opulence.

No sooner did the meal conclude and you stepped out of the commolex that you swiftly informed him about an urgent matter with your roommate for which you had to leave immediately.

Pathetic lie? Certainly.

Whether he saw through it or not, it eluded you. Yet, you were grateful that he didn't probe further and let you walk off on your own. Maybe, he isn't wholly irredeemable. Or maybe, his impression of this date wasn't so far from yours.

You'll find the answer to that some other day.

The cool liquor cascades down your throat, leaving a searing trail in its wake. Seated on a stool of a bar you frequented with your friends, you drown out the cacophony of noises permeating from the crowd under the guise of alcohol. Most of the disturbances emanate from the boisterous fraternity boys who're seated at the further end of the bar. Its irritating enough that your evening has been a lamentable failure on top of that you can't even find peace.

You could surely go back to your dorms but it's a Friday night and your roommate is working on something that requires her to bring in some friends (one of the reasons the date was set for tonight). Thus, your chance at peace will remain zero. You lose track of how many shots of liquors have passed your lips as the bartender places another drink of the same in front of you.

Five? No- maybe six? You reach for the shot glass, momentarily muddling your count and starting anew. Typically you don't drink this recklessly but today you do, considering you've to pull yourself back to your dorm later, this is a bad idea.

The bartender presents you with another drink - white wine, something you didn't order. You raise a quizzical eyebrow and he gestures to your side. All of a sudden, you're very much aware of the stranger sitting next to you. 

Though the alcohol in your system makes it difficult to focus your gaze, its difficult to look past someone with such a captivating visage, ivory locks falling over his brow and eyes tinted with a hue of azure which glows under the artificial neon light. A couple of years older than you but he looks undeniably handsome. Chiseled jawline and thin lips which look too soft for their own good. Clad in a grey dress shirt and q pair of blue trousers; he doesn't look any less than a celebrity. With the top two buttons left open, it gives you a generous view of his collar and toned chest which peeks out. Despite being seated next to you, he exudes an aura of confidence which only accentuates the palpable height difference between you both. 

You blink and a boyish grin tugs on his lips as he tilts his head to the side. "Hello there," He gestures to the drink placed before you. "Think you can use one of that."

Fuck- that voice.

You momentarily shut your eyes before reopening them, glancing at the drink with suspicion. His face can act as a good bait to hide his true motives but you know better. Men can never be trusted. Especially when they are dober and you aren't.

"I'd rather not-"

"You seem like you need something lighter."

"I am fine with this," You raise your shot glass to your lips before downing it. The substantial liquid leaves a bitter aftertaste and you suppress the urge to cringe.

"Now, easy there," He snickers. "Just cause you got dumped-"

"I wasn't dumped."

"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow. "Then a case of forbidden romance? Not allowed to meet your love like Juliet?"

"Would've been so much nice if she just listened to her parents," A sarcastic smile plays on your lips. "A hell lot of less drama and a lot more lives would be saved."

"Not a fan of Shakespeare, I see." He comments, the corner of his lip quirks up.

"The last thing I want to do on a Friday night is talk about medieval literature." You concede and he nods.

"Fair enough." For a second, the man stays silent and you are again back to your solitude. The next, he speaks again, "Then what brings you here, tonight? A pretty girl like yourself shouldn't be alone."

You pinch your lips, recalling the awful date you were stuck into, only moments prior. You sigh, pushing your shot glass away. "I went to a date and... it was terrible."

"Oh," He sounds genuinely surprised but doesn't comment on it. 

Well, that gives him brownie points. You rest your palm on the back of your hand, shifting your gaze which lands on him. Icy blue eyes stare back at you with an intensity that flushes your cheek red. You instantly look away.

A coy smirk slips on his lips before he starts, "Here's an idea. How about I make this evening better, eh? Let me buy you a drink."

Your breath hitches. Did he just- You scrutinize your eyes and the skip of a heartbeat eludes you. The offer doesn't sound bad but in an alcohol-induced state, you need to be aware of who you put your trust in. "And why do you offer this act of service?"

"Angels like you deserve all acts of service," He says softly, ending it with a wink.

And- oh Goodness...

"So what do you say, Angel?"

You drum your fingers over the countertop. Weighing the pros and cons of the situation. For all you know, he can be just another creep but till now he hadn't made any advances to make you uncomfortable, so there goes that. Plus, if he's offering then why don't you indulge? 

You find yourself nodding and he grins. Moments later a glass of white wine is clasped in your hands, similar one with the same drink in his. You raise up the glass and he follows suit, bringing it closer till they clink; sound drowned out from the music and external chatters.

"Thanks," You say after taking a sip. "What's your name?" 

"Gojo Satoru but just call me Satoru," He replies. You nod, saying his name a few times to get the gist of it. His eyes shine with amusement, he asks "And you, Angel?"

A sly smile curves up your lips as you tilt your head to the side, "Just call for me Angel for now."

Satoru smirks and your eyes meet again. Drunk individuals and loud frat boys long forgotten as you find yourself captivated just by his gaze alone. His eyes rake over your figure but you find yourself less guarded. The tension emancipates, he must be feeling it too. Is this the part where you say something? Or do you wait for him to start speaking?

In that trance it is that Satoru hands you another drink, fingertips lingering on yours for a second too long before they glide away. In that trance it is that he speaks again, and you find yourself answering. In that trance it is that conversations swing back and forth with equivalent quips from each side which incites a chuckle here and there. You find yourself letting your guard down as he indulges you in stories of his life. It could be the alcohol for that you find yourself being interested. Or maybe its him that just knows how to create a safe space around him – somewhere you could be just yourself.

You swallow a lump as you find yourself leaning towards him. His knee touches your thigh, the skin contact sends a electrifying spark through you. No sooner did you realize that it happened that you realized he was getting down from the bar stool. A pang of disappointment courses through you but you don't let it show on your face.

Then, the unexpected happens.

Satoru takes your hand in his, the warmth of it enclosing your cold one in a way that you didn't want to let go. He tugs at it, a suggestive glint in his eyes as he looks at you; something which must be gleaming in yours too.

"Will you run away with me?"

.

You blame it on the alcohol when it happens.

"Will you run away with me?"

Of course, you said yes.

Of course, you let him lead you out of the bar filled with people only a drink away from collapsing.

Of course, you stepped into Hotel de Elysium with him.

And of course, you let him kiss you once you were alone in the room.

Satoru's lips move in a sync against yours, he walks you backwards until your back is pressed to the wall. He parts a hair's breath away, eyelashes flutter as he takes in your flushed state – parted glistening lips and cheeks tinted with a red hue. You are a bit tipsy to carefully note any change in his visage. Yet, through the blur you are damn sure that you see him smirk.

His mouth presses on yours again and what starts as a soft, slow paced kiss transitions into a fiery, fervent liplock in a matter of seconds. Arms wrapped around his neck, your fingers tangle in the locks of his hair.

You hear him groan in your mouth when you tug on the strands and your lips curl up.

Satoru glides his hand down the curves of your body, finally resting on one of your breast. He kneads it over the fabric of your dress inciting a moan from you. His lips trail down to your jaw and neck, sucking on the sensitive skin of the juncture. Your body tingles with sparks flowing through your veins and you involuntarily lean into his touch.

You have to give it to him that Satoru is a damn good multitasker. For while he is busy nibbling and leaving hickeys on your neck, he reaches to unzip your dress, pulling down the neckline as the garment pools near your ankles.

He momentarily detaches his lips from you, looking down at your, now exposed, body. "Fuck– Angel, you're gorgeous." The words of praise and the lust burning in his eyes are enough to send a shiver down your spine. Thoughts jumbled and your lack of sobriety allows you to not be that embarrassed. He pulls you flush against him, holding you by the hip and his lips come down on your again.

"Mhm, yeah–" You moan into his mouth as his tongue prods and engages in a rhythmic dance with your own.

Not the one to back down, after you part, you instantly reach to undo his belt. He chuckles, "Eager, are we?"

"Yes," No need to lie when the tension is already sky high. Switching both of your places, you fall to your knees and unzip his pants. The bulge of his cock straining against his briefs causes you to widen your eyes. His member springs out and for a second, you lose your mind. He's big. Both in length and girth, mushroom tip tinted with a blush pink. Maybe you have had seen others before but you're damn sure he is one of the biggest you'll know.

"Like what you see, Angel?" His voice drips with arrogance and boy- don't you hate that? Yet, too drunk on lust with a short circuited brain can barely think, you answer by swirling your tongue on his tip before latching onto it.

"Shit," Satoru curses under his breath, fisting a handful of hair to establish a grip. "Yeah, Angel. Ah– like that"

You bob your head up and down, taking him in as much as your mouth allows. His head tips back, swallowing a lump in his throat which is unfortunately not enough to hide his moans. You lick and suck him like a child eating a lollipop, stroking the base of his cock as your fingers run over the erogenous veins.

You're sure he is enjoying himself. Even more when you gagged on his cock and more when you lool up at him, fluttering your eyelashes – feigning innocence.

Your determination to give him the best head ever gets rewarded soon after.

Clothes discarded and back pressed on the creased, silken sheets, Satoru works his tongue on your aching cunt like a starving man getting his first meal in days. He swipes and nibbles over your erectile bud, pushing two fingers inside as your walls clamp down on his digits, enthusiastically.

"Ahh– Satoru, ngh– yeah," The moan induced gasp incited from his skillful mouth makes your back arch, pushing yourself into his mouth. You could feel him smirk against your pussy, hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin as he firmly holds you in place via your thighs.

You are light headed and you don't even register the string of curses that flow out of your mouth. The only sensation is how he delves into your folds, rough hands pressing on your thighs and the need to release all of your pent-up tension.

You're close. Your muscles are twitching. So close. He's eating you out so well, swiping your spots and folds that you wonder if your fingers will satisfy you again.

"Ahh– fuck," You curse aloud, the wave of pleasure washing over you.

You don't get a second of rest after you come down from your high. Satoru is hovering over you, hard cock pressing on your thighs as he looks for a condom before you shun him, "We don't need that, I am on the pill."

"Are you sure?" He asks again, concern pooling in his irises.

"Yes," You nod in conformation and he takes his cock in his hand, positioning himself in front of your entrance. He coats the tip with the essence of your pleasure and hence, plunges in.

The gasp that escapes and your widened eyes are enough evidence of how much and how good he stretches you out. He yanks out the all before shoving back inside your cavern again. Each stroke pushes him deeper into your depths as your folds welcome him graciously.

A fire burns in your body as both of you indulge in this dance of your own. Wanton moans and curses escaping your lips which you pay no heed. "Yes- Ahh Satoru– like that- ahh."

A sheen of sweat marks itself on his body, beads glistening down his well-defined abs. He interlaces his fingers with yours, holding you firmly against him while he continues to move inside of you.

"Shit– Angel, gnnh– feel s'good." Pupils dilated, messy hair and groan induced with pleasure. He looks at you with an amalgam of emotions, none of which you can read with your stupor as he keeps on fucking you dumb.

Mouth open wide, you try to breath in as much. Each stroke hammering right upto your chest, he fills you up so perfectly that it has your eyes rolling back in your head. Making you feel like a virgin all over, your velvet walls suck him in eagerly

The room reeks of lust and sex, filled with you and your partner's pleasure filled sounds. You feel your insides twitch and soon you let out a scream, milking him with your cum. Only a few strokes later, he empties himself inside you.

You feel him collapse beside you. For a minute, both of you lie there silently, staring at the ceiling and letting the exhaustion slide of off you.

The smell of sweat reaches your nostrils and you cringe, "I'll take a shower." Sitting up, you attempt to rise, before that Satoru takes a hold of your wrist. You glance back, "Hm?"

"I'll come with you." Said so, he gets up as well. He holds you by the waist, helping you walk to the bathroom.

White tiled walls and floor greet you, skin feeling awfully cold against the hard surface. You turn on the shower handle, the sprinklers pour down water on your tensed body and you sigh in relief. Satoru stands beside you, the water runs over his skin as well, drenching each sinew and crevice of physique in it's droplets. You take a harmless peek at him, must not be to your surprise but he's staring back at you.

Only the water pouring from the shower head emanates the bathroom.

Yet with the droplets running over you, it would be ironic to say that the spark still burns. But it does. And oh well- Satoru's lips presses over yours again and you response with equal fervour. Pushing you back against the wall, he holds you by the waist, other hand reaching down to grope your ass.

He pulls away, looking down at you with the same glint in his eyes which he had at the bar.

"Ready for round two?"

Blame it on the alcohol again.

Of course, you said yes.

.

You wake up alone.

Greeted by the splitting headache as you wince trying to sit up on the sheets. When did you fell asleep, yesternight? Well... you don't know that either.

Glancing around you find your belongings, neatly kept at one corner of the bed. A frown falls on you seeing only your pair of clothes kept aside.

Satoru and his belongings are gone.

Sluggishly you put your feet down on the cool tile. That's when your sight falls on the nightstand. A glass of water and a packet of Antacids rests on the table. Only after you have taken the medication did you notice a note kept under the glass.

Hey, some urgent work came up so I'll be leaving early. I could've woken you up but you looked so peaceful that I can't. Order breakfast if you want and don't worry, all the bill's on me.

I had a good time, last night. Thank you, Angel.

–S. Gojo

.

The weekend passes by a bit too fast and before you know it, monday rolls in.

Last year of college and nothing can go wrong until your professors decides to torment the students by asking them to make three files – project, practical and investigatory – for the semester exams like last year. Fingers crossed, you just wish fate doesn't play you this time around.

Currently, you sit beside your best friend in your university classroom as she prattles about her weekend. You keep up with her conversation, speaking in between when the moment calls for. Though your attention should be on her, it relays back to Satoru and that fateful night.

Never in your wildest dreams did you think you'll ever end up having a one night stand but- oh well... here you are.

It's easily one of the best sex you had in the longest time and you can't help but hope for more. Satoru seemed to just know how to make it work and damn, you were addicted after one taste. And the way he called you Angel made your stomach churn in a way- unexplainable.

Is it a bad idea if you decide to show up in the very same bar, the next Friday? Is it bad that you are hoping to meet him again?

You snicker inwardly before pouring all of your attention back to your friend.

"–and on my way to class, I saw this handsome hunk in the hallway and Girl- I was just..." She breaths out, hearts twinkling in her eyes.

"Good grace," You sigh. "You're smitten, now who's this new one who caught your eye?"

She sheepishly smiles and starts to fill you all the details then ranges to his looks. "I saw him in the corridors, talking to Principal Yaga. He was like so tall and he's got blue eyes, like oh my god- more perfect combination just can't exist."

A smile quirks up your lips at her enthusiasm, "Ask him out then."

She sighs, "I wish."

"Why?"

A frown etches on her brow, "Cause he's supposed to be our new professor."

"Wow," You breath out, almost sarcastically. "Your choices are... spectacular."

She shoots you a scowl and you snort in return. Folding her hands over her chest, she speaks, "You'd be smitten if you see– Oh my God! That's him." She points behind you and on cue you hear another voice echo in the classroom.

"Good morning, Class. I am your good looking teacher Gojo Satoru."

Wait- that name, that voice...

Instantly, you crane your neck towards the direction of the voice and- may God help you.

Oh fuck!

"Oh fuck!" Your friend gushes from beside you. Though the curses match, both of you share antagonistic emotions.

And there he is, your one night stand or maybe now, your new professor.

Satoru's eyes scan the classroom before they stop their train on a familiar face, so does his steps halt. His eyes widen like he has seen a ghost.

You are pretty sure, your expression mirrors him as well. And you don't know how but you do hear him muttering under his breath.

"Seriously?"

Seriously.

Fate truly does hate you (love you).

[damned-punk]

Hello to my favorite Punk ❤️

May i request a story where Kidd is exhibitionist and Killer is a voyeuyr who are both interested in the reader?

Bonus points if Kidd is a little nervous and Killer has to give him a peptalk before they meet up with the reader.

The Show (Kidd x Reader x Killer)

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Content Warning: nsfw, exhibitionist!Kidd, voyeur!Killer

Content Description: f!reader overhears a rather vague conversation between her partners and finds herself in an interesting position later in the evening ♡

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You’d noticed that both the Captain and his first mate, who’d recently established their mutual feelings for you, had been very cautious around the subject of more intimate activities. Kidd would make inappropriate jokes and Killer would offer very provocative comments, but it seemed like they were shying away from the impending activities that were always only moments away from occurring. It could be frustrating at times, being worked up only for the night to end with you alone in your cabin with your thoughts. It was a difficult situation to navigate so on one slow evening at sea, you resolved to have a conversation with them about it.

You made your way to the door of Kidd’s workshop to find the it slightly cracked open, the room vacant and somewhat organized which was a sure sign that he hadn’t been there for at least a little while. It was unusual, it was the perfect kind of day for his tinkering inclinations and it just didn’t make sense for him to be anywhere else. You carried yourself to the starboard of the ship, walking across the nearly desolate deck and into the hallway that housed doors to meeting and storage rooms. At the end of the hall, light glimmered from beneath one of the doors. You could make out Kidd’s voice but not his words, something that prompted you to quietly draw closer in an effort to conceal your presence.

“…and if she doesn’t?”, you listened to the Captain’s voice, catching the middle of his conversation.

“We stop and don’t press her about it.”, Killer replied, your curiosity surmounting, “She already knows we’re interested and we know she feels the same. I don’t understand why you’re making this so difficult.”

“I don’t want to overwhelm her and fuck this up.”, Kidd replied quickly, “How the hell are we even supposed to even approach this? (Y/N) might not have any experience and even if she does, there’s no guarantee this’ll be something she wants to try.”

“It’ll be fine either way. If it’s a hard no, we move on. If she wants to try, we’ll proceed.”, Killer retorted, “You’re making this way harder than it has to be.”

“She needs a safe word-“, the Captain started again, his first mate cutting him off almost immediately.

“Kidd.”, Killer began, “That’ll come naturally. If you start the conversation by asking her for a safe word, you really are going to fuck this up.”

Your mind was swimming with anticipation as to what had Kidd so worked up, especially considering that it involved you. What did they want to do that warranted a safe word? Killer was always so calm and collected so his demeanor was totally unsurprising, but you’d never known Kidd to shy away from anything. Going against your initial inclinations, you decided to hold out and see what fate would bring instead of approaching them yourself. It was apparent that they’d been having similar thoughts to your own, only in a different context.

“I’m thinking tonight after dinner, I’ll tell her we need to talk with her. It’d be best if you were already in the room so it’s not as awkward.”, Killer divulged Kidd with his plan.

“Alright, after dinner it is then.”, you heard the Captain say, followed by the sounds of moving chairs as they stood to leave.

You immediately returned to your cabin and replayed their conversation in your mind several times over. Feelings of excitement, anxiousness, and interest flooded your thoughts. This was a much better scenario than having to painstakingly press them for the reason behind their reservations. Taking it upon yourself to prepare for what may come, you changed into something more comfortable and skipped dinner on account of your nerves. The evening seemed to be flying by and when heavy boots approached your door, a fluttering feeling erupted in your belly. Three knocks sounded which prompted you to spring to your feet, swinging the door open to find Killer leant against the frame. Your size difference was exaggerated by his posture, an observation that caused your face to flush several shades of red.

“Hey babe, Kidd and I wanted to run something by you if you’ve got a minute.”, he stated, your heart racing.

“Of course!”, you smiled up at him, following his long strides back to their shared cabin.

Kidd sat shirtless at the foot of the bed, a very intimidating smirk plastered on his face. His posture was in stark contrast to the worry in his voice just hours prior, a factor that worked to intensify the situation. You sat on the love seat that faced the bed awaiting the fabricated conversation, an action that prompted Killer to click his tongue.

“That’s my seat.”, he made his way to stand before you, “Go sit with the Captain, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, come over here babe.”, Kidd’s voice caught your attention, his massive hand patting his lap.

The energy in the room shifted as Killer assumed his position on the couch, leaning back and getting comfortable as though he anticipated to be sat there for a while. You attempted to sit beside Kidd on the mattress only to be scooped into his lap, your back resting against his front as you tilted your head up inquisitively. The Captain let his hand wander, mindlessly kneading the flesh of your thigh and hip while Killer watched intently.

“So… what d-did you want to talk about?”, you asked, stumbling over your words while trying desperately to ignore the intense warmth of your partner’s embrace.

“I think Killer could use some entertainment, don’t you think?”, Kidd proposed, ultimately catching you by surprise.

“What do you mean?”, you asked rhetorically, already having an idea of their intended depravity.

“Well…”, Kidd started to explain, rocking backwards a bit and moving your legs to rest on either side of his own, “Having you all pretty and squirming in my lap would be a good start. Is that okay?”

His words wracked through your mind, something akin to shell-shock rippling through your veins. You couldn’t find the words to respond, only nodding your head in approval as he let his hand wander beneath the waistband of your bottoms. Wasting no time, he worked his fingers in soft circles over your clit. Wrestling with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment, you closed your eyes in an attempt to quell your shyness.

You heard Killer stand, the sound of footsteps approaching and stopping just in front of you imploring you to open your eyes. Killer loomed over you and placed a hand on your chin, leaning closer until his mask was nearly brushing against your face while Kidd’s ministrations continued. A sudden slap on your bottom caused you to gasp, it didn’t hurt at all but was totally unexpected.

“Keep your eyes open.”, Killer commanded, “There’s no reason to hide, I won’t get to see my pretty girl if you do.”

Kidd laughed from behind you as Killer reassumed his seated position. Killer’s words turned you into jelly, you wanted him so badly. It was evident that this whole encounter was the result of their shared kink, but a part of you wished to have both of them participate at the same time. When your legs started involuntarily trembling, Kidd halted his motions and moved you to rest on your back against the comforter. He removed your bottoms and rested your feet against his shoulders as he dipped his head between your thighs. You were already so close and the change of sensation from his calloused fingers to soft tongue left you grasping at his hair for support. He groaned against your folds, reveling in how good he was making you feel. Your belly tightened and your muscles spasmed as you climaxed against his lips, your whimpers and moans carrying a lewd symphony to their ears. Kidd kissed his way up your abdomen and to your lips, sloppily sucking each bit of flesh he could reach while aligning himself at your entrance.

“You ready?”, he asked gruffly, well aware of his size and the necessary patience needed to fit.

“Yes, Captain.”, you replied, gazing up at his disheveled state through half-lidded eyes.

The use of his superlative in such a vulnerable and intimate space sent him over the edge. Kidd needed to be as close to you as possible in that moment. He thrusted himself forward and watched your beautiful face contort as he stretched you open. Your panting surmounted into pornographic sounds as he picked up the pace, his heavy balls slapping against your ass with every snap of his hips.

“K-Kidd!”, you stuttered out, gripping him tightly for support.

“You can take it, (Y/N). You’re such a good girl.”, Killer encouraged you, his words of praise causing you to flutter around your Captain.

“Killer, please!”, you called out to him somewhat involuntarily, shocking yourself and your partners in the process.

“I don’t fuckin’ think so.”, it was Kidd’s turn to land a firm hand on your ass, “Don’t say his name, you’re taking my cock.”

Kidd’s continued muttering of filthy phrases left you trembling beneath him again, the sudden squeezes of your walls around his length urging him to climax. He pressed his forehead to yours as his pace steadied to a halt, the incredible feeling of fullness leaving you unable to move and at his mercy. After several moments, he removed himself from you and watched intently as his arousal pooled onto the sheets below. You couldn’t look at either of them, your more rational thoughts returning as you came back down from such an intense high. Killer made his way to you while Kidd left to clean himself up and ready the bathroom for you. The clicking of his mask caught your attention and your expression softened when you saw his face. He was smiling down at you so sweetly, his hands meeting your hips and offering a gentle massage to stifle any lingering aches resulting from Kidd’s grip.

“How do you feel?”, Killer asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Fine.”, you replied quietly, exhausted and ready to be asleep between your partners for the rest of the night.

“I would prefer for you to feel good, but I suppose fine works too.”, he pressed his lips to your own, “I love you, (Y/N).”

“I love you too, Kill.”, you smiled up at him, feeling very secure and exponentially more relaxed than you had at the start of the day.

“Don’t you have something to say to me?”, Kidd grumbled from the bathroom door, obviously wanting to be included in some of the soft affection.

You and Killer shared a knowing glance, giggling at how soft Kidd’s heart really was. It was so sweet and you felt so thankful be able to call them yours. Nothing could compare to the connection that the three of you shared and you couldn’t wait to see what the future held in store.

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[thelampisaflashlight]

Lukewarm

[Something, something, Dew is like a computer without a fan. RainDrop. Some mild angst/brief mentions of sickness, but nothing too crazy.] Below the cut.

Dew heaves a sigh that seems to take all the energy from his body; He sags deeper into his chair, tired, but not overly so, though still too worn out to right himself as he slips deeper into the faux leather.

One too many long nights of tinkering with his equipment, working on his own projects not associated with the band or the church -while also doing everything asked of him for the band and the church- has left him beyond drained, to the point that he can't even bring himself to be mad about it, just...

Tired.

With a yawn, and slightly watery eyes, Dew settles further, into a pose that doesn't look terribly comfortable, but feels amazing on his aching joints, and lets his vision narrow down to what can be seen between his lashes.

It's not long before he begins to slip into unconsciousness, nearly passed out in his chair, head tilted awkwardly to the side in yet another painful looking position, but it feels nice... at least for now.

He knows he should probably get up, go to his room, to his bed to sleep, but thinking about all the notes and guitar parts and all the other bullshit he'd have to remove from it -with care so he doesn't lose any of the mess he's made- has him set firmly in place.

Short of being carried to bed, he's not moving.

At some point, one of his packmates comes along to prod him, to see if he's awake, or simply checking to see if he's feeling alright, but Dew can barely keep his eyes open, and his response to being touched is to lean away from them, not liking the warmth of their skin on his already hot body.

He overheats quite easily when he's tired, unable to pool enough of his magic to keep his temperature in check, and it leaves him feeling a tad feverish... which also makes it quite difficult to motivate himself into moving.

The next thing he feels -shocking him into opening his eyes wide- is the press of an icepack to his exposed neck.

He doesn't have the energy to full-on yell, and instead lets out something between a bark and a yelp, an undignified reaction overall, but an honest one.

He follows the the arm holding the offending object to his neck up and up until he makes hazy eye contact with a frowning Rain.

"C'mon, let's get you cooled down." he says, shifting the icepack to the center of Dew's chest, lifting his arm up with his free hand to make the other ghoul hold it for himself.

Dew obliges as best as he can, making a contented chirping sound as he feels the coolness spreading through his body.

Cooling down after a flare up like this always leaves Dew feeling a little off-kilter; In a lot of ways, it feels like the aftermath of being drunk, not quite into the hangover stage, but definitely headed that way, and even though he wants to remain stagnant, Rain is right to get him cooled down before it does get to that point.

Leaning against Rain's cold shoulder, Dew lets himself be guided back to his bedroom, and then further still into his bathroom, where Rain makes him sit on the floor while he cleans off his bed.

The tile is cold, and Dew finds himself splaying himself out upon it, pressing himself into it and once more contorting himself into a pose that is outwardly uncomfortable, but soothing to his aching body.

"...Gotta put it away in the..." he mumbles, trying to tell Rain how to tidy up his mess, but with his cheek pressed to the ground as it is, he isn't making terribly much sense.

"I'll put everything together, don't worry." Rain assures him, shaking his head as Dew eyes him from the floor, "Don't look at me like that."

"Can't look at you any other way..." he says, curling into a ball for a second before deciding the sudden warmth from his own body tucking into himself is too much and flopping over again.

"You have to stop overworking yourself." the other chastises, finally joining him in the bathroom once more, "You're going to cook yourself at this rate."

Dew closes his eyes.

"Mn, gotta stay busy, Rainy... Can't..."

"You can." Rain says, "You can take a break."

Dew frowns.

He'd argue some more, except he can feel Rain's fingers weaving through his hair, and the soothing circles he draws against his scalp have him drifting off again.

"I'm gonna turn the shower on." he informs him, slipping his hands under his armpits to hoist him up again, "I don't trust you in here alone, so I guess we're sharing today."

"Kinky..."

Rain rolls his eyes, or at least Dew feels like he does, his own are still closed, but the mood shift is palpable.

"You worry me..." he sighs, pressing a little kiss to the side of his forehead, "It's not kinky, it's practical. Can't have you slipping and falling and cracking your head on the faucet, now can we?"

Dew makes a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat, letting out a soft hiss when the first droplets of water hit him.

"I know, baby, you'll get used to it." Rain placates, pecking his overwarm cheeks, "Just want you to stop being so hot, yeah?"

"'m not hot, 'm cold..." Dew pouts, but even he can feel the steam rolling off his body.

Rain holds him still, and as Dew comes back to himself enough to feel cold, he wraps himself around him to shelter him from the water just enough to start working on cleaning him up a little.

Dew grumbles through much of the process, unused to the water ghoul handling him quite so roughly, or perhaps it just feels rougher because he's so achy to begin with, but when he lets out a noise of genuine hurt, Rain is quick to cease his scrubbing and instead moves onto rinsing him off.

"Well, you don't feel nearly as warm, but you're still running a bit hotter than I'd like..." Rain announces after dressing Dew in just enough clothing to protect his modesty -not that he had much of that to begin with- and laying him down on the bed, "...I'll talk to Aether and have him come up here to make sure you're not coming down with something..."

"'m fine... Just sleepy..." Dew yawns, "Wanna sleep..."

"Okay, baby, you get some rest, but if you start to feel sick-"

"If you're worried..." Dew opens his eyes, peering up at him in an almost coy manner, "You should just stay with me."

Rain snorts.

"I would if I could, you know that, but I have to help Papa set up the practice stage, and I know for a fact you won't sleep if I'm here." he comments, brushing Dew's hair out of his face, "Rest up, yeah?"

"Yeah..."

"Dew?"

"Mn?"

"Love you."

"...Mn, love you, too..."

[tarot-by-e11e]

PAC: What do you need to learn to love about yourself?

Never forget to only take what resonates and leave what doesn't. This is a general PAC reading, so if the first pile you chose doesn't resonate with you, then maybe you're meant to read another pile.

(this is for entertainment purposes only)

.·:*¨ ¨*:·. •,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.•,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.

Pile 1: Ace of Swords, 4 of Coins, 9 of Cups

You may feel like an outcast, Pile 1. You don’t think like other people. You might have also been scrutinized for being able to “work smart”, being told, “Why do we have to do it a new way when the old way still works?”. My dear Pile 1, you must learn to love your inner visionary. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to improve the current system of things. You sought to evolve and you hope by sharing your ideas, others can grow and move forward with you. You’re also able to see through the mess and create clarity for yourself. Embrace the parts of you that can naturally find ways of life more efficiently and cost-effectively.

Another great thing about you that deserves a whole lot of love is your practical approach towards financial literacy. Others might have called you stingy but they didn’t know you might have grown up in a place of lack. So you had promised yourself to work smart so that you won’t have to worry about how you’re going to afford to put food on the table, a roof over your head, and clothes on your back.

There’s nothing to be ashamed about knowing how to make money work for you. You have this natural ability to be wise and practical about your resources. Be proud that you know how to also be secure internally as well. Establishing healthy boundaries is a skill we all need yet not everyone learns. People call you guarded, I say you know that not everyone deserves to have access to you.

Finally, never shame yourself for being able to achieve your goals and dreams in life, pile 1. You should allow yourself to enjoy the fruits of your labor unapologetically. This is a rather hard pill to swallow for those with survivor’s guilt. Being able to become the person you’ve always wanted to be means those people you loved who didn’t evolve with you might get left behind. This makes it difficult for you to allow yourself to savor your success when you have loved ones who haven’t achieved their dreams yet.

As much as you want to be happy for them, you can’t make them achieve their success for them. They chose their way of life as you did yours. If your success bothers them, it’s not your responsibility to coddle and make yourself small for their comfort. So, if you feel you deserve to go on a solo vacation for your hard work, then go for it. If you want to move into your own apartment, go right ahead.

You have every right to use your money to whoever you see fit. You’ve worked hard to earn that, so treat yourself right with the fruits of your labor. Don’t apologize for that promotion. Never apologize for your happiness. You just need to remember one thing: you can’t control how others react to your success.

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Pile 2: Moon, 9 of Swords, 4 of Swords

First of all pile 2, one thing you should learn to love about yourself is your intuition and your ability to easily see through the BS. Yup, I said it loud and clear. You see through the BS in people. They can’t lie to you, even to save their lives. Your intuition is a gift that helps you in any way that can help lead you into your highest good. Though it seems that pile 2 feels bad that you see through the superficial two-faced niceties among your peers. You might have experienced moments where you muttered under your breath, “I hope I’m wrong” only to be proven right yet again. Don’t you think it’s high time you should stop lying to yourself and embrace this amazing gift?

Another thing you should learn to love about yourself is knowing your limits and being able to give yourself the space to honor and validate your fears and anxiety. Don’t beat yourself up for being aware of what you can or cannot do because knowing your limitations means you can utilize whatever skills you have at hand that are to your advantage.

Also, not everyone is resilient enough to be able to hold space for their fears, anxiety, and insecurities without letting the aforementioned swallow them whole. You know yourself well enough that you need to be able to safely allow your feelings to be seen and validated for your and everyone’s good. You know what it’s like to be at the bottom, so you know that with your acquired knowledge backed by personal experience, you can help someone else ease through their own fears and anxiety.

Finally Pile 2, you need to stop feeling guilty about prioritizing your self-care and rest. You know what your body requires to be able to do your tasks every day. There’s nothing wrong with being able to listen to what your body needs intuitively. When you know you’re about to rest, you know yourself well enough that you need to pause, reassess, and re-strategize your approach moving forward.

You should also be proud of knowing how to protect your peace. Some people who call you selfish for putting yourself, down don’t like the fact that they can’t manipulate and abuse you to their advantage. The issue is with them, never with you. Knowing how to protect and defend yourself is something you should be proud of. You know your worth and you also know what you won’t tolerate. So, you shouldn’t fault and cave into to toxic societal norm of conforming to unrealistic and unethical double standards. Embrace your self-worth. Never feel bad about putting yourself first.

.·:*¨ ¨*:·. •,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.•,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.

Pile 3: 5 of Swords, 10 of Coins, Justice

Hi Pile 3, what you need to learn to love about yourself is your conflict resolution skills. This pile feels like my eloquent speakers pile. Could also be my bookworm pile. With an extensive vocabulary and unfortunately growing up in a hostile environment, for the sake of your survival, you grew up having no choice but to be good at conflict resolution. I know it’s an odd thing to love about yourself but another great thing that you should learn to love about yourself is you know when to stand firm and fight, if necessary.

Like, if diplomacy is useless, you’re ready to take the offensive approach. But this has always been your last resort. Knowing what it’s like to grow up in a chaotic environment if you had a choice, you would avoid recreating that childhood chaos in your current adult life. You’d exhaust all diplomatic approaches before you’re forced to take the offensive stance. That’s one of the many things about you that deserves to be loved and appreciated.

What you need to learn to love about yourself is your legacy/roots/ancestry, pile 3. This could also be my POC / mixed race / immigrant pile. It sort of makes sense why you’re a bit iffy about your lineage, especially if you’re mixed race because you might have been bullied when you were younger. So, it’s a bit tricky to love a part of you that your immediate environment teased/bullied/ostracized you for.

You must have dealt with a whole plethora of traumatic stories because you don’t look like most people around you. There’s nothing wrong with being different. There’s nothing wrong with being an immigrant. There’s nothing wrong about being of mixed race. You are beautiful/handsome/lovable just the way you are. The issues is never with you so never shame yourself for your lineage. You deserve love, respect, and happiness for simply existing.

Finally, don’t feel bad about being honest and holding others accountable. There’s nothing to be ashamed of when you are upholding your integrity. You should learn to love the parts of yourself that cannot stand injustice. You have this natural instinct to defend the powerless and speak for the silenced. Not everyone is brave enough to fight for their beliefs and the rights of others. Your need for truth is quite remarkable. So never feel bad about not being a good liar. It just means you don’t see the point of lying to someone.

In this age where manipulation and mental games are being praised as “owning your power”, people, like you pile 3, are rarer than black opals in a Pacific ocean full of diamonds. So never let anyone bully you into conforming to this mental gymnastics just to be accepted/in a relationship. People who are meant to be in your life don’t have to be lied to in order for them to want to be with you. You can only keep someone that wants to be kept.

.·:*¨ ¨*:·. •,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.•,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.

Pile 4: 10 of Cups, Page of Wands, King of Cups

From what I can pick up for you pile 4 is that you should be proud that you came from a loving home. I know, it kind of sounds like too much of a flex. To have been able to grow up in a loving environment while your peers grew up in chaotic and traumatic environments tends to leave a heavy guilt in your heart. A part of you feels bad that you can’t relate to having a crappy childhood because your parents actually did the work and healed together so that you can have a happy childhood.

So… whenever your friends or peers open up about how they feel unloved and unappreciated at home then they ask you about your childhood, you must have lied to avoid putting salt in their wounds. I understand the need for camaraderie but you shouldn’t feel bad about having come from a loving family. If your friends are okay with this suggestion, why not invite them over? Ask your family if they can be more understanding and considerate towards your friends. To be an example that not all adults are bad.

Another interpretation of this card is to be proud of your happiness. Don’t feel bad that you actually have a loving partner while your friends are still single. Don’t be ashamed of being seen with your significant other. It’s not like you’re intentionally making your single friends jealous whenever you answer their questions about your love life.

You should be unapologetically proud of your happiness, especially when you know you did nothing wrong. Why apologize for your happiness when everyone wants to be happy, in some shape or form? Also, consider this as a word of caution, if someone around you isn’t happy for your happiness, best to cut ties with them. It’s not wise to be around someone who doesn’t know how to be happy for the happiness of others. This doesn’t just involve relationships, this can also be applied to promotions, achievements, and awards.

Something about yourself that deserves more love pile 3 is your cheerful disposition and adventurous spirit. It’s not shameful to be able to see the silver lining. It’s not bad to be able to see the good in people. With how our world is in constant chaos and peril, we need people like you who haven’t lost hope for a better and brighter future.

So never feel bad about being perceived as naïve when you’re simply not projecting your bad experiences to the new people you meet in your life. What’s so bad about still being able to be excited about the glimmers in life? There’s nothing to feel bad about being able to cater and nurture your inner child. So never let the world shame you for never giving up hope.

Finally Pile 4, you should learn to love your natural inclination for diplomacy. Knowing when to listen to your heart or when to lead with your head is such a life-changing and valuable ability that majority of us are constantly learning to master day by day. You might have been told that you’re so mature and wiser than your age, which might have been internalized as this insatiable need to always be reliable and dependable. At times, it might feel like such a burden at times; to always be the person everyone relies on.

So… since you are aware of the weight of the responsibility of being the reliable person for everyone, you should use your ability of discernment to decide a schedule on when will you entertain request for counsel for those who need you. You know what your needs are, and you also know that you need to be able to live a balanced life to be of service to others. So, learn to be okay with putting yourself first so that you can help others better in a later date.

.·:*¨ ¨*:·. •,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.•,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.

Please do let me know how you resonate with your pile in the comment section below.

Thank you so much for looking through my PAC.

Tagging my personal account: @e11e27 as a reminder.

[yuurei20]

I've got a question if you wouldn't mind answering!

I saw that the voice actor for Grim commented that Grim always ends his phrases with the word "zo", I was wondering if it had any meaning? Or if maybe it's just something to make his character more unique? Similarly, I've noticed Ruggie tend to use a lot of "su" at the end of his phrases, and I was wondering the same thing, if it had any meaning at all or if it's just supposed to be a character quirk!

Ty for your hard work and don't feel pressured to answer this if you don't want to! 🫶🏻

Hello hello! Thank you very much, you are so kind! ^^

Yes yes, Grim's Sugiyama comments on how difficult Grim's "zo" was for him in his interview (published in vol. 1 of the fanbook).

"Zo" can have a meaning of its own (I liked this explanation on jlptsensei.com, for those who may be curious), but it is generally not used in the way that Grim is using it 🐱 He adds it just to everything!

And verbal ticks like this come up a lot in all kinds of Japanese-language media! Videos games, manga, anime, TV dramas, comedians, etc.

Ruggie's "su" is also kind of a verbal tic, and also has its own meaning:

Discussed in more detail in another post (ref: Idia's "degozaru"), the Japanese language has the word "desu," which has different forms depending on how polite you want to be!

Grim and Jade use the word in two of its more normal (least slang-like) ways, casual for Grim (da) and more polite for Jade (desu).

Ruggie is also using it in a casual way, dropping the "de" part and only using the "su," but it all means the same thing ^^

A verbal tic is even the catalyst of Spectral Soiree!

While not as often as Grim, Malleus is also known to end his sentences in "zo."

He keeps this speaking pattern even during Spectral Soiree, when he is pretending to be possessed by the ghost of an emperor.

But he then slips mid-conversation, saying "zo yo."

Leona noticing this inconsistency starts a domino effect that ultimately compromises Malleus' charade, leading to Malleus' confession (more here).

So verbal tics can be very important! ^^

Crowley's "since I am kind" might also be considered a verbal tic, as it is generally repeated in the exact same way throughout the original game (original-game-to-EN comparison here!).

I think I will add a deep dive into the various speech patterns there are to my TODO list because this post keeps getting longer ww But here are a few pick-ups for right now:

・Idia's use of "degozaru," "-shi," otaku-/net-slang and his stutter are unique to his character.

・Ace will often say "papatto," for getting something done quickly.

・Epel has many things going on with his various forms of speech, and his "kana" might count as a verbal tic?

・Vil will often say "choudai" (apologies for the twitter link)

・Lilia will often use the adjective "rippa," which is similar to admirable/splendid/impressive/respectable/etc. in English!

・Riddle will often end questions with "dai"

・A line that Riddle also says before battles, Riddle will often say "ii dokyo ga oari dane," which is something like "to have some nerve." Other characters will say variations on "ii dokyo" (usually Vil and Leona), but this full phrase is unique to Riddle.

・Riddle will also often say "owakari dane," usually to mean "You understand?," as in, "if you don't do as I say, you understand what is going to happen to you, yes?" (re: he is going to behead someone).

・Maybe my favorite, Rollo will often end his sentences with "kane."

In the way Rollo is using it, it is just another verbal tic, but then there is the Bell of Salvation from the event or 救いの鐘 in Japanese:

Sukui no Kane. "Kane" means bell!

Rollo is ending so many of his sentences with the word "bell" ^^ It is wordplay!

Language is personalized to each and every character in the game, to the point that most of the time (on JP) you can tell which character is speaking before they even enter the room based upon verbal tics and honorifics ^^ It is all very interesting, but unfortunately all very impossible to put across on EN!

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

hello! sorry to bother you but i am currently working on character designs for my next d&d campaign. i am creating a winged elf inspired by avariels, and he will have some form of physical disability which causes them to be unable to fly. however, i am not very educated about physical disabilities, so do you know any which might affect limbs such as wings and any ways i could portray life with them and accommodations for them in a respectful way? any tips are appreciated. thank you :)))

Wing disabilities are a bit harder to research than regular human limb disabilities, but you might be amused to learn that the very first thing i found upon a quick search for bird wing deformities was something called "angel wing", found in many different bird species. I've linked the article I found. It develops over time and can be corrected, but obviously when it happens in wild birds they have no means to fix it on their own and it becomes permanent.

Angel wing is a deformation of the wrist area, making it droop and then turn outwards. Once it's permanent, the crooked shape of the wing makes flight impossible. If a winged humanoid had this problem, they would need to worry about things like how far the crooked wing sticks out, maybe bracing it to alleviate chronic pain. I'm sure something like that would cause pain, even if it wasn't mentioned in the article. It may be helpful to clip the feathers on that part of the wing, so they're not in the way. Finding a comfortable sleep position may also be a bit tricky.

Other possible wing disabilities which I have not researched at all but sound like plausible congenital issues for people with wings:

- underdeveloped wings. They never get big enough for flight, maybe the feathers never grow in properly, possibly they're also shaped wrong for flight. Could come with chronic pain, weak muscles/atrophy, etc.

- missing wing. Somehow just didn't develop a wing, or developed a nub where the wing should be. Could also be missing just the "hand" part of the wing.

- general feather growth problems. Weak feathers, feathers that come in short, chronic molting that causes a lot of unhelpful bald patches, etc.

- chronic joint pain. Wings appear to be normal, but the joints hurt a lot and movement is difficult.

You can also go the route of disability by injury, having a wing broken or amputated or otherwise harmed in a way that is difficult or impossible to recover from.

Overall, the accommodations needed could include pain relief, a brace to keep the wing in a comfortable folded position, feather clipping, massages, etc. Mobitiy aids to let this character fly without the use of their wings is easy to handle in fantasy because you could give him an enchanted flying device of some sort. Magical prosthetic wing might work, but that depends on the disability you're working with and also wing prosthetics are pretty tricky. It would not be as functional as a real wing. If the wings are fully grown and intact, but the problem is something like joint pain, then a flight brace to steady the wings could be useful. They'd only be able to fly for short bursts though, probably. But it would be akin to giving someone leg braces so they can walk, while also having access to crutches or a wheelchair. You can work with your dm on figuring out what's allowed in the campaign setting.

As for being respectful in how you portray the character, I think the most important thing is to let them be a full person. The disability is obviously a major part of their life, but they ought to have more personality than that. Hobbies, interests, attitude.

They're also allowed to be sad about the disability, but this should not be their main defining trait. I think it is pretty normal to be sad that you have a physical difference preventing you from doing something other people can easily do. The problem in fictional characters who are sad about their disabilities is that it often becomes Their Entire Thing and then the character arc is either "so I became evil about it" or "and then they died" or "but there was a magical perfect fix!" all of which obviously don't respect the reality of being disabled. But making them totally happy go lucky about it also doesn't work. So you just need the middle area there, as that's the most realistic one. How does it feel to have a permanent disability? Well, it ends up feeling pretty normal when you're used to it. Sometimes it sucks a lot. Sometimes you hardly pay attention to it. Focus on making your character emotionally varied and give them an interesting personality that makes their interactions with other characters more fun.

Roleplay games are great for that, because you'll have to mesh with the group and really flesh out your character relationships as you go.

Anyway I hope that was all helpful! No illustrations to show, because I'm sleepy today. But good luck with your character! And maybe go check out @cripplecharacters for extra advice on generalized disability rep if you haven't already!

[jeffstormer]

On Awards, and the Grief (and Growth) of Giving Up

I made a big life decision at the start of this year I want to unpack here today, for obvious reasons.

As of this year, I made the decision to formally stop submitting my work for any kind of award, event, or industry recognition tied exclusively to a public/fan vote. Further, I would not ask others to submit on my behalf, and would go so far as to ask people not to do so. I'd like to talk about why I made that call and what it means to me.

Before I do, a necessary disclaimer: No shade whatsoever to those who do submit to those kinds of awards, and campaign for those kinds of awards. I recognize the market value in that kind of thing; the personal validation that comes from a group of people announcing you as the best. I see that all, and I'm proud of you for earning that recognition. This is strictly one person's opinion.

With that said, why did I make that call?

The truth is, from the moment I entered the tabletop industry, winning an ENnie was, to me, the benchmark of success. It was the sign that I was good at this. I let it define my relationship to my art. I couldn't stop, couldn't be satisfied, until I held that trophy.

So, every year, I would submit, and every year, I'd fall short, and every year, I'd be crushed.

At times, I could look at the list of nominees and winners and feel confident that we didn't have a chance. Other times, I didn't feel that way. But I was always viewing my work in competition, which warped how I perceived art on the whole.

Eventually, I came to the realization: it's not going to happen, and all aspiring to this platform is going to accomplish is "making me jealous of my peers instead of feeling in community with them." To find real satisfaction with the work, it can't be through that kind of mechanism.

Which is to say: I gave up. I acknowledged "my work is never going to be the kind of beloved that puts me on that pedestal, so all I am doing is setting myself up for disappointment. Better to be personally proud of something, and recognize the contributions made in other ways, than to hold yourself in a system that grinds you down year after year.

There's no shame in admitting you're giving up in something. Sometimes, things are meant to be failures. Sometimes, your best will never be good enough. I can recognize the ways in which my work is special (we hold a world record in Actual Play that will, frankly, likely never be topped, maybe not ever in my lifetime at least), without holding myself accountable to a standard that frankly, doesn't apply to the kind of art I make.

That said, there's also a grief in admitting that.

It's an acknowledgment that, on some level, the goal that I set for myself was a failure. That awards I have previously wanted to win are permanently out of my grasp, that I have failed to achieve a goal. That I, on a very literal level, wasn't good enough to do the thing.

And that's tough. Moreso on some days than others.

But, in spite of it all, I feel great about this decision. I feel like I made the right decision for myself, my work, and my trajectory as an artist.

It has been a profoundly difficult year for me, 2024. For personal reasons I cannot get into publicly. For professional reasons I've spoken about elsewhere (feeling increasingly isolated from Actual Play as an artistic community and industry).

But in this one area--claiming my own satisfaction of the work and using that to guide my own way forward--I am content.

[kinardscoffee]

You wanna know something I’ve just thought about, the only person to outright mention any similarities between Tommy and Eddie is buck. It’s only really mentioned once, the military thing, and it’s at the beginning of Tommy and Buck getting to know each other. So of course Buck’s gonna make connections to things he already knows the first time he learns new information about Tommy. Like this is the only connection Buck makes between Tommy and Eddie that I can think of, outside of the things Eddie says to him first.

Eddie does talk about things both he and Tommy like, working of cars and trucks, muay thai, and fighting. But he doesn’t really talk about it in a way that makes him seem like he’s comparing himself to Tommy. He just talks about their hobbies they share. He mentions how they click together easily but not how it’s because “they’re the same person”, in quotes because that’s how some people are treating Eddie and Tommy. (Also the way it’s written to me doesn’t feel like the writers are saying “oh they have so many things in common, they’re essential the same person” it’s just they have some things in common and that’s all Buck is focusing on. Which why would Buck suddenly care about these things about Eddie, if he was always into Eddie?)

Like even in the rest of the season I can’t think of any moment a writer, character, or actor in interviews talk about any similarities between Tommy and Eddie. Which I could be wrong because I either missed or forgot something. The only people talking about it are fans and the Twitter journalists, who have shown clear biases towards and against things.

I honestly don’t know how similar Eddie and Tommy actually are. Sure they have some things in common but not necessarily things Buck would really care about, so I don’t think they make that much of a difference to him.

I don’t know if any of this makes any sense so sorry for this word vomit in advance. I’m just tired of people saying Eddie and Tommy are the same person and Tommy is the “Walmart version of Eddie”, so of course Buck has to be into Eddie.

No, it makes perfect sense!

And you're right. The only one to mention that Eddie and Tommy have something in common IS Buck. And it's a normal thing to do especially when you want to get to know someone.

Buck asked about flying and Tommy mentioned the army. Who does Buck know that was in the Army??? His bestie, Eddie. So, he uses that familiar piece of information as a segue to talk even more. Like, "Hey I don't know much about the Army but I can understand because my best friend was I'm the Army too!" And of course, being in the Army isn't the same for everyone but it's a common thread that Buck can now use to help guide the conversation.

Only, that doesn't happen because Eddie shows up. And then we see Buck, the guy who wants to get to know Tommy, get overshadowed by his cool, ex-army best friend.

That's a really difficult thing and then pair that with abandonment issues which Buck clearly has...

Eddie's lucky he only sprained his ankle.

[girlkisser13]

dating tim drake would include

• tim is really sweet. he’ll kiss you to welcome you home or say goodbye when he goes out on patrol and he’ll happily carry you to bed if you fall asleep on the sofa and makes sure to tell you that he loves you everyday.

• he hacks your computer sometimes (for good reasons though). like you’ll just turn on your computer/laptop and your background is changed to a picture of you and tim together. <33

• even though everyone knows that you’re dating he still gets quite flustered and is prone to blushing if you call him a pet name in front of others. (you’d definitely do this just to see him blush).

• tim has your coffee order memorized (no matter how complicated it is).

• tim is SUPER clingy when he’s sleepy, like he can be needy and just want to hug and kiss you all the time. they’re kinda sloppy because he’s tired but his lust for affection is still cute.

• he cuddles or hugs you any chance he gets to make up for the many hours he spends on his computer away from you.

• since he’s a detective, he notices every detail including anything off about yourself. if something is wrong he will notice immediately no matter how good you are at hiding it, afterward he’d do pretty much anything to make you feel better. (even leave his computer for a day or so).

• he notices everything about you. favorite flower, favorite color, he always seems to notice that you’re cold even before you do and wraps his jacket around you. that intense focus can be a lot, sometimes, a bit overwhelming even. but at the same time you’re touched that he just seems so interested in everything about you. he wants to learn every last detail about you and is willing to take the time to do so.

• tim works really hard and doesn’t keep regular sleep patterns as a result, which means it’s up to you to make sure he gets proper sleep most of the time. plus, you’re one of the few people he actually listens to since you’re basically his favourite person. <33

• you have to learn most of his sweet spots to use against him whenever you’re trying to drag him away from the computer for a break.

• he remembers important dates even if it’s last minute— he still remembers. anniversaries, birthdays, you name it and if it’s anything to do with you then he’ll remember it and usually buys the best gifts for you.

• he celebrates the most ridiculous anniversaries, and he always remembers them. like, “it’s been one year since the first time you held my hand” or “it’s been a month since we went to that fair and rode the ferris wheel”.

• he lets you play with his hair and it’s so entertaining, he doesn’t mind and finds it relaxing when you run your fingers through it, he always checks to see what he looks like after you’ve styled it whether it be a man bun, ponytail, or braids. you told him that he looked good in a loose ponytail once and you he didn’t take it out for whole day.

• the two of you get take out food at least once a week because tim cannot cook to save his life, he just gets too distracted and the food gets burnt. he will also take time just to eat with you and ask about your day rather than work or will watch tv with you.

• tim LOVES watching detective shows with you but but sometimes it can get annoying because will usually ruin the ending by telling you who the criminal is and the exact reasons for his motives so it’s difficult to ignore the fact he just destroyed the next 45 minutes for you.

• he’s a literal genius so if you need help with anything he is on it, he’s actually written your essays for you before but you know that you couldn’t pass them off as your own because it’s not your writing style and you redo them using his basic ideas. you’re very appreciative of his assistance but tell him he doesn’t need to do that for you. however, he shakes it off as if it was nothing.

• he loves you and your acceptance of his coffee loving and sleep-deprived ways. <33

[loveandmurders]

The Sun of Ambrose V (lost Sinclair!daughter reader AU)

Hi everyone, this is the final part of my Sinclair!daughter AU in which the reader is Bo's daughter and she has been taken away and adopted by a new family.

You can find part I here.

Hope you'll enjoy! <3

Warnings: no proof reading, killer!reader, mentions of guilt, violence, murders, blood, some sort of dark angst/comfort

You quite enjoyed your summer break in Ambrose. You loved to sculpt with Vincent, you loved to watch your dad work on a car and to have him show you things, you loved to wander around with Lester. You loved to play with Jonesy as well. Everything felt good. You never slept so well in years, because you were finally feeling safe enough to fully relax.

You hadn’t asked about the tourists anymore because you didn’t have enough strength for more drama for the moment. And whenever people were coming around, the brothers made sure you were busy somewhere else in the town or with Lester. You pretended you didn’t notice anything. You just wanted to be happy. 

And for the moment, your own desire to kill has quieted down. You were still feeling sick from the murder of your mother.

The brothers didn’t notice anything amiss; apart from the fact they still hadn’t heard the sound of your voice, you were once again their ray of sunshine. You were making them so full of joy. The twins were talking, late in the night, about the legacy once again. They hadn’t thought they could resume their plans on this matter. They were so relieved.

However they were a little bit concerned about your adoptive father. They were certain that even if the man wasn’t doing too well for the moment, at some point he would want to get “his daughter” back. The twins had no idea how to cut him out of your life without killing him. Bo would love to murder him - out of jealousy - but he knew that you would know it one day, and he didn’t want to upset you that way. Both your mothers already died after all…

You were having a snack in Bo’s garage while he was taking care of a new car. You were sucking on the chocolate that dripped on your fingers, as you were listening to the music your father put on. You were both enjoying each other's presence even if you weren’t interacting directly. Bo was always a lot more at ease when you were in the same room than him or at least in his line of vision. He was still traumatised; he lost you once, and he promised himself it would never happen again.

You slightly jumped when you felt your phone buzzing next to you. You grabbed it and frowned when you saw it was your adoptive father. Bo noticed the look on your face.

“What’s up, baby?” he asked you as he came closer to you. You put your phone on your lap so you could sign

“He is wondering where I am.” you replied, knowing Bo would understand who was the “he”. You father rolled his eyes and groaned

“Oh so he remembered he's supposed to look after ya?” he ironized and your crossed your arms on your chest “Don’t pout” he hummed and kissed the top of your head

“I’ll have to tell him I’m here. I can’t lie to him about that. Just be nice to him, okay? Things are difficult and… And he won’t be happy about the situation because…” you trailed off

“Because what?”

“Well before mom got sick, she discovered I was chatting with you and Vince and Les, and she was worried about me. She wanted to call the cops on you” you explained. Bo didn’t show any emotion but you read in his eyes that he was quite concerned about such news

“Luckily she got sick then” he commented out loud before realising it “Sorry, love, I didn’t mean it like that” he quickly added as you looked away. Luck had really nothing to do with it, you thought.

“Anyway, I will tell him I’m here. And he’ll probably come get me. I’m just gonna make sure he doesn’t call the police or anyone” you promised as you got up and left the garage

You needed to be alone to write to your adoptive father: “Hey dad, are you feeling better? I didn’t really have anywhere to go so I went back to Ambrose. Everyone is very nice to me and Bo is inviting you over (so please don’t call the police, they really didn’t do anything wrong!). Will you bring me back home?”

The answer was almost instantaneous: “Yes, I will. I won’t call the police because I shouldn’t have asked you to go away in the first place. Love you, I’m sorry for everything”

You were relieved, knowing he wouldn’t be lying to you, not after what happened, not when he had failed his mission of taking care of you.

You came back home and settled at the kitchen table, thinking about what to do next. You didn’t want to leave Ambrose but you wouldn’t be allowed to stay here. You tried to busy yourself on some silly games on your phone but soon enough you grew bored. You were feeling quite upset as well. For the first time in weeks, you wanted to kill someone. You needed to express yourself in another way than sculpting or drawing. You needed to take out your frustration on someone, but there was no one to kill here.

Vincent opened the basement door, in need of some water when he saw you. He quickly saw you weren’t your usual happy self. He put an hand on your shoulder for you to look up at him before signing:

“What’s wrong?”

“My adoptive father will come get me. I think he should be here tonight” you replied

“Do you want to go?” Vincent tilted his head to the head, you quickly shook your head

“No, but I can’t really do anything about it”

You could tell that Vincent wanted to say something but didn’t dare and he simply sadly nodded his head at you.

“How about we make something together? Would it cheer you up?” he offered, which made you smile

“I’d love to”

As you focused on the art you were making with Vincent, you forgot about your adoptive father and you forgot about the time. Your need to kill quietened down, but was still there, waiting for you to be on your own to eat you up alive once again.

You were about to finish a sculpture of Jonesy you intended to offer to Lester, when you heard two vehicles coming into Ambrose. You looked at the window, but didn’t recognise your adoptive father’s car. There were lost “tourists” who were following behind Lester’s truck. Vincent tensed and looked at the clock before asking you:

“When do you think your adoptive father will come here?”

“I’m not sure, soon I guess” you shrugged but you saw the panic rising into Vincent’s eye

“Alright. I let you finish the sculpture without me. We have work to do. Stay here, please.” Vincent replied

“What work?” you frowned

“Promise me you will stay here” Vincent asked, firmly signing each work. You understood he was pretty serious about it

“Of course, I promise you, uncle” you finally replied as you sat back down and watched Vincent leave the room and go back into the basement.

You were about to go back to your sculpture when you heard people violently arguing. The “tourists” didn’t seem to be too happy with Bo. Lester was quick to intervene as well. You watched the scene of a man pushing Lester to the ground, and Bo hitting the said man. Your eyes widened at such a display of violence. You nibbled on your bottom lip. Were your family killers, or was it just bad people disrupting the peace of Ambrose?

You saw that things were getting pretty rough between the three tourists and your father and uncle. You wondered where Vincent was, and almost got into the basement to look for him… Until you saw your adoptive father’s car coming into view. He really couldn’t have arrived at the worst moment. He stopped in front of the garage and tried to put himself between Bo and the man, and to appease the situation. Bo asked him to go away, you guessed, according to his gestures. And your adoptive father refused.

You were too far away to see everything, and even more when they seemed to come more into Bo’s garage. You just knew that at some point someone screamed. Two tourists ran away, Lester ran after them with what seemed like a knife, and Bo was covered in blood. You had to stop yourself from leaving the house. You wanted to help, and you wanted to be the one covered in blood. However, you never broke a promise you made to your family before, so you had to be better, you had to stay inside. You didn’t know where your adoptive father was anymore and you grew worried. How could things go so badly after such happy weeks in Ambrose?

Bo grabbed a rifle and was about to go after the tourists when he received a massive hit on the head from behind and fell on the ground. You saw your adoptive father with some mechanic tool in his hands.

You couldn’t stop yourself this time. You took the gun Bo was hiding under his armchair and ran to the garage. You had to stop them, you had to do something about it. You couldn’t scream or you would have. Your legs brought you in front of the two men with such speed, as the adrenaline was pumping into your veins. Before you knew it, you aimed at them.

Your adoptive father who was ready to hit Bo stopped his movement as he noticed you and he brought his hands in front of him. Bo was still on the ground, pretty disoriented by the hit he received on the head. He looked up and saw you. You had never looked so much like a Sinclair before. He knew you were his daughter then; he wouldn’t even be disappointed if you decided to kill him.

You were perfect.

“What are you doing? Shoot him, shoot him! He killed the guy, and he wants to kill us all. Your mother was right, they are murderers!” you adoptive father yelled as you eyes moved between him and Bo

“I won’t hurt ya, baby” Bo whispered to you “Everythin’s alright” he continued, trying to sooth you. And one thing was certain, you wouldn’t stand to never hear him talking to you like that anymore.

You looked back at your adoptive father, tears in your eyes. You wanted to tell him how sorry you were about what you were going to do, about what you did to his wife, but with the gun in your hands, you couldn’t.

You shooted and closed your eyes. His body loudly fell to the ground and you shivered. You looked down at Bo and helped him to get up.

He quickly hugged you before gently rocking you, so you could calm down. You didn’t cry in his embrace, you felt at peace. You felt like everything was as it always should have been.

“Ya alright?” Bo whispered to you as he cupped your face into his bloody hands. You nodded and sniffed.

Screams resonated from the House of Wax and you moved from Bo. You were ready to help, you were ready to kill some more but Bo grabbed your wrist. He softly took the gun from you and kissed the palm of your hand.

“Don’t worry, baby. Les and Vince are taking care of the two others. Ya can rest now. Ya did amazin’. Ya saved me, ya saved the family” he hummed, pride shining into his eyes. “Told ya everythin’ was gonna be alright,” he added as he brought you back against him once again.

You couldn’t fully relax, not knowing if your uncles were doing alright. You kept your face towards the House of Wax, waiting for them. Soon enough, you saw them pulling two bodies out of the museum and you felt the adrenaline leaving you.

“I need to sit down” you signed to your dad who quickly nodded. He opened Lester’s truck and sat you down at the passenger seat, as it was the most comfy place he could offer for the moment. He didn’t want you to see the body of your adoptive father either.

“Stay here, I’ll be back soon” he murmured. He needed to let his brothers know about what happened. 

Soon enough, they were all around you. You quickly scanned them, to make sure they were unharmed. They didn’t really know what to tell you. They were happy, of course, but they weren’t too sure how you were feeling. You killed the man who raised you for years, after all.

Truth to be told, you used to feel guilty because of the death of his wife that was driving him crazy, but now they were back together. You felt free. You felt ready to kill again, to kill for the family business.

“Bo told us ya did the right thin’” Lester told you and you gave him a soft smile “Feelin’ all good?” he asked and you nodded.

“You don’t have to feel bad for having… killed him, you know. You protected your real father, you protected us. You did what you had to do” Vincent signed to you, even if Bo and Lester weren’t too sure that reminding you you killed him was a good idea. To their surprise, you relaxed into the seat and nodded again.

“I am a Sinclair” you said in a rough voice you hadn’t used in years.

--

Taglist : @murder-hobo - @lacychick ; @magical-sass ; @limehaspassed ; @loveinglymessedup ; @bloodmoon-bites ; @iwantsleepplz ; @kawaistrawberry21 ; @12gaugefalls ; @kriston1210 ; @slushi-chan

[popatochisssp]

I have a question!!! What would it take to get the more stoic boys (like Ell, Merc, Nemo, Vi and King—and anyone else you want to add) to crack a smile?

So you want to make the stony faces crack a smile, huh? An admirable goal!

I went ahead and picked out the most stoic skeletons I could think of, and the best way to get them to break and laugh for you—or at least grin…

King (Horrorfell Papyrus)  – He’s a tough nut to crack, but if you don’t happen to have a clever wit to banter back and forth with him, using your sharpest ripostes and most stinging barbs, physical comedy is actually your best bet. He’s a bit of a sadist and has just enough of a mean streak to always find it funny when someone falls, or walks into a pole, or really any other form of slapstick as a result of someone’s clumsiness or inattention. He generally has enough grace to rein his visible amusement in, but if you ever see some sort of petty accident waiting to happen, do point it out—or be the clumsy fool yourself, you just might see an undignified snicker.

Merc (Horrorswap Sans) – He actually has a great sense of humor and joy, so he does already smile quite a bit! Just…because of his condition, he has to keep in control of his emotions, so those smiles are small and slow and restrained, lest he feel too much and lose his handle on himself. That said, the element of surprise is crucial to winning the big and real reactions from him, catching him off-guard so he doesn’t see it coming and can’t mount an internal defense against it. Non sequiturs and unexpected punchlines work great for this, but are best used sparingly—both to keep the element of surprise at play, and to keep his discomfort from getting a little melty to a minimum.

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus) – In spite of his often surly or sour mood, he’s not especially difficult to amuse. Probably his favorite thing, though, is anything that happens to be unintentionally funny—as in, something that was not meant to be comedic but, by circumstance or execution or some other factor, has just completely missed the mark and has worked its way around to funny. Really badly outdated special effects or especially hokey dialogue in shows and movies tend to work well in getting him to smile, but he’s liable to bark out a laugh for signs and billboards and such that should not have been placed next to each other, or if you share with him something stupid and out of touch that a celebrity or politician may have said.

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus) – He’s only deceptively hard to get a smile out of. He’s often anxious, or in guard-dog mode, thinking about things that could happen, and what he’d have to do in the event of X, Y, or Z, which has the Resting Bitch Face out in full force…but he’s far from a heart of stone. When he’s relaxed and comfortable, he’ll smile about pretty much anything, even just for it being a kind of nice day outside. …But if you want to see him smile even when he's not entirely chill, all it really takes is some kids, or maybe a funny animal. Seeing kids goofing around doing kid things, or a puppy dog up to some puppy type antics, he has a hard time not smiling for that.

Spectr (Transcendtale Sans) – He’s a very, very tough one, almost the poster skeleton for ‘nothing to smile about in my life.’ He’s definitely lost in his own existentialism a lot, or the opposite and trying not to think about more than what’s directly in front of him, which does make it pretty difficult to get a laugh out of him. Still, he can’t quite help himself when it comes to skeleton-based jokes and puns—it’s tired, old material, sure, but very comforting and familiar, and he likes to hear it. It’s not a guaranteed laugh if you hit him with some humerus wordplay, but he’s pretty likely to be smiling behind his mask, and even likelier to throw you a bone and respond in kind.

Tank (Underfell Fruition Papyrus) – With him, it’s a little bit like getting one of those palace guards to crack a smile—it’s not so much that he’s humorless, just that he’s (until recently) not been allowed to show a response…and as a related issue, he’s not at all familiar with social cues and doesn’t always realize a certain response is expected of him. Because of that, one of the best ways to get him to smile is to explain a joke for him, or just let him know that what was said was a joke. It’s easier for him to feel comfortable expressing his amusement if he knows for sure that he was meant to be amused, but as for a specific preference of humor… Well, he actually really likes skeleton-related puns and jokes, too! His brother used to tell them all the time when they were younger and since he wasn’t around long enough to use them to death those are very fond memories!

Vi (Swapfell Fruition Sans) – Now he’s the poster skeleton for ‘nothing to smile about in my life,’  and consequently, not very easy at all to coax a smile from. He’s too into the habit of keeping his most important and genuine feelings off his face to be fully comfortable smiling over just anything. If someone knows that something makes him happy, it can be taken away from him, after all. …But if whatever he’s smiling about is something vague, deprived of its context and mysterious to anyone who isn’t in the know… His fastest and easiest smiles are the ones that come from inside jokes, funny moments that maybe he didn’t laugh about at the time, but will freely grin and reference later with just a ‘YOU HAD TO BE THERE’ to anyone else prying for more context. He likes secrets, and the ones he can share with you are the most fun.

[byoldervine]

Hi! I just found your blog! I was wondering if you had any tips on writing a good, strong first chapter or two for fan fiction? I’m doing a cross over and I always have trouble in the beginning of my stories. I would love some advice! Thank you!

Welcome to the blog! It’s been a good long while since I wrote any fanfic, let alone started one, but I’ll see what I’ve got up my sleeves!

1. Open with a question. This doesn’t mean the first line has to be a literal question, it just means that your first line should make readers ask questions in their mind that encourage them to continue reading. If you open with something self-explanatory like “I woke up and opened the curtains”, that does give an idea of the scene and the time, but it doesn’t add any incentive to read on. Reframing it to something like “Opening the curtains might have been a bad idea”, you create intrigue; why was it a bad idea? Did they see something bad out the window? Additionally, it can take you straight into the action, which works well with my next tip

2. No need for introductions. With original writing you often have to set the scene more and ensure characters are introduced and well-established, and that often comes with the advice that you shouldn’t introduce too many new names and faces in the same chapter, but in fanfic you can safely assume that your readers are familiar with the characters and world already, meaning you can jump straight into the plot and throw as many canon characters at it as you like. Take advantage of this!

3. Vibe check. Your opening chapter can set the theme or tone of your fic, so pay attention; if you want something lighthearted and funny, have everyone cracking jokes or just generally not taking it all seriously. If you want angst and trauma, it helps if the tone is more serious. If you want romance, have that vibe either through a love at first sight deal or by using other established couples to set the mood. Even if by the second chapter the vibe has changed so you can build back up to it going forward, it’s nice to have that overall feel in the first chapter so you know what you’re getting into going forward; if readers like the initial vibe, they’ll like the fic. It gives them a taste of what’s to come

4. Take advantage of quirks. With original writing, the author has to pave the way for subtle quirks and mannerisms and dynamics to be recognisable by the reader - but in fic, you have the advantage of the readers already being familiar. You can use this to make characters feel more alive and, well, in-character, and thanks to their pre-established characterisation you can utilise it from the start. Maybe there are subtleties in their actions that you can take advantage of plot-wise? Or in your case with the crossover, it could maybe signify to Crew A that Crew B are very tight-knit and know each other and their strengths and weaknesses well

5. Have fun with it. Fic writing tends to be a lot more unserious than original writing; you certainly do your best with it, but everyone knows that it’s just for fun and won’t hold you to the expectations of a professional like some people sadly would for those writing original fic for the same reason. In any case, you can take a breather with fic writing, and ultimately the only way to do it wrong is to not have fun writing it

It’s a little difficult to give pointers that are purely fic-related, especially when I’m unfamiliar with the crossover plan, so it also might be beneficial to read other fics of those fandoms and any crossovers you can find if possible! Best of luck with your fic!

[percyluvr]

Hiii,i love your blog and your writing sm and that’s why i wanted to be brava and make a request!If you like the idea,can you please write a Percy imagine were reader is the daughter of Thetis(the water nymph/goddess and mother of Achilles)and she is the one that helps Percy with his water powers?Like they bond over that and fall in love with each other?Thank you very much!🩵🩵

percy jackson x daughter of thetis!reader summary: percy meets a nereid; the rest is history wc: 2524 note: thank you so much for reading my works, i'm vv glad u love my blog & i hope i could do this request justice. i wasn't exactly sure if her kid would be a demigod or a nymph, so i thought because i haven't really seen any fics w a nymph!reader, i would get a lil creative w it! i do know that achilles was considered a demigod, but i figured maybe her female children would be nereids(?)

Percy had been claimed as a son of Poseidon about a month ago at this point, and he was desperately trying to understand his powers. When he was claimed, he assumed that it would be easy to harness the power of the sea, since, well, his dad was the literal God of the Sea. Unfortunately, it was not coming as naturally as he had hoped and assumed it would, and so he now found himself swimming in the sea near Camp Half-Blood, searching for someone or something to help him get a leash on his powers.

He tried contacting his dad, to no avail; now aimlessly swimming. The only thing that had truly come natural to him was the ability to breathe under water, which was helpful now, since he didn't have to keep coming up to the surface for breath and could now just focus on finding help.

It'd been about 2 hours of just what others would consider mind-numbing swimming, but Percy enjoyed it anyhow.

He eventually found himself face to face with a young girl whom he would consider one of, if not the most beautiful person he'd ever come across. Though he was a son of Poseidon, Percy swears that he found it increasingly difficult to breathe. The longer he looked at you, the more and more aware he was that he was underwater, and all he could think was 'I'm a son of Poseidon and I'm going to drown, and because somehow it can get more embarrassing than that, I'm going to drown in front of a beautiful girl and she's probably going to laugh and I'm never even going to get to know her name or hear her voice, which is probably the most heavenly thing anyone would ever get a chance to hear and-'

His thoughts are broken when he hears you speak, and somehow your voice sounds even more heavenly than he had assumed it would be.

"Hello, Perseus," you say, smiling, and Percy thinks that his heart might just burst into a million little pieces that will eventually drift out into the water surrounding the two of you.

"Hey, hi, um," he struggles to assemble his thoughts into a coherent sentence.

"Take your time, Perseus. You will not run out of breath, as I believe you thought you would just a few seconds ago," you speak, fighting the urge to giggle at the silly boy that has found his way to your home.

"Um, first, you can just call me Percy, if you want. Second, I know I won't, I was just, uh, distracted for a second. And third, I'm here because, embarrassingly enough, apparently the fact that I'm the son of Poseidon doesn't matter to this water, which will not do anything I want it to unless I'm in a life or death situation, which does happen to occur quite often, so really I'd probably be fine, but I would sort of like to be able to have the comfort of knowing that I can actually use these cool powers that every tells me I have," he rambles. "Sorry, that was kind of a lot," he concludes.

"Do not worry, I followed along quite easily, actually. Anyhow, if you require assistance with your endeavors, I am here to aide you. When I'm not busy helping your father at the castle, that is," you offer.

"Really? I mean I was hoping you would say that, but I wasn't sure you would. But yeah, I'll take you up on that, thanks," he flashes you a smile.

"Wonderful. Feel free to stop by or call my name into the water, and I'll hear it and come to you if I'm able."

"Right, uh, not to be rude, but uh, what's your name?"

"Ah, right, I forget how you demi-gods don't bother to learn the names of the Nereids anymore."

When you tell him your name, you believe you see his eyes glisten in adoration, unless, of course, you're making that all up in your head because the boy in front of you is way cuter than you had ever imagined when you had just heard his name being thrown around by the gossiping Nereids around the palace.

"Well, then, Percy, you should be on your way. I have things to be doing now."

"Right, bye then. Thanks for, y'know, offering to teach me pretty much everything," he says bashfully.

"Of course." He begins to swim away and all you are left with the ability to do is wave as he slowly gets farther and farther away.

𓂃 𓈒𓏸

It'd been not even a week since Percy had been, in his descriptions to his friends at camp, blessed by your presence, and though the two of you had barely become acquaintances, he found himself missing the sound of your voice and the odd, in his opinion, outdated way that you spoke.

This type of yearning for a person's presence is not the type of yearning he feels for his mother, Sally, and so, this feeling is quite new to Percy. Of course, as a teenage boy, he doesn't know how else to manage this intense feeling, so immediately he goes to the beach and calls your name into the water.

"Hello, Percy, I can't say I'm surprised that you're this eager to harness the power of the sea. I was also very invigorated when I first learned of what was possible once at one with the sea."

"Am I not already one with the sea? My dad is literally the God and King of the sea. And are you not also one with the sea from birth? Aren't Nereides water spirits or whatever?"

"Ah, Percy, you misunderstand. You are not born one with the sea, even as a Nereid. You must prove to the sea that you are not afraid of it, and that you will not take advantage of it. It may takes days, or weeks, but I suspect that you will do just fine."

"And how exactly am I supposed to prove that?"

"You will see," you said cryptically, and before Percy could object to this statement, you were gone, and he was staring out into the clear blue water of the Atlantic Ocean.

"Jeez, when someone offers to teach you, you would think they would actually teach you something and not just say some weird cryptic stuff and then disappear," he grumbles to no one in particular.

𓂃 𓈒𓏸

Of course, you were correct in your assumption that Percy would quickly prove to the sea that he could be trusted to harbor its power. He manages to form a ball of water the size of a fist before losing focus, leaving the water to splash back down and become one with the sea again.

However, he was not discouraged, and in his invigorated state, he calls out for you without even realizing it.

"Hello, Perseus. I see that I was correct," you said, a bit smugly, Percy must say.

"Yeah, yeah. Will you actually teach me now?"

"Indeed. I wanted to be sure that you were competent enough for my help, so I do apologize for how ominous my words were."

"You're all good. I do have a question though, and feel free to try to drown me if this is rude."

"Do proceed with your inquiry." At that, Percy nearly bursts out laughing at how much you sounded like an office e-mail from someone's annoyed boss, but managed to somehow keep composure.

"Uh, why do you talk like.. I don't know, so formal. Aren't you my age?"

"I do apologize. I do believe you are older than me, which may come as a surprise to you. But to answer your main question, I talk so 'formal' because that is simply how everyone at the palace speaks. I suppose we do not have much contact with anyone outside of the ocean, and so we have not picked up on all of the latest dialects and ways of speaking."

"Well, I guess that makes sense then, my bad."

"Do not worry."

"So, uh, do I get to learn more about 'harnessing the power of the ocean' or whatever now?"

"I suppose now would be as good a time as any."

"Cool, cool, where do we start?"

You lift your fist into the air, a large section of water rising into the air and forming into the shape of a large sea turtle, forming into different animals as you rotate your hand in the air.

"Are you able to do that? Even a basic animal shape would be fine, but if not, we must begin, well, at the beginning."

"Oh, man," he grumbled

𓂃 𓈒𓏸

It'd been a few months of you popping in a few days a week to assist Percy with his ambitions, and he was finally able to wield the power of the sea like he once hoped he would be able.

However, September was rapidly approaching and Percy would soon have to return to school, meaning he would not get to see you nearly as often, which certainly put a damper on what was already a terrible week leading up to the start of the wretched school year.

And so, he resolved that the two of you would talk every day until he had to leave. He didn't care that he had progressed past the point of needing your help anymore, he just wanted to be in your presence for however much longer possible.

It was nearly instinct at this point for Percy to call your name out into the sea, and he was not one to fight it.

"Good to see you, Percy. But as I'm sure you're fully aware, you do not need my tutoring anymore. Perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself, but I do believe that you've even surpassed me, and that doesn't come as a surprise," you praise.

"I don't know about that, but I am pretty cool now," he says jokingly.

You smile. "But uh, I didn't call you for practice, I just thought that, uh, that maybe we could just hang out, y'know? I mean you did help me a lot, so I figure why not give you some company outside of all those old people or whatever back at the palace," Percy admits.

"That doesn't sound horrible. You are quite interesting, I would like to get to know you more as well. And yes, I could use some time away from my fellow Nereids at the palace," you sheepishly say.

"That's what I thought. Hey, by the way, you never told me who your parents were. You know who my dad and mom are, but I don't know either of yours."

"Ah, my mother is a bit more obscure nowadays, as she's not one of the Goddesses that the Greeks traditionally worship as they do the Olympians. She is a water nymph, but also a Goddess, and unfortunately is no longer worshipped in the same proportion as she was in Ancient Greece," you sadly explain.

"Huh, that's pretty cool. I mean, not the part that she's not really worshipped anymore, but the part of her being a nymph and a Goddess. Um, anyways, do you ever talk to my dad?"

"Occasionally, your father will ask me to accompany him or to do various tasks. He is a kind man, I do like his presence, if that is what you were trying to get at."

"That's good. I've only talked to him a few times, but I figured he was a nice guy," Percy grins, "Do you ever get to talk to your mom?"

"Yes, my mother, Thetis, and I are quite close. She lives in the palace with me."

"Wow, I'll be honest, I'm kinda jealous. I mean, I think my dad is cool, and I know he's like a big shot Olympian and whatever, but I think it'd be nice if we could actually talk in person and bond or whatever," he admits.

"Yes, I understand. It must be hard, but for the majority of the year, you have your mother, yes? Or are you a year-round camper?"

"Yeah, you're right. I do have my mom for most of the year, so it's worth it. She's the best," he cheers up at the mention of his mother.

"I figured you would say that. She raised you well. You are much kinder than some of the campers here, but I suppose that is not their fault."

"Nah, it's not. It is what it is sometimes."

You nod, and the conversation flows smoothly on.

𓂃 𓈒𓏸

Today was the last day that Percy would be at camp, since his mother was picking him up later that day after lunch.

He decided that since he only had a few hours left at camp for the summer, he would spend them with the person he now considered one of his closest friends, even though he'd only really known you for a few months at this point.

When he called your name, you appeared almost instantly.

"Hey, Percy," you said, grinning.

"Switching up the greeting today?"

"I suppose since today was your last day here, I would start trying to speak like you and perhaps by the time you came back from school, I would speak more 'naturally,' as you put it."

"Huh, the way you talk doesn't actually bother me, y'know."

"That may be true, but I would like to learn to speak more modernly anyhow."

"If you want to, go for it. But uh, I thought maybe we could do that thing, it's called like, Iris messaging or something? With the drachmas? Then we could keep in touch while I'm at school, too," Percy says nervously.

"That does sound like a good idea. Now that we're friends, I think it would be optimal that we spoke frequently and updated each other on our lives. Good thinking."

He chuckled. "Good, good. I, uh, also wanted to say that... well, I think you're really pretty, and I thought maybe next summer, we could, uh, maybe go on a date or something. I don't know if you feel the same way, but if you do and you do want to, that would be pretty cool," he rambles, interrupted by the foreign feeling of your lips on his.

After a few moments, you detach your mouth from his. "Was that, uh, alright?" You quietly ask.

"Yeah, jeez, that was way better than alright. That was perfect," he says, a deep red adorning his cheeks.

"That is excellent to hear," you say, smiling wider than you'd ever in your life.

"Well, I need to go to lunch, and uh, then my mom is picking me up. I'll Iris message you as soon as I get home, okay? So make sure you're ready."

"See you tonight, Percy," you happily state, dissolving back into the water as quickly as you had appeared.

He stares into the beautiful clear water for a bit before he walks away, unaware that you had appeared again and were watching him walk away, a look of adoration decorating your features.

[itsthe60sbaby]

I have been reading some comments around and just thought I would give you my two cents about a couple of things. Just for the sake of sharing and infusing some calming positivity above the fandom I hope.

I come from a long viewer experience; deeply invested viewer experience. I love tv shows, I love falling in love with them; I am kinda selective, I do not waste much time on those that do not resonate for me, but I can watch crime stories, horror ones, love stories, spies ones, as long as they have something that intrigues me. But when there’s a good love story, I am like Penelope. I can’t resist. I love to watch the relationships unfolding, I love the ups and downs, the rollercoaster of emotions. Blending comedy with drama, as well. And from time to time I love the feeling to find just my perfect cup of tea. That one show feeding my soul in that particular moment of my life. Among my favs, just to give a picture: This is Us, Jane the Virgin, The Good Place, The Good Wife, Modern Family, House, and many others.

I come from a long experience then. And getting invested, shipping a couple with the highest level of expectations can be tricky. Especially if you let PR strategy get to you.

On one level, you expect so much from the show you’re watching, you start making up fantasies of your own, picturing stuff in your head and that of course never materializes. It would be impossible. And yet some creative decisions serve a higher purpose. It’s a work of art. Some people would always find something they do not like so much, others will go along. If you don’t have expectations and are less invested, you probably end up enjoying it more, in a sense. But there’s a lot of work behind it all, so many professionals giving their hearts and souls to the project, putting their whole selves in it, to give us the best story, told in the best way they could conceive it. Doing their absolute best. And it feels disrespectful to me, destroying their efforts, just because a few things weren’t the dream come true of my expectations.

On the other hand, and this goes beyond what should be said or discussed, PR strategy is just what it is. And it adds some fun of course but actors have their lives. Although they generously share them with us, play with us, humor the fandom. We don’t have any idea how difficult that must be at times. At yet they do it with a smile of their faces, keeping up the facade even if they might feel unease (which is understandable even if they can play along and laugh about it cause they are professionals and actors to the core). That being said, despite someone might like to fantasize, whatever personal choices or people they love or date, that doesn’t diminish the bonds they create, the chemistry, the affection or the special connection we observe and love so much about them. All of these have fueled their performance, nurture it. And I believe it’s a blessing. Just as much Kanthony was so good because of the great friendship b/w John and Simone. Paraphrasing Benedict, there might be enough love for everyone. To have a special someone and yet loving to bits one of your best friends, who might even be some sort of soulmate or just a what if that nevertheless will never come true. Or maybe not. Everyone is the main character of their own life. Only they can tell. But as a friendly advice, from an older me to my younger self, and to the ones among you feeling off right now, I would say, do learn to separate fiction from reality. Characters from people. Their lives go on just the same. Yours might feel deprived of something that is just in your heads and was never truly yours. You just borrowed someone else’s alleged emotions, picking up glances and smiles, and cute stuff alright but… focus on your life. And take advantage of fiction when it can let you fly high, elsewhere, far way, and get you come back home with a different feeling inside you. Healing or filling whatever hole you felt that needed care and mending.

I want to let it sink in. And go back rewatching season 3 with some more detachment. I gave it 9 out 10 really. I feel so blessed by this tale of love and so grateful for all the fun of the press tour.

Let’s keep having fun.

[appleblueberry-pie]

How would Yan Miggy feel when his S/O has successfully escaped from him and is moved to another country, she also has a child who is five years old and looks like a carbon copy of him.

So one day the kid decided to write Miguel a letter with their address on it and in the letter the kid talks about how reader never mentions him or talks about him, and also wondering if he's the Child's real father. And so the kid invites him to his/her’s birthday. (plus also having an attached photo of the house that they are living in, in the letter).

Reader is now shocked and immediately pulling her child away from him, and angrily asks Miguel how he got their address.

I love your work💕

THANK YOU <3 also i like this ask lol

Miguel sat in his car, anxiety and happiness causing his stomach to tie in knots. The picture applied to the handwritten note and the house he parked in front of were identical. He saw a children's park and a school on the way here, not too far away. It's also the city you've always wanted to move to to raise a family. This has to be the place.

Dear Daddy,

I miss you alot. Mommy tells me that you were mean to her alot so she left to be happy. I am glad she is happy but i miss being with you. My birthday is on xxxxxxxx and i would be very very happy if you came to selebrate with us!! This is what my house looks like. And i can tell you where we live. PLease coem. i miss you.

Every time Miguel read over the note, the more he felt connected to his little girl, and it pained him it had to come to this. So, he'll make sure that his return in her life is more of a meaningful one. Not one full of lies, excuses and useless arguments that led to nothing but more problems. A year is a long time and Miguel is a changed man. He can make this right.

When he shows up at your door, he takes note of all of the beautiful and small garden growing in the front yard, wondering if the two of you worked on that together.

Your car looks pretty nice as well. Did you buy that on your own? Or did someone else help you? It's pretty difficult to find a house, let alone afford living, in a place as nice as this. Maybe that's why you took money out of his account so often. If you wanted to move, you should've just told him so. Well, it's too late for that now.

As soon as he knocks on the door, it flies open, and there's his little girl he hasn't seen in forever. She gives him that big smile he's always loved and remembered, screaming his name. "Daddy!!" He picks her up and holds her close in his arms.

"Oh! My little ball of sunshine! My favorite girl, it's been too long since I've last seen you, how have you been? How's my birthday girl??"

She laughs when he tickles her lightly and puts her on the ground. "I'm really good now that you're here! Wait, let me tell Mommy-"

She takes his hand to bring him inside, but you appeared out of nowhere, breaking the hand-holding and roughly shoving him by the chest out of the front door entrance. You hold your little girl behind you, your face almost unrecognizable from a mix of fear and anger on display.

"What the hell are you doing here?? How did you find us?" Miguel's face drops at your tone and holds out his arms in the most non-threatening way possible. Yet, his voice showed his true colors. So nervous and....almost scared.

"Hi, Y/n," A crooked smile shows on his face, "Mi amor, it's very nice to see you-"

"I'm gonna call the cops if you don't leave." You scramble to try and pick up your daughter, who fights against it. You aren't in the mind to understand that as you continue to try and back away from who once was your captor.

"No, wait, it's not like that. It's D/n birthday today and......I just wanted to come see my baby." He takes a step inside your abode. Slowly, as if trying to not make things worse. "Please."

You thought you did everything right. You didn't leave any traces. You gained his trust in leaving you to the house all for yourself, which took years and years to do. And when things finally clear and you finally found a normal life to live again, he comes to your doorstep. Was he stalking you this entire time?? Why was he being so nice? So open? You definitely couldn't trust whatever he had up his sleeve, and your daughter....

"I told him where we live!!" She tugged on your arm as hard as she could to get your attention. Your head snaps down to her direction. When she saw your face, she hesitated for a moment but kept talking. "I just wanted to see daddy again.......I-....all of my friends at school have their dads, and i really missed mine. If i wasn't ever gonna see him again, then i just wanted to see him one last time."

[I can't color code anymore😭]

You were in disbelief. As mad as you wanted to be at your daughter for doing something so life changing and unbelievable, you couldn't for the life of you put any of those feelings onto her. She deserved the world. And in all honesty, you took most of it from her. Miguel was a great father despite his many flaws, and all you wanted for her was to experience that perfect family.

And you couldn't give it to her. The rest of the puzzle she needed was right here. You didn't know if you were ready to give Miguel a chance again. But did you really have a choice?

Miguel frowned and dropped his hands.

You promise yourself to deal with it for now. The quicker he celebrates, the faster you find a way to get him out again. You bend down to whisper to your daughter. "Go tell daddy where your bedroom is so I can finish with the decorations, okay?"

Her face begins to beam and, without a second thought, nods her head and rushes off to keep Miguel busy. Miguel doesn't have a chance to see your face, as you already got back into the kitchen to deal with the food, and he lets his lips turn upwards at the corner.