#fix wobbly tooth

[emergencydentistuk]

Wobbly tooth, or the loosening of teeth, is a common dental condition that can affect individuals of all ages, but it is particularly prevalent in adults. While it is normal for children’s teeth to become slightly loose during the process of exfoliation and replacement by permanent teeth, persistent tooth mobility in adults is often an indicator of an underlying dental or systemic health issue. This article aims to explore the various etiologies of tooth mobility in the adult dentition, shedding light on the multifaceted factors that contribute to this phenomenon. Read: https://medium.com/@dentistlondonpro/the-wobble-factor-causes-of-loose-teeth-in-adults-ad6a389bd358

[the-fandom-is-now-my-life]

The creator had a:

sea streaked child

WC:800

Cw: reader is said to breastfeed but isn't written doing so

Checking the blinds to make sure they were clean, remaking the ruffles so they are even.

Furina had spent her entire morning jittery walking everywhere in the palais mermonia.

Now across the room she is digging in between the blue roses hiding any less than stellar bloom under one of its prettier sisters.

Changing the tea set on the table in the middle of the room, cerulean blue, cobalt blue and sky blue swapping places faster than Neuvillette can pay any mind to.

She sighs, looking defeated at the sets and almost begging them to tell her which one is supposed to be best yet for one second the teapots looked like mocking faces. Throwing herself on a loveseat the room starts to feel smaller and she isn't even totally sure what tea to serve.

“Breath” neuvillette says from the desk, ever since he took over the leading role in Fontaine he spent more time between pages of legal documents, if that is even possible “they are arriving for a simple chat to check on the general management of the region”

“How do you even expect me to be calm when they themselves asked for my attendance for this meeting!” she sits up wobbly, the soft swirling getting worse “I can't even remember what cake you told me they liked… this is going to be a mess”

“Their grace has quite the sweet tooth, as long as what you planned doesn't have coffee it's going to be alright”

“Why no coffee?”

“miss furina… they gave birth a few days ago, it’s disadvised to breastfeed and have caffeinated drinks” seeing her nod and her little ahoge bobbing along he feels the need to confirm “that not only includes coffee and variations but also most teas” and with that she jumps to her feet, quickly excusing herself to make some changes.

“That child…” he sighs as he reviews the documents he wanted to show you and a rough overview, his head resting against his hand and a finger between his teeth. Feeling the door whining softly he laughs from the bottom of his throat “back soon early?”

And as his heart skipped a beat as you spoke “Oh, my, I know I am 30 minutes early but I thought you would like to meet me particularly” you walk deeper inside the room, past the meticulously fixed flowers that you wouldn't have noticed the mistakes on and past the three teapots on the table, each a slightly different shade of blue. Now standing besides neuvillette and facing the documents he just noticed the bundle of white cloth you held onto.

“Did the crops get better with the method I recommended? It left me worried when I left”

“The production got better, if you want to check the report is here” he offers the three papers stuck together by a metal clip when he notices that doing it with a single hand might be hard “if I might help you” he positions his arms to grab the baby and you let her between his arms

“Let's hope she stays asleep, she is such a colicky baby” you whisper but as soon as you finish the sentence she opens her eyes and starts wailing “my goodness…” you sigh deeply.

“Let me take care of it, just focus on that” he stands up and tries to mimic what he saw parents do with their small children whenever something upsetting might come up during the trials and small children would cry.

He grabs her neck and head with one hand and her legs with another, cradling her like you. As he was swaying softly the blanket covering her hair slid down to show pointy ears and softly cartilage mixing on her thin white hair.

“Is she…” but is soon shushed by you, pointing at the door and then to your ears, the message very clear ‘someone might be listening’ but he keeps his eyes glued to you only to catch you mouthing a soundless yes. His hands cradle her head onto his neck, soft blue cartilage sneaking past his fingers.

Now soothed, you two find comfort on the soft sound of passing the pages and Cordelia's breathing, the baby's name he would later find out.

“NEUVI I managed to get a cheesecake and fontas did i save this?!” Furina pushes past the door, holding a full size strawberry cheesecake and hugging three fontas against her chest but seeing you head on thinking you weren't on Fontaine yet “HIYY”

The screech caused Cornelia to get startled and start wailing “Miss Furina.” neuvillette says sternly, almost like a father telling off his daughter. But the only thing it caused was for her to see him hugging a baby suspiciously similar to him which didn't take her long to join the dots.

“OOAH!”

“Furina please stop scaring my daughter!”

[themidnightcrimson]

religion ࿏ wm

summary: in which the new reverend at your hometown church wants to give you a lesson on sexual immorality.

words: 5.6K

warnings: pastor!wanda, fem!reader, oral (r giving), fingering (r receiving), slight non-con/dubcon, manipulation, dumbification, degradation, religion, lots of bible verses, rip my religious trauma, spank me with a bible, fuck me with the crucifix, yes lord in wanda's name we pray amen

this post is for 18+ only. minors dni.

masterlist.

A few women in the church had put together a potluck after one Sunday sermon, or a “covered dish supper” as the elders liked to call them. You remembered loving those potlucks as much as you loved church itself when you were a child. As the years went by and your worldview got bigger and your mind opened up to the broader possibilities that this was not what life should be like, you scarcely ever went to church.

Upon moving away for college, the idea of church was a laughable thing to you. You could hardly even remember what the rituals were anymore, or the verses, or the hymns. It wasn’t necessarily a hatred or aversion, but rather a bitter distaste in your mouth when reminded of how indoctrinated you and your whole community were into the church. You just weren’t religious anymore, and you preferred living life that way, though it took years of untying the knots of theological principals and “truths” from your mind.

When you were back in your hometown for a visit, your mother nearly fell over at the sight of the little rainbow bracelet on your wrist. After a very heated conversation where you threw in her face the fact that you had been with multiple women in college, she seemed to give up and leave the conversation alone—until the next morning she asked you to come to church with her.

“Really? You think going to church is going to reverse the way that I was born? You expect me to just pray the gay away?!” you yelled at her, but she was calm. She said that was not her intentions, but rather they were to simply have you come see everyone you grew up around. She said that there was a new pastor there who was younger and could relate better to youth without that kind of feigned wise judgment that the other pastor, a wobbly old man, used.

You fought tooth and nail against your mom in a thirty-minute argument until finally you were just too tired to fight against her anymore. You felt how you did in high school—getting lectured by your mom for skipping church only a single Sunday, being placed under her godly ray of obstinance that so easily drained you until you just couldn’t fight anymore. She forced you to wear one of your church dresses from high school and practically shoved you into the car that Sunday morning. You were just looking forward to the potluck afterward.

As your mom pulled the car into the church’s parking lot, you realized that they had done renovations on the sanctuary since you had been gone. It was bigger now, with huge mosaic windows facing the front and a new pure white cross on top of the spire, making the triangular building look even taller and more pointed than it already was.

“This new pastor a millionaire or something?” you mumbled as you unbuckled your seatbelt.

“No, she’s just so brilliant and amazing that she’s attracted dozens of new parishioners since she came,” she explained. “You’ll see. She really has a way of connecting with young people, especially young women. I couldn’t tell you how many girls your age have joined in the past year!”

Crinkling your eyebrows, you stepped out of the car and took a breath of fresh air. Even in the parking lot, you could pick up that familiar smell of wood and old books. “The pastor is a woman?” you asked, remembering only male pastors. Although your denomination was open towards female pastors, the general misogyny of your small-town Southern community had always favored men, of course.

“Uh huh,” your mother said as she stepped out of the car and fixed her hair in the wind, walking over to you and gently grabbing your arm suddenly. “Y/n, I should probably let you know… I did call Reverend Maximoff last night and told her a little about your…situation.”

Your eyes widened as you stared at her incredulously. “What?!” Had your mother really gone and called the local pastor to tell her that her daughter was gay?

“Look, it’s important for a pastor to know their parishioners’ personal lives in order to truly connect with them. I’m not saying I asked her to… pray the gay away or whatever you said, but I just let her know that you were having some…sexually immoral feelings. She’s helped many young women here with the same problem.”

“Excuse me?!” you exclaimed, jerking your arm away from your hand. An old couple walking by glanced over at you, and you blushed and looked away, speaking quieter. “Why the hell would you tell some woman I don’t even know that I’m having sex with women?!”

“She’s not some woman, she’s an ordained minister of God!” your mother exclaimed. “She’s not going to drag you up in front of the church and hang you, for God’s sake! She was just concerned that you’re not living your life under the guidance of God and would be happy to give you a steering hand, that’s all! She didn’t even say anything about the gay part—just the promiscuity!”

Curse words formed on your lips, but you pursed them together, pushing past your mother and towards the church so you could get this thing over with. “Promiscuity my ass,” you muttered as you burst open the church doors, hit with that familiar old smell. It looked different now that it had been renovated, the ceiling and windows much taller and the carpet redone, but it was the same wooden pews you remembered as a child and the same large altar with a grand piano and steps for the choir.

You looked around at all the familiar townspeople sitting in the pews as the choir, dressed in their robes and holding their hymnals, made their way to the chancel in formation. You realized that your mother was right when she said that the church had grown—all of the pews were jammed full of people, except for a little spot near the front where there was enough room for two people to squeeze in. Feeling aggravated and brash, you stormed to the front and shimmied past the row of people to sit down in the empty spot, your mother scrambling down beside you.

“Please don’t be angry in the house of God,” she began.

You ignored her, looking around and seeing that there were groups of young women your age looking excitedly towards the altar, waiting for the pastor to come out. You assumed maybe the pastor had started a women’s group and was just mentoring the young women.

Reaching forward, you took the hymnal book sitting in the slot behind the pew in front of you, opening up its yellowed pages and flipping through. You could still remember some of the songs, but before you could read one, there was a hushing whisper among the congregation.

Glancing upwards, you saw Reverend Maximoff emanating from behind the altar, glancing out among the ground with a smile as she stepped to the front. You were shocked to see her—she was older than you, but not by too much. She had a youthful smile to her face and twinkling green eyes, her blonde hair cut right to the shoulders of the maroon robe and dark green stole she wore.

“Good morning, everyone,” she announced, her voice loud and confident. The church crowd silenced and gave their full attention to her. “Today we will start by worshiping the Lord our God with our choir’s beautiful voices, as well as your own.” Her Southern accent was feminine and airy with a cheerful tune to it, as if she was already singing by simply speaking. “Please turn to page 304 in your hymnals and stand to worship the Lord with us.”

The sound of people standing and pages turning filled your ears, and you found yourself flipping to the page and standing up along with everyone else, realizing that your muscle memory was still there. It felt odd being in that place again, viewing the solemnity and respect of religion in a community sense.

The choir started, and then the rest of the church joined in, singing the hymn in unison. You didn’t sing at first, until your mother’s elbow stabbed your ribcage, so you quietly mumbled the words.

Glancing up, you watched Reverend Maximoff singing at her stand, face turned towards the choir and grinning at them as the words formed on her lips. You had to admit that for a pastor, she was beautiful and charming. Her smile was nearly mesmerizing as her head slowly turned towards the congregation in appreciation for their singing, eyes casting over the pews of people until they flickered near you. Realizing that you were staring, you quickly glanced down at the book before she could make eye contact with you. Feeling suddenly nervous, you mindlessly stared at the book until you figured she would be looking somewhere else, looking back up only to find that she was looking right at you.

All you could hear were the choral praises of God as the Reverend’s eyes bore into yours. The smile on her face faded a little, her focus zoning in on you through the crowd. You remembered what your mother had told her about you, the thought bringing a sickly blush of shame to your cheeks. Why was she staring at you? Was she judging you? Thinking about what a dirty sinner you were? You couldn’t take it, but you couldn’t look away either.

Finally, the song ended, and she broke eye contact.

“Thank you so much. You may please be seated.”

The crowd sat down and put their hymnals away as the choir did the same, and once everyone was finally still and quiet, the Reverend opened her Bible and started flipping through pages to find notes for her sermon.

“Today, people, we will be talking about the one thing we think about almost all of the time—our bodies.” Your teeth ached as you braced yourself for whatever religious bullshit was about to be shoved down your throat. “Our bodies—whether it be our health, our appearance, the work we can do with them, what we eat, what we drink—our bodies remain a constant thought in our mind.”

She stepped out from behind the stand, walking to the front steps of the altar and peering out at the crowd with her luring eyes like a bird.

“God tells us in His Word that our bodies are a temple for the Holy Spirit. You see, we do not own our flesh and blood. Our body is a sacrament to Him in everything we do with it. Our divine purpose on this Earth is to use our bodies the Lord has given us as a vessel for the Spirit, to spread His Holy Word. If our bodies are unholy, or if we use them to transgress against His Word, we are violating His purpose for them.”

As much as you wanted to dissociate and just block out whatever she was saying, a strange curiosity overcame you that kept your eyes trained on her as she stepped down the altar steps to get even closer to the crowd, holding the Bible in her hands.

“There are many ways that we sin with our bodies every day. When your mouth curses, when your hands do not pray to Him, when your feet lead you to unholy places. One of the most extreme ways that we go against the Holy Spirit within us is when we commit the very sin that seems to have a grasp on the youth today—sexual immorality.”

There it was. You bit the inside of your cheek and took a deep breath, trying to control the anger within you.

“I want y’all to turn to one of my favorite passages in the Word,” she said, turning to walk towards the other side of the pew as she waited for people to turn to the verse. “1 Corinthians 6:13.”

You wouldn’t dare to pick up a Bible. You crossed your arms and ignored your mother’s urging glances as the Reverend started to read.

“You say, food for the stomach and the stomach for the food, and God will destroy them both. The body, however, is not meant for sexual immorality but for the Lord, and the Lord for the body,” she called out, her voice echoing off the walls of the large room. You watched her, her back turned from you, as she paced the other side of the room before turning, walking towards your side of the pew with her eyes trained on the book. “By his power God raised the Lord from the dead, and he will raise us also. Do you not know that your bodies are members of Christ himself? Shall I then take the members of Christ and unite them with a prostitute? Never!”

You rolled your eyes and rubbed your forehead, wishing you could escape this cultish experience. Still, you watched her, the way her lips formed the words, the way her face looked pointed down to the book, eyelashes dancing across her cheeks as she read the words.

“But whoever is united with the Lord is one with him in spirit.” She turned down the center aisle, and as she got closer to your pew, you started to shift uncomfortably in your seat. Suddenly, her eyes lifted from the pages and pierced you sideways. You felt frozen under her stare as she discreetly eyed you, not even having to look at the page to recite, “Flee from sexual immorality. All other sins a person commits are outside the body, but whoever sins sexually, sins against their own body.”

Her voice was lower now, serious and clear. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from hers as she slowly floated past you, her robe wafting around her ankles. You noticed the way her svelte hands held the Bible, a single digit lifting to flick the page. You could’ve sworn you saw a smirk on her lips as she finally looked away from you and kept preaching, walking down the aisle.

Finally, you could breathe. Surprise filled you as you realized that you had started sweating—were you really so demonic that you were sweating in the pews of a church? But why did she look right at you as she read that particular verse? Was she targeting you because of what your mother had said?

You could barely listen to the rest of the sermon as she talked about sexual immorality and fleeing from it by turning your mind and body towards the Lord.

At the potluck, you couldn’t help but find your eyes drifting to wherever Reverend Maximoff was in the room. Potlucks were always held in a building connected to the sanctuary where they had special events and meetings. She drifted around the room chatting with different members of the congregation, her eyes somehow always finding yours right as you were looking at her. You would blush and quickly look away, redirecting your focus on what the old lady was talking to you and your mom about.

You didn’t realize that she was waiting for you to be alone. Finally, you left your mom and the lady to go to the table filled with homemade desserts, browsing around for something chocolate.

A hand on your lower back made you gasp and turn. You were shocked to see Reverend Maximoff standing close beside you, still dressed in her robes. “Y/n,” she greeted you with a pearly smile, her earrings dangling from her ears. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Your mom has talked about you so much since I’ve been here.”

“Oh,” you said with a polite smile. “Has she?”

“Yes,” she smoothly answered, stepping even closer to you. “I’m very glad you came today. I must tell you that the Lord has speaking to my heart about you quite a lot.”

“Oh yea?” you said disinterestedly, more focused on the way her eyes kept darting down your body, trying to pinpoint why she was ogling you.

She tilted her head and closed her smile, looking thoughtful for a brief moment before saying, “You know, I was hoping you would have a session with me here sometime, before you go back to college. I would love to talk more with you and get to know you. You were at this church long before I was, and I would love to give you some heavenly advice on whatever is pressing at your heart.”

Your eyebrows rose. “Nothing’s pressing at my heart but my ribcage.”

She giggled, and it surprised you. “No, there’s always something for pretty young women like you.” You flushed a little at her choice of words. “God has a plan for you, y/n, but I get the feeling you may need some guidance to get you there.”

“You get these feelings a lot?” you droned, picking up a brownie from the table and taking a bite, keeping eye contact with her. You weren’t going to let this pastor try to get her godly claws in you.

Her eyes flickered to your mouth as you took a bite of the brownie, her irises darkening. “Come see me after the Wednesday night sermon. Maybe…” She reached forward and took the half-eaten brownie from your hand, her fingers grazing yours. “I can teach you to use your mouth to praise the Lord.”

She put the half of the brownie into her mouth and chewed it with a smirk. Frozen and confused, you stared at her as she put her thumb in her mouth to suck off the crumbs, winking and floating away from you. Your entire body went hot as her words folded over in your mind, as well as the sight of her eating the brownie you had just had between your teeth.

Normally, you would’ve declined any invitation to have personal sessions with a Reverend, but the brief interaction you had with Reverend Maximoff had you offput and curious. Your mother almost cried in relief when you told her that you would be going to the Wednesday night sermon as well as staying behind to speak with the Reverend.

Wednesday’s sermon went the same as Sunday’s. There were less people there that night, naturally, and although Wednesday night sermons were usually shorter than Sunday’s, it seemed like Reverend Maximoff was antsy to be finished with it. She spoke faster with less focus, ending the sermon after only an hour. Your mother excitedly hurried away with the rest of the congregation, and you anxiously stayed in the pew as the Reverend talked with some lingering people until finally she ushered them all out, closing and locking the church doors behind the last person.

You turned your head and watched her as she sighed, holding onto the doors for a moment before turning around to look at you, clasping her hands at her front.

“Y/n,” she began lowly, turning her face down slightly as her eyes trained on you, her feet slowly leading her up the aisle towards you. “I was so glad when I saw you here tonight.”

“Well,” you began, fiddling with your thumbs. “I didn’t have anything else to do tonight.”

It was only partially true. You could have caught up with your old friends or went out to dinner or even just stayed home and watched TV, but something lured you into that church that night, and you felt it had something to do with the way she predatorily eyed you as she neared you.

She said nothing as she came closer, sucking her cheeks as you could see words forming in her brain. “Keep watch over yourselves and all the flock of which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers. Be shepherds of the church of God, which he bought with his own blood.” A smirk drew itself on her lips. “Acts 20:28.”

You just raised your eyebrows and nodded impressively. “You have the Bible memorized. Good for you.”

Ignoring your sly comment, she spoke, “It means that, as the Reverend of this church, it is my duty to be a shepherd.”

“That is what the verse says.”

Her eyes narrowed at you, her lips parted at distaste of your attitude. “What did I tell you about your mouth?” she snapped, her voice edged and cutting as it echoed loudly off the walls of the church, reminding you how alone you were with her. You stiffened in the pew.

She neared you, resting a hand on the edge of the pew as she stood before you. “As a shepherd, I must keep watch of my flock. I must be aware of them all the time—their lives, feelings, behaviors, their walk with God.” She paused, her tongue settling over her lower lip as she tilted her head. “Tell me, what path do you walk?”

You blinked, lips opening and closing as you tried to understand what she was asking.

“Do you walk the ways of the wicked? The ways of Satan himself?” Without breaking eye contact, she lowered and sat on the pew beside you. “Does your body sin against the Spirit?”

Looking down, you shook your head and laughed. “I know my mom told you. Believe me when I say I have no inclination to your religion, and I never will. I don’t need to be scrutinized or judged.”

“Your mother was only acting as a shepherd by leading you to me, and I thank her for that,” she remarked, her eyes glancing down at your dress where the ends stopped at your mid-thigh, leaving your legs bare. “I fear you are not treating your body as the temple of God it is. You have tainted it with your sexual proclivities, haven’t you, y/n?”

Your face started to burn at her outright words. “Excuse me?”

“Tell me, how do you prefer to use your body? Like a whore? Like a destitute slut?”

Ears burning at the sound of her husky voice, your face burned even hotter. The shock of her words left you speechless and utterly confused as to how a Reverend would speak to someone that way.

“You can tell me, y/n. Only God is watching us.” She reached forward suddenly, placing her hand on your thigh and sliding it upwards. The touch startled you and made you jump to your feet.

She looked up at you with a twisted smirk as you started to tremble with nervousness. “What kind of a Reverend are you?”

“One who will do anything to guide her people to God,” she lilted, standing up and reaching for you again. You backed away, bumping into the wooden back of the pew and circling around it to get away from her. You jumped up the steps of the altar.

“What are you doing?!”

“So Christ himself gave the apostles,” she began in her pastor voice she used during the sermon, circling the pew to saunter towards you again, stalking like a predator, “the prophets, the evangelists, the pastors and teachers, to equip his people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up.” She took a slow step up the altar, grinning devilishly. “Ephesians 4:11-12.” She lowered her chin. “I can help you restore your body’s temple. I can sanctify you, make you whole again in the eyes of the Lord.”

Your heartbeat fluttered at the way she was seductively eyeing you, sauntering up the steps, the sultry and sensual tone in her voice. You let her come near you and place a hand on your waist that made you shiver all over.

Whispering, she said, “As God’s apostle, I offer you a direct line to worship Him and beg for forgiveness.” Her other hand softly cupped your chin, feeling the blushing skin here. Her thumb grazed over your lower lip, her dilated eyes drinking up your mouth like thick wine, and she recited, “May my prayer be set before you like incense; may the lifting up of my hands be like the evening sacrifice.”

The verse burned in your ears—it was one you had memorized for Sunday school so many years ago and somehow still subconsciously remembered. You whispered, “Psalms 141:2.”

Her grin widened. “Good girl.” She licked her lips, thumb still grazing your own. “From the fruit of their mouth a person’s stomach is filled; with the harvest of their lips they are satisfied. The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit. Proverbs 18:20-21.”

It became hard to breathe when two of her fingers slipped through your lips and sunk slowly over your tongue.

“What goes into someone’s mouth does not defile them, but what comes out of their mouth, that is what defiles them. Matthew 15:11,” she recited, her own lips parting in a sigh as she slid her fingers further into your mouth.

A soft noise escaped your throat as you let her feel your mouth, your legs becoming weak. Her grip on your waist tightened when you flicked your tongue between her fingers and closed your lips, sucking dutifully on them. She jutted her lower teeth in desire, stepping so close to you that there was no room to breathe. Your skin felt hot all over, and you became suddenly aware of the cross hanging at the front of the altar, as if it were burning into your back.

The Reverend licked the back of her teeth, eyes trained on her fingers disappearing into your mouth as she whispered, “Shall you use your tongue to praise the Lord our God?”

A dirty sucking sound escaped your mouth as you sucked her fingers, and you were so under her trance, her beautiful green eyes, the way she was so enamored with your mouth, that you eagerly nodded around her fingers.

A half smile curled on her open lips as she slid her fingers out of your mouth, placing a hand on your shoulder and harshly pushing you down. Your knees hit the velvet red steps of the altar as Reverend Maximoff, standing on the step below you, placed one leg on the upper step and started to lift up her robe. You kneeled, watching in all of God’s glory, with the church’s mosaic windows behind her, as the Reverend lifted up her maroon robes and bunched them with one hand at her hips, exposing her bare pussy. With one foot on the step below your knees, and the other foot beside your knees, she tilted open her thigh and placed a hand on the back of your head.

You shivered at the feeling of her fingers in your hair as she pushed your head towards her, bucking her hips. You were filled with pulsing desire as you placed your hands gently on her hips and let her draw your mouth towards her, opening your lips and finding her slick folds. Your tongue ran over her slit, and you moaned at her taste, at how she was so wet that her juices already covered your lips.

Reverend Maximoff sighed, leaning her head back as you found her clit and started to lap at it. “Oh, God!” she exclaimed, pushing her hips towards your face as you suckled on her clit.

You could hardly keep up with her as she pushed your head and bucked her hips at the same time, forcing her clit onto your tongue. Your mouth involuntarily closed when one particular thrust of your head was too rough, to which she snapped, “Open your mouth! Proverbs 31:26—She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue.” Her sentence ended with a piercing moan as you opened your mouth wider for her and let her fuck it as she pleased.

Whining from the force, you furiously tried to pleasure her—as much as you could with the way she was practically pleasuring herself with your mouth like it was a toy. You melted at the sounds of her moans and gasps that echoed in the church, at the way that you were kneeling on the altar with your head between her legs, at the way her hand was tangled in your hair. Her clit tangibly throbbed on your tongue as her hips thrusted harder, her moans rising in pitch.

“Oh, God! Oh, God!” she screamed as she came, grinding her clit against your tongue and grabbing your hair so hard that your scalp ached. You struggled to breathe, eyes tearing up from the pressure on your face, listening to her catch her breath and loosen her grip on your hair. Finally, she moved away from you, dropping her robe back down her ankles. You were panting, lips puffy and red and covered in her wetness, eyes glistening as you stared up at her, drunk with lust. She grinned, biting her lip. “You serve the Lord well. Come.”

She offered out her hands, and you took them, letting her help you to her feet and guide you to the front pew. She sat down, keeping hold of your hands, and pulled you down so you straddled her lap. She sighed, her eyes looking everywhere at you except your face.

Her fingers crawled to the straps of your dress, slowly tugging them down your bare shoulders. She recited, “How beautiful you are and how pleasing, my love, with your delights.” Her voice was quiet in the silent room, burning at your ears as you tried to stay focused with the taste of her still on your lips. Her eyes sunk down your chest as she started to pull the dress down your breasts. “I said, I will climb the palm tree; I will take hold of its fruit.”

She tugged the fabric of your dress over your breasts, exposing them as they bounced over the fabric. Taking a sharp breath, she drew one hand to your tit and squeezed the soft flesh there, earning a gasp from you.

“May your breasts be like clusters of grapes on the vine, the fragrance of your breath like apples, and your mouth like the best wine.” Her eyes, which were trained on your exposed chest in front of her, flickered up to your face, catching the gloss of her cum on her lips. She raised her other hand and spread her fingers over your lips, smearing the wetness across your mouth. “May the wine go straight to my beloved, flowing gently over lips and teeth.”

You started to throb at her touches, at her words, at her inebriated eyes. Her hand that groped your breast fell down to your thighs, urging the end of your dress upwards as it slid up your skin.

“Song of Songs 7:6-9,” she whispered with finality as she danced her fingers up your inner thigh, and you watched her hand disappear under your skirt. “Is your body a temple of God, y/n?” she asked you as she parted your panties with her fingers.

You nodded desperately, so turned on by what she had done to your mouth, so dumbed down by the verses and the touches and the taste of her. She bit her lip and moaned as her fingers touched your slick cunt, grazing over your clit before two of them sunk into your hole.

Head falling back, you grabbed at the shoulders of her robe and whined as she plunged her fingers inside you, your wetness already making a dirty squelching noise as she pumped inside of you.

“I’m not so sure it is,” she husked as she wrapped an arm around your hip to steady your bucking motions. “You’ve been a dirty girl, y/n. You’ve used your body to sin against His Word. My hand of God can only do so much—you need to beg for his forgiveness.” An evil smirk lined her lips.

You could barely hear what she was saying as she fucked her fingers into you, your hips moving up and down in desperate search for more of her. She thumbed at your clit as she waited for you to answer, leaning forward to press wet kisses on your nipples that bounced with your motions.

“Please, God,” you began shakily, “Forgive me.”

“That’s not good enough,” she tutted, suddenly pushing a third finger inside you. Your mouth fell open at the stretch and the burst of sensations that exploded when she curled her fingers inside you. “Beg Him. Beg Him to forgive you for being a dirty whore.”

“Ah!” you exclaimed when she bit your nipple, jamming her fingers into you harshly. “P-Please, God,” you began breathlessly, squeezing the Reverend’s shoulders as pressure built inside you. “Please forgive me.”

“Forgive you for?” she urged, biting your other nipple and sucking on it.

You tried to remember exactly what she had said as your orgasm threatened to impend upon you. “F-For, for being a dirty whore!” The sound of your own voice saying those words pushed you over the edge, your inner walls clenching around the Reverend’s fingers. Your hips rocked hard against her hand as she watched in pure desire and delight, grinning when you finally came down from your climax.

“Very good, my child,” she soothed as you panted, her fingers still inside you. You trembled on her lap, seeing that your wetness had dripped onto her hand and down her maroon robe. “The Lord our God is a merciful one. He forgives you.” She played with the end of your dress, moving her fingers inside you and seeing just what a mess she had made of you. She looked up at your beat red face and teary eyes, her eyes alight with an idea. “Have you ever been baptized?”

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic - october 31 - halloween - 745words

insp by @regscupid october 3rd microfic <3

“Say ‘I am going to abduct you, earthling.’”

“I look stupid.”

“You look properly scary.”

“I have wobbly eyes on my head.”

“Don’t see what one thing has to do with the other, love,” James grins cheekily from behind Regulus in the mirror and then gives him a loud smooch on his cheek.

Regulus rolls his eyes and hopes the green-ish face paint over his nose covers his blush.

“Ready to go, Hazza?” James calls up the stairs.

There’s a giggle from the floor above, a few quiet steps and then Harry jumps down two at a time within sight of them with a loud Grawr.

James playfully jumps in place and clutches his chest with a gasp as Harry erupts into evil snickers.

The young boy comes bounding down the rest of the stairs in his skeleton onesie and black and white face paint that’s only minutely smudged (as of now) and holds up his sweets bucket that his father told him to get from his room. 

This one is distracted fighting to pull his spider legs shoulder straps over his thick coat so Regulus gives Harry a nod and a smirk and reaches his hand out to him, “C’mon. Shoes on and then off we go.”

“Yeah!” Harry yells with elation and passes his plastic pumpkin bucket off to Regulus.

It’s still light outside when they start their walk around the neighborhood.

James tells Harry to look out for the houses with Halloween decoration, anything creepy– candles, spiderwebs, carved pumpkins.

It only takes two houses down the sidewalk before Harry gasps and points at a prettily decorated front door.

James gives his son a warm smile, nodding, telling him to go on, as he snakes an arm around Regulus’ waist, pulling him closer into his side.

It’s not particularly cold but Regulus lets himself melt into James’ ridiculously puffy jacket with a sigh anyways. He’s warm and he smells good, like his cologne and their laundry detergent and the glass of mulled wine they shared before getting ready. 

He burrows further into James’ scarf around his neck as he watches Harry skip up the stairs, two pointy-toothed pumpkins out front, white cotton wool and black, little paper bats adorning the railing.

Harry rings the bell and then hastily presses himself against the outside wall next to the door, holding a finger to his lips as he looks wide-eyed and breathless back at them.

Regulus’ chest feels so full he might burst.

The door opens and a middle aged woman with a witch’s hat peeks around with a bowl of chocolates in her hand.

She has barely time to look confused at James and Regulus before little Harry jumps out of his hiding spot with a shrill, “Trick or treat!”

The woman yelps in a genuine fashion and throws an admonishing look over at him and James as Harry falls into a little giggle fit. “Well, thank goodness I’m no 60 something year old with poor blood pressure,” she says good-naturedly, crouching down in front of Harry with a smile to let him choose his pick. 

Regulus shifts his weight from one foot to the other a little uneasily at the thought of Harry actually giving one of the pensioners in their neighborhood a heart attack.

“As young and fresh as always, Miss Sinistra.” James says with a charming grin.

The woman grumbles a little and fixes James with a look when Harry turns his back to her to join the two of them again, “You fellas should dial it down a notch or two.”

When Regulus looks over again, James seems a little bashful as he smiles brightly, “Noted.”

Satisfied with that, apparently, she softens right up and gives them another pointed look, smug smile on her lips, “Happy Halloween to you.”

“Happy Halloween, dear neighbor,” James responds, squeezing Regulus’ waist knowingly.

Regulus curses quietly, giving Sinistra a wave, smiling strained.

“Happy Halloweeeen,” Harry shouts, racing past them and they quickly turn to follow.

Regulus gnaws on the inside of his lower lip while he feels James radiate with glee next to him, who waits until Harry is further down the sidewalk out of earshot before he leans down and rasps into Regulus ear, “Seems like she didn’t forget the way I fucked you against the window last year, after all.”

Regulus jams his elbow forcefully into James’ side.

The puffy-jacketed bastard doesn’t do much besides chuckle and pull Regulus into a kiss.

[xmorguekittyx]

Ever Unlocked

Part 12: They’re… Yours?

Part 11: In and Out

pairing: Officer!Leon Kennedy x Coroner’s Assistant!Reader

warnings: talks of masterbation, small violence, name calling, Bunny as a pet name, talks of murder

She had spent all morning with an obnoxious scent in her apartment, her first thought? The damn power. She went up and down her fridge trying to find the source of the smell as she tossed out older things in her trash can, seeing the lid wobble back and forth after every toss. She was furious when the smell didn't change, she didn't have time for this! She had work in less than two hours. A growl from her downturned lips pushed her into her room, sliding on, yet another, pencil skirt and a grey long sleeve cotton shirt. She had to hurry, she had no time to worry about the pungent scent that lurked throughout her safe space.

After yesterday and her discovery of a certain red lacy fabric, she'd been ignoring the man's text messages, she'd stayed until that night with him, offering soft smiles and nods as she didn't want to upset the man. She'd played into his likes and wishes- ding ding ding- her teeth grit harder as she slammed the tooth brush down, she pushed herself from the counter and tread over her pajamas to reach her phone on the night stand, she lifted it Cute Rookie, she should've put Annoying Bastard, she laughed at her own thought. before she placed the phone back on the nightstand, he could just sit and be angry she was avoiding him. She didn't even bother to read the other 5 messages that held the same name. She was livid, he wanted to have other girls over before he brought her over? Fine. She'd let him have those other girls.

Her hands rose from the sink, cold water splashing her face as she shivered, it was still cold out from the rain storms that came on and off. Her window opened to allow that horrendous stench out. She could feel the cold air seeping in as she dried her face, her apartment cooling off quickly. "Phone, purse, keys-!", she rushed into the kitchen, picking up the keys from her pile that she hadn't touched in days since Leon had picked her up for work. She huffed at remembering the man as she scooped up her jacket and headed for the door. She opened it quickly with a once over her apartment, still as cozy and a little less stuffy now that she left the window open, praying the scent was gone when she got back.

As soon as she stepped into the hallway- it was 100 times worse. "Oh-", she winced, her hand covering her nose immediately. "What the fuck?!", she shut the door quickly, making a brisk jog for the door leading outdoors. She made a mental note to ask Mrs. Jones about it that smell later, maybe she'd called maintenance about it already. She was typically good about that, seeing as she never hardly left her apartment but for taking out Tilly, her dog... her brows furrowed slightly as she tilted her head, she lifted her arms to place her jacket on as she thought back to last night. She hadn't heard Mrs.Jones or Tilly... she didn't hear them come out of the apartment or Tilly's barking. Yeah, she'd definitely stop by after work and make sure everything was okay... it was odd not to have heard from them. She was really craving that chicken casserole, maybe she'd ask for that too. A smile fell on her lips as she thought about the meal. Her fingers going under the door of her Maxima, lifting it and sliding into the drivers seat.

It felt like years since she'd been in the small car, she looked up at her rear view mirror, moving it so she could apply her lip gloss, her plump lips coated in a clear, mint flavored gloss as she capped it and fixed the mirror, her eyes falling upon a green Jeep parked behind her and pale knuckles adjusting on the steering wheel. She could do the nicer thing and get out of her car and hop into his, accepting the ride that he probably texted her about but she didn't see it, or she'd just pretend she didn't see him or the text and drive herself, saving her the trouble of faking her good mood to him.

With a purr, her car came to life, opting for the latter of her options as she backed out of the small parking lot. She knew he'd probably find her at work and ask her... but her phone was on silent all morning... how was she to know? A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, it's what he gets for being a creep.

She'd pulled up and yes, she noticed the same keep following her all the way to the parking lot. She could see his fingers adjust on the steering wheel once more as she hopped out, making sure to grab everything as she walked her way into the station, swinging her hips just to piss him off just a little more, tugging up her skirt so her ass slightly showed before pulling it down. She could play this game too. He wants to fuck other girls, then she'd give him a little peek here and there to make sure he realizes what he missed out on. She felt a tickle in her chest as she thought that, since when did she get so brave?

———

Since when did she get so brave? The thought gnawed at his brain, his left hand gripping the steering wheel as he watched the black skirt raise over the very bottom of her ass cheeks, basically tempting him to jump her in the parking lot. His hand tightened around his phone, 8 text messages, all left on delivered. He knew she saw him in the apartment parking lot, he wasn't dumb, he was watching, he'd also seen her check her phone right after he sent her 3 consecutive messages and she placed the phone back down without looking.

"Bratty girl.", he scoffed, he didn't get why she acted so strange since yesterday. Yeah, she'd asked to go home but he wasn't taking her in a storm and he had maybe realized half way through the day her little hums of acknowledgment were about the only thing she added to any conversation the entire day. He also knew that no body had found the neighbor lady, yet. He wondered if she knew something was wrong, her little thoughtful look to her car made him think maybe she wasn't as dumb as he pegged her, then again... she was acting pretty dumb right now as he watched her enter the glass doors. He looked down at the cup holder, a fucking mocha frappe and a sausage egg and cheese biscuit. "Don't make me add ungrateful to the list, Bunny.", he sighed, what was going through her careless mind now?

Leon's fingers crumpled the small brown bag, his other hand knocking at the door, trying not to spill the slightly melted coffee. "Coming!", he threw his head back, adam's apple poking from his neck further. Rebecca.

"Rookie! Hey!", Rebecca leaned on the door, her green shirt and lab coat contrasting the entire room. "Ms. Chambers.", he nodded with a thin lipped smile. "Came to drop these off for-", "Well, aren't you the sweetest thing?! I'll make sure she gets them.", Rebecca's voice was overly excited. Either she was hiding away in the office for him or she was somewhere and Rebecca didn't want Leon to know. His eyes scanned what he could of the room, through the crack the width of skinny Rebecca. "Yeah, just make sure she gets it.", he was infuriated.

First, she deliberately looks at him and drives away, knowing he drove an extra 15 minutes to get to her apartment. She also knew he always gets her coffee and breakfast. He really didn't want to add ungrateful to the list of things he needed to change about her. He didn't miss the open window in her apartment either. He also wasn't stupid enough to think she locked that door before she walked out. He nearly thought about strangling her the next time he got close to her. She was suppose to answer his "good morning, my sweet bunny", text with a cute one back then he would tell her he's on his way to pick her up, then she'd hop in his car, eat breakfast with him and he'd take them to work. No- she has to go and get an attitude with him out of the blue and it was fucking up his plans! She- she fucked up his plans. He did not go through all that trouble for her to slip out of his fingers.

He leaned back in his office chair, the files piling up on his desk. He needed to get started and fill out the reports but he really, really couldn't focus knowing she was hiding behind that dark oak door. His eyes cut to it every now and then, he thought about walking by just to catch her voice, just to dull that nagging voice in the back of his head. "Kennedy!", Leon's body jumped, his hand tipping over the coffee, he'd yet to drink, he's started to not force the bitter bean juice down his throat as much as before. He didn't truly care about fitting in anymore, he just wanted her. He wanted her more than anything else. "Shit-", he hissed, "You day dreaming, boy?", the coffee had marred some of his reports. He'd have to retype those up now. His eyes closed as he listed to Chief Irons, "I'm sorry, sir. I've got a lot going on, i need to leave it outside the door.", he sighed, knowing the speech Irons gave anyone who used that excuse, but how could he leave it at the door when the problem was in here with him, behind her own door? "Clean that up and quit lallygagging.", Irons clapped his hand down on Leon's shoulder.

The door to the break room was already ajar, he heard someone using the sink as he pushed it open with his foot. The creak caused the figure to turn around, a familiar cup placed in their hands. "Oh...", her eyes rolled as she turned back to the sink. Leon froze, was she seriously pouring out the coffee he'd gotten her? "You're- You know i spent money on that?", he was near choking the girl out. "Well, i didn't ask you to- and i didn't ask you to wait outside my apartment either, Leon!", she whispered yelled, her neck craning to look at him over her shoulder. "I have picked you up every day since the first night! How was i suppose to know you didn't want me to pick you up? You wouldn't answer the phone!", Leon matched her tone, his teeth clenched down on the other as he stared down at her. "Exactly! I didn't want to talk to you!", she scoffed, her hands tossing the now empty cup into the trash can, Leon's eyes followed the cup, seeing a brown folded up paper wrapping.

"You didn't eat the-", he groaned, hands going to his face, rubbing down at his furrowed brow. "You're so ungrateful-", he quipped, his blue eyes hardening into a stern look. "I spent good money on those and you're gonna be so disrespectful to just toss them like trash?!", their argument was in lower tones, careful not to disrupt the others working hard in the office space. "Yep-", she popped the 'p' at the end of the word as she turned towards him. Her arms crossing over her chest as she arched her neck, squinting at him. "Don't want your money. Don't buy me coffee anymore.", she spoke in an attitude. Leon's brows knit, his mouth agape as he stared daggers at her. "You-", "What? Say it?!", she was not backing down, the boldness she had to flash him on her way in seemed to stick to her today. "You ungrateful little brat.", he was still staring daggers, if he was a cartoon, he'd have smoke coming out of his nose and ears.

"Me- Me?!", her voice cracked, "I'm pissed at you- you have some fucking nerve, Leon Scott Kennedy!", she was a bit louder as he waved his hand to quiet her, he didn't need the entire station to hear an argument between the two. "What the hell are you talking about it you, crazy bitch?!", he whispered yelled, walking over to her and grabbing above her elbow and pulling her towards him. "Don't touch me-!", she pulled back slightly, trying to break his grip until he tightened it. His fingers dimpling into her arm, brushing the soft flesh. "Don't.", she has never seen him so pissed off than she had in this moment. The comment in the car, nor the family moment they shared had him looking this angry. She flinched back, like his glare as nipped at her.

"What the hell are you on about?", at her silence he tugged her arm slightly, pulling her towards him. "Use your big girl words, you were so ready to spit then at me a few minutes ago.", his normal boyish look was not on his features now. He looked like he had a glint that radiated authority and the peek of dominance. This was new and honestly it threw her into mental loops. Her eyes flickering over his face as she parted her lips just to close them once more, eyes set. "I was in your bathroom, yesterday...", she sucked her lips against her teeth, "in your cabinet there was a pair of red panties.", she whispered, she was slightly intimidated by Leon's look and grip that started to falter.

"Panties-", Leon's cheeks lit up as he heard her utter the words, red... lacy... panties... "Oh- Oh!", his hand dropped from her arm instantly. "Those-!", he reeled back, his hand going behind his head to brush at the blonde locks. "Whose are they, Leon?", she sighed, her chest heaving softly as she let the puff of air out from her nose. Leon was struggling, his tongue darting to lick at his lips, his eyes going to hers then back up to the cabinets over the sink. "Don't lie to me, Leon...", she begged, her arms still crossed as her right hand brushed the rising bruises from his grip.

He couldn't tell her... he'd come off as more of a creep than he already did. God- he hoped she didn't touch them, the hard, cum dried lace that he'd wrapped around his cock as he pumped himself dry, imagining those pouting lips wrapped around him instead of those panties. Her soft hands fisting his cock as he bucked his hips meeting the back of her palm.

"Leon?", she whispered, she was desperate for an answer. Leon was desperate for an excuse, he'd never been in this bad of a predicaments "They're...", he looked down at her, eyes wide as he wheezed the only thing he could think of, "mine-", she nearly felt her eyes pop out. "They're... yours?", she nearly felt her jaw drop. "Y-yeah... i have a thing for red lace and-", got he was blushing so hard as he gazed down at her stunned face. "It's- it's not weird-", he tried to cover his ass, Leon could barely walk past the women's underwear in the store let alone go up and purchase one himself. "They're mine, i use them when I-", "Alright!", she waved her hands, this was awkward enough without his description. "I- I get it...", she nodded, a sheepish smile on her lips. "I should've asked instead of assuming.", she placed her hands on her hips, "i'm sorry for ignoring you and pouring out the drink and food.", she sighed, looking back at the trash can. "Maybe, i can make it up to you and we go out to eat tomorrow after noon?", she smiled softly, her gaze going back to him. "Yeah, yeah... tomorrow.", he was eager, back to his boyish enthusiasm as he thought about the date they'd go on. "I'd like that a lot.", he lowered his head slightly.

    "I'm sorry for grabbing you so hard.", his hand reached out to brush her bicep, she tilted her arm back, hissing as he made contact with the angry skin. "I'm really sorry...", he whispered, a frown embedding his lips. "It's okay.", it wasn't okay, she moved on rather quickly in the moment, but the hours after she'd gone back into the office with Rebecca, with the promise of a date- news had come in. A new body had been discovered in an apartment, seemingly murdered as her throat was slit. Her apartments, the smell... the lack of routine she realized this morning. Mrs.Jones. She felt sick.

[we-are-maladaptive]

Hey! I was wondering if you could do a nsfw fic for Tokoyami? He's my favorite character and he's lacking in content, especially nsfw. So I was hoping to get something like super soft and slow with him? I hc that he likes wax play so if you could also do something like that that'd be great, your work is great I'm currently binge reading some of them before bed lol

you do NOT have to tell me twice! also ty im very flattered you like my work -///- REQUESTS ARE OPEN.Feel free to send me an ask and I’ll write it for you! Remeber to check the rules first.

Fumikage Tokoyami x Reader

contents: nsfw, waxplay, tooth rotting romantic stuff

“A daisy blooming in a desert is worth more than a rose blooming in a rainforest." That was a good way to describe Tokoyami. Throughout highschool he stuck to himself, watching his classmates socialize with each other, laughing when they could be kids, and fighting when they had to be heroes, just finding themselves, blooming. Tokoyami preferred to stay to himself mostly, he’d talk with his classmates back when they were in highschool together, as he too wanted to be a hero, but unlike his classmates, there was something missing. A problem inside him that needed to be solved, a longing for something, but he didn’t know what he was longing for. Whether it be Bakugo calming his temperament, Todoroki helping to heal his broken family, or Midoriya, which I can’t even begin to explain. All of them had identified their own issues, and were fixing each one so that they could prosper. So from afar, he watched his classmates solve their own problems, while he hopelessly was trying to solve his own, trying to bloom. It’s not like Tokoyami was some type of loser or anything, he’d landed himself a high position in #2 Pro Hero Hawks’ headquarters. Sometimes he’d even cover for the winged hero when Hawks was too weak to patrol normally, as he’d never been the same since the incident about 7 years ago.

Tokoyami didn’t really appreciate the sun, as it got in the way of his job. At least he didn’t sweat as much, the black cloak of his trapping in the heat. The day seemed normal enough, civilians pacing around, some of them being familiar faces. The only thing he couldn’t be pouty about though, was the atmosphere. Summer was approaching, and what could go wrong with summer? Festivals, boardwalks, parties, everyone was free for a few months. Not him though, since he was past school and still had to work. To be frank, I think he hated summer. The everlasting sun doing nothing to help his profession. However, the sight of people skipping around and smiling, anticipating what this year’s summer has in store for them, was nice. A particular laugh however, was delightful to listen to. It sounded like music to his ears, light and genuine, a far contrast to the darkness that always clouded up his mind, practically piercing into his head. So he decided to cock his head at the person who had made such a beautiful sound, that was when he saw you. Laughing at the cat who had fallen off the table at the cafe you were currently at. The poor kitty had tried to get a bite out of the cheesecake you were eating, and was not very successful. The sun was shining directly at you, giving a glitter to your eyes and lighting up your skin, making it shine.

 He was grateful that the sun existed now, and he was grateful that he had found his problem.

Even though the sun shines on your skin whenever you two are together, he still prefers the nighttime, especially for this reason; intimacy.

He liked the expressions that you make, a little too much actually. Whether it be the little glitter in your eyes whenever he gives you something, or the little wobble in your bottom lip whenever you’re about to cry. Currently, he likes when the calm expression on your face starts to falter whenever you feel more wax drip down from your ribs, all the way down to your lower stomach. It was warm, very warm, and it tickled too. Too bad you weren’t really in a position to squirm, with your wrists being tied to the headboard.

It went on like that for a while, until he wanted to see more of you, how many expressions he could pull from your pretty face. So that’s exactly what he got.

He took in and savored everything he could get from you. The way your eyes softened when he curled his fingers right into the soft spot deep inside you. The sound of your voice, pleading with him to just let you cum, how could he refuse?

I think the thing he cherished the most though, was your souls intertwining with each other as he slowly thrusted into you. Nothing had to be done quick or rough, he had time. Your hands freed so you could pull his head down to kiss you, and your legs wrapped around his waist. If you had any focus before, it was gone. Everything is now a flurry of pleasure and emotion, for him too. However Tokoyami could feel something else, the thorns wrapped so tightly around his heart have been torn down, letting whatever was inside finally have enough room to grow. In his heart was a daisy, blooming in the desert, he was finally blooming.

Holding you close in the night when it was all over, watching the moon shine over you both in its divinity.

      The sun was nice, yes, but he still liked the night better, nothing could be better than this.

[yangkitties]

pluck at my heartstrings ✩ p.js

pairing: park jongseong x gn!reader || word count: 1.3k genre: fluff || warnings: absolutely none! but as usual, tooth rotting fluff so beware of diabetes 😁 synopsis: jay's touch sends electricity racing through you, love for him overflowing. note: 1.3k oh finally a mildly long fic i winnnn !!! fun fact, this is loosely based off of real life incidents 👀 anyways, been in my jay era + this is a birthday gift for my darling ri hehe <3 hope y'all enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it 💋

Hanging out with Jay was the best feeling ever. Sitting side by side, legs entangled with each other, giggling while gossiping with each other, no feeling could possibly compare. Growing up together, Jay inevitably grows to be your comfort person. 

Today was no different. Jay sat across you on his desk chair, rambling about god knows what. You could barely pay attention thanks to how good he looked today. Sporting a simple white sweater and comfortable black pants, Jay looks like a dream to you. 

‘Oh man, I really miss playing the guitar, I’ve been so busy these days…’ Jay pouts, rolling over to grab his guitar. Absent-mindedly Jay begins to strum the strings, humming a random tune. 

‘Oooh gimme gimme, I want to try!!’ You reach out for his guitar. He passes it to you, chuckling to himself, knowing full and well you don’t know shit about playing any instrument. You hold the guitar gently, the wooden frame resting comfortably on your thighs. 

Beginning to pluck at the strings, you holler out random words, causing Jay to double over in a fit of laughter. ‘Y/n you’re going to hurt yourself if you continue doing that.’ He scolds softly flicking your shoulder. 

You only shrug, continuing to live out your pretend rock star dreams. Jay places his hand over yours, ‘Y/n, do you actually want me to teach you some basics?’ 

Your eyes light up, nodding excitedly. You immediately adjust your hands, trying your best to imitate how Jay does it when he plays. 

Giggling lightly, Jay reaches over to correct your hands. Crossing over your sitting frame, his fingers slowly move yours higher on the fret board. The action caused electricity to burst through your veins, cheeks turning a warm hue of red. Heart stuttering in your chest, your breathing turns shallow as Jay comes face to face with you. 

Eyes blown, you look into Jay’s warm brown eyes. He sits back down, a serious look crossing his face. ‘Okay I’m going to teach you a simple C chord okay?’ He instructs you clearly and firmly, taking the role of a teacher quite seriously. 

After making sure your fingers are placed correctly, he gives you the signal to play the chord. You push your thumb against the string, a wobbly note playing out. You huff, trying again. It’s stronger this time, but still weak. 

Fixing your fingers over and over again, you try and master the simple note. Engrossed in the task, you fail to notice a pair of endearing eyes on you. 

Jay looks at you as if you hung all the stars in sky, as if you’re the reason the sunshines and the earth turns. He looks at you with enough love to fill the oceans ten times over, enough love to end world hunger and achieve world peace. 

Jay doesn’t know when it began, but he knows that he started to fall for you. And he wasn’t scared because it was easy. It was like coming home or falling asleep or breathing. Something so effortless and easy, because it is a necessity in life. 

When Jay looks at you, he hears a song in his heart, a tune of love. But all he could hear now were your terrible attempts at a C note. He lets out another chuckle before halting your attempt, hands finding yours on the strings. 

‘Jayyyy I’m not getting it. How come you do it so easily?’ You pout, hands going slacks over the guitar. ‘Well, that’s because I’ve been playing for almost as long as I’ve known you. C’mon, let’s try another chord, maybe that’ll be easier.’ Ever persistent, Jay once again reaches over you to reposition your fingers. 

His gentle touch and soft breath on your hand causes your brain to short circuit, body stiffening at the contact. A weird gargling noise escapes your mouth, an automatic response to trying to push down your frustrations. 

Tilting his head to the side, Jay silently questions it. Your brain to mouth filter broken, a soft ‘This is why I like you,’ slips past your lips. Jay straightens himself back up, nerves evident in the way he awkwardly forced a laugh. 

‘Well I sure hope so, we’ve been friends since practically birth.’ He pulls the collar off his sweater, a nervous habit of his. He tries to play off your comment by taking a deep breath, preparing to instruct you on how to play the next chord. 

But before he could begin, you place the guitar aside, replacing it with his hands. The frustration of not being able to master the chord pours out as your frustration towards being in love with your best friend increases. Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you fail to see the flustered look on Jay’s face. 

Although Jay didn’t know what was happening, he could sense your frustration rolling off of you in waves. He tries his best to calm you down, thumbs slowly brushing against your knuckles. 

This. This is why you liked him. 

‘Jay, I’ve known you since literally forever. I’m not sure when my platonic love for you turned romantic, but it has. I love you, Jay. I love the way you talk, the way you get angry, and how you have no filter when it comes to the things you love. I adore your sense of fashion and your caring nature and silly meme-able face. I love your cooking and your brain, how sweet you are even though you don’t want to show it. I love you, Jay. And I don’t think I can ever express it fully, because my love for you consumes me. It’s like a fire in my stomach, burning away inside me, growing each day, just as we have. And I know this is all so sudden, and it’s totally okay if you don’t love me like that.’ 

You open your eyes now, needing to know how he reacts to your next words. ‘I don’t care really, if you don’t love me back, but please. Never leave me.’ You finally finish, nerves wracking through you. 

Jay sits before you, mouth agape, hands slipping away from you. You cringe internally, praying you haven’t ruined an everything. 

‘I. You. I’m. Love. Y/n I.’ Tongue tied, Jay sits there wracking his brain for words. The truth is, he’s never been happier. Hearing you say those 3 words, those 8 letter, Jay can’t help but feel like he’s in heaven. 

Jay leaps forward to hug you, not knowing how else to convey his feelings. ‘I love you too. I love you like the sun loves the moon, like the stars love the sky, and the sea loves the sand. I’ve loved you for a while now, and I’m sorry I could never tell you. But I love you. I love you. I do I really do, I love you.’ 

Jay continues to whisper it over and over again, pressing himself into you. He pulls himself away, only to attach his lips to your forehead, pressing a kiss onto it. He continues to smother your faces in kisses, big hands engulfing your face. He punctuates the kisses with more affirmations of love, trying to soak his affection into your skin. 

He presses his own forehead against yours, lips ghosting over each other. ‘I love you,’ Jay whispers one last time before kissing you fully, pressing himself against you once more. His hands find your waist as yours snake behind his neck, lips moving in harmony. 

Jay could hear it again. Not the warbling of the guitar, but the love in his heart. The longer he held you, the louder the singing grows in his heart. And he knows, he’ll love you for a long time. Even when the singing stops and slows to a humming, Jay knows, he’ll love you. 

And when you look into his eyes, noses brushing against each others, you know your heart is his, and so is all your love. 

©️ yangkitties 2023 do not copy, plagiarise, or repost 

[troutberryspoon]

Unhallowed Heart - Chapter 2 'Gifts'

Dark Urge/Enver Gortash

Second chapter - After a fruitless first meeting, Gortash bombards the temple with gifts

Word count - 2483

Full fic here on AO3

___

Two groups of acolytes faced each other in a large, dark side-chamber of the undercity temple. Torch flames flickered on the stone walls. The air was rent by the sounds of laboured breathing. Next to Villi, Brother Owain spat out a mouthful of blood.

The end of the battle was close. Villi was certain that the handful of faithful servants who stood by his side had enough left in them to make this a decisive victory. He narrowed his eyes, fixed his stance, and awaited the signal for the final attack.

FWEEEEP!

Archstrangler McDavis blew a short blast on a whistle made from carved bone. Villi lunged forwards, deftly kicking the ball at his feet right between Sister Emberstar’s legs. Brother Owain sprinted ahead to receive the pass, then tapped the ball forwards, towards a pair of great grinning orc skulls that denoted the other team’s goal.

A loud cry went up as the ball crossed the line. Villi’s team had won, seven goals to two.

Villi went around the chamber and clapped the shoulders of his team, complimenting them on a game well-played. He found Brother Owain on his hands and knees, searching for his missing front tooth in a dusty forgotten corner. It had been knocked out during a particularly spirited tackle.

‘Any luck?’ Villi asked.

‘Unfortunately not, my Lord,’ Owain said, rising quickly. ‘I fear the ancestors have claimed it. Not to worry, I’m sure the infirmary has spares. Perhaps I’ll be able to replace it with a gold crown.’

Villi hummed in what he hoped was an encouraging manner, despite knowing full well that Sceleritas now scoured all the corpses that entered the temple in order to claim every last scrap of gold for their dwindling coffers.

The chatter started to die down as the acolytes filed out. Villi walked over to the ball and rolled it under his boot. With a quick little flick he had it balanced on the top of his foot. He wobbled there for a moment, standing on one leg, countering the ball’s desire to fall back to the floor with small, careful movements. The ball had been fashioned out of a discarded elf’s bladder. Villi had sewn it up himself.

There was an inter-planar ‘pop’, and Sceleritas stood at his side in a haze of sulphur.

The fiend sniffed.

‘I see you’ve been sweating with the acolytes again, mi’lord,’ Sceleritas said.

‘You disapprove.’ Villi didn’t look at his Butler. He was too busy concentrating on keeping the ball balanced.

‘It’s most unbecoming. You shouldn’t make yourself so available to them. They should whisper your name in the corridors, quake at your very presence. Not… play games with you.’

‘You’re just jealous I didn’t ask you to play,’ Villi said. ‘And it’s not a game, it’s Goatball. Wars have been fought over Goatball, you know.’

‘I know,’ Sceleritas said drily. ‘You have mentioned it once or twice.’

Villi finally let the ball roll off his foot. ‘Did you want something?’

‘We have received another gift.’

‘Him again?’ 

By ‘him’, Villi meant Enver Gortash. Somehow the man had discovered the identities of the small number of Zhentarim traders that were allowed to travel in relative safety to the ancient Bhaalist temple under the city, and he had paid them handsomely to transport several large boxes over the course of the last tenday. He must have deep connections.

Sceleritas called them gifts. Villi dismissed them as mere bribes. Bribes he still ordered to be opened and distributed, all the same. He had to be pragmatic in these trying times. One of the boxes contained finely crafted polished daggers, handles wrapped in butter-soft, black calfskin. Another box held a plethora of poisons and paralytics, their delicate glass bottles packed securely in straw. Yet another was filled with bottles upon bottles of topaz-hued white wine. Villi made Sceleritas swallow an entire cup before he tried it for himself, and then found to his annoyance that it was utterly delicious. He had hoped to hate it.

‘I was thinking…’ Sceleritas said.

‘No,’ Villi said.

‘Master, please consider–’

‘I said no.’

‘He is very wealthy,’ Sceleritas said quickly, wincing as if he expected the Son of Bhaal to kick him across the room like an overinflated bladder.

‘So, you disapprove of me getting too familiar with my own Father’s followers, yet expect me to consort with this– this politician?’ Villi spat out the word like it tasted of the bitterest gall.

‘Not consort! Never consort.’ Sceleritas raised his hands, twisting them in the air. ‘You should use him. Extort him. Wring out every last copper. Only let him think that he has your ear. Be clever and cunning. Take everything that he has, then take his wretched life.’

Villi growled, frustrated that he could see the merit in what his Butler suggested. They needed coin. Gortash had it in abundance. Gortash wanted his attention. Villi would have to make sure that it cost him dearly.

There was a rustle of parchment. Sceleritas held out a small bundle of paper. ‘These invitations were included in each box. I didn’t want to vex you any further at the time, so I took them all for safe-keeping. But I think now you might be willing to take a look?’

‘Let me see,’ Villi said, taking them from his Butler. The paper stock was thick, luxurious, smooth to the touch. Obviously expensive. Each invitation was written in a flowing, cursive hand, and addressed Villi directly:

The esteemed presence of Villiame Redvalok is humbly requested

At Baxendall House, Upper City

As the clock strikes the hour of Seven o’Clock in the evening, a private dinner meeting shall commence

An intimate gathering for two where discourse shall flow as freely as the wine, and the repast shall be as rich as the conversation

A seat of honour awaits you

Preparations shall be made to ensure an evening of unparalleled elegance and intellectual delight

Yours, in anticipation,

Sir Enver Gortash

Villi turned several of the invitations over to check both sides. ‘They’re all the same, no dates on any of them. Do you think he sits there every night after sending a delivery, on the off chance that I’ll make an appearance?’ 

It was an amusing image. One Sceleritas quickly dispelled; ‘I doubt it, mi’lord. A man of such means could easily have a fine dinner made and disposed of each night and suffer no hardship.’

‘Yes, yes. He’s very wealthy. You said.’ Villi sighed. ‘Fine, at least I know the wine will be of an acceptable quality. I’d better go wash up.’

‘Before you leave, please tell me that the acolytes at least let you win the game today through fear?’

‘Of course they did,’ Villi replied with a quick grin. ‘They always do.’

___

The hour of their meeting drew close. Villi strode through the Upper City towards Enver Gortash’s estate, looking every inch as if he belonged there amid the pale marble pillars and beautifully manicured gardens of the upscale neighbourhood. Gortash might be expecting to play host to a savage this evening; Villi was going to present to him a gentleman, instead.

Some of the wealthiest people - real blue blood, old money wealth - tended to wear surprisingly shabby clothes. The fabric and construction were of the highest possible quality of course, yet the items themselves were often well-worn and carefully repaired. Villi’s own inherited wardrobe bore the same characteristic faded glamour that marked out the members of some of the oldest families in town.

For tonight’s meeting he had chosen to wear an heirloom cloak over a black velvet doublet with slit sleeves that were laced up at strategic points to show glimpses of deepest burgundy from his shirt underneath. His trousers had been cut in the old Tethyrian fashion, and they clung to the swell of his calves. In his hand he carried an ebony cane topped with a darling little silver skull, its eyes inset with red rubies.

He was greeted at the iron gate of Baxendall House by a pair of well-armoured guards; one human, one teifling. He revealed only that he was an expected guest of the estate’s owner and he was respectfully shown inside. Neither guard made any mention of the dagger on his hip.

The entry hall was grand, spacious, softly lit by the glow from a crystal chandelier. The walls were adorned with gilded frames showcasing oil paintings of imposing castles and numerous portraits of Enver Gortash himself.

In an alcove sat a display case, filled with an assortment of curios and coloured gems. Villi fought to maintain an outward impression of cool disinterest as the goblin-raised impulse to grab all of the shiny things clamoured at the back of his mind. Years of etiquette training and study since taking his rightful place in Bhaal’s temple kept his scarred hands resting on the cane in front of him.

At least Gortash didn’t keep him waiting for long.

‘Ah! You made it. I am delighted to see you here at last,’ Gortash said as he descended the sweeping curve of the stairs. He was dressed less formally than Villi, wearing a black silk shirt laced loosely at the neck. It was new, freshly dyed, darker than a raven’s wing.

‘Few people would be happy to see me in their home. You’re… a rare sort.’ Villi meant it sincerely. Gortash had remained remarkably composed the first time they met even as Villi had sought to gut him like a fish. Villi wondered what his secret could be; a calming potion, an enchantment, a daily meditation practice? Whatever it was, he longed to strip the man of his easy self-confidence and see nothing but naked terror in his eyes.

‘My dear Villiame, I am one-of-a-kind,’ Gortash said, without a shred of modesty. ‘As are you, naturally. Together we could– ah, I’m getting ahead of myself. Please, follow me.’

Villi handed his cloak and his cane to a waiting servant, then did as Gortash bid, following him through the west wing of the house, past yet more paintings, sculptures, and luxurious furniture set on deep carpets. 

A vulgar display of wealth. Villi kept his hands behind his back as he walked. He found some small degree of amusement in maintaining a more relaxed pace than Gortash’s quick, purposeful stride, which meant his host had to keep pausing and waiting for him to catch up.

‘Apologies for my haste in getting to dinner. I got lost in my work today and quite forgot to eat,’ Gortash said after he looked over his shoulder for the third time to find Villi trailing several feet behind him. ‘We’re here now, this room on the right.’

The dining room was compact, intimate. The kind of room where personal meals were taken. There was enough space for a round wooden table that would comfortably seat four, and a small sideboard decorated with vases of glowing white lilies. The table had been laid for two, set with fine ceramics, crystal glassware, and shining silver cutlery.

‘I thought we could speak more freely without being interrupted by the staff, but that means we’ll have to serve ourselves,’ Gortash said, opening a door of the sideboard to reveal a row of bottles. ‘I hope that’s acceptable. Can I pour you a glass of wine? I took delivery of several crates of an excellent red from Calisham yesterday.’

Villi chose one of the chairs and took a seat, then pushed the glass chalice from his place setting towards Gortash to accept the offer of wine. He had already decided that he wasn’t going to give the man the satisfaction of showing any kind of reluctance to eat or drink anything he was offered. If Gortash wanted to poison him, so be it.

But Gortash made a show of trust anyway. He filled Villi’s glass then took a sip from it himself before handing it back.

Villi eyed the moist patch left on the rim from the other man’s mouth. If he drank from that same spot, tasted his saliva, it would be the closest Villi had ever come - and may ever come - to a kiss. He surreptitiously turned the glass and drank from the opposite side.

‘What do you think?’ Gortash asked, sitting down in the other chair.

‘Smooth. Tastes like sour cherries. It’s good,’ Villi said, downplaying his enjoyment a little. It was excellent. He wanted ten crates.

‘So, what made you change your mind?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘About discussing our partnership.’

‘Who’s to say I have changed my mind? Maybe I was at a loose end this evening and thought that I’d pay you a visit, drink your wine, eat your bread, and then split open your chest and have your heart for dessert,’ Villi said, leaning back. ‘No archers watching you tonight, I take it?’

Gortash smiled, and Villi hated him for it. The man was far too comfortable in his presence. ‘No, not tonight. I am entirely at your mercy. But I rather hope to be worth more to you alive than dead.’

‘My father is the God of Murder; death is my currency. It’s my reason for being. What else could you offer?’

Ding. The muted chime came from inside one of the walls. Gortash bowed his head politely, and rose to open a concealed hatch. Their first course had arrived, delivered via dumb waiter.

‘Gold. Information. Power. That’s what I can offer. And with those three things, you will be unstoppable,’ Gortash said.

‘You assume I’m lacking in those regards?’ Villi scoffed.

‘Villiame, please. Let us talk plainly. I have eyes and ears throughout this city. I know you are.’

‘How dare you–’

Gortash put a dish in front of him. ‘I hope you like pigeon.’

‘First you insult me, then you serve me flying rat?’

‘Give it a try, it’s delicious,’ Gortash said with a wink.

Villi seethed. 

And yet he made no move to attack the other man. He sat there and watched as Gortash retook his seat and sliced into the moist, pink flesh on his plate. 

The first time Villi picked up a sword to train with a real warrior he had been left bloody and bruised. Despite the unholy destiny that was woven into his blood, despite already having three kills under his belt by the age of fourteen, when faced with a master he was left slashing at thin air. Now, many years later in Enver Gortash’s elegant dining room, he felt that same way again. Outclassed. Outmanoeuvred.

He had managed to beat the old warrior by taking a step back, swallowing his pride, and paying attention to what she had to teach him. Then he took her head.

Gritting his teeth, he picked up his fork and speared the pigeon breast, lifting it in one piece. ‘Very well. Let us speak plainly,’ he said, before taking a bite.

[judgementdaysunshine]

Wisdom teeth

Pairing: Kris Statlander x Fem reader

Description: Kris takes care of you after you get your wisdom teeth removed

You wobble to the car with Kris beside you after getting two of your wisdom teeth removed gently talking to you whenever you moaned in pain trying to sleep if you could which you did for some of the way home. After setting you down on the bed you slowly spoon eat a milkshake before she gives you over the counter pain meds putting gauze in your mouth falling asleep a few seconds later waking up to use the bathroom with kris standing in the kitchen waiting for you and staying close to you until the anesthesia wears off reminding you not to drink soda or eat anything that requires tons of chewing mainly sipping on chocolate milk and eating mac n cheese to have something a bit solid while still being easy to eat so you wouldn't spend the next two days eating soup "Hey baby here's a little bread since that's easy to eat as well" you take a few bites of the bread roll she gives you before taking pain relievers watching tv in between talking with Orange, Hook, Willow, and Penta on facetime for the next few hours until kris hears everyone laughing "What's funny?" they point at you half asleep with your gauze sticking out quickly fixing it and kissing your forehead "Looked like a small deformed state puft marshmallow man"everyone bursts into laughter before ending the call waking up and watching tv before kris brings you soup opting to eat it and soaked up bread with milk before changing out your gauze feeling most of the pain going away. The next few days go by without pain and halfway through the third day you didn't use the gauze seeing that the bleeding had stopped feeling your eyes water at the sight of kris making hamburgers your mouth and taste buds melting when you took the first bite making kris laugh seeing the expression on your face as you eat the hamburger and fries "God I can finally ear without pain" you had two of the four wisdom teeth removed one cause it was infected and the other cause it was pushing on the nerves of the tooth under it keeping your other two since you had lost the previous two in a texas death match against Ruby letting them grow in and replace the lost ones, you enjoy eating like normal again without the unbearable pain coursing through you and you thank kris for taking care of you by making dinner the next night even though she insisted you didn't have to but you did anyway.

[generalluxun]

For the ask game: 3, 9, 10, 15

3.) Part of canon that almost nobody understands.

Hmmm. There are many ways to take this. Maybe the Lore bc t's too confusing? 🤣

How about this- Chloé's home life. And it's not that nobody understands, but some people Very Vocally misunderstand or worse, misrepresent it. I don't blame fandom because the head writer himself denies the very truth presented on screen, so what are some kids to do? The abuse narrative accidentally(?) shown for Chloe is very detailed and clear, yet some will fight tooth and nail to justify the most bizzare takes on it. I spent a couple hours the other day having a baffled back and forth with someone who thought being sent away with an abusive parent was a good/Just/proper writing choice. By the end I got them to admit that having Andre just let Audrey(the woman he wouldn't stay married to because of how she treats him) take away his daughter was a *bad* thing to portray, but it took way too long to get there.

Still, small victories I guess.

9.) The three worst things about the source material.

a)The head writer's inability to take critique/his insecurity. So much time and energy is spilled 'proving him right' that we are losing out on better plotlines. When the man writers his twitter rants into the scripts, you know he's got a problem.

b)The end of Season 5. Just... yeah so much of it. Things wobbled now and then before, but man it went off the rails, burst into flames, and destroyed a nearby orphanage at the end there.

c)I don't know? Like, so much can be traced back to 'A' above, that it's hard to pick at other stuff? There's a root cause, and it permeates. If that were fixed, the rest wouldn't happen and you'd have a more coherent and healthy narrative.

10.) The three worst things about the fandom

a)Character Salt- Holy heck people. As a Chloe fan I expect some salt thrown her way, but Jesus in Heaven *waves at what people do to Alya* What the hell is THAT? Alya is amazing, she's a wonderful bestie, Salting her? WHY? It's insane. Salting Chloe goes way too far too. She is not your personal bully. This is not revenge porn. What about the Marinette/Adrien Stan one and Salt the other? What the heck is that? They're the main couple! If you want to salt the writing, do it! It's so full of holes Plagg thinks it's cheese. Leave these poor kids alone though.

b)Purity Tests- A different kind of 'salt' than above. There are big segments of the fandom who cannot handle the slightest analysis or critique of the media. Anything but a slavish devotion and acceptance of everything on screen as the best/rightest/most moral and ethical take is considered 'hater/salt' without question. Either you are ostracized for voicing any dissent, or actively attacked.

c)Segregation- Maybe it's something common now in fandoms, but I'm struck by how compartmentalized people are. There is very little flow between the spheres. Like Love Square? then you stay away from any rare pairs involving them. Lukanette? Love Square is your bane, etc etc.

15.) Canon needs more...

Love Conquering all. S5 really drove this home. Love fails miserably time and time again in S5. It's kind of weird. People use love to *justify* actions left and right, but in the moment love tends to lead to failure and loss more than anything else. I don't understand how this was seen as a good idea.

[the-hedge-has-thorns]

Near the Beginning of the End

"I'm just sorry you had to find out this way." He speaks to me with an expression that is weary and appropriately apologetic. Like he had practiced it in the mirror night after night in preparation for the day it all came tumbling out.

Robert and I had been married for 9 years and he had just told me he had been cheating for the past 7. It was like he had dropped a bomb on our marriage, detonating wedding lace and diamonds into shrapnel that scored a direct hit.

I had suspected, but it wasn't until I had found the torn pantyhose stuffed under the seat in the car when I had gone out to clean it, that I knew for sure. It certainly wasn't mine - Robert had never been adventurous with me.

"You mean you're sorry I found out at all," I snapped, shoving the ruined hose at his chest. It knocked him back a step on our stoop, nearly down the steps.

He glanced around, his expression darkening as he looked back to me. "I didn't want to hurt you -"

"Hurt me?" I cut him off, the prickle of heat behind my eyes beginning to burn. I refused to cry though. To give him any of my tears. To let him tell me I was being hysterical when really, I was feeling downright murderous.

"No, I didn't. I made a mistake, Daisy. A big one." His words didn't line up with his demeanor. They didn't line up with his actions, but that one was a given. "Now let me in before the neighbors see or hear. They don't need to be a part of our little spat."

"Stay out there." I hissed. "Go sleep at her place since you like to go there so much." I slammed the door shut. Or…. tried. His fingers curled around the edge of it, forcing it open and me back. This time, I stumbled, nearly twisting my ankle because my heel wobbled.

He caught me before I fell, his fingertips digging into my arm with a possessive bite. "You deserve so much better…I'm so sorry Daisy." He pushed me to the couch and forced me to sit. "You deserve so much better."

I head his voice crack and I felt the hesitation in my chest. He knelt in front of me, his arms wrapping around my waist so he could press his head against my chest. "But I just can't let you go."

I shivered. Maybe he mistook it. His hands crept up my skirt, sliding past the hose and to the garters, unclipping them to trace the edge of my panties.

The urge to squeeze my knees shut was overwhelming, pressing in on his ribs as I grabbed at his hands. "I don't want you touching me. Not after all the women you've touched." The words came out like lava, hurled like boulders while my heart beat frantically in my chest.

Then there was heat flaring over my cheek, a sting of pain turning my vision blurry. My familiar living room with its floral curtains, the beige carpet, the ugly dark baseboard bubbled in and out of focus as I sucked in a sharp breath. The tears spilled despite myself, cold terror scraping at my ribs as I pushed myself up from having fallen onto my side. Hardly processing what had just happened.

Hard fingers in my jaw shoved me back down. "You're my wife. If I want to apologize this way, you'll take my apology, Daisy." Robert's voice had gone low, a serpentine hiss in my ear.

My mind was still scrambling and I didn't realize he'd dropped his slacks until he was pushing into me.

Never once I had ever thought this would be a situation I was in. Robert had always been the perfect gentleman. I always thought I'd have been stronger than what I was.

"You're so…" He was breathless. In. Out. In. Out. In and out. "You feel so good, Daisy."

I always thought I would have fought tooth and nail. Except I was frozen for the whole three minutes it took. And the five minutes after it took for him to fix himself, no remorse in his eyes.

I don't know how long I stayed on that couch, my skirts hiked up around my hips. It wasn't until I heard noise that I stirred. "Daisy! Where's dinner?"

I was to blame.

I let people take advantage of me.

I was in the wrong.

I was just something to be used, and he had reminded me.

[cowboyhorsegirl]

Love in Midair

stevetony, non-powered summer before college au, 1k

fill for the @stevetonygames bingo square "Seasons" and challenge "Resolutions" for Team Past :)

(read on ao3)

Summer days make for sun-soaked purgatory, hellish in all but name. The weather oppresses, enough that even Tony’s constantly racing mind relents to the sluggishness of the heat. The wait weighs heavy on his shoulders, heavier still with each second that acquiesces to the inevitability of fall. The empty house rings silence save for the incessant drip, drip, drip of his bathroom faucet from dawn to dusk, then from dusk to dawn, again, again, again. 

Sometimes, in an indulgent act of self-pity or perhaps just typical teenage boredom, Tony calls his mom’s name out just to hear the unanswered echo respond back to him, to break the monotony of a leaky pipe.

They had invited him—his father, and his mother by default—they had invited him to Europe this summer to attend the unending battery of business conferences that would be taking the Starks from Paris to Zurich, Zurich to Milan, Milan to Berlin, Berlin to Madrid, Madrid to London, and from London back to Paris. The networking opportunities alone would give him a leg up for school in the fall, for internships next summer, for job opportunities after graduation, for corporate mergers scheduled twenty years from now, or so his father had said. But hell has a name, and that name is printed on the seal at the top of a college admission letter, signed by both the university president and the dean of the school of business. Idleness burns him from the inside out, but still Tony would rather spend his final summer alone in an empty house with a leaky faucet than begin the lifelong descent through the circles even a second too soon.

Daytime holds his sweaty body and his exhausted mind prisoner to the heat, so Tony bides his time until night to work on his inventions. In the cool respite, he weaves together a mimicry of human learning from lines of computer code. A real companion made from artificial intelligence, yes, but more importantly a reminder that before he becomes anything else—business school graduate, Stark Industries’ future CEO, unhappy—he was an engineer, and the insistent itch of creation buzzed with potential underneath the palms of his hands, once.

The temperature climbs higher, the seconds tick by, and the house slowly fills with the robotic fruits of his nighttime labor.

The faucet drips on.

One morning, Tony finds himself blinking away the haze of a machining binge to see the first signs of dawn glowing outside his window. The illumination of heaven without the burn of hell, a delicate and transient occurrence at this time of year, during which Tony is usually asleep. He stands and follows a wordless summons to go to the window, to open the boundary between himself and the world.

A bird chirps. A breeze lifts. The smell of sweet summer blooms scents the fresh air. 

And down the street, a paperboy follows his route.

Tony watches him ride closer with eyes trained to inspect, dismantle, and reform component parts. The boy has blond hair. The boy seems to be about his age. The boy has a thin frame; the weight of the newspapers in his satchel upsets his balance on the bike, and he wobbles dangerously every time he throws a paper towards someone's front door before setting himself to rights again through what seems to be sheer force of will. 

He rides closer. Tony sees:

Worn canvas on the strap of his satchel. There are patches painstakingly sewn on in multiple places.

A missing tooth on the chain of his bike. Someone should fix that. Tony could fix that.

A crooked smile. A happy life.

Blue eyes.

Oh.

The boy looks back at him from where he’s stopped in the street, one foot on the ground, still smiling.

Tony can’t help it; he smiles back.

His mind begins racing, racing, racing. He wonders what it would be like to run downstairs, open the door, offer to fix this boy’s bike. 

Wonders what it would be like to ride home with him, wherever home is. Wonders at a day spent together, a night spent together, a morning brought to wakefulness by the presence of disheveled blond hair, a crooked smile, blue eyes.

He thinks of laughter, of pet names, of take-out dinner dates.

He imagines a modest one-bedroom too cozy to ever feel empty, with impeccable plumbing and a workshop in the garage. It’s no Ivy League, but there would be ivy creeping up the brick on the side of the house where they keep the garbage cans, triumphant in the face of all their half-hearted attempts at weeding, and wouldn’t that be so lovely in its own simple way?

He sees years worth of yet unlived memories and trembles with the bone-deep knowing: it would all be so terribly beautiful, this lifelong descent into love.

The boy lifts his arm and waves. 

Tony can’t help it; he waves back. He smiles harder.

But the moment breaks when the boy drops his hand and pushes his foot off the ground. Tony’s heart sinks as he bikes out of view. Suddenly, the heat is unbearable, the house insufferably empty amongst the clutter, every drip of water from the bathroom faucet intolerable. Daylight is here, and Tony is faintly dizzy with the need to seek solace away from his inescapable life for a few hours in the impermanent oblivion of sleep.

He sinks miserably onto the bed, drags a pillow over his head in a futile attempt to block out the sound of his life dripping down the drain one drop at a time, already halfway to unconsciousness.

Only for his eyes to fly open a mere moment after closing, a smile already curling on his lips. Downstairs, another knock sounds resolutely against the door.

[sushis-wild-imagination]

Tongue Thief (Seungcheol x Reader)

Part of the Over a Decade Series

Seventeen Masterlist <3

Summary: Seungcheol gets his wisdom tooth removed and he’s convinced you’re trying to steal his tongue.

Genre: tooth rooting fluff, best friends to lovers, slow burn, non idol au

Warnings: mentions of needles and dentist.

“Just make sure he’s not taking the gauze out for at least an hour” the doctor tells you.

You make a mental note of everything while Seungcheol is falling over in his seat next to yours with his hands hugging your arm and his face pressed against your shoulder. It was so swollen, like he had hid 10 marshmallows inside his cheek. It was a cute look on him.

He became extra clingy with the meds. It was cute.

You had come with Cheol to get both his lower wisdom tooth removed because they were coming out really crooked. He was scared of the injections and he almost cried when they stuck a needle in the roof of his mouth. It made you hiss and giggle at the same time. He was getting restless so you were asking to hold his hands down like you would a childs so he doesn’t mess up the process.

The moment he was awake from the anesthesia, the first thing he said was-

“I have an exam, I have to go to school”

It made you burst out in laughter but it also took you a solid 15 minutes to understand hes not in school.

You had to drive this drunk 4 y/o back to his place. He kept pulling his gauze out.

“Cheol no no no no” you say trying to not take your eyes off the road but also shove the gauze back in his mouth.

“Its annoying!”

“Don’t take it out” you scold him. He looks at you straight in the eyes, suspiciously smirking slowly pulling it out like he knew what he was doing.

“Choi seungcheol!” You scold again and he just pouts like a baby.

“You don’t love me”

That makes you burst out in laughter.

“Why do you say that”

“Whatever”

After a few seconds of silence, he has an ultimate freak out about how he can’t feel his tongue.

“Y/n, stop the car, stop the car”

“What what!” You stop the car on the side complying because you didn’t know whats wrong.

“THE DOCTOR TOOK MY TONGUE, WE NEED TO GO GET IT BACK, I cant feel it, I can’t feel it!”

“Its because of the medication, I can see your tongue, cheol, its right there” you say pointing at his mouth.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure”

“Okay, I’ll trust you”

“Can you stop talking now, the doctor said you shouldn’t be talking”

“But I love talking to you” he says pulling the cutest face, it makes you heart melt.

“Shhh Choi Seungcheol” you say, putting a finger on your lips.

He copies you pouting and shrinking back into his seat.

You somehow finally get his big wobbly body out of the car and he plops right on the concrete.

“Yah” you end up giggling. Pushing him into the elevator and keeping him up straight was too much.

This was too much work. You huff and puff and somehow get him to his apartment. He sets himself on the barstool putting his head on the counter like it’s weighing him down.

“Are you tired?” You ask him running your hand through his hair in attempts to comfort him.

“If I put the teeth under my pillow, will the tooth fairy give me cash?” He asks suddenly putting his swollen head up to look at you.

“She will” you play along, knowing damn well you’d have to put some cash under his pillow.

“But she’ll take all my wisdom away, I can’t give my wisdom to her, how will I be wise” he asks and you really did not know how to respond, so you distract him instead. He almost falls off the barstool.

“Okay! Time to take your meds and doze off” you say, checking the time and fixing him a smoothie like the doctor asked you to and give him his meds before the anesthesia wears off.

You try to get the gauze out of his mouth but he was convinced you were stealing his tongue.

“Tongue thief!”

What would you even do with his tongue? How does a person ever steal a tongue, you had so many questions, none that would make sense to a sedated cheol.

“Spit it out” you say, holding the back of his neck over a bin.

“I can’t spit out my tongue” he cries. You really had to wrestle the boy to get the gauze out.

He was very tired now after causing all this menace. He walks himself to his room.

You just check in after a bit and he still wasn’t asleep.

“Are you sad about spitting out your tongue?”

He looks at you confused, the anesthesia is starting to wear off, he scoots over to pat the bed indicating you to come sit. He ends up hugging your arm while your semi sit/lay down on the bed with your back on the headrest.

He takes your free hand and presses it over his left cheek as if the pressure is helping with the pain. Your eyes meet, he looks so tired, you caress his cheek with your thumb.

“Sing to me” he says, pulling your arm closer pushing one cheek a little more into the mattress and your hand on the other cheek to create pressure on both sides.

“Do I have to?” You groan.

“I’m in pain!” It has become his free pass for everything.

[auroragothcs]

TWs and CWs: Mentions of violence, injury, cannibalism, human experimentation, disordered eating, recreational herbs and detachment to a sense of self.

| Il Dottore Headcanons (pt.4).

76. Really accepting of people, just in a "It's okay, I want to study people like you too" way which is not ideal, but could be worse considering everything.

77. Snaps his teeth at Pantalone when he calls him "Dottie" and tries to touch him affectionately.

78. He grinds his teeth when he's becoming overwhelmed by work and it led to a tiny piece of his tongue missing.

79. The closes are one of his most useful and welcomed creations in his life since they understand him and each other in ways no one else could and often push him to take a break while they take care of things.

80. Gets dragged out of his lab and office by his collar at least once a week, no one bats an eye at it anymore.

81. He probably doesn't even have a bed that he considers his anymore, throwing hinself over his desk and crashing when he's too tired to keep on working.

82. Got banned from a small teashop he enjoyed going to and eating baked goods at because he offered to buy the owner's recently deceased daughter, never harmed him since he genuinely kinda liked the place and workers but is still very grumpy about it.

83. Invests his free time into finding cures and better treatments to illnesses and sells the recipes, the chosen "volunteers" to these experiments are rude subordinates.

84. One of his clones has a broken tooth that he refused to fix because he bit into one of his delusions to "eat it back" after hearing that it consumed vitality.

85. People staring at him face makes him feel insecure and the old mask did very little to soothe that so he enjoyed the change quite a lot.

86. Rubs his hands red if he feels dirty or guilty.

87. Has a birthmark on his waist/belly, it looks like a wobbly little heart and he pokes at it every time he sees it.

88. Freckled king, they're very light and not many people see him from close enough to notice, but grow in number and intensity on his shoulder blades.

89. Jokingly asked the Tsaritsa for permission to boil and eat her gnosis once he got comfortable enough to talk more freely around her, she found it funny enough that she offered to let him do that to someone else's.

90. Asks questions at dizzying speed and gets mad when no one can keep up enough to answer them all.

91. He takes boiling hot showers/baths to soothe chronic pain and help him relax but needs to have a clone around beceuse he faints every damn time and they're the only ones he's comfortable being naked around.

92. Prime has night terrors when he actually sleeps instead of his usual crashing, not even the clones know what of.

93. Dottore enjoys the power his position brings and how it affects his dynamic in nearly any social situation, taking advantage of how no one would dare to say a single bad thing to/about someone who earned the Tsaritsa's approval, at least not in front of him, of course.

94. He carries a handkerchief embroidered with traditional designs from his homeland and is unwilling to leave it all in the past no matter how much he pretends not to be.

95. Cats like him a lot and he's confused but overjoyed.

96. Sways his hips a little while performing surgeries and experiments since humming repetitively helps him keep pace and track of time.

97. Fears that a clone could take over his identity and that no one would notice, they all have a similar fear.

98. Would not-so-secretly DROOL over Lady Gaga's music.

99. Knows Lisa and Baizhu in passing because they studied at the same library table sometimes but were all far too focused to talk, probably remembers them well enough to recognize with some prompting.

100. Pantalone refuses to give him more funds for his lab but will give him expensive gifts like bath oils and coats if he notices that Dottore looks stressed.

[safyresky]

Shadowy Snippets: Lil' Jacqueline + Big Bro Jack

I thought y'all might appreciate these lil snippets from Into the Shadows ft. tiny Jacqueline and a much younger Jack lol. Fun Fact about ItS: It is seemingly becoming a tscs fix-it fic (sorta) lmao. Anyway, enjoy!

---

“Again? You said again, Jack,” Santa said between pants. “What do you mean?!”

“Sixteen hundred years ago, we created the Legate Law. Do you know why Santa? Do you know what prompted us to unanimously agree it needed to be done?”

“Just in case something bad happened to you guys, right?”

“Because something bad happened to us, Santa.” Jack slowed down, stopping off to the side to let the frantic kits hop by. “The Council was very different then. Roy and Asim, our Tooth Fairy and Sandman, weren’t on it yet. But I was. And I was there when it happened.”

Santa’s mouth fell open. “No.”

Jack’s face fell, uncharacteristically serious. He nodded. “Yes. I was much younger, of course,” he said thoughtfully. “Smoother face, maybe a bit of baby fat, still,” he said with a shrug. He looked off to the left, deep in thought. A soft smile crossed his face. “I was out with Jacqueline,” he said warmly. “We’d sneak off at night for practise.”

And it had been a nice night for practise. The skies were clear; stars twinkled, and in North America it was quiet and crispy—perfect conditions to practise some literal frosty shenanigans.

Jack had brought them to a forest-y area, with lots of surfaces to dust; Jacqueline had been jumping with excitement the entire way! She had just done a large spruce all by herself, jumping for joy when the tremor hit.

“Uh, Jack? What’s happening?”

The young sprite had stopped, her hands still raised mid clap as she looked down at the shaking ground. She wobbled a bit.

“Steady Jacqueline! Remember your stance.”

“Right!” she said. With a determined nod and fierce look of concentration, she steadied herself, legs out in the smallest horse stance Jack had ever seen. He stood still too, waiting for the tremor to stop; in the distance, there was a crack. It was sharp, and a little more earthy than the cracking sounds of ice he was accustomed to.

The shaking stopped, finally; Jack looked around, alert as could be. Something was not right.

“I thought we couldn’t do earth stuff?”

“We can’t.”

“But what if I did? OH! What if I’m actually like Mother Nature and I can throw ROCKS with my MIND!”

Jack looked behind him. He couldn’t help the silly grin when he saw Jacqueline jumping around in a circle, making little whoosh noises as she moved her hands about, trying to move the rocks. He let out a little laugh.  “Come now Jacqueline, quickly. Hop up,” he said, squatting a bit.

“Okay!” she said, jumping onto his back. He stood up once he felt her cold little frosted fingers around his neck. Grabbing her legs and hoisting her up, he tapped his foot. Below them, a sheet of ice spawned into existence; he slid, the ice forming in front of them as they went.

Expertly, he dodged trees and ducked branches, Jacqueline squealing on his back. It was getting brighter up ahead. Was there a clearing?

He stopped. The light was moving. Towards them. Fast. And it was very much blinding.

“Close your eyes, Jacqueline!” he shouted, spinning around quickly. The golden light washed over his back, Jacqueline’s grip tightening as the golden dust engulfed them. Jack looked at it closely; the little Z’s were unmistakable.

And they were tinged with a soft lilac.

His heart dropped.

The moment the light washed over them, he turned back around, sliding even faster now. Finally, they reached the pond they had passed earlier. He stopped, looking around them. Though the area was intact, the air was heavy with…something.

“It feels weird,” Jacqueline said, pulling herself up to sit on Jack’s shoulders, looking around. “It’s icky. But also good. But also it’s kind of sad,” she said, her voice wavering.

Jack reached up, squeezing her hands. “It’s okay, Jacqueline.”

He scanned the pools; he turned his attention to the waterfall, and gasped.

It had split. What had once been a long, albeit tiny waterfall was now split right in half in the queerest of ways. There were two streams; one still trickled down into the pool below. The other one shot off to the side, a bit of the water trailing off into the main waterfall, but the majority of it disappearing down, down, down into what looked to be a very deep, dark, tall hole.

What had happened?

“Don’t you gotta do something?” Jacqueline asked, gently tugging on his spikes.

“I am doing something! I’m investigating. Keeping my eyes peeled for anything...weird.”

She gasped suddenly. “Jack! Look! Over there! What’s that shiny thing?”

He followed her point with his gaze. Sure enough, by the base of the rocky enclosure, something glinted in the moonlight.

Jack walked towards them, carefully. He gasped.

It was a pair of goggles. A pair of very familiar googles. One of the lenses was cracked; but there was no doubt about whose they were.

They were Tooth Fairy’s.

He bent down and picked them up, carefully. The lenses glimmered; he angled them away from the moonlight. He frowned at his three reflections in the glass. They frowned back. Their Jacqueline’s looked down at him, concerned.

“Jack?”

“You don’t see Tooth Fairy around, do you?” he asked, getting up.

Jacqueline swivelled on her perch, looking around the clearing. She looked right up, Jack putting a hand on her upper back in a nick of time. “Nerp.”

Well that probably wasn’t good.

“We’ve gotta get Mother Nature,” he decided.

He clenched the goggles tight in his fist. Turning around, he ran back in the direction they came in, Jacqueline holding on for dear life as they ran into the brush, disappearing in Jack’s customary blue sparks and snowflakes.

The moon was high in the sky. The light from the sun bounced off of it, shinning in the reflection of the pool below it, the water sparkling and splashing. Droplets from the falls hit the calm lake, the moon’s reflection distorting briefly.

---

She was already awake when Jack and Jacqueline barged into the Garden.

They both looked winded; Jacqueline's hair had fallen out of her plaits, all sticky outty as she held onto Jack’s neck for dear life.

“Mother Nature!” he was shouting, nearly crashing into her as they crossed paths.

“Jack dear, whatever is the matter? The two of you look a little worse for the wear. Is everything okay?”

“Absolutely not!” Jack said, almost gleefully. “I would just like to start with a quick little disclaimer. We didn’t do it! Honest! We were out practising—”

“I frosted my very first tree!!”

“Very good job Jacqueline.”

“It was amazing,” Jack said, “She knocked it out of the park! But as we were celebrating—”

“The ground asploded!”

“What?”

“There was a quake; we went to investigate but before we even got to the place it originated at, we got hit with fallout. Magical fallout.”

“Whose?”

“Sandman and Tooth Fairy.”

“Oh no.”

“We found these,” Jack said, holding out the cracked goggles.

“It felt icky!”

“Icky how?”

“Hmm…”

“You said sad,” Jack said, gently.

“Ye. Sad, but also good.”

“Heavy,” Jack added. "Bittersweet? Melancholy? Saudade?"

“Good heavens,” Mother Nature said, taking the goggles. Three Taras stared back at her, worry lining their faces.

“And I swear Grandmother, we didn’t do it! I didn’t do it! Honest! Jacqueline as my witness!”

“I believe you, Jack,” she said, touching the goggles to her chest. “Are you two okay?” she asked, checking them over for scrapes and bumps.

“I’m fine,” Jack said, grabbing Jacqueline around the waist and placing her down. “How bout you, little flurry. you okay?"

“My legs are ricey.”

“Remember what Dad taught you; shake it off, you’ll feel them again in a moment.”

“Ricey?”

“It’s what she calls pins and needles,” Jack clarified.

“Yeah! You know, ricey,” Jacqueline said, shaking her little leggies. “Like when you pour rice into a jar. Dry rice. It’s like. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh—”

“I think she gets it, Jacqueline.”

“I might steal that,” she added.

“Ou! Remember what I taught you!”

“Right! I’ll need royalties, Gramma!”

“You taught her about royalties?” Mother Nature asked, amused.

Jack placed his hands on his hips. “I’m covering all my bases. All of them. You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked, concern lining his features as he glanced down at Jacqueline.

“I’m okie dokie,” she said, grabbing her brother’s hand with a grin. “Can I go back up now?”

Jack nodded, picking her back up. “Anyway, Mother Nature, I think you need to come see this.”

---

Moments later, the trio found themselves back at the waterfall. The minute Mother Nature materialized, she gasped, nearly stumbling.

“Grandmother!” Jack rushed to her side, offering his arm.

“I’m fine, thank you, Jack. Heavy indeed; something terrible has happened here. Where did you find the goggles?”

“Jacqueline saw them first. Over here, by the base of the falls,” he said, leading the way over to where they found it.

Mother Nature climbed carefully over the stones. They had a weird film on them; she scooped some up on her finger, looking down at it. It was gold; when she rubbed the dust between her fingers, it looked like little Z’s.

“Dream sand,” she said out loud. She trailed her pointer finger on a separate rock. More sand. “It’s all over the place.”

“And if you look closely, there’s some fairy fire residue,” Jack said, pointing to the cliffs behind him.

Mother Nature made her way over, investigating the smears. Sure enough, mingled with the dream sand was the sandy residue all fairy magic left behind. A soft lilac, one that, when Mother Nature touched it, felt comforting. She was immediately reminded of her own childhood, with her dear Mother Gaia.

“It’s Terracina’s,” she confirmed. “And there’s no sign of either of them?”

Once more, Jacqueline swivelled around. Jack already had his hand in place when she leant all the way back to look up at the sky. “Nerp, still nothing,” she said, throwing herself back up, resting her chin on Jack’s head.

“Hmm.” Bending down, Mother Nature gently trailed her fingers along the ground. Her eyes widened; she shot back up.

“Jack. Bring your sister home.”

“What?”

“But I don’t wanna go home—”

---

Sorry to cut it off so suddenly! It is, after all, a Shadowy Snippet. This is Chapter 2, scene 2 and 3, I believe. I left a bit of preamble from Jack for SOME context but the real reason we're reading this is bc, uh, TINY JACQUELINE AND YA JACK!

Fun fact #2: Jack does take Jacqueline home, and when he gets back the rest of the Council is there, and Roy has his kid with him and Jack straight up is just like, OH. SO ROY CAN BRING HIS KID, BUT MY KID HAS TO GO HOME? RUDE.

Ah. Their dynamic is EVERYTHING to me. And just think, thirty years after this is the Day of Darkness and everything falls to bits :-) What a time to be alive!

[clouseplayssims]

Hey guys, just a heads up that I broke a tooth this morning which is why I didn't stream. I'm comfortable for now and I've got an appointment for Wednesday, but I don't think they'll be able to fix it at that point so streams might be a little wobbly until they do.