#//I think it’s possible that I can turn that around

[covenofagatha]

Do I wanna know? (Part 1)

Sequel to But you're my stepmom!

Picks up a few months later after your dad and Agatha get divorced and you've started college

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: fingering, mommy kink, slight angst

Fuck. You do not want to do this. 

It’s a Saturday night and you’re here. You should’ve said you had anywhere else to be, but instead, your car almost gets hit as you turn the corner in possibly the narrowest parking garage you’ve ever been in. It makes you swear and you stomp on the brakes so quickly you think you might have a bruise from the seatbelt. 

But luckily, you find a spot on the first floor and squeeze between two other cars, muttering a silent prayer that you don’t scrape against them.

You wipe your sweaty palms on your jeans as you get out and walk into the lobby of the apartment complex. 

It’s nice, although you hate to admit it. You would surely not mind spending more time here if it didn’t mean having to see—

“Hey, sweet pea!” 

Him. You look to your right and plaster on a fake smile when you see your father standing there, slipping his phone into his pocket. 

“Hey,” you say softly, awkwardly patting his back with a hand as he embraces you. 

He had been asking to get dinner with you at least once a week for the past few months since he and Agatha got divorced. You’ve always found an excuse to get out of it — you had homework, you had exams, you had to work over the summer and you were so tired — but now that it’s your first weekend in college and he knows that you don’t have anything going on, he insisted. 

Plus your mom had sort of asked for you to go at least once. Your dad has been sending you updates about his apartment search and random internet posts that he found funny, and having lived at home all summer, you’ve kept your mom in the loop. She is still obsessed with him, always finding ways to bring him up in conversation, and you wish you were brave enough to tell her to just move on. She was absolutely ecstatic when you broke the news about him and Agatha and she’s been pressing you for updates ever since. 

Part of the reason she wanted you to go see him was to scope out his new place and see if there was any sign of a new woman. There was still no sign about the lady he was having an affair with, so you weren’t sure if things had ended. 

And when he moved out the first time, he took your mom’s can opener and she still won’t let it go. Before you left, she texted you that if you saw it, you should steal it back. 

After the divorce went through, your dad had decided to sell the house and look for an apartment a little closer to his work, and he’s lived in this place for about a month now. 

“How are you? How’s it going?” he asks as he leads you to the elevator. He presses his fob to the button inside and then floor six. You remember him being so consumed with having one of the top floors, like that would make him seem more important. 

You shrug and pick at the peeling skin on your fingers. It’s a bad habit — one of your many. “Pretty good. Syllabus week has been a breeze. Made some new friends.”

“Classes seem like they’ll be fun?” he asks. 

“Yeah, I hope so.” 

And then a tense silence falls over the both of you. You haven’t actually seen him since your graduation, which was a whole other level of awkward with your mom there too, and you both know that the two affairs and two divorces has put a strain on your relationship.

It does hurt a little. You wish there was a way you could reach over the cold gap between you and go back to how things were when you were a kid, when you actually liked being around him. 

But too much has happened. 

“Well, I’m really glad you were able to come down for dinner,” he says and you smile tightly. “I can’t wait to show you the place and then we can get whatever you want to eat.” 

The elevator dings and you follow him to an apartment a few doors down and he unlocks the door and lets you go first. 

The floors are a laminate gray, the counters in the kitchen marble white with black pendant lights over the peninsula. The refrigerator is stainless steel and there’s a completely stocked wine cooler fridge built into the cabinets next to the stove. You walk past the kitchen into the living room where the couches from his and Agatha’s house are set up around an entertainment center with a fireplace and a blue rug under the coffee table. 

“What do you think?” he asks, stepping next to you and putting an arm around your shoulders to bring you in close to him. 

You take his fancy bachelor pad in again. “Yeah, it’s pretty nice. Maybe just pizza for dinner? We can order and watch a show or something?”

Staying in and having the television as a buffer is a much better plan than going out and having to make small talk that will end up with him on his phone anyway. He agrees and calls to order the pizza while you perch on the couch and scroll on your phone. You already have a text from your mom telling you to call her when you’re done and your chest tightens at the thought of all the shit she’s going to say. It’s fucking exhausting still being in the middle of this — you really thought it would get better, especially now that you’re in college. And yet, here you are. 

“So…” your dad starts, plopping down next to you with a groan once he gets off the phone. He grabs the remote and turns the TV on. “You like your roommate?”

Your roommate, Alice Wu, is a sweet girl from out-of-state. You think that you and her will get along just fine and you’ve already agreed on all the rules of cleaning and having friends over. The first week has gone well and you’ve gotten close. “She’s cool. I think she and I will be good friends.” 

He nods and turns on a show you watched awhile and the two of you sit in awkward silence until the pizza guy rings from downstairs. You excuse yourself to the bathroom after your dad rings him in. 

The bathroom is through the bedroom and you take careful note of the sheets still strewn all over the bed and the two pillows at the top. One nightstand is cluttered with a phone charger, earplugs, a lamp, and a picture of you on your graduation day in a silver frame. It tugs at your heart and you instantly look away, not wanting to feel any more nostalgia. 

However, on the other nightstand, there’s just a matching lamp. No hair tie, no other chargers or personal belongings. 

But that stuff is easily hidden, so you go into the bathroom. One toothbrush, one retainer case, one razor. You can’t tell if you’re disappointed or glad. 

At least you won’t have to listen to your mom talk endlessly about a new woman. 

Your dad already has a plate with two slices on it for you sitting in your spot on the couch and you dig into it, suddenly famished. The atmosphere does warm up over time, and it’s no longer uncomfortable silence and you do end up talking a bit about his work and more about your school while the TV plays.

He doesn’t bring up your mom or Agatha at all, and neither do you. In a way, it’s nice to be removed from them for a few hours. Your dad has been villainized by both of them — and obviously he fucked up — but he is still your dad, despite your complicated feelings toward him. 

After a few episodes of the show, you shift to get up, grabbing your plate. “You’re leaving already?” he asks and checks his watch.

“Yeah, it’s getting late and I should really be getting back to the dorms,” you say, trying to sound apologetic. Even if the bubble has been nice, you have somewhere you need to be. 

It’s hard for your dad to hide his disappointment, but he gets it and grabs his keys to walk you down to your car. 

“How’s, uh, how’s your mom doing?” he asks. Still putting me in the middle of all the imaginary drama she’s creating with you is what you want to say. But you know that he’ll call her out for it and you’d have to deal. 

“She’s pretty good. Work’s been keeping her busy.” A safe answer. A true answer. 

“Good,” he says and shoves his hands into his pockets and you know what’s coming next. “And Agatha? Have you seen her at all?” 

Imagines of her hot body on yours flash through your mind. Her rosy nipples, her pale stomach, the heat that swallows up her eyes. “Yeah, I’ve seen her around. She’s doing all right, too, I think.”

Your dad nods and stops at your car. “Well, I had a great time with you,” he says and holds his arms out for a hug. You mutter something in agreement and give him an embrace with two pats — the way you’ve done it since you were a kid. “Let’s do it again soon.”

He tells you that he loves you and after you say it back, you get into your car and he watches you as you drive away. 

Begrudgingly, you call your mom and put her on speaker and not even a second later, her voice fills your car. 

“How was it? Did you see anything? Is there another woman? Did you find my can opener?” she asks all in one breath and you take a silent, deep breath. 

You can’t wait to be home. “It was a pretty nice place actually.” Your mom snorts. “There wasn’t any sign of someone else there and I didn’t have time to look around. We just watched a show and ate pizza.” 

She makes a sound. “Wow, father of the year. Maybe he cleaned up the place before you came over.” You hum noncommittally. “What are you doing tomorrow? Want to come over? I’ll take you grocery shopping.” 

“Yeah, let me just check my schedule. Alice and I might be doing something, but I’d love to go there for a bit. Especially for groceries,” you tease and she laughs. 

“I bet your father didn’t even offer to do that,” she says smugly and your face falls. Sometimes you wonder if she does half the things that she does for you just to one-up him. 

“Okay, well I’m almost back now, so I’ll let you know when I’m coming over tomorrow,” you tell her, eager to wrap it up, and about to turn in. “Love you.” You hang up before she’s even done saying it back. 

Once you park, you text your roommate saying that you won’t be back for the night — staying with family — and walk up to the apartment side door, letting yourself in with the fob on your key ring. 

Agatha’s apartment complex is smaller than your dad’s, but just as nice, and you prefer it a lot more. 

After the divorce, she stayed in a hotel for about a week before signing a lease on a place about ten minutes away from where the house used to be. You had helped her pick out the furniture and spent more time here than at your mom’s house the last couple months of school and she gave you a key to it the day she moved in. 

It got harder over the summer to hang out with her, as you worked at an ice cream shop in the afternoons into the evenings and she was working her normal nine to five, but you made it work. 

Things are really good between the two of you. There isn’t exactly a label on it, per se, but you both know that it’s a relationship. And without your dad in the picture and with her not being your stepmom anymore, there isn’t as much of a need to keep sneaking around — so when she puts an arm around you while you’re walking down the street and kisses your cheek when you say something cute and ghosts her pinky against yours, it’s okay. 

You know things might change a little with you in college now, but you’re ready for it. And if you spend more nights at her place than at your dorm, so be it. It’s not like anyone’s going to know, and Alice will just think you’re staying with family. 

Unlocking the door, you can practically feel the tension seeping away from your body. Agatha makes everything feel better. Even the house you grew up in, the one your mom still lives in, doesn’t feel as home as this does. 

You don’t see her when you first walk in and you walk into the living room to see her typing something on her computer, brows furrowed, and you can just make out the glint of a document through the reflection of her glasses. 

“Hey, you,” you greet, kicking off your shoes. She startles and looks up before slamming her laptop shut and smiling. 

“Hey, honey,” she says and pats the spot next to her while she leans forward to place her computer on the coffee table. “How was it?” 

Agatha had emphatically listened to your incessant complaining about having to get dinner with your dad, but in the end she had also pushed you to go. You groan and flop onto the couch, situating yourself so that your head is in her lap and you’re looking up at her. “It wasn’t that bad,” you admit and she smirks. “Don’t even think about saying ‘I told you so’. I will leave.” 

She tosses her head back with a laugh and you play with the strands of hair that’s falling over her shoulder and teasing your face. “I would never, darling. But I’m glad it wasn’t bad. How is he?” 

Your nose wrinkles. “Can we not talk about my dad? Although, I was just thinking about how much of a reward I deserve for going.” 

“Oh, you think you deserve a reward, do you?” she ribs lightly, raising an eyebrow and poking you in the stomach. You giggle and twist away from her finger before sticking out your bottom lip as pitiful as you can and giving her doe eyes, nodding your head. She rolls her eyes fondly. “What were you thinking, honey?” 

You shrug like you’re just now beginning to think about it. “Well, mommy,” you say, a thrill running through you at her sharp gasp. “I think since I was such a good girl, you should give me an orgasm.” 

“Oh, just one?” she asks playfully, and you surge up out of her lap, turn over onto your knees to face her, and pull her in for a kiss. Your lips move against each other with familiar ease, her tongue licking hotly into your mouth and you moan — her hands slide up under your shirt and rest on your bare skin before you reach down and take it off. 

“As many as you’ll give me, mommy,” you pant, and she grins before starting to suck open-mouthed bites onto your chest. You’re wearing green lingerie but she barely even looks at it before unclasping your bra from behind and tearing it off, throwing it somewhere on the floor. 

She swirls her tongue around your nipple before suckling hard and you whimper, holding her head right against you. It feels like there’s a wire running straight from your boob to your cunt and you quickly feel yourself becoming soaked. Agatha switches to the other one and soon your entire chest is sticky with her saliva and you’ve moved onto her lap, squirming. 

Her teeth nip at the underside of your breasts and you can’t take it anymore. “Mommy, please,” you beg, grabbing her hand and leading it to the waistband of your jeans. Her fingers rest there while you quickly unbutton and unzip and then you shove her into your pants, your hand circled around her wrist to just feel her. 

Agatha chuckles throatily and moves her fingers experimentally against you while you try to grind down for some stimulation. You suddenly feel so empty, a molten heat between your legs, and Agatha crashes her lips back onto yours. She sucks on your tongue and tugs on your bottom lip as she finally presses against your clit and your hips jerk. “So wet for mommy, aren’t you?” she huffs and you nod and try to move against her harder. 

When she finally pushes your underwear to the side and runs her fingers through your folds, you keen and bury a hand into her hair, face dropping down into her neck. She sharply gasps when you start breathing heavily against her skin, content to just keep your lips planted against her throat. 

She slides a finger into you and your walls clench around her, trying to draw her even more in. Each time she fucks you, it feels like the first time — the same energy is there, the same electricity. But at the same time, she knows exactly what you need, maybe even more than you do. 

Her thrusts begin to pick up and heat is rising through your body and you can see little indents in Agatha’s skin from where your teeth have slightly sunk in. 

“Mommy, mommy — please, I need more,” you whine and she obliges by pushing another finger into you and curling them just right. A high-pitched sound leaves your mouth and you start riding her fingers the best you can, rolling your hips to match her and get her even deeper. You’re clenching furiously around her as sparks begin to fly in your lower stomach and you can feel the beginning tendrils of your orgasm start to build. 

Agatha’s thumb circles around your clit without actually touching it. “God, sweetheart, you look so hot right now, taking my fingers like such a good girl. You feel so good, too. Never wanna leave you,” she babbles, making you convulse even tighter. There’s a slight pink tint to her cheeks and her breathing has picked up and you know she’s affected too. Her fingers are moving faster and she pauses for just a moment, making you whimper, before she stretches you out with a third. 

“Oh, fuck,” you swear, your walls adjusting, and the slight burn only adds to the immense pleasure you’re feeling. “Fuck, fuck.” Your head is spinning, completely drunk with her and her perfume that’s been invading your nostrils the whole time, and you can’t even form a single thought. 

She presses harder on your clit and with the hand that’s not currently inside you, grips your hair and pulls you away from her neck. You can see red blotches staining her skin and the thought of her wearing your marks around gets you even closer. “Look at me,” she grunts, her thrusts becoming more sporadic and you stare right into her dark blue eyes with your pleading wide ones. Your breaths intermix and she looks like she might also cum just from this. 

Agatha lets out a strangled gasp when her gaze flickers from your eyes to your swollen lips to your breasts that are bouncing with your movements in her lap. 

“Mommy, I need — right there —” You can’t even string together a coherent thought and she scissors her fingers inside you, the pressure making you see stars. 

She looks you up and down again, drinking you in like she might never get enough, and her chest heaves with each breath she takes. “Fuck, baby, you’re so perfect,” she groans and your head falls back as you keep riding her. “I need you to cum for me, okay? Cum for mommy.” 

“Mommy, fuck, I’m gonna — fuck I love you,” you groan, not even realizing the words slipping out of your mouth, the words neither of you have ever said before, before it’s too late and your orgasm explodes through your body in a way it never has before. You feel it in every crack and crevice inside you and she keeps fucking you just as hard while rubbing your clit and it quickly becomes too much, tears springing into your eyes. 

Agatha’s fingers finally slow down and she coos sweet nothings in your ear and you wonder if she even heard you. It’s been a few months since you’ve been together, but neither of you has really acknowledged the depth between you. 

And you just did, in the middle of sex. 

“You okay?” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek and you nod before she pulls out of you and you wince at the sudden emptiness. You fall back out of her lap onto the couch. She must not have heard it. 

There’s a slight gnawing feeling that begins to grow in your stomach — if you said it for real, in a moment that couldn’t just be blamed on a dopamine rush, would she say it back? 

Does she feel the same? 

Agatha kisses you before sticking her three fingers into your mouth so you can clean them up. “Good girl,” she purrs in a low voice. “Was that a good enough reward?” 

You’re still a little out of it, but you nod dazedly. “Yeah,” you say softly and she gets off the couch and walks over to the fridge to get you a glass of water. “My mom wants me to go hang out with her tomorrow. What are you doing at night? Can I come over after?” 

She pauses for a fraction of a second and then glances at you over her shoulder. “Um, sorry, baby. I have to work all day tomorrow. Some last minute things I’ve got to get done.” 

You hum, a little disappointed, but graciously accept the water. “No worries. Maybe Monday or something.” 

“Yeah, of course. Just a second, I need to go grab something,” she murmurs and then walks into her bedroom. You’re exhausted and you get off the couch, stretching your aching muscles, and you’re about to follow her when her phone buzzes on the end table. 

Thinking it’s just a work email or something, you glance at it and your stomach drops, heart lurches. 

It’s a text message from an unknown number. 

Can’t wait to see you tomorrow. 

@lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights

[blessedbycoyotes]

On a moonless night, a stargazer traveling far afield made his way into a section of woods that was uninhabited for reasons known to the locals but not known to him. A familiar thought came to his mind as he walked: Some truths can be found in separation from others. Such is my craft. It was both true and a rationalization of his loneliness, he knew, but as he grew older, he found it harder and harder to become un-separated from the others. He and they had become too different.

Quietly, the stargazer began his work. From the forest’s edge, peeking from side to side, he walked toward the dead center of a clearing. Kneeling, slowly and aware of every rustle of grass, he set down his pack. Pencils and paper and glassware were set and arranged by feel alone on a leather pad he rolled out beside him.

The stargazer sat ram-rod straight and allowed himself a moment to breathe. He picked up his sextant so slowly as to not make one sound. Just as his eyelash was about to graze the glass –

Fwhumpf.

The stargazer and his lungs froze. He had never encountered something truly terrible from a noise in the night, but he was for some reason or other not inclined to test that theory.

Fwhumpf.

The spell broke. He rose to his feet as fast as possible, dropping the sextant onto his pad, and whipped around, straining his eyes for any sign of any thing.

Fwhumpf.

“Hello,” rumbled the dragon, only shaped by its silhouette of the stars behind.

The stargazer, to his credit, did not panic, despite the tension in his head. “Hello,” he said.

“Are you an astronomer?” it asked. Only now did the stargazer realize that he could see its eyes, which barely reflected what little ambient light was there.

“In a sense,” the stargazer replied in a tone usually meant for well-meaning strangers he did not want to talk to. “I am not a professional, if that is what you mean.”

“No matter if you do it for coin, I think.”

The dragon’s voice was gentle, but not for a lack of ability; its voice was more felt than heard, and it was clearly struggling in trying to push just enough air to move its massive vocal cords but not enough to disturb what little peace remained in the clearing.

It spoke again. “Do you watch the stars or not?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Would you like to watch together? I came out here to do the very same thing.”

The stargazer did not parse those words for a full ten seconds, stunned as he was by such an unexpected question. His mind then ran in circles, calculating risks and paths of potential escape and his odds of outrunning an animal he knew nothing about and oh to hell with it, he thought, nothing interesting ever came of running anyway.

“Very well.”

The dragon looked him in the eyes for a brief moment, before turning slightly away and tipping onto its side with all the grace of a felled tree. It squirmed, disturbing much grass, before it managed to lie on its back, facing the stars.

The stargazer laid beside it.

“Anything good tonight?” the dragon asked.

“Aye. Meteor shower, Orionids. A comet’s trail.”

“Excellent,” it purred, “I almost forgot it this year.”

The stargazer got the impression that the dragon was smiling, but could not make out anything of the dragon’s expression and would not trust himself to predict the emotions of a beast he was unfamiliar with.

“I am impressed tonight. Not often I get to see this much dust,” it said, slowly.

“Indeed,” the stargazer stated flatly. “It’s why I’m here.”

He traced Gemini with two of his fingers. Lucky stars.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“To stargaze. Good meadow for it.”

“I mean - Do you live here?”

“Nearby.”

“Why?”

It rumbled. Do dragons laugh? “As opposed to what? Living near humans? That chance is gone now.”

“Now?” the stargazer asked again. “Did you live with humans once?”

“Decades ago, yes.”

“How?”

“I was one back then.”

The stargazer, incredulous, looked at nothing and furrowed his brow. “You used to be human?”

The dragon nodded. The stargazer did not see the motion, but that did little to stop his questioning.

“Were you cursed?”

“No. I chose this.”

“Chose?”

The dragon finally turned to face him. “You are alone too, are you not?” it asked back. “You shed your humanity by severing your connections with them. I have merely taken it a step further.”

The stargazer did not reply for a beat. He did not expect to be seen by a stranger. “Do you not miss company?”

“I do.”

“Then why become a dragon? Why stay here in perpetuity?”

“Some truths can be found in separation from others.”

Silently, the dragon turned its massive head to the sky.

“I was never a good human. Yes, I had scaleless skin, and I walked on two legs, but all the rest did not come to me naturally,” it growled. “Have you ever been in a play?”

“No.”

The dragon stared past the heavens as it began again. “Imagine you are suddenly thrust into one. We are short a man today, the troupe says, and pushes you onstage. You don’t know the lines. You don’t know how to mimic characters, or emotions, or even the fellow next to you. And so, you flounder, bouncing from stage left to right, actors pushing you around and whispering instructions in your ear that you cannot follow.”

“Sounds like a mess.”

“It was.”

“So,” the stargazer turned to look where the dragon’s eyes caught the starlight, “you chose to leave the stage.”

The dragon did not face him.

“Do you think it was it the right choice?”

Against the backdrop of stars, he saw the dragon’s brow raise ever so slightly; he saw it breathe ever so slowly.

“To this day, I am not sure. I do not know if I am happier out here, slowly becoming a legend of these woods, alone. But I can tell you this; dragonhood is much truer to me than my former life ever was. This body, this separate mode of being,” it sighed, “it feels like what I was made for. As if I were cast in the wrong mold the first time around.”

A sudden pain grabbed the stargazer’s chest.

“Why do you choose to be alone, astronomer?”

He struggled to form sentences until a moment had gone. Then, quietly, “The more I think, the more time passes, the more my thoughts differ from most people’s. The more I do not see myself in them. Their priorities, their methods… they seem alien to me nowadays.”

A sharp breath.

“Like I wasn’t one of them after all.”

The dragon turned back to the stargazer and held his eye until it saw something new.

“Would you like to stargaze with me again, sometime?”

“Yes,” he said, “I think I would.”

too many stories about turning yourself into a monster as a metaphor for pretending to be something you aren't and losing yourself in the process. not enough stories about turning yourself into a monster as a metaphor for choosing to openly embrace yourself even if it's strange to other people

[starcurtain]

A Closer Look at the Phaidei Memory

I've seen so many people talking about this scene with Phainon and Mydei and making fun of how blatantly obvious Phainon is about his... respect for Mydei's... conspicuous body, but one thing I feel like a lot of people missed (or at least I haven't seen anyone discussing) is that this memory seems to come from very early on in their acquaintance.

Looking at it closely, it's clear that the two aren't particularly familiar with each other yet in this memory sequence. For one, Phainon questions things that he should easily know if he was well-acquainted with Mydei already.

First, very comically: "Do you even bathe, bro?"

And second, Phainon questions why Mydei isn't immune to the black tide:

This suggests that, up to the point of this memory, Phainon had not been in enough battles with Mydei (or at least close enough to Mydei) to see him be affected by the black tide. Apparently, this memory-Phainon-and-Mydei don't have years of rushing into battle side-by-side to defend Okhema yet.

It's also hilariously clear that the Phainon in this memory has absolutely no idea how to talk to Mydei.

Breaking this scene down, it's literally Phainon just trying really hard to strike up conversation, doing his best to try to crack the tough exterior and get Mydei to actually interact with him. He jumps around through topics rapidly--the baths, the black tide, their personal sparring--looking for anything that will catch Mydei's attention.

Meanwhile, we can tell that Mydei is not particularly familiar or comfortable with Phainon yet because his dialogue is so different from any of his other scenes in the game. Although Mydei is obviously not the game's biggest yapper, he does always have full sentences to contribute to other conversations and banters readily with Phainon whenever he's baited into it.

In this memory, he instead starts off polite but also completely aloof:

This is the exact sort of response you'd have to a vague acquaintance coming up and trying to talk to you like you're best friends. Phainon skipped at least four steps of familiarity here, and Mydei is obviously at a loss for why the conversation is even happening.

He responds by blatantly stonewalling, answering Phainon's (slightly pathetic) attempts to start an actual conversation in nothing but single word answers:

You can even see Phainon recognize how bad he's failing half way through the conversation, which prompts him to vocally declare that he's going to make a complete topic switch:

And this time, it works!

When Phainon brings up their personal duel or spar, whichever it was, finally, finally Mydei caves and engages in the conversation with him:

Which prompts Phainon to laugh (in relief? lol) and flat out crow about how he's finally cracked the code and figured out how to get Mydei to notice him:

Poor Mydei, however, did not seem to realize his slight display of interest was going to lead him into a full conversation, and he responds to Phainon's blatant invitation to keep talking with a confused:

Witness Mydei accidentally turning down Phainon's request for a date in real time.

The only thing that complicates the situation is what Phainon says late in the memory: that they've battled "all this time." However, looking at his earlier comments, this last statement may just be in a general sense, as in "two Chrysos Heirs who have been fighting the titans for years," especially as the rest of the line "How do you train? Would you consider teaching me?" once again indicates a lack of close familiarity.

(It's also possible this line is just poorly translated in English, and was actually meant to refer to their legendary ten-day-long duel: "We battled all that time, yet I never saw you fatigued." Given the rest of the lines in the memory, I think "dodgy translation" honestly makes the most sense here, and would also just have really funny implications: Phainon and Mydei didn't fall in love at first sight; they fell in comically-long-duel at first sight. Okay, maybe for Phainon it was both.)

Phainon's earlier statements in the memory make it clear that he isn't very experienced with fighting Mydei specifically, with the overall implication of the dialogue being that they've just had their first duel against each other recently:

So anyway, where I am going with all this?

I know a lot of people got distracted by Phainon's (accidental?) pass at Mydei in the first line, but I think taking a step back and looking at the scene as a whole, in context, makes it even more hilarious and off-the-cuff:

Phainon and Mydei aren't well-acquainted in this scene.

Phainon literally walked up on a guy he barely knows and the first words that fell out of his mouth were "Dan Nicky your bobbies." "I would know that body anywhere."

Even Mydei was weirded out at first!

Like, Phainon has absolute foot-in-mouth syndrome around his new "friend." He spends the whole conversation narrating his own attempts to communicate ("Ah, I see I am unwanted. Instead of leaving, I shall try another tactic. Is it working yet?" and "Yes, yes, yes, it worked!") like this is a remotely normal thing to do around a person you're not even close with yet.

You can see his puppy tail wagging. He wants to be friends with Mydei so bad.

He is actively making up excuses to try to get Mydei to spend time with him here--first the comment about "Yay, you're here!" at the baths like he expects them to bathe together, then the whole "Why don't we go somewhere and have a long conversation about the insights we gained from rolling around in the dirt together?" to finally just flat out asking Mydei to train with him.

It's so charmingly earnest, straightforward, and even a bit awkward that I think this scene is really under-rated by the fans. It's not just another example of Phainon commenting on Mydei's muscles--it's a glimpse into what they were like before they were close and just how much Phainon wanted to connect to Mydei, how willing he was to explore to discover exactly what Mydei would be interested in so that he could seize that common ground between them.

Really a masterclass in showing us fans characterization right on the cusp of changing, and for showcasing both Phainon's charming audacity and Mydei's surprisingly-reserved-around-strangers behavior.

And, since we know the future that memory-Phainon-and-Mydei are headed toward... we also know it worked! Mydei is smiling by the end of the conversation! He and Phainon are going to become vitriolic best buds--er, rivals--and Phainon is going to get all the spars he wants.

Persistence pays off!

[itsrlymine]

There is No "In Spite Of". It’s Because Of. 

“I get what I want no matter what the 3d shows me.” “I have my man in spite of what I’m seeing. Omg, did he just lick her ti-” “I don’t care what my bank account says, I have 3 trillion in it anyways.” .......

Do you realize that instead of looking at the 3d and rationalizing what you are seeing, you can just decide it instead?? When I started this page, I didn’t say “oh well even though I have 5 followers, I actually have 1200.” NO! I said b*tch I have damn near 5k kiss my ass Tumblr notifications and look at that, I do. The 3d shows you what you say she does. Stop trying to be friends and put that b*tch her in the place tf!!!! If everything is what you say it is, then say what you need to say and know it’s true now. Stop being an attention seeking wh*re and continually asking the 3d to change bc she won’t listen to you! She’s gonna hear your miserable tears and give you more shit to cry about unless you decide you are crying about how you just got the most fire pipe/pus in the world! I’m so serious. Turn that inner frown upside down so you can turn your outer world around.  This is simple and if you want to argue it’s not, you can’t be shocked you experience that. Notice how you don’t need evidence of negative things to occur before you decide on whether or not they will happen. So why is it now the opposite for what you do want? You are the one providing evidence to yourself about whether or not something will occur, not the other way around. Who you say you are dictates what is around you. At this very moment,  you can say “I’m living my best life with my partner and I’m rich asf and I have a fatass house….” And the only thing that would make that not true is whether or not you choose to argue that. Yup. It’s that simple. Decide what you are seeing. Decide what the 3d is showing you because the 3d is you. Decide. Decide. Decide.  I’m not saying to ignore your feelings or emotions, though they don’t control the outcome. I’m saying that even if you are physically feeling something, change the meaning internally. It works every time.

You can literally sit and not drive a car for an entire month and a half and decide one day you are going to start driving again. Before you get in, are you questioning yourself on whether or not you can still do it??? If before the break you knew yourself to be an excellent driver, why would one month of not doing so shake your foundation? Some people never forget how to do things because they decide they can never forget. Everything is you. If everything is now, then you’ve already done it. You’re never “out of practice,” never “starting over,” because nothing was ever lost in the first place.  There is no time working against you. It’s just you vs. you. Your perception of everything and relation to it. If you’re thinking something outside of you is outside of you, how can you be shocked you can’t reach it? When you truly know something is done, you don’t stress about it or have to take deep breaths to “regulate” your nervous system. You just know. So before you opened your window to see the sun in the morning, even as you saw sun rays or the light from the sun but not the sun itself, did you have to meditate on the fact that “omg yes, let me breathe and just remind myself that I will see the sun bc it has to show up and I am gonna see it and it’s gonna be—“ NO YOU DIDN’T. YOU JUST KNEW AND OPENED THE DAMN WINDOW. JUST KNOW AND OPEN YOUR MIND’S EYE TO THAT WHICH YOU WANT TO EXPERIENCE DAMN. How is anybody still asking if things are possible when that’s the reason way they exist? Possibilities exist because you do. You give everything life. Feeding old stories about why this and why that happened just resurrects zombies of your “past” that you don’t want to deal with so stop doing that. Stop trying to justify the 3d or accept crumbs when you should just accept yourself and the story you are telling because that is the ultimate truth. What you see, say or think inwardly IS what projects outwardly so what the fuck is going on within you? 

[hoonquette]

behind closed doors, lee heeseung.

【 what you and your former rival do when you're alone 】 f ! r 𓈒 fluff college au suggestive + 680wc ── incl. mini makeout skinship unproofread writing.

you stand with your arms crossed, watching as heeseung locks the door to the club room before he turns to face you. his smile is bright, like he's just won the lottery or some other grand prize.

he steps close to you, his hands finding their place on your waist, "hi." he licks his lips, studying your face.

you hum in response, wrapping your own arms around his shoulders.

if someone had told you a month ago that you'd be hiding away in an abandoned room just to spend time with lee heeseung, you would have sent them to a psych ward for even thinking that that could be possible.

he's made your life impossible since you've started college— every little thing had turned into a competition with him and most of your conversations were short and full of less-than-playful banter.

and yet, here you are, your two bodies swaying while you take comfort in each other's presence for once. heeseung's hands slip under you shirt, causing you to shiver from the sheer coldness of his touch.

the tension is palpable— you haven't been able to be alone with heeseung for over three weeks, it was really starting to get to you— and the circles that he's rubbing against your skin is making it harder for you to resist him.

when he leans down, you feel yourself rising as well, brushing you lips against his. but one thing about heeseung is that he's cruel.

he doesn't close the gap nor does he allow you to. instead he whispers, "did you miss me that much?"

"i did."

he blinks, obviously surprised at your immediate admission, but he lets out a laugh after his intial shock.

"i missed you too. i—"

people can call you impatient, you really don't care, but you are not about to let heeseung go on some tangent when you need to kiss him now.

you push yourself up, pulling him down simultaneously. you press your lips against his, eye fluttering shut as you tangle your fingers in his hair.

almost instantly, he deepens the kiss, pulling you closer than what should be humanly possible. he nips at your bottom lip, licking at the spot when you let out a sound of discomfort.

heeseung is the kind of kisser than leaves a person breathless and wanting more. it's so easy to get addicted to him, to lose yourself in his touch. and you almost do, but you remember where you are and what you're supposed to be doing in ten minutes.

when you pull away, he chases after you, a small pout on his glossy lips. you catch your breath before addressing him.

"why'd you stop?" he brings his hand up to your face, smiling when you lean into his touch.

"because— i have class soon."

"you can skip."

"i can't," you could and heeseung is definitely convincing you with the soft kisses he's placing all over your face. when he reaches tries to give you an actual kiss, you giggle and push him away, "hee, seriously."

"i thought you missed me," he mutters against your lips, "stay with me."

the way that he's looking at you has you mentally falling to your knees in a flustered state. he looks at you like you hung the stars and it's damaging to your ego. you cannot let yourself fall for it, you have to go to class.

"please? i haven't seen you in weeks, baby."

and you instantly fold, letting out a sigh of resignation. unfortunately, there is nobody on earth who could deny heeseung when he pleads. his pouty face immediately brightens up and he brings you into a tight hug, his nose pressed against the crook of your neck. it's moments like these that you forget why you thought heeseung was a cold man— if anything he's the complete opposite.

he's handsome, he's caring, he's funny, and he's yours. despite the fact that he still annoys you to no end, you love the time you spend with him, even if you're doing it in secret for now.

ADRiANNA 🦷 i hate kissing but Okay i need 2 practice kiss scenes so sorry if this is awks and not good 😊

[purlturtle]

And this can look like so many things.

standing/parking in the way of things so that cops have to go around you. Can also come with a side order of loud, obnoxious Karen-ing: "why are you doing this? where is your warrant? who's in charge here?" (this can also give the targeted people time to get away!)

as an airplane passenger: refuse to sit down in your plane seat; the plane cannot start if someone is standing, and they can't force you to sit down. This has happened before.

taking out your camera to film what's going on.

cheering on, supporting, standing with the person taking a stand. This is often worth more than you know. It will boost the protester's morale, and encourage others to stand with you as well.

leveraging your procedural knowledge to prevent things, or to slow things the fuck down and mire them in red tape.

suddenly being very sick and/or otherwise unable to do the job that's being asked of you. Especially if the police/whoever the hell they are cannot produce a warrant telling you to comply.

and probably countless other ways.

Think about these possibilities in advance, consider if you feel up to taking them. Yes, this is dangerous, and if you decide the danger (being in turn arrested or subjected to cop violence, losing your job etc.) is too big, then at least you have made an informed decision. Maybe there are other ways you can help!

When you think about them in advance, you lower the chances of freezing in the moment, or going along with authority (something we are conditioned to do). The more precisely you have it in your head that "if X happens, I will do Y", the better your chances when X does happen.

This isn’t what I usually write about, but I think it’s important.

[hy6erion]

Hii! I know I just send in an another request but this idea also popped into my mind and I feel like you could write it quite well so I didn't want to send it to someone else.

Viktor×reader, where readers way of expressing their love and care is by taking care of people and trying to help as much as possible to make life easier for everyone they care about (opening doors, making food, helping a friend study, all the small and big things). I think viktor would struggle to accept that reader cares for him and isn't just babying him. Him slowly realising that he can ask for help not only when it's absolutely necessary but also just when he wants help because it would be easier. But then also getting stuck with the feeling of the reader being so caring for everyone. Love confession or something? Idk

Sorry for sending two requests in a row, take your time please.

~🍒

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐞 - 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✰⍣..𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩- 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞.

⇢ 𝐧𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐠𝐧! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭

𝐢 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 (╥╯^╰╥)

Viktor was used to doing things alone. It wasn’t a matter of pride—at least, not entirely. It was habit. Necessity. He had learned early on that asking for help often led to disappointment, so he learned to manage on his own. He had learned to be independent, to push forward no matter the difficulty, to adjust his grip on his cane and keep moving even when his leg ached and the weight of exhaustion pressed against his skull.

That was why he struggled with you. Because you—without hesitation, without expectation—made his life easier.

It started small, things he could brush off. You holding open doors when you walked ahead of him, waiting just long enough so he wouldn’t have to catch the handle himself. You adjusting his chair in the lab before he sat down, subtle, like you hadn’t even thought about it. You bringing him tea when you got your own, setting it down beside him without a word.

But it wasn’t just him.

You did it for everyone. Helping Jayce reorganize his disaster of a desk when you noticed him getting frustrated. Bringing Claggor coffee when he was pulling an all-nighter. Tutoring some first-years when you saw them struggling with equations you could solve in seconds.

You were thoughtful in a way that seemed effortless, as if your care for others was woven into your very being.

And it unsettled him. Because the more he noticed it, the harder it became to ignore.

He had spent years learning to work through pain, through difficulty, through exhaustion. He only ever asked for help when there was no other option. And yet, with you, help was simply given—before he could even think to ask.

And worse than that, you didn’t just do it because of his leg, or because you pitied him. You did it because you cared.

That realization was the most difficult thing of all.

The lab was quiet save for the occasional scratch of pen on paper and the rhythmic tap of Viktor’s cane against the floor as he moved back and forth between his desk and the chalkboard. He was immersed in his work, half-formed calculations filling the margins of his notebook.

Until—

“Viktor.” Your voice, warm and familiar, pulled him from his thoughts. He looked up just as you placed a plate of food beside him.

He frowned. “I didn’t ask for—”

“I know.” You shrugged. “But you haven’t eaten all day, and I was making something for myself anyway. Figured you’d appreciate not starving.”

Viktor’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” you repeated easily. “But I wanted to.”

That should have been the end of it. You turned to leave, already heading back to your own work, but Viktor’s grip tightened around his pen.

“…You do this for everyone.”

You paused, glancing over your shoulder. “What?”

“This,” he gestured vaguely at the plate, at the general atmosphere of you. “You help everyone. You—” He exhaled sharply, frustration edging his voice. “You don’t have to keep looking after me.”

You blinked, head tilting slightly. “I don’t have to. I want to.”

Viktor shook his head. “You should not waste your time worrying about me. I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can,” you said, more firmly this time. You took a step closer, crossing your arms. “But just because you can do something alone doesn’t mean you have to.”

Viktor opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure how to respond to that. He had spent so long believing he was only allowed help when it was absolutely necessary. When he physically could not continue without it.

But you—you were offering it simply because you cared.

And he didn’t know what to do with that.

It took time.

At first, he tried to resist. If he needed something from a high shelf, he would stretch for it. If his leg ached after hours of standing, he would grit his teeth and bear it. If his hands trembled from exhaustion, he would steady them himself.

But you were there.

Not pushing, not forcing—just there. And it became harder to ignore the fact that things were simply easier when he let you help.

The first time he asked for something—really asked, not because he had no other choice but because he wanted to—it was almost painful.

“Could you… hand me that book?”

You didn’t comment on the hesitation in his voice, didn’t make a big deal of it. You just passed him the book and went back to your work, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

And maybe, for you, it was.

So he tried.

He let you carry an extra cup of tea back to the table when he saw you holding two. He let you adjust the strap of his bag when it had slipped. He let you—just once—walk beside him at his pace without feeling the need to keep up.

And then one day, without thinking, he said, “Could you help me with this equation?”

And you did. No hesitation. No expectation. Just a simple, of course.

And he realized—he liked it.

He liked knowing that there was someone who cared enough to notice when he needed something. He liked the ease of it, the weight lifting from his shoulders.

But then— Then he caught himself watching you help others. Not just him. Everyone.

He told himself it didn’t matter. That it was simply who you were.

But the next time you reached out to help Jayce with something, something hot and tight twisted in his chest.

“Do you—” He hesitated, words feeling foreign in his mouth. “Do you care for everyone the way you care for me?”

You looked at him then, truly looked, as if you were searching for something beneath his carefully neutral expression.

“No.” Your voice was quiet, but certain.

His breath caught.

You took a step closer. “I care about a lot of people. But you—” A small, almost nervous smile played at your lips. “You are different.”

Viktor swallowed. He had spent so long avoiding the truth that it almost knocked the air from his lungs.

You cared for him. Not because you pitied him. Not because you saw him as weak.

But because you wanted to.

Because you loved him.

And suddenly, he was laughing—soft, breathless, incredulous.

Because maybe—just maybe—he loved you too.

[crescenthistory]

would you pretty please do "you can't fool me" with sirius? maybe he had a nightmare? please?

only because you asked so nicely<33

✶・•・��・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

i will ARGUE for prompt 1 "you can't fool me" with sirius black

carina's 2k celebration

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

cw: implied past trauma, post-nightmare, established relationship

wc: 809

Sirius' breathing was always different after a nightmare.

He didn't hyperventilate like one might expect he would, he didn't gasp for breath like his lungs were too small. Instead, he breathed in shortly, acutely, through his teeth and not enough, as if he was rationing air. Small breaths that rattled him more than they should as he did his best to remain entirely still.

You, James and Remus gave him grief as often as possible about how unruly he would be in his sleep now, arms and legs everywhere, but you knew that was a good thing. A learnt thing. A matter of safety.

It was when Sirius reverted back to his old ways and became still as a statue that you knew he was aching. It pained you to see – and now that you've gotten used to him taking up space, it was his stillness that woke you above all else.

"Siri? Baby?"

His back was to you, on the very edge of the bed despite there being a large amount of space for him to bask in. You could see his ribs moving rhythmically, shaking but quick and with too long in between. 

He didn't respond, but his shoulders tensed, informing you he had heard you. It was as if you could hear his thoughts in your own head, begging you, willing you to go back to sleep.

I’m alright, doll. Please fall asleep again.

You were not one for carrying out disservices to the man you love. 

Gently as to not startle him, but loudly enough to not sneak up on him, you sat up in the bed, letting the duvet pool around your stomach. You shimmied over to him so you sat with your thigh pressed to his back and a hand resting on his stomach, looking down onto the side of his face. 

Sirius’ eyes were pressed shut, skin wrinkling from the force of it. The ragged, controlled breathing continued.

“My lovely boy,” you whispered, barely a sound. Your hand dragged up and down his side in the way you knew usually helps. Just enough force to ground him. 

Sirius made a sound you think was supposed to be a dismissive huff, but his vocal chords were too tense and lungs too empty for it to become more than a quiet grunt. You sunk further down beside him, propped up on your elbow as you carefully carded your fingers through his dark curls, wild and matted with sleep.

“I’m alright,” he eventually forced out, voice hoarse. His eyes were still squeezed shut, body still turned away from you – but he was leaning into the touch of your hands, the first step. 

“You can’t fool me, love.”

No judgements, no harshness. You just tried to be a soft figure for him to fall into when ready.

Sirius’ lips tugged up into a small sad smile. They were still twitching somewhat, as if protesting him asserting control over his body again after fear’s coup d'État, but the smile remained. 

“I know.” He leaned back into your chest, turning his head ever so slightly so he could open his eyes into tiny slits and look at your sleep-riddled face. “I still try.”

You welcomed his gaze with a much more assured, wide smile. You dared drop your chin the few centimetres to press a kiss to his forehead as you hummed in confirmation. “You can keep trying if you’d like, but I won’t go away.”

Your last words seemed to strike a chord as Sirius hand shot from being tucked beneath his body to find your own. “Please don’t,” he said, hurried while quiet. “Never. That’s not what I actually want.”

Maintaining your calm energy, you kept pressing kisses around his face. “I won’t, I promise. I won’t. I know what you want and need. I can see it on you, sweetheart. Even if you were to ask me, I wouldn’t leave.” 

Sirius’ eyes were wide open now, round as ever. He blinked one more time before finally heaving a huge sigh, his lungs seemingly crying from relief. Your fingers dutifully stayed in his hair as he turned around to face you, body naturally curling up against your own.

“You’re too good to me.” He whispered in greeting, burying his face into your bare neck. “Too good.” His words were slurred by the twitching of his lips and now the closeness to his skin, but you felt them in their entirety.

It was odd how Sirius seemed to always mould perfectly against you, a harmonious presence even in his troubledness. 

“Not too good,” you murmured into his hair. “Just trying to be good enough.”

Sirius pulled back a little to gaze fondly up at you. “Now who’s fooling who?”

When you kissed him with your smile, you could feel him breathing a bit more normally against you.

[revelboo]

Immensely down bad for Sides and Sun. Both at the same time. Purely carnal.

They can share

Can’t Finish What You Started Pt 13

Sunstreaker x Reader, Sideswipe x Reader

• Sketching while the twins play what you’ve decided is indeterminable rules space chess, you’d given up on trying to figure out the rules hours ago. The pieces all look the same to you, but some move one way, some move like drunks on a ship at rough seas. But they’re both quietly trash talking each other as they play, the tone companionable. “Do humans bond for life?” Sideswipe asks suddenly, head turning toward you and your hand stills. What had made him ask that?

• Glaring at Sides, Sunstreaker vents softly and moves his piece. “Kind of, I guess?” You say, attention dropping back to your sketchbook as you fiddle with a bit of charcoal. “Some people fall in love and stay with the same person for life. Some just fool around. Why?” Fool around? Sideswipe is ignoring his warning look, staring at you. Wished he’d drop it, but knows that look on his twin’s face. Whatever this game is, he’s going to see it through.

• “So you guys frag for fun then?” He asks, sitting up from when he’d sprawled on his berth. Because this is much more entertaining. ‘Frag?’ You echo and he grins. “Interface.” Can’t stop thinking about those noises you’d made when Sunny had rubbed your back. And your expression is still blank as Sunny punches him in the shoulder in warning. Like those sounds hadn’t stirred him up too. “Coupling? Mating?” There it is, you face reddening. That one you understand.

• “Some people do.” Why is he asking about this now? Trying to understand how Sideswipe thinks is pretty much impossible, though. He seems to just do whatever he wants when he wants and worries about the consequences never. You’re pretty sure you should be concerned about his sudden interest in the human sex life, though. Hoping he’s not about to ask about babies or something. What possible interest could a giant, alien robot have in sex, though? Maybe it’s a sort of horrified curiosity? It’s probably messy and gross to him.

• “Do you?” Sides asks and Sunstreaker growls his name in warning. Because he’s remembering that stupid announcement Megatron had made about not fragging the wildlife. “Because I’d be up for some mutual stress relief,” Sideswipe adds and your mouth opens and closes, expression blank. Growling Sunstreaker puts his face in his hands. Hears your weak little ‘I’m sorry, what?’ And it’s not like he isn’t curious, but who just asks like that? No romance, no coaxing, just ‘let’s frag.’ Primus.

Previous

[tangents-within-tangents]

Like fr to everyone talking about headcanons/AUs/"having fun" in the notes: the word you are looking for is REinterpretation. Not to go webster or anything but

-Interpret: explain the meaning of information, words, or actions. (explain, expound, clarify)

-Misinterpret: interpret something or someone wrongly. (misunderstand, misconstrue, mistake)

-Reinterpret: interpret something in a new or different light.

It seems in fandom spaces the word interpretation is often used at times when what they actually mean is reinterpretation (or sometimes just reaction or impression, ex: your opinion of a character is subjective and valid, but that's not the same as an interpretation).

If your "interpretation" is completely divorced from or contradicts the text, it's not an interpretation anymore. It's a reinterpretation. A reimagining. And yeah you can totally have your fun, go off! Just don't act like it IS an interpretation. Because valid interpretations come with supporting evidence, which is the whole point of the og post.

I think this bit from OP's other reblog describes it best:

this is one way it gets messy that fandom is a space for both media analysis and transformative works even though those two things don’t always co-exist comfortably or necessarily serve each other.

This is the crux. Both happen in fandom because both are a form of engaging with a work that you appreciate. But one literally relies upon analyzing what IS presented in the text, and the other upon reinventing and transforming that text (and headcanon sometimes straddles this line in between). So the important thing is recognizing the distinctions and not mixing them up. And it goes both ways:

-“He would never act that way” we know, it’s an intentional recharacterization bc we're exploring something different right now

-“But he's just a poor meow meow” not relevant right now because we're analyzing how the writing actually portrayed him

Textual evidence doesn't matter when we're just having fun and making incorrect quote memes, and headcanons don't matter when we're analyzing thematic content. The distinction helps us to have more productive conversations. And crossing the streams can sometimes take us to harmful or frustrating extremes.

To borrow an example from Rowan Ellis: You relate to a Taylor Swift song and feel seen in your queer identity? That's great, no one can stop you from experiencing the song that way even if Taylor didn't intend it. But if you turn that around and say this is proof that Taylor herself must be secretly queer, or worse that she's somehow queerbaiting? Please stop!

Another example: Someone once pulled the "we're just having fun, you can scroll past" card on me when they were straight up bashing the writing for not going the way they wanted. Please, have your fun, I won't stop you. Write a fix-it au where your blorbo comes back to life. Vive la fanfic! But when you say "the writers should have done [random specific thing] if they wanted me to believe he was truly dead" whilst blatantly misinterpreting the thing the writers did do to confirm it so it can fit into your theories/denial? That's not 'just having fun' anymore, that's flawed/unfair criticism and I'mma push back on it. (I didn't actually, just for the record)

Headcanons by definition are not canon, and I think you'll find most people are totally fine with you having whatever headcanons you want, so long as you don't start claiming that they are canon or that your way is the only way. That's where people have a problem.

But even headcanons that don't contradict canon, that could fit into ambiguous gaps where canon did not confirm or deny the possibility either way, are still headcanons. They aren't presented in the text itself and therefore not useful to analysis and criticism.

And I think this is where the distinction can feel blurry at times. Because some headcanoning is based on evidence from the source material. So some may think it's the same as media analysis, but I'd call it extrapolation rather than interpretation. It uses canon evidence in more of a imaginative/conspiracy theory/inspiration to bounce off type of way. Especially since fanon is often about filling in gaps.

Fanon focuses on the story, and treats it almost as if it and the characters are living. But media analysis relies upon treating it as media. On recognizing it was written by a person who made choices and used literary devices and elements intentionally to convey meaning (even if we can debate on what that meaning is).

Subtext is not just whatever you want to project onto a story. Subtext is an actual literary device. Meaning that is intentionally implied by the author because you shouldn't spell everything out and it's important to let the readers participate. It's what the characters aren't saying but the author is.

Unreliable narrator is also a literary device, that is intentionally crafted and indicated throughout the whole text. It's the author saying something through the character saying the opposite. It's not an excuse to ignore whatever you want to ignore of what the narrator says.

Characters aren't people and they don't actually make any choices. Everything they do, everything they are, was written and crafted by the author.

(In short, when I analyze character arcs or critique writing choices, I'd love for the discussion I get to point out things I may have overlooked or misinterpreted. Not for it to just shove in a bunch of irrelevant headcanons, character personifications, and Watsonian explanations that have nothing to do with my arguments.)

Fanon is very open-world concept (and open multiverse lol), but analysis is about looking at what the author did give you, what they chose to include or not and what it is meant to show us.

Writing is about crafting an iceberg that implies a keel under the water. Therefore analysis is about studying the iceberg to try to interpret that keel. And fanon is about exploring the whole ocean. And transformative work is about idk cutting off chunks and making ice sculptures.

All of them are very cool and fun in their own right but I think we can see how they can definitely clash and get in each other's way.

Not “Only my reading of canon is correct” or “Interpretations are subjective and all valid” but a secret third thing, “More than one interpretation can be valid but there’s a reason your English teacher had you cite quotes and examples in your papers, you have to have a strong argument that your interpretation is actually supported by the text or it is just wrong and I’m fine with telling you it’s wrong, actually.”

[gpcwsl]

Alessia Russo x Reader

- Extra Clingy -

MasterList

Warnings: kissing?

WC: 1.5k

Last one for the day. More tomorrow.

You wake up to the soft glow of sunlight streaming through the curtains, but it isn’t the warmth of the sun that stirs you from your sleep—it’s her. Alessia.

Her arms are wrapped tightly around you, legs tangled with yours as if she’s trying to keep you from escaping. Her breath is warm against your neck, and you feel the featherlight press of her lips against your shoulder.

“Morning,” she murmurs, voice husky and thick with sleep.

“Morning,” you reply softly, turning your head to meet her gaze. Her blue eyes are drowsy yet sparkling, a lazy grin spreading across her face.

Without warning, Alessia shifts closer, burying her face in the crook of your neck. Her lips press a series of kisses to your skin—your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder, the soft spot just below your ear.

“You’re so warm,” she mumbles, her voice muffled against your skin.

“You’re extra clingy today,�� you tease, though you’re far from complaining.

“I don’t want to move,” she admits, her arms tightening around you. “I just want to stay here with you forever.”

Her lips find their way to your jaw, placing slow, deliberate kisses as if memorizing every inch of you. Then she pulls back slightly, her hand cupping your cheek. “Kiss me,” she whispers, her eyes locked on yours.

You don’t hesitate. You lean in, pressing your lips to hers in a tender, lingering kiss. Alessia sighs against your mouth, her fingers slipping into your hair as she deepens the kiss.

When you pull away, she pouts, her lips soft and slightly swollen. “More,” she pleads, her voice barely above a whisper.

You can’t help but smile. “How many kisses do you need this morning?”

“As many as you’ll give me,” she replies, her grin turning playful.

You spend the next several minutes indulging her, her lips brushing against yours again and again. She’s insatiable, her kisses growing more fervent, her hands wandering to hold your face, your waist, anywhere she can touch.

Eventually, she pulls back just enough to rest her forehead against yours. “You know I love you, right?” she murmurs, her breath warm against your lips.

“Yeah,” you whisper back, your heart swelling. “I love you too.”

She smiles at that, her eyes shining as she presses one last kiss to your forehead. “Good. Now let’s stay here all day.”You chuckle softly, brushing a strand of hair away from Alessia’s face. “Stay here all day? What about breakfast? Or, you know, getting dressed?”

She grins mischievously, her arms still locked firmly around you. “Breakfast can wait. Clothes are overrated. All I want right now is you.”

Her words send a pleasant warmth spreading through your chest, and her gaze holds yours with an intensity that makes it hard to argue. She tucks her head back against your chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin.

“I like mornings like this,” she says quietly, her voice almost dreamy. “When it’s just us, no training, no schedules, no rushing around. Just you and me.”

You tilt her chin up gently so you can look at her properly. “You’re such a softie, you know that?”

“Only for you,” she replies with a wink, leaning up to press a quick kiss to your lips.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the kind that feels safe and full rather than awkward. Alessia shifts slightly, resting her chin on your chest, her fingers drumming lightly against your arm. You can tell she’s thinking about something, and you give her the space to sort through it.

Eventually, she speaks. “You make me feel… grounded,” she admits softly. “Like, no matter what’s happening out there—good or bad—I always have this. You. Us.”

Her vulnerability takes you by surprise, and you feel your heart ache in the best possible way. You reach down, intertwining your fingers with hers. “You’ll always have me, Lessi. No matter what.”

She smiles, but there’s a flicker of something deeper in her expression—relief, gratitude, love. She squeezes your hand gently and sits up just enough to kiss your temple.

“Alright, you win,” she says suddenly, her tone lightening as a cheeky smile spreads across her face. “Breakfast sounds good. But only if you promise not to leave my side for too long.”

You laugh, nudging her playfully. “You’re hopeless.”

“Hopelessly in love,” she counters, flashing you a grin as she finally untangles herself from you, albeit reluctantly. She stretches, her golden hair catching the morning light, before turning to you with an outstretched hand.

“C’mon,” she says, her voice full of warmth. “Let’s make pancakes. Together.”

You take her hand, letting her pull you up. As you head to the kitchen, Alessia doesn’t let go of your hand, and every so often, she steals another kiss—on your cheek, your temple, even your shoulder as you work side by side.

The morning stretches on, and it’s everything she said it would be: no rushing, no distractions, just the two of you. And for the first time in a long time, you feel like the rest of the world can wait.

The kitchen is filled with the comforting sounds of morning: the sizzle of batter hitting the pan, Alessia’s soft hums as she flips a pancake with surprising grace, and your shared laughter over her attempt to make a perfectly round one—which somehow ends up looking like a heart.

“Look at that,” she says, holding up the heart-shaped pancake proudly. “It’s a sign. Meant to be.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “It’s a coincidence, Lessi.”

“Uh-uh,” she protests, placing the pancake on a plate and turning to you with a teasing smile. “Don’t ruin the romance, babe. It’s love, right here. Breakfast love.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you start cutting up some fruit to add to the stack. Alessia leans against the counter next to you, watching you with a soft expression. When you glance at her, she doesn’t look away.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” she says, but her voice carries that gentle, adoring tone she always gets when she’s completely lost in her feelings for you. “I just like watching you. You’re… you’re perfect.”

You pause, your cheeks warming. Alessia is never shy about voicing how she feels, but every time she says something like that, it catches you off guard.

“Perfect?” you echo, smirking slightly. “That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

“Not even close,” she replies, stepping closer to wrap her arms around your waist. “It’s the truth. And I think you’re just going to have to accept that I’m obsessed with you.”

Her lips brush against your temple, lingering there as she whispers, “Obsessed.”

You lean back into her embrace, tilting your head slightly to meet her gaze. “Fine. But only if I get to be obsessed with you, too.”

Her grin is immediate, wide and boyish, the kind that makes her look completely and utterly in love. “Deal.”

The pancakes and fruit are quickly forgotten as she turns you around in her arms, pulling you into a kiss that’s far too passionate for the middle of breakfast preparations. Her hands settle at your waist, her lips moving against yours with a tenderness that melts you from the inside out.

When you finally pull away, breathless and giggling, Alessia presses her forehead to yours, her hands still holding you close. “You’re my favorite person, you know that?”

“Better be,” you tease, poking her side gently. “Otherwise, all this clinginess would be suspicious.”

She laughs, her nose scrunching adorably, before stealing another quick kiss. “Alright, let’s eat before I forget food exists and just keep kissing you all day.”

The two of you settle at the small dining table, plates piled high with pancakes and fruit, syrup drizzled generously over everything. It’s simple, but it feels perfect. You spend the meal laughing, teasing, and stealing bites from each other’s plates, completely wrapped up in your little bubble of love and comfort.

After breakfast, Alessia insists on cleaning up, though her version of tidying involves dancing around the kitchen with a dish towel in hand, dramatically lip-syncing to the music playing softly in the background. You can’t help but laugh as you watch her spin and twirl, her energy infectious.

“Come on,” she urges, holding out her hand to you. “Dance with me.”

“I think I’ll pass,” you say, though you’re already smiling.

“Nope,” she says, grabbing your hand and pulling you into her orbit. “No passing. Mandatory fun.”

You let her guide you into an impromptu slow dance, her hands finding your waist as yours settle on her shoulders. She sways with you, her eyes never leaving yours, her smile soft and sweet.

“You make everything better,” she murmurs after a moment, her voice quiet but filled with sincerity. “Even doing the dishes.”

You lean in, brushing your lips against hers in a kiss that feels like a promise. “I’m not going anywhere, Lessi.”

She smiles against your lips, her hold on you tightening slightly. “Good,” she whispers. “Because I’m not done being obsessed with you yet.”

And for the rest of the day, that’s exactly how it feels—like the world outside doesn’t exist, like the only thing that matters is the two of you, wrapped up in each other’s love and laughter.

[berfgrimm]

745 | choi seunghyun (t.o.p) x reader

pairing: choi seunghyun (t.o.p) x f!reader

warnings: smut, oral, humping, dirty talk, name calling, a little bit of roleplay (kind of?)

note: i hit a wall with what i’ve been writing so i thought trying something new would help get some things out of my system. it’s a quick one, but i hope you all enjoy!

———————

“What do you think?” Seunghyun asks, watching you press your hand to his chest, your fingers gently tracing the skull on his bomber jacket. “Does it look good?” he asks, almost too innocently, and you chuckle, thinking if he only knew what you had on your mind.

“Mhm,” you mutter. “Really good.” You gently shove him backward so he is sitting on the sofa now, peering up at you with an surprised yet amused look on his face. “When are you wearing this?”

“Tomorrow, in Osaka.” You nod slowly, bunching your skirt around your thighs and pulling your panties down your legs so they pool at your feet. “What are you doing?” he asks, eyes darting over your body. You choose not to respond, but straddle his thigh instead, letting out a gentle groan at the feeling of his pants pressing to your bare skin. “Babe,” he mutters, running one hand through his hair while the other rests on your hip. “What are you...?”

“I want to sit on your lap,” you whisper, pressing your hand to his chest as you slowly grind yourself against his thigh. The rough feeling of his pants generating friction with your slickness as you move, getting you even wetter than you thought possible.

“Fuck,” he breathes, guiding your body to keep grinding. “You need me this bad, hm?”

“Tell me that I’m a good girl,” you plead, your hand fisting his jacket so you can pull yourself a little closer to him.

“Have you been good enough for me to call you that?” Seunghyun always knows how to tease you even while you’re teasing him. He makes you feel like you’re going crazy with desire for him without even trying.

“No, I’ve been bad,” you reply. He hums thoughtfully, something that quickly turns into a sharp intake of breath when your leg that sits between his thighs finally presses to his crotch. “Don’t tell my boyfriend,” you whimper. For a moment, Seunghyun doesn’t catch on, a look of confusion plastered on his face because he’s your boyfriend — until he realizes you want to play.

“Tell me,” he rasps, staring into your eyes. “How bad have you been?”

“I sucked my boyfriend’s dick in the middle of a movie theater last month,” you whisper, licking your lips; Seunghyun grins, clearly reliving the moment between the two of you. “Then the next week, I let him use a remote controlled vibrator on me when we went to dinner with his friends.”

“Hmm, now that is very naughty,” he says, his voice steady and deep. “What’s the dirtiest thing you’ve done?” You bite your lip, trying to mask the knowing smirk that begins to spread across your face. Seunghyun notices this look and grabs your thighs with both hands, maneuvering you so that you are now straddling his lap entirely. As soon as your heat presses to him, feeling his erection through his pants, you let out a small whimper. “Tell me, baby,” he whispers, fingers curling around your hips. “And maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

“At the beginning of the year,” you start, rolling your hips against him. “My boyfriend was on tour for a few months and I didn’t get to see him...so I bought some really slutty lingerie...and FaceTimed him while I fucked myself with the toys he bought me.”

“Mmm, tell me something you haven’t told your boyfriend,” he whispers, his eyes heavy with desire but his face still composed. “I’ll bet you’ve done something that you’re too scared to tell him.”

“I watched some videos of him on stage and I touched myself,” you admit, your voice weak as the coil begins to tighten in your stomach. “I told him I wouldn’t do it if he wasn’t around, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“You love to touch yourself when he’s not around,” Seunghyun breathes, shaking his head. “Did you forget...when you visited your boyfriend, and he was busy with rehearsals...so you fingered yourself in his hotel room because you were too horny to wait?” Your face flushes and you place your hands on his shoulders, grinding down harder against him. “What happened after that?” Seunghyun asks, eyes glued to your lips. “Hmm?”

“You…” All breath escapes you for a moment as you feel yourself dripping onto Seunghyun’s lap at the memory. “He showed up,” you gasp.

“And you were moaning like a slut, isn’t that right?” Seunghyun asks, helping you grind faster, able to see how close to the edge you are. “Putting on a show for me?”

“Yes,” you breathe. You tighten your legs around his body, moving faster and harder, desperate for your release. “Fuck, I’m gonna come,” you groan, pressing your face against his neck.

“All over my lap?” he whispers, kissing your head. “You’re right: you are really fucking bad.” You gasp and whimper, movements becoming far too sloppy to have rhythm; you slow, unable to keep your pace. “Oh, baby,” he mutters. “Do you need me to finish you off?”

“Please,” you whine, clinging to Seunghyun as you struggle to keep grinding on him. You hear a chuckle rumble in his chest — he’s always amused by the way you beg for him.

“Listen to you,” he whispers. “Always so good for me...no matter what. My good girl.”

Without warning, Seunghyun pushes you from his lap so you are on your back on the sofa. He quickly moves to kneel on the floor between your legs, keeping eye contact with you as he presses his mouth to your clit. With a sharp intake of breath, you thread your fingers through Seunghyun’s hair, keeping him close as he toys with your clit.

“Fuck,” you gasp, as Seunghyun slides two fingers inside of you. He hooks his arm under your thigh and hoists your leg over his shoulder. “I’m so close…” He hums against you, thrusting his fingers deeper and faster, his tongue relentless in its torture.

Your release hits you in a slow wave, flowing through your whole body until you can feel it in your fingertips. You don’t bother covering your mouth to silence your moans, because you know Seunghyun loves to know how good he makes you feel, and he doesn’t care who else hears it. With your hands on the back of his head, you grind against his face, his moans vibrating against you until he works out everything you have to give him.

“Jesus Christ,” you rasp, relaxing against the sofa and releasing your grip on your boyfriend. “We should really try roleplaying as strangers one day.”

“Yeah, that was hot,” Seunghyun says with a smirk, licking his lips and fingers clean. “What made you get so turned on to begin with?”

“I don’t know,” you pant. “You looked so sexy…I couldn’t help myself.” He stands to his feet again, looking down at the crotch of his pants to see the dampness that you left there. It would make you blush if you didn’t see how hard he is from what you did.

“Hmm, you definitely know how to make a mess,” he mutters. You sit up from the sofa and take hold of his hips, pulling you to stand between your thighs. Giving him a sultry look from under your eyelashes, you begin to slowly unbuckle his belt.

“Let me clean you up,” you whisper, unbuttoning his pants.

“You’re such a good girl.”

[andy-15-07]

Under the Mexican Sun

request sent by @lloydmustache:Pedro x reader, dating for almost a year. They're spending their first Christmas in Mexico with their friends, keeping their relationship as private as possible; yet they get spotted by a few fans once one of their friends posted on Instagram how cheesey Pedro is around her.

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 964 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

A/N:Hi, I know this fic is a bit late and I apologize but the request was sent recently, I hope you like it

The warm, salty breeze of the Mexican coastline greeted you as you stepped off the plane, your hand instinctively finding Pedro’s. Almost a year of dating, and this was your first Christmas together—a milestone you both cherished, even if you were trying to keep it under wraps.

“You sure they won’t post anything?” you teased, glancing at Pedro as he pulled his cap lower over his eyes, trying to stay incognito.

“I’ll bribe them with tequila if I have to,” he chuckled, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “But seriously, they know the drill.”

Your friends had been sworn to secrecy. The plan was simple: a low-key holiday with close friends, no paparazzi, no public declarations. But you both knew that secrecy and Pedro didn’t always mix well.

The rented beach house was everything you could have hoped for—spacious, with large windows that let in the golden light of the setting sun. The sound of waves crashing nearby became the perfect soundtrack to your holiday escape.

“This place is perfect,” you sighed, dropping your bags and stretching out on the couch.

Pedro flopped down beside you, pulling you into his arms. “Almost as perfect as you,” he murmured against your hair, making you laugh.

The days blended into a beautiful, sun-soaked rhythm. Mornings were spent lounging in hammocks, afternoons exploring local markets, and evenings filled with laughter, music, and just the right amount of tequila. Pedro was effortlessly charming, his usual wit and warmth amplified by the relaxed atmosphere.

But it was the little things that gave him away. The way his eyes followed you when you weren’t looking, the soft touches that lingered longer than they should have if you were "just friends." Your friends noticed, of course—how could they not?

One evening, as you sat around a bonfire on the beach, your friend Maria snapped a candid photo. You were leaning into Pedro, both of you laughing at something he’d whispered in your ear. It was innocent enough, or so you thought.

“Don’t post that,” Pedro warned, pointing a playful finger at Maria.

“Relax, it’s just for us,” she grinned, but the mischievous glint in her eyes said otherwise.

The next morning, you woke to your phone buzzing incessantly. Groggy, you reached over Pedro to grab it, your heart sinking as you saw the flood of notifications.

“Babe,” you whispered, nudging him awake. “I think we’ve been outed.”

Pedro groaned, rolling over to squint at your screen. There it was—Maria’s Instagram story. A quick, blurry video of Pedro wrapping his arms around you, nuzzling into your neck as you laughed. The caption read: When Pedro Pascal turns into a total cheeseball around her.

“Maria,” Pedro muttered, sitting up and raking a hand through his hair. “She’s buying all the drinks tonight.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as the anxiety bubbled in your chest. “It’s kind of cute, though. Look at all these comments… they love us.”

“They love you,” he corrected, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Guess there’s no hiding now.”

Later that day, as you strolled through a local market, you felt the first pair of eyes on you. Then another. Whispers followed, and soon enough, a brave fan approached.

“Pedro? Oh my God, can we get a picture?”

Pedro glanced at you, his expression softening. “Only if she’s in it too,” he said, pulling you closer.

The floodgates opened after that. Photos, autographs, and well-wishes from fans who were more excited about your relationship than you could have imagined. And while it wasn’t the private holiday you’d planned, it was perfect in its own way.

That night, back at the beach house, Pedro pulled you onto the balcony, the ocean shimmering under the moonlight.

“I know this isn’t how we planned it,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours, “but I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Me neither,” you smiled, your heart full.

And as he kissed you, the world faded away—just you, Pedro, and the love that no amount of secrecy could hide.

The next morning, you and Pedro decided to embrace the newfound attention with humor. Over breakfast, Maria sheepishly slid into her seat, avoiding Pedro’s mock stern gaze.

“So,” he began, dramatically clearing his throat, “about that Instagram story...”

Maria raised her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! I’ll admit it—I couldn’t resist. You two were just too cute.”

“You’re lucky we love you,” you teased, nudging her playfully.

“Drinks are on me tonight,” she promised, grinning. “Consider it an early Christmas gift.”

That evening, your group ventured out to a local beachfront bar. The atmosphere was lively, filled with music, laughter, and the rhythmic crashing of waves. Pedro kept his arm around you, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your shoulder, a silent declaration of his affection.

As the night wore on, more fans approached—each interaction was met with Pedro’s signature charm and warmth. He introduced you with pride, never shying away from showing how much you meant to him.

“You know,” he whispered in your ear as you danced under the stars, “I think I like being your public boyfriend.”

You laughed, resting your head against his chest. “Good, because I’m not letting you go.”

The final night of your trip arrived too quickly. As you packed, Pedro pulled you aside, his eyes serious but filled with love.

“This year with you has been the best of my life,” he said softly, cupping your face in his hands. “I can’t wait to see what’s next for us.”

“Me neither,” you whispered, your heart swelling with emotion.

As you boarded the plane back home, hand in hand, you knew that no matter where life took you—whether in the spotlight or in quiet, stolen moments—you and Pedro were in it together, for all the Christmases to come.

[crazy-pages]

@thefirsthogokage Also that's just not true.

According to this study, 71% of people surveyed who were "abusing" ADHD meds in college actually tested symptomatic for ADHD (and the true number was likely higher, the tests are very conservative).

Also ADHD med use is actually counterassociated with addiction to and harms from dangerous substances, likely because so many people with unmedicated ADHD turn to actually dangerous stimulants to approximate treatment.

The pills are also not addictive at ADHD dosages. They're not even harmful if you suddenly go off them, beyond the consequences of suddenly being unmedicated for ADHD. You are literally advised to skip a dose every once in a while to avoid building up a tolerance (which is not the same thing as an addiction). They can sometimes increase your blood pressure, but the list of medications which can do that is longer than my vascular system laid end to end. My favorite licorice tea is literally worse for that than my ADHD medication.

They also apparently have an extremely unpleasant high when overdosed in pill form (I've seen survey research describing it as "a jittery buzz that won't let you go to sleep and doesn't even give you more energy"). They can hypothetically be ground up and snorted for an intense and dangerous high, and I'm sure somehow has done that, but I've never been able to find any population level research which so much as mentions the practice in non-prescription users.

Also it's not like there isn't a long list of non regulated substances which will give you an intense and dangerous high if crushed and snorted.

So seriously, what is the actual danger? This is an honest invitation. I've worked through all the research I can find on the subject, and even the most negative research explicitly funded by anti-drug programs and with a serious bias against drug users doesn't actually mention any harms! The closest they will mention is the potential for addiction addiction, but I've never actually seen evidence in the literature of people being addicted to ADHD medication, in the sense of physiological and psychological symptoms that negatively affect their life. The closest I have ever seen has been college students using it to put off sleep to study, and if you think that's a sufficient harm to regulate a substance, I have some serious news for you about caffeine on college campuses.

I am the kind of pedantic nerd around medication who reads the full pharmacist booklet for my allergy meds. I did my research before going on ADHD meds, because I had heard all of the scary stories about them. But I literally could not find any actual research supporting it. Only stuff citing the hypothetical possibility of addiction because it's stimulant. It's not without potential side effects, and I would much rather people speak with a pharmacist about it before using it for the same reason people should do so for any medication with potential side effects. But that's a problem caused by the overly strict regulation, not prevented by it.

wild how we have a medication that is super effective at treating a debilitating disability but its controlled to hell and back because What If Someone Takes It For Fun like i have an idea who gives a shit

[captain-huggy-bear]

comforting Quinn after one the awful games the canucks have had as of late

Oh he's had a rough time of it lately our Captain but I do feel like we're on the way up! Winning streak here we come! Fingers crossed, anyway!

The way Quinn storms into the apartment is the first sign that he's taking this run of bad luck hard, that this most recent loss has finally caused him to snap. The door is slammed open, slammed shut, his shoes are practically thrown off, he's stomping around like the entire world is against him. The way he pulls open the fridge is so harsh the door creaks.

All it takes is one little thing, the way a red pepper falls out of the fridge and rolls across the floor when Quinn's going to get something for dinner, for him to lose it a little.

"It's fucking bullshit!" You're watching silently from the couch, the way his shoulders heave, tense, so tense all the muscles in his back are pulled taunt, the way his head falls onto the fridge door, how his hands clench into fists, unclench, and clench again.

Quinn's not an angry person, he's not a yeller or a fighter. He's calm, collected, but sometimes it's all too much. You know he's not yelling about the pepper. He's yelling because this recent loss in a string of losses is the last straw, because he's fed up of carrying his team, because he's fed up of the disappointed fans, the stress of potential trades, all the bullshit and drama when he just wants to play good hockey.

There's not really any words that can help, you know that, so you don't say anything. You just pad across from the living area into the kitchen on quiet feet and slide your arms around his waist from behind. Your cheek presses into the middle of his back while you press as close to him as possible.

At first he seems to tense more and you consider pulling back, maybe this isn't what he needs right now and that's okay. But, when you start to loosen your grip Quinn's shoulders slump, tension leaving even as he grips your arms around his waist and pulls you back tight against him, like the thought of you walking away is too much.

"I love you, y'know? Even if things aren't going well, that's not going to change..." It's the only thing you can think to say as Quinn's forehead rests against the close fridge door, as you mould yourself to his back in an effort to provide some sense of support, some sense of belonging.

You've never seen Quinn cry, but this changes it all. Maybe it's the reassurance, maybe the love in your voice or just the fact that he feels like a failure of a captain, like he can't bring his own team together into a cohesive unit. Whatever it is, he cries in front of you for the first time, shoulders shaking silently as he sniffles and tries to wipe the tears away frantically before you can see them.

"This is so fucking stupid," You know he's talking about crying over the losses and you hate that he thinks it's stupid because it's not. His words are what have you turning him around so that you can see his face, the way his green eyes are red rimmed and water, the wet tracks that run over his cheeks.

"Quinn...it's not stupid. You're allowed to be upset. To be angry. You work so hard for this team...I get it, it feels like it's not paying off...not going your way..." You cup his face in your hands, his short beard scratching your palms as your fingers brush away some of the wetness on his cheeks, brushing away at each new tear that trickles out against his wishes, wetting his long lashes. "I don't know when it'll get better, when the wins will come in, but they will. You work so hard, it'll happen...you just gotta keep holding on a little longer,"

"Fuck..." His forehead falls against yours, leaning down as he moves into you, it's like he's trying to take some of your strength and you wish you could give him it all. Wish you could take every ounce of frustration, anger and sadness he was feeling and weather the storm for him.

His braced hand comes to your waist and you're careful when you put your hand over top of it, but it's intentional as you start the conversation you've been avoiding for weeks.

"You need to start looking after yourself more first. Starting with not playing with this hand until it's better." The way he looks down at you says it all, that he hates the idea, but you know better. Each day his hand isn't getting better, each game he's more worn down. He's going to break himself in two, he's going to cause permanent damage if he's not careful.

"But..."

"But?"

"We'll lose if I don't play...or lose worse anyway," the last bit muttered under his breath with derision, at the fact that even when he's on the ice the wins aren't coming...and when he's not? Oh, it's a whole lot worse.

"Maybe you need to have more faith in them, the guys are good...yeah, you're amazing, you're the best player on that team, but maybe you need to trust that they'll pull through for you? Maybe they need to feel like you can rely on them." Your hands slip from his cheeks, arms sliding to wrap around his neck gently, chest to chest, feet bumping against each other as you sway in the kitchen.

"I just...I don't want to sit out." You know Quinn doesn't. The idea of not playing hockey is like a nightmare to him, but you also know that makes him a bad judge of his own health, his own tolerance, when to quit. Sometimes he needs a reminder.

"I know you don't, baby...you live and breathe hockey...but I'm scared," The look he gives you is startled, like Quinn couldn't comprehend that his behaviour had any impact on you, his arms tightening around your waist as if that might protect you from your own feelings, "I'm scared you're going to permanently hurt yourself, Quinn...please, just...take some time off games."

There's a long pause where Quinn watches you, as if he's trying to figure out if you're truly scared for his wellbeing. Whatever he must see must confirm it for him, that you're worried about him, because as he slides his hands up your spine in a gentle, soothing caress, he agrees.

"Okay."

"Thank you..." You really do mean it. You're worried about him, day and night, but especially whenever he picks up a stick at the moment. Always waiting for the call that tells you he's done something permanent, hurt something beyond repair.

"I love hockey...but I love you more, baby." He hates the idea of sitting out on games, but he hates the idea of you worrying more, of the fear in your eyes at the prospect he's not resting properly, hurting himself more. If taking a few games off will make you feel better? He can do it...the team can't get much worse at the moment anyway.

[miniwheat77]

Lies. (Captain Price x Reader.)

!SHORT FIC, nsfw, smut, price being a meanie, p in v sex, unprotected sex, pregnancy, MINORS DNI!

“Why don’t you have any kids Cap?” Ghost asks.

“Ah, old man’s been shooting blanks since his 20’s.” Gaz smirks. “Christ Garrick.” Price rolls his eyes. “He’s not wrong but.. I’m unable to have kids.” He sighs. “I’m sorry to hear.”

“It’s alright. After I broke up with my high school sweetheart, I didn’t want any.” He laughs. “Why not?”

“Terrible break up, didn’t want to go through it again.” He sighs. “Understandable.”

That's also what he told you when the two of you got too drunk at the bar. The entire task force had gone out drinking. Those are the words he whispered into your ear when you whined about him finishing inside of you.

Neither of you know how it happened, too much to drink. Shared glances. It led the both of you to being in the pub bathroom. Luckily the music was loud enough to conceal the sound of the two of you in the bathroom. You shouldn't have trusted him about it, but he was your Captain after all. You trusted him with your life.

He had a death grip in your hair, your face pressed up against the wall as he hammered his hips into yours. “Wait- you don’t have a condom on Captain.” You hiss. “I can’t have kids, just trust me.” He growls.

“Fuck!” You hiss. Tightening around him.

———

A few weeks later, you're approaching him. You've got the stick behind your back.

"Y/N? What can I do for you?" He asks. The two of you hadn't spoken about what happened that night. You'd kept it to yourselves and returned the professional relationship the two of you shared before.

“Just had a question. Are… are you sure you can’t have kids?” You’re standing in front of his desk. He's looking at his laptop on the other side. “Yeah. Why?”

“You’re completely sure?” You swallow hard.

“Yeah, the girlfriend I had in my 20’s made me get tested, opened the envelope herself.”

“Hm..” you mumble. “What’s going on?” He asks.

“I think she faked your results sir.”

“What? Why do you say that?” He puts his pen down, finally looking at you. “Because. You’re the only person I’ve slept with and I’m very pregnant.” You raise the pregnancy test. He freezes up. “What? Y/N… that’s not possible.” He sighs. “It clearly is. I haven’t slept with anyone else.”

He shakes his head. “Y/N. I don’t know why you’d lie about this. But it’s very out of character.” He sighs. Your eyes widen, you can't believe him. "You're joking. I'm not lying about this."

He shakes his head. "Excuse yourself from my office please." He sighs.

You can't believe this.

———

It's a few weeks later.

John decides to confide in Gaz about it. He talks to him about how he thinks it's best you're removed from his base and relieved of your duties on the task force, seeing as you're pregnant. Gaz approaches you and knocks at your door.

You answer it, seeing the look on his face.

"What's going on Gaz?" You ask.

He sighs. Pushing past you. "He... he told me about what happened. He sent me here to... tell you that he's taking you off the base."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"No.. sorry Y/N." He mumbles.

"Okay. Whatever. Nothing I can do to change it."

"Is it really his?" He asks. You look at him, bewildered that he'd even ask that. "Yes. It's his. I haven't been with anyone else in years, you know that Gaz. We were drunk and..." You trail off with a groan. "I can't believe him." You sit down on your bed. "Could always prove it to him with DNA." He shrugs. "I guess so but obviously he doesn't want this so I guess I'll figure things out on my own. Thanks for stopping by Gaz. How long?" You ask.

"He said he's starting the paperwork today. A month at most." He nods.

You turn your back to him and he feels bad. He doesn't know what to believe.

———

A couple weeks later, John is in the grocery store.

“John?”

He turns to look at her, he hasn’t seen her in years. Not since they’d split up in his 20’s.

“I almost didn’t recognize you.” She smiles. “Oh. Hey.” He nods.

“Still in the military I see.” She smiles. “Uh.. yep. Captain now.”

“Married? In a relationship?” She asks. “Oh uh.. it’s complicated.” He laughs. “Really.” She smiles. “I figured you’d be married with kids by now.” She laughs. He freezes. “Uh.. yeah."

Kids? Why would she say kids?

"I actually had a question I’ve been waiting to ask.” He throws the box of granola bars into his cart. “Did you fake that paperwork all those years ago?”

She laughs. “I did. Yes. I wasn’t ready for kids and didn’t know how to tell you.” She laughs. “You.. did know that. Right?”

“Yeah, course I did. I’ve got a baby on the way.” He mumbles. “On the way? Jesus.” She laughs. “Late.”

He nods. “Yeah. Very late.” He laughs. “I’ve.. I’ve actually got to get going.” He turns away. Leaving the cart behind.

He has a fucking baby on the way.

She thinks it’s weird, but John was always secretive.

When John is out of her sight, he’s in a full sprint to get to his truck.

He reaches the base, surprised by the fact that he doesn’t get pulled over on the way with how fast he’s going.

He gets inside, hurrying down hallways. Nearly running right into Gaz. "Captain? What's going on?" He asks. He takes a deep breath. Wiping his face. "I'm an idiot, that's what. I just ran into my ex-girlfriend and she told me she faked those results all those years ago and that fucking baby is mine. Do you know where Y/N is?" he asks. He's out of breath. "I think she's just getting ready to leave, Captain. Better hurry." He smiles. He watches him rush down the hallway to your room. A story he didn't expect he'd ever tell between the two of you.

He should knock but forgets completely, barging right into your room. A gasp leaves your lips and you scramble to cover yourself. “Shit! I- sorry.” He should cover his eyes but doesn't. Shutting the door behind himself. “Christ John! What are you doing?” You throw a shirt over your head, but not before John sees it. Your growing baby bump.

He feels like such an ass.

“Y/N…” he sighs. Before you even have a chance to put pants on, he’s closing the gap between you. He grasps your hand, forcing you back into the bed behind you. You sit down on the edge and he drops right to a knee. He kisses the back of your hand. “I owe you… the biggest apology.” He sighs. “What? What’s going on?” You try to stand but he doesn’t let you. “I.. I found out that she did fake it. That.. I can have kids.”

He clenches his eyes shut, holding your hand to his face. “And I am so sorry for how I’ve treated you.” He breathes.

You don't know what to say. You just look down to where he's got your hands. You still don't have pants on.

"You should be sorry." You breathe. "I'm leaving tonight, thanks for the apology."

"You can't leave. Not yet."

"You signed that paperwork. You can't take it back now."

He shakes his head. "Yes I can." He stands.

"Why would you? You don't want this." You look up at him.

"This is my fault. I'm the one who..."

You look up at him, a sly smile on your lips. "Who what?"

You cross your arms. He raises his eyebrows. Surprised smile on his face. "Oh it's like that?" He laughs. "I'm the one who told you I couldn't have kids and came inside you."

"Yeah. I trusted you and you treated me like shit and called me a liar. You were gonna take me off your base."

"I swear I thought you were lying, I believed her when I shouldn't have. That fucking... snake." He sits down next to you. Pulling you into him. "I'm sorry darling. I am so fucking sorry." He sighs. You rest your head on his shoulder. "I'll forgive you but you better make it up to me." You roll your eyes. He laughs. "Anything you want doll. Swear on it."

"For now uh.. can I put pants on?"

He laughs harder than he should. "Yes. You have my permission to put pants on."

You punch his shoulder playfully. "I know exactly what I want, too."

"Yeah, what's that?"

———

"This is really what you wanted?" Gaz looks at you, leaning forward from the middle seat where he sits in the back.

You look happy as a clam in the passenger seat of your Captains truck. Mouth full of fries.

"Mhm."

You've got a McDonalds bag in your lap, having convinced John to take the entire task force to get McDonalds.

"Christ you're adorable." Gaz laughs.

"Maybe he should get her pregnant more often, since we get stuff out of it." Soap laughs. He's holding a burger in the back seat next to Gaz and Ghost. Gaz sits between the two of them. "Agreed." Ghost laughs. He's got his mask pulled up just enough to eat his food.

John rolls his eyes in the drivers seat. "Christ. Didn't even need to physically be able to have kids to have them."

He raises his own fries to his mouth. Each of you laughing.

———

“Oh. Hey again John.” She smiles. It’s the same store, a different isle this time. He glances at you, seeing you approach. “Oh um.. is this… your niece?” She asks. “No. This is Y/N. My wife.”

Her eyes nearly bulge out of her head. “Jesus.. didn’t realize you liked them so young John.” She laughs. “This her?” You side eye her while looking at him. He nods his head. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She laughs nervously.

“Oh.. nothing. He just mentioned something about a woman he’d had a past with. Something really fucked up she did where she told him he couldn’t have kids and he believed it for the longest time. Is.. is that really you?” You scoff. “I.. I mean I’ve done some fucked up things but that… that takes the cake.” You laugh. “I.. I was young and stupid-“

“Yeah. I mean. I have to thank you, it really worked out. I mean. John can really lay it down.” You cross your arms with a smirk.

“He has kids you know.” She mumbles. “Yeah. With me. And he’s a great dad.” You smirk. Stepping to the side. She can see your little girl sitting up in the cart. She’s chewing fiercely at her dad’s jacket. “Well.. congratulations. I have to get going.” She turns away.

He smiles. He liked seeing your aggressive side.

The both of you make your way up to check out, pushing your daughter in the cart.

"You alright?" You ask him. "Mhm." He sighs. Wrapping a hand around your lower back, tugging you closer to him.

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard for that." He growls into your ear.

"Jesus!" You laugh.