#(I��M JUST HAVING UNRELATED THOUGHTS DON’T MIND ME)

[joelsrose]

Burning Desire

warnings: 18+ content !!!!! dirty talk, handjob, m! receiving oral - eeeeek I don’t write smut that often bc I’m not sure if I’m the best at it so if you enjoy pls let me know!!!

my masterlist

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It was hot—too hot in Jackson. The type of heat that clung to the air like a second skin, so heavy and unrelenting that even the faintest whisper of wind brought no relief. It was the kind of hot that seeped into the walls, turning your home into a suffocating box, the kind that made sweat gather in the crook of your neck and slide down your spine.

“Fuck this,” you muttered, wrestling with the old fan. Its blades gave a weak, uneven groan, the sound of a machine long past its prime. It sputtered for a moment before giving up entirely, leaving you alone to suffer in the still, sweltering air.

The ventilation system had been out for three days now. At first, you told yourself it was fine, no big deal. You’d lived through worse before you came to Jackson.

By the second day, you were over it. The sweat, the restless nights, the way the heat sucked the energy from your bones. You’d tried everything—propping open the windows, draping wet cloths over your forehead—but nothing seemed to help. The thought of another day like this was enough to make you want to scream.

You sighed, swiping at the bead of sweat that clung stubbornly to your forehead. The thick, humid air inside your house had grown unbearable, pushing you out the door and into the blistering sun. The heat wrapped around you like a smothering blanket, the kind that didn’t just sit on your skin but burrowed deep into your bones, pounding relentlessly on every inch of exposed flesh.

You made your way down the dirt path to Tommy’s house, your irritation building with each sluggish step. By the time you reached their porch, you were half-ready to tear the door off its hinges. Before you could knock, Maria opened it, greeting you with a sly smile.

“Well, hello there,” she said, leaning casually against the doorframe.

“Not now, Maria,” you muttered, brushing past her playful tone. “Where’s your husband?”

Maria chuckled knowingly, folding her arms. “Your ventilation still down? I told you, you could stay here.”

“And listen to you guys have sex every night? No, thanks.” You shot her a dry look before stepping inside and calling out, “Tommy!”

The sound of boots against wood echoed from another room, followed by a gruff, familiar voice. “Christ, what’s goin’ on here?” Tommy appeared in the doorway, brows raised, his eyes sweeping over you. “And why do you look like you just ran through a damn sprinkler?”

You glared at him, swiping at the sweat-soaked neckline of your shirt. “Because it’s a hundred degrees in my house, Tommy. And because someone”—your tone sharpened, the implication clear—“hasn’t come by to fix it.”

Tommy sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, his expression one of mild exasperation. “Alright, alright. Let me grab my tools before you melt all over Maria’s floor.”

“Baby,” Maria interjected, her voice lilting with amusement. “You got that thing?”

Tommy froze for half a second, his hand moving from his neck to scratch the edge of his jaw. “Oh… fuck,” he murmured under his breath, his posture stiffening in that telltale way that said something had slipped his mind.

Your brows shot up, arms crossing as you stared him down. “Tommy, I swear to God,” you started, your tone sharp and cracking with heat-induced frustration, “I’m not even being dramatic right now, but if this thing isn’t fixed by the end of the day, I legitimately might shoot someone.”

Tommy chuckled, low and easy, as though the idea of you snapping didn’t rattle him in the slightest. “Well, we can’t have that,” he drawled, his hands settling on his hips in that casually smug way that always made you want to throttle him. “Alright, I’ll send Joel over this afternoon. He’s free.”

He was already moving toward the front door before the words fully registered. “Wait—what?” you blurted, following after him. “Joel?”

“Yeah, Joel. You’ve met him, right?” Tommy glanced back over his shoulder, his tone as nonchalant as if he’d just told you the weather. “Big guy, mean face?”

You had, in fact, met Joel. A handful of times since he’d arrived last month. To be honest, you were still trying to figure him out. He was brusque, gruff, and always seemed to have this permanent scowl etched into his features. To this day, you couldn’t quite wrap your head around the fact that he and Tommy were brothers. They were so different—Tommy with his easy charm and constant smirk, Joel with his sharp eyes and the kind of silence that always felt a little heavy, like it might snap at any moment. Then again, you didn’t know Joel. Not the way you knew Tommy.

“Fine,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as you turned back toward the porch. “As long as it’s fixed.”

You didn’t wait for a response, stepping back into the searing heat. Behind you, Maria’s voice rang out in mock cheer, “Nice to see you too!”

Without turning, you threw a hand in the air, flipping her off as you walked away. Her laugh followed you, light and teasing, and somehow, despite the heat, it managed to make you smile.

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You lay sprawled on the bench of your front porch, eyes closed against the bright glare of the sun, lazily fanning yourself. The heat inside your house had been unbearable, so you’d come outside, hoping for even the slightest breeze to ease your suffering. But the air was still, and the heat clung to you no matter where you went.

You’d resorted to wearing your tiniest pair of shorts and a worn-out singlet, an outfit you wouldn’t dream of being seen in beyond the safety of your porch. But right now, the mere thought of adding another layer felt like cruel and unusual punishment.

The creak of the gate and the sound of heavy boots on the porch’s wooden planks barely registered in your haze. Then came a cough—a quiet, gravelly sound that snapped your eyes open.

Standing there, broad shoulders framed by the relentless sun, was Joel. You blinked, suddenly unsure if it was the heat making you lightheaded or… something else. Had he always been this handsome? The sharp set of his jaw, the flecks of silver in his beard that caught the light, the way his shirt stretched over arms that looked like they could build or break anything in their path. You’d noticed him before, sure, but not like this—not when he was standing so close, with his presence so solid and consuming.

“Uh… Tommy sent me over,” Joel said, his low voice breaking through your trance. He stood there awkwardly, one hand resting on his hip, the other rubbing the back of his neck. His gaze swept over you briefly before landing somewhere just past your shoulder, as though he was deliberately trying not to look at you too closely.

“Oh. Right. Shit, sorry.” You scrambled to sit up, brushing at your shorts like that would somehow make this less mortifying. For some reason—maybe the heat, maybe pure instinct—you extended your hand toward him. A handshake. Really? What were you, a fucking realtor?

Joel’s brows knit together in confusion, but he took your hand anyway, his grip firm but hesitant. His rough, calloused palm dwarfed yours, his skin warm and textured in a way that made your stomach flip. You prayed he couldn’t feel how clammy your own hand was, though judging by the flicker of something on his face—amusement, maybe?—he definitely noticed.

“Uh,” you stammered, withdrawing your hand too quickly, as though it had been burned. “Thanks for coming over.”

Joel gave a slow nod, his gaze finally meeting yours. “No problem,” he said simply.

You cleared your throat, trying to swallow the warmth rising in your face—not from the sun but from the way Joel’s presence seemed to pull at something inside you. “Well… follow me,” you murmured, stepping past him to open the door, your voice barely above a whisper.

He gave a curt nod, his boots echoing softly against the wooden planks as he followed you inside. The air in the house was stifling, thick and oppressive, but Joel didn’t seem fazed. You led him through the narrow hallway toward the ventilation system, your fingers brushing over the walls for balance as you fought to ignore the weight of his gaze lingering on your back.

“This way,” you said, your voice tighter than you meant it to be.

When you reached the corner where the old, battered system sat, Joel was all business. He crouched down without a word, his hands moving with practiced precision as he inspected the unit. His brow furrowed in concentration, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he adjusted a panel.

You stood off to the side, arms crossed, trying not to stare too openly, but it was impossible not to notice the way the sweat on his neck glistened in the dim light, or the way his broad shoulders filled the space.

“Been runnin’ this thing into the ground, haven’t you?” Joel muttered, mostly to himself as he fiddled with the system. His tone was dry, almost amused, as though the sorry state of your ventilation wasn’t exactly surprising.

You shrugged, “I’m just a girl.”

At that, he paused, turning to look at you with a raised eyebrow, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and mild amusement.

It was distracting—how good he looked like this. The sun streaming through the window seemed to catch every rough-hewn line of his face, the sweat on his brow glinting faintly in the light. And then there was his shirt, the hem riding up as he reached for something in the toolbox, exposing a sliver of tan, muscular skin that made your stomach flip in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

You swallowed hard, tearing your gaze away as you crossed your arms over your chest, trying to play it cool. “So, uh…” you started, your voice coming out too soft. Clearing your throat, you tried again. “How’d you know how to do all this?”

Joel sighed, the sound low and almost weary, as though the answer wasn’t worth much to him. “Was in construction. Worked with Tommy.”

“Really?” you said, tilting your head as you watched him. “Guess that explains the whole ‘fix anything, grumble about it later’ vibe you’ve got going on.”

Joel paused for a moment, glancing at you over his shoulder. His brows furrowed, lips tugged into the faintest frown. “What the hell’re you talkin’ about?” he said, his voice low and gravelly, laced with genuine confusion.

Your face burned. You waved a hand in the air, trying to dismiss the awkwardness. “Nothing. Uh, I’ll be back,” you muttered, spinning on your heel before he could say anything else.

You escaped to the kitchen, gripping the edge of the counter as you tried to compose yourself. “Get it together, girl,” you muttered under your breath, taking a few deep, steadying breaths.

Spotting a pitcher of water on the counter, you grabbed a glass. Offer him water. Be normal. That’s not weird, you told yourself. Glass in hand, you walked back toward him, your heart thudding unreasonably loud in your chest.

“I got some water—” you started, but before you could finish your sentence, your foot caught on something—probably that damn rug you hadn’t straightened out. The glass slipped from your hand as you pitched forward, stumbling with an embarrassingly loud yelp.

The next few seconds blurred together. Joel turned just as you fell, his hands moving quickly to catch you. The glass hit the floor with a clatter, shattering everywhere.

“Jesus,” Joel muttered, his strong hands steadying you, one gripping your arm and the other braced on your waist. His eyes scanned you, his voice gruff but laced with concern. “You alright?”

You blinked up at him, your face inches from his. His hand was warm and solid on your waist, and the way he looked at you—stern, steady—made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with the fall. “Yeah,” you breathed, your voice a little too shaky. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… clumsy.”

Joel’s lips twitched, not quite a smile, but close. “That much’s obvious,” he said, his tone dry as he helped you straighten up. “Maybe let me get my own water next time.”

After what felt like forever, Joel finally let go, his hands dropping from your waist. You stumbled back, the heat of his touch lingering on your skin as you scrambled to the ground, muttering under your breath, “Fuck,” more to yourself than anyone else.

Your eyes darted to the shards of glass scattered across the floor. You reached out quickly, eager to clean up the mess and avoid any more embarrassment. But as your hand shot forward, Joel crouched down at the same time, his larger hand moving to grab the same piece of glass.

And that’s when it happened.

Your hand missed the glass entirely and landed firmly… on him. Right there.

Time froze, the air between you suddenly too thick to breathe, the moment stretching unbearably as you both registered what had just happened. Your heart slammed against your ribcage, panic and mortification washing over you in waves. But that wasn’t what truly hit you, what really sent your mind reeling. No, it was something else entirely.

He was hard.

Rock solid beneath your touch.

You gasped, your breath catching as your gaze snapped up to meet his. His expression was unreadable, his jaw clenched tight, and his chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. The tension between you was electric, crackling with something neither of you wanted to name.

Your shock quickly morphed into something deeper, a slow, smoldering heat coiling low in your stomach. Your lips parted, but no words came, your mind too overwhelmed to form a coherent thought. Joel cleared his throat abruptly, breaking the charged silence. He stood in one swift motion, his voice gruff and uneven as he muttered, “I’m gonna… get some water.”

You stayed there for a beat, still kneeling on the floor, the cool shards of glass forgotten in your hands. The room felt stifling, the tension from moments ago lingering in the air like smoke. But then you heard the faint clink of a glass in the kitchen, and before you could second-guess yourself, you stood and followed him.

When you stepped into the doorway, Joel’s back was to you, his broad shoulders pulling taut under the fabric of his shirt as he raised a glass of water to his lips. His head tilted back, exposing the thick column of his neck, and you felt that heat inside you flare, spreading through your limbs like wildfire.

He turned then, lowering the glass, his gaze meeting yours. His face was unreadable, but the tension in his jaw and the flicker in his eyes betrayed him. He didn’t say a word—didn’t have to. The charged silence between you said enough.

Your breath caught in your throat, and before you could think it through, you stepped forward. The air shifted as you sank to your knees in front of him, your fingers trembling as they reached for his belt. His breath hitched audibly, his body stiffening as he looked down at you.

“What are you doin’?” His voice was low, strained, but there was no mistaking the way his hands hovered at his sides, unsure whether to stop you—or help you.

You didn’t answer, your hands moving instinctively, your gaze locked on his as you worked the leather strap loose.

You yanked his jeans down in one swift motion, the fabric pooling around his ankles. His breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling as you knelt before him.

Just as your fingers moved to the waistband of his boxers, Joel’s hand shot out, gripping a fistful of your hair and pulling your head back, forcing your gaze up to meet his. The movement was firm, commanding, his expression shadowed and intense.

“The fuck are you doin’?” he growled.

You smiled up at him, unbothered, as though this were the simplest thing in the world. “Helping you,” you said, your voice soft but sure.

For a moment, he just stared at you, his jaw tight, his breath ragged. “Fuck,” Joel muttered under his breath, his grip loosening slightly, his eyes darkening. “You’re dirty, y’know that?”

“Go ahead, baby,” he murmured, releasing you.

You didn’t hesitate. Your fingers slipped under the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down in one smooth motion. His length sprang free, slapping against his abdomen, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet room. The sight of him made your breath hitch, heat pooling low in your stomach as your eyes traced every inch of him.

“Shit,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, your lips parting as your mouth watered at the sight.

Joel’s hand found your hair again, his grip firmer this time, guiding your gaze back to his face. “You gonna just stare, or you gonna show me what that smart mouth can do?” he drawled, his voice thick with tension.

You smiled as you began to lean into him.

“Wait,” Joel said, his voice rough and strained, stopping you just before your lips could meet his tip. You froze, looking up at him, the hunger in your eyes mirrored in his.

“Wanna taste you first,” he murmured, his words slow and deliberate, like a promise. “Before you’re all full of me.”

The heat in his voice sent a jolt straight to your core, leaving you breathless. Before you could even process what he meant, his hand tightened in your hair, pulling you to your feet with an almost desperate force.

His lips crashed against yours, feverish and unrelenting, his kiss filled with a raw, unspoken need. A muffled “mhmm” escaped your lips as your body melted against his, your hands bracing against his chest.

But your hand didn’t stay there for long. It slid back down, wrapping around his length as you began stroking him, slow and deliberate at first, before picking up the pace. The weight of him in your palm only made the ache inside you worse, and the quiet, guttural noise Joel let out against your lips sent a shiver down your spine.

“Fuck,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice deep and reverent, his forehead pressing to yours for a brief second. “Alright,” he said, his tone commanding now, his hands moving to your shoulders. “Back down.”

You didn’t hesitate, sinking to your knees once more, the hunger in his eyes making your pulse race.

Your mouth enveloped him slowly, your tongue working along his cock, tasting the salt of his skin. Joel’s breath hitched sharply, his hand moving to cradle your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as his other hand gripped the edge of the kitchen counter for balance.

“Fuckkk, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, his head tilting back slightly as his eyes fluttered shut for a moment.

Then his gaze snapped back down to you, and the sight of you looking up at him—lips wrapped around him, eyes wide and full of intent—made his jaw tighten. “Shit, you’re good at that,” he groaned, his tone full of awe and desperation.

You kept your pace steady, bobbing your head as your hands worked to cover the rest of him, your fingers curling around his base.

The heat in the room felt almost unbearable now, the sweat on your skin mingling with the faint stickiness of the floor beneath your knees. It hurt—your knees digging into the hardwood—but it didn’t matter. The sound of his breathing, the way his fingers tightened in your hair, made every discomfort worth it.

Joel’s free hand reached down, his thumb brushing a bead of sweat from your forehead, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the tension in his body. “So fuckin’ pretty,” he muttered, almost to himself, his voice rough and uneven.

You hummed in response, the vibration pulling a deep groan from him, his hips bucking slightly despite his effort to stay in control.

Joel’s hand tightened in your hair, gathering it into a makeshift grip as he began to move, his hips thrusting into your mouth with a newfound urgency. The pace was hard and fast, his rhythm rough, but the desperation in his movements only fueled the heat pooling in your core.

Your fingers clutched at his thighs, trying to ground yourself against the intensity of it all. The muscles under your hands were taut, flexing with every drive of his hips, and the sheer force of him overwhelmed you, pushing you closer to the edge of control. You gagged around him, your throat tightening as he hit the back of it, but instead of pulling away, you let out a muffled moan, spurring him on further.

“So fucking good for me,” Joel groaned, his voice raw and strained as he looked down at you. His hand stayed firm in your hair, guiding you as he took what he needed, his eyes burning with a mix of hunger and awe. “On the floor, like this… Jesus Christ.”

You freed one hand from his thigh, letting it slide down to cup his balls, your fingers massaging gently as you continued your rhythm. Joel’s breathing grew heavier, a sharp inhale escaping his lips as his head tipped back slightly.

“Shit, darlin’,” he groaned, his voice rough and strained, every word drenched in desperation. “Not gonna… not gonna last much longer.”

Abruptly, Joel pulled himself out, his breathing ragged as he looked down at you, his eyes dark and hungry “Where d’you want me, baby?” Joel asked again, his voice slower this time, almost a drawl, but it didn’t lack intensity.

His free hand brushed the side of your face, rough fingers tracing over your cheek like he had all the time in the world—though the look in his eyes told you he was on the brink of losing control.

You licked your lips, the salty taste of him still on your tongue, and let the words tumble out before you could second-guess yourself. “In my mouth,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, thick with arousal. “I want you in my mouth.”

“Yeah?” Joel breathed, his jaw tightening as his hips jerked forward instinctively. His thumb brushed across your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly, his dark eyes drinking you in.

You nodded eagerly, your breath hitching as the intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down your spine. The hunger between you was almost unbearable now, the air charged with a raw, unspoken need.

“Fuck,” Joel grunted, his voice strained as though he was barely holding himself together. His grip on your hair tightened, and his other hand braced against the counter for support. “Okay, baby. Go ahead.”

Without giving you time to respond, he thrust back into your mouth, his movements rougher now, his pace relentless.

His head tilted back, a low groan rumbling deep in his chest as he buried himself in the warmth of you, his hand tightening in your hair to hold you steady. You let him take control, your hands gripping his thighs for support as you worked in time with him, your mouth and tongue doing everything you could to draw him closer to the edge.

Joel’s breathing turned ragged, his body trembling slightly as he braced himself against the counter. “Fuck, baby,” he growled, his voice breaking. “So damn perfect. Can’t—fuck—can’t hold it much longer.”

His grip faltered for just a moment, his movements growing erratic as he chased his release. And then he was spilling into you, a string of low curses falling from his lips as he held you against him, his cum sitting heavy and warm in your mouth.

“Open your mouth,” Joel commanded, his voice rough and steady, his hand tightening in your hair to hold you in place. His tone left no room for hesitation, and you complied instantly, parting your lips and tilting your head slightly so he could see himself on painted all over your tongue.

“Shit,” Joel murmured, his eyes darkening as he looked down at you, his chest rising and falling with heavy, uneven breaths.

“Now swallow,” Joel commanded, his voice rough and full of authority, his grip on your hair firm as he watched you.

You swallowed instinctively, your throat working around the command as the taste of him lingered on your tongue. Your panties dampened at the sound of his deep groan and the way his chest heaved as he took in the sight of you.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice gravelly, a low growl rumbling from his throat as his hand moved to your face. His thumb wiped away a bead of his cum from the corner of your lip.

Without another word, Joel reached down, pulling his pants back up with a practiced ease, as if nothing had happened. His movements were calm, deliberate, his face unreadable as he fastened his belt.

You stayed on your knees, still dazed, your mind spinning from everything that had just transpired. The ache in your knees was nothing compared to the heat coursing through your body, leaving you breathless and utterly unmoored.

Joel glanced down at you, his expression softening for the briefest moment before he leaned down, his rough hands sliding beneath your arms to help you up.

Once you were on your feet, he straightened, rubbing the back of his neck with a sigh. “Now,” he muttered, his voice gruff, “let’s fix this damn thing.”

And just like that, he turned, moving back toward the broken ventilation system as if nothing had happened, leaving you standing in your kitchen, stunned.

Your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, your body still trembling, still achingly hot—for an entirely different reason now.

[veinpursuer]

WHERE’S MY FUKING CAPO

[127rkives]

uhhhh idk if anyone has discussed this before but... miguel likes to eat pussy from the back!!!

like idk, every once in a while, his brain goes brrrr and something short circuits. idk chalk it up to stress but it's more like some feral, animalistic urge. he can’t really explain it. it’s almost as if someone flips a switch, his mind goes blank except for the thought of needing to be with you, under you, in you. he has to stop whatever he’s doing and go find you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

and as soon as he makes it home to find you relaxed on the couch, he's flipping you over, contorting you face down ass up, and he’s nuzzling into your clothed pussy like a dog in fucking heat. when he’s finally spent just enough time shrouded in the scent of you, he's yanking your shorts off. he’s been at this for approximately 2 minutes but there's already a wet patch in the center of your panties. that sight makes his pupils dilate before going in for the kill. his claws come out to rip your panties to shreds right before he straight up nose dives into your pussy, and granted you can feel him, the action still catches you off guard enough for you to emit a loud gasp. it’s just too much too fast. “mig- ohhh!~”

“mmm... mmmf” miguel gets so much satisfaction from tasting you that he releases moans of his own. they would be bouncing around the room and intermingling with yours except right now he can't bring himself to pry his tongue from the slick walls of your cunt. 

“oh my gosh- miguel!”

hearing you raise your voice in alarm while saying his name is enough to make miguel pause for a second. you take the moment of reprieve to look over your shoulder— huffing and puffing— only to be stunned by miguel’s animalistic look. his curls are messily hanging near his eyes which are dark, yet spacey as if he’s on another planet. his lips are parted just enough to show a peek of his fangs as he breathes heavily through his mouth after suffocating himself with your pussy, and a gleaming mixture of his spit and your slick is smothered over half of his face and all the way down to his collarbone.

“m- miggy could you just give me a few seconds?” you ask. miguel tilts his head to the side and scoffs. a curt “no” is all you get before miguel locks his arms around your thighs to drag you back to his watering mouth. you don’t have claws like miguel but if you did the couch cushions would definitely be in shreds from the way you’re gripping them. 

the wet slurps of miguel’s tongue lapping at your cunt are soon paired with two of his thick fingers easily slipping in thanks to your arousal. he scissors them for a moment before adding a third. the speed he uses to pump them in and out and the feeling of his slightly calloused fingers against your gummy walls leaves you floating in the clouds. you’re brought crashing back down, however, when a deep groan from miguel sends sparks up your spine. soon enough you feel pressure building at the bottom of your stomach, only it doesn’t feel like it usually does. in a fit of panic you try to drag yourself out of miguel’s grip.

“ohhh my go- miggy!” it’s all you can do to let out little slurred calls of his name, but it doesn’t matter. miguel’s not stopping until he’s satisfied. your escape attempts are useless, but the wiggling is enough to piss him off.

“querida. don’t move so much. be good.” but you can’t be still. the tingly feeling in your tummy is growing and all you can do let out breathy moans as you thrash around in ecstacy.

“ahh- i can- can’t help it!”

all of your moving loosened miguel’s grip too much for his liking. in less than a second, he's yanking you back towards his mouth and hoisting your hips just high enough to wrap his lips around your cute little clit. 

one hard suck is all it takes before you’re squealing at the top of your lungs. a scream of “miguel!~” is the only thing leaving your lips while your vision goes white and your breathing stops for a second. miguel is unrelenting behind you, switching to messily swiping his thumb across your clit and shoving his tongue back into your pulsating cunt in an attempt to catch every last drop squirting in to his mouth. 

even when your arms give out beneath you and you faceplant into the couch miguel is still lapping at your outer lips like he’s been saved after being stranded in the desert for a year.

and like that, it’s like the switch in his brain flips again. he smooths his hands up and down your trembling thighs and scatters kisses in a path up your back to the nape of your neck. “you okay, cariño?” a weak “mhm” is all you can muster up as you turn your head to flash miguel a floaty smirk. he smiles and chuckles, recognizing the foggy look in your eyes. covered in a sheen of sweat and high off the feeling of him is just one of the times miguel thinks you look the most beautiful.

after ghosting his hands across your skin and giving you a few minutes to calm down, miguel goes to gently move you to his lap. he buries his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling all of you. with the little strength you have, you wiggle around in his lap attempting to get comfortable but something is in the way- 

“ohh~” miguel’s breath is hot on your neck as he groans into it. his fangs graze your skin, his hands grasp onto your hips for dear life and oh...

someone flipped the damn switch again...

[bodhrancomedy]

Chasing the Mists (Part 1) by Bodhrán M.

The seafolk had been coming for decades, but still no one could say why they chose to steal the people they did. Sometimes it seemed simple enough – all young men or all old women or children under five – but sometimes the only similarities of the captives were that all had brown eyes, or they took from every third house. Sometimes they swarmed up the beach in an unrelenting hoard, seizing and breaking and shrieking in delight. Sometimes it was done so silently, so neatly, that a man could wake in his bed to find the wife he’d clasped in his arms at nightfall gone as surely as snow in summer.

Every year it changed along with the seasons and the tactics, but two things were certain.

The seafolk came once a year and those they took were never seen again.

Odette – Ody – knew this just as everyone did. So did her mother as she trailed behind her, telling her daughter over and over as Ody purposefully restrung the little boat’s sails.

“Please, Ody. Please. No one comes back, you know that. Please just come back inside.”

Ody ignored her. The anger and sorrow and terror balled up in her chest was making her lightheaded and floaty, that core a steel anchor to her mind.

“It hurts, Ody. I know. I promise I know. We all know.”

It was true. Many of the villages up and down the coast would be grieving loved ones tonight – whether stolen or slain trying in vain to protect them.

“I lost your grandfather to them,” her mother was choking on her tears, fingers gripping the side of the boat until her scarred knuckles turned to white skulls, “my best friend, your sister… I don’t need to lose you too, Ody.”

Ody tested the rigging, the rope rough against her hands as she tugged.  

“What about your father? What about the twins? What about his mother?” At that her mother sucked in a ragged breath, swaying. “Ody, please listen to me!”

She did straighten at that, her heart stuck painfully in her windpipe. “He’d come for me, Mam.”

“Because you’re both young and foolish and in love.” Her mother reached out, pleadingly grasping Ody’s woolen sleeve.

The sleeve Locke had made. They’d spent their childhood like everyone else; weaving the fishing nets on the shores where his had always had a fineness to them no one else could match. She’d heard the elders talking once, saying how it was almost a shame he was born out here on the shifting sands and not in the city, where some grand laird or lady could have apprenticed him. The overheard conversation had made Ody guilty for days because the first thought which had gripped her tight was that she was furiously, fiercely glad he hadn’t and that the Gods had determined that he be here with her instead, together for eternity in this destitute fishing village overlooking a merciless sea.

That was a young and foolish Ody, not this one.

Not this calm, meticulous one with a knife in her belt, a ring on her finger, and a plan in her head.

“No one,” her mother begged, “no one has ever come back.”

“Then I suppose it’s time they did.”

[ask-the-koopa-family]

A little story between Bowser and Cherry...where Cherry speaks French👀

Art/story is mine dont copy/repost!

The evening air was cool and crisp, the stars scattered like glittering jewels over the castle balcony. Bowser leaned heavily against the railing, his gaze fixed on the horizon. It was rare for him to have moments like this—quiet, peaceful, and undisturbed.

Cherry strolled up beside him, her movements graceful and deliberate. She rested her elbows on the railing, her lips curling into a sly smile. “Well, well… Is the mighty King Bowser… relaxing?” she teased, her voice dripping with playful amusement.

Bowser grunted, glancing at her briefly before looking back out at the night. “Even kings deserve a moment of peace,” he replied, his tone gruff but not unkind.

Cherry tilted her head, studying him with a mischievous glint in her eye. “It’s nice to see you like this. Almost… charmant.”

Bowser’s brow furrowed as he turned to her, confused. “Charmant? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Cherry chuckled softly, leaning closer to him. “Oh, rien… just a little French. But its easy, it means… charming.” Her gaze lingered on him, her smile widening as she watched his tough exterior begin to crack.

Bowser blinked, caught off guard. “French, huh? Since when do you speak… that?”

Cherry’s grin turned playful, her voice lowering to a murmur. “Since always, mon roi,” she said smoothly, her words rolling off her tongue like silk. She stepped closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Tu sais, tu es vraiment séduisant quand tu essaies d’être dur.”

Bowser stiffened, feeling his stomach flip at her tone. “What… what does that mean?” he stammered, his usual confidence faltering.

Cherry’s laugh was light and teasing as she reached out, brushing her fingers against his arm. “It means you’re very… attractive when you act tough.”

Bowser’s face turned red, and he tried to compose himself, puffing out his chest. “W-well, I am tough!”

Cherry smirked, her expression unrelenting. “Bien sûr… mais tu es aussi mignon, tu sais.”

His eyes widened, the unfamiliar word tripping him up. “M-mignon? What’s that now?”

Cherry giggled, her fingers grazing his hand as she leaned on the railing again. “It means you’re cute.”

Bowser’s jaw dropped slightly, his flustered expression earning another laugh from Cherry. “I—uh… you can’t just say stuff like that and expect me to… uh…”

“Oh, but I think I can,” Cherry said with a wink, leaning closer until their faces were just inches apart. “You like it, don’t you? Admit it, mon roi.”

Bowser cleared his throat, trying desperately to regain control of the situation. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Cherry’s grin widened as she leaned even closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Peut-être que tu n’es pas aussi coriace que tu le penses.”

Bowser’s heart raced as he stared at her, his breath catching. The words, her tone, the way her eyes sparkled with teasing confidence—it was too much. “Alright,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. “Maybe… maybe I don’t mind it.”

Cherry smiled triumphantly, brushing her fingers along his cheek. “I thought so.” She stepped back just enough to meet his gaze fully, her expression softening. “You know, Bowser… you don’t always have to be the tough guy. I like you just as you are—charmant, coriace, et mignon.”

Bowser let out a huff, finally managing a small smirk. “You really like this French stuff, huh?”

Cherry nodded, her tone sincere now. “I do. And it’s even better when it flusters you.” She slipped her hand into his, her smile turning tender. “But seriously… I’m glad I’m here with you. Pour toujours.”

Bowser didn’t fully understand the last words, but the warmth in her voice was unmistakable. He gave her hand a light squeeze, his smirk softening into something almost shy. “Yeah… me too.”

Under the starlit sky, the King and Queen stood together, their bond growing stronger with every word, every glance, and every shared moment of quiet affection.

[miueo]

︐ sweet&plump — pub. 100923

warnings : titfucking , perverted thoughts , reader obviously has tits , oral ( m. receiving ) , petnames ( baby ) , etc .

pairings : perv!seungmin ♡ bigtiddie!reader

notes : had fun writing this. first time writing a titfucking fic >_< . also , pls request some ideas. i need more ideas.

is it possible for someone to become so fixated on one thing that it completely consumes their thoughts and mind?

to answer your question, yes!

it is possible for a being to become so obsessed with one thing that it dominates their entire mind.

for an example; look at your boyfriend, seungmin.

he could never go a day without looking at your plumped and soft breasts. he constantly fights his intrusive thoughts from wanting to grope and do all sorts of things to your chest.

the shirts you wear, being tight and fitting, perfectly complimenting your breasts. wearing little tank tops with your cute bra underneath to give your chest a bit more of a pop. finally, to top it all off, he loves when you’re braless. he loves watching your nipples harden in the cold air when you’re wearing his t-shirt with only a pair of panties, which takes us to now!

-

a waterfall of droll seeps out of seungmin’s mouth as he is currently laying your chest while the both of you are spending quality time watching a series of dramas on netflix ♥︎.

“baby! i can’t believe this bitch got away with doing such things to others..” you were heavily invested in what was happening on screen. your boyfriend was totally paying attention to the show >_>.

seungmin stayed silent with his head pillowed on your chest. “i know right baby? that was crazy. fuck that snake ass bitch.” he said pretending to act all shocked, like he cared.

“one more episode? then we’ll crash. i’m sleepy.” you grabbed the remote, yawning softly, playing the next episode.

seungmin picked himself up from you, turning his head to yours, “baby?” he called out.

you turn your head to him in response, “yes seungie?” you chirped with a smile, sitting up.

you were just so perfect.

his cock grows hard by just looking at you, what did he do to deserve such beauty.

“u-um.. this may be unrelated to the drama we’re watching .. you don’t have to respond back… but ummm… fuck this is embarrassing to ask about.. nevermind!”

“no! say it! i'm invested. i'm all ears baby!” you whine jumping on top of him, trying to make him spit out his words.

fuck fuck fuck FUCK!!! she’s literally on top of me. i can feel her fucking pussy on thigh, what am i gonna do now?!

“b-baby!! it’s nothing!” he chuckled nervously.

you pouted, sitting yourself down on his lap, rubbing his shoulders, “please.. i know it’s something, don’t hide from me..”

seungmin sighed in defeat. you were just too cute! he just wanted to rip off that oversized t-shirt off you, tear those panties apart, and then ravage you entirely.

“you don’t have to answer this but… have you ever thought of me doing your tits..?” he mumbled quietly, gulping nervously, avoiding eye contact with you.

“oh!” you sat up on his lap, giggling soon after. “maybe yes, maybe not..”

seungmin furrowed his eyebrows, already impatient with you. “it’s either a yes or a no [ y/n ]!!” he moaned out.

“okay fine, maybe once…– wait, is this you asking me to let you fuck my tits..?” you tilted your head slightly.

yes. yes you, this is him asking permission to give him a tit-fuck or whatever you call it （；^ω^）!

“yeah totally..!! it’s fine if you don’t wanna do it..” he smiled apprehensively.

you just smiled back, getting up from his lap, taking your shirt off, letting your breasts spill out gracefully, only wearing a pair of cute plain panties underneath.

was this it? it’s all happening. right now! god. im the luckiest man to ever roam earth.

you slowly got down on your knees and crawled close to seungmin’s lap. “why are you so bewildered on what i’m doing seungie..? you asked for it, you silly goose.” you giggled innocently.

it took no time for seungmin to take his raging hard cock out of his pants. his little friend looked angry. it had a pinkish redish color to it, along with his tip containing his sticky precum, he was ready.

you look up at your lover with soft doe eyes, taking your breasts, slowly sliding them between his cock.

you got straight to work, semi-confident on what you were doing. you slowly move your breasts slowly up and down his length. soft groans and grunts escape seungmin’s lips as he lays his head back against the couch.

nothing but soft whimpers came out of you, this was a new feeling to you. your cunt was soaked by now, you wanted more.

your mouth watered at the sight of your breasts swallowing your lover's cock. you just wanted to take him in your mouth and then you’ll be satisfied.

“s-seungie… can i put it in my mouth?” you slurred out, accompanying your speech with breathy notes.

seungmin looked back down at you, “you don’t even have to ask baby…” he hissed out.

you right away left a small kitten lick around his tip, soon stuffing his tip into your warm mouth whilst continuing the slow but yet steady motion of your stroking patterns.

“oh my fucking god baby.. the things you to do to me.. you look so precious right now.” he yelped out, gripping onto the fabric of the couch.

seungmin couldn’t believe it, it was all a dream come true. after years of knowing you, months of dating, it had finally happened.

you move yourself faster, desperately in need of his warm cum. you pull your mouth off of his tip with a loud pop, giggling at the sound of it.

“i-im close.. just keep on going.. you’re doing so good..” he whimpered softly, thrusting his cock up and down between your breasts, wanting more friction.

you were already out of breath, panties soaked to the point where it’s not wearable anymore. you couldn’t comprehend such vile action.

“cum for me seungie.. please..~!” you were ready for what was coming, just a couple more strokes and thrusts.

“f-fuck fuck fuck fuck..!!” curses flew out of his mouth as his warm cum lands all over your face and tits. he just created a beautiful masterpiece. you lick some of his liquids off your lips, “..wow.. that was something..” you giggled naively.

let’s just say that this became a regular recurrent activity you both do on a weekly if not daily basis ♡.

[stnkiconverse]

C R I M I N A L

- Jeffrey Woods x Reader

“I know well that you’re bad for me (Ooh)

Your eyes and the way you move (Ooh)

I try to get away from you, oh

But being brainwashed, all I can do is nod.”

It was as if the night held its breath as Jeff stepped out of the dark, a wide grin spreading, eyes glinting under the pale moon, fluid moves that made your stomach churn in ways it shouldn't.

He didn't ask if you wanted to follow him, he didn't have to. His hold on your wrist was firm but weirdly calm, as if he knew already that you wouldn't fight. As if he knew that you were already his.

"You don't belong here," he said, tugging you further into the maze of alleys. Yet, something in his eyes told you he wasn't letting go anytime soon.

And when he finally did, it wasn't to talk. Instead, he turned you to face him, his hand sliding to your chin. The tip of his knife followed, angling your face upwards as he studied you like you were some piece of wood to be whittled into shape.

You can't speak, can't move; you’re caught somehow, some force holding you still.

"Why can't I get away?" you thought as he led you away.

- -

“I don’t hate how your words make my feet entangled and dance

‘Cause I don’t want to deny the truth

That it was destined to be you from the beginning.”

You’re back to walking.

Jeff moved smoothly, almost elegantly, guiding you around like a puppet on strings. You did stumble a little, but his hand on your wrist held you straight, tightening as you misstepped.

Your footsteps echoed off the emptiness, but there was no rhythm, just confusion. Still, you followed his lead, your body responding to his actions when your mind screamed at you to stop.

When he finally stopped, pulling you close, the cold press of his knife sent a jolt through your spine. It wasn't cutting, just intimidating, teasing.

His free hand stroked your cheek and trailed down your throat. For a moment, you thought that he might hold you there; instead, he lifted your chin with the flat of his blade.

He stared down at you, his grin sharp and unrelenting. From his gaze, you finally gathered: this was a game you couldn't win.

- -

“So elegant, a criminal who hurts me

It’s okay, you soothe me just to torture me again

Ooh, I’m on a leash called you

It’s painful as much as I can’t breathe but also magnificent.”

It wasn't freedom Jeff offered when he finally let you go; it was the leash.

You stumbled backward, but he followed, his footsteps slow and deliberate, overwhelming. You told your legs to run, but something in the way he moved kept you there.

He came to a stop infront you, turning you around, his breathing a ghost over your shoulder. His knife, tucked into his pocket now, was replaced by his fingers trailing light up your arm.

"Addicted to this," his actions whispered.

He turned you back around, shifting to crouch in front of you, lowering himself down so that you had no choice but to look at him. Then he took your hand, turning your palm up, his fingertips tracing over skin in gentle strokes leaving goosebumps along your arms.

He returned the tip of the knife against your palm and drew another shallow line that didn't break skin.

"Already infected by your touch." you thought as he leaned in, his breath caressing your hands.

- -

“My heart with an open wound is already full of your fingerprints

My hands holding yours that stabbed me are not clean either.”

He got back up. His hand never left yours as he pulled you closer, the surrounding darkness suddenly feeling more intense.

Saying nothing, he slipped the handle of his knife into your hand.

"Do it," his silent command implored.

You locked your gaze on the blade as your heart pounded in your ears. Jeff's smile relaxed but not the stare in his eyes.

"You can stop this," his actions seemed to say, stepping closer, pressing the tip of the knife against his chest.

But you couldn't. The knife slipped from your fingers, falling to the ground.

Jeff laughed, a low, dark sound, as he pulled you into his arms.

"Destroyed completely," His touch promised.

- -

“So elegant, a criminal who destroys me

Not okay, I try and shake my head

Ooh, but I’m only getting dragged in more deeply

I don’t want to get away, destroy me completely.”

When you finally walked away, the world outside felt too bright, too loud. Every step felt like dragging yourself through quicksand, the weight of what had happened pressing against your chest.

But even as you left, you could feel the invisible rope tying you to him. It wasn't something you could break, no matter how far you ran.

"You'll be back," the leash whispered.

And you knew it was right.

Hi :3

I’m so sorry, I’ve been neglecting you guys since Halloween 😭😭

I was listening to Taemin and my mind immediately drifted to Jeff :3

[harry-on-broadway]

Loving You Always: A Tying You to Me Extra

Word Count: 5.8K || Series Masterlist || Rating: M

***

It was the countdown Quinn noticed first. One of those widgets you could add to the home screen of your phone. There wasn’t a picture or description, but 34 days were left when she first saw it and she quickly tried to calculate what the date could mean. 

It wasn’t the end of Harry’s tour and the date didn’t correspond to any notable birthdays or anniversaries. Unless it was something new Harry had up his sleeve, she had no clue what it could be. 

“Big plans for the summer?” Quinn tried hard to sound casual when she brought it up later that night. Harry was chopping vegetables for a stir-fry as she heated oil in the pan. He paused, a thoughtful smirk on his face, and Quinn could almost hear the wheels spinning in his head as he thought of a sarcastic retort. 

“Well, I’m just making a quick trip over a castle in a couple of days. Have a few more shows here and there but nothing too exciting.” He looked up from the cutting board and flashed her his trademark grin. 

“Nothing else though. No other shows? No filming or fashion things? Like say in 34 days?” Harry’s eyes were back on the vegetables, and at the mention of the date, his hand slipped, the knife nicking the tip of his finger. 

“Shit.” 

“Oh, Harry.” Quinn spun around behind her grabbing a clean paper towel, doubling it over before pressing it against the small cut. “Hold that there,” she said, turning back to toss some of the cut vegetables into the pan. “Is it still bleeding?”.

“No, it wasn’t too bad. Just startled me more than anything. But that’s what I get for letting you distract me.” 

“I distracted you?”

“Yeah, you’re interrogating me when I’m chopping vegetables,” Harry teased. 

“Your hand slipped. I’m sorry, but how is that my fault???” 

“You’re getting all in my business asking weirdly specific questions that make no sense.” 

Quinn flushed, feeling only slightly guilty that she’d been so nosy. “I’m just trying to…plan some things out.” 

“Oh? Like what?”

“I don’t know, lunch?”

“You want to plan a lunch…34 days from now.”

“Yeah.” Quinn held his gaze, unrelenting. 

“You’re something else woman.” He shook his head, the grin never leaving his face. “Inflicting pain on your poor boyfriend, on his well deserved day off. Keep this up and we’ll see if I get you a rin–” Harry blanched, and then cleared his throat. “But, uh, to answer your question, it’s a work meeting that I can’t miss so I’ll have to pass on lunch that day.”

“With Columbia?” The words came out faster than Quinn intended, as she tried to process the words that had almost come out of Harry’s mouth.

“Yeah.” Harry looked at his finger. “Looks like it’s not a serious wound. I’m going to wash up and then I can chop some more if you need it.”

“That would be great.” Quinn’s voice sounded strange to her own ears. “I think we might need more broccoli and carrots.” She went back to pushing vegetables around the pan, paying careful attention and trying to distract herself from the thoughts currently racing through her mind. 

The countdown was the furthest thing from her mind as she fixated and the single word Harry had almost said – ring.  

Rings had been top of mind since he’d given her that trinket after Christmas. While it mostly lived upstairs in the jewelry tray he’d made for her, Quinn had been known to pick it up and put on her left ring finger when she was alone, savoring the physical and symbolic weight of it and praying that a real one would be coming soon. 

Harry returned to her side, chopping and tossing a few more veggies into the pan before pulling dishes from the cabinet. He made no mention of his earlier remark while they ate and it didn’t come up as they cleaned up the kitchen or watched a film after dinner. In fact, Quinn had nearly forgotten about it by the time they were getting ready for bed, until she saw Harry fidgeting with his phone. 

She almost brought it up again, wanting to investigate further, but thought better of the impulse. Harry didn’t take kindly to prying and, after more than six years, she knew the best way to get him to open up was to let him come to her. When he climbed out of bed to fill his glass of water she snuck one glance at his phone and saw that the countdown had disappeared. 

“Lights out?” Harry asked, standing by the switch. 

“Mmhmm,” Quinn said, flicking on her bedside lamp. She opened up her book and watched Harry over top of the pages. He was nonchalant, shuffling across the room, climbing under the covers, and giving her a kiss before turning onto his side and quickly falling asleep. 

Quinn turned a few pages not retaining any of the words. Maybe Harry’s slip of the tongue earlier meant nothing, but as she turned off her light and curled up next to Harry, thoughts of rings, dresses, and weddings danced through her head. 

***

“Jeff, have you seen my parents?” Quinn asked. She’d been doing laps backstage for the last hour and hadn’t managed to locate them. Seeing as this was only their second time at Wembley, she was slightly concerned. 

“Can’t say I have,” Jeff said. “Tommy, have you seen them?” Tommy shook his head and went back to his ongoing conversation. “Sorry, Quinn, Maybe they went out to their seats?”

“Maybe…” Quinn said, unconvinced. “Thanks.”

She headed towards the exit of the room that served as the main hub backstage, preparing to do another lap when she saw her mom, dad, and brother, Alex, being led towards her, escorted by Harry. 

“Oh my God, where were you guys? I’ve been looking all over for you!” Quinn exclaimed, trying not to sound as concerned as she felt. “Did you get lost?”

“I’ll have you know we knew exactly where we were going,” her mother chided. “Harry was giving us a backstage tour, dear. No need to worry.”

“I could have done that, Mom. Harry’s busy. He’s supposed to be onstage in…” She glanced at her watch. “Like 45 minutes.” 

“It was no problem,” Harry said cheerfully. “Nice way for me to calm the nerves before the show.” 

“If you say so…” Quinn glanced at her father, hoping to get him on her side, but instead saw a weird mix of emotions across his face. “Dad, are you alright?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, just a bit overwhelmed. You see the stadium on TV and it doesn’t look that big but in person…” He took a deep, shuddering breath. 

Quinn shot Harry a look, silently seeking an answer from him, only getting a shrug in return. 

“As Quinn so kindly reminded me, I should probably head off and start getting ready,” Harry said apologetically. “But make yourself at home and I’ll see you all later.” He planted a pert kiss on Quinn’s temple and made his way to his dressing room. 

Quinn’s father sniffed and blinked rapidly as her mother cheerfully patted his back. Quinn looked over at Alex who, just like Harry, shrugged. 

“Well,” Quinn said. “I guess we can go to the green room and maybe grab some food? I think Anne and some of Harry’s family are already there.” 

Quinn’s parents set off in the direction she pointed and instead of following them, she hung a few steps back, pulling her brother alongside her. 

“What the hell is wrong with Dad?” she whispered. 

“How am I supposed to know? You know how weird he gets when he’s jet-lagged.” 

Quinn stared at Alex. Something was wrong and she hoped it had nothing to do with Harry. He’d met her parents on numerous occasions, joined in on phone calls and Zooms, and even made an appearance at Christmas one year. As great as that was, the unfortunate fact was that it didn’t feel like nearly enough time, and a small part of her wondered if her parents resented that they didn’t get to see her or Harry as often as they should. Her parents had never expressed any reservations, but maybe something had happened. 

Alex continued to walk behind their parents but Quinn grabbed his arm pulling him back. “What went wrong on the tour?”

He pursed his lips and looked thoughtful before shaking his head. “Nothing I can think of.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.” 

Quinn looked defeated. She didn’t know why but she thought her dad’s weird behavior could be connected to whatever weirdness she’d seen on Harry’s phone, but she remained answerless and even more confused. “Well, if something does happen, you’ve got to let me know.” 

Alex nodded and they started walking to catch up to her parents. After a moment, he spoke up. “I’m not sure if I’ve ever told you this, Quinn, but I really like Harry. Like obviously no one is ever going to be good enough for you, but he’s a decent guy. And I’m not just saying that because we got a free trip to London because of him.”

“Oh, well that’s good to know.”

“I’m serious, Quinn. He’s exactly the kind of person you deserve to be with and I hope you see that.” 

Quinn stared blankly. She and her brother were close, but they weren’t close in the share-your-feelings-all-of-the-time way. “Thank you,” she replied cautiously. “Um, I’m pretty fond of Harry myself.”

Alex chuckled. “Funny you say that. Harry said the exact same thing.” 

“What?”

“Yeah, you two are really meant to be.” Her brother quickened his pace leaving Quinn behind, stunned. 

That night as Quinn brushed her teeth she watched Harry in the mirror. He was snuggled beneath the comforter, having showered before they left the venue. His curls were untamed, the clip that usually held them back discarded on the nightstand by his glasses as he squinted at the paperback book in his hand, a sure sign that he was more tired than he was letting on. 

She formulated her plan as she rinsed her mouth. 

“Big day today, huh?”

“Yeah.” Harry sighed thoughtfully. “I don’t think I’ve fully processed it.” 

“Mmm, yeah.” Quinn rubbed some lotion onto her hands, trying her best to appear nonchalant. “My parents were raving about how amazing you were and how incredible the venue was. Did they mention anything to you when you gave them that tour?”

If she’d have blinked she would have missed it, but Harry stiffened, his relaxed posture vanishing for a split second before he recovered. “No, they didn’t say anything like that. Your dad was just hung up on how everything’s backwards here.”

“Yeah, that does throw him. Nothing else?”

“Nope.” 

Dammit. She’d thought she’d figured it out but was back at square one. 

“Love, not trying to rush but how much longer are you going be? I think I’m ready to head to bed.” 

She met Harry’s sleepy, tired eyes in the mirror and instantly forgot about her hidden agenda. “I’ll be in in a sec, baby.” 

***

The day had finally come. The final show of the tour. 

Quinn wasn’t sure she’d ever see this day. Over the past two years, the concerts had been a permanent fixture of her life and she measured time in relation to them, able to rattle off exactly what she’d been doing if you named a city and date. And now it was all over. 

It was the perfect night. The weather had miraculously cleared up despite a scorching, stormy morning and the crowd was even more energized than usual. She’d had a good idea of what the night had in store, thanks to Harry’s nervous chatter, and when Harry finally emerged onstage for one last time, she’d been able to relax and cut loose, jumping and dancing around the pit with the rest of his family and friends, singing at the top of her lungs. 

The one surprise of the evening was when Harry returned to the stage and sat down at the piano. He started playing a melody that sounded familiar, something she’d heard echoing through the halls of the house when he couldn’t sleep. A version of the melody that she’d heard nearly every morning he was home, seated at the piano coffee in hand, playing as he rubbed sleep from his eyes. She finally had her answer now as to what it was for and she wiped tears from her cheeks as she listened to him play what was clearly a very personal piece for the nearly silent crowd. 

As she made her way backstage, trailing behind the larger group, she felt…weird. Happy but sad, excited but scared. Tomorrow would be the start of her “normal” life with Harry. No tours, no odd work hours, no time zones keeping them from each other. It was everything she’d dreamed of, so why was she so apprehensive? This break was a good thing. Harry had accomplished more than he’d ever imagined, and after a nice, well-deserved break, he’d be onto his next chapter, personally and professionally. 

While they hadn’t explicitly discussed what would happen between them after this leg of the tour had ended, they’d occasionally danced around the subject. Like on those nights in between shows when they’d found themselves tangled with each other in bed and the connection felt next level, when she felt Harry murmuring secrets only he could understand against her skin. Or the unspoken words that passed between them when she’d let go of his hand and his fingers would linger just a little too long before letting her go. 

They were heading towards…something. She just didn’t know what or when or how. But they’d get there. 

Back in the present Quinn gnawed at her lip, trying to fight back the tears. It had been easy to hide them throughout the day as she’d all but avoided Harry, giving him the space he needed to mentally prepare himself for what was about to happen. He’d been emotional all week and she wanted to be a solid support for him at this time, which meant limited tears of her own. Sure that her eyes were dry, she gave three quiet knocks on the door, and waited for Harry’s soft response before turning the knob. 

He was sitting on the sofa, shirtless with his head in his hands. His hair was damp and the air was thick with humidity from the shower he’d just taken. The ends of his hair dripped down the towel draped over his back. He looked up, hearing her footsteps, and ran his hand through his hair sending more droplets down his broad back. He opened his arms, and Quinn slipped onto his lap, looping one arm around his neck and using the other to tilt his chin up. 

“You did it, baby,” Quinn said. They were alone in the dressing room but she still spoke softly. “You did it.” 

“I did,” Harry said simply. “It’s done.” 

“And you should be so proud,” Quinn whispered against his lips, before kissing him.

“Still hasn’t sunk in yet,” Harry said hollowly. “Feels like I’m going to be back on the road tonight heading to the next stop. Feels weird to just…be.”

“I need you to listen to me, H. Two years is a long time and you’ve given so much good to the world in that time. You’ve brought joy and happiness and love and peace to millions of people and you’re going to continue to do that for years to come. But now’s your time to rest, to do something for yourself. You’re allowed to relax.” 

Harry looked up, a fresh set of tears welling in his eyes. “What the hell did I do to deserve you?” he choked out. Quinn tried to wipe the tears from his face, but her vision soon blurred with her own as they sat there crying in each other’s arms. “Thank you for always being there for me and for letting me be exactly who I need to be. I love you in ways I can’t describe. I–” He swallowed and looked like he was about to say something else, but a new sob wracked his body. 

“It’s OK, Harry. I love you too,” Quinn whispered, kissing his cheek and his forehead and his jaw before landing on his lips again. “Do you need a minute by yourself before we join everyone else?”

Harry cleared his throat. “Yeah. Let me pull myself together and throw some clothes on.” Quinn busied herself on her phone as Harry dressed and stowed his towel in the laundry basket. A few moments later, she felt his hand on the small of her back. He raised an eyebrow in a silent question and Quinn nodded. 

He held the door open for her and when he exited behind her. He took one last look around before sighing heavily. “Let’s go,” he said. “I’ve got a bottle of tequila with my name on it.” 

Tequila and spirits of all sorts flowed at the afterparty, a gathering filled with Harry’s family and closest friends who had flown in for the occasion. Everyone was fighting for a moment with him, a chance to say how proud they were, how incredible the night was, all statements that brought out his bashful side. His cheeks growing red and his eyes watery as he sucked in his cheeks and tried to keep the tears from falling. 

Quinn kept a respectful distance, following closely, but not intruding on his space. He’d been unusually clingy since they’d left the show, holding onto her tightly, and not letting go until she’d urged him to catch up with his friends. She could tell he was reluctant and he kept looking over towards her, and with each glance she’d give him a nod of encouragement, letting him know that it was OK to follow his own advice. To rest and have fun. 

As the night wore on, Harry grew more comfortable and compliments were traded for drinks, everyone around him offering him shots or glasses of different colored liquids. Quinn was still hovering, but was caught up in her own reverie celebrating with the group that had become an extension of her family as well over the past two years. 

When the sun began to rise and the party started to end, Quinn felt a pair of hands on her hips. Without turning around, she knew it was Harry, able to recognize him by the feel of his hands after all these years. “I guess we should maybe head out?” he whispered against the shell of her ear. “Head home?”

Home aka their villa they’d be spending the next few weeks in. Anne and the rest of the family had made their way over earlier in the evening, and were planning to stay for a brief, post-tour vacation as well. 

Harry slung his arm around Quinn and they watched the sun come up on the horizon. He let out a shaky breath, and without looking, Quinn knew he was crying again. 

“I wish I could bottle this moment,” he said. “Don’t ever want to forget it.” 

“You won’t. And the best part is that you’ll make many more memories down the road.”

“I mean, this, now with you.”

Quinn looked at him puzzled. “Well, we’re going to have more memories again too. Unless you’re also planning to dump me at the end of this tour.” 

Harry laughed, a short chuckle at first followed by a heartier bellow. “Fuck,” he said when the laughter had abated. “It’s hard to believe that’s what happened the last time a tour ended.” 

“Would you like me to book my ticket back now or later?”

“Hate to break it to you love but you’re stuck with me.” 

“Oooh, really?”

“Yeah, and I’ve got some big plans for us.”

“Is that so?”

“Mmmhmm,” Harry said. “We’re going to take a nap. A nice long one. Maybe a couple a day.”

“Go on…”

“Sex. Can’t forget that.”

“Of course.”

“Some fine dining. My own recipes and some restaurants.”

“Can’t wait.” 

“Pool time, walks by the beach, heading into town to go to the museums. We’re going to do it all.” He planted a kiss on her temple.

“I want to do everything with you, H.” 

“I want to do everything with you, Agent Q.” 

Quinn felt a flutter in her chest. Harry’s use of that first nickname he’d given her had grown less frequent over the years in favor of more romantic or even cheesier ones. But that callback to their start had her filled with love and affection. 

“Car’s here,” Harry said. “After you.” He opened the door and let Quinn slide in, pulling the door shut after him. 

Harry chatted pleasantly with the driver in Italian, and Quinn felt the flutter in her chest travel down her body. Hearing the language flow smoothly off his tongue did things to her she didn’t understand. However, there was little she could do about those feelings as they fell into bed, snoring side-by-side within minutes. Hours later, Quinn awoke, feeling Harry hard against her thigh and when he stirred, he had her pressed against the mattress in minutes, whispering hushed proclamations of love as he rocked into her, before they finished and fell asleep again. 

When they roused in the late hours of the afternoon, they were greeted by Anne who had taken the liberty of preparing dinner and they enjoyed the family meal, Harry smiling from ear to ear the entire time. In exchange, Harry offered to do the dishes, shooing Quinn away when she offered to help. 

From her spot on the couch where she nursed her second – or maybe third – glass of wine, Quinn observed Harry and Anne, and the easy way he chatted with his mother. She couldn’t tell what they were discussing but Anne was focused intently on her son as he talked. Quinn could tell by the way his back moved that Harry was discussing whatever subject passionately as Anne nodded along. Harry was a man of few words – he was always warm but he never used two words when one would do, so his sudden talkativeness was a little strange, but Quinn just attributed it to the emotional week he was coming down from, and when he came into the living room, hands still warm from the soapy water, she cuddled into his solid frame as they settled in to watch a film. 

The rest of the week was equally relaxing. Quinn and Anne took turns doting on Harry, making sure he was comfortable at all times, refilling his drink and getting him whatever he needed. Harry, in turn, organized outings and activities for everyone. Boating around the lake, shopping around town, and a wine tasting at a local vineyard, followed by lengthy dinners until everyone left Italy to head back home one by one, leaving Quinn, Harry, Anne, and a few select family members remaining until it was finally Anne’s turn to leave. 

“I’ve loved having you here, mum. What time do you need to be at the airport?” Harry asked around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. 

“Harry!” 

“What?” He looked at Quinn. “I don’t want her to miss her flight! And she’s probably sick of us by now.”

“You don’t have to rush her out the door. Let her finish her toast!”

“He’s fine, dear,” Anne said, gently, with a teasing glint in her eye. “I know when I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“See,” Harry said as if her statement proved his point. 

“Anne, don’t listen to your son. You’re perfectly fine to stay a few more days. That’s what we were planning on anyway.” Quinn turned to Harry, who had grown very pale. “Right?”

“Well, yeah, but I just figured we’d enjoy the…privacy.” 

Quinn flushed. The presence of family members in adjacent rooms had never stopped them from “enjoying privacy” in the past. In fact, they’d grown pretty skilled at having a near silent quickie when the need called. What was his problem? “Harry, our calendars are basically empty for the next six months. Your mother is welcome to stay. Anne, please, stay as long as you want.” 

Harry’s eyes bounced between Quinn and his mother. “Well, it’s just–”

“I already booked my flight, sweetheart, so it wouldn’t make much sense to change it now,” Anne said to Quinn. “But I really appreciate you wanting me to stay.” 

“Oh, OK,” Quinn said, defeated. “Maybe next time.” She collected the empty breakfast plates from the table. “Anyone want more coffee?” Both Anne and Harry declined, and as Quinn turned her back to deposit the dishes in the sink, she completely missed the silent look of thanks Harry shot his mother. 

Quinn studied Harry closely in the days following Anne’s departure. All of the weird behavior he’d displayed over the last few months had become non-existent and he was just Harry again. No shutting his phone as Quinn approached. No furtive glances at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. No hushed phone calls in other rooms. All of that had been replaced by his normal behavior. Grabbing her hand and pulling her closer to him as they walked into the village for coffee and pastries. Pressing a kiss against her neck as he read the page over her shoulder. Kisses good morning and goodnight. Smothered in affection, Quinn forgot about all of the questions she’d been harboring throughout the summer and resolved to just soak up this uninterrupted time with Harry. 

A few days later, Harry suggested they have a night in and try out a new recipe, a tortellini dish he’d apparently been dying to try. Quinn didn’t know what was so special about this pasta, which looked nearly identical to the pasta they’d eaten two nights ago, but she held her tongue after seeing how happy Harry looked standing behind the counter in his apron. 

She had to admit, the pasta was delicious, and having Harry by her side made it even better. When their plates had been emptied, she stood, figuring dish duty was only fair in exchange for Harry having cooked. She dropped the dishes in the soapy water with a splash. 

“Just leave those dishes for now. It’s a beautiful sunset tonight.” 

“Oh-kay…” Quinn dropped the sponge in the sink and dabbed her hands on the dish towel.

“Figured we shouldn’t waste the night. Thought we could enjoy another glass outside?” Harry held a bottle of wine and two glasses in his hands. 

“Sure. When in Rome, right?”

“Give or take 100 kilometers.” 

“Since when are you Mr. Mathematics?”

“Since I grew concerned that you don’t know your Italian geography.” 

Quinn playfully smacked Harry’s arm, before leaning into his side. “Well let’s go then! That wine’s not going to drink itself.”

They sat side by side on the garden swing. Quinn kicked her sandals off and pulled her feet under her as Harry poured them two hefty glasses. Quinn turned to look at Harry and raised her glass. “To a successful tour and even more successful celebration of all your hard work.”

“Our hard work,” Harry gently corrected. “You were as much a part of everything as I was.” 

Quinn blushed. “A successful celebration of all of our hard work.” She paused. “Here’s to more amazing moments and just as many simple ones.” 

“I’ll drink to that,” Harry said softly, touching the rim of his glass to Quinn’s. “Cheers.”

They both took a sip of the wine. 

“Wow, that’s good,” Quinn said. “Is this from the vineyard?”

“Not quite,” Harry said slowly. “It’s a Chardonnay. Cellar No. 8.��  

Quinn frowned, trying to figure out why that particular wine was familiar. “Have we had that before.” 

“Just once.” 

“When?”

“Um, it was the night we got dinner at that Italian restaurant near your office. I met you on your dinner break.” His voice had the slightest tremor to it. “It was a couple days after we ran into each other again. I was going to ask if you wanted to give us another try.” 

The memory came to Quinn in a flash. “And instead I asked you to get my boyfriend a ticket to the Met.” She laughed. “Jesus Christ, do I know how to ruin a moment or what?”

Harry laughed and pulled her in for a hug. “It wasn’t ideal, but I wouldn’t say you ruined anything. Everything between us happened at exactly the right time. It’s meant to be. I mean who knows, if we’d gotten back together that night, we might not be sitting here now.”

“That’s very true.” She laid her head against Harry’s chest and closed her eyes. The moment felt perfect. 

“Quinn, I want to marry you,” Harry said, jolting Quinn to attention. 

“What?”

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to call you my wife. And I guess I want to know if you’d be alright with that…” He trailed off, losing all bravado the more he spoke. Quinn stared at him, truly speechless for the first time in her life. “Please, for the love of God say something, Quinn.” 

“Are you serious?” 

“Umm, yeah,” Harry laughed nervously. “Not really something you joke about.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Am I sure?” Harry laughed a full belly laugh. 

“I mean, I’m kind of a lot. And not in the best way. I mean, I overthink everything, I always manage to spoil your romantic surprises and ruin the moment…”

“You don’t say?”

“See! Are you sure?”

“Quinn, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. When I think about what I’ll remember 60 years from now, yeah, I’ll remember touring the world, but what will really stand out is you. The way I can hear your laugh in the crowd when I make a terrible joke. The look on your face when I play you a new song. The way you curl up next to me when you’re really tired. The way you’ve trained me to get rid of all the green Skittles. Your determination, your dedication to us. The love you show me every day. That’s what I’ll remember, Quinn.” 

“Yes, Harry.” Quinn cleared her throat. “I want to marry you. I want to be your wife and I want you to be my husband.” 

“Are you sure?” Harry laughed as Quinn shoved him. 

“Yes, I have never been more sure of anything.” 

“Well, alright then.” Harry shifted in his seat, lifting up onto one side to reach into his left pants pocket, producing a velvet box. His hands were shaking ever so slightly, causing Quinn to reach out and steady them gently. “Thank you, love,” Harry said with a sniff.

“That’s what I’m here for,” Quinn said with a small smile. 

Harry slowly opened the box to reveal a diamond ring nestled in the cushion, earning a gasp from Quinn. “Did I pick well?” he asked. 

Quinn tried to think of a joke, something quippy to say to play down the litany of emotions she was feeling in the moment, but for what felt like the first time in her life, the first time in their relationship, she played it straight. “Yes, it’s perfect.” She took his face in her hands and pulled him to kiss him slowly, doing her very best to memorize everything about the two of them at that moment. 

“So I picked really well then…noted,” Harry said with a breathless laugh, running his hand through his hair. He blinked hard and Quinn could see a few tears fall. “Shit,” he said. “Thought I was all cried out but apparently not.” Quinn reached up to wipe the tears away, and as she pulled away, Harry caught her hand and kissed her fingertips, her palms, her wrist, pulling her close, until she was nearly on top of him, looking him straight in the eyes. 

“This is really hard sometimes, but having you next to me makes it so much easier,” he said. 

“Well, good news, I’m not going anywhere,” Quinn managed to get out before another wave of tears overtook her. 

“That’s the best news I’ve gotten all month,” Harry replied, kissing her again.

Quinn looked down at her hand, now resting against Harry’s chest, fully appreciating the sparkling ring on her finger. “How did you manage to plan this?” she asked. 

“I’ve been working on it for a while,” Harry admitted. “Started looking at rings after our stay at Jeff’s. When I finally realized that I was the person I needed to be for you.”

“That was like three years ago. Harry, are you serious?” 

“What can I say, I’m really good at keeping secrets.” He chuckled. “The rest of it slowly came into place after.” He chuckled. “I was terrified you were onto something when you saw that countdown on my phone.”

“What was it for?” Quinn asked. “The day has already passed so it couldn’t be for this.”

“You were counting?”

“Of course,” Quinn exclaimed. “You really think I’d see a mystery countdown and not try to figure out what it was for?” 

“I had to meet the jeweler in between tour stops and didn’t want to forget.” Harry laughed. “But honestly, I don’t even know how I could forget. This is the only thing I’ve been able to think of for months.”  

“Really?”

“Really. I kept coming up with plans and then scrapping them because nothing felt right. A proposal during lockdown didn’t feel right, and after things reopened we were both so busy so I figured I would do something simple. Like I’d ask you on the waterfront or while we went for a walk. Or I’d spell it out in Scrabble tiles or whatever it would take to make it the perfect moment so you could have a great story. I was telling my mum about it and how I wanted to do it while we were here and she just told me to stop worrying and that I’d find the perfect moment. And that’s what happened tonight. We were sitting there, eating dinner and it came to me. Any moment when I’m with you is the perfect moment.” 

“Stop it,” Quinn sniffed. 

“I’m serious.”

“Well then, I’d have to agree. Everything is perfect when we’re together.” 

Harry wrapped his arm around Quinn and they sat next to each other, taking the moment in and enjoying each other's company. Sitting next to Harry, feeling his chest rise and fall, Quinn couldn’t remember the last time they’d been able to be so present with no worry about what was to come tomorrow. Sure, they’d need to call their families and then there’d be a wedding to plan, but for right now it was just her and Harry and everything was as it should be. She closed her eyes, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest. 

“Quinn?” 

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Harry.” 

***

talk to me! || story inspo

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[multi-fandom-hoebag]

Regret (Neve x M! Rook)

Summary: Solas is defeated, and the Blight ended. But the choices made to get there were anything but easy, and Rook must carry the weight of those decisions long after the battle ended.

Warning: Contains some MAJOR spoilers

I trusted you.

Neve's voice resonated in Rook's thoughts, an unrelenting echo that refused to be silenced, no matter how hard he tried to shut it out.

I trusted you.

The words hit him hard, sending a wave of pain through his entire body. What used to be a comforting sound now felt like a burning brand, piercing through his thoughts and twisting his heart into a painful knot.

I trusted you, and it got me KILLED!

Rook jolted awake, stifling a scream as he sat up in bed, his skin slick with cold sweat and his body trembling. He shut his eyes tightly, inhaling deeply and clutching the sheets as he fought to steady himself.

Gradually, he opened his eyes to the dimly lit space of Neve’s apartment, a place he had come to know well during the nights following his confrontation with Solas.

Glancing over at Neve, who lay peacefully asleep in the shadows, he ensured she was undisturbed before quietly getting out of bed. He made his way across the room and stepped out onto the balcony that offered a view of Dock Town.

With his eyes closed, he let the gentle breeze brush against his face, tousling his unruly hair. He gazed out at the city, or what was left of it, as his thoughts drifted back to the unsettling dream he had just experienced.

It was the same dream that plagued him almost every night since his team had pulled him from Solas’s prison. The guilt from the events of Tearstone island has haunted him as bad as any spirit, plaguing his thoughts and stabbing his heart each time he remembered.

He looked up at the sky, half hoping to see Assan soaring through the clouds, Davrin shouting from the ground below. But reality was a cruel mistress and reminded him that they were gone, a result from a choice he had made.

They were gone, and no amount of wishing or self loathing would bring them back.

And then there was Neve, the woman he loved, the woman he had inadvertently allowed to be captured and plagued by the Blight by a decision he had made. A decision that was now tormenting him whenever he tried to have a moment’s peace.

He swept his hand down his face, attempting to dispel the haunting image of her being yanked into the abyss, even as her scream echoed in his mind. He had been forced to make heart-rending choices, and even now he still found himself contemplating what he could have done differently to alter the outcome.

He felt Neve inching closer from behind, her arms enveloping him as she pressed her body against his bare back, her chin resting softly on his shoulder.

“You’re brooding again,” she said quietly, her voice soothing and tinged with sleep.

He placed his hands over her arms that were wrapped around his waist and turned his head slightly to press a kiss to her temple.

“Sorry,” he murmured softly, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” she replied, gently unwinding herself from him and stepping beside him. “You had that dream again.” Her words weren’t phrased as a question or a reproach; instead, her tone was tender as she leaned against the railing, locking him in with one of her penetrating gazes.

He nodded, fully aware that there was no use in lying to her. He had long since abandoned any attempt to conceal his feelings from her.

She hummed in understanding, gazing out at the city for a moment before turning to him. “I don’t know what dream me has told you,” she said softly. “But the real me will tell you the same thing she’s been telling you since that day: it was my choice to disable the wards. I knew the risks, and I would do it again without hesitation.” She stepped closer to him, reaching out and cupping his face in her hands. “Besides, you found me. You brought me back, you saved me. You found a way to bring me back to you, even when the odds were stacked against us. We’re both here, and that has to count for something.”

He nodded slightly, offering a tired smile as he met her eyes, his hands coming up to gently grip her wrists as she cradled his face. “You’re right,” he said softly. “We’re still here.”

“I’m always right,” she said, kissing him gently before pulling away. “Now come back to bed, Trouble. You’re brooding so loudly you’ll wake what remains of the city.”

He turned to follow her but paused when something caught his eye. There, tucked in a crevice of the balcony was a solitary gray feather, gently swaying in the wind. He reached out, carefully extracting it from the surface and holding it delicately in his palms.

He glanced up at the sky, a small smile forming on his lips as he watched the clouds.

“Good boy,” he said softly, turning to follow Neve back into the apartment, his heart feeling lighter as he began the journey into the future.

[storiesofsvu]

Alright… season finale night! I am sat with my dinner and ready to GO!

I remember the promo for OG looking pretty good, so here’s hoping that sets the scene for tonight!

Okay, this starlet couple is giving taylor vibes… plus she says her fans can get a bit crazy and she’s had a stalker for years? Yeah… the writers are pulling from that here.. esp cause we already know the shooter was going for the DA so it's not like they're pulling from an actual case of the sports guy getting shot... lol

UGH I just remembered this is Kate’s last ep and now I’m sad (oh god I hope she doesn’t die…)

Man… if I’m ever a suspect I’m totally fucked cause I’m always just “uh.. I was at home… alone.” LOL.

Completely unrelated: I am freezing right now. WHY? It’s summer?! Its so warm outside!

Okay, I thought the find my phone app was only for apple? does android have a similar feature?

HOLY FUCK! SHAW IN THE WHITE TEE WITH THE VEST?! FUCK ME.

PLEASE! HE’S SO FUCKING HOT

“we’ll put eddie on the stand first thing tmr.” Yeah that bitch is gonna be dead.

Yup. Called it.

OHHkay, at least they mentioned a safehouse cause I was wondering why tf he wasn’t under protective custody

Can’t they just charge the guy for the murder of the sports dude and call it a day? Like, he’d go down for that for like what? 25 to life? (like, yeah I *get* *why* they want to prove that he was actually trying to kill the da, but like.. still)

OH MY GOD ESPECIALLY IF THERE’S SOME DEEP DARK SECRET HE HAS!!?? WTF??

Oh hot damn that is some fucking dirty laundry. And let me guess, her dad got the charges talked down….

Okay that wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been

THAT’S THE END OF THE EPISODE?!? DUDE.

Toronto:

Okay, that opening was actually pretty good and nearly hooked me in but I am making friendship bracelets and listening to swift as it plays so im not really paying attention. Lol.

Okay, affair. Sus.

LOL

My dumb ass saw a BTS pic of this opening scene and thought it was from a table read LOL.

“unknown subject” COME ON. You are not criminal minds guys!

K, im loving Velasco and Bruno being paired together, but it is just fueling this thurst…

What kind of person comes home to a dark apartment and doesn’t use their phone flashlight to get around?? Like, candles would not be my first instinct lol

“it’s our unsub” STOP IT! It’s been 25 years and you have always called them “perps” (yes, yes, I know it’s likely a common term among law enforcement –maybe?—but STILL). Like… on cm they have to explain the term to the locals, so this is just a CM fan on the writing team or something and I fucking hate it.

Velasco in yet another sweater that I am definitely stealing.

What happened to Lorraine Baxter? (that was her name, right?) did she step down after her husband died/was linked to a case? Cause I don’t think that was ever brought up but suddenly there’s a new person in her position?? (or was betty buckley just not available for this episode and they went lazy?)

OMG THE INSIDE OF A COURTROOM?? IT’S A MIRACLE.

Phoebe being out of town? Fin denied a beer from Velasco so he can go home and play video games all night.

Jfc. It’s been like 20 years since fin’s been shot. Ice out here earning his cheque this week.

KETO. LOL.

Bruh, olivia’s not gonna buy you fake ass story lol.

“if I say yes can I change the subject?” LOL.

Saw this in the promo and still fucking forgot it was going to happen.

WHHHHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY are we still back with Maddy?!?

All the fans want is some actual family/found family shit WITH THE SQUAD. I don’t know a SINGLE person who has been happy to see any of the times maddy’s come back?

OHHHHHH IM DYING

BENSLERS???!! HOW ARE Y’ALL FEELING ABOUT OLIVIA GIVING AWAY THE FUCKING COMPASS??!! LOOOOOLLLLL

Like, I’m not the person for that ship, but they really have just been bating y’all all fucking season and FOR THAT?!

Oh HOLY SHIT we were actually given a phone call?! Now THAT was unexpected. Like, I GET it, having M or Chris guest starring on the other show would be such a fucking hassle when they have their own shows to run but like, just a hint of them trying to at least repair their friendship now that he’s been back in nyc for what? Like 3?4? years now? And there’s been nothing?? (im likely leaning more into this and being frustrated about it because ive been watching 1.0 again and seeing their dynamic and just how close and in sync they were all the time, like, even 10 years of radio silence there’s gotta be something there. I do get that if one or both had romantic feelings that it would feel like a bigger betrayal that would complicate upon reunion, but like, at the very least have them be besties working diff units please?)

Okay, that episode wasn’t great. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t great. Definitely didn’t feel like a season finale…

OC time…

Eli’s gf has to be pregnant, there’s no other explanation imo

Okay now THIS feels like the start to a season finale!

I FUCKING KNEW IT!!!! I KNEW IT! LOOOL to Bernie just instantly knowing.

Family dinner sounds like a fantastic idea now that eli’s gf is knocked up and Elliot doesn’t know and joe’s running around being a literal criminal. I cannot wait to see this Bernie. (there’s no sarcasm there. I really hope it happens)

Does joe know/realize that elliot’s currently working this case? Like, that both of them could get killed when the fact that they’re brothers gets out? (okay we got through the commercial break, I forgot joe was all “I can be your informant” last ep! Goldfish brain!)

God I love Ayanna so much

Where are the rest of the stabler kids? Lol.

Eli out here seriously 100% following in elliots footsteps. Jeeze lol “family tradition” LOL yeah, having a kid right out of high school lololol

LOOOLL to jet starting to explain what a dm is to stabler lol

 Im pretty sure they’ve got vests on under their coats but I cant actually *see* any of them and that irks me and makes me nervous.

How is there only 5 minutes of this show left?! How are they ENDING a season like this?! Like this is an ongoing story, the main perp is still out there, on his way to CUBA and Joe is ON the plane with them…

Okay, OC was good, it felt like a season finale minus the Joe arc, I liked the summary of Elliot’s journey and how he’s been feeling and him visiting kathy’s grave at the end too to tell her about eli. Also love that he figured it out on his own that she was pregnant cause like.. dude had five kids, he’s bound to know pregnancy symptoms lol.

Honestly.. I think mothership was the best of the night!

Now we go back to season 3 and continue our rewatch over summer hiatus and pray to the gods that svu next season is better than the crap they’ve been feeding us.

Season 26 Wants:

-Curry & Sykes gone. (it doesn’t make sense for the politics/plot).

-Bruno to be upgraded to main cast

-A new female DETECTIVE who they’ll actually keep on for more than a season or two and we’ll get a good character arc out of her (bonus points for her being queer but we all know that’ll be the reason she disappears instantly) (also I don’t want her to be so fucking green. Make it so that she moved from another state/borough and has been working sex crimes for like, 5+ years already, someone that benson doesn’t need to babysit!)

-She could also be the sergeant if they move fin up to lieutenant and I think that’d be bad ass

-Rollins popping up more BUT, as Olivia’s friend, or a consult on a case with whatever her new job is

-More family/found family moments

-Maybe an actual court room scene once in a while, bring back some of our beloved defence attorneys and give Carisi something to DO for once

-Overall a bigger regular cast. S8/9 was PRIME for that kind of shit cause we had a captain, a sergeant, three to four detectives, an ADA, an ME, and a psychiatrist that were in basically every episode. I know that it’s likely a budget issue nowadays, but they could rotate through everyone LIKE THEY ARE DOING NOW, but with less people, it makes no sense. It made sense when there was such a larger cast cause it’d give one character an episode to show off and then they’d be gone or only have 1 line the next, they’re simply not utilizing the cast that they have right now and it’s fucking stupid and fucking sucks.

I think that’s all I’ve got for now lol. We’ll see…

[kelly-writes-1127]

Schrodinger's Brother

Thursday, 28 October 2021, 1:00 p.m.

I snuck away from work for a sushi lunch with a friend. This friend also happens to be my boss’s wife. It’s ok she’ll cover for me. We order in at her place so her toddler can nap.

“You’re the only one that gets it.” She says. “All my other friends think I’m terrible for not wanting my parents to visit.”

I laugh an easy, pain free laugh. The last one I’ll ever know. “Maybe I’m not the best example,” I shrug, “but I’m no stranger to a draining or unloving family. You don’t owe them anything just because you’re related. And it’s okay to feel however you feel. I have a lot of “family”, I air quote the word, “but the only ones I am close with are my brother and a couple of cousins.”

The name Brendon James appears on my phone as it lights up. I roll my eyes, “That’s my dad. I’ll call him after lunch.” I push the side button to silence the disruption.

Suddenly, my friend’s phone lights up with her own call. “Is that my boss?” I joke as she answers. “Tell him I’m definitely working.” She smiles and gives me a friendly wink as she answers. 

My phone goes off again. This time an obscure aunt. Ugh, what do these people want. I answer the phone as I step into the other room. 

“Have you spoken to your dad?” immediate panic in her voice. My heart starts racing. I hang up without saying a word and call my dad. No answer. I call him again. No answer.

Back to the obscure aunt. She answers with that same panicked voice, “yea, Kelly?”

“What’s going on?” I demand.

“You need to sit down,” she says.

“Tell me what is going on right now. My dad isn’t answering. Tell me what is going on.”

“Your brother is dead.” She doesn’t scream it or say it in a panic. Almost as if she is trying to steady herself for me, but it comes out as if she is telling me that she left the mail on the table. And I’m too confused by the words and her cadence.

“No he’s not.” I hang up. I’m standing in my friends foyer. I can hear her on the phone in the other room with my boss. My brother is not dead. I call him — “Charlie?!” No answer. My family is full of unreliable and dramatic people and my brother is not dead. And if he were dead I wouldn’t be finding out from an obscure aunt. If my brother had the audacity to die then he damn well would have told me himself.

Is the room spinning? I fucking hate my unreliable and dramatic family. I fall to my knees and call my dad. No answer. I had just been eating a California roll. My brother is not fucking dead.

I call Erin, his fiance. She answers the phone in a crying, pleading scream, “Keeeellllllyyyy”. My heart breaks immediately. But he is not dead.

“Erin, what is going on?” I demand.

“He’s dead. He’s dead Kelly.” she’s sobbing.

“Who told you that? Where are you?” I’m crying and my voice is escalating, but he is not dead.

“I’m at his apartment. He won’t wake up.”

“Call a fucking ambulance. What is going on? He is not dead, Erin.”

She answers with incomprehensible sobbing. I hang up and call my dad.

“Hello” his voice is gruff and ragged.

“What is going on?” Someone say something fucking comprehensible.

His mind is racing and I can tell words are falling from his mouth without any thought. “What is going on…let’s see what is going on… is that my only son is dead.”

“Why are you saying that??” I scream. My friend comes in from the other room. She’s telling her husband — my boss, that she needs to go, that something is wrong. I’m sitting on my knees near the door and rocking and sobbing. None of this can possibly be real.

“Why am I saying that? Because he is dead, Kelly.” He almost chuckles at the end. Because it’s so absurd? Because I’m such an unrelenting bitch? He’s exasperated that he had to say it again. I’m exasperated because I still don’t believe him.

“Who told you that?”

“The coroner, Kelly.”

“I want to talk to him. Give me the number.”

My friend is holding me and I’m rocking and saying “no no no no no no” over and over again.

“What’s going on?” she mouths.

“I think… maybe… they’re saying that… that my brother’s dead.”

“Oh my god,” she whispers and wraps her arms around my rocking body.

“Has anyone even called an ambulance?” I’m screaming at my dad as he looks for the number of the coroner.

“Kelly.” He’s angry, or hurt, or annoyed. I don’t know, and I don’t really care. How many times has he been wrong about how many other things? Who is the fixer in this god damn family? — Me. That’s right, me. Give me the god damn coroner’s number and I will find out that he was actually taken to the emergency room. Or that we’re not even talking about the right person. Give me the fucking number. I will find the truth. He finds the number. “I gotta go dad. I’ll figure out what is going on.” I hang up before he can answer.

I dial the coroner. No answer, so I leave a message and wait. Schrodinger’s brother. He’s not dead, but not quite alive.

My friend holds me while we wait for a call back. “I need to go. I need to go home and figure this out.” She understands and I’m out the door on my way to solve this.

[saetoshis]

FULL NELSON W MUZAN?? IT WILL NOT LEAVE MY MIND OMGOSKF hes so strong imagine like saying “i bet you cant hold me in the air while fucking me” AND HE TAKES IT AS A CHALLENGE. you’ve never been shut up so quickly in all of your life. he’s calling you a “greedy little slut” for saying that just so he’d fuck you until you’re begging him to stop but even then he wont, not until he’s satisfied now that you worked him up

OKAY IM GONE NOWCMOAMF

YOUR BRAIN??:);)2)($$3 FUCK MEEEE I WANNA MARRY IT.

[‹ MATURE CONTENT WARNINGS ›]

fem!reader, bratty!reader, dumbification, degradation, strength/size kink, he fucks you standing up, shoves his fingers in your mouth, rough sex, creampie, [mentions of multiple creampies]

“i bet you’re not strong enough to hold me up and fuck me… actually, i don’t know if i believe you’re even strong enough to hold me up at all.”

muzan’s eyebrow twitches as that infamous forehead vein bulges out to make an appearance, crimson gaze full of utter disbelief as your words boggle around in his head - what did you just say?

the smug look on your face says it all, and muzan can't possibly choke down his need to prove you wrong with every thrust until you're falling into dumbness on his cock. he could imagine ruining you in so many different ways right now, but the ending always results in his name tumbling out of your drooling mouth like a chant with load after load of his cum stuffed inside of you.

"hm, is that so?" muzan's low tone drips with condescendence, tantalizing lips just inches from yours as his brawny hand grips your jaw. he relishes in the meekness glimmering in your eyes, his grasp on your face forcing your neck to crane up at him. "didn't anyone ever teach you not to bite off more than you can chew?"

your brain was already so hazy and riddled with lust that you barely processed the way he tore your clothes off, his thick fingers digging into your ass as he lifts you up - your knees hooked over his arms.

“okay… so, you picked me up. big deal, but that still isn’t enough to prove me wro-“ your words stifle as his cock pushes inside you to bottom out, one hand holding you up as the other shoves two fingers in your mouth.

“you really don’t know when to stop running your mouth, do you?” muzan’s rasped tone is biting, his brawny grip bouncing you on his cock and driving jolts up your body. “still have something to say? still think i can’t? why don’t you just watch me, then?”

you’ve never been humbled so intensely in your life - every rough rock of his hips drives his cock into the hilt of your pussy with a brash smack, his fingers fully delved in your mouth as you whine and whimper around them.

“you’re nothing more than a greedy little slut, isn’t that right?” muzan sneers out, pearled fangs baring as he watches your eyes flutter and your drool slip down his knuckles. “being a brat isn’t in your favor. i thought you would’ve learned that by now, but i guess i was mistaken.”

your every murmur of ‘m-muzan! too big- too much’ is muffled and incomprehensible, falling on deaf ears as he bounces and grinds your hips and fucks your precious cunt however he pleases. you swear that each drive of his cock makes you see stars, brain foggy as your whole body tingles in euphoria.

“‘too big’, hm? should’ve thought of that before you mouthed off to me,” muzan leers out between heaving pants, brawny muscles flexing from every movement. with every second that his climax ticks closer, his ministrations only get rougher and more unrelenting. “but i guess you were just desperate, weren’t you? go on, admit it.”

“yes, yes, i’m jus’ desperate,” you mutter out onto his fingers, your whimpers and stifled breaths making it sound more like a drunken babble. your wet lashes flutter shut, the raw pleasure pervading through your body like poison as it completely takes over you.

“that’s right,” muzan’s ruts start to get sloppy as they shift into an inhumanly rapid pace, each wet smack and rough growl rattling in your thoughtless head as if it’s the only thing you’ve ever known. his climax twitches in his cock, each tight squeeze of your cunt practically begging for his cum. “slutty pussy wants all my cum inside, doesn’t it? say ‘yes, muzan’…”

“yes, muzan!” you muffle out, drool smothering his hand as he fucks into you with only one goal in mind - to fill you up again and again, just to watch you squirm and admit that you were, in fact, wrong.

“there you go, so obedient for me,” muzan mutters out condescendingly, a leering smirk on his face as his muscles shudder from the euphoria simmering in his body. with a chuckled grunt and his cock bottomed out in your pussy, ropes of white spill inside you to the hilt and drip down his shaft.

“you’ve learned your lesson now, didn’t you? but i don’t think i’m done teaching you yet.”

2022 MUZANS.

[kthyg]

ghoul. — (folders)

“No one should be on his level when it comes to you.”

or

Jimin doesn’t like what he discovered in your computer.

[FIRST INSTALMENT OF GHOUL SERIES : FOLDERS]

pairing : jimin x reader

rating : G

genre : tokyo ghoul au, soulmate au - but my own version (i’ll add more later)

disclaimer : this story is a work of fiction. descriptions of the BTS members in this story does not reflect nor portray them in real life. everything in this story only fits in imagination and does not apply outside of imagination.

warnings : nothing except for cold and petty jimin.

word count : 1.4k+

masterpost | masterlist | navigation

note from winter 💌 :

i don’t have the will to write a full length story atm so i’ll stick with short drabble to kick start this series (it wasn’t meant to b a series but i made a whole arse characters profiles analysis so it’d b a waste to not make smtg big out of it 🤞🏻)

the idea to write this au popped up when i was rewatching tokyo ghoul and i thought how about bts x tokyo ghoul au AND soulmate au????? 🤔 and this was born

im thinking of releasing two drabbles (which means another one drabble) for this series before i cook up the main story or maybe never 😄 and just continue make a short chapter that has no solid story plot.

andd if u have watched tokyo ghoul, you’ll know the setting and all but in this series it might not be 100% the same as the original.

just a heads up, this will be a yandere story, maybe soft one or otherwise, it depends on the characters + my writing is rustyy so don’t mind me ;’)

💌 what is winter listening to? : impurities & antifragile by le sserafim, nxde by (g)i-dle, cry for me by twice (PLS I KNOW THESE ARE SO UNRELATED BUT IM OBSESSED W/ THEM)

dedication : to myself.

“(Y/N),” Jimin’s voice.

Upon hearing your name, you raised your head to the direction of the door. Jimin didn’t knock but his full figure was already in your office. He didn’t have his coat with him, leaving him with black turtleneck and black cargo pants.

Rephrase; black sleeveless turtleneck with black gloves that covered up until his elbows and black cargo pants that have been stained with blood but barely any rips.

He probably just got back from a mission.

“Investigator Park,” you greeted. “How can I help y—”

“Yoongi wants to see you.” He cut to the chase.

“Investigator Min?” You repeated with a hint of confusion. “Did he say anything else? For me to bring something?”

Yoongi rarely asked for your presence— ever since that day. He avoided you like a plague. The only time you and him were breathing in the same room was whenever Namjoon held meetings of senior investigators, that, too, he never looked at you or even direct any question to you.

“No.” Jimin answered curtly.

As if…

As if you would actually go meet with Investigator Min with nothing in hand. Grabbing your suitcase, you bowed to Jimin. “Thank you. I’ll be going now,” and left your office.

Jimin watched as you walked hastily to Yoongi’s office. You were always ready to comply to any order from Jimin. Maybe because he was your superior, but you have always been compliant to him since day one. Perhaps you felt the need to make him proud. He felt something akin to pride.

He walked over to your desk. Your desk was messy; paperwork were scattered all over the table, reference books, supplements, and newspapers. He was confused as to why you have so much paperwork when you were a ghoul investigator, not a bureau investigator. As a ghoul investigator, you were already an active one, paperwork became unnecessary for you. Never have you ever skipped, reject or failed a mission in your time of career as a ghoul investigator which was something worth to be boastful about, but you were very humble.

Not wanting to mess up the paperwork even more, he avoided touching it. He diverted his attention to the flashy pen drive that was plugged into your computer. The pen drive was impossible to be overlooked.

It was said flashy for a reason.

Iron Man’s hand pen drive… He scoffed.

It was the pen drive you had since you started training to be a ghoul investigator at the Ghoul Investigator Training Academy.

He knew of it because the two of you were very close during the training period. He had enrolled in the academy a year prior before you. But even without all that, Jimin and you had known each other for a long time. The two of you went way back since kindergarten but lost contact when that tragedy occurred; the day his parents were killed was the day you last heard of him but reunited when you decided to join the Ghoul Academy.

He stole a glance at the monitor in front of him. The monitor was displaying your file explorer. You once showed your file explorer to him; there was a folder named after his name, but that was long time ago. He had guessed that you probably have around a thousand of folders for everyone you know because it was a weird habit of yours. You created a file for everyone – if that was actually possible.

It is possible it seems. Your file explorer was the living proof.

The folder under his name was filled with pictures and documents. He concluded that every other folder contained the same. Jimin has always known that you have a deep interest in photography, so he had let you take pictures of him anytime as long it doesn’t disturb his or your line of work.

You take good photos.

You once told him that the pictures you captured represented your eyes. You never fail to praise him of his ethereal beauty. If you ran out of words to describe his beauty, you would use the pictures to tell him. It has been going on since the old days.

Indeed, you take magnificent pictures.

But to know that he wasn’t the only person you took photos of stirred something deep inside him.

There were folders for Rosé, Lisa, Sunoo… Your close friends, of course.

Namjoon, Taehyung,…

Namjoon, the Chief Director of Division 1, the division you and Jimin were working under, which explained why you have his name in your compilation of folders, but it was mostly text files and documents. That man seemed to have a soft spot for you, but it was uncertain because one day he was affectionate to you and the other day, you were nothing but a worthless piece of trash or shit that he stepped on.

As for Kim Taehyung, he was nothing but a superior to you. You rarely interacted with him because he worked under another division but at times you would try and talk to that quiet man.

Although Taehyung was nothing of a quiet man. Jimin knew his soulmate.

Jin, Hoseok,…

Your other close friends. You and Jin became good friends because of the same rank the two of you shared. Given the amount of time you interacted with Jin daily, it would be impossible for a friendship to not been established.

Jin was a sweet and caring young man, and you were literally the carbon copy of him in terms of personality.

Hoseok was once very close to you and Jin, but his excessive promotion from Special Class to High Rank led him to be very busy, especially with his current rank, Chief Director of Division 2.

Next, Jungkook.

The number of files you have under Jungkook’s name was as many as Jimin’s, but he didn’t give it any mind because you and Jungkook came from the same clan and maybe grew up together hence the two of you interacted a lot. You were an indirect descendant of the Jeon clan.

Originally, you were – and still, – an Arima, but the death of Arima Kishou, the one-eyed king, marked the end of the clan as the final will was passed down to a non-descendant, Kaneki Ken. You were still young when Arima Kishou died and when you were taken into the Jeon clan.

Lastly, Yoongi.

He scoffed when he saw the number of files under Yoongi’s name.

Less than 50 files.

Apparently, you weren’t so fond of this one soulmate of his. He didn’t know if you were avoiding Yoongi, or he was avoiding you, but the two of you wouldn’t talk to each other unless it was work. Even for work matters, it was rarely to never for the two of you to speak to each other. Although Yoongi was one of your superior, he was never an option for you to refer to. You’d always go to Hoseok, Namjoon, or Jin.

Jimin continued scrolling your folders until he found an unnamed folder. It was named but not with a name. It was symbolised.

A star symbol.

He didn’t hesitate to click on the folder, but he wished he did and didn’t click on it.

It was a folder filled with pictures of you and Investigator Kim Mingyu.

In other folders, there were only pictures of the owner’s name, or anything related to the owner, but in this folder, there were pictures of you. Lots of it. Of course, in Jimin and Jungkook’s folders there were pictures of you, but it was less than the number of their pictures. The ratio was 1:10.

In this star symbolised folder, however, the ratio was 1:1. Adequate amount of your pictures and their pictures, as well as pictures of three people; you, Mingyu, and Xu Minghao from Min clan.

From the looks of it, your pictures were taken by either two of them, Mingyu or Xu Minghao. Yoongi loathed the latter, and Jimin might jump into the hate train as well.

You looked breathtaking as usual. Jimin ended up looking through the whole folder. The pictures were lovely. A few pictures of couple poses here and there. Jimin would’ve cooed at them if it weren’t for the fact that it was you and another guy. He didn’t care if it was Jungkook, even Jin because they were his soulmates.

Whatever that he owned, his soulmates owned it too.

And he owned you.

Call him petty or whatever. Petty was his middle name.

His hand reached out for the mouse and dragged it until the cursor reached certain a button.

The ‘X’ button.

“No one gets a better treatment from (Y/N) than me.”

Without any remorse, he left-clicked the button and left your office.

‘File(s) has been successfully deleted. ’ The message on your screen read.

All rights reserved © 2022 kthyg. Do not copy, translate, modify or repost without permission. Feedback is very much appreciated. It keeps me motivated! Send me an ask !!

[nattikay]

ok so um. There’s certainly plenty to be said about Way of Water, plenty of lil comments I want to make...but before I can post about any of that (separately), I just need to ramble about Neteyam a little bit. Bear with me. ;_;  (yes, this will be spoilery)

so the idea that Neteyam was going to die had already been pretty prominent in the fandom for several months. At first it seemed to me to be based on nothing but wild speculation for potential sad plot points. But the more and more promotional material came out, the more and more plausible the theory became, much to my dismay. By the time we reached release day, I had already (if reluctantly) resigned myself to thinking that yes, it was probably going to happen. 

And sure enough, it did.

Even going in knowing full well it was extremely likely to happen, even going in having 100% accepted that it was bound to happen and fully expecting it....gosh it still hurt to watch.

I will admit, I did not cry nearly as much as I expected to during this movie. I teared up a bit multiple times, definitely felt the physical heartache plenty, but nothing spilled over. I thought this was kinda weird, given that previously I’d shed tears even over certain shots from the trailer.

When Neteyam died and I absolutely felt my heart breaking in two yet tears still didn’t fall despite the emotional pain I was absolutely in, I realized why: I was just really dehydrated ^^;

see, worried about having to use the bathroom during the long runtime, I’d been very careful to drink as little as possible throughout the day. Well....it technically worked I guess. I certainly didn’t need to go to the bathroom. but it looks like it dried up most of my tears too (maybe not a wholly bad thing given that this was in public, I suppose).

....and yet despite that, DESPITE my dehydration........that ending???? that ending?????? let’s just say I STILL managed to leave the theater with a tearstained face

“bittersweet” is certainly A Word

just

m a n 😭

and I mean. from a writing perspective, I get it. I really do. The “before your birth, after your death” etc theme ran throughout the movie. Using an unrelated character to do it wouldn’t have as strong an emotional impact as using one of the core family. I get it. As a narrative choice, it makes sense.

but from an in-universe/character-pov perspective....gosh golly that hurt. that hurrrrrrrttttt and I don’t know if I’m ok. ngl i legit feel vaguely ill ;_;

My current job is fairly mindless work, so while I’m working my brain can wander. Naturally today my mind was on the fact that I’d been seeing the movie later so of course I thought a lot about it. Like I said earlier, I was already aware of the Neteyam-dies theory (well, no longer a theory I guess) and at that point had accepted it as inevitable, if depressing. I’d been trying to come to terms with it for a while already.

Those who have followed me long enough might know that there’s another movie I like called Wolf Children. It’s a beautiful movie, honestly, one that I appreciate very much, but have only watched a small handful of times because it makes me sob every single time. It’s about a woman who meets a...well, basically a werewolf (except that the transformations are voluntary), they fall in love and have two kids, but right after the birth of the second one the father dies in an accident, leaving the normal-human mother, to raise these two wolf kids on her own. And that’s most of the movie, following the family as the kids grow up until at the end of the movie all three characters go their separate ways. The ending always felt a little bittersweet to me because, even though both children are alive and well living their own lives, the mother is alone again, with only her memories. We saw the whole childhood, that special time as a family unit, and now that period of their lives is over.

That is, essentially, what I was expecting to be done with Neteyam. Watch his whole life, from birth to, well, in his case death. We see the whole thing and then it’s over, no more future with the rest of his family. Which hurts. And yes, that’s...more or less what happened.

While the two scenarios are not perfectly comparable, mentally framing Neteyam’s (then-impending, now-confirmed) death in terms of Wolf Children did actually help me cope with the then-theory. 

I have to remind myself that even though his story is over, and that it ended tragically, that what we saw...wasn’t everything. It was snippets. We saw only very few snippets. For long stretches in between those snippets. For roughly 15 years the Sully family lived more or less in peace. Neteyam had a happy childhood. He lived all that, even though we only saw it so very briefly. I have to remind myself of this, repeatedly.

because even knowing that, watching the tragedy...it’s...it’s hard...

i just...

i just...

and then that. that ending I--

I just--

my heart is broken, it is aching, i cannot ;_;

[rainoverthemountains]

Alright folks, with all of your wonderful advice in mind I am now trying ADHD medication, starting today.

Medically supervised Adderall experiment is a go!

I shall now report on my findings so far, just because.

The morning was wonderful. I just... thought of things that needed to be done and then did them? And finished them? And put everything away when I was done? And then remembered what I’d planned to do next and did that one too? All in a very logical order for task completion. With exactly zero minutes spent fighting my brain. I have had times of getting things done in the past, but never like this.

Midday was very, very productive. Very. But then I started going faster and faster and talking faster and faster and couldn’t quite get around to sitting down for lunch and did many many many things.

Then I sat down for a minute, slowed way down, and noticed I was starting to get tired. I got lunch (effective choice of leftovers for nutrition, taste, and clearing out old food before it goes bad - go me!) and have now collapsed in bed. But not a burnout type of collapse, like what can happen when I manage to turn on Competent Adult Mode and forcefully keep myself hyped up to keep getting things done. I think I may have just exhausted myself?

Unexpected side-effect discovered at lunch: the food that was a little bit spicy before is now Very Spicy. To the point that I have given up on eating the spiciest part. Unfortunate, but nothing I can’t live with if it means retaining the capacity to Get Things Done.

m&m's, on the other hand, are now extra delicious, but that may be unrelated as me liking m&m's is hardly news.

Plan for the rest of the day:

1) Take a break - also see whether taking a break follows its usual pattern of ‘oops it’s suddenly midnight and I have no idea what happened to the last nine hours’ or whether I can actually rest, recover from excessive activity, and then return to participating in the world

2) See if capacity to accomplish things extends to capacity to accomplish academic things - am moderately optimistic because some of the big tasks I’ve been avoiding because I can’t get my brain around working on them don’t sound that hard at the moment, even while still exhausted

3) Attempt going to bed at a reasonable time and see if it works, and if not then see if going to bed at the usual, slightly unreasonable time works

Overall assessment so far: cautiously optimistic, though hoping my brain figures out how to steady itself through whatever mad rush of neurotransmitters it experienced in the middle of the day without losing the benefits of the morning’s productivity boost

ADHD folks and people who know ADHD folks:

Help me! I need advice.

I have now been diagnosed with ADHD in addition to already-diagnosed ASD. (I am very unsurprised.) I'm considering medication, but am concerned about:

side-effects

unhelpfulness

So, have you or someone you know tried ADHD medication? Has it been helpful? Has it been the opposite of helpful? How did you know? How did you figure out what to try? What kinds of things does it help with, and what does it not help with?

Also, when consulting with a professional who could prescribe it, how do you know if they have any idea what they're talking about?

Any advice on any of this would be appreciated. I know a lot about ASD, but my knowledge of ADHD doesn't go much beyond what I've read on the internet.

[absintheandtextbooks]

Message in a Bottle part 1

Theo Dimas and Mabel Mora AU (I’d call it a penpals Au?)

Content: grave robbing (let me know if there’s a warning I should add that I forgot)

2011 - April

Theo hated working at the funeral home. He didn’t mind the bodies so much it was the despair all around that made it difficult. The bodies were understanding, silent, and nonjudgmental. Their mourners though were a different story. They wailed and moaned and snapped at everyone around them. Theo understood they were grieving but he felt one should grieve in silence - call out to whatever you hoped for beyond in your head. He certainly did. Every day for the past 3 and a half months. He talked to Zoe in his mind. She laughed at his jokes about the mortuary tools. Or the mourners fighting over some sliver of a will. She talked to him when he felt alone - like a shut in in his own home. She died in his nightmares every night and in his worst moments said he killed her and in his best said he might not have. Theo knew he needed to stop talking to her. But in the meantime it didn’t do any major harm. It was certainly better talking to her in his head than going crazy. He was still shocked they just left him to work. He was still young. Too young to be doing this every day. Not that it mattered to his father.

In sitting with death every day Theo had learned a few things. Firstly, he was definitely going to have a closed casket or be cremated. Secondly, everything at a funeral was expensive. Thirdly, the families were too scared of death. Theo was also scared of death but more because he knew his father and by extension him fed on the sentimentality and lack of oversight families had in the case of a family death. The bodies were safe. He sat with them, treated them as people. He signed to them while he worked and apologized profusely when he stole from them. He listened to families fight about whether to put grandma’s earrings or grandpa’s watch in with them and silently pleaded for them not to.

As he worked, gently pulling the gold molars out of a mouth, he considered his situation distantly. He had no friends. Arguably was spending every free hour grave robbing and was a middling student. He had no friends barring his father and few hobbies besides drawing little comics in the margins of the books he read. He realized he needed to talk to people - anyone - his age.

When he got off work he made a few brief searches and found a program for teens/young adults to be pen pals. Not necessarily his best idea but he certainly didn’t think it would be his worst. He filled out the form and set up an email completely unrelated to his fathers. He wanted to be someone else. Anyone else. He sent in the paperwork and went to bed. Eagerly awaiting the first email from the person he matched with.

~~~~~~

Mabel sat in her room at home, her paints all around her. She had almost finished the wall in her room and was planning a tree and a patterned wallpaper. She absently rested her pencil in her sketchbook, dissociating until she heard a gentle knock on the door.

“Mabel,” her mother did gently, “have you thought about what might be helpful?”

She heard her mother rest her hand on the door and she bundled herself up in a blanket her aunt had knitted, coming to rest with her back against the door. “I’ve thought a bit about it.”

“Do you have anything you want to try?”

Mabel pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping the blanket over her head, cocooning herself in the wool. “I don’t want to see anyone yet. I don’t want to go anywhere.”

“Sweetheart it’s been months. We can’t keep doing school and everything like this.”

Mabel buried herself further in the blanket and stood, letting her mother into the room and sinking back down to the floor surrounded by her paints and sketches. Mabel’s mother perched precariously on the corner of her bed.

“The art is looking nice sweetheart.”

Mabel nodded her thanks.

“Have you considered the pen pal program?”

“I don’t need to have a random penpal!”

Her mom shifted to sit by her, putting her arms out for a hug. Mabel shifted into them. “I think you might want to consider it seriously. I miss seeing you smile. You can’t hole up in here forever. I think having someone to write to might help you ease back into socialization.”

Mabel sad and considered, wiping at the tears that had begun welling in her eyes. “I just miss Zoe! I miss them all so much!”

“I’ll send you the link.”

Her mother gave her another big hug and stood, leaving the bundled up Mabel amongst her sketchbooks and paint.

Mabel waited until her phone lit up with the link and she set up an account, thanking her lucky stars that her email was from when she was young and didn’t have her name at all. She didn’t want people to guess who she was. She ticked the box for local-ish penpals and waited to see who she was paired with.

2011- May

Mabel woke wary to her phone buzzing. She sat bolt upright when she saw the email in her inbox. It was subjected “You’ve matched with a penpal!” She nervously opened the email to see an autogenerated message with an email: “navybluebookworm46@hotmail.com”

The corners of her mouth twitched upwards. She began typing.

“Dear bookworm.

Nice to meet you! I hope you’re doing well. Maybe we should try get to know each other questions or something. Ya know. Favorite color? Favorite food? What silly thing scares you? Any hobbies? Favorite season? We could go through a lot of favorite things. Anyway. Hope to hear from you soon!!!”

~~~~~~

Theo woke up to two emails floating in his mailbox. As he brushed his teeth he read them both. The first was from the penpal service giving his penpals email as “mysterypainter@gmail.com”. The other email was from his penpal. He opened it eagerly.

Whoever it was seemed scattered but hesitantly excited. They asked him questions he promptly answered: blue, halva (or really most sweet things), silverfish, reading, and winter (I like sweaters a lot).

He finished brushing his teeth as he sent the email to “mysterypainter” and headed to school, getting ready for a very long day ahead.

2012 - May

A year later and they were still emailing. Pretty constantly but Mabel was hearing less and less about bookworm’s actual day to day life. She had started art school and loved every minute but still get disconnected from her classmates - at odds with these people who had lived seemingly normal lives. She still enjoyed hanging out but struggled to connect. Her portfolio had become a dark gnarled mess. She painted out her feelings and startlingly realistic portraits and the subject matter helped her get out of her head. She could put on a podcast or music and just paint. She listened to a lot of slow heavy music, letting the lyrics move her brush and the bass tint her art in shades of blue and purple. Occasionally she’d send bookworm pictures of paintings she particularly liked. They always replied with questions, especially when they learned she painted to music, diligently asking what she had listened to or what she was thinking about. In turn they’d send her short stories and poems back. Soon she started a small series of paintings to the poems they sent. Stockpiling them. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t want to send them. Part of her wondered if it was because she wanted to show them to bookworm in person.

~~~~~~

Theo didn’t know why he kept up the messages with the painter. His dad had him working constantly. He had grown unsettlingly accustomed to dealing with the dead. He felt less and less with each body that reached his table. The jewels didn’t even mean much anymore. Their glimmering looked like paste regardless of how finely they were crafted. He still tried to humanize them. Signing to them. Thinking about their lives. It was a way to hold on. But he feared letting go of even that. Eventually he’d be numb to it. So in his free time he read. Extensively. Any book he could get his hands on. On the painters recommendation he read through all the Nancy Drew and Hardy boys books. He read old plays he found and poetry. He liked the rhythm of the words and the expressiveness of the poet on paper. The painted recommended other mysteries as well, the Flavia deLuce series and the no.1 Ladies detective agency. He liked reading about the thief or murderer getting caught. In what he thought of as his weaker moments he thought about his father getting caught and him getting dragged down with him. The truly sad part is he didn’t see much of a problem with that.

New Years 2015

Theo looked up at the night as he left the funeral home. It was dark. The air seemed to have the energy of New Years eve but he felt none of it. As he looked around at the dead streets in this part of town he completely stopped and sat down on the front stoop of the funeral home. He had absolutely nothing to do and nowhere to go. His father was running a dinner for close advisors and investors he wasn’t invited to and his handful of acquaintances his age were home over Christmas break from studying in New York. They would be graduating soon and wanted to spend every second they could with family. His emails with painter were getting more and more sparse. For some reason he opened his email and started a draft. He stared at the streetlight nearest him. It shone gold and there was a light dusting of snow beginning to fall. He addressed the email to the painter and for no apparent reason began to write. He sat there in the cold for near an hour writing and when he finally came to it was near midnight. He glanced at it once and then pressed his icy fingertip to the send button. Tucking his phone and hands into his pockets he began the trek home.

~~~~~~

Mabel received the message while she was home. After the incident her family kept New Years very low key. She was sitting curled on the couch next to her mother working on a pint of ice cream and some halva from a nearby bakery. Years ago when she had gotten the first email from bookworm she had tried them and at this point she didn’t even associate them fully with the messages. They were a comfort food all their own. She was getting over a breakup. She had dated the girl for almost a year before they finally split a couple of days before Christmas. She was working on trying to not completely associate the Christmas season with heartbreak and trauma but here she was. Her mom got up from the couch to switch on some soft music and her phone buzzed. She wondered if it was someone from school. She was looking forward to graduating but didn’t really know how many people would actually stay in touch after that. She had tried making friends and had made a few but not many. After a moment she flipped the phone over to read the notification. She stifled an eyebrow raise when she saw it was an email from bookworm. And not a very long one at that. She opened it hesitantly her eyes skating across the message. It was a poem. Her fingers itched to paint at their words. And they had signed it differently this time. It didn’t say bookworm. It was signed Orpheus. She closed her eyes, switching her phone off and turned the name over and over in her head. Why that name. She was sure there was some irony to it but not sure what. But quickly her mind drifted from the name to the painting she was thinking about for the poem and then even those glancing colors faded to sleep.

2019 - January

Theo had gone entirely numb to the whole business as expected. The bodies were bodies. There wasn’t anything human about them at all in his expert opinion. The embalmed cadavers sat waxy and glassy eyed. He had grown tired of learning to place eye caps and position mouthes after he’d taken teeth. He watched the other funeral home members work and felt completely divided from them. Some of them talked to the dead, moving them gently and giving them dignity others worked with efficiency to show their respect. Hw had long since stopped. His job was to rob them of that dignity on their path to the grave. Nothing he signed or did would change that he was desecrating them. And there wasn’t really anything he could do about it. Though the work at the funeral home was bleak the other options felt worse to him somehow. He resented picking up shifts at the delis, wearing his father’s company logo on his apron and hat as he grinned at people like a broken doll from behind the counter. The people didn’t want to speak at him. They just muttered instructions to the person manning the till and he executed orders. It was bleak. Thankfully after years he’d finally convinced his father to let him move out. Sadly it was to an apartment his father had chosen and was finding. But he relished the privacy. He had been getting more emails recently. And whoever it was had begun signing emails as Callie Shaw. He thought he hardy boys reference was funny but decided not to push. Whoever she was had seemingly gotten very fervent with her art. Painting constantly. He could feel the hunger to succeed mixed with the listlessness she felt about her situation. And her paintings were lonely. Faces looked at him with blank eyes or distant expressions. Landscapes all felt bare. He would trade poetry for the paintings, filling his time and many journals with it. He sent the best ones her way. He wondered if they’d ever really meet.

~~~~~~

Mabel was desperate for something to do. She had spiraled a bit after college. She had part time work as a graphic designer thankfully but was still living in her mothers house for the time being. Her last apartment hadn’t worked out. And she was painting. Some of them sold but many didn’t and loved the walls of her mothers house. Her stash of paintings based on Orpheus’s poems - both the ones he’d sent and written - were still safely stashed under her bed in a carefully organized and unlabeled box. She still hadn’t sent them and felt she was a little past the point of starting to send them. If they ever met she vowed to show him. Even if she thought they’d make him laugh. Early one morning she got a call from her Aunt from the Arconia. “Mabel dear,” her aunt questioned as she answered the phone, “if perchance I wanted a change of pace, would you be willing to potentially take on a project?”

Mabel shrugged before responding “maybe?”

“I’m looking to renovate at the end of next year.”

That felt ages away but Mabel considered.

“December in 2020?”

“Yes dear. I need some time to get my things sorted.”

Mabel thought about her job which was very doable from a distance and the fact she’d have housing covered that wasn’t with her mother. The prospect seemed promising.

“I’m interested potentially. Please keep me in the loop”

“Of course dear I’ll update you on my progress with packing bags. Expect to move in in late November next year.”

Mabel smiled as they continued to absently chat for a bit. She had something to do and somewhere to go - if all worked out- and it sounded like an adventure and less excitingly, an opportunity to face the demons she had finally started to go to therapy for.