#(there’s probably a better label for this but I’m struggling for words)

[bluedalahorse]

As my identified reference about Sara and August, I have a question for you about the end of s1.

When Sara goes to August's room to confront him, they end up kissing. Before I saw S2, I thought Sara was not really consenting, giving the way she looks away. I thought August was taking avantage of her.

Do you think she was "enjoying it" at that time, but maybe was wondering what was happening ?

Thanks for your ask! I’m happy to be your sargust expert.

And now to address your question. It’s an uncomfortable question to answer, but I’ll do my best to answer it all the same. Content note that we’re about to get into discussing consent and other difficult topics related to sexuality.

Generally my read on the situation is: yes, Sara consented. At the same time, she’s conflicted about her feelings for August in that scene, so I think what we’re seeing when she looks away is her struggling with her feelings about her desires.

While we talk a lot about the more positive depictions of sexual behavior in Young Royals, one thing that’s true about the show is that it actually depicts a range of sexual behaviors. Earlier in season 1, we have Simon nervously but happily kissing Wilhelm on movie night, but we also have Felice showing up at August’s room and initiating a hookup not out of desire but out of feelings of anger and insecurity. Felice and August both consent to the latter encounter, but both of them do so while in a negative headspace. Sara’s encounter with August in 1.6 occupies a sort of middle space between these two extremes. This is even evident by how the scene is blocked and directed. Sara showing up at August’s door reminds us of the way Felice shows up, but her first tentative kisses remind us of Simon on movie night. Sara does feel genuine desire—she’s the one who initiates the kissing, at first—but she’s also struggling with that desire and what it means for her understanding of herself, her relationship with her family, etc.

Another piece of important context for the confrontation scene is that both Sara and August are in not the best headspace. August has been grappling with the fact that he betrayed his core value of discretion released the video, and a lot of the buried resentment he feels toward Wilhelm has come to the surface. This is coming on the heels of August barely avoiding being kicked out of Hillerska after not being able to pay his boarding feels. Sara encountered her father in person on Lucia night—something caused by Simon going behind her back—and her house is now being hounded by journalists and her mom is threatening to pull her out of a school where she’s finally made friends. While neither of them is in as awful or traumatic a place as Wilhelm or Simon, for obvious reasons, I don’t imagine either of them has been sleeping well or taking care of themselves. This is likely something that’s cutting down on their usual inhibitions, and their decisions are driven partially by bad mental health/a stress response.

Regardless of the fact that Sara consents, I also think we’re meant to feel uncomfortable in that scene because we know how quickly things could go in a negative direction where Sara’s consent is disregarded. We know August’s views of women are crap. He has a lot more privilege, between the two of them, and he’s physically taller and stronger than Sara. If I recall (I’m trying not to rewatch the scene right now so I don’t accidentally rewatch Young Royals when I need to get work done) we even see him lift Sara up and put her on his desk. In a more idealized/less realistic teen drama, the directors might have tried to turn this into a ~sexy move~ via camera work, lighting, and sound mixing. But here it’s merely a demonstration of physical strength, and one that Sara’s not initially expecting. I don’t think Sara’s feeling threatened or coerced, in that moment, even if she’s surprised and even if all of this physical contact is new to her—I imagine season 2 would have played out very differently if she had felt that way—but I do think that we, as audience members, are supposed to feel the possibility of that threat, and worry for her.

(Something I also have considered in season 2 is the way that Sara is initiating a lot of the physical contact at the beginning of season 2, while also knowing August’s secret. Theoretically she could have blackmailed him into hooking up with her by threatening to go to the police with information. She doesn’t attempt to blackmail him, and August consents to physical contact with her even when he’s surprised by it. But the context in which Sara kisses August in 2.2 is supposed to bring this idea into our head, I think. Maybe. I go back and forth on what the writers want us to think there.)

Another way to think about these scenes, also, is that some sex educators recognize multiple categories of consent. For instance, Angela Chen recognizes four in her book on asexuality. Chen would probably label Sara’s consent in 1.6 as willing, but not enthusiastic. Likewise with August’s consent in 2.2.

Tl;dr consent is a complex topic and different sex educators have different paradigms about consent. Young Royals wholly acknowledges the importance of consent in sexual situations, while also acknowledging that not everyone who consents does so at perfect times, or with pure, uninterrupted feelings of love and desire in their heart. And I think being aware of that makes it easier to interpret scenes like the one above.

Hope this answers your question! There really are a lot of emotional layers to this show.

[letorip]

kiss with a fist

“you hit me once, i hit you back, you gave a kick, i gave a slap”

===+++===

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: tara needs a favour from perhaps the person she hates most on earth, but it just ends up drawing the both of you closer together.

warnings: explicit sexual content, fake dating 🤯, enemies to lovers, contrived plot because ha ha ha

word count: 4.8k

A/N: kinda had a lot of fun with this one. might do a part two, might just leave it as is, but let me know. inspired by kiss with a fist by florence + the machine (duh), lovely night from la la land, and various other inspirations.

===+++===

===+++===

The moment your front door opened on its hinges, Tara Carpenter was pushing past you and barging straight into your apartment, stepping right over the threshold and checking you with her shoulder. You barely had a chance to process it, before she had wandered down the hall and into your kitchen in a blur.

You rolled your eyes, knowing you were in for an annoying ass conversation and slamming the door shut. “What do you want?” You called into your own apartment loud enough for her to hear you in the other room.

“Don’t be a prick about it. This is the last place I wanted to go,” she shot back, and you sighed to yourself in your dark hallway before fixing your hair in the mirror and following her inside. There was only about an hour of her bullshit you could put up with and then you’d be saved by the bell anyhow.

“Whatever happened to ‘hello,’ Tara?” You said, crossing your arms and coming in to against the doorframe. She had jumped up onto your counter, legs swinging and fingers gripping the edge of the blue ice glass tiles. In her left hand she picked up the bottle of wine you had left out next to some glasses and began to read the label.

"Lecture me later,” she said, not looking up at you, You were about to reply, or more aptly, tell her to get the hell out of your apartment, but she put the bottle down and narrowed her eyes at you, clearly struggling to say what she was really there for.

“Look, (Y/n), I need your help.” Ah. There it was.

"Hah," you scoffed without hesitation. "No."

She threw up her hands. "I didn’t even say what I was asking for.”

“Still, no. I’m not helping you.”

“Could you just not be an asshat for five minutes and listen to me? Like, is that too hard for you? Are you medically incapable?" She shot back.

"You're sitting on my counter. I didn't bust into your house and start making demands but here you are in mine,” you said.

"I'm asking for a favour," said Tara, raising her voice. "Asking."

"Wasn't much of a question though, was it," you replied. Maybe being a dick back to her would make her leave. She had always been able to dish it but never able to take it, and you wanted to make her. "You said 'I need a favour.' There's no question in that."

"No, I actually said I need your help, now would you shut up and listen?"

You scowled. "Y'know, I'm not really in a helpful mood tonight."

"Like you have something better to do,” Tara scoffed, raising her eyebrows at you.

"And what if I do?"

"Then I'd say you're lying. What, you don’t want to help me because you’re watching your stupid show, or reading or something?” she challenged back, getting up off your counter and walking towards you. You straightened up, glaring down at her. She only came up to about your chest, but the short girl still did her best to seem intimidating.

With you she always frustratingly failed to even make the smallest dent, though that probably stemmed from the fact you could pick her up and punt her like a football if you wanted to. On the days she managed to really piss you off, the thought grew more enticing.

"For your information, I was supposed to have a date," you said. Tara blinked at this, looking down from your stupid face. You wore a thick black turtleneck and some pleated black pants that hung stylishly from your waist. The wine made sense now, and Tara felt like an idiot.

“What’d you pay them?” she clapped back, covering for the feeling of intense heat rising to her cheeks. This was humiliating. She had come begging for your help of all people- you, and now she had nothing to show for it but the stupid, smug look on your stupid, smug face.

“Ha ha,” you said, dryly. “Get out.”

“No.”

“Yes,” you insisted.

"So you're busy then…” she trailed off.

“Yes.”

“Nooo,” she groaned, throwing up her hands in frustration.

You weren't sure what it was, maybe the pout of her lip or the shining of her eyes, but you shut your own for a second and let out a sigh. "Why? What's the favour?"

Tara shook her head in a generally amusing display of defeat. "It's whatever. Have fun on your date," she said, heading for the door and trying to brush past you, but you reached your arm across the doorway, stopping her from going.

"No, what's-" you stopped, rolling your eyes upon realising you were about to help Tara Carpenter of all people- "What's the favour, Tara?" Her face instantly lit up with a bright, beaming smile, the exact opposite of what it had been before, and it suddenly occurred to you she had been playing you like a fiddle.

"Oh my god, you're actually helping for once! Did you finally wake up on the right side of the bed?”

"Don't push it," you muttered. "I don't even know what I'm agreeing to, yet."

"See, about that..." she trailed off.

"What.”

“We have to make Sam really, really mad.”

"What?”

"Yeah..."

You shook your head at her. "Never mind. I'm not helping you anymore."

"What!?"

"You're trying to get me murdered," you said. "I don't have a death wish."

Tara was fully frustrated now, dark eyes fiery and staring up at you in the candle lighting. “You don’t even know what it is you’re doing to make her mad yet!”

“Doesn’t matter, if it’s Sam I don’t want to do it.”

“It would be a big help!” Tara said, clasping her hands in front of her like a prayer. You narrowed your eyes at her, more upset her expression and clear desperation was actually working on you, and that you felt compelled to help this idiot with an undoubtedly idiotic plan.

“What are you trying to do?”

Tara jumped up and down in excitement, smiling widely in a way you had rarely seen her. “Okay! Okay, so Sam said last month that she didn’t want me going to parties and meeting people because she was worried they were murderers.”

“Uh huh,” you said.

“Buuut, she said I could go if I had someone always with me. Like, someone with me that she approved of. So I didn’t wander off to hook up or drink, which is, y’know, the actual fun ‘college party’ stuff.”

“Uh huh.”

“The thing is though, that if I had a ‘partner,’” she raised her fingers to put quotes around it, “then Sam wouldn’t need to worry about me doing that, because she’d assume I’d be with them, hanging out, or even if we did go to a party, it would be together. Buddy system style.”

You raised your eyebrows, realising where this was probably going. “Uh huh?”

“Which is where you’d come in. Sam wouldn’t trust just anybody, if I told her I was seeing someone. But she would trust someone from our group, who she knows for sure isn’t going to murder me. And you- as fucking annoying as you are- are exactly that.” She had a twinkle in her eyes when she explained it to you, and you realised Tara had probably been plotting this- or at least considering it- for a while now, the little devil.

“You really expect Sam to believe we can tolerate each other?” You asked, squeezing your arms tighter against your chest. “She knows how much I hate you, and only person I hate more is her.”

“Trust me, I’ve complained about you to her too,” she rolled her eyes. “But you were literally my only option. Call it a romance of passion. We only ‘hated’ other to cover up for our real feelings or whatever. Sam doesn’t have to like you but she definitely trusts you.”

“How romantic,” you wrinkled your nose, disgusted by the suggestion. “Wait, why am I your only option? Chad is right there, he’s already in love with you and everything. He’s like the built-in boyfriend.”

She winced. “See, I thought about that. But I just know it would probably hurt him, with the hooking up and it not being real. He probably wouldn’t feel too great about me ‘cheating’ on him.” Tara did the finger quotes around it again and you let out a whistle.

“Wow, so you do have a heart.”

She scoffed. “More than you do. Besides, we only need to pretend to be together until I find someone actually tolerable. After that, you’re free again.”

“I had a date tonight,” you narrowed your eyes at her.

“But you’re still here talking to me for some reason?” She raised her eyebrows at you. “And the way you said ‘had’ I’m thinking you don’t anymore.” Tara could be annoyingly perceptive sometimes. She always seemed to zero in on the way you spoke or what you said.

“I wasn’t too excited for it anyways,” you grumbled, and Tara laughed, realising she had been correct and being all too pleased with herself. She clasped her hands together.

“Well then. Are you going to help me, or are you going to glare at me some more?”

“The second one sounds really appealing right now,” you shot back.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be too proud of an asshole to admit this is a great plan.”

“It’s a terrible plan, and it’s absolutely going to fail when Sam tries to murder me.”

“But you didn’t say no.”

You looked at her for a long minute, contemplating if this was really the path you were going to go down. You let out a sigh, shaking your head. “I’ll do it. But you’ll sure as hell owe me.”

“Yeah yeah,” Tara waved you off, beaming from ear to ear. “Great! We’re going on a double date with her and Danny this Friday.”

“What?!” Your mouth dropped open.

“Yep,” she said, annoyingly skipping down your hallway. “I’ll text you the address and time!” she said.

“Now wait a minute-” you called after her, but she had already latched open your door and left, leaving you to watch her go. Fuck, this would end terribly. You sighed again, taking out your phone to cancel your date.

===+++===

This was so unbelievably stupid. The longer you stood outside the Italian restaurant, the more you regretted agreeing to help her.

The restaurant was nice at least, with giant marble stones and dark red accents, and you could see through the massive float glass windows that the lighting mostly featured romantic candles and potted floribunda roses against dark wood. It would ironically be the most expensive date you ever had, and you realised that with bitter sentimentality.

Tara was late, like always, and you had begun to pace along the sidewalk, tracing the cracks with the centre of your shoe while you waited for her. It was boring, out on the street, and the more couples that passed you and walked right inside, the more nauseous you felt. You grabbed your phone out of your pocket, thumbing over the cracked display.

She was ten minutes late. You swiped open your text messages, still seeing nothing from her.

are you here yet???

You sent the message hastily, waiting for the typing icon to pop up or even show that she read it, but nothing. Suddenly the screen lit up and your phone started vibrating it, and you almost dropped it in surprise. “Fuck,” you cussed quietly, seeing the call incoming screen and Little Shit (do not pick up) appear at the top. You frowned, hitting the green button and accepting the call.

“Where the hell are you??? I don’t know if you noticed but we’re late,” you immediately said into the phone, aware of just how annoyed you sounded.

“Relax,” replied Tara on the other end of the line, and you could hear her eye roll from here. “Danny is a late guy too, Sam gets on him all the time for it.”

“Yeah well, I’m standing outside waiting for your late ass.” You felt someone awkwardly push past you and you winced, spinning around to usher them an apology.

“I’ll be there in a minute, I had to pick something up,” she dismissed you. “Just don’t let Sam and Danny see you. I told them we were showing up together.”

“Well how the hell am I supposed to do that?” You frowned, looking around. There was a row of bushes off to the side but you were too tall and not at all willing to crouch behind them like an idiot.

“I don’t know. Figure. It. Out.” Tara spoke slowly like you were a child and you narrowed your eyes.

“Y’know, I’m doing you a favour?”

“Ha!” Tara exclaimed, and you hissed, pulling your ear away from the phone’s speaker at the loud noise. “So you admit, it was a favour!”

“Shut up and get your ass over here," you grumbled before hanging up shortly, looking around and wandering down a side alley. It smelled disgusting back there, in the ironic, almost-dark of sunset, and it would've been a lovely night to take a walk on, had it not been for wasting it on Tara of all people.

You pulled out a box of cigarettes from your pocket, fumbling one out and sticking it between your lips. You stuck the box back in your pocket and pulled out your fancy lighter that had your name engraved on the side, thumbing over the lettering for a moment before lighting the cigarette and sticking it between your two fingers.

It felt stupid, to standing there next to the dumpster and watching some rats scurry by, but you let out a huff of smoke, remembering how much Tara had seemed excited for the parties and having fun. You didn't like her very much, nor could you really claim to be much of a saint, but you weren't a monster either.

"What are you doing??" called a voice from the end of the alley, and you spun to see Tara near the line of bushes with a bouquet of flowers in her hands. She had her eyes narrowed at the cigarette, looking frustrated.

"Having a smoke. Why, want one?"

She let out a sigh of exasperation, marching straight up to you. "You can't go on a double date with my sister smelling like cigarette smoke. You know she hates that kind of stuff."

"I've smoked with her, before. Her and Mindy," you argued, pulling it from your lips to take a breath in. "I've literally given her cigarettes."

Tara glared at you, taking it from your hand and crushing it under her heel. "Yeah, well, she still hates you, and now that we're allegedly 'dating' it's different. We can't give her any reason not to trust us, and you smoking cigarettes is going to make her think I'm going to start smoking cigarettes."

You shrugged. "If she hates me so much, then she's never gonna let us 'hang out' alone or go to parties anyway."

"No, she-" Tara rolled her eyes. "She hates you, but she sure as hell trusts you. Enough to babysit me."

"Fine. What's with the flowers?" you asked, crossing your arms.

"You got them for me," Tara shrugged. "Pinnacle of romance."

You whistled to be funny, but it was a little bit impressive that she had planned that out. The plan wasn't especially well thought out, but she at least had her moments of surprising intelligence, which you couldn't begrudge her.

"Well then," she frowned. "Let's go, lover." She clutched the flowers in one hand and slid her arm to interlock with yours. You narrowed your eyes but started to walk her in.

"Don't call me that. It's weird," you muttered.

"Get used to it. Tonight we're the happiest couple on planet Earth."

The restaurant was somehow even nicer on the inside than it had been on the outside. Tara gripped your hand, tugging you along with her as she headed towards Sam and Danny's table and followed the waiter, but you were looking a little dumbfounded at the marble columns and Italian frescos painted to the walls and roof.

You made your way back, led into a giant room with a lot of people. Danny sent you a welcoming wave when they saw you; Sam looked like she was about ready to blow a gasket. She stared at you, eyeing you up and down and then lasering in on the bouquet in Tara's hands with a frown.

"Did you tell her your secret partner was me???" you whispered to Tara as you approached.

She smirked evilly. "Nope."

Fucking amazing. "Hey guys!" Danny said, friendly and open. He seemed just thrilled to be there, while Sam seethed right next to him. Tara smiled right at her sister, gesturing for you to sit next to her.

"Sorry we were late," Tara says, a little awkward but trying to seem comfortable. "We were, um..." she looked at you for help.

You blanked, throwing out the first thing you could think of. "Kissing!"

Sam nearly spit out her water, eyes widening at staring at you. Tara whipped to you, jaw slack and you sent her a sorry glance. Improv was not your thing by any means.

"Um," Danny blinked at you. "No worries. You're here now," he said with an awkward smile. His hand went to Sam's, trying to give it a comforting squeeze, but she looked like she wanted to jump over the table and then jump you. She was glowering.

"So," she said, eyes narrowed. "How long has 'this,'" she gestured between you and Tara, "been a thing?" She looked at you intensely, and you looked to Tara, trying to shrug it off. You both laughed, playing the part of the happy couple.

"Oh, a month," you said.

"Two months," Tara said, at the exact same time. Fuck.

You tried not to glare at each other. "Well, which is it?" Sam squinted at her sister, and Tara sent a kick at your leg under the table. Your knee hit the bottom of the table with a painful 'thud,' and it took everything in you to not yell out in pain from your knee cap hitting the wood.

You tried to smile it off. "Tara just said two months, because we went on a few study dates, but it wasn't official until a month ago."

"So two months then," Sam said, crossing her arms on the table.

"I get it," Danny said, nodding. "I'm bad at dates and stuff too," he laughed a bit. "I almost forgot how long Sam and I had been together after our four month anniversary." You nodded, sending him your best grin. Sam didn’t look too happy about that either, though.

"Yeah, long day, I guess." Tara said next to you, sending you her best smile, her hand coming up to rub your back. It was weird, having her this close, but you put on your best face, as if she touched you all the time.

"You go to Blackmore too, right?" he asked, and you nodded. "What do you study?"

"I'm in architecture," you replied. Finally, something you could talk about without feeling like you were crossing a minefield. From the corner of your eye, you could still see Sam staring you down with suspicion.

"Oh! That's awesome!" Danny replied, taking a sip of wine from his glass. "I love architecture, it's interesting."

"Mhm," you nodded, looking over at Tara and smirking with just a hint of malicious glee. "I tease her- my degree is actually useful. People don't really like film majors. They usually smell bad."

"Do they?" he asked, genuinely curious, and you turned back, nodding.

"Yeah, it's an unfortunately common stereotype. Film majors are annoying, smelly-," your words were cut off, feeling Tara's nail dig into your back for revenge and trying to stifle a wince. She gave the table a fake giggle.

"Okay, that's enough out of you," she said, and you grinned, cursing her out in your head.

"Why didn't you tell me it was (Y/n), Tara?" Sam asked, leaning forwards and studying you both. She seemed a bit miffed with the whole situation. You sent each other fake smiles, as if you were about to share a secret.

"Well," she said, trying to seem excited. "We just didn't want anyone ruining it, really. It was kind of a secret, and we didn't know what it would turn into. But it's just...it's been so fucking magic."

"Magic. Mhm," you hummed in agreement, looking off into the distance and pulling out the menu. You were just a bit too hungry to keep up with the game for the moment. Seriously? she shot you a glare, and you snapped to attention. "It is genuinely one of the happiest times of my life," you rushed, quickly smiling and then dropping your attention back down to the menu to look at some pasta.

“Does Chad know?” Sam asked, sitting back and staring at you both. Tara shook her head.

“Not yet. I don’t want to hurt him, but really, (Y/n)’s the one for me.” This was also a little bit impressive. Tara seemed to be a far better actor than you were, and Sam just nodded, suspicious but trusting her sister’s words.

===+++===

The moment you walked down the block and out of Sam and Danny's eyesight, your hand dropped from Tara's. The sun was just about setting in the distance, and city traffic was starting to slow down a little.

"Oh. My. God. Her face!" Tara said, laughing. She keeled over, and you smiled a little, remembering Sam's look of disgust, but quiet monitoring of your hand clutching onto Tara's. She looked like a very conservative nun, witnessing a sin being performed in real time. It was a little funny, you had to admit, not that you'd ever be caught laughing along with her.

"Danny seems nice," you said, after you walked a little farther.

Tara nodded. "He's surprisingly not a douchebag. I thought he would be, like you or something, but he's not that bad for Sam."

You scoffed. "I'm not a douchebag."

"You definitely are," Tara said, shaking her head. "One month because it wasn't official? You said we were going on dates before then. That's definitely douchebag behaviour. Sam probably thought that meant you were seeing other people."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh," Tara said, rolling her eyes. "And 'kissing'??? Literally anything would've been better."

"I'm trying to help you, it's either this or nothing," you huffed in annoyance. "I'm not an on-the-spot person."

"Clearly," Tara said, shaking her head in overdramatic emphasis. She stopped suddenly and you jerked backwards, seeing her mess with her shoes.

"You good?" you asked, shoving your hands into your pockets.

"These damn shoes- making me walk home- god dammit," she grumbled, messing with the straps and the buckle on the side. You waited patiently, leaning against a stone wall as you waited for her to finish.

The sky above you had turned a deep purple, small hues of orange and pink in the form of clouds sitting at the edges. It was really something, and you stopped to watch it, whistling. Tara jerked upwards, planting her foot down to stomp her shoe into place.

"What is it?" she asked.

"The sky," you said, and she craned her neck up to watch it with you. "It's just really beautiful tonight."

She hummed for a moment before looking back to you. "It's a shame I'm spending it with you, of all people," Tara snorted. "I'm sure this would be romantic to any other couple."

"It would probably really be something," you said absentmindedly, looking up in thought. "A real waste on you and me though."

"Glad we agree," she said, leading the way. You and her had taken a separate path from Danny and Sam under the guise of getting some ice cream, but neither of you were willing to pay for it. Instead, you had to figure out what you would do with ten extra minutes.

"Do you want to cross?" you asked, gesturing to the other street, she nodded and you walked up, pressing the button. When you turned back to her, her nose was wrinkled.

"What?"

She shrugged. "Nothing. You just hit the button weird."

"What?" you blinked at her. "How can someone 'hit the button weird'?"

"I don't know, but you, like, pushed it weird. With your fingers."

You rolled your eyes. "Do you have a problem with everything I do?"

“Yep,” she nodded back. “It’s annoying.”

You guys kept walking in silence for the next block or two, making a square so that you could return to Sam and Tara’s apartment together. The sun had disappeared now and faded into night, and when you turned the corner to split off, she tugged on your arm.

“Hey wait, you have to walk me home.”

“What?” you raised your eyebrows at her.

Tara shrugged. “You have to, to make Sam think we’re dating.”

You blinked at her. “But we live on opposite sides of the city.”

“Still.”

“Tara if I walk you home I’ll miss the last train,” you grumbled. “That’s a long ass walk.”

“Cmon, we have to or she won’t believe it.”

You frowned. “You’re paying for my cab then.”

She sighed. “Fine, but come on.”

She tugged you down the long strip by the hand, stopping suddenly, a block from her apartment. “Here wait,” she said, turning to you. “Give me your jacket.”

“What?” you raised your eyebrows at her. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Oh just do it, do you have to argue about everything?”

You took it off with a glare, handing it to Tara. She tried to slide it on but it was massive on her, so she bunched up the sleeves. With the flowers in her hand and your jacket, it definitely looked like you two had gone on a date.

She grabbed your hand again, pulling you forwards along the street and smiling brightly in case anyone looked out the window and saw you both. It felt a bit odd to be playing dress up, but it was helping someone out, so you didn’t begrudge her on getting you to smile either.

“Wait wait wait,” Tara said, stopping abruptly.

You groaned. “Now what.”

She pulled you to the side, near a row of shrubs that sat next to the red brick of her apartment building. “Sam’s watching us through the window.”

You turned your head, trying to see for yourself, and there she was, hanging right out the window and watching you with intense suspicion.

"Don't look at her!" Tara snapped at you, whispering with a glare. You rolled your eyes.

"What do you want me to do then, Tara?"

She frowned, biting her lip while she thought. She gave you a grimace. "We need to do, like, a goodnight kiss or something."

You glared at the suggestion. "I think I'd rather die."

"Trust me, I don't want to either," she said, glowering right back at you. "But if we do this now, we won't have to ever again."

You thought for a moment. She'd probably taste disgusting anyways, and then it would just confirm what you already knew- you hated Tara Carpenter. "Fine. Just convincing enough though."

"Okay," she nodded. When neither of you made a move to close the distance, she frowned. "Do like, a countdown or something?"

"A fucking countdown," you repeated. "We're not five."

"Just do it!" she demanded, glaring again.

"Okay, fine, Jesus Christ. Three...," your face moved a bit closer to hers. "Two," you muttered quietly, still leaning in. "One," you said, and then Tara pushed her face onto yours.

It was a chaste kiss, probably sprouting from the fact that neither of you especially wanted to do it. Her lips were softer than you expected them to be and her breath nowhere as near as it would be in your head. You pulled away quickly, and there she was, smiling up at you in the fake way she had been at the restaurant.

"Party next Friday?" she asked. "Now that Sam thinks we're together she won't care if I go. Just pick me up and we can go 'together.' Plus there's a cute kid from my film class who said she would be there."

You nodded. "Whatever."

"Great," she said with similar shortness, and she brushed right past you, heading into her building. You watched her walk off, making sure she got in the door safe. Sam was still looking at you from overhead, even when Tara had gone, and you could see Quinn standing behind her, looking with morbid curiosity.

It had never even crossed your mind to kiss Tara, just because of how annoying her personality was, and you would have rather died than admit it had been nice- that she had been nice for a night. Instead you turned around, walking off. You were sure Sam was still watching you, as you went.

===+++===

part two??? it shouldn't be too long before the next one, i had to split this up because it was getting insanely long and there's another half to the story. i didn't want this one to be like 8k words long, i'll just probably have another one that's 4-5k soon.

[rebelssvy]

embarrassed

kageyama x reader

LABELS: smut, fingering.

-getting better i think!! still new to fic writing.

this is the most embarrassing thing ever. your boyfriend had just started fingering you and you had already cummed on his fingers.

you didn’t even know you were close untill all of the sudden the sensation was far to overwhelming and you were clawing at his wrist to stop.

but now here you were, a solid minute- ish into your sexual activies with you boyfriend and already drained.

you didn’t even want to know what he was thinking. he probably thought you were such a loser for that.

“oh my fuck” you heard him say out though a groan. you were so so so embarrassed!

you peaked up through your hands to find your boyfriends eyes trained on yours.

“i’m so sorry tobio. that’s so embarr-“ you started, before you could finish he cut you off.

“that was the hottest thing i’ve ever seen. do you think you could do it again?” he said with admiration. in his eyes there was somthing unrecognizable.

it was a passion, a drive to make you cum on his fingers again.

“i… i don’t know.” you stated.

before you could re- adjust yourself his fingers found his way into your cunt again.

“i’ll make you feel good i promise. just please let me make you feel good” he begged while pumping his in and out of you.

your back arched up off the bed, into his touch. your hands wandered looking for his wrists. it was too much! you just came already.

“you know you want it just let me fuck your cunt with my fingers” he said continuing his assault.

you moaned his words. there was a tone that you liked. he could say anything and it would turn you on.

“you liked that huh? felt you clench around my fingers.” he stated.

you moaned in response.

“t-tobi..oo.. i don’t know- how much more i can take.” you struggled out. trying to close your legs.

your weak attempt at stopping him was met with a stable grip on your thigh.

“shut up and just take it.” he curled his fingers into your gummy walls.

before you knew it, you snapped. moaning you to him. mumbling thank yous and sorrys to your boyfriend.

eventually taking his fingers out of you to then lick them clean.

your face felt hot. your body felt hot. everything was hot.

“told you it’d feel good” he said popping his fingers out of his mouth.

………………………………………………………………………………..

-# i love you kageyama

[a-dragons-journal]

How exactly is being otherkin any different than being transracial by idea? I’m not pro-transracial, but I can’t really formulate an argument on where the difference is and why one is okay while the other isn’t

The difference, in my opinion at least, basically comes down to the fact that race and ethnicity are things other real people deal with and which have big cultural impact for a lot of people; species is not. You can't hurt theriform wolves by identifying as a wolf because wolves are not people and are not aware of any of this. Dragons may be people depending on the dragon, but they don't exist physically in this world to have an opinion. You can, however, hurt people of color by identifying as transethnicity and approaching it in a disrespectful way.

And I say it that way because if I'm honest, transethnicity is one of those transIDs where I'm... a little torn on it. I can understand the feelings and experiences they're describing, but I struggle to find a way to engage with the idea of being transethnicity that isn't going to wind up being racist in one way or another. And while I haven't exactly spent a ton of time in radqueer/transID spaces, when I've gone into their tags and such to do a little research on them, I have overwhelmingly seen transethnicity people being kind of if not extremely racist about it. The experiences are not inherently harmful, but it's really easy to slide into engaging with those experiences in a way that's harmful.

And yet... in this community we have, for example, fictionkin whose fictotypes are a different race than them all the time, and sometimes that's very important to who their fictotype is and how they view the world. And that works out fine. I think the primary difference is that fictionkin are generally expected to acknowledge that they're not a part of that group in the present and can't speak on the group's issues or experiences as if they were, whereas the minute you put a trans- label onto the word, the expectation is that you should be treating a trans[x] person as if they're [x]. (And if it's not, then... why are you calling it trans- anything to begin with when that's what trans- means in an identity context?)

So, I do genuinely believe that they're having these experiences, but... idk, there has to be a better way to frame and engage with those experiences. I don't know what that is, but it's got to be out there somewhere, though it may not be a one-size-fits-all answer. (And maybe there's a transID community out there that's found it, I don't know.)

Anyway, open invitation for POC to give their thoughts on this, since they've probably got better-constructed ones than me; if I'm honest, I haven't spent all that much time thinking about this issue. I think about it on and off here and there when it comes up and then it gives me a headache so I move on.

[drdemonprince]

Have you ever found it worth floating the possibility to probably autistic people and maskers (close friends, family, etc) that they might be autistic?

I have tried it a couple times and it seems to just make people get really defensive and upset with me (which I can handle), but then also people start to hold me at arms length. My intention is to bring us closer together by talking about our shared struggles and how to improve our lives (which was totally fine in the past talking about our shared traits without the autism label), but attaching the possibility of autism to it has the opposite effect. The people I’m around are VERY adhd-affirming, and I see how having that connection over the mutual struggle brings my adhder loved-ones together, and I really crave that type of connection with the people I already love and have so much in common with.

You shouldn't tell someone what you think their identity ought to be, no matter your intentions.

For one, many people who are masking or undiagosed harbor deeply stigmatized views about what Autism even is, and so they will not take the statement as a positive declaration of belonging, but rather an accusation that they have failed to conceal what is most frightening or vulnerable about themselves. Exposing their most hidden side will make them feel very unsafe and judged, even if your intention is the opposite.

Telling someone that you think they might be neurodivergent also suggests that you know them better than they know themselves, which is untrue, and may feel invasive and unwelcome to hear.

Your friend could be the most obviously Autistic to ever Autistic from your point of view, but the choice of how to self-define still falls solely on them. There are many different ways for a person to interpret their experience, and they might arrive at some other word or concept that better does their experience justice from their perspective.

our identities exist to help us make sense of our lives and express who we are to people, on our terms. Most neurodivergent people are absolutely sick of always getting defined from an external point of view. We don't need member of our own community doing that to us further.

If you have benefitted from coming to understand yourself as Autistic, you can and should speak about that openly and positively. That will be enough incentive for anyone else in your life who is neurodivergent to explore the possibility for themselves. If you vibe easily with someone because you share traits in common or seem to naturally understand one another, let that be enough. Tell the person you feel comfortable around them and that spending time with them helps you to accept yourself. That is a much greater compliment than telling someone who they must be.

[just-call-me-by-yn]

SNOW ON THE BEACH — spencer reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Content warning: mainly fluff, itty bitty angst if you squint, hurt comfort, swearing, an oblivious reader (to some extent), and mention of alcohol consumption.

Word count: 1.7k

Summary: The reader just got broken up with, but Spencer is there to keep her company, try to cheer her up, and maybe confess his feelings for her.

a/n: first fic yay! I got this idea while listening to my Taylor Swift playlist also English is not my first language!

“So then he’s telling me all about how he has feelings for someone else” A couple of tears streamed down your face and the voice cracked several times throughout the sentence. “I’m like- motherfucker! Did he truly think, that I would just be like ‘It must have been so hard on you! It’s okay, go run into the sunset with the other girl’?!”

Spencer took a wine glass out of your hand just in case, since you were gesturing a lot. He didn’t want you to spill the burgundy liquid on your couch. When he looked at you, there was worry in his eyes. His lips pressed into a fine line. He thought about how to tell you of the feelings, he had towards you for a long time, but he labeled them as 'not proper'. Millions of ideas of how to communicate it to you streamed through his mind as you told him, about how there was another woman in your relationship, and when he saw your emotional reaction to a breakup, he backed out of the idea of confessing. He had never seen you this distraught and livid, never in the years of your friendship. But he couldn’t just blurb out his love for you, no, not in this moment, not when he wasn't sure if you’ll even remember it by the next morning. Maybe it would be the way to go. That was it! It would be off his chest, and it wouldn’t ruin the long run, your relationship had. No. He couldn’t. You deserved better. You deserved to know.

“You’re oddly quiet today Spence, penny for your thoughts?” You sniffed your nose, which wasn’t exactly ladylike of you, but was a perfect summary of how you felt.

“Do you really want to know what I think?” He answered with a question that was enigmatic in itself. You just nodded. “That’s kind of what you get for dating someone like him, a player. You knew he was that type, but still pursued it, fell in love, and got hurt.”

You were too speechless to make a sound, too stunned to speak, eyes wide open, and mouth agape. 

“I am not saying that’s necessarily your fault, actually it’s scientifically proven that it’s just hormones and neurotransmitters acting up in your brain, you know, dopamine that gives you euphoria and pleasure, oxytocin, and vasopressin. A lot of love can be explained that way, but my point stands. You knew he would probably break your heart, but you were chasing the high knowing the risk”

“I never regretted my words more than asking you for your opinion just a second ago” You stated as you shook your head and rolled your eyes.

“I am not blaming you though, y/n!” Spencer took your small hands into his. “I know how it is.”

“Oh, do you?” The question lingered in the air, for a minute which felt like much longer for him, as he battled the urge, to simply tell you then and there.

“Yeah, maybe not exactly, but I feel like love can make you act or at least seem very irrational at times,” He said quietly, deciding to keep it vague, not wanting you to feel cornered.

“Okay, so tell me about her,” You say in response to a sudden spike of interest that bubbled in your chest. You removed your hands from his grip and reached for the glass of wine.

Spencer froze, going into autopilot thinking hard, and trying to find the best way to exit that conversation. His mind was going as fast as the speed of light.

“Matter of fact she doesn’t know I like her that way… she’s sort of out of my reach. We are friends though, and-” 

“You don’t wanna ruin it, do you? Just in case she doesn’t feel the same?” You finished his sentence in awe at how romantic his struggle was. “I can tell you, she probably dreams of you confessing your love to her. Any girl would. You are a great guy Spencer!”

He wasn’t so sure, so when you put your hand on his arm to show him some support, his whole body tensed because of that act. He prayed you wouldn’t notice, but you did.

“Are you all right? Did I say something wrong?” You asked as your eyes got heavier with each passing moment, tired because of all the tears you’ve shed in the past couple of hours, it was already dark outside, so it got even harder to keep them open. A small yawn escaped your mouth, which Spencer took as a sign to drag you off the couch and put you in bed. He put one of his arms under your knees and the other on your waist, making you squeak in surprise at his sudden actions “Spencer! What are you doing?”

“Taking you to bed,” He said under his breath more to himself than to you “That’s what I’m doing”

“I can walk you know” A delicate chuckle left your lips, somehow the casualness of the situation overshadowed the sadness you felt because of your douche of an ex-boyfriend.

“Yeah, but what’s the fun in that” He felt much better as your mood changed to some more of a positive emotion. He set you down on the bed and gently covered you with a duvet.

“Spence?” Your voice was quiet slightly above the whisper. “Stay the night?”

“Yeah, okay, sure, I’ll be on the couch if you need me” Spencer turned off the light, leaving the dim lighting from the other room cast over the room, making it so you could only see the shape of his silhouette, he turned on his heels to leave your bedroom, but as he meant to walk away you spoke again.

“No, like in the bed you know” A small smirk started creeping onto your face, and he mirrored your actions. When he was already in your bed you felt comfortable enough to cuddle into his chest, and say “You should tell her, you got to”

“You think?” He put his chin on your head avoiding eye contact.

“Yup! Also, you have to tell me, do I know her?” Being seen as noisy was the last thing you cared about at that very moment.

“Oh yeah, quite well” Spencer smiled at how adorable you were, like that big kind of smile that bore all the teeth. Even though the atmosphere was light-hearted a lump in his throat made itself present.

“Wait… please tell me it’s not JJ! I’m begging you. Spencer, please, you can’t just snatch Will’s wife like that! Are you okay in the head?” You were putting the puzzles, but they all were in the wrong order.

“No, it’s not JJ, geez, y/n!” He laughed like that was the most unbelievable and ridiculous thing he ever heard. “I’ll let you guess, give you one more try, and then I will tell you.”

You tried your best to figure out the equation. Failing miserably to add two and two together. Your intoxicated state of mind made you spiral like you were some sort of conspiracy theorist, trying to figure out what the government was hiding from the citizens. 

“No! I give up, please tell me now!” You wined as you looked up at him and saw his loving glance. “Oh shit! No way.”

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same, really, I just thought you deserve to know” The look he gave you did not resemble any look anybody had ever given you before, in your entire lifetime nobody did. It made you sober up right away when the butterflies erupted in your chest, and you could feel their wings brush against your rib cage. 

You always had a thing for Spencer, even though you'd never admit it to yourself, your ex came around, so you let that emotion play the second fiddle. Now all you could feel was affection, unconditional and utterly amazing, warm, and fuzzy love, you have never even imagined happening to you in this cruel world. It felt unreal and made your feelings for your ex-boyfriend look ridiculous, and juvenile. It felt like that was what you were destined to do your whole life, and it struck you, you were meant to be in love with Spencer this entire time. 

“So that’s what it feels like” Your eyes begin to fog with tears again as the abrupt feeling of admiration repeatedly runs through your veins. 

“What does?” Confusion painted his facial features.

“When the feeling is mutual” 

That’s when his lips found yours. Light pecks on your top lip innocently asking you, if it’s okay to move further. As an invitation, you part your lips silently allowing him to continue. Soon his tongue found its way into your mouth, exploring it gently. 

The kiss was like a storm cloud, raining thoughts into your brain, which was exposed to every little drop of wonder. There were a lot of thoughts going through your mind but the main one was how good he tasted, and then there was the other one that you could compare to a background noise of how you were so clueless all this time when you could have had him in your arms for so long, as more than a friend. 

His hand moved up to your face cupping it, deepening the kiss. Then he suddenly pulled away.

“I can’t. I’m sorry,” He said caressing your cheek as you both were catching your breath, he gave you a weak apologetic smile, it was clear he was having an internal battle with his emotions. “You have had a few glasses, and you’re in a vulnerable state, I don’t want you to despise me after tonight.”

“I can promise you that would never happen, but I understand. It's alright” You just cuddled back into his chest and fell asleep listening to his fastened heartbeat, the one of a heart that you’ve recently learned beats for you.

check out my masterlist -> here ♥︎

[gyllenhaalstories]

SOMETHING TO RELY ON — DETECTIVE LOKI 🖤

summary: detective loki comes home after a long investigation, needing nothing more than something, or someone, to rely on.

warnings: i can’t write canon and accurate portrayals to save my life, mentions of loki’s work, fluff & comfort. 18+ NO MINORS. yes, even if this fic has no smut, i don’t want minors interacting with my content.

word count: 1700

gifs credits: @/magnusedom (cropped) / divider credits: @/firefly-graphics

notes: i have the selfish need to take care of this man and protect him from all the bad things in this world so this is exactly what i’m doing with this fic. no plot, only rambling. 🖤 thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!

“Oh, David.”

He grunted, rejecting what sounded like pity in your voice. It was a reflex, despite you telling him over and over again that you empathized with his hard work. He simply refused to let you feel bad for him.

And you refused for him to not let you do that. How could you not feel bad for your man? He looked dishevelled at best. His clothes were wrinkly, his coat was wet from the rain outside. His beard was unusually long. He smelled of cheap body soap, one labelled a manly tornado of masculine jungle and virile storm clouds.

David started to explain, calculating his words so that he would not speak in vain. He told you that he found a truck stop and used their showers before driving back home. His presence for the investigation was supposed to last a day or two, but he was required to stay on the field for about a week. Unlike his colleagues, he turned his back to the offer of a comfortable bed at the motel and a warm breakfast every morning. He stayed ready and awake for as long and as much as he could, in case of something happening.

You helped him out in silence as he spoke. How you had missed the sound of his voice without the bad network of the phone service struggling to pick up from the place he stayed for the past week. It could have been in the middle of the Bermuda triangle for all you knew, it cut you off too many times and prevented you from falling asleep to the gentle humming of David as he played in his mind songs that looped on the radio during patrol.

He let you remove his drenched coat. He watched you until you disappeared into the bathroom, he assumed you were hanging the coat in the shower where it could drip and dry without making a mess. He loved your attention to details, and how it mirrored his very own. He let you untie his boots so that he could step out of them. He let you do every small and big gestures to get him comfortable.

You offered him a fresh set of clothes, soft worn-out sweatpants and an old t-shirt that had been waiting for his arrival since the moment he walked out of the door. While he changed, you discarded of the dirty work clothes that he wore. You did not comment on how difficult it would be to wash away the dried stains of mud. He was probably kneeling outside in the rain, searching for a piece of information regarding the investigation. Day and night, you knew he devoted himself to his case.

“Love?” He called out for you. He blinked as he caught sight of you, being a busy bee from one room to the other around the house. You hands were full one second, empty the next one. Loki both loved and hated how this all came naturally to you. He loved the ways with which you both took care of each other. You handled the seemingly mindless tasks that weighted heavy on his shoulders while he provided you with a safe, strong presence and with arms to fall into when you needed. When he was actually there.

You finally reappeared in the living room. Your face lit up with a smile at the sight of him. He already looked better in the clean clothes. The shirt stretched over his broad chest, over his soft tummy. “Tell me the story of when you got this t-shirt.”

Loki grinned and looked down at the World’s best fisherman shirt. He explained how he picked it up from the lost and found box at the police station he worked prior to the current one. A cliché altercation between him and a box of donuts had led to him interrogate his first potential criminal with a prideful fisherman shirt. His retelling of the story always made the two of you smile.

It worked as a way to bring his feet down on the ground, to focus on what was important. As a bonus, it was simply entertaining to imagine Loki walking around with that shirt while trying to appear as almighty and professional. “Do you want something to eat?”

The corners of his lips curled into a smile and he followed you to the dimly lit kitchen. In a few swift movements, you had bread, peanut butter, jelly as well as a couple of utensils pulled out on the counter. The final touch was added by David’s arms wrapping around your waist from behind as you assembled his sandwich.

You spread the peanut butter all the way to the crust of the bread and on the other slice, you scooped strawberry jelly and made sure to get chunks of fruit too. Just how he liked it, just how you made it when you packed his lunch for mornings where he was too busy and tired to remember to take care of himself. You pressed the layers together gently and cut it in two triangles, handing him the bigger half.

He thanked you with a kiss on your cheek as he grabbed one of the triangles, taking a big bite out of it. He could easily guess you would have preferred to welcome him home with a big, warm meal. Although, in his mind at this very moment, he saw no difference between that sandwich and something that would have taken hours to make and double the amount of time to bake. And besides, he thought a lot about what he wanted to do during this break from the investigation. He needed to keep his mind and hands busy. This sounded like the right opportunity to invest crazy amounts of time into food you could cook together. Or you’d settle from ordering takeout from the Chinese food restaurant.

You cleaned up once you were both done eating, still with David holding you tight like a safety belt. “Want me to tell you about my day?” He hummed, agreeing. So you did just that, you shared the silly details with him as a way to make him feel included despite his long absence. Sometimes, you disliked sharing stories of your life with him. He was a creature of habit, it was hard to remind David that you were just telling about your encounter with a rude person at the grocery store and it was not an investigation. He would analyze your words, scrutinize your reactions, until you told him to relax.

He did not need such a reminder, at that very moment. Loki leaned his head on your shoulder, not minding how contorted his spine was to maintain him in that position. His eyelids were getting heavy, and so was he. He was half listening and half falling asleep on you.

For every night of the past week, you would have traded anything just to be crushed by his sleeping body and keep him safe and warm. However, you imagined it would be in bed and not laying flat in the middle of the kitchen if you even found the space for that anyway. “Come on, big boy. It’s time for your nap.” You turned gently in Loki’s arms, causing him to gain just enough consciousness to grunt in dissatisfaction. You draped his left arm over your shoulders and held him tightly as you both limped your way to the living room.

Any further, and David would have fallen down on the floor. You helped him to the couch so he could lay down. He shook his head slowly when you presented him with one of the throw pillows. He opened his eyes just long enough to lock his gaze with yours and he grinned when you understood his silent request. He sat up, struggling to stay still, until you joined him on the couch.

You stretched your legs up on the coffee table and you let Loki slowly rest his head on your lap. The sigh he let out made your heart clench inside your chest. He was killing himself trying to save people from dying. All you could do was stand by his side and help keep his head above water for as long as he would let you.

Loki saw it differently. He saw all of the love-filled gestures as a sacrifice as big as his. He appreciated each and every single one of them, and tonight was just the same. He appreciated how you peeled away the layers of stress, of turmoil and of fear. You did that by helping him with his clothes and also by keeping safe physically and at peace mentally.

“It’s okay, now.” You whispered as you placed your right hand on his stubbly cheek, your left one played with his hair. You were soothing both of your souls while trying to make up for all the time he spent away.

You repeated that it was okay over and over again until he, too, said the words to himself. He was okay. For now. And, for now, it was all that mattered. There would never be enough words and actions that could show you how thankful he was to have someone to rely on.

“You’re home.” You smiled down at him and watched him closely as he relaxed under your touch. You stroked your thumb over his lips, tickling his sensitive and chapped skin until his mouth parted open and his breathing slowed down.

He was seconds away from drifting into sleep. His eyelids were heavy. On your thigh, his head was heavy too with all its of horrors and sorrow. His voice sounded gentle and calm. “My love.”

A single tear fell from your cheek and down on the hand that was caressing his. Hearing the words in person rather than on the phone healed the pain that Loki’s absence had put you through once more. You leaned your head back to rest it on the couch and you closed your eyes too. Though it came with all sorts of tribulations, you were just as thankful as him to have someone to rely on.

[wovenintosilk]

Ok ok hear me out- Hobie with a gn!reader that's trying to get into the punk scene but it's difficult because their parents are quite conservative?

I did end up making it so that the reader is just starting to be interested in the punk aesthetic which is leading into the lifestyle but it's not fully explored so I hope you still enjoy it regardless!

No Content Warnings

GN!Reader

Word Count: 1000

━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━

The leather hung heavily over your shoulders; the jacket enveloping your form in a sweet warmth. You twisted in every direction and tried to ignore the distaste in your reflection’s expression as you considered how it looked.

With a sigh, you shrugged it off and cast it back over to the chair with a small curse. It never suited you, no matter which outfit you tried it with.

And worse, it’d started losing the comforting scent of your boyfriend.

You pulled off the few pieces of jewelry chosen for your late-night fashion attempt. They’d done nothing to help you feel more comfortable in the look you’d tried.

“What’s with the hate for my jacket? It’s hardly done anything to you.”

You jumped and hit your knee on the desk. The stinging pain didn’t fade as you twisted around to find him lounging across your bed, long limbs draped over his guitar as he watched you.

“Hobie? When did you get here?”

He put the guitar aside and stood, picked up the jacket from where it’d fallen on the chair and brushed it off. “Got ‘ere not to long ago,” he said. “Just didn’t want to interrupt.” He stepped behind you and draped the jacket over your shoulders, palms trailing down your arms to wrap around your waist and pull you into him.

“Interrupt what?” you laughed. “I was just messing around. I steal your clothes all the time.”

Having him so close relaxed any doubts you’d had. You closed your eyes and leaned into him, adored the way he cradled you.

He hummed in agreement. “It suits you.”

“Maybe.”

It was hard to force your brain to agree with him. You desperately wanted it to be true and for so long, you’d been stealing little pieces of his style. Maybe one day, you could unwrite the part of your brain that struggled to accept it.

He picked up the choker you’d been packing away, turned it around in his fingers. “I grabbed this one for you, didn’t I?”

“I wouldn’t have the guts to buy it for myself,” you admitted.

He huffed, breath tickling your ear as he did so. “What makes you think I bought it?”

You laughed a little. You should have known better indeed. In the very early days of your relationship, Hobie warned you that he wasn’t a fan of attachments. He didn’t do gifts or labels or anything like that.

The first time he showed up with small items, you’d been surprised with how quickly he went back on his claims. But he’d never liked consistency much either.

“You always put this stuff on late at night when nobody can see it. It’s a downright shame.”

“It doesn’t suit me.”

“Nonsense.”

“It doesn’t though,” you argued though you couldn’t help but relax into the warmth wrapped around your back. “It’s probably because I’m not used to seeing myself in that way. I wasn’t really raised to think it’s the best style ever.”

“Doesn’t matter if it looks good or not anyway,” he said. “That’s not the point of it. ‘sides, I know you like it on me.”

You laughed. “Hobie, you’ve been a model before. I think anything looks good on you.”

You twisted a little, hoping to get a look at his face though he seemed insistent on keeping his chin resting on the top of your head.

“So? Doesn’t change that if you like how I look with it, you’ll wear it even better.”

You looked down at the jacket wrapped around your body. The leather and chains, the spikes on your shoulders and the patches at random points. Everything about the aesthetic spoke to you but still…

“My parents would kill me if they saw me wearing this,” you teased.

“Who cares what they think?”

You sighed. “I know I shouldn’t but I can hear their voices in my head so often.”

He moved away from you by a small step and brought the choker up to attach it around your neck. You tilted your jaw up to help him. His fingers brushed across sensitive skin, sent small sparks of heat pooling into your stomach as he attached the tiny chain.

He met your eyes and smirked. Your heart fluttered a little and you reached up to touch the choker.

“Looks amazing,” he said and ran his thumb over the point of the spike. “Suits the jacket too. We’ll find you a pair of boots while we’re out.”

“Out?” you repeated.

He shrugged. “We have to make sure you fit in with the scene tonight.”

You frowned at him, finally turning around fully so you could face him. It really wasn’t fair for him to look so attractive when you were trying to focus. “Go out? It’s almost one in the morning.”

He shoved his hands in his vest. “Time is a construct. Who says we can’t go and find something fun to do now?”

“Where would we even go?”

“It’s a surprise,” he said. “But there’s a dress code.”

“Doesn’t sound like your kind of place.”

“Sometimes I can make a sacrifice or two.”

His eyes always burned with a fierce flame behind them, filled you with confidence even when you found yourself lacking in it. He’d always have your back even if you worried too much about what others might think.

“I don’t really have anything that suits this jacket.”

“You don’t need to. Wear whatever you want.”

You wished it was as easy as he made it out to be. Sometimes you thought you could entirely stop caring but it wasn’t as straightforward as you’d hoped.

He caught you off guard with a quick kiss to snap you from your concerns. “You’re going to look stunning in whatever you wear. Who cares what anybody else is thinking if that’s the truth.”

You couldn’t stop the smile on your face at that. “You’re far too sweet, you know that, right?”

He chuckled. “Don’t think many people would agree with you on that one. Just the opposite really but let’s get you ready. We’re going to find somewhere fun tonight.”

[tatertotsafterdark]

Marking - Scott Howl x Reader

18+ MDNI. READ “CONTAINS” SECTION BEFORE READING.

|| Being a struggling college student sucks. Luckily, your werewolf boyfriend doesn't mind helping you de-stress - even if he gets a little too into it.

CONTAINS: AFAB READER, GIVING!SCOTT, RECEIVING!READER, BITING, MARKING, HICKEYS, OVER THE CLOTHES, NO AFTERCARE, MENTIONS OF MIDTERMS

Word count: 1k

Author’s note: IK I switched this fic from what was planned at the last minute but shhhhh... tried to put some characteristics of the Monster Prom writing style but I don't know how successful that was. Based mainly off the first Monster Prom game. (Ignore how the gif is monster roadtrip okay byeeee have fun reading or don't)

Midterms, midterms, midterms. Jesus fucking Christ. That’s all your life has been for the last few weeks, working on gradually revising your notes and studying for those God forsaken tests, worth a part of your grade that’s way too big. You slam your flat palms onto the desk in your small apartment, giving it a good couple of smacks. You’re frustrated, unable to grasp the topic you’re reading through. Why the hell did you have to take a math class? You hated math. Your major didn’t really use math, either. 

You groan as you hear a knock at the door, lifting yourself on to tired legs. Who visits this late at night, especially when you have a giant sign on your apartment door labeled “DON’T DEAD OPEN INSIDE?” You’d think by now people would catch on to your witty ideas of decoration and lack of availability. Maybe studying for midterms wouldn’t be so hard if you’d stop making interior design into your impromptu passion. 

Your hand quickly twists the knob, without giving much thought to check if there was some kind of evil monster or a serial killer or a Jehovah Witness outside of your door. Luckily, it’s none of those - it’s Scott! You manage a smile as his tail wags, and step aside, nonverbally inviting him inside. You can do that since he’s not a vampire. He quickly enters, wrapping his muscular arms around you.

“Dude, where have you been?!” He yells out, a large and toothy smile plastered on his face. You can practically hear his tail wagging, and you can definitely hear it hitting into his backside as it wags. 

“Studying.” You reply, returning the hug weakly and shuffling back over to the living room, lit only by a singular lamp (setting the aesthetic is an important part of studying, after all). You didn’t realize it until now, but your desk was piled with sticky notes, flashcards, notebooks, highlighters, pens in every color under the sun, and empty energy drink cans.

“Studying? Who even studies anymore?” Scott cocks his head, making that stupid-yet-so-damn-cute face at you like he always did when he was questioning your totally normal decisions. 

“I mean, c’mon, when was the last time you got some sun, bro? Your curtains are never open.” Scott says, a small pout on his lips as he looks down at you. You opt to ignore the comment about your currents, and instead huff and walk over to your desk.

“It doesn’t matter when I last left my apartment or opened the windows or anything like that. What’s important right now is that I teach myself everything my professor has been trying to teach us for the past few weeks.” Your ass hits the office chair a bit hard, which sends it backwards. The back of your chair hits Scott’s front, stopping it in its place. 

“You haven’t even showed up to the gym recently! You’re not getting any exercise.”

“I’m not interested in exercising. I want to pass these dumbass exams, Scott. Plus, there isn’t an exercise in the world that I actually like.” 

“Yes there is, bro, you know that.” 

“Great, Scott, then go ahead and tell me because you definitely know me better than I know myself.” You roll your eyes, and the action could probably be heard just off of the nasty tone you dip down into using. Swapping sleep for caffeine isn’t good for your mood, note to self. 

“Well, Polly says that sex burns calories, so therefore, it’s exercise.” 

You freeze up for a moment, thinking about the implications of the sentence that just slipped out of Scott’s lips. Was he implying that you two-? 

Before you can think much longer, one of Scott’s large hands is slowly massaging your chest, and the other is in between your thighs. He may be a bit academically challenged, but at least he wouldn’t be totally lost in an anatomy class. You can’t help but lean into the touch. It’d been ages since you’d gotten any action, even before you started obsessing over getting good grades on your midterms. Scott’s large fingers rubbing slow circles over your clit is enough to melt your brain, getting it off of finding derivatives, even if it was only for a temporary amount of time. 

“Shit- don’t stop- please.” You manage to get your voice to work in between pathetic squeaks and whimpers, and Scott simply speeds up in response to your words. You close your eyes, soaking in the much needed feeling of human contact. Two of Scott’s fingers find their way to the hard bud that’s developed under your shirt, gently twisting and pinching it as your moans get louder.

He buries his head into the crook of your neck, and before long, you feel fangs on the tender flesh. Love bites are completely welcome, of course, so you don’t complain. You run your fingers through his hair as he finishes you off, giving you much needed release without so much as undressing you.

“There, bro! Now you’ve got your daily workout in. Your studying is going to be way easier now.” Scott says with a proud smile, turning your office chair around to face him. The way his face drops, you can tell he’s totally marked up your entire neck to the point even a turtleneck wouldn’t be enough to hide it. Oh, shit. 

“Well… a workout is exactly what I needed. Thanks, bro.”

“Anytime, dude! Just, uh, make sure you have that color corrector stuff you were talking about the one time.” Scott laughs, turning on his heel and walking to your kitchen. You rub your fingers over the bite marks, and the fact that they’re indented into your skin is enough to tell you that any amount of color corrector wouldn’t be enough anyway. They trail up to just below your ear, so you’ll just have to hide away in your room and study for a few more days until they fade. 

You take a deep breath, turning away from Scott as he opens your fridge, and picking up one of your colorful pens for the umpteenth time that evening. 

[snowdice]

Unplanned Consequences (Part 5: Patton) [Sometimes Labels Shift Series-The End]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Patton/Logan

Characters: Patton, Logan, Virgil (mentioned), Roman (mentioned)

Summary: Sometimes... things change.

Notes: This takes place after Best Laid Plans

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

“Hey Lo,” Patton said as he walked into the living room. Virgil had officially moved into an apartment with Roman a few days ago as the spring semester was starting tomorrow. This left Patton and Logan living alone together in the house for the first time since… The Incident.

Patton had just finished cleaning up dinner after getting Logan settled on the couch. The TV was on, but Logan was currently staring past it into space, something he never used to do, but had become a frequent occurrence since getting injured. It worried Patton a bit, but he tried not to think about it.

Logan looked up at him as Patton said his name. He didn’t smile softly at Patton like he usually would have. It made something clog in Patton’s throat.

“Hello,” Logan said.

“I… made us both some tea,” Patton said, holding out the tea mugs as though for his approval.

“Thank you, love.” He still seemed distracted and distant. He turned back towards the television.

Patton nodded and then walked over to set the mugs on the coffee table. Then, he sat down on the couch next to Logan. Years of instinct told him to scootch over closer until their arms and legs intermingled, but he hesitated.

Logan either noticed his hesitation, or noticed his deviation from the norm, because he glanced over at Patton. He lifted the arm closest to Patton and Patton instantly took the invitation, moving closer to curl up under his arm.

Logan pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

It was silent between them for a long moment, only the sound of the television droning on breaking the quiet. The news was on, Patton noted. There was coverage on a supervillain attack Prince had stopped the night before.

“I think I need to retire,” Logan said out of the blue.

Patton drew back to look at him in surprise. “What?” he asked. “You’ve been given medical leave until next fall. You’ll be more than recovered enough to go back to teaching by then.”

Logan looked at him for a moment and then gave him a wry smile. “I wasn’t talking about teaching, my dear.”

“Oh,” Patton said blinking at him. “Oh.” He took a moment to process that statement. “But you… you want to retire?”

“I wouldn’t say want,” Logan said, “but I think it may be the most responsible course of action.”

“You… I know you’re struggling with the leg and everything right now, but you’ll get better.”

“Patton,” Logan said, “you’re a doctor.”

“Exactly!” Patton said, feeling oddly defensive for a reason he couldn’t place. “So, I know exactly how people heal from injuries like yours. You’ll need time, but with physical therapy and…”

Logan cut him off. “With physical therapy,” he said, “I will get much better. I will perhaps walk again, maybe even without a mobility aid eventually, but Patton, I’m 57-years-old. This severe of an injury is not going to heal quickly or completely.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m getting old,” Logan said. “I’ve been slowing down, and this will not help me speed up. Being Bluebird is physically… and mentally demanding. I won’t be able fully meet those demands again after what happened.”

“That’s not true,” Patton said even though he wasn’t sure of that himself.

“It is,” said Logan. “It’s always something that would happen eventually. This has just… sped up the process.”

“You’re catastrophizing,” Patton said. It was probably an ironic statement to make when Patton’s words sounded so much more upset than his husband’s. “You’re making a rash decision because you feel bad now, but…”

“This isn’t rash,” Logan said, evenly. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot in the last months.”

Patton didn’t know what to say to that.

“Besides,” he said, nodding at the TV. The news had cycled around again while they talked, back to Prince, back to Roman. “I’m not the city’s only long-term hero anymore. Roman had been doing well before and is doing even better now. I will continue to help him on his journey, and it won’t be an immediate transition. Bluebird will still make a few appearances, but I do think it’s time. For my own sake and ultimately for this city’s too.”

Patton hesitated. Logan was right, of course, that this was inevitable. It’s just that Patton had never really thought about it. He didn’t want to think about it, especially now when Logan was still so hurt in multiple ways. He’d been telling himself that eventually things would go back to normal, but Logan had just confirmed Patton’s greatest fear: they wouldn’t.

It felt selfish to be upset, but Patton really couldn’t help it. Patton felt himself gripping onto Logan’s sleeve for support even though support was Patton’s job right now. He felt tears in his eyes, but he resisted letting them fall.

“Are you okay?” Logan asked.

“I…” Patton said. A couple of the tears escaped. “It’s just… I’ve never known a Logan that wasn’t also Bluebird.”

Logan sighed softly. He gently removed Patton’s grasping hand from his shirt sleeve to hold it in his own. “Things change,” he said, doing that thing where he stared into the distance again, “labels shift.”

A/N:

And that my friends, is the end of Sometimes Labels Shift.

It's been a long time coming and I'm feeling a bit emotional even though it's not the end of the Labeled Universe. We're just moving on to the next chapter.

All of our favorite Labeled characters will return in the new sub-series named Envisage. I hope to see you there.

[yellowkitkieran]

To Have and To Heal (Part 4)

Masterlist

Read part 1 here

Word Count: 2.9k

Summary: Single working dad Martin Odegaard is navigating the ups and downs of parenthood all on his own, and he’s struggling. That’s not to mention football, life and... love?

The flowers on your desk distract you during your prep hour. The unexpected gift caught you off guard and as such, an old mug serves as a temporary vase until you can get them into a proper one. Since the moment they were handed to you, you've barely stopped smiling. 

You can't stop thinking about the man that handed you the dozen blossoms with a wary smile. You can't erase his relieved sigh when you accepted them, like in doing so you lifted a weight off his shoulders. Martin Ødegaard's murmured 'happy teacher appreciation week' replays on an endless loop in your head. 

You stare at the red petals while you should be getting ready for a math lesson. Your kids will be back from lunch in twenty minutes and you haven't moved from your chair, your sandwich half eaten. Despite your rumbling stomach, you can't force yourself to eat, instead allowing your mind to be consumed by thoughts of Martin. 

How often does he smile? Probably not enough unless he's around his daughter. When was the last time he had a home cooked meal? You'd bet not since he'd visited his home country and spent time with his family. Does he have someone to look after him the way he looks after everyone else in his life? Doubtful, and that realization hurts your heart. 

Standing abruptly, you decide you cannot dwell on this by yourself any longer. You need someone to vent to. Your feet carry you out of your room and down the hall, past decorative banners advertising the upcoming choir concert and past the science posters to your favorite room in the building aside from your own. 

You don't bother knocking, instead opting to pop open the door rather unceremoniously to proclaim, "I've committed a teaching sin." 

"Shh, not so loud!" Your closest teacher friend, Jen, motions for you to come into her classroom and shut the door. "You know better than to burst out with something like that- come in, sit down, have a chocolate and then we can talk." 

Your hand shakes as you reach across her desk to the bowl of candies and grab your favorite. Sinking into a yellow beanbag, you rip into it and pop the bite size piece into your mouth, sighing as bursts of flavor coat your tongue and somehow calm your fraying nerves. Chocolate solves all problems, no matter how pressing. Jen waits patiently whilst your initial panic subsides, allowing you space to wind down. 

"Okay, I think I can breathe now."

Jen smiles, pushing her square frame glasses up her nose. Your best friend is a classically styled teacher, often opting to tie her long blonde hair back in a ponytail or bun so it doesn't get in her way. Nine times out of ten, she wears a smart, matching pantsuit that gives you style envy. Today's fit is a deep blue with a white blouse, completed with a long golden necklace thrifted from her favorite secondhand store. 

"Alright then," Jen says and folds her hand atop the papers she had been grading, "what's the sin? It can't be too terrible or you wouldn't be sitting here talking to me, you'd be packing your things in a cardboard box. Come on then, out with it!" She slaps a poster on the edge of her desk, one with a bright, bubbly font that proudly labels her room as a judgment free zone. "You know I won't tell a soul."

You take a deep breath to center your thoughts. It's taken you what feels like ages to come to terms with how you feel, but you're at the point where you can't deny it any longer. And if there is one person you can count on to talk sense into you, it's Jen. 

"I think I've fallen for a parent- I know!" You splay your hands flat on her desk when her jaw drops. "I know it's bad! God I'm gonna get terminated- I can't believe myself! But it's to the point that I find myself waiting for him to show up at drop offs and pick ups, and when he sends someone else it wrecks my whole day. I've tried ignoring him too, but that only makes him become more charming!"

Jen relaxes into her chair with a smirk. "It's Atla's dad, isn't it? Ødegaard, the footie player?" You nod, half relieved you don't have to say his name yourself. If you did, you fear you'll fall even harder. Thankfully, Jen has a knack for reading your mind. "Mmhhm, thought so. But honestly it's not a big deal, everyone has their parent crushes. Hell, I've had my fair share- Jeremy's mum? Oh my god!" She shakes her head, "that's for another time though. Just don't act on it and you'll be fine."

"See… that's where the issue lies." 

"Oh?"

Now you've piqued her interest. Jen adjusts her glasses, inching her chair forward. Your stomach churns. Thinking these things about Martin and actually telling someone are two different things. Voicing your thoughts makes your attraction real and concrete. Once you've put it into the universe, there's no taking it back. But it's time; if you hold it in any longer, you may well burst. 

"So you know those tulips on my desk? The red ones you asked about." The same adorable, pinkish shade of red Martin had turned when he'd handed them to you this morning.

Stop it, you tell yourself, don't think about that. Definitely don't think about how he was so nervous and fidgety and it was all perfectly endearing… well, fuck. 

"Mhm, I do recall flowers…" Jen flourishes a hand to encourage you to continue, not letting you off the hook with such a simple explanation. She wants details and she expects to get them. You swallow the lump in your throat and push back the unease bubbling in your gut. 

"Those were from Martin. He handed them to me and his cheeks were bright red, almost like he was sunburnt- god, it was adorable Jen, you should've seen him!" You cover your face with a hand, trying and failing to hide your growing smile. "I'm in trouble, quit smirking at me!"

"Smirking? Me? Never!"

You glare at your friend and sigh, "He kept touching his hair and he spoke so softly… yes I know I'm in too bloody deep!"

Biting at your nails is a bad habit you haven't kicked. You do so now, at least until Jen yanks your hand away from your mouth. You smile and tuck your hands under your thighs. Why does Martin have to be so damn charming? If he was a touch less perfect, maybe you wouldn't have such a terrible crush on him. 

"I'd say you need a stern talking to," Jen starts, patting your arm, "but I think you're doing that to yourself. Look, don't get too hung up on it, okay? As long as you keep it to yourself, you'll be fine." 

Question is… how long can you keep this entire thing to yourself?

********** 

For once, the end of your day cannot come fast enough. When the final bell rings and your students disperse to head home for the day, you gather up your things and head to the gymnasium. Once there you pull out the bin of balls designated for after school use and scatter your coloring pages and books on the two picnic tables in the corner. Laughter echoes through the entry as the children start to arrive, most of them shouting greetings your way as they fall into their usual groups to await their parents to pick them up. 

You pretend you aren't waiting for your favorite student, even though you smile when you hear her little voice. Atla comes running over, golden pigtails bouncing behind her. She wraps her arms around your legs and squeezes with all her might, "Hello Miss. Sunshine! I learned about animals today!" 

"Oh did you really? Tell me all about it Attie." You stoop to return her hug with equal fervor, then take her backpack and coat to hang them up. 

"Well elephants are the biggest animals on land- did you know that? And there's so many kinds of frogs in the Amazon rainforest, but they're dying because mean people keep cutting down their habi- habib-" 

Atla frowns, struggling to say the word correctly. You tip your head, giving her one more shot to get it right before you gently correct, "habitat, yeah? Where they live?" When Atla nods, you smile, glad to have helped her. "That's right, mean people are cutting down lots of habitats of different animals, which is why it's so important that we learn about them, so we can grow up and help the little guys defend their homes!"

"Do you have any animal coloring books? I want to color animals today!" Without waiting for your reply, Atla runs over to the picnic table and surveys the selection before digging through the sheets you have printed. She pulls out one of some sort of big cat and gets right to work, her tongue poking out in concentration as she does her best to stay in the lines. 

They say time flies when you're having fun, and today certainly proves that. One minute you're kicking a ball about with some of the older kids and the next, parents are arriving and scooping up their children. Atla is the last one left, which isn't a rare occurrence in itself, but when the clock strikes five thirty you begin to worry. Atla doesn't realize her father's absence, as absorbed as she is in her coloring, which has resulted in a small stack of finished sheets that you carefully tuck in a folder to send home. 

"Attie, did your dad say anything about him being late today?" You crouch next to her, keeping your voice soft. "Normally he's here by now to pick you up."

"He said he had training," Atla says, totally nonplussed. "He's always late when he has training."

You frown to yourself, glancing at the clock again. It's true, he's normally later when he has training, but not this late. You decide to give him ten minutes before you call him to check in. 

Keeping one eye on Atla, you start cleaning up the gym. You find yourself glancing at the double doors leading to the hallway every few seconds, waiting for a handsome blonde Norwegian to walk through with an apology on his lips. It isn't like Martin to be so late, especially without sending a note…

What if something happened to him? London roads can be quite treacherous, especially if someone is in a rush. He could've gotten into an accident, or been mobbed by fans. Who knows? Why is your heart pounding so hard at the thought of him being hurt?

"I'm here!" The gym door bangs open so loud that Atla squeaks, dropping her pencil. "I'm sorry- I'm here! Hey s��ta, I'm sorry I'm late." 

The words are clearly meant for Atla, though Martin looks directly at you when he speaks. You've never bothered to Google what 'søta' means but now you may have to thanks to the way he seemingly addresses you as such makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. 

"Hi papa! Look what I did!" 

Martin's eyes linger on you for a moment before he leans over to observe her work. He murmurs compliments and offers small, meaningful critiques which Atla seems to take to heart, eating up his words with wide, trusting eyes. You can almost see her compartmentalize his advice to use later, the innocence in her gaze bringing a smile to your face.

When Martin turns to you, he offers an apologetic wince. "Sorry for making you stay so late. The market was hectic."

You wave him off, "Oh no worries. Though in the future I'd recommend doing a food shop during the day if you can. It's much less busy than after work! Everyone is trying to rush and grab ingredients for dinner and it quickly becomes chaos…" You trail off when you realize you're rambling, cheeks hot with embarrassment. "Sorry, I suppose you already know all of that. I guess that's the teacher in me coming out, trying to solve every little issue I see."

"No it's alright, I don't mind. I usually shop during the day, when it's less crowded, but I had to stop and pick something up for you." Martin smiles, his head tilted slightly. 

You blink thrice, not sure you heard him right. Buy when he holds out a small hamper filled with different types of chocolates your mouth falls open. "This- this is for me?"

Martin nods, his face flushed. "Yes, I figured a lousy bouquet of tulips wasn't enough to show my appreciation for everything you do for Atla and all of your students." Martin shifts on his feet, reminiscent of a child caught in an awkward situation. You clamp down on your instinct to reach out and put your hands on his shoulders to hold him still. "You only see Attie for a few hours each day, but she always has the most things to say about you versus her other teachers."

"All good things I hope." You laugh to try and diffuse the situation, though your palms are sweaty from the compliment. The hamper is heavy, so you set it on the ground at your feet. Before you offer Martin your hand to shake, you subtly wipe it on your jeans. You'd rather a hug, but considering the thoughts swirling in your head, that's definitely not a good option. "Thank you for the treats, Mr. Ødegaard. I really appreciate it."

"Please call me Martin," he murmurs, nearly begging. His eyes soften before he finally releases your hand, tucking his own back into the pocket of his track pants. "I thought we were friends."

Martin drags a hand through his hair when you don't say anything. Atla hums while she colors, her little feet swinging in the air. She reminds you of your nephew. He also loves anything creative, preferring things that get his hands dirty, but he'd settle for drawing too. In a different world, the two children could probably be good friends. 

"You haven't come back to the park," Martin murmurs, a touch of mourning in his voice. Martin's offer from a few days prior springs to mind and you mentally kick yourself. You're meant to be an adult! You should be able to put your feelings aside for the sake of the kids. 

"Erm, yeah, I haven't. I've had things planned for my nights, like museums and such. And his parents will be home tomorrow so…" 

Martin's head bobs. "Right, of course. Look, if I overstepped please let me know, but I would prefer you to not be so formal and stiff with me."

"Well I- I mean it's not appropriate for me to call parents by their first names. Or to see them outside of school, for that matter." It's a lame excuse and you both know it. Martin ducks his head, trying to hide his smile. God damn him and that stupid, gorgeous smile. You lock your knees to keep them from wobbling when his eyes eventually find yours again, a smile still on his lips. 

"Please, just call me Martin. You've done it before, and I preferred it that way… I'm making an exception for you, couldn't you make one for me?"

You're so confused by his admission that you nod. Martin's smile morphs into something that lights up the entire room and you're well and truly fucked then. You feel yourself tipping off the deep end, immediately longing to see that smile as often as you possibly can. You'll do or say anything to see Martin beam like that. 

"Okay Martin, I'll use your first name." 

"Perfect, thank you! Okay Attie, time to go home, what do you say to Miss. Sunshine?" Martin crouches to Atla's level, but his eyes remain trained on you. They dance with a mysterious light, something you can't quite put your finger on… but you'd like to find out. 

"Thank you for staying late to keep me company, Miss. Sunshine! I can't wait to have more fun tomorrow morning!"

You wave as the duo head for the exit, Martin's large hand nearly dwarfing Atla's toddler sized one. For a split second you imagine yourself at Martin's other side, sliding your soft hand into his calloused one. You bring a hand up to your mouth to conceal your smile, not wanting him to notice if he turns around. 

Martin does, pausing at the threshold to wave. The fluorescent lights dance in his baby blues, nearly stopping your heart with their beauty. His hair sticks up like chicken feathers in the front, but somehow it fits him. If you weren't fixated on him, you'd miss the way he murmurs 'see you tomorrow Miss. Sunshine'. Suddenly you can't wait to wake up to the shrill ring of your morning alarm at the crack of dawn. For once, you have something to truly look forward to. 

[hibiscus-waterfalls]

thought for the day:

is it just me who does not understand when people headcannon a sexuality?

i feel like it puts characters & people into unnecessary boxes, and i see a LOT of people who identify with one sexuality headcannon a character with their own identity (even if it does not make sense). i understand lack of representation & queer-coding and how important that is, but that’s not what i’m talking about. maybe i need someone to better explain it to me, but a lot of the time it feels like headcannons take away from the actual character and what the creator is trying to say.

sexuality & gender is fluid, and a character could be struggling with this or dealing with their feelings internally or not even understanding it/ have time to understand it. especially in dystopia/fantasy, like this guy is fighting for his life every 2 seconds, and probably not trying to find a word for how he feels about someone. i know labels can help people find community, but they can also be unrealistic and confining in some situations.

ex: i am bisexual, but ive never seen a character and been like “yeah for sure they are bi too” UNLESS they have shown interest in men and women (tension, crushes, homoerotic friendships, etc..) i see this a lot with non-binary & aroace & pansexual headcannons, and idk it’s confusing for me.

[thricemartyred]

@atcmicbxtty said: "You're really mean...." Unprompted

—————♡—————

{♡} - An uncharacteristically sympathetic crease in his brow, ❝I…oh, no, that wasn’t…❞ His natural instinct to defend himself or to somehow attempt to justify the malignancy of his actions through some convoluted means of warped rationalisation, for the first time in what felt like at least two decades, was halted. Suddenly, his mouth felt uncomfortably dry and the demon was momentarily lost for words as he struggled to hold her gaze. She was only a kid. She looked so upset by what she had witnessed, and she didn’t even know the half of it. Dante swallowed hard.

Fleetingly, he glanced over his shoulder to watch the lover he’d just publicly and exploitatively revoked all feeling for dragging his heels as he headed off in the opposite direction whilst licking his wounds like a kicked puppy, and then looked back to the young girl. He had said some irreparably cruel things to his discarded lover, all the while laughing right in his face, mocking him, humiliating him, for fiendish amusement and in the name of Lucifer - worse, in front of the kid. At what point had he become so used to viciousness that he had actively started to become it? The sense of superiority he had felt from the upper hand he'd arrogantly brought to bear that night had dissipated with alarming gravity to him. Where there had been accomplishment, there now sat his contrition, bare, hovering in the space where glory had briefly resided. He hadn’t felt like that in a while - at least, not in its raw state. Usually, when his conscience would inevitably catch up with him, he turned to substances to tame his rising guilt.

In insufficient lieu of something considerably stronger, his hands fumbled to retrieve an unlit cigarette from his coat pocket. ❝…Yeah, well, you weren’t supposed to hear any of that shit. And you shouldn’t even be out this late! What are you, like, fourteen?❞ His lighter sparked and he inhaled from the cigarette, shifting on his feet in a state of restless agitation. ❝Go home! It’s a school night!❞

He appeared fundamentally ill at ease with exchanging this conversation, seeming to almost lean away from her as if she might spontaneously combust if he got within five feet of her. His reluctancy to speak to her? Probably on account of being labelled the local child killer by most who had known him before his mortal death due to the sheer enormity of what it transpired that he had done. Though he had been but a child too, manipulated into spilling the guts of his peers, of snuffing out innocent young lives preceding violent sacrilege against their cadavers, in the false guise of holy faith. He could still taste the flesh in his teeth. For a moment, he appeared like he might actually be sick, narrowly managing to ward it off with a protracted drag on the cigarette held between his tremulous fingers. On second thought, better make it two. Odd numbers were bad luck. Dante regarded the girl with a narrow gaze, ❝Can you stop looking at me like that? Look, I’m sorry, okay? Fuckin’ Hell…!❞ Too overwrought to consider the offhanded language, the demon rested his head wearily in his hand and tried not to heave. An apology hadn’t passed his lips in a long while, his utterance of those words coming as a surprise to himself. If only he would learn to say them more often. It would be an ineffectual expenditure of feelings though, even if he did. People such as him, they were unworthy of forgiveness, and besides, Dante had already repented his sins - and look where he was now! Cast out of Heaven, a servant of Hell. Indicatively, he was Satan’s Bitch. And Dante was hopelessly devoted to every Goddamned second of it.

So why now did he falter beneath the scrutiny of a little girl? Perhaps, sheltered within the darkest compartment of his inner self, there was still a tiny, shivering fragment of goodness left inside him after all.

[cartcop]

oops, thought too hard about "I don't believe in magic, I believe in chemistry" "oh, it's science, I see" and "works like magic" and Buck's experience working in construction and I accidentally wrote a 6x17 coda

On the difference between magic and chemistry, and their relationship to thermoset adhesives

6x17 coda, ~860 words

“I have never been so excited to get a call from you,” Buck says, barging into the house with a plastic bag bearing the name of a local craft store on his arm.

“Glad my deficiencies are so thrilling,” Eddie breathes out. He’s trying to focus on the pieces of the model in front of him–Chris’ drafts are irritatingly well-labeled, which makes how much he’s struggling to piece them together that much more embarrassing. 

“Ah,” Buck grins, quirking an eyebrow as he settles down next to Eddie, drawing the model pieces away from Eddie to sit in front of him instead, “but it takes real wisdom to know when to call in the experts.”

He plucks the wall Eddie’s attempting to position from his fingertips, flipping it around and slotting it in place, right where it belongs. Eddie has the passing thought that maybe he should feel a little bit like he’s failing, needing Buck to come help him assemble his own kid’s design; he doesn’t, though. There was a twinge of it–when he was sitting here alone, staring at the pieces laid out on the coffee table, trying to make sense of it all–but calling Buck never feels like admitting defeat. It hasn't for a long, long time. 

“Sorry to drag you over here. I’m sure you have better things to do on your 48 off,” Eddie says, not really meaning a word of it until–“Shit, you didn’t have plans with Natalia, did you?”

Buck looks away from the model pieces for the first time since he sat down, his gaze dropping into his lap. On his next inhale, his face cracks into a rueful smile Eddie’s seen too many times before. Maybe it's a little presumptuous to think he can read Buck’s insecurities in the tilt of his mouth, but Eddie’s pretty sure Buck can read him the same way.

“No, I, uh–” he stutters out, and Eddie wants to scream at the world for putting him through this, whatever it turns out to be this time, on top of everything else. “I think that’s probably over. Kameron showed up at my place while we were having dinner, and I had just had to tell her about Taylor, and we had run into Lucy the other night, and–I don’t know. Seemed like maybe it was too much for her.”

Seems like I was too much for her, Buck doesn’t say, but Eddie reads it in the wobble of his not-quite-right smile and the sadness behind his eyes.

“Anyways,” Buck says with a grin, a real one this time, “that’s why I was so glad you called.” 

Eddie’s heart doesn’t skip in his chest, because what the hell would that say about him? Buck barrels on, “Kameron showed up at the loft looking for a place to stay–don’t ask, she was freaking out so much she wasn’t speaking in full sentences; except, conveniently, to tell me she really needed pickles; but I don’t know what’s happening with her and Connor–and then passes out in my bed, so I was stuck on the couch, and it sucks, Eddie, it’s so uncomfortable.”

“Well,” Eddie replies smoothly, somehow–despite the fact that he’d barely registered the majority of Buck’s run-on sentence, still stuck on the way his own breath hitched when he thought Buck had meant he was glad Eddie asked him to come over because–not important. There’s a bigger task at hand. “Glad I can offer you mine, at least,” Eddie says, gesturing at the couch, “for the small price of helping me put my kid’s genius plans together.”

“Like I wouldn’t do that anyway,” and Buck’s smiling so wide as he props the last wall up, it makes Eddie’s chest ache. Why is his chest aching? 

“Task at hand,” Buck says, nodding down at the level’s four walls he’s holding in place, “where’s the glue?”

“Epoxy,” Eddie says, grabbing it off the table and uncapping it, bringing it down to the point where the balsa walls meet the plastic base they’re building on, “I ran into Marisol, that woman whose house we helped fix up last fall, at the hardware store. She said this one ‘works like magic.’” 

As Eddie draws the little tube around the base of the four walls, hands slipping under and around Buck’s while they hold them steady, Buck goes suspiciously silent. Eddie glances up at Buck hovering over him, where he's now leaning awkwardly over the table to reach the model where Buck had pulled it in front of himself. There’s a funny look on Buck’s face where it looks down at Eddie, and this time he can't quite interpret the emotion behind it.

“It’s not magic,” Buck says, a little more pointedly than Eddie would expect for his usually whimsical nature, “It’s chemistry. I read about it a few weeks ago, when Chris was building that model water molecule for his science class out of styrofoam–we didn’t know why super glue wasn’t working and I went down a rabbit hole–anyways, its,” and he inhales, for the first time since he started talking, “it thermosets, that’s why it’s so strong. It’s chemistry.”

Forged in fire, Eddie thinks, and he doesn’t know what to do with that.

[noriaki-kak]

Ooh actually I’m wondering now, are or were PeneLeo ever a thing? 🤔 Or was it more akin to a political marriage? :0

A little bit of both, but they were definitely a thing! The entire dynamic between all the Braithen kids is complicated but can be boiled down to “In a better world, in a better time, y’all would probably be one big happy polycule.” sdfgh

Penelope and Leo have known each other for as long as they can remember. Leo's parents were the rulers of Braithen and Penelope's parents were from a set of noble families in the kingdom second only to the crown. Her noble house had historically close ties to the church and her father was especially devout.

There were already talks of arranging a married between them, and thanks to them actually getting along really well growing up, their parents betrothed them to one another at a pretty young age.

There was real love between them, but the pressure of their marriage being arranged caused strife and tension between them as they got older. Penelope especially, she always loved Leo but the lack of choice caused a lot of unresolved pain.

All the Braithen kids ride the line between platonic and romantic love and those feelings shift and change with time. It's hard to put a definitive label on any of it! Especially considering the environment they grew up in made it hard to even recognize the budding feelings Penelope might've also had for Giselle or Leo might've had for Caspian as well.

Leo was a bit more oblivious, and even though he struggled with feeling controlled, he never fully saw the extent to which Penelope struggled. Penelope's father was deeply authoritarian, religious, obsessed with tradition, and ambitious. He treated her like a tool for his goals and didn't tolerate anything he viewed as disobedience.

His misogyny was rampant. Penelope's mother had always been extremely passive and deferential to him. Her own parents marriage along with her father's constant insistence she learn nothing more than how to be a good wife to the future king made it difficult for Penelope accept her betrothal to Leo, afraid she'd become like her mother.

It was always tough because of course they snuck out, of course they had moments to themselves where she felt free, they loved each other immensely. But at the end of the day they'd have to return to answer to their families, they'd have to go back home, and she feared a future where she was stifled even if Leo protested on her behalf.

Him not noticing her feelings didn't help, but she certainly wasn't a slouch when it came to hiding them. On top of that, Leo was preoccupied with his own internal struggles.

His dad was kind of an inadequate king. He wasn't malicious or awful, but he was a little incompetent. His father (so Leo's grandfather) died when Leo was young and he became almost mythologized as this legendary figure, lauded as an excellent king. Leo's father flounders as ruler trying to follow him up.

He raises Leo with a lot of words about the kind of man he should be without offering much in the way of actionable advice. In his naivety, Leo finds himself always striving to impress a man who isn't even sure what he's doing.

All of this culminates in Penelope rejecting him when he shows up in his demonic form. I've been a bit vague but when he's first cursed it's not quite just "imagine a tiefling" sdfghj and more like "eight feet tall, two large sets of curling horns, half formed leathery wings, imposing silhouette." the only thing that stays the same about him are his eyes.

And when he first transforms it is painful. So he immediately rushes to Penelope deliriously seeking help, and when he crawls through a window of the castle at night, he terrifies her. He's incoherent and desperate and before Penelope recognizes him, she takes a nearby fire poker in hand to defend herself.

It's really frantic, neither having much time to really think things through. Her deeply religious upbringing makes her doubly frightened. She sees his eyes, finally does recognize that it is Leo, and in his desperation to make sure she knows it's him he approaches her too quickly.

She knows it's him, but in her fear, she lashes out with the fire poker. She's not aiming for anywhere in particular but she ends up taking out one of his eyes and when he crumples in pain, she flees the room, sealing his curse.

In his pain and anguish Leo, runs through the castle trying to find his parents. Unfortunately uh, his dad sees him, has a heart attack and dies from the shock. After this Leo runs from the castle entirely, fleeing into the night. Leo's no good very bad day.

There's a lot simmering under the surface before this point but this night is the first event that marks the true end of their carefree days as friends.

[charlesjosephwrites]

Find the word tag

Thanks for the tag @oh-no-another-idea! This game was always my favorite, so I'm super hyped to be playing it again.

My words are correct, hold, prayer, and fish! I couldn't find the word prayer in this draft, but here are some snippets from my wip The Magician and Ms. Psychic for the rest of the words!

correct

“I mean…” Her voice cracked as she gently laced our fingers together. “It’s nothing new. This time of year just comes with some bad memories.” I nodded slowly. My mouth opened and closed silently a few times as I struggled to figure out what the correct response to that was. How the hell did Claire make the whole supportive girlfriend thing look so easy?

hold

“Did you think any super who commits a crime is automatically a supervillain?” I asked. Hermes hesitated. “I mean… yeah.” I stomped my foot. “They don’t just hand out the supervillain label to any idiot who wants it. You have to earn it by—” “Dude.” Hermes held up one hand. “It’s not that deep.”

fish

“You got any sevens?” The mayor shook his head. “Go fish.” I pulled a card from the stack in the middle of the table. Not helpful. Of course. I slumped back in my seat with a drawn out sigh. “Shouldn’t Ms. Psychic be here by now?” “I’m sure she won’t be much longer.” Tommy cast a glance towards his cards with a thoughtful hum. “Do you still have that jack?” I pursed my lips, and I threw the card across the table at him with a bit more force than what was probably necessary. “Well, she better hurry up.” “Patience.” The corners of his lips twitched upwards in the faintest smile as he pulled the matching Jack from his hand to add the new pair to his pile of matches. “How about an eight?” “The fuck?” My voice squeak involuntarily as I tossed another card from my hand at him. “Are you cheating?” “Of course not.” He added his newly won pair to the pile. “Any queens?” Heat rose in my cheeks as I made eye contact with the queen of hearts in my hand. I took a deep breath, slowly lifting my gaze back up towards Tommy. “Go fish,” I told him.

I'm feeling a bit too lazy to come up with people to properly tag here, so I'll just leave this as an open tag for anyone who wants to jump in on the game with the words cook, fling, pace, and chance.