#A young girl trying to go to therapy for the first time and gets fucking tortured for it

[backpackingspace]

Having torture as your trauma is so

Okay I get that most people feel this way about their trauma. That they can't tell anyone about it because it's so so much too much to talk about even in like safe trauma circles. And that they're the only one who's experience that and that they're alone in their experience. It's actually a near universal feeling when it comes to trau.a and I'm not exempt from that and this is probably just that feeling

But I do feel like I'm the only one who has been tortured before (obviously in my own circle not world wide and excluding like people who have been trafficked and prisoners of war. I don't actually know anybody that would fit into those categories) and how do you even share that? Like

Hey when I was 18 I had therapy with a psyco who tortured me for 8 months and tried to murder me

Hi sorry I can't remember anything because I have brain damage from sleep deprivation torture

Hi sorry yah I was just remembering being tortured you have my full attention now

Like talk about an immediate conversation stopper and then everybody has questions after like what really? How? We're you kidnapped? No Are you okay? No I was tortured but for this purpose of this conversation yah I'm fucking perfect thanks for asking fuck off thanks

[steddielations]

- nsfw, age gap, rockstar Eddie, drummer steve

Eddie should not be wearing a plug here.

It’s stupid. It’s reckless. But that inner voice that led to decades of being stupid and reckless says it’s fine, it’s just for Eddie. Steve doesn’t have to know, unless he wants to find out.

It really is just for Eddie. It’s more for confidence than kink. It’s a trick he learned back when he was still getting comfortable on stage, back when he could still handle the fast life. Started way back when he was a teenager, dear old dad made sure to turn his talent into cold hard cash.

Now here Eddie is, way too many years of coping with drugs and never any therapy later, retired rockstar doing the whole studio owner mentoring baby rockstars thing. Someone’s gotta keep rock and roll alive so long as Eddie’s still kicking.

So the first thing that comes with years of being stone cold sober is realizing he spent too much time on the road and in the closet, not enough time growing roots so he’d have someone to settle down with when he stopped being so afraid of it.

The second thing is a dick that doesn’t work half the time because maybe if someone told him doing drugs would land him limp-dick at 40, he would’ve stopped sooner. The third thing is that he’s going to die alone with his floppy dick and trust issues.

So with the wild life Eddie lives nowadays, it’s no surprise that a couple smiles and smooth words from a good looking young drummer sent him into a spiral.

Steve’s a session musician, an independent guy that looked good on paper and even better in person. He’s got more heart and grit than the last few ‘frontmans’ Eddie tried to get something real out of. Steve knows it too, the way everyone does at 28.

He’s got the same cockiness in his skills as Eddie, but he knows he’s more than just his skills in a way that Eddie wishes he could’ve known at that age. He’s confident enough to make his own suggestions to Eddie, calls him old fashioned and he’s smooth about it, strikes up debates about music and he’s fucking sassy about it.

Eddie’s gotta be under some kinda spell to be considering Springsteen is one of the greats like Steve insists.

It’s not just because Steve’s younger, there’s always been girls much younger than late 20s trying to get with him for his name, status, money. Bless their hearts, maybe if he was still 20 years deep in the closet. It’s not just because Steve’s a guy either, there’s plenty of young guys now that dare to bat their eyes and call him Daddy and want to get fucked.

No, it’s because Steve’s different. The opposite, even.

Eddie slips up and calls him sweetheart once and it’s like Steve was just waiting to open that door and let every babe and handsome and honey slip out from his lips.

He notices Eddie checking out his biceps as he’s banging away on the drums once and sends him a wink that nearly makes him flatline.

He’s not intimidated to get in Eddie’s space. He has no reason to ever be in the control room, but Eddie doesn’t question it when Steve’s close, leaning over him with a warm hand pressed to the small of his back for one second. Eddie’s so hot faced and flustered that he gets his long hair caught in some of the board switches.

“Fuck, fucking, god damn it,” Eddie curses, tangling it even more trying to yank it free and vowing to chop it all off later.

“It’s alright, here, let's get you sorted out.” Steve’s steady hand closes over Eddie’s, gentle and warm as he eases the lock of hair free. Eddie’s breath lodges in his throat when Steve reaches up, fingers brushing Eddie’s face as he combs through his long silver streaked waves and says, “Don’t ever cut your hair. I love it too much.”

God. Steve makes Eddie feel like he’s a pretty young thing getting moves put on him in the kinda club that he was always too famous, too busy and too afraid to go to at that age.

It can’t be real. Steve can’t be serious. Eddie’s mean. Bitter. He talks shit about everyone and everything. He’s nothing without a guitar. He’s got the prickly rind of daddy issues and doesn’t even have Wayne to make it better anymore. The whole world adoring him all his life only fed his ego. He’s worth millions of dollars and feels like nothing most days. His only real friends are his bandmates that he doesn’t call often enough because they love each other, but they’re sick of each other, being stuck together all those years.

Surely, Steve’s just bored and playing with him. Eddie needs a kick of confidence to deal with it until Steve’s contract ends and he’s done playing with Eddie.

So that’s why Eddie’s got a plug up his ass at the studio. At work, technically.

It helps. It gives him all the inner fire he needs to ignore when he feels Steve’s eyes burning into him, and push his hand through his hair that Steve loves, and sway his hips as Steve’s gaze follows him walking out to the bathroom.

Oh yeah, Eddie’s still got it.

And he has to piss. Really bad. His bladder just ain’t what it used to be and when he’s gotta go, he’s gotta go and for whatever reason, he can’t do it with the plug inside him.

Eddie’s locked in a stall so he doesn’t hesitate to undo his belt and reach inside to pull it out. He holds it while he uses the toilet, so distracted sighing in relief like such an old man that he doesn’t realize how lube-slippery the thing is.

It’s too late. He drops his plug and it rolls out from under the stall just as the bathroom door opens and shuts slowly.

Then Eddie feels both relief and panic when it’s Steve’s voice that asks, “Eddie, did you drop something, honey?”

[actuallysaiyan]

Stay With Me(Sugar Daddy!Enji Todoroki x Fem!Sugar Baby!Reader)

warnings: smut, angst, swearing, heart break, sugar daddy and sugar baby relationship, post time skip in MHA, Enji has a prosthetic arm, Enji and Rei are divorced, Touya lives!, power dynamics, unprotected sex, kissing, slight dark themes, abandonment,

word count: 3.2k

pairings: Sugar Daddy!Enji Todoroki x Fem!Sugar Baby!Reader

summary: Enji gets the idea to hire a sugar baby, and while he thinks it's a good idea, he didn't think he'd develop feelings for her. instead of trying to work through these new feelings, he pushes her away.

a/n: for my little fic trade with @cherryblossombankai!! I hope you'll enjoy this mess!

dividers: @adornedwithlight

taglist: @thissaintjessi.  @cherryblossombankai , @thestarsystemsworld @pixelcafe-network

It had been his oldest son’s idea. They were all a little worried about him; his children thought about how this would affect his psyche. Rei had been right to leave. It wasn’t about the war, the fighting or even anything else. It was about her own feelings and her own want to pursue something different in life.

This left Enji with a lot of alone time. He enjoyed it at first. He finally felt like he could work on atoning for the hurt and the sins. He could self-reflect and think about how he was going to become a better father, a better hero, a better friend. Of course, he wasn’t doing the pro hero work anymore, but he was wondering how he could use his old image as a way to help out with charities.

And of course, since Touya had recovered from their last encounter, he’s been helping Touya become a member of society. It had been tough at first, considering how much damage he had done to his first born. But slowly, they were able to make amends and even attend therapy together. Touya felt like he could actually be a part of this world and Enji felt like he would be able to help his son through these tough times.

So when Touya came up to him one afternoon with his bright idea, Enji was very curious. Though, he had to admit that he wasn’t expecting it to be this.

“You should find someone to keep you company,” Touya says between bites of his dinner.

“That’s why you live with me, son.” Enji concludes.

Touya laughs, “Nah dad…you need to get laid. Come on, I know you do. It’s the only thing missing in your miserable life.”

This last comment causes Enji to spit out his drink. Did he hear that correctly? It had certainly been some time since he last had sex, but it wasn’t the first thing on his mind. Enji sighs softly before wiping his mouth off with a napkin.

“I don’t think that’s any of your concern.” He finally says to Touya.

Touya shrugs. “Look, all I’m sayin’ is that you could find yourself a little honey. I know of this app that connects you with—”

“I’m not going to fucking download some stupid dating app!”

And with that, dinner was over. Touya had pushed his buttons a bit too much and Enji went to bed miserable that night. He was lonely. He was tired of his bed feeling so damn cold. It was sad and pathetic. Here he was, nearing his mid-fifties and he had nobody to share this life with other than his oldest son who would one day leave the nest.

So the next day, he asked Touya for the app. Touya didn’t say anything more than give him tips on how to set up the profile.

Enji met with a number of young women. It was for a sugar baby, which he didn’t realize at first. But it suited him just fine. All he had to do was give the girl a little spending money and she’d go out on dates with him and fuck him. Truly it was the perfect solution to his loneliness. 

A lot of the young women were thrilled to be matched with former pro hero Endeavor. Some of them were disgusted. Then there were some who were just in it for the money. Still, he craved a little connection. Something to let him know he still meant something to someone.

When he met you, he found you so alluring. You were young, sweet and definitely beautiful. You made him laugh, which was a first during all these stupid dates. And he made you laugh, which made his stomach flip every time he heard it. Despite this, things were a bit more rocky than you had anticipated the first few times you two got together.

There were some ground rules you had to follow. After your initial date to get to know one another, Enji laid down the law with you.

“I don’t want you seeing anyone else. Mostly due to a safety thing…” he didn’t want to admit that he’d get jealous if you were to see someone else while seeing him. “If I call you or text you, I expect you to come to me as soon as possible.”

You nodded your head, surprised to hear him be this firm and disciplinary with you after such a fun first date together.

“This is the allotted allowance for now.” He slides over a folded piece of paper. “There are certain things I expect of you, but we don’t have to do the relationship thing.”

This surprised you in some ways. But who were you to judge him? You had initially joined to help pay your college debt. Still, you wanted some sort of companionship. Enji lists off the expectations to you: to keep him satisfied, to join him during special events and hero galas, to go on dates with him from time to time.

“Any money I send to you, I want you to use portions of it to buy yourself cute outfits.” He finally concludes the meeting. He hands you a wad of cash without looking back at you. 

You’re beginning to wonder what you got yourself into.

It starts off fairly easy. He asks you to come over a few times, but it only leads to kissing. He doesn’t even really look you in the eyes. It just seems too intimate for him, and he can’t handle the way you look at him. No, he fucking hates the way you look at him like he’s actually worth something. He fucking hates that you treat him like an actual human and not this disgraced man.

You get to know Touya fairly well, which doesn’t surprise you. He’s around your age, which does make things a little weird. But neither him nor Enji make it awkward for you. Touya knows you’re there to help his father transition into a different part of his life.

The first time Enji invites you out on a real date, you feel nervous about it. It’s the first time since your first meeting that you two will be going out. You’re not surprised to find a delivery person at your door an hour later with a huge bouquet of roses and a beautiful dress just for you. The card is signed by Enji.

He charms you in so many ways. He makes you question every single thing. He’s such an enigma, and you know he’s worth cracking the code. Deep down inside, you knew you were starting to fall for the traumatized man.

After the date, he invites you back to his place. And he’s rough with you. He kisses you like he’s never kissed someone in his life. It’s teeth clashing and tongues wrestling for dominance. He bends you over the side of the couch, lifting up the skirt of the dress he bought for you.

“You’ve been a good girl so far,” he growls in your ear as he pumps one of his fingers into you. You gasp at the sudden stretch. “Why don’t you let me show you how a real man makes love?”

The words that you were about to say get stuck in your throat as Enji curls his fingers deep inside of you. Your knees buckle and you’re very happy that he has you bent over the couch because you weren’t going to be able to stand up on your own two feet. You gasp once again when the big man kneels down behind you and begins lapping at your went cunt like it’s his last meal.

You’ve never had anyone push you to the edge quite like Enji does. And when you’re barely recovered from that earth shattering orgasm, he’s pushing into you from behind. It’s a rough pace to begin with, but it slowly gets more passionate. He pulls you to be flush against his chest, pressing kisses to your neck and shoulders.

“So beautiful…” he grunts in your ear. “So fucking perfect.”

He makes you cum a few more times before finishing on your ass and back. He doesn’t look you in the eyes when he throws the washcloth in your hands. Then he hands you his credit card, leaving you to get dressed and out of the house all by yourself.

The weeks that follow are even lonelier than before you met Enji. He only sends you money. He doesn’t ask for you to come see him anymore. It’s almost like he’s ashamed of himself and ashamed of what transpired between you two. It breaks your heart to think of him all alone in his bed,

You try to continue on with your life, but you have become quite attached to the older man. You remember the way you made each other laugh during that first meeting. You had butterflies in your tummy every time you thought about that. You know that deep down, Enji Todoroki is quite the charming man who is very much worthy of love.

Still, the days go by and you barely hear from him. You wonder if maybe the arrangement has been called off. You try to reach him, but you get no answer. The money comes in dribs and drabs, but nothing concrete. You finally gain the courage to message Touya.

The news that comes from Touya isn’t surprising, but it does break your heart. Apparently since that night, Enji has been locking himself in his room most days and not coming out. He’s been hiding from the world. The oldest Todoroki son doesn’t know what to make of it, but he has a sneaking suspicion it has to do with you.

“Look, can you just come over and talk to him? He’s just not doing well.”

How could you deny this? You get ready to head out to their place. You don’t know what to expect when you get there, but you’re hoping you can help out. Touya opens the door and he leads you to his father’s bedroom.

Quietly you knock. Your heart is in your throat. The door swings open and there stands the man you’ve developed feelings for. He looks worse for wear. His eyes narrow when he sees you. You’ve never seen him this disheveled before. He’s not even wearing his prosthetic arm.

“What the hell are you doing here? Didn’t you get the message?!” He snaps angrily. “I don’t want you around anymore!”

“B-but you never said that to me! You just stopped talking to me. Dropped me like I was yesterday’s news.”

He scoffs, “Quit the dramatics! You knew what this was. You know what you are to me.”

This breaks your heart. He might as well have hit you. It’s what it feels like. Despite knowing what this started as, you had hopes that maybe it would turn into something more. Maybe you and Enji would fall in love, but it’s not the way it’s going at all. It’s turning into a complete nightmare.

You sniffle and try to hide your tears. “If that’s how you feel, then I’ll stop bothering you.”

You leave the house, your heart heavy. It’s not the outcome you wanted, but it’s the outcome that happened. Maybe sometime down the line, you and Enji could fall in love and be happy. Or maybe you’d stay apart and move on with your lives.

Slowly, despite your broken heart, you move on. You find other things in your life. You meet new people. You get away from the sugar baby scene and you begin to see things from a different perspective. You missed Enji, yes, but things were different now. You were a different woman.

It was months later when you caught a glimpse of him. You two just happened to be at the same grocery store. He looks better than the last time you saw him. There’s something inside of you that desperately wants to go talk to him, but you know it’ll probably only cause trouble. So you let it slide, hiding your pain by leaving the store before he even spots you.

This begins to happen a bit more. You see Enji while you’re out and about. He seems happier than the last time you saw him. You wonder if maybe he’s seeing someone new. Someone who could treat him well and love him in the way he deserved. As much as you wish for that person to be you, you think you’ve missed your chance. You should have been more attentive to his needs.

Eventually, you accidentally bump into him. Your heart races in your chest when your body hits into the mass of muscles. His eyes widen and he smiles softly. There’s a pink tinge on his cheeks. It’s been almost a whole year since the last time you two talked.

“H-hi…” you offer shyly.

He smiles again. “Hi, how are you?”

This causes the two of you to begin gravitating towards one another. You two stand in the aisle at the grocery store and talk to one another like you were two old friends and not a sugar baby and her former sugar daddy. It tugged at your heartstrings like nothing else could. You were wondering if you could ever get over Enji Todoroki.

“Hey, want to go for coffee sometime?” He says, reaching over to gently brush some hair from your face.

You nod your head. “Yeah! I’d love that.”

A week from that day, you stand in front of one of your favorite cafes waiting for Enji. He arrives soon after, a bouquet of roses in his hands. Your eyes widen when you look at him. He seems almost completely different from the sad man you used to know. He kisses your cheek softly, handing you the bouquet.

Coffee goes well. You’re really surprised by how soft and sweet this man is. When you were his sugar baby, things didn’t go quite the way you wanted. It was always a little more awkward than you had anticipated. But now it felt like you two were getting along in a totally different way.

When he drops you off later on, you two make plans to see each other again. But when the day comes, he completely stands you up. You feel broken hearted. How could he do this to you again? How could he reach into your chest and rip your heart out again when you thought this could be different for you two?

You weren’t going to let him off easy. You make your way to his house by taxi. You’re fuming as you think of all the things you’re going to tell him. As you try to keep a levelhead, you know you’re going to explode.

Touya is the one who lets you in. He’s surprised to see you. He has a million and one questions, but he knows he can wait to ask you. This isn’t what’s important now. Based on the look on your face and how you stormed past him to get to Enji’s room, there is something else going on.

And you begin to slam your fist on Enji’s bedroom door. When he opens it, he’s shocked to see you. He figured you would have just forgotten about this old man. It’s what he deserves. He shouldn’t be allowed to even try to have something of a normal relationship with you.

“How dare you!? How fucking dare you, Enji Torodoki?! You keep fucking ripping my heart out of my chest.” There are tears streaming down your cheeks now.

“You shouldn’t be here!” He yells. “You’re supposed to just fucking forget about me!”

Both of you are angry. The tension is so high right now. You’re practically shaking as the words he said really hit you. You were supposed to just forget about him? How could you forget about the man who actually made you feel something instead of the steady numbness that life provides?

You push yourself against him, your chest mashing itself into his now-doughy body. He wasn’t nearly as muscular as he used to be. He looks at himself as this complete failure. He’s not meant to be loved.

“Enji Todoroki, I fucking love you. Do you understand me?! I love you!”

It’s all he needs to hear before he’s picking you up and pulling you into a heated kiss. He’s hungry as he kisses you, but it’s a little slower this time. It’s like he wants to memorize the taste and feel of you. Hurriedly, he pulls you into his bedroom and closes the door.

You’re pushed onto the bed, and you grab him by the collar of his shirt. He laughs softly when he lands on top of you, slightly crushing you. But it feels oh-so good. You never want this moment to end. You run your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly as he leans back in to kiss you. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

“I love you too,” he pants between heated kisses. “I was so stupid to hurt you over and over again. I just couldn’t bring myself to drag you down to my level. You deserve the world.”

You shake your head. “You’re the one I want. Can’t you see that?”

He cups your face in his hands, using his thumbs to brush away your tears. Enji continues to kiss you over and over, pulling your clothes off with a needy haste. You do the same, making sure to spend extra time caressing his body. He feels old and worn out and washed up, but the way you touch him reminds him that maybe he can be loved.

Enji spends a long time kissing you all over. His tongue soothes over every little inch of your body. You can’t believe this is happening. It feels like heaven just to have him touching you in this way. When he finally has you ready to take him, you’re more than ready.

He slides into you slowly, watching your face contort into pure pleasure. Enji wants to commit this look into his mind for all eternity. Because that to him proves that he can do something right. He ruts into you deeply, but slowly. Every thrust is full of longing and love and need that neither of you could even put into words.

Your wrap your legs around him, pulling him into you even deeper. He smiles before burying his face in the crook of your neck. Enji places little love bites all over your tender flesh as he brings you to orgasm. The sounds you make just for him are what push him even further to his own peak.

“C-can I…inside?” He asks, his tone almost bashful.

You nod eagerly. “Please daddy.”

You watch as his eyes roll back and he growls. His body tenses as he begins to shoot his seed deep inside of you, and then he slowly stills. He holds onto you like you’re about to disappear.

“I love you, I always have. I was a dumb old man and made you feel like you weren’t good enough.” He finally confesses. “But I won’t ever do it anymore. No more…”

You kiss him back, smiling. “I love you too, Enji. I trust you.”

He contents himself with holding you close, running his fingers through your hair. Tomorrow, he’ll make it all up to you. He promises from this day forward, he’s going to show you that he can be a better man.

reblogs and comments always appreciated!

©actuallysaiyan 2024– do not repost on other platforms, copy, translate or edit my works!

[etherealily]

𝕏𝕆𝕏𝕆, 𝔽𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕩.

Felix Catton + fem!reader. Warnings : Cussing. Drugs. Long.

My other Felix fics, if you have the time.

happy v-day💌

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : You don't want to fix him, but you do, anyway.

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Okay, okay, so he beat someone up on campus, so fucking what?

It's called being a good fucking person. Look, you do not let some utter chav get away with cat-calling a girl in the middle of the dining hall, and then a frat party, where she might have been roofied if she'd have been dumber (thank god she wasn't), and in a fucking library, just because she couldn't cause a scene. Three strikes and he was out.

But apparently, so was Felix.

"No, Sir, I'm telling you, he was--'

"Professor Walker."

Professor. Asshole. "Professor. I apologise. Professor, I'm telling you, he was being absolutely dodgy!"

"Mr. Catton, I'd advise you to stay calm--"

His fist slammed on the table, the pens on this useless waste of a PhD's desk bouncing, seemingly in tune with Felix's blood pressure. "YOU are a philosophy professor, yeah? Don't bloody talk about practical shite to me, and don't tell me what to do about what happens in the real world, when your whole career is telling people to overthink everything and keep their heads in the clouds!"

Uh, whoops.

His adrenaline shot down as fast as it had shot up and all of a sudden, he was acutely aware of his ranking in this shithole.

Student.

He's lucky he wasn't expelled.

Because the philosophy 'professor' said "young minds often reject new ideas".

Figures.

He got let off with a warning, an extremely disappointed voicemail from his mother (Felix, dear, you know philosophy was my major, that was a horrid joke to make), to sit in on one month's worth of philosophy lectures - surprisingly, without charge - and a mandatory weekly anger management session for the rest of the academic year.

That last bit was what he was most chagrined about.

He did not need a bloody shrink. GOD. He was fine. He just couldn't handle the philosophy 'professor' telling him to 'stay calm' when he was perfectly calm. Maybe he knew that would set him off. Any class with Felix in it is sure to get more listeners. So maybe it was this Professor Walker mooching off his campus-wide popularity.

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Having to miss classes wasn't exactly on your bucket list, but your body was far less used to Oxford winters than you'd expected, and so the flu decided to scrape a week off your lectures. You made up for it, though, being a swot on your first free week of Uni, and not needing to catch up on much.

However, there was definitely no chance your professor took too kindly to your absence, seeing as psychology was your major, and she expected you to be there, rain, hail or shine. Star student, you were not, but the only one taking it seriously, you were.

So here you were, sitting in front of her as she regarded you. "You need extra credit."

"Yes, Professor."

"Your career path?"

"Uh... undecided."

"Career focus?"

"Psychology.' That, you knew.

She hummed, shaking a packet of sugar before ripping the corner. You watched the tiny, crystalline cubes get engulfed by the brown of her coffee.

"You should try going into therapy."

For a moment, you almost chewed her head off.

"As a career.", she clarified, almost snorting as she saw your expression. "You interact well with people, and you have a good grasp on the subject." Ah. Say that properly, bitch.

"Here's what I'll do.", she declared, taking a large sip of her coffee - you were almost 90% sure she'd made it Irish earlier - before sliding a small, stapled pile of papers over to you. "I'll give you all the tools you'll need. See if you can get them memorized and come back for a solo quiz later this week. Then, you can begin conducting."

Conducting?

You skimmed your eyes over the stack of paper. Weekly mandatory anger management sessions. Split second, and you thought it was for you, because maybe she had heard you mentally call her a bitch.

"An extremely hardworking and well-scoring student recently got into an altercation on campus, on grounds.", she explained, and you nodded, your eyes not leaving the stack of paper.

'Conducted by' : blank. You supposed that's where you were supposed to sign.

"Although we have a strict policy against harrasment and conflict, none of the three parties involved has openly stated discrimination. The only solid thing the university has got is a confession from the initiator and witnesses from the side of the victim. But given his clean record so far, we have resorted to only this. Sessions to contain any such future outbursts."

Who even was this kid, and why was he your form of extra credit? "But I'd be using him as a lab rat, basically."

"Come again?"

"I'm not qualified or licensed to conduct these sessions, so I don't think--"

She waved you off, the bint. "It's a mere formality, no need to put stock into it. That's not to say you can slack off, half-arse it, either, but he's had no history of violence and is known to be a relatively good-tempered student."

Then why the fuck?

"We figure he can be let off easy - we'd never take sides, so this is off the record, but he was justified - and you can get extra credit, and the victim can be appeased. Quiet and a win-win-win."

The coffee now completely drained, she watched you think it over while staring blankly at the space in which you needed to sign your name. Inhaling deeply, she leaned over, gently prying it from you and flipping the page. "This bit, very important. Sort of like an NDA. No, maybe... an ANS. Agreement Not to Sue. But less official."

"This looks more like summat he should be signing. Basically, since I'm not a licensed therapist, if he doesn't get better, or gets more fucked, the Uni isn't to blame?"

"You need to sign it, too. You'll have to record the sessions, as well."

"So you know I'm not 'half-arsing' it?"

"So we know he's coming to them. But yeah. That too.", she smiled, tilting her head. "You in?"

Well, yeah, you kind of had to be, seeing as she cut marks for your absences out of sheer fucking spite.

You nodded and so did she. "Brilliant! Sign here."

Scrawling your sign - that you came up with in the eighth grade instead of fucking having fun like a kid - on the blank spots her manicured nail hovered over, you bit the inside of your cheek. Was it weird that they weren't telling you who it was?

Was it weird that the sheet had been blank when it was brought to you, meaning whoever this bloke was, he had no clue what was coming?

Uh huh. Yeah.

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"A student?! A first year fucking student? I'm getting a kid-shrink?"

"It's a mere formality. Given your record, we're sure you don't even require these sessions--"

"Professor! Come on! Can't we just say I took them?"

It's quite interesting how chill a philosophy professor can actually be once you get to know them personally. And Walker was cool, as Felix had come to find out in the past couple days of knowing him.

"Afraid not. But I'm sure she's been adequately trained by the psychology in-charge to handle these sessions."

"Why can't the in-charge do it? Would actually do summat!"

"She's busy."

He scoffed as he was handed a stapled stack of papers. "What's this, then?"

"Read it."

He did, for a while, before looking up at him with raised eyebrows. "What is this, a Liability Waiver for if she bollockses my mental health by accident?"

"More or less."

Sweet lord. "Oh, fantastic, so I'm a scapegoat, a trial for this first year, am I? See if counselling is her 'thing'?"

"You know, a more positive attitude towards this, and you might not have to go the whole year.'

"What, sayin' she'll give up?"

Walker looked almost amused, snorting. "No. I'm saying you might actually get a solution for your rage issues."

"I don't have--'

"You could learn a thing or two, Felix. Learn to calm your temper - no matter how non-existent you claim it to be - and learn how to be happier."

"Brilliant. A first year is going to teach me about the joys of non-reactivity, then? Brilliant. We'll see her keep her temper when a girl's being near groped in front of her, hm?"

"We'll need to have you sign there and there and twice on the last page, please."

"She got this before me?", he muttered, glaring at the signatures already present on the pages. "So she got to decide whether she wants to deal with me, not the other way around!? Unbelievable."

"Sign, please, Felix."

He grumbled under his breath, attempting to recall whether he'd ever even heard your name before, as he messily signed something that was probably not his signature, on each page. He has no clue what his signature is. He figured he'd sort it out when he takes over the family estate (or business), or whatever.

"None of these look the same."

"Well, this is hardly official is it? 'S long as my name's there, it's not a problem, yeah?"

"You're gonna give me a migraine before my first week as your student advisor.", he muttered, accepting the sheets back anyway. "Okay, good. Sessions start Saturday."

Fucking spectacular, now this girl was taking his weekends away.

WEEK 1

Your pen twirled between your fingers and the inside of your cheek practically split open with how frequently you'd been resorting to chewing on it lately.

You'd passed the solo quiz that your professor had set up for you, and she'd declared you 'adequately trained' to take these sessions.

Okay? And? What, were you supposed to jump in joy?

Late. This arsehole, 'Felix Catton' was his name. You just... try as you might, you couldn't place a face to the familiar name. And that face was almost ten minutes late.

But one thing you would not do is get up and leave until the hour was up. Work ethic. Wait till the last moment. With any luck, he wouldn't show up at all, and you could complain, and get extra credit some other way--

The door exploded open, and shuffling, throwing-off of a coat and grumbled-settling-down was heard, as you looked up from your notes.

"You're the first year, then?"

Oh, THIS GUY?! Whoa, whoa, whoa, yeah, you remembered him!

You nodded. "Yes. Uh, just a second, Mr. Catton.", you muttered, angling the video camera right, ignoring the scoff it elicited from the junior.

"I'm two years older than you."

"What would you like me to call you?" That plug from the Christmas party who tried to overcharge me?

He watched you fiddling with the device for a bit before sitting up, one leg crossed over another as he huffed, playing with his rings. "Felix is fine."

"Felix it is, then.", you mumbled, finally getting the thing to work, before clearing your throat and sitting up. Here we go. "So, Felix.", you began, trying to smile off the awkwardness. "We're here to just go through these Uni-mandated sessions, so that you may have an insight into conflict resolution and--"

"Do you wanna know why I'm here in this bloody session?"

You glanced over to the camera for a second, feeling like you were in a fucking Office episode, before nodding, gesturing at him to continue. Fuck, if this shite went on the record and he said summat so unbelievably stupid you were at a loss for words, you could kiss your extra credit goodbye.

"I punched a lad. Hard, till his nose bled and he couldn't stand up without support."

You nodded, flicking through the file of information you'd received from some advisor of his, Professor Walker. Nice chap. "Yes, I see that. How does that make you feel? Did it make you feel powerful?"

"Mhm.", he hummed, nodding as he glared at you, a sort of smirk on his face, like he thought this would have you freaking out about his sadistic tendencies. It's funny he thought you cared.

"Happy?'

"Very."

"I see. But one thing that's conveniently missing from your file.", you replied, eyes flicking accusatorily to the camera before reaching his eyes once more. "Is why you did it.", you stated, your fingers intertwining as you looked at him with rapt attention.

This seemed to throw him for a loop, the self-satisfied grin fading for a moment.

"Why'd you want to know, sweetheart? So that you can record me confessing to the crime on tape?", he mused, gesturing at the camera before reclining back in his seat, his arms crossed. "Because I'm sorry to disappoint your wide-eyed, freshman dreams, but I've already said it, on the record."

You frowned, tilting your head softly for a moment. "No, I'm asking, because I truly don't know. They wouldn't give me your identity, let alone your case."

"Well, I hit a lad. For cat-calling a girl."

He observed your face almost twitch for a moment, and he figured you were about to throw the camera at him, but instead, you switched it off. "And they're punishing you for it?", you asked, leaning your forearms in front of him, basically whispering although the camera was off.

Huh. Whoa, maybe you were on his side.

"Yeah, isn't it mental?", he scoffed, leaning in, too. "I figured I should get some sort of medal, y'know? Maybe a commendation from the dean."

"I wouldn't go that far, but it's good, what you did.", you laughed, softly.

"Exactly!", he huffed, a genuine smile now on his face as he leaned back, rubbing his hands over his jaw. "Wow. I- sorry, love, but I didn't expect us to, like, agree."

"No, no, yeah, totally! I thought you were a hotheaded twat. I didn't expect...", you exclaimed, gesturing at him. "Reason."

"Right. Well, okay, great! Uh, phew, yeah?"

You nodded.

"So, yeah, this is cool. We'll just... you'll take care of it, won't ya? Thanks, you're a peach.", he grinned, standing up and not believing his bloody luck!

"Hey, hey, where are you going?"

Turning, he frowned. "Well, we agree. So you'll talk to your in-charge, and say I don't need it, yeah? Oh, oh, you want me to stay the hour so you can, like, log it in. Yeah, yeah, got it.", he mumbled, nodding eagerly.

"What? No." He was, uh... clearly not on the same page as you.

His smile faded slowly. "What?"

"We've got weeks left of this."

"Yeah, but. Wait, I thought you agreed with me."

"I do. It's bonkers to punish you, but, it's mandatory, so."

"'So'? So, go do summat about it, then!", he cried, gesturing at nothing in particular. "Tell 'em there's nothing to work on!"

"I'm not just going to--"

"WHY?!"

You almost flinched. God. Maybe he did have anger issues.

"WHAT'S IN IT FOR YOU?!"

Oh, oh-- uh oh. He didn't even know why you were doing it, and you were sure he'd blow five gaskets if he did.

"Just finish it, stop causing unecessary problems!"

"No, seriously! What's in it for you?"

"SIT DOWN!"

For some reason, that, he listened to.

He slumped down.

"Shut up and do what you were instructed to do." Lord knows where you'd got the balls to talk to a junior like that.

Reaching over to turn the camera back on, you began again. "What would you like me to call you?", you repeated.

"How about I call you something and we can workshop sm'n out for me later?", he grumbled under his breath.

"Sorry? You weren't audible. What was that?"

"Nothing. Felix."

"Felix.", you echoed, nodding. "We're here to just go through these Uni-mandated sessions, so that you may have an insight into conflict resolution and live an overall, controlled and more fulfilling life and have a more fruitful experience here at Oxford.", you read off the script, jaw clenched, mirroring his dirty look.

"Yes, I'm aware, thank you, freshie."

"I'd like it if you adressed me by my name. You already know it from the sign-up form for the sessions, but I am happy to repeat it if you wish.'

"Sign-up form?", he scoffed, looking directly at the camera. "Is that what they're calling it on the record?"

"That is what it is."

"Sweet Lord, it's a Liabil-- hey.", he grimaced, narrowing his eyes at you as you kneed him from under the table.

"Right. Y/N. Am I supposed to call you 'Doctor', too, freshie?"

"Just my name is fine."

He rolled his eyes, his hands fiddling with his rings. "Let's begin with your recount of the incident."

How many bloody times?! He was about to explode.

~~

You ended the session at exactly one hour, because you couldn't take this moron anymore, for fuck's sake.

He didn't object.

Shutting off the camera, you wordlessly packed up your things, stuffing them into your bag.

"Are they payin' ya?"

You snorted, zipping up your bag before slinging it over your shoulder. "No."

"Fuckin' snake."

"How am I a snake, Felix?", you sighed, tapping an impatient foot on the floor.

"Pretending you're on my side and that. Was that just to get information for the therapy part of it? Because that was a bitch move."

"What? No, I genuinely think it's odd that they're punishing you for something like this."

"Then why?! What could they possibly offer a fresher? They wouldn't increase your scholarship for shite this petty, so-- wait. EXTRA CREDIT?!", he gasped, standing up startlingly quick. "You're doin' this for a couple points of extra credit ?! WHAT?!"

"So what if I am?", you asked, schooling your face and your voice to be the picture of calm. "Either way, these sessions are mandated if you don't want this to escalate. It'll be over before you know it."

"EXTRA CREDIT?!", he practically shrieked, as he followed you out the door. "How bloody pathetic! You're going against what you know is right for extra bloody credit?! Just fucking study!"

"It'll be over before you know it, Felix."

"For the rest of the academic year, I have to come to you every Saturday and listen to you blabbering on about how to 'take deep breaths and count to ten'.", he scoffed, incredulously, easily overtaking you and obstructing your path in more ways than one.

"Doesn't always have to be a Saturday."

Oh, he was about to actually get anger issues.

"This pisses you off, too! Come on, admit it, fresher! You don't like this any more than I do!", he declared, crossing his arms defiantly.

You sort of liked pissing him off. Gave you much more to work with, sadistically. Reaching into your bag, you handed him the tiny blue journal you'd bought. "Here."

"What is this?"

"It's for noting down your feelings. You will have to fill at least one page every day and bring it back to me during our sessions."

He gaped incredulously at you as you shouldered past him. You're giving him homework?!

═════════════════════════ ⋆⋅💙⋅⋆ ═══════════════════════

WEEK 5

"You're not taking off your helmet?"

"No. Bothers you?"

You glanced at the camera for a second, before shaking your head, the corners of your lips turned down in feigned and exaggerated indifference. "No."

"Because I'll keep it on, mud and all. I fell on the way here."

"You fell?"

"Yeah. Helmet's now my coping mechanism. Calms me, y'know?" That made no bloody sense!

"So you're keeping it on."

'You wouldn't deny me my coping mechanism, would you, Y/N?"

You sucked on your teeth, shaking your head once more. Dirt on the desk, dirt on your laptop, dirt-- FUCK!

"No, it's alright."

He grinned slyly, nodding, before sliding the journal over to you. "I filled it."

"Entirely?" It's only Week 5, what the hell?

"Yes, actually. I'm an overachiever."

You raised a brow, taking it from him and placing it next to his file.

"So. How are we doing today?", you asked, once again intertwining your fingers and placing them on the desk as you leaned closer to the imbecile.

"You're not readin' it?"

Oh, please, like you had no clue what was in there. "No, actually, I've got to directly submit this to both your advisor and my in-charge."

"What?"

"Yeah, protocol. That's why I said to take it one week at a time so we can monitor progress, but it seems you're an 'overachiever' - your words, not mine."

"Can I have it back?" His tone was almost nervous, and you were now even more certain what he'd actually bloody written in there.

You almost smirked before you remembered the presence of the camera. "You want it back, Felix?"

"Yeah, I think I, uh, used a couple of profanities."

"That's alright, I'm sure they'll understand."

"Can I please have it back?"

You shrugged, holding it out for him to take, letting him tug on it for a moment before you released it from your grasp. "Would you like another one? Since you've filled this one?"

"I'll buy my own."

"Very well. I ask again, how are you doing today?"

He huffed, momentarily looking like he was actually prepared to answer honestly. "Great."

"Great.", you echoed, your pen twirling between your fingers. "And define 'great' to you."

"Not shite.", he said through gritted teeth.

"In more elaborate, less crude terms, please, Mr. Felix.'

"I am doing well today. Not bad.", he mumbled, playing with the buckle of the helmet he'd so adamantly kept on that was now seeming a bit too bloody tight. But he couldn't take it off. Not when it was clearly bothering you. "Nothing particularly terrible or triggering has occurred."

"And is that always the standard you measure your experiences on? 'Not bad'? If nothing 'terrible or triggering' has happened, it's a 'great' day?", you asked offhandedly, noting it down. 'Not shite'.

His eyes darted up to you. "What?"

"I said, is that always the stand--"

"No, I heard you. Just... isn't that what everyone does?"

"Do you think it is? Do you think it's what everyone does? Have any of your friends told you it is what they do?"

"What do you do?"

"Me?" Were you allowed to answer this? Is that against some therapist rule? You weren't sure, and you couldn't really ask your textbook right now, could you?

He nodded, mildly intrigued.

"Personally, for me to count a day as 'great', there should be an equal balance of absence of bad things and presence of good things."

"Well, then, I fell off my bike, but I did well on a test. Is that, in your books, a 'great' day?"

"Depends. Which do you weigh more? Is falling off a bike worse than getting a bad grade, or is getting a good grade better than staying upright on a bike?"

"Getting a good grade."

"Well, then, I suppose, there's your answer."

Huh. This was an odd perspective he's never exactly... heard before. Wait, no! This shite is not working, fuck off, fresher!

"Whatever."

"Whatever indeed.", you nodded. "You seem to have a better attitude this week, to the session." He did not. But it would piss him off if he thought that you thought this was working.

"I do not."

"Oh, well, then, pardon me, my mistake. So, tell me. Why do you think it is, that you're not particularly interested in these sessions?"

"Because I don't have anger issues. If a bloke catcalls a girl once, it's whatever - still bad - but whatever. Happens. But if he keeps doin' it, almost roofies her at a party and constantly tailing her, and then tryin' to score in a fucking library, just because she can't yell out at him, that's, like... creep behaviour!"

You nodded. "Yes, you mentioned this, in the first session, and also to your student advisor, it seems.", you replied, tapping the tip of your pen at the bit of the file that mirrored what he was saying.

"And you think that that's a therapy-worthy answer."

"Why do you not think you're going to get anything out of these sessions, Felix? Even without anger issues, per se, everyone could use some guidance in controlling their emotions and resolving conflict peacefully, wouldn't you agree?"

"No, I would not agree. I think that if you're being an absolute prick , then no amount of peaceful talking is going to do anything. You need to get physical. Teach a lesson."

"I see. And you know this works because...?"

"Because he's shut up, hasn't he?"

"Right, but maybe he's still doing it. Perhaps not to that particular girl, but how do you know for sure you've 'taught him a lesson'?"

"Because- well.", he muttered. Shut up, fresher! "He's not that daft! He wouldn't risk another beating!"

"If he's daft enough to do it three times even after she expressed disinterest, Felix, I'm sure he might be 'daft' enough to 'risk another beating'."

He tsked, taking off the bloody tight fucking helmet, and running his hands through his hair. You watched the brown spill through the gaps of his fingers, before your eyes came back to his face. "You're frustrated?"

"Yes, I'm frustrated."

"What do you usually do, when you're frustrated?"

"Certainly not sit in a room with a fresher and 'talk about it'!"

"Right, I suppose you don't.", you replied, smiling. "So what is it you do?"

"I dunno, smoke?"

"Smoke?", you asked, tilting your head, noting it down. "You smoke?"

"Yeah, I smoke. What, you going to turn this into a cancer-awareness session?"

"I'm simply trying to understand you, Felix."

"What is this, like a first date, you learn shite about me, and see if I'm worth anything in your eyes?", he scoffed.

"Would that make it easier to open up?"

"No! God! What high school did you go to? Idiot."

"Oh, so we are going with the first date thing?"

"No- I- you're so stupid! I don't actually care what high school you went to! It was rhetoric!"

His outburst, oddly, was not followed by a calm and infuriating retort, in fact, you just looked back at him, disappointed, it looked like. But that was impossible, because that would mean you gave a crap, which, you couldn't. You did this for extra credit like a fuckin' try-hard, right?

The silence almost devours him whole as he looks into your eyes - why were they so... he didn't even know, that look you were giving him just... freaked him out.

"Time's up. You can leave."

What?! No, no, no, he just got here.

"Already?"

He heard the video camera shut off. "Time flies when you're actually working with me, Felix, y'know?"

"Don't get used to it, I had a shit day.'

You chuckled softly, nodding. "I won't. Have a nice rest o' your weekend, Catton."

WEEK 10

"Hello again, Felix."

"Hi."

"You seem cheery today."

"Yes, actually. I went out last night. Downed a couple pints with the lads. It was fun."

"I'm glad you had fun."

He nodded, pursing his lips as he rocked back and forth, awkwardly.

"Yes, so. If you don't mind, I'd just like to go back to some things that were left unfinished in some of the previous sessions. Let's circle back to your mention of what you do when you're frustrated. Smoke. Anything else?"

He sighed, rubbing his temple as he looked up at you. 'No. Well, if you're talking about last night, uh, drink, yeah, sometimes, but never to change my mood or whatever."

"I see. So that's all you do, when frustrated?"

"Yeah. Smoke."

"How about this. Next time you feel frustrated, instead of picking up a pack of cigarettes, pick up a pen."

"What, write down my feelings like a thirteen year old girl?"

"No, draw. On paper, on a desk, on your hand, who cares? Draw."

"Draw?"

"Yeah. It's worked for me, and you seem to be responding slightly better when I give you real life examples of what's worked and not worked for me, so."

"What, the bike thing from Session 5?! Because I-- Oh, please, you're not that bloody smart! Anyone could've said that, doesn't mean I'm 'responding better' just because you said it worked for you, you're a fuckin' fresher, everything you read in your stupid little psych textbooks would work for you!", he snapped. He didn't even know what half of that meant. He just wanted to say something.

"See, it seems that this is more what you do when you're frustrated, Felix, per my observation. You're free to correct me if I'm wrong, but since our previous sessions, this sort of insulting defensiveness is what I feel you resort to."

"'M not defensive. I just think this is pointless."

"Yes, you've made that quite apparent."

"Well, then how about you just declare me fixed?"

"It's not about declaring you, alright, it's about finishing the minimum duration provided to us by the University."

"Fine."

Silence. "So. I ask again. Why not draw?"

"Fine, I'll draw."

"Alright. Thank you, Felix. Time's up."

"What?!"

"Just kidding. You've only been here five minutes. How about... and humour me here...", you muttered, reaching under the desk and groping around until you pull out two sketchbooks. "We draw right now?"

"What, and then you analyse how fucked I am in the head?"

"Or we just draw. We don't even have to talk.", you replied, handing him the sketchbook. God, this better work. You'd had to draw info from child psych books for this guy.

~~

It took barely five minutes for him to begin talking again.

"What are these pencils?"

"Don't ask me, they're all Oxford-provided."

"What a joke. You know, when I was a fresher, I didn't even let myself think of borrowing anything from Uni, I got all my own shite, and even if I lost it, I'd ask it to be sent over from home."

"Really?" Fucking rich boy cunt.

"Mhm.", he hummed, the scratches of his incessant scribbling almost grating in the silent room, but also comfortable, somehow, blending in with the smooth swish sounds of your own, lazy strokes. "Only the best. Can't afford mistakes, can I?"

Can't afford? You'd researched him enough to know that little existed of the sort for him.

"I suppose you can't."

"Y'know, I fucking lost my shite third week of freshman year. How about you?"

"I'm handling it okay, thanks for asking." You were, in fact, not. Your assignments were all overdue by now, and you were having to pull all-nighters that bled steadily into mornings because of this new extra-credit task you'd taken on, and to top it all off, none of the other Professors seemed to care that the Uni was milking the two of you. Abusing your need to improve your grade - although you shouldn't fucking need it -and subjecting him to these sessions with none of his own volition.

"That's good to hear. How close are you to offing yourself, then?", he mused, raising a brow and licking the back of his molars as his eyes slowly reached yours. Fuck. He was onto you.

You tsked, reaching over and shutting off the camera. "You know I have better things to do than edit this to cut out your little quips, right? I really can't have you talking about offin' yourself."

"Oh, so you're also a drown-in-alcohol kind of person, I see."

What in the everloving fuck-- "God, get a fuckin' life, mate.", you muttered, reaching back up to switch the camera on after silently glaring and counting down from three.

"I'm handling it okay, thanks for asking.", you repeated.

"Huh. Really?"

"Yes. Why, is your school year not going okay?"

"No, it's going spectacular. My parents pay for an afternoon to go off once a week for a useless fresher to tell their son to meditate."

You chose not to respond to that, instead pursing your lips and continuing to draw. A flower, it seemed, your hands wished to create.

"Why do you even need extra credit?"

"I was sick, and I missed a couple classes."

"Oh, and you flunked the tests?", he asked, reaching over to grab your pencil out of your hands and use the eraser on the back of it, before tossing it back to you. Prick, and if that smirk was any indication, smug prick.

"No, actually, I'd already finished a good chunk of the syllabus content my first couple weeks so I did fine in my tests."

"So why?"

He looked genuinely curious. So genuinely curious, that you actually felt like this was a first date and he was an annoyingly inquisitive romantic candidate.

"She just didn't like the absences." Plus, everyone else just took Psych to slack off.

"That's not fair."

"Yeah, well, you beat up a creep for a girl and they're punishing you, so."

His eyes flicked over to the camera momentarily. "That's on the record."

"It should be."

═════════════════════════ ⋆⋅💙⋅⋆ ═══════════════════════

Normalcy is hard to achieve because it's never truly been attained.

Now, this kind of knowledge is only acquired when you take a philosophy class - like you - but since Felix was a PolSci-stuck-up-arsehole, it really didn't strike him that the life he'd lived before you had neither been normal nor happy.

Which is why when he found you and a couple of your friends hanging out by the lawn of a frat party, passing around a spliff, he just couldn't resist.

"Is this your coping mechanism, then?"

He reveled in the groan you replied with.

"Ladies, if you could excuse us?"

You rolled your eyes as all your mates nodded slyly before scrambling up. With hungry and suggestive looks at him and then you, they waved subtly. Spectacular. They already thought you were hooking up and now... fuck.

"Ah. I think we're gonna need that, if you will.", he called, winking as he grabbed the spliff from one of them, before settling down next to you. "See? I'm a celebrity. You should bring that up next time, see if you can't do anything with it."

"What?"

"Like, ask me about that. Incorporate it. 'How's it feel, Felix, being the life of the party, and the apple of everyone's eye?'"

"Incorp-- do you think this is a game? Like this is a play?!"

"Well, yeah. It's basicall--"

"GOD, you absolute prick! I'm here freakin' out about the syllabus, tests, and stayin' up to analyse and collate your bullshit and I have to submit it and study resources for it and--", you paused, catching your breath and glaring at him before taking a hit to calm your nerves. "And you think it's a story, like an improv session, where we add off each other.", you mumbled the last bit out.

"What are you, burnt-out from this shite?"

You didn't respond and he watched the smoke flow above the two of you. "God. You are. What sort of a freshman's burnt out by second term?"

"The kind that has to be a shrink to some anger-issued arsehole."

"Hey, c'mon, you-", he huffed, tilting his head at you. "You don't have to put too much effort into this, it's a formality."

"To you!", you yelled, sitting up in frustration, your elbow on your knee and your blunt in your fingers.

He sat up, too, sighing. "I'm sorry. For what it's worth."

"Worth nothing."

"Yeah, I can tell.", he muttered, hiding a scoff. "Gimme."

You rolled your eyes, but handed him the spliff nevertheless, which he grumbled as he took a drag of. Knees elevated to his chest, he exhaled the smoke. "This is good. Is it American?'

"How should I know?"

"You don't care what sort of weed you smoke? This actually is one of your coping methods?"

"For the love of-- lay off, man!"

"Whoa, whoa, it's a joke!"

"You're a joke!"

He almost laughed at that. Almost, because he'd had quite fucking enough of you. He didn't forget who he was just because you might have changed his perspective a little. He was still Felix motherfucking Catton, a motherfucking Upperclassman. And when he was a fresher, he had to treat his Upperclassmen with utmost respect- no, reverence - so he'll be damned if he's gonna let you sit here and call him a joke.

"Stand up."

"What?"

"Stand up."

"Why?"

"NOW, FRESHER, NOW!" Okay, the startle in your body language made him feel the tiniest bit bad, but still, it was exactly what had been done to him, and he wasn't all whiny about it.

"Okay, okay, I'm up, I'm up!", you mumbled, straightening out your shirt. "What?"

He had no clue what he wanted you to stand up for.

"So. The reason I had you shoot up..."

Think, Felix! Think!

"...Is actually quite simple, really. I'm sure you've already guessed."

"You want to get my mind off it or summat."

Sure. "Good. You're smart. And how will I be doing that?"

You shrugged. "Take me on a joyride on your stupid bicycle or summat.", you grumbled.

Sure. Let's go with that. Better than Felix's idea of making you do jumping jacks, like his seniors had done to him.

"Wow, maybe shrinks really can read minds. And at least you have one of your own.", he replied, flicking your forehead as he shepherded you over to the exit of the party. Yeah, he didn't think through how far you'd have to walk before you actually reached his bike. Oh, well. Better for him.

"So.", he began, arms swinging exaggeratedly at his side. "Have you heard anything from your in-charge yet? Walker won't tell me anything."

You shook your head. "It's all the same. 'Received tapes. Good work. Keep going.' Like I'm bloody angling for a gold star."

"Well, you're angling for the college equivalent of a gold star, which is a smidge of extra credit."

Shrugging, you seemed to agree. It was a pleasant sort of... stoned sort of quiet for the rest of the walk until his bike came into view. "There it is."

"That's the bike you fell off of after you aced your test?"

"Yeah."

"How?", you scoffed, buckling up the little helmet he offered you "Thing looks brand new."

"What, you were expecting some post-war, ancient bike?", he snorted, clambering onto the seat.

"Yeah, I thought it'd be some rusty, squeaky, rickety thing. How's this supposed to work? Where do I sit?"

"On your own bike's seat.", he replied, gesturing to the rest of the bicycle lot.

"I don't have a bloody bicycle! I'm normal! I walk to classes!"

"How close is your dorm?!"

"Quite."

"Well...", he huffed, taking off his helmet. 'Well, okay, so, just... take one."

"Take one?"

"Like... a random one. Borrow an unlocked one."

"Steal, you mean."

"Semantics."

"I'm not stealing."

He groaned. He had way too much of a heart to punish you like his seniors did.

═════════════════════════ ⋆⋅💙⋅⋆ ═══════════════════════

"Could you slow down?!"

He watched you grumble before you slowed down, allowing him to jog up next to you. "I'm going to hold onto the handlebar because I wouldn't put it past you to steal my bike and then ask me 'how did that make you feel?' in the next session."

You actually had to stop the bike to laugh for that one.

"Oh, she acts human.", he remarked, crossing his arms across his chest as he regarded you. "Alright, it's not... that funny."

But you just didn't stop laughing.

Well, until you started crying.

Maybe that weed was laced. Yeah, he was feelin' a bit off, himself. Shit.

"I mean, fuck, Felix, mate, you- you know I don't think you should be antagonized like this, yeah? You're... you, you're good, you- you helped a girl, and your anger issues are good!"

Okay, clearly the laced weed was hitting you both at the same time, somehow. Either it was causing him to mishear some sympathy from your end or causing you to express sympathy. Either way, somehow, you were both oddly on the same page.

"I don't have anger-bloody-issues.", he gritted out, tapping his fingers impatiently on the handlebar.

"No, mate, you do, but, like, they're good, you don't have to get all touchy about it. I like it, personally. Think it's good. You're stickin' it to the man and all that."

He scoffed as he shifted closer, flicking your - well, his - helmet back a bit. "You're on thin ice, 'mate'! I told you, I don't have anger iss--"

"You're yellin' at me right now!"

"I'm NOT--", he cut himself off, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You're pissin' me off."

"Everything pisses you off! That's why they're called anger issues!', you retorted, and he swore he was close to pushing you off the bike and seeing how many minutes of meditation you'd employ not to uppercut him.

"I don't need your shrink bullshit, and you can't do it anyway! I don't get how you're burnt out, y'know? You half-arse everything!"

He barely knew you outside of these sessions. He was straight up lying, but he wanted to prove that it wasn't that easy to keep your calm when provoked. Especially not by some smart aleck swot-freshman who thinks her psych major means she can read his mind and give him lip.

Ow ow, ow. Fuck. He needed to sit. down. The 'weed' was definitely about to make him pop a blood vessel, because did he just see three stars in the sky run down in front of him? No. Can't be, yeah?

"D'you think...?", you groaned, hastily removing the helmet. "D'you think there was summat in the punch?"

"Think it was the weed."

"Weed doesn't-- oh."

He nodded, gently steering the bicycle to the nearest bench, which was barely a hundred paces away, observing your feet elevated and the pedals rotating on their own as he tugged it along.

Grunting lowly as he sat, he held out a hand for you after you leant the bicycle against a nearby streetlamp. You slumped down next to him. "This is why I don't take Donna's weed, but she swore it was clean."

"Some friend she is."

"Hey."

"Oh, please, come on. She lies to you, gives you laced weed because, what, she thought she knew best on what would calm you down? That's not what a friend does."

"What does a friend do? Take you on bicycle rides across campus?"

"I mean, sure. Why not?", he asked, gesturing around. "It's fresh air, yeah? We had some talkin' happening, as well, sorted out our differences and that, yeah?"

You chuckled, softly, shaking (and lightly clutching) your head. "And what did we sort out?"

"That you're a bit of a cunt. And I'm a twat."

"Second one is accurate."

"That statement just proved the first one.", he retorted, before scoffing and breaking into a fit of breathy giggles. "Fuck."

You watched the world spin for a while, a dizzying amalgamation of shapes and stars and colours and suddenly you were aware of the clothes on your body, the wind in your hair, the saliva on your tongue, the beat of your heart.

And that's when you did it. You weren't sure what you expected or why you did it, but you just ended up kissing him like it was summat you were meant to do next, like a script. Like clockwork.

He, to say the least, was surpised it was you who initiated it. Honestly. He'd always been a very daft person when it came to... well, boundaries, for one. Sane actions, for the other. However, there was something less daft and more... crazed about this drug-induced haze you were clouded in that rendered his self-awareness moot.

And so he kissed back.

Ravenously.

This, it seemed, according to the faux marijuana, was all he ever fucking needed. Poof, no anger issues. And for you? Poof, no stress.

It was wrong, to say the least. Not due to anything besides the fact that there was no logical person who'd put you two together. He groaned softly, almost reverently, as he gripped a couple locks of your hair, a wordless direction for you to get your idiotic arse over here. And you did. The kiss didn't break. You guys should get an award for that impressive feat.

But the real award should be for your desperate, bruising grip to sobriety, the one that eventually led to you pulling yourself away from his lips, breathlessly.

"I know what you're doing."

He wasn't one for biting his lip, so he bit down on yours, instead. "Yeah? What's that, babe?", he asked, fiddling with the button of your jeans.

"You're tryin' to get off the hook of these sessions by claiming conflict of interest 'cause of this."

Oh, fuck, he hadn't even thought of that. Would've been so fuckin' smart, and plus, he'd have got a lay out of it. But he didn't exactly feel like giving a premature end to these sessions that he'd - never fucking admit - grown sort of fond of.

"Or maybe, I'm trying to get off, period.", he whispered, kissing at your cheek.

"Yeah, right."

"Trust issues much?", he murmured, his hand gently sliding into the front of your jeans. "Maybe next session, we should work on that, sweetheart."

Fuck.

════════════════════════ ⋆⋅💙⋅⋆ ════════════════════════

No one ever tells you this - lest you experience some form of joy in life - but waking up to good smells rather than any form of sound is heaps better, calmer, lovelier.

And you woke up, not to the sound of your alarm, but to the smell of goddamn butter and toast. Like, fuck, okay. Damn. This is what life should feel like, then?

You groaned, almost ready to scream at how at peace you were, before getting out of bed, rubbing your face. You shot right back in, though. Right. You were starkers.

"Felix?!"

God, you hoped it was actually him and you hadn't had some sort of adventure after him last night.

He practically left skid marks, the way he rushed to the bedroom doorway. "Uh huh?"

"Where the fuck are my clothes?"

"Oh, I put them in the wash."

"Felix--"

"Just kidding. They're in that drawer, there." Across the room.

"Could you get them for me?"

He smirked. 'Yeah."

"'Yeah' as in you will, or 'yeah' as in you could, but you won't?"

His smirk dissolved into an almost fond simper. "You know me so well."

"I'm not walkin' out naked."

"See, what is it with you girls, gosh! As if I didn't see everything last night, now you're suddenly all coy?", he teased, yanking the drawer open and tossing you your clothes, rolling his eyes before turning around so you could change. "Last night count as a breach of, uh, what is it...?"

"Not breach. But Conflict of Interest. Yeah. So, I'm guessing you're free, now. No more sessions."

"Mm. Shame, that. I had some really interesting things written in there.", he replied, pointing to a blue notebook on the bedside table.

"Like what?"

"Like... me realising I'm falling in love with you.", he whispered, softly, hand on his heart. He paused long enough for you to begin to question whether this was dedication to his joke or an actual, sincere fuckin' confession.

"Fuck! Wow! Gullible much? I'm joking, obviously! What, you think I'd have some, like, ten lines written every day, like 'Oh, my love, oh, my love, XOXO, Felix!', or summat?"

"Well, I don't bloody know! Your'e scarily good at the poker face, y'know?"

"Why, thank you, thank you very much.", he preened, tipping an invisible hat in your direction.

"Makin' French Toast. You vegetarian? Or vegan? Nah, I don't care, you're eatin' this."

Groaning, you got up, took his offer of an unused toothbrush, and let him escort you to the bathroom. "These rich-kid-dorm-suites, I swear--"

"Jealous much?"

"I swear to fucking god, you better stop saying 'much' after everything and thinkin' it's funny!"

"Anger issues much?"

"Arsehole much?!"

He giggled, waving at you before scrambling over to the kitchen to make sure his French toast was stil intact. Not before he grabbed your imaginary 'flipping-off' from the air and brought it to his heart, as if you'd blown him a kiss, instead.

Fucking hell. You had to now spend a. money, on Ibuprofen, b. time on coming up with an explanation as to how this happened and why you still deserve that extra credit, and c. energy on having to deal with this Felix Catton guy who you'd apparently come to be relatively fond of.

Spitting out your paste and gargling the remnants out, you walked out of the bedroom to the kitchen, where Felix had laid out the toast on crappy paper plates. "Left over from a party, figured I'd use 'em."

"Thanks.", you nodded, sitting down and biting a bit off one. "It's good."

"Thanks.", he parroted, dropping the last onto his plate before turning off the stove and sitting opposite you. "So, it just violates it all? Just 'cause we shagged, you can't 'fix me' anymore?", he asked, gulping down a sip of orange juice.

"Yeah, summat like that. I might, like, be more inclined to let you off the hook or whatever."

"Mm. What about your extra credit, then? Why don't you just act like this never happened?"

"Couldn't. In good conscience."

"But then you'll be extremely stressed. Might go back to Donna and her laced weed.", he pointed out, taking a bite. "Over the summer, you'll have to catch up on your missing assignments, yeah?"

"Yeah. Fuck. Oh, yeah, I do.", you whined, your forehead on the heel of your palm.

"Come to Saltburn, then."

"What?" What was he talking about?

"My family estate. Come to Saltburn. It's a change of scenery, and it works wonders, I swear. You'll finish everything by first week of summer vacation, and the next month or so, it's all just you-time."

"Why would I come to Saltburn?"

"I just told you."

You sighed. Logically, yes, it did make sense for a change of view. But. You didn't exactly want to get dragged into whatever a normal day for Felix Catton (and Farleigh Start - his cousin, apparently!) looked like.

"It's full of old shite, though, like, ancient stuff. Cobwebs, dusty, grimy, stuffy-- hey! Stuffy and boring. You'll fit right in.", he grinned cheekily, winking as he continued to chew.

Well, fuck.

"Suspicious much?"

'Much'. You were going to strangle this guy in his own mansion, you're sure.

"Seriously, think about it, just us, ice-cream, the sea, summer. Who knows, you could go in a loser and come out with a boyfriend. Moi."

"Oh, please.", you snickered, and he followed suit.

"I just might tell you what's in that diary. XOXO, Felix, yeah, but what'd I write before it? A confession of my love? A death threat? A riddle? Poetry? Secrets?", he mused, waggling his fingers as if to spook you. "Ooh."

You scoffed, shaking your head in amusement as you took a sip of the orange juice.

"Come on. Come to Saltburn. Worth your while, I promise."

Well, fuck.

[hearts-hunger]

omg why did that suck so bad??

let me say the pros first:

young mazino jesse is growing on me. he gets that responsible/sarcastic thing that game jesse has. and the fact that he is shown taking care of all of them in the end is very in character and nice for us to see.

gabriel luna once again slays as tommy. that kiss with maria, the longing???? god. i love him.

the fighting in jackson was a cool idea, would have enjoyed playing a sequence like that in the game, but overall the change hurts more than it helps.

okay that's about it for what i liked lmao! the cons:

where is my pot smoking lesbian love scene. what the fuck.

kaitlyn dever looks like a little kid, genuinely. and so does bella ramsey. kaitlyn has more emotional range than bella but neither of them can carry that rage and heartbreak. neither of them are raw and brutal like they are in the game. they're both trying too hard and it shows.

everything that was changed from the game was worse, and i believe that with my whole heart. why wasn't tommy with joel? the reason tommy goes as psycho as he does it because of the grief he has from introducing joel to abby. why didn't we get dina/ellie patrol route to further solidify their relationship? dina being at the lodge made no sense and added exactly nothing to the plot. why was ellie going to jump right back into patrols with joel? in the game she barely even spoke with him before he died, but in the show apparently they're good enough to just hang out now???

The Scene™ was simply not executed as masterfully as in the game. like, if it ain't broke, don't fix it. the colors were off (where is my cold, dark, shadowed death scene?), the stab was fucking pathetic compared to game abby's yell and final blow, owen didn't get a chance to do his "if we kill them we're no better than he is" which actually gives him a character trait. abby spent wayyyy too much time explaining everything to joel. and joel is like. crying? instead of spitting mad and sneering his way towards a death he always knew was coming. where's the RAGE???? it's all sanitized and therapy-speak and big feelings and sad girls and weak old men. it just doesn't hit as hard.

the show is trying so hard to make us sympathize with abby, even more than the game, and it's so forced as to feel stupid. also, side note, why is she housewifing for owen? she's a bitch to him in the game and i like that about her. why is she rubbing his arms and making him soup or whatever? not my muscle mommy.

no "bigot sandwich" line???? best line in the whole game???

anyways those are my thoughts, i'm sure i'll have more, but come talk with me about them if you want!

[deanwritings]

The Guest House - Chapter 12

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Series Summary: Dean Winchester is going through a nasty divorce. He doesn't have much left to his name, but what he does have is his house. Leave it to his soon-to-be ex wife to find a way to even ruin that for him. Enter Y/N, who is looking to get away from life for a bit, and stumbles right into the middle of it all.

The Guest House Master List

Word Count: 3,760

A/N: I'm back! Therapy has been great, I'm feeling like myself and that I can breath again. It's been a tough year and ya girl's mind needed a restart, but I am back and doing good.

Also, hope this chapter can be a bit of escape with the election insanity this week. Take care of yourselves everyone! 💖

Dean squeezes his eyes shut as he rests against the door.

What the fuck are you doing? Is all that rings in his mind.

Here he is, with some random girl who's staying in his guest house, put there by his bitch of an ex wife, basically groping her while his mother is a room away. Like he’s seventeen again. 

Really and truly. What the fuck. Are. You. Doing?

Dean rubs an exasperated hand down his face, the heels of his palms digging into his eyes before his hands slap down against his sides. 

It’s the whiskey. He tells himself. Just the whiskey. 

It has nothing to do with your smile. Like when you lit up on the track when you found out Rick would be taking you racing in your dream car. 

Nor your smart ass remarks that always seem to be waiting behind those pretty lips of yours. Or how you drive him crazy in the best and worst ways. Like making him say “please” in the garage this afternoon. 

It definitely has nothing to do with the way you look at him, no longer with disdain, but more recently with shining Y/E/C eyes and something that makes him want to throw you against this damn door, his nose running down the delicate skin of your neck as he takes you in as his hands explore every part of you. 

It also doesn’t help how you react to him; like when he turned your manners game around on you in the garage, and your eyes lit up in a way that made him want to throw you across the hood of Baby and have his way with you. Then just now in the hallway, how you seemed to want this as much as he did. How you leaned into him at his touch, the feel of your curves everywhere as he held you against him.

Those god damn hips. 

Dean’s jaw tightens at the thought, his teeth grinding down as something besides his heart rate starts to rise. 

Fuck. His head falls back with a thud against the doorframe. 

Y/N is hardly the first woman he’s been attracted to since his separation from Lisa. Hell, in the beginning, women were what kept his mind off his imploded marriage. Benny had laughed that Dean was making up for lost time since he and Lisa had gotten together when they were so young, but in reality, Dean just hated coming home to an empty house every day. All he could think of was Lisa and Gavin in his house. In his bed.  

But Dean would be lying to himself if this was only attraction. Ever since their hike, he’s found himself looking towards your cabin everyday before work, hoping to catch a glance of you before he has to leave. When sitting at his empty dining table, he would think about texting you, or maybe even going over and knocking on the cabin door, envisioning interrupting your own meal and riling you up in the process. Watching that fire come alive in you set something alive in Dean. It was like a wildfire, and he was happily caught in its path. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt like that. Somehow, at some point, you had drawn him in, and god damn did he want more. So much more. 

And it’s not just your body he wants to get to know. He’s found himself wondering what your favorite color is, or what movies you like to watch. He wanted to know, besides him, what made you tick? What makes you happy?

Could I make her happy?

Dean shakes his head and toes his boots off, shaking his head, trying to rid his thoughts of you. He doesn’t want to think about that last question, because he knows the answer. 

And while he tries to focus on undressing, his body is not willing to let go of the idea of you just yet.  

He’s wound up, and god damnit did he need a release. 

He undoes his belt and reaches into his boxers, feeling himself strain against the fabric as he takes a deep breath. He grunts, squeezing his eyes shut before pulling his hand out of his pants.

He shakes his head. He can’t do this. Not with you a wall away and his mother across the hall. He has some self respect. Not much, but he couldn’t sink as low as jerking off to you while you slept in his little brother’s room.

Sam.

And just like that, thinking of Sammy snaps him out of it. He relaxes with a deep breath, the tension finally beginning to fade away.

For extra measure, he pushes himself off the door and pulls it open, striding quickly down the hall to the unoccupied bathroom. He locks the door behind him and reaches into the shower and throws the water on. He drops his undone pants, letting them and his boxers pool around his feet before stepping out of them and throwing his sweater over his head before stepping into the shallow tub. 

He takes in a sharp breath as the cold spray of the shower meets his heated skin, his teeth clenched tight as he drowns himself under the stream as he works to think about anything but you.

Your eyes flutter open, a glimmer of the morning sun sneaking through the gaps of the curtained window. You take in a deep breath, flipping from your side to your back and sigh as you look up at the ceiling. 

Your mind is still reeling from last night; Dean’s hands holding you tight against him, his lips teasing your neck. 

You shut your eyes and swallow.

It was simultaneously one of the hottest and most frustrating things a man has ever done to you. Of course you had wished he had done a hell of a lot more, but the tease of it somehow made it that much more exciting. It made you wonder what else was in store for you. Just a sweet little taste of the possibilities that was Dean Winchester. 

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand beside you, and you shake off last night’s memories as you lean over to pick it up, the screen reading 9:52 with a few notifications beneath it.  

Shit. You quickly sit up. Normally, this would be a regular wakeup time for you on vacation or on the weekends, but you were a guest in someone’s home, and it felt incredibly rude to be up here sleeping while they were most likely downstairs waiting for you. 

As you scramble out of bed, the throb from last night’s wine is front and center in your head. You reach into your purse and throw back two Advil with a swash of water that you set out on your bedside last night before you throw on some fuzzy socks and a hoodie large enough to snuggle yourself into.

Before you reach for the door, you peek at yourself in the full-length mirror and grimace. You smooth down your hair and give it a fluff with your fingers before you reach into your makeup bag, dabbing on some concealer under your eyes and on a few of your red spots, with a light swipe of subtle blush on your cheeks before you deem you look good enough without looking like you’re trying.

You take a deep breath and open the door, taking in the quiet hallway and noticing both the doors to Mary and Dean’s rooms are ajar.

Fuck. You were at least hoping Dean might have also slept in after last night. But no such luck. 

You head down the stairs, your hand on the rail so you don’t slip in your socks before you wander into the kitchen. Mary is sitting at the table in front of the windows, one of her legs propped up and her head hidden by a book. Dean is hunched on a barstool at the island, a plate of food in front of him, currently being shoveled into his mouth, his usual caveman behavior, you’ve noticed, when it comes to food. 

“Morning,” you offer softly as you head over to the coffee maker, a half pot waiting for you. Mary had given you a tour of the kitchen while you cooked dinner last night, and you reach into the cabinet above the brewer and grab a light yellow ceramic mug and fill it about 3/4s of the way.

“Milk’s in the fridge.” Dean mumbles over the food in his mouth and you turn to face him fully. His eyes are cast down at a paper spread flat in front of him next to his breakfast. A smile you hadn’t intended falls at his lack of attention and you head over to the fridge, pouring until your coffee resembles the color of sand. Exactly how you liked it. 

“Want some coffee with that milk?” That deep voice rings out again, and this time when you look up, you’re met with Dean’s enchanting, forest eyes. Your heart skips a beat in your chest and you recap the milk before putting it away and closing the fridge door.

“Some of us enjoy flavor.” You smirk at him as you lean against the counter behind you, your hands wrapped tightly around the warmed mug, the kitchen cool in this March morning. 

“Milk doesn’t have flavor.” Dean grumbles, shoving a fork filled with eggs into his mouth. You frown at him. 

It’s like the tale of two Deans. The suave, sexy sweatered Dean who looks at you like he’ll throw you over your shoulder and make you scream until your voice is hoarse, and the pain-in-the-ass, mannerless idiot you’ve mostly grown accustomed to these last few weeks. 

Looks like you were getting the idiot this morning. You sigh at your own disappointment and swallow down your frown, wondering what that means about last night. 

When you don’t respond, Dean looks back to you, a question in his eyes. 

“There’s a plate for you in the oven.” Dean points his fork to said appliance. You turn your head, following the direction of his utensil-turned-compass.

“Oh,” your shoulders drop. “You didn’t have to save me a plate.” You feel your cheeks flush at the thought that they waited for you so long this morning that they had to keep a plate warm for you in the oven. 

“Oh don’t worry, Dean made it fresh.” Mary peeks out from behind her book for a quick second before disappearing again behind the cover. Dean drops his fork with a clank and shoots his mother a look, one she misses. 

You push off the counter and pad over to the oven. You pull open the door to find a blue ceramic plate.

No way.

You pull out the plate from the oven, the platter only slightly warm, and are greeted with two pancakes and a side of bacon. 

You quickly close the oven and turn on your heel facing Dean.

“You made me pancakes?” Your voice catches in your throat as you stare down at the fluffy buttermilk pancakes sitting poised on the plate. 

“Yeah, well, mom made eggs and I know your picky ass won’t eat those. Can’t have you starve before a big day.” Dean’s eyes met yours for only a moment before he shifts on the barstool and returns to his paper. 

You smile, even though Dean’s not looking at you anymore. You maneuver around the kitchen, grabbing a fork and knife before settling down at the island, a barstool between you and Dean.

You turn and look at him, his shapely jawline adorned with a devilish level of scruff.

“Thank you.” You say earnestly. This catches Dean’s attention, his gaze finding and holding yours long enough to make your heart skip a beat. 

“Don’t mention it.” He lingers on you for a moment longer before turning back to his paper and flipping a page. 

Your lips quirk but you try to not think too much on it as you begin digging in; the pancakes, buttery and full of vanilla, melting deliciously in your mouth. 

The rest of breakfast goes on in silence; Mary reading her book, Dean focused on the paper, and you left flipping through your phone since no one seemed interested in chatting. 

As you load up your dishes in the dishwasher, Dean folders his paper up and slaps it down on the counter before sitting up straight and crossing his arms as he stares you down.

“Think you can be ready in an hour?” Your face falls.

“More notice would have been nice, but yes, I can be ready in an hour.” 

“Good, cause we’re leaving in an hour.” You cross your arms, matching his stance.

“You don’t say.” Dean rolls his eyes at you and you huff. 

“Just go get ready.” He shakes his head, and now it’s your turn to roll your eyes. 

Such a pain in the ass. A handsome pain with a handsome ass. But still a pain. 

“Fine. See you in an hour.”

Forty-seven minutes later, you’re showered, your hair is dried and curled into a soft wave, and you’re putting on the finishing touches of your makeup when there’s a soft knock on your door.

You peek at your watch.

“I still have thirteen minutes!” You call out. 

Dean really was pushing the boundaries today. And it was driving you crazy. 

He practically dry humps you last night, ignores you this morning, but makes you a delicious breakfast because he remembered you hate eggs. The man was impossible and it was starting to annoy you. And frustrate you, in a way you were not used to. You bite down on your lip.

“It’s just me.” Mary’s gentle voice calls back.

Shit. 

You drop your mascara into your makeup bag and push yourself off the floor and scurry to the door.

“Sorry about that,” you apologize as soon as Mary comes into view. “I assumed you were Dean.” You offer a half smile as Mary chuckles.

“It’s okay. Mind if I come in.” You step aside and open the door fully, allowing Mary to step in. 

“I just wanted to see if you need any help with your outfit.”

“My outfit?” Your brow furrows, and you look over to your bed where your black chunky sweater and jeans lay waiting for you. Mary’s eyes follow your line of sight. 

“I’m going to guess Dean didn’t give you a heads up, since men never think about these things, but these car shows tend to be on the dresser side.”

Fuck. No, Dean did not tell you that. Your jeans were the nicest thing you brought with you. 

“Yeah, he failed to mention that.” Now you stare at your outfit, anxiety flooding through you at the thought of sticking out for being underdressed. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

Mary just smiles at you.

“Come with me.” She waves at you before heading out of the room, and like you’re told, you follow her, heading across the hall and into her bedroom.

The room is large and full of windows and natural light. The lake-chic theme of the downstairs continues through the primary bedroom, with white furniture, a canopy bed with a blue bedspread that matches the wainscot walls, and yellow accents throughout the room. On one of the dressers is a large, framed, selfie of Mary and John, which looks more recent than a lot of the pictures in the living room. Mary’s smile is bright as ever as John kisses her cheek, the two of them in heavy jackets and beanie hats, the hint of snow behind them. 

Mary continues through the room, stopping in a short hallway before disappearing through a doorway. 

“I’ve got a few options that will probably fit you.” Mary’s muffled voice carries through the open doorway before she steps back into view, several hangers in her hand. “You look to be about my size from twenty years ago. And luckily I’m terrible at throwing out old clothes.” She chuckles as she lays out her six options on the ombre comforter that probably matches the lake when it’s not frozen. 

They’re all a mix of dresses, different colors and styles, but the fifth from the end catches your eye.

“Ohh, how about that one.”

Dean taps his foot as he waits in the foyer, checking his watch again. It’s now been an hour and seven minutes since you went upstairs. 

“God dammit woman,” he mutters out in a sigh. 

He meant to tell you last night what time you had to be ready, but the two of you got a little preoccupied. Now he was paying for it by not giving you more of a heads up. 

He should have said something the moment you came downstairs this morning, but he wasn't ready to face you right at that moment. The dreams he had about you last night made it hard to look you in the eyes. And when he finally did, you looked absolutely beautiful, sleep still in your Y/E/C eyes and a glow in your cheeks. You looked like you belonged here, resting against the counter in his mother’s kitchen, cozied up in some giant hoodie and pajama pants with coffee-flavored milk in your hands. 

The floor above him creaks and he turns quickly on his heel, his face dropping with his mood when he sees who it is. 

“Is she ready yet?” Dean all but whines to his mother as she descends. Rather than answer him, she stops two steps from the bottom, standing slightly higher than her statuesque son, and smacks him right in the side of the head.

“Ow!” Dean’s hand jumps to where his mother landed her stinging blow. Not that there was much power behind her swat, but she hasn’t smacked him like this since he was a teenager. 

“What the hell was that for?” Dean bemoans with a grimace, cradling his head.

“Dean Michael Winchester.” Dean’s eyebrows furrow at his mother’s use of his full name.

This was not good.

“You didn’t think,” Mary takes another step down. “To one,” she raises a finger. “Tell her that the car show is cocktail attire.”

Shit. 

“And two.” The second finger goes up. “What time to be ready. So don’t you stand here with a puss face asking when she’s going to be ready.” Dean drops his hand at his mother’s scolding and rolls his eyes. 

He starts to shake his head when Mary’s hand makes contact again, the surprise sending Dean stumbling.

“OW!” Dean yells louder this time, more annoyed than actually hurt. With how much smaller Mary was compared to him, Dean doubted she could actually hurt him even if she really wanted to.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, Dean.” Her voice is sharp as her grass-green eyes stare him down. 

“I’m sorry, fine.” Dean concedes. “I just didn’t think about it.” But Mary doesn’t break eye contact.

“She’ll be down in a few minutes.” Mary gives him one last pointed look before taking the final step down and disappearing into the living room. 

Dean watches her go before glancing back towards the empty staircase, sighing out his frustration and giving you a few more minutes of grace.

Three minutes and forty-two seconds later, Dean is leaning against the frame of the front door when the upstairs landing groans again.

Dean’s head whips in that direction as he pushes off the door, just in time to see you take the first step. You’re wearing the black heeled boots you had on yesterday, but it’s paired with a strapless beige dress, the edges trimmed in black with a matching belt wrapped tight around the gentle curve of your waist.

Without thinking, Dean lets out a low, impressed whistle, ignoring the pounding in his chest as he stands up just a little straighter. 

Your hair is down, styled off to one side, with the most makeup Dean has seen you in so far; with full, dark lashes, pink cheeks, and bright red lips, which Dean can’t seem to look away from.

Something else is starting to stand a little straighter too.

Dean clears his throat, and offers out a hand as you get to the last step.

“Thanks,” you reply gently before you drop his hand and head for the coat rack.

“You look nice.” Dean’s now taking in the view of you from the back, leaving little to the imagination like those workout pants did a few weeks ago as the dress seemed to hug your body perfectly. 

Damn. And here mom thought you weren’t prepared. 

You spin on your heel, one arm shimming into your jacket sleeve, your eyes as bright at your smile.

“Thanks.” You repeat. “The dress is your mom’s.” You smirk.

Dean’s mouth drops open as his stomach falls.

“Please don’t tell me that.” Dean groans. The last thing he needs to think about is his mom in that dress. The same dress he was just checking out your ass in.

You just quietly chuckle as your other arm flails for your second sleeve, just missing the opening.

Without a word, Dean steps closer, grabbing your jacket for you and holding it steady so you can slip your arm into. Once it’s in, Dean raises your jacket just a bit before resting it on your shoulders. 

You turn back to him with a smile of thanks, which he can’t help but return.

“Ready?” 

“Sure am.” 

Dean opens the front door for you and you step outside into the bracing afternoon air.

“Have fun, kids!” Mary’s voice travels behind the two of you as Dean steps outside and closes the door behind him. 

You take gentle steps across the driveway, avoiding the few patches of ice that are still lingering. This gives Dean the opening he needs to step in front of you, getting to the passenger door of the Impala about three steps ahead of you.

Without a word, he pulls open the door.

“Wow, getting the full gentleman treatment today, huh.” Your cheek dimples with your half smile as you lower yourself into the passenger seat. Dean smiles down at you.

“What can I say, I’m full of surprises.” You chuckle as Dean gently shuts the door before heading around to the driver’s seat and hopping in.

With one last check of the mirrors, Dean backs out of the driveway, and the two of you were off. 

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Would you consider young Konig to be an incel like guy or just an awkward young man whose social anxiety makes it difficult for him to talk to women?

It’s awful but young recruit almost went down the full incel pipeline yes :/ He had high hopes of finally finding a girlfriend once he hit the army because soldiers get a lot of women, right? He’s not bad looking, he makes money, he’s ripped as fuck, no one bullies him now. He should either have a lovely cute girl by his side or a flock of ladies wanting to sleep with him by now!

Turns out they all look at him weird or turn their noses up at him once he starts to speak. He can’t even find a one night stand because he’s a bit too eager. Blows up most of his chances for a date because he says something filthy far too soon on those stupid dating apps he hates because they’re clearly rigged for women.

It fuels his grief even more: and like with most people, unprocessed grief turns into rage. Only, König already has loads of that... At some point he doesn’t even know if he wants a girlfriend anymore: he just wants someone to fuck (and hold close for a while before they leave him). He doesn’t believe in his chances which makes him an even lousier bf candidate, which makes women shun him even more, which makes him despise women in general even more.

That's until he meets you.

This time, the game’s changed. It’s a woman who approaches him: a woman who's adorable, sweet, and eager. You turn out to be married, yes, but König won’t say no to his first chance of getting some pussy. He likes it that you know what you want – he doesn’t have to think about whether you’re going to stand him up on a date or if some "Please go to therapy" text means you're trying to flirt with him.

You’re clearly infatuated, just like he is. You look at him with sparkling eyes when he fucks you, you make him a nice meal when he comes home (he calls your house home now, the place where he actually lives is just a flat, storage for him and his stuff), you pet his head after he’s eaten you out. You let him chase you around the house and rip your underwear to pieces, you let him bite you and carry you to bed and send you dick pics, just like a girlfriend would do! You’re only pleased when he sends you naughty texts and pics of his dick, he can tell. He can give you all the things Colonel can not (or will not): all in all, this setting works perfectly fine for him. If only he didn’t get so obsessed…

Because suddenly, you’re not just pussy to him. Suddenly, you’re not just the first girl he got to fuck. As much as he hates the Colonel, young König would swallow sharp shrapnels to get to be with you. He tells everyone at the base that he now has a girlfriend: he even shows them your picture (taken without your consent: you’re giggling and trying to cover yourself with his shirt after another rowdy session). He’s not sure if the uneasy smiles he gets are pity or jealousy (because of course everyone can see his gf is the cutest woman on Earth and also hot as hell).

He wants to call you all the time, hear your soft, shy laugh when he tells you he’s going to bully you when he gets back. Stomach full of those famous butterflies and cock twitching in his camos, he could listen to your laugh forever. If only it wasn’t for that stupid ring on your finger, König would take you to Austria to meet his mother.

[drewsbuzzcut]

https://www.tumblr.com/drewsbuzzcut/740429391926083584/right-where-you-left-me

How do they get back together? Please say it’s the model reader that goes after Mat instead of the other way around.

Lessons Learned

mat barzal x model!fem!reader

a visceral in doses fic

warnings: insecurities, mentions therapy, cursing, minor angst, slight mentions of blood, and I think that’s all

pt 2 of Right Where You Left Me

It’s been a lousy, dragged out month of self pity and anger. You’re upset with the way you handled things with Mat. You were proving your one sided point of you being too young right all because you couldn’t communicate with him. Why, you, thought breaking up with him rather than talking with him was a more beneficial idea? You have no clue. Mat is one of the most understanding people you’ve come to know. But because you’re you, you’ve also stayed clear of anything that has to do with Mat. Not that he was calling or texting you anyways. He is probably so done with you.

The day after everything went down, you realized your mistake but it was too late. Even if it wasn’t too late, you’re too stubborn to do anything about it. You don’t really deserve Mat, but you want him so bad.

During your flight back home from your latest photo shoot, you think over every little thing. You want to talk to Mat, but you can’t stop the thoughts of him not wanting you back, or worse, moving on from flooding your mind. You chew on your bottom lip until you taste blood and your leg hasn’t stopped shaking. Why do you keep doing this to yourself?

Before you can overthink it, you get an uber to Mat’s place and hope that he’s home.

His front door looks daunting, but it also reminds you of all the good times you’ve had in his home. You shake out your nerves and knock on the door. You’re met with silence. A minute passes and you knock again. It’s followed by more silence. You lean your forehead on the cool wood, trying not to let yourself get discouraged.

“Y/n?” You hear his voice behind you.

You quickly look up, snapping your head over your shoulder to face him. His hair is longer than it was a month ago. His eyes are tired and so is his body. His large bags look extra heavy in his hands. All your thoughts disappear when you connect your eyes with his.

“Hi. I didn’t know you weren’t home,” you say.

“We just got back from a roadie,” he answers, a nervous hand going through his hair.

Your fingers fidget with a loose strand of thread from your tank top. You try to form the right words in your head, but you feel intimidated under his gaze.

“Oh. Well I should probably leave and let you get settled in. It was nice seeing you,” you say and move away from his door.

“Y/n, you’re here for a reason. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” You blurt out.

You watch him through squinted eyes, because not even you buy your lie. You bite down on your lips and throw your head back with a groan.

“Okay. Fuck, I’m not fine, but you just got home so I’m sure you don’t feel like talking right now,” you slap a hand on your forehead.

You’re frazzled, but then you hear a small giggle fall from Mat’s lips.

“We can talk, but first we have to go inside,” he gestures to his front door but you quickly shake your head.

“No. I can’t go inside. Besides, it’ll be quick. I just wanted to tell you that I fucked up. I’m insecure and I fucked up big time. I broke up with you because I hate the way people possibly perceive me when they find out we’re dating. You’re older than me and wiser, so I get intimidated by that. That other person from the party just made me really jealous, and I lost my cool which made me not communicate well with you. I became my worst insecurity. I became this little, naive girl who can’t display her emotions, who can’t communicate. I suck and I just wanted to say that I’m sorry,” you rant, voice thick but strong.

“You’re shaking” he reaches out a hand to place on your arm. It's an immediate warmth that you feel and you close your eyes to relish in it.

“Yeah, well I’m really scared right now,” you whisper.

“Why?” He asks back in a whisper.

“Because I love you, but I don’t know if you still love me or even want me,” you admit, taking a chance to peer up at him.

“Always. I always want you and I always love you, but I need there to be a change,” he says and you feel your heart fall.

He’s not being unreasonable, but you wish you could just automatically change. You’d put in the work anyways, especially for him.

“You’re right. I’m a sucky girlfriend and you deserve better, so I have been going to my therapist a lot more. I’m working on how to properly communicate. I’m also trying to remind myself that I’m enough for you and that I can handle your life and our life together. I’m trying,” you explain.

“I’m proud of you,” you smile at his statement.

“Thank you. I should probably get home and let you unpack. I’ll call you later and maybe we can go on a date,” you suggest, smiling shyly at him.

He stays silent which you take as his agreement. You squeeze his arm affectionately and start to walk away, but you feel him tug on your hand. He pulls you towards him and you spin into his arms, your hands subconsciously connecting behind his neck.

“What makes you think I want my girlfriend to leave? I haven’t seen or talked to you in a month. I want a kiss. I want to love you in my bed. I want you right here in my arms,” he secures his arms around your waist and whispers in your ear.

You can feel butterflies flutter in your stomach and your cheeks heat up.

“But you said that I needed to change, so I thought maybe we should have some space,” you explain.

“Well I know it’s going to take some time to make changes, and you’re not the only one who has to change. I also don’t want any more space. We went a month without each other, I want you with me at all times. I love you,” he assures you.

“I love you. I’m so sorry. I promise I’m going to change. I want to be the girl you deserve, the girl you need,” you cry, your tears finally breaking through. All your tension releases from your shoulders and you can’t help but shake in his arms.

“You’re my dream girl. Like I said, it’s only you. You’re the love of my life. Please come inside, take a shower with me,” he pleads, his large hands traveling down to squeeze at your ass.

“Fine. Kiss me first,” you tug on his shirt.

He leans down, sucking your top lip between his two lips. Your body melts into his- especially when his tongue dips into your mouth.

“You’re perfect,” he says into your mouth.

“No, you are,” you grab the keys from his front pocket, smiling at the way his breath hitches at your touch. You unlock his door and drag him in.

You were about to make up for all the lost time.

a/n: Enjoy bffs!!

[out2pasture]

FANTASY HIGH: THE REMIX - a next generation au

Adaine + Oisin - The O'Shaugnessy Twins, Ophelia is a Draconic bloodline sorcerer and Puck is a very maryanne-core wild magic barbarian (I think it would be really funny for 3 wizards (Zayne would help raise them ofc) to have to try to figure out how to raise 2 kids who are inherently magical and explosively so).

Fig + Ayda - No kids of their own but the Manor/Library is a safe space for kids who need it and theres this one young teifling, named Argo, they've basically adopted who is a cleric of Ankarna.

Kristen + Gerty + Tracker - Gerty is trans and you can pry that from my cold, dead hands, their son, JB is a Cassandra Paladin. He eventually multiclasses into Swarm Ranger. Kristen was the person who carried the first time and vehemently refused to do it again, so Tracker did it the next time and they had a little girl.

Gorgug + Maryanne - its canon that Gorgug FUCKS, so they have 2 kids already and an egg they trade off who carries it on them in a baby bjorn to incubate. Maryanne works making cozy games. Gorgug is the Artificer teacher and the tutor for 'uncommon' multiclasses and is 100% uncle Gorgug to the entire party, A Jawbone type if you will.

Fabian + Mazey - They have a whole passel of artistically inclined babies, the oldest of which , Boann, gets to Augefort first and is The Bard of all time. Shes giving the princess who was kidnapped by pirates and is slowly becoming a member of the crew, she plays fiddle and dances.

Riz - He grew up to be a PI and while he doesn't want a partner hes always wanted to be a dad so when he found an orphaned Goliath baby while investigating the disappearence of said baby and their parents, he adopted Pock "Juno" Gukgak Junior who is a rogue just like their dad.

((You guys can pry Fabian and Adaine being really ademant about having more that one child out of my cold dead hands too, Adaine wants her kids to be there for each other the way Aelwyn was for her (after she finished being evil) and Fabian doesn't want any of his children to feel as lonely as he did growing up.))

Additional notes:

- Jawbone adopted Adaine, Aelwyn, and Kristen after he and Sandra-lynn got married, Kristen is the only one who kept her last name

- After Tracker came back they hunted Gertie down and explained polyamory to her and convinced her to go to therapy for her weird temper and attachment issues

-Tracker and Kristen are nesting partners and Gerty used to come and go, but she became a much more constant presence once kids entered the picture

- Adaine and Oisin didnt get together until the end of college when they reconnected, they were in couples therapy from the beginning just in case

- Gorgug's kids are either not old enough to go to Augefort yet or a few years ahead of The Party, but next year his 2nd youngest will enter in a party with The Littlest of the Applebees

- Mazey proposed to Fabian via dance recital, they are the hot older couple you can spill all the tea to

- The O'Shaugnessys, Applebees, and Fayeths live in Mordred Manor (the fayeths' bedrooms are in Leviathan at this juncture),the Seacasters live in Seacaster manor, and the Gukgaks live right next door to the Seacasters.

- Puck is trans and Ophelia is hard of hearing, theyre both just as autistic as their parents.

- Argo has a prosthetic leg

- JB picked Cassandra for himself, Kristen would never pressure him one way or another and neither would Cassandra.

- He also has the BIGGEST crush on Puck

- Boann has crippling Eldest Sister syndrome, but would rather die than ask for help.

- Juno is basically a humanoid jungle gym for their father, it comes with the territory of being twice your dad's size before you hit puberty. Riz will either stand on a table or make them crouch down to reprimand them, "Pock Pila Gukgak Junior, come down here!" Is a common refrain in their home

- Ophelia only uses her magical hearing aids when she's at school or in combat, all of Mordred Manor, knows Spyre sign language so she's very rarely without an interpretor, Augefort himsef created an archanotech professional interpretor for classes. Her party members also know or are learning SSL.

Edit:

Changed Pock Juniors nickname to reference another Nonbinary PI that i hold dear ;)

Edit 2:

Finally finished Junior year and made some adjustments accordingly!!! Im so obcessed with Gorgug and Maryanne!!! Also did some clarifying about a few things! Soon everyone will have names, not just Juno

Edit 3: Names!!!

Adaine: Ophelia and Puck O'Shaugnessy

Fig: Argo Firethistle (their human parent is a gnome)

Kristen: Jawbone "J.B." Applebees-O'Shaugnessy-Bladeshield (a big hypenated name is very lesbiancore IMO)

Fabian - Boann Seacaster (I really wanted to name her Terpsichore but Brennan beat me to that one)

Riz - Pock "Juno" Pila Gukgak Jr.

[youngsadlesbian]

LET'S TALK ABOUT SEX — carina deluca and maya bishop.

pairing: carina deluca x maya bishop x daughter!reader

summary: your moms catch you having an intimate conversation with your best friend.

a/n: i'm so obsessed with this two that i can't stop write about them lol. english is not my first language so i’m sorry for any mistakes, guys.

word count: 1k

warnings: talks about sex, maya being such a jealous mom, pure fluff and suggestive at the end.

You had been adopted by Maya and Carina at the age of three when your biological father died in a terrible fire, begging Maya to save you first. When she returned it was too late and your father was unrecognizable, practically charred. You had no living family members, so it was easy for the couple to try to get you legally adopted.

It took you a while to get used to the dynamics of a new family and it was difficult for you to leave them to go to school. Therapy helped with that, of course.

Maya and Carina were your favorite people in the universe and you felt like you could talk to them about everything. That is until you become a teenager and understand that not everything was a topic of conversation with your mothers.

Maya and Carina arrived home early that night and you didn't notice because you were totally absorbed in the conversation you were having with your best friend in video call.

"How does it feel to know you're going to kiss the girl of your dreams in your play?" Jojo, your best friend asked as she changed position on the bed.

It was funny, this difference in a possible future you had. When people asked your mothers what you would be when you grew up, they always answered artist without blinking. You were totally drawn to music and performing arts since childhood, it grew with you. The end of the year play would be Romeo and Juliet and you had been cast as Juliet, and the girl you had a crush on since grade school would play Romeo.

Biting your lip, you almost entered a world of your own before finally answering your best friend's question.

"I don't know, Jojo. Especially after the dream I had about her..." You closed your eyes and felt shivers run down your spine as you remembered the content of the dream. "I hate being a young girl in her fertile period and especially being forced to go through these things."

Your mothers would enter the kitchen until they understood the topic of conversation. They were pretty sure you didn't have an active sex life yet, but it wasn't like that was a recurring topic for you to talk about.

"Did you dream you were fucking her? Y/n, you slut!" Jojo screamed and started laughing hysterically. You thanked God your mothers weren't home at the time. That would clearly save you the shame.

"Yes... I was staring at her hands the whole time at school today, Jojo. She didn't understand anything." You huffed as you opened the fridge and took out a bottle of water. "Have you ever felt so sexually frustrated that it felt like you were climbing the walls?"

Carina felt like laughing, because she used to be that kind of teenager when she was your age. Maya was so shocked and jealous that she couldn't even react. For her, you were still the three-year-old girl saved from a fire. She prepared for diaper changes and waking up at night with a sick child, even to talk about periods. But not about sex. This was driving her crazy.

"Yes, and that's why I got a hot boyfriend who's really good in bed." You looked disgusted. It was no secret even to your mothers that you had a preference for the female sex. It was never really exposed, but implied and logically never a problem for any of them.

"Should I get a girlfriend and fuck her into oblivion then?"

Maya couldn't help it and gasped loudly, making the noise scare you so much that you automatically widened your eyes and quickly said goodbye to your friend, turning off the video call.

"Mommies, I know you're there." Carina's head appeared at the kitchen door. She had a strange smile. Maya practically galloped into the kitchen as she futilely tried to control her breath.

She was snorting and had such an angry expression that you momentarily feared for your life.

"I assume you heard everything." You're done. "Look, I..."

"It's okay, bambina. You don't need to explain yourself. It's normal to feel, uh... Desires, you know? I... I..." You had never heard your mother stutter before, but you imagined it was difficult for her have that kind of conversation with you. "What I mean is, we were young once and we understand what you're going through right now. Just pick someone nice and use condoms."

"Or don't do it." Carina hit Maya. "What? She's still a baby."

"She's seventeen, Maya. You had sex with almost your entire school when you were that age." You laughed because you could actually imagine your mother being that kind of teenager. "Do you have any questions, bambina?"

"Mamma, I really don't know if I want to talk about sex with you. It's kind of traumatizing even though you're a gynecologist who specializes in orgasms and such."

Maya seemed frozen in a catatonic state, without having the slightest reaction.

"Honey, she knows what orgasms are." Carina kissed Maya's forehead affectionately, knowing that she would have to have a long talk with her wife later.

"Of course she knows, she had sex education class at school." Carina sat next to you and looked at you the same way she used to look at you and Maya every day for as long as you could remember. As if you were the center of her world. "Would you rather talk about this with Aunt Amelia, bambina?"

"I think that would be a good idea, mamma." You laid your head on her shoulder. "Thank you for not freaking out. I love you so much, mamma."

"We love you too, bambina."

Carina was happy that you shared at least part of this with her. She would just have to worry about talking to Maya later. Maybe talking wasn't exactly what she would do to convince her wife that sex was a good thing even at your age.

[werezmastarbucks]

kevin khatchadourian x female reader timeline of relationship pt 2

first part

warnings: mutual abuse, mentions of school shooting, folie a deux, mentions of stalking, mentions of suicidal thoughts, self-harm, living with trauma, otherwise it's fun! also, Kevin gets way more jail time while I'm captaining this ship

• Kevin got a reduced sentence, because at the time of the shooting he was just three days shy of sixteen

• that shows that he was calculating from the beginning to the end. Moreover, he calculated exactly how much time it would take him to fuck you, and he managed to do it even with some spare time left

• the headlines screamed of despair. You heard that Kevin had killed his father and his little sister - that angelic, innocent, happy girl, before going to school

• there were many times when you asked yourself why he spared you

• but there were now other things to think about. Like, how you were supposed to go on living now. Your own little grudge about that night at the party dissipated and became a minor failure even before the calendar year was out.

• you heard his mum sold the house and moved away on the outskirts of the city. She didn't leave the town though, because at first, Kevin was held at the local facility for minors.

• even you got your share of hatred, to say nothing about his mother.

• the police investigated you mildly, because you were the only survivor in the massacre. They quickly understood you hadn't conspired with Kevin. But people didn't care.

• very soon, you moved away and left the town, and school, behind you.

• five years of therapy, contemplation, heartache, spent with total lack of comprehension of what had transpired. Weeks turned into months as you went into a frenzy, sitting in your room, staring at the walls, trying to find your place in this story.

• you were recalling all of the moments you spent with him, one by one, trying to find the second he snapped. You remembered how you marveled at the beautiful stack of arrows on his wall. Just like Robin Hood's.

• five years of therapy, and self-reflexion. And then, when you were twenty years old, you decided to google his name for the first time in all that time.

• "I don't know why I did it: Kevin Khatchadourian, school shooter with a bow, has been transferred to the adult prison". An article from three years ago. There was a lot of news about him, a lot of pictures of Kevin. Him in his orange costume, hair cut short, and he looked like a disgraced puppy, lost. He was almost nothing without his magical poetic hair.

• one of the videos from court displayed him crying, hiding his face in his hands. You knew these tears were nothing but an act; just a thing everybody expected, or maybe, he wanted to try, and see if the reaction would be to his benefit.

• "The Robin Hood school shooter feels remorse, apologizes to families"

• there were even articles about you, though, in fewer numbers. Still, some theories that you helped Kevin to lock the hall; or that you were his sex toy that he had mercy on. As you went deeper on the internet, there were even accusations of satanism and demonology.

• through the news articles you watched Kevin grow. He turned seventeen, eighteen, then, his hair grew a little. Today, he was being fried in the adult prison. Very soon, there was another school shooting in the same state, so everybody forgot about Kevin Khatchadourian. Plus, he killed so few people; just seven. Weak. Reading this number, every time all these five years, you were taken aback. The whole ordeal felt like it lasted at least an hour. You were seeing everything in slow motion

• the truth was, every time you closed your eyes, for the longest time after, you started seeing Kevin's distorted face. As he grinned with hatred while he was killing your classmates. Little tiger cubs make that face when they learn to roar.

• the latest pictures of him were from the last year; he was a young man of twenty now. His black slick hair brushed back, bruises on his cheekbones. He was a broken man, the light dull in his eyes. Only in the corners of his mouth, there was the old Kevin. The Kevin who laughed at dumb people.

• sooner or later it was inevitable that you started asking yourself questions you couldn't answer. Could I have prevented it? To what degree has he been using me? Why did he spare me? Not like he cared about me? In his eyes, as he looked at me in the yard, there was nothing but resentment.

• you went to see him in prison, thinking about how you looked to someone who hadn't seen you in years. Thinking about your classmates who didn't get to be twenty, nineteen, throwing hats in the air, buying cars, traveling the world.

• all your unrequitted loving, and the dark undulgence, the sense of being the chosen one aside, you thought of those teenagers they used to be and stayed forever, and you wished to be in their place. Because then, you wouldn't have to see Kevin again.

• he looked worn out, but wild in a way, the same pitch-black hair, the same empty stare. Only, it became completely hollow now. His eyes only lit up for a secons when he saw you entering the room.

• you trembled with the realization that this person on front of you, behind the glass, killed seven people you knew, and was now smiling to you. A grown-up cougar. Unaffected, bored, like your coming was a matter-of-fact occurrence.

• his first question was what took you so long. He thought you'd run with lectures and commeuppances ages ago.

• his face sported a split eyebrow, there was a bruise on his forehead. His cheekbone was cut, it seemed, some time ago already, and a pink scar made his perfect fucking face asymmetrical.

• "Did you get beaten up?" you asked. He replied that he had got into a fight. His knuckles were torn to shreds almost, it was unpleasant to look at them; his skin was pale, pulled over his skull. Black circles around the eyes told you he didn't sleep well. He looked ever more like a vampire. The unpleasant kind, not like from the Vampire Diaries.

• he tried to ask you again, why you didn't visit him earlier. His mum was the only one, he said, who ever came, besides the lawyers and the journalists. You scoffed at it and left it without the answer. His eyes were palpating you, examining. His mouth slightly agape. He hasn't seen a woman, you thought, except his mother, for a very long time.

• "I came to ask you one question", you said, and Kevin made the face of annoyance. You went on anyway. "Why did you kill my friends?" He mocked you. Why did he do it. If only you knew how many people came here and sat in your place, and asked the same stupid question. Have you people no imagination nor consciousness to bore him with that? Like he knew. "Because I could", he spat out, "because I wanted to, and I had the means. Because I was annoyed with those people, and they made me irritated. What reasons do you want? I have no idea why I fucking did it; to piss you off? To make you spend five fucking selfish years thinking about why I fucking did it".

• you were not impressed. You didn't expect a fifteen year old narcissist to comprehend his own actions completely.

• "Why did you spare me then?" He shrugged.

• "Because you were nice to me".

• "I punched you in the face".

• he shrugged again like it didn't matter. But it did matter to him back then.

• you're like a robot, you said, you're not supposed to feel anything for a girl who you fucked and threw out like a sock with dry cum. You're a machine and you shouldn't feel anything. It irritated Kevin, this comparison with an inanimate object. Truth was, you were trying to get to his core, to hurt him as bad as you could, to see if he's still alive at all.

• "What's your point?" why didn't you kill me with the rest of them?

• he clutched the phone and rolled his eyes like you were asking the stupidest possible questions. His eyes then drifted down to your chest, where, propped against the glass, was your arm with an old, long scar from the razor.

• "Why, you have a death wish now?" he whispered. A familiar lustful smile was curling his lips. You noticed another scar on his lip, from someone's fist. It must be tough for the pretty boy here at prison. You wondered if the inmates were afraid of him.

• "I could organise it, you know". You realized he almost never, if ever, called you by your name. At all, as if it didn't exist. You wondered if he even knew your name at all.

• "You can't, you're in prison. You're a rat behind the glass. Do you understand, Kevin, that some of the parents of my dead friends, killed themselves years later?"

• he swayed his head with a question, like, what's he have to do with this information?

• "And", you panted now, "all because of one angry boy, and you're... it's the lack of grey matter in your brain poless, Kevin. You're a psychopath. And it's not good, do you understand, you're less than others. You're a little bit less of a human than the rest of us".

• finally, you saw the look of indignation on him. It was rage and disgust, but so quiet that his face just elongated, like a cat's. He was silent, burying you with his stare.

• "We all need one thing, Kevin. All of us. But you can't have it. It is inaccessible to you. That's why you did it".

• Kevin's nostrils were flaring. You put down the phone and stood up to leave. You could hear him scream through the glass. You caught him right by the balls. He was so smart, so, so intelligent unlike all these dumb people. But he couldn't guess what you meant. All these years he'd been searching for the answer, and it was just out of his reach.

• "What? What is it? What is it? What is it, Y/N?"

• he got fifteen years, actually. So, he was out when he was thirty. Still very young, all life to live. He pretended a lot in prison to get the appeal, but he was never granted it. Still, just fifteen years, and then he was out.

• you haven't seen him for ten years.

• the 8th of April was shifting further and further from you. Watching all the school shooting happening in the country was strange. Like almost each of them seemed a next chapter to you, like you were supposed to puzzle them all in, into one coherent picture. You changed jobs, you got in and out of relationships, none of which stuck. You didn't talk with your best friend from school, you drifted apart. You moved out and lived alone, acquiring lonely hobbies and observing people.

• the short visit to prison to see Kevin left a bleak impression of frustration. The memory of losing your virginity to him seemed like a minor failure still. You remembered that night very vividly, and now all of the time you were spending with him, was very clear to you.

• looking back, you saw the manipulation and hot and cold approach he practiced on you. You were something of a practice dummy for him. You could travel back in time and stand there next to yourself on the porch of someone's house and watch yourself kiss him for the first time. You could see him now, from a great angle, how he trapped you in his cobweb. How his eyes were never warm or loving, or even interested, but always calculating, measuring. He always looked at you, you realized, as if he was trying to guess your height for a coffin.

• you've never thought of the life 'after'. In your mind, the fifteen years of prison were eternal. You thought it was the period of time during which you would kill yourself

• you tried to learn everything about ASPD as if it could help you in anyway to deal with what had happened.

• the year when he got released, you only learned about it from the news.

• "Kevin Khatchadourian, the Robin Hood shooter, to be released this May". The article reminisced of the tragedy, and speculated on whether fifteen years have shaken Kevin enough for him to become a good boy. Kevin, it said, had gotten a pretty good rehabilitation back in the minor facility, and very rarely was in trouble at prison. He was an excellent inmate, obedient, friendly and very active at the workshops. He worked at the hospital wing and cared for other inmates. You wondered how many people he made die slowly and painfully, getting high on the power he had over them.

• not immediately did it shake you to reality: Kevin was now about to be free in two months. You tried not to stress about it too much. He didn't give a shit about you. Not then, not now. The therapy groups organized specifically for his victims and the families gathered that spring more often than usual. You weren't accepted there, weren't welcome. They couldn't forgive you for surviving.

• a week after his release you noticed Kevin on the other side of the street as you left for work in the morning. You didn't much care and ignored him. But the sight of him was something to think about. His hair was now long, almost to his shoulders. He was broad-shouldered, tall, and even from across the street you could see his warning eyes.

• you were careful not to get any pets or close friends. It wasn't a problem before, and it wasn't now.

• you cut yourself sometimes, and now started to do it more often - every time you caught yourself thinking, finally he's out.

• you've never gone to a proper doctor, only had therapy for five years, which you quit after visiting him in prison. It was all useless, you thought, because I still want him, and even more now. Everything that's happened to you shaped you into this creature of guilt and need.

• but also rage.

• he once held you by the throat and aimed an arrow at you, and since then, you barely felt fear, like someoned switched it off.

• Kevin came to your place. You tried to shut the door into his face, but he caught it. Close up, you could see his face, thin and pale with the lack of sun.

• he wanted to talk to you. Like adults.

• he said that no, you were never that special, but you actively chose him, again and again, and he was interested to find why. When it appeared so easy to make you have sex with him, he lost interest, but then, at the night of the massacre, for some reason, he just didn't feel like killing you

• you were nobody, to each other, he hasn't even thought about you the first five years, before you came to visit.

• then the thought of you became somewhat of obsession

• he probably idealized you

• you asked where he lived now, and he said that his mum bought a flat in the city and had a room for him. You called him pathetic. At first, he didn't react; he looked broken.

• but there was still the same sense of grandeur in him; you, a feeble creature, thought you could outpower him with only your fury and jealousy, indignation at what he'd done

• but, as Kevin once told you, the world was so unfair to little, pretty girls like you

• he threw you on the floor of your kitchen

• you laughed with relief, saying, "Finally! I thought just fifteen years of prison broke you like a dry twig".

• the look of recognition sparked in his eyes; he kneeled over you as if to say something, and you got his nose with your fist

• one would say it was a happy (in the most infernal way) reunion

• you fought, and laughed, and kicked each other, and kissed with the blood dripping heavily in between your mouths. Only there, in the isolated square of your apartment, you could finally confess to yourself that you didn't give a shit about anything; you haven't for some time.

• the blood was smeared on the floor, on the table, on the cupboards of the kitchen from how much you fought and punched each other

• he left you half dead, and redeemed, it felt

• he said that he'd return soon, and he expected you to be there waiting for him. He didn't want you to go to work or see anybody.

• you laughed at this suggestion and got up to tell him something to his face.

• he was in the bathroom, washing his face. The blood was dripping from his nose onto his t-shirt; he looked like a painting

• and paintings are objects you could own.

• you said "Make me"

• and his smile was almost happy; Kevin could only master so much, that it looked like a deranged grin. The time he spent on the bottom of helplessnes in prison, with nothing but his own self, changed the way he smiled. There was nothing behind his eyes when he smiled now.

• he promised he would go out and fuck whoever he wanted, and then return to you, smelling like other women, and there was nothing you could do about it

• you clenched your fists, but you were now so weak you could barely stand. Your whole body ached.

• he helped you shower and washed your hair, tugging on it, giving you instructions, like an idiot, expecting that he had the same control over you

• after work, you go straight home, you don't text with your parents, don't see your friends, every time you leave your house, you tell him where

• you laughed like crazy at these words.

• Kevin, Kevin. His name was like melody. The pain in your body, bruises, were the first thing you felt in a long time, and, coincidentally, they were connected with the feeling of elation you had now, that his hands were on your neck and your shoulders.

• you could fuck whoever you wanted, Kevin, but it would only happen one time, because if you do, I'll cut your balls off

• and to make him sure that you weren't bluffing, you tried to stab him with manicure scissors from the bathroom mirror.

• his reactions were fast, and he caught your hand inches from his face.

• as he looked down at you, sitting in your bathroom in the pool of pink blood, blood on your forehead, your eyes rolling, he thought about the time he finally started paying attention at school. The girl who loved frogs so much she couldn't look at dead ones. Weak-gutted.

• he now almost admired how deranged you have become. At the moment of epiphany he realized he was the one who made you like this. He was so, so happy. Or what he thought was happiness.

• you pulled on his collar, biting your lip, and put his face very close to yours

• "Don't fuck with me". He saw all the fun coming and he didn't have any desire to disobey.

• Look, what was that damn thing you were talking about when you visited?

• you watched his sculpted face and his sharp bones, the tilt of the head and the vampiric malevolence in his eyes. What was love anymore? Would it have made any difference, morally, if you two had met in normal circumstances, and, more importantly, if he was normal? Would you even have fallen for him if he was a good boy?

• this life was a vortex that became tighter and tighter every year. Next to your memories of school, was this confined bathroom, like you existed on all of the planes at the same time. You laughed at your own naive young self that was looking for excuses for Kevin. uwu, his mum didn't want him. He's too pretty to be that bad. He didn't need excuses, he was always the villain. The good people are never that striking, that vivid and suffocating.

• nevermind, Kevin, it doesn't matter. I didn't know what the fuck I was talking about.

[brainwalk3r]

Sdv Bachelor hc's

Prior note, these are my own personal opinions :D also not doing Elliot because I don't really have any hc's for him tbh.

These hc's do not include the farmer and are all sfw

Will be doing the Bachelorettes later <3

Sam

Sam is trans, I believe he came out at a young age and while jodi was confused at first and thought that he was going through a phase she eventually came around and has became really supportive of Sam and his transition.

As Sam got older he made friends with Sebastian and Abigail, he didn't intentionally come out to either of them but rather forgot about it and casually mentioned one day how much periods suck only for them all to go silent before Abigail broke the tension with a "fuck yeah they do" before ranting about how period products should be free. Sebastian came up to him a bit later and gave him a hug before telling him how he was glad Sam was comfortable enough to tell them (even if it was an accident)

Shane

I think that Shane is also trans however it took him far longer to realise, accept himself and then come out.

When he went to live with Marnie, Marnie had been expecting a girl rather than the scruffy broken man that showed up however she very quickly got over it and did her best to try make him feel safe and comfortable. Shane had expected Marnie to turn him away however when she instead hugged him and told him how glad she was to see him and how big he had gotten he broke down crying.

Over time Shane accepts his gender identity more and also comes to accept his bisexuality, he eventually starts therapy after Harvey refered him and starts to improve his mental health and even gets sober. After talking with Marnie he quits his job at JoJa to start working with her at the Ranch, raising his chickens and enjoying his life.

Sebastian

Sebastian is autistic, he was diagnosed fairly young and while Robin did her best to support him she was too busy with work to really build a relationship with him. When she remarried and moved to stardew with Demitrius and got pregnant with maru Sebastian felt isolated especially with demitrius's favouritism of his daughter.

Sebastian never hated Maru and while I don't think he will ever be that close with her, he doesn't blame her for Robin and Demitrius's actions.

Overtime he became friends with Abigail, with him bonding with her over their mutual distaste of their parents. The pair then also became friends with Sam through a mutual love of music (though more of an obsession on Sam's part)

Sebastian started developing feelings for Sam early on into their relationship though they weren't that strong, more of a casual crush, however as they got closer and he came to trust Sam more they grew stronger and when Sebastian took him out for a ride on his motorcycle Sam ended up just blurting out that he was in love with him, with Sebastian responding that he loved him too. (Abigail noticed them holding hands the next day and congratulated them both for "taking so fucking long")

Harvey

Harvey is a bisexual man, his sexuality has never really bothered him and he accepted it quickly however I think he is probably on the aromantic spectrum. Not any specific identity but rather he has a complicated relationship with romance and romantic feelings for people.

While his dreams of being a pilot never came to fruition he moved to pelican town and set up the clinic, he wasn't that torn up about it and became far more interested in the engineering of planes rather than the idea of piloting one. He's also a total history nerd.

Alex

Alex is also bisexual but with a preference for men, he had alot of internalised homophobia and while he loved Haley growing up with a 'girl best friend' had resulted in everyone around them expecting them to be dating or to start dating even if they insisted that their relationship was platonic.

Evelyn was never too bothered about his sexuality however when Alex accidentally slipped to George that he thought one of the gridball players was handsome George had told him that it wasn't right for him to think that. While George would eventually come around to accept Alex's sexuality it still puts a significant strain on their relationship.

The first person Alex came out to was Haley, after she came round for dinner one night George and Evelyn had talked about how good of a housewife Haley would be, how they'd make such a good couple, ect; all while the pair looked extremely uncomfortable with Haleys eyes looking considerably damp at the mention of her being a housewife.

After dinner they both went to Alex's room where Haley started crying and told Alex she was sorry but that she could never be that for him, Alex (also crying at this point) hugged her and told her he never expected her to be. Once they both stopped crying, sat on the floor of Alex's room in silence, Alex quietly spoke out that he thinks something is wrong with him continuing to talk about how he knows that he probably should have a crush on her but instead he can't stop looking at the poster of the strong armed gridball players he has up. (It took Haley a moment to get it, once she did she harshly told him that there wasn't anything wrong with him before muttering out about how if he was wrong then she was too. After that Alex noticed how much she stared at the purple haired girl who seemed to always be staring back)

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

A collection of not so er thoughts I write non sober

- IiDeku with Party Girl Fem!Izuku who is glam as fuck and she totally downs like 6 drinks at a time but also Walters into class completely fine. Dressed to the ducking nines. I blame @dark-elf-writes for this idea.

Like just imagine party girl Izumi dancing the night away in a shitty club, drinking way to ducking young and having a good time. She could. Give you like the spiel. She's got a shitty home life. Her mom is more focused on the idea of perfection the Izumi. She lost her dad cause of her Quirk status. Her mama spends more time at work then with her. She gets bullied. But in the end Izumi just loves the fucking music and the atmosphere. She loves to tease and taunt. She met Iida while stumbling home from a party and he saved her from getting mugged like a ‘good boy’ she purrs into his ear while pressed up against him. He's a flushed mess as she breathes into his ear, hot breath and cigarette smoke coming form her.

He doesn't expect her to be in UA university acting the classes and kicking ass in heroics. He's confused. He's intrigued. He's turned on as she straddles him with a smile full of teeth.

-Last night I was thinking about how I would try and do a Bakugou redemption and I cannot really think of a way that would be like how people would expect. By this I mean that Bakugou becomes best friends with Izuku again I honestly just cannot see it because yeah you can forgive your abuser and stuff like that but sometimes it’s too little too late. Many of the Aus where there is this redemption to tend to handle the apology and the overcoming of it poorly. Its just ‘yeah we’re all good now’ and it doesn't acknowledge how hard it is to forgive someone who did so much to you.

No matter what, Izuku was tormented and hurt by Bakugou for over a decade. This isn't a situation where its some mean words. We see Bakugou did beat Izuku up using his Quirk in the first episode. We see that the bullying started before any diagnosis. Honestly, redemption with Bakugou only starting in UA would only end with Bakugo being friends with the Bakusquad and not with Izuku himself because there’s just too much shit going on with their relationship. It’s not healthy to continue forward with it as it is. More so after the battle trials because that single scene where Bakugou pulls the pin shows how callous he is about Izuku to me.

The apology to me was a bandaid slapped on the situation and not an actual resolution. So for me to actually try a redemption I would need it to be before UA. Maybe Mitsuki overhears her son calling Izuku Deku. She is confused as its a nonsense word (no it doesn't mean useless. Its the context of ‘dekunobu’ not the actual term Deku) and asks. This is where she finds out why Katsuki calls Izuku that. She is horrified by this as that is a malicious thing for a toddler to do and its baffling. So she takes her son to therapy. This early intervention is what makes a ‘Izuku is best friends with Bakugou’ AU work.

Of course like I was talking with Elf an AU where Bakugou is concerned by what he's done to Izuku in a horrifying manor can work. I personally am not a fan of ‘Izuku does jump’ Aus because they always end up with sad baby Bakugou being sad and the story is about him and now Izuku. But an AU where Bakugou realizes how wrong he was does work.

I just end up in the same place. I don’t think Izuku and Bakugou should or can be friends after ra decade of bullying.

[lousirs]

I really love your art!!! Ever time I see it it feels so exciting!!! Thoughts on mpas/tmpass? I also really adore how you draw Mr. Peabody!!!

thank you very much!! such kind words <3

ooh, i have quite a few thoughts about both, sorry if i start rambling a lot xD (i probably won't mention everything)(we'll be here for years)

both of them have good parts and bad parts, to be honest (as does most things) and i'll yap extensively about it under the cut:

like, i've watched the three versions of peabody and sherman, and i think the film has the best dynamic of the two? it's just this honestly pretty wholesome depiction of a single father raising a chaotic but well-meaning child, and struggling with how others treat him due to his identity. big ol' comfort film for me (cause i've been in sherman's position), and has been for a while. also love the little call backs to the classic... i own the artbook to this film, and it really does feel like a respectful adaptation, love to see it.

though, some of the ideas are a little muddled, like... i get that one of the film's messages is about allowing your kid to grow up and be independent (whilst still giving support, of course) but peabody was out here like "here, my son, drive this high-tech time travelling machine" by the end of the film xD. i get that they were working together to sort out the wormhole issue, but sherman is seven (and a half)... a big responsibility to put onto such a young kid to drive that thing (even if he wanted to). it's like if peabody gave sherman the keys to his car and told him to have a test drive lol. amusing, but confusing.

also penny. i don't like her at all xD. i hate that sherman went from "she hates me! and i hate her!" to "ooh i wanna see her brush her hair~" like. what. she was insulting your dad for something he can't help, and choking you 10 minutes ago (they should've been friends by the end of the film, not love interests). penny is the reason the conflict with grunion happens in the first place, and she basically gets away with bullying sherman. realistic? sure, they would likely believe the innocent smart girl with a traditional family over the new boy with an non-traditional family, but she seems to have no remorse for what she did. like, one scene that irks me is that she brought up the whole grunion thing to peabody with sherman (who didn't know about it) also there, and blames peabody for it happening. i think the line was "if you're such a great dad, then why is ms.grunion trying to take sherman away?" or something... she started ALL of this happening by her jealousy of sherman knowing more than she does, and then blames peabody after sherman bit her in self-defense?? yikes girl.

i at least love that peabody is 100% done with her. same, king.

as for tmpass... i love the art of it, especially the backgrounds and colours. heck, i've taken inspiration of the backgrounds for my own art (shoutout to sylvia liu) and the animation is very unique and expressive. and i love that they have all these outfits for peabody and sherman too. and that secret agent episode ruined my life in a good way xD. and that apocalypse episode was fun too. yesss give me that one-eyed crazy canine

(also love how the tmpass tumblr's last post was just "mr.peabody is a homosexual" and then just. left. fuck yeah honestly)(thank you for confirming tmpass team)

buuuut ehhh the show is kinda hit or miss for me :') at least it's entertaining lol

i've seen other people bring it up, and i agree: they treated peabody so harshly in this show. like, he's been through enough with the discrimination bs, and yet there were multiple episodes of him lowkey having a mental breakdown because something doesn't go right or he's overwhelmed by everything, and it's sad to watch. i think sherman's chaotic energy rubbed off onto him too, cause he also lost half of his braincells and his going crazy ahh going stupid ahh. take that dog to therapy

i think the film had peabody at his best, ngl. i love the classic, i love how snarky he is, how he's basically playing god with how he's able to bend logic to suit him xD. but idk, the film balances this sass and intelligence with something more wholesome and sweet. i like. tmpass made him a little too chaotic for his character, me thinks... sherman is fine in all versions though. no matter what it just works for him lmao. go lad!

aaaaaand i get that tmpass is it's own separate thing, but there's two things that really irk me about it when you think about the other versions:

so in the classic, the wabac machine was made as a gift for sherman's birthday, so he could get more running room. heck, peabody even altered the machine so that sherman could understand the historical figures, and the historical figures wouldn't be rude to him. it was honestly such an adorable main part of their dynamic. AND THEN TMPASS CAME ALONG AND WAS LIKE "hey so what if peabody made the time machine BEFORE sherman and his main inspiration was this RANDOM SAUSAGE MAN". whyyyyyyyyy!! peabody originally made it for sherman, and tmpass stripped away that nice moment!! and how does a sausage man have anything to do with the wabac?? oh, he didn't give up on making sausages?? good for him?? i don't know how that inspired peabody. maybe bro was just hungry, idk.

i really don't get why peabody has foster parents in the show... it's explained in the film (which tmpass carries on from) that peabody came from nothing, no one wanted to adopt him, so he made a life for himself. king got on that GRIND. he even says something like "and now, i want to give him (sherman) the one thing i always wanted. a home", implying that he never had it when he was younger. but then in tmpass he has foster parents? and he DID live in a home? not even the dog shelter, mind you. but an actual house. somehow these two feral dogs got a house? meanwhile peabody was fighting to get custody of sherman and to keep him around?? unless those foster parent dogs HAD owners??

i can get by him having a great great great great ... uncle (duke) because idk, perhaps he did an ancestry tree test one day. but the foster parents thing just doesn't click with me, sorry to say.

but idk, maybe this is some alternative universe peabody cause bro has blue eyes in tmpass and green in mpas.

...my god do i yap. no one ever ask me to talk about that dog and boy again-- jk please do i need to dispose my insanity somewhere

[whoblewboobear]

I wonder if Porter views killing Jace differently bc he resurrected him. On the bad days, Jace can’t help reminding Porter that him killing him and taking away his agency for a year was fucked up and it’s something he can’t just /get over/ meanwhile when Porter is in just as bad a mood he throws back that he always intended to bring him back and that Jace is exaggerating.

It’s always the topic that sets them off the most and ends in a screaming match or a full on brawl. Jace never throws spells at Porter that will outright kill him, but he does aim to hurt Porter. And Porter lets him, but he tries to restrain Jace to get him to stop. Either it ends in Porter being downed and Jace leaving for a few days or Porter getting Jace to stop and holding him while he cries.

It’s hard in first few months and honestly the year or two after they’ve both been resurrected and reunited. It’s so goddamn hard but they keep coming back to each other. Eventually it gets drilled into Porter’s head that he murdered Jace and regardless of what came after, Jace still carries the weight of that betrayal and that death. He apologizes and knows it’ll never be enough. Jace forgives him and when the bad days roll around again, they talk it through. They talk and feel whatever emotions come up and they stop letting it come to blows or end in screaming matches.

Jace has fought and kicked and screamed enough, he found his own anger and reclaimed his own rage. He’s just wants to be better. He wants to love Porter without flinching when he pulls out his war hammer.

Porter starts keeping it in the shed, switches to a different weapon for entirely. He doesn’t like seeing Jace scared when he wields his favorite weapon, he’s willing to give it up for Jace’s comfort.

Jace appreciates it, he tells Porter so. He makes sure to tell Porter that he’s glad he’s trying, he doesn’t have to, but he knows the guilt eats his love alive these days. It’s a testament to how far they’ve come, how far Porter has come from telling him his death wasn’t a big deal. Porter also wastes no time to tell Jace how happy he is he’s alive. He likes to document their time together through pictures and videos even if they’re always blurry and so poorly taken. It’s something.

Their home is teeming with pictures now on every walls and every surface. On bigger occasions, Jace makes sure to set up the camera so the shots will come out nice for holiday cards. He stars scrapbooking them as well in secret. When he gifts it to Porter for their five year anniversary, Porter cries. Wrapping Jace up in his arms, absolutely wailing about how much he means to him.

There are still bad days, but they’re few and far between. Outshone by the good, the calm, the blissful. They exist, and sometimes they still do talk about it, trauma comes in waves for Jace. After 10 years they only lap at his feet instead of cresting high above his head like they used to.

Porter sits quietly with his thoughts on the porch of their new home while Jace and their little girl do arts and crafts at the kitchen table. He writes letters to his old self that one day he’ll be kinder, softer, more understanding. Patient. He will get there in time. And Jace will be by his side and one day he’ll feel gratitude instead of immense guilt. He won’t look at Jace and want him to kill him too. An eye for an eye.

They’re dads now, well past the days of hurting each other as a form of therapy. It never worked anyway. Love worked. Talking worked. Waking up every day and choosing each other worked.

There isn’t a day where he doesn’t wake up and choose the life they’ve made together. By the time they’ve adopted their son, it’s been another five years. 15 since they convened in the Aguefort cafeteria. Since they were young and dumb and didn’t know what they were getting into with each other. That years down the line, they’d still be a duo.

Showing up to dance recitals and little league games, going to PTA meetings. A united front, always a duo. Partners in crime, parents, life partners, and lovers. Choosing each other.

[yurimom]

how to describe the feeling of being a young child and everyone around you acts like what you know you are doesnt even exist or is a joke and nothing more. and it is unspeakable to you. you do not even fully have the words to say what you are. and then you have the internet and you find people Just Like You and you see happy adults Just Like You.

but then every time you return to real life there is nothing for you and what you are ceases to exist again. you are so nonexistent you cannot even “really” get married as who you are. you are so nonexistent that there is no other path for you except “of course you like boys and only boys…of course you are a girl. of course you like pink. i don’t know your actual interests so i picked something random from the pink aisle. of course you will get married someday and you need to know how to cook for when that happens and you are my child so i know you are traditional and proud of that.”

then someone on the playground jeers and derisively calls you the first word, spoken aloud, you will ever hear that truly does describe what you are. and it is scary. not because you fully understand how it insinuates violence. that will come later. but it’s scary because it being spoken aloud makes it real. but you haven’t spoken it aloud yourself yet.

and there is nobody who is like you. there is absolutely nobody who you are allowed to interact with who is like you. maybe every once in a while you see an adult on the street like the adults you’ve seen online who are Like You and you are in so much awe by them but if anyone around you acknowledges them it’s to scoff at them. so you fantasize all day about what it’d be like if you could freeze time and run away to that person’s side and cling to their leg and never let go. or what it’d be like if you just ran up to them and begged them to take you home with them. and finally you just wonder what it’d be like if you could sprout wings and fly so high in the sky you never see anyone you don’t want to see again.

you try to kill yourself a couple times in secrecy because you want to snuff Whatever This Is out and at least die pure before the sickness becomes obvious to everyone. and if there is an afterlife maybe they’re a little less tough on 11 year olds who kiss girls behind garden sheds right? but you fail because you don’t fully understand how to make yourself die because you are not even a teenager yet.

and then one day when you get older you will be disowned by your parents because the jig is up. you anticipated they’d see through you at some point as a child but you didn’t know when or how they’d react. you learn when they don’t let you call them your parents anymore and they make you sleep on the floor and drag you across the house by your hair and threaten to shave your head. they threaten to kick you out but instead they shut you in. you will never ever ever ever see anyone like that again you’re told. and those people aren’t even real.

you are allowed nothing but correction. “gentle” or not. why dont you go date that nice boy. why dont you try this mascara. why dont you clean this fucking kitchen. why dont you lose some fucking weight. and before then you defended them with your life and clung to hope that they’d try to understand you. they do not. you learn Fast. and sometimes you still do defend them. because you love them.

this isn’t really just about being gay or trans or neurodivergent for me. there is something bone-deep about this i cannot describe. like….”i am fundamentally different. i will never understand the people around me i just pretend. i want to be with Those other people i’ve seen maybe at a glance in a TV show once even if it’s a mean depiction. i want to meet them. i want to see how they move in person and how they talk and how they’d talk to ME. i want to know what they’d think of ME. what do they do? how the fuck are they alive? can i live too?”

it is a different breed of loneliness. this is the root of what i am in therapy for. i have no words for what this feels like especially when you move every 2-4 years and your parents are the only consistent thing in your whole life.