#Also these are the ones I've thought up for now

[summertimesadnessirl]

The next step in the comic is when this person intentionally picks a fight with you. No matter what you say. No matter how you say it. Even if you discussed this before. Even if you came up with like, an action plan. Even if you carefully selected someone who you thought you could trust. Someone who would never.

If someone talks to you when you're overstimulated you should literally go ahead and start the fight yourself (I've never tried that but it's the one thing I haven't tried) because there is nothing you can do to stop the fight from happening. It is impossible. You got caught not being happy in public so now you probably lose this person as a friend or a useful ally or a significant other or a trusted person or whatever they are forever, and if you don't you are going to be at their mercy and owe them apology and deference for the rest of your relationship and they will never trust you and always pick fights with you and know that as soon as they goad you enough you will lose even if you're right so they can do anything they want and get away with it because you can't fucking control the volume of your voice. You're a loser. You're a baby. You're a monster. You're committing assault. You are not free. This is a cage. These are the bars of your cage. Anyone can lock you in it at any time for free. You begin to claw at your skin again, but it won't come off. It won't come off and you are too aware of it. People aren't watching. Thank God people aren't watching. If someone catches you clawing at your skin they will throw you in a cell for 72 hours. No one will actually do anything in the cell, but the government will take your tax refund for almost 6 years to pay for the cell and you will miss so much work you almost get evicted. Your boyfriend will yell at you a week after he cried and went down on you when you got out because you can't tell him how to fix your depression and the "emergency plan" you filled out with the doctor said "I have no idea just leave me alone in a corner someplace with my headphones." It's never about you. It's never about you. You aren't even allowed to die because your life is not your own. You can leave this boy but there will always be another boy. It could be a girl instead. They could be your "boss" or "friend" or "business partner." If they catch you unhappy in public they will also be a cage. Anyone can always turn into a cage. You wish you were actually in a cage most of the time, so you consider committing a crime. You think you could probably surprise your cell mate in prison with something weird enough that they would beat you to death or you would get solitary. That sounds easy. You only have to worry about one person and they also got thrown into a cage. They have a way you can lock them up, too. You don't care unless they can beat you to death. Pen stabbed into the brain. You can't hang yourself. You can't explain why you can't hang yourself. You are afraid death won't take if you hang yourself. You will wake up, somehow. You need it to be permanent. You need it to be over. Then you hear that in prison, they can force you to work in a call center.

They don't cover that part. That everyone wants you to be the biggest bitch in the world because then you don't get to be a person. They see that you are stressed out. They aren't fucking stupid. They want to make it worse because they want to hurt you. You learn that no one who says they are your friend will not sell you out. Will not gaslight you. Will not trick you or trap you or force you. Other people keep telling you to stop being avoidant and ask for help.

[kleptokure]

Eyes On The Prize *ੈ✩‧₊˚

Shadow Milk Cookie x GN!Reader

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Traveling came natural to you, as staying in one place for an extended amount of time led you to get fidgety. You cannot be chained to one mere kingdom, and you believe must explore all of Earthbread!

As of right now, you are on your umpteenth trip. An adventure to a place most cookies advised you to avoid, which is none other than Beast-Yeast.

But who are they to tell you where to and not to go? Spirit is hard to break, and you made sure to show them that. You trusted you would do a quick exploration of the geography, then check it off your bucket list.

Now, you fall flat in knowing why you were adamant this was a good idea. Exploring was easier said than done. The map of the mysterious land is not even complete! You set yourself up for failure, and you wish to travel back to regions more cheerful.

Alas, that option is unavailable. You find yourself disoriented, now walking along a trail while also uncertain of its destination.

Up ahead of the pathway, you spot a Barrel Inn! Quickening your pace to make your way towards the safe space, you feel the slightest sense of being watched all of a sudden.

Turning around to look through the eerie branches stemming from the trees, you find no one to suspect. Fatigue must've taken its course on your dough, so you dismiss the idea. The thought of a jug filled with cream root beer occupies more space in your mind.

Opening the door to the Inn, you see quite a few of patrons. It comes as surprising, since the lone cookie you've come across is some lazy caramel cookie who has the ability to change between cookie to chameleon.

You opted to sit in the furthest corner, as you would rather avoid conversation with anyone here. You are unsure about whom you can trust in a place like this.

Despite that, once you take the first sip of your given carbonated drink, a cookie takes their seat next to you.

"Hey, you!" They immediately spoke, a boisterous tone taking place in their words. It was clear they were inebriated from the audible hiccups that followed.

"Did you know that... there are beasts here?" That serves as typical drunken talk, causing you to avoid giving responses

"It... It's true! The beasts are real, and you might find one in these parts..." The drunk cookie expressed as if they knew you regarded their speech as imaginary.

"If you feel like yur being watched, then you're already their next victim!" That statement is what causes you to feel anxious.

Before you could ask any questions, the cookie left within the moment you turned to them. You were curious, as you still recall the moment before you stepped inside the tavern.

Then you sense a tap on your shoulder, causing you to startle. Diverting your gaze, you turn to see a cookie with milky light blue hair flowing down to her dress. Not to mention her mismatched colored eyes, which were a pair to gape at.

"I'm sorry to be a bother, but could you be a dear and help me?" Her velvet voice questioned, stating her rationale for the sudden intrusion.

"What is it?" There is not much left to do on your schedule, besides getting back home, which looks to be unattainable. It wouldn't hurt to assist her.

Although, you do remember the intoxicated cookie's words. But could the dainty lady standing near have much of a possibility to be a beast?

No, that sounds like utter nonsense. Your exhaustion must be causing you to find truth in that strange cookie's words.

"I fear I've dropped my basket along the way, and a few cake hounds decided to reclaim my carrier as their own," she said with a defeated tone.

"Surely a strong cookie like you would be able to assist me?" Her voice took on an unexpected high pitch that one would consider abnormal. Would it be a risk to assume she's flirting with you right now? Beast-Yeast never fails to live up to its unusual traits..

"Um... Sure. Lead the way," you accepted, much to her favor. There were little opportunities to finish your beer, but oh well.

Wandering across the familiar pathway, you decide to start up some small talk with the cookie.

"So, what's your name?" You asked, walking beside the cookie.

"It's... Blueberry Milk Cookie!" She sounded eager to make the announcement.

"Nice to meet you, Blueberry Milk Cookie. I’m [Name] Cookie," you stated.

"Even your name is quite grand..." she mutters to herself.

"What was that?"

"Huh? Oh, there's my basket!" Averting your attention, Blueberry Milk Cookie points ahead.

Preparing to fight, you stare towards a clear area, just to the right of the path you both walk.

But there lacks the cake hounds you expected to see, leaving you with confusion.

"Oh, looks like they left. Isn't that nice?" Blueberry Milk Cookie advances over to her basket with a casual step. Her demeanor so easygoing makes you find it hard to believe there were any hostile creatures here in the first place.

"Blueberry Milk Cookie... Were there any cake hounds here to begin with?" She can hear the doubt in your tone, making her hold back laughter.

Basket in hand, the lax cookie walks far closer than she should, pushing your subconscious to make you take a few steps back.

"Of course there was. What, do you think I'm a liar...?" Feigning her offense, Blueberry Milk Cookie allows a pout to take place on her face.

Her eyes, which you once found beautiful, now seem unsettling with the way they peer at you. A part of you does not want to upset the young lady, just to avoid any further conflict.

"No, I believe you," you reassure. A pleased smile graces her face, and her expression returns to normal, as if her prior abnormality was never here nor there.

"Good. Well, I'll be going now. Thank you for your assistance, dearie. Ta-ta!" Blueberry Milk Cookie plants a kiss on your cheek, sending a sweet smile your way after. Her way of a thank you, your guess. Now there sneaks a tinge of guilt for finding her strange.

You would let your suspicions go, but the way the cookie progresses into the trees like it was rountine causes to increase your distrust. There is no way any shelter took place in the direction she went.

It matters not, since you doubt you'll find any additional encounters with her.

Time to continue with your journey of finding your way home. Hopefully all of the activities from today are shut out from your mind by then.

Shadow Milk Cookie cannot help but giggle, the rush of another successful trick flowing through his dough. You are just the cutest thing!

Really, you did most of the work for him. All he needed to do was take on another form, one of a elegant cookie anyone would be eager to please, and you followed him like a sheep to a shepard. Though his more average traits did slip out nearing the end, you slumped in pointing it out. Maybe you kinda dig it!

He happened to stumble upon your presence. It was an accident, truly. Shadow Milk Cookie has far more significant matters to tend to, yet would it be so bad to put you somewhere on his agenda? Your appearance is quite to his liking. He cannot just leave you be on your merry way.

You would slot in perfectly like a piece in his puzzle of a Spire! Not alongside his other assistants, though. Perhaps something more, a relationship that he doesn't take part in often.

That could only be if you behave to his standards. Yet Shadow Milk desires to label you an exception just from the lone interaction you both share. Such a charmer you are, huh?

At the moment, only one of his morphs have been revealed to you. Said form leans on the tamer side, yet that will diminish over time. Shadow Milk Cookie wants to see just how far he can push you! How joyous a new toy can be.

Stalking you from the shadows, he can catch the look of lostness in your eyes. Another humble traveler adrift in the twists and turns of Beast-Yeast. What a pity.

But fear not, as Shadow Milk Cookie will be your guide back home. Remember to express your gratitude!

Though it is not your idea of home, but his, which is none other than his lively Spire of Deceit. No need to worry, growing accustomed to the tower comes within a matter of time.

For the time being, Shadow Milk Cookie will be peeping from between the trees, awaiting the ideal moment to stage his next trick. The jester wishes for you not to spot out the anomalies, otherwise his entire act will be spoiled! A few cards of tomfoolery in his deck haven't been played yet. Play along, why don’t you?

Your back is pressed up against a tree, your legs laying flat on the grass beneath you. Walking any longer sounds like a nightmare, due to the fact that your legs grow sore from the little progress you've completed.

With the thoughts of dread being cut short, you feel an abrupt poke to your left. The unanticipated touch jolts you back to life, causing your eyes to dash up.

The being that poked you was not a cookie, but a... cream sheep? At least that goes as your guess. The names of creatures in Beast-Yeast might contrast to those in Crispia, but it is still a fluffy sheep at the end of the day.

Inspecting the surroundings, you find there to be no companions with the lone sheep. Perhaps a stray from its family, just as lost as you are.

With more proper posture, you raise your hand to pat the wooly animal. The sheep releases sounds of comfort, pressing its head further into your hand. The fleece is the closest material you've had to a pillow, which brings you more ease.

The curious creature licks your cheek, a sign of appreciation from your affection. This claims the spot of the most enjoyment you've received in Beast-Yeast. Though that gets interrupted when you notice a certain feature.

This sheep... They have quite the pair of eyes once you pay attention to them. You fail to gawk this time around, as you believe you've seen more than enough of the contrasting colors in their icing.

The chances of heterochromia in a cookie is rare enough, but in a sheep of all beings? This is no coincidence. Either it be cookies with clashing eye colors are quite common here and you are just uneducated, or you have the right to be apprehensive because there is in fact something, or someone after you.

You find yourself having little interest in being here any longer, having gained a new sense of hope to escape this maze of a place.

The cream sheep is confused when the soothing touch of your hand disappears. Looking up at you, the sheep is only met with your figure sprinting away. How rude, you forgot to say goodbye!

Shadow Milk Cookie is left behind, an appalled expression plastered onto his mammal face. He cannot believe his stunt failed to work! He is quite literally, ehem, DECEIT! How can one not be filled with flattery to be given a chance to fall for his tricks? Such individuality you have... Or it just be his eyes, which are stubborn to change with the rest of his appearance.

A rule breaker here and there always entices him. You best be able to live up to your rebel characteristics. Shadow Milk would be disappointed to see you flop like the rest. The entertainer needs to be entertained every once in a while.

With a whirl, Shadow Milk Cookie reverts into his infamous appearance, one he's more acquainted with. Devoting himself into a being as small as a cream sheep disgusts him. Although there was one thing he favored about the animal.

It's common for cookies to give a pat or more to an animal they come across, yet it still surprised him when you kept the same for him.

Touching the cotton on his false form so softly makes him feel things; things he has gone without for extended amounts of time. Since, y'know, being locked up in that tree, all alone, with no other cookie to satisfy the buried need of another's touch.

Perhaps informing you of his pity story will bring you to tears, making you coddle him within the second fake tears prickle the corner of his eyes.

Such an imagination he has. For now, he corrects. If you shared such tenderness towards a strange sheep who popped out of the shady vegetation, then you should show no hesitation in sparing some attention for him, too.

Nevertheless, the animal act has grown rather boring. As much as Shadow Milk Cookie would love to receive more of your soft petting, the show must go into its climax!

You will witness the form from times ago, the one which represented his very deceit. Lucky little cookie you are, aren'tcha? Shadow Milk Cookie has grown adjusted to the dough, so he decided it would be best for you to fall in love with his face as well.

With your current state, hungry and tired, you have little hope in outrunning your stalker. The very least you can do is make this all easier for him by jumping into his open arms.

No matter, as Shadow Milk Cookie is already on his way. Hope you're ready!

There does not appear to be much reason in running. If a beast has dedicated their time to hunt you down, then what might the point be in trying to escape? You have no powers deemed extraordinary, so the battle conclusion can be guessed without a second thought.

As if on queue, a booming sound of laughter is heard from behind you. The noise sends chills down your spine, yet you are brave enough to peek around. However, the miscreant is not seen from your eye.

"Other way, doughbrain!" Now beckoning from a new direction, the beast seems to be playing tricks with you. Just great.

You rotate to face the other way. Even so, you do not manage to see any cookie.

"I’m over here!" With a heavy breath, you spin around to survey the area. And again, nothing is seen. You give up in finding the trickster. Staring forward, the very eyes you attempt to run from stare back.

"BOO!" Shadow Milk Cookie said, adding on a scare for extra affect.

Watching you fall on your bottom, the jester laughs, a noise that becomes more haunting for you each second.

"I’m sorry, I'm sooooorry! You just make this all too easy," he admits with his head tilted, making sure to lean in to see your expression, fiiled with fright.

"Wow, now that's a face! You really are adorable." With honesty, that did not sound as teasing as the rest of his words did.

Now remembering it, the apparently kind lady from earlier appeared to be flirtatious for a second. With newly gained knowledge, that cookie was also the one trailing after you. If you are correct once more, and a beast has a tiny crush on you... You pray you awaken soon.

With how panicked your mind is, you're surprised you managed to glue some sort of pieces together. Now you can only have faith that your assumption is the truth.

If so, then perhaps you can use that to your advantage? With pride, you would hold romantic affection for a beast, as long as you would not crumble.

"I... I look adorable? Well then, um, you look absolutely stunning," you stuttered out, trying your best to come across as charming. You trust you led your prior frown into a smile, albeit a bit shaky.

Oh? Due to your words, Shadow Milk Cookie is actually taken aback, thinned lips replacing his smile. A cookie complimenting their very predator? He must have heard you wrong.

"Huh? Whawasthat?" Witches. Was your pick-up line that bad? Oh, may you be granted a peaceful crumbling.

Regardless, you refuse to back out of this, even though continuing with your coquettish behavior sounds like a death wish.

"You have... the loveliest eyes I have ever had the fortune of staring upon," you idolize. That has to sound convincing enough, right?

"Hmmmmm," Shadow Milk Cookie hums, debating why a warmth flushes his cheeks from your unexpected admiration. Along with that, he floats himself much closer, which causes you slight discomfort.

Maybe a bit more than slight, as you raise your hand and slapped him, a gasp slipping from your mouth due to your own actions. Instinctive reaction does not discern when and when not to react.

This is it. This is the end. You will fall because of an accident from your subconscious. Or not?

Shadow Milk Cookie bursts out with laughter, his palm touching the mark you placed on his face. He's incredulous that a cookie was brave enough to lay a hand on him! His guard must be far too low with you, though he might just lower it. Your attack wasn't all that bad.

"Hit me again, I like it!" This cookie, "Blueberry Milk Cookie," is messed up in the head. Who in their right mind would ever admit that? But you fail to speak out your judgement. It's far better not to.

"I think that one mark adorns your dough just nicely," you attempt to convince. While you decline his request, you keep up with flirtations. Things may spiral out of control if you give in to every ask of his.

"Ohoho, how interrresting!" Rolling his r, Shadow Milk Cookie gives you a good look over. It is as if you grow more and more appealing each time he gazes at you.

"Even I didn't expect such a twist in plot... You WILL be my next rising star!" Wait, is he serious? Did you actually manage to seduce a beast? He may not be sane, that much well known, but are you?

"I'd be delighted to act in your performances," you replied, keeping your voice steady to avert suspicion. Your words act as the sole thread to your survival, and you can tell they all come to please him.

The several eyes in his bizarre hair roll back, another sign if you couldn't tell he was elated by the wide grin covering a large portion of his face.

Shadow Milk Cookie hovers over, and this time, you do not hit him, allowing his hands to cup the sides of your face.

"I, Shadow Milk Cookie, hereby declare you, [Name] Cookie, as mine!" That sentence zones you into reality, making you realize how intense the situation, you've somehow to tumble yourself into, is. Any way out as an option is long gone. Too bad.

In your peripheral vision, a portal appears out of thin air. That must act as your way of transportation. You hope sickness is not complimentary, but that gets cut short when you're lifted up inside of the whirls of black and blue.

You hear the smallest chuckle before you depart. Might it be a good omen, or bad?

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

A/N: not too sure if im in love with this one (－－〆)

[comicaurora]

Hey, firstly I just wanted to say I’ve been consuming your content for years and thank you and Blue for being the only thing that kept my academic brain from turning to mush during online COVID middle school!

But I’m entering a new academic era, notably Junior year of my very rigorous collage prep program at my high school. I’ve always thought I would go to collage after high school but I’ve recently stumbled into some very interesting ways of making a living only perusing my creative passions (some very scary publishing opportunities). So I’ve been wondering if I actually want to go to collage or not, since going to collage just to be a published writer is an objective waste of money and I don’t want to spend the rest of high school breaking my neck earning collage credits I’m not going to use.

So I was wondering, if you had known you could make a living only perusing your creative passions, would you have spent the time, money and academic energy going to collage for something you didn’t end up doing professionally?

(I would ask my advisor but he’s too obviously pro collage and doesn’t have any experience making a living creatively).

(Sorry for the long ask)

No problem about the long ask! This is a very good question!

I'll start with the short answer, which is that nobody can make this decision but you, and if you decide not to go to college right now, that does not mean you are deciding to never go to college. Especially with Covid, plenty of people are taking gap years, and plenty of full-on adults go to college later in life, simply because the mood strikes them, or they now have income to burn, or they're interested in a career change, etc. This is not a coinflip that will decide the trajectory of the rest of your life.

For the longer answer, for me personally? Knowing I'd be able to earn a living doing art would have no bearing on my decision to go to college. Setting aside that a ton of the literary analysis my job is based on is skills I learned in college, I liked college because it gave me the opportunity to learn a wide swath of things, from anthropology courses to dinosaur science. I like learning new things! College was an opportunity to learn a ton of new things, and even if it was very challenging in places, I thrived in it. I didn't go to college with the goal of becoming qualified for a Real Job - because of who I am as a person I think I'd seriously struggle at most Real Jobs, and I knew that even back then. I was in college to learn, and to learn how to learn. I got my degree in mathematics, a thing I do not use in my Job, but the functionality of mathematics - to logically reason through problems, step by step, comparing it to known problems to map the way to solutions using operations that preserve truth - is an invaluable skill that I apply everywhere there are problems to solve, especially literary analysis. I learned a wide swath of tools with surprising applications, and I couldn't have known when I started how I might use them in the end.

However, there's a big caveat there. This was my personal experience of college as a playground where I could work towards a solid major and also branch out to take weird one-off electives and summer courses when anything struck my fancy. But I was in on a scholarship to cover a good chunk of my tuition, and one of my relatives very kindly paid for the rest. I got to do college without accruing any college debt, and that is an enormous factor. I can only share my personal take, but I'm not going to pretend that things would have been the same if I'd had to enter adulthood finding a way to quickly pay off a six-figure sum.

I've been extremely lucky to get to the point where I can navigate life in a way where money is very rarely something I need to worry about. It was certainly not always like that, and I do not miss those times, but it invariably shapes the way I see the world and the steps I took to get here. For me personally, I do not consider college in any way a waste of time; I think the opportunity to learn is one of the most exciting things out there. But my experience cannot be pretended to be universal.

This decision is yours, and it is also not final. Whatever choice you make, you can always choose again later. You have time.

[theteablogger]

You may have already noted this, but Andy's claims on twitter about being able to understand what his sparrow is saying (and thus sparrow language in general) seem to be ramping up in unbelievability- apparently yesterday the bird was able to communicate that it didn't want its conversation with other sparrows recorded and shared. Andy makes mention of several of his followers who have apparently been having FaceTime calls with the bird. There's at least 5-6 of Andy's followers who consistently comment on the bird updates and show no credulity, expressing how much they want to be able to communicate with the bird like Andy does. It's probably not the biggest deal, but the whole thing has just been giving me an odd vibe. Feels like Andy once again making friends/followers by demonstrating abilities and knowledge no one else has.

Yes, his allegedly deep connection with sparrows has been getting weird for quite a while. He says he can understand some of their language, enough to relay things that the flock outside his house is talking about and things that Nuggie communicates to him. On top of that, Andy has written about things like Nuggie watching movies and musicals and following every emotional beat, to the point of showing the characters his malformed feet to offer encouragement when they're lacking confidence. Andy is anthropomorphizing the hell out of that little bird. Meanwhile, his followers praise him for knowing sparrows better than ornithologists do.

I've lived with a parrot before, for many years, and I bonded very closely with him. I agree that birds are much smarter and more emotionally complex than most people realize. But they're not humans. Their thoughts and feelings are not exactly like ours and we have no way to know exactly what's going on in their heads. Projecting onto them can lead to misunderstandings of their behavior and needs. Andy seems to be taking good care of Nuggie, from what I can tell--bearing in mind that we only have his word for it--but that doesn't mean he's right about everything.

Here's the thread you mentioned:

Here's Andy in November, writing about Nuggie's "phone flock":

Here's a thread from October, featuring Andy's musings on sparrow language. Friendly reminder that he is neither an ornithologist nor a linguist.

Note that at the end, he specifies that he's not Dr. Doolittle and doesn't speak or 100% understand sparrows' language...but he's still claiming a level of understanding that no one else has.

And here's Andy in August, wishing that he could communicate effectively with Nuggie and then having an actual conversation with him:

Those are some awfully complex ideas for a member of a non-human species to understand and respond to appropriately.

I'm not trying to suggest that Andy is forming another cult based around his bird, but like you said, Anon, it's notable that he is once again positioning himself as someone who has a special ability that no one else has. He's also repeating an old pattern in making himself the sole conduit to communicate with someone who holds a great deal of emotional significance for people. Back in the day, it was any of 160+ "others", and later, the DAYDverse/Harry Potter characters; now, it's a rescued sparrow with a disability, whom a lot of people apparently find inspiring.

[sleepymccoy]

Since this post is the only thing in my activity feed right now, I thought I'd draw a (slightly abstracted so I don't fully dox myself) little map of all the libraries I can get to without having to think about where to go!

The city has quite a few libraries, I expect if I walked around a bit I'd find three more lol.

The one near my home is like a ten min walk.The tram line is the line I grew up near, so I know it fairly well. The further library is my childhood one, and the one in the middle of the tram line I know I can see when we pass it, although I've never been in. So I'd be able to get off in time

The train line, I've lived in two other suburbs along and have worked along, so I know the areas well. The tram line going south off the train I went to uni there for a year and spent a lot of time poking around the streets so I can find the libraries. The other place I went to uni I don't know the libraries

The bus is just a fluke that I happen to know that suburb's library (it's by the beach) and that bus goes everywhere. If I caught it and paid attention I'm sure I'd see a dozen, but I'm not counting that for this poll. Only places I know!

And the city has so many. State library of course, and I went to the top one in the city just last week. The bottom one I've been in before but I only know it's location vaguely, so it'd take some walking around. However, it's a touristy area and it's signposted. The middle left one is the court library, which I happen to know is public access

So that's thirteen I'm extremely confident about. I'm new to driving lol so I wouldn't use my car for any of it, way easier to navigate by train and tram, they definitely go where they say theyre going to go

If I wanted to max out my library number tho, I know how to get onto the main highways out of town. Just hit the highway and pull off in every small town and find the main strip and then the library! But while I know that'd work, I don't actually know those libraries so I'm not counting it. Also didn't count uni libraries because I don't have a uni card right now, so I couldn't get in. These are all public libraries

Also to mutuals and followed and so on, if you're trying to get in touch for any reason my activity is buggered right now. I posted this last night and it's got thousands of reblogs all saying something in the tags, I can't update my feed fast enough. Please DM me if there's anything you'd usually tag or mention me in ❤️

You can use any travel method you like, walking, public transport, so on. You can get an uber but their map has failed so you'll have to give directions. You can travel to other countries and count those libraries but you have to be able to completely navigate from your home without assistance. So you can catch a plane but must be able to travel to and from the airport. No limit on how long it takes. If you know which block it's on or which tram line but aren't sure precisely, but you feel sure you'd find it once you got there, count that as a yes (if you're not sure maybe google it now and see if your plan would work). You cannot rely on asking for directions though, this must be all your knowledge

[slytherinshua]

꩜　EMOTIONS OVER LAUNDRY　( 최연준 )

genre hurt/comfort , parent au , husband!yeonjun x fem!reader   cw they have a newborn daughter , mention of struggling to conceive , yeonjun crying , small mention of postpartum/newborn anxiety , not proofread   wc 917   request 🥟 anon for yeonjun + folded laundry for the 3k event   note still in my txt era so bad and also yeonjun :( our healing i love him so much he would be such a good dad </3 i've been listening to love sailing by cha eunwoo the entire time while writing this and i am NOT okay it's 3 am and i may cry   net @kstrucknet @moadiarynet

You didn’t expect to come home to see your husband crying while folding laundry. At first, you thought something must be seriously wrong. Yeonjun was always fairly emotional, but you hadn’t seen him cry since you gave birth to your baby girl Yejin two weeks ago. He wasn’t one to cry over little things, and the tears only started falling when he was stressed or upset or overwhelmed with emotion. Seeing his red nose and puffy eyes sitting in the middle of the living room floor took you off guard. 

“Honey, what’s wrong?” You were holding your newborn in one arm and shrugging off your jacket with the other, eyes glancing over your baby’s face once again. 

The new mother anxiety was something you had somewhat anticipated and prepared for. But just how anxious and paranoid you were over your newborn child still surprised you. It was like if you took your eyes off of her for more than ten seconds, something horrible was bound to happen to her. Your mind was put at ease to find her still sleeping soundly in your arms. The walk around the newbourhood in her stroller had tired her out, and carrying her back inside did nothing to wake her.

Your husband looked up at you with fresh tears in his eyes and a pout on his lips, sniffing quietly. You walked over to where he was sitting, gently transferring Yejin to her newborn rocker where she could continue napping safely. Then, you turned to your husband and raised an eyebrow as if to reiterate your previous question without verbally stating it again. 

“It’s nothing, just…” Yeonjun trailed off with a sigh, a light pink baby onesie on one of his hands. The garment was so small compared to him. Even the small stacks of neatly folded clothes looked tiny, although it was nearly half your daughter’s wardrobe. 

“She’s so small,” Yeonjun whispered, another tear rolling down his cheek. Immediately, you understood exactly where all the emotions were coming from. It happened to you a few times as well when Yejin was particularly cute or you remembered just how long you and Yeonjun had tried for a child, all the struggle it took to get to this point. It was all worth it for her, your perfect little bundle of joy. Even looking at her brought a smile to your face. Even though it had been hard, for her, you would do it all again in a heartbeat. 

“And—and, I was folding her clothes, and they’re all just so small, just like her. And she’s so, so cute, and she’s really ours. It doesn’t feel real that she’s finally here. Sometimes I think I’ll wake up one day and realize this was all a dream, like we’re back a few years ago still trying for her,” Yeonjun breathed, words mumbled in his choked up voice. 

You shifted closer to him, brushing a hand up and down his back as he leant into your touch. With how often Yeonjun had comforted you and wiped your tears away during pregnancy, now it was your turn to do the same for him. 

You had taken it hard back then. Every negative test, every piece of false hope, every month that went by without progress; your husband was there to comfort you through it all. He stayed firm and strong when you weren’t able to. You knew he had been holding back his own feelings on it for you, not wanting to show how much it affected him too. You’d be blind to not see how much it was hurting him as well. He had always wanted a family just as much as you had, and you knew just how happy he was to have finally been able to start one. 

It was just an emotional journey. 

Yeonjun fully rested his head on your shoulder, warm tears dripping onto your shirt. You didn’t mind. You just continued to stroke his back, reaching out to hold one of his hands and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Yeonjun couldn’t stay strong forever. Although it had been two weeks since you came home from the hospital, it felt like today was the first time you truly got to relax and breathe. Caring for a newborn was nonstop, and you were both running on sleepless nights and parenting anxiety. You worked through it like you did anything, though. As long as you had each other, you were sure things would turn out okay. 

“I’m sorry,” Yeonjun whispered after minutes of silence. “I didn’t mean to get so emotional all of a sudden.” He pulled back from the hug and sent you a small smile, assuring you silently that he was okay, that those small moments of comfort were all he needed. He carefully folded the small onesie he was still holding and placed it on top of the stack of other similar ones. 

Leaning over the baby rocker, he smiled brightly at his daughter. Still sleeping soundly without a care in the world, wrapped up in a soft yellow onesie. Her hands were balled into little tiny fists, so small that they could barely wrap around Yeonjun’s thumb. 

He brushed a few fingers over Yejin’s head and soft wispy strands of hair. It was peaceful watching her sleep, and a feeling of reassurance washed over Yeonjun. He was her dad, and he loved her more than anything in the world. He’d sacrifice everything for her— his perfect little angel. 

txt taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @90steele,, @ddeonudepressions,, @cham3li,, @wolfmoonmusic,, @98-0603,, @weird-bookworm,, @candewlsy,, @blossominghunnie,, @amara-mars,, @wccycc,, @seunghancore,, @ujisworld,, @sobun1est,, @bananabubble,, @talkingsaxy,, @sxmmerberries,, @talking-saxy,, @nicholasluvbot,, @cupidslovearrows,, @50-husbands,, @hursheys,, @stannwjnss,, @gong-fourz,, @nonononranghaee,, @forever-atiny,, @stantxtforabetterlife,, @loserlvrss,, @lexeees,, @cupidslovearrows,, @hyukabean,, @nicholasluvbot,, @i03jae

[soldiersgirl]

i’m new to jensen and all his fandoms

but idc ❤️

GIVE ME a one-shot where solider boy is a stalker and one fine day, he takes you, knowing very little about how you wanted him too <3

HERES THE INSPO u revolved my reblog LMAO

YES MA'AM 🫡 and also welcome to the jackles lovers club <3 (i hope this was to ur liking).

summary — he wanted you. you needed him.

cw — reader x soldier boy. stalking mentions, yearning!soldier boy, hints at unhealthy relationship, fluff (kinda).

word count — 757 words

soldier boy watched you for weeks and it feels like he finally knows every little thing about you. the way you like your coffee sweet, the way you constantly push away your bangs whilst readjusting your bag, the way you constantly nibble on your bottom lip, the way your headphones are always blasting your current obsession and how you're always singing along without realising.

thank god for those headphones. they kept you so preoccupied, so cooped up in your little dream world that you never noticed him; looming over you, wishing to know all your little thoughts, desires, wants and wishes.

was he your favourite supe? did you dream of him, like he did you? would you love him, like he unequivocally did you? would you accept him or push him away like the others had done? maybe you would be the one to finally see him for who he really is. a fool plagued by you and desperate for your attention.

for years, centuries, women had chased him, but now everything was turned on its head and what for? all for you. ben never thought a non-supe could catch his eyes quite like you did. he noticed you always sitting across the flatiron building (a.k.a the boys hq) in the cute café that was nestled amongst the urban towers. every morning, you sat in the same place, ordered the same coffee and pastry and typed away for what felt like hours.

he'd watch you from the boys office, from the roof when he went to smoke his daily joint and out front when he'd wish the boys goodnight before walking the same, tiring route home. he hadn't meant to stalk you. never. but somehow, he found himself walking your route home, just a few steps behind you with his hood up and wired headphones playing his favourites, as his trained eyes never left you as he remained unseen until he finally couldn't deny himself any longer.

leaving the café at 5:00 pm on the dot like usual, you threw your thick scarf over your shoulder, pulled on your trustworthy headphones and pressed play. the new york winter was harsh and as the wind howled and whipped around you, you sought refuge in a desolate alleyway to escape the worst of the brewing storm. ben couldn't believe his luck. finally, he could have you all to himself.

but this was planned. you knew ben had been watching you. you had noticed. and you definitely didn't mind.

"are you finally going to talk to me?" you pull off your headphones and turn to the supe, frozen and in reaching distance of you. despite the strength of the winds, you can hear your quickened heartbeat and his low panting.

"so, you've noticed." he pulls off his hood and stands tall in front of you, allowing you the chance to finally admire him. your eyes dance over his hardened features, his soft crows-eyes framing his eyes and his infamous smirk already planted across his lush lips. "what are you gonna do abou' it, sweetheart? hm?" he hums and takes a small step forward, testing the waters.

"i've... been waiting for you." you mirror him and step forward. what he didn't know was that all those hours you spent in the café was only to get a glimpse of him. you had daydreamed about him for years and somehow, by what you believe was destiny, soldier boy had been found alive and you weren't going to deny destiny.

you reach your hand out and let your fingertips graze against his and before you can blink, he pushes you up against the nearest wall, trapping you between his toned arms. your bag and headphones fall from your grasp and land with a thump onto the damp alley-way floor. he shamelessly scans your face for any hint of fear, but finds none. you gaze upon him like a wounded animal would their captor, filled with unspoken trust and hope.

"i've been waiting for this." you sigh.

"didn't your mother tell you not to trust strangers?" he scoffs in return as he delicately twirls your hair around his fingers.

"strangers? i've known you my whole life, ben. i was made for you." your light voice whispers.

ben knew then and there that he couldn't possibly deny that truth. he hastily picked up your discarded items, held you tightly against his strong frame, showing you the softness he was never offered. he was a soldier and his sole objective was now to care for you in the world of war, injustice and false gods.

-`♡´- tag list: @bluemerakis @legalmente-loca @faiszt @vmiina @emeraldcrs @briiverse @figthoughts @sl33pylilbunny @jasvtsc @silverwoodlynx @kayleighwinchester @bejeweledinterludes @yooyieu @nperoconelcositoarriba @lanasgirlfr @velvetdandeli0n @iluvdeanwinchester @doeinlace @cowboysandcigarettes @daylighted @valjy @dulcescorderitas @mostlymarvelgirl @syrma-sensei (comment or inbox me to be added)

[ateezscupid]

─── FEB FILTH FEST: Agora Hills - STRIPPER ♡

SUMMARY / You see a new face enter the club and he asks for a private lap dance. The longer you two spent with each other, the less you could keep your hands off each other.

warnings ✩ SMUT, reader has a stage name! (velvet), switch!yunho, dom!reader, fem!reader, stripper!reader, groping, dry humping, pet names, dirty talk, yunho cums handsfree, unprotected sex, virgin!yunho (mwehehe), handjob, reader is a gentle dom, semi-pubic sex (they're in a strip club, duh, but like also in private)

word count ✩ 2,18k

tags ✩ @desirehorizon @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starillusion13 @mingitheskzstan @bbdeongi @dawn-iscozy @xh01bri @mallielovssyou @clxssy1997 @soreberry @nopension @kitten4sannie @faeriehwas @lustfxq @ashistrashhhhhh @hwallazia

ATEEZ MASTERLIST / REQUEST / FEB FILTH FEST

"Hey, Velvet!" your manager beckoned you over. "We've got a new guy asking for a private dance."

"New?" you sit up from your chair, rolling your eyes and folding your arms together. "Did you make sure he wasn't a creep? Every other dude I've given a dance to has always been too -- touchy."

Your manager, a heavyset man named Bo, chuckles. "Don't worry, he's not like the others. Just a bit shy, I think." He winks. "I've got a good feeling about this one."

"You say that a lot about everyone, so I don't think you realize how unhelpful that is." you scoot your chair back and grab your heels. "Just give me a sec."

The VIP section was tucked away in the basement of the club, dimly lit and slightly less chaotic than the main floor. Different rooms for each client. Each had a velvet curtain for privacy. Bo led you to the last one and pushed it open. Inside was a man sitting in the chair, his back to the door. He was dressed in a simple black t-shirt and jeans, his hair a shaggy mess of dark locks. The stark contrast between the opulence of the chair and his casual attire was peculiar but somehow fitting.

Bo left you alone and you slowly walk over, the click of your heels alerting him. He seemed so…innocent, like someone who really didn't belong in a place like this. You felt a twinge of curiosity mixed with a strange sense of protectiveness.

He even gulped when he first laid eyes on you. You were gorgeous, even though he could barely see your face due to the lighting.

"You look so out of place, hun." you murmur, a smirk playing on your lips. He turns slightly, and even in the shadows, you see his cheeks redden. "But if you're here for a lap dance, I guess you're not as innocent as I thought."

"M-My friends brought me here f-for my birthday." he gulps and you narrow your eyes.

"How old are you?"

"…2-25." The man's voice cracks, and you can't help but chuckle at his nervousness.

You lean down and whisper in his ear, "Well, happy birthday." His scent, something faintly sweet and musky, fills your nostrils. It's intoxicating, and you find yourself drawn closer to him.

He tugs at his pants nervously as you lean in, your heart racing in a mix of excitement and apprehension. You can feel the heat from his body, his breaths quickening as he fumbles over his words. "Thanks, I-I've never done this before."

"I can tell. Just relax. If you need me to stop at any point in time, you can tell me. Now, are you ready?" You ask, placing your hand gently on his shoulder. He nods, and you can feel the tension in his muscles ease slightly. You start to sway your hips to the slow beat of the music, letting the rhythm flow through you as you move closer.

The music fills the room, a sultry melody that wraps around the two of you like a warm embrace. Your movements are fluid, your body a canvas that tells a silent story of seduction. His eyes are glued to yours, searching for a sign of approval or perhaps a hint of understanding. You lean in, your breath hot against his cheek, and begin to dance.

Your hands glide over his shoulders and chest, teasingly tracing the lines of his body without making contact. Each beat of the music brings you closer, until you're straddling his thighs, your hips grinding in time with the bass. He's frozen, his eyes wide and his breathing erratic. You can feel the thump of his heart beneath you, the heat of his skin burning through his shirt.

"You can touch me," you whisper in his ear. "Just don't go overboard, okay?"

He nods, his hands tentatively finding their way to your hips. His touch is light, almost shy, but it sends electric shocks through your body. You guide his hands, teaching him how to follow your rhythm, how to move with the music. His fingertips trace the fabric of your dress, and the way he looks at you, with a mix of awe and desire, makes you feel powerful, sexy, alive.

"Your first lap dance, hm?" you say, your voice low and playful as you move to the rhythm. "Well, you're in good hands."

His grip tightens slightly as he tries to keep up with your movements, his thumbs brushing against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You lean back, arching your body, and he takes the cue, his hands moving up your sides to cup your breasts gently. You gasp, the intimacy of the touch surprising you. It's been a long time since a client has made you feel anything beyond the mechanical movements of your job.

You place your hand on top of his and he immediately lets go. "S-Sorry! Sorry! W-Was I not supposed to-"

"Shh," you place a finger on his lips, silencing him. "It's okay. Just go with the flow." You lean into him, your breath warm and comforting. "You're doing fine."

The dance goes on, his touch becoming bolder, yet respectful. His eyes never leave yours, and the intensity in them is palpable. The room seems to shrink around you, the music fading into the background as the only sounds are your mingled breaths and the gentle whispers of the air conditioner. Your hands trace the line of his jaw, feeling the stubble, the pulse in his neck, and the way he swallows hard when you touch him.

You lean in closer, your breaths mingling as you dance. His eyes searched yours, questioning, but you give him a soft nod of encouragement. His hands slip down to your hips again, and this time, they don't stop. The friction of your bodies becomes unbearable, and you can feel the tension coiling tightly inside of you. This dance has become more than just a job; it's a silent conversation between two strangers, a moment of raw connection in a place where touch is usually just a transaction.

His thumbs graze your skin, leaving a trail of fire wherever they go. You bite your bottom lip to stifle a moan, surprised by your own reaction. You've danced for countless men, but none have ever made you feel like this. Your heart pounds in your chest, and your body moves almost on its own, responding to his touch like it's been starved of affection for too long.

"I-" he mumbles, his eyes fluttering shut and his head lowering. Your hand on his neck guides him, and suddenly, your lips are on his. It's a soft kiss, tentative and questioning, but it's enough to send a bolt of lightning through your veins. You deepen it, your tongues meeting in a dance as old as time, as the music continues to throb around you.

Suddenly, he was digging his nails into your skin, stopping the movement of your hips as his body tensed. You pull away from the kiss and look down, smiling a bit. "You okay?"

"I-I, um.." he shifted around in the seat, "I-I…I came…"

"…You're serious?" You laugh lightly, trying to keep the situation from becoming awkward. The blush on his cheeks deepens, and he nods, looking down at his lap.

You lean back slightly, giving him a moment to compose himself. "Well, that's quite the compliment," you murmur, your voice filled with amusement. "I guess I'm good at my job."

"Y-You…you felt that though, right-?"

"I can't really feel you cum so no-"

"I meant between us." His voice is hoarse and sincere, and his eyes are now looking directly into yours, searching for something you're not quite sure you're ready to give him. But the connection is undeniable, a spark that's been kindled into a flame.

"Yeah," you smile, running your hands through his hair. "Wanna do it again?"

The question hangs in the air for a moment before he nods eagerly. "Y-Yes," he stammers, and you can feel his excitement building as you lean in for another kiss. This one is less tentative, more demanding, as you explore his mouth with the same passion that fuels your dance. His hands roam over your back, pulling you closer, and you can't help but feel a thrill at his eagerness.

You moved your hand down and tugged at his jeans and you could've sworn you felt shivers run through his body. He was already hard, which didn't surprise you, but you didn't let it show. Instead, you gave him a knowing smile and whispered, "Aw, look at that."

Your hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it gently in rhythm with the music. His breath hitched in his throat and he gripped the chair, eyes wide. "Is this too much?"

"N-no, it's perfect," he gasped, his voice thick with desire.

You giggle and lift your hips a little, pushing your thong to the side. "Nobody's watching…"

He nods, his eyes glazed over with lust, and you can tell he's lost in the moment. You feel his cock twitch in your hand as you guide it towards your wetness. The anticipation is palpable as you line it up and slowly lower yourself onto him. You both gasp as he fills you up, the sensation of him inside you making you clench around him.

He didn't know what to do with his hands, his ears were ringing, sweat beads ran down his forehead -- everything was too much, too many sensations hitting him at once. He felt like he was about to pass out from the sheer overload of pleasure. You noticed his confusion and took control, placing his hands on your hips and guiding his movements, showing him how to move with the music that was still playing in the background, almost forgotten.

"You okay? Actin' like you've never been in pussy before." You tease, a mischievous glint in your eye. He nods, trying to focus. "Just let me do the work."

"T-This is my first time-" he stammers, his eyes squeezed shut as you start to move up and down. His inexperience is evident, but it's endearing in a way you didn't expect.

"And you went to a strip club to lose your virginity? Not the best idea, but it's okay because you got me as the one to take it." You say, your voice a mix of amusement and seduction.

"I-I might cum-" he inhales sharply. "I-I'm sorry, 'm sorry-"

"It's okay," you whisper, your voice soothing as you lean in to kiss his neck. "Just enjoy it. I'm on birth control anyway."

He nods, his movements becoming more confident as he follows your lead. Each thrust brings you closer to the edge, the sensation of his cock sliding in and out of you in sync with the music, sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body. The scent of your combined arousal fills the air, mixing with the faint smell of sweat and cologne. His hands grip your hips tightly as you ride him, your breasts bouncing with the rhythm.

"F-F-Fuck-" he sighed, almost sounding as if he was crying. "I-It feels so good…"

You couldn't help but feel a twinge of something. You've had a lot of firsts in this job, but there was something about his vulnerability that got to you. You leaned in and kissed him deeply, his cock still inside you, his hands gripping your hips as you began to move faster. The music was a faint echo in your ears as you lost yourself in the moment, letting go of the walls you usually kept up during a dance.

His body was trembling beneath you, and you knew he was close. You whispered sweet nothings into his ear, urging him on, feeling his heart race against your chest. The music built up to a crescendo, and you matched it, your hips moving in a frenzied dance as he reached his peak. You felt him throb inside you, and the sensation sent you over the edge too, a quiet moan escaping your lips.

"You're doing so good," you giggle, feeling the warmth spread through your body as you reach your own climax. The tension in the room snaps and you lean into his shoulder, breathing heavily. "You're not so innocent after all."

He chuckles nervously, his grip on you loosening as he tries to catch his breath. "I-I guess not," he whispers, his voice hoarse.

"You gonna cum? Gonna fill up my pretty little pussy, hm?" You whisper in his ear, your voice a seductive purr. His breathing hitches and his body tenses beneath you. "Do it," you urge, your voice low and needy. "I want to feel it."

With a gasp, he does. You can feel his warmth flood into you, his muscles tightening as he releases. It's a beautiful, intimate moment, one that you don't usually experience in this line of work. But with him, it's different. You're not just a body to him; you're a person, and that makes all the difference.

[happyk44]

[ID: Collection of quotes and images. Some of the material was difficult to source. Feel free to add an addendum.

Quote from Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides, translated by Anne Carson: "Why does tragedy exist? Because you are full of rage. Why are you full of rage? Because you are full of grief."

Quote from The Illiad, translated by Emily Wilson: You already know the story. You will die. Everyone you love will also die. You will lose them forever. You will be sad and angry. You will weep. You will bargain. You will make demands. You will beg. You will pray. It will make no difference. Nothing you can do will bring them back. You know this. Your knowing changes nothing. This poem will make you understand this unfathomable truth again and again, as if for the very first time.

Painting titled "The Pit" by Aron Wiesenfeld: A figured cloaked in many layers of long white and sheer fabric stands at the edge of a water-filled pit. The pit is lined with stone. Grass and flowers grow all around, but fade off into pure darkness towards the back.

Image of unknown origin or media: A bouquet of many different types of white flowers against a black background. In the center, thin outlines of rectangles overlap each other and the flowers, almost as if to mimic a glass vase.

Text reading: my bones whimper at the thought of what could have been. what could have been if i was not born in a grave?

Text reading: Grieving, grieving, constantly grieving I mourn what could have been, what will not be, what I can't save.

Quote from "The Truth About Grief" by Fortesa Latifi: All my grief says the same thing - this isn't how it's supposed to be. And the world laughs, holds my hope by my throat, says: but this is how it is.

Quote from Maurice Sendak: I had a brother who was my saviour, made my childhood bearable.

Quote from "Killing Flies" by Michael Dickman: I sit down for dinner with my dead brother again This is the last dream I ever want to have

Quote from "Killing Flies" by Michael Dickman: "I'll look More and more like him Until I'm older Than he is

Text reading: And now I'll have to remember you for longer than I've known you.

Picture of burned pages from a notebook

Painting of a lamb on a table. Its legs are bound together. Light shines in a strip down the table and against the lamb, but otherwise the painting is dark. There is a small ring above its head in the darkness, as though a halo.

Image of unknown origin or media: It depicts white flowers

Quote from“Sacrifice” by Bilal Al-Shams: i am both the sacrificial lamb and the executioner. the scapegoat and the swordslayer. the one screaming and the angel of death

Quote from "Will Grayson, Will Grayson" by John Green and David Levithan: "I am awful. I am heartless. I am scared that these things are actually true."

Quote from "Last Sext" by Melissa Broder: I ask god to send a swordsman / and god says 'look at your hands'

Quote from "Psalm of Scattered Ashes" by Ashley Mares: is the blood on your hands dry? Is it slowly disappearing? Mine isn't.

Quote from Audre Lorde: "I feel it's my anger that has helped keep me alive,"

Text reading: Anger can also be a substitute emotion. By this we mean that sometimes people make themselves angry so that they don't have to feel pain. People change their feelings of pain into anger because it feels better to be angery than it does to be

Painting titled "The Fallen Angel" by Alexandre Cabanel: A painting of Luficer after his fall from heaven. The picture has been cropped to close in on his face. His arm is raised, shielding the lower half of his face from view but his angry eyes are visible, brows narrowed. A single tear wells up in the corner of his eye and drips down the side of his nose.

Painting from the Peripety serie by Jen Mazza: Three bloody hands embrace each other.

Quote from Wasted: A Memoir of Anorexia and Bulimia by Marya Hornbacher: I did not like to be toouched, but it was a strange dislike.I did not like to be touched because I craved it too much. I wanted to be held very tight so I would not break.

/end ID]

About wocwog HJ. I love him. He's so raw, and there's so much pain and rage.

[squishygirl46]

Hi everyone, this is a story about my deepest fantasies and dreams. It will be written about me Let me know if you like it. Part one: the beginning.

God, I don't know where I am, some man left a camera in the room and said I had to speak my mind on it or I would be killed. The last thing I remember is leaving the house to go to the store. Now I'm here and I don't know what's going on, I'm so scared….. There's only one dim lamp in this room, a big bed, a toilet, a speaker on the wall and a door. I'm probably going to be killed or raped, I don't know, I'm so scared. Suddenly a masked man came into the room, carrying a scale and a camera.

- Hi said: Get on the scale and take off your clothes. I obediently did everything he ordered. Completely naked I stood on the scale which said 45 kilograms(99 pounds). -You're skinny, now stand against the wall and turn sideways. I went to the wall and turned around, then he told me to stand in front of him and he was taking pictures. What a shame… But I can't help it, I'm so scared. After this strange photo shoot and weighing, the man left. I don't know how much time had passed, but I was very hungry. Luckily the man came back soon and brought a huge tray of food on a gurney. Fried chicken, potatoes, meat pies, pancakes, brownies and cake. There were also several bottles of soda and some pills.

-Whoa, why so much food, I can't eat that much. -No one's asking you. He told me to take two pills and a soda. After I drank them he left and closed the door behind him. I started eating and as usual I got full very quickly, literally after a couple wings my little tummy was full and I laid down to rest and fell asleep, I don't know how long I slept but after I woke up the food was still there and I was very very very hungry…. I started eating again. A few wings, then a brownie, washed it all down with soda, then wings again, then potatoes and then soda again… I could feel my stomach filling up, but the hunger didn't go away, and only after 30 minutes of eating and stopped for breath…. -Oh, God, what was that just now? -Ufff. I mumbled. I looked at the tray, it was covered in leftovers. I put my head down and saw that my stomach was protruding very much, as if I had been inflated like a car tire…. And it was so hard. I was very thin and this protuberance really stood out. I laid back on the bed and dozed off….. When I woke up, the tray was gone, but on the wall were my pictures and a graph with my weight written on it. God, what does that mean, am I being fattened up? I've always worked hard on my figure, I don't want to be fat, I need to exercise to burn off the calories from that gluttony. I got out of bed and started doing exercises, 50 squats, 10 push-ups and 50 abs, then I rested and did them again.

-Fuuuuh, now we can have a little snack, as long as we don't eat too much. Right after these words, this man came in again with a tray, this time there were mountains of fast food, 5 big burgers, a bucket of fries, wings, nuggets, and 2 bottles of coke. -Oh my god, I'm not allowed to eat that, I've always avoided fast food in my life-. But the man silently handed me two pills. -No, I won't take them, they make me unable to stop eating! In response to these words, he just took them and put them in my mouth, then clamped my nose and poured cola into my mouth, I had to swallow them…. -Good appetite- he said and left. I decided that a little fast food wouldn't hurt my figure, especially if I kept doing exercises, or even more exercises, yes, it wouldn't hurt. I took the smallest burger I could find and took a bite. -God, this is so good,” I said with my mouth full. And a wave of warmth spread through my body. -Yeah, one burger wouldn't hurt me. -Yeah. But I couldn't stop at one, as soon as I finished it I took a Coke to drink, I thought I'd just drink a little bit, but I started gulping it down greedily, like I hadn't had a drink in a year. I only stopped when I had half a bottle. Right after that, I went on a food binge. A burger, another one, fries, nuggets, all dipped in sauce and swallowed before I could chew. After 30 minutes of such piggishness, I felt nauseous and almost threw up. I decided to lie down and rest.

-I ate a ton of food again, my God, what am I turning into, but ok, I'll exercise some more and everything will be fine. I put my hand on my warm, bloated tummy and fell asleep. When I woke up I thought it would be a good idea to exercise. Like last time I got up and started squatting, but I stopped at 30 reps and sat on the bed…. The leftovers were beckoning me… -Okay, I've done enough, I can have a snack. I finished everything on the tray and went back to sleep… It went on like that for about two weeks

[holdinggrudges]

oxytocin

pairing: sam winchester x reader

content: EXPLICIT 18+, porn without plot, genuinely there is no plot, fem!reader, established relationship, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, edging, dom/sub dynamics like..a little bit, soft dom sam, size kink but also only a little bit, no use of y/n

word count: 2.3k

summary: Sam has a thing about control. So when the pieces don’t quite fall into place—when a hunt goes a little sideways, for example—Sam can get a little…twitchy. Antsy, irritable. What you’ve learned, though, is that it’s all too easy to give him back that control. To let him take it from you.

notes: i thought this was finished two days ago and then ended up writing, like, a thousand more words. whoops. anyways uhhh...i've never written anything quite like this before (this is my first ever legit pwp lmao) so uhh if it sucks don't tell me i'll cry

crossposted on ao3

Sam has a thing about control. You can’t fault him, of course; it’s actually sickening to think about how often his autonomy, his freedom of choice, has been wrested from him. Him turning into a bit of a control freak seems, frankly, like the best case scenario. It does mean that when the pieces don’t quite fall into place—when a hunt goes a little sideways, for example—Sam can get a little…twitchy. Antsy, irritable; you love him to death, but he’s a damn terror to be around when a hunt doesn’t go your way. What you’ve learned, though, is that it’s all too easy to give him back that control. To let him take it from you.

Two thick fingers press into your cunt, slow and leisurely, like he’s got all the time in the world, like you’re not falling apart in his lap. Like he doesn’t have you so wet it’s probably dripping down his wrist. He has your legs hooked over his, keeping you spread and open for him as he teases you. His smirk presses to your temple, your cheek, just below your ear as he plasters your face with soft kisses. “You’re doing so good,” he mutters, his lips brushing against your neck with the praise. “So perfect for me, you sound so pretty like this. Tell me when you’re close, okay, baby?” 

God, you’re not sure you’ll ever get there like this. “Sam, please.” You’re not above begging, not in the slightest, especially not right now. You feel like you’ve been here for hours, panting and whining on Sam’s lap. For fuck’s sake, you’ve still got your sweater on.

You feel more than hear the little laugh your whine drags out of Sam, a rumble in his chest where you’re plastered against him, a puff of air against your throat. “You need some help? Hmm?” he asks, dragging his unoccupied hand up your stomach and rucking your sweater up as he does. At the same time, his fingers curl inside you, stealing your breath and sending your head lolling back on his shoulder. 

“God—” Your hands scramble to grab onto something, anything, searching for purchase. In the end, one lands on Sam’s wrist as his hand cups your breast, the other grasping at the sheets below you, twisting them in your grip. 

His thumb brushes over your nipple, drawing a choked whimper from your throat. “Answer me, baby. Can you come like this, or do you need more?” 

How are you even supposed to think like this, let alone speak? “Fuck, Sam—” you manage to babble out, turning your head to hide in the crook of his neck. The smell of him floods your senses, pine and musk and just a little bit of sweat that lets you know he’s not as unaffected as he pretends to be. “More. I need more, please.” 

“There you go,” Sam coos at you. Then he shifts the angle of his hand so the meat of his palm grinds against your clit with every thrust of his fingers, dragging a guttural moan from your throat in the process. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? My good girl.” 

Curses spill from your lips like a chant as everything ramps up tenfold and leaves you struggling to keep up. Sam’s fingers, practised and precise, drag against your g-spot with every thrust and, combined with the pressure against your clit, they have you moaning and babbling incoherent pleas in moments. Your chest heaves with your panting, gasping breaths as the pressure in your gut grows and twists and builds until it threatens to send you careening over the edge. 

Sam’s wrist twists in your grip until you release it, letting that hand fall to white-knuckle the sheets below you with the other one. With his hand newly free, Sam draws his fingertips along your jaw and tilts your head up until he can see your face. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, sweet as candy, as if he’s not taking you apart. “Talk to me, baby. How’re we doin’?” 

Oh, he’s such a dick; he knows how you’re doing. Your pussy is pulsing around his fingers like a heartbeat, he knows damn well. He just wants you to say it. But you know what game you’re playing. “Sam…”

He presses his thumb to your lips, and his turn down on a frown that you know—you know—is performative, but that puppy look still digs its claws into your head. “Come on.” 

“Oh, fuck—” Sam curls his fingers, and your gut pulls so tight you almost forget to breathe. “Okay, I’m close, God, Sam, please—” You know it's coming, but it still comes as a stone cold shock to your system when Sam’s fingers still inside you and the pressure of his palm disappears from your clit. Your cunt flutters as the bliss that had been moments away fades out of reach; your thighs futilely trying to close, press together, but you're stopped by Sam’s legs holding them open. 

Sam carefully unsheathes his fingers from your cunt, and you could damn near sob.

He coos over the sound of your whine. “I know. But you're so pretty like this, sweetheart, so good for me.” His hand leaves your face to catch yours as you reach down to finish the job yourself, bringing it up to press a kiss to your knuckles. “Uh-uh. You trust me, don't you, pretty girl? I’ll take care of you.”

  You narrow your eyes, glaring even as you twist your hand to tangle your fingers with his. “You’re evil.” 

His laugh puffs over your lips as he leans down to press a quick kiss to them. It’s a little uncoordinated, and certainly not the best angle. But it’s a sweet apology. “Maybe I just thought you'd rather come on my cock.” 

Your next inhale is sharp, a response to the way his words make your neglected pussy flutter. You twist a little further, your nose bumping his with how close you are. “Are you gonna let me?” you ask, and your lips brush against his as you speak. 

He hums, and his eyes crinkle with the grin that he presses to your lips. “Say please—” he murmurs, the words washing over you like a wave— “and maybe I will.” Your hand tightens around his.

God, but if the power trip doesn't look good on him. The word comes out on a breath, just barely a whisper of, “Please.” 

Sam swallows the plea with a kiss, draws a gasp out of you as his teeth sink into your bottom lip and tug as he pulls away. “Please…what?” he urges, dragging a line of hot, open kisses along your jaw and down the line of your neck. “Come on. You want it, don’t you? Use your words.” 

You tip your head back, and you’re sure Sam feels you swallow around your need because the next kiss he lands on your throat is biting. “Please,” you say again, “please let me come on your cock.” 

Sam’s smile against your throat is so bright it almost burns, and he releases your hand from his grip. “Anything for you, baby.” He presses one last kiss to the base of your neck before his hands come up under your thighs, lifting you off his lap. “Come on.” 

You help him maneuver you until you’re laying on your back on the bed, and you take the opportunity to stretch your legs out, groaning at the stiffness from having them in that position for so long.

Sam kneels beside you, his hands squeezing at your thighs. “You alright?” he asks. His hands smooth up your legs to your hips before he draws them back down again in a pseudo-massage. 

You nod. “I’m okay,” you tell him, and then you let your thighs fall open to make room for him. You get the pleasure of watching his eyes snap from your face to your cunt, his pupils swallowing his irises whole. “Want you.” 

He lifts his gaze to yours again, and he holds it as he hooks his fingers under the waistband of his boxers and pulls them down and off.  “Whatever you want, beautiful,” he says, climbing over you and settling with his hips between your thighs before he pulls his shirt over his head. He tosses it aside and braces his hand beside your head.

Entirely shameless, you reach out to press a hand to his chest, admiring the solid planes of his stomach flexing as he holds himself up to hover above you. His muscles shift, a body perfectly designed to drag the tip of his cock through your folds. Your breath catches in your chest, your hand smoothing up and over his shoulders to tangle your fingers in his hair. 

He smiles, then his hand settles on your thigh. “C’mere,” he mutters, drawing your leg up over his hip. Your other leg follows suit, your ankles crossing. Keeping him close. “There you go.” With that, he presses inside you. He slides in easy—you weren’t exactly hurting for prep—but the stretch of your cunt around him still has you groaning in tandem with him. 

“Fuck, Sam—” you gasp as he bottoms out, his hips kissing yours. Somehow, you always manage to forget just how big he is until you’re so full you feel like you can feel him in your throat. 

Sam’s hand that’s not currently holding him up drags the hem of your sweater up until it’s bunched around your shoulders, leaving you, essentially, bare for him. He trails his fingers down your torso, watching the goosebumps that bloom on your stomach as he traces your skin. “Good?” he asks, his voice tight with the effort of keeping still inside you. 

“Yeah. So fucking full,” you moan, your eyes fluttering shut as his hand cups your breast. “But yeah, I’m good.” 

“Good.” He draws out, dragging along your walls until only the tip is left inside, and you brace for the punch of the next thrust. But it never comes. He lingers, teasing, until you open your eyes to see him smirking down at you. “You wanna beg for it?” 

“Oh, fuck off,” you groan, pressing your heels into his back in an effort to press him forward. He doesn’t budge. 

“I think you’re gonna,” he says, ducking his head to press his lips to the hinge of your jaw. “You wanna come? All you have to do is say please—” He brushes his thumb over your pebbled nipple, pulling a whimper from your throat— “and then I’ll fuck you so good, you know I will. Just let me hear it.” 

You turn your head to face him, staring him down, breathing in his air as you consider his proposal. You lift your head to brush your lips against his. “Please fuck me.” If you hadn’t been paying attention, you wouldn’t have noticed, but his hand flexes just so where he’s cupping your chest. “Sam. Please.” 

Sam draws you into a proper kiss at the same time he slams home into you. Although, a proper kiss is maybe not the best way to describe it. It’s more Sam licking into your open, panting mouth, swallowing the desperate, airy moans that his thrusts are punching out of you. The pace he sets isn’t fast, but it’s deep, and with his tongue on your mouth and his hand on your tits, it feels like you can feel him everywhere, like there isn’t a single part of your body that isn’t being consumed by him. 

“My beautiful girl,” Sam rasps as he pulls away. He drags kisses down your neck, and then skips right over the bulk of your sweater to scrape his teeth over your nipple at the same time his fingers pinch at the other. Your chest spasms on a sobbing moan, your nails scraping down his back, aching for purchase. The feeling is overwhelming, lighting up every nerve ending you have until the only thing you can think about is Sam—Sam’s mouth on your chest, Sam’s voice soothing heated skin, Sam’s fucking cock taking you apart. “You sound so wrecked, baby, look at you.” 

“Sam—” His name drips from your lips like a mantra, over and over and over like it’s the only thing you can say anymore. You’re so close, teetering so close to the edge that a light breeze could push you over. “God, please—” 

His hand abandons your chest, smoothing down your ribs and over your hip bone. “I got you. I said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” he says, and then he flattens his tongue over your nipple as he shoves his hand between your bodies to rub at your clit. 

It’s over—your whole body trembles with it, and you cry out as your orgasm crashes over you. Sam’s hips stutter where he’s fucking you through it, and then you feel him spill into you, the spasms of your pleasure having pulled him off the cliff right along with you. 

“Oh, fuck—there you go,” he gasps, his hips slowing to a stop as you both ride out the recovery. “So perfect, so good for me.” 

With the last of your energy, you lift your hands to his face to drag him into a spent, sloppy kiss. “Took such good care of me,” you mutter into his mouth, shivering while he takes the opportunity to carefully slide out of you. “Love you so much.” 

In a few minutes, the two of you will have to stumble out of bed to the bathroom, clean up and truly recover. But right now, Sam’s smile against your lips warms your chest enough to forget about his cum dripping from your cunt. “Love you too.” 

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Hey lovely :) can I request Agatha x fem! Reader? I love Agatha without inhibitions. Reader feels insecure for the appearance of her ex and Agatha notices it and assures/shows Reader that only Reader will always be her choice

Say it Like You Mean it !NSFW!

Agatha Harkness x fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT, lots of praise, soft Agatha, oral (r receiving), delayed orgasm, alternate universe--non-magic, Nicky is alive, coven is alive (family friends rather than coven), lots of domesticity

A/N: I have to be up in like five hours, but this was already in the works for three days and i did NOT want to make that four. Anyway, this is the longest oneshot I've written at 4,109 words. Enjoy<3

Agatha has always been open with you about her ex still being in her life, and you never had any problem with it. She’s nice to you–during the handful of times you’ve spoken–and when she stops by, it’s usually to pick up or drop off Nicky.

Thanksgiving has always been your favorite holiday. As a kid you had the tradition of waking up early with your mother to cook dinner for your whole family. It was the highlight of your year and you had hoped you’d be able to share it with your child. 

Agatha’s son had instantly taken a liking to you after meeting. You were nervous at first. Sure, you had babysat, but that was years ago when you were a teenager saving up for your 1999 Toyota Corolla. 

You were sitting in Agatha’s living room that evening, waiting for her conversation with the babysitter to end. Nicky, who was five at the time, sat beside you, practically forcing his toy trucks into your hands. He pointed to each part, telling you about its function, and then, with the brightest eyes you’ve ever seen, asked, “Do you wanna see my dinosaurs?”

And how could you say no to that?

So he took your hand and dragged you across the foyer to his playroom. He dumped out a small bin of plastic dinosaurs and began listing the names of them and what kind they are.

“This is a stegosaurus,” he said, holding out to you. “They were plant eaters!” He picked up another one from the pile. “This is a diplodocus! It’s a sauropod–they’re also plant eaters. They’re my favorite!” 

Nicky rambled on for almost ten minutes about his dinosaurs, until the front door shut and Agatha poked her head in and smiled. “What are you two up to?”

Nicky hopped up, running over with a dinosaur in his hand to give to Agatha, “I’m showing her my dinosaurs! And then I’m gonna go upstairs to my room and I’m gonna show her my stuffed animals!”

“Okay,” she said, “but don’t forget it’s bath night.”

Nicky’s head fell back and he groaned, “But I don’t want to, Mama!”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Agatha sighed. She crossed her arms, swishing her lips from side to side like she was deep in thought. “I guess that ice cream I got you will go to waste then…”

“No! No! No, I’ll take a bath, Mama!” you could hear the panic in his voice and the idea of showing you his stuffed animal collection was now out the window. 

“Mhm…Go upstairs and pick out your jammies. I’ll be up soon.” Agatha smiled and shook her head as he ran out.

You could hear the little pitter patter of his feet on the stairs and when you began picking up the dinosaurs, she stopped you. “Oh, you don’t need to do that.We’re trying to get him to clean up his messes.”

The sun had just completely set when Nicky ran down the stairs with wet hair and fresh pajamas. He darted into the kitchen where Agatha had left you with a glass of wine, completely ignoring you and pulling the freezer door open.

“Can I have some now, Mama?” he whined as Agatha followed in.

“Yes,” she said and gave him a pointed look. “But only two scoops.”

The next sound was a small step stool scooting across the floor as Agatha got him a bowl down from a cabinet and handed him the ice cream scoop. He opened the ice cream quickly and pressed down hard with the spoon, just managing to get two decent sized scoops into his plastic bowl.

It was a quiet night, and after a movie Nicky chose had ended, he hugged you goodnight and went with Agatha to get ready for bed. 

Before she got back, you put on a movie that was more…romantic than Finding Nemo and when she did return, she had her own pajamas on and she had two spoons and a tub of ice cream with her.

“Oh, perfect!” You smiled as she sat down and kissed you softly. 

With the movie on in the background, the two of you sat on the couch. You faced each other, talking about your lives while taking bites of the ice cream in between your words. 

You were so close together, close enough that you could smell the floral undertones that her skincare routine had left behind. You could see the rings around her irises that were just a few shades darker than the blue inside. You could see the fine lines over her forehead and the smile lines around her lips. The crows feet at the corners of her eyes were your favorite.

After taking a bite of the chocolate ice cream, Agatha sighed and smiled at you. But it wasn’t just any smile. This smile was warm, it was filled with adoration, and it was filled with love. 

“Thank you,” she said. 

You looked at her, confused. “For what?”

“For…I don’t know,” she sighed. “I stopped bringing home dates because they’d usually text me a few days later and break things off. They haven’t been like…you.”

“Me?” you said, raising your eyebrows and smiling.

“Most of the time, whether or not I’d bring them home, they’d break it off after a few weeks,” she continued. “They didn’t want to be ‘responsible for a kid’ or they didn’t like that my ex-wife is still in the picture. I don’t blame them, but it still hurt.”

“Well they’re crazy and they don’t know what they’re talking about,” you scoffed, taking another bite of ice cream. “Because you’re amazing, and Nicky is a great kid. I know I only met him tonight, but I think I love him already.”

Agatha was quiet for a moment before she spoke again, her voice soft as she kept tears at bay. “I love you.”

That was the first time she had said it to you. Eight months later, on your one year anniversary, she asked you to move in and you immediately put your apartment up for lease. 

Two months after that, as you made him lunch, you asked Nicky if he’d want to help you cook Thanksgiving dinner. You received a very enthusiastic response and now, a week later, you’re waking up in your shared bed with Agatha.

The piercing sound of your alarm rings out from your phone. Your eyes, heavy with sleep, blink open and you stretch.

“It’s not even light out,” Agatha groans as you turn it off. She rolls over to face you, her voice muffled by her pillow. “Stay in bed, we don’t need to eat tonight.”

You swing your legs over the bed and yawn before standing up. You pull on a robe before rounding the bed, heading towards the bathroom and stopping to kiss Agatha on the cheek. “Go back to sleep. No one likes when you’re cranky.”

“I don’t get cranky!” Agatha calls back as you go into the bathroom to start your day.

Nicky is fast asleep when you enter his room. You creep over quietly and crouch down, softly stroking his hair and whispering his name. “It’s time to get up.”

He groans and stretches, rubbing his eyes sleepily. “What time is it?”

“It’s six,” you whisper. “But we’re cooking today, remember? Come on.”

While Nicky sits at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal, you begin to prep the materials needed. Stacks of bowls sit on the counter with whisks and sheet pans, casserole dishes and a baster. 

“What are we making?” Nicky asks, his mouth full of Lucky Charms–something Agatha had berated you for after you got them, because there’s “too much sugar and his teeth will rot”. But, as usual, she was placated with kisses and an agreement that it’ll only be for special occasions.

“Well,” you huff, taking the thawed turkey out of the fridge, “we’re gonna be making turkey and stuffing, and we’re also making mashed potatoes and gravy and cranberry sauce.” You flit from one side of the kitchen to the next, gathering dry ingredients and herbs. “And we’re also making sweet potato casserole and rolls, roasted brussel sprouts, green beans, and for you–mac and cheese.”

“What about the pies?”

“I made them yesterday,” you say. “They take a lot of time to make so I like to do it the day before.”

There’s a long silence as he drinks the milk from the bowl.

“Is Mom coming?” he finally asks, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

You think back to when he begged Agatha to let Rio come to Thanksgiving. She was hesitant about it, having no idea how it would go down with you now there, but you told her you have no problem with it–as long as Nicky is happy, you’re happy.

“She is!” you say brightly. “She texted Mama yesterday. She’ll be here around noon.”

With the turkey roaster preheating, Nicky stands beside you on a step stool, mixing the herb butter together as you stuff the turkey. The sun is beginning to rise and it coats the kitchen in a warm light as you help Nicky baste the turkey with the butter.

“It looks perfect!” you exclaim. “This is going to be the best turkey ever. Alright, go wash your hands, Chef Nicky.”

You put on a pot of coffee, knowing that Agatha would be up within the hour, and then begin to help Nicky with preparation for the gravy and cranberry sauce. The kitchen is filled with the aroma of orange zest when Agatha comes downstairs. She gives a sleepy good morning to both you and greets you with a kiss before getting herself a cup of coffee.

“It smells good,” she says, pushing the lever on the toaster and retrieving the butter and jam for her English muffin. 

“The gravy is done, it’s on the back burner,” you explain. “We’re making the cranberry sauce now, and the turkey’s roasting now. Nicky has been a very helpful chef.”

Agatha smiles and sips her coffee, “I’m glad! Rio said she’ll be here closer to one, Alice and Lilia both said one-thirty, Jen said one, and Sharon said noon–I still don’t understand why you invited her.”

You glance at her and sigh as you continue to mix the cranberries, “Because she’s a friend, Agatha. She’s very nice once you get to know her.”

“I’ve barely interacted with her,” she reasons. “The last time I spoke to her not over text was two weeks ago on that walk we took.”

You turn to her, “Oh, that was a nice walk.”

“It was,” Agatha agrees.

“The last day of warm weather,” you sigh. “But anyway, she’s coming. I know you don’t talk to her much, but she and I talk frequently. Sometimes I even go over to help her with her garden.”

At eleven, you and Nicky pause the kitchen revelries to get dressed. When you enter the kitchen again, in a simple knitted dress, Agatha looks up from her phone. She immediately sets it down and gives you that look—the look where eyes go dark and she bites the inside of her lip, the look that always precedes her bending you over the counter.

“Honey, I know you’re cooking a whole seven course meal…” she says, her eyes not meeting yours but instead looking you up and down as her finger traced along the bottom of her lip. “But, quite frankly, I think the only thing I want to eat tonight is you.”

“Oh, stop it, Aggie,” you scoff, walking past her. You jump slightly and gasp when her hand lightly slaps your ass. “Agatha Harkness! What is the matter with you?”

You try not to smile as she winks at you and grins. When Nicky comes down, his button-up is completely undone on account of his “fingers being too small” and Agatha happily assists him. A knock on the door interrupts your conversation and Nicky runs over, letting Sharon in.

She walks into the kitchen, a pie in hand, saying, “I know you said not to bring anything, but I never like to go somewhere empty handed, so I brought a pumpkin pie.”

You accept it gratefully and place it on the counter with the other pies you had baked the previous night. “Can you get you anything? We have wine and other liquors, coffee, water…”

“A glass of red would be wonderful,” she says. “Thank you. Is there anything I can help you with in the kitchen?”

“Actually, I haven’t had time to set out the hors d’oeuvres. If you’d like to, that’d be a big help.” You look past her and give Agatha a pointed look as she pauses taking a sip of her wine.

She looks at you defensively, but there’s an air of humor in her tone, “What? Oh, the hors d’oeuvres. Yeah, I’ll help her.”

You mouth a quick, Thank you, to her before turning back to your station in the kitchen and helping Nicky mash the potatoes. Agatha and Sharon share small talk–one of Agatha’s least favorite things–while they set up the charcuterie boards, and they finish just in time for the front door to open and let in the loud voices of Rio and Jen.

“I’m just saying, Jennifer, I don’t think your “uncharged” crystals are why you were almost hit by a car,” Rio huffs. “Maybe it’s because you were doing one of your daily vlogs and weren’t paying attention when the crosswalk signal said not to go!”

As Jen heads straight for a bottle of wine, Rio sighs and lifts her sunglasses to her hair, smiling brightly when Nicky runs into her arms. 

“We’re making the mashed potatoes and I helped make the gravy and the berry sauce. I also helped make the turkey and she’s making mac and cheese for me too,” he rambles.

Rio listens tentatively, “Well, I think this will be the most delicious dinner ever.”

Your head is down, cutting up the veggies for the stuffing, but you still catch Agatha out of the corner of your eye taking the biggest gulp of wine you’ve seen. When Nicky abandons his station in the kitchen to follow Rio to the living room, Agatha makes her way behind you. You feel her arms wrap around your waist as she kisses your shoulder and rests her chin on it. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

You sniffle and continue dicing the onion that’s on the cutting board, “You can wipe away some of these tears.”

She reaches up with her sleeve pulled over her thumb and drags it beneath your waterline. You lean your head back, smiling, and kiss her lightly, “Thank you.”

When Lilia and Alice show up, the gathering is in full swing. Agatha continues to take over Nicky’s role in the kitchen while he watches A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving with Rio, and the rest of the group sits around the kitchen island with wine and hors d’oeuvres. She helps with the brussel sprouts, marinating them in the balsamic vinegar mixture before moving to the sweet potatoes and beginning the casserole.

The sun has just set below the horizon and you’re basting the turkey one last time. A nice golden brown skin has formed over it, the smells of the herbs and the vegetables swirling together in a delicious aroma. Dishes are slowly brought out from the oven warmer and placed on the long dining room table. The rolls, freshly baked, are the last to be placed on the table, following the turkey.

Throughout dinner, conversations bounce from one topic to the next. From a particularly biting quarrel between Jen and Agatha about whether or not crystals could be infused into skincare, to Alice and Lilia discussing their travel plans for next summer, and Sharon and Rio having a polite discussion about gardening techniques and the best flowers for their yards.

And you sit in the midst of it. As you converse with your friends, every now and then Agatha would catch your eye. This time, she’s taking a sip of her wine when she throws you a wink, grinning when you get visibly flustered. 

The rest of the night is quiet. Around eight-thirty, after dessert, Nicky is passed out on the living room couch. While you stay in the kitchen, cleaning up, Agatha takes him to bed.

The rest of your guests are in the living room and you’re left alone with Rio, who helps you with the dishes while you pack up the leftovers. There’s silence–you can’t tell if it’s awkward, but it’s thick, and it’s heavy.

“Nicky really likes you,” Rio speaks up.

“Does he?” you ask, not turning your head.

Rio turns the sink off and dries her hands. She comes to stand beside you and helps you pack the rest of the leftovers. “Yeah. He talks about you a lot…I’m glad he has another person who cares about him. He gets picked on in school a lot.”

Part of your heart breaks at her words, “Oh…I didn’t know…”

“I don’t blame you,” Rio shrugs. “Agatha’s always been reserved…even if you have been together for a year.” She stops what she’s doing and turns toward you. “I guess I can see what she sees in you…you’re pretty–enough. Not really her type, but to each his own–Well, speak of the devil!”

Your conversation is interrupted by Agatha walking into the kitchen. She huffs as she starts a pot of decaf coffee, “That kid is knocked out.”

Rio smiles at you and puts the final lid on a tupperware container. “Well, I think I should get going. Thank you for having me, the food was delicious.”

The house is dead quiet. It’s almost ten and the rest of your friends have left for the night. When the door to your bedroom has finally shut and you’re in the bathroom getting ready for bed, you can finally breathe. Thanksgiving had gone as well as you planned, but Rio’s words still swirl around in your head.

You’re pretty–enough.

Those words coming from someone else usually wouldn’t affect you. But this was Rio. Charismatic, dark haired, the perfectly perfect Rio that Nicky dotes over. Rio, who is also your girlfriend’s ex-wife–the standard for all other partners to come. And how could you live up to her?

“You okay, hon?”

Agatha’s voice cuts through your thoughts as she places a kiss on your temple. “You’ve been brushing the right side of your mouth for like two minutes.”

“Yeah,” you say, spitting out your toothpaste. “I’m fine.”

Save for the street lights peeking through the curtains, your bedroom is almost pitch dark. Agatha holds you close, her left arm draped over your waist. You can feel her chest rising and falling against your back and her breath softly fanning the back of your neck. But as comfortable and safe as you feel in her arms, there’s only one thing on your mind.

“Agatha?” you mutter, earning a soft hum from her in response. “Do you think I’m pretty?”

Her arm leaves your waist and it’s quiet until the lamp on her side of the bed turns on. You turn over and she’s looking at you like you’re crazy. 

“What did you say?”

“Do you think I’m pretty?” you repeat.

Agatha leans over you and raises an eyebrow, “Well, considering that I told you I’d rather eat you than Thanksgiving dinner, I’d say so.”

You sigh and give her half-hearted smile. “Okay.”

Before you’re able to roll back over she stops you, “Why are you asking me this?”

“It doesn’t matter, Agatha,” you huff.

“No,” she says, her voice growing stern. “Why are you asking me this?”

You can see the genuine concern in her eyes and you cave. “Rio and I were talking…” 

She lets out an exasperated sigh, closing her eyes and letting her head hang. “She needs to stop doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“She doesn’t think anyone will ever be ‘good enough’ to ‘replace her’,” Agatha says. “I’ve told her a million times to stop.”

Your voice is quiet as she looks at you, her hand coming down to your waist and running up and down. “So…you…do you think I’m good enough–pretty enough for you?”

Her entire demeanor changes. She had seemed annoyed, but now her concern has an air of frustration–towards Rio, towards her words, wondering why she would ever make you feel this way.

Her voice is stern as she speaks. It’s a tone you’ve only ever heard her use with Nicky when he’s in trouble. “You are…more than enough for me. You are beautiful–inside and out. Not a single person I’ve been with can be compared to you–not even Rio. Especially Rio. Now say it. Tell me you’re beautiful.”

“Agatha…I–”

“Say it.” 

“Fine. I’m beautiful,” you sigh.

“That’s not good enough.” Agatha shifts and straddles your hips. “Say it again.”

“Agatha, what are you–?”

“Say it!” she says again. “Like you mean it!”

You roll your eyes before she leans down and kisses you. When she pulls away, her nose is brushing yours. “Tell me you’re beautiful.”

“I’m beautiful,” you huff.

“I guess I’ll have to do this the hard way,” she mutters. Before you can ask her what the hell she means, your question is answered. Her lips brush over your neck and up to your ear. “Tell me that you’re good enough,” she whispers.

Your breathing speeds up as her hands slide under your tank top. Goosebumps crawl across your skin and you find it hard to form any words that would satisfy Agatha. “I–um–Agatha, I’m–”

She pushes your tank top up and attaches her lips to your navel. Your eyes are closed as you arch into her and she grins against your skin. “Say it…” she mutters.

You take a deep breath when she pulls your pajama shorts down and then your underwear. “I’m…good enough.”

“Better,” she says softly and takes delight in the way you whimper at her touch. “Say it again and I’ll give you what you want.”

You groan, “I’m good enough.”

“Good girl.” Her tongue runs up your slit  and circles around your clit. “Say it again. You’re good enough for me.”

“You’re good enough for me,” you mock.

Agatha pinches the inside of your thigh hard and smiles, “Don’t be a smartass.”

You huff, “Fine…I’m good enough for you.”

You’re becoming less tense as she continues. You melt into her touch as she has you repeat these affirmations. You had never had someone do this–especially in this way. And she was so soft with you. It was almost like she was a whole different person.

Your head rolls from side to side, your hand grabs hers, and your back arches as you get closer and closer to finishing. When you speak, your breath comes out in short bursts, “Agatha, I–I need to cum–please, please, please.”

“Tell me you’re beautiful,” she says.

“Agatha, please!” you cry.” I can’t–oh my god!”

She pulls away and looks up at you with a stern gaze, “Tell me you’re beautiful and I’ll let you finish.”

“Fuck! Fine!” Your hand grasps the pillow beneath your head tightly. “I’m beautiful! I’m beautiful, Agatha! Please, please, let me cum, please!”

She holds your legs open as you shake under her. You had been fucked countless times by her in different places and in different ways, but somehow this was the best orgasm she had ever drawn from you.

When you go limp, Agatha slowly kisses her way back up your body, savoring every drop of this intimate moment. She reaches your face and kisses you softly. With her hand cupping your cheek, she looks in your eyes and her voice lowers, “Now, tell me that you deserve to be happy.”

“Ag–”

“Say it. You deserve to be happy, so say it.”

Your fingers are tracing up and down on her arm. You have to hold back tears and your voice breaks when you repeat the words back to her, “I…I deserve to be happy.” Your voice is quieter, “I deserve happiness.”

Agatha smiles and nods, “You do. You’re beautiful and you’re good enough. And I love you, and nobody will ever change that–especially Rio.” She pauses, looking over your face and kissing you softly before looking you in your eyes again. “And if you need me to, I will tell you every single day until it’s engraved in that pretty head of yours.”

And when your mouth opens to speak, your throat is tight and tears roll down your temples. But still, you manage to get out a quiet, “Thank you.”

[alwaysobsessed777]

Based this request off the pictures of Nika flexing at the top of your profile, plus the pictures she’s posted working out and then that video of her doing leg exercises and her quads looking insane- Nika’s girlfriend just being a simp for Nika and how strong, hot and beautiful she is but also being funny and telling her that Paige has bigger muscles than her now (which honestly might be true lol)

2 HANDS - N.M.

I honestly think I write for nika the best....idk what that's about

Back at the shared dorm rooms of the UConn women's basketball team, I laid on the couch waiting for my girlfriend to come back. None of the team really cared that was constantly around. Honestly, they probably enjoyed the fact that when I was around, Nika wasn't getting on to them about something.

My phone was starting to become boring, but at the last second, a edit of Nika popped up. The edit flowing with whatever song was trending on tiktok at the moment. The clips showing Nika frustrated or just looking fine.

As the video played over and over again, the sound of keys jiggling into the keyhole made me jump up. The door opening in a second.

"I mea-Babe....you okay?" Nika stopped mid conversation to ask me, my nervous state more obvious than I'd like. Her strides quick and determined as she made her way to me. Her hands holding my arms as she looked me in the eyes.

"uh...yeah...yep," I could hear the faint sound of the music playing over and over again in the back. My nerved sky rocketing as Nika grabbed my phone.

"holy shit..." her eyes seemed to light up a little, "you were watching edits of me."

Paige snickered, "she couldn't help herself, thinking of you at the gym and everything, twin!"

Heat rose to my cheeks, "I...i wasn't watching edits. It just so happened to come on as you came home." Paige mention of the gym made my thoughts run back to what Nika looked like there. Sweating, muscles popping, a shiver ran down my spine.

"Sure, bebo." She rolled her eyes, handing me my phone back. "Couldn't help but think of these bad boys, huh?" As she flexed her arms, I couldn't help but bite my lip.

"put those awayyyy... don't wanna scare me off, do ya?" Her airy chuckle made my nerves settled a little, "but..."

An eyebrow raised as Nika looked at me, "but what?"

"I do think Paige is starting to get bigger....but who knows," a smirk rested on my lips, watching my girlfriend's face drop. She called the blonde back into the room.

"Paige! Get your ass in here!" A second passed before the blonde walked in, shorts and a sports bra the only thing covering her body. "Tell my girlfriend that I've got bigger muscles than you."

"what?!? No!" She waved her hand, shooing the girl off, "she's obviously knows what she's talking about."

Dumbfounded, Nika gave me a look, "babe...do you really think her muscles are bigger than mine?"

I shake my head, watching the girl's smile return. With one swift motion, she picked me up, walking us to her room. "Nika!"

"hmm?"

"put me down!"

"once I get you to my room, than I'll put you down," the smirk was huge, and undeniably doing something to me.

I rolled my eyes, waiting for the girl to put me down on her bed. She placed me down, standing back up to throw her shirt off her body. You would think this would go somewhere else, but it didn't go there. She started flexing, wiggling her brows down at me.

"Paige wouldn't have been able to carry you...she got fake muscles. I got the real ones, " I snicker.

"baby, I was just joking," she sighed, I stood up and wrapped my arms around her torso, "you're the strongest, sexiest woman I've ever seen. Is that better?"

She laughed, "Maybe not ask if that's better....but it definitely sounds good you calling me sexy."

We stood there for a minute, in each other's arms. I couldn't deny the fact that I was into the girl, possibly in love, but I didn't wanna be the first to say it. I didn't wanna sound dumb...but to my surprise, I wouldn't have to wait much longer.

"I love you...ya know?" Nika sounded uncertain, careful with her words. A smiled stretched across my face.

"I love you too...ya know," I leaned up to kiss her lips, "you and those gigantic muscles you have."

"you're so unserious," shaking her head, a small laugh came out.

"yeah yeah.... that's nothing knew."

[hypnonerd1095]

Contract

"Wake up Amanda"

Amanda blinked, confusion and drowsiness washing over her as she stumbled a bit, thankfully the man who had spoken to her was quick to catch her and steady her back on her feet.

"Easy there Amanda, I know it's disorienting, just take it slow. Good girl" the man said reassuringly

She shook her head a bit, trying to regain her bearings. She hadn't responded to the name Amanda for over a month now, it took a moment to even recognize the man was speaking to her, but being called a good girl sent a wave of calm and contentment through her that helped slow her thoughts enough to focus. That was right, she was Amanda, and this man had been her employer for the past month... what was his name again? The memory of that was fuzzy, the only name she could come up with was Master...

"Ngh... is it always this bothersome when we wake up?" Amanda grumbled, letting Master guide her to a chair as she rubbed her temples "no offense Master, but you should really work on this... also why can't I remember your name?"

Master chuckled "it gets easier the more used to it you become. This was your first time so it makes sense your thoughts are jumbled. As for my name, that's a bit of a safety precaution. Can't have you spreading word about this position around after your employment ends, everything is technically above board, but you never know what kind of protesters might show up on principle" he explained

"Right... the position... " Amanda mumbled "so I've seriously been your slave for a month? I can only remember bits and pieces. Guess that's part of it huh?"

"Yes, we can negotiate how much you do or don't want to remember. Some of my girls enjoy knowing exactly what is being done to them in their waking lives, some wish to leave their work lives separate. For trial runs like this we default to partial remembrance, in case you decide not to renew" Master said with a nod, providing her a laptop "feel free to confirm your payment was received and anything else you like. I'll have a servant bring you something to drink that should help. We can talk more when your head is fully clear"

Amanda nodded, logging into her bank account, wow, that was a lot more zeroes at the end of her balance than she was used to. Checking the transaction history, it was legit. Exactly the amount he'd promised, and a little more to boot for "extraordinary performance." She didn't know what that referred to but she blushed at the words, she had a decent idea.

A woman "dressed" in what one might classify as "underwear" if they were feeling generous came in with a plate of food and a fizzy drink. Amanda couldn't help but steal glances at the woman as she stood at attention, smiling down at Amanda blissfully.

"T-thanks" Amanda murmured, focusing on her meal. Is that what she'd looked like? The woman seemed so happy and content, didn't even seem cold from the lack of clothing.

It was hard to believe this job was real. Voluntarily be turned into a hypnotized slave for a predetermined length of time, all living expenses covered, and get paid a generous wage to use as she saw fit during her time off. She could even set limits on what tasks she'd be used for... though the less restrictions she placed on her service the more she was paid.

When Master had approached her with his offer she'd almost called the cops on him to have him carted away to an asylum. Only a sizable up front deposit had convinced her to humor him... but there was no denying it was real now.

When Master returned, he carried with him several different contracts. "Now that you've had time to clear your head, I've brought you options to review going forward. You can, of course, decide this job isn't for you. But you did quite well here, I'm prepared to offer you quite a generous starting wage." he said, putting the various contracts down in front of her.

Amanda looked over the contracts, various lengths, with varying amounts of time on and off duty. With what she'd made already she could easily walk away, this nest egg would carry her a long time. She could go back to her old boring job, serving customers with a fake smile, following inane orders from bosses who either didn't know or didn't care how impossible their expectations were. All for a pitiful wage that wasn't remotely worth it. It'd be better now, with these savings she had... but...

Amanda glanced at the slave next to her, that blissful expression mixed with arousal now that Master was here. Was being a hypnotized slave really worse than being a wage slave? She could feel like THAT all day, and live in luxury on her weeks off. Work this job for a few years and she could even retire!

She barely needed to think about it as she took the longest-term contract on offer, filled out her choice of restrictions, and signed her name. Probably the last time she'd be using her name for quite a while. Her Master smiled.

"Glad to have you with us, my Good Girl. Now then, slave A-42 activate"

Amanda smiled as the trigger took hold, she was going to enjoy this new job.

[fancyfeathers]

So I've seen a lot your story with Robin!Darling and Villain!Batboys, it's pretty interesting but how about Bruce? Can we get some scenario about them and it doesn't need yandere or something(depends on you obv) but pure Platonic relationship between them, like Father-Daughter things

Yandere!Batboys as Villains with Robin!Darlings AU Masterlist

YES! OH MY GOD YES! GIRL DAD BRUCE!!

So starting off since Dick’s darling was the first darling and her parents also murdered, she was practically raised by Bruce, like if someone asks her…

“Oh ya, he’s my dad.”

Her parents were scientists who worked with him as Batman and who were friends of Bruce and were murdered in attempt to steal their research, Bruce came just in time to save their daughter but he was too late to save them. Now Bruce tried to find any family but she didn’t have any left and the last thing he was about to do is leave this little girl who was mourning her parents in the care of people she doesn’t even know, so he takes it upon himself to adopt her, besides if he didn’t do it Alfred would have.

He drops a lot of the playboy persona because she needs someone there for her, he understands that first hand after both of his own parents were killed in front of him as well. So now the media more portrays Bruce as the DILFY single parent he is, raising his friend’s daughter on his own and then soon enough she stops being just his late friend’s daughter and instead his daughter, he doesn’t know exactly when the change occurred, it could have been when he thought the manor was in danger and he raced back and everything was perfectly safe but the first thing he did was to go look for her and the moment he saw her he picks her up in a hug and holds her close, or when he is woken up to her crying across the halls and immediately he runs and finds out she had a nightmare about her parents dying and she asks him to stay but her and he stay by her side until she wakes up, or maybe it was one of first days she was Robin and as if out of instinct he picks her up by the scruff of her cape like a kitten or pulls her under his cape in order to hide her…

He just knows when she called him dad for the first time when she was nearly falling asleep during patrol it just felt right.

Bruce was friends with Harvey Dent before he became Two Face, so that means that he was like an uncle to Harvey’s daughters when they were growing up. While she was a good kid growing up, Jason’s darling had her problems, namely sneaking out which led her to end up being kidnapped and held for ransom from a few people who had a bone to pick with the district attorney. She very well would have ended up getting shot if it was not for Bruce coming in just in time to rescue her. But when the Batman is untying her and telling her that her father and the police should be outside any minute now-

“Uncle Bruce, I know it’s you, I’m not dumb you know.”

Sass was another one of her issues along with the ability to irritate any adult she meets until they give her exactly what she wants, and in this case that was to be the next Robin since it’s kinda obvious Dick’s darling moved on from the mantle and became Dove instead. At first Bruce refuses every time because her father would never forgive him if something happened to her, but eventually he so happens to see her taking on a guy half her size in a local gang that was harassing her friend that she was out with, and she won. So Bruce gives in and gives her a suit on the condition that she will tell her dad one day…

Eventually Jason’s darling graduates high school and Bruce is at the ceremony with Harvey’s family and Dick’s darling. Then a few months after graduation the accident happens to her father and Harvey becomes Two Face. Bruce takes in Jason’s darling and her little sister while they regroup, her little sister becoming his ward because he knows he will never be able to replace their father.

She is staying in Gotham and is gonna go to law school and become just like her dad, when he okay in the head he was one of her two greatest role models. But Jason’s darling is different, she gives up the mantle of Robin willing and becomes Phoenix and her main priority is to help young people her age to stay out of crime, but that back fries when she bites off more than she can chew one day and encounters the Joker. We all know what happened to Jason in the Arkham games, that’s what happened to her, except she was killed in the end.

Bruce remembers seeing the footage and knew he would have to be the one to tell her little sister and find Harvey and show him because even for who he is now, Harvey deserves to know what happened to his daughter.

Bruce was the one who had to give the eulogy at her funeral and he felt sick to his stomach during the whole thing, guilt eating him alive because he should have been there to save her but he wasn’t able to in the end. Yet he still has to look after her little sister because she has no one else now, he still has to be strong for her.

When Jason’s darling is brought back to life by Damian in a ploy to get information out of her, she feels just as guilty as Bruce does because she told the Heir of the Demon’s Head everything about her little sister, with no idea while she was gone that Tim’s darling had become Robin and then passed the mantle on to Damian’s darling, her little sister.

She eventually escapes by some miracle and eventually finds a phone to call Bruce, she is crying, she is scared and alone, worried that he’ll be mad at her for everything, but he is overwhelmed that she is alive that when he gets to her in person it’s the first time she has ever seen him cry.

Bruce meets Tim’s darling when his youngest ward comes home with her, she is an upperclassman but they have a few classes together. He is happy that she is able to make peace and not let the death of Jason’s darling pin her down for the rest of her life. Tim’s darling is a sweet girl that reminds Bruce way too much of his last Robin, especially when…

“You’re the Batman! Woah that’s so cool!”

“…Did you tell her?”

“No I did not, Uncle Bruce.”

It comes a normal occurrence for Tim’s darling just showing up at the manor randomly, Alfred making her hot chocolate while she sits at the kitchen counter while she complains about her parents never being home, both of them are doctors at Arkham Asylum that care more about their work than the daughter they had that is eating alone most nights. Her parents are never at anything, none of her art shows or choir performances, it’s just her standing alone while all the other kids having their parents and families with them and after words she has to take the city bus home, all alone…

But then Bruce hears her talking to Alfred about that in the kitchen one day and realizes if he was not there for Jason’s darling then he will make up for his mistakes with Tim’s darling. So at her spring art show and she is sitting alone at her display, only strangers giving her compliments on her art, not her friends on her family.

“Tell me about this one?”

Her ears immediately perk up and she looks up to see Bruce Wayne and Dick’s darling and Damian’s darling next to him. He gives her a bouquet of flowers and she just immediately breaks down crying, because no one has ever done anything like this for her.

Family dinners at the Wayne Manor now include Tim’s darling, she comes home with Damian’s darling after school and normally she leaves after dinner before Bruce goes on patrol but on a night where Bruce knows her parents aren’t going to be home he insists she stays at the manor, she was her own room now.

Eventually she even convinced Bruce to let her become Robin, well convinces, she saves his life when she drags his unconscious body out of an alley when she spotted him on her way home.

But then her parents finally finds out about her visits to Wayne Manor, not about her being Robin, and they are pissed because it is their child, Bruce just snaps when they call their daughter an it…

“You two may leave, my lawyers will be in contact and I will see you two in court.”

“Excuse me?”

“I am taking you to court on negligence charges, and trust me you will not win.”

And he was right, they were lucky that they didn’t loose their jobs at Arkham, but Bruce doesn’t really care. He just cares about the young lady and helping her feel more comfortable at her new home…

But that isn’t necessary because Wayne Manor is already her home.

Then there is Damian’s darling, the youngest in the bunch, even if she is sixteen when she moves to Wayne Manor with her big sister after her father became Two Face. Life has been hard on her, so she just needs to process one thing at a time, including the death of her big sister. Bruce does his best to be there for her and he just can’t help but be reminded of Dick’s darling when she was young, the way she crawls into his bed after patrols or when he finds her asleep in the Batcave, waiting for him to get back.

She is young and sometimes she just needs to be held.

But the worst experience in her recovery is when she accidentally finds the video of what happened to her sister when contacting Oracle on the Batcomupter when the comm lines where hacked and she just shuts down, can’t even move and can barely even breathe. So when Bruce comes back to the cave he just finds her in a completely state of shock, everyone does everything they can to snap her out of it but she is in complete shock for almost a week, it’s enough challenge to get her to eat or drink anything, let alone anything else.

But when she snaps out of it, she has had time to process a few things and she goes to Bruce and tells him something…

“I want to be Robin…”

Tim’s darling has left the mantle behind and became Strigidae, and she wants to pick up where her sister left off. But Bruce’s biggest condition is that she has to train with him for a year, no patrols or anything until the year is over, even if her training is almost over.

Tim is hard on her but in the way he needs to be, like a father with their child. He is patient with her and they will train for hours on end, doing the same thing over and over again and he will tell her what she did wrong so she learns how to do it right, but he is hard on her because he is not letting anything happen to her.

The first night she is out with him as Robin, picture how Dick Grayson was as Robin, specifically this comic and honestly her mischief as Robin brings such a smile to Bruce which is both unsettling to see on Batman and a refreshing thing for him…

But that happiness is over when they encountered Ra’s Al Ghul together. He wanted to yell at her to run and he feels just as terrified as he did when her big sister went missing. But without her he doesn’t know what would have happened because she throws a Batarang at the Demon’s Head’ hand just in time, the blade pinning his hand to the wall. When they get out of there, Bruce picks her up and holds her close because if something went wrong then she would have ended up dead and he can’t loose her too.

Then when her big sister comes back home, he doesn’t care what is going on in that moment, it means the world to see the sisters reunite, the happiest he has seen them in years.

But then when Damian encounters his darling and carves into her, Bruce amps everything up, no one patrols alone, three minute check ups on the comm lines with Oracle, if something happens they immediately report it, if some one gets hurt then they go to the Clocktower or the Batcave immediately.

They are a family and a family looks after each other.

Extra things:

The Batgirls are also good, so imagine sister nights with the darlings and Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Barbara Gordon, Kate Kane (or Auntie Kate to Jason’s and Damian’s darlings), Helena Bertinelli, you get the idea. So all of them take over the movie theater in the house and have a girl’s night, locking Bruce, Duke, and Alfred out.

Duke is also good in this AU, I really can’t picture him as a villain, he is their baby brother who gets doted on by his big sisters all the time.

I love the idea of Bruce being on top of all his girl’s schedules, like as they are walking out of the door in the morning, Bruce is there handing each other them things like…

“You have ballet rehearsal today, make sure to break your shoes in.”

*hands Dick’s darling her new pointe shoes that arrived in the mail last night*

“Test today at 1:00, make sure to study chapters twenty and twenty one during your lunch study session.”

*hands Jason’s darling her law text book*

“Remember your gallery showing is at 7:00 tonight, I’ll be there at 6:30 to make sure you have everything set up-“

“Dad, I’ll be fine.”

“You left a can of paint out last time and you tripped five minutes before the doors opened and you were covered in green paint when people came in.”

*hands Tim’s darling a bag with a change of spare clothing*

“Your Auntie Kate is pick you up for your appointment with Dr. Thompkins after fifth period, okay?”

“Got it, Uncle Bruce.”

*hands Damian’s darling a note*

“What’s this?”

“A letter I wrote to Dr. Thompkins last night, telling her about what actually happened on patrol last night so you won’t minimize what happened like last time.”

“…fuck.”

“Kate also has a copy of it as well.”

[ladyloveandjustice]

I mean, Legend of Lattes did have a conflict, her coffee place straight up burned down? It wasn't a major focus for most of the book but it happened.

I've only read a few cozy fantasy things, and didn't find a few of them super memorable myself, but the definition of cozy fantasy is pretty broad from what I've seen. Emily Wilde is categorized as that and it is FULL of conflict and action and has some great and memorable characters.

But people have always liked stuff that's low tension/stakes/fluffy. See coffee shop aus in fanfic, or fanfic tagged fluff. See slice of life anime where characters are just hanging out. It's not a new thing. People have always wanted to watch or read things that just give cozy vibes and allow them to hang out with characters. The book industry realizing there was a market for that was inevitable. If it's not for you, it's not for you, but it's obviously for someone or it wouldn't be doing well.

I also think this is a good example of how condescending we can get when talking about a genre we don't like. Rather than say "it's not for me, I don't find the characters memorable and want better stakes, maybe there should be more variety" (which was more where OP was at) it has to be somehow bad for people to read it and write it. like...

And so sometimes it feels impossibly challenging to write any book except one where nothing bad happens and nothing is in danger and nobody is really bothered or worried about anything and everything is mostly fine and there aren't any major setbacks…..

That is a hell of a condescending assumption to make about those writers. Jesus. I'm a professional author too, but I would not want to make these assumptions about my fellow writers.You don't know if they're doing it because it's easy, or if they're doing it because they felt there was a need for it, or it was just an idea they liked writing. You don't like it, great. That doesn't mean those writers are slacking off or doing something wrong somehow. You don't know that they don't also write books with tension and conflict. I feel like most of them probably have, actually. Assuming they sat down and thought "omg this will be easy I'm so lazy" is just...do you make the same assumption about romance writers? It can get pretty formulaic, but that doesn't mean it's easy to write. Have you tried to write a cozy fantasy and sell it and make it do well? If not, I don't think you should talk about how easy it is.

But that leaves readers cold.

I mean not all readers obviously, since it wouldn't be doing well or selling well?

And frankly, I don't feel like it does much of anything to nourish either our souls or theirs.

It feels like eating a bag of potato chips for dinner instead of going to the effort of even just heating up a frozen dinner that has a vegetable in it.

Why does reading HAVE to "nourish your soul", whatever that means? What's wrong with eating a bag of potato chips? You teach college, so I wonder if you've ever run into a colleague who thinks this way about regular fantasy and sci-fi. Where they think that genre fiction is inherently more disposable and less challenging than literary fiction. I've sure as hell run into those professors, that look down on readers and writers of "commercial fiction", and I've seen the bad impact they have on their students. Do you agree with them? Because you're sounding a lot like them right now. This is the exactly the kind of argument they'd make.

You don't know whether these people don't also read books with more stakes or a variety of genres as well. Low effort reading has it's place, it just maybe shouldn't be the only thing you read if you want to actually experience the breadth of literature.

And I see this a lot in the book community, but dissing the stuff people are into and saying they need to challenge themselves more or they won't be smart like you (I see this with YA a lot too) is not going to convince them. It frames reading as a chore, and people often don't like doing chores in a life full of them, and reading is a hobby for a lot of people. Rather that say "you need to read this to better your mind" say what can be interesting or intriguing about these books that are more challenging, what kind of cool things you can get from them. Sometimes it seems to me like the point of these arguments is to feel superior, rather than actually convince people.

Nothing's wrong with reading low effort books or watch low effort shows--it's when say, a YA reader says books are inherently flawed if they don't spell things out like YA sometimes does or has more challenging themes. Or a cozy fantasy reader acting like all books should be cozy fantasy and books with tension are bad. Those are the people that ruin the discourse. But, doing the inverse isn't any better.

idk, man. I've taught university classes about this shit, but what do I know.

I teach grad school classes on writing, (I don't like to pull that card, since it's not like teachers can't have flawed ideas about their subject but since we're here) and have taught similar lessons. Yet, here's what I think I do know: telling students the genre they write is wrong is not something a teacher should do. Those literary fiction professors love doing that, and I'm not them.

As a teacher with a variety of students in a variety of genres, I have to read genres I don't like all the time--god I hate most 'dark romance' and man do I not get or like omegaverse, but I sure as hell had to read both. But just because I don't like them doesn't mean they're worthless, or there isn't a market for them, or it's wrong to write them. So I put those feelings aside, think about what kind of help the student needs to be successful in their chosen genre, and what the audience would want, because that will help them improve. (though I do try to hint if something seems like, incredibly sexist, that maybe we should reconsider that, or look at it from all angles and decide if it's something the story needs). And at the same time, I do teach them basic lessons on how to structure a story, and what's good about conflict, stakes, etc.

But I wouldn't tell any of them they're wrong for writing cozy fantasy even if it's not always my cup of tea, because there is a market for it, and I want them to do well at it and do what they love. What pays the bills pays them, and if you actually like what you do, that's also important. Writers do need to challenge themselves, which is why I encourage students to be open minded about all genres, try out writing them, try writing different POVs, different stuff even if they don't publish it, because that can only help them get better at what they do. But if what they publish is cozy fantasy, hey, it gets them good money and they like doing it, that's more than I can say for most jobs.

Cozy Fantasy and Why It Doesn't Work

I think I am among many who feel like they should love cozy fantasy and have found it an incredibly lacking genre.

This newly branded "cozy fantasy" genre that has taken readers by storm since 2020 and while it is new that books are now marketed as cozy, the genre itself isn't new. Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones is a great example of the genre before it was labeled and also how to make it work.

Cozy fantasy is defined by many as fantasy with low stakes. Fantasy aesthetic but less sword fights. On paper, it sounds great. But the execution has been less than stellar for readers like me. The lack of physical stakes has also impacted the emotional stakes of these books, creating forgettable characters with boring problems. As a romance reader, I find this frustrating. Romance is known for being a predictable and formulaic genre, the now defunct Romance Writers of America defined romances as needing happy endings, a term romances have continued to follow. Yet these romance texts manage to have low physical stakes (how to date your neighbor, how to confront your toxic friends, etc) while still maintaining high personal stakes that keep readers invested and begging for more. So I was initially confused why cozy fantasy authors struggle to write texts that connect to readers like me.

I think I have found the answer which is the genre is just here for vibes. It is all about aesthetic, not even worldbuilding that fantasy is known for as most cozy fantasy I read have so many problems as soon as you ask one question. It is hard to acknowledge that a genre that is pitched to work for readers like me doesn't work for many of us. Especially because occasionally there is one that works beautifully to my taste.

I often say my favorite cozy fantasies that are more contemporary are short and visual, which I plays into the idea of the genre being an aesthetic. The Bakery Dragon by Devin Elle Kurtz is a good example because it is a simple story that is given the perfect amount of pages and gorgeous visuals without dragging on when the message is very clear and easy to understand. Books like The Phoenix Keeper and Legends and Lattes have absolutely nothing for me, their very clear message hitting the reader over and over so the readers don't miss it and focusing on the aesthetic of worldbuilding rather than the reality of the fantastic elements within the world.

I guess my point is. . . I realize this genre isn't for me since I have realized it is more of an aesthetic than anything. .. .but I want it to be. Should I let it go and put my efforts elsewhere? Or should I keep exploring this new trend and find the hidden gems?