#As easy as it would be to have them make out here or even go further than that

[wirewitchviolet]

So I was already sitting down to ramble about something, and turns out this post and this big reply under it tie in pretty well, so, here we go.

There are enough bespoke issues trans people justifiably feel very passionate about, and enough different experiences different trans people have that it is damn easy to end up in a huge fight because one person tried to make a nice simple statement for a clueless cis audience, but viewed through another person's lens it reads like some kind of attack. And it certainly never helps that bigots are actively out there constantly trying to co-op messages and sew infighting that any statement no matter how clear and good WILL get weaponized.

Before I get into the above, the go-to example I was planning to use was "you don't have to transition to be trans." There's a ton of ways you can read that which are great and worth echoing. For instance, "hey, if you've worked out that people got your gender wrong, you are trans and can come hang out in the trans clubhouse and ask for advice and all that without proving it through medical intervention."

Or, "hey don't be a weird gatekeeping creep who only recognizes people's gender if they don't jump through a particular medical hoop like taking a particular medication or get a particular surgery, which might not be something they even want due to risks, side effects, or not seeing it as a problem to begin with, and/or might not be something they CAN do anything about, because the typical medical treatment would not work on them for any number of reasons/is prohibitively expensive/too socially dangerous to go forward with in their current situation/is only even done by like a couple dozen specialists in the world who are booked out years in advance and many of whom actively discriminate against all sorts of potential patients."

You can see how it's nice to have a short catchy phrase. BUT it's absolutely a reality that awful bigots these days are going with the wildly bad faith and not even remotely true reading of "it's OK to deny transition-related care to trans people, because they don't actually NEED it!"

And you know, regardless of where you're encountering this phrase, you should always bear in mind those points about being totally valid and welcome in the community without a signed doctor's note, and how it's completely valid to be, oh, a woman who's hung like a horse and proud of it and such women shouldn't be treated like they need to go see someone about that, give people the benefit of the doubt that they're using it in such a sense if there's any chance they are, and at the same time be on the lookout for bad faith creeps misusing it and taking whatever steps are necessary to prevent them from to or about any trans person again unless/until they somehow manage to stop being a hateful piece of garbage and somehow become a decent human being.

Phew. All THAT out of the, way, I take a fair deal of issue with seeing the comment above me saying "the 'not transgender' people in the poster are clearly intersex" because holy hell is that a bad faith reading. All the concerns regarding intersex kids following that jumping off point are super valid and worth mention, of course. Doctors are constantly looking at baby's junk, going "huh, that doesn't look right, lemme do a quick surgery I'm not even necessarily trained in to get this looking more like whichever configuration I personally prefer the aesthetics of here, that probably won't cause any long term memory problems or trauma and there's almost a 50/50 shot I'm guessing right about what this kid'll want things looking like down here in a couple decades!" And that is just incredibly messed up. As is the practice of just throwing, say, testosterone boosters at someone perceived to be a teenage boy who doesn't seem "manly enough" to someone, which is a general queer kid concern, sure.

But none of that is going on in this poster. What's going on is kids getting hit with puberty-related symptoms they do not want (specifically boobs beards and voice changes), clearly stating this, and asking for medical help to make them not happen. If we wanna play Occam's Razor with the kids plainly labelled as "not transgender," boys growing breasts is called gynecomastia and a quick Google search confirms that... it is completely useless as a search engine because it's giving me 20 conflicting reputable-looking sources ranging from 1% to 70% of teenage boys. Facial hair on cis women is also really freaking common, to a point where it being relatively rare if you're white specifically makes it feel more like a racism thing than anything.

The real thing to remember though is that the obvious reason this poster exists is to get people who are completely uneducated on any of this and have been steadily exposed to propaganda from transphobes for their entire lives to the point where they have a hard time imagining trans people as actual human beings to consider the concept of HRT from a clear perspective by taking us out of the equation for a moment and just making them try to empathise with kids dealing with some of the same stuff, and it has to make that point in less time than it takes someone to finish walking past this telephone pole or wherever else someone might place this. And... OK if I'm really honest it's probably still too wordy and reliant on people having SOME idea of what being trans even means, but it's pretty good within those restrictions! Don't overthink it! Really don't project stuff that absolutely is not actually on there onto it! Focus more on actual bigots and doing something about what they're doing than nitpicking people who are doing good effective activism work you'd phrase differently!

This is the first time i’ve seen a pro-trans poster in a long time and i hope whoever put it up is having a good day, it made me feel a little less alone.

Hamilton, New Zealand

[tanadrin]

I would love to hear the rant about social media doomerism and conspiracy

I’m on my phone right now but the summary version is something like:

Humans are bad at integrating information into their worldview accurately bc of various cognitive biases

Social media incentivizes us seeking out content that excites fear or anger or irritation

Social media thus causes us to form negative impressions of the world bc it mediates so much information consumption and discourse these days

This general negative affective impression is subject to high confirmation bias and ppl in general are really bad at divorcing an affective impression of a thing from their dispassionate reasoning abt a thing

(Bc one of the functions of an affective impression is to “cache” our conclusions about a topic to save time and effort later)

(In general if you are a cynic and pessimist you can fall prey to these biases w/o social media but I think social media makes more ppl susceptible to them)

People don’t want to be dupes so they seek refuge in cynicism. We treat cynicism as wise or worldly when in fact cynicism makes you a dupe and an easy mark for grifters. Cynicism and low trust foster conspiracism, paranoia, and antisocial politics

(This is why so many congenitally contrarian folks seem to flit effortlessly between the far left and far right; it’s not horseshoe theory, they’ve just cooked their brains on this stuff)

This is a world where populist anti-social politicians like Trump and the AfD thrive, bc they will lie about how everything is terrible and people will nod along, bc it explains why their social media is full of awful stories of, like, immigrants eating pets and shit

But it doesn’t just have to be insane lies only a moron could believe. It can be any impression about a fact in the world that it is difficult to personally check and which is vulnerable to being swayed by anecdote

This is how we get a word where people think crime rates are higher than they’ve ever been when in fact crime is falling

Or child predators lurk around every corner when in fact children are safer than ever

Or the American economy is in a recession when in fact it’s doing historically well by just about every available metric (now with full employment AND low inflation!)

Because in a big world even where things are in general good and getting better you can always produce infinite individual examples of shitty things and pipe those in a steady stream into people’s eyeballs, and then point to that and leverage people’s low trust attitudes and their cynicism which tells them they are smarter than the experts and go “statistics is just a fancy way to lie! The world is secretly terrible! Every bad thing is even worse than you thought and every good thing is a lie!”

(Nevermind the whole phenomenon where anything that is complicated or that someone does not themselves understand gets treated like it’s actually secret and a conspiracy.)

And here I know I have to include some disclaimer about how this is not to discount individual cases of suffering or struggle, which are real, or that there are indeed some really awful things happening in the world right now, which there are, but you know what?

I’m tired of doing that. People with reading comprehension operating in good faith ought to be able to deduce that general statements do not obviate particular exceptions, and people who cling to their doomerism as a kind of emotional life raft do not generally argue with me in good faith.

Sometimes doomerism is a load-bearing pillar of their politics, which I think is dumb—I think you can be a leftist or a progressive without being a doomer! In fact I think doomerism is antithetical to useful politics!

Sometimes they are just depressed and treatment-resistant. Sometimes they are just angry misanthropes who want to feel justified in their misanthropy. Some doomers are themselves in bad circumstances and feeling hopeless about that—to them I am enormously sympathetic. Though a lot of doomers will admit they personally are doing OK—this does not seem to be most doomers.

But I think in general cynicism and doomerism and a worldview dominated by a general nebulous air of Everything Is Awful and by abstract nouns with threatening auras is not conducive to wisdom or understanding or useful politics or leading a happy and fulfilling life.

[mysticmutants]

not a lot, just forever

summary: weddings were never logans thing. the sappy vows, hundreds of people watching two people profess their love for each other— so why was being at jean and scott’s wedding with you affecting him so much?

pairing: logan howlett x reader

word count: 1k

warnings: romcom themes, weddings, possibly ooc!logan

authors note: sooo this is my first fic! I have some plans for a much longer, chaptered fic but figured I should ease myself into this! please go easy on me! any tips or suggestions are welcomed. thank you if you read my loves ౨ৎ

logan had been here so long he began to question where he went wrong in his life to put him here. what primordial being he had wronged to place him where he was— sitting next to you, adjusting uncomfortably in a cheap folding chair. not only were his senses being ambushed, overwhelmed—the guests cheap perfumes, the soft classical music playing in the background, mixing with the chatter of excited guests— but being here with you, was triggering something inside of him. he wasn’t someone that enjoyed weddings. anyone who looked at him even for a fraction of a second could deduce that about him. too gruff, hardened, to enjoy such a sappy environment.

it was anxiety inducing, to say the least. he shifts in his seat, trying not to fidget too much as his eyes flick from you—sitting next to him, raving about how beautiful the venue was, how excited you were for your teammates— to his surroundings.

“not a wedding person, logan?”

you speak softly, eyes raking over his appearance as you note the way his brows pinch together a little more than usual—a telltale sign of what was going on in his mind. he shakes his head in response. “they should’ve just eloped. less hassle.” he mutters gruffly, earning a laugh from you. he feels you lean in, elbowing him gently. “be nice. it’s their big day, you know? a celebration of their love.” you exclaim, a warm grin adorning your plush lips. the sight nearly makes his heart leap out of his chest—yearning for its rightful owner, you. he huffs in response, arms crossed over his broad chest. he wants to stop talking about this, to think about anything other than this god forsaken wedding. at least when he got through the ceremony, there would be alcohol at the reception. you lean in once more, and he can smell your perfume. his breath hitches and he eyes you, hoping you didn’t catch it. “so, I’ll take it you don’t see yourself settling down, cowboy?” you inquire.

not unless it’s with you.

he doesn’t miss the way your eyes drift to his lips, and back up to his eyes, but he does brush it off as him seeing things; chalking it up to his old mind deteriorating. he scoffs, brow raising as he scans the room once more in a feeble attempt to avoid eye contact with you. “settle down? no. people like us rarely get to settle down, darlin’. you know that. wouldn’t want anyone to get tangled in my mess.” he remarks—his way of saying ‘I’m terrified to get close to anyone, for fear of them winding up kidnapped by enemies or worse; waking up with my claws in their stomach—your expression darkens at his words, lips pursed and nostrils flared.

you nod, a sheepish grin curving at your lips. “right, yeah. of course.” you chuckle. “people like us don’t get the chance at a life like that very often. all the more reason to be happy for these two.” you nod, gesturing to scott standing at the altar. “you’ll get it, too.” he grumbles, pulling at the tie on his neck. “any man would be lucky to have you. just a matter of finding the right person.” your eyes linger on him at the mention, before tearing away to gaze up at the altar again.

“well,” you start, sighing, “I don’t think that my person thinks that I’m their person. so I’m sort of at a standstill.” you admit, breathlessly. now you’ve got his attention.

he leans forward, palms on the top of his thighs. “oh? and who might this person be, doll? have you tried telling him how you feel?” he questions, trying—and failing—to come off as subtle. you grin, a small chuckle falling from your lips. “no, but only because I know better. why try when you know the answer, right? I mean.. I’ve tried, I suppose. dropped hints. but I’m beginning to question if he doesn’t realize, or if he doesn’t want to realize, you know?” you turn to him, confused on why he was suddenly so attentive; his anxiety from moments before gone. his brow raises, waiting for you to elaborate. his heart skips a beat as you lean in even closer, breath fanning across his face.

“well, my right person… he doesn’t let people in. not fully. he acts like it’s because he doesn’t care but… i think he’s scared. he wants to be loved so badly, and i can see it. he doesn’t want someone to get hurt because of him. not again.” you speak cautiously, looking at him. really looking at him.

his breath hitches in his throat as he meets your eyes. were you… talking about him? no way. he opens his mouth to speak, to counter, to confess, but he’s cut off by the wedding march beginning to play.

and he’s right back to cursing whatever god he could think of. he can’t help but grin, though, as he stands with all the other guests. his heart beats rapidly in his chest, filling it with warmth.

he turns to watch jean walk down the aisle, anticipating the end of the ceremony—wishing his mutation was to speed up time rather than his adamantium claws. for once, though, it wasn’t because he couldn’t wait to get this over with. to get to the fun part already—the part where he could drink. it was because he couldn’t wait to finally tell you how he felt. to face his fears.

maybe, for once, he didn’t mind weddings so much.

he just hoped the next one would be yours.

[valeriehalla]

I have gotten a lot of messages saying that they really love the presentation of CURSE/KISS/CUTE. Often the commenter in question can’t say what exactly it is about the formatting that they appreciate, but that it just reads well and looks good. Well!!! Allow me to bare my wealth of secret knowledge for you once and for all:

I sorta just did some research into book typography...?

Here’s something you should know about web development, alright: typography on the web is really, really bad. The tools we have at our disposal—HTML and CSS—are incredibly powerful, but they are set up to fight you every step of the way towards Good Typography. When you know what you’re looking for, you can fix all the common issues quickly and easily. But it’s not easy to know what to look for, because

problematic typography is overwhelmingly the norm on the web, and

good typography is invisible.

Here’s a screenshot from CURSE/KISS/CUTE episode 0:

Now, I don’t want this post to come across as prescriptive. It is not my intention to tell you, “This is what good typography looks like, so follow my lead exactly.” I made a lot of choices with the typography of my web novel: many of those choices would not make sense in other contexts. What I want to convey to you is what those choices are, so that you will know they’re available to be made.

I mentioned that the web ���fights you” when it comes to good typography. What do I mean by that? Well, check this out:

This is how that passage of text renders “by default.” In other words, this is how a web browser would render that text without any input from me about what styles to apply. It kind of sucks ass! But it also looks pretty familiar, right? This is not that far off from how a lot of websites—even websites full of prose (looking at you, AO3)—render text.

I think the most illustrative thing to do here would be to walk you through my thought process and show you, step by step, what decisions I made to turn this unstyled text into the styled version you see in the novel.

So, first things first:

1. We have got to shrink that text column.

Computer monitors... are wide. They are wider than they are tall. They are so wide, and they have so many pixels. This means you can fit a lot of characters on them. If you wanted, you could just have a wall of characters from the left side of the screen all the way to the right side. Talk about efficient!!

You should never, ever, ever do this.

This is one choice that I actually will make a prescriptive statement about, because it’s supported by quite a lot of research: fairly narrow text columns are more legible. Specifically, research seems to support the idea that a width in the range of 50 to 70 characters per line is the most comfortable for people to read*. Every font is different, so it takes a little doing to turn that “characters” figure into a pixel measurement; I went with 512 CSS pixels for the maximum width of my text column:

Isn’t that just so much nicer to read already?

*A commenter reminds me that I’d be remiss not to point out that the research on column width legibility isn’t completely conclusive. You do want to limit the width of your text columns, but going over the 70 character-per-line recommendation isn’t necessarily the end of the world, and you might have good reasons to do so. I did not: as mentioned, one of my goals was to mimic book-style typography, and books by nature have fairly restrained column widths, on account of they’re books.

2. Picking a font.

I’m not going to give you the blow-by-blow on how I decided what font to use. The short story is that I asked some designers, and one of the recommendations I got was the free font Crimson Pro, which I took a liking to immediately:

It’s just an all-around attractive serif font, but one thing I really like about it for use in a novel is its highly-visible quotation marks. They’re just kinda jumbo! They’re real big! Easy to see! In a novel, those things aren’t just ornamentation. It makes a great deal of practical sense for them to stand out just a bit. It also has a fairly large x-height, unlike a lot of the more traditional options, which is good for legibility on a computer screen.

3. Adjusting the line-height

Web browsers default to a line-height of about 1.2em, which, as you can probably tell, is quite cramped. If you go and Google “optimal line height for legibility”, you’ll get a number of results right off the bat suggesting 1.5em. Sounds good! Let’s do that:

Well... hmm. That’s definitely an improvement, but between you and me, it actually looks a bit too spacey to my eyes. I wonder why?

I’ll cut to the chase: the 1.5em recommendation makes some assumptions about the font you’re using. In Arial, the letter “A” is about 0.6em tall; in Crimson Pro, it’s about 0.5em. That means that there’s no one-size-fits-all solution to spacing your lines, because different fonts have different amounts of empty space baked in. How annoying!

Let me tell you something about the kind of nerd I am. When I had this realization, I grabbed some books off my shelf and pulled out a literal micrometer. I started measuring the line-heights against various font features to see if there were any patterns I could spot in professional typesetting. Here’s what I found:

Almost every book on my shelf spaces lines such that the distance between one baseline and the next is about three times the x-height. How cool is that? I clapped my hands like a seal when I put this together.

Adjusting the line-height to match what I observed in the wild gives us this:

It’s a subtle difference, but to my eyes it feels just right. It’s almost like magic!

4. Paragraph spacing...

Let’s address the elephant in the room. Probably the most controversial choice I made with CURSE/KISS/CUTE’s typography was to opt for book-style paragraph indentation rather than web-style paragraph spacing—like so:

I did this for a few reasons:

It’s what I’m used to. I’ve read a lot of books, and this is just the way that books are formatted. I think for something aspiring to the title of “novel”, there’s value in making it look the way a reader probably expects a novel to look.

A novel has a lot of paragraph breaks in it. A paragraph in, say, an encyclopedia entry might go on for half a page or more; whereas it is unusual for a paragraph in a modern work of narrative prose to run for more than a handful of sentences, especially in any scene with dialogue. Because paragraph breaks are so common, spacing between paragraphs in a novel results in a lot of wasted space. Also, subjectively speaking, the additional space seems to me to lend an undue amount of weight to paragraph breaks. I’m just starting a new thought; there’s no need for a 21-gun salute, you know?

Having said that, here are some good reasons you might decide not to do paragraph indentation anyway:

Doing it right requires a bit of extra legwork. Notice how the very first paragraph in the image above has no indentation. That’s because it’s the start of a new section, and the first paragraph in a section traditionally goes unindented. This is an easy detail to miss, and it can be difficult to wrangle CSS into doing it for you automatically.

Web users don’t expect it. For the first decade of the web’s existence, there was no good way to do paragraph indentation; by the time CSS rolled around and made it easy, paragraph spacing had already become the norm. And while CURSE/KISS/CUTE may be a novel, it is also, specifically, a web novel!

But it’s my house and I get to make the rules, so I went with indentation. Incidentally, there seems to be a dire lack of research into the question of whether indentation or spacing is more legible for readers—but the data that does exist appears inconclusive at best. So, the choice really does come down to vibes.

5. The tragedy of justification.

You’ll note that one way in which I did not make my web novel look like a paper novel is the text alignment. It’s un-justified: the right margin is ripsaw-ragged.

This is because it is not possible to justify text on the web.

Oh, you can try. Look right here: there’s a CSS property for it and everything. Just turn on “text-align: justify” and...

Nightmare! The interword spacing on that first line is almost as wide as the indentation!

Reader, I’m afraid that your web browser is simply too dumb. That’s not the browser’s fault: robust algorithms for justifying text without creating these distractingly huge gaps between words have existed for many decades, and modern computers are powerful enough to run them in real time with little performance impact. It’s just, uh—nobody has ever bothered to implement them into web browsers. It is the damnedest thing.

I tried, I really did. You can mitigate this problem a bit if you enable automatic hyphenation, but browsers are unfortunately also kind of dumb at hyphenating. Firefox, for example, will refuse to hyphenate any word containing a capital letter, so any sentence with a lot of proper nouns in it is a lost cause. I tried manually inserting soft hyphens with a text preprocessor I wrote myself, but still these overjustified lines plagued me: when the text column narrows, for example on a phone, even hyphens can’t save you. The line-breaking algorithm is simply too naïve to optimize for well-justified text, and that’s not something you can fix as a web developer.

As a result, my heavy-hearted recommendation is to never use text justification. It’s just too distracting.

6. And then some extra stuff just for me

I added drop-caps because it looks neat and I made the ellipses spacier because I think it looks good when it, uh, when they are spacier. I think that looks pretty good that’s just my opinion though.

That’s all! Hope you learned something bye!!!

[cevansbrat0007]

Bold Moves

Summary: You decide to slip Ari your panties during an innocent encounter at the public library...

Warnings: Mature Themes, Smut, Ari Being A Menace, Brat!Reader, Brief Discussions of Body Image, Bird Being Brave, Going Commando, Light Roleplaying, Frisking, Manhandling, Spanking, Ass Slapping, P in V Sex, Implied Overstimulation, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Decided to finish this when I came across it in my drafts. Takes place earlier in Ari and Bird's romantic relationship. Part of my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

“I’m so glad you pitched me this idea, Marisol.” You beam as you finish writing in your notebook. “I know it’s still early yet, but I would love to collaborate with you for Halloween.”

“Yes!” The younger woman cheers, throwing her arms up in the air. “I knew I picked the right woman.”

“Just I knew they picked the right woman to run the town library.” You throw her a wink before tucking your pad and pen back into your purse. “Now, I hate to cut this meeting short…” Out of habit you press a hand against your belly, silently wishing you’d opted to throw on a pair of spanx this morning instead of a flimsy pair of panties. 

Frankly, you were tired of sucking it in. But every time you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror you looked pretty damn good. Perhaps your confidence was growing after all. 

“But I need to get home and change so I can run by the shop before it gets too late.” You finish, feeling grateful when the sweet librarian sees fit to lead you out of her office.

“Sooo…” The dark-haired woman drags out the word, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as you both come around the corner. “Word on the street is that you’ve been seeing a lot of Detective Levinson lately. Everything good, I hope?”

 “What do you mean?” You respond, willing your pulse to remain steady. “Everything’s fine. He just…likes for me to call him whenever something new pops up about Martin. That’s all.”

And whenever you lock up in the evening. And when you make it home. And then again to decide if he’s coming to your place for the night. Or, if you’re already on the back roads heading to his. 

It was all so fun and exciting. But at the same time, it was just sex. Amazing sex, mind you. But just sex all the same.    

Instead of responding immediately, Marisol simply chooses to link her arm through yours. “Mm. While I haven’t lived here long, I’ve already learned how much this town loves gossip.” She muses. “Which is why I try to fly under the radar at all times.”

“Uh huh.” You give her a gentle nudge. “Even when it comes to a certain Officer Milton?”

“Shh! We do no not speak that man’s name in this house!”

“Why not?”

“Because I feel like he always goes out of his way to just…be around. He’s like a puppy. I do not have time for puppies, chica. I’m too busy building a career amongst the books.”

“Well sugar, I suppose you might wanna tell him that.”

“Ay, but that would involve making conversation. Something I also do not have time for because–”

“Because he’s standing over there by the door, talking to our favorite resident detective.” You interrupt with a giggle, prompting the other woman to drop your arm in a flourish before racing off back in the direction of her office before squeaking out “you never saw me” - leaving you alone. 

You allow yourself to stand there for another moment, content with watching the two men talk. While both were easy on the eyes, you were only interested in one of them. Glancing down at your outfit, you once again reassure yourself that you’re looking pretty damned good. 

And then – just that fast – an idea strikes you.

Refusing to overthink what it was you were about to do, you discreetly make your way into the ladies room. After checking to make sure you were alone, you slip into a stall. Reaching underneath your skirt, you slide your lacy black panties down your thighs before stepping out of them. 

Biting your lip, you tuck the small scrap of fabric into your pocket. Once you’re finished, you go to leave. But not before stopping long enough to refresh your lip gloss and fluff your curls. And then you’re out the door.

Hopefully you’d be able to catch the handsome bounty hunter before he left.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take you long to find him. He’s right where you saw him last – near the front of the library still talking to Milton. As you near the two, you can’t help but wonder if you’ll be able to pull this off without making an absolute fool of yourself. 

But first you’d have to find a way to get rid of Officer Milton without making your intentions obvious. And then it hits you. While it might be wrong, it was officially time to pawn him off on your favorite new friend.

Marisol.

“Good afternoon, Officer Milton.” You chirp as you sidle forward, politely interrupting their conversation. “Detective Levinson.” Of course you’re immediately met with smiles from both men. 

“Well get a load a’ you.” Milton gives a playful whistle once he gets a good look at your business attire. “Lookin’ sharp, darlin. Goin’ somewhere special?”

“Actually, I just came from a meeting down at the bank.” You tell them, smoothing your hands along your gray pencil skirt. 

“Ahh.” The officer nods. “Fingers crossed all went well.”

“It did. Thank you.” Delicately clearing your throat, you make a show of glancing around before directing your complete attention to the young officer in front of you. “While I hate to interrupt you two when you’re hard at work, I think Marisol might need you.”

“She does?” The man immediately perks up, vaguely reminding you of your neighbor’s golden retriever. 

“Yep.” You wince inwardly, hating yourself for lying. “Not sure what it’s about, but I think she’s somewhere in the back.” 

Just like that, a switch has been flipped and Officer Milton is off on the hunt for a sweet little librarian who most certainly did not need him. Fingers crossed she would catch the hint and just go with it. 

And now you’re alone with the one man with the power to leave you breathless. You were constantly left tied up in knots around this man. But today it was finally time you turned the tables on this guy. 

“How’s the manhunt going, Detective? Any new leads?”

“I’m afraid I can’t discuss this part of my investigation with you, Miss.” He says, flashing you a rather charming smile. “But if you hear from our guy Martin anytime soon, be sure to give me a call.”

“Of course.” You nod, feeling your cheeks heat. “Well, I’d best be goin’ now.”

“Be safe gettin’ home.” 

“Same to you. Detective.”

And then, without sparing him so much as a warning glance, you discreetly remove your panties from their hiding spot and slip them into the back pocket of his jeans. To his credit, Ari doesn’t move a muscle. Instead he continues to stare straight ahead, his gaze never wavering.  

Head held high, you manage to make it all the way to your car before collapsing in a fit of nervous laughter. While you wished you could’ve seen his face, you know deep down that you were better off running off the way you had.  

Maybe he’d call you tonight and maybe he wouldn’t. But all that mattered is that you’d mustered up enough confidence to make some bold moves this afternoon, which by all accounts made you a bad bitch.

Later That Same Evening…

It’s been hours since you pulled that stunt with Ari, but as luck would have it, you still had yet to hear from him. Not that you were worried or anything. In fact, if you had to choose an emotion, you were more disappointed than anything else.

While you’d long since abandoned your high heels by your front door, you were still wearing the outfit you’d worn to the bank. You’d simply been too excited to go by the shop so you’d decided to remain closed for the day.

Heaving a sigh as you rise from the couch, you’re in the middle of debating whether or not it’s worth trying to cobble together something for dinner when you hear the sound of your doorbell. Confused, you go to reach for your phone, only to frown when you see there’s nothing from the one man you wanted to hear from most.

The bell chimes again, prompting you to get a move on. “I’m comin’, I’m comin’!” You mumble, stretching your arms above your head. Opening the door, you’re treated to the sight of a large man standing on your porch with his hands in his pocket, his official badge prominently displayed on his hip. 

Hello, Detective Ari Levinson. 

“Evening, Miss. Apologies for bothering you so late.” 

“Why hello, Detective. Somethin’ I can help you with?” You do your best to keep your tone light while you wait for him to explain himself.

“Sure hope so. Got a report about someone engaging in some inappropriate behavior.” He informs you, barely concealing his smirk as he leans his big body against the porch railing.

“Is that right?”

“Fraid so.” He nods solemnly. “In fact, I actually found a trail of evidence that led me right here to your front door.”

“I…well, there has to be some mistake.” You protest, your hand flying to your chest. 

“Huh.” Ari sucks on his teeth as he reaches into his pocket to retrieve a small scrap of lacy black fabric. “Then you wouldn’t happen to know who these belong to, would you?”

Your eyes go wide at the sight of your panties dangling from one thick index finger. 

“I’m not sure what you’re implying, but they’re certainly not mine.” You sniff haughtily. “I’ve never seen those before in my life.”

“Now, Miss.” He gently chastises, taking another step towards you, invading your space. “Perhaps I should warn you that it’s a crime to lie to a member of law enforcement.” Instead of responding you simply fold your arms across your heaving bosom. 

The nerve of this man, thinking he had the right to question you like this right out in the open. Honestly, what would your neighbors think? The scandal!

“You know what? I’m thinkin’ I’m gonna need to search the premises.” The bounty hunter moves to enter your home, only to growl when your hand stops him short. “It’s also a felony to impede an official investigation.” Ari grunts, his brow furrowing in annoyance.

“And I'm thinkin’ I'm gonna need to see a warrant first, Detective.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you watch his eyes darken - his nostrils flaring ever so slightly. 

“I’m sure a good girl like you ain’t got nothin’ to hide.” Ari rasps, leaning in so that his mouth now hovers a mere inch above your ear. “Unless…”

“Unless what?” You respond, sounding a little more breathless than you’d like.

“Unless there’s something in there you don’t want me to find?”

“I don’t have anything to hide.” Blowing out a breath you decide to give the man what he wants, if only to see what comes next

“Not sure I believe you, sweetheart.”

“Fine.” You concede. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to let you come in for a quick look. But you’ve gotta be fast.” You tell him, poking him in the shoulder before turning to lead him into your home. “Because I’m expecting company any minute and we don’t need an audience.”

“We’ll see.”

Your pulse kicks up when you hear Ari shut the door behind you, followed by the quiet snick of the lock. Guess that meant he thought he was staying awhile. Just as you open your mouth to protest, you’re caught off guard when he brushes by you, allowing you to catch a hint of his cologne. 

“I’m not sure what you’re on, Detective.” You say, shooting him your fiercest glare. Meanwhile, this man responds with his most lethal grin. “But I’m giving you five minutes to figure it out before I–” 

“You know, Miss, I didn’t wanna ask you this outside. Especially given the already delicate nature of this investigation. But do you happen to be wearing any panties?”

“Excuse me?!” His question has your mouth falling open, your cheeks burning hot with outrage.

“Answer the question.” His eyes track your every movement as you slowly back away in the direction of the stairs. “Because every good girl I know puts on a pair of panties before leaving the house for the day.”

“Goodnight, Detective Levinson.” You hiss before turning and taking the stairs two by two. “Please see yourself out before I’m forced to call your supervisor.”

Your words are met with silence. And it’s not until you reach the edge of your bedroom that you hear him moving – up the same stairs you’d just scaled only seconds before. You can hardly suppress a shiver as the heady thrum of anticipation courses through you. 

“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart.” Ari growls softly as his impressive form fills your doorway, effectively blocking your only exit. “But I’m not through with my investigation.” It’s a struggle to ignore just how good he looks taking up space in your bedroom like this. 

“I want you to leave.”

“Oh, I will. As soon as I’m finished.” He takes a step towards you, rolling up his sleeves as he does. “But first, I’m gonna need you to turn and place your hands on the wall.”

“I–I will do no such thing!” Comes your almost breathless reply. “I’m not a criminal.”

“Hm.” Ari cocks his head, his magnetic blue eyes leering at your much smaller, curvier frame. “But you are a suspect.” In less than a fraction of a second, this man is now standing in front of you. “And it would be rather reckless of me if I didn’t pat you down.” One large hand curls itself around your bicep before gently leading to a nearby wall. “You should know that I’m a bit of a stickler when it comes to following protocol.” 

Blood roaring in your ears, you place both of your hands on the cool surface. Taking a deep breath, you can’t help but jump when he kicks your feet apart, forcing you to spread your legs even wider, granting him better access.

“I’m gonna report you.” Unfortunately for you, your flimsy threat does nothing to deter him.

Your eyes fall shut when you feel two large, warm hands glide their way up and down your arms. It feels as tempting as it does comforting. He repeats the action twice more, almost as if he’s trying to lull you into a false sense of security. 

Next, those wandering hands are stroking along your sides, greedily following the path of your curves. And then you feel him bury his nose in the crook of your neck. It’s impossible to miss his soft groan as he inhales your sweet scent.

“Now I’ve gotta ask you, little Bird.” He hums, his sharp teeth nipping at your ear. “Do you have anything on you that could stab, stick, or poke me?” 

“N-no.” 

God, you were so fucking wet right now it’s embarrassing. And you can’t stop the moan that catches in your throat when his sensual ministrations move to your breasts – cupping, massaging, and kneading. He lewdly palms them through your blouse, this thumps paying extra attention to your hardened nipples. Your back arches of its own accord as he continues to play with your body.

And there’s a part of you that hates yourself for the way he makes you respond.  

“Hm. So far so good, baby. Proud of you for keeping your hands where I can see ‘em.” Now his hands are skimming down your hips to toy with the hem of your skirt. His warm breath dances along your sensitive skin, making you shiver. “But now it’s time for the big question.” Ari begins inching your skirt higher and higher. “And don’t you dare lie to me. Are you–”

“This ain’t right, Detective!” You protest, protectively clenching your thighs together. However, your words only make him chuckle. “Pretty sure this is an illegal search and seizure.”

“As a member of law enforcement, I would have to respectfully disagree with you.” He says at the same time as he grinds himself against you, his massive erection pressing into your lower back. “It’s my job to keep the community safe. And to deal with naughty girls who go around handing out their unmentionables to strangers.” Your skirt inches even higher now, stopping just short of revealing your dripping cunt. 

“And what do you know?” He purrs, holding you still as his hand dips between your thighs, cupping your most intimate flesh. “Looks like we’ve got a little liar on our hands. Don’t we?”

“Don’t. We.” The renewed authority in his tone makes your pussy quiver.

“Yes, Sir.”

“And how should we handle liars, sweetheart? Hm?” Your knees go weak when you feel two thick fingers spear their way through your messy folds, lightly strumming over your clit. “What should we do with you?”

“....I…don’t know….”

His deep chuckle has you squirming in his hold, your hips bucking as he continues to grind the heel of his palm against your sensitive nub.  

“Tell you what. You and I are about to have a serious conversation about what happens to pretty young ladies who can’t seem to tell the truth. Even when it’s in their best interest. What do ya say?”

“Y–yes, Sir.” You moan as your eyes threaten to roll back in your head, sparks of pleasure dancing behind your eyes. “Whatever you want – I’ll be so, sooo good!”

Thirty Minutes Later…

“Why the fuck you keep runnin’, baby?” Ari growls, smacking your bottom hard. “Yeah, get that juicy ass back here. Love watchin’ those cheeks bounce.”

The rhythmic sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room, spilling out into the hall as Ari drives into you over and over again with his impressive cock. 

He’d been hard for hours before he ever showed up on your doorstep. Frankly, he’d lost count of how many times he’d paused throughout the day to bring your panties to his nose. It was like he couldn’t seem to get enough of how good you smelled. But he also knew that wouldn’t be enough.

He needed to taste you. Needed your unique, earthy flavor on his tongue. 

Thankfully, he had no doubt that he’d have time to eat the fuck out of your sweet pussy later. After he was finished fucking you into oblivion for being such bad girl. Who would’ve guessed his little Bird had it in her to be so deliciously naughty?

Meanwhile, you’re too busy sobbing into a pillow to be proud of yourself right now, your hands fisting the sheets while your man exacts his revenge on your body. At this rate, you’d already cum twice. And here you were already roaring along to orgasm number three. 

Fuck, this man was a goddamned menace!

Your desperate cries grow louder as Ari picks up his pace, forcing you to clench around him as you finally resort to begging.

“Please, Ari!” You wail when he lifts your hips higher before adjusting the angle of his strokes. “I–ooh God–M’so close!”

“Oh yeah?” He snarls, the sound rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest. “Then let me see you work for it.” A sharp hiss escapes when his heavy palm comes down on your ass again, this time smacking both cheeks without so much as missing a beat. “This is how bad girls get punished.” You tense when he delivers yet another blow. “They’ve gotta work for their pleasure.”

“I’m sorry–wooh God!” Your voice comes out raw, bordering on hoarse.       

“That’s it, baby. Yeah, there we go.” He gifts you with another slap, earning a sharp yelp from you. “Yeah, throw it back like you love it.”

After an afternoon of being bad, there’s nothing you want more than to be good for this man. You wanted to please him. Make him happy. If only so he never stopped touching you. And you were trying – honest to God, you were.

But it was all too good. Too much. 

“Just know, everytime you run, I’m gonna drag that sweet ass right back.” Ari renews his punishing grip on your hips, holding you up even as your sweat slicked body starts to give out. “Now cum for me one more time so I can finally stop takin’ it easy on you, pretty Bird.”

END

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[h4venpha]

⸺ tailored perfectly (18+)

✦ sylus x reader contents: slight nsfw, sfw(ish)worship, implied sex, literally just sylus loving on u wc: 442 notes: sorry i think i have. a thing for mirrors ? and also i wanted to write sylus eyefucking you because GOD that man can EYEFUCK. also im going to be on vacation for the next week so i (probably) wont be writing during that time! sorry for such short works, i rlly want to write longer things but i just have no good ideas </3 anyway enjoy!

“what do you think?” 

the fabric of the dress hugging your body is smooth and almost silky. you watch through the body length mirror at how the dress hugs your torso and hips before falling elegantly to brush against your ankles. sylus picked the dress out of course, he even had it perfectly tailored to your measurements. you told him it was unnecessary, but he never missed any opportunity to spoil you.

the door from the bathroom swings open, sylus emerges as he buttons up his light grey dress shirt with one hand, a black tie in his other. from through the mirror, you watch as he walks over, his low eyes trailing from your exposed shoulders to the small sliver of ankle in between the dress and your heels. he tosses the black tie over his shoulder, too distracted to even finish buttoning up his dress shirt before his hands slide firmly around your hips. 

“i love it.” sylus rasps as his hands drag up to your waist, voice recognizably breathier than his normal register. you watch as his dilating pupils at in every inch of your body. 

“the tailor made the dress perfect, hm?” you humor, watching for his reactions knowing many, many thoughts were going through his head right now. it’s easy to tell with the way his eyes drink you up like eye candy. he makes you feel exposed, like prey in the eyes of a ravenous predator.

“you’re perfect.” sylus’s voice rumbles in your ear before he presses a kiss to your exposed shoulder. his lips trail a line up your shoulder to your nape, lips slow and hungry as he worships your skin. although his kisses were soft, there was a distinct level of restraint he was exerting.

“w-we need to go.” you interject quietly, your sweet voice rolling in the needy fog in his head. 

5 minutes before they need to leave for the auction.

“i’m aware.” sylus’s jaw clenches. “luke and kieran can wait a little longer in the car, yes?” he pulls you back by the hips just enough for you to feel the hardening bulge in his dark slacks against the curve of your ass.

“you won’t get that pretty gem you’ve been talking about all weekend.” you look back as you tease him halfheartedly, knowing even if they showed up an hour late to the auction, he would outbid them all in a blink. 

sylus scoffs at your taunts, unfazed. “there’s a prettier gem right here.” he pulls you away from the mirror, spinning you around before pinning you firmly against the softness of the bed. “and she’s already all mine.” 

[letstrip13]

m.s - nsfw alphabet

inspired by @sturniolobsessed !!!

read the chris version here <3

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A - AFTERCARE (what are they like after sex?)

he’s so so so so sweet about it. of course he makes sure you’re okay and you have everything you need, but what he looks forward to the most are the cuddles after. he loves falling asleep skin to skin with you, his arms wrapped around your body and his face in the crook of your neck. also, he is 100% the boyfriend who will carry you to the bathroom to pee after sex if he makes you unable to walk right.

B - BODY PART (their favourite body part of theirs and their partner’s?)

he loves every inch of you but it would be a tough decision between your tits, your lips, and your thighs. he loves touching your tits, not even in a sexual way half the time. he just likes having them in his hands. as for your lips, he loves kissing them, loves the feeling of them trailing kisses up and down his neck, loves the way they look wrapped around his cock. + he loves having his hand on your thigh as he drives, always squeezing it or rubbing it. his favourite body parts of his are his arms and back. he loves the way you adore his tattoos, always touching them and tracing them. he loves wrapping his arms around you. as for his back, he loves the way you scratch it up during sex.

C - CUM (anything to do with cum.)

his favourite place to do it is inside you. he loves filling you up and watching it drip out of you after he pulls out.

D - DIRTY SECRET (what is a dirty secret of theirs?)

he secretly lurks on tumblr from time to time to sort of get advice on things to do/say during sex. unbeknownst to you, it does help. but he tries to keep it minimal, only doing it when he feels he's really stuck in a rut now since he doesn't want you getting suspicious of anything. but he did it more when you first started sleeping together, wanting to impress you. his tumblr days are pretty much over now but it's still hiding where he needs it just in case.

E - EXPERIENCE (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he is not one to put himself out there so his body count before you was probably zero. but like chris, he's a fast learner when it comes to pleasing you.

F - FAVOURITE POSITION (self explanatory.)

missionary because he loves being as close to you as possible and loves seeing your face. sometimes, he'll put your legs over his shoulders to get even deeper. a close second is cowgirl with his hands on your thighs or hips and your tits within easy reach for his mouth or hands.

G - GOOFY (are they serious or goofy in the moment?)

he's completely serious in the moment but will crack jokes after.

H - HAIR (how well trimmed are they? does the carpet match the drapes?)

same as chris, keeps it clean and trimmed but doesn't shave it all.

I - INTIMACY (how intimate are they in the moment?)

very intimate and in the moment. he loves to savour every second with you.

J - JERKING OFF (masturbation.)

he's definitely the type to have ‘accidentally’ ended up with a pair of your panties after they ‘got mixed up in the laundry.’ for the most part, he'll just go to you when he's horny so he doesn't have much use for it anyways.

K - KINKS (what kinks do they have?)

he for sure has a breeding kink with the way he loves cumming inside you and filling you up. he also has a cockwarming kink; he can never get enough of the way he stuffs you so full. he'll stay in you, perfectly still, for as long as you'll let him.

L - LOCATION (favourite place(s) to do it?)

since missionary is his favourite position, his go-to is either his or your bed. but he's always up for car sex with you.

M - MOTIVATION (what gets them going?)

kissing his neck and playing with his hair. also you matching his energy when he gets an attitude and giving him one right back just does something to him.

N - NO (things they are not open to in bed.)

like chris, he does not want you anywhere near his ass.

O - ORAL (are they good at it? do they like giving or receiving more?)

matt the munch is all that needs to be said. but he's a sucker (no pun intended) for receiving. his favourite thing is when you let him take full control, holding your hair back for you as he fucks your throat.

P - PACE (fast and rough? or slow and sensual?)

it depends but he's more of a slow and sensual kind of man. sometimes he'll mix them and fuck you rough but at a slower pace. the way he'll thrust like that drives both of you insane.

Q - QUICKIE (their opinion on quickies and how often you have them.)

he prefers to take his time with you. given a choice, he will always go the long route with lots of teasing and foreplay. but he will never say no to a quickie in his car or if he's horny before either of you need to be somewhere.

R - RISK (are they willing to take risks?)

he likes to play it safe and stay in his comfort zone but if you have ideas, he's pretty open to them.

S - STAMINA (how many rounds can they go? how long do they last?)

much like chris, he can go a good two or three rounds but he tries to drag it out as long as he can.

T - TOYS (do they own toys? if so, which ones?)

same as chris. he doesn't own any, but if you have a vibrator, he's more than happy to use it on you. he'll love to tease you and overstimulate you with it. maybe he might even let you try it on him just to experiment.

U - UNFAIR (do they like to tease?)

the rings, the tongue thing, the pink slutty waist shirt, the glasses, the stubble !!! he's a slut and he knows it. he teases you to no end whether it's subtle like those things or whether he's bringing you close to cumming then denying you the release over and over again.

V - VOLUME (how loud are they? do they grunt, moan, whimper, etc?)

he's quiet yet vocal if that makes sense. he does it all: groans, moans, grunts, even whimpers and whines but he's not super loud about it. unless he really can't control himself which is more often than he means to. so it's a good balance between the two.

W - WILD CARD (a random headcannon.)

his biggest sex dream/fantasy is to have you suck him off while he's driving but he won't bring it up because he's afraid of crashing.

X - X-RAY (what's going on under their clothes?)

he's like seven inches as well but not as girthy as chris is.

Y - YEARNING (how high is their sex drive?)

he gets horny a lot but he's good at hiding it until you're alone.

Z - ZZZ (how fast do they fall asleep after?)

no matter how tired he is, he will fight to stay awake until he knows you're asleep. after that, he's out like a light.

------------------------୨୧------------------------

author's note: check out this post! + last chance to join the writing comp

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[yamumsyadadd]

the forgotten girl (8)

posted this originally on my old account. will be posting twice weekly :)

I tried to move on after the game. I stayed with Keira for a few days, letting her fuss over me because I knew it would make her feel better. I asked Jona to keep me as a bench player, just for a few extra games and he agreed. The team was treating me differently, they were trying to not make it obvious but it was. Anytime I paired up with someone they would make a silly mistake that they wouldn’t normally do, Cata and Sandra would let shots in that they could’ve easily stopped. There was only one person who wouldn’t go easy on me, Alexia.

I was fed up with it, after walking into the locker with Ale, laughing about something stupid Alba said, I noticed everyone stopping what they were doing and looking at us. Shock and confusion on their faces, over the period of months they had known me, I didn’t laugh much, not outwardly happy, so this was new for them.

“Can you all please stop acting like I’m made of glass? I see it. I see what you’re doing and while I appreciate the concern, I need you all to stop.”

“Milly-“ Keira started

“No Keira. I get it okay, I went MIA for three years and came back different, I get it, but I need you all to treat me like I’m normal, not some broken person who will break if you say the wrong thing.”

A murmur of sorrys went through the room, I missed the way Alexia looked at me, eyes full of admiration and love, but Mapi didn’t miss it. The weeks that followed were good, we won against Athleti Madrid, Villareal and UDG Tenerife, our next upcoming game was against Real Madrid, the El Classico. I was incredibly excited.

The Friday before El Classico, Jona pulled me into his office.

“Hi Amelia, how are you feeling?” He was calm, almost too calm.

“I’m good. Is everything okay? Did I do something wrong?” panic was arising within me. Was everything about to end before it truly started?

“Oh no! On the contrary. I want you to start tomorrow if you are feeling ok with that? I don’t want to push you into something that you aren’t ready to do.”

“Yes, god yes! Thank you Jona!”

Exiting his office I felt giddy, like a kid on Christmas eve. This was my Christmas eve, I couldn’t contain my excitement when I went into the locker room, it was mainly empty expect for Pina and Kei.

“I’M STARTING TOMORROW BITCHES!” I screamed, scaring the two girls.

“Oh my god! Milly! I am so so proud of you! Come here!” Kei pulled me into a bone crushing hug, Claudia jumping on the both of us shortly after. Unbeknownst to you, Alexia was in the bathroom, hearing everything that was spoken about. She was so incredibly proud, she wanted to come out and congratulate you herself but felt it was better to hide and let you have your moment.

Real Madrid and Barcelona were huge rivals. This game was the game of all games. Id watched it numerous times, either on the TV when I was in my hermit era or live with Eli and Alba, even dragging Emily over a couple of times. To be able to play in it, it was indescribable.  

No one in the locker room seemed nervous, well no one expect me. Jona came in and gave his last speech, followed by Alexia and Irene. Slowly the subs lefts, then the starting 11. Even in the tunnel it was loud, almost overwhelming loud, I couldn’t hear my heartbeat, or what the girls were saying around me. It was all very overwhelming. Alexia noticed, pulling me to the side, her hands cradling my face.

“you’re okay mil. You deserve to be here. You’re the best, show them that.” After kissing my forehead, she was back at the start of the line. She was right, as always, I was okay, and I deserved to be there.

The start of the game was a little shaky, having to adjust quickly to cancelling the noise of the crowd out to be able to hear my teammates and the refs whistle. The first goal came easily, a break in the defence meant I was able to run through after receiving a perfect ball from Alexia. Misa didn’t stand a chance, 1-0. Scoring in front of 90,000 people is something I’ll never get used to.

Goal after goal was scored, by half time it was 5-0. Alexia with two goals and 2 assists, me with 2 goals and 1 assist, Caro scoring the other goal. I felt bad for Misa, she was a great person and a great goalie, her team was just shit. She wouldn’t leave though, she’s too loyal, much like alexia in that respect.

By the end of the game it was 9-0, alexia and myself with a hattrick, Caro with 2 and Vicky with 1. Misa was crying by the end of it, by passing everyone else I went to her. Engulfing her in a hug, I let her cry. Her frustrations were justified, and she deserved to let them out. After a while, she pulled back.

“I am so glad youre back, but im even more glad it took so long to have to play you.” I laughed, I always tried to visit Misa when I could, even making Alexia come with me, not that she hated it.

“I missed you too Misa.”

“you coming out tonight? Please say yes. You owe me a drink or three!”

“Fine you convinced me! I’ll see you later M” I trottered off to say good game to the rest of Real. As I was finishing up with Hayley Raso, a body jumped on my back, and then another one. Claud and Patri were yelling out ‘MVP’ and sent us tumbling to the ground. All three of us laughing as each other.

During our usual walk around to thank the fans, Alexia dragged me towards her mum and sister. 

“Mija! There you are. My god I’m so proud of you!” Eli pulled me into a bone crushing hug, leaving kisses all over my cheeks. Alba quickly joined in. Alexia had walked off to say hi to Olga and some other friends. 

“”You’re coming out right? Please say you are.” Alba asked. 

“Alba-“

“I am yes.” She squealed, pulling me into another hug. 

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to mil. It’s not a problem.” Alexia didn’t want to push. It had been a big afternoon already and she would’ve completely understood if I didn’t want too. 

“No it’s fine. I promise. I want to go.” Quickly reassuring the captain that it truly wasn’t a problem. There was a look in her eye, something I couldn’t place. It wasn’t happiness, or sadness, maybe guilt? 

Quickly hugging Olga and Vir, before being pulled back away by Alba, she wanted to talk about outfits for tonight, she had decided to come to my house and get ready, to make sure I didn’t ’run away’, that comment got her a slap on the head from Ale and Eli. 

After slowly making it back to the locker room, the cheers could be heard from the tunnel. Everyone was singing and dancing, some wet from their shower or still in their kits. Deciding to ignore the partying for the mean time and opting for a shower in peace was the smartest decision I’d made. After I was finished I quietly and carefully slipped out of the locker room, wanting to go home and relax for an hour before Alba turned up. 

unintentionally, I fell asleep on the couch as soon as I got home, waking up to multiple loud knocks on the door. Alba was standing there, looking panicked. 

“Jesus Christ I thought you were fucking dead.” She lets out an annoyed sigh 

“Sorry I fell asleep.” 

“You’re not bailing. I don’t care if I have to drag you out.” 

“Relax. I’m still coming.” 

after 2 hours, many shots, and 3 extra bodies, we were all ready to go. The Uber to the club was fairly quick, Lucy and Misa were arguing over something stupid, Keira and Ona laughing at them and Alba holding my hand. The club was loud and full when we got there. Everyone holding hands to make it to the booth where the rest of the team were sitting. 

“Wow you finally showed up!” Mapi yelled, getting everyone’s attention. Alba came back shortly after with Misa, both carrying trays of shots. 

after lots of drinks, most of us were drunk. Half the group staying in the booth and half of us on the dance floor. Dancing in the middle of Alba and Misa, grinding on both in a purely platonic way, I felt eyes burning into my skull. Manoeuvring to see who it was, was quite the challenge, but it did. Confusion struck me. Anger, frustration, jealousy, rippled her face. With a huff, she got up and walked away. 

Why was Alexia so mad at me? What did I do? 

[madridfangirl]

Cricket with the Bellinghams

(Jude & Jobe Bellingham blurb)

'Should we ask her to play as well?’

Jobe asked Jude while nodding in Ananya’s direction. Jude finished setting up the wickets, then turned around to look at his girlfriend who was currently pacing around the living room while on a serious work call. On a Sunday afternoon.

‘She might go all can’t you see I’m dying out here and what makes you think I have time to spare for playing?’

Jobe nodded in support of his brother.

‘Yeah she shooed me away 10 mins ago for breathing too loudly around her.’

‘Exactly. On the other hand, she might go all feminist if we don’t ask her and be like so you assumed I can’t / won’t play just coz I’m a girl?’

Jobe nodded again.

‘Yup, can see that too. What do we do then?’

‘You ask her. She’s sweeter to you.’

‘Oh bollocks. You scared of your girlfriend bro?’

‘Talking about me?’

Both brothers jumped to find her standing right behind them. How did they not hear her come in to the yard at all?

Jude was a little tongue-tied wondering how much she had heard so Jobe decided to take the reins.

‘Just wanted to ask if you’d like to play cricket with us. If your work is done I mean.’

‘Oh it’s not done. It’s never going to be done till I burn that place down. Might as well play a bit.’

Jude scanned her closely - it didn’t look like she had heard much at all. He smiled and wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

‘Wanna bat first?’

‘Sure. Gonna beat your sorry ass with it.’

Jude’s arm dropped from around her, as did his smile, while Jobe giggled behind the stumps. He could already tell this was going to go places.

‘Excuse me?’

‘You heard me.’

‘You know Jobe and I used to play cricket in school right?’

‘And I’ve grown up watching it. What’s your point?’

While Jude was always fiercely competitive, he knew she was a demonic warrior when she wanted to be. This clearly seemed like that day. He still ranked himself far higher in skill, so he knew it would end the way he wanted it to.

‘Game on then.’

‘Yup.’

‘Not gonna go easy on you dove.’

‘Didn’t ask you to.’

Jobe looked between the two of them, wondering how a light fun-filled afternoon had completely turned on its head. What he didn’t know was that the couple had been arguing over small small things all weekend. The kind of fights where you won’t even know half way in what it really was about or where it started from. So what was happening right now didn’t just originate out of nowhere.

Jude counted the steps of his lineup and got in position. Though he had said no mercy, he still decided to bowl slow, just short of out and out underarm. Even with that he was sure he’d beat her. But at least it would look like a contest then.

He bowled the first delivery. She had all the time in the world to step out of her crease, catch the ball mid -air and hit it into the outfield.

It took Jude two seconds to process what he just saw, after which he chased the ball. By then she had taken two runs. Jobe hooted from behind the stumps, patting her on the back.

All mercy went out of the window then. Jude took a proper run and swung his arm fully for the next delivery. The pace of the ball and short length of this make-shift pitch made the ball go over her head for a bouncer.

She gaped and looked at him in horror.

‘That could have hit me.’

‘Please, that would have gone over Jobe as well.’

‘Tryna show off? Or intimidate me?’

‘Just taking the game seriously.’

He shrugged nonchalantly, which annoyed her even more.

‘Good to know there are a few things you still take seriously.’

‘Wait what’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Just go back and bowl.’

‘Don’t mind if I do.’

Jobe wondered if he should leave them alone and let them sort out whatever the hell was going on here. But both would have given him dirty looks if he even mentioned that. So he stayed shut.

The next ball whipped past her shoulder. Jude just looked her up and down, before walking back for his run-up. The unabashed cockiness pissing her off. He had done that consistently last few days - just setting her off with this air about him.

Next ball came. Straight on her legs. She swung the bat with all her might but couldn’t connect it properly and the ball grazed her front leg.

‘OUT. That’s an LBW.’

‘Nope. That was a no ball.’

‘No it wasn’t. I was way behind my line.’

‘Rubbish. I could see from here it was a no ball.’

‘Jobe?’

Jobe looked between the piercing eyes of both.

‘Yeah I’m not touching that with a barge pole.’

‘Coward.’

They said together, then looked at each other to acknowledge their telepathic connection, corners of their lips threatening to twitch with a smile. But the game was still on and neither was ready to give in.

However, Jobe decided to call it quits and said his goodbye after making some lame excuse. He would rather vegetate in bed than be the go between for this sparring hot headed pair.

‘One final ball. If I get you out I win. If you score even 1 run you win. Else it’s a draw. Deal?’

‘Deal.’

Jude weighed his options. Anything above her torso would be risky, she wasn’t good with ducking or swaying in time. But blocking she was quite adept at, from what he had seen just now, so a clean bowled or LBW targeting the stumps would be the way to go.

He stood on his mark. Before starting his run-up, he gave her a final look, almost giving her the window to back out. But she was a woman on a mission today. To humble his sorry ass. No matter what it took.

He bowled the final delivery. It was on target. Right on her front leg. She tried to block well, just like he had predicted. But it was a straight LBW. Clear as day.

However, celebrating was the last thing on Jude’s mind because in her rapid attempt to block, the ball deflected off the edge and hit her on her index finger.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t make any sound. But the bat dropped from her hand immediately and she turned around, holding her finger tightly.

Jude ran to her and was in front of her in a few seconds.

‘Show me.’

It wasn’t a request. He didn’t leave any room for her to be a sore loser & act out. Instead, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her other hand away to take a good look at the finger.

Then, he moved it a little bit and on one particular angle she cried out in pain.

‘Sorry, had to check for a fracture. But it’s just a sprain. Wait here.’

Again, it wasn’t a request. Jude came back in record time with a first aid kit and a pack of ice. He applied a quick ointment to soothe the nerves, then covered her finger with an ice pack, keeping it there for 2 mins sharp.

‘Try moving it now.’

She did. And just like that the pain was gone.

She looked up at his concerned face with a half-smile.

‘All good.’

Jude stood there motionless for two seconds. She wondered if he had even heard her.

But then he grabbed her arms and pulled her in for a crushing hug, kissing her head and face all over.

‘I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry baby.’

‘It’s fine it was just a sprain and it’s not your fault.’

‘Ofcourse it’s my fault. I hurt you.’

‘Jude, it was an accident.’

‘You got hurt because of me.’

‘Jude, it’s fin…’

He grabbed her face, tilted it up and kissed her like his life depended on it. Her hands came up to his biceps for support.

‘Are you mad at me? And I’m not talking about just now.’

‘No. I mean, I don’t know.’

‘I don’t like us snapping at each other like this. It sucks.’

‘I know baby. It’s just…I don’t know….maybe it’s work…it’s just been super crazy and…..’

‘And sometimes I can be a lot to deal with yeah?’

He looked at her so earnestly that she couldn’t keep herself from giving him a genuine smile.

‘Sometimes. But I know I can be difficult too and it’s just……’

‘Shhhhh it’s ok, it’s fine.’

He pulled her close again, peppering kisses over the top of her head.

‘I know just the thing to let out some frustration.’

‘If you’re talking about sex you can stop talking. I’m still irritated.’

‘Actually that’s an even better idea. But what I had in mind was more like a punching bag. Have one in the gym.'

'That....is a surprisingly brilliant idea.'

He shrugged cockily, and she rolled her eyes at him.

'Wanna give it a go, then? Can show you some punches.'

'Yes pls. Maybe we can make it a thing. I sure might.'

'So long as you don't imagine my face while punching the bag it's cool.'

'We gotta do what we gotta do.'

With that, she turned around and walked back into the house. While Jude stood there a bit, staring after her. She was full of surprises, never a dull moment with her. And Jude loved it all.

...............................................................

Was missing my babies so literally wrote this in 30 mins. Hope you like it :)

[ragana62]

This. This is also why (in combination with the whole 12 years in Azkaban thing) I think the characterization of him as “oh, pureblood character who actually knows muggle culture as opposed to Arthur “what is the function of a rubber duck” “how does the money work at the tube station” Weasley who thinks it’s neat but doesn’t fully get it” is also inaccurate.

Sirius didn’t have a chance of much if any exposure until he was at Hogwarts. Then he spent his entire 20’s in prison where he absolutely wouldn’t have time to keep up to date on the latest muggle music/fashion/etc even if he wanted to. Sure, maybe he took to it like a fish in water when he had it, but that’s still 10 years max of exposure, mostly from other 11-17 year olds, many of whom if they knew any muggle music probably did like the poppier end of things at least in part because that’s how the stats on it work.

Not to mention, he didn’t not have cultural exposure before then. Wizarding music seems to reflect muggle music a bit, but something tells me that even if there was a Weird Sister’s equivalent for the 60’s/70’s, it probably wasn’t something getting much play time at Grimmauld, at least not with parental approval. This is a kid who turned up at 11 probably most accustomed to listening to things on the classical/jazz/easy listening end of the spectrum. You don’t immediately go from concertos and Sinatra to hardcore, not without a bridge between them.

That of course doesn’t somehow make him less punk. Billie Joe Armstrong from Green Day has a musical theater/jazz background and that doesn’t mean it wasn’t punk as fuck that at early shows the band made a point of booking queer opening acts and then getting in the pit themselves to beat up the bigots turning up to give them shit. I’m not saying I don’t think he could have gotten into harder genres once he was exposed because I also had a classical background and have played in punk/goth bands. I just think odds are if he did it took a lot of habit breaking, and maybe, just maybe, he never quite took to the full heavy stuff as much as a lot of fandom likes to immediately assume because at the end of the day, while Judas Priest and X-Ray Spex and the like might piss off his parents the most, it’s an easier transition from listening to Celestina Warbeck at the most pop adjacent to liking ABBA/Cher/etc.

Actually, because of this, I think he probably took to goth/new wave/more art rockexperimental stuff better than punk. It’s a much easier adjustment going from Sinatra to Cher to Lene Lovich/Kate Bush/Yazoo, etc. It’s more melodic in a lot of ways as a general rule, there’s more obvious overlap. There was also a pretty solid British Blues scene (I.e. Dr Feelgood) that I feel like would be a logical transition point as well, not to mention I feel like Remus perpetually exists in the Mod side of things where he’d have at least some of it sitting around for it. Of the major British punk bands of his era, I feel like The Clash would be the easiest to adjust to, because again, they lean in on more melodic sounds, less intentional dissonance etc., particularly from London Calling on.

Then he goes to prison, hears nothing, experiences nothing, and gets out in the early to mid 90’s right in time for BritPop, for Pulp and Blur and Oasis and Black Grape, and I think that too would be an easy transition for him, though he’d still not have as much exposure because he’s in hiding and under what amounts to house arrest until he dies. So maybe Tonks brings him records here and there, maybe he steals an issue of NME off a newsstand here and there, but I don’t think he’s going to necessarily be more properly informed than someone like Arthur who actively has to work around muggle things, or for that matter someone like Kingsley who is actively working for the PM undercover at that time and almost certainly does have to be able to at least fake it convincingly enough to keep that up.

one thing that i haven't ever totally agreed with is how some part of the fandom portrays sirius as this character that was born good and who has been against his family from the second he learned how to talk.

the tragedy behind the black brothers is that one of them had a support system who helped him see how his family's beliefs were not the correct way to go and offered him a safe space to run to when it all came crashing down. while the other was stuck not only by his family's duty but everywhere he turned was also filled with the same beliefs.

i don't think sirius was fighting with his parents about muggles and blood purity until maybe a year after coming back from hogwarts. i think he had the same beliefs, actually, because that's all he knew. he might have doubted them a time or two after spending time with andromeda or alphard, but at the end of the day he was a child, and children do follow whatever their parents tell them to, especially when there's not a proper and constant role model teaching them there is another way.

sirius was the proper black heir until getting to hogwarts, but deconstructing himself didn't take a day. i've read how he feels free the second he gets into gryffindor, and how with a single chat with james, he's ready to forget about everything his parents have spent years telling him.

sirius was probably spewing the same pureblood things his parents taught him, he was probably not happy about getting into gryffindor in the first place, it's against everything he had been told his entire life.

that's where the marauders intervene, he is able to have his own beliefs and realize that his family was wrong because he had a whole group of people teaching him and allowing him to make mistakes along the way without fear.

while regulus has been stuck forever, first in his own house, then in slytherin, and then with the death eaters. he also learnt about loyalty and friendship and what was wrong or right, yes. but he didn't have the freedom to even talk out loud about it given the place he was in.

their own personalities doom both of them. when sirius learns that his family is wrong, he turns defiant and outspoken, that's how he is and even if he's aware of it or not, he has the liberty of having a place to go to when things go wrong. regulus is cunning and thinks everything through first, so even if he learns his family is wrong, he knows he can't say anything, his friends are tied in the same world, and his only "protector" is gone.

that's the tragedy between them.

they are both the same, no one wasn't born being "good", one just got lucky enough to be placed with the correct people

[onegayastronaut]

Home for the Holidays

Words: 2402

The mornings in Westview had a comforting rhythm, especially during the holiday season. The sun spilled golden light over the neatly trimmed hedges dusted with snow and pastel-colored houses adorned with twinkling lights, waking the quiet streets with a gentle glow. In your little cul-de-sac, life moved at its own serene pace, a stark contrast to the chaos that often lay just outside its borders. Here, the days began with the warm scent of coffee, the rustle of newspapers, and the soft hum of companionship.

You were perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, a steaming mug in hand, as Agatha bustled around the room. She wore her usual cozy cardigan, now complemented by a festive scarf, her dark curls slightly disheveled, and her expression caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation. Wanda, still wrapped in her scarlet robe, stood nearby, her hands deftly moving as she flicked through a recipe book. Every so often, she would glance up at you with a smile that made your heart flutter.

“You’re going to burn the gingerbread again, Agatha,” Wanda teased, her Sokovian accent soft in the morning air.

“I am not going to burn it,” Agatha shot back, wagging a butter knife in her hand. “And even if I did, you’d just magic it back to perfection, wouldn’t you, darling?”

You chuckled, taking a sip of your coffee. The gentle banter between them was as much a part of your mornings as the sunrise. It was a rhythm you had grown to adore since the three of you decided to settle here together, away from the complications of your past lives. This little suburban bubble was your haven.

“You’re awfully quiet this morning,” Wanda said, turning her gaze to you. “Everything alright?”

You nodded, setting your mug down and hopping off the counter. “Just enjoying the view,” you replied, wrapping your arms around her waist from behind. She leaned into your embrace, her body warm and familiar against yours.

Agatha cleared her throat dramatically, drawing both your attention. “If you two could pause your sappy moment for a second, I’d appreciate some help hanging these stockings.”

“Oh, she’s jealous,” Wanda said with a smirk, her green eyes twinkling mischievously.

“Jealous?” Agatha snorted, though the corner of her lips twitched upwards. “Sweetheart, I don’t get jealous. I’m far too mature for that.”

“Mhm, sure,” you teased, releasing Wanda to grab the stockings from the nearby box. “Where would you like these, oh wise and mature one?”

Agatha swatted lightly at your arm with a dish towel, a grin breaking through her mock-annoyance. Moments like this felt like the glue holding your unconventional little family together. You weren’t just partners; you were a team, a well-practiced trio learning to navigate life’s small joys and challenges together.

After breakfast, you all fell into the easy flow of your holiday routine. Agatha tended to the garden, humming under her breath as she hung string lights along the hedges with an almost magical touch. Wanda worked on a cross-stitch pattern by the bay window, occasionally pausing to sip her tea and admire Agatha through the glass. You found yourself on the porch swing, a book in your lap, basking in the quiet contentment of the moment.

When the door creaked open and Wanda stepped outside, you scooted over to make room. She sank down beside you, her hand immediately finding yours.

“You know,” she said softly, her thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin, “it’s days like these that remind me why we chose this place.”

“Peaceful, isn’t it?” you replied, leaning your head against her shoulder.

“It is,” she agreed, then added with a playful glint in her eyes, “Though I think Agatha secretly misses the chaos sometimes. She’d never admit it.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Agatha called from the garden, waving a strand of lights in mock indignation. “And I don’t miss it. I just have… a healthy appreciation for the dramatic, that’s all.”

Both you and Wanda burst out laughing, your voices mingling in the crisp winter air. Agatha’s theatrical flair was just another thing you adored about her.

The afternoon was spent in the kitchen, where Wanda and Agatha engaged in an impromptu gingerbread house competition. Flour and icing dusted every surface, including your nose, as you acted as the impartial judge. Wanda’s house was perfectly constructed and decorated with precision, while Agatha’s had a rustic charm that matched her personality.

“So, who’s the winner?” Wanda asked, leaning against the counter with a confident smirk.

“Obviously me,” Agatha declared, before you could even open your mouth. “Look at this masterpiece!” She gestured to her slightly crooked but undeniably creative structure.

You pretended to deliberate, taking another bite of a gingerbread cookie. “Hmm, I think the real winner here is me,” you said, grinning. “I get to eat all of this.”

Wanda rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face was impossible to miss. Agatha crossed her arms, her expression mock-serious. “Fine, we’ll call it a tie. But only because I’m feeling generous.”

As the day faded into evening, the three of you found yourselves on the couch, wrapped in a shared blanket. Wanda rested her head on your shoulder, her fingers intertwined with yours, while Agatha leaned against the armrest, her feet propped up in your lap. The warm glow of the Christmas tree lights bathed the room in a soft ambiance. A holiday movie played on the television, though none of you were paying much attention. It was enough just to be there together, surrounded by the warmth of your little family.

“I don’t say it often,” Agatha began, her voice softer than usual, “but I’m glad we found this. Found each other.”

Wanda lifted her head, her eyes meeting Agatha’s across the dimly lit room. “Me too,” she said, her voice filled with quiet sincerity.

You squeezed Wanda’s hand, your heart full. “I don’t know what I’d do without you two.”

Agatha’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile. “Well, lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out.”

The following morning brought the first real snowstorm of the season. Heavy flakes drifted down in a soft, steady rhythm, blanketing the town in a pristine layer of white. You stood by the window, sipping your coffee and marveling at the peaceful scene outside.

“It’s perfect,” Wanda said, joining you with her own mug. She leaned her head against your shoulder, her breath warm against your neck.

“Perfect for staying inside,” you said, glancing over at Agatha, who was layering up in an impressive number of scarves. “Where are you off to?”

“I promised Mrs. Abernathy I’d help her fix her lights,” Agatha replied, rolling her eyes as if to downplay the act of kindness. “The poor woman’s been wrestling with that inflatable Santa for days.”

Wanda grinned. “You’re such a softie, Agatha.”

“Oh, hush,” Agatha said, though the faint blush on her cheeks was unmistakable. She grabbed her coat and a tin of cookies you’d baked together the day before. “Don’t wait up for me.”

As the door shut behind her, Wanda pulled you toward the couch. “Looks like it’s just us. What should we do?”

You smirked, setting your mug down. “I have a few ideas.”

By the time Agatha returned, the house was filled with the warm aroma of mulled wine and the sound of soft holiday music. She stomped the snow off her boots in the entryway, her cheeks rosy from the cold.

“Smells good in here,” she said, shrugging off her coat. “What did I miss?”

“Not much,” Wanda replied, handing her a glass of wine. “Just a very competitive game of Scrabble.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “And who won?”

You and Wanda exchanged a look. “It’s… still up for debate,” you said, earning a laugh from Agatha.

The rest of the evening was spent decorating the tree. Ornaments from past years were unpacked, each one sparking a story or memory that filled the room with laughter. Wanda carefully placed a delicate glass star at the top, her powers steadying it in place. Agatha stood back, her arms crossed, surveying the final result.

“Not bad,” she said, feigning indifference. “Could use more glitter, though.”

“You and glitter,” Wanda teased, nudging her playfully.

“It’s an art form,” Agatha shot back, winking at you.

As the night wore on, the three of you curled up on the couch once more, watching the snow fall outside. Agatha’s hand rested lightly on your knee, Wanda’s fingers intertwined with yours. It was moments like this that made everything else fade away. The world outside could wait. For now, this was all that mattered.

The next morning brought with it a plan for a holiday craft day, an idea Agatha had proposed with surprising enthusiasm. The dining table was soon covered in ribbons, glue sticks, construction paper, and an assortment of tiny baubles. Wanda’s precision was unmatched as she folded intricate origami stars, while Agatha opted for a more “free-spirited” approach, resulting in a papier-mâché snowman that leaned heavily to one side.

“It’s avant-garde,” Agatha declared when you raised an eyebrow at her creation. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand,” you teased, gluing sequins onto a homemade card. “I understand you’ve created a snowman who looks like he’s had a little too much eggnog.”

Wanda giggled, her eyes sparkling as she added finishing touches to her own wreath. “It’s charming, Agatha. Very you.”

The day passed in a blur of glitter and laughter, the three of you fully embracing the silliness of it all. By the time evening rolled around, the house was a sparkling testament to your combined efforts, with handmade decorations adorning every available surface.

On Christmas Eve, you decided to exchange small, heartfelt gifts. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, and the scent of spiced cider filled the room. Wanda handed you a neatly wrapped package first, her eyes filled with quiet anticipation. Inside was a hand-knitted scarf in deep, warm tones that matched your favorite coat perfectly.

“I’ve been working on it for weeks,” she admitted, her cheeks faintly pink. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” you said sincerely, pulling her into a hug. “It’s perfect.”

Agatha’s gift to you was less traditional but no less thoughtful: an enchanted charm that glowed faintly when you held it. “For protection,” she said casually, though her expression was unusually tender. “Not that you need it with us around, but it never hurts.”

“Thank you, Agatha,” you said, your voice soft as you met her gaze. “I’ll treasure it.”

The gifts you had for them were simple but heartfelt—a custom-made journal for Wanda to sketch her designs and record her thoughts, and a vintage cookbook for Agatha, complete with handwritten notes from you on which recipes to try first.

That night, as you all sat by the tree, the room glowing with warmth and love, Agatha pulled out an old record player and placed a vinyl on the turntable. The soft strains of a classic holiday tune filled the air, and she extended a hand to Wanda.

“Dance with me,” she said with a small smile, her tone teasing yet sincere.

Wanda hesitated for only a moment before taking her hand. They swayed together in the dim light, their movements easy and natural. After a while, Wanda reached out to you, pulling you into their circle. The three of you moved together, a quiet rhythm of love and connection weaving between you. It was in that moment, with the snow falling softly outside and the world reduced to the warmth of your shared embrace, that you felt truly, completely home.

Christmas morning arrived with a sense of magic in the air. The three of you woke to the soft glow of sunlight filtering through the curtains, the snow outside glistening like diamonds. Agatha was the first to get out of bed, claiming she had to "check on something," leaving you and Wanda to savor the cozy warmth of the blankets for a little longer.

When you finally made your way downstairs, you found Agatha in the kitchen, humming softly as she flipped pancakes shaped like stars and snowflakes. The dining table was already set, adorned with holly and candles, making the morning feel even more special.

“Pancakes for Christmas?” you asked, grinning as you leaned against the doorway.

“Pancakes and mimosas,” Agatha corrected, motioning to a tray of glasses filled with sparkling orange juice. “I figured we’d start the day right.”

Wanda appeared a moment later, her face lighting up at the sight of the spread. “It looks beautiful, Agatha.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Agatha quipped, though the pride in her eyes was clear. “This is a once-a-year kind of effort.”

The three of you settled at the table, sharing stories and laughter over breakfast. Agatha’s pancakes were surprisingly good, though she claimed it was her “innate culinary genius” rather than the cookbook you’d given her the night before.

After breakfast, it was time for the annual snowball fight—a tradition that had started your first winter in Westview. Bundled up in coats and scarves, you headed to the backyard, where the pristine snow was perfect for forming snowballs. Agatha, ever the strategist, immediately began building a snow fort, while Wanda used her powers to craft perfectly round snowballs with uncanny precision.

“You’re cheating!” Agatha called, dodging one of Wanda’s throws.

“It’s called being efficient,” Wanda replied, her laughter ringing out as she launched another snowball.

You joined in the fray, your sides aching from laughing as Agatha’s fort crumbled under the onslaught of Wanda’s precision and your sneak attacks. By the end of it, all three of you were breathless and covered in snow, collapsing onto the ground in a heap of giggles.

As the sun began to set, you returned inside to warm up by the fire. Hot cocoa was passed around, topped with marshmallows and a sprinkle of cinnamon. Agatha leaned back against the couch, her eyes half-closed as she sipped her drink.

“This,” she said softly, “is what it’s all about. Days like this.”

Wanda nodded, her hand finding yours. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

You smiled, feeling a deep sense of gratitude for the life you’d built together. The holidays weren’t about grand gestures or elaborate celebrations—they were about moments like these, filled with love, laughter, and the warmth of family.

[scary-grace]

(secret) santa, baby - part 7 of a shigaraki x f!reader fic

Shigaraki doesn't want to participate in the office's Secret Santa exchange, but when Toga promises to make it easy on him, he gives in. But making it easy for him makes it a lot harder for you -- you're the one who got his list. Office AU, no quirks. A fic in 12 parts. Divider by @ wcnderlnds

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi part vii part viii

part vii (staying in)

“I think everyone else is asleep,” you say, glancing around Toga’s living room. “We can probably turn this off.”

“Still awake,” Spinner says from the armchair, which he stole when Magne left after the end of the third movie. “I’m watching.”

“Yeah? What just happened?” Tomura asks.

“He’s giving everybody weird haircuts,” Spinner says. Close enough. “I have to pay attention. Aiba likes this guy’s movies. She says he’s –”

He yawns. “Nostalgic. I’m watching.”

“Okay, but nobody else is,” you say. “Shouldn’t we call it?”

Tomura glances around the room. Magne left after making everybody sit through Love Actually and Twice left midway through Die Hard because he gets scared of sleeping in other people’s houses, which leaves Toga, the girl she invited, Spinner, Dabi, Tomura, and you. Of everybody who’s left, only you and Tomura can be said to actually be awake. Spinner’s yawning on every other breath, Toga and the girl are cuddled up in the same beanbag, snoring, and Dabi drank too much eggnog and was out like a light before they’d even finished Krampus. You and Tomura are definitely outnumbered.

It’s not like Tomura isn’t tired. Tomura’s really tired. He feels the heaviness in his limbs and the yawns tightening his jaw, but his mind is wide awake, and he’s going to pay attention to every second of the movie you picked. Since he gave up forcing everybody to watch Gremlins in favor of your movie, he wants to make sure it was worth it, and he wants to know exactly what happened in case you want to talk about it afterwards. He’s hoping you do. He’s not ready for you to leave yet.

Tomura wasn’t sure about seeing you outside of work, but then he decided it would help him figure things out. Seeing you around the office is one thing. For him to know if he likes you, he has to know what you’re like outside of work, so he can decide if he’d want to hang out with you then, too. Tomura’s not good at this whole liking-people bullshit. If there was some kind of life skills class where everybody learned it, he probably missed it while he was being homeschooled or in juvie. By the time he got out, halfway through high school, everybody already knew what they were doing. Tomura just has to fumble through somehow.

You make it feel less like fumbling. It makes more sense to Tomura when you’re sitting next to him, roasting Love Actually just like he is, actually paying attention during the horror movie he picked instead of drinking straight through it. You pay attention to things, notice them, just like Tomura’s Secret Santa notices stuff about him. Tomura feels less weird about being noticed than he used to.

But he doesn’t want to just sit here noticing and getting noticed all night long. He wants to talk to you about something that’s not work or whatever dumb Christmas thing is happening, and he can only manage half. “Is this really the first movie you thought of when I said you could pick one?”

“I was trying to pick one you all would like,” you say. Something about that reminds Tomura of the way you wrote your wish list. “I do like this one, though. Some people think it’s stretching it to call it a Christmas movie, but it’s all leading up to Christmas, so I count it.”

Movies that can only be called Christmas movies if Tomura’s stretching it are his favorite kind of Christmas movies. “Why do you like it when it’s going to be sad?”

You glance sideways at him. “What makes you think it’s going to be sad?”

“The grandma telling the story is the main girl when she’s old, and she’s telling it past tense,” Tomura says. You nod. “Besides, he’s – like that. No way is that working out well for anybody.”

“But it could,” you counter. “You might be right about how the story goes, but there’s nothing in the story that says it has to be that way.”

Tomura thought you were awake, but maybe you’re sleepier than he thought. “You mean, other than the whole story so far?”

“I mean –” You trail off. “In some stories, there’s obstacles that can’t be overcome. Like somebody being dead, or something being too wrong to work. And in some stories the obstacles are a choice, kind of. Those are the ones I like.”

Tomura’s played games where choices matter. Somehow he always stumbles into the bad ending, and knowing that there’s a good ending out there that he was too stupid to get makes it even worse. If you like those stories, you’re probably better at making choices than he is. Still – “If the end’s the same, why does it matter?”

“Well –”

“Hey, can you save the philosophy until after the movie?” Spinner yawns. “I’m still trying to watch.”

Tomura gives it five minutes until Spinner passes out, and he’s only off by about thirty seconds or so. Now it’s just the two of you awake, watching the weird movie you picked. Tomura’s trying hard to watch the movie, but just like he keeps getting the song you sang stuck in his head, he keeps getting stuck looking at you.

The movie ends like Tomura thought it would – sadly, but not surprisingly – and he glances at you. “You’re going to say she could have chosen to stay with him,” Tomura says, and you nod. “Why would she do that? When he’s – like that –”

Tomura doesn’t get why he’s being squeamish about calling it like it is. The main character’s ugly. Scary. Nothing anybody wants to touch. “Maybe she likes him how he is,” you say. You’re not looking at the screen anymore. You’re looking at Tomura. “There’s nothing about the story that says she couldn’t have picked him. There’d have been consequences, but there are always consequences. And I guess that’s why it’s sad. Knowing it could have been the other way just as easily.”

You look away from Tomura, and even though he usually hates being looked at, he sort of misses it. “I guess it’s good that everybody fell asleep,” you say. “This doesn’t really seem like a sad-Christmas crowd.”

“Sad Christmas makes more sense than happy Christmas,” Tomura says before he can really think about it. “It never made sense to me, except –”

Making friends. Spending the holidays with them instead of wondering why everybody but him got to celebrate with people they mattered to. And he’ll never admit it to Toga, or anyone, but the Secret Santa thing is kind of fun. He likes leaving stuff for you and seeing how you react. Almost as much as he likes getting things from whoever his Secret Santa is.

“Yeah,” you say, like he’s explained it all out loud. Maybe he’s tired enough that he has and just didn’t realize. “I can see that.”

You’re doing that noticing thing again. Tomura keeps looking at you, trying to notice you back, but the longer the two of you look at each other, the weirder it starts to feel between you. Like there’s something more that needs to happen. Tomura steels himself, braced for whatever you do or to act as soon as he has an idea of what to do.

And then you look away. “It’s late. I should go.”

“You could stay,” Tomura says. “None of us except Toga live here, and we’re all sleeping over.”

You look like you’re thinking about it. Tomura can think of a lot of reasons why you should – it’s late, it’s cold, it’s probably a long way to your apartment, you’d basically have to wake up again by the time you got home – but before he can say any of them, you nod. “Okay. Where should we sleep?”

You end up with your heads at opposite ends of the couch, under the same blanket. Both of you rustle around, knees knocking together as you try to settle in. You fall asleep faster than Tomura does. There’s no way he can imagine you tangling your legs up with his if you were awake, and Tomura’s so focused on trying to live with being this close to someone that the question of whether he likes you is answered definitively offscreen. It’s something he wakes up with. Just like he wakes up still sharing the couch with you.

<- part vi part viii ->

[harumasa-wifey]

➹Happy New Year»———>

✖Asaba Harumasa x Fem!Reader

Warnings: slight spoilers of chap 5(nothing major) Not proofread

Category: fluff

Note:i was inspired by the new official art and wrote this I was supposed to post it last night but I fell asleep while writing,Sorry for the wait.i cannot picture the accurate spot of this pic but I saw one in game I'll post a pic of it later for reference!

“Meet me behind the cafe in lumina square”

This was the last text you had received from him as you left Random play after meeting with the siblings to return the movie you had rented and wishing them a happy New year in advance.

It was New year's eve and thankfully to the deputy chief you all were out and about today. No fighting hollows , No overload paperwork and some extra which asaba adds to you sneakily because he is too lazy to do them.You love him a lot but you wish sometimes he would Stop adding his paperwork on your desk. It can be a great hassle to finish them in time.

Lumina square always makes every New Year a grand one and a beautiful one to look forward to. You made your way to the metro station hurriedly taking the last train of the hour to the lumina square after talking with Nicole and the others in the cunning hares. The metro was full of people like the elderly, the people with their family, the young highschool students and the couples.

The thought of how this year went passes through your mind. The whole incident with the vision cooperation and the chase in the hollow was stressful. Although it hasn't been completely disposed of, you all can rest easy for the holidays. It was thanks to all of the background support everyone made it safely in the end.

Your thoughts came to an end as the mic on the train announced its stop , you got off the train heading out the metro station into the bustling city of New Eridu. There were lights everywhere and it was more crowded than usual, but there was still one place left to visit before you went to meet him.

Meeting the person you love on new year's eve without a gift doesn't sound right to you so here you are.Standing outside the shop while having second thoughts on what to get him. You had made up your mind to feed him some delicious sweets that are being sold around this time of year even though he likes the bitterness now and is not bothered by it.Having something sweet every once a while would definitely not harm him.

As you look around and yellowish star keychain catches your eye with a little Clover inside. There was something that attracted you to it, so without thinking further you had made the purchase and had it warped in a box.

And your next stop was The cafe.

You had made your way over to the cafe with a little pubsec bangboo to help you cross the road. You re-read his message and made your way to the back of the cafe.

There he was standing while leaning against the palisade while holding a small wrapped box in his hand, his attention over to you as he heard your footsteps coming closer.

“Well look who finally decided to grace me with their presence.Took you long enough”

He spoke with a gentle smile on his face as you rushed over to him.

“I am sorry! I was at the Sixth street when I got your message”

He chuckled at her worries about being late.

“Calm down baby, I was just teasing. No need to rush i just got in myself”

You could hear the crowd hushed as the first firework arched into the velvety night sky as he extended his hand holding the gift box his yellow eyes shining in the lights whispering in a soft tone.

“Happy new year”

Your instinct told you to go and hug him so that's what you did, wrapping your arms around his neck particularly throwing yourself over him not to worry he will always there to catch you.

“Happy new year asaba,may we be together in the next one too”

“Don't worry I'll live long” He said locking his lips with yours into a kiss.

[admirationandromantics]

Josh and reader first time meeting 🥹, maybe its kind of a love at first sight thing? but none of them are brave enough to act on it.

I love the idea, they’re both so incredibly shy, none of them daring to take the first step. Chris would definitely make fun of both of them, especially Josh, because of his insistence of getting him with Ashley, and now they’re finally in his shoes. Anyways… 

Meeting and Yearning

You first met at a college party. You were invited by your good friend Ashley, and got to meet her friend group. Everyone seemed great, so kind and nice. There was one though, Chris’s friend Josh, also the brother of two of the girls. He caught your eye immediately. 

He was so pretty, his hair, his eyes, everything. How could you stop yourself from feeling flushed? Spoiler, you couldn’t. He was too pretty, too funny. Every time he talked, your head turned to look at him. Seeing how his soft lips moved, how he occasionally locked eyes with you. It was mesmerizing, he was stunning. 

You didn’t know, but he was in complete fascination with you, ever since he met you. As you were introduced by Ashley, he scanned your features. About to make a flirty remark, he stopped by your face immediately in trance. You reached out your hand to him, and he hesitantly took it, sparks flying as you touched. Even telling you his own name was difficult. “Um, I-I’m Josh” 

Ashley and Chris understood what happened as soon as they saw it. There was a sort of cosmic connection, an attraction that went beyond looks. They got together, plotting on how to get you closer. 

That’s when it started, Ashley making snide remarks everytime you got together. “Isn’t Josh looking kinda good today?” “I guess” “Go and tell him” “I should tell him that you think he looks good?” you smile, and she faceplants in her hands. This wasn’t going to be easy. 

Chris did the same with Josh, making comments here and there. “So… you and her?” “What?” “There’s something going on” “No, nothing’s going on” “If you say so” “No, really, nothing’s going on” “Mhm” 

They weren’t getting any way, and now had to make a new plan. The occasional drinking game never worked. You both got flustered and quiet, refusing to break the tension-filled silence. That is, before Ashely got the idea of the century. She was going to introduce you to someone else. 

“Okay, just to get it straight, you’re not into Josh?” “No, I’m not. Stop asking” “So, can I set you up with someone?” “What? No” “Come on, you need to get out there” You sighed as you complied, taking up her offer. Maybe this would get you over him. After all, having a crush since the first time you met him was not ideal. 

The date didn’t go well, the guy being boring and not caring about you at all. At the next party, he was there, but luckily, you didn’t talk. Until Chris brought him over, basically forcing you to. You put on a fake smile, asking him the basic things. 

You didn’t know, but Chris went to the other side of the room, conversing with Josh. “Who’s that?” “A friend of Ashley, she tried setting them up” “Wait, right now?” “Yeah, got a problem with it?” “What the hell man, of course I do!” “Then you should do something about it” Chris smiles as Josh gets more aggravated, unsure about how to approach the situation. At the end, he takes a shot, collecting his thoughts before walking over. 

You see him, signalling with pleading eyes to get you out of there. His aggravated self stops, surprised by your silent request. Luckily, he helps you, telling you that he needs you for something. You both leave the guy, walking deeper into the house and start talking. 

“So, you guys not a thing?” “What? Absolutely not!” “He seemed nice” “Not what I’m looking for” you answer, eyes gracing over his body. 

A realisation suddenly pops into Josh, and he can’t help his next question. “What are you looking for?” You become silent, eyes roaming over him, unsure about what to say. He has a sort of glint in his eyes, his body shifting to face you as your stares lock. Before you can understand what’s happening, he closes the distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss. 

In the distance, Ash and Chris give each other a high five.

[supercap2319]

A/N: This could be given as a sequel to my last Fiyero Tigelaar fic.

: readmore:

Y/N watched as Fiyero approached him, Galinda hot at his heels. The Winkie prince gave him an easy going smile. This adorable little bookworm would soon be his. Fiyero thought to himself. There wasn't a person alive who could resist him once he turned up the charm.

“Hello, there.” Fiyero wiggled his fingers as Y/N shut his book and laid it down, giving Fiyero an annoyed look. “Hello.” Y/N’s greeting was about as warm and welcoming as a winter frost. Fiyero didn't seem to mind or notice as he gave a small bow. “You're Y/N, correct?”

“Yes, that's correct.”

“Well, allow me to introduce myself. I am Fiyero Tigelaar of Winkie–”

“–I don't really give a damn who you are.” Y/N said.

The whole student body shared a collective gasp of shock. They had watched as Fiyero approached Y/N, only for the Upland boy to reject him. What was wrong with Y/N? Even Galinda was appalled by her brother's actions. “Y/N, how can you be so rude?” She admonished. “Fiyero is new here, and you're…you're…”

“You're a breath of fresh air.” Fiyero smiles.

“What?!” Everyone asked. Even Y/N was shocked by the Prince's unbothered attitude of how Y/N addressed him. Fiyero nods and smiles. “Yes, a breath of fresh air if you will. I've been to many schools to get swarmed by people who only say things that I wanna hear. It's refreshing to have someone have their own opinion for once. Tell me, Y/N. What are you doing out here?”

“Reading?” Y/N held up his book. “I trust you've seen one before. Or know how to read.”

Once again, Fiyero laughed as if Y/N’s snide comments didn't bother him in the slightest. Galinda gave an awkward chuckle as well. How could Fiyero be so nonchalant about being insulted? Especially his intelligence. “Well, I suppose I've never had a penchant for reading , but perhaps I haven't been introduced to the right book to captivate my attention.”

“Perhaps not.”

“Why don't you show me to your local library? I'm sure I could find something there with your help.” Fiyero smiles. His blue eyes were dancing with mischief and fun. Before Y/N could tell Fiyero to go jump off a cliff, Galinda stepped in. “Oh, we would be certainly delighted to show you around. Wouldn't we, Y/N?” Her smile was tight, and anything other than a ‘yes’ from Y/N would make Galinda upset.

Y/N sighed and stood up, trying to ignore the triumph smirk Fiyero was giving him at the moment. He began walking towards the Shiz building, not checking to see if Fiyero. “The library is this way, Prince Twinkie.” He continues towards the building as Galinda pulls a smirking Fiyero along. Oh, he was going to like this little bookworm.

They walked into the library, where Y/N spotted his dear friend, Elphaba, and waved as Galinda gave Fiyero a tour of someplace she's never even stepped into before. It was kind of hilarious to watch as Galinda addressed all around. “And this is the book place. There's a collection of rare books around here somewhere. And some medium rare as well.”

“He's looking for a book, sis. Not a steak.” Y/N said.

Fiyero chuckles. “Well, there's certainly many to choose from. What would you recommend, Y/N? A good adventure book? Perhaps something with a little bit of fun?”

“How about a book on the studies of why some people act brainless?” Y/N suggested.

“Tell me. What do you do for fun around here?” Fiyero ignored Y/N’s jab, and walked closer to the other male, smirking at him. Did this guy always have to smile at everything? “You ever been to the Ozdust Ballroom?”

“The Ozdust Ballroom? Are you insane?” Y/N asked.

Galinda gets in between them. “I mean, isn't that place somewhat illegal?” She looks around to make sure no one is listening before whispering. “And scandalocious?”

Fiyero nods. “Yeah, it is both of those things. Yeah. It's also not far from here, which is another plus.” Fiyero said as Boq, the Munchkin boy, trips and drops some of his books into the floor. Fiyero stifles a laugh as he looks down at him. “Whoa. You all right?”

Boq grunts as Y/N helps him up. “Yeah.”

“I'm Fiyero Tigelaar.” He looks at Y/N and winks. “Winkie Country.”

“Oh, Oz.” Y/N and Galinda both say for different reasons. Boq stood up. “Boq Woodsman.” He gets on a stack of books to be at the same height as Fiyero. “Of Munchkinland.” Galinda grabs Fiyero's arm and leads him away from Boq. Great. Excuse me. Good to know. Um, what were you saying again about the Ozdust and fun and you and me?”

“I was thinking of inviting you, and your brother to the Ozdust tonight.” Fiyero said.

“Unfortunately, it's against Shiz rules to go into town after dark. Sorry, Prince Twinkie.” Y/N said, but he didn't sound very sorry about it. Fiyero didn't seem to mind though. “I see that, once again, the responsibility to corrupt my fellow students…” He puts his arms around both Y/N and Galinda as she gasps. Y/N rolled his eyes. “...falls to me. Excuse me.” He grabs a book from a nearby girl, and he accidentally drops it to the floor. Y/N bends down to pick it up, but Fiyero puts a black riding boot on top of it. Y/N looks up as Fiyero shakes his head no.

“The trouble with schools is…” Fiyero began.

“Not a damn song.” Y/N whispered to himself. It seemed like everyone at this school could sing and dance like some sort of musical theater show you'd hear about in the Emerald city. Not in the Shiz library. “They always try to teach the wrong lesson.” Fiyero throws a book over his shoulders, and it lands with a thud. “Believe me, I've been kicked out of enough of them to know.”

Y/N believed that. Fiyero did seem like the type to cause so much mischief and chaos at the schools he previously attended, that they had no choice but to kick his ass out. “They want you to become less callow, less shallow. But I say, why invite stress in? Stop studying strife. And learn to live the unexamined life.” Fiyero easily charmed the librarian as he winked at Y/N, showing off. “Dancing through life. Skimming the surface Gliding where turf is smooth.” He gets on the table and in a very proactive pose starts to jumble around another student's head. Life's more painless for the brainless. Why think too hard, when it's so soothing? Dancing through life. No need to tough it. When you can slough it off as I do.”

The young Upland boy watched as Fiyero Tigelaar of Winkie country, start a whole musical number inside the library.

[loganhowlettshousewife]

logan howlett x disabled!reader with chronic pain (not specified)

series masterlist - my masterlist

you should have known better than to go on the mission yesterday, but there’s nothing you hate more than feeling weak and patronised. charles had told you to sit it out if you were in pain, and you’d snapped back that you could handle missions just as well as any other x-man which, while true, doesn’t mean you should push yourself past your limits.

you can’t even get out of bed, every small movement making you whimper and groan as pain shoots through you, unforgiving. after so long dealing with chronic pain, you sometimes think you should be used to it, but no matter how many years go by and how many flares you experience, it never gets any easier.

logan’s upset with you, huffy and fussing, repeating over and over how you should have listened to charles, how the professor only wants what’s best for you, and telling you that it’s idiotic to let your pride take over. he’s being hypocritical, but you know it’s only because he hates to see you this way, hates to see you vulnerable, worries that one day something will happen and the x-mansion will be attacked and you’ll be in too much pain to effectively defend yourself.

so you let him take care of you, because you know it makes him feel better. it allows him a modicum of control over an uncontrollable situation. he, unlike you, has not yet given up on the idea of finding methods to lessen your chronic pain.

he helps you take your medication, brings you food and water, goes so far as to feed you so that you don’t even have to shift your body in case it’s too much. he waits by your side until the drugs kick in, refusing to leave until you tell him to go.

he asks jean to check in on you, asks if there’s anything she can do with all of her medical knowledge - the answer is no, there is no cure to a condition like yours, only techniques to lessen the pain temporarily. he searches for the few mutants in the mansion with healing abilities and practically begs them for help; it’s the only time he lets anyone see him vulnerable, because he hates to see you in pain and would do anything to bring your usual smile back to your face.

you groan in annoyance when he returns to your room with a slightly scared-looking teenager that you vaguely remember teaching last year, but she takes some of your pain away and so you thank the kid. she blushes and whispers “you’re welcome” before skittering out the room, and you’re now able to move enough to turn towards logan with your arms crossed over your chest, an unimpressed stare leveled at his face.

“she asked to help!” he protests, “he overheard me talking to jean about your pain and she offered. i didn’t force her to do anything.”

you sigh. chronic pain can’t be healed even with mutant abilities, you’ve tried it all before. it can take away the worst of it in the same way that some medication can, help with the inflammation that comes with a flare up, bring it down to manageable levels. but you’ll never be free of this burden.

“come here,” you say, and he does, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to give you anything and everything you desire. it’s ridiculous and you laugh, the first real smile you’ve shown all day, now that every breath no longer feels like a battle not to cry out in pain.

you stay in bed the rest of the day. it’s better to take it easy for a while than to risk anything. and logan stays with you, massaging at your muscles until they relax under his strong grip, leaving only to bring you more meals and your medication. he kisses you every time you complain that he surely has better things to be doing, covering your mouth with his large palm as he reminds you that you’re the most important thing to him now.

main taglist: @raeinyourdreams @meetmypointlessaddiction @chubbyhedgehog @yxtkiwiyxt @isepod @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes @deaky-with-a-c