#Char Writes

[vgilantee]

price kisses like a man starved. no matter how long you’ve been together, when he kisses you proper, he leaves you breathless and a little messy.

hand on your jaw keeping your mouth open while he bites and licks at your lips, a mess of spit as he groans into your mouth.

when his hands are on your waist and hips he’s using them to pull you as physically close as possible while he sucks on your tongue.

if you bite his lip and tug it while pulling away, his eyes will roll back and will lick at your mouth.

when you’re straddling him, he’s obsessed with the way some of your spit dribbles into his mouth while you lean back. if you actively spit into his mouth he gets a feral look in his eyes.

sometimes when he has you by the jaw, he will suck your tongue into his mouth to ensure a delicious mix of saliva, perfect to let slowly drip into your mouth off his tongue.

price Does Not know how to kiss you any way other than leaving you panting and with swollen lips.

[saglaophonos]

that don't impress me much! by aglaophonos

rating: M

tags: screenplay format, south downs, humor, fluff, established relationship, dirty jokes, more puns than you could ever imagine

Aziraphale is blissfully happy. But he finds he can't help himself: "I would've said last night came rather quickly," he shrugs. Tries to hide a smirk behind his cup. The Second Coming is over. Now, it's the morning after. Aziraphale and Crowley spend it together at the South Downs cottage.

for @maroogaly, from your secret santa! hope you enjoy

[arget-star]

red 'cause i'm shy, you're my angel in white

Sakura Haruka x F!Reader

A/N: Happy Holidays to everyone who celebrates! I hope they are a joyful time <3 Title unashamedly taken from Christmas Love by Stray Kids This is set within the By Any Other Name verse, but you don't have to read that first :)

tags: none! just fluff :)

wc: 2k

about: Sakura has never experienced a traditional Christmas Eve. He wants to make is special for you

For all the mystery surrounding Sakura, he can be surprisingly easy to read. There’s no hidden agenda with him—what you see is what you get. Even his angry outbursts are easy to decipher, once you get to know him.

Something’s weighing heavy on his mind. That little crease forms on his forehead when he thinks you’re not paying attention, and you’ve caught him texting more than once over the last two weeks. His phone never stops buzzing, courtesy of Class 1-1’s group chat, but he usually scoffs and ignores the thing. Replies from him are a rare thing; a text conversation actually holding his attention is unheard of.

When you asked him about it, an offhand little inquiry over dinner one night, he’d shrugged. “Umemiya’s plannin’ our next captain’s meeting.” But he couldn’t meet your eyes as he said it. Sakura went as far as shoving his phone in his pocket, face a charming shade of pink. You didn’t push the matter; Sakura will tell you when he’s ready. It’s not like you’re concerned he’s cheating or involved in some nefarious matter. He’d struggled enough asking you out for your first official date. Not to mention, if he ever did try and pull some nonsense, Suo and Nirei wouldn’t hesitate in knocking sense back into Sakura’s head.

A day or so after you’d asked him, the texting stopped. He was more engaged than he’d been recently, so you considered everything done and over with. Whatever was going on sounded like Bofurin business.

The odd behavior starts up again a week before Christmas. This time around, along with the increased texting and furrowed brows, he keeps opening his mouth, like he’s about to ask you something, then closing it just as suddenly. You remain patient, despite the worry niggling the edges of your thoughts. Sakura’s demeanor towards you hasn’t changed. If he was upset about something you did, he’d be straightforward enough to tell you.

You both opted to stay in tonight—Sakura’s patrol ran late because everyone in town, according to him, needed help shoveling snow away from their storefronts. It’s sweet, how much he cares, and equally endearing how hard he tries not letting it show. You didn’t mind a lazy evening in yourself. End of term exams consumed your school hours, leaving you exhausted by the time the final bell rang.

You have a sneaking suspicion Sakura prefers lounging around his apartment. There’s no chance of anyone in town purposefully riling him up when they catch sight of the two of you together.

Curled up on the secondhand couch, you lean your weight against him, holding out a volume of some new manga Nirei had recommended. Sakura’s only half paying attention; he keeps asking you to go back a page, or who that character is, or why they’re at that other guy’s house. You’re in the middle of summarizing the last chapter when the cushions vibrate.

Sakura jolts. Fingers scramble for the phone laying underneath his thigh. You trail off mid-explanation, watching Sakura’s expression. A blush creeps up his neck despite the prominent frown curling his lips. The phone buzzes again, his knuckles tightening around the device. Yikes; whoever’s on the other end is in for it next time Sakura seems them in person.

One more buzz. His eyebrow—the white one—twitches. You close the tankōbon, setting it carefully beside you and shifting so your body is facing him. A charged silence settles around you. Patience can only go so far; you’re worried, and a little irritated he’s not making even the smallest attempt at communicating. More messages arrive in rapid fire succession. With each, Sakura’s cheeks turn darker, emanating a heat you can practically feel. He keeps sneaking glances at you, little flashes of gold from beneath a fringe of white bangs.

“Sakura, what’s going on?” You ask gently, daring to rest a hand atop his knee. Physical affection is still a gamble with him. The rules change depending on where you are, who you’re with, his overall mood. Figuring them out is a bumpy, ever evolving road; one you’re proud to navigate so long as it’s with him.

“Hah?” Nothin’!” He says, far too loudly, jumping both at your voice and touch. (Too late, he realizes you didn’t use his first name.) You remove your hand. He fumbles with the phone, finally turning it off and letting it drop unceremoniously into his lap.

Now you frown. Sakura isn’t the type to keep secrets. There are things he doesn’t discuss, like what led to his arrival in Makochi, and that’s fine. You don’t care about any of that. You do, however, care about what’s currently going on in his life, especially as it pertains to your relationship. “It’s clearly not nothing,” you reply, with more bite than you intend.

Mismatched eyes meet your own for what feels like the first time all evening. Gold and blue widen in momentary alarm; he’s caught, and you both know it. His throat works as he swallows back an undoubtedly angry retort. In any other circumstance, you’d be proud of him. Right now, you’d take his misplaced anger over whatever this is.

You’re rarely truly upset with him. Huffy over petty squabbles here and there, like any couple, things that blow over in an afternoon. This time, there’s genuine hurt flickering in your eyes, and Sakura notes how you’ve stopped touching him completely. A sigh escapes his nose a split second before the cursed phone buzzes again.

“They never shut up,” Sakura grumbles. He rubs the back of his neck with one hand, turning his attention to the floor. “I asked ‘em for advice.”

You pause. The admission halts your rising annoyance in its tracks, makes you reconsider the situation. Christmas Eve is around the corner. Judging by his unspoken past, it would not surprise you to learn he’s never celebrated the holiday properly. Your heart skips a beat. You’d love to give everyone who ever made Sakura feel less an incredibly loud piece of your mind. Perhaps a taste of your fists, for good measure.

“Advice about what?” You prod softly. His phone remains untouched in his lap. A lengthy pause follows your question. You’re about to encourage him again when he finally, finally, catches your eyes.

“…D’you wanna go out on Christmas Eve? With me?” Using every ounce of will in his body, Sakura forces himself to stay put. A faint tremor runs through him with the effort. His brain screams at him to run, that old irrational fear of his that you’ll wind up laughing in his face overriding any reasonable thoughts to the contrary.

He knows he’s terrible at this. But you always take it in stride, smiling at him like he’s somehow worthy of being loved.

You’re smiling now. “Haruka,” you say with a surprised exhale—or perhaps it’s relief—cradling his burning face in your cool palms. “Of course I do.”

He’ll never get tired of hearing you say his name. He can’t take it anymore; he looks away, shoulders dropping as the tension leaks away. Dammit, when he tells everyone, they’ll blow up that stupid messaging app all over again. If he waits until he sees them in class, then he’s just asking for them to all pile on him in celebration. Which isn’t so terrible anymore, all things considered.

What a study in contradictions, you think, watching the gears turning in his head. The brilliant blush of his has yet to fade. He’s subtly leaning into your touch, and you swear you catch the faintest hint of a smile tucked in the corner of his lips.

“I was hoping you’d ask.” Initially, you’d planned to spend another quiet evening with him, laughing over homemade karaage while watching the snow fall outside.

“Yeah, well, I did!”

Honestly, you’re impressed he lasted this long without letting off some steam. It’s an improvement from the day he’d asked you out, officially—after barely getting the words out through gritted teeth and a blush to rival this one, he’d stalked off without waiting for your response. Later, you’d heard him yelling at who you assume was Suo-chan. You never did give Sakura a proper answer; just showed up at the agreed restaurant five minutes early and that was that.

Laughing, you release his face, settling back down on the couch. “Please tell everyone I said hello.”

“No.”

(It’s the first thing he does upon entering class the next morning.)

Sakura keeps his hands tucked into his jacket pockets as you stroll along Tonpu Street. Something as simple—as normal—as threading your fingers together is out of the question among the crowed streets. Too many eyes on him, too many people liable to say the wrong thing and set him off. Part of discovering his unspoken rules about physical affection required learning it’s not just how Sakura feels while doing it; it’s how others affect his overall feelings.

Put plainly, he doesn’t want to give anyone more ammunition to start a fight with him.

So you’ve found little ways to compromise. He maintains his dignity and you can still satisfy the urge to be affectionate with him. A desire you know for a fact he also feels. One day, you’re sure he’ll overcome whatever mental hurdle prevents him from doing so in public.

Tonight, you wrap your left hand around his right bicep, both of your shoulders brushing with every step. You prefer this arrangement to holding his hand, truthfully. Not that you’d ever tell him that—you don’t want to risk ruining his carefully built-up comfort.

“We helped put some of these up,” Sakura says, tilting his head at the many strings of lights crisscrossing the street. Their golden glow turns the snow the same burnished bronze as his eye.

“Beautiful,” you reply. Predictably, his cheeks redden, though you don’t think he caught on to the fact you meant him instead of the lights.

You steal glances at him as you wander down the street. Lights reflect off his hair, highlighting the snowflakes stuck to the black strands. He’s scanning the streets with the same purpose he does while on patrol, but you catch him lingering on all the Christmas displays. Beautifully decorated trees adorn various shop windows. Little kids all bundled up in jackets and beanies weave between the crowds, giggling as they clutch boxed up pastries in their gloved hands. A few couples pass by; Sakura misses the first pair, but he makes a surprised noise when the second one stops a few feet in front of you, the girl placing a kiss on her partner’s cheek.

Sakura’s arm tenses beneath you. Muffling a laugh, you tug him along, following the pervasive scent of fresh bread. “Come on. I think Cactus made Christmas cake!”

He follows for a couple steps without protest, if only to get away from the affectionate scene playing out in front of you, and then his brain catches up with your statement. “Christmas what?”

Again, you’re struck with the urge to pummel everyone who ever ignored Sakura. He’s rubbing off on me.

“Christmas cake!” You repeat cheerfully. That doesn’t answer his question, but he appreciates how you never make him feel like an idiot when he unintentionally reveals just how little he knows about the world. “Sponge cake with strawberries and whipped cream. It’s delicious.”

Sakura considers this. He doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth—all that sugar gives him a headache—but the last thing he wants to do is kill your enthusiasm. “If you say so.” It’s petulant, because he doesn’t know any other way to be. He’s trying, even if it doesn’t always seem that way.

You squeeze his arm and lead him through Cactus’ front door. One of the bakers snaps his head up from behind the counter to greet you and Sakura, recognition breaking across his face. “Oh, you’re one of the Furin boys! Hold on, please!”

What a difference it makes, being singled out for something other than his appearance.

A handful of other customers begin whispering to each other. You catch a faint thank you! from someone that goes unanswered. Sakura’s tensing up again, scowling through another blush. Another five seconds and he’ll start throwing punches. “Tch, I’m just takin’ care of business.”

You’ve stepped into his line of sight, prepared to calm him down should he need it. Pride glows warm in your chest instead; he’s looking off to the side as he says it, though you consider the fact he said it at all a victory. You smile, a soft, sweet thing, the type of smile that makes Sakura feel all weird inside. Weird in a good way, he determined all those months ago—because now he has the oddest impulse to smile right back.

The baker returns with a box in his hand. “Enjoy the cake, you two!”

Sakura’s almost-smile drops. He swipes the box, then pauses. “Ain’t this a bread place?”

“He means thank you,” you sigh. Tactful as ever, your Sakura. The baker, to his credit, looks unbothered. He waves before darting behind the counter to assist another customer. You usher Sakura out of Cactus, the little bell above the door chiming in time with your exit.

“It was a genuine question,” Sakura states, hands curled carefully around the box.

“They’re allowed to make other things. Like a special cake for Christmas.” A pause. “Ready to go home?”

You say it so casually. So easily. He doesn’t understand how you’re able to do that. He also doesn’t understand what’s so important about this damn cake, and why it makes your eyes sparkle, or why it suddenly matters to him that this is the best slice of sponge-strawberry whatever you’ve ever tasted.

“Yeah,” he replies, voice suddenly a little hoarse. “Let’s go.”

Truthfully, you would not have minded enjoying the Christmas lights a little longer. Everything felt more magical this year. Most likely due to the boy sitting on the tatami across from you, staring dubiously at the slice of the expertly crafted treat on his plate.

You’ve never spent Christmas Eve in love before.

But you could tell his already wire-thin patience was fraying down to practically nothing. The clear thought and effort he put into this entire evening is more than enough for you.

Sakura cuts off a piece of cake with his fork. You watch him eagerly, your own dessert momentarily forgotten. He chomps down on it, lowering the fork as he chews. A crumb clings to the corner of his lips.

“Well?” You prompt when he swallows.

“It’s…why’re you starin’? It’s good, alright?” There’s no anger behind the words; they’re just a reflex at this point.

Triumphant, you cut your own piece of cake, raising the fork in a mock toast towards him. “Merry Christmas, Haruka.”

That weird feeling returns. He almost—almost—wants to run away, or start shouting, but the reaction is delayed. Distant. Whatever you’ve done to him, he doesn’t hate it. Finding comfort in someone else isn’t the worst thing in the world. His expectations of other people have changed. Slowly. He’ll never completely shake what the lessons of his youth taught him, but he is grateful that tiny shift allowed you into his life.

“M-merry Christmas,” he replies, spearing another bite of cake onto his fork.

[fangirlofallthefanthings]

heard you have headcanons on ody and dio meeting again after he returns. how does that go? how does penelope feel?

Ooooo!!! Boy, do I have ideas [insert shakey turtle of excitement here]

So, it's a little bit complicated, and I don't want to give too much away since it relates to what I'm currently working on, BUT!

I GOT YOU, FAM!

Basically: after Diomedes gets kicked out of Argos (it's very sad, the poor man), he realizes he has nowhere else to go except literally anywhere but the Eastern Mediterranean. So, he sets off for Hesperia (aka modern Italy) to start a new life there. But in this time of heartbreak, he's missing Odysseus even more (they had a sad goodbye on Crete; it's a long story), and he decides to stop at Ithaca on the way to get some supplies and maybe visit Ody. But when he gets there, he finds that Ody is MIA and Penelope is running things. So he hangs out for a while and gets to know Pen and Telemachus (who is about 11 or 12 by this point), and quickly figures out why Ody would talk about her literally any chance he got. She's beautiful, yes, but she's also just as cunning and wise as Odysseus is... The same qualities Dio fell in love with. And Pen is curious about Dio, too. She's heard many stories and news about her husband's schemes with Dio, and she starts falling for him a bit, too. But Diomedes doesn't want to dishonor the Bro Code by getting with Penelope. Ody loves Penelope! Dio could never hurt Ody like that. So... He leaves. He says goodbye to Pen and Telemachus and heads off to Hesperia. He and Penelope wonder what could have been since they believe they will never see each other again.

BUT THEN ODY RETURNS TO ITHACA!!! YIPPEE!!! Diomedes hears this news, but he has his new city to run, so he doesn't return immediately. After a few years, though, he gets usurped and kicked out again, so he's like, "Welp. I have nowhere else to go," and he goes back to Ithaca. He and Ody reunite and there's hugs all around and it's really sweet. Dio soon finds that OdyPen had another kid, a daughter (I haven't figured out a name for her yet, but she's two when Dio shows up). This part of the story is very loose, but I do know they all put two and two together about all their feelings eventually (Odysseus is very happy about this as you can imagine lmao!) It's little slice of life stuff from there. A little hc I have about the three of them is that Dio teaches OdyPen's daughter how to box because she's a little firecracker and needs to get rid of excess energy somehow, but she can't stay still long enough to weave (plus she's really little and doesn't have the fine motor skills for that yet). Dio and Ody also work together to hone Telemachus's and Diodotus's skills (who Diodotus is... you'll know soon enough lmao). I also hc that Pen frequently tricks OdyDio into wrestling each other so she can watch for her own entertainment. She's just sitting to the side, eating her bowl of table grapes, enjoying the show okasdfhsdugif- I also hc that... Once OdyPen passes on, Diomedes leaves again. The kids don't want him to go, but he can't stay. He wants to honor Ody's wish for Tele to be king. If he stays, people will think he wants to take over. He doesn't want a war among Ody's people so... he leaves. He establishes one last city in Hesperia and feels his life coming to a close. He climbs a nearby cliff by the sea to enjoy the view, looking east. Then Athena shows up, and he accepts immortality. Sorry... Got sort of sad toward the end there, but that's a few things! I have a lot of thoughts, but I'm very scattered rn. If you have more specific questions, feel free to ask! I don't bite, I promise! :D

[chaosnojutsu]

the lovely @banbansparkly made this fantastic Reliance artwork, and (with permission to post) i thought today would be the perfect time to share it since one of the illustrated scenes from chapter 12 fits a nejiten month prompt! thank you so much again for making this <3

Nejiten Month 2024, Day 14: Déjà Vu

Then Tenten walks toward her bedroom — toward him first; Neji’s heart can hardly handle it — and she stops in front of him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

If she only knew. She’s one to be asking; she’s giving him a peculiar look, too, so Neji returns the question. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Tenten stares for a beat longer, then shakes her head. “Fucking weirdo.”

She rises to her tiptoes, her hands landing on his shoulders to brace herself, and before Neji can process what’s about to happen, Tenten presses a tender kiss right in the center of his forehead.

“G’night,” she says, lowering back to her feet in full.

Neji does not move from that spot for quite some time, reveling in the ghost of her lips on his skin. He can’t decide whether he wants her to remember this in the morning or not.

[…]

Her expression pitches into something even stranger when she rounds the bar and approaches Neji due to him being in her path. She stops and meets his eyes, perplexed.

Neji humors himself. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Tenten stares for a second longer, and Neji thinks she might remember after all. He’ll know she does if she returns the question like he did last night. And then…

And then what? He’ll kiss her forehead in turn?

It’s out of the question. Isn’t it? People don’t kiss other people without a specific reason in mind. Is simply wanting to kiss Tenten a valid reason to do so? Has it been all along?

Oh no. Neji does want to kiss Tenten.

Then Tenten shakes her head as if to clear her thoughts. “Déjà vu,” she says, and she walks right past him again.

[characcoon]

Living a Red Life - Chapter 22 - Passing of the Torch

Doc has a lot to catch up to after being 10 years away, and hopefully Mumbo doesn't feel like leaving his side anytime soon, so let the gossips roll!

[rolandtowen]

what's up nerds, new fanfiction for yall!

I went on hiatus for three years and came back with Cherik brain rot. Read it on ao3 or under the cut. Chapter two will be up shortly.

It started innocently enough. A chess game, two glasses of scotch, what could go wrong?

The topic of conversation this night was the hypotheticals of their powers.

“Do you think you could control the iron in a person’s blood?” Charles moved one of his knights forward.

Erik hummed noncommittally, moving a pawn forward one space. “I think it’s possible. I haven’t truly had the opportunity to try it.”

“But, could you sense people by their blood perhaps? Not manipulate it, but recognize it the way I recognize minds?”

Erik smirked. “That seems like something I could try without a certain someone getting mad at me.”

Charles put up his hands in mock surrender. “Not saying I want you to mess with people’s veins, but it’d be good to know in case we run into anyone else with your mutation.”

Erik knocked a rook off the board with one of his bishops. “I’ve always wondered, do people have to be alive for you to get into their minds? Hank was telling me the other day that scientists think there can be electrical activity in the brain for a few minutes after death.”

Charles scoffed. “I don’t really make a habit of trying to commune with the dead, darling.” He moved his queen. “Check.”

“Well, what if you could tell those scientists for sure? Connect with someone before they die, and see what all that activity afterwards is about?” Erik moved his king.

Charles stiffened. “I find that highly unethical.” Charles slid his rook to protect his own king.

Erik glanced up at him, gauging his emotions as he moved his last knight. “Just speaking hypotheticals, liebling. Check, by the way.”

Charles made a wasteful move with another pawn, clearly uncomfortable with Erik’s line of thought. “I wouldn’t advise any telepath to stay connected with someone during their death. I did it only once, and never again.”

“What do you mean?” Erik thought that perhaps Charles had reached out to Raven before she died, perhaps to give her some comfort.

Charles’ eyes grew hard. “When you killed Shaw.”

Erik’s hand froze in the middle of moving his rook. Charles saw his confusion immediately.

“What, did you think I was able to keep him frozen and not be connected to him telepathically?”

Erik began to feel a sinking feeling in his gut. “I guess, I thought—I thought you let go when I..”

“When you started driving a coin through his head?” Charles forcefully moved his queen forward. “Had I done that, he could have killed you.”

“So you tied yourself to a dying man?!”

“It’s not my fault you were killing him! Fucking slowly, might I add.”

What?

“You felt him die? Why didn’t you tell me?” The chess game was forgotten.

“When would I have had the time? You shot me and left with my sister.”

Charles regretted his words instantly as Erik lowered his eyes. “To be honest, Erik, I wasn’t entirely sure what happened. It took me weeks to come to terms with the fact that I felt Shaw die. No other telepath has felt another’s death, at least to my knowledge.”

Erik was quiet for a long moment, before speaking in a whisper. “Show it to me.”

“What? No!” Charles sputtered. Erik still wasn’t meeting his eye, so Charles grabbed his chin and forced him to look at him. “Erik, I am not about to force the worst pain I’ve ever felt into your mind.”

“You aren’t forcing me,” Erik countered. “I’m asking you to show me.”

“Why? So you can make some demented penance? This is new level of masochism, even for you.” Erik’s jaw clenched, but his eyes betrayed his emotion. Charles softened his grip on Erik’s chin, scraping a thumb over his cheek. It was wet. “My love, I’ve already forgiven you, for all of it.” He wanted to run his fingers through Erik’s hair, talk him down from this ledge, and forget this whole conversation.

Erik caught Charles’ hand, holding onto it like an anchor. “How am I supposed to forgive myself, Charles? When I never even knew what I did?” Erik brought Charles’ fingers up to his temple. “Show me. You carry so much of my pain, let me carry some of yours for once.”

Charles’ hand was shaking, but Erik sent a mental message, inviting him in, begging—

Please.

Charles’ answer was agony.

***

Immediately, Erik was flooded with voices.

“Now, Charles!”

“Are you okay?”

“Moira, be quiet—I can only control this man for so long.”

Erik was in Charles’ head, in his memory, yet at the same time he was in his own head, as well as Shaw’s. He could see his past self, picking up his helmet.  

“Sorry, Charles.” His own voice, haunting him.

“Erik, please—be the better man—Erik, there will be no turning back!” And just like that, the connection between them was severed as his past self donned his helmet. This was where Erik’s own memory had previously ended their conversation, but now Erik could hear every word that Charles had screamed at him, willing him not kill Shaw.

He felt Charles’ fear when his past self revealed the coin. It was like the floor dropped out from underneath Charles. Chills ran down his spine. He wanted to run, to fight, but Charles knew that if he let go, Erik could die.

For the first time, Erik could also hear Shaw. For a man who presented himself as so superior, his final thoughts were frantic and pleading.

Xavier, please, unfreeze me. Please, I can help you. I have resources, anything you want—you can have it. Please don’t let me die like this—

But overriding Shaw’s babbling was Charles, still focused on Erik, still pleading with him, despite their severed connection.

“No, please, Erik, no.” Charles’ voice was quavering but his power remained strong. Erik could see through Shaw’s eyes as the coin approached, could feel Shaw screaming, but most of all could feel Charles begging to be heard by him. “Please, Erik.”

Erik finally understood the fear. It wasn’t that Charles was so afraid of Erik killing Shaw—Charles was afraid the Erik was going to kill him.

Charles thought he was about to die, but held onto Shaw anyway.

As the coin drew nearer and nearer to Shaw, Erik could hear Charles whimper one last “please”. And then the pain started. Charles could only scream, but even in his agony, Erik could still hear him mentally calling out for him.

Erik, Erik, please, it hurts. Erik could feel Shaw’s skin splitting and his skull cracking, could feel the shards of bone impaling nerves and skin. When Erik killed Shaw, it felt like no time at all passed between the moment the coin entered his head and passed out the other side, but to Charles—this was an eternity. Erik could pinpoint the exact time Shaw’s screams finally cut out, but Shaw was still feeling, which meant Charles was too. After what felt like years, Charles’ connection to Shaw cut out, and Charles’ mind went black.

[segernatural]

The confession was not a whim. Cas knew exactly what he was doing and what would happen. He specifically chose to summon the Empty. On purpose. He told Dean he loved him on purpose.

He chose to save Dean's life on purpose.

This was not a risk he was taking. He knew there was only one thing that would be his true happiness.

He couldn't even consider it not working. For being there for the after of telling Dean.

When do you think he stopped walking on eggshells?

Because of course. Of course right after it was top of mind all the time.

How many things did he choose not to participate in? How many times did he leave? How often did he lock himself in his room? Alone. Just to not risk it.

And while yes he said he didn't have to worry about being happy anytime soon. It still would've plagued his thoughts.

How happy is too happy? How much is too much? What is gonna trigger it?

And when did he finally realize what it would be?

Dean cracks a stupid joke. And Cas just smiles. And they're smiling at each other and Cas feels warm because Dean's smile is like sunshine and--

It's like ice across his body. And he has to leave. He can't have this happen in front of Dean. So he locks himself in his room. No fanfare, no explanation. He has to get out of there. He can't do this to Dean. And he just waits for the Empty to show up. The minutes click by and he can hardly breathe. It wasn't supposed to be now. He can't. He doesn't want to die.

Maybe if he thinks sad thoughts it won't come for him. So he starts reflecting on each of his regrets. And it's a spiral of sadness and despair and grief, with a splash of paranoia in is he really feeling bad enough to dissaude the Empty.

Who knows how long it will take. If he's at the top of the Empty's priority list. It haunts him. He spends hours in that room. Staring at the wall, waiting for the eruption of the black goo.

And finally. He knows it isn't coming today. But now, he knows when it will. What will trigger it. The only thing that ever could.He doesn't know if thats comforting or terrifying

The age old question: would you rather know how you die or when?

[char-writes]

Finally finished editing my first full-length fantasy novel!

Dandelion, Dandelion follows a nobleman’s daughter on her runaway journey into a conflict of mad mages and devil’s bargains. Accompanied by an immortal, a bird-shifter, and a strange girl knowledgeable of all things magic, Cylindra defies the rumors of what happens to stray girls of nobility.

First in a duology, join Cylindra, Elysia, Faye, and Oleander as they face off against Rowan, the King’s Mage.

This work explores different forms of freedom and captivity, themes of discovering one’s own purpose and finding the power to recover from past traumas.

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[fangirlofallthefanthings]

Please ask me questions! I love questions! :D

I’m sorry I’m not good at ask games. I just always forget the questions when people just send numbers or emojis to me in my inbox🥺

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[vgilantee]

I’m glad you enjoyed ☺️

Hmm what do you think about Price being possessive over you when it comes to sharing you with his boys? Like, sure he’ll let them watch. He might even let them make you feel good. But letting them cum in you? Never. Because at the end of the day, you’re the Captain’s lover/partner (or whore if you want).

Which means Price’s cum will be the only cum filling up your cunt and dripping down your thighs 😌

- 🪤

AHHHH BARRACKS BUNNY BUT PRICE IS POSSESSIVE?!

when price first introduces you to his men, he doesn't miss the way they all look at you - with hunger, with desire. but he also sees the way you look at each of them. so he knows that you won't be entirely opposed to helping them destress.

so it becomes routine, to invite them over to the humble home you and price share after a mission. he is always the first to make you cum. has you against the sofa or the bed and worships you with his mouth. makes sure you know how much he loves and appreciates you and what you do for him and for his men before they're allowed to touch you.

i would say "cuck chair" but you've definitely ridden all of them on that chair, and there have definitely been occasions of two of the guys helping each other out while you were being eiffel towered by the other two

of course there are standard boundaries and rules in place, to keep everyone safe and comfortable - things like everyone has to be tested before they touch you, even though you're the only person other than each other that they fuck - but the biggest rule, one that price reminds them of often, is that they aren't allowed to cum in your pussy. ass? sure. mouth? absolutely. but pussy is for price and price alone. they're allowed to fuck you there, but they have to either pull out or wear a condom

(johnny always opts for pulling out because he'll be damned if he doesn't get to experience the feeling of your pussy walls against his bare cock)

and "might even let them make you feel good"? HA price gets some sick ego and power trip watching his pussy-drunk men eat you out. simon once came in his pants after you squirted on his face, but instead of embarrasment? bro was so proud that he was the first of him, johnny and gaz to make you squirt

@glossysoap

[saglaophonos]

He knows why Crowley — who had not so much as picked up a book since the invention of the printing press — had done all that, and done it to save the fragile, insignificant human items that Aziraphale reveried with such vital importance, without even having to be asked. He knows, with a feeling of exhilaration like a live wire throughout his body, why Crowley had always saved him, had always thought of him, and had always treated him with such kindness, the likes of which Aziraphale had never received from anyone else, and never would, or had thought to extend even to himself.

Season three opens on London, 1941, and the end of a long night.

and what if the good omens s3 opening scene was a continuation of the 1941 flashback? and what if i wrote it? in script format? what then?

[arget-star]

For Thy Sweet Love

Umemiya Hajime x F!Reader

tags: fluff, reader and ume are married with two kids, not beta read. if you see any spelling mistakes, no you don't

wc: 2k

about: There's someone new at the park today. Umemiya, happily married with two kids, isn't a fan of how this man gravitates towards you

“My nephew loves this park,” says a voice to your right. You glance over, unsure if the young man is talking to you or into a phone you can��t see. He catches your eye and grins—no phone, then. “Last week, he said the swings were his favorite, and now he claims the slides are the most fun he’s ever had.”

He sticks out a hand in greeting. “Nishida Hideo. A pleasure to meet you.”

There’s no harm in making a new acquaintance at the park. It’s nice, knowing the other frequent visitors, making your trips here less lonely on the days Hajime’s stuck at work. Puts you at ease, surrounded by people you can chat with. You accept his handshake, offering your name in return, silently appreciative his touch doesn’t linger once you gently pull your hand away. “How old is your nephew?”

“Six. He’s the little terror currently reigning as king atop the slides,” Hideo replies, tilting his head in the direction of said slides. You follow the gesture, eyes landing on a little boy whose black hair has the same cowlick as his uncle’s. His tiny fists are planted atop his hips, mouth moving as he explains the rules of whatever game he and your son—also six—have created. At least, you hope it’s just silly rules, instead of something rude or the age old you can’t play with me.

You squint a little, right hand raising to shield your face, and see the smile on your Yuzuru’s face. That same wide, open grin he inherited from his dad. Your lips quirk up as you turn back to Nishida. “He seems to rule his subjects well.”

“Is that your son up there?”

“Mhm. Also six. He loves making new friends.” Yet another thing he inherited from Hajime. Nishida’s nephew shouts something, raising his tiny arms up and stepping aside. Yuzuru, with a loud laugh also courtesy of his father—honestly, you’d hardly know Yuzuru was also yours if he hadn’t inherited your hair color—positions himself belly-down on the slide. Pushing himself with his arms, he goes flying, landing in the woodchips covering the park ground, giggling like a maniac all the while. You sigh fondly; you’ll be cleaning woodchips off him until bath time tonight.

Nishida’s nephew follows suit as soon as Yuzuru stands up. They brush themselves off, then climb back up the staircase next to the slides, presumably to do it all over again. A handful of woodchips cling to the back of your boy’s shirt, and his fellow conspirator has one stuck to his cheek.

“To be a child again,” Nishida says wistfully. “They make me tired just watchin’ them.”

A small snort escapes you. “Try parenting. It’s just as exhausting as you think it is, and yet, there’s nothing in the world I love more. Do you watch your nephew often?”

Nishida gives you a sidelong glance, like he doesn’t quite believe how people could willingly love something so tiresome. “Every couple weeks or so. My sister and her husband own a shop on market street. I try to help out by takin’ him off their hands.”

Yuzuru flies down the slides again. This time, when he pops back up, he gives you a wave. You eagerly wave back; some days, you can hardly believe the tiny baby you once cradled in your arms every night has grown into such a big kid.

“That’s kind of you. Which shop—” You begin to ask, cutting off as movement catches in the corner of your eye. A newcomer has arrived at the playground in the form of your three and a half year old daughter. Shiori’s tiny pigtails bounce as she toddles along, calling for her big brother. You smile again—she’s fearless, so long as Yuzuru’s around. The boy in question momentarily abandons his game, turning towards his sister. You tilt your head, looking for Hajime. He shouldn’t be too far behind your runaway girl.

Nishida, now busy shouting a hello to his nephew, misses the commotion. Just as well; despite the sunny day, a shiver unexpectedly runs down your spine as you finally spot your husband’s approaching figure.

Umemiya Hajime is not a jealous man.

Protective, certainly, and fiercely loyal to those he loves. Never once in all the years you’ve been together has he acted out of jealousy.

Yet now, you feel the same aura that so frightened any and all who opposed Bofurin and commanded the utmost respect from his fellow members. You think Nishida asks you something, but all your focus rests on Hajime, wondering what, exactly, has ruffled his feathers.

He grows closer, features becoming distinct, and it’s then you notice the edge to his smile, the hard glint in his eyes. The tails of his coat snap behind him, in time with his purposeful strides. He doesn’t look like a father who just spent the last twenty minutes calming down his tearful little girl from a scraped knee.

Umemiya Hajime looks every inch the former leader of Bofurin.

An arm wraps around your waist before you can think of anything to say. His right arm, you note, which he uses to tug you closer. You spare a glance first for your children—slides abandoned, they happily chase each other up and down the jungle gym steps—then to Nishida, whose face has gone carefully blank.

“Haji—” You begin, then stop. You don’t know what to say.

A rogue piece of hair has come loose from its usual slicked back style. Normally, you’d brush it aside, laughing as he uses your proximity as an excuse to kiss you senseless. He’s not feeling play now.

In mirror to your own greeting earlier, Hajime sticks out his left hand to Nishida. Sunlight glints off the golden wedding band adorning your husband’s ring finger, and you know he was planning this the moment he began stalking over here.

“Great day to be at the park, isn’t it? Umemiya Hajime. My wife’s such a great conversation partner, isn’t she?”

Nishida stares at Hajime for a heartbeat, then slowly accepts the offered hand. From your place tucked against his side, you can feel the tense line of his muscles, a snake coiled to strike if provoked. You don’t have anything against Nishida, and his nephew plays quite nicely with both Yuzuru and Shiori. You want to be annoyed, even a little angry, but you know Hajime. He wouldn’t act like this unless he had good reason.

“Y-yeah, she is,” Nishida replies, quickly retracting his hand. Nervousness has replaced his earlier ease, and you don’t miss the way his eyes dart over to the children, who have commandeered the swing sets. Yuzuru must have helped Shiori onto one; now he’s twisting her round and round while she kicks her legs in delight. One of her pigtails has started to come loose. Nishida’s nephew propels himself on the other swing.

A throat clears. Nishida’s, you realize, as he casually slips his phone out of his pocket. “I should be getting back. Thanks for chatting with me,” he says to you, phone still in hand. Another look at Hajime. “…I’ll see you around.”

“Have a great day!” Hajime calls as Nishida scurries away. His nephew pouts. Your children halt their own game, offering loud farewells of their own. There’s a moment where you think someone will start throwing a tantrum—Nishida’s nephew, mainly—but the man quickly scoops his young charge into his arms and carries him off.

Hajime releases you with a sigh once Nishida’s retreating figure disappears, all that coiled tension dissipating in a puff of air. He smiles at you like nothing happened. “What were you thinking about for lunch?”

You stare at him in disbelief. Is he not going to say anything? It takes a moment for your tongue to unstick from the roof of your mouth, and when it does, you can’t stop the hiss that escapes. “Hajime, you didn’t have to scare him off like that!”

He tilts his head, gesture almost boyish. You know better. “He said he had to leave.”

“Because of you!”

“Baby—”

“Mama! Mama! Pus’ me, p’ease?” Shiori shouts. You sigh, glaring at Hajime to let him know this conversation isn’t over. Plastering a smile on your face, you happily trot over to the swing sets. Yuzuru has claimed the one left empty by Nishida’s nephew, leaving his baby sister to wiggle pitifully in her seat. A bright, floral patterned bandage sticks to her right knee.

“How’s my brave little girl?” You coo, planting a kiss atop her head. She giggles, sticking her leg up while you set about fixing her loose pigtail.

“Dada fixeded me!”

“He’s quite talented at patching up owies, isn’t he?” Against your better judgement, your hands still, chin tilting up to find Hajime standing alone where you left him, hands tucked casually into his pockets. He’s watching you and the kids with undiluted joy.

You’re still upset with him, but the look on his face tempers some of your annoyance.

“Mhm!”

“I’m glad, my love.” Pigtail fixed, you gently take her tiny hands in yours, placing them around the metal chains holding up the swing. “Ready? One, two, three!” On three, you give her a light push, sending her soaring into the air.

Twenty minutes later, everyone’s safely buckled in their car seats, hands thoroughly cleaned courtesy of your stash of baby wipes in the glove box. Hajime passes around a water bottle from the driver’s seat, while you stand at the back passenger door, shaking woodchips out of Shiroi’s shoes.

“Mama, can we listen to Bluey?” Yuzuru asks, idly running a toy motorcycle up and down the car window.

“In a minute, baby,” you reply. Shoes free of debris, you shimmy them back onto Shiori’s little feet. She’s clutching the metal water bottle in both her hands.

“T’anks, mama.”

“You’re welcome,” and it’s accompanied with a loud smooch to her forehead. You take the water from her, stealing a quick sip. She giggles, waving as you close the passenger door. You clamber into your own seat with a relieved sigh. Park days are fun yet exhausting.

Yuzuru, never one to forget anything, pouts. “Mama, can we listen to Bluey now?”

The car engine roars to life. You fiddle with your phone, queuing up the latest Bluey album while telling Shiori yes, you did see how fast she went down the slide, and you know she’s hungry, reassuring her that lunch will be made as soon as you get through the door at home. She kicks her legs out again, pretending she’s still on the swings. Your hand snakes between the car door and the seat, questing fingers latching playfully around one small ankle. “Got you!”

She squeals, delighted, kicking harder now. “Shake her off,” Yuzuru encourages, and now you laugh, releasing your hold.

“You’re too strong for me, my love,” you say, shaking out your hand.

“’Cause I eats my gebtables,” she replies seriously.

Haji laughs, grinning at you as he backs the van out of the parking spot. It soothes the remainder of your irritation—that smile of his always makes you melt. “That’s right, baby,” he agrees.

Shiori asks for more water. You oblige, passing the bottle back. Yuzuru starts humming along to Bluey. Hajime rolls slowly to a stop at the intersection. It’s all so normal, so perfect. Almost enough for you to forget about Haji’s odd behavior.

Yuzuru may have inherited most of his father’s looks, but he got his knack for persistency from you. Gently, you prod Hajime’s arm. “What was all of that about, earlier?”

He sighs. Flicks his eyes up to the rearview mirror, looking at your children in the reflection. They aren’t visibly paying attention, although your son listens to far more than he lets on. Scary, how often he asks about things you were positive he wasn’t within hearing distance for.

Hajime’s hand flexes around the steering wheel, like he’s fighting off the urge to rub the back of his neck. You squeeze his shoulder this time. He’s the most responsible driver you know—and it makes your heart ache whenever you think of why.

“I was a little jealous,” he admits, softly.

“A little?”

“…a lot,” he concedes, flicking on the turn signal. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you. Something about his manner set me off.”

You frown in thought, playing back your interaction with Nishida in your head. Nothing struck a warning bell inside your own head. Other than the strange look he gave you when you said how much you loved being a parent. Overall, you’d considered Nishida nice enough. Not someone you’d want to become best friends with, but a decent enough park companion.

“I thought he was gentlemanly enough,” you say carefully, trying to see the interaction through your husband’s eyes. Maybe Nishida ended up a bit too far into your personal space, towards the end of your conversation. Half of your attention had been on Yuzuru by that point; the other half was worried about Shiori’s wounded knee.

“It’s how he kept watching you when you weren’t looking. Like he was sizing you up.”

You didn’t feel anything untoward coming from Nishida. Then again, Haji’s always had a gift for reading people and their intentions. You lean over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’m yours, always and forever.”

Those impossibly blue eyes of his land on yours. “I love you.”

Yuzuru, no longer occupied with Bluey or his motorcycle, blows a raspberry. “Gross!”

[fangirlofallthefanthings]

[Things are finally starting to get interesting! And Odysseus gets a divine visitor 👀]

That night, Odysseus was fast asleep—or as asleep as he could be with his arm wrapped in a sling and throbbing with dull pain. He was in uncomfortable unconsciousness, his sleep neither deep nor filled with dreams—just pitch darkness.

Then, a soft buzzing blossomed in the back of his skull. The darkness behind his eyes gave way to bright gray. He looked down and realized he was standing in a grassy field. Turning around, he found a tall lady sitting in a chair. A hood obscured most of her face, but Odysseus could tell she was beautiful underneath.

A vast blanket of fabric spilled over her lap, and she passed a needle with thread through it. Her embroidery gave birth to colorful images that Odysseus was certain could amaze even the most incredible seamstresses in the castle.

Odysseus had this dream before, but he couldn’t move in the past. This time, he was determined to know what it meant, and he could feel his limbs and feet solid beneath him. He slowly walked up to her, taking in her skill.

Odysseus watched as she stitched swirls of vines, blades of grass, and forests of trees. The tapestry taking form in front of him was grand and embellished with golden twine. Rich colors deeper than any he had seen danced across the cloth.

“Hello, little one.”

Odysseus nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise. He didn’t think she noticed him, but her sly smile peeking from underneath her hood told him she had been aware of him for a while now. Odysseus felt his face heat up with blush, and embarrassment gripped his chest.

“You were a challenging mind to contact. I was concerned this would take much longer to get through,” she said as she finished outlining a leaf with gold.

“You were… Looking for me?” Odysseus asked hesitantly.

“Unless I am visiting a different boy that defeated a boar of my creation,” she replied with a shrug, “and you received that scar on your leg from elsewhere.”

Odysseus took a few steps back. “How did you know about that?”

The hooded lady just smiled. “I know many things,” she said, “Especially concerning challenges I have issued.”

“So you sent that boar?” Odysseus’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, “Who are you?”

“I am a being of many names. Many titles.”

“You speak in many riddles, my lady.”

The woman chuckled. Her laugh was refined and proper. Her hand politely covered her mouth, but Odysseus could see that her smile had a hint of danger to it. “And you are a very clever boy.”

“So I’ve been told,” Odysseus shrugged.

“I can teach you how to use that cleverness to your full potential.”

“Full potential?”

“Yes,” the lady said, “I would like to be your mentor.”

“But who are you?” Odysseus asked sternly, “How do I know I can trust you?”

The tapestry on the lady’s lap disappeared in a flash of gold. Odysseus gasped and took a few steps back as the lady stood up from her seat and grew to twice her original height.

She removed her hood, revealing wavy crimson hair decorated with precious pearls that shined like stars, and a silver circlet resting just above her brow. Her eyes opened and stared at him. They were completely gray and reflective, like the finest polished silver. Her cloak wrapped tighter around her, transforming into magnificent armor. The needle she wielded grew into a brilliant spear, its shaft decorated with gold.

A knowing smile spread across Odysseus’s face from ear to ear. Now, he knew it to be true. The appearance in a dream. The disguise. The gold in the tapestry and the skill of her embroidery. The cryptic words. And now this transformation.

It all pointed right to his suspicions.

“I knew it!” Odysseus shouted with glee.

The lady tilted her head, bird-like and confused.

“You’re one of the old gods!” Odysseus laughed as he jumped around the lady, “I knew you were!”

The goddess watched as the little prince jumped and danced around her. Odysseus could have sworn he saw the faintest smile on her lips, but he paid no mind. He had tricked one of the old gods into a false sense of security and made her drop her disguise.

“Very good… Now, who am I?”

Odysseus stopped celebrating in an instant, frozen in place. “What?”

“If you knew I am one of the old gods, who am I?” The goddess asked, “What is my name?”

Odysseus tilted his head and put his hand to his chin. “Well… You’re very tall.”

“Yes,” she laughed, “And?”

“You have armor and a spear! So you must have something to do with war. But… you were making a tapestry before. So that can’t be it.” Odysseus looked up at the goddess again. “Can it?”

The goddess shrugged. “The world is not so simple. Neither are the gods.”

Odysseus hums in thought. The goddess looked familiar to him, but something was missing about her.

“This is a trick question.”

The goddess smiled, dangerous yet curious. “And what led you to that conclusion?”

“You’re not giving me all of the information. With all due respect, there is a reason we call you the old gods, my lady. Very few people still give you worship,” Odysseus replied with a triumphant smile, “You’re not in the full regalia that is present in your statues. You look familiar, but you’re not specific enough for me to know who exactly you are.”

“Right again,” the goddess said as the circlet around her head began to glow.

The light melted and molded itself around the goddess’s head in dripping splashes like water sparkling in the sun. A drop landed on her chest plate and grew in tendrils in the center of the metal piece. Large shapes sprouted from her back in a shower of sparks, painting the dreamy sky above with thousands of stars for a blinking moment. Then the glowing stopped, revealing a helmet, a monstrous emblem of a lady with snakes for hair on her armor and magnificent, silent wings.

Odysseus stared in awe at the figure before him. She was like a more detailed version of the vine-and-moss-covered statues that sat high in the mountains, the stone smoothed and cracked with time. But the goddess was real. Intimidating. Her polished, silver eyes seemed to know his every thought. A strange power radiated from her—pure knowledge.

“Athena,” Odysseus said, “goddess of wisdom, strategy, and craft. That’s who you are.”

“Well done,” Athena said, “Though you are still very young, your logic is impressive. Enlighten me, what is your name?”

“Two can play this game, goddess. You know that as well as I do,” Odysseus said as he folded his arms with a smile, “You tell me. Who am I?”

Athena smiled. “Good answer. However, I already know who you are, Prince Odysseus.”

Odysseus’s smile slowly left his face, and he looked down at his feet. This was the goddess of wisdom, and she was looking for him. Of course, she would know who he was.

“Do not take my knowledge too harshly,” Athena said, “You passed my test and learned your first lesson: never reveal your true self unless necessary, and let your opponent think they made the first move.”

“So… You’re serious about training me?” Odysseus asked hopefully.

“Of course. As I told you before, I see great potential in you. Will you accept my offer?”

“Yes!” Odysseus exclaimed, but he quickly schooled himself to a more calm demeanor and cleared his throat.

“I mean, yes. I accept your offer, my lady,” he said with a slight bow.

“Good. Training starts the moment you are well. I will do all I can to make your recovery swift.”

“Thank you, my lady!” Odysseus said with a beaming smile, “This is amazing! A Goddess and human, the best of friends!”

Odysseus held up his forearm for Athena to bump, something he often did with Polites and Eurylochus. However, the gray-eyed goddess stared at him. Whether she was looking at his arm in hesitation or amusement, he did not know. Her polished eyes gave away no emotion.

“We shall see,” Athena mused as she turned to walk farther into the gray dreamscape, “For your next lessons, we will focus on patience.”

“Okay��” Odysseus said quietly. He put down his arm and quickly made his way to match Athena’s walking pace.

She seemed to almost glide with every step. Each movement looked calculated to be as efficient and silent as possible—the mark of a warrior in every aspect.

“This is where our meeting ends,” Athena said, “I have other matters to attend to, but I will not be far.”

“What should I do until we meet again? And how will I find you again?”

“Rest. I will make your sleep more comfortable tonight and complete our connection. Though you may not see me, I will be watching.”

“A connection?”

“You will know it when you wake,” Athena said vaguely, “I expect great things from you. With my guidance, you will achieve those great things. Until we meet again, little one.”

With that, the world around them melted like quicksilver, and Odysseus fell into deep sleep.

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Part 1

[chaosnojutsu]

the things she carried: Tenten comes out of the war changed in more ways than she anticipated. For Nejiten Month Day 6: Promise

[characcoon]

"Living a Red Life" Chapter 14 - "Happiness"

HAPPY PRIDE IT'S FINALLY TIME FOR SOME GAY SHIT!