#I can’t listen to it often because of that

[azullumi]

LOSER IN LOVE ? NAH, I’D WIN !!

a guide to being in a relationship with your local chrysos heir, phainon | established relationship, fluff, boyfriend headcanons, phainon is the sweetest ever, this is my coping mechanism after all that angst | wc: 1.2k

note from me — tweaking so bad i wrote this in an hour while waiting for maintenance

Give it up for the world’s greenest flag ever, even the most lustrous and beautiful of grass would be put to shame in front of him. No one will ever be the nameless hero, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.

You never have to beg nor plead in front of him, he’ll let the world roll on your feet if it needs to. He’ll give you anything that you ask for or even mention in passing; that one vase you think is cool even though it won’t match your furniture? Bought and delivered to your door by yours truly. How about that dumb painting that looks funny but is too expensive? Yeah, he bargained like a professional. You want his door? Sure, go ahead, he doesn’t need that—oh, you were joking?

Sometimes it becomes too much that you have to tell him, “…And no, I don’t need it. I just like seeing it.” Or whatever you could come up with just to stop the gears of his mind from turning.

IS GOOD WITH KIDS !! He’s so well-known in the small community of children for how understanding and amazing he is, how he’s able to easily get along with them (even the grumpest ones), as he is able to catch up with their tricks and games. Other than that, they also know how he’s so in love with you. Like deeply in love with you even the children know it—some of them are disgusted (because cringe, ew, what is love?) and some listen to him talk about you with a sparkle in their eyes.

You didn’t even have to introduce yourself to them, they already know who you are. They know you before you know them, they have seen you despite never having met you. “Mister Phainon said that you have stars in your eyes and that not even the greatest of bards can compare to the melodies of your voice! He also said your hair is—“ The little girl is stopped by the snow-haired man beside you, a nervous chuckle slipping past his lips. Are you embarrassed, ashamed, angry, or none of those things? Nevertheless, he gets a pinch on his cheek as he surrenders, both hands up in the air. Apologies slipped past his lips, compliments smoothly mixed into it: “I’m so sorry, you’re just so lov—OW!”

HORRENDOUS FASHION TASTE, however. You are not Lady Aglaea, but you have the eyes to see and judge the atrocity of combination presented and worn by your lovely boyfriend. “Take it off.” You say, and he blushes like a virgin who’s finally getting it: “W-Wait, we possibly can’t do it, not when there’s people around.” NOT LIKE THAT!! The redness of your face covered by your palms is all he sees. Oh dear, you know he wishes to simply wear all his favorite colors at once, but at this rate, he’ll look like a walking decorative pine tree meant to represent the spirit of holidays.

On the topic of clothes, the two of you match often. Colors, patterns, and everything that you can, and sometimes, it’s not limited to clothes. Bracelets, necklaces that spell out each other’s initials, teleslate charms, wallpapers, and everything. You and him are like pieces of puzzles that are meant to complete each other, because it really is like that. You and Phainon are the embodiment of one another, tangled in the strings, destinies carved by the sun to be together, hearts burned to beat into one.

SPARRING MATCHES AND FRIENDLY COMPETITIONS which always end up giggles and fits of laughter. In play-wrestling, he often lets you win, allowing you to to tackle him to the ground while you grin above him, teasing him of his title and his strength. “Oh, yeah?” Is all he says before your world spins and your positions are now reversed.

Beyond those things, he is the type to serenade you in the kitchen while humming or under the moonlight when the stars are watching. The type to have your date already planned to every detail and only tells you that you just have to show up (he’ll pick you up even). The type to give you your favorite flowers even though you never told him. The type to leave notes all over your home, letting you play into some scavenger hunt game until you end up in his arms, right where you belong. The type to be overly worried and anxious whenever he has to leave, knowing that it could take a long time and he might not see you for days, so he entrusts you into the hands of his trusted friends—“Phainon had asked me to bring this to you, he mentioned you were craving for it.” ; “Snowy asked us to ensure that you’re eating well!” ; “Here, it will help you fall asleep and he says you will need it the most.”

It’s stupid, and it makes you more fearful, and he has to reassure and comfort you through tears when he has come home because it felt like he wasn’t going to. “You made it feel like you’re going to die!” You sob, smacking his chest and he accepts it—your pain, anger, sadness, everything, he’ll take it.

Kisses? Showering you with it always, especially when the both of you are alone. He loves it when you do the same for him too—stain him with the marks of your affection, won’t you? Additionally, he likes to kiss you and interrupt each of your every word until it dissolves on his tongue and you give in to his warmth.

Hands? All over you already. It is for sure that physical touch along with acts of service ranks the highest on his love language chart. Your hands are always intertwined with his, he would always give you pats or ruffle your hair into a mess because he likes to tease you, and he lingers so close to you that your shadows might as well fuse.

On the mention of acts of service, he’s always at the beck and call for you. Think like Ken’s Barbie senses except it’s Phainon (and his ahoge is his antenna). He senses a disturbance in the air? He’s there already; pure exaggeration, but it feels like that often. “I know you can do it but allow me to help you because I want to,” he’ll say to you, a gentle reassurance, after you insisted that you don’t need his assistance and you don’t want to burden him. He likes it when you rely on him but he will still adore you the same if you wish not to.

Jealousy? Who even dares to mess with you, or him?

Nicknames? There’s a lot. Endearing ones, especially. His partner, his lovely sun, his dearest buddy, his comrade, his, his, and only his. Always dear to him.

It’s not hard to find comfort in him, even the mere presence and thought that he’s here, that you’re here, that you have him is enough to ease the tension on your shoulders. He is warm, you are warm in his arms, enveloping yours as if he’s shielding you from all the harm this world will bring to you. It feels as if knowing you is something easy and small for him—understanding the cracks of your skin, mended together by softness, tracing them like constellations, cradling you all the same because it is yours.

He simply adores the smile he gets to put on your face or the laughter that bubbles from your throat. It’s something he’ll never forget, deeply engraved into the corners of his mind, the essence of yourself tainting the edges as if you’ve become a part of his soul.

He’ll never forget and wishes he never had to.

© AZULLUMI. plagiarism of any form and type, stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms is NOT permitted.

[waitimcomingtoo]

Imagine Me And You

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: you and Peter have feelings for each other but can’t act on them since he’s your friends ex-boyfriend

Masterlist

“Is it weird to date your ex’s friend?” Peter typed into his laptop and waited for the results to come up. He was so engrossed in reading the responses that he didn’t hear you and Ned come up to the table he was sitting at.

“What are you looking at?” You asked as you plopped down beside him. Peter quickly slammed his laptop shut and hopped you hadn’t seen his screen.

“Oh, uh. I was just taking an “Am I Gay?” Quiz.” He lied with a causal shrug.

“Aw. Did you pass?” You asked with a teasing smile.

“Aced it.” Peter said with a click on his tongue.

“I knew you would. That’s my boy.” You laughed and patted his back.

“I love when you call me your boy.” Peter said jokingly.

“So no one cares that I’m here?” Ned asked when no one had acknowledged his presence yet.

“Do you? Then maybe I should call you that more often.“ You replied and leaned towards Peter. A blush painted Peter’s cheeks while Ned rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

“Maybe you should. But I’d like anything you called me.” Peter answered.

“Oh yeah? Even when I called you fart ass boy the entire bus ride home from DC?” You asked him.

“Okay. I didn’t love that.” He admitted, making you both laugh.

“You did it to yourself, mister.” You shrugged. “Should’ve waiting until you were alone to rip ass.”

“I thought it would be silent.”

“Aw. We all think things.” You said and teasingly patted his back again. You stared into each other’s eyes for a moment because no one wanted to be the first to look away.

“Can you guys stop?” Ned complained. “I feel like I’m watching straight American Heartstopper. And it sucks.”

You and Peter exchanged a look before scooting away from each other. There was always an awkwardness that followed when the unspoken feelings between you and Peter were spoken about. It’s not that neither of you wanted it enough to make the move. It was the boundary that neither of you knew if it was okay to cross.

Luckily, MJ came to the table and broke up the uncomfortable silence Ned had created. She sat down with a smile on her face but it slowly dropped when she sensed the tension among the three of you.

“Real weird vibe here guys.” MJ said out of the corner of her mouth.

“Sorry. That was my fault.” Ned said with a raise of his hand.

“Usually is.” MJ shrugged. “Anyway, a friend of mine is having an art show this Friday and they need more bodies in the room. Would you guys want to come?”

“Sure. I’ll go.” You told her.

“We’ll come. As long as there is some kind of greasy food or ice cream happening after.” Ned answered for him and Peter.

“Cool. I’ll tell her the five of us are coming.” MJ said as she pulled out her phone to text her friend.

“Five?” Peter asked.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot to mention that I invited Liz. Sorry, Peter.” MJ replied, making everyone look at Peter. The only one Peter cared to look back at was you. His face flushed an embarrassed pink as he shrugged his shoulders.

“I have no problem with it.” He said. “We’re cool now. And we’re all friends. It’s fine that she’s invited.”

“Yeah, but we haven’t hung out as a fivesome since you guys broke up.” Ned pointed out. “This would be the first.”

“Don’t say fivesome.” MJ said warningly.

“The breakup was almost a year ago.” Peter shrugged. “I’m sure it will be fine if she comes.”

“Okay. Five of us it is then. No one better bail on me this time. I don’t want a repeat of that time everyone ditched and I had to see Lego Batman by myself with Ned.”

“I haven’t cried that hard in a movie theater before I saw it and I haven’t cried that hard since.” Ned shook his head as he blew out a breath.

You were hardly listening as you stared off into the distance, the reminder of the reason you and Peter couldn’t be together causing you to check out of the conversation. Peter looked over at you and tried to catch your eye but failed. It twisted your stomach in knots every time you thought about what having feelings for Peter would do to your friendship with Liz. As much as you liked him, you could never betray her. So instead, you pushed it down and didn’t dare to meet his eye.

On Friday night, you and Peter stood outside the art studio, both on the phone. You were anxiously waiting for someone else to show up so you didn’t have to be alone with him any longer.

“You’re not coming?” You asked in disbelief.

“I know. I hate to miss the show.” MJ groaned. “But I’m having an allergic reaction.”

“You are? From what?”

“Not sure.” MJ said quietly, making you roll your eyes to the sky.

“You got that damn crab Rangoon from that place on the corner again, didn’t you?” You asked angrily.

“I cannot resist it. I am only human.”

“A human with a shellfish allergy.” You reminded her.

“Those are optional.” She insisted.

“They’re not. I’m coming to your dorm to take care of you.” You sighed and went to hang up.

“Don’t worry about me. Liz is here.” MJ informed you, making your freeze.

“Hey. I’m taking care of her tonight.” Liz called loud enough for you to hear. You looked over your shoulder at Peter before returning to the phone call.

“Do you need any help? Last time MJ ate those things, she puked so much I almost called the Coast Guard out of fear.”

“I think I’ll be okay. Besides, taking care of her is good practice for the NCLEX.” Liz replied.

“The what?”

“Nursing exam.” She chuckled. “Don’t worry. I got her. And don’t worry about me either, okay? I want you guys to have fun tonight.”

The kindness in Liz’s voice when she said the last part made you want to ask her exactly what she meant by that. You didn’t have time to ask before you heard MJ retching and quickly hung up the phone. You thought about what Liz had said before walking back to Peter.

“MJ bailed.” You told him.

“What?” Peter laughed in surprise. “This is her friend’s show. Did she say why?”

“You know why.” You sighed.

“That damn crab Rangoon.” He huffed and stamped his foot.

“She can’t stay away.” You shrugged. “What about Ned? Is he on his way?”

“He’s not coming either.”

“What? Why not?”

“He said he remembered that he didn’t want to and is playing The Sims instead.”

“Of course he is.” You grumbled and shoved your hands in your pockets. Peter recognized that you were cold and unzipped his jacket. He went to place it around your shoulders but then hesitated. You’d been distant during the week and he wasn’t sure his jacket was something you’d want.

“Is Liz almost here?” He asked as he slipped his arms back through his coat.

“No. She’s taking care of MJ. We’re really lucky to have a friend who’s becoming a nurse. One of us is always getting sick from something stupid.” You replied, making Peter smile. He and Liz really were cool now, but he much preferred having an evening alone with you.

“Oh. Cool. Just us tonight, then.” Peter said as a blush painted his cheeks. You looked up at him sadly and shook your head.

“I think we should go home, Peter.”

“What? Why?”

“Because.” You whined. “We can’t hang out just you and me.”

“We can’t?” He asked as his heart started to sink.

“No.” You insisted. “If it’s just the two of us, then it’s like a date.”

“Oh. And you wouldn’t want to be on a date with me.” He nodded his head and looked at the ground so you wouldn’t see how much that stung him.

“It’s not that I don’t want to…” You trailed off, making him look up at you with curiosity. You looked into his eyes and smiled sadly.

“We can’t. You know that.” You said quietly.

Peter knew that you were thinking about Liz. It’s not that he didn’t care if he hurt Liz by going out with you, it’s that he felt like he knew her well enough to know she’d be okay with it.

“So then let’s not make this a date.” Peter said to break the silence. “Because I don’t see any reason why the two of us can’t hang out alone. Let’s ditch this art show and go do something no two people on a date would ever do.”

“Like what? Take the LIRR to Long Island?” You asked him.

“Absolutely not.” Peter said in disgust. “I was thinking we could get some non-date food and then do a non-date activity.”

“I wouldn’t say no to a pizza right now.” You said coyly, starting to warm up to his idea. Peter smiled happily before holding out his arm. You hesitated for a moment and then took it, allowing him to lead you to the closest pizza shop.

It was tiny, dimly lit, and hardly the scene of a date, making it the perfect spot. You and Peter ordered and when he reached for his wallet, you put your hand over his.

“I got this, baby girl. Your money isn’t good here.” You told him before paying the man behind the register.

“Smart. Because if this was a date, I’d pay.” He said and tapped the side of his head. You laughed at him before getting your pizza. The two of you sat down across the table from one another in the back of the restaurant. The only other patron was shirtless and eating a calzone with two hands, so you had your privacy.

“So. What would two people not on a date talk about?” Peter asked between bites of his pizza.

“Hm. I don’t know.” You thought. “Shit from a butt?”

“Hmm. That’s a really good option.” He nodded his head. “But let’s keep thinking.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at him and took a bite of your food. You had initially panicked over it just being the two of you tonight but that quickly fell away when you remembered how easy it was to be around Peter. As long as it stayed a non-date, your guilt would be at bay.

“We haven’t hung out just us in a long time.” Peter said, as if reading your mind.

“Yeah. It’s been over a year, I think.” You realized. “We went to that arcade that also sold purses and knives.”

“And hot dogs.” He added. “Remember I tried one and got a terrible nose bleed?”

“I remember that.” You chuckled. “I was so scared you were gonna bleed out in front of me. I think I gave you a tampon to put up your nose.”

“You did. And it was surprisingly very comfortable up there.”

“That was a fun night. We were out so late too. I had an early morning class the next day but I didn’t care. I didn’t want the night to end.” You said without thinking.

“Neither did I. That’s kinda how I’m feeling now. I didn’t realize how much I missed spending time with you one on one.”

“Aw, Pete.” You smiled and put your hand on top of his. “I missed it too.”

“You guys are a cute couple. Reminds me of me and my boyfriend.” The other man in the restaurant smiled at the two of you as he got up to leave. His comment brought the two of you back to reality and you quickly moved your hand. You looked to the side as Peter pretended to be busy with his napkin. Your reminiscing had landed you in date territory and you needed to pivot out of it quickly.

“The pizza is good.” Peter said to break the awkward silence that had settled.

“Yeah. I can feel a pimple forming on my chin and I haven’t even finished it yet but it’s pretty good.” You agreed without meeting his eyes. You finished your slices with small talk between bites before leaving the shop.

“Want to walk around a little? I need some movement to digest that thing.” Peter offered as he patted his stomach.

“Sure. Just, leave enough room for Jesus, okay?” You laughed awkwardly as the two of you started to walk down the sidewalk.

“Sure.” Peter chuckled and kept an appropriate amount of space between the two of you as you walked. The other sidewalk users that you had to maneuver around eventually caused you to get closer. Your hand bumped Peter’s a few times too many before you folded your arms and rubbed them up and down.

“Are you cold?” He asked you.

“A little. This damn Shein jacket is probably made out of candy wrappers and recycled Build-A-Bear skin. The wind goes right through it.” You grumbled and pulled the fake leather jacket tighter around your body.

“What an odd combination the seamstress chose.” He chuckled. “But it looks good on you.”

“Thanks.” You turned your head to give him a shy smile. Peter only let you walk a few more paces before placing his jacket over your shoulders. You gave him a grateful smile before slipping your arms through the sleeves. You knew Peter tended to run hot so you didn’t have to worry about him getting cold.

“I was going to give it to you back at the art show but I wasn’t sure if you’d want it.” He confessed to you.

“Why wouldn’t I?” You played dumb.

“I don’t know. You’ve been a little distant this week. And a little jumpy tonight. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” You replied in a tone that convinced no one. Peter stopped walking so you did too. He took a step towards you and put his hand on your shoulder.

“You know you could tell me anything, right?” He said in a tone so gentle your knees almost collapsed. You looked down at his hand and then into his eyes. You wanted to tell him that you liked him and that it was killing you to not be able to be with him the way you wanted, but the words didn’t come out.

“I’m okay.” You said instead. “Let’s just keep walking. It keeps me warm to stay moving.”

Peters wasn’t fully satisfied but he knew you got cagey when you were pushed so he let it go. You ended up walking to the pier of the Long Island Sound and stopped to looked at the water.

“Wow. It’s actually kinda pretty at night. You can’t see how brown it is.” You commented as you stared at the rippling waves. Peter was too busy looking at you to see what you were talking about.

“Yeah. Very pretty.” He said in a soft voice as he watched the setting sun illuminate your side profile. You both stayed like that for a moment in comfortable silence.

“The sun is going down. You want to watch?” Peter offered. You were about to say yes when a heavy feeling hit your chest.

“Watching the sunset is a date activity.” You said quietly.

“I know. That’s why you’re gonna watch the sunset and I’m gonna go over there and watch those pigeons fighting over an Elf bar.” Peter pointed to a bench a few feet behind you to let you know where he’d be.

“Okay.” You laughed. “Don’t have too much fun.”

“No promises.” He called back as he walked to where the pigeons were. You watched him over your shoulder as he sat down on the bench and felt your heart ache. He gave you a little wave before pointing at the sky, making you turn around. You longed to go over and sit next to him and watch the sunset together, but you couldn’t do that. If he had dated anyone else but your friend, you could. But everything was complicated so you stayed where you were.

“How was it?” Peter asked as he joined you on the pier once the sun had fully dipped under the horizon.

“It was beautiful. You would’ve liked it.” You told him. “It was one of those nights when the sun looks really red and the sky is orange. I know you like those.”

“I do. But don’t worry, I secretly watched from behind you.” He admitted. “But it doesn’t count as watching it together because we were socially distancing.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want you to miss it.” You said as you stared into his eyes. He stared back and raised his hand to tuck a piece of hair behind your cheek, but quickly put it down. You gave him a tight smile before tossing something into the water.

“What was that?” He wondered.

“My pizza crust. I was throwing it to the whales.” You replied. Peter looked back and forth between you and the water for a few times to see if you were serious.

“There are no whales in this water.” He said finally.

“Then what have I been throwing bread crumbs at for the past ten minutes?”

“I have no idea since whales don’t eat breadcrumbs in the first place.”

“Well something was popping out of the water to eat the crumbs.” You pointed out.

“In the Long Island Sound? It was probably the Babadook or something. Let’s go before it comes out and gets us.” He said and put his hand on the small of your back to lead you away. Your face went hot at the contact and you had to give him a look. He rolled his eyes slightly and dropped his hand.

“I know, I know.” Peter said sarcastically. “I dated your friend for three months almost a year ago so you and I cannot do anything that would suggest there was a romance between us. But I put my hand on Neds back too, by the way.”

“I know. That’s why you passed that “Am I Gay?” quiz this week.” You teased him. Peter laughed lightly but you could tell he was upset about something.

“What’s wrong?” You asked him, making him stop in his tracks. He looked at you with his big brown eyes and you felt that old familiar ache in your heart.

“It’s not the I regret dating Liz. She’s a great girl.” He began.

“I know.” You nodded, shocked that you were actually talking about this forbidden subject out loud.

“I cannot tell you how much I regret dating a friend of yours.” He continued, making butteries erupt in your stomach.

“Oh.” You said quietly. He looked to the side but you continued to stare at his face. He looked upset and had his usually blush splashed across his face.

“Peter.” You said softly and went to put your hand on his face. He quickly snapped out of his mood and threw a smile on.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asked.

“What?” You wondered, confused by the sudden change in emotion.

“Those little squishy oatmeal cookies with the cream in the middle. You know what I’m talking about?”

“Not the answer I was expecting, but okay. Oatmeal creme pies?”

“Yes!” He exclaimed. “Those were so good. They’ve been on my mind all week.”

“Let’s stop in and get some. I’m sure they have them.” You laughed and pulled him into the nearest corner store.

“Really? You want one?” He asked excitedly as you walked through the door together.

“No, but I can’t think of anything less romantic than watching you down one of them right now.”

“Oh, baby, you’re about to watch me down three of them right now.” Peter held up three fingers as he practically skipped to the snack aisle. You laughed and followed him to help him look. He didn’t find them in that aisle so he went around the corner to check the next one.

“How much do you think this is?” He asked as he came back to the aisle you were in with an orange cat in his arms.

“Put him down.” You ordered. “That’s the manager.”

“Fine.” Peter sighed and gently let the cat go. “Now I kinda want one of these giant protein cookies.”

“No way. Those taste like straight up sand and butt.” You warned him.

“At the same time?” He wondered. “Or is it like very sand forward with a butt aftertaste?”

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” You playfully narrowed your eyes as you turned to him.

“I do actually, yes. Thank you for noticing.” He replied and took a step closer to you.

“The only thing I noticed is that eyelash that’s been sitting on your cheek all night. I want it.” You said and reached up to take it off his face. He gently caught your wrist and moved it away, bringing you closer to him in the process.

“Get away from me.” He laughed. “That’s my wish. Not yours.”

“Come here. Please, let me get it off your face. It’s been bothering me since the pizza place. I’ll do anything. I’ll buy you all the sand cookies you want.” You offered as you tried with your other hand to hold his face still. Peter had wrapped his arm around your waist now to better maneuver you away from his face as you struggled to get the eyelash.

“That is not what I want.” He said in response to your cookie offer.

“Hey guys.” A voice came from down the aisle, making you both freeze before untangling yourselves from each other.

“Liz.” You smiled in surprise and hastily fixed yourself. “What are you doing here?”

Peter gave her a small wave but said nothing. Her face was calm and if anything, delighted to see the both of you. Meanwhile, your heart was pounding in your chest and you felt guilt like never before.

“I’m just getting some Pepto for MJ. She only has the cherry kind and she said it-“

“Reminds her too much of her ex.” You finished her sentence. “I know. Is she okay?”

“She’s doing better. I think she’s learned her lesson this time. She’s not gonna eat them again.” Liz answered. You all were silent for a moment before bursting out laughing.

“That was a good one, Liz.” You said once your laughter died down.

“Thank you.” She smiled. “So, how was the art show?”

“Oh, we didn’t end up going. We got food instead.” Peter replied. Your heart started to pound again in fear of how that sounded to Liz.

“Oh yeah? Where?” She wondered.

“Just some random little pizza place. The pizza was like $2 and it tasted like the price. I bought my own, by the way. I mean, I bought his too, but only because I already had a five dollar bill out.” You quickly explained. Liz laughed at how you stumbled over yourself but didn’t make any sign of being upset with either of you.

“Wow. Thank you for all the details.” She said teasingly.

You felt about ready to explode by that point. Liz appeared calm and happy, the exact opposite of how you were feeling inside. You felt like you were betraying your friend right in front of her eyes and you didn’t understand why she wasn’t calling you out for being a bad friend yet.

“Peter, can you go get me a clear Gatorade?” You asked Peter.

“Oh, yeah, sure. Bye Liz.” He waved again before leaving the aisle.

“I don’t think they make a clear Gatorade.” Liz said once you were alone.

“They don’t. I just wanted to get rid of him.” You told her.

“Oh, smart.” She chuckled. “So, did you guys have fun tonight?”

“It was okay. It was a pretty uneventful hang out with a friend.” You said with extra emphasis on the “friend” part.

“Really? It seemed like you were having fun when I saw you guys.” She said with surprise. She didn’t sound angry which didn’t make sense to you.

“Fun? With Peter? No way. We’re only hanging out because everyone else bailed. I’d never hang out with him alone otherwise. And I never will again, just so we’re clear.” You assured her. Liz looked at you for a while before smiling softly.

“Hey, you know that red sweater you let me borrow last semester?” She asked you.

“Oh, yeah. The one with the big buttons.” You recalled.

“You know how after I wore it a few times, you told me to keep it?” She continued.

“Well, yeah. I thought it was cute but it never looked right on me. But it looked great on you. I wanted you to have it.”

Liz smiled when you said exactly what she was hoping. She put her hands on your shoulders to make you look at her.

“You can keep my sweater. It looks much better on you. And it was never mine to begin with.” She said in a soft tone. You caught on to what she was saying and looked over at the drink section where Peter was still searching for the nonexistent drink.

“Liz. I can’t.” You shook your head and looked down at the ground.

“If you don’t like him and I’m reading all the signs wrong, then l’ll drop it. But if you’re holding yourself back from being with him because of me, then both of you need to cut it out. Because it’s fine with me.”

“It is?”

“Of course it is.” She insisted. “Peter and I barely dated. And we broke up for a reason. We didn’t work as a couple and that’s okay. It doesn’t mean he’s off limits from you or any other girl. I think you should go for it.”

“But he’s your ex-boyfriend.”

“And you’re my best friend. I want you to be happy.“ She said with a friendly squeeze of your shoulders. You gave her a sad smile and then pulled her into a hug. She hugged you back tightly as Peter watched curiously from a distance.

“I appreciate you caring about my feelings. But it’s not necessary.Now, go get him.” Liz said once you pulled out of the hug. Peter came back and joined you in the aisle with a smile.

“Here you go.” Peter said as he handed you the bottle of clear Gatorade.

“What the hell?” You whispered in disbelief at his find.

“I better get back to MJ. But call me if you guys get sick from that pizza.” Liz waved goodbye and left to make her purchase.

“What were you guys talking about?” Peter asked once the two of you left the store with your items.

“My old red sweater.” You told him to put it lightly.

“The one with the big buttons? I remember it. You always looked pretty in it. How come you don’t wear it anymore?” Peter wondered. For once, you allowed yourself to enjoy the compliment from him without feeling guilty. You stopped walking and Peter followed suit and stopped with you.

“Because it was never mine to begin with.” You smiled fondly at him and slipped your hand into his. Peter smiled back at the unexpected gesture but his smile slowly faded when he realized he didn’t know what you were talking about.

“Am… am I supposed to know what that means?”

“I think you know what it means.” You said as you took a step closer to him. Peter looked to the side and in confusion and still had no idea what you were talking about.

“I’m confused. Did you steal it or some-“

You cut Peter off by grabbing his shirt to pull him into a kiss. Once Peter’s initial surprise wore off, he put his hands on your face to kiss you back. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed yourself into him, kissing him until you ran out of breath. When you pulled away, Peter had a shy smile on his face as he pressed his forehead against yours.

“What made you change your mind about us?” He asked you in a timid voice. “And don’t say the red sweater because I still don’t understand what that meant.”

“I just realized we’re a good fit. And I didn’t want to hold myself back anymore.”

“So does this mean I can take you on a real date sometime? One where I buy your pizza and watch the sunset next to you?” Peter asked hopefully.

“It does. I’d really like that.” You answered coyly, making him smile.

“Does this also mean if you and I break up, I’m allowed to date Ned?” Peter asked jokingly.

“Don’t push it, mister.” You warned him.

“I won’t.” He held his hands up in defense. You started walking down the street again, this time hand in hand.

“Oatmeal creme pie?” Peter offered as he leaned the box of Oatmeal cookies towards you.

“Why thank you.” You said and took one. “Clear Gatorade?”

Peter accepted your offer and took a large sip of the Gatorade you’d been drinking. He winced at the flavor and looked at the bottle.

“What’s wrong?” You asked him.

“Ugh. This Gaterade is gross.” He grimaced. “Oh my God. This isn’t Gatorade. This is magnesium citrate.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s the stuff you drink before a colonoscopy to, you know, clear yourself out.” Peter said with obvious discomfort.

“What?” You exclaimed and grabbed the bottle to read it for yourself. Sure enough, the neatly empty bottle was what Peter said it was.

“If you think about it, this is kinda the perfect way to end our non-date.” Peter said to try to make you feel better. You gave him a look before pulling out your phone.

“Hey Liz.” You said into the phone. “Funny story.”

Taglist 🏷️

@thebookwormlife @imanativeofswlondondahling

@whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings

@imyourliquor-youremypoison @andreasworlsboring101

@peterparkoure

@justcallmehitgirl @jackiehollanderr

@emmamarshmellow @unbelievableholland

@sovereignparker @every-marveler-ever @undiadeestos @eridanuswave​ ​

@solarxmoonchild @canyouevencauseicant

@quaksonhehe @lovelessdagger

@thesuitelifeofafangirl @marshxx @nooneinvitedfascistbarbie

@maybemona

@alexxcorona113 @lethal-wisdom

@pandaxnienke

 @officialsimppage @itsemohours

@freakofmusic25 @tomholland85

@olixerwxxd @leilanixx

@whereismytelephone @so-very-asleep

@spideyspeaches @hihiweezing

@mathletemadison  

@dhtomholland @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @prancerrparkerr

@hallecarey1 @adayasgeorgia @blackwidowisthebest @imawhoreforu

@ciarahollands

@nellabellaa @pinklxmonade @boogywoogywoogy @wordsarelife

@starboyshoyo

[lcvecove]

MAY I HAVE THIS DANCE ⋆ SC87

in which sidney comes to some realizations while dancing with you at nate’s wedding. i’m in love with this man😫. this isn’t really summer core but I decided to include it! alexa play ‘you are in love’ by taylor swift

there is something about a man that knows how to hold his woman. a hold that is possessive but still gentle. still makes you feel cherished, admired and loved. sidney was one of those men.

your boyfriend currently had you in one of those holds. one hand clasped firmly on your waist, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your satin dress. the other hand was laid dangerously, confidently and way too comfortably on your lower back.

every so often that hand would dip slightly and brush over your ass, pulling you impossibly closer to him. it was a rare public display of affection that you knew only occurred because sid was a little whiskey drunk and overly happy for his friend.

nate’s wedding had significantly downsized from the enormous social event it had been earlier that day. it hadn’t been nearly as big as it could’ve been, the couple deciding to keep the event private similar to the rest of their relationship thus far. but there was still well over a hundred people in attendance.

it had faded to only a few couples still swaying around the dance floor, including the newly married duo themselves.

“they look so happy,” you remark, nodding to where nate was spinning around his giggling bride. the normally serious man having an easy-going vibe surrounding him that you knew was rare.

“yeah they do,” sid responds almost wistfully. a subtle sadness to his words and his expression that makes your chest squeeze uncomfortably.

“what’s wrong, baby?” you ask, cradling his freshly-shaven cheek softly.

“nothing,” he states, the word coming out in a resigned sigh.

“if now is the time you wanna admit that you’re actually in love with nate, you’re a tad bit too late bud” you say teasingly, giggling as he glares at you incredulously.

“you’re such a fucking brat,” sid mumbles, burying his face in your neck and teasingly nipping at the skin there, and pressing a gentle kiss before pulling back and continuing your gentle sway that couldn’t even really be called a dance.

“what’s bothering you?” you ask again and sid stops dancing, both hands settling on your waist and holding you tight.

“everyone always talks about how nate tries to follow in my footsteps and how much he looks up to me and how much I’ve influenced him,” sid starts and you wait patiently for him to collect his thoughts.

“and I think tonight I just realized that it’s the other way around. he’s getting married. he wants to start a family. he’s playing the best hockey of his life. he looks happier than he’s ever been. and I can’t help but wonder why I’ve been robbing myself of that all these years. why I’ve been robbing you of that,” he states, a frustrated frown present between his brows

“you haven’t robbed me of anything. you made it abundantly clear that you weren’t planning on getting married or starting a family while you were still playing and I understood and accepted that. happily. I knew what I was signing up for sid,” you retort softly

“but you deserve better! you deserve a dramatic proposal. and a big wedding. and a marriage that other people are disgustingly envious of. you deserve more than a man that dates you for fifteen years and still hasn’t put a ring on your finger,” he says, rubbing a hand over his agitated face. and it’s then that you realize that he’s almost a little angry at you for not asking this of him earlier. for not realizing you deserve better than he was giving you and demanding it of him.

“I knew what I was signing up for. I chose to be in this relationship, and I haven’t regretted a single day of the last fifteen years. not one,” you argue back, slipping both arms around his neck.

“you’re not hearing what I’m saying,” sid replies and you kiss him reassuringly.

“I am. I’m listening and I hear what you’re saying baby, I’m just not gonna let you villainize yourself or our time together based on some ridiculous notion of what could’ve been. we’re not them and they’re not us. we made decisions based on the circumstances we were in at the time. and we can’t change the past sid. I’d marry you tonight. or when you retire. or another fifteen years from now. or never if you decide it’s not in your cards. I’ve never demanded more because I’ve never needed more. I just need you, that’s enough for me. and if you’ve changed your mind and you decide you wanna marry me earlier then I’m more than okay with that too” you say, running your hand through his salt and pepper hair.

“I love you. I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to pull my head out of my ass and I’m gonna marry the fuck out of you very soon, I promise. and we’re gonna have lots of kids,” sidney promises, pressing a bunch of kisses to your face as you laugh happily

“I don’t think the world is ready for dad sid yet,” you state fondly, imagining him with a little mini crosby.

“dad sid? oh my God! am I gonna be an uncle? to a mini sid? this really is the best day of my life,” you hear nate say as he comes over and practically yanks sidney out of your grasp and lifts him into a celebratory hug.

yeah, you think, it’s the best day of my life too

[raekensluver]

Hello! Could you do a Spencer Reid oneshot preferably around s1! Where r offers to take Spencer on a date after he asks Elle why he can’t get a date? Please and thank you!

masterlist | main masterlist

contains: fluff, mutual pining, light teasing

season one!spencer reid x fem!reader

“why can’t i get a date?” spencer’s voice floats out from the conference room, and you freeze mid-step in the hallway.

you shouldn’t be listening.

you are listening.

elle’s answering laugh is dry, fond. “spencer, please. you could get a date.”

“i don’t think that’s true,” he says. “statistically- ”

you poke your head around the doorframe just in time to catch elle rolling her eyes. “you’re cute. you’re smart. you just don’t know how to ask.”

“i do know how to ask,” he argues, flustered now. “i just…don’t.”

“exactly.” elle stands, grabbing her go-bag off the chair. “try it sometime.”

they both spot you then. spencer immediately straightens like he’s been caught doing something illicit. elle, though, gives you a knowing little smile and nods once before brushing past you.

you linger in the doorway, hands in your pockets.

“bad time?” you ask.

spencer shakes his head quickly. “no, no. it’s - it’s fine. elle was just…” he waves vaguely. “you know.”

“giving you dating advice?”

the tips of his ears go pink. “you heard that?”

you smile. “just the important parts.”

he groans softly and hides his face in his hands for a second, then peeks at you through his fingers. “i’m never going to live that down, am i?”

“not if you keep asking the wrong people,” you tease. “elle’s great, but she’s not exactly subtle.”

spencer lowers his hands. “and you are?”

“i can be.” you pause, then take a slow step forward. “do you want a date, spencer?”

he blinks. “are you offering?”

“i am.”

his mouth opens. closes. opens again. “like…like a real date?”

you tilt your head. “what do you consider fake?”

“i don’t know,” he says faintly. “lunch that turns into work talk. or coffee that’s actually about case files. or… me thinking it’s a date when it’s actually not.” his voice gets smaller with every word.

your expression softens. “okay, then let’s make it clear. i’m asking you on a real date. one that has nothing to do with work. just the two of us, out somewhere not fluorescently lit, where you can tell me about obscure 15th-century poets and i pretend to keep up.”

that makes him smile, boyish and bright. “you wouldn’t have to pretend.”

“i know,” you murmur.

there’s a silence - comfortable, tentative - and then he says, “you’re serious.”

“i am.”

spencer takes a deep breath. “okay. yes. i want that. i mean - i want to go. with you. on the date.”

you grin. “great. pick a night.”

he’s still a little stunned, staring at you like you’ve just solved a problem he didn’t realize had an answer.

“friday?” he says eventually. “if we’re not called in.”

you nod. “friday it is.”

you turn to leave, but he calls out softly, “wait.”

you glance back. “yeah?”

“why me?” he asks it earnestly, like he really can’t figure it out.

and that’s what does it, really. the way he looks at you like he hasn’t been silently orbiting your attention for weeks. the way he doesn’t realize how often you watch him trace equations in the air or rattle off statistics like they’re oxygen.

“because,” you say, walking backwards out the door with a smile, “you just had to ask.”

[mamiobesssionfics]

Where the Heart Rests

Rhea Ripley x Reader

Summary: You can’t sleep, your mind racing with worries. Rhea notices even in the dark, and pulls you gently onto her chest.

It was nearly half past two when you gave up pretending.

The room was quiet. Too quiet.

Only the soft ticking of the clock and the occasional shifting of sheets beside you.

The moonlight filtered in through the half-open curtains. It was dark. Rhea slept soundly beside you, or so you thought.

You turned to your side, hoping the motion wouldn't wake her, but before your head could settle on the pillow again, her voice drifted into the dark.

"Still awake?"

You blinked. "Sorry. Did I wake you?"

She shook her head slightly, her hair a halo against the pillow.

"You weren’t exactly still. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?"

You hesitated, then sighed. "I don’t know. Just… everything."

Rhea shifted, reaching out to pull you closer, guiding your head to her chest.

"Then let everything rest here for a while," she murmured, her voice still husky from sleep.

You curled into her, your cheek against her skin, hearing the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

"I used to do this with my sister," she said after a while, stroking slow, absent circles across your back. "When we were kids. She had nightmares. Used to crawl into my bed and press her ear to my chest like that. Said the sound of my heart made her feel safe."

Your fingers tightened in the hem of her shirt. "It does. Make me feel safe, I mean."

She smiled, a soft breath against your hair. "Good."

Silence stretched for a few moments, comfortable now, like the warm press of her arms around you.

Then she whispered, “Do you want me to talk until you fall asleep?”

You nodded. "Please."

She took a breath. "Alright. But don’t laugh. Some of this is... sentimental."

"I love your sentimental."

Rhea chuckled. “Fine. Let’s see… I was a weird kid. Tall too young. Strong before I knew how to control it. Broke a window playing footy once. Spent a week convinced I’d grow up to be an outlaw.”

You smiled into her chest. "You kind of did."

"Oi," she said, but her voice was amused. “I just… never felt like I fit properly anywhere. Not with the girls who liked pink and giggling, not with the boys who wanted me on their rugby team but not in their group chat. Always caught in between.”

"Must’ve been hard."

"It was. I think that’s why I fight so hard now. For everything. Respect. Place. You."

She paused, her fingers brushing through your hair. You felt her chest rise and fall beneath your cheek.

"I don’t say this often," she continued, voice lower now, more careful. "But sometimes I still feel like I’m faking it. Like one wrong step and everything I built will fall away."

"You’re not faking anything," you whispered. "You’re the strongest person I know."

"Only because I have you," she said. "You keep me grounded. You see all the ugly bits and you never run."

You lifted your head slightly to look at her. Her eyes found yours in the dark, glinting soft and honest.

"How could I ever run from someone who loves like you do?" you said gently.

Rhea blinked, just once. Then she smiled.

“I think I loved you before I even knew your name,” she murmured. “Saw you laugh once across a room and it made everything else go quiet.” She traced the curve of your shoulder with her fingertips. “It scared me. How fast it happened. How easy it was.”

You swallowed thickly. "It scared me too. But not anymore."

She nodded, then moved to kiss your forehead. “Good.”

You lay like that for a while longer, her voice trailing off into memories, stories of messy school photos, scraped knees, her first pair of boots, the match that changed everything.

You listened, not because the stories were always happy, but because her voice made them feel at home.

Eventually, your breathing slowed, your body melting into hers. You could feel yourself slipping into sleep, her heartbeat still under your cheek like the softest drum.

Just before your thoughts drifted completely, you heard her say.

"I’ll always be your home. Wherever we are."

And you believed her.

You fell asleep not with peace, but with her. And that was better.

Masterlist

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[cinnam0ngirlxo]

drunk walk home

j.todd x f!reader (platonic?)

TW: i will explain why i wrote this, it's lowkey just a huge jumble of words, but here are the trigger warnings: SA (groping, non-con touching while unconcious, implied r@pe), drug use and addiction, s3x work and exploitation, profanity, body image issues

reader really needs a hug, basically

inspired by drunk walk home by mitski (listen to it and you’ll see parallels :( )

i know this isn’t written well, my intention was to make a point

The Iceberg Lounge seemed like a place of paradise to most Gothamites; blowing all your money on booze and casino games was fun, until you realized that you’re looking for the fastest way to blow all your money. 

You’ve always hated this place, but lately it’s been stressing you out more. Being a dancer wasn’t easy; you were often lusted by other men, shamed by other women, judged by your bosses. This was not for “easy money”, contrary to what the general public said. They have no idea; women like you had no power, and all the men in your life were constantly gambling on your mental health.

Unfortunately, you got stuck with this job after you had fallen behind on college payments your freshman year, because your mother’s boyfriend was never really good at handling finances and had almost blown away all the money on fruitless things. You wanted a quick and easy way to finish med school, and being 19, you saw the glamorized life of being a dancer for the Lounge and immediately sold your future to Oswald Cobblepot.

You entered the club backstage tonight, hoping to make some profit; it hadn’t been a great week, with the highest amount of money being only 20 dollars. The other ladies were already dressed up in their provocative outfits and heavy makeup. Most of the other girls had no choice but to be here as well; there was a girl who had just turned 18 who was trying to make a life for herself after her boyfriend left her. Some of them chose this life, chasing after the ‘sexy lifestyle’ they watched on TV.

You sat at the vanity designated to you, starting the dreadful process that seems to consume your nights: putting on a face just for everyone else. It had become more of a shell that you hid yourself in  as the months wore on. If you weren’t deemed pretty by the men here, you had to fix it. Most women had gotten lip fillers or buccal fat removal, but others didn’t have the luxury to afford plastic surgery, so contour did the job because you didn't have an ass like Roxy or hips like Farrah.

You weren’t a fan of the heavy makeup, or of the clothing that had put every bit of your body on your display, but you also couldn’t deny that it had delivered big bucks to you. You looked over to the girls gossiping about some new owner of the club, but you tuned it out, not wanting to hear yet about another demanding boss

9pm rolled around, and that meant it was showtime. You, as well as the rest of the girls, had ushered out backstage and started walking around the club, offering services and waitressing to anyone who wanted. The real performance wouldn’t start until later, where everyone would get up on stage. You took your tray full of champagne flutes and started going around, handing it to customers who were already hollering, drunk off their ass.

“Hey sweetheart,” A man had whistled to you, calling you over to his table. It was easy to tell one’s social status in the club; you could figure out easily by how much cash they had, or how they dressed, and even their slang. And these guys were criminals— the accent alone just gave it away.

But all you could do was just bat your eyes and hand the table some champagne flutes. “Can I get ya fellas anything as an appetizer?”

Another man chuckled, his hand inching up to your thigh. You tried  your  best to hide the disgust  from his touch, and continued to let him trail his hand up. Unfortunately, you can’t be a “prude” in this club, or else you won’t be getting a paycheck. The man smirked, “Are you on the menu?”

You suppressed a shiver, slipping into that charming persona, “Very funny, honey. No, I am not on the menu.”

The hand on your thighs squeezed tighter, almost bruising your thighs as the man rolled his eyes. “C’mon, sweetheart, I’ll make it worth your while.” 

His hands somehow made it under your skirt, and you wanted to just cry as he palmed your crotch. At the same time, you were indifferent to it, as these situations have happened so many times. “I’m on duty right now, honey. But maybe later, I can put myself on the menu.”

It was just what he wanted to hear. “Perfect. Here, I’ll give ya just a bit of cash to get you all motivated for later.”

You sighed in relief as you saw the thirty dollar bill he had placed in your skirt.  You winked at him, just to keep up that sweetheart act. “Thank you. and see ya later.”

it was now past midnight and everything inside you had been throbbing violently. Your heart was hammering from all the adrenaline, all your clothes discarded. The other girls have taught you that the best thing to do was dissociate while everything was happening, so you had turned to weed, and sometimes oxy or cocaine. 

Tonight, you decided to take the more dangerous route, and snort a few lines before letting these men into your not-so scared temple. Apparently you had taken too much, as you don’t seem to remember what has happened the past few hours. Good, you thought to yourself. I don’t want to remember anything. 

You weren’t even fully conscious until you heard a man with a deep voice barge into the room, telling everyone to fuck off.

That’s when you had opened your eyes fully, and had pushed your body up, looking down at it, all the scars that told horrifying stories that you never wanted to relive again. There were yet more bruises, more bite marks: Jesus, what had your customers done to you when you were out?

There were men who were whimpering and scurrying away at the mystery man’s order, throwing piles of money as a thank you to your body. You rubbed your eyes when you spotted a thick wad of 100 dollar bills next to her (but at what cost?)

Your hands trembled as they picked the stack up, knowing it will be sufficient for at least 3 months of rent. Thump, you couldn’t tell what part of your body hurt more: your heart or your legs. Thump, the man was inching nearer to you, and you could see the domino mask and the red mask that covered the bottom half of his faceand you were’t too sure if this guy was going to pound you into oblivion or take advantage of you for the millionth time. Thump, he stopped right in front of you, and he might’ve been the scariest guy you’d ever seen, despite wearing suit and tie.

Instead of hitting you or grabbing you (as you thought would happen), all he did was kneel in front of the bed, and tilt his head to say, “You alright, sweetheart?”

All you could do was just stare dumbfounded at this man. Most people saw a naked and vulnerable woman, and they would just pounce on her. But this man just took the time to go you and ask you if you were okay. No one had ever asked her if she was okay these days. You had found your voice eventually, mumbling. “M’fine.”

“You don’t look so good.” He raised an eyebrow, throwing you a t-shirt. “Here, put this on.”

You shook as you put on the shirt, finally glad for the warmth and the protection it provided for you. You couldn’t help but ask, “Who are you?”

The man had gotten up from his kneeling position, dusting this slacks off. “I’m the new owner, the Red Hood.”

And that’s when you froze. You had heard of this vigilante. He’s one of the upstarts Cobblepot would always mention in disdain, and now it seems this Red Hood had replaced him. The newspapers say that he was a bad guy, but whispers from the street convinced you that he had good morals, protecting kids from abduction and women and men from being sold for sex work. “You’re the new owner? But Cobblepot—“

“Penguin let his guard down, and I just took an opportunity.” He cut you off, holding a gloved hand out to you. “Jesus, you’re so out of it. What did you take?”

You took his hand reluctantly, groping on to it tightly so you wouldn’t lose your footing. “Cocaine. I think I took so much I passed out, because I don’t remember,”

“Well you’re lucky I found you. I saw footage of this room, and the men…” He had trailed off, his fist clenching. Jason had seen too much bad in the world, and this was just another terrible scenario he was forced to watch.

“I’m a big girl, you can say that I got raped.” You managed to say, except you know you wren’t a big girl. You heart was still thumping violently and it was telling you to beat the shit out of this man (despite all that he did was help you) and to run as fast as your legs could take you and just scream into the night sky. Fuck, the things you would to go back and never shake the Penguin’s hand.

Jason saw right through you. Addiction and sex work was something that he had seen often in his line of work even more in his childhood. The same glassy-eyed look, the plea of desperation was one he saw in his mother prior to her death. He led you outside of the club, where you had collapsed onto the curb, hugging your knees.

“You’re not gonna fire me?” You whispered.

He sat next to you on the curb, taking off his suit jacket and wrapping it around you. “Why would I fire you when you’re clearly the victim?”

You bit your tongue. You hated that word, it felt like a big label that was on your forehead that basically begged people to pity you. “M’not a victim, just doing my job.”

“That’s what they all say.” Jason mutters, before turning to face the night sky. “You’re just a kid, aren’t ya?”

You frowned. “I’m twenty.”

Somehow that was even worse to Jason. The fact that she was probably supposed to be studying in college, out with her friends, but she’s stuck opening for strangers every night. Then again, Jason’s the same age and he’s also stuck in an unfortunate situation. But at least he wasn’t in your place. He couldn’t imagine how hard it must’ve been for you to lose your dignity and your innocence and your hope in this job.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, sweetheart. I’m gonna go call you a cab. And I’m gonna tell you to stay in your house. Take a break, will ya?”

You opened your mouth to say something, but the words died on your tongue. A break sounded wonderful, you thought. “Okay. When do I get back to work?”

“I’ll give you a call. Don’t worry about it.”

You couldn’t help but smile as the tremors in your body  had finally subsided for a while. “Thanks, Hood. But, I thought you were a bad guy?”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, I kill rapists and money launderers. I don’t milk the shit out of my employees.”

“Don’t pity me.”

“Since when is showing common decency pity?” He retorted, and you could hear the sass in his voice. It made you laugh, just a little, and that drew a smile from Jason, even if it was concealed by his mask.

A sleek black car had pulled up right then, and it seems like your cue. You got up, wrapping the Red Hood’s suit jacket tightly around you, and turned back to the man, whispering a quiet thank you. Despite your  unexplained earlier anger towards him, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the new boss——he was certainly way better than Penguin, who would have just struck her across the face. “Bye, Red Hood.”

“Have a good night, sweetheart.”

A/N: (not edited)

oh crackers, it was so hard writing this. so basically this really is less about x jason todd (love my husband but he’s irrelevant), but i just really wanted an excuse to speak about this. it’s come to my attention that a lot of people on social media have lately been discussing the sexualization of women in media, basically sl_tshaming sabrina carpenter and sydney sweeney (not defending their marketing) for things other male celebs (ex. partynextdoor) have done.

it made me reflect on a broader topic, about the difference between embracing your sexuality vs. sexualization, and my first thought immediately was s3 x work. while no one should ever be shamed for it (it’s been some tough times and some people aren't so lucky to be financially stable like reader), i totally do not agree that people should be put on a pedestal for doing this (MY OPINION, don't come for me). i don’t think it’s s3xually liberating at all, when there are thousands of innocent women and men, and especially children who are stuck in this industry working as s3x sl@ves. i was doing a lot of research on google about this, but unfortunately safe search has only led me to see a bunch of reddit posts and a study on s3x work in switzerland (i’ll link it below) and how a lot of them face more mental health problems than people of the general population (it’s not really mentioned but i wrote reader woth the intention of being suicid@l and having depression, if i continue this series i’ll explore it more with more time and research to the topics). a lot of the reddit posts were from ex-strippers who had regretted their choice to become one and work in a toxic environment, which is what inspired this blurb in the first place.

basically, i just wanted to show through this blurb that there are bigger issues than a pop singers album cover and some weird soap line. in addition to the people dying i. war right now, there are thousands of abducted people (especially children) who are sold to the black market as slaves for just about anything. originally i was going to write about a child jason saves on a mission who’s been through something similar , but the writing was way way too dark and i scratched that. reader’s decision, albeit something she regrets, was her choice. a lot of women who were ex stripp3rs had similar experiences to her that they had barely any finances. some women were like the girls i’d briefly mentioned in the beginning, chasing a fantasy and later up regretting it.

i know this app is known for its blatant sexual content and nudity so i’m definitely not in the right place. but there are a lot of minors on this app. so i advise: PLEASE STAY SAFE ON SOCIAL MEDIA and in real life. i cannot stress you enough the amount of revenge p0** i’ve seen on the news, and about teenagers no less. intimacy in relationships should be valued on not put up on a screen for others to see.

on a lighter note, should i make this a series? there was no romantic intention but i think it would be nice to have reader and jason’s relationship develop (or make them best of friends)

link to study:https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/strictly-casual/201410/do-sex-workers-have-more-mental-health-problems

xoxo, maple <3

[nqrancia]

hihi! hope you’re doing well :D

could i request the bucciarati gang trying to set up Bruno with reader? reader is a fellow mafioso who works for Passione but is a loner type who operates right outside of Naples and because of their proximity they often meet up with the bucciarati gang for business stuff and the occasional friendly meal. how would the different members try (and fail) to set the two up after discovering Bruno likes reader?

tysm :)

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 : bucci-gang including trish

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : how would the bucci-gang help their leader get set up with the person he loves? and are they helpful?

𝐚/𝐧 : sorry this took a bit, anon! i honestly had a bit of a hard time deciding with this. anyway, love the buccibaddies always <3

𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐀. - oddly enough, yes

✦ | Abbacchio is not the most well versed man in romance, so he tends to sit back and relax as he watches the drama unfold. He honestly finds it hilarious that the smooth Bruno Bucciarati is fumbling so hard. If the others start teasing Bruno, he might just join in on the fun, but only for a little bit. However, it does get to a point where he’s so tired of watching Bruno admire you from afar that he does say something.

───

There Abbacchio sat watching Bruno stare at you with love sick eyes for the umpteenth time, this was getting repetitive. It didn’t matter what you were doing, whether it be calmly listening as Narancia explained a comic he had read to you, Fugo info dumping you with random knowledge he had picked up over the years, or Trish explaining Drag Race to you; he was looking with the eyes of a man in love.

Abbacchio was tired, so tired. This game of beating around the bush was being taken too seriously for his taste, so he simply spoke his mind. “Why don’t you just tell them you love them already?”

Bruno ceased his behavior, turning to question his friend. “What ever do you mean?”

The white haired man scoffed, “You can’t lie to me, Bucciarati. I see that look in your eyes.”

He glanced over to the sight his friend had been admiring. With a soft smile on your face, you listened intently to Giorno’s explanations of how to properly take care of certain plant species. He’s a sweet kid, that’s what you were thinking. You were good, and good for Bruno. “Just tell them how you feel, that idiot reciprocates. Anyone is smart enough to see it.”

───

𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐎 𝐆. - yes

✦ | Giorno is the most helpful of the bunch, he doesn’t overstep and he subtly helps. While out on missions, he might spot a nice restaurant and point it out to Bucciarati as a way to hint he should take you there. Or he might slip a flower into Bucciarati’s hand as he’s speaking to you. If he’s feeling mischievous, he might also casually slink away from the two of you while you’re out.

───

To Giorno’s luck, this day was a beautiful one. Perfect for helping a certain someone with his romantic issues. While Bucciarati was a good man, he was at times too good. He didn’t like the idea of pressuring you to go out with him, that was understandable. But, it had reached the point that no one thought he was going to make the first move. Someone had to act, and that someone had to be Giorno.

The summer air was warm and crisp, the day practically called for ice cream. So, he asked if Buccirati and yourself would like to go for some, to which you both agreed. As the three of you approached the ice cream shop, Giorno decided to drop his hint. “I heard that the new restaurant just down the street is quite high quality.”

Bruno then piped up, “Interesting, I also happened to hear that they have delicious squid pasta.”

From beside him, you pointed towards him. “Isn’t that a favorite of yours?”

“Why yes, it is,” he smiled, happy that you remembered something so small. “I’m glad you remembered.”

You responded with another smile. “Perhaps we can visit it sometime.”

“That’d be lovely.”

Behind the two of you, Giorno smirked. Mission: Sucess!

───

𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐀 𝐅. - somewhat

✦ | While he is one of the first to recognize the attraction between you and Bruno, he’s not the first to act on it. He doesn’t want to get involved in another’s love life as it felt invasive to do, especially since it was the love life of a man he greatly respected. But like many others of the group, he grew impatient with the amount of pining Bruno was doing.

───

Another successful mission, thank god. Fugo was ready to relax and unwind with a good book and a delicious meal, but he knew that wouldn’t be possible, not with the group he was with. His two friends, or at least one of them, did not know how to read a room. He recognized the way you and his team leader had migrated to the back of the group, smiling and speaking about whatever topic you came up with.

Even a pigeon could understand that there was a more than friendly relationship brewing between the two of you.

Seeing this, he turned to his other companions. “C’mon, guys. Let’s go ahead and sit down.”

“But, I need to finish explaining how amazing Tupac is!”

The younger boy sighed, “Narancia, I swear to god.”

“What-” Before he could finish his sentence, Fugo had grabbed his ear and began dragging him to their usual table in the back. “Dude, this hurts like hell!”

“That’s the point, you dolt!”

Mista followed them, “Ladies, ladies, please. You’re both beautiful.”

The two boys quickly turned to face him, “Shut up!”

───

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐎 𝐌. - somewhat

✦ | As we know, Mista is a bit of a lady killer. Yet, he takes a long time to realize the romantic feelings shared between you and his team leader. Once he realizes, he is so frustrated yet so relieved that he now understands your relationship. Now, it makes sense why Bruno would linger a little longer than normal when giving you greeting kisses. Every now and then, Mista would make innuendos just to mess with you two.

───

It was another long day of work and the group had decided to unwind at Libeccio, once again. After having heard that their food was delicious, you decided to join them for dinner. While the group did enjoy the food served at the restaurant, it wasn’t the only activity they engaged in to relax. They loved to play card games.

However, it could get serious quite fast. Friendships were almost lost over a few games that had occurred in the past, but that was a part of the thrill. Mista was a major fan for it having won several times, much to Fugo’s annoyance.

So, as you all were in the middle of a game, Mista was able to pull a few cards. Though, as he was reaching for another, “Oh shit, dropped a card.”

As he was reaching under the table to get a grip on the card, he released a loud gasp. There you and Bucciarati sat, leg to leg. Neither of you moving to avoid touching the other, and oh was Mista eating this up. It was like a Victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time. Then, he quickly sat up.

“You two sure are close,” he smirked as he crossed his arms, leaning against his chair.

A concerned glance was shared between you and Bruno, “Yes?”

Until, Narancia just had to ask. “Mista, what are you doing?”

The older boy quickly retaliated, kicking him in the shin. “Shut up!” He whispered, almost screaming. The pressure was now getting to him.

He was met with a glare from Narancia, “Geez, I’m just wondering what you’re doing.”

A few moments went by before Mista released a heavy sigh and shoved Narancia's head underneath the table, revealing to him what he had just witnessed

“Holy shit!”

Once again, Mista kicked him in the shin. “Narancia, you’re gonna blow our cover!”

───

𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐀 𝐆. - he’s trying

✦ | Narancia is the last to know out of the group as he is oblivious to romance, most of the time. Fugo and Mista had to be the ones to tell him that there was a growing romance between you and their team’s leader, and oh was he pissed. He means, if he had known longer, he would’ve helped you all get together sooner! Most of the attempts he makes are ideas from comics he’s read, but they don’t always turn out the way he wants them to.

───

How did Bruno end up here? He honestly didn’t know, much had happened in the past few hours. First his group was assigned a mission to sniff out a mole in the mafia, with you as their guide to the right location. A great help you had been, as always. Then, he was personally assigned a mission to deliver paperwork to a fellow capo. Finally, Narancia had asked Bucciarati to follow him somewhere.

The request itself was suspicious, he should’ve known from the beginning. While Narancia was one of the more predictable members of the group, he had his moments. Luckily, with Fugo and Mista following along with them, it eased his worries if only a little bit.

When they arrived, a familiar building came into view. Your apartment building.

“Okay, Bucciarati. I need you to use Sticky Fingers, open up a zipper portal on their balcony, and kiss them like you mean it!”

Bruno’s eyes widened, “Narancia, this is absurd.”

“Trust me, this will work!”

Fugo only stared with a look of disgust and shame, “Narancia, this is a terrible idea. They’re going to think this incredibly creepy.”

Then, Mista piped up. “Even I couldn’t think up something like this.”

“Just trust me! It worked out for Spider-Man, didn’t it?”

A deadpanned look formed on the younger boy's face as he slapped his face with his hand, groaning. “He’s a superhero from a fictional universe, he has supernatural powers that allow him to shoot webs from his hands.”

The shorter boy shrugged, “So? We have supernatural powers too, have you not been paying attention?”

Fugo had to be held back from decking him across the face.

───

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐔. - yes

✦ | Trish is almost if not as helpful as Giorno, she likes to give subtle pushes to the both of you. She might mention something one said about the other as a way to try and give you more confidence to confess, but she also grows impatient similar to Abbacchio. She just hates to see how much love the both of you share without there being a step taken, and maybe that was okay. But, she couldn’t take it any longer.

───

She did it. She was finally able to convince Bucciarati to take you out on a date after weeks of consistent asking, or as she liked to call it, giving him a push. She even insisted on helping him get ready for you, so he could look his very best.

One look at him and you could tell he was nervous, a feeling Bucciarati was often good at hiding. Your presence did something to his heart, made him feel things he had never before. A part of him was hesitant, what if the relationship the two of you shared changed negatively post date? He didn’t want to lose you, you were too precious to him to lose.

Trish recognized this, it was a feeling that many characters in her favorite movies would feel. It was a natural feeling to have, anyone would agree. While change might not give us what we desire, we must accept it to continue living. But, there were many cases where taking a leap to make the change had a good result. Trish believed that Bucciarati could attain that result.

As she lightly patted down his suit for wrinkles and dust, she quietly whispered, “Just be yourself, they like you the way you are.”

The man widened his eyes as she then reached for a bottle from his bathroom counter. A blue glass bottle of cologne was then gently shoved into his hands, “Here, and wear this too. They like this cologne on you, or so they told me once.”

Then, she sent him off with an encouraging grin. No one could properly predict what would happen on this date, but one thing is for sure; that she better get some credit for getting you two together.

@𝐧𝐪𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐚 ݁₊˚⊹☆ - please do not translate or plagiarize my works.

[thepeaklegendoffirstgen]

For your Seongji finding out he’s a dad, could you do a continuation on how the Cheongliang family reacts towards reader (mom) being pregnant and when Baby Yuk is born?

It's a mix of requests I got earlier as well, so hope you enjoy :)

PART1

The news was sweet to the ears, but somewhere deep inside, he felt a fear gnawing at him, his mind running through countless what if scenarios, the endless possibilities of things going wrong.

As your belly grew with the passing months and changing seasons, the news of your pregnancy slowly reached others, mainly because he had confided in his friends. Jichang was the first person he told, simply because he didn’t know who else to turn to. From there, the news spread to the other Kings, only the most trusted ones. They ensured your pregnancy was smooth and safe, visiting often to check in.

The Cheonliang kids were a tremendous help during this time. At first, they didn’t take the news well, shocked, worried, and unsure how to process a new addition to the family. But eventually, they came to understand: this was your choice, your decision. And no matter what, they were still family. They always would be.

So, today, when all the Kings arrived, the kids helped prepare the food and made sure everyone was settled. Even when you tried to assist, Seongji immediately hushed you.

“Focus on yourself,” he said gently, placing a hand on your shoulder and guiding you back to your room. Your second trimester had just begun.

“But they’re our guests,” you protested.

That’s when Jaegyeon saw the two of you.

“Hyeongsunim, he’s right,” Jaegyeon said. “You shouldn’t be worrying about us. We’re fine. Can’t let the little one get worked up because of us.”

What surprised Seongji was that you actually listened, to Jaegyeon, not him, and quietly walked away with a smile. He sighed. You cared too much about others' comfort and well-being, often more than your own.

Later, as Seongji joined the rest of the Kings, already sitting, chatting, eating, he felt a moment of peace wash over him. Until Gongseob, of course, had to ruin it.

“So, when’s the baby pulling up, anyway?” he asked casually.

Jichang scoffed. “It takes nine months, genius.”

Gongseob grinned. “So... no sex for nine months? That’s so boring.”

Everyone either choked or spat out what they were drinking. Seongji glared daggers at him and was about to get up when Taesoo stepped in.

“Shut it. Show some decency for once,” Taesoo said, and Seongji nodded his thanks for the assist.

“Everything’s alright so far, yeah?” Jaegyeon asked gently.

Seongji let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “It’s thanks to you guys, honestly. I don’t know if I could’ve handled this on my own.” His hand trembled slightly as he spoke, and the Kings all noticed. In return, they smiled with warmth, silently offering encouragement and support, wishing him the best for the delivery, and the luck he’d surely need.

🍀

It was agonizing. You were howling, writhing in pain, and for a terrifying moment, he thought he might lose you. But then it was over.

“It’s a girl,” the nurse said.

The entire Cheonliang family had gathered to support him. They had prayed, waited, feared for you. But when their teacher stepped out of the labor room and broke down in tears, tears of overwhelming relief, they knew: both you and the baby were safe.

Vin Jin had run off, not because he didn’t care, but because he did. A part of him didn’t want to seem weak in front of others, but another part was deeply scared. What if he lost another mother today? He didn’t say much, but he was truly grateful, for you, for Seongji, and for the strange, chaotic group of people he called family.

🍀

A few weeks passed. You were home again, your baby girl nestled gently in your arms, sleeping peacefully as everyone took turns cooing over her.

The Kings returned, this time with gifts, lots of them. Jichang, of course, gave the most practical and thoughtful ones. Jaegyeon’s love for cars was evident in his present. Seodku made you promise to feed her vegetables regularly. Taesoo prayed quietly for her health and happiness. Gongseob, ever the wildcard, proposed starting her training now so she could “beat men and women equally.”

It was a scene of pure joy. Even the kids, who now acted like grown-ups fought over who got to hold her first. Mary, careful and gentle, whispered, “You’re the princess of Cheonliang,” and everyone hummed in agreement.

Sujin brought hand-made gifts. The boys, usually tough and loud, were puddles at the mere sight of her. And Vin, Vin took it all a step further, acting like the best big brother anyone could ask for. He ensured everyone held her properly and never let her out of his arms for too long. You teased him for being such a good brother already.

“Whatever,” he muttered, but you caught the faintest hint of a smile.

🍀

Later, after everyone had left and the house had quieted down, you and Seongji found solace in each other’s presence. You lay beside him, his arm wrapped around you, your daughter sleeping peacefully in your arms.

“They were all so happy,” you whispered.

He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, resting his hand on your waist.

This was your child. The child you created with love and held now with even more tenderness. For her, the two of you would go above and beyond, past any hardship, through any upheaval. She had wrecked your lives in the best way possible. You hadn’t known it was possible to love someone so much.

And for her, it wasn’t just about giving your life, it was about protecting her with everything you had. Seongji, despite everything that had happened, would endure. He would persist, even if it meant going against the world. He may not be able to give her the moon or the stars, but he’d give her something rarer.

Happiness!

The happiness of being wanted. The joy of being loved, just as she was.

And he loved his tiny baby girl, exactly the way she was.

[violentlilies]

Ppl who can’t differentiate “unkept / in poor health” from “ugly” will drive me crazy one day

The kinds of ppl who see Konrad described as “tired, sickly, unkept, dirty, bloody, hunched over, thin, face sunken in” and conclude from that that he must be ugly are driving me up the wall

The fact that there are ppl so close minded and beauty standard brainrotten that they can’t possibly comprehend that someone can be facially beautiful AND be all those things.

Ppl who think dirty = ugly is actually breaking my brain.

A beautiful person covered in blood and dirt doesn’t become ugly, nor does a beautiful person who’s tired, neglected and thin become ugly. That’s a “beautiful person who’s covered in blood and tired”, not someone who’s “ugly”. *smashes head into the wall repeatedly*

Because if I have to hear it one more time in this fandom that “Konrad is canonically ugly” or whatever and the quotes provided as proof are descriptions of his hygiene and health - despite his actual physical shape being emphasized as beautiful and captivating EVEN WHILE over and over -

Also these tend to be the ppl who only bring up Konrad’s physical descriptions post heresy, at his literal worst when even his brothers who hate him are concerned and shocked for him so that state clearly isn’t a usual but ppl will hit you with quotes from Tsagualsa and go “heh so you think this is hot😏” - bro you understand nothing, I’m not even going to start explaining myself. You’re arguing on a level so basic and unintelligent that I can’t even begin to engage with it

Listen, I get that being showered and stuff makes someone look better, clearly, but a 10 doesn’t become “ugly” from looking weathered…. I- .

I’ve even heard ppl say “his brothers describe him as ugly” - no tf they don’t. They are shocked by his state or disgusted by it (often in contrast to how he must’ve looked in the past), regarding how dirty, thin, tired and unhealthy he looks. -

And again, if you’re the kind of person who thinks that those attributes automatically classify someone as “ugly” you have the brain of a shrimp, disrespectfully. You are the same kind of person who’d look at an abandoned castle and think “wow, it’s ugly now”. You have 0 artistry, melancholy or beauty in your soul.

Because if you imagine a disgraced demigod who’s described as looking like a perfect statue but weathered and visibly suffering, his perfect visage marred by the harshness of his life, someone who’s not meant to either age or get sick doing both, etc etc and your only thought and takeaway is “ugly” - I’m lasering you with my brain

If you picture a gothic statue of a person with dark circles, wrinkles and sunken in cheeks with his hair messy and bloody, clearly in a state of distress and madness - an actual visible tragedy (insert cringe dramatic metaphors because boy do I have many) - and your brain registers “ugly” - you are an actual brainrotten NPC, I’m not kidding one bit

I’d have no issue if he was actually unattractive, but Konrad clearly isn’t and ppl who claim he is “canonically ugly” only do so because they are incapable to grasp or comprehend beauty beyond a facetuned ai generated “hot person” matching current beauty standards and style standards in pristine condition and anyone outside of that is just “ugly” - and that kind of person is a sort of soulless that I (as a goth especially) am actually terrified of

I’ve seen shit like “I think x primarch is the hottest because they are well balanced, a good person and probably have good hygiene, seems like a good handsome man” - bro neurotypicals will undo me one fine day

All of the above arguments also go for “Uhm Angron is clearly ugly because of the nails and stuff” - *eye laser*

[anonymousewrites]

Nobody's Soldier (Book 1) Chapter Twenty-Six

Found Family! Supernatural x Teen! Reader

Chapter Twenty-Six: Supernatural Books

Summary: An author is writing books about...Sam and Dean?

            “What are those?” asked (Y/N) as Sam and Dean came out the comic store with a stack of books. They both had frowns. “Are they cursed or something?” There had been a prospective case, but it was strange it was wrapped up so quickly.

            “They’re books,” said Dean. “About us.”

            “Huh?” said (Y/N). That would be super weird. Who would want to read about Sam and Dean’s lives? And, what, did (Y/N) not get to be included in this weirdness?

            “Take a look,” said Sam, tossing one back to them.

            They opened it up and began reading.

l

            “This is freakin’ insane,” said Dean as he tore through another book. They were all accurate to cases Dean and Sam had been on. “How’s this guy know all this stuff?”

            “You got me,” sighed Sam. “(Y/N), what do you think?”

            “I stopped reading because it almost had a sex scene,” said (Y/N). “Dean flirts with a lot of people. From what you and Bobby told me of your cases, it’s true, though.”

            Dean shrugged and grinned. “I’m a good-looking guy.”

            “Ew,” said (Y/N) firmly, and Dean scowled.

            “How come we haven’t heard of them before?” said Dean.

            “They’re pretty obscure,” said Sam, looking at an internet article. “I mean, almost zero circulation. Uh, started in ’05. The publisher put out a couple dozen before going bankrupt. And, uh, the last one—No Rest for the Wicked—ends with you going to Hell.”

            (Y/N) huffed. “So I don’t feature in any of them? I feel left out.”

            “Do you want your inner thoughts on display?” grumbled Dean.

            “It would be cool to be included,” said (Y/N), shrugging. “I bet I’d get more copies sold. I’m cool and new to the game.” Plus, reading some of those helps me understand you two more.

            They didn’t say that out loud. Dean and Sam didn’t talk about their past often other than to fill in (Y/N) on other hunters, how they’d gotten to this point in their Heaven and Hell issues, and to tell them how to kill obscure monsters. This told them more about the Winchester brothers as people.

            Dean laughed at (Y/N)’s bravado and took a look at the computer. “Check it out. There’s actually fans. Not many, but still. Although for fans, they sure do complain a lot. Listen to this. Simpatico says, ‘The demon storyline is trite, cliched, and overall craptastic.’ Yeah, well, screw you, Simpatico. We lived it.”

            “I like this one,” said (Y/N), pointing at another comment. “From MonsterLover42—weird name, but I’m not going to judge—‘Why is there no nuance to the monsters? They’re all the same: evil and animalistic. They have brains, so why can’t the author show the nuance of people being different but not bad?’ ” They shrugged. “If this was just a book, I’d get it, but, I mean, monsters are monsters in real life.”

            “Ruby—”

            “Still a demon,” said Dean and (Y/N) at the same time, and Sam rolled his eyes with a long-suffering sigh.

            (Y/N)’s gaze flicked to Sam, and he looked back at them. They knew he’d been drinking Ruby’s blood again to defeat Alastair. They hadn’t said anything to Dean yet, though, hoping above all hope that he’d done it to go against Alastair and protect Dean and wouldn’t do it again. Sam loved Dean. (Y/N)’s stomach curled uncomfortably, and they swallowed, looking away. There wasn’t time for that. If another fight erupted at this point—so few seals left—it could hurt things. And Sam and Dean were family. (Y/N) wasn’t. They didn’t have a right to say or do anything that involved the family.

            “We got to find Carver Edlund,” said Dean, shutting the computer suddenly as he read a thirsty comment.

            “Yeah, that might not be so easy,” said Sam, grimacing.

            “Why not?” said (Y/N).

            “No tax records, no known address,” said Sam. “Looks like ‘Carver Edlund’ is a penname.”

            “Somebody’s got to know who he is,” said Dean.

            “Publisher?” suggested (Y/N).

            Sam nodded. “And she has an address.”

l

            “So you published the Supernatural books?” said Sam, fighting an uncomfortable grimace as he looked at the giant posters of all the book covers plastering the walls. With the exaggerated long hair and shirtless models, he was suddenly hating the way he presented himself. (Dean was smugger about how muscular he looked).

            “Yep. Yeah. Gosh. These books…” The woman smiled fondly. “You know, they never really got the attention they deserved. All anybody wants to read anymore is that romance crap. You know—Dr. Sexy, M.D?” She scoffed. “Please.”

            “Right,” said Dean.

            “Well, we’re hoping our article can highlight an underappreciated series,” said (Y/N). “I mean, I’m young, and I love it.” They beamed to show sincerity. If they were too young to be an FBI agent, then they were young enough to get people to let down their guard. An innocent teenager couldn’t be lying.

            “Yeah, yeah, because, you know, if we got a little bit of good press, then maybe we could start publishing again,” said the publisher, smiling.

            (Y/N) doubted the brothers wanted that.

            “No, no, no, no. God no,” said Dean without thinking. “I mean, why would you want to do that? You know, it’s, uh, such a complete series, what with Dean going to Hell and all.” He smiled awkwardly.

            “Personally, I think it could be cool to continue. Introduce more character, make a wider world, all that,” said (Y/N) brightly. “I mean, there’s so much potential. If there’s Hell, what about Heaven?” Dean glared at (Y/N), who smiled “innocently.” Hey, they wanted to be part of the series. They were working their ass off, too.

            “I understand,” said the publisher, smiling. “Honestly, I want them to come back, too. So…no article is going to make fun of my boys, got it?”

        ��   “No! No, never,” said Sam quickly.

            “No, that’s…” Dean shook his head.

            “We—We are actually, um, big fans,” Sam forced out the words.

            “You’ve read the books?” challenged the publisher.

            “Cover to cover,” said Dean.

            “Mhm,” said Sam.

            “I’m still getting through them,” said (Y/N).

            “What’s the year and model of the car?” said the publisher.

            “1967 Chevy Impala,” said Dean smugly.

            “What’s May 2nd?”

            “That’s my—uh, Sam’s—birthday,” said Sam.

            “January 24th is Dean’s,” said Dean.

            “Sam’s score on the LSAT?” said the publisher.

            Sam grimaced. He didn’t remember precisely. “One…seventy-four?”

            “Dean’s favorite song.”

            “It’s a tie,” said Dean confidently. “Between Zep’s ‘Ramble On’ and ‘Traveling Riverside Blues.’ ”

            The publisher smiled. “Okay, okay. What do you want to know?”

            “What’s Carver Edlund’s real name? We’d love to talk to him,” said (Y/N).

            “Oh, no. No. Sorry. I can’t,” said the publisher, shaking her head.

            “We just want to get the Supernatural story in his own words,” said Sam sincerely.

            “He’s very private,” said the publisher firmly. “Like Salinger.”

            “Please,” said Sam. “Like I said, we are, um—” he chuckled awkwardly and unbuttoned his shirt. “—big fans.” He showed his anti-possession tattoo.

            Dean groaned but pulled his shirt to show it. (Y/N) tugged down their collar and displayed their own tattoo.

            The publisher beamed. “You know what?” She stood, pulled up her skirt, and showed the tattoo on her thigh.

            Dean grinned. “You are a big fun.”

            The publisher smiled and picked up a notepad. “Okay, his name’s Chuck Shurley. And he’s a genius, so don’t piss him off.”

l

            Sam, Dean, and (Y/N) headed towards the ramshackle with trepidation. Who knew what type of person Chuck was? He could be crazy or evil or just weird. They never met normal people in this line of work, and someone know their entire lives qualified as weird already.

            Dean paused at the door behind ringing the bell. This was it. A moment later, the door opened, and a short man in a bathrobe and a scruffy beard stared at them.

            “You Chuck Shurley?” said Dean.

            “The Chuck Shurley who wrote the Supernatural books?” said Sam.

            “Maybe. Why?” said Chuck suspiciously.

            “I’m Dean. This is Sam,” said Dean. “The Dean and Sam you’ve been writing about.”

            Chuck’s eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head as he scoffed and closed the door. Dean gritted his teeth and rang the doorbell again. Chuck sighed and opened the door again.

            “Look, uh…I appreciate your enthusiasm. Really, I do,” said Chuck, lying through his teeth. “It’s, uh, it’s always nice to hear from the fans. But, uh, for your own good, I strongly suggest you get a life.”

            He tried to close the door, but (Y/N) stepped forward. “Chuck, I’m (Y/N), can we just talk—”

            “What did you say?” Chuck suddenly looked pale.

            “I’m (Y/N)?” they repeated confused.

            “What’s your last name?” demanded Chuck.

            “(L/N)?” This was very confusing.

            “Oh, God,” said Chuck, staring at them. He looked at Dean and Sam. “What…What are your last names?”

            “Winchester,” said Dean.

            Chuck somehow became paler. “I never put last names in the books…I never even wrote that down. And you—” he looked intensely at (Y/N) “—you’re not in any of the books until now!”

            “You’re writing one?!” said Dean.

            “Ha, I do exist in this universe,” said (Y/N) at the same time.

            “I need a drink…” Everything had become, literally, too real for Chuck.

l

            Chuck downed his whole cup in a second. Exhaling sharply, he groaned when the three people he’d thought were figments of his imagination were still present. “You’re not a hallucination.”

            “Nope,” said Dean.

            “Well, there’s only one explanation,” said Chuck. “Obviously, I’m a god.”

            (Y/N) snorted unceremoniously at that.

            “You’re not a god,” said Sam.

            “How else do you explain it?” said Chuck. “I write things, and they come to life. Yeah, no, I’m definitely a god. A cruel, cruel, capricious god. The things I put you through—the physical beatings alone.” He shook his head.

            “Yeah, we’re still in one piece,” said Dean.

            “I existed before you started writing, so I’m gonna say I’m not your creation,” said (Y/N) cheerfully.

            “I killed your parents! All of them!” said Chuck hysterically.

            “You didn’t create us,” groaned Sam as Chuck continued. No one needed to relive all the tragedies of their life.

            “Did you really have to live through the bugs?” said Chuck, horrified.

            “Yeah,” said Sam, and Dean grimaced.

            “What about the ghost ship?” said Chuck.

            “Yeah, that too,” said Dean.

            “I am so sorry,” said Chuck. “I mean, horror is one thing, but to be forced to live bad writing…” He sighed and shook his head. “If I would have known it was real, I would have done another pass.”

            “Chuck, you’re not a god!” snapped Dean.

            “We think you’re probably just psychic,” said Sam.

            “Wouldn’t be the first one,” said (Y/N).

            “No,” scoffed Chuck. “If I were psychic, do you think I’d be writing?” He sighed. “Writing is hard.”

            “It seems that somehow you’re just…focused on our lives,” said Sam. “And now (Y/N) because they’re with us.”

            “They came out of nowhere,” sighed Chuck. “No backstory, no nothing, just ‘wait, let me write about a kid’s parents getting murdered and they hunt with Sam and Dean.’ I thought it was a stupid idea. It makes no sense. Who would let someone that young hunt?”

            Sam grimaced, Dean coughed, and (Y/N) shrugged. It did sound ridiculous, but so was their life.

            “So you’re writing right now?” said Dean.

            “Yeah…” Chuck trailed off, swallowed, and lifted a stack of papers. “It’s, uh, it’s kind of weird.”

            “Weird how?” asked Sam.

            “It’s very Vonnegut,” admitted Chuck.

            “Slaughterhouse Five Vonnegut or Cat’s Cradle Vonnegut?” questioned Dean.

            “What?” said (Y/N) and Sam at the same time.

            “What?” said Dean defensively.

            “It’s, uh, Kilgore Trout Vonnegut,” said Chuck. He sighed. “I wrote myself into it. I wrote myself…at my house…confronted by my characters.” He grimaced.

l

            “I’m sitting in a laundromat, reading about myself sitting in a laundromat, reading about myself—my head hurts.” Dean put down the manuscript.

            “There’s got to be something this guy’s not telling us,” said Sam.

            “ ‘Sam tossed his gigantic darks into the machine,’ ” read Dean aloud. “ ‘He was starting to have doubts about Chuck, about whether he was telling the whole truth.’ ”

            “Stop it/‘Stop it,’ ” said Sam and Dean.

            “ ‘said Sam,’ ” finished Dean.

            “Seems pretty legit so far,” said (Y/N). “And if he’s holding something back, what’s the point? He tried to make money and failed. He seems pretty harmless if you haven’t had trouble because of his abilities so far.”

            “I still don’t trust him,” said Sam, turning his back.

            “I don’t like him either with his god-complex and self-pity combining, but, you know.” (Y/N) shrugged.

            “Hey, guess what we do next?” said Dean, reading ahead. “Sam’s gonna get broody and pensive. (Y/N) gets sassy.” He put down the pages again. “I mean, I don’t know how he’s doing it, but this guy is doing it.”

            (Y/N) picked up the pages. “ ‘Dean is being such a dick, thought Sam,’ ” they read.

            Dean looked affronted, and Sam cracked a grin.

            “The guy’s good,” he admitted.

l

            Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) watched Chuck pace while he clutched his newest batch of pages. Everything about his said “terrified.”

            “So…you wrote another chapter?” prompted Sam when it was clear Chuck was too nervous to speak on his own.

            “This was all so much easier before you were real,” sighed Chuck.

            “We can take it. Just spit it out,” said Dean.

            “You especially are not gonna like this,” said Chuck, grimacing.

            “I didn’t like Hell,” said Dean.

            Chuck sighed. “It’s Lilith. She’s coming for Sam.”

            Everyone’s eyes widened.

            “Coming to kill him?” asked (Y/N) worriedly.

            “When?” said Sam.

            “Tonight,” said Chuck.

            “She’s just gonna show up? Here?” said Dean.

            “Uh…Uh…” Chuck grimaced and began to read. “ ‘Lilith patted the bed seductively. Unable to deny his desire, Sam succumbed, and they sank into the throes of fiery demonic passion.’ ”

            “I’m going to throw up,” said (Y/N) matter-of-factly.

            Sam laughed out loud. “You’re kidding me, right?” he said.

            “You think this is funny?” said Dean incredulously.

            “You don’t?” said Sam. “I mean, come on, ‘fiery demonic passion?’ ”

            “It’s just a first draft,” said Chuck defensively.

            “You had ‘fiery demonic passions’ with Ruby,” said (Y/N) pointedly.

            “Wait, wait, wait, wait, Lilith is a little girl,” said Dean, horrified for a second.

            “No, uh, this time she’s a ‘comely dental hygienist from Bloomington, Indiana,’ ” read Chuck.

            Better than the alternative, thought (Y/N), grimacing.

            “Great. Perfect.” Dean gritted his teeth. “So what happens after the…‘fiery demonic’ whatever?”

            “I don’t know. It hasn’t come to me yet,” said Chuck.

            “Dean, (Y/N), look, there’s nothing to worry about,” said Sam emphatically. “Lilith and me? In bed?”

            “How does the psychic thing work?” asked (Y/N).

            “You mean my process?” said Chuck.

            “Call it whatever,” said (Y/N).

            “Well, it usually starts with a headache. A really bad headache,” he said. “Aspirin is useless, so…I drink. Until I fall asleep.”

            A true creative, thought (Y/N) sarcastically.

            “The first time it happened, I thought it was just a crazy dream,” continued Chuck.

            “The first time you dreamt about us?” said Dean.

            “It flowed. It just kept flowing,” said Chuck. “Still does. I can’t really stop it, really.”

            “You can’t seriously believe—”

            “Humor us,” said Dean sharply to Sam. He stood and held out his hands. Chuck sighed and handed over his pages. “Look, why don’t we…why don’t we just take a look at these and sees what’s what. You—”

            “Knew you were gonna ask for them, yeah,” said Chuck, nodding at the papers and sighing.

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[theentityvoidserver]

Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable.

But sometimes that comfort is sobbing your heart out because you just feel it so much and it’s okay to cry because you’re not the only one going through it-

[magpie-trove]

A ship is good if you can look at them and see them as an old married couple

[melon-the-great]

Mean :(

You made persian SAD, are you happy now?

[lucydacusgirl]

You absolutely can tell when clothes are bad quality but like. Where are you meant to buy clothes that are good quality.

[shaykai]

One of my favorite things right now is how Vat’il interacts with companion quests and how deeply concerning that is from Lae’zel’s perspective.

He wouldn’t stand in the way of her defecting from Vlaakith (man has 8 charisma, not sure he could if he wanted to)- when you really get down to it, he’s really not a big fan of being under the thumb of a god and would straight up support her in her defiance

And then she watches him actively help everyone else to their worse conclusions and has to wonder if his support was a fluke, or worse yet, a sign that she chose wrong. It wasn’t, of course, and she’s smart enough to know that. But she’s still watching all of her friends turn into monsters who really aren’t even happy with what’s happened- or at least not as happy as they’d be if they denied their power grabs.

[murdleandmarot]

lovely flower, slowly bloom, paint yourself with shades of blue 💙💙💙