#I don’t know what to do about this all except talk to a legal person

[vampireknitting]

[gremlingottoosilly]

[If you need to be mean] chapter 2

Chapter 1

Konig decided to meet his new favorite civilian at the cafe you work at. Unfortunately for both of you, you're both socially awkward. TW: Konig being a huge pervert, Canon-Typical violence, Dub-Con, Innocence kink, Age difference(Konig in his yearly 40, Reader in young 20)

Pairing: Konig x fem!Reader Tags: Fluff, Power Imbalance, Hurt/Comfort, Size Kink, Possessive Konig, Yandere Konig, Creepy scary stalker Konig, written mostly from Konig's perspective

— Did something good happen, colonel? You are practically shining. 

Horangi always had this special ability of telling nonsense with the most serious face and deep voice. He also was the only one in his unit to ever be brave enough to joke with his superior – even though all the other KorTac members usually don’t risk their asses to be put on fire list because of some silly joke. He is the closest König has to a friend – and it’s kinda sad, actually, that a broken gambling addict is the only person who can read his emotions so well, even with his hood and permanently sour expression. 

But something good did happen – you happen, of course. 

He spend a few days of self-reflecting, drinking and punching training manekens in the gym, trying so fucking hard to put your adorable civillian face out of his mind. You were out of sight alright, but the way your features would get distorted into something even more adorable every time he closed his eyes, was concerning. He dealt with those little obsessions before – nothing that a few good rounds of jerking off until he would feel nothing but emptiness and hatred to himself couldn’t handle. He surely can’t fall that deep down, he only saw you for like an hour and it was literally three days ago! 

�� I read your reports about the last terrorist encounter. Good job, Horangi. 

— And I heard about that civilian girl you pulled, sir. Thought we are bringing those to the police, not their houses. 

— I had to make sure she wasn't a spy. 

— And she wasn’t? 

König thinks – would be far easier if he would have an official, legal reason to keep you locked up on the base without the right to come out. Would be far easier for him to just think about you as an enemy, so he would have normal reasons for thinking about you constantly, and not feeling guilty. It’s normal to think so much about your enemies – this is what keeps you alive on the field, if you can determine their shortcomings early and make sure that you can fight them. He would love having you as an enemy – it would at least give him some info before starting obsession over little ol’ you. 

— No. 

— That would give us at least some lead to the terrorist cell. Feels like all locals are protecting them from it. 

— I understand your frustration. But at least they are not cutting our pay. 

— We might as well rebel if they’d try to. 

— We are not stepping on terrorist’s route. 

— I was joking, sir. Only thing that’s left here except for card games. 

Horangi hates stationing in this country as much as König is – and, given that he is a sergeant and doesn’t have as much rank expectations, can talk about this openly. This operation is perfect except for the lack of intel, lack of action and lack of basically anything to do – the local forces are handling minor threats, while mercs here are mostly to show off how the government has money to hire them. KorTac would pay for actually having to fight some bad guys around here – but the bigger ones are hiding and lower ones are already getting tracked down by the local military. 

The only interesting thing to do, seemingly, is to obsess over local girls – and König thought he is better than this. 

But he isn’t losing sleep over thinking about how scared and fragile you looked that night. Especially not even going to think about how adorable your little pout was, and the way your hands were trembling. He definitely doesn't want to know every tiny detail about your life, what you like and what you hate, what is your favorite position in bed and the color of underwear you are currently wearing – or even if you are wearing one. And he isn’t some sort of creep that would spend an obnoxiously long amount of time registering on social media – god, he is too old for this shit, it literally feels even more humiliating than his whole school experience – just so he can find your accounts and get instant masturbation material. 

You really shouldn’t post so much half-naked photos – yes, this is a reel from your last summer vacation and yes, this swimsuit looks beautiful on you, but have you ever considered that some creep(not someone like him, he is palming himself very respectfully) would use those photos as a way to get themself off? Terrible, scary, he can’t wait for you to post some new photos – maybe in something that he would buy you, way skimpier and more expensive, so he could protect you from those people. 

He looks at your posts about work – and he hates this stupid blue bird app because it never works for him, always filled with some assholes who are trying to argue with literally everyone, and the way he can’t even see your posts properly because of the weird ads. No, he doesn’t need a “Thing that would make your dick longer” he literally has a problem with making it smaller. No, he doesn’t need some dumb T-shirt even though he kinda reflects with the funny pun about pokemons and would love to wear something containing his major interest even though it would look ridiculous on a 6 '10 killing machine. 

But König reads all of your short posts about the way you hate working in customer service, and his hand is almost slipping to the ad about wedding rings. You hate your job, he hates his – practically soulmates, even though he doesn’t really hate the killing part of his employment, he just doesn’t want to be in charge of people and making them steal the fun of destroying. He would, however, agree to get as many ranks as possible if that would mean providing for you. If that would allow him to be by your side and listen to your sweet voice, he would agree for the next promotion even if higher ups would want him to make some PR wawes and become a fucking fashion model. 

But he is completely sane about you. Totally normal. Absolutely nothing is wrong with him when he can’t even think about visiting you in real life, but he leaves a like on every of your posts in every social media he has – you have terrible online safety habits by the way, he can already see what the inside of your apartment looks like, your place of work from three different angles, and how the front door of your apartment is held together by a very easy to destroy lock. He could snatch it in one deliberate kick, not even speaking about just shooting it. Not like he would need to, he wants you to be with him willingly. Or, at least, don’t fight him too much in case he would actually lose his patience and do something drastic. 

It has already been three days and he feels like he is going crazy. He had those things before, overthinking about tiniest details in someone he never truly knew, but even then he’d understand that he can’t be with them – it could be his school crushes that were, ironically, crushed because of his anxiety. It might be some casual flings with his fellow soldiers that would either get killed in the field or never happen because it would be fraternization. Some random people he saw at the airport and already imagined life with multiple kids and a dog. He always knew he had a problem – but it was never like this before. Never dangerous. 

The problem is – he knows that he can have you. 

Maybe not in a traditional way, he doubts that you would just marry him on the spot, but he can court you at least. He can shower you with gifts or ridiculous tips at your job, he can just snatch you away and leave you as his perfect little bedmate. He can make his men kidnap you, and while it is inhumane and you don’t deserve this, he would calm you down – and then have his happily ever after. 

He knows that he can have you – and it drives him crazy. He could stop himself previously, when he didn’t have anything for himself to be considered desirable – but now, with his rank and all the new opportunities and money it brings, he can’t stop but fantasize. 

You under him, panting and blushing, lips puffy from kisses, skin glazed from sweat and marked with his teeth.

You under him, so wonderfully tight, not letting him go even for an inch – and you are perfectly taking him, no matter how gigantic he is. 

You under him, smiling, cuddling after a long night – every night after a mission, where he could spend his free time deep in your body, listening to your melodic moans and little whines. 

You under…

— Can I…can I take your order, sir? 

He is a disgusting human being because lives of thousand people are on a stake, he would just doom them all if he wouldn’t find those terrorists soon – and he wastes time on sitting in this tiny ass cafe, trying to place himself on the small seat while being all too nervous to just talk to you. Like a person. Of course he had to go to your shift – he already determined which days you were working because it increased the number of angry “I hate my job and want to kill my manager” posts on that dumb social media, and he knows which hours you work at – of course it’s almost night time, the closing shift, because he simply can’t have himself not worry about you. 

He is a creep, weirdo and all that words in a song that he’s been blasting in his tiny headphones all of these days because he can smell the sweetness of your perfume and the way you are munching on the pen you are using to write his order. Oh, yes, order. He is supposed to order something, he can’t just give you money for how adorable you look in that white apron – even though you are absolutely stunning and should get money. 

God, he would murder everyone in this building just for them to never look at your legs again. 

God, he would bury himself between them if only you’d allow him to.

— Sir, is everything okay? 

He served in the military for far longer that you lived, probably. Most of his life, he got used to being referred to as something honorable, or referring to other people like that – and he never thought that just being referred to as “sir” would make his dick twitch in his pants. He crosses his legs, hoping not to get too imposing – he already towers over the tiny table like a giant he is, barely even fitting in it. He thinks he has a healthy amount of self-control – then he looks at you again, and thanks all the gods he knows for the mask he is wearing – at least under the black surgeon piece and dark glasses you won’t really see his blush. Or that little twitching in his eyes that is indicating danger. 

— Sorry, I…can I, um, have a coffee? Bitte…please, I mean. 

He hates how nervous he is – like high school again, asking his crush out just to be ridiculed. But you look perfect like this – controlled environment, you can’t just laugh at him and say that he is a weird nerd from another class, you have a manager who is controlling of such behavior. He would never tell on you, of course, he wants you to be happy, even if this job makes you the most miserable – even though he kinda thinks of you as a weak for this, his job literally involves killing people and he doesn't argue that much! 

But you giggle – sweet, innocent sound, it drives him crazy even more than he previously was. It doesn’t feel like those girls at school – yes, he still can’t let that go, even though his therapist says he has to – and he loses all control at how beautiful you sound. He wants to take you away right now, pay you for your workplace however you get them, and just use you as he wants – no matter how socially unacceptable. He protects this country, he has the right for a little prize, right? No, this would be terrible, he shouldn’t just harass sweet little civilians like you, he should…

— What type of coffee, sir? Do you want some dessert? 

This is a typical question, he was at cafes and coffee shops a thousand times but, for some reason, it feels almost like you are teasing him. You bite the end of your pen with those adorable teeth of yours – he wants to feel it on his fingers, he wants you to leave bite marks all over his body as a sign of marking him as yours. He smiles under his mask, hoping that you would somehow feel it – how happy you make him feel, how hard it’s for him not to lose control. 

— No. Just coffee. 

— Sugar? 

He would like some sugar, of course – but the one he wants is probably not for sale, even though that adorable white apron of yours makes you look like a candy. He would love to unwrap you from those silly clothes and devour what belongs to him for the right of protector, but he knows how scared you might be. He is not a good person, he killed more people that he could count – countless fathers, sons, mothers, he shouldn’t even think about having a right for a family of his own after all of this. He is not a good person and his moral code changes with every kill he gets – but for hell sake, he wants to be nice with you. You deserve it, he knows. More than he is, for sure. 

König doesn’t really like sugary stuff, it was always too childish, made him too energetic, disrupted his very peculiar way of eating things. Sweets makes him only more hungry, makes him crave more, and he wants to be as serious as possible – so he usually drinks and eats stuff that is no tastier than a pile of dry sand. But he responds before he can think, too focused on that shiny lipgloss you have on your lips. He would lick and bite it all – soon, he hopes. 

— Ja. Thank you. 

— Good choice, sir.

Your lips are curling into a small, shy smile and he likes sugar now. He isn’t sure if you are telling everyone that their order is a good choice, maybe you just want to get more tips, but he hopes that maybe, he is special. Maybe there is something nice happening to him after all. A small reward for not being a total monster on the last mission he had, even though he could. He can’t do anything but to stare at you, his only saving grace is the dark lenses of his glasses – he can’t wear his hood in civil situations, unfortunately, people would stare, stare, stare and that would make him want to pull their eyes out. 

But you smile and he smiles also, even if you can’t see it. He is looking at your legs and, fuck, he is a disgusting old creature that preys upon younger women because he never had a positive experience before. He is a total creep and a monster that should be put down already – but he stares at your legs under that waitress dress, and he would pay your manager a few thousand Euros to cut the length of your skirt in half. 

Then he sees all the others looking at you the same way – old people, young people, there aren’t a lot of guests at this time in the evening, most people are afraid of going into public places while the war on terrorism is going on. There aren’t a lot of people while it’s almost closing time, but he doesn't even want to think about all the other men looking at you like this. Devouring you with their eyes, probably leaving sleazy comments as you go through the small cafe, just as overworked as your other coworkers. He wants to take you from here. 

You don’t deserve people looking at you like you aren’t even a person – only he can look at you respectfully, stripping you with his eyes. He can be soft for you, can be perfect – if you would just let him. 

König doesn’t want to be a creep around you, but he was looking at your legs for five minutes already, picturing the way your body would look under all of these clothes, and his cock gets painfully hard. He thanks himself for wearing normal, baggy pants, not something tighter – at least his embarrassment is completely covered by his clothes. 

— Here is your coffee. Anything else? 

You look nervous, of course – but he seems way softer than he was a couple days ago, at night. The absence of his creepy mask is obviously helping, and because he is sitting, you don’t have to tilt your head too high, causing your neck to stretch uncomfortably. He looks awkwards, like a big dog that still tries to fit into his old bed, and it causes you to smile a little bit more. You made sure to place a couple of sugar cubes on the plate, so he could decide for himself, if he wants to use them all – but the mere thought of that giant of a man, a colonel, hardened soldier liking something silly and sweet is making you giggle. 

He looks way softer than he was that night, and you can almost forget about how scared you were – how you were thinking that this would be the end for you, that one, overthinking part of your mind already making up the scenarios of getting martial lawed because of the broken curfew. You can even see his hair – and fight the urge to touch it a little. He is still who-knows-how-old and still a military presence in your peaceful country. 

You still want to ruffle his hair. 

He still wants to take your clothes off and make you his. 

— Nein, thank you. 

He stares at the cup for a good few seconds – if he wants to drink, he needs to actually take it off. He has many scars on his face, and his mouth sometimes feels like it has more dead skin than alive one – he doesn’t want to attract attention. Some people are already staring at his badge and how awkward a giant man like him looking in that cozy, tiny place – but he also wants you to see how much pain he can withstand without getting killed. How he can protect you from anything because there literally isn’t anything he won’t do for you. You would appreciate a man with scars, it’s a sign of bravery, right? 

Then he thinks about all the times he would take off his mask and how people around him would look at him – with pity, with fear, with disgust sometimes even though he is certain that his face isn’t as deformed as some other parts of his body. He even almost managed to grow a beard once! Then he had to scrub it all off because hair was growing in very uneven patches and he looked like something crawled on his chin and died. 

König fought in countless battles, spent his youth training to be the best killer possible, took part in many major conflicts and killed hundreds of people while feeling nothing but recoil. He isn’t afraid of anything – except for talking to people sometimes, maybe, and even now he is trying to work on it with his therapist, instead of just killing anyone who looks at him funny. He isn’t afraid of the dark, of death, of uncertainty in his life. But he is afraid of you looking at him unmasked and thinking that you, in fact, find him disgusting. 

You almost want to take your time to look at what he will do – is he going to take off his mask? Is he going to drink right through the fabric? You have too much work to just stay at his table and stare, even if you want to – but you are trying to give him occasional glances as he just…sits at his table. Not even moving, just staring at the cup and sometimes moving his head to look at you – or just ornaments at the wall behind you. Yes, probably the ornament. 

König sits at the table and, well, he doesn’t even want to drink his coffee because just looking at the way your ass sways under that terribly short skirt is enough to set him on fire. He wants to take you home with him – even though his home is all the way up in Austria. He would take you, you probably wouldn’t even be mad at you – you could be a perfect little family. He already waited too long to start one, never finding anyone who would win his heart for a long run but he was sure that this three-days-obsession would last long. He isn’t sure, however, if he likes it or not. 

He ended up not drinking at all – he knows that he can’t just waste multiple hours, he already got his lieutenants covering the spot with paper work while their commander is away at searching for the love of his life. He wants to be with you longer, probably walk you home again and make sure to protect you from any creeps that would want to attack. He can’t have that, it’s obvious – he is a colonel, unfortunately, he is still on the hunt for those terrorists, he can barely give himself an hour of free time these days. 

He already indulged in his fantasies too much when he folds a 100 Euros banknote and puts it into the bill – not sure about how much money it is here, not wanting to give you any trouble with exchanging currency, he just hopes that would be enough for you to at least not worry about food for a few days. Or buy yourself something nice – what girls like these days? Guns, books, some fancy lip gloss, a hat for their adorable little turtles? He would buy you a pet turtle, he always wanted one as a kid – right before his father said that all lizards are products of sinful corporations and a lazy pet like a turtle, unlike a giant dog breed, is completely useless and unmanly. 

He doesn’t want to be here when you’ll get the bill – he is too afraid that he didn’t gave you enough, that you'd be disappointed. He would love to give you more, of course, but he doesn’t want to just shove you the money like you are some sort of cheap whore – he wants to give you gifts, something meaningful, to steal you from poverty altogether. König is an expert in infiltration and escaping arts, he can exit the location without anyone noticing a thing, even with his size – and then you look at him, directly into his eyes, covered by sunglasses – and your face is twisted in shock as you realize what exactly he left you. 

— Wait, sir! Please, I…god, I will get you the change right now, I’m so sorry, it’s closing shift, I…I’m sorry, I completely forgot…

You are almost begging him to stop and let you give him his money, a honorable deed really – but all he can think of is how nice you would look on your knees, begging him to fuck you already. How perfect you would look all whiny and spoiled, asking him for something expensive, whatever your cute head would want. You would look so complete on his lap, tugging on his shirt and asking your daddy for a new toy. You would…

— It was a tip. Take it. 

He wants to be able to tell you how perfect you look, how he wants to just throw you over his shoulder in a totally non-creepy way and make you his little wifey. How he would take multiple months of leave to just be with you, marry you, breed you. He wants to have a way with words, but they are useless to him – he can’t even say he likes you, it’s embarrassing, he is almost forty, he got his rank as youngest colonel in history of KorTac, he can literally have almost everything he wants – except for basic social skills. 

He feels like a creep, an old man trying to steal that perfect girl from the shiny world, and he hates himself for it – but then you blush and he can almost convince himself that yeah, you like that creep too. 

— I…shit, I mean, sorry…thank you, sir. 

— Don’t wander at night again. 

He feels like a scolding father and you giggle again, too innocent and naive to understand his thoughts. 

— I won’t. Promise. 

He then slowly leans closer, puts a hand on your shoulder again – goosebumps are running on your skin. His head is near yours now, he is whispering in your ear – and you are almost sure that you shouldn’t have come closer to him like this, that it’s unprofessional from your side, that everyone is staring at you. They are – and you try to ignore it, but…

— Wear shorts under your skirt next time. Never know who might look at your legs like that. 

You would slap him here and there. You would scream and run away right now, but for some stupid, dumb, completely terrifying reason, you…almost like how protective he sounds. And the money he gave you is also helping – even if just a little bit. 

König looks at the way you blush even more, and he knows already that he won’t ever let you go. 

Tag list: @iwritesjud3

Please write if you want to be tagged in the next chapter!

[romanoffsdarling]

Later Never Comes

Pairing: CEO!Silver-Fox!Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your love for her knew no bounds, but there’s only so long you can hold on— only so many empty promises you can stand— before you finally have to let go. Before you finally realize that later may never become real.

Word Count: 4,779

Warnings: G!P Wanda, legal age gap, brief oral (R receiving), dirty (and slightly possessive) talk, mommy kink, slightly rough sex, neglect, and angst (with a bittersweet ending). 18+, Minors DNI.

Author’s Note: I know I promised a second part to Summertime Sadness and Time To Say (Goodbye), but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head. I hope you can forgive me!

Great love always ends in tragedy.

That’s the saying, right? A stupid one if you had anything to say about it. What’s so great about love if it only ends in heartbreak? If you don’t end up with the person that makes your entire being thrum? If everything that had once been so colorful is suddenly black-and-white due to their absence?

Is the love great due to the story? To the emotions, the events, that occur throughout its long winded saga? Or is it great because it was doomed from the start? Because, even though it’d end one way, two people were still willing to fight the odds, to fight fate, even if they’d never end up winning.

You’re not sure, nor do you care, because there’s no way a love of that kind could be anything except terrible— except bone-chillingly agonizing in the way you’d have to figure out how to move on without it. Figure out how to be without the person that made everything make sense, that made you feel like the person you were always meant to be.

Even if it’s been years since you’ve seen her, years since you’ve felt her lips against yours, an elegantly lithe body pressed to your own, and the sweet scent of sandalwood and lavender mixed perfectly in your nose, you haven’t been able to figure that out. Haven’t been able to get her out of your system, no matter how much you may try.

How could you? When you’ve loved, and been loved by, Wanda Maximoff?

[Past]

“I’m just saying she’s been interested to meet you since she saw our group picture from Fiji.” Your best friend, Agatha, relayed, jovially leading you towards the small, yet upscale, café that Wanda Maximoff— CEO of Scarlet Entertainment— agreed to meet you. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, sweetie. Especially one that came about due to my own propensity to lose bets with that witch.”

Your brow furrows. “I’m just not sure what exactly this meeting is supposed to be about. I just graduated college, I barely have any experience under my belt.”

“But you have me as a mentor,” she rebukes, a small smirk on her lips. “And that’s all that you need to get into Wanda’s head.”

“Ah, yes.” You roll your eyes, amusement welling within your chest. “How could I forget about your age-old rivalry?”

“Don’t phrase it like that. Makes me sound old.” Agatha bumps her shoulder against yours, eyes narrowed.

“And mentor doesn’t?”

“Nope.” She pops the ‘p’. “That makes me sound wise.”

“And what does wisdom come from again?”

You’re just able to dodge the swat directed at your arm, a bright smile tugging your lips upward, as you finally enter the quaint café— the aromatic smell of coffee, a hint of cinnamon, and something slightly citrusy, hits you all at once. A combination that shouldn’t have worked as well it did.

Once you placed your order— a simple coffee with your usual additions— you turned back to Agatha with an expectant expression. “Anything I should know about this meetings, Ags?”

She shakes her head, tendrils of brown hair escaping the haphazard bun she had thrown them in. “You’re here.” Agatha hands you the drink the barista had just put beside you, a wane smile on her lips. “That’s the important part to achieve for any date.”

Your steps stutter, nearly causing you to trip into a nearby table. “W-What?” Widened eyes meet Agatha’s unaffected one, a certain level of calmness that you found irritating. “What do you mean date? I thought this was a meeting?”

Agatha waves her hand. “Lunch meeting, lunch date. Means the same thing in the end.” She shoulders her purse, clearly not planning on staying any longer than she has to. “You’ll be fine, Y/N. You’re a catch. Maximoff would have to be a bigger idiot than I think she already is if she lets you go.”

Before you’re able to respond, Agatha places a chaste kiss to your cheek, offers one last cheeky wink, and saunters her way out of the café, leaving you completely alone. You’re honestly tempted to just abandon ship and get out of dodge— you weren’t good on dates, let alone blind dates. Something your best friend is well aware of, and would definitely be getting in an earful about this later.

However, before you’re able to make a concrete decision on your exit strategy, a husky voice speaks up from behind you.

“Are you Y/N?”

The most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen stood in front of you when you turned around: long auburn hair, speckled with the beginning signs of gray, paired perfectly with the sharp emerald green of her gaze. An elegantly lithe body, encased in a form-fitting suit, tailored made to enhance every perfect curve, relaxed in a way that almost seemed arrogant— if it was for the confidence that exudes from her very being.

“Yes.” Your brain finally catches up with you, remembering the question she had asked. “Y/N.” You hold out your hand for her to shake. “Y/N L/N, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

A small smile catches full lips, a slender hand grasping your own in a firm shake. “Wanda Maximoff.” Green eyes trail down your body. “And, trust me, the pleasure is all mine.”

The months that followed the blind date went by in a blur. You could honestly say that you’ve never met anyone else like Wanda Maximoff— a woman that personified ice and fire. Watching her work— whether it be as you’re lounged on her large leather sectional, laptop balanced on her lap as slender fingers gently stroke your back, or she’s pacing back and forth with her phone pressed to her ear; voice dripping with barely concealed annoyance, underlined by a calm collectiveness that never failed to make you swoon— was an art form in itself, but being able to see the woman that appeared at the end of the day?

Where an icy facade of professionalism melts into warm smile and gentle eyes. Sharp words being replaced by sweet nothings and gentle humming.

In Wanda’s arms you’ve found a place you never even knew you were missing— home. You had a couple relationships in the past, but none of them made you feel the way Wanda does; all paling in comparison to the beautiful Sokovian.

The one thing you hadn’t expected upon beginning to date the older woman was how insatiable she was— not that you were complaining— but Wanda needed to have you as often as she could. Taking you the bedroom of your apartment, the various rooms in her penthouse, in her office within Scarlet Entertainment, hell even in the back of a limo on the way to an event. Wanda needed to have you and you needed to have her right back.

Another little thing you’ve learned about her? Or, you should say, not so little? The Sokovian sported an extra appendage that had quickly become your new best friend— not that you were going to tell Agatha that— who seemed to want you as much as Wanda did.

Which is how you found yourself where you are now— on your back, thighs clamped around Wanda’s head, as she thoroughly ate you out on the couch of her office.

“Yes.” You arch sharply, a sob being torn from your throat as Wanda’s tongue plunges even deeper into you. Your girlfriend hums happily at the sound, the vibrations sending a shockwave across your clit, and another wave of wetness gushes out of you— something that Wanda is all too happy to lap up. She had told you on more than one occasion, after she spent hours upon hours between your thighs, that you beat out even the finest of wines to her. “Please. I need you.”

With clear reluctance to leave, Wanda pulls back and easily settles on top of you. Lips and chin shining lewdly in the dim lighting of her office, darkened emerald eyes sparkling even brighter.

“You taste great, detka.” She lowers her head, offering her tongue for you to suck on. Giving you a taste of yourself, mixed intoxicatingly with her own natural one. “Could spend hours eating up your perfect pussy, but that’s not what you want, huh?” She jerks her hips, rubbing her cock against your wetness. “You want mommy to be inside you, right? Want her to stretch you out and make you scream?” Another roll of her hips causes you to arch, a breathless gasp leaving you, but Wanda doesn’t relent. “Answer me, detka. Be my good girl and I’ll give you what you crave. What do you want mommy to do?”

“Fuck me.” The cry is practically wrenched from your chest, a deep felt plea for her to just plunge into you and ruin you for anyone else. Not that she hasn’t been able to accomplish that already. “I want you to slam your cock into my pussy and make me yours, mommy. I want your cock to make my pussy its own, to shape me in its image.”

A deep, almost rumbling, snarl erupts from Wanda in response, her hips snapping forward and you’re finally filled; stretched out so fucking perfectly, an obscene slurp echoed across the room the moment Wanda’s hips met your own. She hadn’t made you cum with her mouth, but you had been so close, she had given you a mini orgasm just by entering— a feat that brings a smug smile to Wanda’s lips.

“You feel that, detka.” She takes your hand and brings it down to the slight bulge in your lower abdomen. “That’s my cock ruining you for anyone else. No one will ever be able to fill you the way I do, make you scream yourself hoarse.” Wanda snaps her hips forward after a shallow pull-back, giving out a satisfied hum at the feeling of your slick walls pressed around her. “Your pussy belongs to me, your pleasure belongs to me, and you belong to me.”

Wanda lowers her head, lips pressed firmly to your own, giving you even more of a taste of yourself than before, as her tongue practically fucks your mouth while her cock fucks your pussy. When she detaches her lips from yours, only a thin trail of saliva is left, before she’s far enough away for it to snap.

The sound of flesh slapping against flesh permeates the air, an occasional grunt or moan intercepting it, and you’d be concerned about the noise level if Wanda hadn’t sent Peter, her assistant, home early— having planned to have you like this from the very moment she had invited you over.

“Just like that, mommy. Keep fucking me like that,” you babble, drunk on pleasure as Wanda kept driving her hips forward, one slender finger roughly rubbing your clit in time with each thrust. It’s of no surprise that you find your release quickly after, gushing over Wanda’s cock.

The tight contractions around her cock— as your second orgasm was much more powerful than your first— causes Wanda to groan, hips stuttering in their brutal pace. It’s clear that she was close, sweat slicked brow, causing strands of silver hair to cling to fair skin, but she obviously wanted you to come one last time— to be tossed over the edge with her.

With a shake breath, Wanda roughly brings you to the brink of your third orgasm, not even giving you time to fully get through the second. “One more, detka. You’ve got one more in you for mommy.” She dips her head, lips tenderly brushing across your forehead. “And when you come around mommy’s cock, I’m gonna fill you up like the good girl you are. Would you like that?”

You nod, practically whining. “Yes. Please.”

The older woman snarls once more, clearly affected by the look on your face, and, before you’re even aware of it, you’re crashing over the edge again— a cry of Wanda’s name passing over your lips as you spasm around her. Barely being able to catch Wanda’s own groan in response: “Yes.”

Jets of her cum paint your inner walls white, warming you up. It’s a feeling you don’t think you’ll ever get used to— or want to get used to, if you’re being honest.

Once she’s spent, Wanda gently lowers herself onto your still slightly spasming body, lips pressed softly against your cheek. “You did so good. So perfect for me. My beautiful girl.”

You happily nuzzle into Wanda’s neck, eyes drooping out of contented exhaustion. “I love you.”

You’re too out of it to feel Wanda stiffen in surprise, or to really understand what you had just whispered, but you are aware of Wanda’s arms tightening around you, her lips pressing more firmly against your skin, as she cuddles you closer to her.

And, as you begin to drift off completely, happy in Wanda’s arms, you faintly feel Wanda exhale across the shell of your ear, a shaky breath, uncharacteristic for the older woman, before her soft voice breaks through the silence: “I love you too. More than I ever thought I’d love anyone.”

[A Few Months Later…]

“How many do you want?”

It’s asked softly, one of Wanda’s hand gently running up-and-down your back in a soothing motion. Her lips pressed against the crown of your head, your face nuzzled against the crook of her neck, a place you don’t feel like leaving anytime soon.

“How many what?” You snuggle closer, delighted in the way her arms tighten instinctively. “I want a lot of things, Wands.”

Wanda huffs out a light chuckle. “Children, Y/N. How many children do you want?”

You stiffen in surprise at the question— Wanda hadn’t made it a secret that she didn’t plan on having kids. That she didn’t think she’d make a good mother due to her childhood and her busy lifestyle, but you also know that your girlfriend wouldn’t ask something unless she’s serious about the answer. Something you’ve figured out after all these months together. Regrettably, you pull your face away from the warm nest it had made so you’re able to look at her, and Wanda met your eyes calmly, sharp green softened in a way that’s only ever meant for you.

“What’s this about, Wanda?” You roll your lips, trying to process your next words carefully. “I thought you didn’t want kids?”

Emerald eyes flash warmly. “I didn’t want a lot of things, Y/N.” She easily tugs you back into her arms, lips pressed to your forehead. “But that was all before I met you.”

Touched by her words— and the clear sincerity within them— you decide to just bite the bullet, there wasn’t a point in delaying your answer. Especially if Wanda expected it.

“Two.” A gentle kiss is placed to her collarbone. “I want two boys. Twins.”

She breathes out another chuckle. “Twins, huh?” Maneuvering you both, you’re suddenly pressed against the mattress, Wanda hovering over you, smile still in place, with a familiar hardness nestled between your thighs. “That seems like something we’d have to get just right, correct?”

Even though it’s posed as question, you can tell that Wanda meant it rhetorically. That she already knew the answered you’d both settle on— an answer you always agreed upon.

Wiggling your hips, grinning mischievously at the sharp gasp that leaves Wanda’s lips at the added pressure, you throw your arms loosely around her neck.

“Yes.” You pull her closer, lips millimeters from her own. “I think it’s something we’re going to have practice quite a bit.”

Not needing any more prompting Wanda descends onto you with a ravenous hunger. One that you’re all too happy to match.

You can’t wait to experience your future if this is what’ll be waiting for you there.

The phone is cold against your overheated flesh— a concoction of anger and disappointment courses through you like lava.

“Wanda—” You pinch the bridge of your nose to stem the tide of anger. “This is the eighth time this week alone. What the hell am I supposed to tell the caterers? Again.”

A soft sigh resounds through the speaker. “Just tell them that I won’t be able to make it, Y/N.” The response, in a clearly distracted tone, does little to ease your growing ire. “I know you’ll be able to handle it.”

“I don’t want to handle it, Wanda. This is our wedding, I’d like for you to also have a say in it.” From the time on the clock, you didn’t have much time left to leave the penthouse. Not if you wanted to get to the appointment on time. “I’ve been planning this entire thing by myself, I want your help. I want to hear your opinions. I want you.”

To care goes without words, but you’re certain it rings out just the same. You had been so happy when Wanda had suddenly proposed, seemingly out of the blue. Though wasn’t that the point? Taking you to a rooftop restaurant, which she had rented out, and offered you the rare chance of getting to taste her impeccable cooking; all dishes she had learned from her mother back in Sokovia. It had been a night you’d forever cherish, memories forever ingrained in your heart: the way the stars made the green in Wanda’s eyes sparkle more, the subtle wind allowing you to be surrounded by her comforting scent, the bright smile she had given you when she dropped down to one knee, and the happy laugh that had escaped her when you said yes. It had been a fairytale, everything you had ever wanted.

Until you realized your Disney fairytale was beginning to turn into Brothers Grimm.

“You have me, Y/N.” Wanda lets out another sigh. “Look, I can’t keep talking the investors for the meeting just arrived and I need to get prepared. I promise that I’ll go over everything you discuss later, okay? I love you.”

“Wanda—”

You’re only met with the sound of the dial tone, barely getting the chance to reply before being hung up on, and the familiar aching sense of silence that follows— a hollow sound that distantly reminded you of what your heart has become.

It hadn’t always been like this. The penthouse, upon your first visit, had been cold, lifeless in a way that seemed almost inhuman, but slowly it had livened up— been filled with a sense of warmth and peace. Of love. It had been a place you could go to when you just needed an escape from the rest of the world, when you needed to be surrounded by things that remind you of the woman you love.

Now it’s suffocating in a way that you never wished for it to be.

You’re aware that Wanda is a busy woman— had been aware of it before your first date occurred— but she had always at least tried to be there. Always left you feeling like you were at least on the list of things that mattered, you didn’t necessarily need to be at the direct top; not when she had so many things to content with already. But, you’ve felt like nothing more than an afterthought lately.

Gentle kisses in the morning turned to brief parting words as she made her way quickly out the door.

Soft smiles, and inside jokes, turned to barely there quirks of full lips, and stretched out silences.

The warmth of her hold, the safety you felt from her touch, turned to an icy chill as she left you to the cold air— you don’t even remember when the last time was that you had been together properly. Since you had woken up in her arms.

You didn’t need a lot, you didn’t need all of her time, but you wanted to feel like you still mattered— that everything you have isn’t just another thing Wanda had marked off on her checklist of things to do before she turns 55.

Checking the time, a small curse leaves your lips once you realize that you’re going to be late, and, with one final glance towards the empty penthouse, you make your way out the door— hoping that the growing chill you feel isn’t indicative of a love grown cold.

Silence had become your greatest friend in the weeks that followed. The one thing that you’ve grown to count on as Wanda’s schedule only seemed to get busier and busier— hell, your relationship with her personal assistant had grown to the point that he’s been calling you by your first name now. Instead of the usually nervous ma’am or Ms. L/N.

Wedding appointments had come and gone, all of them spent alone, with Wanda barely perusing the choices that had been made before crashing out of sheer exhaustion. Conversation had grown stilted due to her own growing ire at you consistent worry— although she labeled it as nagging. That she’s been running her business for over thirty years, and she’s been doing fine.

Even now, on New Years Eve, as the clock moved ever closer to midnight, you were completely alone— expansive shadows, that seemed darker somehow, stretched out towards you like ghastly fingers, trying to tear whatever semblance of comfort you’ve found away. You’re not sure what you had been expecting, not even sure if you’d truly believed that Wanda would show herself, but you can’t lie and say that you hadn’t hoped.

Hoped that today, of all days, would be different. That you wouldn’t feel like a stranger, an intruder, within your own life, within your own home.

Fanciful musings and hopes of a lovestruck fool.

The small chirp of an incoming message pulls you from your reverie, a bright smile appearing instantly at the sight of who it’s from, before withering away once you read it: Sorry, I won’t be able to make it home tonight. Going to the Hamptons to meet some new business partners. I promise I’ll make it up to you later. I love you.

You don’t bother to send a message back— what could you possibly say? Yet another promise had been thrown to the wayside by the older woman. Even if it was just a cursory, and unspoken, one being as simple as not leaving your fiancé alone on New Years. Or waiting until the last minute to actually say anything about it.

A soft sigh escapes your lips, an acidic twang settling over your tongue, as bitterness seeps into your bloodstream, poisoning your heart and soul. You knew what you needed to do, have known since this had become your new normal, but hadn’t had the strength, or the courage, to make it a reality. Until now.

Until the heartbreak, the suffering, has become as close of a friend to you as the oppressive silence.

And, as the door to the penthouse gently closed behind you, never to be opened by your hand again, you feel a sense of bone-deep sorrow settle over you. For everything that could have been, for what you had hoped for, and all that you now had to live without. You could just step back inside, hide or destroy the letter, and Wanda would never know. She’d never find out how close you had been to giving up, but you couldn’t find the strength to do so. Could no longer gather up the power to keep fighting for something that’s been lost long ago— no matter how much your heart screams at it not being true.

Tears gather in your eyes as you take another step away from the door, away from the place you’ve lived in for the last two years, and your heart breaks with every step. But, it breaks even more at the knowledge that you were leaving your true home behind too— that doing this would destroy everything you have with Wanda, never to be salvaged. The penthouse may be expensive, and it may be beautiful, but it’d never be home to you like Wanda; it’d never offer you the same feeling of protection like her arms did.

You’ve been shut out of your home for months now, and being left out in the cold has finally frozen your heart enough for you to be able to do this. No matter how much more it was going to hurt once it thaws once more.

Shouldering your duffel bag, the only thing you’ve allowed yourself to bring, you step into the private elevator and press the button for the lobby. Hands tightening around the strap of the bag, trying to ignore the way your ring finger no longer felt the familiar press of metal against it as you do so.

It was time to look forward, to finally make your own laters, the things you had been pushing off, become an actuality.

Even if you wanted nothing more than to have never needed to say goodbye to Wanda Maximoff in the first place.

Losing the ring was one thing, but losing the love of your life?

It’s a wound you’re not sure if you’ll ever be able to recover from.

[Present]

“Mom?” The small voice catches your attention, your eyes focused back in to see bright eyes, twin grins being sported between the pair. “Can we still get hot chocolate?”

Billy and Tommy had come into your life when you needed them to most— a blessing that you’d definitely been searching for after everything imploded with Wanda. And, even if how they were conceived didn’t lend itself to a happy tale, you’d never change a thing. They were your twin miracles. Your beautiful baby boys— even if they were eight years old now.

“I thought you decided to get caramel popcorn instead?” You poke Billy’s side gently, delighted in the giggle the actions caused. “That’s what you both told me at the theater.”

Tommy’s eyes widened dramatically, in full puppy-dog mode. “But that was before you took us past our favorite store.” He points to the small café only a few feet away— one that you frequented with the twins when you could find the time. A place that you hadn’t even realized you’d be leading them towards. “Can we please get hot chocolate.”

The twins chime in unison: “Please.”

You chance a glance towards the café— deliberating your options— but you know that you’re going to cave. After all, the reason you had gone to the movies was to celebrate their stellar report cards. What harm could some extra hot chocolate do?

So, with a faux long-suffering sigh, you relent. “I suppose.”

“Yes!” Twin cheers are your immediate response, brightening the smile on your lips, and you soon find yourself in the quaint café— one that held so many memories for you. Phantoms of your past the whispered in your ear as you placed your order and directed your boys to their usual spot.

Only half-listening to their chatter about the movie you had just seen— some superhero film— you simply bask in the simplicity their joy brought you. Observing their small faces light up, little hands waving around as they discussed various points, and your heart swells with more love than you ever thought you could feel.

“—What did you think, mom?”

Billy’s sudden question tears you from your musings, his widened eyes, alight with excitement, giving you the impression that he really wanted to hear what you thought.

“About the movie?” They both nod. “I thought it was good, bug.”

Tommy pouts. “Yeah, but what did you like most about it? Did you have a favorite scene?”

“I—”

“Order for Y/N.”

Saved by the bell, you think. A wave of relief crashing over you. “You two stay put.” Standing, you ruffle their hair. “I’ll be right back with our drinks.”

At the prospect of their hot chocolate they don’t seem to mind that you didn’t answer their question— though you’d certain Tommy would ask you again. Though you’d have more than enough time to google some things about the movie before then. Small miracles.

Stopping at the counter, you take the tray with the drinks with a smile and a nod in greeting to the server you’ve grown quite fond of.

“Y/N?”

Breath catching in your throat at the husky voice sounding out behind you, the cadence and tone so familiar that your heart still burns from it. Hesitating only slightly, you turn and meet the shimmering emerald eyes you haven’t seen in a little over eight years. Her face still as beautiful as you’d last seen it, if a bit older now.

“Wanda.”

[cameoliob]

what are your headcanons for kallus and jovan? how did they get together? who fell first and whose heart broke first? do they still hate each other when kallus joins the rebellion or do they simply act like the pettiest bitches towards each other? enquiring minds want to know

ANON THANK YOU FOR GIVING ME AN EXCUSE TO TALK ABOUT THIS IVE BEEN WAAIITTTIINNNGG

Before I get into this I have to legally preface that 1. I’m a Kallus from the lower levels truther + I operate off the assumption that he does not have any family and that plays a decent role in what's going on 2. We dont know alot about Jovans personality so I lowkey just go off vibes but in my brain, teenage him is starry-eyed, a little naive, but SO kind. Older him is a little bit of a douche (not terrible, just the kind of guy that you have to scoff at whenever they talk too much). 

Okay I have a whole headcannoned timeline so im gonna lay this out for u

It's 19 BBY, the empire just started enlisting and all the rich Coruscanti kids are FIGHTING for a chance to go to the academy because “wow that sounds so much more fun than regular university.” Jovan is a part of this demographic. 

So you’ve got this whole class of rich kids doing rich kid things, and Jovan is having a great time; it’s the fourth week of school, he’s found his friend group, he gets along great with his bunk mates, everything is fantastic.

Except theres just this one… fucking guy…

This guy is in, like, half of Jovans classes and Jovan just can’t stop thinking about him because where in stars name did this skinny, scrappy, snappy, kid with a gnarly side eye come from???? Why is he so sickly looking???? And so mean????

And Jovan’s always been a curious guy, he wants to figure out what this guy’s deal is so he, of course, takes it upon himself to befriend this Edward Cullen looking ass dude. Easier said than done; Jovan finds out very quickly that Kallus does not trust easily and it takes at least three weeks of Jovan forcing his friendship on him (inviting him to sit with him in the mess hall, offering to help with assignments, sitting next to him in class, ect.) for Kallus to hold a full conversation with him. 

From there, though, it gets easier. Turns out that Kallus is, quite possibly, the coolest guy Jovan has ever met. He doesn't gaf about what people think about him, he’s gotten into fist fights before (real ones, not sparring!), he fucking parties, he fucks, he can hotwire a speeder, he’s so naturally smart, and cunning, and resourceful– Jovan is completely entranced by this guy. 

^^^(completely entranced by this guy.. I never said Jovan had good taste)

In the meantime, Jovan helps Kallus out with some of the pre-req classes needed for their first year, because as cool as he is, Kallus is not good at physics. 

By the end of their first year at the Academy, Jovan and Kallus become very close. It’s that kind of friendship between guys that, if you saw it from an outsider's perspective, you’d be like, “oh… are they..?? Do they..????? What???” but tbh they don't even think about it because they’re too busy being stupid

Now, the imps do NOT like taking days off, BUUUUT all those rich families donating to the academy do, so I imagine that– at least in the first few years of the empire– the academy had a short, 3 or so week long summer break. 

So we get to break, and Kallus is like “oh wait, I don’t have anywhere to go over break, guess I’ll just rough it out on the streets for a few weeks ig. Nothing new tbh.” And Jovan is like, “What???? No???? You’re not doing that????” and Jovan invites Kallus to tag along on his family vacation (idk where they go, maybe like Naboo or smth, I didn't think that far). Kallus obviously accepts. 

So they go on this vacation, and Jovan is thinking to himself, Waiiiiiittttt a minute………. I actually have wanted him so bad for like 3 months. Maybe it was a bad idea to invite him, like I’m gonna blow my cover fuckuckufckufcjukcf.  But he’s like not trying to do anything about it because he’s all nervous. But THEN, last week of vacation Kallus is like. “I actually think that you should let me kiss u on the mouth.” and Jovan is like “okay bbg say less.” (Jovan fell first if that wasn’t clear)

(This situation is about to get ALOT gayer)^^^

AND THEN THE BREAKUP

They graduated the academy a year prior, Kallus has been doing his ISB training, Jovan has been doing whatever tf you do to become a lieutenant. They’ve been together for four-ish years atp. 

Kallus is SO locked in with his ISB training. Like he was a dedicated student before (he was top of his class for a reason), but this is borderline obsession. He’s never home, always working, always tired, ect ect. In the meantime, Jovan is climbing the ranks and he is lowkey kind of power tripping over it. He’s getting kind of entitled, a little passive aggressive, and is not really putting effort in tbh.

So Jovan is all annoyed because Kallus is always at work and he literally just wants to hang out with his boyfriend. Tbh, he thinks that Kallus is getting way too ambitious way too quickly.

And Kallus is all annoyed because Jovan isn’t giving him any good reasons to leave work, in fact, Jovan has been grating his nerves lately because he doesn’t do anything. Jovan isn’t ambitious enough. 

The resentment is BUIILLLDDDIINNNGGG

The night they break up is FUCKING CRAZY, OKAY

Jovan picks a fight because he fucking feels like it and Kallus is not having ANY OF IT. Huge blowout fight ensues; Jovan says something classist or something, Kallus calls him an “entitled, prissy twat,” Jovan tells Kallus with the “you wouldn’t have even graduated without my help,” Kallus fuckinf kicks the wall or something, Jovan starts yelling about the drywall, Kallus is like “okay, fuck you AND your goddamn drywall,” and JUST LEAVES

The next day Jovan comms Kallus like “bbg pleapelaleapsleapsleaplsea I messed up im sorry plzplzpzpzlpzlzpzlzp” and Kallus ignores the hell out of him. 

Kallus is pissed because tbh if things just went better, he honest-to-god would have married that man, but noOOOooOOooO, Jovan had to be STUPID

AND THEN SIXTEEN YEARS LATER KALLUS ARRESTS THAT HO and he is SOOOO HAPPY ABOUT IT

But then Jovan shows up in the rebellion and Kallus is so annoyed. 

Because for 1. He is kind of prissy and self important and most people would agree with that 2. No way they ended up in the same place after 18 years, that is so bs, and 3. It’s so awkward that Jovan has all of this info about who Kallus was growing up, and the life he lived before going into the ISB– in fact, he probably knows more than anyone in the Ghost crew just because he was there– and that is so mortifying

Jovan is so stoked

Because for 1. Kallus did all that work in the ISB only to end up a rebel anyways and that is hilarious 2. He has so much mildly embarrassing material about him in his back pocket. But tbh it’s kind of bittersweet for him because Kallus is his One that got away (He was planning on going RING SHOPPING, and then he got BROKEN UP WITH, what the FUCK) and he always reasoned with it by thinking that Kallus was irrevocably changed by the empire, and the Kallus he fell in love with wasn’t going to come back. BUT THEN IT TURNS OUT THAT HE IS BACK– yeah, he’s got a beard now, and he pretends to be all serious, but he’s the same snarky, cunning, side eyeing idiot that he fell for. And he knows he can't have him because that train has LEFT THE STATION

^^(This art is old so its a little jank but shhhhhhhhh, its the vibes that matter)

So he obviously deals with this by selling embarrassing pictures of Kallus from their academy years to Sabine, because that’s probably the best revenge he’s going to get.

Kallus is obviously over him, and has been for a LONG time, he just doesn't like Jovans personality, and Jovan kinda wants Kallus back but apparently that's not an option so they do end up creating a dynamic where they are so petty to each other when they get the chance. (Which is not often because the rebellion is big and if they can avoid each other, they will.)

[skyward-floored]

Swapped

Part one of the Incredibles au power swap fic lets gooooo

I don’t know how many parts this is going to be total, maybe four..? I tried to keep it short, but that... didn’t work, heh. This is set after movie stuff at some point, don’t know exactly when, not too long... but supers are legal at least.

But anyway, enjoy part one!

Part two

————————————————————

Wind woke up slowly, his ears ringing in his skull.

A dull pulse of pain rippled through his middle, and he winced, putting a hand on his chest and rubbing it as he tried to think through what had happened. He remembered a voice talking, and something about intruders being free test subjects...

Oh. Right.

And a big explosion that had sent them all flying.

Ow...

Wind rubbed his eyes, wincing. He supposed a weird explosion shouldn’t be that surprising, since they were trying to break into a crazy-secure science lab. They’d gotten some information on all sorts of illegal experiments going on here, with supers allegedly involved, and they’d all suited up and stormed the place.

Nobody had realized they were expected.

Wind sighed, and sat up with another wince, grateful his supersuit was so sturdy. If he’d been in his civilian clothes, he’d probably be a smear on the wall right now. Or at least dealing with some broken ribs instead of just the weird soreness he had.

He shook his head, trying to disperse the ringing in his ears, and looked around, wondering why it was so quiet. Something about the air seemed weird, like something was missing from it.

A frown settled on Wind’s face and he reached for some wind, trying to listen and see if there was anything moving nearby. Then he froze.

He couldn’t do it.

Wind thrust his hand out, twirling it in the motion he always used when he directed the winds, but nothing happened, no matter how he moved his hands, no matter how hard he tried.

Something was wrong with his powers.

Wind breathed in shakily, and looked down at his hands, trying not to get swamped with panic. He was fine, he was fine except for the aches and lack of powers, he was fine. He probably just... needed to recover a little more from being unconscious. Yeah.

That had to be it.

Wind swallowed and looked around, suddenly zeroing in on Legend lying nearby. He wasn’t moving, and Wind shakily got to his feet, stumbling over and crouching at his side.

“Legend?” Wind asked, and gave his brother a light shake.

Legend didn’t move, not one inch, and the sight of his brother so still made something lurch in Wind’s stomach.

He paused in trying to wake him, and turned his attention to the rest of the room. He’d been separated from the others in the explosion, and the only other person besides Legend and himself in the hallway was Warriors. And Warriors looked like he was beginning to stir, a groan coming from his direction.

Wind stood up again, the absence of his wind all the more noticeable when he tried to draw on it for assistance. He swallowed and kept going, and knelt by Warriors’ side as his eyes flickered open.

“Warriors?” he asked in a shaky voice, and his uncle groaned, pressing his hands to his ears.

“Not so loud...” he bit out in a whisper, face screwed up in a wince. “...why is it so loud?”

“...I’m the only one making any noise,” Wind said in confusion, and when Warriors winced, he switched to a whisper as well. “...Sorry. It’s not loud at all Warriors, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t... know?” Warriors bit out, trying to sit up. “Ugh... I feel like I got hit by a truck...”

“Did you hit your head?” Wind asked anxiously, and Warriors slowly shook it, still wincing.

“No... everything is just... loud.”

Wind waited a moment for him to wake up a little more, and Warriors breathed out, slowly sitting up. Pain still showed in the way his face was creased though, and Wind felt the bubble of anxiety in his chest get a little bigger.

“That was a weird thing they hit us with... are you sure you’re okay?” Wind said as he helped Warriors sit up, glancing worriedly at the rubble separating them from the others.

“Yeah...” Warriors mumbled. “You okay, Wind?”

Wind swallowed.

“I... I don’t know,” he said honestly, wishing his voice wouldn’t shake. “I only woke up a bit ago. I found Legend too, he’s still unconscious, but Wars there’s— there’s something wrong with my powers.”

“What?”

Wind bit his lip. “I can’t get them to work. Ever since I woke up I haven’t been able to feel any wind or anything, there’s something wrong.”

Warriors’ face creased in concern, but then he paused, and held out his hand with his palm outstretched.

Nothing.

He tried again, a little more frantically, but still nothing happened, and he exhaled, looking down at his hands.

“Looks like mine are on the fritz too,” he said worriedly, then gave Wind’s shoulder a squeeze. “We’ll... we’ll figure this out. There’s probably something blocking them, I’ve seen this before. We just need to find the device.”

“You’re sure?” Wind said shakily, and Warriors nodded, giving his hair a quick ruffle.

“Yeah. It’ll be fine, kiddo.”

Wind gave him a small smile, then decided to check on Legend again since he still hadn’t moved. His brother’s face was still pale and blank, and while he didn’t look injured, Wind knew stuff could be hurt on the inside where they couldn’t see it.

Warriors joined him a few moments later, still wincing, and got to a knee beside Legend. He began looking him over, brushing dusty bangs from his face, and Wind watched in silence from beside him.

“Warriors, what do we do now?” Wind asked quietly, and his uncle hesitated, flinching when a sound rang out in the distance.

“I... don’t know just yet. Let’s recuperate for a bit, see if we can wake Legend up. Maybe try and contact the others. Then... I guess keep going. Somebody has to stop this scientist guy.

“And that somebody is us.”

“Right-o,” Warriors smiled. Then he stiffened, ears pricking as he looked down the hallway. “Someone’s coming.”

“I don’t hear anything,” Wind said in confusion, and Warriors shook his head, gathering Legend up into his arms.

“I can, there’s someone coming, trust me. We need to—”

Footsteps clattered towards them, and Warriors flinched, quickly tugging Wind and Legend behind a piece of rubble. A handful of guards came around the corner, and Wind crouched down further, watching them nervously.

Normally four guards would be nothing, but without powers and Warriors in a questionable state... Wind wasn’t sure they could handle them.

“Wars?” he whispered, and Warriors put a finger to his lips.

The guards drew nearer, spreading out and looking around the rubble. One came closer and closer to where Warriors and Wind were, and suddenly looked behind the rubble, spotting them.

“Hey!”

He grabbed for his gun, and Warriors shoved Wind behind him, launching himself at the guard with a snarl. The man shouted as he fell backwards, and despite the pain on Warriors’ face, he managed to wrestle the gun away from him.

The other guards heard him though, and Wind’s stomach lurched as they surrounded Warriors, unsure if he should go help or stay where he was and defend Legend. Warriors was hurting, but Legend wasn’t even awake, what was he supposed to do?

Two guards split off and went for Wind, and he yelped in panic, backing up so he could better protect Legend. The guards both reached in the nook Wind and Legend were tucked in, trying to grab them, but Wind avoided their hands and kicked at their arms.

Warriors was still struggling with the other two guards, but when he heard Wind’s yelp, his head shot up, eyes going wide when he saw one of them pull out a gun.

“Get away from them!” he shouted, eyes glowing, and was suddenly doused in shadows.

A familiar noise hummed through the air, and Wind and the guards stared in shock as the shadows dispersed, leaving a grayish-blue and white wolf on the ground where Warriors had been.

The wolf looked utterly shellshocked, and Wind felt much the same as he stared at it.

What.

Wind suddenly realized the guards were all distracted by the abrupt appearance of a wolf, and he shoved his shock to the back of his mind. He pushed the two that were trying to grab him, knocking them both over, then darted out and grabbed a piece of metal that had fallen on the ground.

He slammed it into one of the guard’s heads, sending him to the floor, but by then the others had snapped out of their daze.

But Warriors had too, and it didn’t take long for him and Wind to take out the other three guards. All four lay unconscious in short order, and Wind panted heavily as he wiped his face.

Then he stared back at the wolf, who was staring at his paws with his ears back.

“Um... what?” Wind spluttered, disbelief coming back. “Warriors that— how?”

The Warriors-wolf whined, his eyes wide, and he paced around in an anxious circle, nose twitching and ears flicking.

“How did you do that?!” Wind repeated, and Warriors flinched at his raised voice, ears folding back again. “...sorry. But why do you have Twilight’s powers?!”

Warriors repeated his whine, tail between his legs, and suddenly the shadows whirled around him again, blocking him from view. When they dispersed, Warriors was back to normal, sitting on the ground and looking somewhat nauseous.

“...Warriors?” Wind asked, and Warriors slowly sank down and laid on his back, then put a hand over his eyes.

“Gimme a sec,” he croaked.

Wind went quiet, and for a minute the only sound in the room was Warriors’ somewhat-shaky breathing.

While his uncle got a hold of himself, Wind gently tugged Legend out from the hiding spot, setting his head in his lap as he sat down. He ran a hand over Legend’s hair while he watched Warriors, and finally his uncle exhaled, and took the hand off his eyes.

“I think I know what the problem with our powers is,” he murmured. “Somehow... they switched.”

“But how?” Wind said as he stared at his uncle, and Warriors sighed, slowly sitting up and setting his hands over his ears again.

“I don’t know. But... I think it has to do with that weird energy pulse. I’d guess somehow it switched our powers.”

Wind stared at him in shock, and Warriors grimaced as something made a sound in the distance.

“How... is that even possible?”

“I have no earthly clue.”

Wind petted Legend on the head again, trying to wrap his brain around the idea of powers somehow swapping. Their powers were a literal part of them, how could anything switch them around?

“So... so you somehow have Twilight’s powers,” Wind said, and Warriors nodded. “Does that mean Twilight has yours?”

“I don’t know. But based on the whole wolf thing and the fact that I can hear so much as a pin drop, I definitely switched with Twilight,” Warriors said, then winced again. “Eugh. How does he deal with being able to smell everything? Or hear people breathing?”

Wind shrugged. “So... what was it like being a wolf?” he asked curiously.

“...Weird. We should get moving before the guards wake up,” Warriors said, dodging the question, and Wind sighed and nodded. Obviously Warriors didn’t want to talk about it.

...he’d get it out of him eventually though.

Wind looked down at his hands as Warriors moved to pick up Legend, flexing his fingers, and wondered suddenly if the same thing had happened to him.

Had he just gotten his powers blocked, or had he switched with somebody too? Was that why he couldn’t feel his winds?

Wind focused on himself for a second, trying to remember back to when he was smaller, and accessing his powers was more difficult. Normally there was a sense of the winds around him that he drew on, a thrum in his heart that moved in time with them, and he could usually draw on it with little to no effort.

That feeling wasn’t there anymore, but as Wind focused, he realized there was a different thrum inside of him now, one that felt blindingly strong.

Wind cautiously drew on it, but it was like turning on a firehose, and a flood of whatever power he had now came rushing at him, startling a yelp from his throat.

Warriors called his name, but Wind barely heard him, focused on the power rushing through his middle, spreading to his limbs and stretching out along his face. It was nearly overwhelming, but Wind held on against it, gritting his teeth as power buzzed all over throughout his skin.

The rush ebbed finally, enough that Wind could open his eyes, and the first thing he noticed was that the floor seemed a lot further away then it had before.

Also Warriors staring at him in shock.

“What?” Wind asked, then startled at the way his voice echoed.

“You... you also swapped,” Warriors said in a somewhat strangled voice.

Wind blinked, then looked at his hands, feeling the current of power run through him, feeling so powerful that he could probably punch his way through the walls if he had to.

Which meant...

“I got Dad’s, didn’t I?” Wind said.

Warriors sat back down.

“...Yep.”

[womanmanipulator]

goodbye, yellow brick road.

spencer reid x gn!bau!reader.

synopsis: naturally, as a hard-headed and stubborn young adult, you’d chase after the potential unsub when he’s let go due to legality. having your heart set on getting a confession out of him. what could go wrong?

(content warning: graphic, somewhat detailed? major character death, stab wound(s)?, abuse, blood, very angsty. i did some research to write this.)

~

it’s pouring, hands grip the steering wheel tightly. speeding through the rain.

you were stubborn.

hard-headed.

cocky.

it was only natural, being new to the job. only five months in. you weren’t used to work sticking with you and chasing you around, even when you got home. the release of david sallow from the interrogation room earlier today didn’t sit well with you. you knew that sick bastard killed all those young men and women. and you were going to get a confession out of him.

sure, it was unprofessional. but the others wouldn’t even mind when you caught him and got a confession out of that asshole. that’s what you told yourself as you pulled into the gas station his SUV was parked at. you climb out of your car, striding towards where he stood. david was walking out of building when his eyes caught you. he furrows his brows, confused.

“you’re that person from the FBI.” he states. standing a little awkwardly with a smug look playing on his stupid face. you narrow your eyes. “i am.” you say confidently. “and i know you killed those people, david.” you add. getting straight to the point. “i didn’t, and you let me go today. leave me alone.” he says sternly, smirk now vanished. “i will. catch you. it all depends on when.” you glare. if looks could kill..

“admit it.” you press. he starts to get agitated. talking a bold step towards him, you get personal. an intimidation tactic. he isn’t fazed however, you are set on getting a confession though. “i don’t owe you shit, lady.” he hisses. “listen. if you don’t back off, somethin’ bads gonna happen.” he threatens.

“you killed all those men and women because they remind you of your mother and father, mr. wallows.” you say, a quietness fills the air. david’s fists ball up and a grumble comes out of his throat.

“your parents would abuse you. they’d hit you whenever they got the chance. they went so far as to make up things to be mad at you about so they could hit you, eventually they stopped giving reason and just took their frustration out on you. you want to get them back, except you can’t. you killed them, but that didn’t quench your thirst david, oh no it didn’t—“ you start to list off. you are cut off by a yell coming from the man infront of you. he charges at you with a knife.

everything happens so quick. how did you miss him grabbing his knife? you were know for being so attentive and quick thinking —

. . .

pain blossoms in the back of your cranium as you are knocked to the concrete. brain rattled, you’re confused. you try to reach for your gun but you’re stopped by the plunge of the knife in your abdomen. you can’t feel the pain, yet. the adrenaline overpowers it. coursing through your veins as your insides become outsides. a weak attempt to fight back is made, but you can’t do much with a two-hundred pound man above you, stabbing you.

i should have stayed on the farm.

i should have listened to my old man.

a warm liquid trickles out of you as your breath is knocked out of you lungs, another punch of the knife in your weakening body. you try to gasp for air but it’s as if your lungs are useless. you don’t even hear the store owner running out of the building and screaming at david.

he flees from the scene.

you know you can’t hold me forever,

i didn’t sign up with you.

when you gain a grasp on what’s going on, the store owner has sat you up against the brick wall of the building. propping you up. he has pressure on your wound as his phone wails out inaudible sound. they might as well be speaking another language. the pain of a thousand needles pricking you takes over your belly and side. trying to move and get away from the pain, you make an attempt to get up. you are held down though by a familiar face. it takes time to register it.

i’m not a present for your friends to open

blinking a few times to clear your vision, eyes heavy. you are met with spencer. “hey, hey, stay still. please.” he begs desperately. you’ve never heard him sound like this. it worries you. you don’t know when spencer replaced the nice man beside you, but you don’t think too long on it. as you can feel your heart beat in your side and everytime you try to take a deep breath it’s like a punch in the lungs. a sharp, aching pain. you aren’t getting any air. in reality you are, but. your brain can’t register it. more of the thick, scarlet liquid trickles and sprays out of your wound as you try to heave for air. you cant remember the name.

this boys to young to be singin’

the blues.

everything’s so distant and blurry. your body fights for life as pain washes over you in a new form. you want to scream, cry out but you can’t. spencer’s trying to coax you as he holds a crushing pressure on your wound but it’s like talking through a glass window. “you gotta stay awake for me, okay?” he says. tears pouring down his face.

that’s weird, you’d never seen him cry.

“wake up rookie, keep your eyes open.” he tries. speaking firmly. he wants to sound strong but fails. your ears start to ring and you feel as if you’re underwater. slowly, a black ring starts to creep into your vision. you want to close your eyes.

you’re really tired all the sudden, the pains disappeared. as if it was never there. it’s really peaceful. spencer slaps you in the face, knocking you out of your trance as you can hear sirens blaring loudly in the distance. “just a little longer, stay awake for me please, trouble.” he tries, his hands put more pressure on you. you barely register it though. eyes slipping closed again.

slap.

eyes slowly open, vision obstructed. you can barely make out anything as the black rings taken up 90% of your sight. everything sounds far away and echoey. the words he says come in one ear and out the other, rattling and bouncing around in your brain a first.

it’s really tempting to fall asleep.

so goodbye, yellow brick road.

where the dogs of society howl.

spencer knows as soon as you close your eyes you’re gone.

“we got a DOA.”

you can’t plant me in your penthouse,

i’m goin’ back to my plough.

. . .

oh i’ve finally decided my future lies,

beyond the yellow brick road.

~

wowowowoowowow

thsi was written in an hour. might be a little choppy, my first time trying to write smth longer than 400 words 😒.

lmk if ya want more 🎀

mwah mwah mwah

[velvetvexations]

incredible, i just saw a reblog of that "transfem headcanons are always better and sometimes transmasc headcanons actively make the text worse and more hateful" by someone i followed. funny to see discussions arguing against the post before seeing the post itself, otherwise i would have unthinkingly internalized it and felt like shit without knowing why. anyway, i unfollowed that person now. to make it worse, op tore into someone for claiming that chihiro from danganronpa is an exception and better read as transmasc... the irony is insane. yet another example besides miquella that would make the story more boring and maybe worse if transfem.

it's so disgustingly petty lmao

a lot of transfem headcanons are reaches, often "this is literally a man magically trapped in the body of a woman and he hates it and desperately keeps trying to go back to being a man" and it's FINE to headcanon characters however you want but since some people can't conceptualize being a woman as anything other than something they wish would happen to them they take characters like that and hiss if you go near them

i get the sense that there's a very specific, narrow demographic of transfems who used to buy into that reddit guy "being a hot 22-year-old girl must be like having 10 billion dollars" attitude and never really let it go. thus the fixation on "AFAB privilege". isee a similar mix of resentment and attraction from lesbian TERFs, though it comes from a different origin. and it's an attitude that can slide easily into TERFism even for cis men--just look at tatsuya ishida!

If anything the idealization of femininity a small minority of transfems exhibit when they complain endlessly about how good trans people AFAB have it would come more from dysphoria and the grass being greener on the other side. "An AFAB trans person will immediately revert to being an innocent little girl to hurl sexual assault accusations at trans women," however, is really concerning!

Regarding whether "binary privilege" exists, i am once again on my hands and knees begging people to actually look at the statistics. The US Transgender Survey and Cohnting Ourselves (from Aotearoa) are right there. And they both show that all trans people are about as badly off as each other regardless of their specific gender. Yes, there are some ways in which being nonbinary is particularly hard, such as not having a social role to fit into, I'm not denying any of that, but if you're going to call being binary a "privilege" then there needs to be a visible whole-group effect for binary people compared to nonbinary people. And there isn't one when you look at the numbers.

It's not really about non-binary people having it flat worse, more just situational complexities.

The thing about even discussing privilege (binary privilege in this case) is that so many people talk as if to have privilege means to inherently have privilege Over someone else. Like is it an advantage for me to be vaguely binary alligned enough sometimes to have a legal gender marker that is moderately less dysphoria inducing when some people are equally harmed by either? (Tbf I live in a state where x is an option, I simply do not feel safe with that 😵‍💫 (tho that does not help when nothing else other than state id accepts it)) like yeah it's a privilege but it's not privilege Over someone. It does not make me an oppressor or mean I am causing harm, which is a thing many people seem to believe, about various forms of privilege

That's a very good point, anon.

I suppose this isn’t how others I’ve seen think about it but. I’ve always just understood that you can be oppressed for being trans without your gender being affirmed. Like. The bigots understand you’re trans but that doesn’t make them think of you as your gender it makes them think of you as trans. Misgendering is such a huge part of what transphobes do and I’ve never once assumed they were like. Lying about seeing trans people that way. I don’t get acting like transphobes can see our, as you put it, soul gender.

It makes people feel better.

[randomprose]

winter burn

my headcanon is that Itachi truly believes he is contractually and legally obligated to tease Sasuke about everything but most especially Sakura— non-massacre au

“I’m home,” Sasuke called out as he entered the house. He sat at the threshold to remove his standard-issued ninja sandals, taking note of another pair that hadn’t been there for the past three days.

‘Aniki’s back.’

True enough when he entered the den, his brother was sitting across from their father reading a scroll. 

“Welcome back, ototou,” Itachi greeted with a smile except this smile was different than his usual polite subdued ones. This one looked much too saccharine and Sasuke just knew something was up with the way his brother was looking like the cat that caught the canary. 

To his credit, Sasuke didn’t show any signs of apprehension and even smiled and kissed their mother on the cheek when she passed by with a tray of tea and greeted him. He took the tray from her and set it down on the table before seating himself in one of the cushions.

“Guess what I saw when I was making my way home?” Itachi said with an air of casualty as if he was talking about the weather.

Sasuke knew better and didn’t rise to the bait. That tone sounded like the next dinner table conversation would be at his expense so he instead chose to drink the tea his mother offered.

“What is it, Itachi-kun?” Mikoto asked handing her eldest son a cup of tea.

“Why, I’m glad you asked, Mother,” Itachi answered primly, accepting the offered cup and taking a sip. “Actually, it wasn’t so much what I saw as to who I saw.” 

Itachi smirked and Sasuke just knew that his brother was up to something evil and maniacal that would be directed at his person as always.

“Well, what is it?” Fugaku asked, never one for beating around the bush, as he nodded his thanks to Mikoto for the tea.

Their father’s impatient tone only seemed to fuel Itachi. He hadn’t expected their father to be interested. As calm and innocent as he could (Sasuke snorted at this), he turned to his younger brother and delivered the blow.

“Sasuke, I didn’t know you liked dancing in the snow.”

“Sasuke-chan dances?”

“Aa, mother. He was with Sakura-chan.”

Sasuke could practically feel three pairs of inquisitive eyes on him as he calmly sipped his tea, his brother’s usual unreadable gaze shining more with amusement than curiosity. He felt the tell-tale sign of a blush coming on as he felt his face heating up and glared at his brother.

“You fucking creeper.”

“Sasuke! Language!”

“I was not creeping,” Itachi smirked as Sasuke didn’t even deny it. “I just saw you guys in passing.”

“Yeah, right. Don’t you have a life, you—”

“You walked Sakura-chan home, I hope?” Mikoto interrupted before her boys could progress into name-calling.

Sasuke ceased glaring at his brother to answer her, his expression once again mild, “Yes, Mother. Her shift in the hospital ended quite late.”

“That’s great, Sasuke-chan,” Mikoto smiled at her youngest, proud that she raised such a sweet boy. “I assume she likes to dance in the snow as much as she likes the cold?”

“Aa. She forced me to join her.”

“Ah. But you looked like you were actually enjoying yourself, ototou,” Itachi interjected, not at all done with his teasing.

“I hate the cold.” It was true, too. Sasuke had indulged Sakura, but he couldn’t walk fast enough to get inside his very warm house. Sakura lived on the other side of the village and jumping on the trees was out of the question with how wickedly cold the wind was.

“But you do not hate dancing with Sakura-chan?”

Sasuke didn’t bother to dignify Itachi’s question with a response. Itachi is definitely spending way too much time with Shisui. If he doesn’t engage, if he doesn’t give his brother the reaction he clearly wants from him, Itachi will get bored eventually and move on to other—

And then Sasuke sneezed.

To which Itachi laughingly asked, “Was it worth it, ototou?”

Sasuke silently got up from his seat, and turning to Itachi, smirked, “Of course it was.” He thanked their mother for muttering a quiet ‘bless you’ and handing him a tissue before heading toward the stairs. “Maybe if you stopped spying on me and actually spent more time with Izumi-nee, you’ll know just how worth it dancing in the cold is.” Sasuke threw a smug look at his older brother before disappearing upstairs into his room.

Fugaku smirked at the exchange as he turned a page of the evening newspaper. “He got you there, son.”

Itachi scowled before returning to his scroll.

[svnnyd4ys]

Grey's Anatomy incorrect quotes even tho most of these characters never fully interacted with each other

Lexie: You know what bothers me? Bats. Why can bats fly? Owen: Not again! Lexie: No. Seriously, who gave them the right? They're mammals! Mammals walk on land, no exceptions. Callie: Just wait until you hear about whales. Lexie: What now?

!!!

Mark: Pose as a team because SHIT JUST GOT REAL!

!!!

George: On the count of three, what’s your favourite cake? George & April: One, two, three- George & April: Chocolate cake, peanut butter frosting, and chocolate chunks! Mark: Our turn, Derek! One, two, three- Mark: Vanilla! Derek: I’ve never had cake before. What is cake?

!!!

Jackson: The first time I saw you, you stole my heart. Cristina: But I'm a kleptomaniac, so that doesn't mean anything.

!!!

Richard: If you think I’m playing favourites, you’re wrong. I love all of you equally! Richard, earlier: I don’t care for Alex.

!!!

Mark: I spy with my little eye something that begins with the letter “s”. Cristina: *looks over at Meredith and Addison* Cristina: Is it “sexual tension”?

!!!

*after discussing a plan* Alex: Does anyone have any questions? April: Is this legal? Alex: Does anyone have any relevant questions?

!!!

Callie: I hope no one lowkey hates me. Callie: Highkey hate me. Hate me with every fiber of your being. Callie: Go big or go home.

!!!

Meredith: You’re such a dumbass (affectionate). Alex: Aww, you’re such a whore (complimentary). Mark: How are you talking like that in real life? Alex: Witchcraft (derogatory).

!!!

Cristina: The results are in, I’m afraid you have updog… Patient: What’s updog? Cristina: Alex! Get in here, I told you I could do it!

!!!

Kidnapper: I have your partner. Jackson: What? I don't have a partner... Kidnapper: Then who just called me a lowlife bitch and spit in my face? Jackson: Oh my god, you have Cristina.

!!!

Jackson: So, are they your friend or... Bailey: They’re like April, but if April was ordered to be around you. Jackson: Oh, so Meredith. Bailey: Precisely!

!!!

Callie: Unfollow me if you think the Earth is flat. Cristina: *seriously pretends to be a flat-earther to antagonize the anti-flat-earther. Owen: *neutral but makes polls to start fights, "Is the Earth flat? Let's discuss!"* Meredith: *not a flat-earther but makes "the Earth may be flat but this ass ain't" jokes for viral tweets*. Derek: *actual flat-earther.*

!!!

Jackson: Once Cristina thanked me and I couldn’t decide between “No problem!” and “No worries!” so I yelled “No worms!” to them as they walked away.

!!!

Meredith: Am I a good person? No. But do I try to be better every single day? Also no.

!!!

Callie: What’s your favourite colour? Bailey: Stop asking stupid questions. Ask me something logical and mature. Callie: How many moles of sodium bicarbonate are needed to neutralise 0.8ml of sulphuric acid at STP? Bailey: My favourite colour is purple.

!!!

April: Does everyone know their job for today? Arizona: Water the flowers. Callie: Vacuum the carpet. Meredith: Wash the dishes. Alex: Pretend to be a wolverine. April: Close enough.

!!!

Meredith: Here’s the cold medicine you asked for. Meredith: *dumps 3 shopping bags of wine on the table* Owen: ...Thanks.

!!!

Derek: You’re jealous. Meredith: Jealous? Derek: That’s why you were being so negative about this. Meredith: That’s absurd. I’m always negative.

!!!

April: The first time I ever got upset in front of Meredith, they put their arms around me and it was so awkward that I had to ask them if they were hugging me or reaching for something on the shelf behind me. Meredith: I was doing both, for your information. Arizona: The first time Meredith hugged me, it was such a disaster we didn’t make eye contact for, like, a week after.

!!!

Callie: Who would you kill out of the four of us, Arizona? Arizona: Derek, easily. Derek, laughing: What the fuck, man. Arizona: Well, Owen would be too easy. They’d probably be into it. Owen, now standing in the doorway: What the fuck, man!?

!!!

*during a group project* Owen: *does 99% of the work* Jackson: *has no idea what’s going on* Derek: *says they’re gonna help but does not* Callie: *disappears at the very beginning and doesn’t show up again until the very end*

!!!

Alex: Cristina won’t come out of their room! Meredith: Just tell them I said something. Alex: Like what? Meredith: Anything factually incorrect. Alex, shrugging: If you say so. Cristina, arriving moments later: Did you just say the sun is a PLANET?

!!!

Callie: Compliment me. Alex: You have eyes. Callie: Yeah, that works.

!!!

Arizona: That sounds super! Doesn’t that sound super, Callie? Callie: No. Arizona: I think I speak for Callie when I say it sounds really super.

!!!

Jackson: Caffeine no longer keeps me awake while I work, so instead I have April periodically send me texts saying ‘we need to talk.’ Jackson: It gives me the right amount of adrenaline and fear I need to keep going.

!!!

*Meredith is speaking on the phone* Meredith: Yeah, I'm with Owen. Owen: Im fucking dying- Meredith: Yep, they're okay. Owen: I have a knife in my chest! Meredith: No, they can't talk right now. They're sleeping, sorry. Owen: IM BLEEDING OUT-

!!!

Derek, on the phone: So no head? Derek: *Throws phone and breaks skateboard*

!!!

Arizona: I would never say that my partner is a bitch and I don’t don’t like them. That’s not true… My partner is a bitch and I like them so much!

!!!

Lexie: If we were in prison you guys would be like my bitches.

!!!

Alex: I was put on this earth to do one thing. Alex: Luckily I forgot what it was so I can do whatever I want.

!!!

Owen: "What are you into?" is such a broad question, like do I reply with a TV series or choking?

!!!

Bailey: You were wise to seek help from the world's most deadly weapon. Bailey: It's me.

!!!

Meredith: Self-care is suppressing all your trauma until it comes back and hits you in the face with the force of 7 very large trucks.

!!!

April: I can’t believe my birth certificate says F... April: ...How did I fail being born?

!!!

[corrosivegizm0]

I thought it could be a neat idea to leave this up for a couple of days, though I’m not expecting much, it would be really cool if you guys check it out and REALLY REALLY Cool if you left something for us!! 

For anyone confused, it’s like a big Birthday Card we’re leaving out to sign! (Except cooler, because it’s acceptable to draw all over it) 

MAGMA BOARD RULES & GUIDELINES: 

Firstly, this a board for both mine and Dia’s Birthdays! You can draw, or just write a message if you want.  

Please be kind and respectful, to us and each other – There will be ZERO tolerance for any shit-talking about ANYONE’s skill level.  

Generally, no NSFW or really anything that YouTube would get angy at us for – Neither YouTube TOS or I, tolerate mockery / racism / homophobia or any other prejudice 

Please no huge Anime Spoilers! (Or other media, but it’s generally a larger issue with anime/manga) 

Please don’t share personal information (yours or anyone else’s location, full legal names, etc) 

Have fun!  

I’m sure there are those who aren’t aware: you don’t actually need to sign up – but I’m pretty sure it uses your IP so you can log back into the board as the same user 

We will review it (or have a friend), before showing it on stream, but won’t ruin the surprise before then! 

We will do another one live just for Funsies, so I hope you can make it! 

Details around the actual stream are still being decided, but I will let you know when and what we decide!! 

[aroihkin]

When A Narcissist Dies: The Disturbing Reality of Dying Narcissists

So the other day I replied to a screenshot of an “anon” ask that was trying to guilt me for not publicly reacting to someone named Ardeth dying.

Ardeth was one of the people, and the main person involved, in labor trafficking me for 8 years. They had been my best friend for years before that, but as soon as they got me to move in with them, they started cutting me off from all outside friends and help, and then took their mask off. I was at their beck and call 24/7, never allowed to sleep for more than 4 hours, did every bit of labor in the house for three people, eight cats, and a giant dog, and was constantly threatened with being thrown out on the street over the smallest and stupidest things. (Seriously, one time I was ‘kicked out’ because I’d laughed at an episode of Archer in my bedroom. Amazing.)

Ardeth flew off the handle at every perceived slight, IRL and online. They even flew off the handle if they didn’t think I was defending them sufficiently hard from slights by other people. They’d throw things at both myself and their disabled S/O, threaten that if they could get out of bed they’d beat whichever of us made them mad at that moment, threaten to just die (funny now, not so much when I cared about them), the whole nine yards!

I got away from them some years ago, and moved in with the ex roommates I often call “the children” on here. (They’ve since claimed to have only been friends with me out of pity, very cool and normal of them and not at all childlike!)

Anyway, while I lived with them they gleefully experimented on my health (and got caught once in a while), and have since bragged about it. They tried to con me into giving them my car for free after they knew they were going to leave but hadn’t told me yet, and for years they made happy use of my stuff and my skills.

When they left, they left every speck of trash and all their things behind in the house, doubling “my” stuff after crying ceaselessly to strangers behind my back about how hard it was living with a hoarder. Never said shit to me IRL before saying they were moving out, btw. Cool!

I took this video in case there was legal trouble later with the landlord or whatever, and kept it to myself. But hell with it, enjoy!

(I didn’t even ask them to clean out their shit and trash, they offered and volunteered and said right up to the end that they were going to do that. Whatever, obviously just a final ploy? And what a weird one at that? They stayed as Friendly As Could Be while here in person, probably so I’d keep giving them rides to things, like to pick up their new van. Whatever, I guess I’m fucking terrifying or something.)

Anyway, they fucked off in September 2017. Seven years ago, keep that in mind, because they and their buddies have dropped in on my tumblr fairly regularly ever since then, for some reason. I usually just roll my eyes and delete their messages, because, you know, some of us have other shit going on in our lives and they don’t live rent free in my head like I apparently live in theirs.

Around March, after Ardeth died, one of them dropped into my askbox on here to tell me. K. Already knew, already processed, didn’t care to react in public, delete!

Then the other day, the ask I replied to trying to... IDK, score some kind of moral points or something? because I hadn’t chatted about it in public and thus didn’t care?

But here’s the funny thing, this means they had to go scouring through seven or eight months of my fuckin tumblr to see if I’d ever replied or talked about it. Seven years after they moved out. What the fuck lmaaaaaaaaao

Ultimately, they’re right, I don’t care. And just as I said there, I’ll care even less when it’s them.

And I fully mean that, because I won’t even know? Probably? Like, I still had some contacts in common with Ardeth, but I don’t think I do with the children, and I don’t spare them a thought 99.9% of the time except on labor day (anniversary of my starting to live on my own, fuck yeah!) and sometimes when I’m doing something they’d hate, like naming a car. And then I have myself a little giggle. Imagine when I name my fuckin house! It’s going to be like an inside joke with myself by default, and I love that for me.

...Also, no, talking about that last ask a few days later doesn’t really count. This is me being amazed and amused at them scouring months of my tumblr looking for... IDK, anything. Seven years later. Fucking hilarious TBH.

And yeah, I know it’s them or their pals, because while they think they are VERY clever, no one else who knew Ardeth and myself would call them by their RP character name from one MMO, and feel the need to go ‘anon’ in my inbox. But dumb children are gonna be dumb children forever, I guess.

Enjoy shitting fire out of sheer rage, kiddos. I’ve shut off anons since it’s just donation requests and you lot as of late, but feel free to make lots of sock puppet accounts for me to laugh at and block cuz ya’all’re that mad and sad. 💕

Seven years of stalking, man. Yeah, I was the worst. You can tell I'm just awful, out here living my life, paying on my house, racking up raises at work, and not going out looking for ex buddies to stalk and harass. Truly diabolical of me.

Oh! While I’m at it, here’s exactly 1 year later in that same house, because clearly I was the problem and thus must have still been living in filth, right? Right.

like, lmao lol rofl okay

[suzukiblu]

I don’t know if you’re still taking prompts, but if you are: Rao? Or House of El?

"You never even asked to see my soulmark," Lex Luthor says, raising an eyebrow at him. "So you know perfectly well that it's me on your chest, and I imagine you knew that before I even showed up here."

Kon wants to throw him off a building and listen to him scream all the way down.

Lex Luthor probably isn't the type to give a guy the satisfaction of screaming, though.

"Yeah, because I'm not completely stupid," Kon says irritably. "I was looking right at you when the stupid thing burned into me."

"I assumed, yes, since I wasn't the one looking at you," Lex Luthor says, then hums thoughtfully to himself. "'Burned'? That's a peculiar sensation for a soulmark to come in with."

"Maybe you're fucking peculiar, old man," Kon says.

"Coming from the one whose half of our familial soulmark is someone else's family crest," Lex Luthor says dryly, and Kon thinks longingly of very, very high buildings.

"I'm an El too, asshole," he bites off defensively, clenching his fists. He's not–he's not Clark's family, but . . . but he's that, at least.

At least for now, anyway.

Lex Luthor tilts his head and gives him an assessing look.

"I'd consider you a Luthor, myself," he says. "As would, again, the legal system. But I suppose one couldn't put 'El' on their Earth paperwork either way, now could they."

Kon doesn't have any fucking paperwork aside from his Cadmus file, but if he did, the only name he'd want to put on it would be–

Well. Definitely not "Luthor", that's for fucking sure.

"I don't want your fucking name," Kon spits. "I don't want anything from you at all, except for you to go the fuck away."

"Well, it's nice to want things," Lex Luthor says with a dismissive shrug. "Like to inconvenience the Big Blue Boy Scout, for example."

"Superman isn't actually gonna give a shit about this, you realize," Kon says. "I mean, he'll probably take back the 'S' and everything and never fucking talk to me again, but he's not gonna be upset about doing that. Like, this is in no way a win for you."

Really, Kon's pretty sure this one would count as a straight-up loss. Who the hell wants custody of their least favorite person's stupid fucked-up not-kid, anyway?

Lex Luthor gives him a completely blank look for a weirdly long moment. Kon bristles reflexively.

"My taking custody of you wouldn't upset Superman," Lex Luthor says like he's making a note and not just stating an obvious fact. "So in your mind, he'd just . . . write you off as compromised and be done with you?"

Kon doesn't see why he wouldn't.

He'll probably want the name back too, he thinks, and tries to ignore the way that idea clenches painfully in his chest. If Clark wants the name back, well–well, then it's only fair. He gave that name to some stupid pathetic kid without a soulmark that he pitied a little. Not to Lex Luthor's soulmate.

He doesn't actually know what he's going to be, though, if he can't be Kon-El or even just Superboy anymore.

Not a Luthor. Not that.

But . . . but he doesn't know, otherwise.

[basicbatboys]

hiii can u do #47 with dick??

Hiya! Thank you for your request!

47 was "You look so cute when you can't speak properly" and so here is a fic based on this idea!

You stood, open-mouthed, blubbering nonsense as Nightwing stood in the wreckage of the three goons who had been chasing you down an alley. You didn’t know what to think, except that your best friend was right and that he is more handsome in person. The shots from the newspaper had nothing on the guy standing in front of you. 

He sauntered towards you, flashing me his trademark smile and you don’t know if you were seeing things but you think he winked at you. He placed his hands on his hips and stared you down. 

“You okay?” He asked, his face flashing with concern when he saw the state you were in. He rushed toward you and reached out his hands. “Can I touch you?”

You shook your head, then nodded, then sputtered, “I’m fine! N-Now. Now, I’m fine.”

He grinned and shook his head, pulling out a grappling hook. “You’re cute when you don’t know how to speak properly. Stay out of trouble, alright?” With that, he shot his hook onto a roof and took off into the night. 

As you walked home, you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching you. It didn’t subside until you had locked your door and retreated into your bedroom for the night. 

___________

It had been three weeks since Nightwing saved you that brought you to where you are now. You’d seen him every night since then, he caught you while you were leaving work and the two of you got to talking.

“Are you some sort of stalker?” You asked him one night, laughing. 

“A stalker? No! I just take it as my personal mission to make sure pretty people make it home safe. Besides, the second time was an accident. It’s not my fault you work at the bar next to Bat Burger.” 

“Bat Burger? Really? I hear they spit in your food.”

“Well I hope they don’t stop because everything they

make is perfect just the way it is.”

You laughed and made a face. “Are you legally required to say that?”

He beamed. “I’m actually not legally required to say anything!”

___________

It had been one year since Nightwing saved you and that brought you to where you are now. You and he were having your usual midnight dinner of Bat Burger on the rooftop of the bank building. 

You stuck another fry in your mouth and laughed, smiling brightly. “You’re pretty cool, you know that?” You asked, looking over at him and then down at the street below you. Even in the middle of the night, the street was bustling with heavy traffic. People just like you were on their way home from work or out to get their own midnight dinners. 

“I don’t know how to take that.” He replied, scratching his head. “Is that a compliment?”

You nodded, sipping your soda. “Of course it is. Would I ever be mean to you?”

He shrugged. “Maybe, you might be someday.”

Suddenly, his comm buzzed and he stood and walked to the other side of the roof to take his call. When he returned, he looked distraught and distracted. “I’m sorry.” He mumbled. “I have to sneak out on our date. I’ll see you tomorrow okay?” With that, he was off, leaving you to wonder if you’d heard him correctly. Did he call this a date? Your heart fluttered with excitement. He did say that, didn’t he?

__________

It has been five years since Nightwing saved you and that brought you to where you are now. “Dick!” You yelled, slamming down a hand of Uno cards. “As in the derogatory term, not your name.” You said with a smirk. 

He laughed and rolled his eyes, shrugging. “Sorry sweetheart, I tried to warn you. I don’t lose at Uno.” 

You two were seated on the living room floor of the Wayne Manor. It was very new to you, all of this. It was only about a week ago that Nightwing had told you who he really was and invited you to his home to meet his family. You were still very unclear about what your relationship entailed because the two of you had known each other for a long time and the flirting was excessive but you could never make it official with someone who’s secret identity you didn’t know. Now that you knew who he was, you felt like there was opportunity for doors to open. Doors you definitely wanted to open. 

When you looked up, he had a goofy puppy look on his face and it made you laugh. “What are you looking at me like that for?” You asked. 

“I’m just happy, it’s such a relief to be honest and open with you. I’m so glad I got to tell you who I really am. I couldn’t take it anymore and Batman finally gave his blessing to let me let you in. You know, I really like you.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest and you stood up from the floor. “I really like you too.” You replied, clasping your hands together. “I’m glad you trust me.”

He stood too, walking toward you and putting his hands on your waist. You began to stutter, just like you did that first night. “I… Uh… What…?”

“Is this okay?” He asked, his hands moving to hover off of you. 

“Oh, yeah, of course, I’m just surprised is all.” You replied, stepping a little closer to him in a bold rush. 

“Surprised?” He countered, moving a hand to cup your cheek. 

You nodded. “Surprised.” 

He leaned down, your lips mere centimeters apart. “Well then I’m really about to shock you.” 

He closed the small gap and kissed you deeply and you felt unlike you’ve ever felt before in your life. Your body felt like it was on fire. Dick was the perfect man and here he was kissing you. 

He pulled away and gave you a small smile. “I’ve been wanting to do that forever.”

You felt so happy, so at peace, so… alive. You hoped this feeling would never end.

[a-ackermann]

RP RULES

This will only be a brief synopsis of my rules and standards, after reading below if interested please dm me, we can discuss rules and boundaries more in depth prior to beginning an rp. As of now all rps I’m opening are AoT exclusive.

- As a literate writer, varying on how detailed or lengthy of a writer you are will of course effect my responses, however please consider that me being a literate writer means the majority of my responses will be longer, varying 2-10 paragraphs, overall I max out at 3k word replies (IF that is what we’re going for). So long as there’s something for me to actually form a real response to I’ll gladly keep a rp alive.

- I will portray most canon characters and am very open to either SFW or NSFW plots, though when it comes to my own prompts my rps tend to turn NSFW eventually. (though I’m very strict about enforcing slow-burn say it were a build up to romance.) I tend to prefer playing as my OC with canon characters, obviously I ship my OC with Levi but this doesn’t mean I exclusively rp with Levi mains/portrayers. I’m open to about anything so long as you reach out with a suggestion. If you wish to have no NSFW content whatsoever, or at the least no sexual content please let me know!!!! I have no issues with these accommodations just because I’m a freaky little goose in the pond.

- I do not write homosexual pairings, both mxm and fxf. I’m a straight woman, who used to identify as a trans gay man when I used to write for gay pairings exclusively, if I were to do that now I’d feel as if I’m fetishizing. So respectfully, please don’t come to me asking for this because I have no exceptions.

- Regarding sexual content, I will not engage in any beastiality, scat/piss fetishes, DDLG/MDLG/age-play, etc, basically if it could get you in legal trouble or it’s just generally fucking disgusting don’t even bother suggesting it. Reiterating here, I enjoy getting freaky in writing now and then, but I won’t ever make it the exclusive theme of the rp.

- Please understand I love doing this in my free time,

FREE TIME!!!

Meaning, no, I am not ignoring you. I’m an outspoken and confrontational person by nature, if there is an issue I will openly address it to your face before ending a role play, guaranteed. Therefore, give me time if I haven’t updated you whatsoever, as in not even to say that I’m answering you soon, because I’m either at work or at home rotting after work.

- If you’re looking for me to play a specific character for you in one rp and you’re willing to portray for me in another at the same time lmk!! I know it can be exhausting writing as a character for someone else’s appeal when you also have an idea to execute.

- If you dislike the way I write for a character, please let me know so that we can discuss it and potentially work out changing things about my portrayal to better suit your expectations. I’m very open to criticism so long as it comes from good intentions.

- If you want to restart an rp by all means please speak up!! It’s very difficult to rouse or annoy me over an rp, I’d rather know you’re unsatisfied than continue leading an rp knowing you’re struggling to come up with a response.

- ISO long-term rp partners atm, I’m very interested in meeting other compatible writers.

- I’m not hellbent on any particular platform, I prefer Discord, otherwise if there’s an app you’d prefer to talk on just let me know.

- Finally, I can be picky with what rps that I open and those I engage with, though this doesn’t mean I’ll shoot you down immediately if I don’t like your suggestion, I’ll most likely stay and work with you til we’re both happy with a plot unless what you’re looking for is something I’m entirely disinterested in.

Please do not be afraid to reach out to me!! Even if we end up not starting an rp together I can assure you I will get back to you and I wont be upset if you have questions either 💙💙💙💙💙

P.S. Just to avoid further confusion, I’m continuing to go under my OC name on this account 💙

[girldragongizzard]

Chapter 19: All the little Megnitudes

“I think, maybe, I just don’t understand what is physics anymore,” Kimberly says to Chapman, who is working hir way down the impromptu potluck buffet ahead of her, picking up vegetables and crackers to add to hir plate.

“What do you mean?” Chapman asks.

“Well, as Meg explained,” Kimberly says, apparently too distracted to put anything on her plate as she follows Chapman. “How the big dragon go in the small man then go in the smaller stomach of the monster thing, when the conservation of mass and energy? And for that matter, how the Meg fit in the princess? That’s not physics, is it? And yet there’s the pendant you made. Is it like hypercube shit?”

“No, there are no hypercubes involved,” Chapman says.

“But how?”

Chapman stops and gives her an even appraisal out of the corner of hir eye, and then asks, “How much of your life would you like to dedicate to exploring the explanation to all that?”

Kim, behind Kimberly, says, “Please, you two, don’t hold up the line.”

It’s late. Around 11:00 pm. And we’re all in the coffee shop, which has been converted once again to a meeting place for us, courtesy of Bri and Miriam.

It took a while for everyone to gather food from their fridges, prepare it to some degree, and bring it over. Several of us had wanted pizza, but all the pizza places were closed. And still are. They closed about mid afternoon, when it became clear that there was a huge city wide dragon fight going on, and people needed to figure out relatively safe places to be.

While that was going on, I’d been given access to my second-hand computer in the back, so that I could write up what I remember happening. That way everyone could read it and be informed, and I wouldn’t have to try to explain it with my utterly demolished tablet, or my inadequate personal vocabulary.

Most of my friends read it on their phones while cooking, or while riding on their way back downtown. And when everyone had finally arrived, Rhoda had played it for the rest on her phone using the same text to speech voice I use.

And I also just uploaded it to my blog, as is, along with all of my speculations as to what Säure might have been thinking and feeling as it had all gone down.

Ptarmigan is here, looking extremely worse for wear, but Wentin is not. My draconic best friends are outside, again. And their humans have joined us, as is now usual. Even Gary is here.

It’s actually maybe way too much for me, after today, but at least I’ve eaten a handful of celebratory steaks provided by Nathan. They’re petite sirloins he’d been saving for himself, but insisted that I should have.

And right now, I’m in my old corner, where I used to sit before my dracomorphosis, curled up beside my old favorite chair, which is now occupied by Rhoda.

And I’ve got a bowl of steaming hot Sky Between the Branches tea, and I’m focused on the sensations of letting that steam curl around my tongue and bringing it in to my Jacobson’s organ. It fills my head with visions of the deepest, most rotten woods I’ve ever visited. Which maybe would remind me of Wentin, except that I’ve actually spent more time in the woods with my parents than with it.

So I’m thinking of family.

I think I really do want to figure out how to go down and visit them, respectfully of the other dragons down there in Seattle, and let them and my sister know who I really am.

Everyone else here is talking to each other in small groups about how they survived the day, or participated in my plan, and filling in each other's gaps. Or, they’re speculating about how things are going to play out legally and politically from here.

I did manage to leave the park of ball fields before Säure’s helicopter did, indeed, deliver a fucking car. But I’d watched from a hiding place as they placed it in the middle of the park. It was an outright replacement of the vehicle that Joel, Anurak, and Wentin had destroyed.

There was no Säure to retrieve it, after the helicopter left, and I just turned and flew away myself.

It might still be there right now.

With Säure having called my name, I’m pretty sure everyone in the city knows I was involved in today’s events, but maybe not how.

If Rhoda’s no-bullshit field still extends to me, the fallout might be pretty light, actually. But nobody knows exactly what it’ll prevent.

Before she went to get her own food, Ptarmigan came up to me and put a hand on my back and said, “Whatever you’re thinking. Whatever you are worried about. Do not talk to the police. Ever. Never.”

So, I’m thinking a little bit about that, too. I’m a little baffled that she thought to say that right when I was considering whether or not to answer their questions should they come looking for me. And I really don’t know if I’ll follow her advice. But I feel like I should.

Right now, though, I really don’t feel like talking to anybody.

I want to make sure that my people are OK and safe, which is why I’m even here. But I think I’m actually feeling shaky, not physically but mentally, and maybe I should find some place quiet to be instead.

But I also don’t want to be alone. I need Rhoda near me, and maybe Chapman.

What I should do, at some point, is go out and be with the dragons who are visiting my territory. Astraia, Anurak, and Joel deserve my acknowledgement at the very least, and I should figure out how it is that we dragons can actually socialize with each other.

I know that those three have developed an understanding between each other that I’m not actually a part of, that I don’t get. I’m not even sure how and when it formed. But I appreciate it. It reassures me.

Seeing the partial silhouettes of them, occluded by the reflections in the windows, lounging out on the street corner together under the streetlight, studiously ignoring any passing car together, reminds me of watching children clamber all over Joel in his park. It’s a welcome new normal, even if it isn’t mine.

But, after today, I’m uncertain of just about everything. At least at the moment.

I watched a person die.

Someone I’ve repeatedly visualized killing myself, over and over.

And I’m old enough, I’ve lived amongst humans long enough, that I’ve heard all of the arguments for and against the death of a person like him, whether he was human or not. And my own personal feeling is that it doesn’t matter that he wasn’t a human.

Ultimately, we all die. Even if we’re immortal, it seems. The Artists all love to say they maybe die more often than humans do. And we don’t really know about dragons, but we suspect we’re like the Artists that way. Maybe humans are too, actually. Reincarnation is a thing some of them dream about. I’ve been over that before. But it was going to happen to Säure sooner or later, anyway, and I wasn’t the one to make it happen. 

And now I can’t be. Wentin stole that from me. Or saved me from doing it.

More importantly, I think Wentin saved me from walking into Säure’s trap.

No matter how hard I tried – no matter how impervious to his attacks I seemed to be – no matter how much help I had from my community to face him – I was just so underpowered in the face of his shadow.

All I could really ever do was scream loud enough to distract him, and flee when he came for me.

And I’m not even sure why I was capable of doing even that much.

It makes me feel small and weak. Smaller than a human, at the moment, though I’m pretty sure that’s my C-PTSD exaggerating things.

Despite the physical contact of Rhoda lazily scratching and stroking the top of my skull, I simultaneously feel less and less like I’m able to move while having the intense urge to turn and run up the wall to get away from everything.

Ptarmigan puts down her plate, leaning over in her chair to look closer at me and says, “Hey.”

I don’t think I even twitch to look at her better.

“Hey, Meghan,” she says softly in her deep baritone, and gets up to come over to me.

Rhoda responds by putting her palm flat on my head, in a protective feeling gesture, and frowns, but doesn’t say or do anything else.

“Meghan,” Ptarmigan says again, and the room quiets down as everyone notices this exchange happening. “Meghan. You’re going to have one hell of a nightmare tonight. And it’s probably going to haunt you for a while. But it won’t be Wentin, Meghan. Remember that. It won’t be Wentin. It’ll just be you and your brain. Got it?”

I manage to raise my head under Rhoda’s hand to look Ptarmigan right in the eyes. It would transfix us if she were human, and lock us in a challenge if we were dragons. But she just smiles.

“What do you want, Ptarmigan?” Rhoda asks.

Ptarmigan points at me while looking at her, and says, “Meghan’s in shock. I don’t think it’s bad enough to kill her or make her very sick, though you should watch her for sure, and maybe give her some heat and fluids. But today was ultratraumatic for her, and I’m just reassuring her. Wentin is out of the picture now. At least, for the foreseeable future. It left.”

“I don’t understand what you’re getting at,” Rhoda tells her.

So Ptarmigan stands up and looks down at her with furrowed brows, “Maybe try hearing my words without putting subtext into them. What I want is irrelevant here. I’m helping Meghan. I’m telling you how to help her some more. And now I’m walking away. And that’s all that needs to happen between us. But maybe give Chapman more charity than that.”

And then Ptarmigan turns and walks away, past her chair and food, around and through the others, and out the door into the night.

I turn my head to look more clearly at Rhoda with my left eye, and I see her watching Chapman, who’s visible in my right eye.

After watching Ptarmigan go, Chapman’s resumed talking intensely with Kimberly, and when I pay attention to their words I find out they’re discussing shapeshifting in more detail, with mention of what sounds like definitive plans.

“Mm,” I hear Rhoda vocalize.

“Hey,” Cerce says, having come over with Jill in tow. “We were just looking up how to treat a lizard that’s in shock, and I don’t know if any of it is right for you. But heat really is like one of the biggest things. We can turn up the thermostat, and you really should drink your tea while it’s still warm.”

“Are you doing OK, Meg?” Jill asks.

Rhoda looks down at me and says, “She does feel colder than usual.”

“Yeah, I’ll take care of that thermostat,” Cerce says and turns to go and do that.

“What can I do?” Jill asks, looking at me first, then Rhoda.

“If you can get Chapman to come over here for me, that would be good,” Rhoda says in a low and very controlled voice. “Tell hir what’s up.”

I am just too tired for this, so I put my head back down.

I do notice that everyone else is starting to watch me more closely, glancing my way during their conversations or between bites of food. And Nathan gets up from where he’s at to come over and sit more closely, but he doesn’t say anything.

Then Chapman does come over with Jill behind hir, and kneels down beside my head and holds hir hand out. But sie asks Rhoda, “May I?” 

Rhoda just nods.

Then Chapman asks me, “Meg, can I scan you, please?”

I slowly close my eyes in an affirmative. 

And sie nods and puts hir wrists together, and I feel that shift.

Chapman stands up quickly and turns to the rest of the cafe to ask, “Does anybody have any dry erase markers? I’ll take a sharpie if you don’t, but I need them right now.”

Kim drops her food onto a table to get up and run to the front counter.

I think I fall asleep at that point.

—

Ptarmigan was right, it’s not Wentin.

It turns out that Säure really does still exist, and he’s on the moon with me, chasing me and terrorizing the moon dragons.

Always, at night, in my head, and when I’m awake, too. He’s become an indelible part of my story and I can’t get him out.

He can never catch me in my nightmares, because I’ve been trained too well.

But he doesn’t have to.

Because I have him.

—

When I awaken, I’m in the same spot I last remember being. Because, of course, no one who can fit in the cafe is strong enough to move me.

Rhoda is still in the chair, and Chapman is sitting talking to her. I can sense this even before I open my eyes.

“What do your other tattoos do?” Rhoda is asking, to my left, above me.

To my right and in front of me comes Chapman’s maple syrup voice, at about the height it would be if sie was sitting, “A lot of emergency stuff that rarely comes up.” I hear hir chair scrape briefly against the floor, and feel it through the floor, too. “This one, for instance,” I imagine hir lifting up the side of hir shirt. “If I touch an activator to it, it will give my body the kind of electric shock needed to restart my stalled heart.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“When I’m not having a heart attack? It is.”

“Why did you show that one to me?”

“Trust.”

Rhoda grunts.

“You’re probably right not to trust Artists, Rhoda,” Chapman says. “You weren’t too far wrong, any time you’ve criticized us, or warned Meghan about what we are. At least, the times you did so in front of me. We play at being mortal when we take our physical bodies, but we can’t really understand it. If we have no other memories, we at least always remember what we are. And that informs everything we do.”

“Then why are you convincing me to trust you?” she asks.

“I’m not. I’m putting my trust in you, Rhoda. Like it or not, you’re an anomaly, and a really powerful one,” Chapman explains. “I expect you’ll be as fleeting as any other human, but while you’re here you’ll change everything around you. You already are. And that’s going to draw more attention.”

“I do not like the sound of that. I do not want attention.”

“Right,” Chapman says. “So, I want to teach you how to avoid it. I want to show you what you can do to fend off Artists you don’t want to have anything to do with, starting with myself. And if you do it right, you might not even have to think about it much.”

“Hm,” she grunts.

And then there’s a knock at the door. One made by a large, confident fist, but not urgent.

I lift my head and open my eyes to see that we’re the only three in the cafe with darkened lights. Everyone else has left. 

And through the windows, I can see a huge, dark form of something with wings and horns hunched over just outside the door.

Chapman is glancing that way, too.

But Rhoda lays a hand on the top of my head and says, “Hey, Meghan. How are you feeling?”

“I’ll get the door,” Chapman says. “It’s the Poet.”

“Fenmere?” Rhoda asks.

“Yep,” Chapman confirms.

“The Worm.”

“Yeah. That’s… that’s kind of her thing, she’ll have to explain if you want to know.”

“Not sure I do.”

“I’ll leave it up to you, but we really should talk to her and debrief each other.”

“Fine.”

Chapman gets up to go open the door.

“Bri left me with the key,” Rhoda says to me. “I get to lock up when we’re done here. Which we should be, now that you’re awake.”

I don’t feel like talking yet, so I slow blink at her and let out a low infrasonic rumble. And I look at myself and see dry erase temporary tattoos of weird circuitry all over the back of my torso, between my wings.

I do feel warmer and more energized than before.

I wonder if this is really why Rhoda is even talking to Chapman right now. But, am I that important to her? She really does have her own thing she needs to figure out, too, and it seemed like they were talking about that, mostly.

Whatever. I remember that Chapman and I have time that maybe Rhoda doesn’t have. I know where my priorities lie currently, if Rhoda continues to reject Chapman. And I know Chapman would agree. Sie’s told me as much.

I give a big sigh as I watch the Poet squeeze through the door in what should be an impossible way. She’s way too big for it.

“But I guess we’ve got another guest,” Rhoda says.

And with a voice that sounds to me like an electric sander being applied to an oak desk, but with a distinctly feminine lisp, Fenmere tells Chapman, “Thank you for helping me put that fool to rest, dear Physicist. I owe a debt of gratitude to Meghan and Wentin as well. I’ve been watching that family carve up and devour the county for over a hundred years now, and I can’t bear to see the likes of him in control of what they’ve seized.”

“Well, come all the way on in, Fen, and tell Meghan that yourself,” Chapman says. “She’s right over here.”

Rhoda lets out a big, long sigh.

Fenmere walks kind of like a gorilla, with big, strong, powerful arms on brachiating shoulders, but fat saurian rear legs. Her bat-like wings are set right where a human’s shoulder blades would be, between her arms’ shoulders and her spine. It’s an anatomy that makes absolutely no sense, and would probably be useless for flying, but they are fairly big wings anyway. And we dragons really don’t always make any sort of biological sense.

Her hide looks like a fine moss, and she has belly scales like mine that are the color of bleached wood. Where her skin shows, such as her wings, it looks like algae stretched out over the surface of water. 

Her head looks like an evenly applied morph between that of an alligator and a horse, but with two tusks jutting up in front of her huge nostrils with an impressive underbite. And she has tufts of white, Spanish moss textured hair at the end of her chin and the tip of her tail, and as a big glorious shaggy mullet crowning her head. Two long, thin horns, straighter than mine jut out from the back of her skull.

And she has the ability to talk without opening her mouth any significant amount.

“Meghan,” she says in that voice.

Rhoda and I were told that Artists could be any type of animal, including dragons, but for some reason I’d thought that Fenmere’s cartoon caricature of herself wasn’t an actual self portrait. But, apparently, it is.

Fenmere settles down on her haunches before me, and I lift my head to acknowledge her. Her thighs do That Thing. They’re so round. And she barely fits between the tables of the coffee shop. I suspect she’s bending space somehow, honestly.

I can’t begin to imagine how that’s a power of being the Poet. But I’ve now seen some dragons do some pretty amazingly weird things.

“I’ve been reading your blog,” she says. “I’m a big fan, and as a fellow dragon I’ve found your experiences fascinating.”

I want to ask her so many questions, beginning with how long she’s had this form of a dragon. But I don’t have my tablet anymore, and I don’t have the vocabulary to do so. So, I just slowly bow my head and bring it back up in acknowledgement.

“However, I have to ask,” she tilts her head a little to the side. “I know you can’t explain it now. But maybe please do write about it in your next post. You’ve invented a delightful word but failed to elaborate.” She rests her foreclaws on her knees and leans forward a little, furrowing a brow that’s nearly as expressive as a human’s. “Can you please tell me what a Megnitude is?”

[velvetvexations]

RE: Lovecraft's racism

I don't have anything meaningful to add, just some personal anecdotes.

I started reading Lovecraft from some selected works books, and I didn't see any issue for most of it. I didn't know his reputation, and also I am European so race is not something that I am actively aware about (because POC here are extremely rare and mostly are rich tourists and exchange students rather than minorities). Up until he described Inuits as "dwarfish creatures who call themselves Eskimos".

Later I have read complete collections of his works and saw some absolutely horrific racist sentiments, and also now that I am tumblr-level socialist I can see all problematic innuendos in selected works as well, so it's in no way defense of Lovecraft. Just my addition.

P.S.: I also think that people calling Lovecraft exceptionally racist just didn't read a lot of popular USAmerican fiction of the time. Burroughs is IMO worse, or at least more obvious about it.

P.P.S.: There was a popular joke some time ago like "Lovecraft would go insane if he met me" that was made by white neurodivergent queer people, and I feel that it's weirdly tone deaf. We don't know Lovecraft's opinion on homosexuality or transgenderism, at all. He probably was at least somewhat homophobic considering times, but we just can't prove that he wouldn't have changed his mind if presented with science-based arguments, and autism is definitely not what he considered scary mental illnesses. His entire deal was being racist, not just generally bad person.

P.P.P.S. (wow): Also, not enough people talk about him describing political system of Great Race of Yig (or whatever they are called) as "a mix of socialism and fascism"

Actually, we DO know how he felt about queer people!

From a letter to J. Vernon Shea:

I guess it is true that homosexuality is a rare theme for novels—partly because public attention was seldom called to it (except briefly during the Wilde period) until a decade ago, & partly because any literary use of it always incurs the peril of legal censorship. As a matter of fact—although of course I always knew that paederasty was a disgusting custom of many ancient nations—I never heard of homosexuality as an actual instinct till I was over thirty…which beats your record! It is possible, I think that this perversion occurs more frequently in some periods than in others—owing to obscure biological & psychological causes. Decadent ages—when psychology is unsettled—seem to favour it. Of course—in ancient times the extent of the practice of paederasty (as a custom which most simply accepted blindly, without any special inclination) cannot be taken as any measure of the extent of actual psychological perversion. Another thing—many nowadays overlook the fact that there are always distinctly effeminate types which are most distinctly not homosexual. I don’t know how psychology explains them, but we all know the sort of damned sissy who plays with girls & who—when he grows up—is a chronic “cake-eater”, hanging around girls, doting on dances, acquiring certain feminine mannerisms, intonations, & tastes, & yet never having even the slightest perversion of erotic inclinations.

Even worse, from a letter to James F. Morton:

Have you seen that precious sissy that I met in Cleveland? Belknap says he’s hit the big town, and that he’s had some conversation with him. When I saw that marcelled what is it I don’t know whether to kiss it or kill it! It used to sit cross-legged on the floor at Elgin’s and gaze soulfully upward. It didn’t like me and Galpin—too horrid, rough and mannish for it!

The idea that this fucking dweep saw himself as the alpha male in the room is dadgum hilarious.

And yet, R. H. Barlow and Samuel Loveman (again) were gay. Did Lovecraft know? He met the aforementioned "precious sissy" at a gathering Loveman had taken him to. R. H. Barlow wrote a story lost to us called "I Hate Queers" which Lovecraft read that certainly sounds psychologically revealing, but his brief commentary on it really tells us nothing about the content and if it made Barlow's closet more transparent or not.

Derleth said Lovecraft "seemed" to be unaware they were gay, but what the fuck does that asshole know? Lovecraft personally explained the ideas behind his stories to him and he still fucked up the Mythos for decades with his bullshit. On the other hand, Derleth was bisexual himself, and I don't know how Lovecraft couldn't have picked up on it from this letter he sent him:

I can understand your detestation of sex irregularities in life as violations of harmony and I here fully agree with you. I had previously misunderstood you to mean protestation from a basis of morals, and on this basis I would have stood squarely opposed to you. I have known and still know many people who are sexually irregular, both homosexual men and women, and except for three cases out of perhaps 21, I have always found these people highly intellectual, fully aware of what they were doing, and in all cases quite helpless. Speaking perspectively and in the abstract, I could as easily conceive myself entering upon a monogamous homosexual relation as a heterosexual one—though perhaps practice would change that point of view. To quibble about mere words, I should not say that perverts necessarily lived inartistically.

As to if Lovecraft would have accepted scientific evidence in favor of queer validity, maybe. He was becoming a full-blown Actual Communist towards the very end of his life and his racial views, while still preferring to keep cultures separate, had gotten to the point where he believed a Chinese baby raised by White parents would be essentially the same as a White person, which is, uh, technically progress?