#I don’t like windows when they’re closed

[etheraltides]

Shelter in the Storm

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summarize: Rafe is acting weird during the storm and you’re about to find out why

Warning(s): mention of gun, protective Rafe.

A/N: feedback always make me happier, love y’all – also tysm for all the love in my fics

The storm outside was relentless, sheets of rain hammering against the windows. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a low growl that felt too close, too ominous. Rafe stood by the window, his silhouette sharp against the faint glow of the firelight. His jaw was tense, his hands flexing open and shut at his sides.

You had packed a bag and driven to Rafe's earlier today when you received a warning in your phone about the upcoming storm, not wanting to risk staying at yours to see the damage - your small house in the Cut had barely survived in the last one and neither you nor Rafe wanted to risk it. Not when his place was as much as yours as his.

You watched him from the couch, bundled up in an oversized sweater, your book abandoned beside you. He hadn’t spoken much since the phone call earlier, but his restlessness told you everything. Something was wrong.

“Rafe.” you said softly, pulling his attention away from the storm.

He turned, his blue eyes darker than usual, stormier. He didn’t respond, just studied you for a moment like he was trying to memorize every detail. It wasn’t unusual for him to brood, but tonight, something felt different. He never got that weird over business that went wrong.

“You’ve been pacing for twenty minutes, quiet ever since I've arrived. What’s going on, baby?” you asked, your voice laced with concern.

Rafe exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

You frowned, sitting up straighter. “Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out.”

“It’s not shutting you out, alright? ” he snapped, then immediately softened his tone as he noticed you flinch, his chest tightening with guilty. “It’s keeping you safe.”

“From what?”

His eyes flicked away, unable to hold your gaze. His silence was answer enough.

“Rafe…” You stood, crossing the room to stand in front of him. Your hand rested lightly on his clothed chest. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He hesitated, torn between wanting to protect you and needing to tell someone. He didn't like to keep things from you. Finally, he sighed. “You remember Morroco?”

Your brow furrowed. “The trip? Of course.”

He had called you to meet him by the beach, kissing you goodbye as he said he had an important last meeting to close a massive deal and that it'd probably take him a few weeks before he was back.

“It wasn't just a trip.” he said bitterly. “It’s a mess. A deal went sideways, I went after Groff to get my money back and then... Then there was this blue crown treasure hunt with those... pogues. We crossed some people." His jaw clenched. “Now they’re coming for me.”

Your blood ran cold as you tried to process everything. Not even paying a big attention to the fact that Rafe had lied to you. “They?”

“Mercenaries” he admitted, the word dripping with disdain. “Hired guns who don’t care about anything but the paycheck and that fucking crown that slipped away from our fingers."

Fear pricked at the edges of your mind, you could hear your heartbeats in your ears. Mercenaries. “And you think they’ll come here, after you?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I’m not taking any chances.”

You stepped closer, your hands gripping his arms. “Rafe, we should call someone - Shoupe, the poli—”

“No,” he interrupted sharply. “The cops won’t do anything. I’ll handle it, okay? I can take care of my own shit."

“You can’t handle this alone, Rafe. We're talking about mercenaries and not a cougar whose money went sideways in a deal!” you argued, your voice rising slightly.

“I’m not letting you get involved,” he said firmly, his hands resting on your shoulders. His touch was warm, grounding.

“I’m already involved,” you countered, your voice softening. “I care about you, Rafe. That means I’m in this with you, whether you like it or not.”

His expression cracked, the tough exterior slipping to reveal the vulnerability underneath. “You don’t get it,” he whispered, his hands sliding down your arms. “You’re the only thing I’ve got that’s good. If something happens to you because of me—” He broke off, shaking his head.

“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” you said, stepping even closer. Your hands rested on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms. “You’re here. You’ll keep me safe.”

He stared at you, his breath hitching slightly. “You have too much faith in me,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“I have the right amount,” you whispered back.

For a moment, the tension hung heavy between you, the storm outside roaring as if reflecting the chaos inside him. Then, before you could say anything else, Rafe’s hands moved to cup your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks.

“You’re so damn stubborn,” he muttered, a small, almost pained smile tugging at his lips.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words were swallowed as his lips met yours. The kiss was desperate, almost frantic, like he needed to remind himself you were here, with him, safe. His hands slid into your hair, holding you to him as if letting go wasn’t an option.

Your hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. The warmth of his body, the way he kissed you — it all felt like a promise, and a plea rolled into one.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing heavy. “I’m not letting them get near you,” he vowed, his voice raw.

“They won’t,” you assured him, nodding as your hands smoothed over his chest.

He kissed you again, slower this time, his hands skimming down your sides. When he pulled you against him, his arms wrapping around your waist, you felt the full weight of his fear and his determination.

“I should send you away,” he muttered against your hair, his lips brushing your temple. “Somewhere safe. Away from Outer Banks."

You leaned back, meeting his gaze. “No. I’m staying right here. With you.”

Rafe stared at you, his jaw tightening. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” you said with a small smile, not wanting him to know how terrified you actually were. “But so are you. We’re a good match, remember?"

Despite himself, he chuckled, his grip on you tightening. “You’re going to drive me crazy.”

“You wouldn’t have it any other way,” you teased.

He didn’t answer; he just pressed another kiss on your forehead before pulling you into his chest. His hand smoothed over your back, lingering there as if the simple act could protect you from the world.

After the conversation, the weight of the threat hanging over him, Rafe couldn’t let you out of his sight. He needed to feel you close, needed to know you were safe in a way that words couldn’t assure him - and it didn't help that you decided to organize everything that was out of place, moving between the rooms without saying anything. He knew you were stressed. You always clean whenever anxiety hits you.

“C’mon,” he murmured, his voice low as his arms slid around your waist.

You blinked up at him, confused. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you to bed,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Your cheeks flushed. “I can walk, Rafe.”

“Not tonight,” he said, shaking his head. “Let me do this.”

Before you could protest, Rafe bent down and swept you into his arms as if you weighed nothing. You let out a soft yelp of surprise, your arms instinctively looping around his neck.

“Rafe—”

“Shh,” he murmured, glancing down at you with a small, almost teasing smirk. “Just let me take care of you for once, okay?”

You pressed your lips together, your cheeks warming at the way he held you so effortlessly, his grip steady and secure. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, a calming rhythm that contrasted with the chaos of the storm outside.

The walk to the bedroom was silent, save for the sound of the rain pounding against the roof. Rafe nudged the door open with his foot, carrying you inside. The room was dark except for the faint glow of a lamp on the nightstand, casting warm light over the space.

He set you down gently on the bed, his hands lingering on your hips for a moment before he stepped back. You watched as he moved around the room, double-checking the locks on the windows and door. His movements were methodical, his expression tense.

“Rafe,” you said softly, sitting up. “You don’t have to do all this.”

He glanced at you over his shoulder, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Yes, I do.”

You wanted to argue, but something in his tone stopped you. He was carrying more than just worry — it was guilt, fear, and the overwhelming need to protect you. It was his way of tricking himself into believing he had some control over the whole situation.

Once he was satisfied, Rafe returned to the bed. You noticed the subtle way he opened the drawer of his bedside table, checking the loaded gun inside.

Your stomach tightened. “Do you really think it’ll come to that?”

His gaze flicked to you, softening slightly. “It’s just a precaution,” he said, his voice steady.

You nodded, though the thought of him having to use it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Come here,” he said, holding out a hand.

You crawled toward him, settling into his arms as he pulled you close. His body was warm, solid, and the way his arms wrapped around you made you feel like nothing in the world could touch you.

“Get some sleep,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“What about you?” you asked, your voice muffled against his chest.

“I’ll sleep,” he promised. “Just need to make sure you’re out first.”

You frowned but didn’t push further. His hand smoothed over your back in slow, soothing strokes, lulling you into a sense of security.

Eventually, your breathing evened out, and Rafe let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

He stayed awake, his eyes scanning the room, his ears attuned to every sound beyond the rain. Every creak of the house set his muscles on edge, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. But then he’d look down at you—your peaceful face, your fingers loosely curled against his chest — and the storm inside him would quiet, even if just for a moment.

Carefully, so as not to wake you, Rafe reached out and brushed a strand of hair from your face. His fingers lingered, tracing the curve of your cheek.

“You don’t even know how much you mean to me,” he whispered, his voice so soft it was nearly drowned out by the rain.

His hand moved to your shoulder, then down your arm, his touch light, almost reverent. He wanted to memorize every detail—the way your skin felt against his, the rise and fall of your breathing, the warmth you radiated.

For a long time, he just watched you, his thumb idly brushing against your arm.

No one would hurt you. Not the mercenaries, not anyone. He’d burn the world down before he let anyone take you from him.

When his exhaustion finally began to creep in, Rafe pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I swear. Even if it's the last thing I do.”

With one hand resting on the gun in the drawer and the other wrapped protectively around you, Rafe finally allowed his eyes to close, the storm outside fading into the background.

As long as you were in his arms, nothing else mattered.

[hotshotsxyz]

living lies and compromise

(8b spec) (buddie) (879 words) spoilers for 8x08! set a few days after eddie returns from texas and i still managed to make it angsty :) i bet you'll never guess what band i stole the title from

The knock on Buck’s door isn’t entirely unexpected. He doesn’t know what to do with it, though, doesn’t know how to exist in this strange liminal space where Eddie’s back but everything is still different.

A few months ago, Eddie would’ve used his key and walked straight in. A few months ago, Buck would’ve welcomed him with open arms. As it stands, he hesitates. Just for a moment, but—

It’s been a long time since Buck was hesitant with Eddie. He hates it.

He opens the door, and the smile he greets Eddie with feels brittle and fake.

“Hey, man,” Buck says, trying trying trying to make it come out right. He hears it, though—it doesn’t sound the same.

“Hey,” Eddie replies. He hoists a six pack in the air, and if Buck squints he can almost pretend this is exactly what it used to be. That they’re what they used to be.

“Come—come in,” Buck invites. He can’t remember the last time either of them waited for permission like this.

Eddie swallows visibly and steps into the loft for the first time since—god, he’s not actually sure. Right after Halloween, maybe?

“Thanks,” Eddie says. He drops the beer on the counter but makes no move to grab one.

Silence stretches between them. It’s not uncomfortable, necessarily, but it’s also not the kind that falls when everything that needs to be said is out in the open and everything left can wait.

“I thought you’d be happy to see me,” Eddie says finally, achingly quiet.

Buck shakes his head. “I am, of course I’m happy to see you,” he says.

“Please don’t do that.” Eddie’s eyes are wide and sincere, and if Buck’s not careful—

“Eddie,” he says, pleading, “I am, you have no idea.”

“Then why…” He gestures vaguely at the space between them. Why the distance? Why the reticence? Why aren’t they falling together the way they always have?

Buck bites his lip and steps into Eddie’s space to grab a beer for himself. He retreats, but he doesn’t go far.

He pops the cap off and sighs. “You left,” he says simply.

Eddie stumbles back against the counter. “But I came back,” he says. “And I thought you understood.”

Buck offers him a sad little smile. “I did. I do. But—coming back wasn’t the plan.”

“Did you… not want me to?” Eddie asks, small and a tiny bit incredulous.

“No,” Buck says, watching as Eddie’s disbelief turns to hurt. “I didn’t want you to come back. I needed you to.”

A wounded noise escapes Eddie’s lips. “I did,” he says.

“What about next time?” Buck asks. He wishes he didn’t sound so raw and ragged, but it hardly matters when Eddie’s the one listening.

“What?” He breathes, punched out like a cough.

Buck looks over Eddie’s shoulder, out the window and into the vague glow of night in Los Angeles. He takes a swig of his beer.

“I need you, Eddie, I still—the whole time you were gone it felt like—like I was missing a limb. And I can’t—I can’t keep needing you like this, not if I don’t get to keep you,” Buck admits. “So I just… I have to figure out how to stop. But I can’t do that when you’re here.”

“Don’t,” Eddie says desperately. “Please don’t. I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere. You have me.”

“I’m not sure I know how to survive believing that again,” Buck replies.

Eddie takes a step forward, close enough now that Buck can feel his breath ghosting across his skin.

“Look at me?” he asks.

Buck’s never been able to deny him much of anything.

“I kept looking for you. I’d see something funny and I’d turn, because I wanted to see your reaction. The front door would open, and I kept thinking you were going to be the one to walk through it. Hell, every time I went to the grocery store I wanted to call you to make sure everything we needed was on the list.”

“Eddie,” Buck breathes.

His hand drifts toward Buck’s shoulder, just like it always seems to, but this time it doesn’t stop. Eddie reaches until his fingers are resting against Buck’s neck and his thumb is slowly sweeping across his jaw.

“You need me?” he asks.

Buck nods.

“Good,” Eddie says in a rush of air. “Because I need you too, okay? So please don’t stop, please don’t pull away. I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to come with me.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to stay.”

Eddie’s shoulders slump. He takes the last step forward and pulls Buck into a tight hug.

There’s this thing Buck’s been trying not to look at. It’s been growing in size, taking up more and more of his field of vision since the moment Eddie left for Texas. It’s been fuzzy and hard to discern, difficult to ignore but easy to avoid putting a name to. As he melts into Eddie’s arms, though, everything comes into sharp relief.

It’s need. It’s want. It’s love.

And the thing is, Buck knows how this goes. But what the hell? It’ll be a privilege, getting his heart broken by Eddie Diaz.

He clings a little tighter.

[littlestarbigsky]

i fear the only thing i can write anymore is the curtis boys as kids BUT PLS THEYRE EVERYTHING TO ME and also they’re so tragic once they get older i love when they can just be happy :((

that being said, here is toddler ponyboy getting sick and darry being a little hero❤️‍🩹

darry heard ponyboy crying before the toddler had pushed the bedroom door open. he sat up in bed, careful not to ruffle the blankets covering soda. it already took him long enough to fall asleep, he didn’t need darry waking him up in the middle of the night.

darry’s eyes landed on his little brother standing in the patch of moonlight shining through the window, his face flooded with tears and his bottom lip trembling. he had thrown his too-small baby blanket around his shoulders in an effort to keep himself warm, and darry quickly realized it was because he was no longer in his pajamas.

“oh, pony,” darry reached down and grabbed the blanket from the foot of the bed. “c’mere, you’re gonna freeze.”

pony ran over to him and jumped up into darry’s arms, letting his big brother wrap him up in the warm blanket. darry pulled pony into his lap, holding him close. every inch of pony’s skin was drenched in cold sweat and darry could feel him trembling.

“hey, it’s okay, can you tell me what happened?” darry tucked pony’s head under his chin, enveloping his baby brother in as much warmth as he could, even though his skin was already hot to the touch, which didn’t do much to ease darry’s growing anxiety.

“i…” he sniffled, his voice trembling. “i threw up…”

“in your bed?” darry asked gently, and ponyboy nodded nervously, his watering eyes like huge glass orbs in the moonlight. “oh baby, i’m so sorry.”

“i don’t feel good,” pony hiccuped.

“no, i bet you don’t,” darry soothed, rubbing pony’s back and rocking them gently. “is that what happened to your pj’s?”

pony nodded and gave a shaky sob, burying his face in the front of darry’s shirt, “i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to!”

“hey, hey,” darry held pony’s face in his hand and met his eyes. “you’re sick, it’s not your fault, baby, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“i didn’t want to! i… i…”

“breathe,” darry took an exaggerated breath that he knew pony would copy, trying to keep him calm as he pressed pony’s head to his heart while they breathed together. “don’t worry. you’re okay, it’s all over now, you don’t have to be scared.”

darry let ponyboy wear himself out crying before trying to remedy the situation. he was laying limply against darry by the time he had calmed himself down.

“how about this,” darry started, shuffling pony so that they could look at each other. “let’s get you a bath to get you feeling a little better and i’ll take care of your sheets. that sound okay?”

pony sniffled but eventually nodded, and darry scooped him up and carried him to the bathroom. in the dim light from the vanity, darry could see how miserable pony looked. his hair was almost slicked back with sweat, his skin was hot and clammy, and his nose and eyes were red and puffy.

after making sure the blanket was still securely wrapped around his brother, darry turned on the water, letting it run and warm up for a few moments before shutting off the drain. he turned back to ponyboy and smiled weakly, “i’m gonna go get some things for you, yell if you need me, okay?”

pony nodded, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

darry hurried out of the bathroom, throwing a couple towels into the dryer to warm up and stopping in the kitchen to pour each of them a glass of water, sticking a bendy straw into pony’s cup. when he came back, pony had gotten out of the rest of his clothes and was leaning his head against the wall with the blanket pulled over him, a hand over his stomach and his eyes glazed over.

darry knelt down in front of him, “can you drink some of this for me?”

pony whimpered, “…don’t wanna get sick again.”

“it’s just water, kiddo, it’ll help you feel better,” darry held up the cup for him, and he reluctantly leaned forward and took a small sip.

“there you go, good job, honey,” darry smiled at him, setting the cup down on the sink and turning off the tap. “i think your bath is all ready.”

ponyboy held out his arms and darry gently picked him up and set him down in the water, watching some of the tension in his face instantly dissolving. darry let pony sit in the hot water for a few minutes before he started helping him get cleaned up, swiping some of their mother’s sweet scented shower gel.

it was a mark of how awful pony was feeling that he didn’t complain that darry hadn’t put in any bubble bath or given him any toys, didn’t try to splash darry like he always did or complain about the water temperature. he just sat quietly and let darry help him, squeezing his eyes shut and tilting his head back as darry washed his hair.

“look at you with your hair all slicked back,” darry smiled as he rinsed shampoo out of his little brother’s hair. “someone’s gonna mistake you for a greaser.”

pony gave him a weak smile and a short puff of breath that might have been a vague attempt at a laugh. darry could see his eyelids drooping the longer he stayed in the water, the perfume of the soaps heavy in the air and making both of them feel drowsy and dizzy.

“darry?” a new voice came from the doorway behind them. darry turned around to see soda standing and watching them, a blanket around his shoulders and his stuffed dog under his arm. “what’re you doing?”

“hey, pepsi,” darry gave soda half a smile. “i’m just helping pony, he’s not feeling so hot. you can go back to sleep, i’ll be there soon.”

soda’s eyes softened as his eyes locked on ponyboy, head leaned against the side of the tub and fighting to keep his eyes open. soda didn’t listen to darry, instead, he came over and sat down next to ponyboy, holding his hand gently.

“oh, darry, he’s gonna fall asleep right here,” he whispered. “it’s okay, honey, we all get sick sometimes.”

darry dried his hands quickly and set a hand on soda’s shoulder, “can you sit with him for a minute? i just want to get his sheets in the washer.”

soda nodded, reaching up to swipe away some of the water before it could drip into pony’s eyes. darry could hear them babbling tiredly to each other as he left, which eased some of the tension in his chest; maybe pony was feeling a little better, maybe he was helping.

he hurried back to the nursery and stripped off the bedding and grabbed pony’s pajamas off the floor, carefully bundling them all up and throwing it in the washer. he grabbed the warmed up towels from the dryer before heading back to the bathroom, stopping when he saw someone standing in the hallway.

“…hi mama.”

“darry, it’s so late, what are you doing up?”

she closed the gap between them and gently combed his hair out of his eyes before kneeling down so she was eye level with him.

he shuffled his feet nervously, “pony threw up, i was just helping him out.”

“you could have gotten me, honey,” she chuckled. “you don’t need to take care of all that yourself.”

“i know, he was so upset though…”

mama sighed, “where is he now?”

“in the bath,” darry shrugged. “he was all sweaty and shaky, i thought it would help.”

she kissed his forehead gently, “you did everything right. thank you, sweetheart, i’ve got it from here.”

he handed her one of the towels and followed her closely back to the bathroom. when they pushed the door open, soda’s arms were folded on the edge of the bathtub, pillowing pony’s head from the hard ceramic. pony’s eyes were closed and his breaths were deep.

soda turned around when he heard the door open, shushing them, “shh, he’s asleep.”

“oh, sweetheart,” mama hurried forward, knelt down next to soda, and pulled the drain out of the tub. “don’t tell me all of you are awake.”

“shh!” he shushed her louder.

“he can’t stay in the bathtub all night, soda,” she smiled at him. she reached over and gently tapped pony on the shoulder. “ponyboy, c’mon you’ve gotta get back to bed.”

pony’s eyes blinked open, and he seemed confused until he eyes landed on mama and he reached his arms out for her. she smiled sweetly at him and scooped him up with the towel and pulled him into her lap, not minding when he leaned his dripping hair against her chest. he drowned in the material, the towel four times too big for him. he snuggled into her and the warm towel, his little feet kicking soda absentmindedly.

“darry tells me you aren’t feeling well,” she rocked with him gently. “some tummy trouble, maybe?”

pony’s anxiety at her words was palpable, “i… i didn’t…”

“it’s okay,” she ran a hand through his hair. “i’m not mad, i just worry about you, baby.”

she reached up and grabbed his water cup from the sink, giving him the straw and letting him drink a little bit.

“you should all be asleep,” she set the cup back on the sink. “you two, go back to your room, i’ll come check on you soon.”

she stood up and sat ponyboy on the sink, starting to dry him off the rest of the way. darry motioned for soda to come along and they dragged themselves back to their room, exhaustion hitting both of them like a truck. darry pushed the covers back for soda and wasn’t shocked when his little brother burrowed into his arms.

after a few minutes, darry heard their door open and mama stood in their doorway with ponyboy on her hip in a fresh set of pajamas, looking like he was a few seconds away from falling asleep. she came over to the bed and adjusted the covers around both of them and pressed a kiss to both of their heads.

pony leaned forward, reaching for darry, so far that he fell out of mama’s arms and between darry and soda on the bed.

“baby, your brothers need to sleep,” she sighed, going to pick him up, but pony only dove between darry and soda.

“i wanna stay,” he whimpered, starting to tuck himself under their blankets.

mama sighed, “is it alright if your brother stays here tonight?”

darry and soda both nodded, scooting closer to ponyboy under the blankets and thoroughly sandwiching him between them.

“okay, then,” mama conceded. “i’ll see you in the morning, i love you.”

she ruffled ponyboy’s hair gently and left the room quietly.

“alright, baby, you get to stay with us, but you’ve gotta sleep, you need the rest to get better, yeah?” darry whispered, smiling as pony snuggled into his big brother.

“mmm, ‘kay,” pony mumbled, already almost asleep.

“yeah, and no throwing up on us!” soda joked, but he threw an arm over pony and flopped down onto the pillow.

they were all fast asleep within a few minutes.

[anyalasagna]

I am so deeply DEEPLY obsessed with this episode, Haru knocked it out of the park with these dialogue decisions! While we were discussing the themes I started going off on a tangent about how well-done the visuals are this episode, and they suggested that I do a post about it when the translation released. So here I am!

So! First thing’s first, this absolutely INCREDIBLE shot:

They’re finally drawing the visual connection between Akio’s tower and the dueling forest! There’s been a subtle connection in some of the previous episodes, like in episode 1 where an establishing shot of the dueling forest cuts directly to a shot of Ohtori Tower:

But with this shot they’re shoving that connection in your face: the dueling forest seems to grow out of the tower, and the implication that the dueling forest was an extension of the tower all along (more specifically, Akio’s nasty ass bachelor pad). I love seeing just how early this parallel was seeded into the episodes, and this one marks a turning point in how the audience is supposed to interpret the magical duel symbolism in terms of Akio’s actions in the tower.

2. Next up: Anthy’s been gone, and she left Chuchu behind with Utena. I’ve seen a lot of people analyze Chuchu specifically as a manifestation of Anthy’s suppressed emotions, and that’s really hammered home when Utena asks Anthy where she’s been:

I swear this shot haunts me. Everything about it is so meticulous: the audience is positioned outside the window looking in, separated from the action by both the window and the screen. The inside of the room is warmly lit, and the outside is cast in greenish-grey darkness. Chuchu is on the same side of the action as us, hanging on for dear life. The comedy of the previous shot (him knocking over a cake and falling down) is immediately subverted with the literal heaviness of Chuchu - look at how he’s positioned as the largest object in the foreground, grabbing the windowsill at the exact line of Anthy’s skirt. He’s pulling the entire scene off balance, and this bizarre emphasis layered with Utena’s question shoves Chuchu’s (and therefore Anthy’s) desperate dissociation from the scene in your face.

Meanwhile Anthy and Utena are seemingly positioned in their own separate boxes by their placement in front of the doors: Anthy by the door between their shared room and the outside world, and Utena by the closet doors (psychologize that Freud). The camera keeps this truly insane vantage point for the duration of the scene, as Anthy closes the door and talks to Utena, and Chuchu notably does not move the entire time. Even after it zooms in for close-ups Utena and Anthy don’t move outside the bounds of their little “boxes”! The audience’s screen takes the place of the window! It’s so brilliant I swear I’m going to lose it if I think about it for too long.

3. Moving on! The show cuts to a similar shot of the tower and dueling forest as before (just to beat you over the head with it even more), and the elevator doors open with a ding revealing Anthy and Utena again. You can make it a little game to find all the connections between the elevator and the dueling arena gate (the roses, the elevator button shape, the archway around the doors, etc):

But I want to focus on the elevator motif itself. You might have noticed that I didn’t mention the opening scene of the episode with Mamiya and Mikage (which panned down from the building, through the ground, and into whatever weird chamber they’re in with an elevator swoosh and ding):

That’s because this shot doesn’t get any context until the elevator scene with Anthy and Utena. The ding of the elevator as they arrive at Akio’s place contextualizes this weird room-thing in retrospect, and the opening scene provides a sense of familiarity to this new elevator. There are more visual parallels here: the lighting resembles a shaft in the ground, the red of the tank mimicks the red interior of Akio’s elevator, hell even the water is echoed by the shiny reflectiveness of Akio’s concrete floor. It’s a clever way to create thematic unity between all these different settings, even though the show’s introducing new things at a dizzying pace.

4. The light projector threw me off, I gotta admit. It’s such a bizarre un-projector-like shape - it comes off as figurative at first glance, and Utena even jokes about it being Anthy’s brother to emphasize the weird life-likeness of its shape. (I’m gonna go crazy for a second and point out that the shape of the projector mimics the silhouette of Dios sitting on the globe. Mileage may vary on that one but it was my first thought after staring at this shot for a while):

While Akio is bullshitting about how much he hates students fighting, Utena is thrown in relief against the mass of the projector, and their positioning in the frame makes it appear to weigh down on them, almost crushing them in the machinery:

I hope I don't have to point out how on the nose this is, but I thought it was a very funny decision to set them to cheerful xylophone music.

5. It's finally time to talk about Kanae! Here's her introductory shot:

The thing that immediately sticks out to me is her character design’s color scheme. Her hair is so platinum blonde it looks greenish, which is further emphasized by her slightly-reddish skin and bright orange dress. It subtly makes her look sickly, like she’s constantly under fluorescent lights even in a sunlit room. The white scarf feels out of place and creates a harsh line across her throat. If anything it feels more like part of the couch, which itself is draped in a white furniture cover. The white drapery brings to mind those white sheets that people cover furniture in when someone dies or abandons their house, and its visual connection to Kanae’s scarf makes it seem like Kanae is also draped in the sheets, being slowly strangled to death. The metaphor makes sense; Kanae has been functionally abandoned by her father and shunted into marriage right after high school, and we later find out Akio's been drugging and raping her. (Before anyone tells me I’m overthinking this drapery detail, here’s official artwork using the same motif in a similar way):

6. Gonna skip ahead to another one of my favorite shots, now featuring Mikage and Mamiya:

This is the scene that establishes the direct significance of the 100 murdered students to Mikage and Mamiya’s role in the story. Mikage is literally put in the shoes of the dead children, immediately after (presumably) fucking Mamiya. Similar to the Chuchu scene, the frame is sharply divided between light and shadow, with Mikage right at the edge of the line. His pants visually draw the bright white of the light into the darkness, but in a jarring and somewhat artificial way. Meanwhile Mamiya lit with bright overhead lighting, quite literally putting him in the spotlight. There’s this weird visual push-and-pull between them; Mikage is the immediately recognizable figure as the camera pans across the shoes, but then Mamiya is thrown into focus, contextualizing the wall of shoes and drawing attention to his separation from it. But! you can see that he is wearing the exact same shoes as Mikage and the dead children. He may seem to have agency and even power through his positioning as a Rose Prince/Bride, but at the end of the day he is just another kid buried alive by Ohtori.

For what it's worth, my take on the whole Mikage/Mamiya arc is that they embody the flaws with homonormativity and attempting to legitimize queerness through proximity to straightness. Mikage has been searching for a way to achieve The Power To Revolutionize The World outside of the established rules (you want the power, you have to marry the female Rose Bride). But the way he does this is by researching AT OHTORI ACADEMY, under Akio's direct jurisdiction (and with his approval, as he mentions in one line this episode). The point of the show is that all struggles for power over other people end up reproducing abusive systems, no matter who it is or what they’re trying to save. So for example, even if it’s a gay teenage boy-who’s-also-a-ghost searching for a way out of his childhood purgatory through his relationship with a more idealized, innocent teenage boy, if he refuses to move on from the power-based mindset that ultimately killed him, he will end up projecting the exact same misogyny and racism onto the person he’s supposedly changing the world for.

The visuals do an incredible job of portraying this double-bind; having the core symbols and colors of their scenes “rhyme” with Akio’s subtly reflects just how inextricable they are. At the same time though, their aesthetic differentiates them from the fantastical fairy-tale-like aesthetic of the heteronormative dueling system. I’m inclined to think their purpose is to “say the quiet part out loud” about the consequences of the dueling system for the queer protagonists. Mikage and Mamiya are quite literally shoved underground, desperately plotting their legitimization in the eyes of the system even as they're surrounded by the bodies of the kids who didn't survive. They weren't given a path forward to grow up so they repeat the only one they have, even though they destroyed any concrete way to save Mamiya's life in the process. They're stuck in purgatory, haunting Ohtori Academy's power structure even as it haunts them back.

((This got waaaayyy longer than I expected and I have a headache, so part 2 coming soon!))

Fansub Release + Analysis of Utena Ep 14

This is a big one!!

My fansub release posts aren't usually like this, but this episode is so jam packed with stuff I want to talk about that I had to write my translation notes as a series of essays. It's longer than usual so strap in!

First, a word on “The Mikage Seminar”

I’ve always found the translation “the Mikage Seminar” very strange. In English, a seminar is an event — a lecture. Yet “the Mikage Seminar” is discussed as though it’s not a recurring lecture, but a society or a school of therapy, or a cult (like scientology). In fact I did a bit of reading about scientology to try and find an alternative translation, and discovered that the origins of scientology, namely a set of ideas and practices called Dianetics, bears a lot of similarities to “the Mikage Seminar”. Both involve a type of therapy where one person looks into their mind and talks to an “auditor”.

The auditor coaxes the preclear to recall as much as possible. — Wikipedia

This in particular stood out to me! Mikage often says 「深く。もっと深く」 during his interviews (”Deeper. Dig deeper.”).

The Japanese word ゼミナール doesn’t actually come from the English “seminar” but the German “Seminar” (capitalised). According to Wikipedia, in Germany, and often in Japan, Seminar/ゼミナール is used to refer to a university course that includes a thesis project. So ゼミナール refers to a course of learning, rather than a talk or lecture. And it would make a lot of sense to call a system like Dianetics a “course”. Almost like a “course” of medicine — a “course” of psychological practices that you can join but never complete.

So it would make sense to translate it as “the Mikage Course”. But “course” has more meanings in English than just this, and in the context of a university this makes it sound more like a mundane teaching course. So I tried some other words: the Mikage Sessions, the Mikage Method, Mikage Psychotherapy, Mikage Therapy, the Mikage Movement. None seemed quite right. Until I remembered this post. ゼミナール is a foreign word in Japanese, why not find a foreign word for the translation? And so I settled on this:

The Mikage Seminarium, AKA The Society of the Black Rose…

Seminarium is Latin, and is where both the German and English derive seminar from. Its original meaning is “seed plot”, but it’s also just the Polish word for seminar. I really like how the Latin makes its meaning ambiguous — it kind of sounds like a location, kind of sounds like a society, and kind of sounds like a learning course. Because it is all of these things.

Anthy: では、香苗さん。失礼します。 Kanae: ね、あたしの事、お姉さんって呼んでいいのよ。もうすぐわたしはあなたの本当のお姉さんになるんだから。

A more literal translation:

Anthy: Thank you for having us, Kanae-san. Kanae: Please… you can just call me “sister”. I’m going to be your real sister soon enough anyway.

The translation I ended up going with:

Anthy: Thank you for having us, Miss Ohtori. Kanae: Please... you can just call me Kanae. We're going to be family soon. There's no need for the formalities.

Japanese honorifics strike again!

In English, sisters-in-law don’t ask to be called “sister”. That would be super weird in most scenarios, and this scene is trying to evoke a particular familiar feeling of closing a distance gap in a relationship. The audience is meant to relate. Changing how Anthy addresses Kanae was pivotal to this scene working properly.

わかりました。あなたは世界を革命するしかないでしょ。

I understand. Your only choice is to force the world to change around you.

This line is translated as “Your only choice is to revolutionise the world” by basically every other translation. The reason is clear — the Japanese is the same as when Utena pulls the sword out of Anthy, or when any of the other characters talk about “revolutionising the world”. However, in this context, I don’t like it. The nuance of the English phrase is quite different to the Japanese phrase. In English, it’s often used to describe new commercial products: “This new device will revolutionise the world!” It comes with an implied “for the better”, but has used to describe technological developments so unexciting that it can also feel hollow. When the student council talk of revolutionising the world, they sound like revolutionaries — the context makes it work. But in this context, it comes out of nowhere and doesn’t have any of that fervour, which makes it sound hollow and flaccid when it should sound sinister and manipulative.

I think a pervading throughline for all the Black Rose duelists is that they see their problems as caused by other people, with themselves being blameless. Rather than change how they approach their situation, Mikage tells them they’re in the right.

Your behaviour will set you down a path. If that path leads to your goals, well done! However, if your path does not lead to your goals, there’s only two ways you can achieve them.

The first is to change your behaviour so that it does align with your goals. The second, impossible way, is for the rest of the world to change such that your current path DOES end up leading to your goals. This second way is not possible in the real world. But it is possible in Utena.

Also I’ll just leave this here: “around you” → “revolve” → “revolution” 👀

Kanae tried to build a relationship with Anthy in a passive, non-confrontational, extremely Japanese way — the way she has been taught to behave, the “proper” way, a mechanical following of the social scripts. We don’t see a lot of their relationship, but the way she behaved and spoke of behaving towards Anthy is very very similar to the way my Japanese grandmother has behaved towards my and my brother’s partners.

It was unthinkable to her to change this pattern of behaviour. Her only choice was to change Anthy, change the rest of the world, so that her behaviour would lead to the outcomes she wants. You could describe this forceful bending of reality to be “revolutionising the world”.

この黒薔薇のある限り、私はこれから嘘の私を演じなくて住む。

As long as I have this Black Rose, I'm free from the lie I was living before.

Besides gender, growing up, and resisting change (which exist as separate themes but also all intertwine as one), another major theme present in Utena is the self and subjective reality. The self is explored within those first major three themes, but also in terms of how the self dictates reality with the Black Rose duellists.

Black Rose Kanae says that her past self was a lie.

It reminds me of all the times when I’ve been going through a personal trial and I’ve looked back on my past self and thought “How naive I was. I understand things better now.” And then after a while I realise I was wrong, and my first self was more right. And then later still, maybe I re-realise that the second self was more right! And so on! The reality of truth (or to use Kanae’s language, “lies”) is so subjective.

Who dictates knowledge production? Who decides what is true; what is valid knowledge? This is a question of sociology - and at the moment that answer is "science does, kinda". But science and academic systems are supported by capitalist structures and tainted by capitalistic incentives — needing to be published in a journal, issues of replicability, the barrier to entry into academia in the first place, etc, etc. In the future we may find our current way of organising knowledge to be archaic and primitive in the same way we look back at medieval scholars.

But what about organising self-knowledge? Knowledge where the only one who can really decide what is true is yourself. And the only one that can decide what yourself even IS is yourself. I feel like I have looked back on my old ways of conceptualising myself many times (not even counting the gender-based revelations) and thought it primitive and archaic, and NOW I truly understand who I am and how to think of myself and how my thoughts interact with my other thoughts. But I have no doubt that I’ll look back on this current self of mine and reject their way of thinking too.

After their heart is replaced by the Black Rose, the duellists themselves frame this change as a moment of self realisation, of clarity. Once the rose is inside them, they wake up from themselves, like I have countless times. Kanae says herself, “This is the true me.” Honestly, I don’t doubt it. I think that version of Kanae was her true self at that moment, given the things influencing her. Being brainwashed doesn’t make you less of a person, or less yourself. It just makes you organise your reality differently.

心を凍結させて作っただけの間に合わせのデュエリストでは、彼女は破れないな。

We won't be able to defeat her by simply freezing someone's heart and forcing them to duel.

Anya and I discussed this in depth. I originally translated 心 as “mind”, because that was the first thing that popped into my head and I thought that was the simple part of the translation. However, Anya pointed out that it didn’t make sense with the themes of self and subjective reality, and I strongly agreed, so I changed it to “heart” instead.

Anya suggested “conscious mind” instead of “heart” but I think heart is more accurate. 心 (kokoro) can mean heart or mind in Japanese (I find it interesting that those two things are portrayed as opposites in English), and that kanji is found in the word for biological heart, 心臓 (shinzou). When they say of the Black Rose "This is your new heart" they use 心臓. They also say "Your new 命 (life/lifeforce)" which I translated as soul since it sounded more hardcore and because "your new life" is a set phrase in English meaning a new chapter in your life rather than your life force. I think the idea is that they're freezing the duellists' ability to love and feel empathy, which in my opinion is necessary for them to commit to the unbelievably selfish act of revolutionising/reconstructing/bending the entire structure of the world for their own convenience.

A very special thanks to @dontbe-lasanya for being there to talk through all these themes and ideas. I'm incredibly proud of this episode's translation and I wouldn't have been able to do it without them.

If you want to see more analysis like this, let me know! And also follow this blog to see episodes of the fansub as they're released. You can find all episodes released so far here:

Rose divider taken from this post

[kathlare]

between the quite moments

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: A quiet day unfolds in Amelie’s simple apartment, offering a glimpse into the contrast between her relentless schedule and fleeting moments of peace with Lando. As they navigate the calm together, their time is filled with humor, mundane activities, and an undeniable connection, highlighting how love thrives in the ordinary.

Wordcount: 1.1 k

Warnings: just fluff

June 12th, 2024 - Indianapolis, IN

The soft hum of the air conditioning was the only sound in Amelie’s apartment as sunlight streamed through the wide windows. It was simple, almost painfully so, with sleek modern furniture that looked more functional than inviting. The neutral tones of the space felt impersonal, a far cry from the warmth of her home in New York. She didn’t bother decorating it—what was the point when it wasn’t home? But at least her cats made it feel a little less empty.

Lando groaned as he rolled over on the bed, squinting against the morning light. It was too damn early, but his internal clock was still set to European time. He glanced at the other side of the bed, already empty. Of course. Amelie had been up for hours.

Dragging himself out of bed, he shuffled to the kitchen, scratching the back of his neck. The cats were already awake and clearly unimpressed by his delayed attention. Björn, the wild little troublemaker, was batting at an empty food bowl, while Benny lounged on the couch, looking smug as ever.

—Alright, alright, I get it,— Lando muttered, grabbing the bag of cat food from the counter. Björn meowed insistently, circling his legs like a predator. —You’re worse than Max when he’s hungry.—

He filled their bowls, watching as Björn practically attacked his food while Benny sauntered over with the kind of regal air that suggested he was doing Lando a favor by eating at all.

—Good morning to you too, Your Highness,— Lando said, giving Benny a scratch behind the ears before grabbing a cup of coffee.

The apartment was too quiet without Amelie, and he already missed her presence despite having spent every waking moment with her since the Governor’s Ball. He smiled at the thought—how her eyes had lit up when she’d seen him in New York, how they’d danced and laughed like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

But Indianapolis was... different. It wasn’t glamorous or bustling like New York. It was quiet, almost eerily so. And Amelie’s schedule here was relentless. He was determined to make the most of the week he had with her, even if it meant figuring out how to navigate her insane filming hours.

As if on cue, the front door creaked open, and Amelie walked in, balancing a tote bag and a cup of coffee. She looked exhausted, her hair pulled into a messy bun and her face free of makeup, but she still managed to take his breath away.

—You’re awake,— she said, kicking off her sneakers.

—Barely,— Lando replied, setting his mug down and walking over to her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. —I don’t know how you do it. It’s not even noon, and you’ve already been out and back.—

—Welcome to my life,— she said with a tired laugh, resting her forehead against his chest. —It’s only going to get worse. I have a night shoot later.—

Lando groaned dramatically. —A night shoot? What am I supposed to do all day without you?—

—Entertain my cats. They’re more demanding than I am,— she teased, pulling back to look at him.

—Björn’s a little shit,— Lando said, glancing at the wild tabby who was now scaling the back of the couch like a jungle cat. —He tried to kill me this morning.—

—That’s just his way of saying he likes you,— Amelie said, grinning. —And Benny?—

—Benny’s chill. He’s my favorite.—

—Traitor,— Amelie said, smacking his arm lightly.

They spent the rest of the morning lounging around the apartment. Amelie caught up on some lines for a scene she was filming later, while Lando sprawled on the couch, scrolling through memes and occasionally tossing toys for the cats.

By mid-afternoon, boredom got the best of him.

—Let’s do something,— he said, stretching his arms above his head.

—I have to be back on set in three hours,— Amelie reminded him, not looking up from her script.

—Three hours is plenty of time! Let’s explore or... I don’t know, eat something that isn’t cereal.—

Amelie rolled her eyes but smiled. —Fine. Let’s go.—

They ended up at a small café down the street, the kind of place that felt like it belonged in a Hallmark movie. The waitress recognized Amelie instantly, but she didn’t make a big deal about it, much to Lando’s relief.

As they sat outside, sipping iced coffee and picking at a shared slice of pie, Lando leaned back in his chair and took in the quiet street.

—This place is... quaint,— he said, trying to find a polite word.

—It’s boring as hell,— Amelie said bluntly. —Don’t sugarcoat it.—

Lando laughed. —Alright, yeah. It’s boring as hell. But you make it bearable.—

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. —You’re such a dork.—

They walked back to the apartment hand in hand, and for a moment, it felt like the calm before the storm. Amelie had a long night ahead, and Lando knew their time together was fleeting, but he was determined to make the most of it.

That evening, as Amelie got ready to head back to set, Lando found himself alone with the cats again. Benny curled up next to him on the couch while Björn darted around the apartment like a lunatic. He sent Amelie a text.

Lan🧡: Good luck tonight. Don’t let Vecna scare you too much.

Ames💛: Vecna’s got nothing on Björn. That cat’s a menace.

Lando chuckled, glancing at the tabby who was now clawing at a random corner of the rug.

This wasn’t the glamorous life he’d imagined when he’d flown from Canada to surprise her in New York. But sitting there, in her plain, simple apartment, surrounded by her chaos and her cats, he realized something.

He didn’t care where they were or what they were doing. As long as he was with her, he was happy.

[babyb1ues]

one and a half-cat

word count: 2187 tags: fluff, established relationship. inspired by Yes, Cat Caretaker. does not follow story plot. [ao3]

He hadn’t noticed until late in the day. He had stretched, headed to the kitchen while dragging his feet, drunk some water, and retreated with every intention of throwing himself back into bed. It was only a coincidence, born of ingrained situational awareness, that he had caught the sight of something odd atop his head, a blur of an object he couldn’t really pinpoint. 

He stands before a mirror, staring at a set of animal ears—the ones of a cat, he thinks—sitting comfortably above his head. Xavier blinks, tries to rub his eyes for good measure. The ears remain there, they twitch when his head tilts—not a headband you had put on him, then. They move on their own, a muscle reflex. Xavier wonders if he can control them. He focuses his attention towards the sounds coming from the open window, where he knows birds often perch themselves. His eyes stay on his reflection, watching as his ears rotate, tuning into the outside noise. 

It’s so much clearer and richer than what he’s used to. He can listen well beyond his window, even from outside the apartment complex. Xavier can hear the bird, winds flapping in the air, before it flies down and settles on the ledge. He turns, a strange fixation taking hold of his senses as his eyes take in the small animal. He analyzes any minute movement, and he can’t seem to take his eyes off of it, as if something called him forward.

The soft brush of a feather against his leg breaks him out of the stupor—except it’s not a feather but rather fur. Xavier looks down, a long, fluffy tail sways behind him.

He doesn’t know how it got to this, still has a hard time believing any of it it’s true and not a hallucination inside his head. So he does what any sensible person would do, and goes on to find a witness. 

It’s a good thing you like cats. When you open the door, Xavier doesn’t know if you’re going to scream from shock or squeal from excitement. You do a mix of both. He finds it amusing when your face visibly shifts emotions, before settling into something like absolute confusion. 

“Why are you, uh, dressed up as a cat?”

“I’m not.” Xavier makes his way to your living room, taking a moment to find a suitable spot to sit on. He gravitates towards the end of your couch, reclining against the armrest where a small, knitted blanket lays. He brings his feet up, clad in just socks. If his sudden posture is strange, neither of you make a comment on it. “I just happened to wake up like this.” 

“You just happened to wake up with… cat ears?”

He nods. You watch as his ears twitch, both fascinated and bewildered at the sight before you. “These are obviously fake, right?” You reach for the ears, strange and realistically fluffy. Your fingers dig around his hairline, trying to find a headband, an elastic, or anything to give away the fact that they’re nothing but an adornment on his head. Only, there’s nothing. Nails scratch his scalp as you shift through pieces of hair and Xavier nearly melts at the touch. He closes his eyes, head lolling sideways, and almost to your surprise, goes completely limp. 

You hold his face so as to not have him topple over, and he stirs if only slightly, his lips move a fraction, like if he had said something under his breath, even though you can’t hear a word. He doesn’t nuzzle your hand, for that would require some capacity of consciousness—he seems to have completely fallen asleep, under 1 minute no less.

You stand before him, hands cupping his cheeks. He’s asleep and you don’t know what to do with yourself, or with him. You tilt his head, slow and experimentally. To the left—he doesn’t move, and then to the right. His eyes still shut. His face remains squished against your palms. A small pinch, then you pull, stretching his cheek almost uncomfortably. Xavier rustles in your hold, but doesn’t do anything else that might indicate cognizance.

Not knowing what else to do, you decide to gently lay his head down, so it rests on the cushion instead of having his neck painfully craned. Just as you’re about to pull back, his hand suddenly grabs at your wrist. Xavier sluggishly opens one eye, baby blue staring at you.

He murmurs, words sort of muddled. “---gonna leave me?”

“I was… going to let you sleep.”

He lets your wrist go. You watch as Xavier stretches, his fists unfurling and extending like a cat would his paws. “No need,” he shakes his head through a yawn. “I’m awake.”

He doesn’t look really awake to you, maybe just barely lucid. 

“If you say so.”

“Do you have any treats?”

“Do I— Sorry, what?”

His head tilts, looking at you like you he’s the coherent one.

“Treats.”

“I don’t have cat… treats—oh! You mean human… snacks.” You nod, assuring yourself. Of course, that must’ve been what he means. He wouldn't actually crave cat food, would he? “I made a batch of cookies yesterday.”

Xavier perks up at the mention of baked goods. “Lead the way.” As he stands to follow, you notice something peeking from behind his legs. He doesn’t get to take a step as you hastily turn his body around, and you stare, wholly perplexed at the long, and incredibly poofy-looking cat appendage coming from his tailbone.

“You have a tail.”

He hums. “Yes. I guess I do.”

“You didn’t think of letting me know.”

“I forgot,” he shrugs. “It’s just, kind of there.”

Of course, as if the set of ears wasn’t enough, he’s got a tail to match too. You take a deep breath, collect your bearings and decide to file this whole affair for later.

Xavier tags along into the kitchen. He’s quick to realize that his tail, just like his ears, is able to move involuntarily. It swishes on its own when he takes a whiff of the cookies sitting on the counter. And just like his ears, he decides he wants to put his range of control into test. He makes a point to brush his tail against your lower back when he passes by to grab a plate. You startle, not anticipating the feathery touch. None of you make a comment on it. Xavier also happens to have forgotten to get a cup, to his great convenience. He walks back, his tail lightly curling around your waist as he steps next to you. He sees you freeze up from his peripheral vision.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah!” you reply, a little too quickly. “It’s just, you know. Tail. Kinda weird.”

“Is it?”

“To wake up half-cat? Yes, I think. Actually, do you mind if I—” 

He doesn’t expect it when your hands close in around the base of the tail. He jumps then, shoulders tense and pupils shrinking as he feels your fingers prod at the skin of his lower back. An instinctive part of him almost wants to snatch it from your curious hold, but he forces himself still, and waits. 

“Huh,” your palms carefully trail the length of the fur, marveling at the softness of it. Xavier suppresses the little thrill rumbling in his throat. “It’s attached to your skin. At least it’s pretty.”

“Do you like it?” He swishes the tail, as to showcase it further. 

“Yeah, sure.” You tag at it, somewhat playfully. “So, you’re actually half cat, then. Care to explain?”

The only thing Xavier offers is a shrug. “Don’t know. Aftermath from yesterday’s wanderer, maybe?” 

You nod to yourself, trying to make sense of a situation that is, somehow, very much real. Your boyfriend has suddenly woken up with traits of a cat, a ridiculously cute one at that. Somehow, they even manage to match the color of his hair. He can’t possibly go outside like this, you think. A cute boy with fluffy ears and a fluffy tail, you can imagine the kind of ruckus it would cause. 

“Is there anything else? Cat-like wise?”

Xavier hums, remembering the moment right after he woke up. “I think, I almost pounced on a bird.”

You stare incredulously. “Okay, well. Maybe we should find out, just in case you decide to hunt a mouse too, or something.”

When you return to the living room, you do so while holding an object. It’s one of those magic princess wands, with long ribbons hanging from the top. He remembers you had gotten it at one of the local’s festivals as a prize. Xavier did not think you’d find use to it, he knows now he was wrong. Against his own will, his eyes follow the wand as you sway it in front of his face. 

He grumbles, forcing himself to look down as to not continue being played. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s very funny,” you laugh. “Come on, kitty cat!” You pull a yarn ball the size of your palm out of the pocket of your sweatshirt, and throw it in his direction. “Fetch!”

Xavier makes a sound of indignation, something like a scoff and a grunt. “I’m not a dog. And this feels demeaning.”

There’s a frown and petulant pout shaping his usually serene features. “Oh no, I’m sorry,” He refuses to look your way, choosing to make a show of his displeasure. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” Your hands give a tentative touch to his waist, wanting to be close but giving him the space to turn away if he wished to. “Will you forgive me?”

Xavier’s gaze remains somewhere else, even though the crease between his brows softens. “Fine,” he says, tone curt. “Under one condition.”

“Whatever you want.”

The corner of his mouth twists, a barely hidden smile. He clasps your hand in his and drags you towards the bedroom, leaving you with no choice but to walk after him. Xavier doesn’t break the hold even as he rearranges the pillows in your bed. He tilts his head, analyzing his work with narrowed eyes, and something is missing, he thinks. One pillow, two pillows, three— His face brightens with satisfaction when he snags a blanket from the corner of your bed, hiding beneath the comforter. He sinks his fingers into it—warm and fluffy and exactly what he needed. 

He crawls into the bed, leaving you to clamber after him. Xavier seems to fold into himself, as he tucks his body next to yours. One of his arms circles your waist, while the other one lays flush against his chest. You think it’s funny, in a way. Such a tall frame reduced to a ball of warmth. He’s never been one to shy away from cuddles or skin contact, but this—you’ve never seen him in such a state, so utterly soft and vulnerable. It makes you wonder if he was like this once, perhaps as a child. His head rests in the space where your neck meets your shoulder. Fuzzy ears tickle your cheeks, but it’s so endearing you withstand it. 

“This is your condition, huh?” You play with his hair absentmindedly, fingers intertwining with silver strands. The tip of his tail slowly sways as he hums in response. “You could’ve just said you wanted to cuddle, you know.”

His face turns to the crook of your neck, voice muffled. You can barely make out the words when he mutters them into your skin, like an imprinted whisper. “Let’s just stay like this.”

You huff out a small laugh. The top of his head bumps against your chin as he nuzzles into you. He holds you and you hold him, melting into each other. They’re rare these days. Little, transient moments, where you get to be with him like this, enveloped in a blanket of blissfulness where nothing else exists, no threat, no city to save, just him and you. 

His cat traits will be gone come tomorrow, and he’ll be gone along with them. An early morning return as you prepare to leave; missing each other by a margin of time. You kiss the crown of his head. Your mouth lingers there, unmoving. Xavier’s fast asleep, slumped and snuggled against your side. He always did look calm when he rested, like nothing could ever disturb him, nor thunderstorm nor rain. But there’s something different, influenced by the feline characteristics, maybe. He hides in your skin and wraps around your limbs, as if he wanted to make a home in your body. You hold him a little tighter, in such a way you’d think he would slip from your arms if you didn’t. 

There’s a soft, rumbling sound emanating from his throat, a little purr. 

“We can stay like this,” you mumble into his hair. The rumbling seems to grow a little louder, seemingly reacting to your voice. “For as long as you want.”

And when he returns, along with the early morning rays, it will be as him. Just Xavier, no ears and no tail. And you’d take him all the same. 

[callme-holly]

Can you do tim shepard x shy clingy reader? They always want to be around tim but is too shy to have conversation with any of his men. Always climbing into his lap or leaning into his body to whisper in his ear. Always wants to hold hands and wanting to be helpful.

𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥 [𝐭𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - will change the pics and edit tmr !!

It was late, much later than Tim had promised. The sun had long since set, the sky a deep shade of purple which faded into an almost inky blue; a spattering of stars were already starting to glitter and twinkle, interrupting the plainess of the dark canvas. 

The air was crisp but warm; a slight breeze stirred up as night fell, and you let out a soft, gentle sigh, moving away from the window, pacing the length of the cramped bedroom. 

9pm: that was what the clock on the bedside table read. Tim had promised him and the boys would be done by 8; yet they’re still all sat in the living room, laughing loudly and discussing everything but business. 

Tim had told you to head to bed when everyone arrived, knowing all too well how sheepish you became when they were around. It wasn’t that you didn’t like them, they seemed fine enough, and they’d never done anything to you which proved otherwise, however, every single one of them was rough around the edges, and you knew from stories alone just how dangerous they were. 

That’s why you tended to stay away and keep your distance, only speaking when spoken to and sticking close to Tim’s side, where you were safe and protected. 

Still, you wanted nothing more than to be with him right now, and no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn't fall asleep without him holding you. So, even though you knew it was foolish, you slipped out of the room and padded your way to the living room, the voices and laughter only growing in volume the closer you got. 

The soft glow of the lamp in the corner filled the room, bathing the walls in a warm, golden light that cast long shadows across the floor, and as your eyes adjusted to the new lighting, you saw that all 6 boys were seated around the room, lounging casually as if they owned the place. 

Tim is sat in his usually chair, feet kicked up onto the coffee table, cigarette between his lips, the smoke spiralling up into the air before dissipating into the darkness of the shadows. He’s watching attentively as the others all chat idly, their words entirely irrelevant and not at all important. They are so caught up in their conversation, they barely notice your presence,  and it isn't until you come up behind your boyfriend, hands resting lightly on his shoulders that he turns to face you, expression morphing into one of mild guilt. 

“Hey, baby,” he mumbles, quick to stub out his cigarette, patting his lap softly, inviting you to come sit. You don't have to be told twice. As soon as your settled against him, his arms wind around your torso, hands tracing up and down your back in a way that's both grounding and relaxing.

He leans forward, planting a soft kiss on your temple and whispers lowly into your ear, “Didn't think they'd stay this long.” His voice is low and gruff, but his tone is sweet as honey, and you melt into his touch like an animal desperate for attention. You know he's only like this for you; he wouldn't dare show this side to anyone else. 

“It’s fine,” you whisper, dropping your head so that your face is tucked in the crook of his neck. “I don’t mind. As long as they don’t stay too late.” 

Tim huffs a laugh, a low, gruff sound, the arm around your waist tightening ever so slightly. “I’ll get rid of them soon, promise.” His lips brush the top of your head, and by now, he isn't even paying attention to the conversation at hand, his sole focus on you and you alone. 

His fingers run gently through your hair, soothing the nerves that always spring up whenever you're around company. His touches are warm, reassuring, comforting, and you find yourself leaning in closer, basking in his warmth. There’s something about being this close to him, the scent of his cologne, his presence… you don’t know exactly what it is, but you know that you absolutely adore being surrounded by him.

You don’t want to move, because moving means letting go of him, and somehow, you don't think you can do that. Not when you're this comfortable and content in his arms.

Besides, nobody seems to notice the pair of you, and if they did, nobody speaks a word.  They simply sit there, chatting quietly amongst themselves, the occasional outburst of laughter filling the quiet from time to time. The atmosphere feels calm, easy, and peaceful; a moment to rest. But even as you try to drift off into a peaceful sleep, you can’t help but wish they’d hurry up and finish whatever they’ve been talking about, so you and Tim could finally go to bed and get some sleep. Together. No intrustions, no interruptions. Just Tim and you, the weight of his body pressing down on yours, enveloping you in warmth, lulling you into sleep as his hands trail up and down your sides, fingers dancing across your skin, tracing little, intricate patterns. You close your eyes, your breathing becoming slow and even with each passing second, Tim’s chest rising and falling in time with your own, steady and strong.

[sparklingcid3r]

@redfielddoesthings this one’s for u babygorl bc i’ve had a dallypop roadtrip fic on my mind and i can’t write it yet bc finals are actually beating my ass atm so i’m putting my ideas in here until i can buckle down and finesse the writer’s block

- they’re headed to the bronx, where dally grew up. it’s approx 20 hours by car, so they drive to indianapolis first, break for the night, then drive 11 hours to the bronx w a bunch of pit stops in between

- first pit stop is at a gas station where soda takes the lead while dally tries to hide the fact that he’s never pumped gas before in his life

- he grew up in nyc that boy hasn’t even SEEN a real gas station until tulsa

- they get stuck in standstill traffic at some point so they get out and start praying to deities they don’t even believe in to get it moving again. they’re losing their minds. dally’s banging his head against the horn while soda’s going up to ppl’s windows and chatting with them. dally wants a gun

- they get back in the car and are hanging out, until soda notices something laying on the woods’ edge. since they aren’t going anywhere and the car is in the right lane, he gets out and runs over to it

- unfortunately traffic has started moving the second he’s out and dally has to scramble over to the driver side to start moving. in the side mirror dally sees soda sprinting along the shoulder holding a filthy stuffed bear that makes idle appearances for the rest of the fic. soda reaches the car before dally can hit 20 mph and he practically has to dive into the backseat

- soda vs the mississippi river

- once they reach indianapolis dally’s like “so we can either check into a motel or get fucking litttt”

- immediate cut to soda putting music on a jukebox and dally ordering them drinks

- dally gets plastered and insists on laying down in the truck bed on the drive to the motel. soda hits a speed bump as hard as he can and dally nearly gets launched out the back

- they’re on the road again but the poor truck’s been through it and it starts making some funky sounds until soda decides to pull over because he doesn’t like that noise. he’s no steve randle but he finds out they need to go to a repair shop and get a new part because the one they got now is literally gonna fall off

- so they’re stranded on the side of the highway

- soda decides to climb up on top of the truck because the weather’s real nice up there, and dally follows. he tries putting his thumb out but soda stops him, says he wants to sit and watch for a while. it’s pretty trippy, being so close to cars going 70 down the freeway. when a semi approaches, soda makes a right angle with his arm and pretends to pull a horn until the semi honks at them.

- that’s where a more heartfelt, raw conversation would happen amid the humor

- eventually they get their truck to a repair shop and get a new part! but not before they have like four hours to kill doing literally nothing but like mocking small children and playing i spy

- while they’re at it they also decide to call the house to check in on darry and pony and whoever else happens to be at the curtis residence at the moment

- and they’re back on the road!

- not thirty minutes later they hit a bird and have to pull over again because soda’s crying so hard he can’t drive

- they were playing music on the radio when that happened. the radio is off when dally pulls back onto the highway

- “it had a family.” “yeah, well.” “it had a name.” “alr i promise you it did not.”

- i haven’t thought about it yet but they pass at least one billboard that convinces them to stop and take a look at like the worlds largest rubber band ball or smth dumb like that

- dally hits a jersey slide so they don’t miss their exit and nearly kills a family of four in the process

- getting to see the new york skyline for the first time as they cross the bridge and it would be one of those emotional moments for dally who never thought he’d willingly go back. something about making new memories in the place where bad ones happened to take back your right to love that place again

- at the end soda surprises him with tickets to a yankee game

a lot of this works in my head because i’m imagining it like a sitcom lmfao who knows if i can translate it onto the page without rage quitting

[samhainsflesh]

Midnight Hour (Cowboy!Logan x Fem!Reader — Western AU)

Summary: It’s past midnight. The saloon is closed and you’re fixing the mess that’s been left behind.But the night takes a twist when Logan uses the bar to hide from the town’s sheriff.

Tags: western, enemies to lovers, angst, sexual tension, passionate kissing, a bit of fluff.

Words: 2.3 k

A/C: I’ve been watching a bunch of westerns lately so I had to do something with Logan.

AO3 link:

✞﹏𓃗﹏✞

You are cleaning up the broken bottles and beer spills of that night after the saloon closed. The wooden doors are shut. Past midnight, death lingers in the valley; the only sounds are the distant howls of coyotes. Every now and then, you’d hear the crack of gunshots, the frantic pounding of horses’ hooves running from one place to other, or an occational scream cutting through the darkness. But not a single soul dares to interfere in the affairs of those who own the night. 

You take a glance out the window. The wind stirs up the dirt in clouds, carrying it across the streets. The full moon lights up the shape of two horses riding in the distance. It’s the sheriff and his right hand going their rounds, circling like wolves — searching for something, or someone. 

Out of curiosity, you lean out of the window for a better look, but as soon as you stick your head out, a hand covers your mouth. Your heart leaps as you find yourself face-to-face with a man with a cowboy hat, mutton chops and a plaid shirt looking at you dead in the eye.

"Let me in, darlin’. I’ll pay for the beers" he mutters.

You try to speak, but his hand tightens over your mouth as he gets closer to you.

"You don’t wanna get yourself hurt now, do ya?’

You shake your head.

“Atta’ girl. Open the door.”

With your trembling hand, you unlock the door. The man comes in a blink of an eye, asking you to lock the door again. He procedes to bring the window shutters down.

You run towards the counter, your eyes locking on a broken bottle lying on the floor. Grabbing it by the neck, you use the jagged edge like a weapon, pointing it at the stranger.

“What do you want?” you tell him as you step closer.

He grins under the brim of his cowboy hat and leans back in one of the chairs, kicking his boots up onto the table.

“Relax, I don’t carry guns. Don’t like’em.” He says holding his hands up, showing you they’re empty. “You can put that down”

“What about a knife? you got one?”

He chuckles, quite amused, but his smile fades quickly “Look, I don’t have much time, I need you to listen carefully”.

“We don’t have much money if that’s what you’re after.”

“We?” he narrows his eyes “Is someone else here?”

“No” you answer way too quickly.

A noise that comes from the backroom of the saloon draws his attention.

“No?” he stands up towering you “I think you’re lyin’ to me sweetie” 

You try show you’re not afraid by sitting down besides him, holding his gaze. “Just tell me what you want, jackass” you say firmly, though yours hands shake a little. 

The stranger notices this. 

“You got some nerve in you” he leans back in his seat again.

“I deal with men like you every night”

He chuckles, “I don’t think you’ve ever met a man like me” he makes a brief pause “You can call me Logan”

“ I’m not telling you my name”

“That’s fine, the less we now about each other, the better”

“Agreed” You say, placing the broken bottle on the table but keeping it within reach.

“Alright, speak, girl” he says firmly. 

“That’s the owner of the saloon in the backroom. You don’t get to hurt him, you hear me? he’s old, he can barely hear a thing”

Logan’s expression softens just a bit “I won’t do anything to you or him, as long as you behave. Listen, I got into some trouble, alright? The sheriff’s out looking for me. I just need to lay low for a couple of hours, and then I’m gone. I’ve had enough of this damn town already.”

“Are you a bounty hunter?”

He scoffs. “I wish I was one. At least i’d get paid for this crap”. He leans closer to you, dropping his voice “Lock the old man up in the backroom. You’ll stay here and cover for me. And don’t even think about trying anything stupid, sweetheart” He continues “Also, I know everybody around here keeps a shotgun behind the counter, so you’re gonna hand over the one you’ve got ”. 

You narrow your eyes and rise slowly, your movements are delibarte. You head towards the counter, aware of his boots following behind you. The weight of his gaze presses against your back, and every time you glance over your shoulder, his eyes are locked on you, unflinching. 

You grab the shotgun from the counter and lay it down in front of him. “There you have it…Logan”. A smirk draws in his face as he hears his name coming from your lips.

“Wasn’t that hard, was it?”

Before you respond, The back door opens. The old man steps in. Panic flashes across his face. Though his hearing is far from perfect, his instincts are still sharp enough to grab the shotgun from the counter.

Instantly, Logan grabs you by the waist and pulls you firmly against him. His arms encircle you, holding you immobile. And then it happens. 

Claws cut from the flesh of his knuckles. The bones extent aiming the sharp ends at you.

The old man stares horrified in desbelief as he loads the gun “What… what are you?”

“Right now, I’m your fucking problem.” He says as the edge of his claws come close to your neck.“Put the gun down, it’s useless”.

Logan notices the genuine fear in your eyes, although you try to take hold of your trembling body. 

He leans closer to you. His warm breath brushing your ear as he whispers “Don’t worry beautiful. I’m not going to use it on ya. Just help me calm him down”. A weird mixture of unease and desire twistes in your insides.

“H-hey, leave the goddamn gun. He’s going to kill us both if you don’t, old man” you gesture the man as you speak to make your point. At first the old man resists. But he loosens his grip when he reads your lips saying : “please”. 

The second the old man lowers his guard, Logan knocks him out. 

As soon as the body hits the floor you run towards the man to check on him. He’s just momentarily passed out.

Anger clouds your thoughts as you stand up and sucker punch Logan straight in the face. 

“Damn. I deserved it, alright” he responds, rubbing his jaw.

You raise your hand to give him another swing but he grabs you by your wrists. His grip is firm enough to stop you but very careful so he doesn’t hurt you.

“Careful, darlin’” he warns in a serious tone

“Bastard” you spit on him.

“He’ll be okay” 

“He better be or-”

“Or what? you’ll kill me?” he interrupts, leaving you speechless.

Your head is a mess. Confusion, anger, attraction, everything at once. 

“I need your help” he speaks softly letting go of your wrists. “Just need to finish this and I’ll never bother you and that old fuck again.” You nod. “And don’t hit me again”.

He releases your wrists. You both stare each other for a second without uttering a single word.

“First, help me carry the old man upstairs. I’m not chaining him in the backroom” you demand.

Logan helps you lay the body of the old man in the bedroom upstairs. Time passes by in that small room as you both sit in silence, looking through the window.

“How can you do that? that thing with your bones” you finally break the ice again.

He shrugs “ I was born like this”. 

“Are there more like you?”

“Hey, I thought you said you didn’t want to know anything ‘bout me”

“That was 5 minutes ago, previous to the… claws” you pause “Do they hurt when they come out?”

“Every time” 

You get closer and closer to him. He’s very still, holding his arms crossed. He analises your movements with his eyes. You extent your hand to touch his knuckles but his first reaction is to pull away, a little scared. You notice there’s a vulnerable side to him, you know he’s scared to hurt you with his claws. His hands show no sign of damage, the skin is completely healed. “Fascinating”

You can sense his eyes locking in you with a soft gaze. “You ain’t scared?”

“Well, a bit” you respond with sincerity “but I’m mainly surprised” pause “Is this why they’re chasing you?”

“Well, it’s a lil complex…”

Your conversation gets interrupted by the sound of the pound of the horses’ hooves marching towards the saloon. The sheriff and his right hand nock the front door of the bar.

You grab him by the shirt and shove him into your closet. “Stay quiet” 

Dowstairs, the sheriff saluts you “G’night, girl. You were closing?.”

“Yes”

“I know it’s supposed to be closed by now but may we come in? We’ve been searching for this looney in town for hours and we’re thirsty as hell”

“I don’t know, I should ask the owner. I’m not allowed-”

“Come on, it’ll be just a minute” the right hand insists.

“ Just a minute”.

Both men enter the room as it was theirs. "Where’s that old timer of mine?"

“Sleeping. He was very tired”.

“Poor old man huh, always working. Serve us some beer please ” 

You hand them their drinks. As they finish the beers in a hurry, The sheriff’s wingman noticies a spot of blood on the floor and broken glass, alongside Logan’s hat.

“Tough night?”

“Yeah, some fellas got into a fight. One even forgot his hat. You know how those animals are”

“those pigs” replies the right hand.

As you try to keep the sheriff distracted, a loud creak echoes from upstairs. Your heart stops.

“What was that?”

“Just the old man. He sometimes moves in his sleep”

“Mind if I check upstairs?”

“No problem” you curse under your breath.

In the room, the old man snores. The sheriff scans the room with his eyes. Everything seems in order. He looks back at you. 

“You sure you’re alright, miss? You look a little pale.”

“yeah, it’s just a headache” 

“Alright, we won’t bother you no longer. Thanks for the drinks. If anything happens you let me know. Good night.”

Both men leave the place, riding their horses.

You quickly go upstairs. “Logan? Logan?” you call for him with a hint of despair in your voice.

The closet door creaks open, and Logan steps out, dusting himself off.

“This damn thing wasn’t built for a guy like me,” he mutters, glaring at the splintered wood.

You sit on the floor, overwhelmed by the situation. 

“You were worried about me weren’t ya?” he answers fixing himself up. “You actually helped a convict escape, that’s a federal crime ma´am”

You are still absorbed in your thoughts. 

“You’d make a hell of a sidekick, y’know ”

You glare at him without answering.

“Or a hell of a lover.” adds with a playful smirk

You stand abruptly. 

“I’d never be with someone like you” you reply as you go downstairs, avoiding him.

He follows your steps. “You wouldn’t date a freak?’”

“I wouldn’t date a criminal”

“So you don’t mind me being a freak but you do mind me being a criminal? you’re adorable ma’am”

“I’m not” you tell him while you pick up his hat from the floor trying to return it to him.

“You are” he gently grabs your chin with his fingers. 

You feel the sudden impulse to kiss him. Both your lips close in a gentle kiss that escalates into a more intense one. The rush of adrenaline accumulated from the previous tense situation makes you both desperate for each other. Although he was much stronger than you, he let himself be guided by you against the counter. He raises you like a feather over the bar, placing his body between your legs. His kisses run through your neck, your arms. Every now and then, your tongue reaches his mouth with unspeakable hunger.

You pull him away. 

“Something’s wrong?” he asks trying to catch his breath.

“No. Yes” you struggle to sort out you feelings.

“I’ve got a couple of hours left here, if you wanna… get into it. I don’t mind doing it on the counter.”

“What about him?” You nod toward the room upstairs.

“Well, we’d just have to keep it quiet, wouldn’t we?”

You chuckle at his playful manners, but your smile fades as reality sinks in.

“I think you should go Logan.” You reach up, fixing a strand of his hair that got messed up during your heated moment.

“ That’s what you really want?” he mutters softly, looking straight into your eyes.

“Well… no” you admit after a pause. “But he’s going to wake up anytime soon. I need to fix this mess. Next time you come here, we’ll finish our business”.

“It’s a deal”

You’re still on the counter, your legs loosely wrapped around his waist. You place his hat back on his head. He gives you a small, genuine smile. For a man who seemed so rough and dangerous, there’s a softness to him now that makes your chest tighten.

You place a goodbye kiss on his lips “You’re not that bad for an outlaw with… claws”

“Thank you for everything, sugar. I’m really sorry for all this.”

Before stepping out, he glances back at you. “You haven’t told me your name.”

“Not yet boy, You’ll have to wait till next time”

“Can’t wait, ma’am” He tips his hat with a smirk before disappearing into the night.

✞﹏𓃗﹏✞

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 22: This Misery We've Made

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: Approval numbers and public perception of Tommy's personal life force him and Lucy to face some painful realities.

Word Count: 3,519

Notes: Not really sure if I'm entirely happy with this chapter, but I've been fiddling with it for so long and I just need to move on. Hope you all still like it! Warnings for depictions of insecurity and references to past abuse and polyamory.

Previous Part • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 1: Too Late

“No.”

Lucy sighed, looking pleadingly into Tommy’s glacial eyes as they hardened over with stubbornness. 

“Tommy, love, we both know it would fix all of these problems…”

“As we’ve already discussed to exhaustion.” His jaw ticked. “I won’t do it.”

“Sweetheart,” she broke eye contact with him to look down at the papers settled in her lap. Her hands fiddled with her rings, gaze glued  to the infernal numbers emblazoned upon the reports, as if staring at them hard enough would cause them to shift and change. “It’s not getting any better. If anything, it’s only going to get worse.”

“The constituents don’t seem to care,” he huffed, reaching into his pocket for his cigarette case. “Considering that they elected me.”

She frowned. “Because we bribed your way in. And besides, I’m not sure if a lot of them even knew then. You weren’t exactly shouting your marital status and Ruby’s parentage from the rooftops.” Not that he’d hid it, per say. He just avoided discussing it during the campaign and while in settings related to his work. “And they might not care now, but what about when your political rivals start harping about it in the press? They’re already using it to try to shut you out of certain things. Not to mention that arsehole from Oxford who keeps using it to try to cut down all your arguments in the house.”

“Fucking ridiculous,” Tommy shook his head, lighting his cigarette and releasing a puff of smoke from his lips up towards the ceiling.

They were seated in his office in the House of Commons, the big wooden double doors that led out into the workroom that she shared with the other secretary, Adam, closed. Not that they needed to be. Adam had already gone home for the evening, as had most of the other MPs and their staff. No one would be interrupting them. It was late, nothing but darkness and a flickering streetlight visible out the window. 

She was still getting used to spending her days working in the offices of the House of Commons rather than the betting shop or the office in Birmingham. While the general decor and design of the building was not all that dissimilar–outside of just being bigger–there was something distinctively different about this place. A stuffiness and sense of propriety that served as a thin veil for the egos and superiority that radiated from so many of the men who sauntered through its halls. It was a bit of a shock to go from Small Heath, where just about everyone knew her name and she was decidedly near the top of the food chain as far as both authority and respect goes, to here where she was lucky if the MP just next door could even remember her name. In these offices, she was not the Red Demon, or even Lucy Winters. Here she was just Thomas Shelby’s Assistant. And was treated as such. 

It wasn’t all bad, of course. She still got to spend most of her days at Tommy’s side, and the work was not that different from what she’d been doing for him before. 

“I agree, but that’s the way that things are, love.” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “And your constituents do care. That’s what these numbers are all about,” she nodded to the report in her lap. “More and more of them indicated that while they’re happy with your performance and policies, they’re troubled by your conduct regarding your personal life.” She held out the papers, and he took them with a reluctant sigh, pulling his glasses from his pocket and sliding them onto his nose so he could look them over himself. 

“Doing…doing this,” Lucy swallowed, unable to bring herself to utter the thing that, ever since Ruby’s birth–and certainly ever since he was elected–hovered threateningly over them. The guillotine teetering precariously above their heads. “It would help improve your standing with the more traditional and family focused members of your constituents. And might even open up some more doors for you here with the conservative MPs. God knows we already have a hard enough time working with them.” Bunch of racist, classist dickheads was what they were. All too eager to look down their nose at the man who had clawed his way from the bowels of Small Heath’s dirty streets to the halls of power. They already had enough reasons to attempt to shut Tommy out, they really didn’t need to be giving them anymore ammunition. 

Tommy met her eyes, and she saw a crack appear in his resolve. Deep down, they both knew that she was right. This needed to be done. 

Even if it was going to break both their hearts. 

Tommy closed his eyes, head tilting up as he released another stream of smoke from his lips. His brow pinched with stress, the skin around his temples tightening. 

She forced herself to be strong. “You know just as well as I do how important image is to the people we’re now surrounded by. And to the people you’ve been elected to serve. We can’t just…shrug off what other people think of our personal lives anymore. Presenting the image of a proper family will solve nearly all the current problems outlined in those numbers.” 

His lips pursed. He was not seated behind his desk, but rather in the chair next to hers in front of it, one leg crossed over the other. One of his hands lifted to touch the side of his face, thumb moving across his lips while he examined her shrewdly and listened to her argument.

“We can’t ignore this forever. It has the potential to ruin everything you’ve worked so hard for.” She looked him hard in the eye, beseeching him to understand. He still just stared at her, clearly fighting against the knowledge that he knew she was right. “There’s only one clear solution that I can see that fixes pretty much all problems at once.”

How many times had they discussed this? Too many to count. And he always shot the idea down instantaneously. When Polly tried to push it harder on one of their more recent meetings, he’d nearly ripped her head off. 

“Look, you know what my suggestion for a solution is. If you have any others, I’m happy to hear them.” She was suddenly in dire need of a cigarette. Sensing her need, Tommy silently held out the one clutched between his fingers towards her. She took it with a noticeably unsteady hand, bringing it gratefully to her lips. Tommy watched all of her movements closely, knuckles pressed up against his lips, frown still firmly in place. Picking up the report of his approval numbers, his eyes skimmed over the front page once more before tossing it onto his desk, removing his glasses and putting them back in his pocket.

The silence while he mulled over her words seemed to stretch on forever, only interrupted by the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the mantle. Lucy had to fight back the desire to fill it with more near nonsensical babbling. 

Why was she even arguing for this so bloody hard? She should be happy that he’d instantly dismissed the suggestion the very first time that she brought it up. Hell, she was, from a purely selfish standpoint.

Tommy’s hand dropped from where it was resting against his lips to take one of hers, thumb running along her knuckles. 

“I don’t want to marry Lizzie,” he said softly.

She met his gaze sadly. “I know.” I don’t want you to marry her either. But she knew if she told him that, she would never manage to convince him to go through with it. He’d refuse forever all on account of her feelings, even if it meant that he could lose everything he’d worked so hard for.  

The idea that he could lose it all and it would be her fault made her feel sick with guilt.

“But we’re being backed into a corner here, love,” she chose her words carefully. “Being unmarried with an illegitimate child makes some of your constituents think that you don’t value families. If you want to stop your approval numbers from dipping, and even have a shot at reelection in a few years…”

“I haven’t even thought about reelection, yet.”

She gave him a look that was both stern and fond in equal measure. “Now, we both know that isn’t true.”

His lips quirked upwards slightly, eyes warming at how well she knew him. But when he scooted closer to her, sadness quickly leaked back into his expression, lips turning downwards.

“I don’t love her.”

“I know,” she repeated, feeling even worse at the spark of relief that statement brought her. Poor Lizzie. 

He shot her a look of deep, unending regret, brushing some hair out of her face. Her eyes fluttered at the warm press of his palm against her cheek when he cupped it. “I promised you that I wouldn’t marry her,” he whispered. 

“You said that you didn’t plan to,” she corrected, recalling the conversation when he first informed her of Lizzie’s pregnancy. The things he’d murmured to her whilst holding her on the floor of their bedroom while she cried. “Plans can change.”

“I am not leaving you,” there was zero room for argument in his voice, jaw shifting stubbornly. 

“Lizzie might not agree to marry you if you don’t.”

Tommy shook his head. “It’ll be a marriage of convenience only. You and me still being able to be together is non-negotiable. I’m not budging on that.”

She smiled a little in spite of herself at his devotion, leaning her face deeper into his palm. “It feels terribly unfair to her.”

“She can always say no if she really can’t handle it. We’ll be clear about what it’ll all entail, so she doesn’t get the wrong idea about any of it meaning something between me and her. Besides, she’s been warmer towards you lately.”

That was true. Though who knew how long that would actually last.

Scooting his chair closer to hers, Tommy leaned forward, holding her face with both hands, forehead resting against hers. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with it?” he asked urgently. Lucy swallowed hard. The thought of watching him stand up at an altar and make vows and promises to another woman, of having to live under the same roof as Lizzie and share him with her for the rest of their lives…

It burned harshly in her chest, cracks forming in her already fragile heart. 

But she could live with it. It was a sacrifice she was willing to make if it meant that Tommy would not lose all he’d worked so extremely hard to achieve. 

Maybe…maybe it actually wouldn’t be all that bad. He was right that Lizzie had been kinder and more amicable towards her as of late. Perhaps she would even be agreeable to all three of them sharing a bed from time to time, like they used to. And it would be nice to have Ruby in the same house as them so they could see her more. She and Charlie could be raised as proper siblings. 

“Yes,” she said, unknowingly sealing both their fates. “So long as we don’t have to break up.”

“I won’t ever let that happen,” Tommy promised. She leaned in closer to him, hands resting on his forearms. Tommy gave her a little tug. “Come here,” drawing her from her chair, he pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her hair. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she murmured into his chest, arms winding around his neck. “I hate to say ‘I told you so,’ but…”

He snorted, lightly pinching her hip. “Yeah, yeah.” Lips ghosting across her temple, he silently urged her face back enough so that he could kiss her softly. “I mean it. I won’t let us be torn apart.”

A small smile pulled at her lips, his reassurance like a band-aid over her fracturing heart while he kissed her again. 

∗ ∗ ∗

“Well,” Lizzie said, adjusting her fingers around her cigarette, straightening in her chair. Even sitting down, she looked tall, the way in which she sat with her spine entirely straight only adding to the effect. She looked between Tommy and Lucy seated before her at the other side of the round table in front of the fireplace in Tommy’s Birmingham office. “That’s one hell of a way to propose to someone.”

Lucy winced a little at the underlayer of bitterness in Lizzie’s voice, looking down at her hands in shame.

“Technically you aren’t being proposed to until we know that you agree to our…conditions,” Tommy was much less phased by Lizzie’s reaction, puffing on his cigarette whilst eyeing her from around the vase of deep red roses on the table between them. 

“I’m pretty sure that I know what those are already,” Lizzie huffed, shifting in her seat, briefly glancing at the fire crackling away in the hearth. She looked back at them, and gave a little gesture with the hand holding her cigarette for him to continue. “But let’s hear them anyway.” 

Tommy adjusted himself in his seat, leaning forward with one of his arms resting on the table. When he spoke, his voice had taken on the commanding edge that Lucy had heard him use when giving orders to his men or family members. 

“After we are married, you and Ruby will come to live at Arrow House. You will enjoy all luxuries that the home and the title as my wife offers. All we expect is that you help take care of the children and manage things that have to do with the household. You can continue to hold a position on the company’s board, if you’d like. But most importantly,” he glanced over at Lucy, holding her gaze steadfastly before turning back to Lizzie, “Lucy and I will still get to be together.”

The area around Lizzie’s lips tightened slightly. “So you aren’t offering me a real marriage, but only one of convenience.”

To his credit, Tommy did not flinch away from her stern, accusing gaze. “Yes; that’s exactly what I’m offering you.” 

Lizzie leaned back into her chair, nursing at her cigarette as she contemplated. Lucy struggled to meet her gaze when it shifted periodically over to her, guilt roiling through her like a tempestuous storm. She’d never been able to shake the feeling that if she were not around, Tommy and Lizzie may have actually stood a chance together. And she was pretty certain that Lizzie thought the same exact thing. 

“I want you to promise that you will be discreet,” Lizzie finally said very slowly. “I will not be publicly humiliated by my husband openly fucking another woman.”

“Of course,” Lucy nodded. They already had toned down most displays of physical affection whilst in public, presenting instead as simply colleagues who happened to be good friends. Gestures of romance were saved for behind closed doors. It was not unlike it was prior to Grace’s death, when the three of them had to practice restraint to avoid a scandal. “And we’re willing to make accommodations to make sure you and Ruby are comfortable.”

“Within reason,” Tommy interjected quickly. 

“I want a honeymoon,” Lizzie said decisively. “A real one. With just you and me.” Her eyes wavered from Tommy to fix on Lucy, then darted back to him. Lucy thought she caught a glimpse of pleading in her face. 

The mere idea of them going on a romantic vacation together without her left insecurity brewing beneath her skin, but Lucy forced herself to ignore it. Considering what they were asking of her, it felt like it was the least that they could do. “Okay.”

Tommy shot her a glance. “We’ll have to talk about it,” he modified. 

Lizzie nodded. “Of course.” The clock on the mantle chimed. “I have to head home. I promised the nanny I’d be back by half past five. I can come by this weekend to work out more of the details if you’d like.”

“Yes, that would be good. You have a ride home?” Tommy asked, both he and Lucy standing after Lizzie stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray and rose to her feet. 

“Yes, Skudboat offered to drop me off.”

“Right. We’ll see you this weekend, then.”

“Give Ruby a kiss from us,” Lucy requested timidly. Lizzie shot her a smile that actually seemed half genuine. 

“I will.”

They bid her goodbye, Lucy waiting until the door swung shut behind her before sinking exhaustedly back into her chair. She was struck at how transactional the whole exchange had been. Like ironing out a business deal rather than arranging a marriage.  

The floorboards creaked under Tommy’s heavy footsteps as he approached her. Reaching out, he rubbed a hand up and down on her upper arm, bending to kiss her forehead. 

“Are you alright?”

She stuffed the guilt bubbling up within her back down, locking it away in a far corner of her mind. “Yeah.”

“I can get out of the honeymoon if it makes you uncomfortable. Or insist that you come along.”

“It’s fine,” she probably said it too quickly to be convincing. “It’s the least that we can do for her, considering.”

“I don’t like the idea of going without you.”

“Me neither,” she admittedly, finally looking up to meet his concerned blue orbs. “But it’s just one week.” She knew him better than to expect that he’d be willing to take more than that off work. “We’ll live.”

He stroked her face tenderly, brow furrowing slightly. “You don’t have to give her everything that she wants. I know that you feel bad, even though you really shouldn’t, but…” he trailed off, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, thumb brushing down her cheek. “If she pushes too far, if she’s unkind to you, or asks for something you aren’t comfortable with, all you have to do is tell me, and I’ll take care of it, alright?”

Nodding, she turned her face to kiss the center of his palm. “Thank you,” covering his hand with hers, she smiled weakly. “Congratulations on your engagement.”

“Ugh,” he made a face as though he’d just been told he was sentenced to be executed, rather than engaged to be married, and dropped his head forward until it was resting against her shoulder. Lucy wrapped her arms around him, burrowing her face into his hair, breathing in the scent of his soap and cologne. “I wish it was you,” he mumbled sorrowfully against her throat, and for a dreadful moment Lucy actually thought that she might start to cry. 

“I know.” And though she did not say it–for fear that if she did, he would call the whole damn thing off and throw his reputation and all professional prospects in the bin–they both knew the words circulating within her head:

Me too.  

When he first brought up the topic of marriage, all the way back in 1918, before Grace had even walked into their lives, she had told him that it was not something she was sure that she wanted. She was still living with the trauma of being previously engaged to a monster who hurt and abused her, and the only example of marriage she’d had was the loveless, horrific mess that was her parents. It was something he’d respected, unconcernedly promising that marriage or no marriage, he would still love her forever.

After Grace died, the topic had passed briefly every once in a while across her mind. With times changing and modern perspectives growing in popularity, it was no longer a necessity that she stop working if she were married. And with the slow passage of time, the idea of marriage no longer seemed to her like a cage to be bound and gagged within. She knew that Tommy would never expect her to change simply because he placed a ring on her finger. 

But she didn’t bring it up to him, both of them were still aching too terribly from Grace’s death. It was too soon. For them personally, for Charlie, and for either of their reputations. 

And then the vendetta had happened. And for a bit of fun they took Lizzie down to the canal for a fuck like they so often did before Grace stepped into their lives. 

If only she hadn’t still been so messed up on the topic the first time that he asked. If only she’d expressed her changing feelings on the matter with him before Lizzie got pregnant. Maybe things would be different. 

She could not say anything about it now. If she did, he would abandon this plan that was poised to solve so many problems for him. Not to mention that marrying her instead of Lizzie would create a whole new set of issues for him to deal with, some with the potential to wreck everything he’d accomplished.

It was too late.  

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Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

[verified-villain-fxcker]

It’s been months 😭

[bellacardoza16]

Currently watching tonight’s episode and I now got I don’t like windows when they’re closed stuck in my head.

[luvsupa]

STUDY FUCK BUDDIES ?!

tags: gojo satoru x fem!reader, college au, gojo’s hella rich and a player, smut (p in v), cōckwarming, exhibitionism, dumbification, public sex (ish, they’re kinda hidden), i quickly edited this so sorry if there’s mistakes, I’ll fix it up soon!! mdni.

w.c: 1.8k

a/n: THANK U GUYS SOSOSOSO MUCH FOR 1.1K!! I DIDNT REALIZE UNTIL TODAY SO HERES THISS MWAAA 🩷🩷🩷

"can we study together?"

you huff in annoyance, pausing your studies to glare at the white-haired male who's been distracting you for the past hour. studying for physics is hard enough without gojo's constant interruptions. you set your pencil down, leaning back in your creaky old chair, the sound echoing in the mostly quiet library. you're tucked into a corner of the library, somewhat secluded by the shelves but still very visible to anyone passing by.

"gojo, you never study and still get perfect grades. stop rubbing it in my face," you pout, crossing your arms and slouching deeper into your seat. he giggles, leaning on the table, his black satchel sliding beside you.

gojo is the model student in every professor's eyes-good-looking, always attending class, acing exams, and tutoring everyone. it's infuriating. but beneath that perfect exterior lies the campus's biggest player, known for throwing parties and sleeping with a string of girls every week. did you mention he's gorgeous?

your thoughts are interrupted when gojo pulls out a chair beside you, manspreading as your gaze involuntarily roams over him-lower and lower.

ugh, focus.

but he smells incredible, his expensive cologne filling your senses and making your head spin. he's so close that your heart races, his intoxicating scent overwhelming you. you've been near him before, but this feels different.

"m’kayy, let's study," he says, scooting his chair closer, the wood screeching against the floor as a few heads turn your way. he leans in, peering at the cursed physics textbook in front of you.

"is this a bet or something?" you ask kinda off topic, arching an eyebrow as he tilts his head, confusion dancing in his striking blue eyes, now darker in the dimly lit library.

"rich frat student, gojo satoru wins a bet after helping unknown classmate," you say sarcastically, air quoting for effect. gojo narrows his eyes, contemplating before smirking.

"hmm, sounds like a good porno-big dick satoru fucks hot classmate in library," he replies, mimicking your air quotes. you gasp, and he bursts into laughter, drawing a few glares from nearby students who can't help but overhear your conversation.

"so, this is a bet to get in my pants?" you whisper, raising an eyebrow. he leans closer, a little too close, and you inhale more of his addictive scent. fuck he smells so good.

"nope," he says softly, flashing that killer smile as his minty breath fans against your face, his gaze drifting shamelessly to your chest. "but if you wanna fuck, we coulddd."your jaw drops at his bluntness, does he have any shame?

you turn back to your work, but from the corner of your eye, you see gojo smirking as he pulls out his phone, scrolling through random videos.

for the past ten minutes you try to concentrate, but he turns the volume up, his phone speaking blasting his videos loudly- completely derailing your focus. the library is now slightly scattered with students; most students have left, unable to endure the disturbance, but those remaining can still see you both.

you glance at the window, noticing the sun setting. panic rises-your physics assignment is due tonight, and you've barely completed three questions- and you don’t even know if you did it right!

turning to gojo, you find him mindlessly scrolling, his legs still spread wide as he’s gotten too comfortable, causing you to tighten the grip on your pencil out of frustration. he said he would help!

though, you kinda declined his offer...

"satoru, i need help—"

"look at this," he interrupts, shoving his phone in your face. you squint at the bright screen.

spicy library challenges.

your eyes widen in horror at the video montage of couples trying to hide their moans while having risky sex in libraries. gojo bites his lip, clearly enjoying your reaction.

"y-you wanna do this? with me?" you stammer, pushing his phone away, but he nods, an eager glint in his eye. part of you is tempted to experience that with him, but another part just wants to finish your assignment.

"yeaa-what, are you a virgin?"

"what? no, i'm not!" you protest, the squeal in your voice betraying your truth, i’m not! he hums, clearly skeptical.

"whatever. what do you need help with?" he asks, frowning slightly as he grabs your worksheet and textbook.

"what about the video?" you counter, referring to the spicy library challenge, meeting his gaze. he looks directly into your eyes, a warm smile spreading across his face.

"looks like someone had a change of heart," he teases, and you look away, the tension between you almost unbearable as you realize you're still in the line of sight of curious onlookers who might be listening in.

and that’s how you found yourself in this tangled mess, a challenge you thought you could conquer like those girls in the video. but this was nothing like you imagined. gojo had pulled you onto his lap, pulling down your panties as well as your pants- only down to your thighs as he made you sit on his thick cock. he filled you to the brim- completely moulding your cunt for him. your velvety walls hugging him tightly as he groans once in a while as you clench hard- wanting to feel more- a little thrust will send you over, but no. he wants you to sit all cute on his cock as you read your book aloud- without making any mistakes.

cockwarming is easy, he said. oh what a liar.

his hands rested firmly on your waist, holding you as you struggled to focus on the words of the book in your hands. each time you tried to read aloud, a soft chuckle escaped his lips, sending shivers down your spine. you try your hardest to hold back a moan each time you read each word.

“c’monn pretty, you were just reading so well,” he encourages, his voice laced with venom as he leans closer to you, causing you to moan at the subtle friction. you can feel every inch of him- every vein down his thick shaft and his as his bulbous tip smushing your cervix. “starttttt here.” he points with his index finger, but you’re trying your hardest to focus- but everything is so overwhelming you mentally can’t.

“c-cursed energy is… nghh- generated by… positive- fuckkk,” you moan loudly, your cunt spasms as one of gojos hands moved swiftly and sharp under the table- slapping your soaked cunt as a punishment, your poor clit twitching at the impact. 

“positive? sweetheart, read that again.” gojo scolds as he smothers your cunt with your slick, rubbing cute circles on your nub as you clench hard- gripping him tighter while bucking your hips forward- causing him to groan in the nape of your neck. 

another moan escapes your lips as your body is now trembling- you could barely sit up straight as rudely smacks your cunt once again- the electricity moving through your body as you slightly regain focus. 

“negative- ‘s negative e-energy,” you stammer as you feel a burning pool in your lower stomach- your head already starts to feel dizzy. you feel like you’re going to burst. 

“good fuckin’ girl,“ he praises as you fall forward onto the paper work- slightly crumbling the worksheet as his brows raise at your reaction, his hand moves away from your heat as attempts to get you to sit up and continue on.

“c-cum… ‘m gonna cum,” you stammer out as your face is practically up against the textbook. at this point gojo nearly loses it, he never been this turned on up until now. his eyes flutter as you start rocking your hips. you’re drunk off him that all you can think about is- gojo, gojo, gojo- that you’ve completely forgotten where you guys are— but he feels so good you can’t think straight. you slowly start a steady pace, moving faster as you fuck yourself on his thick cock, wincing each time at the length as his tip is repeatedly kissing your cervix.

gojo on the other hand is gnawing his bottom lip- holding back his moans as he watches his length disappear into your sopping cunt. he can’t take it anymore that he abruptly stands up the wooden chair now knocked over as he’s digging his slender fingers on your hips as he bends you on the wooden table. both of you unsure whether there’s people still in the library or not. he roughly grabs your flesh as he fucks you hard, ramming his cock in and out as you cry out, soaking your papers with your tears. the sounds of skin slapping echos the library as the table begins to shake roughly, creakkss heard by every thrust met.

“fuckk you feel so g-good,” gojo whimpers as your pussy us swallowing him whole, his deep pace making you see stars as you both moan uncontrollably.

“where do you want it? inside?” he rasps as you can’t think straight, all you want is him to continue fucking you good. gojo brings one of his hands to swat your ass, making you yelp at the stinging pain.

“‘m speaking to you-“

“i-inside,” you manage to get out as he grins, his pace quickening as he continued to babble. your cunt flutters around his cock as both of you come undone with his final thrust. his thick and heavy cum painting the inside of your walls white as you moan at how full you feel- being stuffed to the brim. 

both of you are panting loudly- out of breath as you need a minute to regain full consciousness. gojo carefully slips out with a slight pop!, as you whine at the loss of his length as your cunt clenches around nothing. gojo crouches down to see the mess you two made as both of your mixed cum seeps out of your slit, so thick and goopy. unexpectedly, gojo drags a lonngggg swipe along your achy cunt- his tongue collecting both of your messes as he loudly slurps.

“f-fuck you’re so nasty,” you shudder at the feeling of his tongue entering your sore cunt as he laps up the mess. gojo pulls away, kissing the back of your thighs as he stands up- tucking away his soft cock back into his pants as he also helps you look more presentable than you do now. you look down at the mess you’ve made, papers crumbled and damp, the textbook slightly damaged, and everything else rearranged on the wooden table.

“same time tomorrow?”

[curehaus]

No I don’t like windows when they’re closed!

[thehmn]

Does it seem weird that people treat cats like they’re wild animals to anyone else? And by that I don’t mean people expect cats to survive on their own in the wild. I mean people act like pet cats who have owners are wild animals that the owners aren’t responsible for. And I’m not talking about cat owners specifically. A lot of people who doesn’t have any pets at all act like cats are wild animals (which might be why so many people treat them like wild animals that can be hurt with no consequences)

I never thought about that until a few years ago when someone in the town Facebook group asked who owned a cat that kept jumping in through his windows. It was summer so he couldn’t keep his windows closed (we don’t use air conditioning in this country) and he had a terrible allergy to cats so it was legit dangerous for him to have a cat running around his house.

People started offering solutions like “buy this spray that deters cats” and “you can buy this rolling thing for the top of your fence” but his response was “Okay but why am I expected to spend all this money to keep someone’s pet out? Who owns this cat!?” When he didn’t get an answer he eventually got a friend to pick the cat up when it was in his house and he drove it to a shelter, and informed the Facebook group which shelter. Suddenly the owner responded, angry that he’d do such a thing! Getting the cat back would cost money! But the guy was like where the fuck were you when I asked who the cat belonged to!? I was trying to avoid this!

I was honestly surprised by how many people were on the side of the cat’s owner. Another cat owner on our street isn’t responsible enough to keep her cat indoors but responsible enough to at least buy stuff for other people if her cats bother them. She practically have a small stach of cat deterrent spray she hands out to the neighbors who doesn’t want cats in their garden.

The whole thing really made me realize how strange it is that cats are the only pets where we expect other people to spend their money on building fences to keep them out instead of the owners trying to keep them in, as if they were wild animals with no owner to look after them.

[mostly-imagines]

At Least I’m Not Alone at the Wake

jason todd x fem!reader

aka how jason feels safe even when he feels like he’s dying

HEY today we’re going to play a game where we practice reblogging fics: if you read this and like it—reblog!! ie, if you like and dont reblog i might block bc im getting sick of the lack of decorum

warnings: angst w comfort throughout

It took less than thirty seconds for the silence of the night to drift into sounds of shrieks echoing off the buildings along the street. The sharp contrast had you and Jason bolting upright on the couch, ears on alert. It only took a few seconds more of listening for you to realize you’re not hearing shouting—it’s laughter. Maniacal, uncontrolled laughter. 

There’s a beat as you both freeze upon the implication, the unsettling realization dropping in on you. You barely have a moment to process it before Jason’s pushing up from the couch and heading towards the bathroom.

“Close the window,” he grumbles.

You blink as you register his words before jumping up to do as told, quickly sliding the frame shut and locking it. He returns soon with an armful of towels in hand, and you stand back as he stuffs a couple along the window sill with rough movements. He goes throughout the apartment, doing the same to the other windows. He rounds back to the living room window, looking down at the street with a heavy look on his face. 

You trust that the towels will do their job in preventing the laughing gas from getting in the apartment, but they’re unable to block out the bellows of hysteria.

He backs away from the window, letting the living room wall hold his weight. You both listen to the harrowing echoes with still bodies. 

You watch him, waiting for a reaction. You don’t mean to, but you know you’re looking at him like he’s a loaded spring. You try not to, you know how much he hates how his family does that to him, but fuck, it’s hard not to worry about him.

When Joker incidents have come up, they’ve usually been something you’re able to ignore or even get ahead of and drive out of the city. But this is raucous and chaotic, clearly enough to shut down the city from the inside. Besides, Jason would be booking it out of here if he thought there was any chance of a clean getaway in this.

But you know he’s got no interest in inserting himself in anything Joker related, especially something so destabilizing.

While you know Jason’s family cares about him, of course they do, but you’ve noticed they sometimes put Gotham’s needs first and his second. So the severity of this attack is concerning for you for two reasons.

“Will they…” you shuffle, “Will they need you?”

He’s quick to answer, voice firm. “No.” A long moment passes before he adds on, quieter, “They won’t want me out there.”

You nod to yourself, trying to relax your body. You being on edge isn’t going to help him.

You watch as his head thumps against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. He’s tough—you know he’s tough. He can withstand a hell of a lot more than you’ll probably ever even know. But even for Gotham, this is a lot. And even for someone who hasn’t been through what Jason has, the ringing repetitions of laughter are maddening. You wonder if this is what the Joker hears in his head. You wonder if this is what Jason heard.

The intensity of the laughing increases, more people likely becoming exposed to the gas. You think you can hear it in one of your neighbor’s apartments too.

He thumps his head against the drywall again, hands clenching at his sides. It takes one more forceful thud for you to move over to him, cradling your hand to the side of his head, holding him still. He lets you, though he still doesn’t open his eyes.

“Jay,” you say softly, stroking his hair. “Let’s take a shower, yeah?” Normally you’d try for a bath to calm him instead but you hope the waterfall from the shower might be enough to drown out the noise.

He takes a second to respond, letting your hand bear the weight of his head. “Yeah.”

His voice is splintered though, and his shoulders droop as he stands up fully. He waits to move until you start to lead him, flinching at every spike of laughter. You reach back and take his hand, giving it two squeezes. He squeezes your hand back but doesn’t loosen his grip.

As you enter the bathroom he wastes no time getting straight to the shower nozzle and turning it on. You press the door shut behind you, sealing out a decent portion of the chaos. You decide against turning the overhead light on, opting instead to let the small pink-shaded lamp provide a warm glow that you can easily maneuver throughout the shadows in. You figure he needs a more tranquil atmosphere than the harsh white light the bathroom ceiling can provide.

You turn to him in time to catch him pulling his shirt up harshly, movements jerked and impatient.

You place a gentle hand on his forearm, “Hey.”

He pauses his actions, eyes on the floor.

You don’t say anything else, but he understands your objection regardless. You remove your touch and he peels his shirt off slower, kinder to himself. 

You wait to make sure he continues this method with the rest of his clothes before you start to remove yours.

The downpour of water on the tiles does it’s intended job in creating your own little sanctum away from the noise. You climb into the shower after him, standing in the stray mist sprays that made their way past him. The bits of water that do manage their way to you are hot—not scalding, but hot enough that you know his chest is going to start getting numb very soon standing in front of the stream like this. 

You trace lines over the muscles of his back, outlining them and every little indent of a scar. When you run out of canvas on his back you move onto his arms, right then left.

It’s not until you trace down his wrist that you realize his head is angled down. You don’t need to be standing in front of him to know that his focus is zeroed in on his scar and you’re not sure how long it's been that way. Too long, in any case.

“Jay,” you say so softly that the water nearly drowns you out. “Will you look at me, please?”

He does turn to you, slowly, but he doesn’t look up.

You hold his face in your hands, nudging him to look up at you. He looks tired, drained. 

You know he has to hear that laughter in a different way than you do. It’s uncomfortable and frightening for you, but for him, it’s layers upon layers of the sound he heard while he was being beaten to death. And even beyond that horrible trauma, the reminder of it brings forth every memory of what happened afterwards, not to mention the heavy baggage you know he feels over being here at all. And you can see it all mulling behind his eyes.

“You know I love you,” you tell him with sincerity. His gaze stays heavy and you can tell it’s a struggle for him to hold the eye contact.

You lean up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, catching his bottom lip slightly. Your next kiss meets his lips fully. You have to push up on your toes a little bit but he does the work of meeting you halfway. It’s a slow, intimate exchange, as fluid and serene as breathing.

“I love all of you,” you murmur against his lips. You let your hands fall to his chest, resting as gently as they can over his pecs. “Everything about you.”

You kiss the top of his Y scar, trailing down soft pecks to where it forks off. You feel his shoulders sag a bit, tension forcing its way out of him. You lean down to continue your kisses down the vertical line marking his abdomen, your hands lightly following in your wake.

He says your name painfully, like he’s begging you to stop. You’ll give him partial reprieve, taking his hands in yours and kissing his scarred knuckles. It’s his instinct to push affection away, you know that, but you also know that he needs it. That’s why he doesn’t stop you now—he knows he needs it—it’s just a lot for him all at once, emotionally. Which is why he gives no warning before he picks you up by your thighs and pulls you close. 

He’s got you a full head higher than him and he uses the difference to hide his face in your neck. Sometimes he feels like that’s the only place he can go. He maneuvers you around so your back is pressed up against the wall as you hold each other tight.

You stay in there like that until the water runs cold, and then some. You have to nudge him a bit into setting you back down then, but he does, letting you collect and wrap the both of you in towels. The second the water turns off you can hear the cackling through the walls. 

As you return to the bedroom, he only bothers to pull on a pair of boxers before collapsing his weight onto the mattress. The lack of layers won’t help him any, but you know why he did it.

He can’t always look after himself the way he should—he disregards his own needs and has trouble even thinking of what could help him. You’ve developed a mind for it though—for him—and you know that being exposed and vulnerable like this isn’t going to help him calm down. He prefers being covered up when he’s stressed, it gives him more security, you think.

You open up the dresser and dig through for his most comfortable hoodie and sweatpants. He takes them from you, but he looks remiss at the thought of exerting anymore energy right now, so you help him tug on the clothes, successfully blocking out the now icy air from the AC. 

Once he’s fully clothed he pulls you forward to sit on his lap. You stumble a bit on the way but he compensates by holding you very tight, not giving your body any option to fall. His grip on you tells you that he’s not concerned with you getting dressed too, which you’re perfectly willing to oblige.

You have to force him to let you break away a little bit so you can reach over to the nightstand and grab your phone and earbuds.

“Movie or music?”

He doesn’t say anything, only nods his head once at the end of your sentence. You take that to mean music and open up your playlist on your phone, handing him the headphones.

There’s a harsh spike in the hysterics outside, mixed with what sounds like screams, and it has Jason flinching hard. You think you can see tears welled in his eyes as he fumbles to get the headphones in his ears. He takes the phone from you and picks the first song he sees and turns the volume up, up, up.

You shift yourself around so that you’re laying back against the pillows, giving him room to lay down over your legs, wrapping his arms around your waist with a firm grip. You pull the hood up over his head, but keep your hands woven underneath, threading through his hair. 

His cheek mushes against your bare stomach, and with the way he’s laying, you’re sure the earbuds are digging uncomfortably into his ear. He makes no effort to move in any case. You can hear the song playing word for word, and while the noise exposure concerns you, if there was ever a time to let it go, it would be now.

You’re both wrapped up nicely in the blankets and you can only see the tip of his nose and a few strands of ivory hair strewn past his forehead. Despite all the snug layers, he shakes a bit under your touch.

He falls asleep before the problem outside gets wrapped up, and you turn down the music. Not all the way, just enough that he can rest in peace. 

After a while the giggles die down and aside from a few first responder sirens, things get quiet again. About twenty minutes later, Nightwing ducks in through your window and scares the hell out of you. The interaction does not, however, wake Jason up, which is how you know tonight took a very heavy toll on him.

Even though the lights aren’t on in your bedroom you slide down from the pillows a bit more and let the blanket and Jason drown your chest out from visibility.

Nightwing gives you a silent, if not awkward, wave and scans over Jason. Even in the dark can see the worry in his eyes. He looks back up at you and throws up a questioning thumbs up with a tilt of his head.

You nod and he nods back slowly as he takes one more look at his brother before hopping out the window.

You peer down at Jason and brush his curls back gently. His hold on you tightens just a bit as he turns in his sleep.

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