#I don’t mean a smart microwave

[lordvonbunnyv]

Modern day hiccup would definitely have programmed a microwave to play Doom at some point.

[yellowbrokenblue]

I fucking own you | RAFE CAMERON

You’ve been working for the Cameron’s for a few months, and a while ago you made the biggest mistake of your life- you slept with Rafe Cameron. And now, it was about to happen again. You were in too deep, and you fucking loved it.

cw: smut, rough sex, bondage, rafe is feral, dirty talk, degradation

“I asked for a drink half an hour ago. Where is it.”

He came closer and closer to you, his eyes dark and filled with pure annoyance. It wasn’t that you went out of your way to disobey Rafe’s orders, but when you had as much on your plate as you did- it became easier and easier to slip up. People have this idea in their head that being a housemaid is a simple job- but when you work for the Cameron family, it’s nowhere near simple.

“Raf- Mr Cameron. You know that my job is not to run around fetching you food and drink whenever you feel about it. I’m here to look after the house, not you.”

He scoffed.

“Talk to me like that again, pogue, and I’ll get you fired.”

Rafe had been threatening to get his father to fire you ever since you made the biggest slip up of your entire life. You prided yourself on being a smart person who always made good choices- but then one night you ended up tangled in the sheets of Rafe Cameron’s bed- and that does not happen to people who make good choices.

After that night you vowed to avoid him as much as you possibly could. You couldn’t afford to get him so angry that he’d rat you out to his dad and loose this job.

But your biggest problem was that no matter how hard you tried to stand up for yourself, you’d always cave in front of him. You’d always end up getting him that drink even though it wasn’t your job, you’d fetch his dry cleaning before your shift simply because he asked you. And worst of all, you let him fuck you.

But it would never happen again.

“I’m sorry, Mr Cameron.” You apologised, nodding your head.

“Good.” He said, before lowering his voice, “Now go and be the nice, obedient girl that I remember, and get me a Scotch.”

You swallowed, nodding.

With shaky hands, you make your way to the bar cart in the corner, placing some ice in the glass and pouring the shot. You might not have had eyes on the back of your head, but you could feel his eyes on you- his gaze was burning into the back of your head.

He treated you like shit, it’s not as if you were unaware of it. Sometimes you got worried about the fact that occasionally it made you want him more.

You turn around, and try to give him the glass. He noticed your shaking hands and smirked. This man has evil written all over him.

“I change my mind, sweetheart.” He said, his tone rude and condescending, “I want my drink in my bedroom.”

“Can’t you just take it up, I-”

He scoffed, “You’re what? You’re telling me to do your job because you’re worried about being next to my bed again? Are you really that weak, pogue?”

Your heart was beating uncontrollably.

“Of course not.” You reply, “I’ll take it up to your room right away.”

“That’s a good girl.”

You leave the room and follow the, what feels like endless, stairs up to Rafe’s room. His section of the house was bigger than your entire apartment on the other side of the island. When he says ‘room’ he really means entire suite. The living area opened up into a huge bedroom with an en-suite, and he even had a small kitchenette to the far left with different cooking appliances. The microwave itself was probably worth more than your entire wardrobe.

You placed the glass on the small table next to the couch, when you heard the door open, close and then lock.

You turn around, rapidly, to be faced with Rafe’s face already only inches away from yours.

“Don’t look so worried, sweetheart.” He said, snaking his arms around your waist and pulling your body against his, “You know I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Rafe, we can’t do this again. I need this job, you know that.”

Instead of a reply, he lent down and attached his lips to your neck, making a b-line for the sweet spot that he must’ve remembered from last time.

You used all of the strength in you to stop yourself from letting out a moan, but then he pressed his crotch against your stomach, and the moan slipped out.

“I knew you wanted me.” Rafe said, pulling away and holding your face with his hands, “I could see it in your eyes, they just scream out how desperate you are for my cock.”

Rafe’s hands reach for the buttons of your blouse, looking at your face, waiting for a signal that it’s okay for him to continue. He wasn’t a good guy, but he had enough good in him to make sure you were okay with this.

You gave him a quick nod, and he made quick work of taking off your blouse, throwing it on the floor.

“The shit my dad makes the help wear is fuckin’ ugly.” Rafe said, “I much prefer when you look like this.”

His hands raked over your body, and over your bra.

“How would you cope if I worked naked every day?” You joked.

“I wouldn’t.”

Before you knew it, your bra joined your shirt on the floor, your tits spilling free.

“Pants off. Lie on the couch.” Rafe demanded, taking a step back, waiting to watch you undress. “I have plans for you before you get my dick. So, be a good girl and do as I say.”

You bite the side of your cheek, unbuttoning your pants and kicking them off.

“Panties too.” Rafe said, “I want to see all of you.”

Once again, you done as he said, peeling your underwear from your body, leaving you completely naked lying on his couch.

It was intimidating lying like this with him watching you while he stood fully clothed. But then again, every time Rafe looked at you there would be some sort of intimidation involved.

“Now,” He said, slowly unbuttoning his white shirt, “I’m gonna tell you how this is gonna go, and you’re gonna listen.”

He took his shirt off and lifted the glass of Scotch.

“You’re gonna lay there nice and still and well behaved, understand? And while you do that, I’m gonna have some fun.” He says, moving his arm so that his glass of liquor was hovering above you, before tilting it and letting the liquid drip over your stomach.

It was ice cold, yet the feeling made your head fall back. The anticipation was killing you, and he knew it. Rafe was taking his sweet time simply just to torture you.

You watched Rafe sink to his knees, dropping the glass on the floor, ice spilling everywhere.

“You’re gonna forget who the fuck you are when I’m done with you.”

His mouth attached itself your breasts, his tongue licking up the alcohol that had dripped onto them, before slowly making his way down your stomach, licking and sucking at every trace of liquor he could find.

Most of the liquid had pooled around your belly button, and as he got closer to that area, he gripped your thigh to steady his body, making sure to purposely brush his fingers over the aching heat between your legs, enjoying the soft moan you let out.

You couldn’t help but groan as he sucked harder at your skin, his tongue all over your stomach. You wanted that tongue sucking at your tits, in your mouth, between your legs. You wanted him everywhere.

“You’re desperate for me. I can tell.” Rafe said, using the grip he had on your thigh to spin you around, so that you were sitting facing him on the couch.

Arousal was dripping down your legs as his hand crept further and further up your thigh.

“I was gonna take my time with you today, sweetheart. But I think you want my cock right now, am I right?”

You nod, desperately.

“Words.” He demands.

“Yes.” You plead.

He shakes his head, “I know you remember the rules. Yes, what?”

You swallow.

“Yes, Sir.”

Even in the bedroom, Rafe had to remind you that you would always be beneath him. His superiority complex would never die, yet your sheer desperation could look past that.

The power dynamic was unhealthy, it’s not as if you were unaware. Technically you were still on shift working at his house right now. But you allowed yourself to look past it simply because of how badly you wanted him.

How badly you needed him.

Next, he told you to go and lie on his bed- and he followed you into the bedroom area but instead of joining you on the sheets he opened the door to his closet, rifling through until he pulled out a long black tie.

“I think you need a reminder today of who is in charge.” He says, coming closer to the bed.

“You.” You whisper, “You are in charge.”

“You’re right,” He said, “But I need to be really sure that you underhand that. So give me your wrists.”

He takes your hands and wraps his tie tightly around them, before guiding your arms to the headboard of the bed, where he looped the tie around and secured your wrists to the bed.

“Tell me if it’s too tight.” He said, a slither of genuine humanity showing through his words.

“It’s fine.” You reply.

It was somewhat exciting, to be here tied up for Rafe. He could do whatever he wanted and there wasn’t much you could do about it. But at the same time, it was nerve wracking.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, so you have to try to be a little less tense, alright?” Rafe said. His words were genuine, but it didn’t come off as such.

He unbuckled his pants, pulling them off and pushing them aside, leaving you staring at him in his briefs.

“Where do I start.” Rafe says, placing a hand on each of your thighs, spreading your legs apart.

“Look how fucking wet you are.” He said, running a single finger over your folds, “I didn’t realise what a desperate whore you were.”

Rafe’s patience thins- his solid erection paired with your dripping wet cunt is driving him crazy and he can’t wait any longer. He quickly flips you over onto your stomach and pushes your ass into the air, keeping your legs spread so he can access.

“Are you still on the pill?” He asks while he massages his cock. He needs to be inside of you. Right now.

You nod. “Yeah.”

With the anticipation, that one single word is all you can croak out of your mouth.

With no warning, you find Rafe’s cock pushing into you with a speed you can’t quite comprehend.

“Your tight little cunt.” Rafe moans, splitting you open, “I bet no one’s fucked you since the last time you had my dick, huh? You keep this pussy just for me?”

You moan, your face pushed into the sheets as you take the full length of Rafe’s dick.

“Agh!” You cry, “You, Rafe, just you.”

He’s thrusting into you with no thoughts in his mind. You knew Rafe fucked rough, but this was a new level of feral you hadn’t seen before- and you were kind of loving. You tugged on the tie restraining your wrists while you cried his name.

“I own you.” Rafe says, “I fucking own you, you understand?”

You moan loudly, his dick still pounding into you.

“I said do you fucking understand?”

“Agh! Fuck!” You cry, “I’m yours, Rafe. You own me, you own me.”

You were so close to your orgasm, clenching on his cock while he thrusted deep inside you.

“I’m close.” You tell him, pushing your head into the mattress.

“Don’t fucking cum until I say so.” Rafe said.

He sped up, reaching for his own release.

“Cum with me.” He growls, his speed reducing as he cums inside of you.

You cry out, your long awaited orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave as you coat Rafe’s cock with your cum.

You might regret this tomorrow, but right now you didn’t have a care in the world.

[gojorgeous]

how do the jjk men treat you when ur on ur period? suguru specifically hehe <3

✰ JJK MEN: WHEN YOU'RE ON YOUR PERIOD ✰

pairing(s): gojo, geto, nanami, choso x afab!reader content: (MDNI 18+ only), nsfw-ish/suggestive, periods, period blood, period products, pet names, lots of fluff! a/n: i hope you like anon!! you have great timing cause i’m getting my period and i also have a uti pray for me besties i need help and antibiotics. left out toji and sukuna cause…. nah LMAO. enjoy, and remember ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED!

✰ GOJO:

Lowkey loves when you’re on your period, but is just barely smart enough to never tell you that. 

His favorite part is that you always want more cuddles, which means more cuddles for him. 

Thinks period products are really amusing– loves playing with your hot water bottle cause it’s squishy. Finds those ones that look like stuffed animals at the store and brings home like five of them for you. 

Will definitely buy you pads/tampons but not without the obligatory “what size is your pussy” text. Won’t buy them until you respond with “extra super pretty” and then sends back this emoji -> 😋.

Highkey likes period sex. Knows it can relieve your cramps and will use that as an excuse at every opportunity if you’ll let him. 

Is always on some cheesy ass shit murmuring in your ear about how doing it on your period “bonds your souls”, too. 

Constantly offers to get you pregnant so you can avoid your period for the next nine months… he’s only half joking.

Will actually skip work to stay home and cuddle with you if you give him even the slightest inclination that you don’t want him to go. 

Watches movies with you and has gotten surprisingly good at rubbing little circles on your tummy that help with cramps.

 Keeps the house stocked with candy, but, then again… it’s always stocked with candy.

“Babe. Look what I just found at the store.”  You watch with furrowed brows as he sets the bags on your floor. You’re curled on the couch, a blanket tucked up around your neck. He’d made sure to roll you like a burrito before he’d left.  He pulls out… a cow? It looks like a stuffed animal, but when he shakes it you hear something sloshing around inside. You raise a brow. “Ummmm–”  “It’s one of those hot water bottle thingies! For your cramps!” He tosses the poor cow on the floor and digs around in the bag again. “Oh my god, they had so many. I got the cow, the dolphin–” He tosses a dolphin out of the bag, followed by a puppy, a raccoon, and a cat. “Do you want me to put one in the microwave for you?”  He looks far too excited to turn down, even though you just heated up your old hot water bottle minutes ago. You smile and nod. “Yeah, baby. Thanks.” 

✰ GETO:

Mans TAKES CARE of you. Like… fully. 

Is really sympathetic and gentle when your cramps are killing you– brushing your hair back, rubbing circles on your tummy, letting you put his warm hands wherever it hurts. 

Runs you a warm bath and climbs right in with you. Makes you lean back against him while he gives you a massage and works out all the knots in your neck and shoulders. 

Buys you period products before your period starts if he remembers. If he doesn’t he’s happy to run down to the store. Doesn’t need to ask which ones you like– he already knows.

Wraps you up in the comfiest blankets and cuddles with you wherever you ask. Gives the best cuddles, too. Rubs your back in a way that has you falling asleep in seconds.

Makes sure you take your meds on time and brings you a glass of water. 

Secretly loves period sex. Will never push you for it, but gets super horny at just the thought. Loves the sight of your blood on his dick. Makes him feel possessive of you in a way that’s kind of scary. 

“Sugu…” you whine. Your cramps are bad. You’ve been curled in a ball all morning, even with all the meds Suguru has been giving you. “It hurts so bad.”  You feel him shifting behind you and then his hands gently prying you to lie on your back. You whimper, the pain spiking again as soon you roll out of the fetal position. His face appears above you, a couple stray strands of black hair tickling your cheeks. His smile is soft, but full of sympathy as he settles over you.  “I’m sorry, baby. I wish I could make it go away…”  He moves down your body, settling between your thighs and resting his cheek on the plush of your thigh. You sigh when you feel his fingers skate over your tummy, rubbing little circles into the skin that somehow work wonders for the pain. You sigh with relief, a bit of the tension ebbing away. “That feels nice…”  Your body relaxes a bit, finally getting a break from the incessant pain. Suguru only smiles, looking up at you through hooded eyes when he presses a kiss just below your belly button. You don’t fail to notice the way his thumb is sliding under the fabric of your panties.  “I can think of something that would feel even nicer…” 

✰ NANAMI:

Prepares for your period. 

Has your cycle marked down on his calendar so he always knows when you’re starting. 

Stops by the store a couple of days ahead of time to buy pads/tampons/meds and your favorite snacks. 

Runs a bath for you every night and fills it with all of your favorite soaps and scents. 

Cooks. Mans knows how to cook and does extra of it when you’re on your period. Will make you nutritious meals and urge you to drink water, but always brings you something sweet if you’re craving it. 

Heats up your hot water bottle every thirty minutes without you ever having to ask. 

Lays out a fresh change of clothes for you whenever you’re in the shower. 

Cuddles you whenever you want, but only after he’s tended to all of your other needs (meds, food, water, etc.). 

Will have sex if you want, but will never push you for it. If you just want the relief from your cramps, he’ll just use his fingers to get you off and then pull you back into his arms.

“Time for your bath, sweetheart.”  You nearly grumble in protest, but how can you do such a thing when he takes such good care of you? Still, you don’t want to move. Just existing hurts, much less walking to the bathroom.  Despite your resistance to saying it aloud, Nanami still seems to understand what you’re thinking. No more than a second later he’s scooping you into his arms and carrying you to the bathroom.  “You know you’ll feel better after, love.”  You nod weakly against his chest. “Will you get in with me?”  He pauses. He’s got dinner to make and he wanted to change the sheets for you… One nuzzle of your face into his neck has him throwing all those plans out the window.  “Of course, princess. I’ll get in with you.” 

✰ CHOSO:

Is new to this stuff so he lowkey freaks out. 

Worries that you’re actually in danger cause… there’s blood??? 

Chills out eventually, but is still irrationally convinced that you’re injured. 

When i tell you this man is at your BECK AND CALL, I mean it. He will do every little thing you ask. Fetches water, food, snacks– whatever you need. 

Mans is panicked when he can’t find the candy bar you want at the grocery store. 

Happily buys period products for you but has to facetime you cause the poor baby is overwhelmed and confused by all the options. 

Is kind of attached to you like glue. Thinks you’re somehow more breakable in this state will hold you in his arms permanently apart from when you need to bathe, eat, or use the bathroom. 

Actually freaks when you have a bout of cramps that makes you hiss in pain. Cannot believe you have to do this every month and hates feeling so useless in taking the pain away. Eagerly learns that he can put his warm hands on your tummy and it helps.

Is actually amazed when you tell him that sex helps with the cramps. Worries about hurting you, but is completely down. Mans is definitely not afraid of a little blood lmao.

“Baby… there are so many…”  You can’t help but stifle a laugh looking at your boyfriend’s stressed expression through your phone screen. He’d run down to the store to get you some more pads– you just hadn’t anticipated how overwhelming the experience would be for him.  “I know, Cho. I’m sorry. Here– back up so I can see the whole aisle.”  He does as you ask, flipping the camera around so you can see what he’s looking at. You have to bite your lip this time to keep the laugh in. You’ve never realized just how many options there really are. “The ones toward the bottom right, baby. With the pink box.”  The camera shakes a little as he follows your directions, arm sticking out like he’s playing pin the tail on the donkey.  “These?” His hand hovers over a box that is pink but not the pink you need.  “Down a couple racks.”  Finally, his hands close around the right box. “Thank you, baby. I didn’t think about how confusing this would be for you…”  The camera flips again and you grin at the soft soft smile on his lips. “Don’t apologize. Want me to grab some candy, too?”

taglist (dm me or send an ask to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina, @enchantedsylveon, @httpstoyosi, @bbyxxm, @6kabuki, @myriliy, @complexivelovely

please consider leaving a comment, sending an ask, or reblogging! interacting with authors is the best way to support them! thanks for reading ♡

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Finally getting help (prt 9)

Masterpost

“So where’s the brother?” Jason asked as he followed Bruce down the hall. 

“He’s in Tim’s lab. It seems like they’ll be able to share it, which is good even with as big as this place is I don’t think we have room for two mad science labs,” Bruce said with dry humour, making Jason laugh in spite of himself.

“Tim must be thrilled to have a buddy huh?” He asked, still chuckling. No one in this family was stupid by any means, he often felt like the dumb one and objectively he knew he was still a fucking genius. But even with all of them being That smart no one could keep up with Tim’s innovative and scientific mind. 

“I think he might even learn a few things, which is a frightening concept. Danny asked for microwaves and toasters this morning so he could cannibalize them into anti-possession tech. The way that boy combines science and magic is going to give both me and Constantine ulcers.” 

Jason snorted, both at the joke and maybe a bit out of pleasure that someone was going to be giving Bruce a hard time. “Well if you need a babysitter don’t call me. I don’t want to deal with any of that,” he chuckled.

“Oh absolutely not, you would only feed into the chaos,” Bruce said quickly making Jason cackle, because he was right.

“Alright,” Bruce murmured to himself when they reached the closed door to the lab, it was almost lost in the banging inside but Jason heard it. Heard Bruce bracing himself for whatever was going to happen when Jason and Danny met.

He opened the door and across the room Jason saw who must be Danny. He was prime adoption bait with his black hair and blue eyes, but he was… absolutely beautiful, slight and elven, gently curved and wired with muscle. Jason froze, and it seemed so did Danny, staring at each other from across the room. Butterflies fluttered in Jason’s stomach, building till they didn’t feel like butterflies but something buzzing, trying to get out. He could hear the growl coming from his chest, not his throat.

Danny’s eyes swirled with green and he vaulted over the work table, abandoning the half finished tech he was working on to lunge at Jason. He collided with Jason with a snarl of his own, Jason growled and flipped Danny over his shoulder, the hall was a closed space so Danny twisted, running into the wall feet first and landing in a crouch. Jason twisted so he didn’t have his back to a wall anymore as Danny lunged at him again and Jason dodged, pushing off the wall to give himself momentum as he threw himself after Danny. 

Danny grabbed Jason’s arm and used his momentum to throw him over his hip, following him down to the ground, barely missing as Jason rolled away. He didn’t even think to draw a weapon, that wasn’t what this fight was about, they weren’t actually trying to hurt each other. Even as Jason punched down so hard he cracked the floor he somehow knew Danny would dodge, and wouldn’t get hurt. And Danny did, he got out of the way and lashed out in return, kicking Jason in the chest and sending him flying a few feet back giving Danny time to scramble back to his feet and chase after him.

This give and take carried them down the hall and to the landing by the stairs. Somewhere in the background Jason knew that someone was shouting at them to stop, and to be careful, but he wasn’t listening. He was too focussed on the growl emanating from Danny, and from himself which were starting to smooth out again, to feel less like desperate insects trying to escape and more like a cat’s purr, or some sort of song. They were reaching equilibrium, some sort of harmony. 

He didn’t realize how close they were to the stairs until Danny knocked him back again and this time when he stepped back he didn’t land on solid ground. The two of them tumbled down the stairs, rapidly switching who was on top as they fell. Jason could feel himself collecting bruises but he didn’t fucking care.

They came to a halt at the bottom of the stairs with Jason on top, his forearm pressed against Danny’s chest just below his throat. They were both breathing hard, staring at each other with wide blue-green eyes. The growling died down, lowering down into purrs harmonizing with each other as they caught their breath. Jason’s was lower and Danny’s a little higher, it was a hypnotic sound that made Jason feel… peaceful.

Danny moved first, reaching up slowly to touch Jason’s face, but before he could Jason realized what they had done and the position he was in. He had fought with Danny, and he was now pinning an abused teenager to the floor straddling his waist. This looked bad and now that he realized what was happening it Felt worse! He practically shot up off of Danny and was about to bolt before Danny grabbed his hand.

“Wait! Don’t go yet! Let me just, let me get you a specter-deflector so no one can possess you first okay?” Danny asked, sounding oddly desperate and even though Jason wanted to run he nodded.

Danny looked relieved and let go of Jason before suddenly flying up and through the floor above them. Jason blinked at the ceiling above him before looking around him. 

Oh dear, Bruce, Tim, Damian, and Jazz were all watching from the landing above. Damian looked like he wanted to kill Jason himself, Bruce looked disappointed, Tim impassive and Jazz looked… Excited? Why did she look happy?

Danny flew back down through the floor before anyone could think of what to say. “Okay! Here’s the specter-deflector,” He said, clicking something that looked like a watch into place around Jason’s wrist. “That’ll protect you, this is a blaster,” he said, handing Jason an odd sci-fi looking gun. “It’ll reload automatically from ambient ectoplasm, it works best against dead and undead but it can hurt humans too. And.. um, this is my number,” He said, blushing furiously as he handed Jason a slip of paper. “Please text me?”

When had Jason’s mouth gotten so dry?! He had to lick his lips before he answered, painfully aware of how hot his cheeks were and that he must be blushing too. He didn’t blush much, not since his death and resurrection, but he was absolutely blushing now, and he was still purring too if more softly now. He didn’t even know that he could purr, not really. “Ya, Yes, I’ll text you,” he promised before he fled the house. He would have to have some of Alfred’s lasagna later, just then he desperately needed to calm down and clear his head.

-----

Jazz was practically vibrating with excitement and as soon as the door had closed behind Jason she couldn’t contain it anymore. She squealed as she vaulted over the railing of the landing and landed in the foyer and sprinting over to Danny. “Danny what the heck! You have a crush?! I haven’t seen you that passionate in ages!” She enthused scooping Danny up under his arms and twirling him around.

“Jaaazz,” Danny complained even as he went kitten limp in her arms letting her hold him at arms length nearly a foot off the floor.

“I didn’t even know you liked boys! Why didn’t you tell me you like boys!?” Jazz demanded, shaking him a little.

“I didn’t really, I mean I always preferred girls. The only guy I ever really had a crush on was Dash and-” He cut off when Jazz made a disgusted face. “Exactly! That was never going to happen and he was an asshole so I didn’t want to talk about it!”

“Okay ya I understand- Wait you were making fun of me for having a thing for bad boys when your type is asshole meathead jocks!? Ohhh you’re never going to hear the end of this baby brother!”

“Oh my god No!” Danny groaned, finally squirming out of Jazz’s hold and dropping back to the ground stepping back. 

He turned towards the Wayne’s who had made their way down the stairs while the siblings were talking. “Is Jason an asshole?” He demands of Tim, he’s probably the fairest judge in Danny’s estimation.

“Absolutely,” Tim said promptly before realizing what he said and backtracking a little. “But I’m his brother, I'm supposed to say that. Jason’s heart is in the right place, he's a good guy, just kinda violent and a complete jerk,” Tim said. 

“Perfect,” Danny said his expression a little dreamy. 

“Why on earth would you have a crush on Todd?! You could do so much better!” Damian squawked indignantly, breaking the tension and making everyone besides Bruce laugh, and even he smiled just a little. 

“I want to say you did well Bruce, I know it was hard not to break up the fight but so? It was good for them, I hope it won’t be too hard on you if they do end up dating,” Jazz said, patting Bruce’s arm. 

He shifted from one foot to the other a little awkwardly but then shook his head. “No it won’t be, I mean it won’t be the first time, Barbra was as good as my daughter and she dated Dick, and Steph and Tim dated. It’s always a little awkward but I’d rather that than a Super,” He said, shooting Tim a look, he cleared his throat and looked away.

“Well good, we’ll see how this works out but really,” she turned back towards Danny. “This could be good! You’ve always been attracted to violent people but I don’t think that your ghost instincts realized that when Val was shooting at you it wasn’t bonding for her the same way it was for you,” she told him, her tone borderline accusatory.

Danny looked down and shifted from side to side, giving a little shrug. “I know, but she was a good girlfriend, when she wasn’t being Red Huntress and I wasn’t being Phantom. When we were just Danny and Val, it was good.”

“Oh Danny,” She sighed and pulled him into a hug. “I know, but he has the same instincts as you, I’m rooting for you Danny.”

“Thanks Jazz,” Danny said softly, hugging her back.

“Welp, I’m heading back to the lab,” Tim said, obviously uncomfortable with the genuine emotions he made a break for it before he could get roped into any hugs.

Next

[teh-tj]

17 Reasons

1 Because the eagles would have been spotted by Sauron.

2 Controlling the eagles is very difficult and requires a great intellect and soul to accomplish. Gandalf was the only one like that, and still he had to find the eagles since you can’t simply tame them.

3 The eagles live mostly in the Misty Mountains, meaning the take off point would have been spotted by Sauron’s army.

4 Mount Doom is too hot for the eagles to fly directly above, it's also a volcano which emits toxic fumes.

5 Eagles are very smart and powerful creatures, they developed concepts like greed and language. The ring would have corrupted them after long exposure. Remember, the ring must be handled by a weak race who wouldn’t be corrupted by it, and Hobbits are the only intelligent race this applies to and even then it’s not 100%. (look at Gollum)

6 Eagles are massive, and since they’re strong enough to carry two full-grown human men we know they’re exceptionally strong. Because of this, they require a lot of energy, eg calories. If they rode the eagles from their natural habitat to Mount Doom they’d have to stop for food breaks constantly. IRL Eagles have to eat a pound (450 grams) of food a day, with the eagles themselves weighing around 14 lbs (6kg). Let’s say if the eagles weigh as much as a small horse, or 700lbs (318kg), that would mean they’d need 50 pounds of food a day.

7 To add to the last point, they’d be very prone to physical exhaustion. Due to their size and dietary needs we’d have to assume the eagles would need a lot of breaks in general.

8 If the eagles are shot down, a very real risk given the size of Sauron’s army, the fall would surely kill a significant portion of the Fellowship of the Rings. A risk Gandalf is too smart to take.

9 The eagles, weighing over 700lbs (318kg) would produce humongous poops, and birds don’t have sphincters. Imagine a dump the size of a large microwave falling on you from the sky, the fellowship is comprised of people too good to risk harming someone like that.

10 Since the eagles are so big they’d be too loud and noticeable. Sauron didn’t know about the plan to destroy the ring until it was too late. If he saw the eagles flying straight for Mount Doom he’d know something was up.

11 Gandalf isn’t the only being that can control the eagles, since eagles live so close to Mordor Sauron’s army would, upon realizing the Fellowship was coming, get their most powerful people to fly eagles to fight them. As cool as that sounds, I doubt the fellowship would want that.

12 The eagles might eat the hobbits, and perhaps the dwarves if they’re ballsy enough. Hobbits are around 3-4 feet (91-121cm) each and are said to be plump, so assuming they weigh as much as an overweight child they’re around 50lbs (23kg) which is around as much as the eagles should eat daily if you remember, and the dwarves and slightly taller and vastly more muscular so they’d be around 75lbs (34kg). That’s already a slight majority of the party which, in a pinch, would make for a great eagle feast.

13 If this feast were to happen all hope would be lost, and no other hobbit (almost the only race trusted with this mission) would even want to attempt to destroy the ring with Gandalf.

14 The eagles are too preoccupied with having their own lives. They might do Gandalf a favor and take a day to fly the fellowship to Mordor, but the journey would have taken days without the journey (the Shire and Mordor are practically on the opposite ends of Middle Earth) and I’m not sure most eagles would care enough to do that.

15 They needed to gather intelligence and protect Rohan from Sauron’s invasion along with destroying the ring.

16 If Gollum, the crazy mf, snuck onto one of the eagles somehow he would have destroyed the entire operation.

17 Tolkien himself confronted this. Tolkien said that the eagles are some of the most powerful creatures in Middle Earth and that any good writer would use them sparingly.

[mrs-barnes-library]

My Favorite Kakashi Hatake Fanfictions ⚡📕

(( THIS IS THE REDIRECTED POST BECAUSE OF THE TECHNICAL ISSUES I HAD ADDING LINKS ))

Fluff : 🌺    Smut : 🔥    Angst : 😭    None : 🌲 Incorrect Quotes : 💫 My Work : ✨💚    Dark content :  ⚠

If you like these characters don't hesitate to check the new arrivals, I update every day according to my readings.

Kakashi Hatake ⚡📕 :

A Step Forward 🌺✨💚

First Kiss 🌺

How He Reacts To You Flirting With Him 🌺

You've Been Starring 🌺

I'll Never Drop You 🌺

Are You Wearing This Just For Me ? 🌺🔥

Don't Say That 🌺

Hot Things He Does 🌺

Nonsense 🌺

Return 🌺 - Bells 🔥

My Only 🌺

Treason ? 🌺

His Reaction For You Calling Him By His Full Name 🌺

He Walks On You Changing 🌺

I Want U 🌺

How He Is Around You When He Likes You 🌺

Mornings With Him 🌺

Is He A Virgin ? 🌺🔥

Being An Uchiha 🌺 ( With Itachi )

How He Falls For You 🌺

When He Gets Jealous 🌺

How He Apologizes To You After A Fight 🌺

Having Anger Issues 🌺

When Youre A Foreigner 🌺

I Can't Run Anymore 🌺

First Date With Him 🌺

Flirting With Him 🌺

Really Smart 🌺

Soft Kisses 🌺

When He Is The Little Spoon 🌺

Floppy Hat 🌺

Hands On Mine 🌺

What Is His Name ?!? 🌺✨💚

His Reaction To His S/o Offering Him Flowers 🌺

Witnessing His S/o Getting Harassed 🌺

Taking Care Of His Wounds 🌺

Learning His S/o Is A Witch 🌺

Drawing Him 🌺

Him Saying I Love You For The First Time 🌺

Soft Moment 🌺

Confessing To His Crush 🌺

Maybe I Should Have Taken Your Book Sooner 🌺

Falling Asleep On His Shoulder 🌺

His Love Language 🌺

Seeing His Face For The First Time 🌺

Truth Or Dare With Team 7 🌺

Strong And Indeppendant S/o Who Gets Trusted With A And S Rank Mission 🌺

Hand Holding 🌺

Tsunade Sending You Both On A Mission 🌺

Cuddles 🌺

Dummies 🌺

Home 🌺

Behind The Mask 🌺

Napping Tradition 🌺

Defiant 🌺

What Are We ? 🌺

When His S/o Loves Giving And Receving Kisses And Cuddles 🌺

Finding Your Sef Harm Scars 🌺

When You're On Your Period 🌺

A Nice Walk 🌺

With An Angel Hybrid Reader

Does That Mean I'm Not Your Friend ? 🌺

Reacting To Yo Wanting To Shave His Legs 🌺

Reacting To You Wearing A White Shirt Top But It Rained And It's Transy Now 🌺🔥

Late Nights 🌺

Stargazing With Him 🌺

Are We Close Enough 🌺

Soft Movie Night 🌺

Extroverted 🌺

How He Reacts To You Calling Him A Sexy Microwave Oven 🌺

I Said No 🌺

Dear Idiot 🌺

His Love Language 🌺

Worth It 🌺

Confessing Headcanon 🌺

Sleeping Headcanon 🌺

Reacting To You Having A Panic Attack 🌺

How He Hold Your Hand 🌺

Cuddling 🌺

When You're A Comedian 🌺

Flower Prank 🌺

Hot Water 🔥

Pollen Count / Hay Fever 🔥

How They 'd Fuck You After A Long Absence 🔥

NSFW Alphabet 🔥

Suddenly Telling Him You're In The Mood 🔥

Giving Him A Head 🔥

How He Reacts To You Using The Safe Word 🔥

69 🔥

Squirting 🔥

Blowjob 🔥

In The Other Room 🔥

Thigh Riding 🔥

Cockwarming 🔥

Him Reacting To Your Ahegao Face 🔥

Semi Public Sex 🔥

Tiny 🔥

Friends With Benefits ? 🔥

Listen 🔥

Showering For The First Time 🔥

NSFW Headacanons 🔥

Virginity Loss 🔥

Cockwarming 🔥

How He Seduces You 🔥

NSFW Alphabet 🔥

Sore Bite Marks 🔥

Movie Night 🔥

You Wanna Fuck Louder Than Them To Establish Dominance ? 🔥

Uh ! All Night

🔥

Jealous And Possessive 🔥

Don't You Know What You're Doing To Me 🔥

What If I Hurt You ? 🔥

Yandere And Jealous NSFW Headcanon 🔥✨💚

NSFW Alphabet 🔥

His Quirks When Making Love To You 🔥

Giving His S/o A Facial 🔥

Swallowing 🔥

Discovering You Can Squirt 🔥

Squirting 🔥

Sometime Reading Is Just Not Enough For Him 🔥 💚✨

Finally 🔥

Relationship Headcanon 🔥

Sleeping With Him 🔥

Dirty A-Z Headcanons 🔥

A Clone ? / Pregnant ( with Team 7 ) 🔥

Imagine : Undressing Each Other And Discovering You Were Both Part Of The ANBU 🔥💚✨

Catching His S/o Watching Porn 🔥

Anxious For Your First Time With Him 🔥🌺

Crying After Your First Time With Him 🔥🌺

Cockwarming 🔥

Couch Locked 🔥

Having Sex For The First Time 🔥

Crying After Your First Time With Him 🔥🌺

Y And Z 🔥

His Favorite Sounds 🔥

Bondage 🔥

In The Private Onsen 🔥

His Sharingan Activates When You Touch Him The First Time 🔥

He Likes To Throw Your Legs Over His Shoulders 🔥

Can He Find Your Clit ? 🔥

His First Time 🔥

Nice And Snug 🔥

How He Reacts To You Starting To Rock Your His Against His 🔥💚✨

He Like To Finger You And Eat You Out At The Same Time 🔥

Biting, Hickeys And Claiming 🔥

Shower Sex 🔥

That Moment You Tried To Top Him 🔥💚✨

Character Who Are Into Incest 🔥⚠

Morning After 🔥

Would He Handle Masturbating In Front Of You 🔥💚✨

Chat fics :

I Want U 🌺

Incorrect Quotes 💫 :

Little Bird 💫🌺

You Guys Kiss ? 💫😂

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 2: The Jailhouse]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, historical topics including war and discrimination, smoking, blasphemy, kids, parenthood, alcoholism, y'all know exactly who is in jail come on now, Pizza Hut, a wild ex-husband appears!

Word Count: 7k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @eltherevir @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @daenysx @gemini-mama @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @aemonddtargaryen @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰🧁

Amir is sitting at the kitchen table and icing peach cobbler cupcakes; he has a single white flower from a dogwood tree poked through one of his cornrows. He wears a short sleeve button-up shirt with a kaleidoscopic geometric pattern, high-waisted khaki shorts, and eyeglasses with large rectangular, tortoiseshell frames. He has one leg crossed over the other and is kicking it absentmindedly as he works, a habit he’s had since long before you met him in your 9th grade English class. The microwave is humming. Walk This Way is blaring from the little pink boombox.

“Ho, I mean it this time, I gotta get the hell out of this town.” Amir uses a fork to place a small peach wedge—sauteed in butter, sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla—atop the swirl of buttercream frosting, then sprinkles the cupcake with cinnamon before moving on to the next. “Guess what some inbred neanderthal swamp creature did last night. They busted a window out of my car again.”

“I told you to take that thing off it.” Amir has a homemade bumper sticker on his Ford Escort that reads, in holographic rainbow cursive: Fuck Ronald Reagan (not literally)!

“That war criminal can let 50,000 people die of AIDS but I belong on America’s Most Wanted for exercising my First Amendment rights?”

“I know you’re not wrong. You know you’re not wrong. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“To be afraid is to behave as if the truth were not true. Bayard Rustin said that.”

“And I’m sure he was a very smart man, but he didn’t have to live in Napoleonville.” The microwave beeps, and you remove the sweet potato inside with an oven mitt and place it on the counter alongside the others. This is a trick you’ve learned: they’re so much easier to peel and slice once they’ve been microwaved a bit, thirty seconds for a small potato, one minute for a larger one. “You want me to ask Willis to do a stakeout or something?”

“He might be the one committing vandalism.”

You frown down at the sweet potatoes as you peel them over the cutting board and toss the skins into a bowl so Cadi can feed them to the squirrels later. You doubt Willis is responsible, but one of his friends very well could be.

Amir sighs, acquiescing, wistful. “Six months from now I’ll be in San Francisco.” Yes, he will; he’s been saving up for years. The thought of him leaving is practically apocalyptic. You can’t envision a future without Amir. It’s like the very worst version of when you’re a kid and some event—Christmas, your birthday, summer break, prom—is so glimmeringly monumental that whatever life will exist beyond it is incomprehensible, a haze of other people’s dreams and warnings. Surely you won’t exist in that timeline; surely you will dissolve away once that fateful checkpoint is reached and become nothing but sun and sand.

You don’t tell Amir any of this. You don’t want to make him feel guilty. Instead you tease: “You sure you don’t want to stay and get a job on one of those shiny new oil rigs?”

He laughs as he pipes buttercream frosting onto the last peach cobbler cupcake. His artistic talents far surpass yours, but you bring the baking techniques and recipe ideas. Still, you have always split the bakery profits—however meager they might be—equally. “Yes, how could I possibly pass up the opportunity to lose half my skin in an explosion caused by company negligence? Or inhale toxic fumes, or have my limbs ripped off, or fracture my skull? Or fall off a platform in the middle of the night and be eaten by a gator before anyone bothers to fish me out? I will surely regret all my life choices when I’m lying on the beach in Pacifica next to my new boyfriend who looks like Arnold Schwarzenegger.”

The front door opens. It’s Mr. Fontenot, the town pharmacist. You call out: “Hi there! Come right on in! We’ve got your cake ready. Blue velvet with marshmallow cream and topped with candied blueberries. We read up on how to make them just for you. So thank you kindly for the learning opportunity.”

Since you’re wrist-deep in sweet potatoes, Amir leaps up to retrieve the box. He opens it so Mr. Fontenot can inspect his order. “When you cut into it, you’ll see that it’s a dark royal blue on the inside. Cookie Monster blue, not robin egg blue, just like you wanted.”

“Will ya look at that,” Mr. Fontenot says, beaming down at the cake. Written across the marshmallow cream in blue icing is (in Amir’s most elegant script): Happy 8th Birthday, Corey! “My grandson is going to get such a kick out of a blue cake.”

“He sure is,” Amir agrees. “Now can I talk you into anything else for the party? Some peach cobbler cupcakes, perhaps? Praline brownies? A brown sugar pie? Homemade Fruity Pebbles Rice Krispie Treats? Kids love them…!”

You say once Mr. Fontenot has gone: “He works for the company, you know.”

“Huh? Who?”

“Aemond. He works for Jade Dragon. He’s an engineer.”

“Ho, you are obsessed with that man!” Amir says. “You’ve brought him up, like, four times already!”

“Yeah,” you confess, a humiliation that is futile to deny. Parts of you are still sore from what he did to you; other places are aching for more.

“And you didn’t even get to see the dick?!”

You shake your head as you cut the peeled sweet potatoes into haphazard chunks. Amir puts a pot of water on the stove so you can boil them until they’re soft enough to mash into filling for a sweet potato pie. “Didn’t see it, didn’t touch it…”

“Didn’t lick it, didn’t suck it?”

“Okay, that’s enough, Dr. Seuss. But no.”

“Secret dick, scar on his face, missing an eye…” Amir mutters. “Maybe he’s a veteran who lost his andouille in combat! Yes! That’s it! He was there when we invaded Lebanon or Grenada or Libya and now he’s horribly disfigured and can’t bear the prospect of your inevitable horror and rejection!”

“His andouille is definitely unchopped. I could…uh…tell. Through his jeans.”

Amir closes his eyes and presses his palms together. “Sweet baby Jesus, please send me a gainfully employed big-dicked blonde man too.” He looks at you again. “But he really wouldn’t use it?!”

“Aemond said he wanted me to trust him first.”

“Maybe he doesn’t trust you. Maybe he thinks you might be on the prowl for Shotgun Wedding #2. You should tell him he’s got nothing to worry about in that department. You’ve been on the pill practically since Cadi was born.”

You murmur: “And I will be forever.”

“I know,” Amir says gently, pausing to squeeze your shoulder before taking the sweet potato hunks you’ve sliced already and dropping them in the boiling water. “So! When are you going to call him?”

You startle. “I can’t call him! I called him the first time. Now it’s his turn to call me. I can’t call him again, that would be desperate. Right?” Right?!

“Does he even know your number?”

“He knows my name, and he knows about the bakery. The number is publicly listed, he can find me in the phone book.”

Amir groans. “Lord have mercy, just call him! Pick up that pink phone right there beside the refrigerator and press those cute little buttons and say, loud and proud: Come on over here, big boy, I want to see that traumatized war veteran dick.”

The phone rings. You trip over your own feet as you lunge for it.

Amir snickers. “Pathetic!” He takes over slicing the rest of the sweet potatoes.

“Hello?!”

You hear a deep, slothful drawl; Willis’ family have been bayou people for longer than the United States has been a country. “Hey sugar, you want to bring your favorite ex-husband some dessert?”

You sigh. “Hi, Willis.” From across the kitchen, Amir makes retching noises.

“So what’d ya say? I just had a late lunch and got to thinkin’ of you. Gave me a sweet tooth.”

“Um, I don’t know, we’re really busy right now.” Amir snorts; you’ve had three customers in the last hour. There’s usually a rush first thing each morning and then again around closing time.

“Ya ain’t got time for me? Well, alrighty then. Maybe I won’t have time for you when you need a wild hog chased off your porch or a flat tire changed out there on Route 401.”

This is the eternal dilemma, the balance you wrestle with like a boat in a storm: not making him angry, not letting him get too close. You and Willis don’t have a formal agreement for custody or child support. You’ve worked it out yourselves, and he typically doesn’t make it too difficult. You’ve always felt that appeasement is the wisest course of action. As the elected sheriff of Assumption Parish, Willis Boudreaux is responsible for all criminal investigations, court proceedings, and tax collecting. Even when he was just a deputy, he had plenty of friends at the little white courthouse in the heart of downtown Napoleonville. You’re better off working with him than against him. “Okay, fine, I guess I have a few minutes. What do you want?”

“Why don’t you make a professional recommendation?”

You glance irritably at the kitchen table. “We have brown sugar pie, peach cobbler cupcakes, praline brownies, lemon blueberry cookies, uh, I’ve got half a strawberries and cream cake left in the fridge…”

“Definitely the cake,” Willis says. “I love strawberries. Remember how you fed them to me on the beach when we went to Grand Isle?”

That was…what, eight years ago? Ugh. “Barely.” You like when Willis has a girlfriend; then he mostly leaves you alone. Tragically, he and his most recent fiancé Colleen broke up last month. “I’ll drive the cake over now.” You slam the phone receiver into the base before Willis can respond.

“Let’s kill him,” Amir says.

You laugh. “I’ll consider it.”

“We can feed him to that gator out in the tree row.”

You grab a flat white bakery box off the pile, fold it open, and fetch what remains of the strawberries and cream cake from the refrigerator. “You’ll get that sweet potato pie in the oven if I’m gone for a half hour?”

“Yup. Then I’ll start working on the brown butter oatmeal raisin cookies. Is the recipe…? Oh, I see it, it’s right here on the counter. Got it. Have fun with your awful ex-husband. You sure you don’t want to add a little something special to that cake? Windex? Rat poison? He sure looks like a rodent to me. That nose? Those eyebrows?!”

“Amir, he’s just French.”

“He should be exiled to Saint Helena.”

“I’m going to have to put my own ad in the Bayou Journal,” you say, smiling sadly. “Who’s going to run the shop with me when you’re in San Francisco?”

Amir winks. “Maybe your traumatized, half-blind, hung-like-a-horse war veteran knows how to bake.”

Outside, the gator is sunning herself by the gravel driveway. She’s only about five feet long and dozing with her muddy green eyes closed, jagged upper teeth on display, missing toes here and there, back scarred by boat motors. It’s 90 degrees and sunny, warmth flooding over your bare legs and arms: denim shorts, lime green tank top. You can hear cicadas, doves, chickadees, starlings, goldfinches, ospreys, the benign droning of bumble bees. You throw the white box in the passenger seat and start your Chevy Celebrity, yellow paint, wood paneling, brown velour upholstery. You crank down the windows—the air conditioning is broken, that’s one reason why Willis’ brother was willing to sell it to you so cheap—and turn on the radio: 867-5309 by Tommy Tutone. You pull out onto Route 401, headed northeast towards downtown Napoleonville.

You pass fields of sugarcane and soybeans, shacks and trailers, grass green like emeralds. The hot mid-May air, humid and stagnant, blows through your hair. If the ride was any longer than ten minutes, you’d have needed a cooler for the cake. You find a parking spot on the street outside the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office and grab the box containing half a strawberries and cream cake, probably just starting to get melty around the edges. Deputy Melancon is on his way out when you arrive. He holds the glass door open for you.

“Comment ca va, cherie? Is that for me? I hope so!”

“I think your boss would chew your arm off if you tried to get between him and this cake.”

Deputy Melancon guffaws as he ambles towards his police car. “Have fun in there! It’s a zoo today.”

“What…?” But now you can hear the noise coming from inside the building: howling, banging, Willis telling someone to sit down and shut up, his Cajun drawl lethargic and calm. Willis is not a yeller, and you’ve never witness him raise his hands in violence. The being a cop part of his job is the aspect he enjoys the least. But sitting around jawing with his deputies until long after midnight, regaling them with tales of supposed glory acquired while you were home with a screaming baby, scrubbing floors, fixing dinner, still bleeding eight weeks after birth, waiting—because it was all there was to look forward to—for him to walk through the door and shuffle to the couch and collapse there with an ice-cold can of Bud Light in his fist, dripping condensation down his sinewy forearm? That’s what Willis lives for.

Willis is at his desk and grudgingly plodding through an intake form. His sunglasses have been shoved up into his dark curly hair; his hat—which he loathes wearing—is resting atop a mountain of deserted paperwork. There’s a poster of Heather Locklear on the wall along with a dartboard with a cutout of Tommy Lee in the center. There’s a man in one of the three holding cells that you’ve hardly ever seen used. He has slicked-back blonde hair, an aristocratic wisp of a moustache, an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and tiny red shorts and thick foam rainbow-patterned flip flops. He’s the person responsible for the ruckus.

“I want my phone call!” the prisoner shouts as he beats his palms against the iron bars. “Hey! Hey, mullet boy! I want my fucking phone call!”

Oddly, the stranger has a British accent. Aemond? you think for a split second. But no; this man couldn’t possibly be related to Aemond. He is short, slouched, soft all over, uncoordinated and uncomposed, pathetic, petulant, innately pitiful. Willis ignores him. He speaks to you instead.

“Bienvenue, sugar. Ya got something sweet for me?”

Obediently—though not entirely willingly—you bring him the white box and set it on his disorganized desk. Willis produces a stack of Styrofoam plates and a Ziploc bag full of plastic eating utensils that he keeps stocked in a drawer specifically for such occasions. He opens the box and sighs euphorically, his eyes on the moist pink cake and layers of whipped cream frosting as if it’s the flesh of a naked woman.

“Hey!” the prisoner shouts, gripping the iron bars and pressing his flushed cheeks flat against them. “Hey! I like cake too!”

“Just what I needed,” Willis tells you, as if the man isn’t there. “Sit down, eat with me.”

“I really don’t have long.”

“Ya got five minutes, don’t you?”

I guess I do. You sit down but don’t take any cake. As Willis cuts himself a slice, you can’t help but watch the man in the holding cell. He stares back at you, a little ashamed, a little defiant, palpably weak. You ask Willis: “What did you book him for?”

“DWI,” Willis says with his mouth full of cake. “Driving While Intoxicated.”

“Huh. You don’t usually pick people up for that.”

Willis points at the prisoner with his fork for emphasis. “This one was very intoxicated.”

The man kicks the bars with his flip flops. “I want my fucking phone call!”

“Ya already used it,” Willis says pragmatically, and nods to something on the floor of the holding cell: an empty, grease-stained Pizza Hut box. The prisoner looks at it, regretful.

“I didn’t know I’d only get one,” he admits. “But also! You ate three slices of my pizza!”

Willis chuckles. “Consider it payin’ your taxes.” Then, to you: “It was tres bien. Meat Lover’s. Ya can’t argue with that.”

“Hey cake lady,” the prisoner says, his prominent eyes weepy, needful, a deep stormy blue. “Can I have a piece? Please? Please? I’m having a rough day here. My flip flops are giving me blisters and your redneck husband committed pizza theft. And I’m in jail.”

“Ex-husband,” you correct him.

“Good for you. Smart cake lady.”

Willis says: “You just settle down and I’ll drive you over to the parish jail as soon as I’m done with my dessert.” He shovels cake into his mouth; he eats like a gator, like a pig.

At last, you cut a portion of strawberries and cream cake—the whipped cream frosting turning thin and runny—and place it on a Styrofoam plate. Then you get up to take it to the prisoner. You have a soft spot for the freaks of the world. You and Amir, you know exactly what it’s like to be freaks.

“Don’t give him no fork or nothing,” Willis says around a mouthful of cake. “I can’t have him tryin’ to kill himself.”

“As if I’d give you the satisfaction, Sasquatch!” the prisoner flings back.

“It’s the Rougarou we got down here, son,” Willis replies, unbothered.

You set the plate on the beige linoleum floor close enough for the prisoner to reach out and drag it to his cell. When you step back, he retrieves the cake and eats it with his bare hands. “Oh, fuck, this is so good!”

You turn to Willis. “Cadi keeps mentioning some horseback riding camp that a bunch of her friends are going to this summer. Can we make that happen?”

“Are you kiddin’ me?! It’s over $300! That’s a new boat!”

“I think it would mean a lot to her.”

“Tell her if she grows her hair back out, maybe she can go next year.” Willis licks pink cake crumbs from his fork. “Why the hell’d she ever get it cut like that?”

You shrug, irritated. “Because she wanted to.”

“Never wears no skirts or dresses, doesn’t care about jewelry, always got dirt on her face…ain’t she gonna want a boyfriend in a few years? Who’s gonna take her out lookin’ like that? Who’s gonna marry her one day?”

“She’s ten years old, Willis.”

“She’s been spending too much time with your little friend, that’s the problem.”

You glare furiously at him, but are interrupted before you can say something unwise. The man in the holding cell has finished his slice of cake. He sucks frosting off his chubby fingers and then yanks on the iron bars in vain. “I gotta go home! I gotta feed my ferret!”

“Guess ya should have thought about that before driving 70 miles per hour in a school zone, Mr.…” Willis glances at the intake form to refresh his memory. “Targaryen. What the heck is that, Italian? Polish? It ain’t French, that’s for sure.”

“It’s Greek, you dumb hick.”

Willis jabs his plastic fork at him. “You oughta watch that, son, or you’ll catch yourself a nasty case of what the liberals call police brutality.”

“He’s a Targaryen?” you ask, stunned. The man in the cell peers back at you with large, ever-wounded, ocean-blue eyes, glassy but not entirely unintelligent.

“So what?” Willis says.

“Willis, those are the oil people. Jade Dragon, the new rigs on Lake Verret? The Targaryens own that company.”

“Well I’ll be damned!” he marvels. “Really? This bon a rien right here, his family are a bunch of millionaires?”

“Yes. And you should probably let him make another phone call.”

“Yeah!” the prisoner says excitedly. “Listen to the cake lady!”

“Alright, alright,” Willis grumbles. “Guess I don’t need no legal trouble.” He picks up the phone off his desk and walks it to the holding cell; the cord stretches just far enough. “Make your damn phone call, gros couillion.”

Mr. Targaryen snatches up the receiver, punches some buttons, and listens as it rings. “Hi. Okay, don’t yell at me. Here’s the deal. I’m at the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office and I need you to pick me up. Wait, I said don’t yell at me! Stop yelling!!”

“I really need to get back to the bakery,” you tell Willis as you make for the door. “I’ll see you around, okay—?”

“Hey, sugar.” You stop and wait for him to finish. He’s considering you in that way he does sometimes: mild, thoughtful, vaguely sad, how’d we end up like this? He should know, you’ve told him a hundred times, but that doesn’t mean he understands. “I’m supposed to be gettin’ a new deputy next week. When he shows, I’ll send him down your way, recruit ya another customer. Charge him a little extra if you want. He won’t know no better.”

“Thanks, Willis,” you say, and you mean it. Then you step outside into sun glare and the shrieking of cicadas.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s almost dinnertime when the phone rings. You’re heating up the turtle soup that Amir brought over earlier, stirring the pot as the sky outside turns from a crystalline blue—just like Aemond’s eye—to rust and amber and fool’s gold, as the twilight air breathes into the room warm and ancient. There’s a plump nutria nibbling on grass at the edge of the backyard. Wham’s Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go pipes from the boombox. At first you’re too startled to race for the phone—too terrified that it won’t be Aemond, too afraid to get your hopes up—and you hesitate just long enough for Cadi to answer instead.

“Hello?” she says, and then: “Yeah, school was good.”

Everything sinks in you, heart, spirit, the sweltering pressure of blood ebbing in your veins. Oh. It’s Willis.

Cadi continues chatting away obliviously. “Uh huh. Not really. We learned about robber barons and cannons of Italy. Yeah, captains of industry, that’s what I meant. Uh huh. Yup. It was okay, I guess. Yeah. Today it was pizza, but it’s always shaped like a rectangle. Exactly, no crust. It’s weird. Pepperoni. I always sit with Michelle and Erica. Erica has this totally tubular book about horses she showed us. Yup. I like the Appaloosas the most. Uh huh. Okay, I will. Yup. Bye.” Then she hands you the phone. “For you,” she says, then resumes setting the counter: cups, bowls, spoons, folded Bounty paper towels, dinner for two. You never eat at the kitchen table. The table is reserved for business.

You raise the pink phone receiver to your ear with some uncertainty. What does he want now? “Willis?”

“No,” Aemond says, amused. “Though we’ve been to some of the same places.”

You try not to let the smile fill up your face. You fail. “You were asking Cadi about her day?”

“Evidently.” You don’t know what this means; you don’t ask. “When are you free?”

“I usually have the house to myself on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.” It’s currently Monday.

“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow. What time?”

“I should be done in the bakery at around 5:00.”

“I’ll be there at 5:01.” Then Aemond hangs up. So do you, your skull suddenly abloom like springtime, colors and promise and warmth. He’s going to be here in less than 24 hours. I really am going to see him again.

You turn towards the counter. “Cadi, what are robber barons?”

“Rich people who are mean to their workers to get as much money as possible. They don’t care about others. They just want more and more and more. They’re very greedy and are never satisfied.”

“So like the Rockefellers and Standard Oil,” you say, thinking back to your high school American History class. It feels like a lifetime ago, it feels like trying to catch lightning bugs in your bare hands.

“Yeah.” Cadi pours herself a cup of Tang. She’s wearing a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt and green corduroy pants; her father would not approve. “Or Jade Dragon Energy.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Tuesday, 5:03 p.m., rattling cicadas and golden light like the lit coil of a stove burner. You’re still scrubbing dishes, and Amir is icing the last of the orange creamsicle cupcakes for the next morning. Aemond opens the unlocked front door and strides purposefully into the kitchen: ripped jeans, red t-shirt, Converses to match, Marlboro jacket. He is carrying a neon teal duffle bag that he drops on the sloping wooden floor where the living room meets the kitchen. He is momentarily taken aback when he sees Amir, then recalls what you told him about your friend who helps run the bakery. Aemond pulls out one of the kitchen table chairs and sits. He lifts the glass lid from a cake plate, takes the last peach cobbler cupcake for himself, makes unflinching eye contact with you as he licks the frosting off it with long, slow, sensual drags of his tongue.

Amir says: “Hey Scarface, that’s $1.”

“Amir!” you scold, mortified. But Aemond doesn’t seem offended. He smirks, extracts his black leather wallet from the pocket his jeans, and fishes out four singles. He slides them across the table.

Amir sighs. “This bitch can’t even count.”

“I’m sure he can count,” you say, smiling. “He’s an engineer.”

“He’s mouth-fucking this cupcake right in front of me, he’s clearly unstable.”

Aemond looks to you. His voice is low, imposing. “I need to know what your limits are.”

“Oh my God!” Amir squeaks, bent over the table and icing as quickly as he can.

“Okay,” you tell Aemond. You rinse the pearlescent soap bubbles from your hands, wrists, forearms. Then you step out from behind the counter and watch him, remember him, imagine what will happen next.

He gives the peach cobbler cupcake another lap. Buttercream frosting coats his mischieviously curled lips and then is swiftly licked away. “Can I spank you?”

“Yes.”

Amir mutters to himself: “Grandma is never going to believe this.”

“Can I tie you up?”

“Yes.”

“Can I bite you hard enough to leave bruises?”

You pause. “Only places that will be covered by my clothes.”

“And what should you say if you ever don’t like what I’m doing?”

“I just tell you to stop.”

“Exactly.” Aemond grins. His right eye skates from your face to your chest to your hips to your thighs to your ankles, drinking you down like the earth swallows rain, like the vines and cypress trees and Sanish moss of the bayou thieve sunlight and never give it back. His left eye doesn’t move at all, though this is not something you would notice if you didn’t know to look for it. “Good girl.”

“Done!” Amir announces triumphantly, completing the swirl of frosting on the final orange creamsicle cupcake.

“Can I pull your hair?” Aemond asks you.

“Yeah, I think so. Not hard enough to yank it out though.”

Aemond scoffs. “Of course not. I don’t actually want to hurt you. That’s what some doms are after, but not me. Not here, not with you. You don’t want real pain, do you…?”

“No, definitely not,” you say, relieved.

“Brilliant. Then we’re on the same page.”

Amir could leave, but he doesn’t. His eyes dart between you and Aemond from behind his large rectangular glasses, fascinated, scandalized, too astonished to move.

Aemond continues: “Birth control?”

“I’m on the pill and have been for years. I can show you the pack if you don’t believe me.”

“I believe you. I saw them in your bathroom last time I was here. I’m in the practice of using condoms regardless.” He tilts his head impishly. “Can I fuck your ass?”

“Um.” You hesitate. This is uncharted territory, though you cannot say that you are entirely unintrigued. “Maybe one day.”

“Noted. Some people find the sensation, the taboo, the fullness…quite pleasurable.”

“Do you?” Amir asks flirtatiously.

Aemond gives him a lazy, ludicrously charming smile. “Well I’ve never been on the receiving end, but I’m game to give it a try if you are.”

Amir bursts out laughing, then says to you: “He’s alright. He can commit abominable sins with you, I guess.” He stands and shakes Aemond’s hand. “Nice to meet you. Kind of.” Then he saunters off through the living room and out the front door. After a moment, you and Aemond listen to his blue Ford Escort rumble to life and then the crunching of gravel as it rolls out of the driveway. From the boombox drifts Just What I Needed by The Cars.

Aemond licks the last of the frosting from the peach cobbler cupcake and says: “Now you’re going to be the cupcake.” He crosses the kitchen, kneels down in front of you, roughly yanks down your denim shorts. He presses his face to your royal blue satin panties—hastily purchased this morning while Amir watched the shop and changed into just one hour ago in anticipation of Aemond���s arrival—and inhales deeply, desperately, like a drowning man gasping for air. Then, through the sheer fabric, he begins to tease you: nudges of his nose, nibbles of his lips.

Your fingers tangle in his short blonde hair. Blonde like the drunk man in the holding cell, you think randomly. “Aemond, why didn’t you want me last time?”

“I wanted you. I wanted you then and I want you now.”

“But I disappointed you. You didn’t finish.”

“Oh, I came,” he purrs. “Went home, got in the shower, thought of you. It didn’t take long. I would have disappointed you terribly. Woke up in the middle of the night thinking of you. Tried to miraculously get some work done yesterday while thinking of you. Crawled out of bed this morning thinking of you. Are you noticing a theme?”

You smile as his tongue presses forcefully against the satin. “I might be.”

“How many times in your life has a man treated his orgasm as essential and your own as an afterthought, if he considered it at all?”

Oh God. That’s the fucking truth. “A lot more than once.”

“So consider what we did on Sunday as one little notch in the other column. Just restoring a bit of much-needed balance to the universe.” He hooks his thumbs under your panties and tugs them off. “Open your thighs for me,” he orders as he pushes them apart with his palms: large, smooth, artful hands. You brace your own hands against the kitchen counter as he buries his face between your legs, not lapping in a tentative, exploratory sort of way but feasting on you, drowning in you, lips and tongue and then fingers that skate up the downy inside of your thigh to taunt you, enter you, fuck you expertly yet leave you wanting more of him, all of him. Your nerves are on fire, your blood is simmering. Outside the birds of prey are emerging from their liars and battle-scarred gators stalk boldly through the green prehistoric wildness of the Deep South.

What happened to his eye? you think through the lust-pink haze, knowing you cannot ask him. Aemond respects your rules. You must abide by his as well. How was he injured so gravely? Who hurt him? Did they atone for their misdeeds, did they pay the cost?

Suddenly, Aemond stands and pulls you against him by your waist, rips your yellow tank top over your head and unhooks your bra, kisses you fiercely. His mouth is dripping with you, clean mineral longing; his right eye is gleaming, famished, not just lustful but half-mad. No one else exists. No one ever has or ever will. “Go to the bed and wait for me there.”

“No.”

He spanks you once with his open palm; the sound is sharp and exquisite. “Go.” And this time you obey, counting the seconds in the dusk-lit splinter of time before he joins you.

In Aemond’s duffle bag—among other things, surely—are silk scarves the color of sapphires. First he fastens one over your eyes as a blindfold. Then he ties one around each of your wrists and binds both to the same bedpost, low enough that while your hands are kept up by your head, you still have some room to maneuver on the freshly-laundered, wildflower-patterned duvet. “Not different posts?” you ask Aemond.

“No. Tying your arms far apart like that can cause cramps in your back and your shoulders. It can even make it difficult to breathe. I want you to be comfortable. I want you to be focused entirely on what I’m doing to you.”

You moan as his fingers slip between your legs and circle over the place that makes your muscles yearn and twist and tighten until you feel they might snap, until you can imagine every string of you breaking and dissolving from the prison of flesh into water, air, gravity, the eternal silent progress of time. He bites and sucks at your nipples, flicking his tongue over them, admiring them, praising them, ravenous for them. You are enraptured by the weight of him on top of you. Without your sight, everything else is more noticeable, more real: his warmth, his sweat, his every brush of skin against yours, his smoke and cologne and gasps and sighs, the grinding of his bare cock against your thighs as he makes you ready for him. And you beg for it long before he gives it to you.

“Roll over,” he commands breathlessly, and then guides you: your fingers clutching the scarves that secure your wrists, your elbows propped on the mattress, your back arched and hips angled up towards him, his lips murmuring against your shoulder, your cheek, the side of your throat. He’s telling you so many things, perfect things, delicious things you’ll never hear enough of: how beautiful you are, how badly he wants you, how well you’re doing. There is the sound of Aemond opening a condom wrapper, and a strange sorrow ripples through you. I wish I could have him raw.

One of his hands reaches around to stroke you, keeping you soaked and supple for him. The other begins to guide his cock into your aching, starving wetness. You stretch for him, you accept him eagerly…and then there is resistance. He stills immediately and tries a slightly different angle. Nothing. He could force it, probably, but he won’t. He recedes from you, agonizing emptiness, dire unfulfillment. I’m disappointing him, he’s too big, I’m too tight, too nervous, too inexperienced at being dominated, I can’t please him. You whimper: “Aemond, I’m sorry—”

“No,” he says, more ferocious than any words you’ve ever heard from him. You are not allowed to criticize yourself. You are not allowed to give up so easily. He leans down and whispers into the shell of your ear, his ribs against your spine, his heat entombing you: “Relax. I’m in charge now. I’ll take care of you.”

You want him to. You need him to. His commandment rolls through your blood and bones like a wave, loosening those last vestiges of anxiety, shaking grim psychological heirlooms from the highest shelves. You can surrender yourself completely to Aemond. He is worthy, he is safe, he is euphoria made flesh. His fingertips are still stroking you. He pushes your thighs just a little farther apart and—slowly, cautiously—eases his cock into your throbbing warmth. He hisses in a breath, though he tries not to break character, to show you that he might just be a little bit at your mercy too.

You moan loudly and shamelessly, letting him know you’re alright, more than alright, in ecstasy, in bliss, in torment, on the edge. When Aemond thrusts, he finds a place that’s never been hit so directly or so well. The climax is on you before you are aware of it, one of those swells that rises out of nowhere, capsizes the boat, fades back into the endless blue of the ocean. It jolts through your pelvis, your spine, your skull, and then evaporates like steam from a bathroom mirror. And now Aemond is trying to finish too, but something is off. He tries a few different rhythms, can’t seem to get it right. You think you can feel him beginning to soften. No no no, I can’t leave him unsatisfied again.

You look back, though you cannot see him through the blindfold; instinctively, you want to be closer to him. “What am I doing wrong?”

“Nothing,” Aemond says. “Nothing, nothing, nothing is wrong. You’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect.” He turns your face so he can kiss you deeply, his tongue in your mouth, swallowing you down, entangled in every way possible. And only then he is able to come: powerfully, trembling, crying out like he’s in the kind of pain that leaves scars for life.

He glides his cock out of you, and you can hear him snap off the condom. Then he unties your blindfold and your wrists. You reach for him, then stop yourself; he reaches for you—a reflex, surely—and then shakes the notion away and collapses beside you on the duvet. You both lie there panting, gazing dizzily up at the long shadows of centuries-old oak trees that cascade across the ceiling, minds drained, bodies spent.

After a moment, Aemond clambers off the bed to grab a lighter and a pack of Marlboro Reds out of his jeans pocket. Then he flops back down next to you, lights a cigarette, takes a deep, slow drag. “So, cupcake,” he says nonchalantly, exhaling smoke, hand shaking. “Where’d you get married?”

You laugh; this is ridiculous. “Why on earth would you want to know that?”

“I want to know things about you. Things other than your tits and your pussy. I mean, those are great. I enjoy them tremendously, and I plan to keep enjoying them. But I also enjoy you.”

You sigh. Aemond waits, puffing on his cigarette. “The parish courthouse.” Plain, boring, economical. “I wanted a wedding at Saint Honoratus, but…”

“Saint…who?”

“The Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens,” you say. “It’s this gorgeous place in a town called Belle River on the other side of Lake Verret. Very small, very old, it’s a historic site or something, they can’t ever knock it down.”

“Why couldn’t you get married there?”

You shrug; how much could the details matter now? Someone needed to organize it, someone needed to decorate, someone needed to pay for food and drinks, someone needed to send out invitations, someone needed to care enough to make it happen, and that someone would have been you, just you, seventeen and broke and bedridden with morning sickness until noon every day. “It just didn’t work out.”

“Sounds like a lot of things didn’t work out for you.”

You raise your eyebrows. Aemond winces.

“Sorry. That was…not the way I meant to express that sentiment.”

You forgive him. You’d forgive him for anything right now, right here, in a bed stained with his sweat and your wetness and the seed you wish he could have spilled inside you. You taunt him: “Should we meet up at your house next time?”

He recoils, horrified. “No. Definitely not.”

“Why? What’s at your house? An abandoned wife and six tall, blonde, prominently-jawed children?”

He chuckles; he has collected himself again. “No. It’s just that…well…I have family in town currently. They’re staying with me while I get set up with the new job and everything. Quite a lot of people. And my family is…unorthodox.”

You wish he would stop using words you don’t know. That’s the hazard of affiliating with a highfalutin petroleum engineer, you suppose. “So they’re strange?”

“That’s a kind word for it.”

“I like strange people. I like you.”

Aemond smirks warily. “You wouldn’t like them. Just trust me on that.” He traces the border of your face with his fingertips, contemplating your secrets, tending his own like a nightscape garden. “Do you ever want to do something…not in your bedroom?”

You grin and he kisses you, nicotine and quelled desire; he can’t help it. You say when you break away: “What, like dinner or flowers or any of the other activities that were very clearly not a part of this arrangement?”

“Arrangements are flexible.”

“Are they?”

“This one is. Increasingly so.”

You ponder his proposition. “There’s this new restaurant I really want to go to. I’ve never been before, but it looks pretty rad in the commercials on tv. It’s up in Gonzales.”

“The same town as your illustrious Kmart engagement. How fortuitous. Pease continue.”

“It’s an Italian place,” you say.

“I love Italian.”

“It’s called Olive Garden.”

Aemond’s mouth falls open. He is bewildered, appalled. His cigarette smolders forgotten in the crook of his fingers. You might as well have told him you wanted to run over puppies with lawnmowers. “You want me to take you to Olive Garden? Seriously?”

You are wounded. “What’s wrong with Olive Garden?”

“Cupcake, Olive Garden is not real Italian food. That’s like saying Taco Bell is Mexican.”

“…Isn’t it?”

“Okay,” he capitulates. He smiles as he smooths your disheveled hair and touches his lips to your forehead. “It’s fine. We’ll go to Olive Garden.”

“Really?” you reply, beaming.

“Really. You’re free Thursday?”

“Unless Willis has to switch nights for some reason, yeah.”

“Then we’ll go Thursday.” Aemond rolls off the bed and finds a mug—Return Of The Jedi, Princess Leia and the Ewoks—left on your dresser to put his cigarette out in. He looks through the screen of your open bedroom window as the sky turns ever-darker, as the moon and stars begin to rise, and he breathes in the verdant, humid, ageless witchcraft of the bayou. “You have no idea what the last few days have been like for me,” Aemond says softly, his bare back turned to you, the ridge of his spine like a road cut through a swamp or a forest or a field of sugarcane. “You have no idea how badly I needed this.”

[andreafmn]

12 Days of Ficmas ❅ Day 4

Word Count: 1.6K Paring:  Lip Gallagher x Fem!Reader Prompt @a-cure-for-writers-block:  mothering their S/Os younger siblings and making sure they're getting enough to eat

Summary:  Lip Gallagher has had a hell of a year, and most of the time he doesn't think he deserve the mercy he's been shown. But (Y/N) will stop at nothing to make sure he and his family know they are taken care of. And he knows it.

A/N: a bit late, but still published. Also, this is very short and sweet and does not follow the canon after season 5. Kind of went off path to give Lip a bit of a quicker redemption. Hope y'all enjoy!

<- Previous | Next ->

“Yo, Lip,” Ian’s sleepy voice rang through his brother’s phone. “Uh, your girlfriend is over here, and I think she’s gone crazy.” 

“What you mean?” Lip chuckled as he rubbed his hands together to warm them up. “‘Cause that’s a lot coming from you.” 

“Very funny,” he laughed sarcastically. “No, but she made Christmas puke on the house, and she’s been cooking nonstop since this morning. She hounded us all morning until we ate breakfast and wouldn’t stop until we sat down at the table.” ” 

Lip couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his face as he pictured his girlfriend with her face dirtied by food, her hair tied back and away from her face, and her voice carrying around the house as she made sure everyone had eaten. It was one of the things he loved about her and one of the reasons he was glad she had come into his life. “Look, I’ll be home soon,” he chuckled. “Can you just make sure she actually eats? I know she’s gonna forget.” 

“Fine,” Ian groaned. “Just hurry up.” 

(Y/N) had come into Lip’s life at a moment when he was sure his life would have gone down the rails. She has become his sense of normalcy in his less-than-normal life. He had needed something to ground him back to earth, and that was exactly what she had done. After being so close to rock bottom he could taste the soil on the ground, she had been the only one that had been able to bring him back to his feet.  

As he got off the L, he wondered what she could have ever seen in him. She was smart and beautiful and a complete juxtaposition to the man he was. She was sunshine where he was rain, she was happiness where he was gloom, she was future while he was stuck in the past. And she was everything he never thought he needed. 

The moment he reached the house, he could hear the chatter from his family and the smell of (Y/N)’s cooking. Inside, Liam, Carl, and Ian were hypnotized by the TV while (Y/N) and Debbie talked away in the kitchen. 

Ian had not lied. The Gallagher house had been decorated like it had never been before. From garlands to stockings above the fireplace, to a massive Christmas tree in front of the stairs, it was a scene that had never lived inside that house. “Yo, you weren’t kidding, huh?” Lip chuckled as he shook off his jacket. “Didn’t think we’d ever have these many decorations.” 

“And presents,” Carl grinned. “Check under the tree.” 

Just like his younger brother had pointed, under the pine rested a couple of boxes wrapped in kraft paper. Each of them had every one of the Gallagher’s names written on them and a glittering red bow around them. It truly was more than Lip could have ever expected.  

“Ian, did she eat something?” 

“Yeah,” he said. “She’s also been pecking at everything she’s doing.”

“Alright, thanks.”

Taking the scenery in, Lip walked into the kitchen to find (Y/N) wearing a dirty apron and plates balanced on her arms. 

“You’re home,” she smiled, kissing his cheek as she walked past him to give the three boys each a plate. “Good. There’s a plate for you in the microwave. I made some turkey sandwiches for lunch. Light enough to not fill you guys up for dinner but strong enough to tide you over until then.” 

“Thanks, (Y/N),” the boys chorused before digging into their sandwiches and focusing back on the TV. 

“This is so good, (Y/N),” Debbie exclaimed from the breakfast table. “I don’t know how you’re not studying to be a chef.” 

“I cook for fun, not for work,” the young woman smiled. “That’s what engineering school is for.” 

“I’m just saying,” she shrugged. “If the genius stuff doesn’t work out, you could definitely be a chef.” 

“Thank you, Debs,” (Y/N) responded. “And speaking of school, how was your last final, babe? I know this semester has been a bit hard.”

Understatement of the century, Lip had thought. He couldn’t understand how he had not been expelled after everything he had done the year before. He had been so close to losing it all. Had it not been for (Y/N) stopping him before he smashed Youens car and speaking up on his behalf at the disciplinary meeting, he was sure he would have gotten a worse punishment than a semester suspension. She had been the saving grace he didn’t know he needed, and she was the reason he understood he needed help. 

Lip had inherited more than a hard life from his parents, he’d fallen victim to their addictive genetics and gone off the deep end with a bottle of liquor in hand. But somehow, she had been there to pull him up while he was down and walk beside him as he got back onto the right path. She stayed with him as he rebuilt himself into the man people believed he was. 

“I think it went pretty well,” he said before taking a bite of his sandwich. “Won’t know until after the break, but if midterms were anything to go by, I did good.” 

“That’s good. I’m pretty sure you did very well,” she smiled as she sat beside him, placing a hand on his and a coffee cup in front of his plate. “And I know you’re tired, but I’m gonna need you to help me prep the table for dinner tonight. Kev, V, and the girls are coming over. Fiona can’t make it, but she’ll try for actual Christmas Day or New Year's.” 

“You’ve got everything planned out already, don’t you?” Lip chuckled. “Not that I am surprised in any way, shape or form.” 

“I would have told you earlier, but I wanted you to focus on your exams,” she said before turning to the boys in the living room. “Hey, guys! Remember to wash your dishes when you’re done! I’m gonna need them for tonight.” 

“Yes, (Y/N),” they chorused back. 

“You got them very well trained,” Debbie laughed. “Where have you been all our lives?” 

“Just on the other side of town,” the girl smiled. “Now hurry and finish eating. We’ve got work to do.” 

After everyone finished their lunch and the how was suddenly dispersed of children, (Y/N) and Lip set off to work. While she waltzed around the kitchen, he rearranged the formal dining area to fit all the guests. As he walked around the house, the young man wanted to laugh. He remembered a time when that type of domesticity would have sent him running, searching for the easiest way to drown his fears of commitment and stability. But there he was, setting tables for a dinner party that his girlfriend had cooked, and he didn’t feel the jittery need to escape. He didn’t feel the anxious desire to feel alcohol burn its way down his throat and fill him with a mirage of confidence. He wanted to stay. 

“Hey,” he whispered after he had finished his task, snaking his arms around her waist and kissing her cheeks. “Thanks for doing this.” 

“Of course,” she smiled, leaning into the comfort and warmth of his touch. “Do you think there’s enough food I don’t know if I should set out some snacks for the kids while the turkey is finished. Maybe dinner is too late for Jemma and Amy. I should set some snacks out.” 

“(Y/N), baby,” he chuckled. Lip flipped her around, kissing her lips softly to stop her rambling. “There’s enough food, and they should be starving by dinner. You worked hard enough on all these dishes, they need to be eaten.” 

“And they will, but…” 

“You really enjoy mommying them, don’t you?” Lip grinned lovingly. “You know they’re not kids anymore –other than Liam. The other ones are all teenagers, they know how to get food when they’re hungry.” 

“I know that. But I just wanna make sure they know there’s someone here that cares about them other than you now that Fiona’s gone,” she admitted, her eyes falling onto the hands she pressed to his chest. “And I want them to like me, Lip. I’m in it for the long run, babe.” 

“If there’s one thing I can assure you, it’s that the Gallagher family loves you,” he smiled. His hand caressed her cheek softly, and it surprised him that only a year before, his knuckles would have been ripped and bloodied. But not with her. Never with her. “And if you keep cooking like this for them, they’ll make sure you’re here forever.” 

“And what about you? Would you want me to stay forever?” 

Lip couldn’t help the smile that spread across his mouth. As he stared into her eyes, it took everything inside him not to spoil the plans he had for Christmas morning. He wanted to give her all the reassurance she could need with the ring he had hidden deep in his underwear drawer. But when he had a plan, it was hard to divert from it. “How could I want anything else?” he grinned. “Now, why don’t we finish up here so we can have a little treat before dinner ourselves?” 

“Philip Gallagher,” she exclaimed at his advance, slapping his chest playfully. “I have too much work to do to be thinking about that.” 

“Come on, I’ve only been thinking about this all day,” he groaned. “It’s the only thing that got me through that test.” 

“Then you can wait a bit more,” she laughed. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while, baby. All good things come to those who wait.” 

And, at that moment, she had no idea how much truth there was in that statement. 

Next ->

My content will always be free, but if you’re feeling particularly generous, you can leave a tip on any of my posts  or buy me a coffee to support me and my love of writing If you’d like to be tagged in every 12DoF work, any fandom or story: click here Make sure you have my notifications on so you know every time I post!

Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @beckiej0073-blog @fandomonetwo @thecollectorofwords-blog @yuki254 @sleepilysworld @laylasbunbunny @aonungsfreak @coquita @mzmarvel22 @euphoria1992-blog @laury-blackbeak @unstablekay @fresita1218 @buckywenal @shadowwolfqueen-blog @arcaurix @final-girl96 @cheshirecat484 @bloobewy @pinkrockstar19

[bliss-wily]

More headcanons because I’m sick and have nothing better to do~

This post? Raditz! Radish boy shall receive some love~

Very silly and of course it’s just headcanons so please don’t take these too seriously.

•Raditz is a tsundere through and through both for relationships and friendships.

•He’s the outlier of the group of 3, the other two being Vegeta and Nappa.

•Doesn’t get stronger like the others because he is too much of a coward to pick on anyone stronger than him.

•Grouchiest of the three, yes, even more so than Vegeta.

•His tail is super sensitive, most definitely his weakness.

•Relies on his scouter too much as he doesn’t trust his own instincts from constantly being invalidated by Vegeta and Nappa.

•Seeing as he doesn’t really have friends, befriending Raditz would mean him being quite insecure and likely having him being very possessive or having a fear of abandonment.

•If he’s extra grouchy, get that man food asap and lots of it.

•His tail reveals a lot about his feeling and emotions in the moment - that’s if it’s not wrapped around his waist.

•Struggles with human technology, so imagine you’re living with him (platonically or romantically, doesn’t matter) and you wake up to noises at 3am with the man trying to get a microwave to work. So yes…the man can use Saiyan pods and scouters but microwaves stump him.

•You know what, technophobe when it comes to earthling tech, you would see many phones destroyed because he can’t manage it.

•Or hearing him argue with Siri/Alexa/Google because everything isn’t working how he wants.

•But by no means does this make Raditz stupid. He’s smart but just doesn’t get the opportunity to really say anything.

•Looks up to Vegeta and Nappa, he just wants some form of acceptance goddamn it.

•Acts mean because it’s all he’s ever known - how he’s been treated.

•Of the three remaining Saiyans in the Frieza Force, I imagine he gets the least amount of name calling as the other two as he’s just kinda there? Raditz strikes me as someone who’s closed off.

•And due to ill treatment from his teammates I think he believes that being mean in the best way to communicate with people he’s interested in.

•Also…maybe a bit promiscuous. Frieza did assume Gohan was Raditz’s son so…I’ll leave that open ended, as I tend to stay relative SFW on here.

Someone socialise this man, he deserved to be around longer. So did Nappa to be fair.

[greyscale-enthusiast]

EPINAGI chapter 20 things im rotating on my mind

hiiragi was saying how it feels so good to destroy nagi’s natural (and sensitive?) genius with his logic

nagi kinda has a knack for attracting smart people who want to tell him how to ‘play’ only for him to end up rejecting them and angering them (reo, agi in the msc, and well this dude isn’t gonna get too far but he tried)

really, the curse of the lazy genius.

nagi was comparing hiiragi to isagi with his analysis and logic and to himself with his trapping skills. then he goes to ask what reo or isagi would do at a time like this…

and it happened around the time niko said how matches were so easy without reo or isagi around, too 😭

reo mentions in the chapter: 2 and in passing.

chigiri explains a different framework or perspective so they can overcome their weaknesses

the only one who stepped up 😭😭🫶 imagine trying to explain something to BAROU AND NAGI

the graffiti wall makes me think back on skater chigiri what with the misspelling and typography. queen.

barou and chigiri realizing hiiragis intentions

i mean zantetsu and niko both said they wanted nagi i don’t know what they expected. or did they saw how it was kinda exploitative and that’s why they don’t want to give him up?

hiiragi wants to get nagi into his team so he can teach him about soccer since nagi’s ignorant.

something about how that’s what’s so attractive about nagi to other people, his unbelievable talent with barely any background, but seeing it being expressed so explicitly in a way that sounds kinda malicious is just hyping me tf up like defend urself nagi!!!

do yall think nagi is going to relate hiiragis motivations to reo’s and get even more angry 🥺

anyways i will be microwaving these specific moments if anyone wants to comment on something feel free to and also here’s a size comparison between niko and nagi from the chapter

[she-karev]

Ground Rules (Japril Season 17 Imagine)

Age Rating: 12+

Chapters: One of One

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy

Ship: Jackson Avery x April Kepner

Canon Episode: Season 17 Episode 8

AN: Happy Holidays! I wanted to focus on Japril for a little bit cuz I feel like I neglected them. Another story following this will be posted before Christmas so like and reblog and let me know what you think.

Summary: Jackson and April set the ground rules for their new relationship after getting back together.

Words: 1537

May 1st, 2020

Jackson wakes up from his side of the bed and feels an absence in his arms causing him to look and see that he is all alone in bed. After they confessed their feelings for each other last night and agreed to give their relationship another chance, April and Jackson spend the night in bed together for the first time in years.

They didn’t have sex instead he spooned her and was fast asleep. But now he sees that he is all alone and gets out of bed to find out if last night was a dream. He puts his jeans and black shirt on before walking out of the bedroom and heading downstairs looking around for a certain redhead. He reaches the first floor when a familiar high-pitched sound fills his ears.

“Good morning!” Jackson finds the source coming from his kitchen. He enters the large room to find April Kepner already in casual clothes making coffee from his expresso machine, “I already made you a latte and there’s bacon, scrambled eggs and toast in the microwave, I was just waiting for you so you could join me. I figured we could have a breakfast date after all the turmoil from last night. Not the part where we talked that part was the best part of that long night.”

The sight catches him by surprise, but it brings a grin to his face happy that last night was not a dream after all.

“Good morning.” Jackson approaches her and she hands him a mug with a smile, “You’re energetic for 6:30 in the morning. I could have saved you the trouble and made breakfast instead or order in from that cafe you love so much.”

“Deliveries are expensive now, and we have a perfectly good kitchen and is that a latte machine I just used?” April asks astonished by her extravagant ex who chuckles, “I mean mister pays 7 bucks six times a week for a cup of coffee actually got smart about saving money and makes his own lattes now?”

“Well, when the lawsuits were bleeding me dry, and I ended up broke I remembered you giving me grief about spending a thousand dollars a year on coffee.” April grins nostalgic in those early days of their marriage, “And with my trust fund being drained I was afraid of resorting to drinking leftovers from the café. So I decided to take your advice and make my own coffee to take to work. And you were right I saved a bunch of money that way.”

“Do you still send your clothes out to wash and dry?”

“Of course I do, I was broke not an animal.” April chuckles at him never changing his rich ways, “When did you get up? I was asleep the whole night.”

“I’ve been up since 4, I didn’t want to wake you because while I was making breakfast, I’ve been doing a lot of…thinking.” Jackson’s eyes widen at that as he sips his coffee, “No, no it’s nothing bad it’s just that I was going down memory lane and I realized that if we’re gonna start this again there has to be changes so that we don’t crash and burn again.”

Jackson’s worries lessen as he engages this topic, “Okay I get that and I agree, there should be changes so we don’t mess this up again. What were you thinking?”

April takes the plates out of the microwave and hands one to Jackson. They sit at the kitchen counter to eat and talk.

“I think our main issue is that we kind of skipped over a lot of boring, traditional relationship stuff when we got together.”

“You mean like dating.” Jackson says with a grin eating his eggs.

“Exactly, I mean don’t get me wrong I wanted to marry you, but I mean…in less than 24 hours we went from coworkers to best friends to runaway lovers to husband and wife. I think it’s safe to say we moved our relationship very quickly.”

“More like at warp speed.” Jackson jokes sipping his coffee, “But still it was an awesome wedding night.”

April grins lustfully, “That it was. But still if we’re gonna do this again we should lay down some ground rules that way we do things differently and this can last longer.”

Jackson thinks on it for a moment before nodding, “Yeah ground rules sound good, who should set them up?”

“I was thinking I could go first, and we go back and forth.” Jackson nods in agreement, “Okay I will start, Rule 1: We take things slow and go on dates obviously. It has to be covid safe but I’m sure we’ll find plenty to do don’t worry.”

Jackson bites his toast before going, “Rule 2: We…We sleep in the same bed from now on.”

“I was hoping that would be a rule.” April grins, “Rule 3: Let’s not have sex right away, we date for a while and we do it when it’s the right time.”

Jackson is startled by this but knows it’s for the best given their track record of sleeping together at the worst possible time, “Okay I can live with that. Rule 4: We talk about things that are bothering us and we don’t let it become bigger than us again.”

April nods knowing it’s a big step they have to take to make this work, “I completely agree with you, Rule 5: If this doesn’t work out, we go back to being friends. It would be good for Harriet if this works out but if it doesn’t, she needs to see us as a unit so she doesn’t get conflicted.”

“Yeah, I mean it can’t end any worse than the last time, that’s the good thing about our divorce. Rules 6: We keep this out of the hospital grape vine. The last thing we need is everyone wondering where we’re going when we’re just getting started. Also, I’m afraid of my mother disapproving of us and trying to get in my ear about dumping you.”

“I wouldn’t put anything past that woman.” April agrees with a bitter tone that Jackson catches, “You know I love her but we’re talking about the woman who tried to get you to sue me for full custody when I was still pregnant.”

“A suggestion that I rejected and only got on board with because of a misunderstanding that could have been resolved if we just communicated.” Jackson points out not out of anger but out of acknowledging their mistakes during that time, “And I backed out when I realized that and made a functional family with you.”

April nods understanding, “Still, I think her opinion of me was obvious from that.”

“Agreed the hospital and especially my mother are kept in the dark. It shouldn’t be hard since everyone is too busy to gossip. Plus, you work part time so we probably shouldn’t run into each other a lot.”

“True okay Rule 7: We try to spend as much time as we can together. We’re both super busy but we live together, and we can rebuild our relationship better this way since we haven’t been together for years now.”

Jackson nods and thinks for a moment, “I think I’ve exhausted all of my ground rules, have you?”

April takes a bite of her toast thinking, “I’m good.”

Jackson grins sipping his coffee, “Let’s hope we can follow these rules.”

April gives a teasing grin, “I know I can, I’m not sure about you.”

Jackson chuckles, “First thing we should do is go on a date, I’m free until tomorrow morning how about you?”

April groans in regret, “I have the clinic until tonight I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, we’ll do a dinner here tonight when you get back.”

“Are you thinking of ordering in Mexican? Maybe Thai?”

Jackson clicks his tongue and holds April’s hand in a way that creates somersaults in her chest, “Actually I was thinking since you made breakfast by hand, I can do the same for you tonight for dinner.”

April’s eyes widen at that proposal, “You can cook?”

“Yeah.” Jackson replies simply.

“Since when?” April asks with a surprised smile, “I mean the last time we were together I did the cooking, and you ordered in that was our thing.”

“Well things have changed since them, me included. I took up cooking at the monastery when I went on my nature walks, it was very calming and invigorating. Also, it’s a little like surgery only instead of surgical tools I used cooking appliances and instead of sewing tissue I mixed ingredients. I’m not a pro but I’ve learned some recipes I think might surprise you. So let me surprise you April, tonight. What do you say?”

April’s smile grows at this and her excitement for tonight heightens, “Okay, I might regret this but most first dates have that so fingers crossed.”

Jackson chuckles still holding her hand, “Fingers crossed.” He leans forward and kisses her. In that short kiss sparks fly between them that they are familiar with. He pulls back with a grin that she shares before they eat their breakfast excited about their first real date tonight.

[ethicalvinyls]

she won't go away

summary: camilla is a senior with a developed eating disorder she can't push off her. her best friend and crush, Ellie, knows nothing about it. until they skip school and Ellie becomes suspicious.

trigger warning: ED.

word count: 2.3k

I fully expected the clothes on my body to fit like a glove before my first day of senior year. But as I stand in front of the mirror, tugging at the material that won’t pull, I want to scream loud enough to break every glass reflection in the world so I never have to see myself again. This may be extreme, but one would understand if they knew the extremes I went to to lose weight. 

I figured that if I didn’t eat as much as I had and picked up on a running habit, I’d lose the nasty weight I put on junior year. 

“What the hell? That’s impossible,” I groan as I pick at the clothes and pinch my belly. 

“Impossible how good you look?” my mom asks, flooding into the bathroom. 

I immediately rub my hands down my clothes and look at her reflection in the mirror. I try to focus on her as best as I can. “No,” I say. “I don’t. This shirt and these jeans are tight.” 

“Then change out of them,” mom says. 

I like that she can be optimistic, but at the same time it angers me. She’s never been a bigger woman–always skinny and petite with hair that never fails her. I, on the other hand, depend on the way my hair falls on my face or how my clothes sit on my shoulders or stomach or how they hug my waist. She can put on a potato sack and still look flawless. And for that, I don’t always stand by her affirmative words. They may be kind, but they’re tainted. I am her daughter, and for that reason she sees me through a different lens. 

“Mom,” I murmur. 

“What?” 

Can’t you see? I want to ask her. But instead, I say, “They were supposed to fit me.” 

Her eyebrows raise up, silently asking, ‘What do you mean?’ 

“Nevermind,” I say, opting out of the conversation. Maybe if I don’t think about it, I won’t feel the pressure. 

I walk out of the bathroom and into my room. I throw off the top and grab a black shirt from my dresser. Mom follows me in but doesn’t fully enter, she just stands at the door. 

“You shouldn’t feel so insecure, Camila.” 

I hold back my scoff. It’s stupid, though, because I spurt out a smart remark. “Yeah, well I do.” 

“You did lose weight,” she says, “if that’s what you want to hear.” 

I pick a jean skirt and shimmy into it. It slightly sags and I smile at my mom. “Thank you.” 

She continues talking about my health and such but I tune her out. I pull on a thin cardigan, my dirty white sneakers, and my black backpack overly decorated by pins. By the time I’m done, my mom is whistling from the kitchen. I know this because I can hear her scuffling and the whirring of the microwave. 

“Yes!” I shout. 

“Eleanor is here!” 

I roll my eyes at the nickname and peek out the window. She sure is, in her black Jeep. I run down the hall and stop by the kitchen bar. My mom has left me yogurt and fruit. I look up at her and smile. She’s done this every day since I was in first grade. Then, there was more on the plate, but the main dish was the yogurt and fat slices of fruit (besides grapes). 

I pick it up and start for the door, but the soft voice of my mom cuts between my path. 

“You hang out with her a lot, huh?” 

I look at her and laugh. “Yeah, we’re friends,” I say. 

She pulls her lips in and her eyes turn to crescents. The look on her face is one I know all too well–she’s trying to look into me. I may not be lying–well, not really–but my face still warms up and I switch from my right foot to my left. 

I swallow harshly and say, “We’re just friends.” 

She shrugs and picks up her mug of black coffee. She stares over the ceramic, sending a questioning set of eyes my way.

 I take this as a queue to leave. 

I rush to Ellie’s car and hop in, my backpack falling between my legs. It thumps against the floor and a ‘damn’ rushes past her lips. 

“What?” I say. 

“I mean,” she says, rubbing her neck, “it’s barely the first day and your bag is already heavy.” 

“So?” 

“You don’t have to be so prepared.” 

“But I want to be,” I tell her as I pick up an ugly piece of watermelon. 

She lets me enjoy my heavy bag and drives us to school. She picks at my fruit and I let her eat my yogurt with my spoon. We don’t really care about that kind of thing, we’ve been friends since freshman year and she’s never minded. She doesn’t swallow the spoon, either, she just paws at the edge of the spoon. 

By the time we get to the parking lot, it’s ten minutes to the bell. We sit with the engine off for a minute or two and just watch everyone rush in. I don’t really remember much of anything before this summer. If even that. The slight eating disorder has stolen a bit of my memory. 

As if she can read my mind, Ellie asks, “Do you remember freshman year?” 

I shake my head. “No, not besides us meeting. And you know,” I say, looking at her, “the occasional first hang-outs and birthday parties and stuff.” 

She grabs my hand and lifts it to her lips. It shouldn’t catch me by surprise–she does this a lot, the kissing hand stuff–but my heart stutters and I struggle taking a breath.

“Ah, how I miss that.” 

“I know,” I whisper. 

“It was love at first sight,” she says in the same tone. 

What does that mean? I feel the need to ask. She’s staring deep into my eyes and I so desperately want her to be telling the truth but she may well not be. She may be saying this platonically. 

I nod. 

She reaches over the console and kisses my cheek. She lets go of my hand and steps out of the car. I do so as well, dragging my heavy backpack over my shoulders. 

I don’t ask about the comment or the kiss on the cheek. I don’t think it matters why. We’ll be going to college before we know it and most people want to be single then to explore and kiss and fuck who they want. I’m certain she’s all I’ll think about, but I’m not sure I’ll be the one on her mind. 

After fourth period, Ellie rushes up to me before the cafeteria doors and pushes me against a patch of lockers. “Let’s skip,” she says. 

“What?” I ask with a contorted face. “It’s the first day!” 

“So?” 

I look like a puppy the way I frown and shy away from her. “I want–need to show up.” 

Her hands run down my arms and one hooks into my right hand. “Fine,” she whispers, a whine in her tone. “Only for lunch.” 

“Won’t we get in trouble?” 

She sputters like an engine. “No. They don’t care.” 

I raise an eyebrow. 

“C’mon, Mila.” 

I look around and then down at our conjoined hands. “Where?” 

A big smile spreads across her face and she pulls me down the hall. “Somewhere you’ll remember.” 

“Where?” I ask again. 

She turns her head and purses her lips. “Shush and c’mon.” 

“I’m hungry,” I whine. 

“I’ll feed you, don’t worry.” 

She does. On the way to wherever we go, she pulls into a McDonalds and buys a twenty piece and two medium fries. I remember saying I was hungry, but as the food sits in my lap and the greasy smell pours into my nose, I feel ill. I hide it well enough for Ellie to tell, though. She doesn’t know and I want to keep it that way. 

On our way to the location, Ellie jokes about my self control. How I’ve yet to steal fries or begin eating. I laugh but the darkness behind the joke spills out and tries to suffocate me. So I peek my head out the window and let the warm air enter my lungs. 

When we get there, I do remember: a patch of dust and dead grass beside train tracks. It’s after a bunch of business buildings and venues. We found this place when Ellie got her license the summer before junior year. Joel, her adoptive dad, didn’t care where she went, nor how old she was. All he cared about was if she had her license. 

We would come here and eat burgers and fries and milkshakes. That was the year Ellie began smoking weed, and this was the perfect spot to do so. I never smoked, but I’d watch her. 

“I miss when we would sit here and just not say a word,” she says with a joint already in her hand. I want to tell her no, that we have class, but she puts up a good sober act. 

I nod and sit down on the log still lying on the ground from a year ago. I put the food between us and take out my fries. I nibble on one fry while she downs half of them in one go. 

I don’t speak, I let her do all the talking. I’m trying to add up all the calories I’m consuming. I’ve never been the best at math but when it comes to this I’m a fucking expert. 

I think I eat about five fries before Ellie notices. She turns to me while she stubs out her joint and almost hisses. I think about chunking them all in my mouth, but she’s caught me now. 

“You haven’t even had a chicken nugget,” she tells me. She opens the box and pushes it towards me. “I already ate my half.” 

“Oh,” I murmur and nod. “Sorry.” 

She doesn’t acknowledge my apology, but she does acknowledge the biggest elephant in the room. “You’ve lost a lot of weight since summer started,” she says. “Are you okay?” 

I hum. “Of course I am.” 

She sighs and reaches over, grabbing my fries. She places them inside the chicken nugget box and slides them over to her left. She scoots in and grabs my hand, tucking all of my fingers into a fist and caressing my knuckles. 

“You don’t look it,” she murmurs. 

I don’t know if I should take this as a snide or concerned statement. I opt for just shutting up. I know remaining silent doesn’t help my case, but it doesn’t plummet either. I just sit with her thumbs kissing my skin and look at the dirt. 

“I don’t mean this as a rude thing,” she continues. “You just look underfed, not well taken care of. You look whiter than normal and it’s been hot out.” 

I tsk. “Okay,” I moan. “Ellie, I'm more than okay. I just sat inside all summer. You wouldn’t know because you were gone for half the summer.” 

“–And  here for the other half, so I know something’s been up.” 

I don’t like that she’s trying to crack me open. If I wanted her to know about the eating issue, I would have brought it up. But it’s none of her concern, because it’s not even her body. 

“I am fine,” I say sternly. “You don’t have to worry about me.” 

She shoots up and looks over me, trying to intimidate me. She never has but now, I feel like a rock has slid into my throat and won’t go away. “Why aren’t you eating?” 

“I am!” I say, now almost shouting. 

“No,” she says, violently shaking her head. “You aren’t, and I care about you, Mila. So please” –she kneels on the ground in front of me– “tell me what’s going on.” 

I stare at her, my eyes drilling into her own. Gloss covers the surface and I realize my safety might concern her more than I thought. I shift in my seat and I take her hands. “I haven’t been eating, you’re right. I wanted to lose weight and all the working out and cutting out bad stuff wasn’t working. So I just stopped.” 

She leans forward and kisses me. It’s a small peck, but it feels like a bigger gesture than it is. Her face pulls away from mine but I follow her. I kiss her gently, my nose softly rubbing against hers and our breaths panning against one another’s faces. It’s the only breeze that alerts us that we’re here, and this isn’t some dream. 

I speak first. “I’m sorry,” I say. 

She pulls away and kisses both my palms. “No. Don’t apologize for not telling me. I just wish you trusted me enough to tell me this. I want to help you any way I can. I know it’s not something easy to fix, but I’m willing to sit down and help you.” 

I kiss her cheek. I mumble a thank you in her ear and rest my forehead on her shoulder. 

“So,” she chuckles two seconds later, “what are we going to do about this kiss.” 

I shrug and scoot back. “What do you want to do about this kiss?” 

She chuckles and stands up, pulling me with her. She grabs the leftovers and we race to her Jeep. I slide right in and immediately, we make out. It’s heated, and I don’t know if we should keep on doing it. 

I actually think we should wait. I kindly and slowly pull away, a trail of saliva that once linked us falling onto the fat of our lips. 

Ellie takes this as a sign to get going. She turns on her car and drives back to school, where no one but our teachers care for us.

[urlsaremeaningless]

collection of funny things people I know have said

Feel free to change pronouns as needed <3 have fun! please reblog this if you enjoy it.

Take a chill pill, Shakespeare.

A thigh between your gaps

Let's get...creative?

Stereotypical emos

Bitch, your face is mean

Once upon a time, [name] killed me.

Starved by lack of microwave.

I need new kangaroo.

At least, I didn't break it in your room!

[Name], you precious baby--AH SHIT.

Unfortunately, [name] was feeling horny

I would start ship wars

I tried the force. Shit didn't work.

It's worse than shade. It's truth shade.

I fell in love with a fucking lesbian!

Hi, my name’s [name]. Back on my Bullshit like every day

Yeah, no, don’t worry I know the extension of that lawyer.

Then, I guess, he shoots himself in the head?

The EMT...No, not EMS.

I like Fiji better than smart water.... wait, is it cheaper?

I have a question…I forgot my question

Yes, but only because I think the knowledge of death would be a burden you couldn’t handle

That's why murder is the best solution

Passive aggressively calls u a gamer (derogatory)

it's part of the process before the eyes are eyes and the eyes are just skin

Horny outweighs ethics

[name] has been ratatouille'd into doing crime

what is a casket but tupperware for a body

she doesn't have a thing for murder, she has a thing for time management

What's the opposite of OwO-ifying?

dinos care not for ur turn-based combat

This is indeed a choice we have made.

I’m murdurable. I’m filled with murder potential

Not my circus, not my monkey

absolutely your monkey

my only ideas are crime

...why do you say these things to me?

everyone knows in our group I'm the muscle… the looks…and the brains….really you guys are extras and I'm the main act

I...I don't want to answer that. I...I plead the fifth?

All words are made up

I don't use 'b' for 'bitch,', I use 'bitch' for 'bitch

They let you out of the closet but you cannot rent a car

[Name] you're really killing me here, my life is being shortened by a minute every time you do that

Wow, these people don’t know how milkshakes work…. Idk how we’re gonna get the boys to the yard.

I expected you to have more knowledge about cannibalism but that's on me

that's just how my voice is. I sound like a liar

You are the glass half full to my glass is fucking empty

I like cults but in the ‘I absolutely hate them’ sorta way

I fucking hate you, you're one of my best friends, but I also fucking hate you

You have to give him some credit for not pulling out a ukulele

I wish I spoke another language. I don't wanna talk about this in English anymore, bro, what the fuck.

[dearabby1990]

Chapter 19: The start of something new

A night filled of music giggles & cuddling turned into the both of you turning into a pile of limbs on your bed. You can’t even remember the last time you slept that solid let alone fell asleep as fast as you did last night. Turning on your side to find the most angelic face as wild & loud as Eddie could be he looked so peaceful so perfect. Freckles decorating his face like the worlds most beautiful constellation his long lashes kiss his cheeks like cherubs his kissable lips slightly parted as his chest rises & falls. You can’t remember when you’ve felt this content. Eddie starts to stir peeking one eye at you while slowly growing into the world’s biggest smile “mmm good mornin’ sweetheart” you slide in closer to rest your head on his chest “morning handsome” he chuckles running one hand up and down your arm and the other running through your hair. “So… two more days & I get to show my beautiful girl off I really can’t wait to see your dress” you smile still worried & the insecurities in the back of your mind stir but eddie makes you feel the safest you’ve ever felt in your life so you internally tell yourself to relax “I’m excited to see you all dapper you’re already so pretty eddie I can only imagine how beautiful you’d be all dressed up” you nuzzle into him taking in his scent of drug store cologne Newports & weed the smell that is Eddie like a drug you can’t get enough of. “Aw shucks princess I’m just happy to have you & to have you with me”. You both lay there for another hour before deciding to get up & take a shower your under the hot water relaxing eyes closed when you feel something touch you that makes you jolt and almost bust your ass when you open your eyes it’s Eddie stark naked chuckling “shit beautiful I didn’t mean to scare ya I just thought it’d save on water” he winks at you but your blushing like crazy & then it hits you that he sees all of you & you being to panic covering yourself bottom lip quivering Eddie cups your face “hey Heyy sweetheart don’t hide from me please you’re so beautiful look at me I don’t want you to feel like you have to shy away from me” he pulls you into his chest water running over the both of you Eddie begins kissing your neck & then your ear whispering “you’re so beautiful & sweet smart funny sexy & all mine I want you to do something for me ‘kay?” You nod “okay I want you to say you’re beautiful” you furrow your brows “come on princess we’re not leaving this bathroom until I hear you say it” you huff “I’m beautiful” you mumble “I’m sorry love didn’t quite hear you” Eddie dramatically motioning his hand near his ear “I’m beautiful” still to low for his liking he begins peppering you with kisses “come on out with it pretty girl” he tilts your chin up so he can see your face “I’M BEAUTIFUL!!!” Eddie jumps back clenching his chest laughing “there she is!” He pulls you in lips crashing together until the steam of the shower became too much for you both. Eddie took his time showering you with affection washing your hair and body while kissing your entire body praising you the whole time you washed him too letting him know how amazing & gorgeous he is & how you thank god for bringing him into your life. Once all clean you both get dressed you head to the kitchen to make breakfast in the middle of making your meal Eddie leans in the doorframe taking you in. Eddie never thought he’d be the kind of guy to want a domestic kind of life but he could see it with you watching you in the kitchen he’s flooded with thoughts of coming home from a long day at work & you barefoot pregnant waiting for him he knew right there he’d never let you go you’re it for him he knows he has to take his time with you but for you he’d wait a million years and move mountains. Coming up behind you wrapping his arms around your waist “smells Good princess I wanna set the table for you where’s everything so I can help” you smile “plates are in the cabinet above the microwave silverware is in the drawer next to the sink on the right and cups are right next to me in the glass cabinet”. To be continued…

[likecastle]

Ronance Femslash February - “number”

Thank you, @annieofhearts, for today’s prompt: “number”. I have to admit, I kind of don’t know where this one came from--it’s only vaguely a response to this prompt, and it’s kind of blink-and-you’ll-miss-it Ronance, but once the idea got hold of me, I couldn’t do anything else. Sorry it’s probably not quite what you were expecting, but please know I still really appreciate the prompt and had fun with this! (And you can always send in another prompt to give me a chance to redeem myself!)

I’m accepting Ronance prompts all month for Femslash February. Don’t be shy! You can find previous prompts I’ve filled here.

Putting part of this behind a cut because it got a long.

“I can’t do it,” Robin whines, sprawling hopelessly onto Steve’s couch. “I can’t go on another terrible blind date with some weirdo who insists on talking about her raw foot diet the entire night.”

“Maybe this time it’ll be different,” Steve says from the kitchen, as he sprinkles salt onto the popcorn he’s making.

Robin raises her head from the couch cushions to give him a baleful stare across the living room. “D’you remember the last one?”

Steve gives a whole-body flinch. “Nadya.”

“Nadya,” Robin agrees morosely. “And, like, sure, the sex was good, but she also stole multiple appliances from my kitchen.”

“I mean,” Steve says thoughtfully, “from what you told me, the sex was better than good.”

“I need a toaster, Steve! Bread is one of my primary food groups! And more importantly, I need to not wonder where my belongings have wandered off to after I hook up with someone. Like, what was she even doing with them? It’s not like my shitty microwave I’ve had since college was worth anything on the open market.”

“OK, OK,�� Steve concedes, obviously trying to forestall a rant he’s heard plenty of times already. “So you’ve struck out a few times.”

“I know I’m not exactly a whiz with numbers, but I think it’s fair to say my recent dating history constitutes a unilateral failure by any metric. I don’t know.” She pulls one of the couch cushions over her head with a groan. “Maybe I just need to give up on the idea of meeting the perfect person and try being on my own for a while. Maybe I already had my shot at the one big love of my life and I blew it without even realizing it. Maybe it’s stupid to think there’s anybody out there who could possibly put up with me, or—”

“Hey,” Steve cuts in sternly, nudging Robin’s legs so he can sit down beside her on the couch. He lets her stretch out on top of him once he’s settled, giving her shin a reassuring pat. “You’re smart as hell and you have good taste in movies and you’re the only person I know who can always make me laugh, no matter how bad a mood I’m in. You’re gonna find someone who can see how great you are, and anyone who acts like they’re putting up with you can fuck right off, because you’re cool as shit, OK?”

“Yeah, I know,” Robin mutters.

“Look,” Steve says, “you don’t have to go on this date if you don’t want to. It’s totally fine it you want to take some time to just be by yourself. But, if you ask me—”

“Which I didn’t,” Robin points out.

“If you ask me,” Steve continues, louder this time, as if volume alone gives him the moral high ground, “you’re gonna start psyching yourself out if you don’t pick yourself up and get back out there. Like, yeah, maybe this date will suck, but if you start going into every date assuming that you’re doomed to fail, it’s gonna become a self-sufficient prophecy.”

Robin groans again, shoving at Steve with her foot hard enough that he sways onto the arm of the couch. “Ugh, I hate it when you’re right.”

“So what do you know about the girl this time?”

Robin sighs, heaving herself up so she can get at the popcorn Steve set down on the coffee table. “Not much. She works with Lois at the Reader, just moved here from somewhere back east a few months ago. Lo said she’s never really dated women—apparently she was in a relationship with this guy for, like, ever, but she’s known she wasn’t straight since high school, and now that she’s single again, she wants to, you know, test the waters.”

“You do have a weakness for emotionally unavailable bi girls,” Steve says, almost apologetically, but Robin can’t even contest it, since this is an observation she’s made herself many times before.

“The Curse of Vickie,” Robin admits with a sigh, though privately it’s not Vickie she regrets the most, but another one who got away. “Fuck it, why not? Who knows, maybe it’ll even be fun.”

“That’s the spirit!” Steve says, reaching over to steal the popcorn bowl from her.

A week later, when Robin walks into the bar and sees Nancy Wheeler, of all people, waiting anxiously in a booth, her first thought is that Steve isn’t going to believe her when she tells him how her blind date turned out. Her second thought, as Nancy spots her and breaks into a bewildered grin, is that maybe she’s finally going to break her streak.

[theoddcatlady]

We Killed Bobby Tanner

It was me, Jessie Bates, Hunter Gilch, and Gabrielle Edison. We are the reason that Bobby Tanner never returned home that Friday night ten years ago, why every year his parents send out a plea asking for their son to come home. It was us. The senior class rejects.

Jessie was a bit slow and would believe anything you told him. You could tell this boy over a dozen times that ‘gullible’ was written on the ceiling and he’d believe you each of those times.

Gabrielle was pretty popular until her sophomore year when she got gonorrhea after having sex with her cheating shitbag of a boyfriend who didn’t know how to put on a condom. He, of course, blamed her for giving it to him and it didn’t matter what the truth was after that- Gabrielle was labeled a dirty slut and became a social outcast.

Hunter was just… off. Jessie followed him around like a lost puppy, but Hunter was that kid everyone was sure was either going to one day shoot up the school or become a prolific serial killer. Casual conversations would quickly turn sadistic as he’d brag about catching squirrels and birds in traps before killing them and cutting them up. He was the leader of our lil group, probably because the rest of us didn’t have a backbone.

Me, you can pick a reason why I was picked on- I’m fat, I had a serious acne problem, I’m socially awkward and a crybaby. I was an easy target because I’d start to cry when the words got too much and that was exactly what the bullies wanted.

Bobby was one of those bullies. He was everything we weren’t- he had money, he was good looking, he thought he was pretty smart, and he was funny… at least, if you weren’t the butt end of his jokes. We usually were. The only one he didn’t really pick on was Hunter, at least, not if he didn’t have a pack of friends around him. Hunter scared him, and probably for a good reason.

It was Hunter’s idea to kill him, after all.

It was after school, we were all at Hunter’s house. His parents were never home and it was a safe place to chill. I’d just finished throwing the pizza rolls in the microwave when he came out with it.

“What’s your perfect plan to kill someone?” Hunter said, interrupting Gabrielle’s rant about our stupid English teacher Mr. Shea.

Jessie laughed while Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “Really? I don’t have one, Hunter. Because I’m not a sociopath.”

“Come on, it’s all hypothetical,” Hunter waved his hand, “Just go with it. What’s your go to plan?”

Jessie stroked his chin, which had a few scraggly hairs on it that he proudly called his ‘beard’. “Huh… I mean, I guess I’d kill them with my dad’s shotgun so he goes down for the murder? Fuck my dad,” He said.

Hunter snickered while I took a seat on the couch arm and pondered this hypothetical question. “I mean, I’d probably go for making it look like an accident. Like they fell off a cliff or a building, or the brakes in their car just gave out,” I answered.

Hunter looked genuinely impressed. “That’s actually not half bad! Come on, Gabrielle, what do you think?” He asked.

Gabrielle scoffed before she started twirling her hair- she always did that when she was thinking on something. “Oh my god, fine… I think I’d just poison the bastard? I’m not really strong, I mean, neither is Noelle, but here she is threatening to throw people off of buildings,” She elbowed my ribs teasingly.

“It’s a hypothetical question!” I threw my hands up in the air before looking down at Hunter. “Since you asked, I’m sure you already have an answer.”

“Lure them out to the woods before slicing open their throat so I can shower in their blood,” Hunter grinned menacingly and I had to suppress a shudder.

“That’s fucking gross… and would leave so much evidence, you idiot,” Gabrielle shook her head, “Actual sociopath, Hunter Gilch.”

We all laughed until Hunter brought up the next question. “Okay, who would you murder then? Say you could murder anyone and know you could get away with it. Name your picks,” He said as he crossed his arms.

I shifted uncomfortably while Gabrielle shook her head. “Too much, Hunter, too much,” She said.

“Who would you murder?” Jessie piped up with.

Hunter opened his mouth to respond when I heard the microwave beep. “Natural segue, it’s pizza rolls time!” I leaped up from the couch arm and ran into the kitchen. I did hear Hunter say he had a few possibles, but my return with the delicious snack had us completely forget about murder.

Almost.

The next week the cruelest prank was played on me. I got to my locker to see a present from a secret admirer, a box of chocolates with a sweet love letter. I was so overjoyed and I ended up enjoying two or three chocolates before class.

Chocolates that Bobby had laced with laxatives.

Just as the teacher was about to hand out the assignments, my stomach made that oh so uncomfortable gurgling sound and I had to bolt for the bathroom. I… didn’t make it. And I'd been wearing a skirt that day.

Liquid shit dripped down my legs as I scrambled for the bathroom, only to hear the cruelest laughter behind me. I looked, I saw Bobby, I saw his friends taking pictures with their phones, and I realized what happened.

I considered killing myself that night. The whole school knew what had happened. One of Bobby’s friends had texted him to let him know it was going down and that’s how he knew, and the incriminating pictures of me waddling down the hallway with a brown trail behind me spread like wildfire. I’d never live this down.

I’d already decided that I’d take all my mother’s sleeping pills and wash it down with a bottle of vodka when I heard my doorbell frantically ringing.

My mom was out so I ended up dragging myself to the door. When I opened it, there he was- Hunter. It had been raining out and he was soaking wet, gasping for breath as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Bobby. That’s who I’d fucking murder. Bobby fucking Tanner.”

I burst into tears and collapsed in Hunter’s arms.

That’s when we seriously began to plan to murder Bobby.

Jessie took no effort to convince, although I’m not sure he knew we were serious until the night it happened. Gabrielle was on the fence, but after she heard people laughing about ‘Shitstain Noelle’, she agreed to help as long as she wasn’t doing the actual killing part.

We all had a part to play. Gabrielle was the bait. Hunter and Jessie were the muscle. And I was the clean up crew.

I remember going to Jessie’s father’s home improvement shop to pick out the weapons. Jessie might’ve been dumb as a box of rocks when it came to things like school and common sense, but he knew tools. He chattered my ear off about how this certain brand of hammer was known to have its head come flying off if you used it too roughly and how this other brand was hardy and good for long term use.

Hunter picked one of those hammers and tossed it in the air. I never saw him smile quite so genuinely as he added it to the basket.

It was much more fun to actually plan the murder than commit it, at least for me. Each of us did get our own hammer, Jessie jokingly called us the hammer bros and Hunter laughed until he cried.

Gabrielle was probably the best damn bait. She made sure to approach Bobby when he was alone and actually let the bastard feel her up before saying if he wanted more, he should come with her after school. I was her back up, watching from around the corner just in case he got too much. I saw how he ogled her, he was entranced. Sure she was a slut, but she was still hot, and Bobby was still a teenage boy.

She had him drive them to the woods near Jessie’s place. We were all in position. The car pulled up and Bobby was far too focused on making out with Gabrielle to notice Hunter storming up to the car. By the time Hunter ripped the door open, it was too late for Bobby to get away.

The plan didn’t feel real until Hunter cracked the hammer against Bobby’s mouth.

Bobby screamed as Hunter dragged him out, bringing the hammer down again and again on his head. Jessie joined in and began smashing him wherever he could, but Hunter did most of the work. Jessie was more timid, he didn’t have it in him to really kill someone else.

Hunter did though. Bobby screamed and begged for him to stop. I don’t think he ever threw a punch back, he didn’t have a chance.

When he finally ceased crying and struggling, his face was a swollen, bloody mess. You couldn’t tell who he used to be. I think Hunter would’ve continued beating him if Jessie didn’t tell him it was enough. Bobby was dead.

The next part of the plan was performed mechanically. Hunter and Jessie took Bobby’s car to a deeper part of the woods where it was dismantled. Gabrielle went home. And I took care of the body, throwing it in the nearby river, tied with rocks, where it’ll never be seen again.

They sent search parties. People were dragged in for questioning. Even Hunter was, but we each other’s alibi- we were at Hunter’s house all night and he didn’t go anywhere. Probably the best stroke of luck was that Bobby didn’t tell anyone he was going out with Gabrielle. He was probably going to save the bragging for later.

People completely forgot about ‘Shitstain Noelle’ now that Bobby just up and disappeared. People talked about how he was such a good kid with such a promising future. Some rumors sprouted up about how all the pressure from his parents just made him crack and he took off to live in Florida or some shit. Other people still continued to point the finger at Hunter, saying we were just covering for him. Never really thought we participated though.

But I lied.

Bobby Tanner wasn’t dead when I took him to the river.

It came as a shock to me when I went to lift his body out of the bed of Jessie’s truck and he groaned. I nearly screamed. Somehow after being pulverized, Bobby was still alive.

I had a choice. If I dumped him in the water, he’d drown. No question about it. It was up to me now to finish the job.

Or maybe I couldn’t. Maybe when faced with the choice at the end, I just couldn’t.

Bobby was stashed under my bed. Every day when I came home from school, I expected to find him dead, but somehow he’d kept clinging onto life. I took care of him best I could with what supplies I could pick up over the counter, I fed him food turned into paste, and I’d clean up after him.

He wasn’t really… Bobby anymore. Even when his face healed, it was all crooked and puffy. I think sometime during the beating Hunter knocked one of his eyes out, because it was just gone, I don’t know what happened to it. I had to teach him how to go to the bathroom, how to eat by himself. I asked him if he remembered who I was, if he remembered Noelle.

All I got was a blank stare.

Bobby went with me to my new place when I moved out of my mother’s house. I taught him how to be quiet and stay still in the trunk I’d keep him in. During the day he knew to hide under the bed, when I got home from work he’d always give me a hug before lying down on the couch. He knew not to be seen, he listened to whatever I said. It was like having a son.

I never told the others. After the murder we just… grew apart. Things weren’t the same. Hunter was more manic and morbid than ever, Jessie became quiet and threw himself into work at his father’s shop, and Gabrielle…

Gabrielle couldn’t live with what we did. She hung herself about three months after our group murder. It was too much for her. I wish I told her at least that we didn’t kill Bobby. It’s probably the only reason the guilt hasn’t consumed me either.

But maybe I shouldn’t have kept him alive, either.

Like I said, it’s been ten years. Bobby’s made leaps and strides in taking care of himself, he can even heat up leftovers in the microwave. For the longest time, he was a blank slate. I was his Noelle, the woman taking care of him. His only friend. The world outside was a bad place, was the reason he lost himself.

Last week I left out some old things while doing some spring cleaning. Most importantly, I left out a book of pictures. I came back home to see Bobby staring at a picture of my friends. I asked him what he was doing and he just shrugged and I thought that was that. He didn’t have his memories, after all.

Well that picture knocked something loose. I came home today to find Bobby was gone, with that picture torn up in little shreds. Sometime that afternoon someone broke into the home improvement store that Jessie still worked at and beat him to death with one of the hammers.

I’m trying to get in contact with Hunter now, I know he still lives in the state but we haven’t spoken in years.

I just hope I’m not too late.