#I don’t remember much about the dreams now | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

iamsebastiansstan · 1 day ago

Text

like one of your girls - NAC x fem!reader

summary - “Finally getting a taste of this gorgeous cunt, been thinking about it,” he murmurs against her mound, looks right at her as he says, “Gonna kiss you where I’m gonna fuck you, my sweet,” before he dives right in.

wc - 6k - MINORS DNI !

warnings - lots of dirty talk as always, crying during sex, unprotected p in v, oral (m and f), creampie, aftercare 🥹

A/N - I dedicate this chapter to @hoffmansgirl because he's literally doing it rn girl like literally !!! anyways, this update was fast but I probably won't be writing much for the next few weeks, I GOTTA STUDY lmao come tell me what you thought of this, any and all feedback is appreciated <3 enjoy!

taglist - @blackynsupremacy / @lalavenderangel / @nicholaschavezbby /

PART 1

Waking up next to him is like a dream she never wants to wake up from. She’s watching him as his eyelids flutter open, his nose scrunches up, as he stretches his strong arms above his head and groans adorably while looking at her through squinted eyes.

“You been awake long?” he asks her, and she shakes her head no.

He’d spooned her last night, she remembers, they both needed that closeness without crossing too many lines, and already she’s feeling withdrawals, missing having his body heat along her back. It isn’t awkward now, but the tension can definitely be felt in the air.

“Good. When do you need to get back to New York?”

She thinks about it for a minute, heart beating fast. Is he asking to be polite or is he asking so they can make plans to see each other? She hopes to God it’s the latter.

“On Wednesday. I made plans with some friends to hang out while I’m still here.”

He hums, scratches the back of his shoulder.

“Wanna give me your number? I’d quite like to see you again.”

Trying hard to keep her screaming internal, she reaches over to the bedside table and hands him her phone, watching as his nimble fingers type in his digits before pressing the call button.

“Think my phone’s dead but the call should’ve gone through. Now we can text each other.”

She smiles warmly. “I’d like that.”

They don’t keep their eyes off each other as they get dressed, him slipping into last night’s clothes and her into some fresh ones, and she can feel the want for him pool deep in her stomach, bitter at everything they didn’t get to experience yesterday, glad about what they did get to do.

“Hey, just one second, (Y/N),” he stops her as she’s about to leave the room and she turns, looks up at him when he steps close. “I’m gonna take the advice you gave me yesterday, but I don’t want you to feel like you’re a second option, a rebound, anything like that. I enjoyed yesterday immensely.”

Her heart flutters at his consideration, but she only smiles and puts a hand on his cheek, stroking his skin softly.

“I’m not here to make your life more complicated than it needs to be, Nicholas,” she assures and means it. “I enjoyed it too, and I’d love to see you again if possible. If not, then no hard feelings. We can be honest with each other. Friends get to do that, no?”

His nod is slow, the relief basically radiating off of him as he grabs her hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles before opening the door for her, following her out.

Nicholas doesn’t stay for breakfast, but he kisses Cooper’s cheek and thanks him, hugs her with a quiet promise to text her, and soon enough she’s perched on a bar stool at Cooper’s kitchen island, spooning cereal into her mouth and doing her best to dodge his suspicious looks.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she says through a mouthful.

“Not looking at you like anything.”

She levels him with a look, unimpressed.

“Ask what you want to ask or shut up entirely, Coop.”

A slow smile spreads across his face, seemingly shy but his blazing eyes betray him as he asks, “Did you fuck him?”

She expected this, so she answers calmly.

“No.”

“Did you want to?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you?”

The question makes her stop for a moment, unsure how much she’s allowed to say.

“I think you know why. Are you mad?”

He rolls his eyes, takes her hand in his.

“No, of course not. I’d be happy for both of you. But I know that you’re both,” he shoots her a meaningful look that she expertly ignores, “in a rough place in life right now, and I’d hate to see you take it out on each other.”

She nods, understanding where he’s coming from.

“Is Nick going to get the same speech?” she asks, only half joking.

“A much stricter one, I can tell ya that!”

She laughs as she gets up along with him to clean the mess from their breakfast up before she goes to meet with her aforementioned friends, heart fluttering the entire time at the prospect of Nick messaging her.

***

She’s sitting in the park and sipping on her smoothie when she feels her phone vibrate in her pocket. Tuning out her friends’ laughter for a minute, she takes it out to see that it’s from Nick, making excitement bubble up in her chest. She opens it immediately, not expecting anything, when suddenly the words make her want to choke on her own spit.

not to be too forward but I just made myself come to the thought of how tight your throat would be around me. I’ll be thinking about that for a long while.

Two seconds later:

hope you’re having a wonderful day.

Trying not to seem like the mess he’s turned her into within seconds, she does her best to fight off the mental image his message is creating in her mind and reply somewhat coherently.

You’re a fucking dickhead, do you know that? I’m out and about and now I’m dripping. Thanks for nothing.

His reply doesn’t take long, has her taste blood from where she’s gnawing her bottom lip open.

that’s how I want you baby, all the time. see you soon.

She’s distracted for the rest of the day but when her friends ask her about it, she chalks it up to her stressful college courses and tight deadlines. Despite the butterflies dancing in her belly, she’s had a nice time, and when she walks into Cooper’s house later, she’s got a beaming smile on her face.

“Honey, I’m home!” she shouts, taking off her shoes and hanging up her handbag by the door.

“Honeys, please!” comes Stuart’s voice from the living room and she grins as she walks in, presses a kiss to the tops of their heads.

“Missed ya at the party yesterday,” she says and plops down on the loveseat across from where they’re cuddled up on the couch.

Friends is on. She hates that show.

“Yeah, I was sad I couldn’t make it, but Cooper is throwing a pool party tomorrow, so I’ll still get some fun in.”

She’s surprised at hearing about yet another event, but she’s not complaining.

“And drinks,” Cooper reminds him helpfully. “Lots of drinks as well.”

They chat a little, watch a small part of some movie that’s on when Stuart switches the channel, stay up until it’s hard for her to suppress the yawning. Bidding them goodnight, she stands up to go into the guest room when Cooper calls out her name.

“He’ll be there tomorrow,” he lets her know, a kind little smile on his face, and she nods gratefully before ascending the stairs, ready for sleep.

The next morning, she doesn’t overthink it, mainly because she refuses to give up so much power so soon.

It’s just her usual routine; the shaving, the skincare, the comfy bikini, a midi dress over it. No make-up, just her necklace, she refuses to get dolled up for a pool party. From what she knows, it’ll be a much smaller affair than Friday’s party was, and she’s looking forward to it.

“I’ll handle the BBQ, could you just make the salad dressing and carry these out to the patio, (Y/N)?” Cooper asks her, and she obliges gladly.

They set everything up rather quickly, the guests start arriving soon, and she tries her hardest not to stop in her tracks when she sees Nicholas walk out through the glass doors of the living room, hugging everyone he knows before he spots her. The way he rakes his eyes over her body before settling on her face makes heat creep up her neck, and she knows that it’s got nothing to do with today’s temperature.

“Hey, stranger,” he greets her, wraps his arms around her to give her a good squeeze.

“Hey, you,” she smiles, inhales his fresh scent, enjoys having him in her arms again. “How have you been?”

The breath he exhales as he pulls away is deep, it lets her know that things have gone down, but the private smile he gives her makes the oncoming worry in her mind disappear.

“I’ve been alright so far, I’ll tell you about it later, okay?”

She nods, cheeks warming. “Okay. Come find me.”

She allows herself to be open, truthful in her wants, and he chuckles at that, squeezes her shoulder.

“Always.”

They don’t sit next to each other during lunch, but they keep glancing over the table and finding each other’s eyes, and every single time it happens, it makes the heat coil tighter in her stomach. He looks fucking good today, ruffled hair and a loose button-down that he keeps open, muscular chest flashing at every turn. At some point he puts his sunglasses on and turns his head straight in her direction, but she can’t tell if she’s being stared at or not, faltering during the conversation she’s trying to have with one of the girls at the party.

When they’re all full and satiated, they go and find their own things to do: some go to swim a few laps or just cool off in the pool, some go to lounge by the grass and read, some stay at the table and keep drinking and chatting. She decides to walk over to the big tree at the back of the garden, finding a comfortable spot on the outdoor sofa under it and laying down, head comfortably resting on a small pillow. It’s not like she’s hoping he’ll find her there; she knows he is going to come and join her eventually. She just needs a little breather yet again, getting easily overwhelmed in big groups of people.

“And here you are, sneaking off again,” she hears his voice after Lord knows how much time has passed, and she can’t help the slow smile that spreads across her face.

“My social battery empties quickly,” she starts to explain as she watches him sit down at the end of the outdoor couch, but what she doesn’t expect is for him to grab her legs and drape them over his lap, rubbing up and down one foot lightly.

“D’you mind?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

“No, ‘s comfortable.”

They sit in silence like that for a little, just looking at each other, and she can feel a lump grow in her throat. Never has she wanted somebody as badly as him, and the restraint she has to show is otherworldly at this point.

“What happened, Nicholas?” she dives straight in, direct as always, watches him exhale deeply.

“Well,” he laughs, no humor behind it. “I had that conversation with her yesterday.”

“Yeah? How’d it go?” she asks, heart in her throat.

She thinks back on what he told her, that he’s scared to give in to his ex, that he might let her convince him to try one more time, one more moment, one more fuck, and she feels pathetic for how scared she is that he’ll tell her that this is it, it’s over between them before it even started.

“She took it well. I hate hurting her, I really struggled, but she… she didn’t put up a fight,” he explains, and a wave of relief mixed with guilt washes over her, has her breathe easier. “She knows, I think. We both do.”

“You still love her, though, don’t you?” she presses, winces when he grabs her foot and digs in, massages at a sore spot.

His smirk tells her he isn’t sorry.

“Yeah, I do. But she isn’t mine to have anymore, and I am so okay with that.”

“Do you feel bad about Friday night?”

He scoffs, pulls her foot up to his mouth and presses a kiss against it, has her gut clenching from the motion, so intimate, so familiar.

“There’s nothing I’ve felt better about in a while, I’ll be honest.”

She nods, at a loss for words. Wanting to jump him right here, but cautious considering their surroundings. Wanting to have him but wanting to keep building the tension to see what happens when he snaps.

It’s hard having a filter in his presence, so she blurts out, “How many more times have you thought about me having you down my throat since you texted me yesterday?”

“Jesus Christ,” Nicholas chokes and throws his head back, eyes shut as if it’s hurting him to think about it.

“I need to know, Nick.”

“Last night again… then this morning, as I was getting ready to come here.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “Last night before or after you went to see her?”

His brown eyes are wide when she looks into them, they’re honest and sincere, which is why it hits so much harder when he tells her, “Both.”

“Fuck,” she breathes, sits up and pulls her legs to her chest, needing to collect herself. “You’re a bastard, Nicholas.”

“I can’t help it,” he smirks, reaches out to lay a hand on her knee but not moving closer. “What about you? Did you have to help yourself out at all?”

She nods dumbly, unable to look away from his face.

“Last night, as well. Three times. I couldn’t sleep without it.”

A bite to his lips tells her he’s imagining it, thinking about it.

“Did you give yourself any fingers? Or did you only play with your clit?”

“M-my clit, didn’t put anything inside of me.”

She feels the increase of her pulse, feels the tingle in her core at the way he looks at her, devours her with his gaze.

“Why not, little girl?”

“I want the next thing to fill me to be you, Nicholas,” she confesses, lays herself bare and relishes in the devastation her words cause him, the way his jaw drops, his brows raise.

It’s safe, she reminds herself, he’s safe. She can be vulnerable with him, can let him throw her against the wall and trust that he’ll pick up the shattered pieces to put her back together.

“You’re killing me, do you know that? The things I wanna do to you…” he trails off, stares into the distance for a moment. “I’ve never wanted to do them to another person. I don’t even fucking know you.”

“No, but you see me. And I don’t need to know what those things are, Nicholas. I feel them. And I want them, too.”

A harsh puff of air leaves his nose before he’s leaning back, gazing at her, face resolute.

“Go to the room upstairs and wait for me there, will you?”

She nods, mind and heart racing, does as she’s told as she gets up on shaky legs, knees nearly buckling. Making sure her walk isn’t too fast as not to rouse suspicion but fast enough to show him that she wants this, so he can see- and he certainly is watching her ass as she’s leaving- that she’s on board with what he’s trying to do.

She meant what she said: she doesn’t need to know, she feels it.

Arriving in the guest room, she doesn’t know what to do with herself, nerves getting the best of her and leaving her nearly dizzy. She splashes some cold water on her face before cupping her hands and letting the water from the tap fill them, bringing them to her mouth and swallowing mouthfuls before she turns it off. The image that greets her in the mirror is one she hasn’t seen often: a woman delirious with lust, eyes glazed over and cheeks blotchy.

A sound from the outside makes her dry her face off quickly before stepping out, seeing Nicholas shut and lock the door, eyes dark.

They say nothing as he stands across from her and puts a hand on her cheek, runs his thumb across her lips, smiles when she takes the very tip of it between her teeth and bites down gently.

“You’re a sweet one, aren’t you?” he asks, and she nods as he pushes his finger deeper into her mouth, presses down on her tongue and leaves it there. Her hands find his torso, his chiseled muscles to hold on to lest she loses balance, and she sucks his digit into her mouth deeply, hollows her cheeks as they keep staring at each other. “You’re a good cocksucker as well, though, hm?”

She shrugs cheekily, smiles around his finger when he chuckles. She pulls away, then, kisses the tip of his thumb.

“You’ll have to find out, won’t you?”

The way he rolls his eyes playfully is so sexy, takes away some of the suffocating seriousness that has crept into their dynamic without breaking the tension, without diminishing the spark they have.

Large palms frame her face as he looks at her deeply, anticipation forcing her mouth to open in a gasp, and that’s when he takes his chance, claims her mouth in a kiss so sensual that it has her moaning into his lips. It doesn’t take long for his tongue to find hers and he licks at her muscle, lets her in and deepens the kiss, makes it dirty but so full of lust and devotion that she can’t help but stand on her tippy toes to chase after that sensation.

His hand finds her throat, grips it lightly yet makes her feel breathless, a dirty chuckle against her lips breaking their moment.

“You’ll let me in there, won’t you, baby?” he rasps, drives his finger down the front of her throat. “All the way inside?”

She nods, stupid with want. “Yes, please let me. I need to taste you, Nicholas, fuck.”

He kisses her again, then, toying with her mouth as his hands unzip her dress, pull it off her body, leaving her in only her bikini.

“Kneel in front of the bed, with your back facing it,” he instructs, burying his head in her neck and nibbling lightly, grinning at her gasp.

She does as she’s told, has little control over it, kneels obediently and looks up at him with a wet pout on her lips. Remembering what he told her last time, that no woman could ever take his cock down here throat, believing him. Despite its length, what probably causes trouble is the veiny thickness of it, the very thing that makes cunts drip for him being the reason for locked jaws and hurting lips.

The walk over to her is deliberately slow, he’s letting her stew in her desire for him, but she can’t even complain, not when she gets to observe even his most miniscule movements uninterrupted. The first thing she does when he’s right there is fall forward and bury her face in his crotch, over the material of his linen shorts, inhaling deeply. His clothes smell clean but there’s a musky undertone, something so distinctly man that it has her mouth watering.

“Shhh, there you go, get your fill,” he whispers, drives his hands through her hair and she’s so grateful he’s letting her express her desperation how she needs to.

The balance of her body barely allows her to get up on her knees, but she manages, presses open mouthed kisses along his torso, as far up as she can reach. She licks into his navel, kisses down his happy trail, moans as she traces her tongue along the waistband of his briefs.

“Fuck, I’m so hungry for it,” she breathes, “please give it to me, I need it so bad.”

Nicholas chuckles, a sound that hits her right in the chest, and untangles the strings of his pants. She’s glad he’s decided to take his shorts off completely, wrapping her hands around his thighs as soon as he’s stepped out of them and mouthing at his hard cock through his briefs, tongue tasting a salty wet spot and groaning into it.

“Jesus, (Y/N), you’re like a woman possessed,” he growls, all pride and no disgust, and it spurs her on to reach up and pull his cock out, get his underwear out of the way so she can really revel in everything his manhood has to give.

He discards his shirt as well, then, and there he is: her personal Greek God in all his glory, naked flesh for her to devour.

A tear makes its way down her cheek and she’s done with waiting, needs for him to own her.

“Please,” she breathes and smiles wickedly as he grabs his cock, pumps it once, twice before holding it by the base and-

And slapping it across her face, the hit harder than she anticipated, making her cry out with nasty hunger.

“Again,” she begs, and he obeys with a wide-eyed stare, slaps her one more time, two more times before hooking his thumb in her mouth and pulling it open, praising her when she automatically sticks her tongue out.

Nick traces the leaking head of his cock over her tongue, and she could cry when the salt hits her tastebuds, the warmth of his flesh mixing with the wetness on her muscle.

“This is what you were made for, baby,” he says, praises her, talks as if he’s far away. “You’re so fucking beautiful, just waiting for me to ruin you, huh?” She nods her head before shaking it, making sure his precome coats all of her tongue, moans when he orders, “Suck this cock, sweetheart.”

Not needing to be told twice, she engulfs the thick tip in her mouth, sucks on it as she moves her tongue down to coat his length in spit, to ease the way, to make it easier for him to claim the depths of her throat.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he curses above her, hands not ceasing their movement in her hair, and she sees it as motivation to keep going. The louder he is, the louder she wants him.

Some men like a mix between a willing mouth and two skilled hands, she knows, but today she wants to show him just how hungry she’s been for his cock since she met him, so she works her lips around him, determined to not need her hands for this. She sinks deeper and deeper, lets the accumulated spit from her mouth coat him, doesn’t mind the strings of it escaping and dripping down her chin, makes sure she keeps her eyes wide and on him as he’s struggling not to squeeze his shut.

“Halfway there, baby, you’re so fucking good f’me,” he moans, “Messy little girl, just like that.”

She lays her tongue out and takes a deep breath before pushing down stubbornly, eyes screwing up as he goes deeper and deeper, watching his slack jaw and wide eyes marveling at something he’s always wished to experience but never could, not with the women he’d been with before. Relaxing her throat and feeling him push through that last bit of resistance as she fights against her gag reflex, fights to keep it deep within her chest, fights through the pain it brings her not to openly cough at the intrusion in her body. She can’t stand it, not for long, and she has to pull away with a chest-wracking cough, trying to collect herself but delirious with the need to prove her devotion to him.

“Baby, that was amazing, just-“

“Fuck my throat, Nicholas,” she rasps through the tears, gets in position again and takes his cock in hand this time, jerks him a little until she gets herself under control again.

“(Y/N), are you sure? Once I start, I won’t be stopping until you give me a signal, no matter how much you cry, okay?”

Jesus Christ. She nods, determined.

“I’ll tap your thigh twice if I need you to really stop, okay?”

He bends down and kisses her deeply, wipes at the tears on her cheeks.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers before straightening back up, gripping her by the hair and growling, “now open that fuckin’ throat for me.”

It’s animalistic, the way he takes her mouth, pushes his cock deep and keeps snapping his hips up, moaning loudly as she chokes, as she holds onto her own thighs just to have something to grip while he uses her. Inch by inch he fucks himself deep, groans her name, “My good girl, that’s right, show ‘em how it’s done,” knowing exactly how to spur her on, how to give her the strength to fight through her body’s struggles.

She’s gargling out spit, face wet and messy, when he finally, fucking finally manages to bottom out, bury her nose in his trimmed pubic hair, almost doubling over when she then sticks her tongue out until the back of her throat starts burning to lap at his balls with the tip of it, just to show him that there’s nothing stopping her from satisfying the hunger she has for him.

“Ho- oh my fucking- ugh,” he moans, the tightness of her sending him into overdrive, the way her choking and swallowing around his cock stimulates his sensitive head making tears spring to his eyes.

He grabs her by the hair and rips her back roughly, letting her breathe heavy for a minute before diving down to claim her lips in a bruising kiss, in awe at this woman kneeling in front of him.

“Fuck, that felt good,” she laughs manically against his mouth, tears and snot dripping from her face, but they don’t care, they’re reveling in the way they can mess each other up.

“You okay, baby? Your voice is fucked,” he smiles as she nods eagerly, clearing her throat.

“More, please, fuck my face just a little more,” she begs, watching his eyes widen at her request, but she doesn’t care. Now that she’s gotten a taste, she wants more.

One hand in her hair and the other one on her jaw, he pushes between her lips again, keeps pushing until he’s in all the way and pulls her off again, watching her splutter and cough for a second before reeling her in again. Nicholas seems to enjoy that, watching her struggle with her throat full, struggle to catch her breath after, but whenever her eyes meet his in a silent plea, she sees the fire in his gaze burn that much brighter before he goes in to fuck her face again.

“No more,” he pants, grabs her by the arms and pulls her into a standing position, steadying her as her legs give out from having knelt for so long. “Fuck, I almost came down your throat.”

“Why didn’t you?” she pouts, face a total mess but causing him to smile at her warmly regardless.

“Don’ wanna, wanna shoot my load inside of you,” he mutters, makes her cheeks heat up.

“Next time, though?”

He laughs, kisses her swollen mouth.

“Promise, baby.”

Nick makes quick work of her bikini and gets her naked and sprawled across the bed in record time, writhing under his heated gaze as he just stands here, cock hard and dripping with her spit, watching her.

“Spread your legs for me,” he instructs, eyes raking over her form, and with a shy bite to her lip she obliges, parts her legs and lets him look at where she’s sloppy wet for him.

“Need you so bad, I’m all swollen,” she whines, watches as he positions himself between her legs, kisses along her stomach up to her tits.

The first nipple he takes into his hot mouth gets a quick bite shortly after, making her hiss, before he moves over to the second, giving it attention while she rakes her hands through his hair, lost in sensation.

It’s all she’s ever wanted and more, the fucked-out state of arousal that has her mind feeling honey sticky and slow, completely out of her own body. She focuses on his weight on top of her, the way his spit on her nipples paired with the cool air in the room gives her gooseflesh, and soon enough she’s whimpering as he trails his kisses in the direction of her center.

“Finally getting a taste of this gorgeous cunt, been thinking about it,” he murmurs against her mound, looks right at her as he says, “Gonna kiss you where I’m gonna fuck you, my sweet,” before he dives right in, licks her in broad stripes and has her throwing her head back in ecstasy.

All the blood rushes to her center and despite not even having been touched properly, the tension burns, makes her clit tingle where it’s being loved on by his clever tongue, and she can’t help but bury her hands in his hair and push her hips up into his awaiting mouth. Nicholas eats pussy like it’s the most decadent thing he’s ever had, like it melts on his tongue, the way he pushes between her inner lips and slurps at the very source of her arousal. By now he knows how much she loves the attention on her little nub, so he sucks it into his mouth, taps his tongue against it until she’s arching off the bed, only being held down by his bulging arms.

“N-Nick, fuck, fuck no-,“ she’s trying to push him off, the buildup of her climax making every limb tingle, but he holds on, holds her steady until she’s crying, begging, “please, let me come for you, please, please, pl- fuck-“

A hum of confirmation, the vibration of it hitting her core, is all it takes before she’s coming hard, pulling his head closer and trying to bat him away at the same time, and the minute her high decreases and her muscles relax he’s on her, kissing her lax mouth, pushing his tongue deep and letting her taste her pussy on his sinful lips.

“Y’taste sweeter than I could’ve imagined,” he’s breathing hard against her mouth, “sweetest pussy just for me to take, ain’t it? Fuck, I need to be inside of you.”

The “Please,” punches out of her, already wrapping her legs around his torso so he’d slip in easier, giving him all the access and shouting into his shoulder as he slides his cock into her in one go, fills her up until she can feel him in her lungs. She pushes at his chest so he’d pull away, look at her, grabs him by the face and hisses “What the fuck are you, who the fuck- what are you doing t- to me?”

Nicholas’ laugh is amazed, top lip curled over his perfect teeth as he focuses on drilling into her hard, watching her lose her mind under him, watching her give herself over to him without a care in the world. He angles his hips just so, pelvic bone brushing against her clit with every thrust, making her see stars.

“You’ll come for me like this,” he promises, voice shot, “you’re so gorgeous, fuck. Look at you, can’t believe you’ll come for me again, I’ve got you-“

“Nick, please,” she cries, terrified of what her mind is making her body do, “I can’t-“

“You can and you will,” he snaps, grabs her by the face and pulls her close, kisses her pouting mouth. “Come for me, (Y/N), I wanna see you lose it.”

She doesn’t pass out this time but she kind of wishes she did, because the groans and moans and pathetic whimpers that rip out of deep within her are sounds she’s never going to unhear now. If it were with anyone else, she’d be mortified, but he just talks her through it with pride in his voice as if she were his girl, his to coach and use and fuck and lo-

But isn’t she? She sure feels like it.

“Atta fuckin’ girl, that’s right, oh I’m gonna come, baby-“

“Fill me up,” she whispers, lax now, letting herself be used and moved like a rag doll, “I wanna feel you dripping out of my pussy for days.”

“Oh shit, (Y/N)-“ and that does it for him, apparently, as he pushes in impossibly deep and spills inside of her, moaning into her neck and holding her close, filling her body and mind and heart, and dear God, she’s a fucking goner.

The room smells like their sex, like musk, heady and dazed, makes her head spin where she’s laying under him and wondering what the actual fuck just happened. Nicholas’ breathing is labored but he’s still pressing lazy kisses against her temple, arms still around her spent body.

After a moment, he peers down at her.

“You okay, baby?” he whispers, like the atmosphere is something fragile.

She doesn’t trust her voice, so she just nods.

“Was it too much? Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head no.

He chuckles deeply, leans down to kiss her mouth and she can’t do much more than to let herself be kissed, can’t reciprocate.

“Talk to me, love, c’mon,” he requests gently, and when she hears that little nickname, hears the care in his voice, her lip starts wobbling and her tears start running freely down her cheeks. “Oh, baby,” he soothes, lets her cry in his arms, holds her through it.

She’s heard of people crying after sex, especially after intense sex, but it has never happened to her. Laying here, though, on these ruined sheets, face and body and her fucking insides sticky with him, after having been used so mercilessly and still having him hold her like she’s something precious, talk to her like she’s something to be cherished? She can’t take it, the turmoil of the last few days, the last few weeks, paired with the experience of his mere existence sending her into overdrive.

“Let it out, I’m here f’you,” he whispers, shushes her, kisses her head, and soon enough she runs out of tears, only sniffles where she’s hiding in his neck.

Nicholas pulls away, props himself up on one elbow as his other hand keeps stroking her hair, her face, anything he can reach. He’s got a small smile playing on his full lips as he looks at her, and she smiles back, exhausted but satiated.

“’m sorry for this,” she croaks, voice barely there.

Before she can say anything else, he interrupts her, shushes her with his thumb on her lips. “Please don’t,” he says, eyes kind, “I’m so honored that you trust me enough to fall apart like this. Seriously, (Y/N), this is not a small deal.”

She clicks her tongue, eyes welling up with tears again.

“I know,” she whimpers, takes his hand in hers and kisses it. “I know it isn’t, and I don’t know what the fuck to do with this. I- Nicholas… What the fuck?”

He brings her to his chest, holds her close, kisses the crown of her head.

“None of that now, baby,” he whispers, “Now I gotta give you some good aftercare and then we’ll clean up, okay? We can talk later, when we’re both in our right minds. That sound good?”

She nods, says, “I don’t wanna go back to the party,” but it’s muffled against his full chest.

He hears her anyways.

“We don’t have to; we’ll just stay here."

Cleaning up is a quiet affair, they keep each other close at all times, standing under the shower together and just washing each other, hands trailing across the other with no intent to take it further. It’s intimate, it’s connecting, and it’s exactly what she needs to come down from the rollercoaster he’s put her through. Nicholas rummages through the closets on that floor until he finds clean sheets and changes them while she stands next to the bed, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, watching with a small smile as he wrestles with the fitted sheet.

“Too many workouts today,” he grumbles as he pulls it over the corners of the bed, “I haven’t consumed enough calories today for this level of exercise.”

She giggles at his silliness before she lets herself fall onto the bed, holding her arms open for him to crawl in, settling his head on her boobs.

“Naked cuddling is my favorite,” she whispers to him conspiratorially and he nods eagerly, agreeing.

“Same, don’t nearly do it often enough.”

She’s ready for a nap, she realizes as she lets her eyes fall shut, and soon enough she’s slipping away softly, clutching him tightly.

Unsure if she's dreaming or not, she hears a soft, "I've got you, my sweet. Always got you."

#mine #my writing #nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas alexander Chavez smut #nicholas chavez x reader #nicholas chavez #nicholas alexander chavez x reader #nicholas chavez smut #charlie mayhew #father charlie mayhew #father Charlie x reader #grotesquerie #father charlie grotesquerie #father charlie smut #nicholas chavez fanfiction #nicholas chavez imagine #monsters netflix #spencer cassadine

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signanothername · 3 days ago

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I– I need to ask.

HOW DO YOU DO THIS?? Like, share your thoughts with everyone. Because I've been working on my universe for about three years now, AND I STILL FEEL LIKE IT'S NOT READY. At the same time, I’m still afraid to share these things...

So. How do you do it?D:

Alright my answer will seem a bit harsh and/or cruel, but know that I mean it in the most kind, genuine, and gentle way possible, i just don’t know how to word it any other way

With that in mind

Anon, you’re never going to be ready to share it, and the fear will always linger, you will never be 100% confident of what you share

And that’s ok

Again, I know that i make it seem super easy, but I promise that I’m just as afraid to share my ideas as anyone else (I’m a perfectionist, and that also contributes to my fear to share things)

It’s just, I think of it this way

I have an idea, and I got two choices

Either

1- I keep overthinking it, and succumb to my worries and fears when it comes to my idea, and keep my ideas with me, never to see the light of day

2- I acknowledge that I’m afraid, acknowledge that my idea might not be perfect or ready, acknowledge that there might be flaws that I will probably notice later and even feel stupid about it, and still share my ideas anyway regardless of the voice in my head telling me to “wait a little more”

I usually go for choice number 2

The art and writing process is complicated, it’s so not easy to write something and feel ready to share it, no matter how much time it takes, you will never ever feel truly and utterly ready to share it, you’ll have that worry in your mind that maybe it’s stupid, or incomplete, or inconsistent or whatever else

And guess what? Sometimes, the worried voice in your head is completely right

But what matters is how you tackle it

Even if you share an idea, remember that you can always change your mind about it, you can absolutely go back and say, I don’t like that idea anymore and so I’ll remove/ change/ replace it

Ideas are never set in stone, you change and grow as a person as so do your ideas, they grow and change with you as you learn more and more, and sometimes they don’t, they don’t change at all, and that’s ok too

You can’t keep worrying about whether the story or idea you’re working on is ready or complete, because all you’re going to do is just walk around in circles and end up never sharing anything at all

It’s ok to be worried, but you can’t let your worries control you, of course, it’s not easy to ignore your worries, but it’s better than feeling stuck with your ideas

I myself do deal with these worries a lot, most of the time i just tell my brain “shut up” and share my ideas anyway, other times my worries do get the best of me and i tend to keep some ideas to myself

But sharing your ideas is actually essential for you to actually be able to work on them and refine them, because people might start asking questions or giving really good feedback that you actually sit with yourself to think about

But what if they ask you a question and you don’t know the answer to it? That’s actually a good thing, it’ll make you sit down and think of how to connect the dots and answer it, not only does it mean you’re actually making progress on your story/ideas, but these kinda questions help you understand different perspectives and by that, you learn and grow in your writing

It’s ok to be worried and to keep ideas to yourself sometimes, but don’t let them fester, because believe me, eventually your passion is gonna burn out because you kept overthinking it to the point it became just a worry than something you enjoy doing

In fact, to give you a bit of motivation, imma actually share one of the ideas I never shared cause I was afraid it’ll be a bit stupid and out of character

And I’m very worried about sharing it, but fuck my worry I do what I want

Remember when I mentioned Dream received one gift from Nightmare, and never received anything after? My idea for that gift was an echo flower he gave Dream, and it echoes one thing “I love you”

There, I shared it ouuughh the stress of sharing it is killing me actually, but I mean I can keep worrying about it forever, or actually share it and refine it later if I wanted, I choose the latter

And your ideas are never going to be perfect anyway, but you can improve them with time, even after sharing them

That’s all I do really shzggz

So go out there and start sharing anon, fuck anxiety, you can do whatever you want, you’re unstoppable

#anothers ask #anothers art

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revelboo · 2 days ago

Note

Reading up on your fics has essentially become a daily activity for me. It's really helpful in rougher days I need something to look forward to :)

You also got me into blokees! I'm now gambling away in hopes of getting Kickback (my beloved).

That's all! Thank you for all the writing and please take care <3

Thank you! I’m glad you like my stories!

He’s a cutie and if they follow their current pattern, we should get Shrapnel or Bombshell in the next wave

You (Don’t) Know Me Pt 6

Insecticons x Reader

• Overwhelmed and drowning in memories, thoughts, and emotions that aren’t yours, it’s like swimming in light. Feeling both of them tangling in you, warm and coaxing softly. And you can almost sense the unspoken question there even as you retreat from them, feeling them both trailing after you like shooting stars. Every time they brush against you, more of them spills into you until you feel like you know them as well as you know yourself. Kickback just wanting to be seen and acknowledged by his brothers, knowing he’s not as strong as they are. Hating how much he has to rely on them. Shrapnel wanting to protect his hive, wanting a queen and home. To not be dependent on Megatron knowing how little he thinks of them. That they’re inferior.

• It’s a different sort of hunt, racing after you as you make them chase. Every time Kickback brushes against you, he gets a bit more of you. Learning who you are. Your dreams and desires becoming his to protect. Can feel when your confusion shifts to something more playful. Refusing to surrender to them still, but he doesn’t mind. Knows he won’t be able to fully bond with you until you let him. Until he’s worthy of it. And wants that.

• Your light and warmth beckon Shrapnel, wanting to be the one to capture you, to drift through all of you. Aware of Kickback refusing to back down, when he always submits, his brother as desperate as he is. And then you’re turning to face them and they both crash into you, twining about you. Coaxing for you to claim them in return and unable to be truly angry when you resist. Because you’re not going to be conquered. You’re going to make them prove themselves.

• “Pit spawned, greedy little glitches,” that deep, snarling voice startles you, strangely aware of your real body still pinned between them. Of the feel of Kickback’s spike rubbing against your belly and Sharpnel rutting against your inner thigh as their sparks tangle through you. And that connection pulls and shatters to make you whimper, feeling like you lost something that matters. Head lifting as they hastily right their plating protecting their sparks, you stare at Bombshell. At the blood on his clawed servos as he throws a dead deer down to make you flinch. “Like fragging sparklings.”

• Glaring at his brothers as Kickback at least looks apologetic, Bombshell licks his servos clean. This is how they repay him for providing for the hive? Shrapnel just grinning up at him before turning his attention back on their human. And you squirm between them, reaching up to catch Kickback’s head and to push him away when he tries to claim your mouth to coax you into mating again. “No,” you say and his optics narrow behind his visor as Kickback hesitates. “Talk first.” And he laughs to make you look up at him.

• “That’s more like it. Can’t have a timid queen,” the biggest one growls. Bombshell. After being tangled in his brothers, you know him well enough to be wary of him. To realize he’s as likely to eat you as fuck you. Trying to not look at the deer, your stomach roils. Is that dinner? You have a bad feeling it is and that’s a hard pass. “Make your demands,” Bombshell adds, his long glossa sliding over his servos. Making you remember exactly how those glossas feel inside you.

• Servos ghosting over soft skin, Kickback vents softly, singing out softly when you sit up to straddle him, forcing Shrapnel to let you go and back off some. “We were just worried you might eat our little queen, queen,” Shrapnel says, flashing Bombshell a grin as he turns his attention on the deer. Can feel his spike aching and hard, but behaves instead of lifting you and guiding you to ride him. Looking to you for guidance and you seem to suddenly realize they’re all watching you. Waiting.

#transformers x reader #insecticons x reader #g1 bombshell #g1 kickback #g1 shrapnel

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daveth-isnt-dead · 3 days ago

Text

To Feel Vicariously

Summary:

No matter how hard she tries to dream about him, to moan his name in the night with her hand buried between her thighs. The truth always returns like a thunderclap, the knowledge that if she were to touch him, to kiss him, to fuck him. He wouldn’t feel a thing. “I may have a solution to this quandary.” The Herald says softly, his thumb tracing her lower lip with something more akin to scientific curiosity than any sort of affection, “If you would be willing to indulge in some experimentation.”

Contains: she/her pronouns, explicit sexual content, bittersweet ending.

Word Count: 9,072

Read on AO3

It’s early the the evening, and the light of the setting sun creeps in through the multicolored windows of the greenhouse, casting shadows in the shapes of various plants across the floor. Usually, she would be home with her mother for dinner by now, but she can be stubborn and until she finishes her work she isn’t going to be able to get any sleep. So she ignores the setting sun as best she can. Most of the commune members milling about outside don’t pay her any mind, they know not to interrupt while she is busy.

She huffs a breath, as she continues working to repair one of the sprinklers before anyone else notices that it’s broken. She has already checked all the connections on this end of the pipe and found no issues, so all she can do is re-tighten the bolts she undid earlier and hope that she can locate the problem before sundown. It’s just as she struggles with the last turn of the wrench that she notices the Herald is standing outside.

He’s speaking to someone, gesticulating lightly and she follows the movement of his hands with probably too much rapt attention. The light of the sun turns his hair orange and casts a vibrant light across his reflective form that leaves him awash in summer-gold brilliance. There is work she should be doing, but the Herald is less intimidating from a distance and she likes to look when she can. Suddenly, his eyes meet hers through the glass walls and she freezes, still crouched on the ground with a wrench in hand. Her throat suddenly dries with reckless anticipation.

The Herald does start heading towards her and that makes her hands start shaking. She drops the wrench with a clang, cursing under her breath as she picks it back up and tries to calm her racing heart.

“Are you alright?” He asks, looming in the open doorway, casting a shadow in his shape across the floor that stops just before her toes, “The irrigation hasn’t been causing you trouble, has it?”

She knows the Herald. Knows him by a name that remains just out of reach, trapped somewhere in the corners of her mind, knows him by a smile that she can barely remember, knows him by golden eyes that no longer exist. The face she thinks used to be his ripples and shifts, incomprehensible the moment she tries to grasp for it. It’s been a long time. Eight years, at least. Long enough that she shouldn't even remember as much as she does.

It's the moments of specificity that shock her. Send her reeling. She remembers that his left canine was slightly longer than the right, so it was always the first thing she saw when he smiled. Remembers exactly the way he took his coffee, is unsure if he could even drink it now if she made him a cup. His name though, his face, all she has is figments, a memory of how it felt to pronounce each individual letter, an approximation of cheekbones and eyebrows (one mole beneath his eye, she remembers that) and nothing but a blur in-between.

Looking at the Herald doesn’t help, no matter how much she tries. His face is just as much an approximation as the one in her mind. Thinner, sharper. The hollows of his cheeks an unfamiliar, iridescent whorl. A mole rests above his lip, but the one under his eye is gone and that’s the one she remembers. She hasn't told her mother, it would be pointless to tell her that she has a vague memory of the Herald from almost a decade ago, that she used to call him by name every morning, though the name now slips through the gaps in her teeth anytime she tries to feel the sound of it in her mouth again.

Tongue touching her bottom teeth, a sharp uptick and then a lilting, rolling sound at the end. Her brow furrows, chasing the movements, hoping to connect them back to the letters they mimic. Failing as always.

So it doesn't matter, because she doesn't really know the Herald at all.

She blinks, feeling her palms sweat, “No, no it’s fine. Low water pressure, I think there might be a pinch in the line.”

He crosses the room to her, his bare feet don’t make a single sound on the ground beneath and the orange light of dusk is like a misty halo eclipsed by the back of his head. His movements exude divinity, even as he debases himself by dropping to a crouch at her side. She scurries back a little, knocking over a nearby watering can with a clatter. The Herald continues looking at her, much closer now that they are for once, on the same level. She swallows, hating the way her eyes betray her by dropping to the gentle arch of his lips.

“Might I offer some assistance?” He asks quietly.

His eyes are a shifting, opalescent rainbow and his gaze is pointed, intense. She knows from her mother, that the Herald does more than just heal with his touch, she mentions hearing his voice in her head whenever she might need him. It occurs to her that his accustomation to being inside the minds of so many commune members all at once may have affected his understanding of personal space. The Herald leans in closer again, their noses are almost touching, and she has to catch herself on her hands when she almost topples backwards.

“Aren’t you busy?” She squeaks, trying to keep her face as far from his as she can. “Not presently.” The Herald replies, resting his hands on his knees, “Especially not, if assistance is required. You’ve made great contributions to this commune, it would not do for me to leave you to your own devices when help can be provided.”

Her brow furrows. Unsure how to respond to the Herald offering his assistance with irrigation repairs of all things, “Wouldn’t it be…I don't know, beneath you?”

His expression shifts minutely, a minuscule tension in his jaw, a pinch in his brow. Enough that she can only assume she’s offended him.

“Sorry!” She says quickly, “I-I didn’t mean that you couldn’t do it, just that I’m sure you have much more important things to do, I’m sorry.”

“Anything that you are willing to offer the commune, I am willing to offer in equal measure.” He responds evenly, the metallic thrumming undertone of his voice sending shivers up her spine, “Evolution is not so singular that only my actions will bring forth change. Our coalescence, our joined contributions, are necessary for our pilgrimage along that fated path. So please, allow me to help.”

She swallows thickly, eyes helplessly drawn to the sharp golden tendrils climbing up either side of his throat, “Um, Sure.” She averts her eyes, staring down at the ground instead, “We have multiple lines connecting into the sprinkler system, I’m not sure which one the pinch is in so…” she braves another look at him, only to feel her cheeks flushing when she realises that he’s leaned in close again. Close enough that she notices some of his eyelashes are blonde like the mismatched strands of hair that hang around his neck, “You could check the pipes east of the commune while I check the ones to the north?”

“Consider it done, then.” The Herald says, returning to his feet without even needing to use his hands for balance. It looks like his body is all metal, at least when the light catches on it, but he moves like it weighs nothing at all, “I will meet you back here.”

“Oh, yes, no worries.” She stammers, discombobulated at the sight of him peering down at her, “See you then, I guess.” The Herald inclines his head in her direction once, and her heart stutters when she realises that it is a bow. Then he turns and leaves back out the way he came. She had stopped breathing at some point, she can't remember when and it takes her a minute to catch her breath again. Interactions with him always leave her in pieces. Something to do with the immensity of him, the way it feels like he takes up so much space in a room, sucks up all the oxygen just by being there. Though that isn’t all it is. She still can’t escape her blurred memories of him, unable to be wrenched from the depths of her subconscious no matter how hard she tries.

She’s been living here for a few months now, and he hasn’t done anything to jog her memory. While she recalled his accent in a desperate rush when he first welcomed her and her mother to the commune, the intonation was all wrong, flat, lifeless. She remembers it being different, but different how she isn’t sure. Luckily she doesn’t see all that much of him, at least not anymore. He was very attentive the first few days after they arrived, especially to her. Probably because she was the first to decline his gift, but still ask to stay.

Her mother had been gravely injured in one of the skirmishes between the Chem Barons and Enforcers, arm wrenched from her shoulder, lungs full of Gray. She had heard vague notions of a healer somewhere in the Undercity, near the site of the long collapsed cannery and hoisted her mother’s remaining arm over her shoulders and carried her there as best she could.

The commune was a lot smaller than it is now, with only a few domed buildings and a small patch of flowers just beginning to grow. The Herald met them both at the gate as if he knew they were coming and she watched with a mixture of awe and trepidation as his mere touch regrew her mother’s arm and cleaned her lungs of the gas. Then, the Herald turned to her.

“N-No, thank you.” She’d replied in a panic when he inclined his hand towards her expectantly, “I’m fine, I don't, um-” He’d blinked at her slowly, rolling her words around in his head. Then, silently, his hand lowered back to his side. Though she caught a near imperceptible flex of his fingers like he was dispelling an ache.

“I’m just here for my mother.” She’d clarified, shying away from him, “I’d like to stay with her, if that’s…” She took a glimpse around the small commune, at all the people in matching white robes, each with his fingerprints already marked on each of their foreheads, “...allowed.”

The Herald had clasped his hands together, eyes staring directly into her own for a moment, before answering, “I do not turn people away, you are no exception.”

So she moved in with her mother, earning her keep by maintaining the water filtration and irrigation systems. It took almost a month for her to cart as much of their old belongings over from the other side of the Undercity as she could, but their odd domed house has started to feel like home. Her mother is a little different, there’s a lightness to her that shouldn’t be concerning, but still is. Even at her best, her mother loved to complain, about dirty dishes, about the weather, about the kind of music she liked listening to. Now though, she is always content, unsettlingly content.

Sighing, she pulls herself from the ground, eager to go check her side of the pipes before the sun starts setting properly. While she still feels strange walking around outside as the only non-official member of the commune, everyone else is still very polite. Offering waves and smiles whenever they see her. She tries her best to return the sentiment as she starts following the pipes north, but unlike them, she still maintains all her faults and she isn’t all that good at small talk. She used to be when it was her job. Back when she woke up before dawn to trudge her way across the bridge to Piltover and tried her hardest not to fall asleep on the trolley ride to the academy. It’s been a long time since then, and mechanical repair work never necessitated a friendly face, so one day, years ago, she hung it up at the door and didn’t put it on again.

The sun casts an orange glow across the commune, catching on the petals of yellow flowers and sending beams of coloured light across the landscape as it passes through the multicoloured glass that makes up most of the windows. There’s an eerie quiet when the commune settles in for the evening, she’s so used to the raucous sounds of the Zaun nightlife, loud drunken voices, and the occasional fistfight. The silence should be peaceful, but it only makes her feel like she’s being watched. Her feet carry her the rest of the distance, following the length of the pipes back to the nearest riverbank where the filtration tanks wheeze and groan. As far as she can tell, this set of pipes was in working order the entire way down, and while the tanks require some oiling and tightening, the water is still filtering correctly. Whatever issue the sprinkler is having must be on the other length of pipe. The Herald will be handling it, then. She briefly wonders how.

Did he have a background in engineering? She can’t remember. Her jaw tightens as she begins following the pipes back to the greenhouse, trying to remember if that was something he told her, or something she overheard. It may also have been something she made up, her memories from that time are always slipping through her fingers and sometimes she can’t resist the urge to fill the spaces with an approximation. The year after she lost her job in Piltover was stressful, she and her mother were barely able to rub two coins together. That year must account for her lapse in memory, she was on her feet every day, trying to find work anywhere, selling everything they could part with and it didn’t make any logical sense for her to reminisce. Thoughts about that old job, that old paycheck, that old customer, were pointless. She discarded them, picked up mechanics, taught herself how to repair broken pipes, heating and cooling units. Crammed every last bit of new information in her head and abandoned whatever she deemed unnecessary.

The cool breeze feels nice on the back of her neck where her hair is pulled up in a ponytail. She gives a polite wave to one of the commune members who is taking down some dry laundry from the washing line outside their house but otherwise continues singlemindedly on her trip back down the length of pipes. Thinking too much about the Herald is always dangerous, she ends up tangled in fragmented memories and complex emotions. She huffs, blowing some hair out of her face as the greenhouse comes into view in the distance.

Another of the things she remembers about the Herald, one of the things she remembers most vividly. Is that she was in love with him. Only a little bit, just enough that her heart would race when that face she can no longer remember came through the door. Enough that she would spend nights staring up at the ceiling and imagining what it would feel like if she had been bold enough to kiss him. How he would sound if her name escaped his lips in something teetering towards a moan. It’s the root cause of her discontent, the growth behind her ribs that she cannot untangle. The Herald’s face is unfamiliar, his voice is all wrong, but something in her heart remembers better than her mind does. Because the love has transferred.

Nights she used to spend desperately trying to recall the face she’s lost, are instead spent thinking about the one she has found in its place. Sometimes she doesn’t even bother moving her lips in the shape of familiar, but misplaced syllables, because it is easier to moan Herald instead. But, no matter how hard she tries to dream about him, to moan his name in the night with her hand buried between her thighs. The truth always returns like a thunderclap, the knowledge that if she were to touch him, to kiss him, to fuck him. He wouldn’t feel a thing. Some nights the reality is so disquieting that she can’t even bear to finish, but others, she squeezes her eyes shut, grits her teeth and pushes through anyway with tears beading in her eyes. The shame sinks in after.

The sun has almost made its way down behind the horizon when she makes it back to the greenhouse, the vivid orange glints off the glass and directly into her eyes. She has to shield her face with the back of her arm as she walks in through the open door and freezes in the middle of the room at the sight of the Herald crouched on the ground, holding her wrench and tightening one of the bolts on the sprinkler system.

He doesn’t look up when she comes in, just says, “The pinch was on my end of the pipes, which I am sure you have already surmised.” “I uh-” she swallows, trying to draw her eyes away from his tight grip on the wrench, “Yes, I figured that was the case.” “You've done great work maintaining the irrigation thus far.” He replies, giving the bolt one last turn that has the criss-cross of imitation tendons in his arms shifting just a little, “you caught that issue very early.” He stands from the floor, once again the picture of elegance and grace. Just being around him makes her feel like she is all knees and elbows, imperfect, fragile, “I'm thankful that you decided to remain in the commune, we gain a lot from your perspective.”

“Thank you, uh-” he steps in towards her, close enough now that she has to peer up to meet his eyes, “It's no problem, really.”

The Herald hums, eyes narrowing the slightest bit as he leans in even closer. His eyes are turquoise now and then very quickly pink, dancing towards orange when his lips part and he breathed, “I am concerned about you.”

Her heart races, her palms begin to sweat, “What…why? Have I done something wrong?”

“Wrong is not the word I would use. You have seemed restless, preoccupied. I was wondering if there was something I could do.” The thoughts re-enter her mind, unbidden. Her lips tracing the length of his collarbone, leaning up to kiss the mark above his lips, hand digging tightly into his hair as her other hand slides up under his robe to find what lays beneath. Then the next thought follows, as always, his face expressionless, her touching and kissing and pleading, but him never taking any pleasure from the action.

“No, there isn’t.” She says, picking at her cuticles.

“But there is something you want, is there not?” He intuits, easier than she would have liked.

“I-” She sighs, peering up at his achingly familiar face, trying to find any inclination towards an expression on any of his features. The ache only grows deeper when his countenance remains completely neutral. She swallows dryly, “Do you, remember me, Herald?”

He hums quietly, though his expression remains unchanged, “I did think you seemed familiar.” his head cocks to the side in what she has taken to interpreting as curiosity, “Have we crossed paths before?” His brows pinch the slightest bit, in thought, she assumes, “Did you study at the academy, perhaps?” “No, I didn’t, I couldn’t, I’m from Zaun, I-” she bites her lower lip, trying to calm herself down and just get to the point, “I worked there for a few years, in the-” “The campus cafe.” The herald finishes before she can. Her heart stammers in her chest, a warmth like sunlight dancing out from her chest all the way to the tips of her fingers. Her next breath is shaky, thick with disbelief. For some time it feels like she might not even be able to speak, but she eventually manages a simple: “Yes.”

“You disappeared one day.” He elaborates, brows tugging together enough that she notices it, “I asked where you went, but the new barista said they didn’t know.” “I-I was let go. That explosion, the apartment. All the Zaunite employees at the Academy lost their jobs that day. Effective immediately.” All the words are coming out in a desperate rush, and her breath is hiccuping with every aching gulp, “I thought about coming back, to say goodbye. To leave a note or something, but if they caught me on campus I would have been arrested. I-” she laughs breathlessly, aware that it sounds more like a sob, “You were my favourite, you know? Not that it matters now, none of it matters now, not really I just-” she looks down at the ground and shrugs a shoulder, “I think I wanted you to know anyway.”

She hopes for something she can't have. For him to admit that he missed her as much as she missed him back then, that maybe he never stopped missing her. The Herald isn’t the person he once was, though and for a long time, all he does is stare at her, unsettlingly still. She can hear the sound of the soft breeze outside the greenhouse, see the light of the sun shifting from a bright orange to a dusky purple as it slowly dips below the horizon. In the deafening silence, she realises that the Herald’s body makes a sound, a quiet thrumming, a gentle lull beneath his skin. How has she never noticed before?

“Herald?” she stammers, desperate to break the silence.

“Yes?” He replies, once again leaning in close enough that she can count his eyelashes. This time she doesn’t feel the urge to move away from him.

“What’s your name? I don’t- I can’t-”

His brow tightens, and his head tilts to the side the tiniest bit. Her breath catches in her lungs, worried that this was a question she should never have asked. Then, he exhales a steady breath and answers, “It’s Viktor.”

Viktor.

That name, those two syllables collide with her like a punch to the gut. She is suddenly awash in memories of all the times she called out to him, the way his head would spin around, a smile, a perfect smile. Despite them never sharing more than a few words each morning, he still took care to remember her name, never rushed her, and smiled when he came to collect his cup from the counter. She knew he was the dean’s assistant, knew he took far too much sugar in his coffee and heard through the ever-churning rumour mill that he was from the Undercity like she was. He had honey-gold eyes that shone whenever they caught the sun and his name was- “Viktor.” She repeats quietly, languishing in the feeling of his name dancing across her tongue.

The Herald nods, still leaning in close, peering down at her with his expressionless, opalescent eyes. She wonders, then, how much of her old memories are even applicable anymore. How much of the Herald is Viktor and vice versa? If she lifted her hand and pressed it to his cheek, would it be warm as she’d always imagined? Would the side of his throat still taste like sweat if she dragged her tongue against it?

“That was not all you wanted, was it?” The Herald asks softly, sending her plummeting back to painful reality.

“No it’s-” She turns from him, ashamed to even look him in the eye, “It’s not something you would be able to give.” she starts making to leave, muttering a quick, “I’m sorry.” as she heads to the door.

“Wait.” The Herald says, halting her at the precipice of the doorway. She clenches and unclenches her hands, awash in vibrating, nervous energy. It feels as if she will shatter into a million pieces the moment it reaches the right frequency.

“We do not have a direct connection, as I do with the rest of the commune, but I can still sense the ache tugging at you.” She can hear him draw closer, the shift of fabric around his ankles, “Allow me to help.” and then, softer, “please.”

It’s the please that does her in, that has her turning back around despite her decision to leave. She must be imagining it, but his voice sounds as if it wavered on that last word, that the metallic undertone vibrated a nervous discordance. He holds out his hand to her and she so craves the feeling of his palm against her own that she doesn’t think about what she is offering until her skin makes contact, stammering out a desperate, “N-No, wait don’t!” It’s too late. He knows. He knows instantly.

The Herald’s brows lift slightly, his mouth pinched in a straight line. She thinks he might be assessing her, silently and it makes her heart start to race. He releases her hand the moment she tugs it away, gently flexing his own fingers. As if to remember the feeling.

“I-I’m so sorry. I can leave, if you need me to, please, just-” she exclaims, clutching her hand to her chest like it will someone force the feelings he had taken back where they belong, “Just let my mother stay, please.” His next expression seems almost bewildered, though at this point she is beginning to believe that she has taken to ascribing whatever emotion best pleases her to the minute shifts of his eyes and mouth, “You think I would exile you from the commune?” He asks slowly, brows pulling together the slightest bit, “Over this?”

“You would have every right to.” She replies quickly, taking a step backward, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” “Have what?” He asks evenly, slowly, “Have been human?” he takes a careful step back towards her, wary of her desire to flee, “Had human thoughts?” his hand reaches out to press against her cheek without even an inclination of shyness or trepidation, “Did you think that I would deny you your humanity?” He whispers.

Now that he's touched her once, she can't resist letting him do it again and again, practically melting into the thrumming metal of his palm against her cheek. It isn't quite warm or cold, there's a fluctuation, a pulse, unfamiliar but far from unpleasant. She should stop him, her body is already growing so warm from just a chaste touch of his hand. He can certainly tell and she doesn't want him to do something just because he knows she wants it. Even though she does want it, immensely.

“No.” She breathes, “You have been kind, very kind, I just- I don’t want to take advantage of that kindness.” her breath catches as she says this, leaning into him further despite her words claiming she doesn’t want to do so.

“I may have a solution to this quandary.” The Herald says softly, his thumb tracing her lower lip with something more akin to scientific curiosity than any sort of affection, “If you would be willing to indulge in some experimentation.” “Experimentation?” She replies breathlessly. Her hands won't stop shaking, her body awash in a complex tangle of both nerves and excitement.

“Yes.” He responds evenly, “It is not something I have tried before, I haven’t had the need to.” his head tilts in closer to hers, the colour of his eyes swirling and shifting faster than usual, “Has this piqued your curiosity?” he asks and she must be imagining it but his tone sounds almost mischievous.

She swallows thickly, wringing her hands together, “It has.” a shaky breath, “Very much so.”

His eyebrows lift slightly, mouth settling into a shape that she interprets as satisfaction, “Would you follow me, then?”

She does. Nearly mindlessly. He leads her out the door of the greenhouse and up the sloped pathway to the central building where he usually resides. She has been inside once or twice, on the few occasions that she has needed something from him and not already found him outside. It’s not homey the way the space she shares with her mother is. Glass circles on the high walls of the domed ceiling do let in a good deal of light and she can only imagine the view of the stars through them under the cover of night, but it’s devoid of furniture or belongings and it makes her feel instantly guilty, even though he doesn’t seem bothered by the lack of comforts.

As she follows the Herald in through the round opening and into the central chamber, she idly wonders how difficult it might be to locate a large circular rug for the space. Wonders further if he would even still feel the soft fibres between his toes if he walked across it. She files the notion away for later, regardless. It would be nice to get him a gift, something tangible for once, something more than acts of service.

He waits silently for her in the middle of the chamber, standing beneath a shaft of pale purple light that reaches in through one of the windows. It catches on his edges delicately, like a caress and he looks like the picture of divinity bathed in it. She suddenly feels her throat turn dry, remembering why exactly, she is here with him right now.

“You will have to come closer.” He says, holding a hand out to her.

She sucks an anxious breath in through her nose and takes several shaky steps towards him. His hand fits wonderfully in her own and it is nice to let him touch her without the fear of him pushing her away. The Herald continues staring at her in his usual fashion, likely sifting through her mind so long as they maintain skin-to-skin contact. She bites her lower lip and turns away from him, “W-Well, I’m here now…so…” The Herald steps in closer, leaning his face down towards hers, “Like this, the connection will be most potent.” He says quietly, forehead pressed firmly against hers, “Though if either one of us feels possessed to move,” he leans back and takes her hand, resting it on the top of his head, the meat of her palm pressed against his brow, and her fingers in his hair, “This will suffice.”

“O-Okay…” She swallows thickly, “What, um, what exactly will we be doing?” She thinks that he is smiling, though it is little more than a twitch at the corners of his mouth, “What you feel, the arcane will allow me to feel through you. Complete synchronicity, acute and exact.”

“Then…you will also enjoy it?” She ventures.

“So long as you do, yes.”

A rush surges through her veins at that, coalescing into a devious warmth between her thighs. Suddenly filled with images of his mouth hanging half open in a cry of ecstasy, his spine curling into a perfect exhilarating arch.

“Yes.” The Herald clarifies, “Like that.”

She feels her cheeks flush and she pulls back from him in a panic, “I-I’m sorry, I forgot that you could see-”

“There is no need to dissimulate.” He says, before she can begin to spiral. His hand takes hers once again, this time pressing it against his cheek, “You will have to let me inside you.” (another bolt of arousal at his choice of wording) “Or it will not work.” Her next breath exits her lungs in a delicate shiver, her voice feels thick in her throat, but she manages to whisper, “Okay.” then, with her eyes closed, “Go ahead.”

His forehead presses to hers again, and suddenly the metallic rush of the arcane fills her mouth and trickles down the back of her throat, for a moment it feels like she is drowning, that she will be unable to breathe. There's a flash of swirling nebula behind her eyes, an otherwise inky blackness continuing on for all infinity and it’s like she is rising, rising, rising. The Herald clutches to her, one arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders and the feeling of his breath on her face is what pulls her back down, allowing her to sink back into the comforting weight of her body.

The connection is established, and the Herald lets out a breathless moan immediately.

He laughs, (laughs!) and then whispers, “You are so aroused, I haven’t even touched you yet.”

How cavalier his acknowledgement is only makes her more aroused, but she instinctively rushes to deny it anyway, “No I-”

“There is little point in arguing.” He interrupts, “I can feel it.” “O-Oh…” she replies, relishing in the delectable zip that runs down her spine at the way his voice wraps lazily around his words. Their positioning is a little strange, she can’t quite see him with their foreheads pressed together, but she can feel his breath is more laboured than usual. Curiosity gets the better of her, “You still need to breathe?” she asks quickly. He hums, “Not in the same way you do. I can survive without oxygen, but the air circulation prevents me from overheating.” “You-You’re breathing quite quickly now.” “I am.” Her stomach is in knots, her heart has worked its way up to the base of her throat, “Does that mean that you’re…um…” “Hot?” He finishes for her, “It does.” Tentatively, she reaches a hand out, sliding up the length of his bare arm and sucking in a shaky breath at the feeling of pulsating warmth beneath his metallic exterior. The closer her hand moves to his chest, the hotter it becomes and when she grows bold enough to slip her hand under his robe and press her palm against where his heart would be, she can feel the incessant fluctuating thrum beneath her hand. It’s only when the Herald lets out another shaky moan that she realises how intensely she feels this intimacy between her thighs.

He follows her lead, the arm he had wound around her shoulders shifts as he slides his hand across her shoulder blades and up the side of her neck. She whimpers softly when his thumb runs up the length of her trachea, exerting enough pressure that her breath catches with the motion. A shaky exhale escapes the Herald’s mouth as he brings that hand down, dipping just beneath the low collar of her shirt to trace the line of her collarbone and that breath becomes a whine when his second hand joins the first and begins undoing her buttons. He must feel the enormity, the shivering desperation as he slowly pushes her unbuttoned shirt from her shoulders, slipping down until it catches in the crook of her elbows.

His hands are large and pulsing with incredible warmth as they reach out to wrap around the base of her ribcage, trapping her between them. Her breath stutters in her throat, her second hand jumping up to tangle in the hair on the back of his head, locking his forehead against hers. One of his hands slides up and over her brassiere and both their mouths open in a shaky moan at the feeling of him squeezing.

“You are very sensitive.” The Herald whispers, his thumb reaching up to rub a single circle around her nipple through the fabric. His following moan breaks halfway through, catching somewhere in the back of his throat. Her own moan is more shivery, breathless. Chest arching out towards him, desperate for more. The Herald slips his hand up under her brassiere and the feeling of his metal fingers pressing firmly into her soft flesh has her gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut. A whine escapes the Herald’s throat, “It is…overwhelming.”

“What can I say? You overwhelm me.” She murmurs, breath catching as his second hand joins his first, dancing tantalising circles around both her nipples. The Herald doesn't respond, almost like he can’t. He pinches her nipples hard enough that she lets out a yelp and she feels his hips stutter forward when the sensation reverberates through him. It’s a curious and very human reaction. She’s addicted to it. Her hand slides down, fingers tucking under the array of straps at his side and gripping tightly to his thin waist, thumb rubbing along one of the raised, golden lines decorating his skin.

“Can you feel that?” She asks quietly. He gulps a breath and she feels him shake his head, “I cannot.” a whimper escapes from behind his teeth and he clarifies, “But I can feel how it feels for you when you touch me and that feels…very good.”

Her hand shakes when she lifts it up to grab one of his own, sliding it down from her chest to her stomach, “More, please.” she begs, her hand returning to its place on his waist.

He lets out a shivery sort of moan as the tips of his fingers trace just above the waistband of her pants, his breath hitches just as hers does, right when his digits disappear beneath the fabric. Her hand on his waist clings tightly and the one on the back of his head fists into his hair. Her knees feel weak like she might lose balance any minute as his fingers descend into her underwear. His next moan is guttural, all in the back of his throat when the pads of his finger bump against her clit. She lets out a punched-out sort of sound, hips stuttering out of her control at the feeling. It’s been a very long time since someone else has touched her, she’s so unbelievably wet and sensitive that another small circle of his fingers has her wanting to double over in ecstasy.

The Herald mutters something under his breath, all sharp constants, in a language she doesn't understand. His fingers continue tracing small, gentle circles around her swollen clit, his entire body shuddering with each featherlight touch and she isn’t faring much better. Her hands fumble in an attempt to get the straps at his waist undone, cursing out loud as her hands fall short of the task.

Understanding what she wants, the Herald removes his second hand from her breast, hissing out a moan as the flat of his palm brushes her nipple on the way down. The hand between her legs continues its ministrations as the other moves to the elaborate set of buckles at his waist and starts quickly unfastening them. She’s quickly distracted by one of his fingers sliding down between her folds and lightly brushing her entrance. She grits a moan out from between her teeth and the Herald makes a choked sort of sound that is quickly followed by the satisfying rustle of his robe coming undone.

Her hand slides down to his hip, momentarily shocked at the alien curve of it, its sharp protrusion from the rest of his narrow body. Her curious fingers quickly find that there is a dip underneath, an inch or two of empty space before her fingertips meet the joint where his leg connects. It should likely be more disquieting than it is, but the only realisation that comes to mind is how easy it will be to hook her fingers under his hip and grab.

So she does, grabbing tightly with both hands, in a grip so tight it might be painful if he could actually feel it. The Herald stutters a moan, more of those unfamiliar constants leaving his mouth in a rush as the tip of his finger finally presses inside of her. The sound she makes is nearly a sob, gripping white-knuckled to the unyielding solidity of his hips. Her cunt accepts his finger more than willingly when it slips the rest of the way in, curling up in a way that nearly has her seeing stars behind her eyes, that has the Herald whining and quivering under her grip.

“W-Wait, please.” She manages to stammer, resisting the urge to grind down on his finger. The Herald stills, though she still hears the frantic inhale of his breath. One of her hands moves from his hips and up to his face. At first, cupping his cheek and then slowly sliding up to the position he taught her. Fingers on the top of his head, base of her palm against his brow. The Herald slowly leans his head back, his eyes meeting hers for the first time in a while. The swirling rainbow of his irises has quietly settled somewhere in the direction of orange, but with his next blink, the colours begin shifting again. His lips are beautifully well-bitten, and while there is no flush on his high cheekbones, the lax expression on his face makes him look utterly wrecked. Her lip curls just a little, at the thought of her own human feelings so thoroughly debasing him, forcing him back into the imperfect box of humanity for just a moment.

It’s tentative, nervous, when she tilts her head up in his direction. Despite his hand down her pants and one of his fingers still buried in her cunt, this, a kiss. It feels too far, too fragile and dangerous at the same time. The Herald doesn’t move, but he must feel her own racing heart because his breath quickens again as she slowly leans in, feeling that desperate breath across her lips. He doesn’t kiss back at first, her lips meet his just once, testing the waters. When she pulls back his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip.

She’s shaking, gulps down a nervous breath that does nothing to calm her nerves, “Herald?” “Yes?”

“Can- Can I call you-” His free hand reaches up and cups her cheek, he leans in close, in that way that used to unsettle her and whispers, gently, “You may.”

“Viktor,” A weight lifts from her, something inadvisable settling syrupy and warm within her veins. Her lips meet his again, though this time he kisses back and against the softness of his lips she breathes, “Please keep touching me.” The finger inside her curls up once again, sliding in and out of her at a tortuous pace that has the both of them gasping and moaning into each other’s mouths. She spreads her legs a little, to make it easier for him, mouth opening beneath his and keening loudly at the feeling of his tongue meeting hers. It must be strange for him to match her movements when he doesn’t feel his own end of the exchange, so when his tongue traces her upper row of teeth and licks at her own just the way she likes it, she can only assume that it’s muscle memory. A second finger joins the first inside her and the Herald exclaims her name in a broken moan, which has a bolt of arousal zipping down between her thighs that he then also feels. It’s a feedback loop, a circuitous tangle, his pleasure is her pleasure and vice versa. She can tell that he is having some trouble maneuvering his hand from within her pants, the crook of his fingers is still utterly delectable, but his movements are stiff. Being careful to keep her hand pressed firm against his brow, lest their connection sever, she brings her other hand down to the buttons on her pants, struggling to get them undone.

The Herald pushes her hand out of the way, “Permit me.” He breathes into her open mouth.

She lets out a whine of disappointment when the fingers inside her retreat for just a moment, joining his other hand on the front of her pants, undoing her buttons and slowly inching the fabric down her thighs. The Herald presses a wet kiss to the side of her throat and then surprises her by dropping to his knees to help tug both her pants and underwear the rest of the way down her legs. She feels an odd sense of satisfaction, seeing him knelt beneath her with her hand atop the crown of his head. It’s as if she is curing him of an ailment he didn’t know he could possess anymore, something of the body, something wet and writhing and so imperfectly human.

“Viktor…” She whispers, just to feel the taste of those letters on her tongue again.

He hums beneath her, swirling, half-lidded eyes peering up from between her legs. One of his hands slides up from her knee to her hip and his mouth drops open in a whine at the resounding shiver that sends up her spine. Then, the moment she imagines that mouth of his on her cunt, he leans forward to do exactly that. The hand she has on his head tightens, yanking hard at his hair when the warm curl of his tongue meets her oversensitive clit. Her whole body shudders and she feels his hand on her hip grip tight, him moaning desperately against her, shaking just as much as she is.

His second hand lifts, gliding up the inside of her opposite thigh and she watches in utter bewitchment as the disheveled fabric of his robe slips off his shoulder and pools around his kneeling form. He’s a vision in the pale light, an intricate interlace of purple and gold that shines under her delicate observation. With his face still buried in her thighs, she can see the full length of his spine, the sharp jut of his shoulders and the mess her grasping fingers have turned his hair into. She feels, more than she hears, him moan against her again and her cheeks warm when she realises the way she feels even observing him, is enough to make him moan.

The next brush of his tongue has her hips stuttering out towards him, her breath catching in her throat. Her other hand joins the first on his head, gripping tightly to the base of his skull for purchase. His mouth opens in a guttural moan, fingers continuing their journey up and gently brushing against her entrance, teasing her with the promise of resumed penetration. She feels him shiver beneath her when two fingers easily slip in, though only to the first knuckle, and again when his tongue brushes around her clit in a light circle. The sounds he is making beneath her are evangelical, the combined vibration of his human tone and the mechanical rumbling underneath. Her breath comes fast, hips gyrating, desperate for more of his tongue, his fingers, his noises.

“More, please.” She stammers out, sweat beading on the back of her neck, jaw tensed as her body inches closer and closer to its peak, “Please, Viktor.” He grunts against her, mouth still working against her clit, licking and sucking as he finally slips both of those long long fingers all the way inside her. Their moans intermingle when those fingers crook up, she tosses her head backward and he buries his head somehow deeper between her thighs. The hand he has gripped to her hip holds her so tight that she can imagine there will be bruises and even that thought has them both moaning again. She’s getting close, her knees are struggling to hold her weight and she can feel the amalgam of his saliva and her own slick coating her inner thighs. Her head lolls forward, body too loose and shaky to keep it upright anymore, whimpering and panting as his tongue continues circling circling.

“Wait.” She croaks, throat aching from all the moaning she has been doing.

The Herald stops, pulling back from between her thighs and peering up at her, the opalescent swirl of his irises has been completely swallowed by his pupils, eyes blown wide. His mouth drops open in a quiet moan, the response to her own arousal at seeing him so utterly debauched beneath her.

She swallows, forcing her shaky legs to obey as she brings herself down to the floor, sitting up on her knees so she doesn't obstruct his hand where it still rests between her legs. Her breath comes quickly, her mouth dry and she leans in towards him, “I want you to feel it completely.” she whispers, pressing her forehead to his again, hands sliding down from his head and gripping his bare shoulders, “Please.” A shaky breath leaves him, hitching when his fingers move within her the smallest bit, “Do not concern yourself with that.” he breathes, “I feel everything. Every quiver, every shake.” his fingers crook upward and she cries out, his moan is more subdued and he continues, “I feel that vividly, a pleasure so precise that it nearly aches.” his thumb moves upwards, circling her clit, the both of them release a drawn out whine, “This is different, twitching, frantic. It feels like too much and not enough at the same time. Addictive and maddening.” “Please, Viktor, please.” He lets out a grunt, fingers returning to their previous pace, a rhythmic in and out, curling up exactly where she needs it, “And when you say my name, I feel that too. A more complex feeling, incomparable.”

She hates to ponder what feeling that is, but she feels it too. A growing warmth, a softness. She ignores it for now, losing herself in the raising pleasure between her thighs, the tightening, aching build. The Herald’s free hand grabs the back of her head and she mirrors him, locking their foreheads together, her hips writhing and grinding into his fingers, but desperate not to lose their connection. She needs it, for him to finish with her, whatever that might mean for him. Now though, with her eyes squeezed shut and nothing but the sound of their mingling moans, she can’t help but imagine his eyes are gold.

“M’close.” She whines, gritting her teeth, crying out as she feels the intrusion of a third finger. He can feel what she does and knows what she needs before she asks for it. The moment she needs him to speed up he already has, when she is about to ask for more focus on her clit, he is already doing it. Every single one of her moans is followed by one of his, she can feel him shaking, and hear his rapid breath. The tension grows nearly painful, she’s desperate, hungry and then suddenly, all at once, the tension snaps, she sees white behind her eyes and then she sees black.

She tumbles for a moment, her body weightless, spinning and twirling in a sea of darkness. It’s like she’s been winded, no matter how much she breathes it just doesn’t take and then for just a moment she can see him. A face she had forgotten, a smile she had tried so hard to recall in her dreams, crooked teeth, a mole on his upper cheek.

“Viktor?” She has time to whisper, reaching out to him, scrambling to find purchase somewhere in the void.

He whispers her name back and his voice holds so much emotion that she nearly wants to start crying.

His eyes are so beautiful, so golden and-

Her breath returns. Her knees ache on the hard floor and she winces as the feeling of three fingers sliding out of her. There are tears stinging in her eyes and the Herald’s hand lifts gently to wipe them away. She peers up at him, despite the tangled mess of his hair and his heavy breath, she still can’t make any true sense of his expression. The sun has completely set outside now, the only light is the pale shine of the moon casting a beam in through the ceiling. It’s cold. She feels cold.

“Are you alright?” He asks evenly, head tilted to the side the way it so often is.

She presses the heels of her palms into her eyes to stop the tears, “Yes, I’m sorry, I don’t-” she laughs weakly, removing her hands, “Did you um-” “Yes.” He’s giving her one of those almost smiles again, and it’s better than nothing, “When you did.” It’s a little uncouth, but she can't resist peering down between his legs.

“I do not have genitalia, if that is what you are looking for.” He clarifies, hardly scandalized by her leering, “I experienced your orgasm as you did, even if my body could not fully react to it.”

She lowers from her knees and tucks her legs under herself. Just as she starts feeling self-conscious, the Herald drapes his robe around her shoulders and she lets out a tired little laugh, “Thank you.” she wraps the fabric around herself to keep warm, and the Herald sits crosslegged in front of her. She chews her lower lip, “It felt…good, for you, right?” “Very.” He replies nonchalantly. Sitting up completely straight with his usual poise and grace, “Thank you for permitting my experimentation.”

“No um, thank you for indulging me. I suppose.” She turns from him, looking down at where her fingers toy with the fabric of his robe, “Herald, um I-” her breath shakes, she wishes it didn’t, “I saw something, when I…” “The arcane, a byproduct of our connection, I believe.” “You were there.” She says weakly. “I always am.” The Herald confirms, “I exist both here and within the arcane in all instances, it is not so much a severance as it is a confluence. My perception is doubled, not halved.”

It’s strange to have an answer. To know that Viktor’s golden eyes are always watching her from behind the Herald’s opalescent ones. She isn't certain whether that knowledge makes her feel better or worse about the everpresent ache in her chest. It’s late now, though and her body slumps with post-orgasm lethargy, she needs rest.

“I will accompany you home.” The Herald says, the moment she decides to leave.

“Thank you.” She replies, rising up on her knees, “But before I go I-” she reaches her hand out, resting her palm against his brow, “I want you to feel this.” she whispers, and then presses her lips to his, clutching to him tightly, hoping that somewhere trapped in the endless expanse of the arcane, Viktor is watching.

The Herald wraps his arms around her shoulders, and when his breath catches, it sounds suspiciously like a sob.

#viktor/reader #viktor x reader #arcane x reader #bree writes occasionally

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hazelira · 1 day ago

Text

when love feels like goodbye

Jake’s flight was in the early morning, a time when everything felt too real. You stood at the airport gate, the weight of your unspoken words hanging heavily between you. There was no grand declaration of love, no desperate pleading. Just the soft hum of the world moving on without you.

“I’ll miss you, you know,” you said, keeping your voice light as you both tried to pretend this was just a temporary goodbye.

Jake smiled, but it was sadder than you remembered. “I’ll miss you, too.”

That was the last time you spoke before he left, the words unsaid choking in your throat. You’d tried to convince yourself that this wasn’t the end, that you would somehow make it work. But deep down, you knew that his dreams lay far beyond the borders of your small town, and you were just a chapter in his life—a chapter he would someday close.

And you did your best to move on, even as every corner of your life felt empty without Jake.

Years passed. Jake lived his life—studied abroad, traveled the world, made new friends. Meanwhile, you stayed behind, growing into someone else, someone you didn’t recognize. But you never stopped thinking about him. Never stopped missing the warmth of his presence, the way his hand fit so perfectly in yours.

When he came back, it was as if no time had passed at all.

But things had changed. You had changed.

You stood in the coffee shop, eyes locked on the man who was now standing right in front of you. But there was a ring on your finger. A promise you had made to someone else. Someone who wasn’t Jake.

“I can’t believe you’re back,” you said, your voice trembling.

Jake smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s been too long. I’ve missed this place.”

The silence between you was thick with things unsaid. Years of history that you both tried to ignore.

“You look different,” Jake said, his eyes tracing the changes in you—the maturity, the way you held yourself, the engagement ring on your finger.

“I’m not the same person I was when you left,” you answered softly, biting your lip to keep it from trembling.

And you weren’t. You had grown, had learned to live without him, to accept that maybe love wasn’t meant for you and Jake.

But Jake’s gaze never wavered. His heart, it seemed, hadn’t moved on.

That night, Jake found you sitting alone by the lake—just like old times, when you used to share secrets and dreams beneath the stars. Only this time, there was a wall between you, a ring on your finger, and the reality that you had moved on from him.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Jake confessed, his voice hoarse. “I’ve been trying to stay away, trying to convince myself that it was better this way. But every time I see you, I remember everything we had. And it’s killing me.”

You looked away, not able to meet his eyes. “Jake... I’m with someone else now. I’m getting married.”

“I know,” he said, his tone strained. “I’ve seen it. And I don’t have the right to ask for anything more. But I can’t help it. I can’t stop thinking about what we could’ve been.”

Your heart shattered at his words, the depth of his feelings almost more than you could bear.

“I’ve waited for you,” Jake continued, stepping closer. “I thought maybe I could let go, that I could move on. But I can’t. I don’t want to lose you forever. I thought if I kept my distance, it wouldn’t hurt this much. But I’m here now, and losing you is going to break me either way.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you whispered, “Jake, I’m not the same person I was. I thought I’d be okay, but I’m not. I don’t know how to choose between you and him.”

Jake’s eyes softened, his pain reflected in yours. “You don’t have to choose. I just... I needed you to know. You were always the one who made me feel like I was enough.”

The days that followed were a blur of emotions. You tried to pretend everything was normal, that you could carry on with your life as if Jake’s return hadn’t torn open old wounds you had spent years burying. But every moment with him felt like a reminder of what you could never have.

Jake didn’t push. He didn’t demand an answer. But the more time you spent together, the more you realized how deeply you had loved him, how that love had never truly gone away.

But you had already promised someone else your heart.

One evening, after a long day of pretending everything was fine, you found Jake sitting alone in the park, staring at the stars.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, your voice breaking. “I can’t love you the way you want me to.”

Jake’s shoulders slumped, and he sighed deeply. “I know. I’ve always known.”

“But you’re not the one I’m supposed to be with,” you said, as much to yourself as to him. “You’re the one who got away. The one I couldn’t forget. But the life we were supposed to have is already gone.”

“I understand,” Jake replied softly, his voice steady despite the hurt in his eyes. “I just wanted you to know how much I care. And that I’ll always care. Even if you’re not mine.”

And with that, you both stood in the silence of the night, the weight of love unspoken, of a love that couldn’t be. A love that would remain only in the shadows of your hearts.

my perm taglist<3 <- request here

@seonhoon @dollrincess @ethanatvre @rei4sunoo @shxhdsstuff @jakeflvrz @laylasbunbunny @jiiyen @saphiranishimurashan @lovelycassy @starry-eyed-bimbo @babyboomysweetie @24svnn @pinkglitterpuke @mellowgalaxystrawberry @heavenki @s1rawb3rry @madslove-enhypen @chasinthatboobie @aishigrey

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maybeitsalivescribbles · 3 days ago

Text

Superpowers: a recap

You know, I often tend to skip superpowers under the rug when I write my snippets- which is kind of a problem in a Hero/Villain setting.

So this is a recap to help me remember the possibilities, in case it can help anyone else:

LIST OF POWERS

Classical set

Super strength

Super endurance

Super speed

Telekinesis

Teleportation

Forcefields

Laser eyes (classical because of Superman, but I still think this is bonkers)

Immune to superpowers/elements/illness/etc

Flight

Healing (themself or others)

Can speak to animals/plants

Hypnotism

Immortality

Wish-granting

Astral projection

Miscellaneous

Can steal power from others (forever or it’s temporary)

Has non-human animal anatomy (reptilian scales, horns, produces poison, etc)

Can break into parts and reassemble

Can make clone(s) of themself

Immune to gravity (the fall doesn’t kill you, can jump as high as you like, can crawl on walls, etc)

Super instinct (can sense when something’s wrong, when someone is lying)

Can control fibers/clothes

Can create portals to anywhere else

Control of one single type of object (doors, trains, cars, paper, etc)

Control anything made by humans

Music powers

Can force everyone to dance

Can control voices/can take voices away

Can control volume of any sound

Charm people when they play an instrument/sing

Can summon music whenever they like

They get an upgrade (super strength, etc) every time there’s music

Elemental/Nature powers

Can control fire/ashes

Can control electricity

Can control water/ice

Can control plasma

Can control air/wind/gazes

Can control earth/magma

Can control metal

Can control light/shadows/colors

Can walk on water/wind/lava/rainbows

Can breathe underwater/in space

Can burrow into earth

Can control temperature

Can control the weather

Control of life forms

Can control humans

Can control beasts

Can control plants

Can control...mushrooms, I guess ?

Can control viruses and bacteria

Can control blood

Everything they touch die

Everything they touch come back to life

Can accelerate/slow down aging

=> is the life form conscious while under control ? Can they fight back? Do they have to be okay with it?

Sense powers

(Reminder: human senses are hearing, vision, touch, taste, smell, vestibular)

Better senses (better sight, better hearing, etc)

X-ray vision

Can see every place they like or eavesdrop everywhere

Can manipulate the senses of others (can heighten them or cancel them)

Can inflict pain

Emotions

Their sheer presence induces an emotion (fear, love, etc)

Can force to feel an emotion/heighten or dull emotions

Can project their own emotions into others

Empathy (they feel the emotions of others)

Shapeshifter

Can reduce/aggrandize their size

Can seem much older or younger

Intangibility

Invisibility

Strechability

Can take the form of another thing/person

Can take the form of any human

Can take the form of anything (animal/plant/object/liquid/gas/etc)

Reverse Shapeshifter: can transform others into an animal/stone/plant/anything

Mindpower

telepathy

illusions

possession/mind control

can mess with memory

can mess with dreams

Time powers

Can time travel (future/past)

Can froze time

Can predict the future/see the past

Oh now that's just cheating

Reality wrapper

Luck

Everything they create becomes real

Can choose any superpower they want according to the situation

GENERAL QUESTIONS

Is the character okay with their power ?

they hate it it’s a curse to them

they wish it were different (stronger, another power altogether, etc)

they don’t mind

they really enjoy it

it’s their whole identity

Etc.

If they hate it, is it because:

it hurts

it could hurt someone/something else

it’s useless/ it’s not offensive

it goes against their personality

people hate it too

it makes people treating them as a tool

Can they control it?

they’re a walking disaster

using it makes them sick

perfect control, natural or learned

they don’t even need to think about it

etc

How powerful it is?

(Ex control of fire: can barely light a match versus can set in fire the whole country)

Characters with weak powers my beloveds. It's about them fighting when they know they will lose, putting everything they have in the fight, keeping their head high when people sneer at them. It's about them enjoying their power without having it to be useful, or forcing them to be creative and smart about/around it.

Overpowered characters my beloveds. It's not about them winning the fight because the answer is obvious, it's about them dealing with too much power in a fragile world, the gap between them and the others, how it impacts their relationships, their morality - never hesitate to make a character like this. It can be terrifying, it can be hilarious, it can be great. No trope is bad, it all depends on how it's used.

What is the source of their power ?

failed experiment?

successful experiment?

got them from a supernatural being?

got them from their family?

got them from a magical object?

When did they get it ?

when born?

during childhood ? Teen years ?

grown-up ?

Was it expected or not?

Is getting this power a one time thing or to they need to renew it ?

(via sacrifice, offering, a special food/medicine, a good/bad deed, etc)

Can they give it to someone else?

Can it go away/fade?

Does it grow stronger/weaker with age?

Is it affected by the health of the character ?

(Is the power weaker when the character is sick, or is it stronger as a defense measure ? Does it become unpredictable?)

Does it hurt using it/not using it?

(Because it takes too much on the body/because it forces to repress an important part of the self)

Does the power change their personality in a good/bad way?

(Does it corrupt them, does it force them to see the world in a new light, etc)

Can their power combine with someone else’s ?

Do they have a weakness/something that cancels their abilities?

Do they have special needs because of it ?

(Do they need glasses, headphones, medicine, a special diet, etc)

Are they immune to their own power or do they take damage ?

(Ex : is your character able to control fire is fireproof or not?)

How much do they rely on it?

they use them for everything

they use them often

they could do without

it’s barely an afterthought to them

they never use it

etc

How do they use it ?

Raising their hand

With their eyes

With some object

They don’t have to do anything

Etc

How does this power is perceived by the others?

This makes them a god

This makes them a star

This makes them totally mundane

This makes them look really stupid

This makes them a nuisance

This makes them someone to be killed at all costs

Etc.

About the suit

Is that for protection ?

Is it an uniform ?

Is it here for the vibe ?

Does it strengthen their abilities?

Does it have gadgets ?

How (im)practical is it ?

#hero x villain #hero villain community #writeblr #writers on tumblr #villain and hero #heroes and villains #hero and villain #writers #hero x villain community #writing community #hero and villain community #heroes and villains community #villain x hero #toolbox #not an exhaustive list by any means but you know...it's long enough

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flamesignite · 3 days ago

Text

He pulled his hand back from him when the other pulled away from him as he gave him a sad look. He knows the other wants him to be upset, but he had no right to be upset because the things he’s done he can’t take them back, and the inner self hatred he feels for himself show.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel, Atem. I don’t have a right to be upset for how you feel. That’s what I am, a murderer, a war criminal. Those titles will follow me for the rest of my life. I can’t take back what I have done, and you have a right to feel the way you do about it. If you don’t wish to be with me for this reason alone, I understand.” He looks at him seriously.

“This is something I have done and I’m holding myself accountable. It won’t change the past, it won’t bring back the people that are already gone because of me. I still wish to make everything right, even if I die in the process. That’s why I took this path, because I don’t want to see anyone suffer and I don’t wish to kill anymore people in such a way again.” He takes a shaky breath.

“I’m glad you were honest with me. Whether you understand or not why I think that, it’s because you’re a good person with a good heart. When you cause someone pain you feel guilty too. I don’t expect you to just sit there and accept the things I’ve done. Nobody should accept it, the things I did were terrible and should be condemned. I was naïve and a fool to think at first what we were doing was just following orders. I should have stopped them from doing this, I should gotten replaced, but I was too much of a coward.. so I went through with it, I continued to do as ordered, when I did it I wasn’t myself, i wasn’t the young teen that I used to be with dreams of protecting my nation. I was a monster, a murderer, following orders. I never forgot the people I’ve killed. I remember all of their faces. My brain doesn’t let me forget. These haunting memories will follow me for the rest of my life.”

He looks down looking at the hands as they shake softly as he whispers. “This is why I never wanted to get close to anyone. I don’t deserve it, and if you don’t wish to be with me because of this, I won’t stop you. If you hate me truly, if you don’t wish to be with me because of all that I’ve done, you don’t have to stay. I want to be with you, but if you really don’t want all of me, if you don’t want any of my demons that will follow me for the rest of my life even after death, I won’t stop you from walking away right now. “ He swallowed softly, his shoulders trembling.

“What right do I have? I never deserved any of this, yet when you accepted me for me, I was surprised.. Especially after seeing the archive… you still stayed, you even said that these blood stained hands deserve to hold the person I love. I won’t force you to stay if you don’t want to. I love you, you’re my everything. You’ll always be my everything. It’s up to you.. I don’t have a right to ask for your hand. After all that I’ve done… I don’t deserve happiness.”

This was his inner self hatred coming out of the wood work, it hadn’t been as bad as it usually was because of Atem always being there to make him happy and tell him how much he meant to him. With the real feelings Atem had though, they came back ten fold, reminding him how much of a pathetic piece of garbage he thought he was.

"What are you doing?!" Atem snapped back, flinching at Roy's touch as soon as he felt it, shifting away from him. As he looked at Roy, his eyes were no longer flickering red, but that familiar softness of purple once again, hot tears streaming down his face (he had to have run out of them to shed by now).

"I just called you a murderer! My own fi- my boyf- y-you... I called you heartless and a murderer! I just said that I don't forgive the actions I have no right to pass judgement on! I belittled the desire of someone who wants to start a family with me because he destroyed so many families, so many innocents, in a single snap!" Roy may or may not have heard that during the outburst but he definitely heard it now. "And you have the audacity to try to comfort me and tell me it's okay?! What is wrong with you?!"

Everything was out in the open thanks to that dark other, as once again he succeeded in exposing Atem for who he really was: a walking contradiction, a failure of a supportive partner, but most of all... a weak, pathetic, and overemotional Coward.

"The one thing I told myself to bite my tongue on... because I wasn't involved. Because everyone else had looked past it. Because Aibou forgave you! The one thing I told myself to never even think about, not for a second, because I didn't want to hurt you! I didn't want to undo everything we had built because I couldn't look past what you've done! And you're telling me it's okay?" He felt his arms wrap around himself, a sign that a certain emotion was starting to creep up on him. "This isn't okay! None of this is okay! Listen to what I had just said! Does none of that hurt you? Make you sad, or angry, or... something? Anything?!"

"I... I should have never watched that archive, and just lived in ignorance. At least then... things would have been easier. Now..." Hitched breaths were coming out of him as his voice choked up, body starting to wear out from all his crying. "I've ruined everything."

#an alchemist in a new world || yugioh verse #sennenpharaoh #self hatred tw #war mention tw #genocide mention tw #//yeah his self hatred is really coming out of him right now

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prettygirl-gabi · 9 hours ago

Text

Title: The Feels

Rating: General Audiences

Pairing: Azzi Fudd x Reader

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Summary: Azzi crushing and she’s crushing bad

Word count: 1,260

Tag: @authentic-girl03

Freshman Year

I met Azzi during the first week of our business communications class. I remember walking into the room in my UConn volleyball jacket, a little nervous but ready to face the day. Azzi caught my eye immediately, sitting near the back with a notebook in front of her, already jotting something down.

“You can sit here if you want,” she said when she noticed me hovering. Her voice was soft, inviting, and I nodded, sliding into the seat beside her.

“I’m Y/N,” I introduced myself. “Freshman, volleyball team.”

“Azzi,” she replied, giving me a small but warm smile. “Freshman too—basketball.”

From that moment, we clicked. Study sessions turned into shared meals in the dining hall, which turned into late-night talks about everything from our families to our dreams. Azzi was easy to talk to, and her quiet strength drew me in like nothing else.

Now

Fast forward three years, and Azzi and I were as close as ever. My dual role as a volleyball player and cheerleader kept me busy, but Azzi always made time for me, an I did the same for her. Whether it was meeting up for smoothies after practice or us staying up late to help each other with assignments.

But something had shifted lately. Azzi seemed quieter than usual, more reserved. She’d blush when I hugged her, and her hands would linger just a second too long when we high-fived. At first, I brushed it off. But then I started catching her staring during practices or glancing my way during group hangouts.

Paige noticed it too.

Azzi's POV

“Just tell her how you feel,” Paige said one afternoon in the locker room. She was sitting on the bench, lacing up her sneakers, while I sat slumped against the wall.

“It’s not that simple,” I muttered.

Paige rolled her eyes. “Azzi, she’s your best friend. If you can’t be honest with her, who can you be honest with? Besides, the way you’ve been looking at her lately—it’s kind of obvious.”

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. “You don’t understand. What if she doesn’t feel the same way? I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

Paige leaned back, giving me a knowing look. “Y/N likes you. Trust me, I’ve seen the way she lights up when you’re around. You just need to make a move.”

I hesitated, my heart racing. “How, though? What do I even say?”

Paige smirked, standing up and tossing her towel over her shoulder. “Leave that part to me. Just be ready tomorrow night.”

Reader's POV

I was confused when Paige texted me, asking if I was free to hang out with her and Azzi. Normally, Azzi would’ve been the one to make plans, so I was surprised when Paige took the lead. Still, I agreed, curious about what they had in mind.

When I arrived at Paige’s apartment, the lights were dim, and there was a cozy blanket fort set up in the living room. Azzi stood awkwardly in the center, her cheeks flushed as she played with the hem of her hoodie.

“What’s all this?” I asked, stepping inside.

Paige popped her head out from behind the couch, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “This,” she said, “is my cue to leave.” She gave Azzi a wink before slipping out the door.

Azzi cleared her throat, looking anywhere but at me. “Uh, hey.”

“Hey,” I said, smiling. “What’s going on?”

She took a deep breath, finally meeting my eyes. “I, uh, wanted to talk to you about something. And I thought this might be a nice way to do it.” She gestured to the blanket fort.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Azzi, this is adorable.”

Her face lit up, and she motioned for me to sit down. Once we were both settled inside the fort, surrounded by fairy lights and snacks, she turned to me, her expression serious.

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” she began. “About us. About how much you mean to me.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Azzi…”

“No, let me finish,” she said, her voice steady despite the nervous look in her eyes. “You’re my best friend, Y/N, but… I want to be more than that. I’ve had feelings for you for a while now, and I’ve been too scared to say anything because I didn’t want to mess up what we have. But I can’t keep it to myself anymore.”

I stared at her, my mind racing. Azzi liked me?

“I understand if you don’t feel the same way,” she added quickly. “But I had to tell you.”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Then, without thinking, I reached out and took her hand in mine.

“Azzi,” I said softly, “you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

Her eyes widened. “Wait, really?”

I laughed, squeezing her hand. “Yes, really. I like you too, Azzi. I always have.”

The relief on her face was palpable, and before I knew it, she was pulling me into a tight hug.

“You have no idea how happy that makes me,” she murmured, her voice muffled against my shoulder.

I smiled, holding her close. “Well, now you know.”

The Next Morning

Paige couldn’t stop smirking as she watched Azzi and me walk into the dining hall together, our hands intertwined.

“Told you,” she said smugly, earning an eye roll from Azzi.

“Alright, alright, you were right,” Azzi admitted, though her smile never wavered.

I laughed, leaning into Azzi’s side. “Thanks for the push, Paige.”

“Anytime,” Paige said, giving us a wink. “You two were long overdue.”

As Azzi and I sat down to eat, I couldn’t help but feel like everything had finally fallen into place.

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

#gabi writes #support the writers!#gabi answers #uconn wbb #oneshot #°~prettygirlgabi ask~°#uconn huskies #uconn women’s basketball #azzi fudd #azzi fudd x reader #azzi35 #azzi x reader #azzi fudd uconn #uconn x reader #uconn #wbb x reader #ncaa wbb #wbb

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pamwritessometimes · 2 days ago

Text

The Great Invasion: Chapter 3

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In a world turned upside down, where monsters hunt and hunters are the prey, Y/N must choose: follow the new rules to stay alive or join a rogue band of hunters determined to reclaim power and change the game for good.

General series warnings: dark themes, gore, kind of apocalyptic vibes, language

Chapter warnings: character death, grief and loss, mild sexual innuendo, nightmares/flashbacks, panic attack, emotional trauma

Series set after Season 15.

Somewhat canon-divergent.

Theme song of the chapter: Medicine Man by Dorothy

Catch up on Chapter 2 here

Series Masterlist

Chapter 3: I Can't Live Like This No More

The night sky was a sight you always found mesmerizing. The stars had always fascinated you more than you'd ever care to admit. When you were little, you used to sit either on the roof of your dad’s house or on the grass of the backyard, knees tucked to your chest, and stare up at the stars. You’d name the brightest ones after the things you loved — your dad, your best friend, your dog, your latest favorite cartoon character.

But tonight, when your teary eyes shot up to the heavens, there were no stars. No glimmer of hope. Only the darkness of the velvety blanket stretching across the sky.

A groan pulled you back to the harsh reality beside you. Your father. His face, once so full of life and strength, was pale now, almost gray under the flickering light of the lantern you'd managed to scrounge. His breaths were shallow, uneven, and every time he exhaled, it felt like a countdown you couldn't stop. The wound in his side was deep, and no matter how much pressure you applied, no matter how tightly you bound it, the blood just wouldn’t stop. Your hands were slick with it, trembling as you worked frantically. It was warm when it soaked through the bandages, but the sight of it chilled you to your core.

"Dad" you whispered, voice breaking, though you tried desperately to hold it together. You couldn’t cry. Not yet. Not when there was still a chance. "Please, stay with me."

His eyes fluttered open, heavy and clouded with pain, but they found yours. He managed a faint smile, the corners of his lips trembling with effort. “Kiddo” he rasped, his voice barely audible.

“Shh, don’t talk,” you pleaded, your hands pressing harder against the wound, desperate to stop the bleeding. “Save your strength, okay? I’ll find help. I promise. Just hold on. Please, just hold on.”

But even as you spoke the words, they felt hollow, a weak attempt to hold back the tide that was crashing over you. His hand moved slowly, weakly, brushing against your wrist. The grip was faint, but you could feel his intent — a silent assurance that it was okay to let go.

But it wasn’t. Not for you. Not yet.

The hunters’ code was simple: fight and survive. But what do you do when there’s no fight left? When survival feels like a fading dream? You looked down at the blood-soaked fabric in your hands, bile rising in your throat. You couldn’t let him die. Not like this. Not here. Not now.

"Dad, you're gonna get through this" you said, your voice trembling but resolute, as if saying it enough times could make it true. “You have to.”

You had been running for what felt like hours, the echo of distant explosions shaking the earth beneath your feet. You barely even remembered how you’d gotten to this place, some abandoned stable in the middle of nowhere.

Demons had invaded the state, and the gates of Hell were flung wide open. Every step you’d taken to get here felt like it brought you closer to an abyss you couldn’t escape.

He coughed, the sound wet and ragged, and you flinched as you felt him shudder beneath your touch. His lips moved again, and you leaned closer to catch his words.

“You… you remember…” he started, pausing to catch what little breath he could, “how I used to tell you… stories about the sky?”

You nodded, even though your throat felt like it was closing. The memories were distant now, almost too painful to recall. But you remembered the nights he’d pull you into his lap, his arms wrapped around you, pointing to the constellations. His voice had always been so calming as he spun stories about the stars. How no matter how many fell, they’d always come back, shining just as bright as before.

"Yeah” you whispered, even though your voice shook. “You used to say the stars were always watching, even when we couldn’t see them.”

Your father’s hand tightened on your wrist, his fingers trembling as he struggled to keep his grip. His breathing was slower now, labored, and you felt the weight of the finality settling in.

“That’s right” he managed to say, his lips twitching tino something like a smile. “Told you… they never really leave. Just hiding… waiting for the right time to shine again.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a tidal wave. “You always said they were brave” you murmured, the memory softening your voice. “That they didn’t care about the dark. They knew they’d come back.”

His fingers curled weakly around yours, his grip feather-light. “That’s you” he said, his lips barely moving. “You’re… my star.”

Tears blurred your vision, and you felt like you were suffocating. You weren’t ready to let go of him. You couldn’t be. There had to be more time, more chances. You had to make sure he was okay. He was your dad. You needed him.

“You can’t leave me” you whispered, your voice breaking as you clung to him. “You can’t. I need you, Dad. Please.”

His hand twitched against yours, a final, fleeting motion, and his lips parted one last time. “Don’t… be afraid of the dark, Y/N.”

And then, his hand went limp in yours.

For a moment, it was as if everything had gone silent, the noise of the outside world muted by the weight of what had just happened.

You stared at him, willing him to take another breath, to open his eyes, to say something — anything. But he didn’t. He was gone.

A star had fallen, and the sky would never look the same again.

Your eyes shot open as your heart pounded harshly against your chest. The dream was still lingering in your mind, like smoke curling around your thoughts, and your breathing came in uneven, jagged gasps. It was suffocating. You felt like you couldn't breathe.

A voice next to you bolted, too, the scratching of a chair’s legs against the floor ear-cutting.

If the dream itself wasn’t enough to make you scream, the male shouting next to you sure as hell was.

“Flannel Casper?!” You gasped, your hand flying to your chest as if trying to keep your heart from escaping your ribcage.

He was now standing next to your bed, his own face covered with surprise.

“I swear I start to think you have a kink for sleeping women” you muttered, but your voice lacked any venom. It was clear you were more rattled by the dream than you cared to admit. “Were you watching me this whole time?”

Dean grinned sheepishly, clearly realizing that he’d crossed a line between awkwardness and boundary-breaking.

Great. I’m just like Cas now, he thought.

He glanced at the room around him and shrugged, his posture somehow relaxed despite the situation.

“Yeah, sorry. Still gettin’ used to this whole spectral existence thing.” He gestured around the room, his stuff now neatly unpacked and organized around the space, as if he’d moved in permanently. “I don’t really have a place to hang out when everyone else is sleeping, so…” He tilted his head toward the neatly arranged piles of things he’d apparently been busy with — his old stuff, his tapes, and, oddly enough, a stack of very questionable magazines. “… I figured I’d make myself busy. Hope you don’t mind… but, uh, you didn’t seem to have much stuff”

He picked up the silky fabric that you immediately recognized as your pajama top from earlier. “Except for this. Didn’t take you for a fancy PJ girl… But I gotta admit, this looks nice.”

But my shirt looks better on you, he thought, as he placed the black satin on the chair next to you.

“Dean… I swear, if you don’t get the hell out of here—”

Instinctively, your hand shot under the bed, grabbing the box of rock salt you’d stashed there for just such occasions.

“Woah, no need to get antsy.” he said, moving his hands up in surrender.

You chuckled, glancing at the salt in your hand with a wicked smirk. “Wait, does this really work on you?” You raised an eyebrow. “I just thought I’d give it a shot. You might not be a ghost, but I guess no matter how fancy you get brought back, rock salt is rock salt.”

“How about we don’t test it, huh?” Dean asked, now looking a little less confident. His grin had faded, and a note of caution settled into his voice. “Look…” He sighed, shifting slightly as he stood there. “Cas told me about you. The Hunter Games.” He winced, as though he couldn’t quite get the name out without it sounding ridiculous. “However cheesy and tacky the name sounds… I get it. You must’ve been through a hell of a lot. Enduring demons for that long…”

You furrowed your brows, the words catching you off guard at first. Then you rolled your eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure you know all about it, huh?”

“I actually do” Dean said, his voice softer than before. He moved toward the bed slowly. He nodded at the space beside you, almost asking permission, and after a long pause, you reluctantly let him sit.

He let out a sigh before he continued.

“I’ve been to Hell” he said quietly, like it wasn’t something he could just shrug off. “For forty years, once. And then… then I visited a couple more times.” He chuckled dryly, though it was clear there was no humor behind it.

You stared at him, words stuck somewhere between disbelief and curiosity. Forty years in Hell. Forty. How is that even possible? This guy didn’t look old enough to spend so much time down there… Was there some kind of time loophole down there? You really didn’t want to know, but the curiosity was eating you alive.

But you decided not to ask. Some things, you figured, were better left buried.

"My brother, Sam, he’s just as lucky as me to have taken a few scenic tours of Hell’s finest pits” Dean added, the words slipping out as if they were nothing.

You narrowed your eyes, your brain doing the math. Long brown hair, towering over everyone like a slightly less terrifying Sasquatch. "That Sasquatch’s your brother?"

"Yeah" he replied with a faint smile. "Though if you’re going to keep using the ghost terminology, he’s officially Casper Sasquatch now."

"The point is…" Dean continued, leaning back like this was some kind of casual Monday morning chat. Maybe it was a Monday morning. You weren’t sure what day it was, honestly. "What I learned is that no matter how much pain and suffering you’ve seen, you can’t save everyone. Survival changes you. But that doesn’t make you a bad person."

And damn, if that didn’t hit you like a brick to the face.

You thought of the demons, the fights, the endless struggle for survival in the games. You thought of your father. The guilt. The scars, both physical and emotional, that you carried with you. The feeling that you hadn’t done enough.

You swallowed hard as you met his gaze. “You really think that? That we’re not bad for just trying to survive? Even if it… cost more than we ever wanted to admit?”

Dean nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah. I do. You did what you had to. We all do. It doesn’t make us monsters, even if it feels like it sometimes.”

For a split second, the room didn’t feel like it was closing in on you. It felt lighter. For the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel completely alone.

He could sense the slight shift in you, and he couldn’t help, but smile faintly to himself.

“I think I've heard that name before” you broke the silence.

Your words earned a confused expression from Dean.

“Malgathor” you clarified, then sighed. “I just… I just don’t remember where or when.”

Dean thought for a moment and then said.

“Well, I know someone who might be able to help you remember.”

“Wait, what?”

Castiel glanced over at Dean, who was sitting across the room, tapping his fingers on the edge of the table like he was trying to think through a riddle.

"She seems to be asking this a lot" he observed, his tone just shy of confused.

Dean shot you a look. "How come you hadn’t realized this sooner?"

“How come you hadn’t realized before?” Dean asked you.

"I dunno” you shrugged. “I mean, the guy seemed weird… but I wasn’t gonna point that out. I was just trying to be polite. But, of course, he's an angel!" you added, gesturing vaguely at Castiel, who was still standing there like a celestial vending machine with a perplexed expression.

“I am standing right here” the angel deadpanned.

You blinked and turned to him. "Yeah, sorry, totally forgot. My bad." You paused. "So… how many other celestial or demonic beings do we have here? We've got an angel, two flannel ghosts, the big G.O.D., a witch who once ruled Hell… a normal Tuesday for you guys, huh?"

“We actually have a few of my brothers and sisters here” Castiel replied, then motioning to each angel. ”And we also have some demons who are loyal to Rowena. Like Gregor there.”

Gregor, who had been sitting across from you and tried his hardest to pretend he didn’t notice you, gave you an awkward half-wave.

You shook your head in disbelief and then refocused on Castiel. "So…” you started. “How can you help me remember? Hypnosis? Some weird Freudian method? Or maybe an angel mind-meld? You know, the whole psychic healing touch thing you guys are good at?"

Castiel tilted his head, his trademark "I'm trying to decipher your odd human behavior" look in full effect. "An 'angel mind-meld' is not exactly how I would describe it” he said, his voice dry but patient. "However, I can attempt to access your memories directly. It may be uncomfortable, though."

"Yeah, no thanks" you shot back, crossing your arms. "Last time I went down memory lane, it came with a side of traumatic nightmares. I’m not exactly itching to repeat that."

“Well… I don’t have many options” Castiel said.

You rolled your eyes and sighed. “So long for angels.”

“If you have a better suggestion, I’m open to hearing it. Otherwise, I would recommend we proceed.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Look, Cas… Can I call you Cas? Well, I will… it’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer. I just… I don’t exactly love the idea of someone rooting around in my head like it’s an old attic full of cobwebs.”

“I won’t force you to do it… But it’s our best chance so far at finding Malgathor and trying to end this.”

You crossed your arms, leaning back in your chair as you considered Castiel's words.

"Our best chance, huh? Great. No pressure or anything."

Dean, who had been watching the exchange with a smirk, leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "C'mon, it’s not like Cas is gonna redecorate in there. He’s just gonna dig up whatever’s buried, and hopefully, it leads us to something useful."

You shot him a glare. "Yeah, sure, because having an angel sift through my brain is totally on my bucket list."

Castiel, ever the patient one, waited until your attention returned to him. "I understand your hesitation" he said evenly. "But the memories you’ve locked away may hold the key to stopping Malgathor. If we don’t act, more lives will be lost."

You sighed, the weight of his words settling heavily on your shoulders. He wasn’t wrong. If there was even a chance that this could help, you had to take it. The alternative (doing nothing) wasn’t an option.

"Fine" you said finally, your voice laced with reluctant resolve.

An angel poking around in your brain wasn’t exactly at the top of your Things I’m Excited About list. Hell, it wasn’t even on the Things I’ll Tolerate for the Sake of Survival list. But here you were.

Castiel guided you back into your room and gestured for you to sit in the one rickety chair that had definitely seen better days. Dean was in your trail, leaning casually against the doorframe. You weren’t sure if he was genuinely concerned or just tagging along to see if this all went up in flames. Either way, you appreciated the backup.

You sat down, steeling yourself for the inevitable weirdness of whatever angelic brain surgery Cas was about to perform. But then you felt the gentle pull of fabric brushing over your arm. You turned your head and saw Castiel looping a tie around your shoulder, threading it through the back of the chair.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” you exclaimed, your voice cracking as you shoved the tie off and bolted upright. Your heart thudded in your chest, and your pulse roared in your ears. “What the hell are you doing?” You glared at Castiel, the panic clawing its way up your throat.

Dean raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly at your reaction. “Relax, Y/N. It’s just to keep you from flailing around when things get… messy.”

“Messy?” you snapped, shooting daggers at him before looking back at Castiel.

“I told you this would be uncomfortable” Castiel said, his tone calm but unyielding. “Restraining you will reduce your movements… and, in turn, your pain.”

“There was no mention of tying me down!” you hissed, your irritation boiling over.

Dean’s smirk faded as he took a closer look at you. Your breathing was shallow and ragged, your eyes wide and glassy. You weren’t just annoyed.

You were terrified.

“Hey, take it easy” Dean said, his voice softer now, the teasing edge gone. But it was too late. The walls were closing in, and your mind had taken you somewhere else entirely.

“Alright, you know what? No. This isn’t gonna work” you said quickly, bolting for the door before either of them could stop you.

Dean and Castiel exchanged a look. Dean sighed, running a hand down his face. “Great idea, Dean” he muttered to himself before pushing off the wall to follow you.

You were halfway down the hall, your heart thundering in your ears. Panic buzzed under your skin, rising in waves that you couldn’t control. You hated this feeling, the helplessness, the vulnerability. It made you feel small. Weak.

Then, without warning, you collided with something solid. You stumbled back and looked up, only to find yourself staring into the face of a giant in flannel. Casper Sasquatch. His brow furrowed as he caught you, concern spreading across his face like wildfire.

“Hey, hey — are you okay?” he asked, his voice gentle, almost like he wasn’t sure if you were about to break down or punch him in the face.

If you were anywhere near your right mind, you would’ve tossed out a casual “Yeah, I’m cool. Totally fine. Why, what’s up?” but your body wasn’t cooperating. Your breath was uneven, and you could feel that you were seconds away from delivering a full-blown panic attack. So, rather than answering him with anything even remotely reasonable, you did the only thing that made sense in that moment: You stormed off.

You found a storage room and ducked inside, slamming the door shut behind you. The sound echoed in the small space, and you leaned against the door, struggling to steady your breathing.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

But the more you tried to calm yourself, the more your mind rebelled. The fluorescent lighting in the storage room blurred, shifting into the dim, flickering glow of another room.

A familiar scene began to claw its way into focus — the one you saw at the war room yesterday.

You were back in that chair. The ropes bit into your skin, your wrists raw from struggling.

“Where’s the fight from the Games now, little hunter?” a voice sneered.

You couldn’t see his face, but you remembered the voice. Barbas.

You couldn’t see his face, but you didn’t need to. His voice had imprinted itself on your mind like a scar that wouldn’t heal. His silhouette loomed closer, shadows shifting unnaturally around him. You could feel his presence, the oppressive heat, the stench of sulfur and something metallic curling into your nose.

“You know…” he began, his voice taking on a mocking lilt. “You could make this so much easier for yourself. But every time I bring you down here…” He chuckled, a sound so cold it made your blood freeze. “You just can’t help yourself, can you? You just have to put up a fight. Every goddamn time.”

His footsteps grew louder as he circled you, the sound blood-freezing.

“But I know” he continued, his tone almost casual now, as if this were a friendly chat and not a nightmarish interrogation in a hellish made-up dungeon in a five star hotel. “It’s probably instinct, isn’t it? No matter how many times I wipe that fragile little memory of yours clean… there’s a part of you that just knows.” He paused, his voice dipping lower, softer. “Still feels something's missing, huh? And it's always happenin' here.”

He leaned closer, his shadow enveloping you, and for a moment, you thought you might suffocate from the weight of his presence.

You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to stay still, to fight against the rising tide of panic. But then his tone shifted again, an almost mocking warmth seeping into his words, like a twisted parody of kindness.

“You should be grateful, you know” he said, his breath curling around you like chains. “No other hunter has the life you do. All thanks to me. And my little help in those fights…Not many contestants get the green light to bring in holy water, you know? Or a silver blade sharpened just so. But you? Oh, you’ve had a golden ticket. My golden ticket.”

He stepped closer, his shadow looming large and cold over you. “But golden tickets don’t come cheap, do they?”

He crouched down, his face just out of view in the dim light, but you could feel his smirk like a blade against your skin. “You don’t get all that without giving something in exchange. And you know it damn well.”

Your stomach twisted as the words were rattling against the fragile walls of your mind. Memories scratched at the surface, desperate to escape, but something held them back.

Your knees buckled, but you caught yourself on a shelf. Sweat dripped down your temple, your chest heaving as the visions began to fade, leaving only fragments behind.

You could hear a muffled “Sam, where’d she go?”

And then came the knocking.

It wasn’t polite. It wasn’t patient. It was loud, urgent, and relentless.

“Y/N?” Dean’s voice cut through the muffled haze in your head. “Y/N, please open up. I know you’re in there.”

You didn’t move, still struggling to regulate your breathing.

There was a beat of silence, then you heard his voice again. “I can ghost myself in, but I know you’re not a fan of that, so please, just… open the damn door!”

You grimaced, your fingers gripping the shelf tightly. The last thing you wanted was to face him or anyone right now. But you also took that Dean Winchester wasn’t the type to take “leave me alone” as an answer, especially when he thought something was wrong.

Dragging in a shaky breath, you pushed yourself upright. Your legs trembled like a newborn fawn’s, but they seemed steady enough to get you to the door. You shuffled toward it and cracked it ajar just a couple inches.

But Dean didn’t wait for an invitation. He pushed the door open further, stepping inside. His eyes roved over you, taking in your disheveled state, the sheen of sweat on your brow, and the hollow look in your eyes.

“What the hell happened in here?”

You shrugged, your throat still too tight to form proper words.

“Don’t give me that” Dean said, his tone hovering between exasperation and care. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost — scratch that. Worse than a ghost.”

You glanced away, suddenly finding the floorboards fascinating.

“Please, Y/N… Just… talk to me.”

You inhaled shakily, wrapping your arms around yourself like they might hold you together.

You closed your eyes shut, letting yourself seem fragile for once. You couldn’t help, but feel the weight of the vision — memory, more like. You exhaled, and decided to admit.

“I—" you started, taking a shaky breath" I think everything I was led to believe was a lie.”

Next on The Great Invasion (Sneak Peek from Chapter 4):

You swallowed, suddenly regretting every decision that had led you to this moment. “I just thought.... you’ll already sneak back into my room–”

“My room” he corrected automatically, his lips curling into the kind of smirk that could either infuriate or disarm you, depending on the mood. Tonight, it did a little of both.

You rolled your eyes, more out of habit than annoyance and then continued. “–so I figured… maybe you could just… stay.”

Dean blinked, his eyebrows climbing just a fraction higher and for a second you could tell he was debating whether to make a joke or take you seriously. “You want me to stay? While you’re asleep?”

Shit's gettin' intense, but don’t worry, it’s only going to get wilder from here! 🤭

Can't wait to read your thoughts on this.

xx Pam

Chapter 4 coming soon...

🤍Series taglist🤍

@thebiggerbear @spnaquakindgdom @artyandink @globetrotter28 @kaz-2y5-spn @hobby27 @lamentationsofalonelypotato @muhahaha303

🤍Jensen taglist🤍

@roseblue373

#jensen ackles x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfiction #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles #supernatural x you #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction

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cinnamanz · 1 day ago

Text

# MAMMA MIA — chapter one!

there’s always been one rule in the group: don’t bring up y/n. no one really knows why, but it’s clear sophia would rather leave her ex-best friend in the past. once inseparable, their friendship dissolved after a summer camp that no one talks about, and y/n vanished, moving god-knows-where without so much as a goodbye. some say it was a fight. others say it was something more. only sophia knows the truth—or maybe not even she does. now, as the third year at dream academy begins, sophia is blindsided by y/n's unexpected return. gone is the familiar, easygoing childhood bestfriend she remembers. in her place is someone sharper, colder, and—unfortunately for sophia—hotter than ever. (who gave her the permission to look so fine?)

OOMCHELLA @ SCHOOL

masterlist ✮⋆｡˚📽️ next

weak start but chat i promise it'll get better💔

@zindoriyo @goofymickeyr @saysirhc @kathleenmikaelson @soobnotfound @jjjaliyah @meganskiendielsbtc @magixpracticality @phamapple @sed7ction @1luvkarina @linnnsworld @hotluvlet @bauzer @deathvidal @saranglasses @kkoga @chaesitonmyface @arihiu @peanutbutterlover05 @kristalag @ssamlovr @sunshinez4 @meiyaes @solentient @jsxjmn @reey0w @vrtualstar @justtluvrr @fruityg0rl @cyberbonesworld @danisluvv @haerinkisser @lafortezalover @cassiespoiler @skz-xii @ninguitar @kimminjswife @yeetaberry127 @p1hbrook @hazel-tanthamore22 @caitlynglazer @minjvers @tormaa1 @nwjnsloona @itzkatflixs @namojoon @falling-intoo-deep @waitsobs TAGLIST OPEN

#katseye #katseye x reader #katseye smau #wlw #katseye x female reader #smau #sophia laforteza x female reader #sophia x female reader #sophia laforteza katseye #sophia laforteza x reader #sophia x reader #sophia katseye #sophia laforteza #gxg

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wackulart · 3 days ago

Note

I LOVE your wreck it Ralph sona!! You don’t have to answer ofc but what’s the backstory?? Code to code jester is so cool :}

TYSMMMM!!! It's a little vague atm, but!! here's what I have so far

Turbo and Neo had known each other briefly but only got to know each other around the time after Turbo's first attempt to join another game went awry. Neo had spotted him hiding out in between games, offered him company and aid Neo and him worked together for a while, learning about the code that works within the main hub area [i forget what its called, the central station] as well as the arcades My sona's from a math/coding game so he is mildly knowledgeable on those sorts of things Eventually, Turbo comes up with his plan to take over Sugar Rush, but Neo's not as keen on the idea. Taking over a world that isn't his and destroying lives. So he decides to leave, telling Turbo that he isn't going to join him in his endeavour. They spend one last night together before Neo wants to leave because Turbo asked him to. While they rested, Turbo reprogrammed him much like he planned to do to the characters in Sugar Rush. He made him believe that he was always apart of the Sugar Rush game and approached him as King Candy, rekindling their friendship. Now, Neo remembers bits and pieces but stays in denial about things because he wants to trust King Candy. He doesn't want to lose the closest person he has to strange, muddled dreams

#eventually he completely finds out around the time ralph comes along for a bit #but he still cares about turbo #so he doesnt say anything #even trying to go after the cybug before he gets poofed into the beacon #IM GOIN WITH WIR LORE SO LIKE #SDJGHFDGDFH #NOT THE HAPPIEST ENDING BUT #AUS EXIST #ask #astroclown #wreck it ralph #turbo #king candy #my sona #selfship

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punkqs · 3 days ago

Text

I'm trying to get the guy I like and it's going wrong (or maybe not)

nerdjo x punkguru

words: 2652

notes: maybe I'll write more about this AU

Geto quietly enters the library, closing the door carefully to avoid making any noise.

Alright, now he has to find his classmate, Gojo Satoru, and, on his teacher Yaga’s orders, tell him that he’s going to be his new private math tutor. He can’t help but feel a little embarrassed—Gojo will probably think he’s an idiot for struggling with simple equations involving numbers and letters, and that he’s wasting time teaching someone who wears so much eyeliner. But whatever. He’s only doing this to pass that devilish math course. That’s the only thing that matters.

He walks through the hallways, first passing by the history section, where there’s no one. So, he heads to the next section—literature—where there are two people, but neither is who he’s looking for. He keeps searching everywhere but can’t find him. Yaga said he’d be here, maybe he’s just looking in the wrong places, though he’s already searched every section… except for the physics section. He hopes he’s there, because honestly, he doesn’t want to search the whole school.

He steps into the hall, and there he is—Gojo, reading a book.

Well, this is it. He sighs, resigned, and walks up to him.

“Hey, Gojo.”

“Huh?” Gojo turns around, blinking, adjusts his glasses, and closes the book. “Oh, hey.”

“Sorry to interrupt. I don’t want to bother you—“

“No, no, it’s fine,” Gojo clears his throat and holds the book against his chest. “What’s up?”

“Well… you see… I need help with math, and Professor Yaga said you could help me.”

“Oh,” Gojo adjusts his glasses again. “Sure, no problem.”

Geto blinks.

“Really? You’ll help me?” He can’t help but smile a little.

“Of course.” Gojo laughs lightly. “So, when are you free?”

“Uh, maybe this weekend? Does that work for you?”

“Yeah, sure. How about we meet at the park near here, around noon?”

“Yes! Thanks so much. See you then.”

“See ya.”

Geto waves and walks off.

Well, that was easy. For a moment, he thought Gojo might refuse, but it went the opposite way. In fact, it was pretty nice. Now that he thinks about it, it’s the first time they’ve really talked. They’re in the same class, but they’ve never said anything to each other before. But whatever, that’s not important. Now he can rest easy.

Meanwhile, Gojo, who had stayed in the hallway, feels his breath return to normal. His face is burning, and his heart is pounding. He can’t believe Geto actually talked to him and that they’re going to spend time together—well, just for studying, but still, it’s something. He sighs, feeling like he’s living in a dream.

Since he can remember, Gojo Satoru has always had feelings for Geto Suguru.

The first time he saw him was when Geto entered the classroom: his black hair impeccably styled, his purple eyes accentuated with carefully applied eyeliner, the piercings on his eyebrow, and that damn lock of hair.

Geto sat next to him, and Gojo froze, not wanting to look at him directly. He didn’t want to seem like a freak. But it was pointless, because Geto glanced over at him while taking books out of his bag. To Gojo’s surprise, he smiled at him kindly. Gojo’s face turned bright red, and he hid behind his book, pretending to read, but really, he was dying inside.

Since then, the years passed with Gojo watching Geto from a distance, like a lovesick fool. Gojo excelled at everything—everything except social skills—so he had no idea how to approach Geto. Plus, it was no surprise that Geto was popular almost immediately.

Of course, Geto Suguru was incredible. It was clear everyone would love him.

So maybe this was Gojo’s only chance to get closer to him and at least try to become friends.

“What’s up with you? You’re distracted, and that’s not normal for you,” Sukuna said while skating next to Gojo as they walked out of school together.

“What are you talking about? I’m not distracted.”

“Yeah, right. I made a joke about Ijichi and you didn’t laugh.”

Gojo rolls his eyes.

“Maybe the joke was so bad that I didn’t find it funny.”

“It can’t be because you laugh at anything that’s about Ijichi.”

Gojo grumbles and walks faster, but Sukuna, on his skateboard, keeps following him.

“You know I’m not going to leave until you tell me—”

Then Gojo shoves Sukuna and runs off. Sukuna falls to the ground, but he quickly gets up, realizing Gojo has already disappeared. Great, next time Gojo will pay for this.

Gojo throws his backpack down somewhere and flops onto his bed. Well, he really doesn’t want to tell Sukuna about being Geto’s tutor. If he found out, he’d never let Gojo live it down. It might sound a bit dramatic, but Sukuna knows about Gojo’s one-sided crush on Geto, and if he knows Gojo’s going to be his private tutor, he’ll torment him for the rest of his life. Gojo’s not about to let that happen.

But now he just has to survive the weekend. It’ll be easy.

It wasn’t easy.

Avoiding Sukuna was a real challenge. In fact, he’s getting paranoid now, looking around nervously. Then, just as he’s lost in his thoughts, he accidentally bumps into someone.

“Oh, sorry!”

Gojo’s heart starts to race… or maybe he’s just having a panic attack, but he hopes it’s the latter.

“Su… Geto?” he stammers, his heart hammering.

“Uh… yeah, I… caught your glasses before they fell. Sorry about that. Here.”

Gojo feels Geto’s warm hand as he passes him his glasses, and he thinks he might melt. He quickly puts them on.

“Don’t worry, I should have been paying more attention to where I was going.” Gojo rubs his neck, trying to calm himself. Now that he can see better, he notices the eyeliner, with hints of purple.

Damn it, he’s going to die.

“You’re so careless, Geto,” comes a voice from nearby.

Both of them turn. It’s Shoko, Geto’s close friend, and she’s smiling at Gojo. She exchanges a few glances with Geto, then laughs softly and says goodbye to Gojo before walking off.

“Sorry, I’ve got class with Shoko, and we’re already running late. So… weekend, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Gojo says quickly.

“Alright, see you then,” Geto waves and walks off.

Gojo is left standing there, his heart racing, feeling like the luckiest person in the world.

The weekend finally arrives, and Gojo can’t stop feeling nervous. As he packs the math books into his bag, he keeps reminding himself that this is just a study session, not a date. He needs to relax so he doesn’t mess it up.

When he heads out the door, he ignores the employees asking where he’s going or when he’ll be back. He opens the door, not bothering to close it, and heads to the park.

He’s the first one to arrive, which is good. He stands by the entrance, smoothing his hair, trying to calm his nerves. He needs to act casual, or he’ll embarrass himself in front of Geto.

“Hey, Gojo.”

He hears Geto’s voice from a distance and turns around so quickly that his neck hurts, but it doesn’t matter. It’s Geto, and he looks… as gorgeous as always. Gojo can’t help but smile.

“Hey, G-Geto.”

“Got everything—notebooks, books, calculator, and a ton of pencils,” Geto says when he reaches Gojo. “Is that enough?”

“It’s more than enough,” Gojo says, sounding like an idiot. He clears his throat and tries to focus. “Shall we go in?”

They head to a bench to study, sitting across from each other. They spend quite a while on math, and it seems to be paying off.

“You did great, Geto.”

“Really? It wasn’t so bad this time.”

“Because practice makes perfect. If you don’t practice, you’ll fail. But don’t worry. For your first session, you did great,” Gojo praises him, and Geto smiles, warming Gojo’s heart. “Do you want to take a break?”

“Yeah, please,” Geto says, pushing the books aside. “I can’t process another number.”

Gojo puts a few notebooks back in his bag, and then he notices that Geto is staring at him, making him nervous. He wonders if there’s something on his face.

“Is something wrong?”

“Uh…” Geto adjusts in his seat. “Actually, I wanted to ask something…”

“Ask me something?” Gojo doesn’t expect this. “Sure.”

“Yeah, well…” Geto plays with his fingers, which Gojo finds endearingly adorable. “I’ve noticed that studying doesn’t seem to be difficult for you, no offense, but it seems like you’re not even trying and you’re always the first to turn in the exam sheet…” Oh, so he’s observant. “So, I wanted to ask… Are you a genius? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, it’s just that it’s a doubt that almost everyone in the class has” he hurries to clarify.

Gojo laughs and Geto waits for a response.

“Well, yeah, I am”.

“Oh…” he looks at Gojo as if he really hadn’t seen him before. “Shoko owes me 10 yen”.

“Wait, did you guys bet?”

“Uh…” Geto shrugs slightly, looking a bit embarrassed. “She started it and couldn’t back down… Sorry?”

Gojo laughs again.

“Don’t worry about it, but at least I expect half the money”.

Now Geto laughs too, although he doesn’t think he said anything funny, but it doesn’t matter, as long as Geto is laughing and he’s happy.

And well, things were going really well, too well to be true, until someone called out his name. And of course, for Gojo’s bad luck, someone had to interrupt him and it was none other than…

“Sukuna” Gojo says between his teeth.

“I didn’t think you’d be around here…” he looks at Gojo and then slowly looks at Geto, then looks back at Gojo and smiles in a macabre way, and Gojo just wants to make him disappear from the face of the earth. “And Geto, what a surprise”.

He approaches and sits down next to Gojo, intentionally pushing him a bit.

“Uh, hi, Sukuna” despite everything, Geto smiles, sensing a bit of tension between the two.

“Sukuna, don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Gojo narrows his eyes.

“Well…” Sukuna pretends to think, putting his hand on his chin. “No” and smiles, showing his teeth.

“I thought you’d be with Uraume” Gojo counterattacks with a smile.

Sukuna had been in love with Uraume for a long time, one of the reasons why they have a minimum of mutual understanding. So far, Sukuna and Uraume were just good friends, but it seems he touched a sensitive nerve because Sukuna frowned.

“Them has other things to do”.

If looks could kill, Gojo would probably already be dead.

Geto looks at the exchange between Gojo and Sukuna, wondering what their relationship is. At school, everyone knows that Gojo and Sukuna are a kind of rivals, always competing for the top spot in the class, he thought maybe they didn’t get along, but it seems it’s not entirely true. So, in silence, he packs up his things, and when he’s done, he looks at them, they’re still arguing, maybe it’s time to leave, although he would have liked to spend a little more time with Gojo…

Geto gets up and clears his throat, trying to get his attention, which he manages to do.

“Uh, I’m leaving, I don’t want to interrupt… whatever it is you’re doing” and says in a low voice. “I guess I’ll see you later, Gojo”. And he leaves.

Gojo panics and Sukuna seems victorious for achieving his goal, but he won’t let that happen, so he gets up and rushes over.

“Wait, Geto!”

Geto stops and turns around.

“Yeah?”

“I… Sorry about that, it’s just that Sukuna is…” annoying, pesky, unbearable is what he would have liked to say. “A special case, dealing with him sometimes is… well, sorry if you felt uncomfortable”.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I really didn’t think you and Sukuna were good friends” and he shrugs.

Gojo blinks, the way he said it sounded a bit weird, but maybe he’s just overthinking.

“He’s an idiot” Gojo downplays it and sees Geto laugh slightly, apparently as a bit of encouragement. “And also, we haven’t coordinated when your next class will be” he rubs the back of his neck with his hand, he’s starting to get nervous.

“Ah, that’s true” Geto thinks for a few seconds and then takes his phone out of his pocket. “How about we exchange phone numbers? That way we can coordinate”.

“Uh, ah… Yeah, sure!” And Gojo smiles like an idiot. After exchanging numbers, Geto promises to text or call him.

“See you soon, Gojo” he smiled warmly and walked away.

“Y-yeah, me too!” Well, time to shut up, he runs a hand through his hair and sighs.

He has Suguru Geto’s phone number.

“So you were trying to keep me from knowing you were seeing Geto? You’re quite the Romeo, Gojo” said Sukuna, who suddenly appeared at his side.

Gojo shook his head.

“I’m just his math teacher.”

He kept his eyes on where Geto had gone, he sure looked ridiculous, but don’t blame him, he’s just a man in love.

“Mmm, I guess it’ll do you good, the good thing is that you made a very good impression —and he laughed.”

“Don’t even think about interrupting us next time.”

“Oh, I don’t promise anything…”

Gojo punched Sukuna in the stomach, then turned around and walked away.

As Gojo headed home, he received a text from Geto. Excited, he replied and hoped that this was the start of a friendship or, if he allowed himself to dream big, something more.

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softgh0stbites · 1 day ago

Text

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ Where Desire Slumbers

Rating: Suggestive 18+ Pairing: Vincent x Reader Summary: Vincent has nightly thoughts about you, always the gentlemen to never act on them though. ⋆˙⟡Notes: I'm pretty new to tumblr in general and I'm usually only here to self indulge in fanfiction and the occasional art piece. I might drop ideas or ramblings that just come to my mind- currently that being of final fantasy vii characters as well as other video game characters that capture my hyperfixation. Enjoy~ · · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · · A man bleeding from the inside, quietly so it disturbs no one. But you see it—you’re the first to cup your hands around these invisible wounds. You’re there at every corner, a soft, benign malice beginning to grow for you. You’re annoying in every sense of the word. Your smile is too bright, your eyes still lit with a radiance untouched by the darkest nights. When he’s around you, he often thinks of himself even more—how it would feel to go all the way back to secret whispers in the night and naps in the sunlight. There’s a longing for that euphoric dream, where he replaces the unsightly with visions of you in his waking hours, when sleep is far from his thoughts.

He imagines pulling that smile from your lips with his fingers, brushing your bottom lip with just a caress of his thumb, while you fall apart above him.

You wear your innocence so thin, the dusting of rouge on your cheeks like the sunset when you’re caught staring. He remembers these stolen glances, observing you now more than ever. He wonders if you’d bite down on your own hands and fingers, silencing melodies he so desperately wants to hear. Would you act shyly, perched above him in your night chemise? Would you let him in so close, so easily, if he only murmured a soft, “Please”?

Oh.

How would you act if he were to beg? If he gave in to every carnal desire, would you fear the embers—or are you afraid of being burned? He pictures you so sweetly in the night. He shouldn’t; he can’t fathom being the one to taint you so badly. But a part of his guilt revels in it. It would cause him so much misery, so much self-doubt, but he would enjoy it. He wouldn’t falter. He wouldn’t let your lithe hips escape when it became too much. He would still you, murmuring endearing words like a sedative poison.

“So good. Don’t steal away from me yet.”

Of course, if you wanted none of this, his hands would remain forever untouched by you. But the days that blend around you wind him to believe that you think of him sometimes—perhaps in your makeshift bed during your travels, sweetly trailing your hands between the apex of your thighs, while the candescent glow of a candle is your only audience and the thin walls of an inn do little to hold back your hushed gasps and cries.

He would wait for you to approach him. Always. He couldn’t allow himself such a luxury—a taste of something so sweet. Instead, he would sink deeper into his thoughts, where he always had you, cherished you, devoured you. And in return, you marked him back with golden smiles and reassuring caresses through his long hair. He wanted love so bittersweet it stung and left him breathless.

He does his daily tasks of cleaning his section of the Highwind. It isn’t much, but it keeps his mind busy when mornings feel bleak. After landing to gather resources or take on small jobs, he finds a quiet place to brood. Normally, he wanders into ruins or shrouded places to feel the first rays of the sun fall across his pale lids. He could watch the kaleidoscope colors forever if time allowed. He’s warming up to the idea of naps in the sun, after all.

“Vincent?” A gentle, quivering voice calls out to him. He can almost hear her fingers fidgeting with the fabric of her shirt without even needing to look. She pushes through when he finally exhales and offers a glance, accompanied by a slight tilt of his head.

“Want some company?”

And it begins.

#I dont know what im doing #Ramble writing #vincent valentine x Reader #headcanon #might delete later uwu #final fantasy vii #vincent valentine is so hot i have nothing appropriate to say

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shmisky · 2 days ago

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Me, after finishing watching Gravity Falls and seeing the Stan twins sailing away together: The beginning of a dream! 🙂😀😃😄😆

Me, after finishing your meta about how Ford just dragged Stan back to their extremely codependent dynamic and Stan never goes to therapy to get help to deal with his inferiority complex: Everything went wrong! 😟😩😫😣😭

OH NOOO 🥺 Poor anon!! I’m sorry!! 🫂

Is this you? shejdkj

I was going to just comfort you a bit but then it got somewhat long again (I’m HOPELESS 😭), so... Under the cut.

Perhaps it helps to know that, when I said things would inevitably blow up here, I didn’t mean that in an ominous, dark way! I read a looot of fanfic, and in fanfic, the point of conflict is the climax of the story!

So, basically, in my head I imagine that once Stan accidentally makes his inferiority complex/feelings of worthlessness very, very clear in the worst way and moment possible (sorry, I just don’t have much faith in the communication skills of those two 😔), Ford would absolutely, firmly, and sexily shower him with love 😏 Like in those fanfics in which he worships Stan’s body to help with his insecurity 😳

And you don’t have to subscribe to my interpretation, btw! Not even Alex’s! That’s the fun of fiction! If you want to imagine them as more wholesome and functional, of course you can! 💕

I happen to love the codependency/most toxic aspects! It’s SO juicy for me 🧃

This actually reminds me of many people’s expectations and reactions to the finale, with Stan accepting Ford’s broposal being a big surprise! I’ve seen before fans saying that they genuinely thought Stan would reject it, after all what he went through, or that it would’ve been way healthier for Stan if he had rejected it.

I agree that this could have been healthier for Stan, and even, perhaps, the more predictable ending...? I don’t remember what I thought because I was a kid way too invested in Dipper and Mabel and Bill to care much about the Stans back then. But I think that it would’ve been a pretty classic ending!

They could have leaned on the “found family” trope. That even if Stan isn’t with Ford, it’s okay. Blood isn’t everything. Stan realizes his true family was there all along, valuing and loving him: Mabel, Dipper, Soos, Wendy... (never mind the fact Mabel and Dipper are still his biological family 😅) He realizes it’s time to step out of Ford’s shadow and be his own person (especially after he saved everyone in Weirdmaggedon and proved himself), that it was wrong of him to cling to Ford so desperately, and it was time to... finally let go...

I can easily picture it: Ford invites Stan, hopeful, but Stan looks at the horizon as his hair is tousled by the wind. After all the adventures in the summer, Stan learned so much. Stan is wiser now. “Nah, Poindexter...” [says some deep stuff about never realizing how dependent he was on Ford] Ford hesitates for a moment, then smiles sadly but somewhat proud of his brother, says he understands, apologizes for taking so long to understand Stan’s value. He also learns his lesson, one very different but no less painful than the one Stan had to learn. About humbleness, the consequences of the choices you make, etc.

He then stays in Gravity Falls as the local authority on anomalies whose help people can always count on as the Author of the Journals, while Stan, Soos, and Wendy take care of the Mystery Shack. I think it would be too sad to make Ford sail away on his own in a show about the importance of family so they likely wouldn’t go there. Or would they...? Ford could just permanently assume his narrative role as the Author of the Journals and keep sending the kids’, especially Dipper, updates on his new findings. They show Dipper receiving one letter from Grunkle Stan, and one letter from Grunkle Ford, separately. Their relationship with the kids (the protagonists) ends up as more important than their relationship with each other.

I don’t know about you, anon, but I think we did get the happier ending 🥺

Yes, according to Alex, they are both so damaged that they desperately need each other. But according to this same Alex, Stan and his brother are meant to be a parable that show what can go wrong in a family relationship, but also show that, with hard work and sacrifice, the rift can be repaired.

Also, to be honest... I just pity Ford 🥺 His pitiable regretful peacock swag unfortunately works on me. I want them to stay together codependently and kiss codependently on the mouth!

#the bunny answers #old stans #stancest

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a-bad-case-of-the-stephs · 2 days ago

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OOH WAIT been meaning to ask this bc I know ppl have lots of varying opinions on the matter:

Batgirl: Convergence

How do we feel about it, Re: Steph?

It's been a long time since I most recently reread it so I can't really summon too many thoughts on it- I remember doubting that Steph would've quit being a vigilante in the dome, even if I liked her nursing career, I liked her roommates dynamic with Cass, and I liked a couple of Steph's jokes and bits (yelling at killer moth that he's wasting her time, singing "We Are The Champions" when she knocked out catman). I also remember loving how Steph was drawn but that's just cause I'm way biased towards Rick Leonardi's art.

Would love to hear your take on it though, bc I've heard people say they love how it depicts Steph, or they hate how it depicts Steph, or they're indifferent, etc etc. curious for your thoughts

Okay I won’t lie I hadn’t read Convergence Batgirl before receiving this ask, because I didn’t know about Convergence Batgirl. I’m not going to get into it bc no one cares but the way I started reading comics was a little stupid insane, so I’ve read a LOT but there is a chance any book which wasn’t published in an ongoing or which I couldn’t find out about by reading ongoings I just might not having heard of.

All this to say: glad to know about it now! Thank you for asking me about it! I’ve read it twice now but my review and opinions might change with time and as I think about it more. Also this is really really fucking long, hope you don’t mind.

I had a pretty similar take to you abt Steph’s nursing career. I really liked Steph being a nurse, it felt like a good choice for Steph. But I also had similar and pretty major gripe with it: I just can’t see Steph giving up Batgirl to be a nurse unless it’s an evolution of her character. We all know Steph is stubborn as fuck and I can’t see her abandoning the mantle of Batgirl with anything less than an absolute decisiveness about how she could best help people. It would never be a backing down, as Convergence seems to portray it as. I just can’t see Steph quitting being Batgirl the way she does in Convergence, because of nebulous reasons which never really get explained, and especially given her Batgirl 2009 progression.

I was a fan of the moment Steph mentions her pregnancy. Steph mentions her pregnancy/her baby two times I can think of in the entire time between the aftermath of her giving birth and the new 52: when she talks to Cass on the rooftop and when is dying at the end of War Games. Two is not a lot of times. Would more mentions make the arc somehow better written? No. Would it benefit Steph’s character? Maybe, maybe not. Do I think it says something that DC has the balls to do a horribly executed teen pregnancy arc but not the balls to meaningfully acknowledge that choice again as consequential to Steph’s character? Yeah.

I think especially given how much time has passed for Steph and how much she’s grown as a character, her thinking about her pregnancy and especially how it’s shown as something that she uses to help her help people, is pretty well executed and intriguing to me. Again especially so because we get so little reflection about the pregnancy from Steph normally.

One little nitpick about it though. Steph reassures the pregnant teenager she’s aiding with birth that the amount of pain as she pushes is ‘normal’ and reassures her that Steph gets it. The dialogue doesn’t make as much sense if Steph had a c-section, which she did. It’s not like the biggest issue, just something small. (I’m like the Cinemasins of stephanie brown aren’t I? Damn.)

I was also very curious about the gendering of the baby, it’s something Steph does during War Games as well, referring to the baby as a girl despite specifically choosing when she gave birth not to know the gender of her baby. Even her dream sequence in Robin #65 is very very careful with language, the baby never is gendered. Once I feel like I can chalk up to author error, but if it’s occurred twice now I feel comfortable assigning an in-world explanation for this. I’m thinking it’s projection, just how Steph sees her baby and thinks about ‘her’. The dream sequence and her own twisty way she combined her own childhood with her baby’s potential one and plain old intuition combine and cause Steph to start thinking of her baby as a baby girl post pregnancy. She isn’t trying to think about it. She actually spend a good deal of time trying not to think about her baby, especially at first, about its eye color or where it’s sleeping at night or its gender. But inevitably thinking about her baby as a girl just trickles into her brain, until she doesn’t think twice about it and she refers to her baby as a girl even in the rare conversation, even while knowing she made that choice to not really ever know. (Okay tangent over)

Steph as an animal lover is interesting to me, as an extension of her defender of voiceless / victims shtick I think it works for her, but on the other hand it makes me think of the panel where she kicks this evil goose and then I laugh. I genuinely can’t think of any other notable moments of Steph and an animal interacting, besides the evil goose and the other brainwashed animals in the Robin 80 Page Giant. But sure, Steph as an animal lover is cute. No gripes with that. I like the description of her eyes as cow-like, that was fun to me.

Unfortunately Cass’s characterization felt off to me. I liked that they lived together, that was cute, but Cass didn’t really seem like herself. I don’t think she made a single expression the whole book. Also they gave her blue eyes which is crazy to me.

I did find it really funny when Steph jokingly refers to Cass as honey. I thought it might’ve been a Future State esque situation again where DC lets them be a (plausibly deniable) couple ONLY in alternate universes to the main continuity. Obvs not how it ended up playing out in Convergence, but still funny to me.

I wasn’t a fan of how much Steph devalues her own skill. I felt like a solid chunk of Steph’s internal narration was downplaying her abilities and doubting herself. It’s in character, don’t get me wrong, specifically in any pre batgirl2009 story. But it felt super out of place in a story which takes place after Batgirl 2009 has occurred. Because bg2009 serves as such a huge self confidence and self worth glow up for Steph, it felt like a huge step back for her. It’s one thing if it was just about her being out of practice, but it went beyond that. I can also see Steph having periods of lower self esteem and regression to old feelings about her self worth, but it feels like we’re missing an inciting incident for that. I would say her quitting Batgirl is the obvious answer, but the issue is I don’t think Convergence does a good enough job justifying that choice either, so I feel like I need an emotional inciting incident to explain Steph’s choice to quit Batgirl as well.

I thought it was a strange choice to say that Steph and Tim became a couple In the nebulous post bg2009 but pre-convergence-Dome period of time. I like the terms they were in Red Robin and Batgirl (2009) with the slightly sour but playful banter of exes who know eachother too well. This portrayal felt much less grounded in their history. The romantic throughline also came out of left field to me, given we didn’t find out that Steph and Tim had even gotten back together only to have broken up again until the second issue.

I will say I love the way Kwitney brings the realistic toll a crime fighting lifestyle would have taken on Steph and Tim into the story. It rarely gets explored, and I love when scars or long term injuries get acknowledged. Also kind of a sweet scene despite it all.

On the topic of Steph and Tim in Convergence Batgirl, I really liked this panel.

Something about this really speaks to me. I have to think on how it works w Steph’s character more, but I really do like this for her. And also the ref to Tim and Steph’s first date w the swing set is cute.

The thing with Convergence: Batgirl is that it’s asking a question about Stephanie Brown. By making her the champion for Gotham, and constantly comparing her to those better suited for the role, the comic pushes this question over and over again; Why is Steph ‘special’? Why her?

It’s a specific question abt why she would be chosen to be the champion, but it’s also a more general one which investigates the nature of Steph as a character. It’s a question she’s been leveled a lot as she’s been alternatively valued or devalued over time.

Kwitney comes to one main answer: Steph is good because Steph is resourceful and unpredictable. It’s Steph’s creativity and willingness to talk things out and pursue nonviolent solutions which allows her to best killer moth, (did the dome turn him back to a normal guy you think? Pretty sure he was still a Huge Moth Monster last we saw him) subdue the stampeding crowd of Gothamites, and convince Catman to surrender in order to win the challenge.

While this answer works, I don’t think it’s quite right. In fact, I think Batgirl Convergence accidentally refutes and reverses the real thing that makes Stephanie Brown ‘special’: her indomitable perseverance and will.

Steph gives up Batgirl, which is not portrayed as a choice to evolve into a role she feels she could help more people as, but as a kind of ‘giving up’ that ultimately turned out for the best.

Steph seems to give in to Tim, at first expressing anger over being dumped by being ghosted, because Tim no longer wanted to date her when she wasn’t Batgirl, and then seemingly giving in to his desire to rekindle their relationship without even discussing the situation again or expressing her feelings of betrayal. Those feelings aren’t resolved, they are abandoned.

And Steph wins as a champion, the genesis for Convergence’s investigation into what makes her a worthy vigilante, by convincing Catman to give up, stating that if he didn’t, she would. Does she actually give up in the fight? No. But the language of ‘giving up’ as Steph’s only path to victory in a game about what makes her valuable is so intriguing to me.

For the record, I don’t think Stephanie in Convergence Batgirl is constantly quitting, or somehow not stubborn. She perseveres, yes, but I do think there is a strong irony in these big story beats in Convergence revolving around Steph doing the very opposite: giving up.

And while Steph is certainly resourceful, and certainly unpredictable, her strongest point to me will always be the fact that she never does give up, no matter what the odds, no matter what she’s told. So in that way, I do think Convergence Batgirl fails. It asks this question about what makes Steph a worthy vigilante and then refutes the best answer entirely. Because of that, to me, it fails to explain what makes Steph special, it fails to answer the key question it asks to a standard I’d agree with.

Side note, I don’t know why Steph can never get writers who have written for her before. I find that unfortunate. That being said, I do think Kwitney did a solid job of understanding Steph’s character. Not perfect, but to me it’s clear she tried to ground Stephanie in her past.

I feel I might be more critical if I didn’t have new52 Steph Brown to stack it up against. At least this is a pre flashpoint story where I know her history as a character is pretty much intact. This world, even if elements are different, feels familiar.

Overall, it was a nice read despite its flaws. I think it messes up some important things about Steph’s character, but it also gets quite a few things right. My opinion might change with more time though. Thanks again for the ask, I’m curious as to what you think if you wanna weigh in!

#sorry this was wayyy too long #answered asks #stephanie brown meta #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #tim drake #convergence batgirl

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