#I have less time to write than ever before

[luveline]

anything with roan and eddie pls 🙏🙏 whatever you want to write about them!! i miss them 🥺🥺

thanks for requesting!! fem

Baking tray, beef cuts laid out flat. Eddie works in silence, dressing the beef with garlic honey, sesame seeds, and a big pinch of salt. He’d like to add some ginger, some paprika, but Roan doesn’t like when things taste smoky. 

He saran wraps the tray and puts it in the fridge. He makes everyone’s veggies —you like different stuff to Eddie, who likes different stuff to Roan, so he makes a garden’s worth of greens and douses them in olive oil, flaky salt, and a little dash of lemon and pepper. He puts that atop the beef in the fridge and tries to think of a side. He was planning on making pasta tonight, before he realised the beef was gonna go bad soon. Maybe he’ll make a pan of crispy mac and cheese to go with it. 

Yeah. He smiles to himself. That looks good on his head, two roasted ribs, a fist of mac and cheese, and a half a plate of roasted veggies. 

He cuts a little cilantro ‘cos Roan loves it, adds some lemon juice to that too, and sets it aside in the fridge. He makes a quick mac and cheese on the stove and tips it into a baking tray, covers a third of it in bacon bits for the youngster, and puts that in the oven. 

Then he sits at the table and sighs. Scratches two hands through his hair, lets the tight achy small of his back decompress as he leans forward. 

When Eddie started working at the shop with Wayne, he figured it would get easier over time. Part time table-bussing wasn’t going to pay for a trailer or his brand new baby, and for months it’s not like he could work anyhow. He lived solely off of his Uncle Wayne as he learned to change diapers, and calm colic, and be a new dad. It was depressing and frustrating all of the time. He felt like shit because he’d just fucking landed Wayne with another mouth to feed and diapers were so, so expensive, and so was formula, and baby clothes, and the guilt worsened when he realised he loved her. Loved Roan. He loved her pretty much the moment he laid eyes on her, but he had no idea if he could be a father, just knew he couldn’t let his kid fall into the system. 

But loving her had been second to panic for weeks. Then one day he was washing her tummy in the bath and he swore blind that she smiled at him, whether babies her age could smile or not. He tumbled out of the bathroom with her in a towel poncho to brag, and that night at dinner, Wayne gave a frowny Eddie the option: start working alternate shifts at the shop. Wayne would have her in the evenings while Eddie worked, they’d sorted everything out, he could start next week. It wasn’t half as scary as being a new dad, so Eddie said yes. 

Anyways, he expected it to get easier. He knows more about parenting and cars than he ever imagined at twenty, but it’s still hard. He’s exhausted. 

Good thing he knows exactly why he does it. 

The door to the living room opens with a creak. Small feet pad around the stair bannister and down the hallway that leads to the kitchen. Roan stops walking when she notices him behind the table. She smiles. She looks like him, less as she gets older, but enough to have given an appreciation for his own features. What’s more beautiful than seeing your smile on someone else’s lips?

“Hey, daddy.” 

“Hi, munchkin.” 

Truthfully, Roan has been his best friend for years. There’s something intangibly close about a single parent and their only child, especially when they’d lived alone. Day after day together, seeing all the gross bits and all the love. It’s given her a vast depth of emotional intelligence. She’s smarter now as a kid than Eddie was at 18. 

“You okay?” she asks, holding her hands up. He picks her up, plonking her on the table in front of him. “You look tired, daddy. And you smell like pepper.” 

“I just finished making ribs, babe.” 

“Yum!” Her nose moves when she talks, “For dinner?” 

“Mm-hm.” He finds her hand. Holds it gently. “Mac and cheese and roasted broccoli, too.” 

Roan smiles again. “Dad, you’re a good chef.” 

“I know I am! But it took so much practice. When you were born, you know what I was eating for dinner every night? I was eating chicken pot pie you put in the microwave.” She wrinkles her nose. “I know. I didn’t care about being good to my body. I definitely didn’t listen to my tummy.”

He likes this part about being a dad. He’s never found it awkward. He just drops his voice into softness and talks to her on her level. 

“But you learned.” 

“I did learn. I wanted to make sure you were eating everything you need. That’s why we eat all that broccoli.” 

She pokes him in the torso with her socked foot. “Maybe less broccoli for my tummy.” 

“I got potatoes and stuff too, don’t worry.” Eddie reaches for her hair in its after school mess, raking it away from her face. “You know I love you, right?” 

“Well, duh.” 

“I know, but really. I love you more than anything.” 

“More than Y/N?” 

“No,” he says quickly, then laughs. “Yeah, but just a little bit. It’s a different kind of love, okay? I love you both like crazy, but you’re my baby. Even though you’re not a baby anymore.” 

“I could be a baby,” she whispers, grinning, “I can be small again, and you can carry me everywhere, and give me a bottle.” 

He laughs roughly. “Yeah? You want a bottle? You barely like milk.” 

“Well, you can still carry me.” 

“I do carry you. I’m surprised these feet work,” he says, squeezing her toes in both hands. 

“Dad, don’t!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he presses his thumb between her foot and her toes and then drops them altogether. “I remember when your foot was the size of my thumb.” 

“I don’t.” 

He laughs more loudly than he means to and scoops her up for a rough and tumble hug. “God, I love you. I really do, bubby.” He presses his nose to her head and blames how tired he is for what he says next. “You are everything to me, you know that? You’re my everything.” 

“You’re my everything.” 

He tips her back to see her. Beams at her, touches his nose to hers. “You and Y/N, you make my life perfect.” 

“I’m glad,” she says, which has him laughing all over again, a childish giggle. 

When you get home a half hour later, you find them in weird places. Eddie’s sitting on the kitchen floor watching the ribs cook in the oven, and Roan’s under the table building a marble run with his approval. “Here?” she asks. 

“And the orange piece. We need more pieces, it’s not long enough.” Eddie smiles at you as you enter, but leans back, opening the cupboard under the sink to grab a saucepan, the sieve, and plastic jug. “We can use these.” 

“What’s up, my Munsons?” you ask. 

Roan smacks her forehead against the edge of the table in her excitement. “Ouch!” she says, crawling from under it to crowd your legs. 

“Ouch!” you echo, face morphed with concern as your handbag slides down your arm. You drop it to the floor and take her cheeks into your hands. “Did that hurt? I’m sorry, I feel like that was all my fault.” 

She shakes her head, curls bouncing this way and that. “It was an accident.” 

“I know, I know, but I didn’t mean to startle you.” You brush her hair back gently and hover. “Can I kiss it better?” 

“Don’t kiss it, it stings!” Roan says, veering away from you with a frown. 

“Sorry!” 

Roan twists away from you to fall into Eddie’s lap. 

“Sorry,” Eddie mouths. 

You pout. It’s with extreme beautifulness —is that a word? Eddie’s pretty sure it’s a word— you slip out of your little heels and sit down on your knees, stockings dark and perfect on legs he adores. You don’t question why they’re on the floor. That’s how you all fit, his smart working girl and your shared grumpy daughter, because nobody asked Eddie why he sat down by the oven. 

“Sorry, baby,” you say softly.

Roan’s frown worsens, but she says, “No, I’m sorry. My head hurts. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, big girl.” 

“Big girl?” she asks. 

“You sounded very grown up, is all.” 

Eddie has to agree. “You’re just that smart.” 

You hold his ankle. “So, how was work? How was school? Fill me in.” 

“How was your day?” Eddie asks. 

“Super usual and boring. We had some people from the Brussels branch come to visit and Jess kept telling me to stop being so awkward, and I asked her what she meant and she said I was smiling like somebody was holding me hostage.” 

Eddie loves when you smile like that. When you’d first met, you used to smile that way all the time. He loves all your smiles, obviously, but your excited–scared combo isn’t one he sees much anymore. 

You shrug. “But work paid for lunch, and I had this amazing mango passionfruit cake roll, I snook you some.” 

“You did?” Roan asks eagerly.

“I did! It’s in my purse, but it has a price.” 

“What’s the price?” Roan asks. 

You put your head in your hand. “I wanna know what you guys have been up to today.” 

When Eddie plates dinner that evening, it’s with a distinct sense of pride and content mashed together. It’s a damn good-looking meal, dense with nutrition and flavour alike, and you and Roan both seem similarly awed. Eddie wanted ribs and he got them, but almost as pleasurable as eating them is the way you both tuck in. You compliment his roasted veggies, telling him you could eat them for every meal, and Roan’s face is plastered in sticky honey garlic in minutes, a macaroni elbow in her hair. 

“Know what dad told me earlier?” she asks you. 

You snort and rescue her hair. “What did he tell you, baby?” 

“That we make his life perfect.” 

Eddie chokes on his coke. “That was a secret,” he says, throat burning, “between you and me?” 

“You didn’t tell me that,” Roan says.  

“Don’t be embarrassed, Eds.” Your eyes turn to hearts, staring at him over the steaming tray of macaroni and cheese. “You guys make my life perfect, too. My babe and my personal chef.” 

He dodges your cheek pinch, grabbing your hand to hold instead. 

“Just wish somebody would make me dinner every once in a while,” he says.

“Whatever,” you say. 

“Dad, I can make you dinner.” 

“I don’t trust you ‘round the kitchen.” 

Roan guides a forkful of cheesy macaroni to her lips. “Okay, good. I can’t make pasta like you,” she says. Eddie won’t mind making dinner again tomorrow. 

[themultifanshipper]

Do you think you could do something like this

https://www.tumblr.com/themultifanshipper/759431110157631488/quiet-innocent-reader-x-lando-like-lando-finds

Maybe with Oscar ( love your writing)

If Oscar had to describe your sex life in one word : Vanilla.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that! God knows how much the two of you enjoyed the sex you had. You weren’t very experienced when you met Oscar, and you were quite a shy person.

Which is why Oscar was so shocked when he found what appeared to be a list of your kinks just sitting there when he got up to make his morning coffee.

Fun fact, this request was sent over a month ago, and i only have a couple more to do before i can get to my own stuff lmao

Warnings: innocent reader, Smut, PinV sex, rough sex, dirty talk, mention of lots of kinks n stuff

He hadn’t meant to get a glimpse into the inner workings of your sexual psyche, but really, who leaves something like that on the kitchen counter???

As he read it over and over again, his cock twitched in interest and got progressively harder until he put it down, the words seared onto his brain forever.

He tried to have a cold shower but just ended up jerking off furiously to completion imagining doing all the things from your list.

But as soon as he got out of the shower and dried off, he realized he was still achingly hard. He decided to put on a pair of his loosest joggers and go about his day while he waited for you to come back from work.

It wasn’t easy, but he managed to answer a whole two emails, internally debating the moral implications of communicating with his bosses while sporting an erection.

Then he jerked off again.

It did take the edge off for a bit, but every time he thought about it during the day he couldn’t help but fist his cock at the thought of all your filthy fantasies.

When you got home, you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, and you did your usual routine: shower, skincare, dinner with a glass of wine, followed by watching something with Oscar, the two of you huddled up together on the couch.

That’s when you started noticing Oscar’s behaviour.

It was very subtle, but you could tell he wasn’t at all focused on the movie, periodically fidgeting around uncharacteristically. Oscar was usually very settled, and tonight it was like he couldn’t keep still for more than 30 seconds. You also noticed his breathing was irregular, often getting shallower as he fidgeted.

Oscar couldn’t care less about what was happening on the screen, his brain was focused on the same thing it had been all day, that damn list.

And he’d been hard all day, which certainly didn’t help his internal crisis.

“Oscar” you sighed, pausing the movie “Talk to me, tell me what’s going on with you tonight”

“Nothing’s wrong, why would there be something wrong?” his mouth said, but his flushed cheeks were proof that he was hiding something.

If looks could kill, the one you gave him would have certainly done the trick.

“I… full honesty?” he asked quietly.

You nodded “Full honesty”

He closed his eyes and sighed. “Okay, but you can’t get mad at me”

You narrowed your eyes at him “That’s not a promise I can make, but I’ll do my best”

He bit his lip before taking your hands in his.

“I uh… I found your list”

You just stared at him. “What list?”

“This one…” he took the piece of paper out of his pocket where it had been burning a metaphorical hole in his hip ever since he’d found it.

He handed it to you, but you didn’t need to unfold it to know what it was. I was a bright pink piece of paper that had been ripped out of your diary the night before.

You completely froze, panic overtaking you.

“Oh my god. Oscar…” You couldn’t look him in the eyes as you tried to explain “you weren’t meant to find that I’m so sorry! I was going to throw it away this morning and I guess I put it down and completely forgot about it. Fuck- please don’t think I’m weird or whatever and just forget about it, okay? Please?”

You put your head in your hands and whined in distress. This couldn’t be happening. Your loving boyfriend had just learned about your depraved fantasies, and he was never going to see you the same way again.

“I can’t forget about it baby, I spent the entire day jerking off about it”

You head snapped up to finally look into his eyes, your jaw hanging in disbelief. You could tell he was dead serious and your gaze slowly trailed downwards towards his pants, where you could tell he was hard, then back up to his face to find him biting his lip so hard it was turning white.

“you-  what?”

“Sweetheart, I got so hard when I read it, I almost got in my car to come and get you from work. I want to do every thing on that list with you” he leaned closer to you and whispered “Every. Single. Thing.”

His arm wrapped around you and pulled you closer to him, lips coming to brush against your neck. “especially number 3…”

You glanced at the list, seeing what he was referring to and gasped.

“Oscar!”

He chuckled into the crook of your neck.

“Who knew you were so dirty, hmm? Where have you been hiding all this time?”

“I- I didn’t know how to ask” you stuttered as he nipped at the skin of your shoulder.

“That right? Well ask me now, then” he said and you frowned in confusion.

“What?”

“Ask me. Go down the list, and ask me to do those things to you…”

His lips trailed down your body and his hands pushed you to lay down on the sofa as you spluttered in confusion. “I don’t- what?”

“What’s the first thing on the list?” he asked, he knew of course, but he needed to hear you say it.

You blushed, checking the list.

“Choking…”

“Then ask me to choke you”

You shuddered as his mouth continued downwards and his hands spread your legs, one of them pushing your flimsy pyjama shorts to the side to expose you to him.

“Oscar what-“

“I want to see how wet you get just from saying it, go on then.” He ordered and you keened as a finger dipped through your barely moist folds.

“I want you… to uhm” your blush deepened and Oscar smiled at you condescendingly.

“Go on baby, you can do it”

You gulped.

“I want you to choke me” you squeezed your eyes shut at the admission, but Oscar was having none of it.

“Now fucking look at me and ask me again”

You gasped and your eyes flew open to look at him.

“I want you to choke me!”

“Good girl” he stroked your thigh “Next thing?”

You glanced at the list still clutched tightly in you hands.

“Spanking.”

Oscar cocked his head to the side. “What about spanking?”

Your jaw clenched, the fucker knew how to get what he wanted.

“I want you to spank me”

He smiled and nodded for you to continue.

“I want you to fuck me over the balcony for everyone to see” you said, and Oscar’s pupils dilated as he used his fingers to spread you open for him.

“Yeah? Want everyone to see how fucking filthy you actually are?” You whined as his thumb came to dip inside you briefly before rubbing it in slow circles over your clit.

“I want you to degrade and praise me…”

He felt like he was barely holding on to his sanity at this point.

“That’s so hot, fuck.” He palmed himself through his sweats “You want to be my good girl yeah? Want to be my good little slut? Only thing you’re good for anyway…”

You whimpered, his words making your whole body heat up, and took a deep breath before continuing.

“I want you to fuck my mouth”

He had to grip himself through his pants to ground himself, your words having an enormous effect on his composure.

Where had his sweet little innocent girlfriend gone?

“I’ll fuck your mouth baby, make you fucking drool for it, god you’d look so pretty taking me down your throat”

You were definitely wet now, and he took the liberty of sliding a finger inside you and hooking it upwards just to watch you squirm as he rubbed that special spot inside you.

“I want you to tie me up and force me to take it” you said breathlessly.

The noise he let out at that was animalistic as his wide eyes found yours and his jaw went slack as he pulled his pants down just enough to get a hand around himself.

“You have no idea how hot you’d look all tied up and helpless under me baby, it’s making me so hard just thinking about it..”

You moaned as he added a second finger inside you.

“I want, fuck- I want you to use me, and fill me up with your cum whenever you want”

“Shit.” He hissed “Fuck baby, I’m going to fill you up so good, you'll see…”

“Please”

You hadn’t realised how close you were getting, but Oscar’s expert fingers were making you delirious as you continued.

“I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t walk, want to cry from how good you feel inside me, wanna beg for your cock”

Oscar growled and pulled his fingers out.

“Then beg”

He settled over you, putting his weight on you, his dick resting against your folds as he panted into your mouth.

“Beg for my cock, slut”

You were so fucking turned on. Dominant Oscar was something new, but so, so incredibly hot you would have done absolutely anything to have him inside you at that moment.

“Please, please Osc, I need it. I need your cock so bad, please!”

He growled and slid in to the hilt without warning, making you moan into the heated kiss he was currently giving you to distract you. He was thick and the stretch was delicious as his cock dragged along your walls, making you see stars.

He started a deep, hard pace and his hips slapped against yours, obscene sounds filling the room.

“Fuck baby, so fucking wet for me. This what you wanted all along? For me to fucking ruin you on my cock?”

“Yes, Oscar, fuck!”

He chuckled darkly.

“That’s a good girl, so fucking tight, You’re getting close aren’t you? I can sweet your sweet pussy clenching around me, trying to keep me inside...”

He gripped your hips harder and angled his thrusts upwards, nailing your g-spot, and you were a goner. White spots danced in your vision as the pleasure overcame you, cunt spasming around Oscar.

“Perfect, perfect cunt. And it’s all fucking mine” he growled as he finally spilled inside you, filling you to the brim and forcing a pathetic whimper out of you at the new feeling.

Oscar had never come inside you before, and it was insanely hot. The feeling of your slick, hot walls pulsing around him was pure heaven and he couldn’t wait to test everything on that list.

After you’d regained your breath, you chuckled silently to yourself while stroking Oscar's back.

If this is what you got for leaving your list out, maybe you should tell Oscar about your box of toys in the in the back of your closet…

[tkwrites]

Can I Come See You? - Quinn Hughes x OFC

gif from gabelandeskog

Title: Can I Come See You?

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Pre-established: Quinn Hughes x Sarah Roberts

Summary: After a rough game, Quinn seeks out comfort from Sarah. 

Warnings: some suggestive themes, swearing, other than that, it’s 98% fluff.

Word count: 4,600

Comments: I know I’ve been teasing the family reunion snapshot for a while now, but with all the heavy emotions September brings, I just haven’t been able to finish it. When this ask came in, I started writing right away, wanting some comfort myself. I’ve loved revisiting the beginning of Quinn & Sarah’s relationship while writing this Snapshot. 

Thank you, thank you, and thank you gain for your support and love! I have found such a lovely community here, and I’m so thankful. Even in this radio silence while I’ve been slogging through my grief, everyone has been so kind and supportive.  

If you enjoyed this Snapshot, please consider commenting, reblogging, or sending in an ask about it. I love seeing what you think of Quinn & Sarah’s latest adventures.

Anonymous asked: Quinn gives cuddler energy 1000000% After a game, especially when they played bad and lost/gave up a lead. Immediately wanting Sarah cuddles to make him feel better. Do you think he ever went to hers after a game, giving Eunice a heart attack in the early days. Or did they mostly hang at his?

Can I come see you? 

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

If it wasn’t a Friday night, he wouldn’t have even asked. But it was, and he knew Sarah didn’t have to be up early the next day. And they’d lost. Epically. 

Midway through the third, they’d given up a three goal lead. On a power play no less. He’d, thankfully, only been on the ice for one. He didn’t know what he’d do if he’d given up more than one short handed goal in a two-minute span.

There was another game the next day, the third in four days, and he knew he really should go home and go to sleep. But Toch had canceled practice the next morning, and he was upset and feeling restless and just wanted to see her. 

It had been a long time since he’d felt this longing to be with someone and actually had someone he could go to. He called his parents, but there was still a gap there, telling him something was still missing. He wanted a more physical kind of comfort.

It was a miserable night, and Quinn thought seeing Sarah might make him feel a little better. He’d never asked her something like this. Hoping she wouldn’t mind, he fired off a text.

Sarah was in her room after the game – after an awful game – when Quinn texted. 

Can I come see you? 

Her heart leapt into her throat.

Quinn had never sent a text like this before, and she wasn't totally sure what it meant.  

He wouldn't come here to initiate comfort sex, right? That would be crazy. Her roommates were home. 

Maybe he just wanted…she had no idea what he wanted, but he'd respected every boundary she'd thrown at him so far, so she responded. Sure. Let me know when you’re here, and I’ll come let you in. 

Though they hadn’t slept together yet, she was thinking about it a lot, and they'd made out. She'd even let him take off her bra a few days before. Just thinking about that night — the reverent way he'd touched her, like she was a priceless piece of art, and the croaked, pleasured noise he’d groaned into her neck when their dry humping culminated in him coming in his pants — still made her thoughts buzz.

He asked for her address. 

She’d forgotten he’d never been to her apartment before. Not inside, at least. He’d dropped her off several times, but it was always at the end of a date, and at least one of her roommates was usually home, so it’s not like she would invite him up. Also, it seemed silly to go from his lovely penthouse to inviting him up to her little apartment. If they were going to do anything, it wouldn’t be here. 

My roommates are home, just so you know, she sent, not wanting to set unrealistic expectations. 

He reacted with a thumbs up. 

Normally, she would warn them she was having someone over, but telling Eunice Quinn was coming over would only give her more time to wind herself up. So Sarah stayed in her room until he texted that he was downstairs and slipped by her roommates without giving an explanation. 

When she opened the large glass door to her building, he was standing off to the side, hands shoved in his pockets and his head hanging forward, as if it were just a little too heavy to hold up. 

“Hey,” she said quietly, not wanting to startle him.

He still jumped a little, but when he met her eyes, he smiled — genuinely — as if he was just glad to see her. 

Her heart fluttered.

“Come on in.” Taking his hand, she pulled him into the elevator, which was, thankfully, still on the ground floor. They only went up five levels before she got off and led him down the hall, and scanned through door 538. 

Her roommates were on the couch watching an episode of Friends. 

They looked over, and one of them yelped before slapping her hand over her mouth. She continued to make muffled noise, her wide eyes darting between Quinn and Sarah. 

“This is Quinn,” Sarah introduced, though it felt perfunctory. They both knew who he was. “And this is Eunice,” she said, gesturing to her, “she’s a big fan and a little bit excitable.” 

Quinn recognized her. She was the one who screamed when he’d knocked on the glass at Sarah’s first game. Her brown hair, which was more frizz than curl, was pushed back with a headband. She was still wearing a jersey – Petey’s, thankfully – from watching the game. 

“And this is Jane.” 

She was tall and willowy, with pale eyes and a thick, dark blonde braid. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Jane said, standing up and offering her hand to shake.

Quinn grasped it, managing to pull a smile onto one half of his mouth. 

Eunice stood and followed suit, though he got the distinct impression that were they anywhere else with anyone else, she would be asking for a hug. “I can’t believe you’re in our house right now.” Her voice actually squeaked when she said it. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said, not quite managing to pull full sincerity into his voice. Though he did feel it, he was too tired and too miserable to mask the disappointment. 

Eunice finally seemed to get over the shock of Quinn Hughes being in her living room. Leaning her butt on the armrest of the couch, she said, “tough break tonight.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. 

“Here, we can go in my room.” 

When Sarah’s hand slipped into his, his heart did an embarrassing little flutter. Hoping it didn’t show on his face, he followed her down the hall. 

He'd forgotten what it was like to move into a blank slate of an apartment. All the places he'd rented since moving to Vancouver were furnished, including curated, so-neutral-it-wasn’t-interesting artwork. Sarah’s apartment looked like a home - framed photos and unique paintings on the walls. 

Her room was simple. There was a full bed tucked under the window that overlooked the street and a desk. There wasn’t room for much else. A quark board above her desk was filled with photos of who he assumed was her family. Half a dozen babies with her same bright blue eyes or chocolate colored hair. He noticed the warm up puck he'd given her sitting on her desk, bracing the pages of a textbook open to an anatomical drawing of a seahorse. 

She sat on the bed. It was either the bed or her office chair, and they couldn't both fit on the chair.  

“What's up?” she asked after a minute or so of him looking around her room, his hands in his pockets. He was in his suit, a rain jacket over it against the wet, misty night, and had a knit hat pulled over his hair.

His eyes snapped to her. Something about seeing her in leggings and a loose t shirt, sitting on her blue and green patchwork quilt, made him ache. Longing bloomed in him to see her this comfortable somewhere where they could be together. Not together like this; together permanently. The thought stuck in his mind. Had he ever felt that way about someone before?

“I just wanted to see you,” he admitted, shoulders dropping.

“Oh.” The sincerity in his voice took her by surprise. The fact that he wanted to see her on a hard night sent a giddy, effervescent shiver through her. 

She patted the mattress, and relieved, he sunk down next to her. 

Sarah pulled his rain jacket off, throwing it over her office chair before asking, “this too?” as her fingers tucked under the collar of his suit coat. 

Usually, he would have shrugged it off as soon as he'd pulled away from the arena, but he'd been driving in the general direction of Yaletown, breathlessly waiting for Sarah’s reply.  

Nodding, he pushed his shoulders back so she could pull it off. 

She folded it much more deliberately than he usually did, matching the shoulders and making sure the arms were flat before draping it over his jacket. 

“You okay?” she asked, her hand traveling up and down his back. 

Her gentle touch and the sound of her voice sent a pang of relief through him. 

Experiencing Sarah sharing her emotions with him so openly somehow made it easier to reciprocate and trust she wasn't going to dismiss his or throw them back in his face later. 

He shook his head.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don't even want to think about it,” he said, leaning forward and raking his fingers into his hair.

Not quite sure what he meant, her hand paused on it’s journey smoothing over the soft material of his dress shirt. 

“Can we…” he glanced over at her. In the light from her desk lamp, his eyes were the color of cognac. “Can we lay down?”

Her lips pursed. It wasn’t that they hadn’t cuddled before. They had, but she still wasn’t exactly sure what it was that he wanted. 

“I just want to hold you,” he finally admitted. The vulnerability of saying it out loud knotted his stomach.

Her heart did a giddy little dance in her chest, and she barely held herself back from asking, really?  

“Sure,” she said instead, although it still came out a little breathy. “You've gotta take off your shoes, though.” 

As he toed off the sneakers, she scooted back, so she was laying nearest the window. 

He lay next to her. They stayed that way, side by side for a minute before Sarah asked, “how do you...?”

Extending his arm, he patted his side, inviting her to snuggle into him. She accepted readily, pressing her body to his. Really, he wanted her to hold him, but he felt a little too vulnerable to ask for that. 

A deep sigh let go as her hand rested on his chest. It had taken more than six months for him to feel this comfortable with June, for him to even think about asking her for comfort.  It was amazing to him that things with Sarah were so much easier. 

“What do you need?” she asked, tracing one of his buttons. 

Emotion threatened to choke his reply. Taking a moment to swallow it down, he tried to remember the last time someone had asked him that not related to improving his on-ice performance. Nothing immediately came to mind.

“Can you just talk?”

“About what?”

“Anything. Tell me about your roommates.”

“Well, Jane is a pediatric nurse. She works in the BC Children’s ER.” 

He let out a low whistle. 

“Yeah. It’s a rough gig sometimes, but she really loves it. She's actually headed to work in a few hours.”

He glanced at his watch, “at midnight?” 

“She works a lot of graveyards. 3 to 3 or midnight to noon. She coaches a youth lacrosse league on the weekends.”

“Really?” He felt Sarah nod. “My mom played lacrosse. She put all of us in it, too.” 

“Did you like it?” 

He shrugged, “I like hockey better.”

“Good thing you stuck with it, then.”

A breath of a laugh escaped through his nose.

“And Eunice is studying biomedical engineering. She’s on track to get her PhD.”

“Really?”

“Why are you so surprised?”

“I don't know,” he shrugged. “She just seems so…I mean, excitable like you said.”

“Oh, she's just dedicated to everything she does. She has a 4.0. I think it'd actually be higher if the scale didn't stop there. She does everything like that, you know? Doesn’t matter if it’s school or being a fan. She’s always 110% in. I don’t think she knows how to do anything halfway.” 

He hmm’d.

Falling into a companionable silence, Quinn sighed. He’d been looking for this his kind of comfort with another person his entire life. The first time he’d really felt it was on their first date, and it was a revelation. Each time it happened since then, it became a little less awkward. They might well be on their way to sharing the kind of quiet moments he used to see his parents have. Sitting together on the couch reading, or folding laundry together, or watching TV, just happy to be with each other. The idea of it made his chest feel buoyant enough to float away.

“How did you meet them?” 

“Eunice was advertising for someone new to move in on the school housing board. Their old roommate, Jenny, was getting married. So, I met them and saw the place, and it just worked out.” 

“Just like that?” 

“I guess?”

“I’ve never done that before.”

“What?” 

“Interviewed to be a roommate. I’ve always lived with teammates.”

“Not all of us have a built-in best friend squad.”

He snorted, and Sarah smiled. 

They eased into another quiet moment, and Quinn felt his eyelids grow heavy.

“Do you need anything?” she asked. 

“Hmm?” 

“Like, do you need anything to eat?” 

“I ate at the arena,” he said, “but I wouldn't mind something to drink.” 

As she pushed herself up and he resisted the urge to pull her back down. “What do you want? I have water, cranberry juice, or Ginger ale. I have some rum if you need something stronger, or I could make you some tea.” 

“I can't have caffeine this late. It’ll fuck up my sleep schedule.” Truth be told, it was probably already fucked just by him being here, but he didn’t want to inflict any more damage. 

She smiled, “I have peppermint, or a caffeine free maple that's really tasty as a latte.” 

“That sounds nice.”

“Okay. Do you want milk or almond milk?” 

“Almond, please.” 

“You got it.” As she crawled over him to get to the edge of the bed, she leaned down to press a gentle kiss to his lips. 

His mouth was still buzzing when she left the room. 

Eunice came into the kitchen as Sarah was filling the kettle. “What are you doing?” she whispered as if Quinn might hear them from down the hall. 

“Making tea,” Sarah said in her normal tone. 

She could tell Eunice wanted to start interrogating her and pointedly looked the other way. She’d be happy to talk, but not while he was still here. Getting Eunice started on a conversation like that required a certain amount of commitment, and Sarah wasn’t willing to rehash the night until it was over.

She stayed in the kitchen, watching Sarah start the kettle on the stove and pour milk into the frother. 

“I can bring this to you when it’s done.” 

“You’re sure?” 

“Yeah. Go be with Quinn. He looked like he needed some time with you. I’ll be in in a few.” 

“Okay.” 

As she walked back down the hall, she heard Eunice mutter something about getting Quinn to play better tomorrow.

Sarah winced, wondering if he was ever allowed to be human before being an athlete. 

Quinn looked up from his phone when Sarah came back in the room empty-handed. “No tea?” he asked, hoping his tone came off teasing. It was surprising to him she could start something and not finish it. 

Leaving the door cracked open, she got back on the bed and crawled over him, “Eunice offered to bring it in. It takes our stove ages to boil water.” 

He pulled her into him as soon as she got to his other side. As she bounced against him, she giggled, and it dissipated some of the angsty weight he’d been carrying around since the game ended. 

She snuggled up to him again, working her left arm under his back. He arched until her hand brushed his ribs.

“That’s okay?” he asked, settling back down. 

“Yeah.”

Though half of it was tied up, he threaded his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck, then ran them through the soft strands. She made a contented little noise, so he did it again, just glad to be touching her. 

“Thank you for this,” he said, voice quiet. 

“For what?” 

“For letting me come over. For,” he moved so he could wrap his arm around her, squeezing her a little bit closer. 

“Hey, if cuddling makes you feel better, I’m always down,” she said, nuzzling her cheek into his shoulder. This kind of casual affection was what she missed most every time she broke up with all of her exes. Not to mention, she got so little physical touch being away from her family.

He chuckled, and it ended in a sigh. 

His free hand found hers, and he slotted their fingers together. 

“I really like you, Sarah.” 

“I really like you, too, Quinn,” she said, tipping her head back so she could see his face. From this angle, his nose was more pronounced. She had to resist the urge to pull her hand from his so she could run her finger down the ridge of it to feel the prominent bump. 

Sensing her stare, he turned his head, bringing their lips dangerously close. It only took a bit of stretching on Sarah’s part to bring them together. 

When he felt Sarah strain toward him again, he rolled onto his side to shorten the distance between them. Her hand stayed on his chest, and their kisses remained sweet, though the adjusted position allowed for a little more tongue, which he wasn’t mad about.

This was much softer than anything they'd done so far. It was nice to know they could just be here: not rushing to get undressed or into something more intense and physical. 

She loved this kind of lazy, slow kissing, but found it didn’t usually come until much later in a relationship, after all the first physical stuff was out of the way. To be kissing - making out without really making out - like this before they’d even had sex felt like a gift. Feeling his fingers run into her hair, bringing her face just that little bit closer to his Sarah sighed.

The way her chin moved in and out as they kissed, matching the rhythm of her tongue brushing his, lulled his body into a state of deeper relaxation than he’d felt all evening.

Pulling away just enough, she whispered, “you’re a really good kisser.” 

A zing of pleasure shivered through his brain and all the way down Quinn's spine.

 “Thanks,” he breathed, easing back to see her face. 

He gazed into her eyes for a few moments longer, trying to calm his thoughts. Once he was over the initial daze her compliment brought on, he realized he should probably say something else. Instead of blurting out the, I like being good for you, that popped into his mind, he said, “you make it easy to be.”

When she shyly thanked him as her cheeks pinked, he felt like he'd swallowed the sun. 

Unable to resist anymore, Sarah reached up to trace her finger down the bridge of his nose. “How did you break it?” 

“The first time, Jack punched me in the face in an intense game of mini sticks.”

“Mini sticks?”

“It’s like…” How did he explain this to someone who’d never played? “It’s like indoor, carpet hockey. You use these little plastic sticks and a ball, usually. We used to play in the basement. My mom talks about how we played so hard, we would shake the whole house.”

“That’s some serious competition if you’re getting your nose broken.” 

A breath of a laugh huffed out of him. “I deserved it. I was goading him on pretty bad, and he didn’t really know his own strength. I can still see the horror on his face when the blood started pouring.” 

She resumed stroking, her touch feather light and gentle, “how many times have you broken it?” 

“Three.” Quinn never thought he’d like someone touching him like this, but with Sarah, he found it comforting instead of irritating. It was like she just wanted to know every part of him. “The other two were pucks to the face.”

She winced. “That sounds painful. Those pucks are way heavier than I thought.” 

“It’s not fun,” he said. “Thankfully, the adrenaline is still pumping, so it doesn’t really hurt until after the game is over.” 

“You kept playing with a broken nose?” 

Nodding, he laughed, “they strap on a full face shield, and send you back out there.” 

An incredulous, protective look took over her face that Quinn instantly loved. 

“Don’t worry. They do concussion testing and reset it if it needs it before.” 

“That’s just…really?” 

He nodded.

“I keep seeing all these memes about how tough hockey players are, and I always thought they were kind of exaggerated.” 

“It’s a tough sport,” he said. “My goal is always to be swift enough on my feet to not get involved with the harsh stuff, but sometimes a puck just redirects, and bam, your nose is broken again.” 

The kettle whistled. 

As if by an unspoken rule, they pulled back from each other. Sarah’s hand dropped back to his chest. 

A minute later, Eunice gently hipped open Sarah's door, carrying a tray with two steaming mugs and the whole milk frothing machine. “I figured it would be easier for you to froth in here,” she said, setting the tray down on Sarah's desk. 

As she backed out of the room, she widened her eyes and quirked her brows a few times, giving Sarah a look that plainly said, you have a cute, famous boy in your bed, and we're going to discuss everything as soon as he’s gone. 

“Thanks, Eunice,” Sarah said through a tight smile, hoping Quinn hadn’t seen. 

“Sure thing,” she said before softly clicking the door shut.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a tea latte,” Quinn said as he rolled onto his back so Sarah could crawl over him again. The urge to pull her on top of him by her hips was so strong that he had to curl his fingers into the quilt. 

“Really?” she asked, plugging the frother into the outlet by her nightstand. 

He shrugged. 

The machine whirred to life.

“It’s good. I like it at night. The warm milk kind of puts me to sleep.” 

When it was done, she divided the creamy concoction into the two mugs and brought one to Quinn. 

“This is okay?” he asked, gesturing to the bed. 

“Yeah.” There wasn’t anywhere else they could go. If he spilled tea on her sheets, she’d just have him help her change them. 

Sarah sat opposite him, knees bent, her bare feet between his socked ones. 

Their eyes met over their mugs, and Quinn smiled. “This is really good, thank you,” he said, gently tapping her leg with his toe. 

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you came over.” 

“Are you still up for the game tomorrow?” 

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m planning on it.”

“And you’ll stay so I can take you home?”

She nodded. “Are you flying out again after that?”

He sighed, “yeah. On Sunday. We fly out to Dallas, play them on Monday, and then go to Colorado to play on Wednesday, and then I’ll be home for a week on Thursday afternoon.”

“I’m glad it’s not too long this time.”

“Me too.” A yawn split his face. He apologized, holding a fist over his mouth.

Shaking her head, Sarah said, “you’ve had a long day.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, downing the rest of the tea. “I should probably get home and get to sleep.”

While he pulled on his sneakers, Sarah set her latte aside and slipped on some sandals. 

Rain was pounding against the glass fronted lobby when they got downstairs. Looking down at herself, Sarah said, “I’d walk you to your car, but I’m not really dressed for it.”

Half of his mouth lifted in an indulgent smile, “that’s okay.” Gathering her against him, he breathed in the smokey smell of her perfume to fortify himself for the dash into the rain and the drive home. “Thank you again.”

Her hands slid under his suit coat, pulling him more tightly against her, “you’re welcome. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, pulling back to look into his face. 

“Tomorrow,” he agreed, leaning down to kiss her. They were in public, so he knew he shouldn’t linger, but he did anyway, savoring her mouth as the last thing he’d taste that night. 

“Let me know when you get home, yeah?” she asked when they parted. 

He nodded, and she watched him jog away before heading back upstairs. 

Eunice was waiting in the entryway for her and immediately grabbed her hand. “Tell us everything,” she said, excitedly pulling Sarah down the hall to the bathroom where Jane was re-braiding her hair for work. 

Before she sat in the hallway outside the bathroom, Sarah got her unfinished tea. As she sipped, she explained how he ended up there. 

Both women awed when she recounted Quinn telling her he just wanted to hold her. Eunice broke in when Sarah got to the part about making tea.

“Jane, it was so cute. I walked by, and they’re cuddling. Then, when I came back, they were kissing. Like that soft movie kind of kissing - it looked so dreamy. Then when I walked by again –” 

“Why were you walking by so much?” Sarah demanded. 

Eunice didn't even blush, “I had to get my blanket.”

“And it took you two trips to do it?” 

“I forgot what I was getting the first time and had to come back to the living room to remember.” 

“Right,” Sarah deadpanned. 

“Anyway,” she said in an over-exaggerated tone, “when I walked by again, she was petting his nose.”

“Oh my god,” Sarah exclaimed, “I am never bringing him over here again. He’s going to think you’re some kind of psychopathic stocker for walking by all the time.”

“Oh, he had no idea I was even there,” Eunice said. “He was way too busy longingly gazing at you, Ms. Roberts. I don’t think he would have even noticed me if I was stomping down the hall like a t-rex.”

“He was pretty enraptured,” Jane said. 

“You too?” 

“I had to go to the bathroom. Mine was legitimate.”

“Oh my fucking hell,” Sarah moaned. 

“Why were you touching his nose?” 

“I asked him how he broke it.” Sarah smiled at the floor. “And I like his nose.”

Eunice snorted, “of course you do.” 

Cutting off Sarah’s incredulous look, Jane asked, “what was the best part?”

All of it, she wanted to say. The fact that he came over at all. That he just wanted to cuddle, the kissing… 

“He was really sweet. I told him he was a good kisser and he just looked into my eyes for a while before he goes, ‘you make it easy to be.’” 

“Oh my gosh,” Jane gushed, “really? That is such a good answer.”

“Will you just fuck him already?” 

Sarah let out a surprised cough, and Eunice continued, “I think he’s proven he’s not just in it for the sex.”

“I think I knew that from the start.”

“So why are you waiting so long to jump him?” 

“Eunice,” Jane admonished, “Sarah can take however long she likes to take that step.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eunice said dismissively, flapping her hands, “I just want to know what he’s like in bed.”

“Oh my god,” Sarah said, dropping her head into her hands. “I am never discussing my sex life with you.”

“Yes you will.” 

“No. I won't.” 

“You will,” Eunice said with a quirk of her brows. “You've told us everything else so far. I don't think you'll be able to resist.”

“You’re unhinged, you know that?” 

“That’s why you love me.”

Laughing, Sarah had to admit she was right.  

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

[80rosequartz08]

Vivziepop Can't Write POC

TW/CW: Racism, S/A mention

Surprisingly Vivziepop's work actually has more POC characters than I first realized. And all of them are...less then splendid.

Valkyrie

Valkyrie...poor, poor Valkyrie...

Forever cursed to sit in the back, shut up, and only stand up and contribute when her white savior girlfriend either royally screws things up or needs moral support.

I've spoken about my strong feelings on Valkyrie many times before in previous posts so I'll only really give one new shred of criticism I've realized: Making your main POC female cast member a former genocidal murderer who spent supposed years killing her girlfriend's kind is...a choice.

Emily and Sera

My biggest issue with Emily and Sera (especially Emily) is that you can hardly even tell that they're meant to be Black. Their skin is a weird dark grayish brown, their features are stock and bland (both of them lacking proper noses), and their hair is some puzzling mix of straight and poofy.

And the writing of them both is also unimpressive. Emily is a carbon-copy, stock "Bubbly young girl" archetype who never really does much other than sing and move around. She acts more like a piece on a chessboard than a character, simply moving and doing what the scene needs her to do. Sera on the other hand, is a personality-less stick figure who just kind of does things because...the plot requires it. Also, great move Vivzie! Making one of the main villains a Black woman who endorses genocide and has to act like a babysitter/manager to the loud, obnoxious, hate-spewing white guy. How progressive!

Velvette (Kind of?)

I...actually have no real words to say about Velvette. Which sounded like a positive until I realized the reason I had nothing to say about her is because she does nothing. Like, ever.

She just kind of stands around being annoying and ignoring her fellow Vee's whining fits and sex crimes. Jeez, uh...that argument between her and Carmilla was stupid, I guess?

Velvette: She sure is one of the characters of all time!

Valentino

Not even worth mentioning, you already know he's terrible.

Alastor/Husk

Oh dear god, Alastor...

Words fail me at how much of an insane fail both of these characters are. One is a offensive caricature of Voodou that would make Dr. Facilier roll in his grave, who's also somehow whiter than snow despite being half Creloe. And the other is a constantly complaining douche and a hopeless alcoholic, who has a whole song devoted to calling a sex worker a loser for being abused/not having a proper coping mechanism. Oh, AND he's enslaved by the other "Black" guy! HOW PROGRESSIVE 😀

Oh and Carmilla is there too, but I've been awake for too long and also have nothing to say about her :/

[sencrose]

— READING BETWEEN THE LINES

pairing: suguru geto x f!reader

tags: dc, noncon, fingering, forced orgasm, pwp, use of pet names (sweetheart), suguru being condescending lol

wc: 1.4k

summary: Breaking up with Suguru doesn't go as well as you had hoped.

a/n: idk what possessed me ngl! writing warmup that got out of hand ig lol. dividers by @/adornedwithlight! ao3 link here.

This is always the worst part, the anticipation of the unknown. You dragged Suguru into a private corner of the monastery, stating that you needed to talk to him about something important. Part of you hopes he won’t notice that something is clouding your mind, but another part of you knows how perceptive he can be – of shifting eyes, a nervous shake of the leg. Anything he sees can be interpreted and used against you. It’s just too much for you, to constantly live under his judgment and surveillance.

Once inside the room, you ask Suguru to sit down in an armchair in the corner, because when he’s at a lower height you can convince yourself he’s not nearly as intimidating as he actually is. He almost looks normal when you look down at him. But then his amber eyes catch yours, and you feel like a deer in headlights.

Breath, hold, let it out slowly.

“I think we should see other people,” you say, nearly hushed.

Suguru takes a moment to pause, before looking up at you with a smile. It’s not the reaction you wanted.

“You think?” he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice, “you wouldn’t do all of this to tell me you’re thinking of doing something.”

He’s right; you don’t like that. It only makes you uneasier, inhale shakily and exhale just as unstable.

“We should see other people,” you sigh, a knot tightening in your chest. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, opting to stare down at the ornate patterns on the carpet, anywhere but him.

“Where’s your spirit?” he asks, pouting and high-pitched, as if he’s talking down to a child, “you sound horribly unconvincing.”

You were foolish to ever think you would have an advantage against Suguru in a war of words. He’s always a few steps ahead of you, quick to retort any thought that takes days for you to mold and craft. Still, you do your best. This would be the last time anyways.

“W-we should see other people,” you repeat, attempting to sound resolute only for your voice to betray you, wavering like a tree branch in a windstorm.

“We both see plenty of people here,” he says, leaning back into the chair to sink into the fabric, his posture even more relaxed than before, “I don’t see why you dragged me in here to say this.”

For the first time, frustration overwhelms your nerves, swirls in your chest and manifests into something loud and impulsive.

“Suguru, I’m breaking up with you,” you blurt out. 

An uneasy silence permeates through the room, and you feel the need to smother it. Unfortunately, any semblance of a coherent thought, much less a sentence, eludes you.

“Tell me what you really want.” Suguru says, the first to break it. You start to think the silence was better.

“I am.”

“No, you aren’t. I know you aren’t,” he says so matter-of-factly you’re close to believing him, “say it again.” Suguru shifts in the seat until he’s leaning forward, hands intertwined and planted in his lap.

“N-No, you’re just messing with me,” you say, backing away from him.

“That should be my line,” he sighs, standing from his seat. He takes a step towards you and your heart trembles. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I just-”

“Nothing’s wrong but you want to break up?” he interrupts, crossing his arms as he glares at you.

“No, I mean-” you fumble your words, unsure how to mitigate the situation. Suguru takes another step towards you, and you take another one back.

“Mean what?” The corners of his lips upturn, and you both know he has you cornered.

You stand there, finally at a loss for words. Even if you were able to articulate your thoughts, you know that Suguru would twist them in his favor. 

“See? You don’t even know what you want,” he says, condescension dripping from his words before he softens his tone into something gentler. The way you would speak to a wounded animal. “But it’s okay, because I do.”

Suguru takes the opportunity to close the distance, taking your hand into his and pulling you into a kiss. His lips crash into yours and you writhe under his touch, desperately pushing him away. But all you get is an arm latched around your waist, the sensation of your bodies pressed together in a suffocating heat. His lips finally part from yours, and you rush to turn your face away from his.

“Suguru, please stop,” you whimper.

“Why? You’ll just lie again,” he answers, his hand reaching for your chin to turn you towards him, “don’t you know how much that hurts me?” he asks, voice too sweet to be genuine.

You do your best to keep your eyes away from him, the only form of protest you can afford right now. He’s unphased by it, releasing his grip on your chin to lift the hem of your skirt and trace the undeniable wet spot on your underwear.

“And it seems like your body is more honest than your words,” he whispers dangerously low in your ear, as if it’s a dirty secret he had the privilege of uncovering. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction but you don’t have much of a choice. 

He pulls your underwear down, lets it fall unceremoniously onto the floor. Before long, his fingers find your clit and you wince at the contact. You bite down on your lips when he starts drawing lazy circles, not wanting to give him any more ammunition to use against you. 

“You don’t actually want to leave, do you?” he whispers sweetly, and it makes your breath catch for all the wrong reasons. His fingers slowly but surely pick up the pace, and it gets harder to choke back your moans. You attempt to maneuver yourself away from his touch, but that only makes him press himself harder against you, tightening his grip against your waist. 

“You’re just misbehaving because I haven’t given you enough attention, right? Then I’ll give you all the attention you want.”

“Suguru, please, I don’t want this,” you cry, and it’s nowhere close to convincing, too high-pitched and whiny.

“We’ve got to work on your communication skills, sweetheart. They’re a hallmark of a good relationship, you know. And I only want the best with you,” he coos, almost songlike. His fingers build up to a steady pace and you feel your muscles involuntarily tighten, prepare yourself for the climax to come. 

“We can even try it now. Tell me, how does this feel?” He slips a finger in and you writhe under his grip.

“Suguru, stop!” you squeal, tears forming in your eyes, making the colors of the room blend and blur together. 

“Don’t think that’s the right answer,” he says in that patronizing tone again, and you can hear the pout in his voice. As punishment he slips in another finger, and within moments he’s bullying the spot that has you crying from pleasure like he’s done so many times before. Your fingers grip around his arm, nails digging into his skin and leaving crescent indents in his skin, but Suguru is nothing if not determined.

“I just don’t see why you’d want to leave when I do all of this for you.” The arm around your waist finally releases, only for his other hand to trace the curves of your body until it reaches your clit. He starts building the pressure again, slow circles to contrast against the rapid pace of his fingers.

Your breathing destabilizes as your muscles tense up again against your will. You know you’re getting close, which means Suguru knows as well. 

“Let it all out for me, sweetheart,” And you do, body shivering and walls clamping around his finger like a vice. The rush of heat and pleasure running through you is too much, and you fall back onto old habits, closing your eyes and moaning his name like a mantra as he guides you through your climax. Suguru only pulls himself out of you once your breathing stabilizes, when you finally come out of your postorgasmic daze and the tears start running down your cheeks.

He gently holds your face, rubbing the tears with his thumb before laying a soft kiss on your cheek.

“If this is what you wanted, you should’ve told me. Spare me the theatrics next time, okay?”

[starsisstars]

Pointless ISAT Headcanons

Hi I have to get up for opening shift tomorrow but who CARES it's time for headcanons. Except not the normal or angsty ones, it's goofy ridiculous hours ONLY. (Please send me more goofy niche headcanons I want to consume silly details like candy.) Filled with spoilers despite the sillies.

Bonnie invents potato chips 10 years after the end of the game after many failed attempts to make Sif like potatoes (Sif LOVES their chips, so this is Bonnie's win in the end).

Immortality fiction is super popular in Vaugarde because they're witnesses to change over decades but are prevented from changing themselves. Tragic wisemen usually. This got way less popular post-King.

Teachers get paid good wages in Vaugarde because they help kids through the period of the most change in their lives.

I think it's so funny everyone in fanfic thinks Sif sleeps in trees. It's universal and y'know what? Sure. I'm adopting that. Y'all had me scrolling through dialogue for ages just to make sure I didn't miss any tree nap mentions.

Loop spent the majority of Sif's first run through Dormont and the House training their voice so that it wouldn't be a dead giveaway to their identity when Sif showed up. They wanted it to sound like Odile. It does not even a little bit.

Mira is RED. Bonnie is ORANGE/YELLOW/BLUE. Odile is PURPLE. Isa is GREEN/BROWN. Sif and Loop are MONOCHROME.

Mira has a notebook FILLED with edgy poetry from when she was small. She buried it somewhere but knows exactly where it is and once every couple years digs it up just to make sure nobody found it.

Bon is a reptile person. Wants a bearded dragon as a pet.

Mwudu is Acadia (in the same way Vaugarde is France, etc.). Not a colony of Vaugarde or anything though, just a lot of cultural exchange. (Vaugarde is NOT imperialistic.)

Post-canon Sif sometimes has such a tight grip on Isa in his sleep that Isa can get up and walk around with them still latched onto him. One morning Isa even brushed his teeth and styled his hair before the Sif on his back woke up.

Nille is swole af. Taller than Odile too. I like it when people give her a braid.

I changed my mind; everyone has really ugly colors because they can't see them and they all look terrible. I do not care about the practicalities of more colorful dyes being difficult to obtain; this is fantasy logic and I say they all should cause eyestrain.

Sif's all-black look under the cloak and hat (both of which he didn't choose) is the only good fashion choice they're capable of making. If you ask them to get creative it's a disaster. Isa indulges this anyways because hell yeah fashion disaster rights, but Sif will inevitably ask for help once he actually sees the design in person.

Isa was a hardcore STEM person, while Odile was properly studying anthropology/writing but is actually SUPER into linguistics.

Fishermen from the Forgotten Country were given additional pathways to easy fishing crabs on Vaugarde's shore because Vaugarde didn't want 'em. The overfishing caused a minor ecological crisis that was then fixed by Wish Craft.

Pre-canon Sif tried to make some money via an eating competition in one of the unnamed countries but was so uncomfortable with the attention from winning first place they refused to ever step foot in the country again. They don't even remember why they refuse to visit anymore but still don't wanna go. It wasn't even that big a contest nor a big deal emotionally long-term (like the party would suspect) for Sif, they're just stubborn.

Since we have a classic RPG setup I think the party's inventory is not limited by logic and they carry around 78 tents and 23 cottages somehow.

[smollbean42905]

hi, could you write a fluff fic about carl x deaf!reader ? i think it would be cute if she could teach him sign and he could learn through books enough to tell her his feelings. maybe she was at alexandria when he got there and kinda kept to herself because no one could communicate with her but he was determined to.

i love carl and twd but i rarely see any deaf/hoh fics as a deaf person. thank you and have a good day ❤️

Here ya go lovey! I hope you like it!

I tried to make sure that the information on cochlear implants(since they're mentioned) is correct, I hope I got it right..

Sign

Isolation and Silence were your friends. Hiding was a friend, a cowardly friend, but one non the less. You were born deaf, when you were five your loving parents got you a cochlear implant. You could hear for the first time ever, at the young age of 5. The cochlear implant never left your head unless it was charging, using a USB cord.

But all of the safety the implant brought you was put on hold as the world ended. There was no way for you to charge your implant, so fear set in. Your parents changed as well once the world ended, your father became more strict and less loving. Your mother became more quiet and reserved. You felt more alone then ever once your implant died.

Anger went through your veins as you heard the beeping that meant that the implant has died. The last thing you heard was that cursed beeping. Sadness creeped in after that once the world went silent. You were so used to sound after 6 years of it, being only 11 at the time of the apocalypse. The next year your mom took the easy way out, your father became angry. He never tried to communicate with you, even though you both knew sign language. You were a bit rusty but was remembering it slowly. Two years later, your father allowed himself to be eaten by walkers. At the age of 14, you were alone, alone in a world were sound was critical to survive. A world where you had to look over your shoulder and starve and stay awake for days on end to make sure you were safe.

That was until Aaron found you one day, you were asleep in the back of your family car and allowed yourself to sleep. Aaron gently spoke to you trying to wake you up, but you didn't stir. He reached out with some hesitation and placed his hand on your shoulder, at the mere touch of his hand you sprang up with horror on your face. You tried to speak, to show you were a normal surviver, but the words came out in slurs, you couldn't hear yourself speak. The welcoming vibrations in your ears as you spoke was gone, there was nothing.

Aaron looked shocked and was trying to talk to you, you read his thin lips and he seemed to say, are you drunk?. You grew confused by the question and started to sign on instinct, his eyes widened. He didn't know sign language, he's never interacted with someone who was deaf before in his life. He got a bit closer to you so you can read his lips,

Are you alone?

You nod your head after a moment, he seems to frown and speaks to you again

Would you like to go somewhere safe?

You nod again, anywhere but the outside was safe. Aaron smiles slightly at your nod and he holds his hand out to you, you slowly take it with some hesitation and he gently tugs you out of the car. He looks around as you gather your things. A blanket you've had since you were a baby, and some books you've held onto. Books about ASL, or American Sign Language, everything fit in your bag. You were out of food or water so you didn't have much, Aaron leads you away from your home and you both walks in silence. One more willing than the other, and after a days walk you get to Alexandria.

You look up to see a large guarded area with people stationed on both sides of the large gate, each holding a good sized gun and staring down at her. Aaron must of said something making the gate open. He ushers her in and leads her to Denise, the leader of the close knit group, and she looks at you and begins to speak. Aaron seems to of cut her off, and tells her of your condition. Denise looks a bit saddened by the news, no one here knows sign language so communication will be very difficult.

"We'll station her up in an empty house for now"

"Why? She can stay with me for now"

"No one knows sign language Aaron, talking with her will be difficult."

"She reads lips, that's how I got her here"

"She is to go to an empty house for now." Denise had the final word, as usual, and Aaron is forced to comply. He brings you to an empty house and goes in front of you so you can read his lips

This is your home for now, I have to go back out

You nod as he tells her everything, finding it of no use to sign to him. He walks away after a moment leaving you alone. You let out a sign as you're isolated once again.

As the days go by, your actions don't change, Aaron never comes back to see you as he's to busy with his job so you stay alone. You go outside and sit by the lake, you're favorite area, with your feet in the water. You close your eyes as you can feel the vibrations of other walking nearby and the gently moving of the water that's around your feet. This is your daily routine, some kids try to come up to you and speak but you never reply, obviously, so they give up after a moment and walks off to never try again. Ron tried it, Enid tried, as well as every single teen in the small sanctuary. They all try to be friends with you but since you don't reply and seem to ignore them, they all think you're rude.

That was until Carl Grimes and his group enter the area. Aaron brings them back and he sees you by the lake, so he addresses the group.

"That kid over there" he points to you

"I haven't got their name but they're deaf, not rude." He knows of the kids finding you rude or entitled so he makes sure everyone knows of your condition. Carl's gaze lingers on you as your open your eyes and looks at the water. You can feel someone's gaze on you and look around seeing Carl looking at you. His face is blank but his eyes are narrowed slightly, as if he's trying to figure you out. His eyes go to their normal size as you make eye contact. Rick makes Carl follow the group, leaving you to your own devises once more.

As the days went on and Carl got to knows some of the teens, each said the same thing about you, that you're rude and entitled and speak to no one. Carl tries to tell them that you're deaf, but non believe him. So he decides, for some reason, to go up to you. You're at your usual place, with your eyes closed and bare feet in the water. You looked so peaceful that Carl feels a bit bad when he sits next to you and gently pokes your arm making you jump. His face stays blank as you look at him quickly, no one has touched her or gotten her attention in any way besides speaking so this was new. He starts to speak slowly, so you can read his lips

Hi, I'm Carl

You have a bit and sign your name, the letters being almost drawn in the air seem to amaze him slightly. He's never seen someone sign before. The use of your hands catch his attention as he watches the language.

Can you teach me?

He asks you, you nod after a moment of shock and adjust yourself to face him more. You sign a simple hello, the simple wave of your hand, he copies. You mouth the word "hello" he copies you and does the sign again. You begin to sign the alphabet, your hands amazing him as you sign the 26 letters effortlessly. He copies you slowly as you do it again, you mouth the letter that corresponds with the hand movement. You sign his name slowly,

C

A

R

L

He watches you and copies you again.

You both didn't realize that you gained some attention, Rick and Michonne watch you two.

"He's never done this.." Rick whispers softly. He had to deal with a teen angsty Carl for the last few years so seeing him willingly socialize with someone was shocking.

You sign your name slowly and he whispers the letters to himself softly then repeats your name to himself once he understands it. He says it again a bit louder making you smile, seeing him say your name was nice. No one has said your name in about a year, so it was refreshing to see. You continue teaching him sign language, finally gaining a friend after so long.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

https://www.tumblr.com/fandomfluffandfuck/760023370649812992?source=share

PLEEEAASEE WRITE A FULL THING ABOUT THIS OMGGGG 🙏

For reference, my ask box is no longer open for requests, but this is from before I closed it, so I will be writing for this ask.

related to this, that reads, "sorry i got a huge wet spot on my boxers and started whining and whimpering and rutting against you while we were play fighting. ignore it. uhhh yeah it will happen again. sorry"

HELL YEAH, I will write that and I will write the fuck out of it!!

Pre-war setting, getting together, grinding, almost underage vibes? like this is post-high-school, so they're of age, but there's also discussion about feeling young, y'know?

Time doesn't feel real for Steve or Bucky right now. It's purgatory in the sticky, hot, barely-breathable-heat-clinging-to-your-throat summer after miraculously lasting through all of high school. They're supposed to be real adults now--they graduated, they're done, move on and be a part of the real world, why don't'cha, boys? They're supposed to be adults with jobs, saving up for their brides and eventual babies as the breadwinners. Men of their houses. Respectively.

Bucky is... well... he has the job part, not so much the savings part (in this economy?) or the gal who he's supposed to be going steady with, dreaming about wedding then knocking her up with his babies, as many as they can have. He's got gals, that ain't the problem, the problem is that none of 'em that he brings around ever last that long to think about rings.

All that said, if Bucky is nearly there, then Steve certainly isn't there at all. He ain't an adult yet. Not really. He doesn't look like an adult, for one, he's still short and scrawny, far from the strapping family man he's supposed to grow up and be. But, also, he has no job, he has no savings, he has no gals mooning after him. All he has is this one last short season of responsibility-less summer before it all gets serious.

So, Steve plans to savor this one last summer as much as he can. Meaning, a'course, while his Ma is out for her evening shift at the hospital and before Bucky has to high tail it out of the matchbox-sized Rogers' apartment to make it to work bright and early in the morning, here they are. Alone. Just two pals, lounging around and melting into the sofa with the oppressive Brooklyn summer heat. Trying and failing to stay cool, even with sheets over the windows to keep the light out.

It's just the two of them and their sleeveless undershirts and boxers, sweating through the fabric. And, like always, when it's just the two of them, it's devolved into reckless stupidity--

Boys will be boys.

They start out with Bucky reading one of his sci-fi books and chuckling to himself, sprawled out to ward off excessive heat, while Steve sketches quietly next to him, more curled up since the warmth does him more good than bad. They're shoulder to shoulder. Nothing weird. They've always been close. They grew up in each other's pockets, spending as much time at the other's crowded home as their own. But. Then, they're closer than close as they're rolling off the bed and onto the floor with two matching "oof"s of air being punched from their chests.

Nearly immediately from the commotion of landing in a heap of sweaty boys in the floor, the scuffed, beat-up coffee table of Steve's Ma's--she got it for free from one of the other nurses at work--has gotten shoved out of the way. Also, the thin carpet underneath their writhing, squirming bodies gets thrown ascew, shoved over chaotically, rolling up under itself. Steve finds himself sweating even more, really coating every inch of his skin as he fights to have the upper hand in their play wrestling match.

Rolled over and rolled around, Steve is currently on top and winning because his bony fucking elbows and sharp knees are merciless weapons that give him the advantage every now and again (just when he can manage to hit Bucky in the right spots). Not unscathed, Bucky's shirt has rolled up, showing off the whole band of his underwear and a slice of his pale stomach. There's a light dusting of hair leading down towards his crotch that Steve's not seen before. That, and new muscle definition creeping in from a mix of his labor-heavy, adult job and how there's never enough food to go around these days. It's just more proof that Bucky is an adult these days. Damn.

Steve ignores those curious parts of his best pal, though, 'cause they're laughing and chuckling and upping the ante to make each other giggle, gasping for air, more until... slowly, slowly, slowly, the humor of it dies down, turning into grunts of effort and breathless shit-talk that's all bark and no bite.

Steve ends up pinned, wiggles out of it, Bucky gets pushed back onto his side, but not all the way over, then Steve's back on his back, ultimately, though--

Steve gets situated on both of Bucky's legs and victoriously grins down at him, his hair hanging over his forehead, blonde and damp. He's won. He's just waiting for Bucky to say it now.

C'mon. Say it! Say it! Steve chants in his own head, too out of breath to shit talk at this juncture.

But Bucky just doesn't know when to give up (something they both have in common as cursed by one Sarah Rogers and another Winnie Barnes). So, the coffee table ends up shuddering from the impact of Bucky's hip when he tries to roll unsuccessfully and get Steve off of him. Steve snickers at him, knowing he's not hurt. Steve clings to Bucky's larger, more muscular, more adult-feeling (and looking) body to stay put. He isn't going down.

In retaliation, on his back, smiling like a goof, Bucky sticks his tongue out. Of course, Steve just does it back. But, not before internally debating if he has the breath or not to blow a raspberry on his exposed skin--it's what he deserves for being a squirmy little shit (nevermind that Steve uses the same tactic when he's the one who's pinned). He doesn't have the breath, though. So, he'll settle for sticking out his tongue.

Even as he teases his friend, this wistfullness overtakes Steve--it's been a good summer. The heat is good for Steve's body, not for his asthma, but his joints and bones like it well enough it doesn't matter. He hasn't had a cold in ages. And, obviously, it has to have been a good season for him to be so enthusiastically wrangling Bucky like he is. Playfighting like this is peaceful. Fun. Super fun. Steve doesn't ever want to grow up if he has to give this up.

Crawling all over Bucky, gathering his wrists in both hands but then finding he can't do much else without his hands free, Steve gives them up and shoves at his shoulders instead, tickles his grossly sweaty armpits, exposed thanks to his tank-top, jabs his bared stomach, and gets all of his (light) weight centered on his hips to keep the other man down. He's got this. He's gonna keep him right here. He's stuck. Sucks to suck.

It's so fucking fun to wrestle like they are, but Steve can't help his competitive nature rising up inside him. He can't take shit unseriously. It's in his blood. He knows Bucky isn't using all his strength against him, but he knows that he's using enough. It's taking effort for them both to play fight like they are. Bucky's using a hell of a lot more force against Steve's bird-boned body than anyone else would ever dare. And Steve is relishing in it. He's fired the fuck up. He's gonna win. He's on top. He's gonna pin Bucky so good and jab him with bony knees and tickle him until he cries uncle.

Then, with the victory under his belt, he'll have ammo to hurl at Bucky for the rest of the summer, lording it over his head until he's frustrated enough that he challenges him to a second round. It'll be exactly as fun to wrestle that second time, too. So. There's nothing to lose. It's a perfect plan.

Steve is so focused. He's moving over top of Bucky, crawling everywhere, pushing, shoving, thinking about what he's gonna do next and where Bucky's weak spots are, how to exploit them, and sythesizing all this playful strategy when any and all of Steve's focus is shot to shit as--

A fractured whimper fills the heavy, hanging air between their barely-clad bodies. Loud and unable to be ignored.

Instantly, Steve stops in his tracks. Wiggling to stock still. At first, he's pretty sure he's hurt Bucky with a noise like that and so he fucking freezes. He didn't mean to do any actual damage! He doesn't want to actually hurt him! They were just rough housing and he got carried away. An apology is already spinning in his mind. But.

Oh.

Steve has stopped moving, leaving him with his thigh pushed up tight between Bucky's legs and, oh, that's Bucky's dick. Steve can feel it. It's hard as... as fuck.

It's harder than anything Steve's felt. Ever.

Still not moving, rooted in his place precarously on top of his best friend, Steve realizes that it's hot, too.

Hot and hard.

His dick.

And a new, completely different kind of heat wave washes stickily over Steve from the cheeks down. Dumbly, his mouth hangs open, he should apologize and skitter away, but he can't move; he's stuck, feeling his blood push through his veins, hotter and hotter with every rickety pump.

Bucky feels it, too. The new, fresh heat wave. It's plain to fucking see that he feels it too--with his hard, hot body and dick underneath him, close enough they're touching everywhere--he's sucked his pink, pink bottom lip between his white teeth, his eyes are squeezed shut, and his blush is a million times worse now than it was when he was just reading his book on the couch and suffering through the heat that way. He's painted in color and gloss, sweating through his undershirt now. Its thin, white fabric clings wetly to his heaving chest. Steve's throat makes a funny sound as he realizes that his friend's his nipples are hard and obvious through the fabric. Targets that beg to be hit. Beneath him, Bucky's so hot that he's nothing more than a melted puddle.

However, Bucky's frozen in time, too. It's like he's so, uh, aroused that he hasn't realized Steve's not still squirming on top of him, not still fighting, not still incidentally rubbing his leg up against his dick, making him get hard and harder, harder, making him whimper, making his sweat, making him--

Steve's brain stutters to even more of a hault--no thoughts whatsoever--as he follows the line of Bucky's body down with hungry eyes, shifting his weight enough to see, oh, there's wetness on Bucky's underwear, too.

It's not sweat.

Playfighting with Steve on top of him like this makes him leak.

The frozen-overheated moment shatters in slow motion with Bucky cracking open one dazed eye, the horror dawning on his face, realizing what he's done--the sound he's just made and the line he's just crossed involuntarily with his best pal. His lips start to shape a mornful, mortified apology. But, fuck it.

Steve lets all of his repressed, denied, wished-away wanting pour forward, and he moves forward, too, surging up against Bucky to press their lips together hard. Almost as blindingly, desperately hard as Bucky is against his lean thigh.

It's hungry and urgent and hotter than the weather outside. It's everything Steve was aching for. Wanting.

Needing.

As it turns out, Bucky's whimpering tastes sweeter than it sounds. And whaddya know, his sweat and wetness feels better than it looks, too.

Fuck.

[bitterbutblue]

our times

turns out, you're the fortune i want to keep most ☆ multi x reader

~ this is a multi x reader!! hatssun was talking about writing angst and i really said omg my turn! sorry hatssun ur idea was so good and it works so well w yukong and feixiao... ill credit u so hard bro i swear. WVERYONE BE PREPARED FOR WHEN THINK FAST DROPS🙏🙏🙏

UMM ALSO THE FEIXIAO ONE IS SOLONG FOR NO REASON LOTS OF DIALOGUE SORRYYYYY

characters: feixiao, yukong, ruan mei

 song: 小幸運 - Hebe Tian ~

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

i was too busy chasing shooting stars in the sky ☆ feixiao

The day Saran ran away, something in you ran with her. The day Saran ran away, you didn't know if you would ever see her face break into a smile again, or if you would see her hanging the next day. The trace of her slowly faded with time, but even when you finally had the guts to bolt for it she was still the only thing on your mind. That day, you didn't mind if you died running, because it would've been better than staying there but alive. You didn't mind if you died running, because you died with her on your mind.

God knows how many decades had passed since the Luofu took you in. You only count days in how much your heart ached for her. Eventually it dulls down, it goes from a sharp thud to a muted nudge every time you see a dash of silver hair in the crowd or a sharp but soft smile on Jing Yuan's lips. You've heard of how far she had gotten, and you wished it didn't hurt so much to hear about it. You forced yourself to forget about her, because you couldn't keep living every day haunted by her. You were finally able to live your days how you wanted to, even if it meant without her by your side.

"Yukong, can you run these by the general for me?"

You were absentmindedly sitting at your desk, filling in whatever forms the general had sent to you about all the legality things they had to sort out for the Wardance. You spin your pen, signing your name down and ticking the last of the boxes. You huffed at the lack of response from the woman who should be sitting across from you.

"Yukong?"

"She's not here."

You look up at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, and the world decides to take a break for a moment. In that small fraction of a second you feel yourself going back in time for decades until you are standing face to face with the young foxian, bruised and battered with an undying flame in her eyes. She is now much taller, her face pale but not the sickly kind that she harboured before. Her eyebags faded, hair flowing as if it had been just washed- a sight you never saw before in those camps.

She looked healthy, she had everything she wanted.

So why did she look like she was about to break down in front of you?

It wasn't fair.

"Saran?"

She only nods, standing with her arms by her side like a fool who doesn't know how to speak. She clears her throat, moving to cross her arms so she looked less awkward standing in front of you.

She wears clean clothes, she smells of petals.

Her scent of blood long faded, but you feel the pain behind her stance.

"How have you been?" Is all she asks as she eyes your desk warily, as if not knowing how to approach the conversation.

"Well. You?"

"Good enough."

Your old banter had long faded now, your previous ability to make each other laugh despite knowing the imminent death that looms over you two every day.

"Neergul died."

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

It's like talking to a wall, or to just a mirrored version of yourself with how either of you refuse to look at each other.

"I never knew if you died or not until I came here."

Your shaky voice finally cuts the tension that has been simmering for far too long. She swallows, looking up and you know she is holding back tears because she has only ever looked up when the night sky is open and she can see the stars that granted her hope.

"I found out you became general. I was happy for you."

She says nothing.

"Why didn't you reach out?"

The edge to your voice has her breath knocked out of her lungs for a second as she tries to formulate an answer. She tries to weave incoherent thoughts and jumbles of emotions into a sentence and it's much harder to be done than she realised.

"I couldn't."

Of course she couldn't. Why would she admit to you how much of a coward she was? Knowing she had abandoned you after kissing you goodnight that evening.

"Why?"

But you want answers. It's not every day your presumed dead lover comes back to see you after years and years of crying yourself to sleep and hoping that in another future you could be in her arms without having to fear for your life.

"I was scared."

The general cannot be scared, or show any signs of fear in any situation- especially emotional situations where they need to stay calm so that people can feel secure around her but right now it all falls apart.

"Of who?"

"You."

"Why?"

You really did not like to raise your voice but you couldn't help it- she infuriates you. From the moment she flooded your heart you realised why love and hate go hand in hand because you hate that you love her.

"Why now?"

"I don't know."

Is all she manages to stutter out after an incredulous minute of silence and you just sigh.

"Why didn't you come find me?"

Her question has you going speechless now.

You were a hypocrite.

"I don't know."

She just nods with an unreadable expression on her face.

"I don't regret what I did that night."

You squeeze your now-fisted hand tight, taking a deep breath in to try to not only steady your voice but calm your racing heart that threatens to beat so hard it shatters in your chest.

"But why? Why make me love you for decades if you never planned to return?"

"I wanted to return. I always did."

Her words come out much more rushed than she intended it to come out. You feel your world shatter in that moment as you speak your next words.

"You never moved on?"

She steps closer.

"I dreamt about you every night. Under the sea of the shooting stars."

You shake your head, quickly wiping away at your own tears and she has to take a sharp breath in so her tears don't fall.

"Don't say that." You whisper "We can't. Please."

She looks at you, more intensely than ever as her voice quivers.

"Why?"

You shake your head.

"It'll only hold us back."

You still adorn matching scars from the torture you both had gone through in those camps. You love her, but she also left you.

"We can't." Is all you say.

She turns around and you want to pull her into your arms, you want her to be able to look at you but from that moment on, the look on her face as you showed her your soulmate would be the face you see every night you close your eyes.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

somewhere in the sky i could not see, was you ☆ yukong

The evening Caiyi died in her arms, Yukong vowed to never see the skies again. That was the same evening you went missing, the same evening she breaks down because how can she lose two of what she loved most in her life within the blink of an eye? The reason for her to wake up every morning, the reason she smiled even through the roughest of the days- now faded into nothing but memory and a distant bitter taste in her mouth.

You were not presumed dead, only missing. The false sense of hope had Yukong staying at her desk for hours every day, going through files and files, records upon records to try and maybe find some trace of you somewhere but after years of searching she finally gave up. She had to care for Qingni for Caiyi, she had to keep loving you because if she doesn't then she feels like she's lost herself.

It was the day Qingni flew to the skies when she finally looked up once more. She looks to the planes to see her daughter flying the same path that doomed her from wanting to live but the sky was the reason she had the two people who made life worth living. It was that day a plane crashed and Yukong felt the familiar, sickening feeling from decades ago as she runs to the sight. She's panicked, flustered, heart racing and feeling like throwing up as she pushes past crowds amongst crowds-

She doesn't know if she should scream or sigh in relief when they pull the lifeless-looking figure out of the starskiff. The model was old, the same she used in the war where she lost....

You. The figure they pulled out was you and she feels like she's going to be sick. She runs up to them, asking if you're okay and the medics are telling her to back off but she needs to know. She puts her head down, ear against your chest and almost sobs when she hears your heart thud weakly. It's so soft she really could've missed it but she hears it.

"Oh baby..."

She whispers as she cradles your head on her lap.

She sits by your side in the hospital until you wake up. She doesn't move, doesn't eat or drink or anything unless Qingni drags her to the bathroom or to the cafeteria. She holds your hand weakly, squeezing it every once in a while to see if you'd respond.

A cough jolts her awake and she quickly scans the dark, dimly lit room to find you- blinking weakly as you scan the room wearily.

"Oh, oh my god."

She quickly gets off her chair, rushing by your side.

"Are you okay? How are you feeling? Nurse-"

"Yukong."

She never thought she'd hear her name fall from your lips, to hear her name mumbled out so softly and hoarsely again.

"I'm here, I'm right here."

You don't say anything as you close your eyes, taking in a deep but pained breath as you close your eyes. She can feel her hands go cold, trembling violently as she tries to calm herself down. Her fingertips feel like they've been dipped in ice water and her throat feels like its closing up violently.

"You're here."

Yukong couldn't help the sob that escapes her lips at your words.

"Yes, yes baby. I'm right here."

The tears are already falling before she can even bother trying to control them, and she can already feel herself slipping away when you smile softly at her because she had always been a fool for you. She put the whole world down for you and she would lift it up for you if you needed it to be lifted again.

"I- I came back."

"You did, you did baby, you're back." She whispers, finally moving to take your hand in hers. You feel so much smaller, your hand much rougher than it used to be and when she finally takes in how scarred you are she feels like breaking down.

"Wanted to see you..." you whisper weakly, voice shaking as you look directly into her eyes.

Your eyes were nothing like the eyes she used to look at every night before she drifted off to sleep. Now they were hollow, every trace of who you once were has faded into the past that only resides through her dreams.

You were back, but you'd never really be back.

She just squeezes your hand gently as she tells herself it's okay, telling herself that you're physically here and you were somehow still alive and that's all she's been praying for since the day you fell.

So why does it hurt so much?

If all she's ever wanted was to have you back in her arms, why does it hurt so much to have you back now? Looking at her with a smile that no longer meets your eyes and a sense of coldness washing over her like a suffocating blanket every time she sees you.

She still loves you.

She still loves you and it hurts that her lover has died, reincarnated into a broken version of who she once loved. But she doesn't care. She will learn to live with the cold if it means being able to hold you once more. She would spend as long as she needs, puzzling every piece of you back together until you are able to smile at her without the history of all that happened haunting your every waking move.

She vowed, from that moment on, she'd start looking at the sky again because the sky brought you back. Every evening she stares up at the moon, watching it dim the lights to another day, and whisper her gratefulness to have her lover back. Every evening, she brings you out to look at the moon, the same moon you looked at during the two decades apart where the only thing you had together was the moon draped in the sky that she was too scared to look at.

"I love you."

You just lean your head against her chest.

You just listen to her heartbeat, and with each thud the cracks in your body begin to renew themselves- you would never be who you were, but you would always love her.

"I love you too."

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

every scene was you ☆ ruan mei

The day she left, she vanished. No note, no text, nothing. Ruan Mei had become nothing but a shadow on earth when she decided to leave your house and you questioned if it was even worth searching for her at that point.

She had always been obsessed with aeonhood, aeons, power- whatever. You knew she was. Yet you still loved her for it, and she always promised you that one day you two would be able to love each other for eternity, for as long as you wanted to and until time itself faded into nothing but what was a mere idea of the past. She held you close that evening when she promised you, your head resting on her chest as she wrapped her arms around you.

A week later, she vanishes.

Lab empty, notes packed away, it was like as if your house had gone back in time to before you met her with how empty it all was. You called her number, texted her phone, contacted everyone she knew which was not a lot but you still tried because you loved her.

The day she revealed herself as the 81st member of the genius society, you felt your entire being shatter into pieces of who it once was. That was why she left you. Ultimately, Ruan Mei was selfish, and she had always been a selfish person.

You were foolish for loving her.

But you couldn't stop.

By the time you finally encountered her again, your history had become just a speck of dust in her mind but it was still your reason for hurt. It was still the reason why getting out of bed was a bit harder and why looking in the mirror hurt just a bit more than it should.

"Oh, it's you."

Her monotonous voice has you wanting to squeeze her throat, strangle her until she can't speak but you don't move. You stare at her, her lack of reaction, her poker face and you just swallow.

"How are you?"

That was the only sentence you could manage out and if you looked closely enough, you could see her eye twitch slightly as her throat tightens- her composure begins breaking at the sound of your voice.

"Well." She nods. She sounds too composed to you despite all the pain she is desperately trying to hide. She hates you for making her feel this way. She hates how weak she feels when you make that face at her, when your eyes widen and your mouth tightens into a line, body tense and breathing shallow. "You?"

She notices how your body tenses even more at that question, how your eyebrows begin to furrow as your face grows pink from anger.

"Not very good."

"Oh."

Her response had you fuming even more. How she was so careless and thoughtless towards you and how you felt drove you off the walls. She doesn't give a shit about you, why would she even ask?

Because you don't see the guilt that eats away at her heart every night as she stares at the photo of you that she has on her bedside table.

"Congratulations. You did it. Genius society."

It came out bitter and harsh, and Ruan Mei doesn't flinch but she feels this twist in her gut that's too unfamiliar and too painful for her to fully register. She doesn't understand this feeling. She wants to, because she wants to know how to stop it.

"Thank you."

You scoff at her response, physically unable to stop yourself from rolling your eyes as you stepped closer to her, jabbing a finger into her chest.

"You're a fucking bitch."

She hates how her heart leapt at the feeling of your touch, she hates how your words actually manage to hurt her when it really shouldn't be affecting her at all. She's been called so much worse, so why does this, coming from you, hurt so much?

"Is this because I left?"

How can she be so dense?

"You left without saying a word! You just disappeared off the face of the earth, I don't hear from you saying where you are. I don't know what happened, I thought I did something wrong, but no- I remember who you are. A narcissistic bitch who only cares about herself."

The last part hurt more than it should've.

"I don't only care about myself."

You can't help but falter at how soft her voice suddenly goes as she looks down, not making eye contact as she shifts her bodyweight from foot to foot.

"I really cared for you."

Those words shouldn't affect you. You should've moved on from what happened almost twenty years ago now but you can't. You just stare at her and you hate how you feel tears start to form in your eyes as you blink violently, trying to hold it back.

"Don't say that to me."

She goes silent.

"I hate you."

She looks down and you don't see the tears that well up in her eyes.

"I really hope you succeed. I hope you get everything you've ever wanted."

She doesn't even get to see your face for the last time, because by the time she finally gets the courage to look up you were already gone. Your last words to her haunt her every time she begins her studies, or every time she tries to focus on figuring out creating a new life species. She knows you didn't mean it, yet she can't help but want you to notice her just one last time.

Maybe this time, she could fulfil her long broken promise to you.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

@44rtem idk ifthis is the ruan mei content u wanted... but here u go <3

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

(Un)disclosed

Based off this post I made yesterday about Hua Cheng collecting Xie Lian smut throughout the centuries. Enjoy!

Warnings: suggestive content, long post

...the ornate, white robe slid down the prince's shoulders like water, the gold embroidered silk pooling at his feet in a glittering heap. He looked up at the commoner, a coy look in his eyes as he gauged the other's reaction. His skin, perfectly stretched over his form, bore no markings or imperfections, flawless just like the other had expected it to be. His neck and the tops of his shoulders turned a very light pink, just like the apples of his cheeks.

It was a sight equal parts beautiful as it was arousing, so overwhelming that the commoner fell to their knees as if in worship. "Your Highness..." they spoke, voice reverent, eyes glinting with adoration as they stared up at their prince. "I don't deserve to look at you like this, you're-"

The prince's hand came to cup their face, looking down at them with gentleness and a subtle hint of something dark and hungry in his eyes. "Earn it then."

"How, Your Highness?"

The prince carded a hand through their hair and took one step closer. "You know how."

"I don't, my prince, I know nothing." The commoner whined, so willing to please their voice shook. "Please, won't Your Highness teach this lowly one?"

"Open your mouth."

Xie Lian shut the small book with such a powerful thud that the brittle pages nearly clapped between the old, hard covers. His face burned with shame, fingers trembling as he placed the offending item back on the shelf he had taken it from, all but shoving it into position.

Xie Lian had never read such a shameful text before - granted, erotic art and writing never interested him and so he never looked at any of it, especially considering the requirements of his cultivation path - but to think the first ever he would lay eyes upon would be one of himself was far too ironic!

He should have known not to snoop around Paradise Manor when Hua Cheng was not there - but he became antsy in the ghost king's absence and even a little lonely, so what was he to do but try to explore the nooks and crannies of his husband's abode?

But though he had started off thinking he might find peculiar items, explicit stories of himself definitely exceeded all of his expectations.

It was likely Hua Cheng had stored that book away to ensure no such inappropriate and perverse stories circulated to soil Xie Lian's reputation further - of course whoever had to have written such things did it to make fun of Xie Lian, most likely after his fall, turning his image into one of a salacious lover rather than an ascetic god for the sake of mockery.

With a sigh, Xie Lian calmed hid shaking hands and reached for a second book, hoping to find solace in another story that would be as fascinating and enrapturing as the many pieces of literature Hua Cheng kept in the Manor's main library.

Opening another small book, this time a red one, Xie Lian flipped through the pages until he reached tge one where the book's spine had broken. That page must have been read often!

"Your Highness, this humble one is-"

"Silence." The prince's authoritative voice rang through the main hall of the palace. "Have I allowed you to speak at all?"

Their eyes widened and they swallowed dryly, looking up at Xie Lian with tearful eyes. The kind, gentle smile and soft gaze had been replaced with a sharp, cold look, the very picture of authority and respect a crown prince should be. His features did not look any less regal, though, even anger and disdain fitting his handsome face.

"N-no, Your Highness..." they replied at last, voice quivering with fear. "Please punish me... I've wronged you too much, my prince, I've been disobedient and audacious..."

A small, barely there smile pulled at the prince's lips, a dangerous look in his eyes.

"What punishment would be fit for the likes of you, then?" He asked, voice almost playful had it not been so dark.

"Kill me, Your Highness..." their voice came, small and fearful. "I deserve to die..."

"It would be a waste, though." The prince quickly intervened, taking slow, small strides around the other. "A waste of a good servant, and a waste of a good body."

Their eyes widened, following the young royal's movements until they could no longer turn their head, Xie Lian now standing behind them.

"I have decided on your punishment." He spoke, tone low, so close that his lips nearly touched the other's ear. "And you will take it - and like it."

Xie Lian dropped the red book to the floor with a small yelp, so embarrassed he felt like he could have burst in flames. Had his people truly seen him in such a shameful way?! Had it been lust and desire that he instilled in their hearts rather than righteousness and grace?!

Xie Lian couldn't possibly remember of any instance where he had behaved suggestively as a young crown prince, not to mention he had never shared a bed with anybody until he married his now husband, Hua Cheng. Why would people come up with such terrible stories about him if they had no root in reality? And to think they could be so vastly different... he had been portrayed as wanton but gentle in the first one, only to be turned into a depraved royal in the second! Had he truly instilled such fantasies?

With a defeated sigh, Xie Lian sat on the small chair beside the reading table in the corner of the room, folding his arms on it to lay his head down and hide his burning cheeks. Could he be considering himself grateful that Hua Cheng had locked all of these away or even more ashamed thinking perhaps Hua Cheng had read them?

Xie Lian hoped the ghost king hadn't... he did respect Xie Lian greatly, but Xie Lian knew what kind of perversions his beloved could conjure in their bed (and other places, some more creative than others!)... could he have read all of these terrible stories himself?

Xie Lian felt even more flustered at that thought, and lifted his head from the table, trying to stir his attention elsewhere. His eyes fell upon another small book, an incospicuous black one with a red tassel bookmark halfway in it.

Hua Cheng had definitely begun reading that one, so Xie Lian hoped it was a normal book this time and not another pornographic depiction of the crown prince of Xianle taking someone to bed more or less gently.

The creature had to have been some kind of ghost, a powerful thing wielding a sort of dark energy that acted as both its limbs and life force. Whatever had willed it into existence must have been angry and resentful, the dark forest reverberating with growls and haunting moans as it skittered among the trees like a feral beast.

The young prince did not have the time to react this time, though, and he failed to dodge the many winding limbs stretching towards him - and so, despite his valiant efforts, his arms were bound above his head, pulled taught, and his legs, though kicking, had been spread apart and held in place by the creature's tentacles. This way, his spine bowed forward, arching against the merciless ghost's hold, writhing incessantly in an attempt to escape.

He put his whole strength into every attempt to free his limbs, thrashing like a fly caught in a spider's web, but all he managed to do was tire himself out, breathing heavily as sweat glistened down his body, soaking the remaining tatters of his clothes and making them stick slightily to his skin.

His guan had long been lost in the fight, and so his long hair flowed down his back nearly to his knees, further sticking to the sweat dripping down his back and making him overheat even more.

When it had become apparent to him that struggling was futile, Xie Lian tried calling out for help - but the beast had lured him too deep into the forest for anybody to hear, and so he had given that up quickly as well.

There was no more time to think, his heartbeat picking up as he felt two of those ghostly limbs suddenly caress his neck, one wrapping around it whilst the other slid up and down his chest, tearing the material of his robe.

But when Xie Lian tried to struggle, the limb around his neck tightened until breath could no longer fill his lungs, so he stilled, watching with wide eyes as the tentacle tore at his clothing, leaving him bare.

It wasn't until two other limbs slid up his thighs that the prince realized what was going to happen to him, one of them wrapping around his-

"Gege?"

Hua Cheng's soft voice tore Xie Lian's attention from the story and he immediately fumbled to close the book, his shaking fingers barely managing not to drop it.

"S-S-San Lang!" He shakily replied, feeling as if he had been caught doing something unmentionable. "What are you..." he cleared his throat, realizing he sounded high-pitched, "What are you doing here? You're back early!"

"I am not...?" The ghost king spoke, a controlled expression on his face as he continued, "It is past midnight."

"Ah. I must've not noticed..." came the sheepish response. "I've been...uh...reading..."

"I see..."

A long stretch of silence followed, neither of the two daring to say anything or even gaze at one another for more than a few seconds. It seemed that they both shared an understanding of what they should have been addressing but neither had the courage to speak up.

It was Hua Cheng that did, though, when the quiet became unbearable.

"Gege, I'm sorry..." his expression became ashamed, saddened even. "I understand if you find me repulsive now-"

"San Lang, did I not tell you I could never find you repulsive?" Xie Lian spoke, his voice soft, "I just wish to understand. What are these books? Why have you been collecting them?"

Hua Cheng swallowed, feeling every bit as mortified as Xie Lian did, even though his demeanour didn't betray much.

"Gege knows I have loved him for over eight centuries but I have not had the honor to stand by his side until recently. Despite this, my love for you never faltered - it grew and developed to what you know it to be today. This also means I have lusted after you as well."

Which, in truth, Xie Lian was not exactly surprised about. It was a given, after all, and it wasn't as though they didn't have sex nearly every night - all that desire had to have come from the same place the love did.

"So... I have found a...niche of writers that created these... erotic stories about his highness, the crown prince of Xianle, and...I have kept them for my own...use."

"Use?" Xie Lian quickly parroted, feeling a strange heat pool in his stomach.

"Yes. I am sure gege knows what I mean..."

Xie Lian's eyes drifted towards the black book and the red tassel that lay in it. "Is that one your favorite?"

"One of them." Came the strained reply, Hua Cheng's voice betraying a feeling of both vulnerability and excitement.

"I see." Xie Lian looked up the tall shelf, stretching nearly to the ceiling, and he couldn't suppress a small, muschevous smile as he leaned against the table on his palm, toying with the ring on his necklace with the other. "Then, would San Lang wish to share his other favorites with me, then?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

[morose-melodies]

Before Pantalone became a harbinger, he was a servant. Before breaking his way into the gates of wealth, he was nothing more than just another face. But to noble-born you, he was the love of your life. You two would even sneak kisses behind the tall doors of your manor, and the windows to your room had always been left open for him.

Ultimately though, you could not stay together. The bourgeoisie loving the proletariat? Unheard of. The mere thought of it could bring a bitter taste to an aristocrat’s tongue. And that’s exactly what happened with your father once he found out. He immediately fired young Pantalone, and due to your father’s status, he was able to make sure Pantalone would never find a job within nobility again. And you too were thoroughly punished.

The last time you saw him, he was shivering due to the Snezhnayan frost, and you were cozied up in your huge fur coat within the walls of your carriage. You wished for nothing more than to swap places with him.

It’s been years since then, your family’s gone bankrupt, and you’ve all been shunned from nobility. But the Northland bank business has been booming, and there’s a familiar face within the snow that surrounds the bank. You would’ve never thought that it was your Pantalone.

The next time you’d see him, was when you had been shivering because of the cold. All your furs, jewelry, and clothes had been stripped from you to pay for your father’s debt. But now, Pantalone had been wearing a stylish fur coat, seemingly commissioned just for him. You two could only stare at each other. You were in disbelief, whilst he seemed less shocked, more pitying than anything.

You couldn’t believe that the once young, naive, doe-eyed boy that used to stare at you like you’d hung the stars has now aged into the older, cynical, slit-eyed man that now stares at you and your family like you’re a bunch of wild dogs. He offers to help you out of your.. predicament; his hand stuck out for you to grab. And like the ever-trusting person you are, still believing that the boy you once knew was the same, had hopped at the opportunity to take his hand. Unfortunately for you though, he’d only offered to help you. (Didn't expect this to be so long T_T rushed towards the end tho cus i got eepy)

I AM SO IN LOVE W UR WRITING

THIS IS SUch a good scenario tyty

things have gotten better since then.

well, that's how it seemed anyway. you could understand why he didn't want to help your family, and though you wanted them to be just as happy as you were, there was nothing you could do about it.

you had begged him to help your family for a while but he never budged - he didn't see the problem with not helping them. they had never done anything for him, they did nothing to deserve his help, but you deserved it.

things seemed too good to be true with pantalone - his manor was beautiful, the house staff were nice and he had a beautiful garden that conveniently had your favorite flowers.

things seemed too good to be true.

your closet was filled with clothing that seemed oddly familiar, oddly reminiscent of the old clothing you once wore, clothes that fit oddly well. your shampoo smelt just like the one you once had. rings pantalone had bought you without any prior knowledge of your measurements fit very well. and each night, just before falling asleep, you could hear your favorite song playing throughout the manor.

things seemed too good to be true.

and things were too good to be true. it had never crossed your mind that pantalone had been overly kind, it never crossed your mind that perhaps pantalone had an ulterior motive.

because why would you ever assume such a thing of him?? he had only ever been a sweetheart to you, in the past and present but... it had been a lingering thought in your mind these past few days due to a few... odd encounters with pantalone.

you would catch pantalone staring or he would stare a few seconds too long, his touches lingered longer than they ought to, and sometimes odd things would slip, such as him mumbling about how 'he couldn't imagine being without you again' and how serious he sounded or when he asked about your relationship with the gardener, saying the two of you had been oddly close and how he'd 'hate to have to fire him' since he was such a diligent worker.

pantalone had changed.

but, perhaps, from the beginning, he was different; perhaps from the beginning, he had an ulterior motive in mind.

[recurring-polynya]

Ranking my Habitual POV Characters, from Easiest to Hardest to Write

Renji. Too easy, actually. He's a yapper. I love him, tho, he is my favorite narrator and I would never write anyone else if I could get away with it.

Byakuya. I hate this for me, too. He is a man of few words, but internally, he is also a giant yapper. Uses all the fun words you can't use irl or people will know you are autistic, like "repast" and "phantasmagorical".

Orihime. Also very fun to write! Sometimes insists on honorifics. A minor yapper.

Uryuu. Easy, but not exactly fun to write. I just gotta let my brain go into full-anxiety mode and ride the wave. It works, but, like. I write fanfiction so I don't have to listen to my brain's anxiety barf, please and thank you.

Rukia (present day). She would be a lot lower on this list if I didn't have a ton of practice and spend twenty hours a day thinking about her.

Ichigo. I don't write him very much because he's already got a whole manga about him, but he is fine and remarkably well-behaved as characters go. Also an internal yapper, worse than Orihime but not as bad as Renji.

Hinamori. The only problem with Hinamori is that she uses an entirely different naming scheme for everyone she knows than anyone else on this list and also often insists on honorifics.

Chad. Very pleasant to write, but much slower than other characters because he very carefully considers everything he wants to say before he says it, including his own internal narration. Says exactly what he means to say, no more, no less.

Kira. I am perfectly neutral on writing Kira-POV, I just think he's more fun from the outside looking in.

Have I ever written a Hitsugaya pov? I don't remember, but I feel like he should go here.

Inuzuri Rukia. What happens to Inuzuri Rukia is no one's business but her own. It is certainly not mine, the author.

Ikkaku. The problem is that I am a yapper, so every time I write Ikkaku having any sort of insight or introspection, I have to roll it back at least twice. His narration is just the thoughts that occur to him, completely in the moment, absent any sort of analysis. I could never. Doesn't use any of the fun words. Writing Kenpachi-dialogue is this, but even moreso, which is why I avoid him as much as reasonably possible.

(if you're a fanficcer and want to make your own list, please do!)

[empire-at-war]

Kinktober???

Kinktober!

[mamawasatesttube]

bruce characterization is so hard because he really has been written all over the place. generally i try to think of him as a man who really does mean well, but whose drive for justice and unprocessed traumas can blind him to his shortcomings and lead to him inadvertently hurting his children. i also think that comics are a medium that doesn't usually lend itself well to character growth, because they to maintain a certain status quo to keep telling stories from, and so the bruce in my mind would honestly develop and learn from his mistakes a lot better than canon bruce actually does, because for someone who espouses the values he does, it makes no sense for him to completely stagnate, right. he's a puzzle you can put together in a lot of different ways and it's fascinating but also can be such a pain because of all the different books writing him in so many different ways, but characterizing him solely as an asshole is just boring and reductive imo...

...but all of that said i still think if martha kent ever found out how he talked to kon in sb94 #85 or in those issues of batgirl '00, she should be allowed to beat his ass with a pitchfork. yknow?

[lord-squiggletits]

As much as I'm a Pharma apologist he is genuinely an asshole who acts completely unrepentant so something I think about for an eventual Pharma redemption fic is like. How do you write a redemption for a severely traumatized guy whose coping mechanism is to act like he doesn't care and the people who need to accept him don't like/care about him enough to go "hey it's okay everyone gets a second chance" and/or "wow Pharma is so radically different what caused that change."

But also like it's really hard to help someone who has no desire to/refuses to be helped and makes himself deliberately unpleasant to be around so like idk

[harrowscore]

why are you, as an adult in 2024, still hung up on reylo. why are you still mocking the shippers. why do you believe yourself to be superior only because you dislike a stupid ship from a fucking space fairytale. girl (gnc) get a grip