#I see them!! AND I LOVE THEM!!! but to the person who sent the ask about hoodies..... yeah ...........

[estaticheart]

ᥫ᭡. THAT’S MY SISTER YOU BITCH

Summary: Despite Sarah and Rafe’s volatile relationship, that’s your sister.

Warnings: Violence, illusions to sex, swearing.

You had a great day so far. You'd woken up to Rafe in between your legs, waking you up in the best way possible before he made you both breakfast as you watched him from the island. Sometimes you just liked to ponder on how lucky you were to have a boyfriend like Rafe. To everyone else, you were far from lucky but you liked it that way- knowing only you got the real Rafe Cameron.

Now, you were on your way back from grocery shopping, planning to make Rafe a romantic meal when he arrived back from work. Blasting music from your car speakers, you were completely in the zone. Until you drove up to the City Hall, glancing ahead you saw Kelce's red truck, which you thought nothing of until you saw him and his idiotic friends surrounding John B and Sarah.

Alarmed, you pulled up next to the truck, gathering the attention of everyone. Despite being a kook yourself, you were far different from the rest of them. You didn't care about pogues, to you they were like anyone else, in fact often you preferred the pogues in the Outer Banks to the kooks. Rafe's circle exclusively consisted of kooks, meaning you often received a lot of respect from kooks even though you spent a lot of your time arguing with them. Rafe didn't mind it, you were his girlfriend and lover, so if you wanted to yell he wouldn't stop you.

"Problem?" You asked, slamming your car door shut behind you. Just as Sarah hit the ground. Immediately you rushed towards Sarah. Yeah, Rafe and Sarah had problems they needed to get past but to you, Sarah was still as important as she was 2 years ago. You were proud of her for finding her true love and true friends, and you always let her know that you would always be there for her. And this time was no exception. Putting two and two together, you saw Ruthie standing much closer to Sarah than the other kooks who looked at her in shock.

They all stood stunned at your arrival, to be honest, you were probably the worst possible person to show up at that exact moment. Everyone knew your opinions on the Pogues were far more empathetic than the other kooks. "No, no problem" Kelce muttered, beginning to pull Ruthie and the others back from Sarah and John B, to which they happily obliged. Not on your watch.

"Oh no, don't stop on my accord guys. Please whatever you were going to do next. Do it." Walking over to them, Ruthie stood stunned at your arrival. Since she started dating Topper, you got a lot of joy out of berating her, publically. For once, she didn't back down at your words. "She needs to watch herself. She pushed me first, it was self-defence." Ruthie said, glancing behind you to see John B pulling Sarah to her feet.

Snorting you replied, "Ruthie, I'm not Shoupe. Don't start pleading your case, I don't care." She stalled at your response, for a moment thinking that you were on her side for pushing Sarah before you pulled her back to reality. Walking closer to her, edgingly slow, you pressed, "You think you're all big and mighty for pushing Sarah? She's 19 Ruthie, you're what? 21? Don't you think you should play with someone your own size?"

Behind you, John B and Sarah smirked at the group. Unbeknownst to you, Sarah was pregnant and John B was far too occupied to make sure Sarah was okay than to pick a fight with Kelce and his goons today. But you happily would, and even better so because who was going to fight back against the kook princess? Definitely not these ones.

“Well?” You pushed, as you stood toe to toe with Ruthie. You were growing impatient, Rafe would have finished work by now meaning that soon he’d come looking for you- and you’d rather give Ruthie a good couple punches before Rafe showed up.

“Okay times up.” Before she could even think, your fist sent her backwards onto the floor, just how Sarah had been when when you arrived. Groaning, she lifted her hands to cover her nose, assumably bleeding- hopefully broken if Rafe’s self defence lessons had done some good. “Oh my god- I think you broke my nose. You bitch.” She shrieked, pulling her hands away to reveal blood beginning to pour from her nose.

Ruthie was nothing but a bully, a bully you’d had enough of tormenting the island. Your legs either side of her chest you crouched over her, “Don’t worry you still look just as bad as before.” You muttered as you flew your fist back into her face that she left unguarded. Idiot. Her screaming began again, as you moved off from her, deciding that your two punches had done enough damage. Wow, you’d really have to thank Rafe for those lessons.

“Just wait until Topper hears about this, he will deal with you.” One of the other kooks muttered from behind Kelce. “Yeah I’m sure Topper will be sure to deal with me.” You laughed, Topper wouldn’t touch a hair on your arm as long as you were dating Rafe- everyone knew that.

“You want to fuck with someone, not Sarah.” You spat at them, watching Ruthie sadly pull herself to her feet, with the help of no one. “That’s my sister you bitch. Now fuck off.” At your command, Kelce briskly walked back over to his truck, as the others followed just as fast, allowing you to turn back to John B and Sarah.

You were greeted to their smiling faces, both as grateful as each other. But you noticed, a twinge of emotion still lingering on Sarah’s face. Hearing you call her your sister in combination with her pregnancy hormones, was due to set her off to cry. Before she could get out any words, you spoke for her. “You are my sister regardless of whatever is going on between you and Rafe. You’re family.” Turning to John B, you continued, “That extends to you, hubby.” You winked looking down at the ring on his finger.

With a red blush covering their faces, they praised you in thank yous. “Don’t need to thank me for doing something I’ve been wanting to do for months.” Glancing back to see the red truck had disappeared.

“Now, you can thank me for warning you that Rafe will be here any minute and I’m not sure you want to see him.”

—————————

“Baby, please be more careful next time.” Rafe muttered, as he wrapped your knuckles in bandages. He was more than shocked to find you outside the city hall- alone- but with bloody knuckles. Only with the explanation, that you had an altercation with Ruthie, surprisingly over Sarah. He was confused to say the least, he wasn’t even aware that Ruthie had a problem with his little sister. But the more he thought about it, of course she did- Topper still hadn’t gotten over her.

“In fact, there will be no next time. Ever.” Kissing your knuckles, he pulled you onto his chest as he lied back on your shared king bed. Stroking your hair, he let his mind wonder. Should he have been there to protect Sarah? But they hadn’t had a good relationship in years, he couldn’t just suddenly start caring for her. He also couldn’t let you get into situations that could get you hurt over protecting Sarah.

You noticed his body still and you knew instantly his mind was wondering thinking about Sarah. Without moving your head from his chest you spoke, “Rafe. I love Sarah. I know you have a difficult relationship at the moment and whilst you can’t protect her I will.” Letting the silence sit between you for a moment, you decided to continue.

“She’s our only family, Rafe.” He didn’t move, but you both knew how right you were. She was all you had left. “I know baby, I know.” He whispered, laying a kiss on the top of your head, before he let his mind slip back into imagining how he can rectify this broken relationship with his sister.

[reblogg3darts]

see, they had a family member who was the most evil person on the planet! and that family member was an addict! so they can't help the fact that they now want all addicts to die! they can't help it!

Wow.

My only brother died at age 24 from addiction.

I have never even touched weed.

I hated the person who made him an addict. If I could turn back time, I would kill that dealer. Twice. Thrice with his mom, too.

Said dealer did NOT come from a 'downtrodden' family/broken home/whatever excuse one would make to make this dealer NOT a 'common' person. Nope. He was common. As common as my brother was.

He dealt because 'it was a cool way to make money and have fun.'

Do I hate my brother?

NEVER. He was the victim. I am angry at him for not being able to say no. I am angry at him for not turning to me, to us, his family, for help. I am angry that he is gone and I'm still here.

But I don't love him less than when we were both in the single-digit-age. He was only 2 years younger than I, and was my very first best friend. We had the same musical taste, thought not so much taste in food (he liked noodles, I prefer potatoes).

Anyway. The next time I met an addict, he was my boyfriend for like, two minutes. He was still an actively recovering drug addict. I have slowly, in the course of SIX months, steered him away from his triggers.

In came his mother, who thought of me as a whore for listening and helping her beloved only son. He was sent off to another province. By the end of the year, he called me, asking if I could send him some cash (nope, not gonna happen). Within weeks, mother was rushing to and fro like a hamster on wheel preparing stuff I didn't understand.

Son had - while under the influence - impregnated somebody who was his high partner. He wanted to abort, she told her parents, and they threatened jail if he would not take responsibility (i.e. marrying her). Mother 100% panicked. I snickered. Not *once* had I gotten laid with him, because I know damn well what could've happened. And heelll no I didn't want her as my MIL.

Do I hate him? Never. He was caught in an ouroboros that is his addiction, mother, and the woman he ended up marrying and have two sons with. He died some 5-7 years ago - don't know for sure, nobody told me that he had died.

Anyway.

The two weren't the only addicts I've met. As always, I blame whoever first handed them whatever they're addicted to.

All. Addicts. Are. Victims.

Help them.

Save them.

Love them.

Even if they don't love themselves.

it's just really fucking frustrating that we live in a world where I grew up being trained to believe that addicts are unloveable. and then I became an addict and I was still told that addicts are unloveable. and I just have to deal with the fact that there are people out there who believe that I don't deserve love, or that my partner is brave for loving me, or that my family and friends are suffering just from me existing. and that's fine that's just the way it is

but then on top of that. I have to deal with tumblr users telling me (an addict!!!) that they hate addicts in a cool new way that I should be totally sympathetic towards. see, they had a family member who was the most evil person on the planet! and that family member was an addict! so they can't help the fact that they now want all addicts to die! they can't help it! blast them all.

[milkteabinniechan]

♡Dear Lover - Hyunjin

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: fiancè Hyunjin x fem! reader

summary: Your parents have picked a husband for your sister and the two of them have been writing love letters back and forth for years before they meet on their wedding day. There is just one problem: you've been the one sending the letters to her future husband and now you're in love!

warnings: just fluff! some angst, drama, very soft hyunjin, lovesick reader

“Maybe start with why you were the one writing me the letters and not your sister?” Hyunjin’s nostrils flared as he spoke. But his tone wasn’t angry, just confused. You looked exactly how he pictured you from your letters. A softness about you that translated through your words.

“She asked me to. In the beginning, she didn’t want to write to you. So, she asked me to do it instead to make our parents happy.” You pulled at the hem of your shirt, twisting it this way and that while your eyes stayed fixed on the ground. “Please, don't be upset with her.”

Hyunjin stepped back for a moment. His eyes searched yours as the two of you finally locked onto one another. Eyes that he had pictured late at night. A face he had only seen in his dreams. Everything he had said in the letter was true. He was in love, just not with your sister. But the wedding was planned, the invitations sent out.

It was springtime when the letters first began. You remember the sound of birds chirping outside your bedroom window when your parents made the announcement that your sister was to be wed on the year of her 21st birthday.

“But I don’t want to marry someone I’ve never met!” She screamed. You were only partially paying attention. You were no longer the focus of your parents' attention. You were twenty-four now and practically a spinster. Your sister was going to have her wedding the very next spring. One year. She had one year to comply and accept what was happening.

“We’ve already failed with your older sister, we will not fail with you.” Your father boomed. His fat finger pointed sternly at you.

While your little sister protested for a few weeks, she ultimately agreed upon the marriage if she could at least see who she was to be betrothed to. But letters are all his family would agree to. A stern, traditional family that negotiated the terms of advised letters to be written once a week for one year until the wedding day. Meetings were held in secret by the patriarchs of the two families. Hands were shook and large cigars were smoked in celebration of the upcoming union. Then one cool spring night, your sister came knocking at your door with a favor to ask.

“You’re a writer. Just write the letters for me and make me sound good okay?” She begged, her hands folding together while her eyes pleaded with you.

Reluctantly you agreed. One week after the other, you tried your best to sound like your sister. You wrote about her interests instead of your own. You included her favorite color and her favorite kind of food. But somewhere down the line, you slipped. Hyunjin had written about a favorite book of yours – Little Women. He had written paragraphs discussing the different characters and the depth of their description and diversity from one another. He had gushed about the writing style and the eloquent use of simile and metaphors. And your heart fluttered, fluttered and flipped in a way that was new and exciting. Your next letter was completely you. It was your voice, your thoughts, your ideas. The words just flowed out of you like wine and you would feel almost drunk by the time you signed your sister’s name at the bottom.

Hyunjin would soon write about more personal subjects; his fears and insecurities. Of which you felt a kinship with. You would respond with words of comfort and love, thanking him for being so open and vulnerable with you. You would tell him about a beautiful sunset you saw or the lovely sound that snow made when you take a step early in the morning. Hyunjin would tell you how ready he was to hear that sound. How eager he was to hold you, to hear your laugh and touch your lips at last-

When everything was said and done, you knew the exact moment that things had gone too far. You had said “I love you” in your final letter before the wedding. Hyunjin had responded that he was on his way and that he “loved you more that there were stars in the sky.”

You held that last letter tightly in your hands as the all black town car pulled into the driveway of your family home. You would see him, finally see him, and he would see you. Only you would be a shadow cast behind your sister. Hyunjin could never know that those words were not hers. He would marry her and you would go back to your life before. As Hyunjin slowly stepped out of the car, the sunlight shone through his hair like a beacon. His forearm flexed as he gripped the car door and closed it behind him. He stood still for a moment, his eyes flicking between you and your sister until his gaze finally landed on you. Your sister hastily stepped in front of you and introduced herself. Hyunjin shook his head for a second to break the stare between the two of you before smiling warmly at your sister. He held her tightly, his long arms sweeping around her waist and pulling her close to his chest.

“I am so happy to meet you in person, my love!” He exclaimed, his hand coming up to cradle your sister’s face.

Dinner was a complete blur. The clanking sound of silverware and glasses swirled around your ears while your mind drifted further and further from the dining room. The voices of your family were distant, just an echo of a sound as you attempted to keep your food down. After dinner, Hyunjin and your sister snuck off somewhere in the house to be alone. You made your way up to your room and lied on your bed, willing your brain to erase the last year so the heaviness in your chest would subside.

“Fine! Okay? I didn’t write those stupid letters! But that doesn’t mean anything, right?” your sister shouted from the other side of the wall. You stayed in bed and made your way to the wall that divided your two rooms to see if you could hear anything. “She’s a loser! You don’t want her!” Your sister screamed.

“If she is the one that wrote all those letters, then I do. I do want her.”

Your heart dropped. You moved your head away from the wall and turned to face your bedroom door as you heard footsteps approach.

“Please, don’t be upset with her.”

“I’m not upset with her.” Hyunjin took a step closer, closing the gap between the two of you. “You look just as I imagined.” He whispered, his breath brushing softly against your neck.

Your breath hitched as he moved closer. Your hands move instinctively to his waist. Your hips coming into contact with his as his hands move down your back and come to rest at your sides. He leans into your ear and speaks in a low tone. A secret shared just between the two of you. Something intimate that nothing in this world could penetrate. “You’re the one I want to marry. You’re the bride I have been waiting for.”

taglist: @simply-trash5 @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121 @roanns-posts @staysinbloom @yaorzu-blog @bubblebisk @cotton-candycloudz @beautyinhypnosis @domicaru @strawberry31 @slxtmeri @newhope8 @tinyelfperson @dandelions-143 @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @msauthor @fun-fanfics @ell0thebell @stephanieeeyang @juskz @kimahreummm @readr1221 @kayleefriedchicken @ovulatingrn @hwnglixho @darthmaddie25 @queen-in-the-shadows @itgirlalisaa @miinhoo @greyaia @chanchansgirly @skzleeknowcore @skz-smut-reader @thatisrankharry @hearts4yawnzzn @jchotch726 @cherricola-star @minh0scat

[lazycats-stuff]

Hey cats, I was the one who sent you that anon that's alright with me, I don't mind but is an gen z reader yeeted to the dc verse be okay? I could picture Bruce almost growing white hair because of reader who is an epitome of ✨unhealthy coping mechanism✨

Oh yeah, a reader just yeeted in there... Some universe doing some shit and Bruce adopts him... While also losing his mind. I love it. Lets go. It's a bit short, but... I like it.

Summary: (Y/N) is Gen Z. Bruce is loosing his mind.

Warnings: unhealthy coping mechanisms, Gen Z ones at that.

Bruce knew that each generation is different. They have different opinions, don't like to be told what to do exactly, although that's more specific to the newer generations. That is something that Bruce knew all to well. Gen Z wanting to have a balance between work and personal business. Bruce could respect that. But one other thing that shocked Bruce about Gen Z is the fact they have so many unhealthy coping mechanisms.

How would Bruce know?

He has adopted a teen who simply got, according to Jason and other younger heroes, yeeted into their universe. Universe where Justice League and it's heroes are real. And where DC comic universe is real. (Y/N) was forced to explain to the entire Justice League what DC is, what does it contain. And that has only applied to comic books. Then he had to explain cartoons, movies, video games... Absolutely everything.

Bruce found it to be interesting, the entire multiverse essentially, all of them are carefully planned out... Bruce found them to also be a great source of information. What to avoid, what to do... It was an incredible well of information and has decided to investigate this even more.

And while doing so, keep (Y/N) close to make sure that he has the information he needs.

And while (Y/N) is a nice kid, he has some unhealthy... Coping mechanisms as he calls them.

First one being jokes. Humor is something that can help a person if they feel down. Or if they simply want to deflect. And (Y/N)'s sense of humor is rather... Dark, to say the very least. Bruce would more often than not get gray hairs if he heard (Y/N) joking about his will to live being gone. He knows that (Y/N) is not suicidal... Right?

Humor is simply used to deflect... Right?

Bruce didn't quite like how (Y/N) was chronically online. Sure, teens spend time on their phone, but this is borderline an addiction. Bruce has tried to solve the problem with putting restrictions, taking the phone away. Put settings that don't allow (Y/N) to be online from certain times. That was to try to make (Y/N) sleep better, since he's clearly online into the late hours of the night.

Bruce simply wants the only child in the house who is not on patrol to have a normal sleeping schedule. Is that a crazy thing to ask for? It should be a normal thing to ask for, right? Being chronically online is far from good. Far, far, from good.

Also, hyper fixation.

(Y/N) was more invested in fiction rather than reality. Which would be fine. If it didn't interfere with his life. In what way, I might hear you asking? He's been neglecting his hygiene, gets angsty and anxious if he is not near his hyper fixation. Bruce never knew that Gen Z is this... Bruce shouldn't say annoying, but this was getting out of hand. Rather fast.

Bruce had to take action.

Otherwise he would get a lot more grey hairs. Way more. Way more.

" (Y/N), go to sleep. " Bruce pleaded, suited up and ready to go on patrol, however, he can't go, knowing that (Y/N) won't go to sleep. And everyone needs their 7 to 9 hours of sleep. Besides Bruce and the boys that are... On their night job. To put it mildly.

" I'm not tired Bruce. "

A common response in the most recent days from (Y/N) to Bruce.

" I swear to God, I'll sedate you with ketamine if you don't go to sleep. I'll knock you out with it to the point you'll be sleeping for days. " Bruce threatened and then came the infamous two words.

Alright, bet.

Bruce was seeing red at the mere thought of those words. They were both taunting and dismissive. Not something to be saying to an already stressed father anyway. And while Bruce has grown to love (Y/N) as his son, he was going to lose his mind with him.

" Alright, here's a deal. You go to sleep and sleep through the night and I'll take you to see your favorite artist. "

(Y/N) tilted his head, frowning.

" Promise? "

" I promise you. I swear it to you. I'll get you VIP tickets. I'll make sure to take you myself and pull strings. But for the love of God and everything else, go to sleep! "

[beloveds-embrace]

Noona I have toughts and need to share them before they forever get lost in the void that is my AuHD brain. I also realised I never introduced myself, you can call be eevee (like the pokemon) and I go by any pronouns!

Simon Riley didnt want to have children. Its not that he didn't like children, he was actually quite fond of them and something inside him melted when ever a chubby cheeked tolder smiled up at him with their little teeth poking through and when a lost child came up to him when he was out shopping and asked him to help find their parents because he was the tallest person there and that obviously meant he could find them easier, he was bending down to the childs level his eyes soft and warm as he asked their names and what they looked like. He was constantly in awe of the little humans who just saw him as a man, not the monester he believed he was in his mind. What stopped him from having children was fear.

Fear he would turn out like his own father, fear that something would happen that would trigger him (because lets be real, the mans a vet and he sure as hell suggees from PTSD) and he would do something he would regret. Fear that he would be sent on a mission and be lost forever, no one knowing where he was or where his body is and he wouldn't make it home to his partner and kids. Fear of raising them wrong or doing the wrong thing and they turn into monsters themselves. It was a fear so strong that he went and got a vasectomy at the age of 18 to prevent any accidents and even with the vasectomy he insists on another form of birth control before he has sex with anyone.

Then he meets you. All soft and sweet and kind and bright. So so bright. All his life has been a dark cloud and rolling thunder clouds just waiting to burst and drown him in their water, but you are like a hint of sun shining through the clouds. Reminding him that every dark day has its end, that even after a storm there is brightness and colour with rainbows. That even if the clouds burst and dark, heavy rain drenches his soul there is still goodness in the world and the sun will always be there to dry and brighten the world again. And he falls in love and for the first time in a long time, he is truly happy.

You obviously know Simon didn't want kids, it was something he told you when you first started dating but it wasn't a deal breaker, you weren't even sure you wanted kids either. You had your own trauma and darkness to work through before you wanted to even start thinking about kids.

After learning more about Simon and his past, you manage to talk him into seeing a trauma therapist. You knew therapy wasn't for everyone but you wanted him to at least try because there were parts of himself he kept so deeply locked away behind stainless steel doors with reinforced padlock that he needed to discuss with someone and he wouldn’t talk about it with you, he didnt want his darkness to dampen your light, but he agreed. He did one session and then another and then another, actually finding benefit in them as he discussed his fears out in the open for the first time. About what he had been through with his dad and as a soldier. He knew bottling everything up didnt help, usually finding solace for his overwhelming thoughrs in a bottle of whiskey that msde the world disappear, he knew it made him for volitaile and dangerous and he didnt want to be dangerous around you, not now. Not ever. He wanted you to expeirnce the same sense of peace ans safety with him as he did you.

Eventually he worked through his fears of fatherhood and having children, realising that he could break the cycle and be the dad he didnt have. He wants to discuss it with you, the potential of having his vasectomy reversed, especially after Johnnys missus has a baby and he sees how good you are with them. Holding them so comfroably in your arms and soothing them when they fuss and hes even surprised with how good he is with them. Able to hold them in one arm, tight against his chest so the baby can hear his heartbeat. You watch him with a small smile, your heart melting at the sight as you feel yourself falling in love with him all over again. After that day you two become the designated baby sitters for the littlest MacTavish and Simon takes to caring for it like a fish in water.

Its a few months later, after Johnny picks his baby up that you overhear Johnny ask Simon about having his own little one and Simon says he's been thinking about it, been thinking about having his vasectomy reversed and giving you the baby you deserve (because he has noticed the sad look in your eyes everytime you give the little one back to his parents and how happy you ar holding them in your arms). Johnny reassurs him that hes nothing to worry about, hed be a great father and hes sure that youd agree. So that night, after showers and dinner he brings it up and he assures you hes doing it because he wants to. Because he wants to have a baby and not just because you seem to want one and when tou agree, hed phoning the clinic the next morning to get his vasectomy reversed and you're phoning to get your birthcontrol stopped

Once its done, it takes a maximum of three months before you're pregnant and Simon stands with you in the bathroom waiting for the results to come up on the test. Hes hand holding yours and his heart beating erratically in his chest as five minutes seems like five hours and as soon as the test shows positive hes sweeping you up into his arms and thanking you over and over between kisses for giving him a baby, tears prick at his eyelids but dont quite fall

But when you're little girl, Aurora, is born he cries. His heart is just so full of love for the little girl in his arms and for you that he can't help the emotions from spilling over.

So yeah, Simon Riley didnt want kida but he is so damn glad he meet you and he did

this is so wholesome and cute and sweet?? i love it so so so much omfg thank you for sending this in! girldad!simon means everything to me <333

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Professional Indiscretion

Inspired by this post

Warnings: non/dubcon, degradation, demeaning behaviour, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Loki Laufeyson

Summary: a colleague returns from a recent vacation but is less than relaxed.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You’ve honed the skill of indifference long ago. The voices that carry from down the hall meld together in a dull buzz as you push them to the back of your mind. You’re less concerned with the latest water cooler gossip as your deadline bears down on you. 

You hate when a project comes down to the line. It couldn’t be helped. What should have been a two-person assignment was dropped solely in your lap. It isn’t the first time and won’t be the last. Your colleagues are less than reliable. 

As their voices glaze over each other, you shrug of your resent. They all have their obligations; golf rounds or the windfall of courtside tickets. You’ve never been afforded the luxury of a half-day to go play. You are the dependable one; as far as your coworkers are concerned, you have nothing going on besides picking up their slack. 

Work is work. You don’t linger on it; you just get it done. A peel of laughter jars you from your focus. You should close your door but that’s just an invitation. The last time, they simply moved in front of your door and spoke even louder. It’s like a game to them. 

Caroline’s bubbly laughter trills down the hall. She’s joined the rabble. One of the young temps the men love to flirt with. ‘Oh it makes me feel young again.’ Ugh, you couldn’t imagine turning the clock back twenty years. You’re happy that era of your life is over. 

You squint at the monitor and review your work. There’s a subtle tap on your doorframe. Your flicks up and back down. Loki. 

“Yes, how can I help you?” You ask as your fingers flutter over the keyboard. 

“Good afternoon to you too,” he drawls as he breaks the threshold. 

“Afternoon,” you continue to type. You try not to think of how this was meant to be his project. 

“I’m only doing my rounds. As you know, I was recently abroad and I brought back some sweets,” he crosses your office and sets a blurry object down in your peripheral. 

“That’s generous, I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.” You say. 

“You’re welcome,” he overrides your protest. 

You sniff, “thanks.” 

He’s quiet as he stands across from you. His gaze hangs over you like a dark cloud. You check the auto-save and retract your hands. You push your shoulders back and look at him. 

“You were the only who didn’t come out to congratulate me,” he muses. 

You sit straight. You are not unkind or inconsiderate. You just don’t come to work to socialize. You signed the card they sent with the flowers. 

“Congratulations on your wedding. It seems it was a success,” you say. 

He doesn’t react right away. He just stares at you. His green eyes are sharp and his lips a thin line. It isn’t the ego stroking he was looking for. You’re not quite sure what more to say. You’re not very familiar. 

He scoffs, “I see.” 

You blink, confused by the derision in his tone. You look at him past your monitor as he slowly pivots on his heel. It scuffs loudly and he marches to the door. He stops right before it then delicate grabs the handle and draws it shut. 

You tilt your head curiously, “I’m just finishing up a project, so I don’t have very much time--” 

“You’ve always been a dry old spinster, haven’t you?” He slithers as he faces you again. 

“Pardon?” You’re genuinely stunned by his accusation. It’s not the first time you’ve met with that sort of spite. There is a contempt reserved only for older women. 

“Yes, you strut around here as if you are a queen. Above us all, and I come to you with a token of good will, a souvenir from my honeymoon, and it only reminds you of how utterly pathetically alone you truly are,” he sneers. “So you offer me that trite look and your empty tiding.” 

You scrunch your lips in surprise and cup your hand in confusion, “nothing of the like. I’m sorry, I am rather busy with my work--” 

“Oh but this isn’t just today. It’s how it’s always been. You cannot be happy for anyone for your own misery,” he tuts. 

“If that’s what you think,” you sit back calmly. “I think you should go.” 

He lingers on the other side of your desk, “it’s because she’s young, I know it.” 

“What?” 

“My new wife. I see how it makes you bristle to know a man of your peerage couldn’t be bothered with you. You see, women age differently. They become bitter.” He snarls. 

“I hardly see how this is appropriate. I am asking you to go--” 

He sets his stance and lowers himself into the chair across from you. He smirks and pushes back his dark curls. Your spine locks up. That look in his eye, you’ve seen that in men before. 

“I know what the matter is,” he pushes his feet wide and grips his thighs. He postures so his shoulders are wide and high. “How long has it been?” 

You refuse to acknowledge his jeer. You shift to your monitor and go back to your editing. He clucks. 

“Months, years?” He suggests. 

“I’m busy,” you insist, keeping your eyes averted. 

“What the wife doesn’t know...” he growls. 

You flinch, appalled by his suggestion. 

“Leave,” you say. 

He snickers. “Are you so resigned to your feeble existence? Those lonely nights? In your condo, drinking your chardonnay, reclining on your chaise and reading the latest lascivious rag written for pruny old divorcees?” 

You freeze then slowly look at him. It could be a cruel assumption, though it isn’t untrue. In fact, it is far too accurate to be a coincidence. Down to the chaise and the chardonnay. 

“And that toy you keep in your jewelry box,” he curls a finger to mimic the curved shape. “Do you even feel it anymore?” 

“Get out,” you hiss. 

He smirks and arches a brow, “come.” 

He beckons with two fingers. You clutch the armrests of your chair and your nose flairs. You glare back at him, horrified. A newly married man and he’s here propositioning you. What’s more, he’s been watching you. 

“You’re disgusting--” 

“Get up,” he rubs his thigh. “And come here.” 

“HR--” 

“Oh, I know Bradon well. I will be happy enough to explain how you’ve grown so jealous of my young wife. You’re overworked so of course you couldn’t control yourself--” 

“He wouldn’t believe you--” 

“Wouldn’t he? We play squash on Sundays. He knows my character well. An upstanding member of the country club--” 

“Why are you doing this? What do you want me to say? Hm? Congratulations on your pretty young wife. Now, you should go home to her,” you snip. 

“I don’t want you to say anything,” he taunts as his eyes narrow snakishly. “I want you to come sit in my lap so I can show you how useless that toy truly is.” 

“You are--” 

“I am your villain,” he undercuts you. “And you have two choices. You can finish that project and submit it and have it tossed out for your indiscretions or you can do what I tell you and still have a job to support you wined-up erotica sessions.” 

You curl your lip, repulsed. There’s no point in asking why. Men do not operate on logic. 

“What’s it going to be?” 

You grit your teeth and take a deep breath. You push yourself to your feet and steady yourself. You move stiffly around the desk, eyes on the wall as you near him. As you get close, he grabs your hip and turn you. He forces you down so roughly that your ankles bend. 

You catch yourself on him, grabbing his hands as he grips you tight, and you writhe against his obvious arousal. A man like him can only get off on his own ego. You shudder and grasp his wrists. 

He pulls you back against his and rests his chin on your shoulder. You squirm as he untangles his arm from your hold. He hooks his arm around your stomach as his other tugs at your skirt. You huff and claw at his sleeves. 

“Alright, that’s enough, you’ve made your point--” 

He shoves his hand against your panties, pushing the satin between your folds. You gasp and twitch. You push your thighs together and crush his fingers. It only adds pressure. 

“You remember the day I started,” he turns to nuzzle your neck as he speaks, “and you had to make it known that you weren’t an assistant advisor, you were a senior.” He moves his fingers between the clutch of your tensed thighs. “That you were above me?” 

“No, I--” you gulp slap at his wrist. 

“Oh, and look at you now. Still above me, eh? Right there... on top of me,” he buries his hand against you and nips at your neck meanly. “You will be on your knees soon enough,” he flicks his fingers harshly and you spasm. “Right where you belong.” 

[sakashq]

Miedica. 𐙚 lamine yamal x black!reader

🤍 summary. Lamine is taking you on your first date together and he teases you for how awkward you are.

🤍 warnings. just fluff and banter i fear! also y/n usage 😒😒

🤍 wc. 600+

🤍 yap! i love lamine yamal nasraoui ebana with my heart. my starboy, golden boy, and my favorite boy. i fear no one loves him like i love him no beyoncé/yeah yeah yeahs. extra special dedication to myself because lamine is the loml!!

🤍 my girls <3. @ar4ujos @halfwayhearted @hrts4havertz @iovepoem @planetpedri !!

Now playing … While We’re Young by Jhene Aiko.

Baby while we’re young, I think we should do something crazy. Like say, “fuck everyone” and just run away from the daily routine. Yeah you know what I mean.

You were terrified. This was your first date with Lamine and your first date, well… ever. You had never been asked on one by a guy in a romantic way, not that it bothered you. It was just nerve-wracking that the guy you ended up liking the most would be the one. You didn’t know what to do, how to dress, or what to expect.

This was all new to you—and unfortunately, Lamine wasn’t going to let you live it down.

You arrived at the agreed place (the local fair), looking anxiously around for him. Maybe it would have been smarter to go together, but you weren’t ready for an awkward car ride quite yet.

“Y/n!” You heard a familiar voice call out to you. That same voice that melted cooly into your ears whenever you heard it, whether it was in person or his interviews.

You turned around, face to face with Lamine. “Hi Lamine.” You smiled, hoping your fear wasn’t displayed on your face for him to see.

“You look… amazing,” he returned the smile. “Is that the bracelet I got you?” He lifted your arm so he could see it more clearly. One thing about Lamine was that he had no sense of boundaries when it came to his friends. He was just a touchy person, growing up with the trait. You loved it about him.

“Yeah, it is,” you responded, feeling your face heat up with embarrassment. You hadn’t expected him to notice, certainly not this fast. Pulling your arm back, you asked, “Ready to go inside?”

Lamine tried to cover up his frown, masking it with his same award-winning smile. “Yeah.” He grabbed your hand, leading you in.

You passed a few rides and games before your eyes landed on the cutest plush tiger. “Oh my gosh, I need that tiger.”

“Which one?” He asked, standing next to you as you both looked at the vendor. You pointed to it and he nodded firmly. “Watch me work.” He held your hand, waving you through the sea of people. It sent a jolt through your body, his constant touchyness bringing you butterflies.

“Lamine, you’re insane,” you giggled as he handed the vendor his tickets.

“Oh, I’m insane for wanting to make you happy, okay,” he sarcastically responded, a sly smirk on his face. “I’m gonna win this tiger for you, miedica.”

“Disculpe? Miedica who?” You acted fake-offended, gasping and putting your hand on your chest.

He roller his eyes jokingly saying, “Forgot Héctor was teaching you Spanish. I need to tell him to stop.”

You giggled in response, watching him as he attempted to win your tiger. He did just that, handing the plush to you once won.

“Thank you, Lamine,” you smiled, holding the tiger close to you.

“Of course, miedica.”

Telling everybody your mine, and I like it. And I really hope you don’t mind, I can’t fight it. No, you know I cannot hide it ‘cause I’m so excited that I finally decided on you.

As the date went on, you realized maybe this wasn’t so bad. Until you got to the ferris wheel.

It was going so well, but he just had to recommend the most intimate ride of them all. Okay, fine. You were going to be super calm and chill about this.

Except your heart felt like it was pounding out of your chest and you thought you were going to drown in sweat. Could you really do this? Was this going to be too much?

“Are you okay?” He broke you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking,” you responded. Half-truth, half-lie.

He nodded, grabbing your hand again and guiding you to your spot. You two were way too close together on this ferris wheel. Your shoulders were touching and you kept ‘accidentally’ brushing hands.

Lamine looked over at you and said playfully, “Hey, miedica. Are you scared of me or something? You act like this is your first date.”

You didn’t respond, just giving him a blank look.

His eyes slightly widened before saying, “Wait, it is?” When your nod gave him conformation, he continued teasingly, “I’m honored to be your first.”

“You’re saying it like it’s a kiss,” you scoffed with an eyeroll.

“Were we not going to do that?” He asked. When he saw your fear he followed up with, “Just joking. But if you’re offering…”

“Lamine!” You playfully hit him on his arm as if you were reprimanding a toddler for their wrongdoing. “I don’t know, no one’s ever asked me on a one-on-one date before.”

“Strange. So that’s why you’ve been such a scaredy cat all night.”

You glared at him saying, “Scaredy cat?”

He put his hands up as if he was surrendering. “No, I just mean whenever I grabbed your hand you’d flinch. I was starting to think you didn’t like me.”

Your face softened, a smile growing. “The problem is I like you a lot. I don’t know how to show that.”

Lamine smiled, saying, “Well, we can start with this.” He grabbed your hand, your fingers lacing inbetween his.

[respectthepetty]

Before episode three of Perfect 10 Liners continued the love story of these two color-coded boys in love,

It gave me small glimpses of the other color-coded boys in love.

And I'm intrigued by the Lapis Lads.

I don't know if Faifa is truly flirting with Wine or if this casual affection is the norm for him since Yotha threatened him to not behave with Wine as he had with other people, but I think that is the point.

Wine won't be able to tell if Faifa likes him or if this is all just part of Faifa's personality.

Unlike these two where it's obvious one likes to annoy and the other likes to act as if he is annoyed,

Wine seems impersonal and sad, so if he can't get a proper read on Faifa, who comes across as aloof and nosy, I'm going to eat them up because this is truly a battle of two Blue Boys making the worst impression on each other through their color's worst traits.

Just like Red Rascal Arc is leaving a horrible impression on me since the show is determined to remind me he is a Manchester United fan every single week! I don't care if he has Rashford's red jersey! GET IT OUTTA HERE!

And just like that, I'm sent back into the past where Arc has just caused and accident due to his road rage, and Yellow Yal Arm is just "no biggie" about it all. He seems kinda into it actually.

But I don't have to dwell on that kink too long because Blue Boy Sand, in his "relationship" shirt, is clearly already dating Orange Oddity Pond, with his very orange Thai tea and Spider Man hoodie, so as a person who sat through sixteen episodes of We Are for Marc x Poon, I'm thankful my prayers were answered in this series. Amen.

I'm also feeling Blue Boy Warm being in contact with Arc's mom because I see you, Mrs. Robinson! Arc better watch out before he gets a new daddy. Purple Person Cop knows. He sees the writing on the wall.

I'm going to ignore the elephant in the room, or the tiny worm if you ask Pipo, because I want to point out that JJ is looking very adorable in this show, and this scene gave me time to really notice all the yellow in Arm's room. The elephant is hiding behind the yellow couch, but also there is a yellow clock, his yellow bag, and the subways in the painting are also yellow.

I like that in an effort to ignore the elephant he saw, Green Guy Pipo changed his shirt to an Apocalypse Now shirt.

Where would Arm and Arc be without their Blue Boy Besties? LOST and friendless, that's where!

Arc wants Arm to know more about him, but all Arm needs to know is Arc's color is red; therefore, he has anger issues, he is persistent to the point of stalking, and the sex will be 🔥🌶🔥, but somehow, I think Arm already knows.

Orange Oddity Pond is doing such a great job communicating and taking up all of Sand's attention while also giving rides. This is how you balance the negative with the positive as an Oddity. You hear that Peaceful Property's Somkid!

Color-coded boys in love and their friend Steve.

It's real gay of Arc to keep staring at Arm's lips while berating him. It's giving >instigating a fight so his hands will be on me< and, once again, I think they are both aware of this.

And I end the episode with their color-coded gears interlocking before the preview decided to show me a bottle being smashed over Arm's head.

But at least he'll be wearing a color-coded appropriate smiley face shirt when it happens!

Because color-coded boys in love get happy endings, even if car accidents and bar fights are part of the journey to that happy ending.

I see you, kinksters.

[7s3ven]

Imagine this… jonny ‘soap’ mctavish

( angst )

You moved to Scotland soon after finishing high school so you could attend university there. In your first year, you meet John Mctavish, but he prefers if you call him Jonny.

He isn’t enrolled in the university, he just likes to wander around the grounds. He tells you of his plans to join the army and you tell him about your brother who’s a sniper.

The two of you become best friends (maybe even more) and even when he joins the army and you barely see him, the two of you exchange long letters. Whenever Jonny gets a well-needed break, he always returns to Scotland to see how you’re doing.

He tells you about joining Task Force 114 and about a man named Simon Riley, call name Ghost, who wears a skull mask to cover his face. He describes his experiences in detail, of course leaving out information he can’t share.

He shows his task force pictures of you, rambling on and on about your hobbies and your personality and how your accent is so different from his Scottish one but he likes it.

“He’s in love.” Gaz whispers to Price as they listen to Jonny rant about your perfume.

Price hides a chuckle. “Obviously. Knew it from the moment he pulled out a picture of his lass.”

Task Force 141 has never met you but Jonny was arranging it… until he got shot in the head. Ghost feels sorry for you. It was clear whatever relationship you had with Jonny was special. He knows neither of you had confessed yet and in his opinion, that hurts more. Now, you would constantly be asking yourself what if?

The team know how important Scotland was to Jonny so they book a flight to spread his ashes, half hoping not to run into you so they don’t have to face your crumbling expression.

“Sleep easy, soldier.”

“See you down the range, brother. We’ll take it from here.”

“Rest in peace, Jonny.”

Unfortunately, luck isn’t on their side. As they slowly stroll through the streets, they see you. You were beautiful in the pictures Jonny showed them but it didn’t do you justice. You were smiling widely at a friend, pushing a vase of flowers towards them.

Then you turned your head and spotted Ghost. You found it strange how a man was wearing a skull mask until it clicked. This was Jonny’s friend.

You wasted no time in sprinting towards the three men and they didn’t have enough time to change courses.

“Hey, you’re Ghost, right? Jonny’s LT? He talked about you a lot. Mainly ‘bout that mask.” You grinned, staring up at Ghost. “Is Jonny ‘round? He hasn’t written since last month. Startin’ to get worried.” You laughed as if to reassure yourself.

Gaz and Ghost exchange a look until the latter slowly holds up the urn. You pause, eyes wide. “You… you put him in that?” Suddenly, your face scrunches up. “Why is it shaped like that?”

Gaz can’t help but let out a small laugh. Yep, you’re Jonny’s alright.

“He talked about you often.” Price piped up, “Even wrote a few letters he never sent.” The older man handed you a stack of thick envelopes. “Think he was in love with ya.”

“Well, I appreciate that you came all the way to Scotland just to spread his ashes.” You softly sighed, blinking away tears. Ghost handed you the urn before digging around in his pocket, pulling out Jonny’s dog tags.

You stared down at the words inscribed into the metal, running your thumb over the neat writing. You flipped the tag over, lip trembling at the five words on the back.

I love you, Y/N - Jonny.

[mellowyellow236]

Seven chairs

It is finished! A TWST poetry/children’s story based on The Mysteries of Harris Burdick! :) 

(Note: I call Lilia a “gnome” at one point in this story. Where I’m from, that’s just a friendly nickname for a short, older person who’s good at gardening.) 

~

Click-clack-clack! Click-clack-clack! Up-down, up-down, up-down! 

Click-clack-clack! Click-clack-clack! Around, around, around! 

The first, the first, was quiet and sleek!  

The first, the first, was tired but not meek.  

Number two, number two, adventurous and fun! 

Number two, number two, lived like a race to be won! 

The third, the three, you see, you see; 

The third, the three, the sea, the sea. 

Number four, number four, strict and mature; 

Number four, number four, never unsure. 

Number five, number five! Alive, alive! 

Number five, number five! They cry, they cry! 

The sixth, the sixth! So angry, so mad. 

The sixth, the sixth! So angry, too sad. 

Oh seven, oh seven, pretty as heaven; 

Oh seven, oh seven, leaves a large impression! 

They took a trip? They took a trip! The feathered man sent them on a trip!

Farther and farther, they took a trip! Around and around, the world with a quick hop-skip! 

Forever, he said, and leave him alone! Forever, forever, away, you’ll be thrown! 

But seven, and seven, and seven galore! Seven people and houses and chairs and much more! 

The first went away. Away, away! To Britain or England, she went away. 

There, you see, she met a three. The clover’s three was there you see. 

She met a boy, a boy, a boy, she met the clover’s three and three boys. 

She met the queen, a very strict queen. They met the queen out in the green. 

They ended up with tarts and cake, happy with someone who knew how to bake. 

They let them eat and feast and giggle and roam; The Queen had agreed to play along. 

A recipe and a little treat, some influence to work or eat, that’s what makes the first one complete. 

The second went to palaces, so grand! The second went to a foreign land! 

Of parties in plazas and gold on their wrists; Of lands where you can give the sky a kiss. 

There, they ate and met a snake. The snake was a man who came in late. 

He helped to cook the feast of roast beast, more than enough of a treat! 

And, oh, the prince! The prince, the prince! The prince was like a sultan, eating a quince. 

They talked and talked and stayed for a while, the prince always offered a smile. 

The snake and the prince gave them treats, of fruits and crackers for them to feast. 

With fun and friends and a night so alive, the second one couldn’t help but love the jive.

The third ended up in a boat on the sea! The sea, the sea, the deep blue sea. 

And on that boat, there was a man, an octopus who talked like a man! 

They swim, they swim, with fish and eels. They swim, they swim, look at the appeal! 

Into the water, they wanted to roam, for in the water, it was their home. 

An eel, and eel, there were twin eels! With eyes bright or cold, there were twin eels! 

Electric, electric, swimming in sea foam, for in the water, it was their home. 

Their home, you see, was big, so big, but with four on the boat it was trig. 

Number four had never left, they wanted to stay right there. 

A scolding, a scolding, that’s what the man got! A scolding for sending them away to rot,

In pictures and palaces and out in the sea, without anyone there to help them to leave. 

Only a silly man, you see, you see, would do that, she did decree. 

And so he asked to be left alone, and in return, he’ll call them home. Very well, then, but first, 

Now that she has the authority, she’ll make you change your priorities. 

And so she talked and spoke and chatted and he wished he had a cup of acid. 

The fifth one ended up in France. Oh la la, oui, oui, oui, madame! 

Roi de beauté and Le Chasseur she met, and to them, in the air she crept, crept, crept. 

As they spoke in those grand halls, they talked and discussed dancing and prancing and balls. 

The friends spoke of beauty, standing fair, and talked of all outside, words coming like air. 

They spoke of love, and what they decided upon was decidedly bland. 

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but none are fairer than, a beauty who’s eye can shoulder, 

A kindness kept within. And, of course, the fifth one heard this and grinned. 

Number six came to a man in Greece, a city like in ​​the Peloponnese. 

A man with fiery hair lived in the big building, taking inventions and gilding, gilding, gilding. 

Tilting and wilting alone on a desk, working on tiny statuary, romanesque and picaresque. 

The sixth one asked to see it, clear; The man pulled away and tried to disappear. 

The sixth one pulled and prodded; The man ran away and dropped it. 

A small design made to look like a little person, in her hand dressed like a fan of Purson. 

She chased and chased and soon did she find, if she waited for him to come to her, he acted in kind. 

Number seven, number seven, where did you go? Away, away, to the palace, we know! 

The little lion man in the house, and his nephew there, on the couch he bounced! 

The boy told you his name and age, he wrote down it all on a fresh page. 

They played and played and when they were through, the boy had asked for her to read Pooh. 

Soon they laid down, lion man on the bed. Two talked and talked, listening to what the child said. 

The lion man groaned and rolled to the side. He said he wanted a nap and the other two smiled. 

And so then there were three in the bed, lying next to each other, resting in sheets of red. 

The seventh house was all alone. Alone? Alone! Yes, he was alone. 

But what about the little gnome? The gnome, the gnome made him not alone. 

But the gnome was soon to break, to break, to wobble and shake! 

The gnome would go, would go, would go, then where would the boy call home? 

But what about the tick-tock croc? The tick-tock croc and the boy with the fox! 

The tick-tock croc and the boy with the fox were soon to cry, to go and die! 

But what about the numbers, seven? The numbers from one to eleven? 

The three of clovers, and the queen, and the boy, the boy, the boy? 

The little lion man, the snake, the prince, and the toys of a man not quite singed? 

The king, the hunter, and the poison apple? The twin eels and the octopus, looking dapple? 

Or maybe the other seven, the seven in the chairs? The seven whose homes needed repairs. 

Ah yes, the seven, how could I forget? Those seven make sure he has no regrets, 

For friendship or love or maybe blurred lines, it’s with them he can live in joy for all time. 

Seven chairs, and houses, and ladies, and men. I can promise you this; They all are great friends. 

~  

Yuu List! 

Yu - @st4rz666 - Heartslabyul 

“Mary” - My OC - Savanaclaw 

Yuki - irl friend - Octavinelle 

Yumi - @gimmeurmoneyagh - Scarabia 

“Charlotte” - My OC - Pomefiore 

Yuu - @twstfanblog - Ignihyde 

Yuri - My OC - NRC Staff/Crowley 

(Fun fact: Mary and Charlotte are my old Black Butler OCs from middle school. It was very fun to write for them again, although I did get distracted and ended up rewatching a bunch of the anime while writing this)

This ended up slowly getting more and more away from the actual drawing and caption that started all of this nonsense as I wrote, and I think I ended up making it more childish than the original book. For anyone wondering why Pomfiore is just Rook and Vil talking while Charlotte is oddly staring at them in a chair... I was trying to make the original scene. I wanted to include it somewhere, and they had the French, so I sacrificed their section to make it happen. 

[snexy-the-snail]

Personal Night light

@softsnugglystomach there we go! Less of a taunting pred ;)

Poseidon had tried to create distance between him and his mortal child. Not because he didn’t care, oh no the opposite. His entire being ached with the need to reassure Percy was loved, adored, and cherished. The bitter feeling in his chest, however, was a major obstacle to that. How could he even think about doing that to his son? Being trapped inside, being helpless, in the suffocating dark with no space to move or to-  

He lets his breath out, forcing himself to focus on the weight pressed against him right now. Percy was resting right now, he was safe, he was fine. He swallows thickly, running a hand through the raven curls. He hadn’t ruined their relationship either, Percy was visiting him. He was praying, and asking for help, slightly demanding that he stay in the cabin for some nights so he could rest. He tightens his grip on his child, dipping his head to press a kiss against his forehead. The teen of course didn’t even stir, other than a small twitch.  

“You get that from your mother.” He murmurs absent mindedly, closing his eyes with a sigh. He leans more against the pillows propped up behind him, savoring the moment. “Though you’re as reckless as the sea, and I fear that will be your undoing.”  

The bitter feeling practically claws at his chest, feeling like acid biting into his very being. Percy was safe. He didn’t need to worry about anything else right now other than allowing his son some time to sleep. The clock in the room seemed deafeningly loud. Time was supposed to flow quickly and yet Poseidon couldn’t help but feel like it was dragging on.  

He barely noticed Percy stirring, until the demigod pushed away from him with a sleepy groan. “You good dad?” Percy murmurs groggily, fondness blooming in his chest as he watched the teen rub the sleep from his eyes. “Yes...I’m fine.” Poseidon answers, bringing a hand up to caress the boy’s cheek.  

“Really? Cause I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me who exploded the fountain.”  

Poseidon blinks, tilting his head to the side to look at the center of the cabin. The marble fountain he had given Percy had water spilling over the edges, small waves crashing about in its own miniature storm. “Ah...” he murmurs, waving one of his hands, the water retreating back into the fountain without a mess to be seen.  

“Seriously, you alright dad? You’ve got a weird...I don’t know, you just seem upset.” Percy prompts again. The only light coming from the moon shining in through the windows, and his own mouth when he spoke. Even then it was enough to see the concerned glint within the boy’s eyes, admits the drowsiness at least. He lets a soft hum out, his hand sneaking its way into the raven-colored curls, cradling the back of the boy’s head as he pressed his forehead lightly against his son’s. “You don’t need to worry about your old man.” He reassures. 

Percy seemed unimpressed, pulling back and stretching. “Being sent on a lot of quests let me learn a lot of things dad.” he starts out, pulling the blanket more around himself. Poseidon noting it was the shark one Sally had gleefully bought at the pier a few months ago. “Like you need way more ambrosia than you think, anything and everything will go wrong, and Gods lie.” he says so causally it made a sense of guilt rise in his chest with that acidic bitter feeling.  

“And I know you’re lying.” 

Percy had to be bluffing...Thought the look in his eyes let Poseidon know that his son wasn’t. One thing that had been painfully clear throughout the years was that his son was as stubborn as they came, and he was not about to test how far that truly went. “I am... having a hard time.” He admits after a moment, hating when Percy gave him a look, pulling the blanket tighter over himself. “Hard time how?” the demigod prompts.  

Theres silence between the two of them, Poseidon not ready to admit everything yet. His regrets of the past, his own self-hatred over his needs, how much he feared how short his mortal child’s life was. Percy caught on rather quickly, however, his shoulders drawing in. He could read his child’s thoughts to understand what he was thinking though. It felt a bit like an invasion of privacy.  

“It's about eating me, isn’t it?” Poseidon flinches, his gaze dropping. “I wish you wouldn’t phrase it like that.” He grumbles, not denying it at all. He hadn’t done it often, only when he was desperate to edge the acidic bitterness that curled in his chest. Triton he knew, did it more often than not, practically making a beeline for Percy whenever he visited.  

“Look unless you can come up with a better explanation for it, I’m calling it eating.” Percy shoots back narrowing his eyes with a huff, before laying back down, resting his head in the crook of Poseidon’s neck. The sea god quick to rest a hand on his son’s back, lightly rubbing circles into the tense muscles. “Holding sounds much nicer, and I’m doing just that, holding you inside where nothing can get you.”  

He rests his cheek on the boy’s mess of curls, closing his eyes with a pleased hum. Holding was a much better term considering any demigod swallowed down was meant to simply just be held there, safe within their divine parent. “Yeah, but you’re also, literally swallowing me.” Percy points out, leaning into his touch.  

“There are other ways, I just assumed simply just having you appear inside would be...disorientating.” Poseidon admits, his free hand combing through his son’s hair, lightly tugging any tangles out. “Same with simply just...putting you inside.”  

A small shiver comes from Percy, the boy shifting slightly as he curls more into the god. “Okay, you know what fair. I’ll take swallowing over that.” He grumbles. Poseidon chuckled at the response, giving his son a light squeeze.  

The silence falls over them comfortably, Poseidon resting his eyes in this time. Percy was safe. It was his mantra he more often than not would mentally reassure himself with. The demigod was more than capable and there was no reason for the fear...somewhat.  

“Go ahead.” 

Poseidon startled a bit, having thought that the boy had already fallen back asleep. “What?” He prompts, unsure if he had heard what was said. Percy didn’t mean... 

“Obviously you’re struggling and... I know that it...ya know helps.” Percy mumbles, shrugging. Part of him had expected for the god to agree instantly, and gulp him down then and there, He was not expecting Poseidon to guide him into a sitting position and smooth his hair back. If anything, his dad seemed...concerned, not eager. “It may...but that is my burden to carry Percy, not yours.” 

Warmth shoots through him at that, Percy swallowing the lump in his throat. “O-oh but um...doesn’t it? You’re obviously uncomfortable so...” He trails off, unsure on what to say. When Triton did it normally, he didn’t have a say, either being asleep or too overwhelmed with sea politics to care. Hermes had sorta sued it as a forced bedtime, and the few times Poseidon had done it he had either been at near death or asleep. This was the first time he felt...sorta in control about this whole thing.  

“You’re alive, I can see you breathing, that is more than enough for me.” 

Dammit this was making it way harder.  

“Don’t make me insist. I mean it dad...I want to help and honestly...it makes sleeping a little easier.” He mumbles, dropping his gaze. His dad quick to tilt his chin back up. The god’s expression was so tender, filled with warmth and love. It made his insides flip. “Don’t lie. You don't need to do it. I am satisfied with just being able to be here with you.” 

“Not lying! Trust me, if I didn’t want this, I’d kick up a fuss, I’m pretty sure I bit Triton the other day when he didn’t back off.” Biting his half-brother. Ha. That totally would’ve gotten him smite in the past.  

Poseidon chuckles at the reminder, staying silent for a bit before placing a hand on Percy’s shoulder giving it a squeeze, the grip was firm, but gentle. “I don’t want to trap you. I don’t...I just want you safe...” He murmurs.  

“I’d let you know if I felt trapped. I think I’m pretty good at saying what I want when it comes to gods.” Percy says with a weak smile, pleased when it got another chuckle from the god. A dipping sensation in his stomach gave him warning as his size shrunk. Small, but not as small as he was used too when it came to his dad. “I feel like any time I wear these pjs I always end up in a stomach.” He jokes, shrugging off his now massive, to him, blanket. His trusty shark pjs, surprisingly resistant to saliva and inner digestive system juices.  

“Ironic, considering the nature of sharks.” Poseidon muses, pulling Percy more against his chest, as he sits up fully. “You’re just the bigger fish in this situation.” Percy says with a small laugh, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as his dad brushed his hair aside.  

“Mm I suppose so. Though, there are plenty of fish who do not need a size advantage.” 

“Hey, I didn’t ask for an ichthyology lesson, just eat me nerd.” 

Percy smiles, when Poseidon still hesitates. If this was Triton, he’d already be halfway down already. “I’m fine. Promise.”  

“I just...Want you to be sure...” Poseidon murmurs. Sighing shakily in relief when Percy gives him confirmation. Percy closes his eyes, shivering when he feels the familiar warmth rush over his face. As usual it was like being at the beach during a warm summer day. Pleasant, warm, and for him safe. He scrunched his face up as shortly after the warmth was followed by his face pressing into his dad’s mouth, slick saliva clinging to his skin as he was eased further inside. A reassuring hum vibrating all around him as his face pressed in more. Thanks to the glow he could see everything, well once he opened his eyes a crack. Blue illuminated the way, Percy squirming slightly at seeing the back of the god’s throat. Gods it was so weird. He was being eaten alive and yet...completely fine with it. If someone had told 12-year-old him that not only was his dad a god but would regularly eat him he'd probably cross the street immediate.  

His heart rate speeds up when the first swallow drags him into the entrance of the throat, strong muscles latching onto him and keeping a firm grip on him. The next few seconds as always were slightly uncomfortable, slick muscles pulling him down, the sensation of falling setting in his gut as he was lifted up with his dad tilting his head back. Soon he grimaces as his face pressed against the entrance to the stomach, which gave with little issue, slipping into the space with no issue. Awkwardly curling up as more of him slipped inside, until he was completely cradled by his father’s stomach.  

“Percy?”  

As usual the God’s voice echoed around him, vibrating the space he was shifting around in. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He responds quickly, trying to right himself, which was proving to be harder than he liked. He grunts as he presses his arms out, trying to push himself up.  

“Here let me-” Percy yelps when an outside pressure guides his body upright, then says firmly placed on his back. “There, better?”  

“Actually yeah- how'd you do that so fast?” he asks, leaning against this dad's hands, enjoying the outward comfort. The glowing brightens briefly before dimming back to its original soft glow. “Practice.” came his reply. 

“come on, you’re not even going to give me an inkling of why?” He whines, closing his eyes with a pleased sigh. As much as he still thought this was gross, it still totally was, there was a certain comfort to it. It was like being in the sea in a sort of way, but better. The charge felt cleaner in a certain way, stronger and purer.  

“mm...No, I believe you’re meant to be asleep.” Poseidon muses, Percy rolling his eyes. “Ugh, you’re no fun.” He says, letting a yawn out. “But...thanks.” He mumbles afterwards. “I know you don’t really have to stay but it...really does help with sleeping.”  

The glow brightened around him, the hands pressing in more around him. “I’m glad.” Poseidon murmurs, sounding a bit choked up.  

[imminent-danger-came]

Why do you think s4 lmk is sometimes seen as a drop-off in writing quality compared to earlier seasons?

IS IT REALLY. That's so funny, I personally think s4 elevated lmk's writing to unbelievably high levels. It recontextualized previous seasons in ways that cemented my faith in lmk's writing team, and proved to me that this wasn't just going to be good, it was going to be GREAT, an honest to god masterpiece.

I find that the more complex the writing, when things like love and devotion aren't put into "good" or "bad" boxes, when characters are hypocrites and things develop in a way people don't like (it doesn't make them "feel good" but the writing itself is solid), that's when people start to say things like "the writing's gotten worse". I've seen plenty of takes for characters like Wukong and Viren (from The Dragon Prince), where folks want to boil down the mess and the complexity into "the writers don't know how to write this character," when the truth is the opposite. Sometimes, characters say one thing and do another and that's on purpose, thank you. Sometimes, characters mean well and have good intentions, but they still suck. Writing like that is fucking awesome.

(Big Owl House rant incoming, turn back now if you're not interested in that)

It's not really a surprise to me that something like The Owl House, where the characters are fairly one note and everything is said out loud and the themes are much more simplistic, is/was far more popular. Obviously, I don't want to shame anyone or make people feel bad for loving toh—like it's great if you love it, keep doing that—but I do think that objectively, toh has pretty weak writing (which honestly doesn't/doesn't have to determine how much you love it).

I was discussing this with a few friends last night, how with toh, the implications are hardly thought through, and characters aren't viewed beyond the role they can serve in the episode or the arc. Like, I think of the beginning of Hollow Mind, where King says "No one wants to believe they've spent their life following the wrong person", which is fine, it's something that could be interesting given the proper execution, but when you analyze it deeper, try to find the consistent character thread...it doesn't make any actual sense for King or the development he went through at the beginning of s2. Had he said something along the lines of "No one wants to believe they've spent their life following a lie", now THAT ties directly into the lie he believed for his whole life, and to King as a character. But that's not what happened, and that's never what happened in toh.

Even with Belos, the main villain, it's clear the writers wanted Grim Walker angst for Hunter, but they didn't want to explore the implications of Belos recreating his brother over and over again. So at that point, it's like...why not just have Hunter be adopted? Why have him be a grimmwalker at all if it's not something we're going to explore deeper on Belos' end?

Needless to say, lmk isn't like that. If a character has dialogue or a scene, it's going to contribute to our perception of them and their internal motivations. If Pigsy is worried about his relation to his ancestors in s4, and what that says about him, we can actually trace that back to 2x04: tradition matters to Pigsy, and it's a huge part of his heart, identity, and life. Of COURSE Pigsy is affected when he learns his ancestor was someone he doesn't like, someone who tried to eat the love of his life. He even tries to comfort MK with what he thinks is a shared experience, and it's AGH. It's so good

If something is established in lmk, it's expanded upon. Hell, even the Mayor of all characters was given his own spotlight outside of LBD. He even has a direct parallel to Azure—following and giving service to an Emperor before becoming disillusioned and changing loyalty to the person that will bring about real change: their Lady and their King.

Anyways,

I went on a super long tangent. I can't truly know why some people think of lmk s4 as a drop-off in writing quality, but those are some thoughts from me to you!

[kyouka-supremacy]

Well.

[wallabywhump]

I have a couple of asks in my inbox asking about the next update for "you still have my heart (i'll get it back)" and I don't want anyone to feel like I'm ignoring them, I just wasn't really sure how to reply for a minute.

I do have a status update, but it may not make everyone feel happy LOL

Trigger warning: mild medical stuff/chronic illness discussion and maybe a TMI/oversharing life update? LOL I'll put it under a cut so y'all can avoid it.

TL;DR/avoiding the trigger, for under the keep reading:

I've got a lot of hand pain at the moment due to a chronic illness, and have been struggling to write at the moment. So, I can't put a date on when the next chapter will be out.

Also, I'm going to be splitting the next chapter into two, to aid in it getting done. I promise I am trying to get it done as soon as possible. (Major apologies for the cliffhanger and delayed chapter!)

Please keep poking me in the inbox/@'s/dms though! It reminds me that people are looking forward to it and keeps the motivation there when my pain levels make me want to stop 💙💙

**

A few months ago I stumbled head first into a major flare up of my autoimmune disease and degenerative joint condition. Which usually doesn't mean much to me, I take medicine and the swelling goes down and I'm a mostly functional (if in more pain than usual) human being.

Unfortunately, this medicine hasn't helped. My fingers already have deformities to them, and they are getting worse to a noticable degree.

(If anyone finds this kind of stuff interesting, the deformities of my hands are: boutonniere deformity in three of my fingers, mallet finger in two of my fingers, a developing swan neck in a finger, hitchhiker thumb on both hands. Then, a joint spacing issue called "ulnar drift" which is where the fingers on the hand deviate towards the 'ulnar' i.e. bending 'outwards', my three outer most fingers on my right hand do this. Additional to this, I have permanent and progressive subluxation, a partial dislocation, of my wrists. These have developed over years, not just in this flare up, but sometimes people find them cool so thought I'd share!)

I had an appointment with my specialist mid last week, and found out I was meant to be getting a treatment of steroids into my joints a few weeks ago (when I raised increased pain concerns) but it wasn't done/they never gave me an appointment and moved me down the clinic list.

The need for this treatment has increased urgently with the decreased joint spacing in my MCP joints (that's just a fancy way of saying my fingers are moving/the joints are becoming more deformed.) However, even 'urgent' is still a few weeks wait.

My fingers and wrist, in the mean time, have been swelling to high heck and locking and being so painful I can't move them 😭😭😭

Again, this is usually not an issue for me, because I push through owwies all the time. But at my appointment last week, my specialist warned me that as a ~spry young person~ needing to have my fingers fused would not be fun, and I've already had my left wrist fused two years ago, so I probably want to avoid needing that.

All that to say, I can't really write at the moment, not consistently. It's sending some radiating pain up my arm and just generally not been fun.

This isn't my only chronic condition, unfortunately, it's just the one giving me the most grief at the moment lol.

On top of that, I have a...fairly busy family life at the moment, by the time I'm sitting down at the computer, ready and able to write, I'm just exhausted and in too much pain to really think about my long fic.

I'd been struggling with that pain for a couple weeks, and just pushing through to write because I enjoy writing, and I enjoy writing 9-1-1 fic specifically and I've not been so inspired to write for a while. But after being slapped with a long distance broom by some of my friends, I've taken it to heart and am taking it easy.

ON THE NOTE of the fic, the next chapter I had originally planned to be my final chapter, but I hit over 15k words of WIP on that chapter and a 'scene change' in true 9-1-1 fashion. I realised that I would be better off splitting it into two. So, it will most likely go up to 5 chapters? 2 more for the resolution, and then an epilogue.

I am prioritising my hand health, but I'm working on it at a slower pace, bit by bit. When I have the energy and the pain is lower, I'm writing down a few hundred words or just sitting to reread what I've got and working it out.

So, it's still being worked on (I haven't abandoned it and I'm not intentionally leaving you on a cliffhanger - I have loved seeing that everyone loved it/hated me for making them sad LOL, makes me so happy) just perhaps I'm better off not putting a date on it getting done because of how unpredictable my hands are at the moment.

Feel free to keep poking me in the inbox or sending me DMs about it! Or if people want to yell about it at me/want me to yell at them about it, I really appreciate it. I get so excited when I see any mention of it, because it's a reminder that even if I'm taking literally forever on the next chapter, people are looking forward to it and still want to read it.

(Thank you absolutely everyone for the love on the fic, it's been so overwhelming 💙💙💙 I'm working on the next chapter as quickly as possible!)

[handsomegentlebutch]

also relating to people calling palestinian gfms scams... the "trusting third parties with no authority" thing from that person and people like them really gets me. bc that person on their first blog claims to be anti-fash and anti-cop. and yet... need to see some authority from people vetting fundraisers. like. yes please, tell me, white western tumblr user that claims to be a leftist, what ARE your ideas about authority? and whose authority do you deem valid, my fellow whitey? is it, perhaps, that you only view white, western "authority" as valid? that only white, western institutions have "authority"? why is this "authority" so important to you, so-called anti-fascist and anti-cop white leftist? is it, perhaps, that your ideas about what gives a person or entity "authority" is steeped in racism and western ideas of what "authority" is?

[maybemeursault]

look okay it's bad to erase marvin's canonical sexuality and the fact that She Likes Men but i literally genuinely with all my heart think that she is a trans woman